My private museum was robbed. Just as the security system was about to apprehend the intruder, my wife, my personal bodyguard, threw herself in front of the thief. “Elias, I grew up with Julian. I can’t just watch him die.” Isla fought off a hundred guards, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t yield an inch. Soon, a sharp shard of porcelain from a shattered vase was pressed against my neck. I looked at her, and my heart felt like it was being physically torn in two. I was the one who had pulled her back from the brink of death. I was the one who had hired the world’s top trainers to teach her how to fight. But now, the wolf I had raised with my own hands had turned on me. I pointed to her heart and said, word by word, “Isla. Today, either he dies, or you do.” 1 Isla’s expression didn’t flicker. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a chilling resolve. “Elias, if I want Julian to walk out of here today, no one can stop me.” She was right. With her skills, no one here was her match. The only difference was that before, those skills were meant to protect me. Now, they were being used to protect another man. I clenched my fists and gave my security chief a subtle look. Several guards immediately circled around, cornering Julian. The sharp crack of breaking bones pierced the air. “Julian!” Isla shrieked, whipping her head around. Her eyes widened in terror. “Who told you to touch him?” Julian’s face was a mask of blood, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “Isla, save me,” he rasped. “I don’t want to die here.” In a flash, the porcelain shard bit into my skin. Isla’s eyes were bloodshot, her hand trembling as she held the makeshift weapon. “Elias, you forced my hand,” she snarled. “Everyone, listen up! If anyone moves, your precious Mr. Vance dies. Now! Clear a path!” I took a deep breath, a bitter smile twisting my lips. I never would have imagined that the woman I had poured my entire heart into would become the blade pointed at my own throat. Seeing me held hostage, my men froze, not daring to move. I glanced at Isla. She was coiled like a spring, strands of hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, but her gaze never left Julian. “This is the first time you’ve ever disobeyed me,” I said, my voice low. “If I refuse to let him go today, will you kill me yourself?” Her expression faltered for a fraction of a second, but the pressure on my neck only increased. Blood trickled down my skin. She dragged me to the car waiting at the entrance. Only after she saw Julian helped safely inside did she finally relax, her tone softening. “Elias, you don’t care about these things. With your resources, you’ll make it all back in no time. Julian is different. He’s like me. We’ve had hard lives. He was forced into this.” Such a noble excuse. My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I couldn’t speak. All the love, all the kindness I had shown her, had become a colossal joke. Just as Isla was about to get into the car, someone seized the opportunity and tackled her, wrapping their arms around her in a death grip. “Mr. Vance, get back! I’ve got her!” I rolled away, gasping for air. Isla’s fighting skills were brutally effective. In the blink of an eye, she had the guard in a chokehold from behind, delivering two vicious elbow strikes to his ribs. Blood sprayed from his mouth, but she didn’t even flinch. But then, a shout came from the car. “Isla, look out!” She spun around just in time to see another guard’s knife slice across both of her legs. Deep gashes opened up, blood pouring out. Gritting her teeth, she kicked the man away and scrambled into the car. As the engine roared to life, she rolled down the window. Her voice was cold, devoid of any emotion. “Elias, you saved my life once. These two cuts… consider them my repayment. From now on, we’re even.” 2 I still remember the first time I saw Isla. She was wearing rags, and her legs were a mess of infected, ulcerated sores. There was barely an inch of healthy skin visible. I was just passing through that impoverished mountain village, but she had crawled into the middle of the road with her last ounce of strength, clinging to my leg. “Sir, please, I’m begging you, take me with you,” she had pleaded. An old, withered man had chased after her. Seeing my car, he had scoffed. “This one’s not going to last much longer anyway. Can’t even sell her. If you want her, three hundred bucks and she’s yours.” He wasn’t wrong. When I brought her back, she was suffering from multiple organ failure. The doctors gave her less than a day to live. I searched everywhere for a cure, finally finding a reclusive traditional doctor who gave me a powerful, ancient formula. “This medicine is aggressive,” the old doctor had warned me, “but it’s the only thing that can keep her alive. Remember, she must take it every single day, without fail.” I never forgot his words. I personally supervised her medication every day. When she finally recovered, she knelt before me, stubborn and proud, determined to prove her worth. She threw herself into combat training, and the day she returned, she smiled at me and said, “Elias, you used to protect me. From now on, it’s my turn to protect you.” And now? The heart I had offered her so freely was balanced against two cuts from a knife. I immediately used all my connections to lock down the news and sync intelligence with Interpol. But it wasn’t long before an anonymous video appeared in my encrypted inbox. I opened it. The video showed Julian tending to the wounds on Isla’s legs. The gashes on her pale skin were gruesome. “Julian,” she was saying, her voice soft, “when you left the village, you promised you’d come back for me. I waited for seven years. I guess now… we’ve truly entrusted our lives to each other.” Then, ignoring the pain, she tilted her head up and kissed him. It was the first time I had ever seen her be so forward. I had always assumed her passivity in our intimate moments was due to past trauma. Seeing this, I finally understood. I clenched my fists, my body trembling with rage. It was a blatant provocation. But it was far from over. Julian was a master thief and a brilliant chameleon. If he could infiltrate my state-of-the-art private museum, he could easily erase his existence from the world. Recovering the stolen treasures and restoring my reputation in the art world would be nearly impossible. If he wanted to ruin me, then I would have to be ruthless. I assembled my intelligence team and launched a global manhunt. We soon traced him to Europe. My sister, who was studying abroad, helped me pinpoint his location: an ancient seaside manor. When I arrived, a small engagement ceremony was underway. When the woman in the white dress turned around, I knew it was Isla. Her face was serene, radiating a calm happiness. A waiter at the entrance stopped me. “Excuse me, sir. This is a private event. If you wish to observe, please be seated quietly.” I sneered. “An event? The bride-to-be is a married woman. I’m afraid your sacred grounds are about to be defiled.” The waiter looked bewildered. “That’s impossible. Are you saying their identification was forged?” 3 Before he could answer, I stormed in with my men and kicked over a cart laden with champagne glasses. The deafening crash shattered the romantic atmosphere. Isla rushed over, her eyes widening when she saw me. Her expression instantly twisted into one of pure hatred. “Elias! What do you want?” she screamed. “We’re even! I’ve run to the other side of the world, why can’t you just leave me alone?” I just smiled and, in fluent English, informed the guests of her marital status. The room erupted in gasps and whispers. “She cheated on her husband?” “This is the first time a scandal like this has happened at the manor. It’s a disgrace!” Isla’s face turned a deep, blotchy red. Julian stepped forward, his fists clenched. “Elias, this isn’t your territory. You’re a long way from home.” He glanced dismissively at the men behind me. “You brought this small crew to crash my party? I’ll give you three seconds to get out. Otherwise, I’ll make you lick every inch of this lawn clean.” I looked at him, my eyes cold. The last person who spoke to me like that was six feet under. I started towards him. Isla once again blocked my path, just as she had the first time we met. But this time, it wasn’t to beg for her life. It was to defy me. “Elias, this is between us. It has nothing to do with Julian. I promised I would convince him to return what he took. If it’s about the money, I can pay you back a portion of it myself.” “Do you really think I care about those things?” I said flatly. “Isla, your leg is injured. You can’t protect anyone today.” Julian’s voice dripped with contempt from behind her. “Has it ever occurred to you, Elias, that when Isla begged you for help, it was only because she had no other choice? She and I had a promise. I told her I would come back and marry her in style as soon as I made a name for myself.” I fiddled with the expensive watch on my wrist, silent for a moment. Then I ripped it off and hurled it at his face. “Don’t you dare presume to know my motives,” I snarled. He didn’t react in time. He cried out as a line of blood and tears streamed from his eye. Isla’s lips tightened into a thin line, and she fell into a fighting stance. Every punch she threw was a vicious, whistling blur aimed at my head. My guards, trying to protect me, were taken down one by one. Finally, one of her punches connected, slamming into my jaw. I staggered back, a tooth flying out in a spray of blood. An invisible hand squeezed my heart, sending waves of pain through my chest. I looked at her—knuckles raw and bleeding, face smudged with dirt—and I smiled. “Five minutes. It took you a full five minutes to land a single punch on me. Have you gotten slower, or has your heart gotten softer?” I had run countless combat simulations with her. On average, it took her fifteen seconds to incapacitate a top-tier bodyguard. She had once boasted, “Elias, with me here, no one will ever touch a hair on your head.” Now, the force of her punch hadn’t even been enough to knock me down. “Isla, I told you. I gave you your life. You are no longer of any value to me. It’s time I considered taking it back.”

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I was Sterling City’s most notorious queenpin. I died with a single bullet to the head during a city-wide police raid. The moment the news broke, the internet erupted in celebration. A crowdfunded billboard in Times Square played my black-and-white mugshot on a loop. They celebrated because I had flooded Sterling City with narcotics, tearing countless families apart at the seams. They celebrated because I had leaked the details of an operation that got my ex-husband—a narcotics detective—and thirteen of his teammates killed. Over a million people signed a petition demanding my ashes be ground into the tiles of a public restroom. To appease the public’s insatiable rage, my ex-husband, now Captain of the Narcotics Division, decided to authorize a “public memory trial”—a live stream of my entire sinful life for the world to see. … On the day of the trial, Grand Plaza was packed so tight you couldn’t breathe. “A woman like that should be drawn and quartered! She ruined so many lives with her poison!” “I heard she was so ruthless she used a three-year-old as a mule. She’s not even human!” “She got all those cops killed. Today, I’m gonna watch her burn in hell!” Kevin Cox, his face a stone mask, pressed the start button. The roar of the crowd was a tidal wave of hatred, a collective wish to see my body torn limb from limb, my bones ground to dust. But the next second, the image that flashed onto the giant screen was of me. In a crisp police uniform, my hand raised, taking a solemn oath under the flag. In that instant, a stunned silence fell over the entire plaza. … It didn’t last long. A wave of disbelief and anger, even louder than before, crashed through the square. “No way! Ava Grant, a cop? That’s impossible!” “It’s a fake! That scum doesn’t deserve to wear the uniform!” Kevin’s face hardened. He ordered the technicians to verify the memory source, to check if it had been tampered with. Cora Grant, my sister, glided to his side and gently placed a hand on his arm. Her voice was a soft, cautious whisper. “Kevin, this has to be a trick. Something she set up before she died.” “She was always a master of disguise, wasn’t she?” “Let’s just stop this, okay? I’m afraid… I’m afraid you’ll soften…” Kevin pulled Cora into his arms. He let out a bitter laugh, his eyes filled with disgust. “I’ve seen Ava’s games a thousand times.” “She could dress up as a saint, and it still wouldn’t wash the blood of my brothers from her hands.” He looked down at Cora, his tone softening just for her. “Don’t be silly. You’re the only one I love now. Nothing else can shake me.” Cora finally relaxed, melting into his embrace. Someone in the crowd recognized her, and whispers rippled through the plaza. “Isn’t that the younger Grant sister?” “It is! She’s the one who turned in her own father! I heard she donated her entire inheritance to an anti-drug foundation. She has a good heart.” “You’re right. Then you look at her sister, Ava. The second their father went down, she ran straight into the arms of the drug lord Julian Thorne.” “One turns her back on crime, the other dives headfirst into it. Why couldn’t she be more like her sister?” The technician gave Kevin a nod. The memory source was clean. Kevin’s pupils constricted. He took a deep breath and pressed play. My soul hovered in the air above, watching the pure hatred for me in Kevin’s eyes. The same eyes that once held a universe of tenderness now held nothing but icy contempt. Even in death, a pain like tearing fabric ripped through my spirit. The screen shifted to a dimly lit alley late at night. A younger Kevin had just fought off a couple of muggers. He was leaning against a brick wall, breathing heavily, a cut on the corner of his mouth. I rushed over with a first-aid kit and knelt before him. The yellow glow of the streetlight stretched our shadows long and thin behind us. I sat on the curb, fumbling with a cotton swab to clean the cut. The sting of the antiseptic made him hiss. “Trying to be a hero, huh?” I muttered, dabbing gently. “Does it hurt?” He suddenly caught my wrist, his gaze intense. “It doesn’t hurt, not when you’re here.” A blush crept up my neck, and I turned away. “You and your smooth lines.” He chuckled, pulling me into his arms. “If you’re so worried, then don’t let me go. Just stay with me from now on.” My eyes welled up. Without a word, I stood on my toes and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips. The image froze on our two radiant smiles. In the present, Kevin’s hands clenched into tight fists. A flicker of something—regret, maybe—crossed his face. Cora noticed his distraction immediately. She spoke up, her voice laced with pity. “Kevin, my sister seemed so innocent back then.” “It’s a shame she couldn’t resist the lure of money.” “Maybe… maybe she only got close to you to get intelligence.” The flicker in Kevin’s eyes vanished, replaced by an even deeper loathing. He looked at Cora, his voice gentle. “You’re right.” “If it wasn’t for her betrayal, I never would have known who was truly worth fighting for.” He squeezed her hand tightly, as if declaring to the world—and to the memory on the screen—that he had already found his true happiness. The scene changed. We were back at that lavish gala celebrating my reunion with my long-lost family. Beneath glittering chandeliers, my father, Marcus Grant, had his arm around me. “This is my daughter, Ava, who I’ve finally found after all these years!” he announced proudly. Before the applause could begin, the grand doors of the ballroom were kicked open. Kevin burst in, flanked by his unit, his face a mask of cold fury. He held up a warrant, his gaze like a shard of ice, pinning my father in place. “Marcus Grant, you’re under arrest for the manufacturing and distribution of illegal narcotics. You’re coming with us.” Click. The cold steel of handcuffs snapped around my father’s wrists. As they dragged him toward the police cruiser, he suddenly thrashed, fighting back like a cornered animal. In the chaos, a rookie officer’s gun went off. Warm blood splattered across my dress, across my face. My mind went blank, a roaring static filling my ears. “Daughter of a kingpin!” I don’t know who threw the first punch, but suddenly a mob swarmed me. Hands tangled in my hair, yanking so hard I thought my scalp would rip. My gown was torn to shreds. Thick gobs of spit and cold drinks rained down on me. “Your father killed my son! You deserve to die too!” a middle-aged woman shrieked, charging forward. A brutal kick slammed into my stomach. Agony tore through me, a pain so sharp it felt like my body was splitting in two. I curled into a ball on the floor, my body convulsing. A wave of heat slid down my thighs. My baby, my three-month-old baby, was gone. In the present, Kevin’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently. The knuckles of his clenched fists were bone-white. But the crowd cheered. “Serves her right! Her father killed all those people, she deserved to lose her own!” The scene jumped. I was standing outside the hospital, bandages still wrapped around my face. Kevin blocked my path. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking. “Ava, what happened with your father… it has nothing to do with you.” “I’ll take care of you. The baby… we can have another one. We can start over, please?” I looked at him and started to laugh, a hollow, broken sound. “Did you know I was stolen as a child, Kevin? That I ate out of dumpsters and slept under bridges?” “I finally found my real father, and you’re the one who put him in his grave.” I pulled the wedding ring from my finger and tossed it at his feet. “I want a divorce.” The ring spun on the pavement, the sound a sharp, brittle crack in the silence. Kevin bent to pick it up, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. I didn’t give him a second glance. I just turned and walked away. In the present, Cora clutched Kevin’s hand. “My sister was just too extreme,” she sighed. “She let hatred blind her…” A snort came from the crowd. “Hatred? Looks more like greed to me!” “Exactly! Why else would she run straight to a monster like Julian Thorne?” The screen went black, then flickered back to life. It was now the grimiest underground casino in Sterling City. I was wearing a blood-red dress, slit high up my thigh. In a private room, Julian Thorne was draped over a sofa, a woman on each arm. Without a word, I picked up a tray holding twelve shots of whiskey and downed them one by one. Fire scorched my throat, and my stomach churned violently. Julian watched me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You want to be with me?” He rose and walked to an iron cage in the corner. Inside, a hulking mastiff was tearing at a slab of raw meat, its jaws dripping with blood. “Get in there. Take the meat from its mouth.” Julian lit a cigarette, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Bare hands.” I took a deep breath, kicked off my heels, and walked barefoot into the cage. An hour later, my right arm was a shredded ruin of flesh and bone. My left hand was punctured with bloody holes. I kicked the convulsing body of the mastiff aside and limped back to Julian, holding out the mangled piece of meat. “Mr. Thorne,” I rasped. “Your dog… he’s adorable.” He laughed and patted the carpet beside his feet. “Interesting. Kneel.” My knees buckled, and I knelt before him. I picked up a bottle and, with trembling hands, poured him a drink. “From now on, you belong to me.” Julian took the glass, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. I lowered my gaze. “Yes.” From that day forward, I was his most prized possession, and the most reviled woman in Sterling City. In the present, Kevin jerked his head away, unable to watch anymore. Beside him, Cora covered her eyes, her face a mask of disgust. The memory played on. I had become Julian’s right-hand woman. The screen showed me briefing a group of terrified children, directing them to different drop points for a delivery. I pulled the smallest girl aside and pressed a crumpled map into her sweaty palm. My voice was a low, urgent whisper. “Remember, you take this route and only this route. If you don’t, your mother will disappear.” She nodded frantically, biting her lip to keep from crying. The plaza in the present exploded in outrage. “Monster! She’s using children!” “Does she have a soul? She’s pure evil!” People started hurling water bottles at the screen, the plastic cracking against the display. A few hours later in the memory, Julian’s roar came through the phone. “Ava! What the hell did you do?!” The little girl, following my map, had walked straight into a police ambush. They caught her red-handed. In the present, someone in the crowd voiced a flicker of doubt. “Out of all the possible routes, how did the cops know to be on that specific one?” But their question was drowned out by a fresh wave of fury. “She’s just an idiot! She screwed up! Stop making excuses for a monster!” On screen, Julian was suspicious. He produced a syringe filled with a new, potent designer drug. “You want to prove your loyalty? Inject this.” My eyes fixed on the needle, and my body began to tremble uncontrollably. For a split second, the memory of myself in a police uniform, saluting the flag, superimposed itself over the syringe. I closed my eyes, took a ragged breath, and