On a dating show, I got a call from a scammer. Suddenly, a text stream like a Twitch chat appeared in my vision. [Oh snap. Who’s getting their heart broken tonight?] [Wait, Chloe has a kid?!] [This wasn’t in the script…] But I didn’t have time for that. The person on the other end of the line wasn’t saying anything, just howling: “Mooooom…” I covered the receiver and smiled awkwardly at the camera. “Wrong number. Definitely a wrong number.” But then, chaos erupted on the other end. I heard glass shattering and a very distinct, very loud, beagle-like howl: “Arooooooo! Mom! Why don’t you want me anymore?!” CRASH! Next to me, megastar Julian Stone dropped his glass of water. Then, the howling intensified. “Aroooo! Mom, I miss you…” “Aroooo! Bad man! Don’t take my phone!” “Burp. Wifey, who is this naked guy in our house?” “Wifey! Say something!” Wait. That last voice. That sounds like my childhood friend, Liam. Shouldn’t he be on a film set? Why is he at my house? And who is naked? Julian Stone started wailing like a strangled duck next to me. “Nooo! Chloe! How could you get married behind my back?!” The chat stream floated by again: [LMAO. Is she running a zoo?] [Just add Julian to the harem. They’re missing a duck.] 1 I was on a dating reality show, Heartbeat Connection. The host prompted me to call my “crush.” I was hesitating when my phone rang. The other guests started cheering. “Pick it up! Pick it up!” The host teased, “Maybe your crush couldn’t wait and called you first!” The caller ID was an unknown number. I bit the bullet and answered. A howl blasted through the speaker. “Aroooo! Mom! You finally answered!” I sighed in relief and smiled at the camera. “Wrong number.” But then, something weird happened. Floating text, like a live stream chat, appeared in the air in front of me. [Wait, Chloe has a kid?!] [This wasn’t in the script…] [Oh snap. Who’s getting their heart broken tonight?] What the hell? Am I hallucinating? I rubbed my eyes. The text didn’t disappear; it multiplied. But I had bigger problems. My phone was about to explode. Physically. The person on the other line was howling—a specific, mournful “Aroooo” that sounded exactly like a beagle I used to own. His name was Buster. The first time the cops came to my house was because of him. He screamed so tragically the neighbors thought I was torturing him. He was the most regretful purchase of my life. More than once, I thought about jumping off a bridge with him in my arms. The howling continued. “Aroooo! Mooooom!” “Aroooo! Aroooo! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” The host tried to save me. “Probably a prank call.” I snapped out of it and hung up. I gave an awkward smile to the camera. “Yeah, definitely a scammer.” The host nodded. “Right, right. Our Chloe is so young and beautiful, how could she…” My phone rang again. I smiled awkwardly, stuck my hand in my pocket, and hit decline. Ring. Decline. Ring. Decline. Ring. After a few minutes, the host looked pained. “Maybe you should answer. It might be an emergency.” I pulled out my phone with a grimace, praying to the PR gods. I already have enough haters. My career is just taking off… I pressed answer. A deafening “Aroooooo!” nearly ruptured my eardrum. “Aroooo! Mom, why aren’t you answering? Don’t you want me? Aroooo!” “Aroooo! Mom! Why did you abandon me?!” Besides the howling, there was the sound of destruction. Glass shattering, things falling. Flashbacks of Buster destroying my apartment hit me. Thank god that era is over. Feeling a sudden surge of empathy for whoever owned this chaotic creature, I said, “Baby, be good. Did you break something? Don’t move, you might cut yourself. Wait for Mom to come home.” The noise stopped. Then, sobbing. “Aroooo… so Mom didn’t abandon Buster?” “Aroooo… Buster misses Mom.” The chat stream went wild: [I don’t know what’s happening, but Chloe is so gentle! Love her!] [Does anyone else feel that motherly glow?] Then, CRASH! Next to me, Julian Stone, the A-list actor, dropped his glass. Then, more howling from the phone. “Aroooo! Mom, I miss you…” “Aroooo! Bad man! Don’t take my phone!” The host laughed awkwardly. “Haha…” I laughed awkwardly. “Haha…” The chat: [HAHAHAHAHA] So awkward. Help. But the awkwardness broke instantly when a new voice came on the line. “Burp. Wifey, who is this guy? Why is he naked in our living room?” “Wifey! Say something!” Everyone on set perked up. Ears open. The chat exploded: [OMG! Is this content allowed?] [Abs? Did he say naked with abs? Show me!] [Tea! We want the tea!] Someone even yelled, “Chloe, put it on speaker!” I covered the mic with my hand. I didn’t dare hang up, but I couldn’t let them hear any more. Because I recognized the second voice. Liam. My childhood friend. Shouldn’t he be filming a movie? Why is he at my house? And Julian was making it worse, sobbing like a dying duck. “Nooo! Chloe! How could you get married behind my back?!” The chat: [LMAO. Is she running a zoo?] [Just add Julian to the harem. They’re missing a duck.] The host saw my face and cut the feed. She handed me water, then got called away by the director. I scurried to a corner and put the phone to my ear. “Hello? Liam? Is that you?” “It’s me! It’s me! Wifey!” I rubbed my temples. “Liam! How many times? Don’t call me Wifey!” The chat floated by: [Nooo! The angst begins!] [Our puppy Liam is heartbroken. Sad. Childhood friends never win against the new guy.] [Better Liam than the scumbag who cheats on her and gets her killed by the mistress.] [Sob. Julian is okay too. He looks nice.] [Why does Chloe pick the trash men when she has flowers all around her?] 2 A few minutes later, the host came back, looking apologetic. I hung up on Liam, warning him to stop messing around. The chat: [Heartbreak for the puppy tonight.] [He took a ten-hour train in coach just to celebrate her birthday, and she hangs up on him.] [Justice for Liam!] The host scratched her head. “Chloe… Director Zhang wants to adjust the show’s content.” I nodded. “Sure. I’m flexible.” She hesitated. “But… he wants to move the shoot to your house.” “WHAT?!” I yelled. Everyone looked at me. I bowed apologetically and scanned the crowd for Director Zhang. “That’s an extra fee,” I muttered. Director Zhang popped up like a gopher. “Negotiable! As long as we can film there, money is no object.” I slapped my own mouth. Stupid mouth. Then my agent came over to apply pressure. Director Zhang had promised to recommend me to Director Shen for his new movie. Director Shen. Oscar winner. His new film was Oscar bait. Getting an audition with him was impossible for regular actors. If I got the lead role… I could be the youngest Best Actress in history. The temptation was huge. My agent whispered, “Bad press is still press. Even if you have a wild man at home, it doesn’t matter.” “I trust your character. And your acting.” “Chloe, you’ve waited so long for a break like this. You can’t say no.” I thought about it. Director Shen didn’t care about gossip, only talent. Seeing me nod, Director Zhang jumped for joy. Before I knew it, I was in a van heading to my apartment. They confiscated my phone so I couldn’t warn the “wild man” and “wild child” at home. According to a friend on the crew, the show had blown up. Viewership jumped from 5,000 to 120,000 as soon as they announced the location change. My heart was pounding the whole way. 3 Turning the key in the lock, I prayed: Please, nothing R-rated. Please. I pushed the door open. Something dark and heavy flew at my face. I didn’t even see what it was before everything went black. I woke up to two incredibly handsome faces hovering over me, glaring at each other. The noise was unbearable. “Get out! Don’t look at my wife!” “Aroooo! You get out! That’s my Mom!” “Tch. Mom? Does Chloe admit she has a son this big?” “Pfft! Your ‘mom’ doesn’t want you!” The chat: [HAHAHAHAHA] [They fight like elementary schoolers.] [Help, my eyes hurt from the beauty but my ears are bleeding.] I opened one eye. One face was Liam. The other… was a stranger. But he was just as hot as Liam. Liam is the youngest Best Actor winner. But this new guy… Wait, if I win Director Shen’s role, I’ll be the youngest Best Actress. So Liam will still be the youngest Best Actor? Whatever. Head hurts. The bickering continued. “Well, my mom didn’t say you were her husband either.” “My mom said men are trash.” I jumped up and covered the howling guy’s mouth. I smiled awkwardly at the camera. “He didn’t mean that! We treat everyone equally here!” I looked around. The crew was hiding in corners, covering their ears. “STOP!” I yelled. They ignored me. I sat between them, grabbing a mouth in each hand to silence them. I slammed a Pringles can on the table like a gavel. “Shut your mouths!” I pointed the can at them. “Freeze. Whoever moves, I hate them.” “I point, you speak.” I pointed at Liam. “You first. Shouldn’t you be on set? Why are you in my house?” Liam rubbed his butt, looking wronged. “I took leave. Not skipping.” I banged the table. “Is that the point? Professionalism! You can’t just leave!” Liam whispered, “But tomorrow is your birthday.” The handsome stranger started howling. “Aroooo! Tomorrow is Buster’s birthday too!” The chat: [Help! The second male lead is such a pure puppy.] [When will she realize he took the train for ten hours just for her birthday?] [Wait… who is the howling hot guy?!] [Is he… the dog? I remember Chloe had a beagle named Buster. His birthday is the same as hers.] My brain rebooted. The chat reminded me. I did have a beagle named Buster. I adopted him from a “Beagle Victims Alliance” group online. His birthday was June 22nd, same as mine. The owner gave him to me immediately when I commented. I tried to refuse, but they just said, “Open the door!” and dropped him off. I adopted him. And then I realized I was the victim. The piercing “Aroooo” brought me back. “Aroooo! Mom, why are you spacing out?” I looked at the 6’1″, eight-pack having man calling me “Mom” and blushed. I looked away. “Don’t call me Mom. Call me Chloe.” He pounced, rubbing his fluffy head on my neck. “Aroooo! Why?! Mom doesn’t want Buster anymore? Buster was good today!” “Buster pooped in the toilet! Didn’t poop on the rug!” “And didn’t steal chocolate!” He looked guilty. He definitely ate chocolate! I grabbed his jaw and tried to pry his mouth open. “Spit it out! Aroooo… barf…” “Aroooo! Mom, stop! Buster is human now! Humans can eat chocolate!” The chat: [He looks so pitiful with red eyes.] [Don’t be fooled! That is the Demon King Beagle reincarnated!] [Too late! Open the door!] I pulled my hand back. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” Wait! “So you knew dogs can’t eat chocolate and you ate it anyway?!” I grabbed a slipper. He ran around the room. “Aroooo! Don’t hit me! Buster knows he’s wrong!” “It’s not Buster’s fault! Chocolate smells too good!” 4 I sat on the sofa, fuming. Liam on one side, Julian on the other. Yes, Julian Stone was here too. He had joined the chaos. One poured tea, the other fanned me. They told me not to be mad at the “idiot.” I couldn’t tell them the truth—that Buster was my dead dog reincarnated as a human. So I said he was a distant relative with “issues.” The director had fled, leaving only the stationary cameras. The show had turned into a reality TV circus. 