with a pale, set face, I plunged the needle into my own arm. In the present, Cora shuddered. “This is horrible. How could my sister fall so far?” Kevin held her tight, his gaze on my image on the screen turning to ice. “She chose to.” The scene shifted, and now Cora’s face was in my memory. We were in an abandoned warehouse. I handed her a thick envelope. “This is all the money I’ve saved. Donate it anonymously to the narcotics victim fund, especially for the children.” A murmur of confusion went through the crowd. This didn’t fit the narrative of the greedy monster they knew. Kevin frowned, turning to Cora. “She gave you money? Why didn’t you ever mention this?” Cora froze for a second, her eyes darting around. After a moment, she stammered, “Oh, right. There was also a bag of white powder in it. She was trying to get me hooked. I got scared, so I… I threw it all away.” Kevin fell silent, a strange look flickering in his eyes. Immediately, people in the crowd rushed to her defense. “My God, how vile! Trying to frame her own sister!” “Miss Grant did the right thing! That’s drug money! It’s better off in the gutter!” “Look how scared she is just talking about it! Her evil sister must have terrified her!” Cora seized the opportunity and buried her face in Kevin’s chest. He looked down at the top of her head, his gaze lingering for a moment. He tightened his arm around her but said nothing more. In the memory, I pulled a USB drive from my pocket and pressed it into Cora’s hand. “This has all of Julian’s recent operational intel. You have to get this to Kevin. You have to give it to him personally!” My voice echoed in the warehouse, sharp with desperation. “Cora, I’m begging you. Make sure he gets it!” On the screen, my eyes were wild and red-rimmed. My hands gripped her wrist like a vice. In the present, Kevin’s suspicious gaze snapped back to Cora. Her face went white, and she instinctively took a step back. “The USB drive,” Kevin demanded, his voice dangerously low. “Where is it?” Tears instantly welled in Cora’s eyes. “Kevin,” she sobbed, “she handed it to me with a bag of drugs! How could I trust anything she gave me?” “Kevin, I was afraid it was a trap set by Julian!” she cried, her voice trembling. “I was so scared you would get hurt! I can’t lose you, I just can’t…” The crowd was swayed once again. “Miss Grant is right! You can’t trust a single word from a drug pusher!” “She was protecting Captain Cox!” Kevin looked at her, a storm of complicated emotions churning in his eyes. Finally, as if convincing himself, he pulled her back into his embrace. The memory lurched forward. We were on a cargo freighter on the open sea. Kevin, disguised as a buyer in a baseball cap, was at the deal. The sight of him made my heart stop. I forced myself to remain calm, walking past him. As our shoulders brushed, I hissed a single, frantic sentence. “What are you doing here? It’s a trap! Get out now!” He had no time to react. The ship’s alarms blared to life. A cartel member screamed in terror, “We’ve got a mole on board!” Kevin’s hand was already moving toward the gun at his hip, his eyes locked on me, filled with disbelief and betrayal. My heart sank. In that split second, I made my choice. I whipped out my own gun and aimed it squarely at Kevin’s chest. “Don’t bother looking,” my voice boomed across the deck. “The mole is him!” “Tie him to the mast!” Julian’s men swarmed Kevin, slamming him to the deck. I strode over to him. I raised my pistol and brought the butt down, hard, on his previously injured shoulder. He grunted in pain, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked up, his eyes burning with a hate so cold it was like ice. “Ava. I was so wrong about you.” I leaned down, my lips close to his ear, and laughed. “Too bad, Captain. Better luck next life. Try to keep your eyes open.” I straightened up, my laughter echoing into the storm. But no one could see the tears mixing with the rain streaming down my face. Just then, the roar of a helicopter grew louder, circling above the freighter. A rope ladder dropped, and Julian Thorne descended from the sky. He gave a slight nod, and one of his men chopped Kevin on the back of the neck, knocking him unconscious. Then, without warning, Julian turned and swung his hand. CRACK! The force of the slap sent me sprawling to the deck. “Nice acting, Ava,” Julian sneered, crouching down to grab my chin. “So ruthless, even to your old flame. I almost believed you.” “So what was the next part of the act? Faking your death so he could play the hero and escape? Hmm?” The screen suddenly went black. A confused murmur spread through the plaza. For the first time, a seed of doubt was planted about my crimes. “Wait… was she really just acting to save him?” “Even Thorne said it… something’s not right here.” A few people even rewound the footage in their minds, remembering the glint of tears mixed with the rain on my cheeks. For the first time, a few weak voices rose in my defense. In the present, Kevin’s body went rigid. He had completely forgotten my whispered warning to “get out now.” A chilling premonition snaked its way up his spine. The light on the giant screen flickered back on. The image stabilized. Kevin snapped his head up, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. The scene that appeared was something he could never have imagined in his darkest nightmares…

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The Outpost had fallen. Our only path to survival hinged on one thing: a decoy team to draw the horde away. My girlfriend, Sarah, and I each led a squad. The Governor settled the matter of which of our teams would live and which would die with a kill competition. The winner evacuates. The loser dies. In my past life, I didn’t hesitate. I chose to lose, ready to sacrifice myself, my sister, and my entire squad to give Sarah a future. But when the horde pinned us down, when I screamed for her covering fire, support isn’t what we got. What we got was the heavy machine gun she personally swiveled in our direction, firing from behind. Through the muzzle flashes, I watched my sister and every soldier who trusted me get torn to shreds by our own side. All the while, Sarah fell into the arms of the Governor’s son, Liam, a triumphant smile on her face. She walked over our corpses to be crowned a hero. I was ripped apart and turned. A shred of my consciousness remained as I wandered the wasteland, until they finally put a bullet in my head. I opened my eyes. I was back. Reborn on the morning the competition was set to begin. Just as I expected, Sarah was already there, putting on a show, trying to convince me to die for her. But this time, I still agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “Alright.” 1 “He’s finally dead. Now no one can challenge me for the captaincy.” “Sarah, you poor thing, having to put up with him for so long.” “But it’s over now. We can finally be together.” The voices of Sarah and Liam echoed in my mind. My eyes snapped open. The cold touch of the metal wall brought me back. I was reborn. Images from my past life exploded in my head. I saw my sister, Mia, leading my squad, charging toward the horde to save me. They were fighting their way back, screaming my name. “Cole!” “Captain! We’re coming for you!” Then, Liam gave the order to fire. The heavy machine gun roared. Their bodies disintegrated in a storm of lead and fire. Later, after the horde had torn me apart and I’d become one of them, my last flicker of consciousness saw the woman who once promised to have my children, passionately kissing Liam amidst a celebrating crowd. “…Captains, please come to the platform.” The Governor’s icy voice dragged me from my memories. From his perch on the high wall, he motioned for Sarah and me to stand beside him, then addressed everyone in the Outpost. “As you all know, Captain Cole and Captain Sarah are the leaders of our two finest scavenger teams.” “They have made immense contributions to our survival, and we all owe them a debt of gratitude.” “But now, the Outpost faces a crisis like never before. A mega-horde is coming. We must evacuate.” “For the majority to survive, one team must make the ultimate sacrifice. They must become the bait.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over us, finally landing on me. “The rules are simple. Starting now, you have twenty-four hours. The two captains will lead their teams out to kill the infected. After one day, we will tally the numbers. The highest count wins.” “The winner will receive priority evacuation and ample supplies. The loser… will serve the Outpost one last time.” A dead silence fell over the crowd. Serve the Outpost. A pretty way of saying ‘go get eaten.’ In my last life, I loved Sarah more than myself. I handed her the chance to live. I deliberately led my team away from dense zombie zones, even passed up easy kills just so she could win. And what did I get for it? As the meeting dismissed, Sarah immediately cut me off. Her face was pale, but her eyes held the steady calm she always projected as a captain. “Cole, we need to talk.” I turned, watching her performance with a quiet, cold detachment. “This rule isn’t fair, and you know it,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. “Your skill, your team… you’re light-years ahead of me. This isn’t a competition; it’s a death sentence for me and my squad.” She took a deep breath, her tone softening, becoming a plea. “I’m not afraid to die. I just don’t think it should be like this. We’ve both sacrificed so much for this place. Just because I’m not as strong as you, I have to lead my people to their deaths?” When I didn’t respond, she bit her lip, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper, as if it took all her strength. “And… I’m pregnant.” Pregnant? I almost laughed. I could still vividly remember the early days of the outbreak. We were hiding in an abandoned supermarket, and she was curled in my arms, whispering that one day she’d give me enough kids to field a basketball team. Thinking back on that moment of happiness now felt like the cruelest joke in the world. Liam stepped forward, his face a mask of solemn agreement. “Captain, we all know you’re the best. For the Outpost, for the future of a new life… only you can carry out this noble task.” I watched their little duet, my heart frozen solid. Behind me, the eyes of my squad were just as cold. Mia stepped forward. “Sarah, you can’t be so selfish! My brother has given everything for this place! Why should he be the one to die?” Sarah flinched, her eyes instantly welling up with tears, as if she’d been deeply wounded. I raised a hand to stop Mia. My gaze fell on Sarah’s deceitful face, and a slow smile spread across my own. As they stared at me in stunned silence, I gave a small nod. “Alright.” I looked at her, then at Mia and my team behind me. I added, enunciating every word, “This time, we go.” “And we don’t need a single bullet of support.” 2 My words hung in the air. Mia and my squad stared at me, dumbfounded. Sarah and Liam exchanged a look, their relief and joy almost impossible to hide. “Cole, you…” Sarah started, pretending she wanted to protest, but I cut her off with a raised hand. “There’s nothing more to say.” I turned to my squad and gave the order. “Gear up. We’re moving out.” “Sir!” Though their minds were reeling with questions, not one of my soldiers voiced an objection. They immediately turned to prep their equipment. These were the soldiers I had trained. Mia came to my side, tugging on my sleeve. “Cole,” she whispered, “I trust you.” I ruffled her hair but said nothing. At the Outpost gate, the contrast between our two teams was stark. Sarah’s squad was in high spirits, their members laughing and joking as if they were headed for a picnic, not a suicide mission. Liam had even diverted a shipment of brand-new weapons and ammunition to them. My team, on the other hand, silently checked their worn gear, their faces grim. On the electronic screen above the gate, two large zeros were displayed side-by-side, our starting kill counts. “Move out!” At the Governor’s command, our teams charged out of the Outpost in opposite directions. Less than a mile out, we ran into a small pack of roamers, maybe a dozen of them. “Captain?” my second-in-command, Marcus, looked to me for orders. Normally, we’d have wiped them out in under thirty seconds. Instead, I held up a hand and gave my first command. “Hold your position and fire. Do not advance.” Marcus stared at me. Firing from a distance meant lower accuracy and a massive waste of ammo. It was the least efficient way to fight. “Captain, that’s a waste of bullets!” he couldn’t help but point out. “Follow the order,” my voice was flat, emotionless. Marcus gritted his teeth, but finally bellowed, “Open fire!” Gunfire erupted. Bullets sprayed wildly, and it took a full two minutes to put down just over a dozen infected. At the same time, Sarah’s triumphant voice crackled over the public comms channel. “Command, this is Sarah! My team has engaged a horde in the east sector, over fifty hostiles! Estimated time to neutralization, three minutes!” Her voice dripped with self-satisfaction. Soon, on the screen back at the Outpost, the number next to her team’s name began to climb rapidly, jumping from 0 to 53. Ours was a pathetic 12. Inside the Outpost, the watching crowd erupted in mockery. “All that hype about the First Squad being the best. When it comes down to it, this is all they’ve got?” “Yeah, took them forever to kill a handful of walkers. Hell, our gate guards are more efficient!” “I think he’s lost his nerve. All those past victories were probably just bullshit!” Bits and pieces of their ridicule filtered through my earpiece. My face remained impassive. “Sweep the area,” I ordered. “Collect all shell casings and do a count of ammo expended.” Another bizarre command that wasted five precious minutes. Marcus’s face grew darker, but he followed my order without question. Mia said nothing, just silently reloaded my magazines for me. For the next few hours, we proceeded at this “turtle’s pace.” When we encountered small groups, we dispatched them in the most ammo-inefficient way possible. When we spotted a large horde, I ordered a full retreat, circling around them. Our kill count crawled upwards at a humiliatingly slow pace. Sarah’s team, meanwhile, was on a rampage. Reports of her victories came in one after another. Liam would periodically get on the public channel, his voice dripping with false concern. “Captain Cole, how are things on your end? Need any support? Captain Sarah is already closing in on three hundred.” Every one of his calls was a public shaming. Everyone on the channel could hear it. My soldiers were simmering with rage, their faces flushed, but they remained silent, bound by my orders. The sentiment back at the Outpost turned venomous. “Thank God for Captain Sarah. If we had to rely on him, we’d all be dead!” “I can’t believe we ever thought he was a hero. He’s a coward!” “Just send him out to die already. Stop wasting our food!” As evening fell, we took shelter in an abandoned building to rest. The score on the screen was a glaring 78 to 412. We were utterly defeated. Marcus couldn’t hold it in any longer. He walked up to me. “Captain, I just have one question. Why?” I didn’t look at him, just continued to polish my combat knife. “All you need to know is that if you follow me, you will live.” Marcus stared at me, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration. Finally, he gave a sharp nod and walked away. I looked up, my eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of the Outpost. The main event was about to begin. 3 The twenty-four hours were up. We returned to the Outpost. On the giant electronic screen, the final score was frozen. 89 to 521. A chasm of a difference that declared our utter failure. As we stepped into the central plaza, Sarah’s team came to meet us, every one of them wearing the proud smirk of a victor. The residents of the Outpost swarmed around them, cheering and hoisting them up as heroes. “Captain Sarah is our savior!” “We’re saved!” When they looked at us, their eyes were filled with contempt and relief. The Governor stepped onto the high platform. He cleared his throat, and the plaza fell silent. “The results of the competition are in,” he announced. “The winner is the Second Scavenger Team, led by Captain Sarah!” A thunderous applause erupted. The Governor raised a hand for silence, his gaze shifting to us, his expression one of fake sympathy. “As per the rules, Captain Cole and the First Scavenger Team will carry out the final decoy mission for us.” “They are brave. They are honorable. Let us give our heroes a proper send-off!” A smattering of applause followed, sounding more like mockery than respect. My soldiers’ fists were clenched so tight their knuckles were white. Mia’s eyes were glistening with tears, but she refused to let them fall. They weren’t afraid to die. They were enraged that the honor of the First Squad was being trampled into the dirt. Just then, Liam, with his arm around Sarah, stepped onto the platform and took the microphone. He smiled. “To show our gratitude for Captain Cole’s sacrifice, I propose we play a little game to send our heroes off in style. What do you say?” The crowd murmured in confusion. Liam’s smile widened. “Let’s place some bets. Let’s bet on how long our heroes can last against the horde!” The suggestion was met with a moment of stunned silence, followed by an explosion of morbid excitement. “Now that’s interesting! I bet they don’t last ten minutes!” a man shouted, pulling out a pack of ration biscuits as his wager. “Ten minutes? You’re giving them too much credit!” another man jeered. “I bet five minutes! Not a single one of them makes it out alive! I’ll put up a can of beef!” “I bet thirty seconds!” yelled another man, patting his canteen. “My half-canteen of water says they’re all dead in thirty!” “Hahaha!” The crowd went insane. They pulled out their most prized possessions—food, water, even ammunition—and eagerly placed their bets at a makeshift table Liam had set up. The scene wasn’t a somber farewell for a team marching to their death. It was a carnival, a festival celebrating our demise. Sarah leaned against Liam, a victor’s smile playing on her lips as she watched it all unfold. She even took the microphone, her voice sweet. “To thank everyone for participating, Liam and I have decided to offer ten vials of antibiotics as the grand prize for whoever guesses the closest!” The crowd’s frenzy hit its peak. In this world, antibiotics were a second life. I watched it all with cold eyes. These people, whom we had risked our lives to protect, were now gambling on the exact minute of our deaths. This was the home I had fought for. These were the people I had died for. “Cole…” Mia’s voice trembled. I turned to my squad. Their eyes held no fear, only the burning rage of betrayal. I took a deep breath. My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried to every one of them. “First Squad, fall in.” Instantly, every soldier snapped to attention, their posture ramrod straight, as if they were marching to a glorious battle, not their execution. I didn’t spare another glance at the couple on the stage, nor at the ugly, leering faces in the crowd. I turned to face the giant blast doors of the Outpost. “Move out.” 4 After we left, the party in the Outpost plaza truly began. Liam had all the wagered goods piled on the platform, creating a small mountain of supplies. “Everyone!” he shouted, raising a glass. “A toast! To getting rid of the dead weight, and to the new life ahead of us!” “To Captain Sarah! To Liam!” The crowd roared, eagerly dividing the spoils of their death pool, spoils paid for with our blood and sweat. Sarah melted into Liam’s arms, basking in the adoration. She was the queen here. She watched the Outpost’s blast doors grind shut, a small, triumphant smile on her face. “Don’t blame me, Cole,” she whispered to the empty air. “You were just in the way.” An hour later, they led the main convoy, a long procession moving toward the designated “safe evacuation point.” It was a valley surrounded by mountains on three sides with a single, easily defensible entrance—a sanctuary the Governor had chosen long ago. When the convoy arrived, a collective sigh of relief went through the crowd. They built bonfires, roasted meat, and acted as if the apocalypse was already over. Liam and Sarah stood on a high ridge overlooking the valley, like a king and queen surveying their domain. Suddenly, a massive explosion ripped through the night from the direction we had gone. The blast was so powerful it painted half the sky red. Everyone fell silent for a moment, then erupted into even louder cheers. “They’ve met the horde!” “It worked! Captain Cole finally made himself useful!” Liam’s grin widened. He pulled Sarah closer. “It’s over, Sarah. From now on, I’ll protect you.” Sarah closed her eyes, content. Just then, the satellite phone in Liam’s pocket buzzed with an urgent incoming video call. Annoyed, he answered, assuming it was his father with new instructions. The screen lit up, and a face he never expected to see again appeared. “Liam, my friend. Good evening.” Liam’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. The color drained from his face. The man on the screen was me. I was perfectly fine. Not a single rip or smudge on my clothes. And behind me, an endless, surging ocean of the dead. “You… you’re alive?!” Liam stammered. I looked at his terrified face and my smile grew wider. “Surprised? Oh, this is just the opening act.”