1.5 million viewers. Eventually, Buster came over, head hanging low, carrying the slipper I threw. “Aroooo… Sis, I was wrong.” (I made him call me Sis). He knelt and offered his head. “Hit me. Buster won’t hide.” “Just don’t throw Buster away. Buster is scared.” My eyes teared up. I saw the shadow of my dog over this man. I dropped the slipper and hugged him. “Don’t be scared. Sis said she’d never throw Buster away.” Liam crossed his arms, glaring at Julian, then at Buster. The chat: [HAHAHAHAHA] [Liam’s eyes are working overtime guarding against two rivals.] [Liam: I leave for work and come back to find my wife stolen.] We sat there until dark. Every time I got up for water, Buster gave me the puppy eyes. “Aroooo! Mom, where are you going? Don’t you want Buster?” Back to “Mom.” Whatever. A dog’s memory is short. I reached out to pat his head but missed because he was taller now. Awkward. Then, I felt fuzzy hair on my palm. Buster had bowed his head, arching his back to fit under my hand. He smiled up at me. “Aroooo! Mom!” I rubbed his head and felt a sob building in my throat. I ran to the bathroom. “Buster wait, Mom needs to pee.” I cried in the bathroom. When Buster died of old age, I thought about getting another beagle. But I couldn’t. Buster was irreplaceable. Unless he came back. But I knew he would leave me again one day. Suddenly, pounding on the door. “Aroooo! Mom, why are you crying? Did Buster make you mad?” Then, a crash. Liam fell. “Ow! Wife, are you okay? Coming!” Crash. “Wife, wait! Ow!” Chat: [LMAO how does someone fall on flat ground?] [Repeatedly!] [Julian: Don’t touch my shirt with your dirty hands!] [Liam: Stingy! Let me grab your arm!] I opened the door. The three of them were wedged in the doorway, fighting to be first. They all looked up. “Arooo/Wife/Chloe, are you okay?” I shook my head. “I’m getting water…” Buster shot out like a rocket. The sudden loss of mass caused Liam and Julian to collapse into a heap. By the time they scrambled up, Buster was back with water bottles, grinning. “Aroooo! Mom, drink!” I decided to play favorites. I shielded Buster. “Forget it, he’s a child.” Liam glared at Buster. “Fine. For Wifey’s sake.” Julian copied him. “Fine. For Chloe’s sake.” Liam: “?? Why are you copying me?” Julian: “Is your name on the sentence? So bossy. No wonder Chloe doesn’t like you.” They bickered. I tried to sneak away with Buster. Liam grabbed me. “Wife, you judge!” AHHH! Headache! I am never having boys. Chat: [Poor heroine. In the original plot, she meets the scumbag today. He locks her in a basement and forces her to have five sons, and none of them help her.] [Nooo! This is good! Just the four of them living together!] My heart skipped a beat. Was the chat predicting my future? I sat back down. Liam put his head in my hand. “What about me?” I flicked his forehead. “What?” “You pet him. Why not me?” I sighed. “You’re a human. He’s…” “Don’t care. I want pets.” Fine. I rubbed Liam’s hair. He smirked at Buster. Buster headbutted him off the sofa. I ordered takeout. Five dishes. Julian came out of the kitchen in an apron. “Chloe, get chopsticks. Dinner is ready.” I hugged Julian. “You’re so domestic! Some lucky girl is going to snatch you up.” Julian peeled me off. “Stop hugging. Someone’s eyes are literally shooting lasers at me.” I went to wash my hands. When I came back, the plates were licked clean. Buster was on a chair, belly round. Liam was wiping grease off his hands. Julian looked broken. “Are you starving ghosts reincarnated? Did you not eat in your past lives?” I sighed and got a rag. “I’ll take you out, Julian. What do you want?”

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At the graduation ceremony, the girl I grew up with confessed her love to me in front of everyone. The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles. I was the only one who looked completely lost. “But… I already have a girlfriend.” The entire auditorium fell silent. Sophie’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Ethan,” she choked out, her voice trembling. “Haven’t you been in love with me for years?” 1 The giant screen behind the stage was playing a slideshow of photos of me and Sophie. A timeline of our lives, from diapers to dorm rooms, some of just her, some of just me, but mostly of us together. The backing track was “Wonderwall” by Oasis. You could tell she had planned this meticulously. She was on stage as the valedictorian, the star of the show. Halfway through what was supposed to be a perfectly normal speech, it turned into this. A public declaration of love. Under the watch of thousands, the silence was deafening. My roommate, Mark, nudged me hard in the ribs. “Dude, haven’t you been obsessed with Sophie for, like, ever?” he hissed. “This is your shot. Don’t blow this because you’re trying to be difficult.” His words just made me more confused. It was true, I’d had a massive crush on Sophie. But hadn’t she always been disgusted by me? She told me to stop following her around like some “pathetic, spineless puppy.” She told me that even if every other man on the planet dropped dead, she would never, ever choose me. So, I’d given up on her a long, long time ago. 2 My mom and Sophie’s mom, Penny, are best friends. Growing up, the one thing I heard constantly from Aunt Penny was that she was “reserving me” to be Sophie’s future husband. When I was little and didn’t know any better, I’d grin and agree, even promising I’d have a whole bunch of kids with my “Sophie-girl.” When I got older, I’d just scratch the back of my neck and blush, my ears burning hot. We were always together, a package deal, and Sophie never publicly contradicted the assumption about our relationship. It made me believe that maybe, someday, Sophie and I really would get married. That belief lasted right up until high school graduation. When it was time to apply for college, my first choice was a university that had the best program for my major. When Sophie’s parents found out, they immediately started pressuring her to give up her dream school. “If you and Ethan go to the same school, you can look after your future husband,” her dad said over dinner one