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The most notorious playboy in our circle, Julian Keane, crashed his car and hit his head. When he woke up, his memory had stopped three years in the past. He found me, his voice tight with irritation. “It was just dinner with my ex. How long are you going to throw a fit about it?” I froze. When I finally came to my senses, I lifted the little girl from the floor and held her close. Looking into his bewildered eyes, I said softly, “Julian, we broke up three years ago.” “I’m… married now. I have a child.” 1 After tucking my daughter into bed for the night, I leaned against the headboard, scrolling through my phone. A news alert popped up on the screen. “February 17th, 9:00 PM: Julian Keane, Chairman and CEO of Apex Global, was involved in a car accident in Los Angeles. He has been rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. Sources report Mr. Keane suffered severe head trauma and is currently in a coma. For further updates, follow Apex News…” The accompanying photo showed a Bugatti Veyron, mangled almost beyond recognition. Julian was on a stretcher, his head slick with blood, his eyes closed. Even unconscious, his brows were locked in a tight frown. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I hadn’t seen him in three years. The whispered intimacies, the heart-shattering pain… back then, I thought I’d carry those memories forever. But in the space of a thousand short days, they had blurred, becoming distant echoes from another lifetime. I lowered my gaze, ready to put my phone away and sleep, when a frantic pounding erupted at my front door. Terrified the noise would wake my daughter, I threw on my slippers and rushed to the living room. When I peered through the peephole, I froze. It was Julian. A bandage was wrapped around his head, already seeping blood, and his face was a mask of pure frustration. “Ava, open the damn door!” he yelled. “I know you’re in there, I checked with the doorman!” My mind reeled. I felt a confusing mix of shock and dread as I unlocked the door. “You were just in an accident a few days ago,” I stammered. “How are you—” He brushed past me as if he owned the place, his gaze briefly snagging on a pair of men’s slippers by the door before moving on. “It’s freezing out there,” he grumbled, shoving his jacket into my hands. “What are you doing in a godforsaken place like this? What about the villa I bought for you? Why aren’t you living there?” His casual, possessive tone left me speechless. I couldn’t find the words to respond. The last time we’d seen each other, three years ago, our breakup had been a maelstrom of ugly words and shattered trust. Julian’s face had been a storm cloud of fury, his eyes burning with a look so intense I thought he might actually kill me. “You and your little lover better stay the hell away from me,” he’d snarled. “Or I can’t guarantee he’ll live to see another day.” But now, he acted as if none of that had ever happened. He sank into the sofa, patted his thigh, and glanced up at me with a lazy, familiar air. “Come here.” The warm, yellow light of the lamp cast long shadows across his face. His eyes, just as I remembered, were slightly upturned, sharp with a cutting arrogance. But he was so devastatingly handsome that the cruelty melted into a kind of untamable charisma. I took a step back, my brow furrowed. “What are you doing here? We’re not together anymore.” Julian scoffed. “Give me a break. You think I don’t know you?” He smirked. “You’ve probably been crying your eyes out the last two days, haven’t you?” “That’s enough,” he said, waving his hand impatiently. “So I took Isabelle to the hospital. Is that really a reason to be this petty?” When I didn’t move, Julian’s patience wore thin. He stood up, grabbed my arm, and pulled me towards him. His long, elegant fingers rested on my stomach, his voice softening with a sudden tenderness. “I know. You’re pregnant, and your hormones are all over the place, right?” he murmured. “If you really want this baby, then we’ll have it. I’ve even picked out names. If it’s a boy, we’ll call him Noah. If it’s a girl…” That’s when it finally clicked. Something was terribly wrong. The things Julian was saying… they were from three years ago. I grabbed his wrist, my voice catching in my throat. “Julian… do you have amnesia?” He paused for a second, then shrugged it off. “That’s what they’re all saying, that I scrambled my brain. It’s bullshit. My head’s a little fuzzy, but it’s nothing important. You can fill me in on the details later.” He wrapped his arms around me, tilting his head back to look at me with eyes full of adoration, as if the last three years of silence and separation had never happened. I pushed him away, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Julian, we broke up. I—” He cut me off, the warmth vanishing from his smile. “Ava, don’t push it.” A haughty curve touched his lips. “You think I’d believe that? You’ve been by my side for years. If you were going to leave, you would’ve done it a long time ago.” He leaned in, his voice a low, confident whisper. “You can’t live without me.” Just then, the sound of a doorknob turning echoed from the hallway. I shoved Julian away with all my might. My daughter, Rosie, emerged, rubbing her sleepy eyes. In her tiny hand, she clutched her favorite stuffed rabbit. “Mommy?” She frowned, her small gaze landing on Julian. “Who is he?” 2 My breakup with Julian was anything but peaceful. I was adopted by the Keane family. They called me their child, but in reality, I was little more than a companion they’d hired for their son. From the day I walked into their home, everyone made one thing clear: I was there to accommodate Julian, to take care of Julian. I was three years older than him, so I naturally fell into the role of the protective big sister. Julian was spoiled rotten from birth and had a temper to match. In the beginning, he made my life a living hell. He’d put snakes, my deepest fear, in my bed. He’d gather his friends to mock me for being an orphan. He’d burst into my room in the dead of night, dragging me out of bed just to hiss in my face. “Don’t you dare think you’re my real sister, Ava,” he’d snarl. “You’re just a dog my family took in. You get that?” I knew. I knew I didn’t have the right to fight back. In truth, I was grateful to Julian’s parents. They had rescued me from the orphanage. If it wasn’t for them, the director, who secretly trafficked the pretty children under his care, would have sold me to God knows who. But a child’s anger is a fleeting thing. Under my constant, patient care, Julian’s sharp edges began to soften. He grew closer to me, defending me from others, seeking me out on sleepless nights. He even started calling me his sister. I thought that’s all I would ever be to him. Then, when I was nineteen, Julian started dating. He fell for Isabelle. Her family was on par with the Keanes, and like Julian, she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She was a radiant, stunning girl, crowned the campus queen her freshman year, and she quickly caught Julian’s eye. They got together, a perfect match on paper. But they were both used to getting their own way, and their relationship was a constant storm of arguments. During one of their fights, Julian, wanting to spite Isabelle, kissed me right in front of her. In that single moment, everything between us changed. He and Isabelle made up soon after, but Julian never explained the kiss. We both silently agreed to never speak of it again, but we both knew. We could never go back to the simple, easy way we were before. Julian and Isabelle dated for three years, but their fiery tempers finally led to a bitter breakup. Heartbroken, Isabelle left the country. And Julian, drunk and lost, found his way into my bed. I can still feel the chaos of that night. The scent of alcohol on his breath as he murmured against my neck, his hands pinning mine above my head. “Don’t say no,” he pleaded, his actions forceful, but his voice was fragile, almost desperate. “Please, don’t say no.” I was trapped. After a long silence, I managed to ask, my voice trembling, “Julian, do you even know who I am?” His answer was a kiss. Much later, as I was drifting off to sleep, exhausted, I faintly heard him whisper into my ear. “You’re Ava.” … And just like that, we were together. There was no confession, no ceremony, not even a single “I love you” exchanged between us. I continued to play the part of his sister, managing his life, but now our interactions were laced with a new, dangerous intimacy. We’d walk along the beach at sunset, cuddle on the couch watching movies late into the night, and hold each other close as thunderstorms raged outside. For a while, I was truly happy. I don’t know when I fell in love with him, but I knew I did. So when Isabelle returned and sought out Julian, I swallowed my pride. When he ditched my birthday dinner to be with her, I endured it. I loved Julian, and I knew he was still just a boy in many ways. I was willing to give him the space to make mistakes and find his way back to me. Until I found out I was pregnant. I sent a picture of the positive test to Julian. He called back after what felt like an eternity. His voice was distorted over the phone, laced with annoyance. “Ava, I’m not ready for a kid.” “I haven’t had my fun yet. There’s no way I can be a father. You need to get rid of it.” Half an hour later, a friend of mine, an intern at the hospital, sent me a photo. It was Julian and Isabelle. He was holding her carefully, his touch as gentle as if she were the most precious treasure in the world. My friend sent a voice note: “Why is Julian at the OB-GYN with another girl? She’s pregnant. Who is she?” In that moment, I understood. Julian didn’t want to be a father to my child. He had never gotten over Isabelle. She was the girl who’d given him his first taste of love, the one he could never truly forget. Now that she was back, I, the placeholder, had to step aside. My baby and I were just trash to be discarded. I told Julian I wanted to break up. For some reason, he refused, dragging it out. Desperate, I asked an old classmate to help me stage a scene, pretending he was a new lover. I will never forget the look in Julian’s eyes that day. He stared at me as if he wanted to burn me to ashes with his gaze alone. “You and your little lover better stay the hell away from me,” he’d said. “Or I can’t guarantee he’ll live to see another day.” Then, with a final, contemptuous sneer, he’d delivered the killing blow. “You were always just a dog I kept around.” “And remember this: I’m the one dumping you. Not the other way around.” After that day, I never saw him again. He moved his business abroad and, from what I heard, got engaged to Isabelle. Both families were thrilled; they were a perfect match. The engagement party was so lavish it made the front page of the society pages. And now, here he was. A car crash had rewound his life by three years. The living room was suffocatingly quiet, the sound of late-night traffic muffled by the windows. The silence felt thick, heavy. I clutched my daughter tighter, and looking at Julian’s shocked face, I repeated myself, my voice soft but firm. “Julian, we broke up three years ago.” “I’m… married now. I have a child.” 3 It took a moment for Julian to react. His mouth opened, then closed, a look of absurd disbelief on his face. He reached for me, his hand trembling. “No, that’s impossible,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself more than me. “Ava, there’s no way you’d marry someone else.” “You love me.” His gaze shifted to the child in my arms, and he forced a brittle smile. “I have amnesia, right? So… this is my daughter, isn’t she?” His voice was desperate. “You kept the baby behind my back?” I took a step back. “Julian, stop this madness!” “She is not your child!” The light in Julian’s eyes flickered and died, replaced by a gathering storm. “Not mine? Then whose is she?” He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist, his voice turning sharp and dangerous. “Ava, who the hell is the father?!” “That would be me.” Just as I was about to panic, the door swung open. Ethan Hayes walked in and gently took my daughter from my arms. The night air was damp, and his black suit was misted with dew, yet he looked anything but disheveled. A powerful confidence radiated from him as he studied Julian with a look of detached amusement. “We have a guest? You should have told me,” he said to me, completely ignoring Julian’s darkening expression as he handed me a small box. “That bakery you like,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “I got there late. Almost missed out on the last one.” Julian’s eyes raked over Ethan, his hands clenching into fists. “Ava, when did you get involved with him?” Before I could answer, Ethan let out a soft laugh, a sound devoid of warmth, laced instead with icy mockery. “When?” he mused. “Well, let’s see. We got together three years ago. We had our daughter two years ago. We got married this year. Which ‘when’ are you asking about, Mr. Keane?” In the silent living room, the two tall men faced off. Fury blazed in Julian’s eyes, while Ethan looked on as if observing a petulant child, exuding an air of effortless, victorious superiority. I sighed, stepping forward to take Ethan’s arm. I turned back to Julian. “He’s right.” “Julian, it’s been over for a long time. We both have our own lives now. You and Isabelle are getting married. I’m married and I have a child.” “You’re only confused because of the accident. We agreed… a long time ago…” I paused, searching for the right words. “We agreed not to bother each other anymore.” “Bother?” Julian stumbled back a step, a bitter, almost comical expression twisting his features. “Ava, we lived together for more than a decade.” “And now you call it bothering?” I looked down, my voice barely a whisper. “You’ve grown up, Julian. We were always meant to have our own lives.” Ethan moved closer, his left arm holding our daughter while his right hand found mine, a silent declaration of ownership. The three of us stood together, and though we were only a few feet from Julian, it was as if an unbridgeable chasm had opened between us. After a long, tense silence, Julian laughed. A cold, harsh sound. He stared at me, his eyes like chips of ice. “Fine, Ava,” he sneered. “You win.” 4 Ethan didn’t say anything after Julian left, but I could tell his petty streak was showing. Even when Rosie asked for a kiss, his was perfunctory and distracted. He was radiating a low-grade storm cloud of “I’m angry, you’d better explain yourself.” I sighed and wrapped my arms around him from behind. “I had no idea he was coming,” I murmured. “He just showed up, and he has amnesia. I made everything clear to him.” “It won’t happen again, okay?” Ethan ripped off his tie and threw it on the floor, sinking onto the sofa without a word. After a few minutes of stewing, he finally spoke, his voice tight. “The moment I heard he’d gotten on a plane back here after his accident, I knew something was wrong. I rushed over, but I was still too late to stop him from getting in.” He looked genuinely furious, and for the first time since I’d known him, the man who only ever dealt in sarcasm let a curse slip. “Dammit. Why didn’t the crash just kill him?” I almost laughed. Ethan always seemed so calm and composed, as if nothing in the world could faze him. But when it came to Julian, his composure evaporated. When Julian had first moved abroad, Ethan had been ready to throw him a farewell party just to get rid of him for good. Now, right after we’d finally gotten married, Julian was back to stir up trouble. Of course he was pissed. I spent a long time soothing him, swearing up and down that I wouldn’t get entangled with Julian again. He eventually calmed down, but he made sure to take out his frustrations on me later that night after Rosie was asleep. The next morning, I dragged my aching body out of bed, silently cursing Ethan. For a man pushing thirty, he seemed to have more energy than ever. Wasn’t there some rule about men going downhill after twenty-five? As if on cue, my phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize. Thinking it was a delivery, I answered, but a familiar female voice cut me off. Even through the phone, Isabelle’s condescension was palpable. “Ava, we need to meet.” I frowned. “What about?” “I think we need to talk about Julian, don’t you?” I rubbed my temples, annoyed. “I have nothing to do with Julian,” I said bluntly. “I didn’t cause his accident or his amnesia. Whatever issues you have, you can sort them out between yourselves. It has nothing to do with me.” I hung up before she could reply. I’d never liked Isabelle. It wasn’t just because Julian had chosen her over me; his feelings weren’t her fault. It was her attitude—the way she always looked down on me, as if I were something dirty she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. She was the one who had interfered in my relationship with Julian, yet she always carried herself with the air of a wronged queen. I had finally escaped that past and built a new life. The last thing I wanted was to get dragged back into the drama with Julian and Isabelle. …