night. “Exactly,” Aunt Penny chimed in. “It’s good for you two to have each other for support.” “So, does this mean I should start saving for the wedding?” my mom joked. The conversation around the dinner table was spiraling into fantasy. I kept my head down, my face flushed, completely missing the fact that Sophie’s expression was growing darker and darker by the second. Suddenly, she slammed her hands on the table and shot to her feet. “Can’t you see I don’t like him?” she yelled, her voice shaking with rage. “He follows me everywhere, so damn needy! Have some self-respect!” Her outburst froze me in my seat. Humiliation, shame, a crushing sense of inadequacy—a storm of emotions I couldn’t name washed over me. I clenched my fists under the table, my knuckles white. I looked at Sophie’s face, at the undisguised disgust in her eyes, and my heart felt like it was being scraped raw with a dull knife, over and over again. Crack. Sophie’s dad slapped her across the face and ordered her to apologize to me. “What is this nonsense you’re spouting! You don’t like Ethan? It’s a miracle a boy like Ethan would even look at you!” The mood was ruined. Everyone’s face was grim. But Sophie was defiant. “I’m going to Princeton, and you better not follow me!” she snarled, her eyes locked on mine, as if I were some kind of criminal. Being stared at like that by the person you love… it physically hurt. 3 In the end, Sophie didn’t get into Princeton. She ended up at my school, Northwood University. I didn’t see her again until move-in day, when I spotted her dragging a suitcase across the freshman quad. We hadn’t spoken all summer. When she saw me, a flicker of anxiety crossed her face. It was only after Aunt Penny nudged her that she reluctantly came over to help with my bags. “I got stuck at this crappy school with you,” she muttered under her breath, so only I could hear. “Are you happy now?” It felt like a punch to the gut. I sidestepped her, moving away from her reach. She froze, her hand hovering awkwardly in mid-air. Aunt Penny quickly smoothed things over and offered to walk me to my dorm. On the way, she apologized. “Ethan, honey, Sophie’s just being immature. I’m so sorry for what she said back then. I’ll speak to her.” I dragged my suitcase along the pavement. Sophie was already long gone. “It’s okay, Aunt Penny. It’s in the past,” I said, my voice muffled. “We’re adults now. We don’t like those childhood jokes anymore. I’ll keep my distance from Sophie from now on.” I had thought it through. Childhood fantasies aren’t real. A childhood crush can’t be forced. But Aunt Penny grabbed my arm, her face full of disapproval. “What do you mean, keep your distance? You and Sophie grew up together. You know each other inside and out. That girl just doesn’t know what’s good for her…” “In my heart,” she declared, “you will always be the only son-in-law I’ll ever want.” I didn’t know how to respond. Aunt Penny had always been incredibly kind to me. She didn’t have a son, but whenever she saw cool sneakers or athletic gear, she’d buy it for me. She always joked with my mom that she was just “buttering up her future son-in-law.” Seeing my silence, she just smiled and patted my shoulder. “Ethan, you’re at the same university now. I know that girl’s temperament. Just take care of her, be patient with her. She responds to a gentle touch, not a firm hand…” I felt like I was going to be sick. I liked Sophie, yes. But I couldn’t just swallow my pride and chase after her after she’d rejected me so cruelly. I gently pulled my arm from her grasp. “I can get to my room from here, Aunt Penny.” 4 Sophie was beautiful, with fair skin and classic features. It didn’t take long for her to become the unofficial queen of the freshman class, attracting a swarm of admirers. And, just as she wanted, I kept my distance. A few months later, I saw her post on Instagram. It was a picture of her with a guy, their arms wrapped around each other. He was handsome, holding her and smiling brilliantly for the camera. They looked perfect together. Her feed, which used to be so sterile, suddenly came alive. She started asking for advice on what to get your boyfriend for his birthday, posting pictures of them holding hands, and even screenshots of their text conversations. In those texts… He was sometimes moody, and they had their little arguments, but she always handled it with a gentle grace. That’s when I realized Sophie had this soft, delicate side to her. That in front of someone she truly liked, she could be patient, thoughtful, and forgiving. In that moment, whatever was left of my crush finally withered and died. I decided it was time to close the book on that unrequited love story. Then, about halfway through the school year, she texted me out of the blue. I’m downstairs. I went down and found her waiting impatiently by the dorm entrance. She shoved a gift box into my hands. “My mom made me bring this for you.” I took it and opened it. A pair of limited-edition sneakers. I tried to refuse, but Sophie was already turning to leave. “Is this seriously how you operate now? Trying these little tricks? It’s never going to happen between us.” I didn’t even get a word out. Seeing her treat me like I was something to be avoided, even after I’d already moved on… it still stung. I looked down at the box in my hands, a lump forming in my throat. I deleted her number and Venmo’d the money for the shoes to Aunt Penny. She called me immediately, asking if Sophie had been causing trouble again. I sighed and explained that we were both adults now, and things like this could cause misunderstandings and problems in her relationship. Aunt Penny was silent for a few seconds before hanging up. I thought that was the end of it. A few days later, on my way back to my dorm, some guy I’d never seen before ran up and punched me in the face, screaming that I was trying to steal his girlfriend. 5 The whole mess ended up in the Dean of Students’ office. That’s when I found out the guy was Sophie’s boyfriend. Sophie arrived a few minutes later. The guy immediately started complaining to her, emotionally accusing me of starting the fight. Sophie soothed him with a soft voice, but her eyes kept flicking over to me, her brow furrowed in a tight knot. “I heard everything!” he yelled. “You want to break up with me for him!” Sophie’s expression was complicated. From their conversation, I pieced it together. Aunt Penny had never known Sophie had a boyfriend. After my call, she had phoned Sophie directly and ordered her to break up with him. Somehow, her roommate overheard and the story got back to the boyfriend. After asking around, he tracked down the guy Sophie had just given a gift to… me. Finally, after I showed him the Venmo transaction and Sophie swore up and down she wouldn’t break up with him, the guy grudgingly believed us and backed off. But his hostility towards me was still thick in the air. As if trying to salvage some pride after his baseless attack, he shot me a dirty look and sneered. “You should know to keep your distance when a girl has a boyfriend.” I can’t even describe the feeling in my gut at that moment. Watching Sophie protectively coddle this guy, whispering affectionately to him, I said nothing. I just walked up and slapped them both, one after the other, across the face. “I’m not interested in being a pawn in your little drama.” 6 Since the boyfriend threw the first punch, the incident was written off as mutual combat. We both got a stern warning, and that was that. But my roommates now knew about my history with Sophie, and the gossip mill started turning. “Ethan, man, it’s been half a semester. How did you keep your connection to Sophie a secret for so long?” “You and the campus queen are childhood friends? So when you said you worked your ass off in high school to get into the same college as a girl you liked…” “That girl… was Sophie?” It was awkward. During a welcome week party, I’d had a few too many beers and confessed the story of my high school motivations. After all, back then, every late night I spent studying was genuinely so I could be worthy of standing next to someone like her. I explained that there was absolutely nothing between us now, but my roommates didn’t buy it. They looked like they’d just discovered the juiciest secret, going on about how we were like a real-life romance movie. At the start of sophomore year, I heard that Sophie and that guy had broken up. That afternoon, Mark came into our room, wiggling his eyebrows. “There’s a beautiful woman downstairs looking for you.” I went down, and to my surprise, it was Sophie again. Even in a crowd, Sophie was impossible to miss. In the few minutes she’d been standing there, she had already turned a dozen heads. Another semester had passed since we’d last spoken. When she saw me, her expression was a mix of emotions. “You blocked my number?” was the first thing she said. Her accusatory tone inexplicably pissed me off. “What do you want?” I asked, ignoring her question and taking a step back. My defensiveness and cold demeanor clearly got to her. Sophie’s face fell. After a moment of silence, she bit her lip and said, with a hint of resentment, “I broke up with him!” I froze. For the past six months, I had done an excellent job of avoiding her. If I saw her from a distance, I’d change my route. When my roommates brought her up in conversation, I’d stay quiet, doing everything I could to project an image of complete unfamiliarity. I just shook my head, not wanting to waste any more time with her. It was like… she was this person I had admired for years, and then one day, the light around her just vanished. Sophie just wasn’t that amazing to me anymore. Suddenly, I just didn’t like her. She sensed my indifference and ran a frustrated hand through her hair, looking more and more uncomfortable. “My mom found out he hit you. We fought about it for months because of her. I know my mom likes you, she was never happy about me having a boyfriend!” Sophie went on and on. About her struggles. About Aunt Penny’s interference. After a minute, I couldn’t listen anymore. “Does this have anything to do with me?” I interrupted. Sophie pursed her lips, avoiding my eyes. Her voice lost its confidence. “You know how my mom is…” “I’ll talk to Aunt Penny and make things clear.” I didn’t want to stay there a second longer. I turned to leave, fully intending to draw a clear line between myself and their entire family from now on. But as I walked away, Sophie called out my name again. She hesitated. “Ethan… can you tell my mom… that you have a girlfriend? If she thinks you’ve moved on, it would be better for both of us…”

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For five years, the woman who hijacked my body played house. In the fifth year, she finally got bored. She and her “System” bailed, leaving this world without a backward glance. What they left me was a son spoiled into a tyrant and a husband who was a stranger in his own home. Before I could even begin to process the temporal whiplash, a stream of text, like a live comment feed, scrolled across my vision. 【What a dumpster fire of a starting point. I’ve never seen a dumber transmigrator. She gets a five-year head start and just makes a bigger mess for the original to clean up.】 【Seriously. Her mission was to straighten out the mini-villain and warm up the big villain so the family wouldn’t bother the main characters. Instead, besides dodging her own death plot point, she just spent five years maxing out a credit card.】 【The kid’s a nightmare, the husband’s been pushed away. I’m so sick of this family. Honestly, they should all just die.】 