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After prison, The scars on my wrist were a permanent reminder that Mason Holt and I could never go back to what we were. 1 My short hair was giving the makeup artist a headache. Half an hour later, Mason pushed the door open. “Is she ready?” “Mr. Holt, is this acceptable?” Mason’s gaze fell on me, his eyes deepening with an unreadable intensity. “Elara. Look at yourself. Do you like it?” My eyes flickered for only a moment. Beside me, the makeup artist anxiously twisted her hands. In the past, my standards were impossibly high. I had to be the most dazzling woman in the room. But that was before. The woman I was now had just spent three years in prison. The long, proud hair I once cherished was gone, shorn away. “It’s fine.” 2 I took Mason’s arm, and we descended the grand spiral staircase, walking into the full glare of the party. “Look, it’s Elara Vance.” “She’s really out.” I kept my head held high the entire time. A ghost of my former pride forbade me to bow. “Are you alright?” Before the person next to me could say more, guests were already approaching us. “Mason, congratulations. Heard you landed the ten-figure Triton contract for Holt Industries.” Mason nodded in acknowledgment, clinking his glass with the man’s. “I’m going to walk around for a bit. You handle things.” I detached myself from his side and drifted toward the edge of the ballroom. In a quiet corner, I finally let out a long breath. “I heard she just got out yesterday.” “Did Mason Holt really pick her up himself?” “Unlikely. Everyone knows the one he loves is Seraphina Curtis. His marriage to Elara is just for show.” “True. Three years ago, she could have avoided a conviction, but the Holt family didn’t lift a finger to help.” The two women walked past, their faces paling when they saw me standing there. They scattered like startled birds. I narrowed my eyes, a chill seeping into my heart. 3 A stir went through the ballroom. “What’s happening?” A waiter murmured, “The Curtis family just arrived. They presented a gilded sculpture by a renowned artist.” I pressed my lips together. “The Curtiss really know how to make an entrance. A piece like that is practically priceless.” “Heh, isn’t that just a gift from the left hand to the right?” “You’ll see. Seraphina Curtis will be marrying into the Holt family sooner or later.” “Don’t spread rumors.” “Please. Mason only married Elara because her grandfather basically blackmailed him with the Vance family fortune. I heard there was a five-year contract involved.” I turned my head, looking toward the source of the chatter, then walked away. 4 I returned to Mason’s side. “Where did you go? Your hand is freezing.” He turned and briefly clasped my hand in his. “Nowhere.” Standing beside him, I was once again the center of attention. My gaze drifted to Seraphina, who stood quietly by her father’s side. Our eyes met. There was no trace of provocation in her expression. She simply looked away, turning to greet an old friend. She was so gentle, yet it was as if a spotlight followed her, drawing the admiration of countless young heirs. But everyone knew she had been waiting for Mason for years. This married man, the most powerful figure in the city. Some said she was waiting in vain. But I knew the truth. It was a mutual longing. The whispers were all true. In all our years of marriage, Mason had never once touched me. 5 The party concluded after the 40th-anniversary appreciation ceremony. The guests departed, leaving the ballroom vast and empty. “Ma’am, how should we begin the cleanup?” The venue was one of the Holt family’s estates. Before prison, I had always been the one to plan these events. I shook my head. “Just do as you see fit.” Just then, Mason returned from seeing off the last guest. “Let’s go back to Shorelight.” 6 The car ride home was silent. He’d been drinking and sat with his eyes closed, resting. When we arrived, he went upstairs without a word. I sat in the living room, feeling adrift. “Ma’am, shall I help you with your makeup?” the housekeeper asked. “No, thank you. I’ll do it myself later.” I just looked up, watching the tall shadow of his back disappear down the upstairs corridor. “Ma’am seems like a different person since she’s been back.” “Well, it was prison. I hear it’s a dark place. Who knows what she suffered in there.” “I feel sorry for her, really. A husband who doesn’t love her, and she was born a princess, only to end up in jail.” “Remember that time a year ago when they took her out for medical treatment? I heard she tried to kill herself inside.” I didn’t go to the kitchen. I just picked up a carton of milk from the coffee table and quietly went upstairs. 7 In the bedroom, Mason came out of the bathroom to find me on the moonlit balcony, sipping from the carton of milk. “Why are you squatting there? There’s a chair right next to you.” I froze for a second, my mind catching up. My subconscious was still trapped in the habits of my cell. “Are you done showering?” I looked up, about to stand. But a wave of dizziness from my low blood sugar almost sent me tumbling. His strong arm shot out and steadied me. “Careful. Is it your hypoglycemia? I’ll have the doctor come tomorrow and prescribe some medicine to help regulate it.” I didn’t respond. I just moved to the chair and sat, watching him with a puzzled expression. He was about to say something else when my phone, resting on the railing, lit up. It was a message from Leo. “Do you want a kitten? I’ll give you one. It’s adorable, you’ll love it.” Leo. I stared at the name, momentarily stunned. He’d requested to visit me during my three years in prison, but I had refused. I didn’t want to see anyone. I picked up the phone, about to reply. “Get washed up and rest. I have an email to send from the study.” Mason shrugged on a robe, his broad back turning as he walked out. I stared at the doorway, lit by a single wall sconce. It was just like three years ago. Every night, just before bed, he would always have “work to finish.” And he would be gone for the entire night. The next morning, he would invariably tell me he’d worked too late and had just slept in the study. 8 Leo gave me an incredibly cute kitten. But I couldn’t take it back to Shorelight. Mason disliked all small animals. “I’ll look after him for now,” Leo said. I cuddled the soft, warm ball of fur. “Elara,” Leo said with a sudden smile, “has anyone ever told you that you’re more like a cat now?” “You’ve actually always had a cat-like spirit.” I didn’t understand what he meant. He had already turned to get some cat food. In the end, the kitten stayed with Leo for the time being. 9 Since my release, I had barely gone out. The only time was to visit the kitten at Leo’s. As for Mason, he was always busy. He left early and came back late; the evenings were the only time I saw him. But the story of my imprisonment never made it to the media. Mason had suppressed it—not to protect me, I suspected, but to protect the Holt family’s name. “Come down for dinner.” I turned. Mason was home. “Mrs. Gable said you’ve been in your room for hours. Are you not feeling well?” He took off his jacket and came over, raising a hand to touch my forehead. I flinched away. “I’m fine. Let’s eat.” His hand fell, empty. A few steps later, he caught up, and we went downstairs together. At the landing, I stopped abruptly. I clutched my bare wrist and turned back. “What’s wrong?” “I forgot something. You go ahead.” I hurried back upstairs, found the cool jade bangle on my vanity, and slipped it onto my wrist, hiding the tangled web of scars beneath. When I came back down, I was surprised to see Mason still waiting there. As I approached, his gaze fixed on my wrist, now covered by the bangle. “Elara. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.” 10 We ate in silence. “What’s this?” After dinner, I went upstairs and found two dark blue cards on the round table in the sitting area. “An art exhibition. Do you want to go?” Mason asked, walking over. I saw the theme was “Starry Night.” Among my few hobbies, cats were my favorite animal, and art galleries were my favorite pastime. “Are you going?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. He nodded. “The new project is wrapped up. I can take some time off. I’ll go with you.” I stared at him. “What is it? You don’t want me to come?” I shook my head. “Then what’s wrong?” The balcony doors were open, and a breeze drifted in. He reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. The warmth of his palm lingered on my skin. The air between us suddenly felt charged. I looked at him seriously. “Are you sure you can go? You’re not busy?” “I’m sure. I’m going to make more time for you from now on. I’ve neglected you for too long.” In the evening wind, he nodded, his expression firm, and slowly pulled me into his arms. “Give me a chance to make it up to you, okay?” Held in his warm embrace, I stared out into the night, stunned. With a soft rustle, the calendar on the wall flipped to a new day. 11 But if I had known what was to come, I would have avoided that exhibition at all costs. Mason did come, but he was too late. For many years after, I would wonder if the panic in his eyes that day was because the blood on the floor was mine. Or was it for some other reason? Not long after that day, we ceased to have any connection at all. 12 When I arrived at the gallery, Mason wasn’t there yet. It was an invitation-only event, so it wasn’t crowded. But even with so few people, when Bianca strode towards me, I still narrowed my eyes. “Elara?” I started to walk away, to another section. But she grabbed my wrist. “That scared of me?” I scoffed at her provocative smirk. “You should never overfeed a dog. It starts to think it’s the master.” “You—” She’d studied martial arts, and her grip was fueled by anger. I fought the urge to slap her. “This is an art gallery. I suggest you don’t embarrass your family here.” A security guard glanced our way, and she finally let go. We’d been enemies since school. I heard she’d even set off firecrackers to celebrate my three-year sentence. Since my grandfather passed away, her father had monopolized the industry our family once dominated. Her arrogance had grown with her fortune. “Did your husband tell you he had something important come up and couldn’t make it?” she called out as I walked away. I paused, then kept walking. “Aren’t you curious about the real reason he couldn’t come?” she taunted, raising her voice to make sure I heard. “So concerned about my husband. Are you delusional?” I retorted, quickening my pace. But she ignored the quiet sanctity of the gallery and shouted, “Because he’s with Seraphina! She called, and he ran! Heh. You’ll always be the pathetic little stray he never wanted.” My steps were fast, but my heart felt like it was suspended in mid-air, being squeezed, shattered, and ground into dust. 13 In another wing of the gallery, I stood silently before a painting. “You like Vernal Abode too?” I turned. It was Leo. “You’re here too?” He smiled. “It’s Master Callen’s first overseas exhibition. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His smile was always as warm as the sun. He glanced over at Bianca, who was glaring at us from a distance. “Did she give you trouble just now?” I shook my head. “I’ve seen everything on this floor. I’m going to check out the second.” “Elara. Snowball misses you. Come visit when you have time.” “Okay.” I went upstairs, and he continued in the other direction. 14 After leaving the gallery, my taxi hadn’t arrived yet, so I went to the adjacent public restroom to wash my hands. I never expected it. A sudden force slammed me against the wall. Before I could even get up, a foot pressed down hard on my stomach. “Elara, you bitch. What’s there to be so proud of?” “Don’t… touch… me.” The pressure of her foot increased. I tried to push it away, but her friends grabbed my hands, pulling them back. Bianca ground her heel into me, bit by bit. I choked back the pain, forcing out broken words. “Assault…? You’ll all go to prison for this.” Finally, one of them got scared. “Bianca, that’s enough. Let’s go.” “What are you afraid of? Her grandfather is dead. Her family is nothing now. If she hadn’t been hiding in prison for three years, I would have taught her this lesson a long time ago.” “But… she’s still Mason Holt’s wife. No one dares to cross him.” “Mason Holt? Everyone knows he doesn’t want her. If he actually cared, would he have just stood by and done nothing three years ago?” I could barely breathe. “I am… still Mrs. Holt. The Holt family… won’t let an outsider bully me. You can try.” “Let’s go, Bianca.” “Go where? Do you know who Mason Holt is with right now? My friend, Seraphina. He’s never coming to save her.” She didn’t let up until something inside me tore. A searing, visceral rip. Bianca finally removed her foot. Clutching my agonized stomach, I fumbled in my bag for my phone to call for an ambulance. But Bianca, who had been about to leave, came back. She grabbed my arm. “You two, come back here.” I knew what she wanted. I desperately tried to hide my wrist, but she ordered her friends to pull my arm free. The jade bangle was pushed aside, revealing the ugly, tangled scars beneath. “Heh, I heard you tried to slit your wrists in there. I didn’t realize you cut so deep,” she sneered. “Tsk, tsk. Something this beautiful needs to be shared with our circle.” She took out her phone to record a video. I twisted and turned, but I couldn’t escape the lens. “Haha, look everyone! This is the former first lady of the city! Look at her left wrist! So ugly, right? She did this in prison…” “Get away… get away from me…” My struggles were useless. When she finished recording, they stood up, dusting off their hands. She pulled open the door, one foot already outside. The heavy glass ashtray connected with the back of her head. A dark splash of crimson. Leaning against the doorframe, I smiled. At the same time, my body felt like a dam had burst. Blood surged up from my throat, and I crumpled to the floor. Through a darkening haze, I saw Mason turn, his face a mask of horror. Maybe it was a trick of the light, my senses fading one by one, but I thought I saw a pair of feet running towards me from a great distance. 15 I had a long dream. It was a world of endless white. I walked and walked, one foot sinking into a deep pit, the next plunging into a glacier that cut my skin. I traveled for miles but saw no one. Frozen and broken, I lay down in the snow. As the white flakes began to cover me, I whispered goodbye to the blue sky. But when the snow kissed my eyelids, a stubborn refusal took hold. I wasn’t done. I crawled to my feet and kept moving forward. I would not die here. I would get out. I would not give up. 16 “She’s awake! The patient in Room 1 is awake! Someone get in here!” I had barely opened my eyes when a cacophony of noise erupted around me. “Elara.” A blurred figure rushed forward, blocking my view. “You’re finally awake. Thank God.” A large hand gripped mine tightly. I couldn’t tell if it was my hand that was shaking, or his. My vision slowly cleared. My mind churned, and I recognized the man before me as Mason. I looked up into his eyes, saw the deep red of broken blood vessels that stained the whites. 17 A month later. Mason hadn’t left the hospital. His assistant brought all his work to him here. He seemed like a different person. “Careful.” He took a napkin and gently wiped a speck of soup from the corner of my mouth. I studied his eyes. The redness had faded slightly over the past few days. “Why are you looking at me like that? Is it the beard? Do I look terrible?” I shook my head and leaned back against the pillows. He closed the thermos, wiped down the small bedside table, and put it away. Growing up in the Holt family, he had likely never done such things before. “Aren’t you going to the office?” He gestured to a stack of files. “They bring everything here. I can work from the hospital.” “What about meetings? Your company has so many.” “It’s the slow season. Fewer meetings. My priority right now is taking care of you.” I pressed my lips together and said nothing, turning over to sleep. Holt Industries was notoriously demanding. I had interned there once; the meetings were endless. For Mason, the CEO, it was even worse. I knew he had just moved his meetings to the evenings. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I could hear him in the adjacent room, leading a conference call through a screen. 18 Today, two police officers came to the hospital. I thought of the ashtray I had smashed against Bianca’s head with all my might. My palm grew damp. “Mr. Holt, we’re here to take a statement from Mrs. Holt regarding the incident at the East Tower restroom.” The officer shook Mason’s hand. Mason nodded, then gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t be nervous. Just tell them exactly what happened.” I recounted the events truthfully. “Is that all?” “Mrs. Holt, is there anything you’d like to add?” “No.” After I signed the statement, the officers left. I looked at Mason. “Is Bianca’s injury healed?” “She’s… not all there anymore. The doctors say her mental capacity is that of a child.” I was shocked, my heart pounding. “I was so angry, I just wanted to fight back. Will I go to jail?” “Silly girl. You were defending yourself. Why would you go to jail? Don’t worry, the police won’t be pressing any charges.” “Really?” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Really.” As he said, the police never came back. I never received a summons. Only then did I finally relax. 19 “Ma’am, what are you looking at?” Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, came in and followed my gaze out the window. She opened a thermos and set out the food. “Please eat, Ma’am. You need to get your strength back.” I nodded. But when your body is at its weakest, high-protein foods are the last thing you want. I had no appetite. “Where’s Mason?” “Are you missing the master? I’ll call him for you.” Mrs. Gable reached for her phone. I stopped her. “No, don’t. But if you see him, could you please ask him to come by? I have something to say to him.” A week ago, Mason had taken a phone call and hadn’t been back to the hospital since. Mrs. Gable nodded. “Of course. Don’t you worry, Ma’am. The master has just been working overtime at the company.” I said nothing, just quietly spooned some broth. 20 I pushed myself up and stood before the full-length mirror. Mason came in. “Careful.” He rushed to my side. “Why are you out of bed? The doctor said you still need to rest.” “I’m much better.” I pulled my arm from his grasp and stood as straight as I could before the mirror, holding the pose for a full minute. When I was done, I returned to the bed. “When you’re fully recovered, we’ll go to a private island for a month, get away from it all…” He was looking at me, waiting for my response. But I just stared out the window, unmoving. “Elara?” “Let’s get a divorce.”