So. It turned out I was the disposable side character, the one who dies early in the novel. And my husband and my son? They were the villains. 1 The ghostly commentary continued to scroll, listing the sins of my son, the “mini-villain.” No manners, bad temper, selfish, a bully. Before I could organize the chaos in my mind, a thudding sound echoed from the grand staircase. A little boy, round as a beach ball, was thundering his way down. A strange, primal instinct flared to life. I knew, instantly, that this was my child. He saw me sitting in the living room but looked right through me, making a beeline for the kitchen, for the stainless-steel refrigerator. The nanny hurried after him. “Oh, Leo, my sweet boy, you’ve already had three ice cream bars today! If you get a tummy ache, your father will have my head when he gets back.” The little boy—Leo—paid her no mind. The nanny shot a helpless, pleading look in my direction. 【What’s the point of looking at her? She’s the biological mom, sure, but she’s been gone for five years. She’ll just spoil him more out of guilt.】 【Honestly, did anyone else think the transmigrator was a total phony? Her idea of ‘motherly love’ was just endless indulgence. The kid is worse off now than he was in the original story. He’s so overweight he’s lost the one thing he had going for him—his looks.】 【You can see his whole future from here. He’ll grow up to be a degenerate who gambles and blows his inheritance, probably curses out his parents too.】 【If that little butterball dropped dead, I wouldn’t shed a tear.】 That was it. I couldn’t take any more. “Leo Harrison. Put the ice cream down.” I remembered settling on that name with Cole when I was eight months pregnant. Leo. For a boy or a girl. A name full of light and strength. Leo shot me a look of pure disdain. “You’re so annoying. You can’t tell me what to do!” Then, as if to challenge me, he shoved a huge bite of vanilla ice cream into his mouth. The white cream smeared around his lips, and his eyes, already narrowed by his chubby cheeks, squeezed into happy little slits. He saw me still staring, and with a defiant glare, he raised a small, pudgy hand and flipped me two middle fingers. In that instant, a switch flipped inside me. A cold, quiet rage. Spoil him? Not on my watch. I shot up from the sofa and clamped a hand down on his shoulder. My little wild boar. “Who taught you to do that? Hmm? Where did you learn it?” “Let go of me! Let go! If you don’t let go, you’ll be sorry when my dad gets home.” Hah. After letting our son turn into this, Cole would be lucky if he didn’t get a piece of my mind himself when he got home. 2 I directed the stunned-looking nanny to fetch me a roll of packing tape. Then I took Leo’s hand, singled out his middle finger, and began to wrap the tape around his fist, leaving only that one digit standing at attention. He liked giving the finger so much? Fine. He could hold the pose for a while. To his credit, he didn’t cry. He just stood there, his two taped-up fists held out like a tiny crab, glaring daggers at me. “When Dad gets back, I’m gonna tell him you bullied me! You won’t get your allowance this month! You won’t be able to buy any more of your tacky jewelry.” “When is your father coming home?” Leo jutted out his lower lip, refusing to answer. I glanced at the nanny. “Mr. Harrison is on a business trip in Chicago. He should be back in about a week.” “Is he always like this?” I asked quietly. The nanny looked uncomfortable. “He’s… a little better when his father is around.” I nodded. I told her not to remove the tape for any reason, then turned and walked upstairs. I was surprised to find that, after all these years, the decor of the house hadn’t changed at all. Even the little ceramic horse statue, the one I’d chipped an ear off of during a clumsy moment, was still in its place on the console table. 3 Five years ago, I’d lost consciousness right after giving birth. What followed was the sensation of being trapped in a dream I couldn’t wake from. I could feel my body moving, speaking, living a life, but it was all through a hazy, third-person fog. I thought I’d just been asleep for a long, long time. It wasn’t until I saw the spectral commentary that I realized five years had passed. I walked from memory toward the master bedroom. A sleek, digital keypad lock I’d never seen before blocked the door. 【LOL, the OG has no idea. That lock was installed specifically to keep her—well, the transmigrator—out.】 【Hey, has anyone figured out the password? The transmigrator tried to sneak in once for a surprise attack, but she failed every time.】 【Nope. She tried the kid’s birthday, her birthday, Cole’s birthday. She tried so many wrong codes she triggered the entire house alarm system. The look on her face was priceless, I almost died laughing.】 【Forget the transmigrator, even we’ve never seen inside Cole’s room.】 Reading this, I raised an eyebrow. My fingers moved automatically, typing in a sequence of numbers I knew as well as my own name. Ignoring the flood of shocked comments scrolling past my eyes, I pushed the handle down. The door clicked open. Sure enough, the bedroom was unchanged. Even the color of the duvet cover was the same slate gray it had been the day I left for the hospital. The only difference was a small stack of locked journals on the nightstand. It seemed that in the last few years, Cole had gotten into the habit of locking away anything important. I picked one up. The pages of a few of the journals were warped and wrinkled, as if they’d been soaked through with water and then left to dry. The comment-feed was buzzing, begging me to pick the locks, to uncover Cole’s secrets. I ignored it. I placed the journal back exactly where I found it. 4 At dinner, the nanny was about to prepare a meal