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We were so broke I couldn’t even book a guest role, so my girlfriend, Ava, and I were crammed into a shoebox apartment in the city’s grimiest borough. Every evening, we’d go to the market to pick through the leftover vegetables the vendors were throwing out. To save on electricity, we used old candles for light. One night, a fierce storm rolled through, flooding our tiny apartment. Ava, soaked to the bone, huddled in my arms for warmth. I swore to myself then that one day, I would get her out of there, into a big house, and give her the life she deserved. But before I could make good on that promise, she was gone, killed in a fire that consumed everything. For a long time after, I was a ghost. Then, by a stroke of luck, a young director saw something in my haunted eyes and cast me as the lead in a web series. It was a hit. I skyrocketed to fame. Three years later, I became the youngest actor to win the industry’s highest award. The world admired my success. No one knew that every ounce of effort, every sleepless night, was just my way of paying a debt to Ava. Now, I had finally done it. I could finally let go and join her. But on the very night I decided to end my life, my girlfriend, dead for three years, appeared before me, alive and breathing. … Tonight was the wrap party, a thank-you dinner organized by my agent for the film’s producers. It was also the night I planned to announce my retirement from acting. The wind whipping off the river was bone-chilling, but the woman sitting in the seat of honor across from me froze the very blood in my veins. She wore a gown of flowing satin, her long hair swept up to reveal a swan-like neck. She was the picture of elegance, a vision of aristocratic grace. But her face… it was identical to the face of my girlfriend, the one who had died three years ago. Even the tiny mole just below the corner of her eye was in the exact same spot. The director was beside her, pouring her a glass of Lafite. “You’re too kind,” she said, her voice a clipped, aristocratic murmur. Those two simple words were enough to make the wine glass tremble in my hand. That voice had echoed in my dreams for a thousand nights. I would hear a similar cadence in a crowd and whip my head around, searching. I never thought I’d hear it again in this lifetime. My agent nudged me under the table. “Liam. The director is toasting you.” I snapped back to reality, meeting the director’s teasing gaze. “What’s this, Mr. Shaw? You see our film’s main investor and you can’t look away? Don’t tell me you and our Miss Thorne are old acquaintances?” Miss Thorne. I rolled the name around in my mind. The director turned to the woman, clearly expecting an answer. Miss Thorne merely leaned back in her chair, her tone distant and cool. “I don’t know him.” She glanced at me for a fraction of a second, her eyes as cold and indifferent as if she were looking at a complete stranger, before looking away. But I couldn’t tear my gaze from her. The eyes, the voice, even the surname was the same. How could I believe she wasn’t my Ava? “Liam, stop staring. You’re making Miss Thorne uncomfortable,” my agent whispered urgently in my ear. I lowered my eyes, forcing the words out. “I’m sorry. I mistook her for someone else.” Someone at the table chuckled. “Come on, Liam. Miss Thorne is the princess of this city. You can’t just compare her to anyone.” “If you said something like that in public, the Thorne family would have your head. We couldn’t protect you,” another added. The woman acted as if she hadn’t heard a word, sipping her wine. It wasn’t until her phone buzzed that she rose from her seat. “Enjoy yourselves. I have to take this call.” My seat was near the door. The hem of her gown brushed against me as she passed, leaving an icy chill in its wake. I rubbed my frozen arm, taking a moment before I could speak to my agent. “Miss Thorne…” “Liam, she’s not her.” My agent cut me off immediately. He’d been with me for three years; he knew my entire past. “Miss Thorne is the sole heir to one of the richest families on the East Coast. She’s the CEO of Celestial Entertainment, the biggest player in the industry. This restaurant we’re in? She owns it. In fact, her family’s name is on the deed for nearly every building from the west side of the river to the next district over.” His face was deadly serious. “Liam Shaw, don’t be a fool,” he warned again. “If you anger the Thornes, there won’t be a place for us in this industry, or even this city.” The words I wanted to say died in my throat. Through the massive floor-to-ceiling window, I could see her standing outside, poised and regal. She was a world away from the Ava I had known. She wasn’t my love. I repeated it to myself like a mantra. But when the door opened again and she stepped back inside, my body moved on its own. I reached out and grabbed her arm. “Miss Thorne, you look so much like… an old friend of mine.” She pulled her arm free, her eyes dropping to mine, filled with a chilling condescension. “Mr. Shaw, that pickup line was outdated ten years ago.” A wave of laughter rippled through the room, mocking my clumsy attempt, my utter foolishness. My agent quickly stepped in front of me, bowing to her. “I’m so sorry, Miss Thorne. My client has had a bit too much to drink tonight.” He raised his glass. “I hope we still have the opportunity to work together in the future.” He drained the glass in one go. Others at the table started making excuses for me, trying to smooth things over. Miss Thorne didn’t deign to reply. She simply walked back to her seat, picked up her handbag, and headed for the door. “My mother is expecting me home. Goodnight.” I watched her back until she disappeared from view, then finally closed the door. The party broke up soon after. I walked out of the restaurant and looked at the glittering skyline. I remembered when I was just a broke kid, walking this same riverfront with Ava in my arms. “When I make it big,” I’d told her, “I’m going to propose to you right here.” The memory was so vivid it hurt. “Liam, should I take you back to the apartment?” I tore my eyes from the view and nodded to my agent. Half an hour later, I was back in the shoebox. No one would ever believe that the reigning king of the silver screen lived in a space smaller than a hundred square feet. But this place held every memory I had of Ava. I couldn’t bear to lose this last connection to her. I had bought the entire floor, renovating every apartment except this one, leaving it exactly as it had been. The photo of Ava and me on the wall was faded and yellowing. I walked over and gently smoothed down a corner that had begun to curl. “Ava, I’m home.” I still remembered how she’d made me promise to greet her every time I came back. For a second, I could almost hear her excited reply. “Look who’s home, our future superstar!” A smile touched my lips. I leaned in to kiss her image on the photo, but my hand accidentally hit the light switch beside it. The room flooded with harsh, sudden light. And just like that, my Ava vanished. The glare was so bright it made my eyes water. “Ava,” I whispered to the photograph, a painful tightness gripping my chest. “I saw someone today who looked just like you. So much like you, I almost ran up and held her.” But I hadn’t. Because I knew my Ava was never coming back. The fire three years ago had burned her life, and my heart, to ashes. From the street below, I could hear the happy sounds of a family. I watched them, a perfect picture of the life Ava and I should have had. It was like waking from a dream. How could I be so foolish as to give up everything to join her? I had the power now. I could give her a better life, even in death. I would take her ashes and travel the world. I’d walk the equator and see the northern lights. I would visit every temple, every sacred place, and pray for her, accumulating merit for her next life. My phone buzzed repeatedly. My agent was sending me script after script. I tapped out a single reply. I’m retiring. My phone exploded with frantic calls and texts. I blocked his number and began to pack. I carefully placed the last photo of Ava in my bag. I switched off the light in the shoebox apartment and dragged my suitcase to the door. But just as I was about to open it, there was a frantic knocking from the other side. I opened the door, and a familiar figure stumbled into my arms. It was Miss Thorne. She reeked of alcohol, her face flushed an unnatural red. I had no idea why she was like this, or how she had found me here. The heavy slam of the door behind her snapped me back to reality. I tried to push her away, but she threw me back onto the sofa with surprising strength. “Miss Thorne!” The rest of my words were swallowed as her lips crashed down on mine. What happened next was a blur, with Miss Thorne in complete control. Her mouth was on mine as she tore at my clothes. In the pale moonlight filtering through the window, her face merged completely with Ava’s. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I flipped her over, pressing her into the cushions. “Liam… Liam…” she gasped, her voice thick with pleasure. The sound sent a shockwave through me. In the final, desperate moments, I gritted my teeth and cried out the name that had haunted my soul. “Ava!” Her eyes were wide and unfocused as she stared up at me. We moved together, again and again, as if we could never get enough. Finally, exhausted, we collapsed into sleep. The next morning, I woke up on the sofa. I was alone. I shot upright. My clothes were neatly folded on a chair, and the shoebox apartment was clean and tidy. It was as if the whole thing had been a fever dream. No. It couldn’t have been a dream. The searing heat of her skin, the raw passion of our encounter, the familiar curves of her body. It wasn’t a dream. She was Ava. At that thought, my long-dormant heart began to hammer against my ribs. My hands shook as I unblocked my agent, intending to ask for Miss Thorne’s number. Instead, I saw a string of pathetic, pleading emojis from him. “Boss, I know you’ve just been holding on by a thread these past few years.” “I promise, just shoot this one reality show, and I’ll get you a long vacation.” Attached was a presentation for the show. A competitive acting program. They wanted me as a judge. There were four other judges listed. One of them was Miss Thorne. Ava Thorne. Seeing her name in print, I almost laughed out loud. I dialed my agent’s number. Before he could speak, I cut him off. “I’ll do it. I’ll do the show.” On the other end of the line, he sounded like he was about to weep with joy. “Boss, you just saved my life!” It turned out the company had already signed the contract. I mumbled a few placating words and hung up. The details from her bio in the presentation flashed in my mind. Why had she lied to me? Why did she pretend not to know me now? Was there any chance for us? The questions swirled in my head. On the first day of filming, I was determined to get answers. But when I arrived, I saw her standing beside a handsome, distinguished-looking man. They were close, sitting together for their pre-show interview. “Commissioner Vance, are you participating in this show just to be with Miss Thorne?” the interviewer asked. The man, Marcus Vance, turned to her, his smile radiating pure adoration. “Of course.” A chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” went through the crew. “I can’t believe the city’s Deputy Police Commissioner would lower himself to be a reality show judge, even for the woman he loves.” “It’s no surprise! Commissioner Vance goes wherever Miss Thorne goes. They’re definitely a couple!” “The righteous commissioner and the ice queen CEO? I am so shipping this!” I stood to the side, watching them, feeling my heart plummet into a dark abyss. Just two days ago, she had been in my arms. Now, she was at another man’s side. I numbly went through my own interview and retreated to my hotel room. I tossed and turned for hours before finally giving in to the overwhelming need to see her. I walked to her door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked. “Ava, it’s me.” I heard a rustling inside and quickly straightened my collar. The door opened. I kept my head down, the words I’d been rehearsing tumbling out. “Ava, I don’t know why you lied to me, or why you’re pretending not to know me now. But I need you to know, I’ve missed you every single day for the past three years. I never forgot you for a second. Can we please… can we try again?” I waited. The silence stretched. It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Instead, a strange man’s voice replied. “You are… Liam Shaw?” I snapped my head up and saw Marcus Vance standing in the doorway. My heartfelt confession had been delivered to the wrong audience. My lips moved, but no sound came out. I could only stand there, mortified, clutching the chain around my neck. It was the necklace Ava and I had shared, our pledge to each other. I’d worn it every day since she died. Just then, Ava emerged from the balcony. A flash of surprise crossed her face when she saw me, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance. “Mr. Shaw, I believe I made myself clear the other day,” she said, her voice like ice. “Why are you still harassing me?” Harassing. So that’s what this was to her. A wave of grief and anger washed over me. “Ava, this isn’t harassment,” I said through gritted teeth. “Have you forgotten? Have you forgotten how happy we were three years ago?” “Just two nights ago, you came to my apartment, we…” “Enough!” she snapped. “Mr. Shaw, I’ve only met you once. I don’t know what past you’re talking about. If you don’t leave now, I’m calling the police.” She pulled out her phone and started dialing, right in front of me. Marcus Vance stepped forward. “Mr. Shaw,” he said, his tone a calm warning. “I don’t know what’s between you and Ava. But I’m sure you don’t want tomorrow’s headlines to be about you.” I stood frozen in the doorway, my fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. The sharp pain was a distant echo of the agony in my heart. The phone began to ring. I forced myself to take a step back, clearing the doorway. Ava immediately hung up. “See? Was that so hard? You always force me to be cruel.” She took Marcus’s arm and slammed the door in my face. Her every word, every action, screamed that she was not the Ava I knew. The closed door was a blade, slicing the past from the present. I stood there for a long time, until my hands and feet were numb, then slowly, mechanically, walked back to my room. The next day, the producers organized a “get-to-know-you” hot pot dinner. I arrived on time with the others. We waited half an hour for Ava and Marcus. They walked in arm-in-arm, looking for all the world like a couple in love. I gripped my chopsticks, mechanically dropping vegetables into the bubbling pot. “Miss Thorne, Commissioner Vance, you two are inseparable,” one of the producers teased. “Are we going to be hearing wedding bells soon?” They didn’t answer, just started serving themselves. The dinner was a cheerful affair for everyone else. Marcus repeatedly filled Ava’s plate. Ava, in turn, acted like any doting girlfriend, wiping his brow and rinsing his food in a bowl of water to cool it down. “Marcus can’t handle spicy food,” she told the table. “Make sure to leave some things for the plain broth.” Her solicitous words were like needles in my heart. That tender care had once been reserved for me. I hated cilantro, and she would painstakingly pick every last speck of it out of my noodle soup. Now, all her gentleness was for another man. The beef in my bowl tasted like ash. I lowered my head and forced myself to eat. Ssss! A searing pain shot up my arm. I looked down. My entire forearm was covered in angry red blisters. “I’m so sorry, so sorry!” a young waiter babbled, dabbing at my arm with a wet cloth. The crew rushed over. “That’s a bad burn! We need to get you to a hospital!” They helped me up and led me out. Through it all, Ava never once glanced in my direction. It was as if the injured man was a complete stranger to her. A profound sense of powerlessness crushed me. I started to wonder if I had been wrong all along. Maybe this Ava wasn’t my Ava. Maybe they just shared a name and a face. Or maybe she had grown tired of me and faked her death to escape. But how could I give up on the hope I had waited three years for? I took off the necklace from around my neck, rubbing the familiar pendant between my fingers. One last time, I told myself. I have to try one last time. After my arm was treated, I returned to the hotel. With the desperation of a moth drawn to a flame, I clutched the necklace and knocked on her door again. It opened quickly. When she saw it was me, a look of utter disgust crossed her face. She started to close the door. I blocked it with my foot, holding out the necklace like a holy relic. “Ava, look. Our pledge. I still have it.” I expected a flicker of emotion, of recognition. Instead, she gave a cold, dismissive laugh and slapped my hand away. The necklace flew from my grasp and shattered on the hard floor. In that moment, I heard my own heart shatter along with it. I dropped to my knees, scrambling to gather the broken pieces. I tried desperately to fit them back together, but it was impossible. “Mr. Shaw. How much was it? I’ll pay you for it.” So that’s all it was to her. Just an object. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, slowly collecting every last fragment into my pocket. When I had them all, I shakily got to my feet and met her indifferent gaze. “It wasn’t worth much, Miss Thorne. You don’t have to pay.” I heard my own voice, trembling but defiant. “I won’t bother you again.” I didn’t wait to see her reaction. I turned and walked away. I heard the door click shut behind me. A bitter laugh escaped me. She was probably celebrating with Marcus right now, finally free of the pathetic dog who kept chasing her. The truth didn’t matter anymore. Whether we could be together didn’t matter. In that moment, I knew with absolute clarity: my Ava was well and truly gone. My eyes burned, and my heart pounded against my ribs as if it would burst. I broke into a run, storming into the production studio. “I’m quitting the show,” I announced to the stunned directors. “Mr. Shaw, we were negligent about what happened yesterday, but surely it’s not enough to quit over!” “Yes, your injury was our fault! We’ll pay you double the compensation, as per your contract.” I looked at each of them, my voice firm. “I’m quitting.” Seeing they couldn’t persuade me, the director tried a different tactic. “If you break contract before the halfway point, the penalty is three times the fee.” I nodded. “I know. My agent will handle the payment. I won’t default.” With that, I turned and left. Back at the hotel, I packed my bags. At three in the morning, I called my agent. “I’ve spoken to the directors. I’m leaving the show, effective today. Settle the penalty with them, let me know the final amount, and I’ll wire it to you.” He groaned on the other end of the line. “Liam, my dear, sweet, superstar client! You promised you’d do the show! Why are you quitting now? Did someone upset you? Tell me, I’ll handle it.” I was silent for a long moment. “Before I agreed to this,” I asked quietly, “did you already know Ava Thorne was going to be on it?” He let out a long, weary sigh. “I knew it.” He mumbled something, then cleared his throat. “Liam, we’ve worked together for three years. I know you can’t let your ex-girlfriend go. But her death certificate is black and white. She’s been gone for three years. It’s time to move on!” But I couldn’t. She was still in my dreams every night.