based on Leo’s usual demands when I stopped her. “Don’t go to the trouble. Starting today, he’s on a diet.” I glanced at his still-taped fists. “Let’s start with a veggie sandwich for tonight.” “Why! Just because I flipped you off, you’re going to abuse me?” Leo protested loudly. I shook my head and met his angry gaze. “See? Even you know that flipping someone off is a bad thing to do, especially to your own mother. But you haven’t apologized to me. And the diet isn’t a punishment. It’s for your health.” Leo’s cheeks puffed out. He didn’t argue for a long moment, then just mumbled something under his breath. “You’re not my…” The rest was too quiet to hear, but I could guess it wasn’t a compliment. When it was time to eat, Leo gestured for me to take the tape off. “Are you going to do it again?” He wouldn’t look at me, his little lip pushed out. “No.” He was quiet for another moment. “I’m sorry…” 【Okay, I have to admit, the original knows how to handle a brat.】 【This is killing me. If the mini-villain didn’t apologize, his fingers would’ve gone numb. LMAO.】 【More of this, please. I love it.】 【Wait, is she not thinking about the consequences? This isn’t five years ago. The transmigrator completely eroded Cole’s feelings for her. He could genuinely flip out when he gets back… If my favorite tragic romance turns into a bitter divorce, I swear I’m gonna riot.】 Cole, flipping out at me? I had to admit, a small part of me was looking forward to it. 5 Whether Cole would lose his temper remained to be seen. Leo, however, was the first to lose it at the dinner table. His eyes went red as he pointed at the sandwich, which contained only lettuce and a fried egg. “This is all I get to eat?” I nodded. I’d even allowed the egg to be fried instead of boiled, as a small concession. “I’m not eating this! I want sweet and sour ribs!” “Then don’t eat.” Leo’s eyes darted around. With a huff, he hopped off his chair and ran out of the room. I sighed. I hadn’t wanted to go scorched-earth, but the kid was pushing his luck. I put down my fork, called the nanny, and grabbed a trash bag. It was time to raid Leo’s hidden snack stashes. We caught him red-handed, crouched by his bed, butt in the air, happily munching on a bag of potato chips. As he watched his precious snacks disappear one by one into the black trash bag, his little hands trembled. “You’re fighting dirty!” I ignored him. Seeing that resistance was futile, Leo frantically shoved the last of the chips in his hand into his mouth, chewing for dear life. He breathed a sigh of relief when I left his room. He didn’t expect me to head straight for the media room and his small study. The kid was clever, I’ll give him that. He knew not to keep all his eggs in one basket. But I’d pulled the same tricks when I was his age. This time, Leo completely fell apart. “Waaaah, spare my snacks, I’m begging you!” “My limited-edition snack box! I saved my allowance for so long to buy it, I hadn’t even opened it yet!” “Take my life, but don’t take my snacks!” “My snacks! How will I live without you, my snacks!” The tears were real now. He wiped his eyes, his cries turning into small, hitching sobs. 【Hahahaha, watching the little fatty cry is kind of fun. He’s actually cute.】 【I usually hate it when kids cry, but Leo’s sobs are quiet, not like those ear-splitting shrieks other kids do. I would have bailed by now otherwise.】 【Replying to the above: Kids wail like that to get sympathy from adults. Is it possible that Leo subconsciously knows the transmigrator wasn’t his real mom…】 【Whoa, upstairs. That’s dark when you think about it.】 I knelt and pulled him into a hug, patting his back gently. I explained that I was just confiscating the snacks for safekeeping, not throwing them away. If he ate his meals properly, he could have them back eventually. He instantly stopped crying. He leaned his head against my shoulder, his little hand clutching the hem of my shirt. In a tiny voice, he whispered, “Mommy?” I felt my heart squeeze. I answered him softly. “Yes. I’m here, baby.” 6 After the Great Snack Confiscation, Leo became surprisingly obedient. But he couldn’t seem to kick the habit of trying to sneak treats. In just two days, we engaged in a silent war of wits that felt like it had three hundred rounds. Finally, I brought out my secret weapon. I proposed a new deal to Leo. If he really wanted to eat a snack, he could. But for every calorie he consumed, he had to burn it off. At first, Leo was unfazed and readily agreed. That evening, during our walk, I wheeled out a wiggle car. Leo thought I’d bought it for him and excitedly thanked me. His face fell when he saw me sit on it myself. Then he magnanimously declared that it was okay, Mommy could play with it first. I just smiled, taking a belt and a length of rope and fastening a makeshift harness around his little body. Leo looked at me, confused. “Today,” I said sweetly, “you ate two bags of chips, one ice cream bar, a bag of Takis, two pieces of chocolate, and a cupcake. I did the math, and a simple walk isn’t going to burn all that off. So, how about we engage in a fun and loving parent-child activity?” That’s right. The parent-child activity was me, sitting on the wiggle car, while Leo pulled me from the front. “But I’m just a kid!” “Hmm. Well, it’s either the fun activity or the snacks. Your choice.” Leo said nothing. Leo put his head down and started pulling. Leo’s face became a living emoji of exhaustion. 