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I lost Ethan. I lost him in the summer of our seventh year. Even when I coughed up blood, he didn’t panic like he used to. Standing outside the clinic, I sent him a message: “Ethan, my throat’s been acting up. Can you take me to the hospital?” His reply was instant. “Your pharyngitis cleared up ages ago.” “Lina, stop faking it.” A coppery tang flooded my throat. I typed back, my fingers trembling slightly. “It’s just a check-up.” A humorless laugh came through in his next text. “Fine. You want to wait? Wait.” So I waited, perched on a plastic chair at the clinic’s entrance, obedient as ever. I waited for a very, very long time. Long enough for the crimson stain to blossom and spread across my palm. Ethan never came. 1 I never imagined I would die so unceremoniously, slumped on a chair outside a small clinic on the south side of town. Before my eyes closed for the last time, all I felt was an overwhelming exhaustion. I just needed to rest for a little while, I told myself. Just a little while, and then I would see Ethan. I pictured him standing before me, scolding me for not taking my medication, for messing around in a place like this. As my vision blurred, I mentally rehearsed the excuses I’d give for needing him. Because you were always the one who took me to my appointments. Because my insurance card is still in your drawer. Because if the doctor asks about my tonsillectomy from when I was a kid, you remember the details better than I do. Yes, those were the reasons. It had nothing to do with how desperately I missed him. Nothing at all. When I opened my eyes again, the world was askew. I saw my own body, limp and twisted in the faded plastic chair. My head was lolled back against the wall, eyelashes resting still and quiet on my cheeks, as if I were in a deep, peaceful sleep. A sudden vibration. My phone, which had been resting on my lap, slid to the ground. Instinctively, I reached for it, but my hand passed right through, grasping at nothing but air. I stared at my translucent fingertips. Slowly, sluggishly, the truth dawned. I was dead. I had died quietly, invisibly, at the entrance of a bustling clinic. Died in the time I had spent waiting for Ethan to come for me. The phone screen lit up, displaying a message from Ethan, sent just a minute ago. 【Still there?】 【Guess you’re not sick after all.】 【Lina. You lied to me again.】 I didn’t lie. My voice was silent, a ghost’s whisper. It really did hurt. I’d had chronic pharyngitis since I was a child, and had my tonsils removed at sixteen. But for the past six months, a persistent lump had formed in my throat, and sometimes, I’d cough up streaks of blood. Before… before that happened, Ethan would have been a wreck with worry. He would have rushed me to the hospital without a second thought. But he didn’t trust me anymore. He was convinced I was a manipulative liar who would do anything to get what I wanted. Because I’d always been frail, Ethan had stepped into a parental role when he turned twenty. He was meticulous, strict, and flawlessly attentive. He worried if I was cold, if I was catching a chill. He personally checked the temperature of my water and measured every dose of my medicine. A single cough, a clearing of my throat, and he would be at my side, his brow furrowed with concern. I basked in his attention, his care. I would cling to him, declaring childishly, “I’m never going to date anyone.” Then I’d tighten my grip on his arm, shaking it for emphasis. “And you’re not allowed to either, Ethan! You have to stay with me forever!” He would just chuckle and flick my forehead gently. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he’d say, his voice soft, never truly sharp. Then, seeing my pout, he’d quickly add, “Alright, alright. I’ll wait until you find a boyfriend. How about that?” I’d fall silent, just gazing up at him, wishing that time could freeze forever, yet simultaneously hoping for something to change. Change did come, but it was nothing like I had imagined. I should have looked at him longer back then, I thought, staring at my own corpse. I never even got to see him one last time. People milled past, their gazes sliding over me without a second glance. A girl sleeping outside a clinic was nothing out of the ordinary. Just as that thought crossed my mind, I saw a tiny hand reach down and pick up my phone. 2 It was the little girl who had been sitting next to me earlier. While I was still lucid, we had chatted for a bit, even trading nicknames. She called me “Pretty Lady,” and I called her “Sweetie.” Sweetie stared at the lit-up screen, her small brow furrowed as she tried to decipher the words. At only six years old, she couldn’t read much. After a moment of concentration, she looked at me, her big eyes full of innocent concern. Carefully, so as not to wake me, she placed the phone back in my hand. “Pretty Lady,” she whispered, “you dropped your phone. You should hold it tight.” When I didn’t respond, she scurried back to her mother. A few minutes later, the phone buzzed again. Another message from Ethan. 【I’m at City General Hospital now.】 【If you want to come, take a cab yourself.】 But you told me to wait. Why did you leave? Are you not feeling well, Ethan? The thought sent my spectral form soaring into the air, and in an instant, I was at City General Hospital. I saw him immediately. He stood at the end of a long corridor, his back to me, clad in a crisp white coat as he spoke on the phone. Tall and lean as ever, he exuded an air of unshakeable calm. I drifted closer, planning to give him a little scare, when I heard him say, “The doctor is checking on Mindy now. It should be nothing serious, don’t worry.” Mindy? What is she doing here? The next second, the examination room door opened. Ethan hung up and walked over. “Everything okay?” he asked the person who emerged. “Ethan, the doctor said I’m fine,” Mindy replied, her brow knitted in a delicate frown as she clutched his sleeve. “But I still feel awful. Will you stay with me, please?” That little actress. She had to be faking it! I seethed, my ghostly fingers itching. I swooped forward to throttle her, but my hands passed straight through her neck. Standing between them, I saw the faintest hint of a smile touch Ethan’s lips. “Of course,” he said, his voice a gentle murmur. Ethan was striking. Tall and refined, with gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and eyes that held a cool distance. When silent, he seemed unapproachable, a man wrapped in his own world. But when he smiled at me, he became the warmest person on earth. He hadn’t smiled at me in a very long time. “However,” Ethan continued, the warmth in his expression fading slightly, “Lina will be here soon. I need to go with her for a check-up on her throat.” A flash of resentment flickered in Mindy’s eyes before vanishing. She forced a smile. “Ethan, you’re the kindest, most decent man I’ve ever met. Lina isn’t even your real sister, and after how she deceived you, you’re still so good to her.” Her words seemed to trigger a dark memory in Ethan. His face clouded over. “This is the last time,” he said, his voice low and firm. “If she tries to pull another stunt like this, I won’t see her again.” I floated in the sterile-smelling hallway. The hot summer wind gusted through the open window, passing right through me. Strange. Why did my throat still ache? “It really is the last time, Ethan,” I whispered to the empty air. “I won’t bother you anymore.” Because… I think I’m already gone. Mindy, satisfied with his answer, took his arm to lead him away. But before they could leave, Ethan’s phone rang. I drifted to his side as he answered. A woman’s voice came through the receiver. “Dr. Cole? Hello, do you have any news about Lina?” 3 “Lina isn’t my sister anymore.” Recognizing the voice, Ethan’s brow furrowed in irritation. “I hope you’ll stop using her as an excuse to contact my family.” The caller was my biological mother. Whether from the ravages of her illness or the weight of her guilt, she sounded defeated. After a long pause, she spoke again, her voice weak and choked with tears. “It was my fault. I was the one who lost my mind and swapped Lina with Mindy.” “But Lina is innocent. Can’t you… can’t you treat her like you used to?” It was a cliché straight out of a novel. I was the counterfeit daughter of the wealthy Cole family. Born frail and sickly, my birth mother feared I wouldn’t survive, so she secretly switched me with the Coles’ healthy newborn. It wasn’t until she was diagnosed with terminal kidney failure that she confessed the truth. She had dragged Mindy to the gates of the Cole family mansion, kneeling and sobbing. “I was wrong! And now I’m paying for it, I’m dying! I’ve brought Mindy back to you. Please… please just let me see Lina. She’s my real daughter!” But when she finally saw me, her words were not of apology. “The Coles cured your illness, so you didn’t lose out,” she’d said. “You enjoyed twenty years of their fortune. It’s Mindy’s turn now.” I wasn’t hurt, not really. She was telling the truth. The second night after Mindy moved in, she came to my room, feigning reconciliation. She promised she would beg our parents to let me stay. Foolishly, I blushed and confessed, “I want to stay too, but… I don’t want to be Ethan’s sister anymore.” And so, I confessed to Ethan. I told him I was both heartbroken and relieved. I told him I had realized long ago that my feelings for him were far from familial. I told him I wanted to be with him forever. I watched him, my heart pounding with a mix of terror and hope, and saw only cold disappointment in his eyes. “Hah,” he scoffed. “With me forever?” “You mean you want to stay in the Cole family forever, living a life of luxury.” He pulled a small voice recorder from his pocket. My own voice filled the air, speaking words from my conversation with Mindy the day before. But the meaning was twisted, warped. My voice: “I have a plan to stay.” My voice: “If I can get with Ethan, the Coles will never kick me out.” My voice: “I’ve been acting close to him for years. It’s finally time to use him.” The piercing wail of an ambulance from outside shattered my memory. An ER doctor hurried past me, bumping into Ethan by accident. He turned back. “Sorry, we’ve got a sudden death case coming in. Didn’t mean to run into you.” Ethan, momentarily startled, just shook his head. Then he spoke into the phone again, his voice dripping with venom. “You want me to treat her like I used to? You want me to watch her play the victim, feign innocence, and let her use me?” He let out a cold laugh. “Base instincts really must be genetic. Otherwise, how could she think of confessing to her own brother?” From the other end of the line, a nurse’s voice could be heard faintly. “Bed 5, if you don’t pay the hospital fees, we’ll have to stop her medication…” Hearing this, Ethan’s eyes filled with derision. His suspicion hardened into certainty. “Lina didn’t come to me for a check-up,” he said, his tone absolute. “She came to get money for you, didn’t she?” He hung up without waiting for an answer. His fingers flew across his phone screen. He typed: 【Lina, don’t bother coming.】 【You won’t get a single cent from me.】 I wasn’t there for your money. I’ll never ask you for money again. Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, I recoiled, my spectral form drifting back. I needed to put some distance between us. Because I could feel it, a palpable thing in the air. He truly despised me. And so he painted me as the villain in his mind. “She’s not coming. Let’s go.” Receiving no reply from me, Ethan strode out of the building, a storm cloud of anger around him. As he got into the car, the ambulance screamed past, screeching to a halt at the hospital entrance. A gurney, covered by a stark white sheet, was wheeled inside. Ethan glanced at it in the rearview mirror, then quickly looked away. The Audi began to move, but just as it reached the hospital gates, the driver stopped. Someone was knocking on the rear window. Ethan lowered it to see the same ER doctor who had bumped into him earlier. “Can I help you?” Ethan asked. 4 “Sorry about this, but is this yours?” The doctor held out a single stethoscope earpiece. Matte silver wrapped around soft, fine-grained silicone. It was the birthday gift I had given Ethan last year. He recognized it instantly. “Yes, it is,” he said, taking it. “Must have gotten snagged on my coat when I bumped into you,” the doctor apologized. “Just found it in my pocket.” Ethan closed his hand around the earpiece, nodded his thanks, and raised the window. The Audi pulled away from the curb. During the ride, Mindy chattered on, but Ethan was mostly silent, offering only brief, monosyllabic replies. The hand clutching the earpiece never opened. I sat on the far side of the car, looking past the incessantly talking Mindy at Ethan’s profile. I wondered if he was remembering his birthday last year. The earpieces were custom-designed by a famous medical equipment artisan, and the price was astronomical. I wanted to buy them with my own money. For six months leading up to his birthday, I had taken on countless translation projects, working day and night until I had finally saved enough. At the stroke of midnight, I tiptoed into his room. He was hunched over his desk, writing his thesis, a frown on his face. The moment he saw me, the frown vanished, replaced by a warm smile. “Serious face,” I commanded playfully. “No smiling.” Then I ordered him to close his eyes. He complied, though the corners of his mouth still curved upward, refusing to be tamed. The room fell silent. Gazing at his handsome face, I was mesmerized. A roaring filled my ears—was it his heartbeat, or mine? “Lina?” he murmured, perhaps growing impatient. Flustered, I thrust the velvet box into his view. “You can open your eyes now.” He opened the box, and his eyes lit up with genuine surprise. “Help me put them on,” he said with a grin. I took out the earpieces, my fingertips trembling. Overwhelmed, I shoved them into his hands, mumbled, “Happy birthday,” and fled from his room. Back in my bed, my mind replayed the scene frame by frame, agonizing over whether I had given myself away, whether I had seemed too immature. A soft knock came at my door. Ethan came in and gently pulled me out from under the covers. “Why’d you run?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. I looked up at him, wanting to say, You have no idea, but the words wouldn’t come. He handed me a large gift box. Inside was a complete set of rare, out-of-print medical texts I had been dreaming of, along with an antique fountain pen. Either gift was worth far more than the earpieces. Outside the window, the summer night air of the city drifted in, carrying the sweet, delicate fragrance of jasmine. It wrapped around me, filling my lungs. “Do you like it?” Ethan asked, playfully mussing my hair. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks as he looked at me, his gaze pure and completely open. “I love it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. The Audi drove through the long, tree-lined driveway of the Cole estate and stopped at the front door. Our mother came out to greet them. “How was it? Is Mindy okay?” she asked with concern. Ethan assured her she was fine. Mindy pulled her usual act, hugging Mom and whining that she still felt unwell. Mom, looking slightly uncomfortable, offered a few words of comfort before sending her to her room. Noticing Mom’s own troubled expression, Ethan asked, “Mom, are you feeling alright?” She pressed a hand to her chest, her brow furrowed. “Mindy is fine, but… why do I feel so anxious? I have this terrible feeling. Do you think… do you think something’s happened to Lina? The place she’s staying now is probably damp; that’s terrible for her throat. Please, Ethan, will you go bring her home?” 5 Ethan managed a small smile. “What could happen to her? She’s always been so dramatic. The slightest ache and she acts like the world is ending, just so we’ll all fuss over her. Besides, her pharyngitis was cured a long time ago.” Mom gently shook her head, her worry undiminished. “You were with Lina after her surgery, so you didn’t hear what the doctor told us when she was discharged.” “He said that a successful childhood surgery doesn’t guarantee there won’t be problems later in life. Many children with chronic pharyngitis need regular check-ups as adults to screen for cancer.” Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t see the way Ethan’s expression froze. “Lina has always been a clever girl,” Mom continued. “When she’s feeling fine, she’s mischievous, always making us laugh to put our minds at ease. But when she’s really not well, she becomes so quiet, so obedient.” “I don’t know if you remember, but there was a time she coughed up blood at school. I was terrified. I rushed to the hospital and asked her why on earth she went to school when she was so sick. Do you know what she said?” Tears welled in Mom’s eyes as she looked at Ethan. “That child told me she knew her illness was a lot of trouble, that she might even die from it. And if she was going to die, she hoped it would happen somewhere far away, not at home. That way, we wouldn’t be so sad, and we wouldn’t be afraid to come home…” A sob escaped her. “Such a silly child,” she whispered, “talking about herself like a little stray kitten nobody wanted.” I hovered in the air, wishing I could hug my mother, to wipe away her tears. But I couldn’t. I really had died far from home. Just like a little stray kitten. As much as I disliked Mindy, I couldn’t help but envy her. She had such wonderful birth parents, such a wonderful brother. Even her adoptive mother cared for her so deeply, willing to risk prison just to secure her future. Ethan was silent for a long time, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “She took the bus downtown,” he said, his face grim. “She must have been coming to me for money.” Mom looked at him, astonished. “How could that be? Lina didn’t take the bank card or any of the jewelry we gave her when she left. Why would she come back to ask you for money?” A flicker of doubt crossed Ethan’s eyes, but his voice remained cold. “Her birth mother’s hospital fees ran out. They were about to stop her treatment.” “That’s because she’s being transferred to a better facility, so they didn’t renew the payment. Out of consideration for her raising Mindy, we’ve already prepaid a substantial medical fund for her at the new hospital.” The color drained from Ethan’s face. “Is that true?” “It’s true!” Mom said, a faint smile returning. “Quick, call Lina. Ask her where she is. Tell her that Dad and I are waiting for her at home.” I looked at my mother’s face, feeling a strange mix of fortune and sorrow. My mother was so good. If only I hadn’t died… Ethan took out his phone and finally dialed my number. As I listened to the monotonous ringing, I thought numbly, No one’s ever going to answer that again. But then, to my utter shock, the call was picked up. 6 The other end of the line was filled with muffled background noise, but no one spoke. “Lina, why didn’t you answer my texts?!” Ethan snapped, his patience gone. A soft gasp came from the other side, as if he had startled someone. After a two-second pause, a small, childish voice asked, “Are you the person the Pretty Lady was waiting for?” Ethan was taken aback. He softened his tone. “Who is this?” “I’m Sweetie!” He sighed, exasperated. “Listen carefully,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “Can you please put the owner of the phone on?” “Umm…” Sweetie sounded hesitant. In a tiny whisper, she confided, “But the Pretty Lady is asleep. She seems really, really tired, so she’s been sleeping for a long, long time. Mommy says good kids don’t wake people up when they’re sleeping.” An involuntary, frustrated smile tugged at Ethan’s lips. “Alright,” he said, his voice low. “When she wakes up, tell her to stay right where she is. I’m coming to get her.” “Who are you?” Sweetie asked. “Are you the one she was waiting for?” “Yes,” Ethan confirmed. “Nuh-uh,” the little girl said doubtfully. “The Pretty Lady said she was waiting for her brother. She said her brother is super nice and treats her the best, and that he’s the best brother in the whole world.” She added in a smaller voice, “But… you were really mean just now.” You don’t sound like the person she described at all. Ethan froze. A beat passed. “I’m sorry,” he said. After he hung up, Mom chided him gently. “You made Lina wait so long she fell asleep?” Ethan’s stern mask immediately slipped back on. “She needed to learn a lesson. Otherwise, she’ll just keep lying.” Mom looked at him, her expression troubled. “Lina has been the apple of your eye since she was a child. Why have you become so strict with her? Is it just because she’s not your biological sister?” Ethan didn’t answer, only shaking his head. “You’re a deep thinker, Ethan,” Mom continued. “You’re usually so detached. The only people who can make you angry are the ones you truly care about. But Lina is sensitive. Don’t break her heart.” Was my heart broken? A little, I suppose. When Ethan accused me of faking, of lying, of only being there for money, my throat had seized with a sharp, violent pain. Mom didn’t know about my confession to Ethan, so she couldn’t understand the real reason for his anger. How could it be because he cared? How could anyone be so cruel to someone they cared about? I still couldn’t understand it. As Ethan left the house, the sky opened up and a heavy rain began to fall. The streets were gridlocked. The Audi crawled through the traffic, starting and stopping. Ethan rolled down the window twice to check the situation, restraining the urge to hurry the driver. I sat in the passenger seat, not beside him like I used to, but as a ghost, separate and distant. As we neared the clinic, Ethan took out his phone again. 【Can you walk to the entrance?】 A moment later, he sent another message. 【Never mind. Stay put and wait for me. Don’t move.】 By the time the car was parked, he still hadn’t received a reply. He got out of the car, his face a thunderous mask. He walked towards the clinic, muttering under his breath, “Lina, you’ve certainly grown a temper.” “Just wait until I—” But the words died on his lips. His gaze locked onto something, and he froze.

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I caught my husband and my best friend in the act. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just coolly dropped a single line: “He’s all yours now.” My friends praised my composure, my ability to let go. They said I was like a badass heroine from a power-fantasy novel, brought to life. But my story didn’t end like a power fantasy. After a brief storm of public opinion, the two of them simply got married. The next year, my ex-best-friend gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. My ex-husband’s startup took off, making him fabulously successful. They became the picture-perfect family everyone envied. And me? Shortly after the divorce, the emotional backlash hit me like a tidal wave. I was incinerated by the trauma of betrayal and the acid of humiliation. My faith that good is rewarded and evil is punished collapsed, and from then on, my career and love life withered. My life hit rock bottom. In a daze of prolonged despair, I was hit by a car while crossing the street. As I lay dying, my ex-best-friend came to see me. Her expression was a mixture of pity and wistful reflection. “I always knew you saw yourself as the bigger person, the ‘main character,’” she said. “That’s why I arranged for you to walk in on us that day…” I died drowning in regret and indignation. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the scene of the crime. 1 I was lying in the emergency room, my life fading away. A moment ago, the doctor had delivered the grim news: my injuries were too severe. There was nothing more they could do. So this is it, I thought dimly. Then, the soft click-clack of high heels approached. Beth walked in. She was dressed in expensive clothes, her skin glowing and full, looking even younger than she had eight years ago when I’d caught her in my bed. She looked at me with a sorrowful, pitying gaze. “Stella, I never thought you’d end up like this.” “Fate is a strange thing, isn’t it? After all this time, I’m the one to see you off… Since we have a few minutes, let’s call it a confession, just between us.” I didn’t know why she was here. I tried to turn my head away, too tired to even look at her. But I couldn’t move. I was dying. Beth sat down by my bed and sighed dramatically. “I fell in love with Marc the moment I saw him,” she began. “But for years, all I could do was watch you two date, get married, watch your life get better and better than mine. A bracelet you bought on a whim was my entire month’s salary. I couldn’t understand it. We came from similar families, had similar educations, similar looks. Why? Just because you arrived at that coffee shop ten minutes before I did, Marc fell for you and not me?” “So I decided to correct fate myself.” “I found a way to sleep with him, but when he woke up, he was filled with regret. He actually offered me money to keep it a secret from you. And even though he couldn’t resist sleeping with me a second, then a third time, he was filled with remorse every single time.” She chuckled softly. “That just wouldn’t do, would it?” “I know you always prided yourself on your ‘main character’ energy. You always said that if your husband cheated, you wouldn’t scream and cry like other women. You’d divorce him immediately and never look back. So, I begged Marc to be with me one last time, and I… deliberately made sure you’d walk in on us.” I stared at her, my mind reeling in disbelief. After the divorce, I quickly discovered that the cool, collected demeanor of a ‘heroine’ was fleeting. The emotional backlash hit hard, and I was tormented day and night by the trauma of being betrayed by the two people closest to me, and the crushing social shame. Later, watching them get married, have children, and build a successful business, their lives flourishing while mine crumbled, was a special kind of torture. Because I no longer trusted in love, I couldn’t continue my work as a wedding designer, let alone start a new relationship. The contrast plunged me into a spiral of anxiety, self-loathing, and a shattered belief system. Every day was a fire in my gut, every night sleepless. I thought I was just unlucky, that I was weak. I even despised myself for my inability to recover. I never imagined it was all part of a calculated plot. “So thank you, Stella! You didn’t disappoint me. Your pride and composure gave us the dignity we needed. That’s why Marc and I were able to bounce back so quickly.” “Of course, I should thank myself most of all. I did so much, after all. Imitating your tone and mannerisms for Marc, paying people to get you fired from job after job, and—” She paused, a sly smile spreading across her face. “Going to an international sperm bank ahead of time, picking a donor who looked like Marc, and getting pregnant with twins…” My weak body had no strength left. But her words made my eyes fly open. After I had divorced him so cleanly, Marc had still refused to let go. He had knelt before me, crying that he only loved me, begging for another chance, swearing he would never see Beth again. Until Beth told him she was pregnant with his child… “Anyway, over the next few years, especially after our two beautiful babies were born, Marc became better and better to me. He really, truly fell in love with me!” “Stella, I finally have your life. I changed my own destiny with my own two hands. My only regret was that no one knew. Thank heavens for giving me this chance to tell you everything before you die. Stella, for my honesty, I hope you won’t hold it against me in the afterlife. Rest in peace.” She rose gracefully, her face beaming with triumphant satisfaction. “Oh, right. You must be wondering how I ended up here?” “My favorite patisserie closes at nine, and my driver was rushing so I wouldn’t be disappointed. I hope you won’t blame him either. It was an accident. He’ll probably be quite traumatized by this. Of course, I’ll provide you with legal and reasonable compensation. After all, whatever the amount, hah, it’s probably less than the cost of one of my handbags.” “It’s just…” She tilted her head, feigning a dilemma. “You’re all alone now. No family, no one. Who do I even pay the compensation to?” She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips, and walked out, the click-clack of her heels echoing down the hall. My soul screamed as my eyes closed for the last time. … When I woke up, I was standing at the top of a staircase. Downstairs, I could hear the lively chatter of my friends. From inside the bedroom… Two naked bodies were tangled together, their passionate gasps and moans filling the air. I stood frozen for two seconds, then raised my hand and slapped myself across the face. It stung. Good. The sting was real. The next second, I gathered every ounce of strength in my body and shrieked: “YOU SHAMELESS—” “CHEATING SCUMBAGS!” 2 Two flushed, panting faces whipped around to look at me. The moment Marc saw me, his pupils shrank. A tremor went through him as he finished in a panicked rush. Beth let out a sharp gasp, then pulled the covers over both of them. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Stella, wait, don’t do anything rash!” “It’s all my fault! I seduced Marc! Don’t blame him! If you want to hit someone, hit me!” Last time, Beth had said the exact same thing. Back then, I was a successful wedding designer with a happy marriage. For me, love and marriage had to be flawless. If a man was tainted, if his heart had strayed, he was worthless. So, despite my fury, disappointment, and disgust, I had acted like the heroine in a novel. I’d given them a look of pure contempt and coldly tossed out, “He’s all yours now.” I hadn’t even entered the room. I’d just turned and walked away. Now, Beth’s eyes darted towards me, clearly anticipating the same reaction. But this time, I launched myself into the room. First, I grabbed the water kettle from the nightstand and hurled it at Marc’s face. After a dull thud, hot water splashed over him, and he screamed, clutching his head. Simultaneously, with the agility of a monkey, I scrambled to Beth’s side of the bed. My left foot kicked the pile of clothes on the floor under the bed, while my right foot braced against the mattress. With both hands, I grabbed a fistful of Beth’s long hair and yanked with all my might. It was her prized, meticulously cared-for hair. Thick, long, and perfect for getting a good grip. She started this. She would be the first to pay. I twisted my wrist, wrapping her hair tighter, and then, looking at her still-flushed face, I slapped her. Smack, smack, smack, ten times in a row. When one hand started to ache, I switched to the other and delivered ten more. The series of actions was seamless, as if genetically encoded in my very being. Beth was half-dangling off the bed, her earlier seductiveness gone, replaced by a wide-eyed terror as she stared up at me. A continuous, sputtering sound escaped her lips, like a deflating balloon. On so many nights, consumed by the emotional fallout, I had endlessly regretted walking away. Why hadn’t I made them face public humiliation right then and there? Why hadn’t I broadcast their filthy affair to the world? After countless mental rehearsals, I’d concluded that nothing was more satisfying than slapping faces and pulling hair. So, when the sounds of my screaming drew everyone from downstairs, this was the scene that greeted them— I was pulling Beth’s hair like I was in a tug-of-war. Beth, being naked, was desperately clutching the blanket. And Marc, one hand covering his blistering face, was instinctively grabbing the other end of the blanket to cover himself. The three of us were locked in a bizarre, undignified stalemate. Our friends stood at the door, their jaws on the floor. We had all planned a weekend getaway at a rental cabin. I had a last-minute work thing and was supposed to arrive the next day, but Beth had called to tell me Marc had too much to drink. So I’d changed my plans and rushed over. Now, Beth, suspended in mid-air, managed to mumble a plea for help through her swelling, pig-like face. “Help… help me!” No one moved. Disgust and contempt were written all over their faces. It wasn’t like this last time. They hadn’t seen the act itself, only pieced it together from our expressions and clipped words. Seeing it and not seeing it were two completely different things. The visual impact was a whole different beast. The level of disgust was off the charts. In fact, years later in my previous life, when Marc’s business took off and Beth became a wealthy socialite, some of these same people had even sighed in admiration: You two proved that true love conquers all! 3 “Stella, please… just calm down…” Marc’s voice trembled. His face and neck were beet red, the handsome features now covered in shiny, weeping blisters. Steam was literally rising from his hair. He looked like a boiled lobster. Years ago, Beth and I had planned to meet at a coffee shop. She was running late, so I opened my laptop to work on my thesis while I waited. Marc, sitting at the next table, had smiled and asked me: “Are you a design student, too?” Beth was ten minutes late. In those ten minutes, Marc and I became so engrossed in conversation that when she finally arrived, I didn’t even notice the way her eyes lit up when she saw him. Marc was an exhibition designer. Everyone saw him as a kind, gentle, talented man who was sensitive and soft-hearted. He was the type of person who always carried a small bag of cat food for the strays on the street. But his soft heart was his fatal flaw. In my past life, he had knelt before me, sobbing and confessing. He said Beth had gotten drunk one night and told him she’d been secretly in love with him for years, that she had even saved herself for him. She had cried and said she didn’t want a future, just one night. He’d refused her many times, until he found her attempting suicide. In a moment of weakness, he had given in. At the time, the story had filled me with such revulsion that all I wanted was to get as far away from those two as possible. I’d divorced him within a month, splitting our assets quickly and cleanly. Now, however, I only wished I had more than two hands, so I could dig my nails into his face and pop every single one of those blisters. But I couldn’t be hasty. This was Beth’s one big shot. If I let her get away, I might not get another. And Marc… Marc had to come home with me. “Calm down? How?” I snarled, glaring at him. His face flushed a deeper red. “Stella, please, just let her go. Let us get dressed, I’m begging you…” I laughed coldly. “You want to play the hero? Fine. Beth and I once swore an oath that if one of us ever betrayed the other, she would get thirty slaps. I’ve delivered twenty. I’m tired. You can deliver the last ten. Once you’re done, I’ll let her go.” Marc shook his head frantically. “Stella, that’s not what I—” “Do it,” Beth suddenly sobbed. “I seduced him! I drugged him! I’m the shameless, disgusting one! I’m the homewrecker! It has nothing to do with him! Just do it, my stomach… my back… I can’t hold on much longer!” Her voice was pathetic and helpless. It was partly an act for Marc’s benefit, but it was also true that she couldn’t hold that position for long. After all, she was currently pregnant with twins. Our friends were all crowded in the doorway, occasionally murmuring things like “Don’t be rash,” and “Let’s talk this out.” But no one intervened. They were all watching the show with rapt attention. I thought Marc would hesitate. He was, after all, a kind and soft-hearted man. But to my surprise, before Beth had even finished speaking, he shuffled over to her, still wrapped in the blanket. Then, the crisp sound of slapping echoed through the room. One of the slaps was a little too light. I narrowed my eyes, and Marc immediately hit harder. As blood trickled from her nose, Beth’s expression flickered with surprise and a hint of pain. But she had planned for this for a long time. She knew her goal. This was the price of admission. After the ten slaps were done, she managed to squeeze out a smile at the panting Marc from her swollen face. “I don’t blame you,” she mumbled, her words slurred, giving him the look of a tragic heroine being tormented by evil forces. But Marc turned his face away. A few seconds later, he looked at me, his eyes trembling. “Stella… is it enough?” My face was a blank mask. “Of course not. You put this disgusting green hat on my head. If I only punish the other woman and not you, people will think I’m one of those women who only takes it out on her own sex.” Marc immediately nodded, closing his eyes and tilting his face up. “Stella, just do it. I just want you to get your anger out. We can talk about everything else when we get home.” I looked at the increasingly translucent blisters on his face, imagining them popping and spraying God knows what. I changed my mind. I looked down at Beth. “You do it.” She looked shocked, then shook her head miserably. “No… no!” Marc suddenly roared, “Just do it! Get it over with! Anything is better than this!” So, in an awkward, contorted position, Beth began to slap him, her face a mask of sorrow. “Are you two flirting?” I asked. Marc gritted his teeth. “Harder!” When Beth pulled her hand back, I saw it was smeared with a sticky, opaque fluid. The grotesque scene finally ended with Marc and Beth, one wrapped in a blanket and the other in a bedsheet, crawling on the floor to retrieve their clothes from under the bed. My vengeance meter… finally filled up by a tenth. 4 The meltdown was just that—a meltdown. It was about letting out the rage I had suppressed last time for the sake of appearances. But I couldn’t spend this new life just losing my mind, could I? So what if I lost face? People would forget. Marc was an independent designer, respected in the art world for his talent and portfolio. An affair wouldn’t ruin him; it would just become another colorful story people told about him. I knew Marc better than anyone. The most important thing in his life was his career. In my previous life, he had secured angel investment from an arts-focused venture capital group. He’d founded his own company, become a multi-millionaire, and lived a glamorous life. And Beth had become a wealthy socialite right alongside him.

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After getting rejected by the campus belle, Seth hired me to be his sycophant. My job description included, but was not limited to, shamelessly fawning over him to restore his shattered male ego. Finally, the day came when the campus belle got jealous. I excitedly pulled up my payment QR code. “Money! Pay up!” Seth’s face darkened, and he snapped my phone in half. 1 The night Seth confessed his feelings to the campus belle was quite the spectacle. Rumor has it he worked three part-time jobs around the clock for three months to buy 999 roses. The result? The campus belle elegantly flicked her long hair and gently declined: “Seth, why do this? This kind of grand romantic gesture is clearly beyond your means. It doesn’t move me; it just makes me feel pressured.” That night, the school forum exploded: 【Who does that broke loser Seth think he is, even dreaming of the campus belle?】 【The campus belle is so beautiful and kind. She must be so annoyed by shameless poor guys like him, but she was still so polite!】 As evening fell, the crowd on the athletic field dispersed, leaving Seth’s solitary figure behind. He smoked for half an hour, then suddenly turned and kicked at the magnificent bouquet of rainbow-dyed Ecuadorian roses. “Dude, watch the flowers—” I yelled, waving my arms. Seth’s raised leg froze mid-air. He teetered for a moment before regaining his balance. He lifted his heavy eyelids and looked at me, his lips pressed into a thin line, saying nothing. I trotted over. “Hey, if you don’t want these flowers, can I have them?” Seth frowned in annoyance, turned, and walked away. A grin split my face. I took off my jacket and gathered the massive bouquet in my arms. Ignoring the thorns pricking my skin, I hauled the flowers to the night market next to the school. “The Rolls-Royce of roses, Ecuadorian rainbow roses! Freshly flown in from South Africa! Not 199, not 99, just 9 bucks a stem today! Come and get ’em!” I work part-time at a flower shop. I was the one who delivered Seth’s confession bouquet. 999 roses, at $199 a stem. My boss had offered Seth a discount. Seth refused. “My love doesn’t need a discount.” My boss was thrilled to have found such a sucker. He told me I could clock out after the delivery. Since the delivery was on campus, I decided to stick around and see who the lucky girl was. Unsurprisingly, it was the campus belle, Amelia Thorne. She’s been the campus goddess since freshman year—gentle, elegant, with a legion of male admirers. I had no idea Seth was one of them. I’d heard his name before. He was famous, mainly for his looks. He had the sharp, defined features and broad-shouldered, long-legged build of a comic book hero. Drop-dead gorgeous. But he was supposedly poor. Hence his nickname: the “Handsome Pauper.” But that afternoon, I’d seen him drop twenty grand at the flower shop without batting an eye. I had no idea what kind of part-time job paid that well in three months… or what it involved. It was Valentine’s Day, and the night market was bustling. Lots of girls were selling roses, but their ordinary red roses were no match for my luxury galaxy-themed bouquet. My phone kept chirping:【Venmo payment received: $9.】 It was the sweetest sound. I was in the middle of a transaction when Seth pulled up on his electric scooter. He put one long leg down, stopping right in front of my stall. His expression was unreadable. My phone chirped again:【Venmo payment received: $9.】 I panicked, wishing I could muffle the sound. Seth’s eyebrow twitched. He gave me a thumbs-up. “Impressive.” Then he got back on his scooter and rode off. 2 With less than a hundred roses left, Seth returned. This time, he wasn’t on his scooter. He was driving a flashy blue Aston Martin. The roar of the engine made my customers turn their heads. Seth beckoned to me. “Hey, you. Get in. I need to talk to you about something.” “I can’t,” I refused. “I haven’t sold all my flowers.” “I’ll buy the rest.” He scanned my QR code with his phone. 【Venmo payment received: $1,990.】 Holy crap! He really was the purest-bred sucker I’d ever met. Buying back the flowers he’d thrown away, at the original price. I gathered the remaining flowers and scrambled into his car like the good little lackey I was. Seth took me to a high-end, minimalist bar. “What’s your name?” he asked, fiddling with his car keys and glancing at me. “Lily Bell,” I answered. “Alright, Lily Bell. You need money? I’ve got a job for you. Interested?” “I don’t sell my body or my ‘talents’,” I said, crossing my arms. He scoffed. “You? Not my type.” Seth laid out his plan. Tonight’s public rejection had been a major blow to his pride. So, he wanted to hire me to be his fawning, sycophantic girlfriend. He wanted to get his dignity back. “Why me?” I asked. “You’re the most shameless girl I’ve ever met. You’re perfect for the job.” “If you’re so rich, why were you pretending to be poor?” A faint blush crept up his neck. “In high school, I got tired of all the attention. I just wanted to be a normal person.” But with his looks, “normal” was never an option. The “Handsome Pauper” title was born. And tonight’s confession had been the ultimate humiliation. “To hell with the ‘Handsome Pauper’!” Seth cursed. “Lily Bell, your job is to fawn over me as much as you can. You get paid per fawn. Five grand a month, base salary.” “We need a contract,” I said. “Done. It’s effective tonight.” 3 We signed a six-month contract. That night, I posted on my social media: 【Even my dreams smell like you~ Seth, won’t you please look at me?】 The picture was of me, holding the hundred-plus roses, looking utterly captivated. The scene of Seth’s confession had already been plastered all over the school forum. The sea of galaxy-themed roses was unforgettable. So, it didn’t take long for people to recognize the flowers as the ones Amelia had rejected. Someone screenshotted my post and put it on the forum. The comments were brutal: 【Seriously? Picking up someone else’s rejected flowers? Where’s your self-respect?】 【The sycophant’s sycophant. Lily Bell is officially at the bottom of the food chain.】 #Seth’sSycophantLilyBell went viral. None of it bothered me. I sent a screenshot to Seth. RedRose:【How’s that? Satisfied with the results?】 Seth immediately sent me a thousand dollars:【Not bad. Keep it up.】 RedRose:【Should I bring you breakfast tomorrow? I’ll be at your dorm at 6 a.m. sharp. I’ll make sure every guy there is jealous of you.】 Seth sent back a sparkling gold thumbs-up emoji. I smiled. This is what you call professional competence. 4 The next morning, I was waiting outside Seth’s dorm with an assortment of breakfast foods. Students passing by pointed and whispered: “Look, that’s the shameless Lily Bell.” “Wow, she’s here this early to bring Seth breakfast. What a suck-up.” I calmly took out my vocabulary app and started studying. Seth didn’t emerge until 7:50. I immediately plastered a huge smile on my face and rushed over. “Seth! I brought you breakfast! I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a little of everything.” Seth’s voice was icy. “Don’t do this again. I’m not interested in you.” My eyes immediately welled up. “Liking you is my decision. I don’t need you to respond.” The guys behind Seth looked like their eyes were about to pop out of their heads. “Damn! Seth’s got some serious game!” “Isn’t that Lily Bell the top student in the software engineering department? I heard she’s a campus beauty too. And she’s willing to throw herself at him like this.” Seth snatched the breakfast from my hands and tossed it to his friends. “It’s all yours.” “Thanks, Seth!” they cheered. Then, Seth and his entourage walked away, leaving me biting my lip, my gaze following him until he was out of sight. Once he was gone, I pulled out my phone. RedRose:【How was that? My acting skills are pretty good, right?】 Seth sent me five hundred dollars:【You deserve an Oscar.】 Seth:【I have an early class in Building One tomorrow. Save me a seat.】 RedRose:【You got it!】 After Seth had parked his luxury car on campus last night, his rich-kid status was undeniable. So, a new prefix was added to my title: Gold-Digging Sycophant. The next day, I went to Building One early and saved him a seat in the front row, center. Prime real estate. As I looked up, I saw Amelia Thorne, floating into the classroom in a white knit dress, looking ethereal. I think she glanced at me, but I’d just spilled soy milk on my pants and was busy wiping it off. Seth strolled in right as class was starting. I waved enthusiastically. He saw me, his expression unreadable, glanced behind him, and then reluctantly sat down. “Boss,” I chirped. He sent me the money, then gritted his teeth. “Lily Bell, I told you to save me a seat. You saved me a seat in the front row?” “Huh? Where did you want to sit?” I was confused. “The back row, you idiot.” “Does the back row even need saving?” “Of course it does!” He then ignored me. I thought for a moment, then poked his arm. “Boss, your goddess is sitting behind us.” Seth’s expression flickered. He shot me a look. “Quick, fawn over me!” Sycophant Lily, at your service. I stuck a straw in an unopened carton of soy milk and offered it to him. He reluctantly took a sip, then pushed me away with a cool air of indifference. I gave him a pathetic, wounded look, making sure the students in the back got a good view of my crestfallen profile. Then, I tore open a chocolate bar and tried to feed it to him. He just kept twirling his pen, ignoring me. I gently nudged his arm. Before Seth could say anything, the old professor at the front of the room exploded: “If you want to have a lovey-dovey moment, do it outside! Don’t disrupt my class!” The classroom erupted in laughter. I blushed and hung my head. The professor wasn’t done. “And you, young lady, I don’t believe you’re in this major, are you?” The next second, I covered my face and ran out of the classroom. The laughter grew louder. Someone even started banging on their desk. The whole fiasco was quickly posted on the school forum. 【Seriously, does Lily Bell have no shame? I’m embarrassed for her!】 【Seth’s Aston Martin is worth over seven hundred grand, and he’s so hot. Of course Lily Bell is going to cling to him for dear life.】 【Gold-digger! Sycophant!】 I sent a screenshot to Seth:【Boss, look, the results are amazing. And when I ran out, I saw the look on Amelia’s face. She was glaring at me. You know what that means? She totally regrets rejecting you. Boss, you’ve got a shot!】 A moment later, two thousand dollars appeared in my account:【Stay calm. Don’t get cocky. Pride comes before a fall.】 RedRose:【You’re so wise, boss!】 5 Saturday afternoon was the big basketball game. Seth was the star player. As a dedicated sycophant, I naturally had to perform my duties in public. I stood on the sidelines, holding a bubble tea, my face a mask of excitement. “Go, Seth, go!” Hearing me, Seth took off his baseball jacket, revealing his muscular biceps. I, along with all the other girls in the stands, let out a collective, star-struck shriek. Seth just smirked and tossed his jacket at me. It landed on my face. Besides the pleasant scent of his laundry detergent, there was something hard and sharp in his pocket that hit me right in the corner of my eye. Tears sprang to my eyes. My grip loosened, and the bubble tea spilled all over my chest. I was wearing a light blue shirt. The brown stain spread quickly, leaving a dark, embarrassing mark on my prominent chest. The referee blew the whistle, and the crowd cheered. The game had started. Hiding my face under Seth’s jacket, I carefully put it on, backward, to cover the stain. By the time I’d blinked back my tears and re-emerged, my face was once again a mask of carefree adoration. “Go, Seth! I love you!” Seth raised an eyebrow and gave me a condescending smile. Of course, this micro-expression was immediately captured and posted on the forum. 【Damn, Seth couldn’t care less about her, and Lily Bell just keeps on fawning.】 【She’s actually wearing his jacket? Is she that desperate?】 【She’s so pathetic.】 During halftime, Seth ran over for a drink. I handed him the bubble tea. He took one sip, and his face darkened. “Who told you you could wear my jacket?” His voice was stern, angry. “My shirt got wet, so I—” Before I could finish, the coach called him back to the court. As he left, he shot me a warning look. “Lily Bell, don’t cross the line.” We’d played this game many times before. I fawned, he acted disgusted. It was all a performance. But this time, I knew he wasn’t acting. He was genuinely angry. The condescension, the derision in his eyes—it was real. There was also a hint of the cold, detached superiority of someone who was used to being on top, who saw right through me. A chill ran down my spine. A wave of shame I couldn’t name washed over me. I clenched my fists and texted my roommate, Chloe. RedRose:【Code red! Spilled bubble tea on my shirt. Can you bring me a jacket?】 Chloe:【Babe, I’m out right now, but I just ran into Leo. I told him to go save you.】 RedRose:【You’re a lifesaver.】 A few minutes later, Leo arrived at the gym. His voice was warm, his demeanor gentle. “Your roommate said you got your shirt wet. I was worried you’d catch a cold, so I rushed over. You can wear mine for now.”

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The night I was supposed to introduce Chris to my parents, he disappeared. He rejected every single one of my calls. But in the dead of night, I saw a video posted by Chris’s stepsister, Lila. 【My heart’s been acting up today, but thank goodness for the fish soup big brother made me~】 【Brother watched the fireworks with me. So beautiful.】 Her camera panned over the creamy white fish soup in a thermos on the table. Then to the fireworks blooming outside the window. It finally settled on the hospital bedsheet, on a man’s hand—all sharp knuckles and long fingers—gripping the girl’s delicate wrist. Chris’s hand. 1 When Chris finally walked through the door, he paused, frowning as he waved a hand in front of his face. His voice was cold, a world away from the gentle tone that had called out “Lila” in the video. “Aubrey, you promised you wouldn’t smoke.” I watched the smoke curl around my fingertips. “And you know a thing or two about keeping promises?” Chris flinched. The look on his face told me he’d only just remembered what day it was. Our families were worlds apart. I had poured my heart and soul into convincing my parents to accept him, and yet, he had always refused to meet them. He had finally agreed this time, and I was so ecstatic I could have set off fireworks across the entire city. But after my countless calls went unanswered, I was forced to feed my mother the same excuse I’d used a dozen times before. She listened quietly, not calling me out on the lie, just sighing. “Aubrey, is he worth it?” Was he worth it? I didn’t know anymore. Chris’s tone softened a little, his apology stiff. “Aubrey, today was my fault. We’ll go see your parents another time.” I said nothing. He was used to my endless forgiveness. To him, that “it was my fault” was a monumental concession. When I remained silent, he rubbed his temples, a flicker of impatience in his voice. “You know how fragile Lila is. Can you stop being so dramatic?” “Oh,” I said. “So your concern for her clouds your judgment.” His lips thinned, a clear sign he was suppressing his anger. “I’ve told you a hundred times, even if Lila and I aren’t related by blood, I’m the only family she has left. Can you stop being so sordid?” He took a sharp breath. “Aubrey, not everyone is like you, unable to live without a man in their life.” The ash from my cigarette fell onto my fingers. I didn’t feel the burn. All I heard was a faint ringing in my ears. Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at him. “What did you just say?” 2 For me, it was love at first sight with Chris. My family’s wealth gave me the freedom to do whatever I wanted. I grew up surrounded by luxury, majored in Art History on a whim, and chased thrills with extreme sports at home and abroad. The plan was to graduate, enter an arranged marriage, and live out my days. I saw nothing wrong with that. Until I met Chris. He was the art school’s resident ice king. Incredibly handsome, immensely talented, and as cold as frost. His only family was a sick younger sister. I couldn’t explain what was so special about him, but every time I saw him, it felt like a thousand butterflies erupted in my stomach. I pursued him earnestly for a year. I gave up extreme sports because I started to fear death. I switched my major to business and demanded an internship at my family’s company. After learning about his financial situation, I wanted to offer him a secure future. I even got a job at the coffee shop where he worked part-time, just to be near him. Of course, having never worked a day in my life, I was a clumsy disaster. On my first day, I managed to burn my hand. Chris had always kept me at arm’s length, coolly rejecting every one of my advances. But that day, seeing me hiss in pain, he did something unprecedented. He brought me burn cream. He knelt before me, his long, cool fingers gently dabbing the ointment onto my skin. As he worked, he mumbled, “You should stop coming here.” After a year of getting nowhere, even my best friend, Echo, teased that the great Aubrey Thorne had finally hit a wall. I was starting to lose hope. I threw caution to the wind, staring at the crown of his head as I made my last stand. “Make me your girlfriend, and I’ll stop.” Honestly, if he’d said no, I would have given up. “Okay,” Chris said. It took me a second to process. My mouth hung open, utterly dumbfounded. Chris looked up at me and, for the first time, smiled. It was like watching ice melt in the spring sun, and I was completely mesmerized. He had his pride. Lila’s illness was a constant drain on their finances, but he would rather bury himself in commercial projects and part-time jobs than accept a single gift or penny from me. That meant he had very little time for dates. I respected his choice. I had a lot of catching up to do in my new major anyway, so I spent my days at the coffee shop, working on assignments while waiting for him. Sometimes, I’d fall asleep from exhaustion. I would wake up to find the café’s bright lights dimmed to a soft, warm glow, a soft blanket with a kitten pattern draped over my shoulders. My long, tedious essay would be finished, written in his neat script. A sticky note would be on the side of my laptop screen, featuring a perfect little doodle of a sleeping kitten, a snot bubble inflating from its nose. In its dream bubble was the profile of a boy—a certain someone was a little full of himself. I stared at the adorable drawing, my heart feeling like it was about to burst with affection. I couldn’t help myself. I reached over, grabbed a pretending-to-be-busy Chris, and bit him gently on the cheek. “I like you so much.” Caught off guard, he chided me softly, “Aubrey, we’re in public. Control yourself.” But the crimson blush creeping up his ears gave him away. When one of his paintings won a national award, his acceptance speech was broadcast live across the country. “I want to thank my love, my muse, Aubrey.” Who could have known that when you reach the summit of happiness, the only way to go is down? My performance at the company had solidified my position as my mother’s successor. Chris’s career stabilized, and Lila’s health improved dramatically. Suddenly, I was the one who was never around. I don’t know when it started, but our fights became more frequent. About my non-stop work schedule, about his insistence on dropping everything for Lila’s minor whims, about his persistent refusal to meet my family. Chris grew colder, his words sharper and more hurtful. After each fight, he would disappear for weeks, sometimes months, on “inspiration trips,” not returning until I broke the silence and apologized. He never said sorry. At first, I’d coax him back out of love and longing. He’d never been in a relationship before; he was the ice king I had worked so hard to win over, so it was my responsibility to handle him with care. But as the cycle repeated, my efforts turned into numb, weary attempts to keep the peace. The demands of the company were overwhelming. Slowly, the sense of accomplishment from my work began to outweigh my desire for a future with Chris. 3 Chris’s face paled slightly, a flicker of regret in his eyes. But I knew he wouldn’t apologize. I let out a short, bitter laugh, glancing down at the glowing red tip of my cigarette. “So that’s what you really think of me.” After five years, did he still not know who I was? I’d never believed that my past relationships made my love for him any less valid. But apparently, Chris did. If that was the case, why did he ever say yes? When I was chasing him, he rejected me, yet he always showed up to the parties I threw. Every time I was about to give up, he’d give me a sliver of hope. He’d return the bouquets I sent, but I’d find he had secretly kept a single rose. The painting that won him his first national award, the one with the girl in profile… it was unmistakably me. Later, as his fame grew, that painting was valued at over a hundred thousand dollars. He gave it to me. It was the first gift he ever gave me. He never let me buy him anything expensive, yet he gave me something so priceless. I cherished it. I designed the frame myself, picking out the solid wood and inlaying the gems with my own hands. It was hanging in our living room right now. I looked at the sophisticated, mature man before me, and an image of a boy in a white shirt from five years ago flashed in my mind—the boy who had quietly sketched my face at his easel. It was a slow, dull realization. This entire unbalanced love affair had been my own grand delusion. Chris’s voice grew urgent. “No… it’s just, when I saw you…” He seemed to remember something, his breathing growing heavy, his eyes turning red. “Forget it. Let’s not talk about that.” He sighed. “About meeting your parents… let’s wait a little longer.” Then, “I have to go abroad for an inspiration trip this week.” There it was again. The signal that this fight was over, and it was my turn to start making amends. I sighed and stood up. Chris’s long lashes lowered, his body tensing almost imperceptibly. I vaguely remembered a time, back when our problems first started, that I could melt his icy resolve just by cuddling up to him. But he had become so much harder to please. I walked past him, stopping in front of the painting I treasured more than anything. The cigarette had burned down to my fingertips. I could feel the searing heat on my skin. I lifted my hand and pressed the last glowing ember onto the serene, smiling face of the girl in the painting. A soft sizzle broke the silence. In an instant, a black, scorched mark marred her face. I turned around. “There’s no need to wait, Chris.” “We’re breaking up.”

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