7 After the weekend, the nanny took Leo to kindergarten. With some time to myself, I logged on to check the company’s financial status. It was a tech firm Cole and I had started together. He was the genius behind the code; I handled public relations and marketing. Cole was a classic introvert, never comfortable with networking or schmoozing. I was surprised to see that in the past five years, he had managed to grow the company exponentially. Even the dividends from my own shares had multiplied several times over. A wave of relief washed over me. It meant that even if things between us went to the worst-case scenario, I had the capital to start over on my own terms. I spent the morning catching up on five years of market changes, researching potential investment opportunities. Just then, my phone rang. “Leo Harrison’s parent?” “Leo assaulted another child at school. The other parent is already here. Please come to the school immediately.” The comments flared to life. 【Here we go, here we go! The classic face-slapping plot point, part one.】 【Could it be a misunderstanding? After all the work she’s put in, would Leo really act out like that again?】 【No misunderstanding. I saw the whole thing. Leo did it on purpose. He’s just a bad seed.】 【When is this whole family going to be written out of the story? They’re so annoying. But I guess having him bully the female lead’s daughter is one way to get him into real trouble.】 【That fat little punk thinks his family’s money makes him hot stuff. He has no idea the male lead is an heir to a New York fortune. The second he comes looking for his girl, he’ll bankrupt their little company in a heartbeat.】 My eyebrows shot up. I quietly filed that last piece of information away. 8 When I arrived, Leo was standing in a corner, head bowed. Across the room, a graceful woman was holding a little girl, comforting her in a soft voice. To prevent any arguments, the teacher immediately played the security footage. “Assault” was a strong word, but Leo had definitely pushed the girl. I crouched down in front of my son. “Did this little girl say something mean to you?” Leo looked at me and shook his head. “Did she do something to hurt you where the teachers couldn’t see?” He thought for a moment, then shook his head again. 【Don’t bother asking, lady. The female lead’s daughter was just playing with her toys. Your fat kid went over to talk to her, she ignored him, so he pushed her. That kind of kid is just… ugh.】 【Does anyone else feel that helpless frustration of wanting to slap someone through the screen?】 【Kid’s got a father but no mother to raise him right. If he were my kid, I’d give him a couple of smacks right here to let off some steam.】 Even though the ghostly commentators were laying out the entire story for me, I insisted on asking him myself. “Why did you push her?” Leo turned his head away, refusing to look at me. I gently stroked his hair and didn’t press him further. Instead, I walked over to the other mother. I apologized sincerely and said that we would cover all the medical expenses, any related costs, and compensate her for her missed work. The woman, who had seemed ready for a fight, visibly relaxed. She probably assumed that a child with his reputation would have an equally difficult parent. My earnest apology seemed to disarm her. 9 I signed Leo out of school for the afternoon. Before we left, the teacher pulled me aside. “Mrs. Harrison, I’m not trying to be a tattletale, but this isn’t the first time Leo has been aggressive with other children. In the past, it was always with other boys, and you know how they can be. A few bumps and bruises are normal. You’d send the nanny, and I’d let it go. But this time he’s moved on to bullying a little girl. And as you saw, the poor thing didn’t do anything to provoke him.” She sighed, her expression a mix of frustration and pity. “I know you parents are busy, but once you have a child, you have to be responsible for them.” … When I came out of the office, Leo was waiting for me, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He probably expected me to yell at him, but I said nothing. Even when we got home, I acted as if nothing had happened. It was Leo who was a wreck, full of nervous energy. Every few minutes, he would run over to where I was sitting just to look at me. At dinner, there was no more fighting. He dutifully ate his food in the proper order: vegetables, protein, then carbs. During our evening walk, he offered meekly to pull the wiggle car again. I refused. I told him his calorie intake for the day wasn’t over the limit, so no strenuous exercise was needed. He just hung his head and mumbled, “Oh.” Seeing him like this, I felt a sense of relief. It proved that my son was not a lost cause. 10 Sure enough, a little while later, he came over and tugged on my sleeve. “You… you’re not going to yell at me? About today.” I looked at him and spoke softly. “I believe in my son. I don’t want to wrongly accuse you before I know the reason. Even if everyone else says it was your fault, I still want to hear your side of the story. With me, at least, you will always have the first right to explain.” The moment the words left my mouth, Leo burst into tears. He threw himself into my arms, sobbing apologies. He told me he really didn’t mean to do it, that he just wanted the little girl, Lily, to notice him and play with him. He confessed that the other kids at school all called him names. They said he was fat and mean, like Dudley Dursley from Harry Potter. Only Lily never called him that. Through his tears, Leo choked out the story. “I’m not Dudley. I didn’t hit anyone. They started it by calling me names. I just wanted them to stop, so I tried to act tough. I just wanted to play with Lily, I didn’t know she would fall… I was wrong. I’m sorry, I’m sorry to Lily.” The comments reappeared. 【Just like the heroine’s daughter! So sweet and kind! A true little angel!】 【Hahahaha, Dudley! That’s perfect. His classmates are brutal.】 【You think that’s funny?… Calling names is bullying. People who haven’t been through it just don’t get that feeling of powerlessness, where the more you tell them to stop, the more they do it.】 【I actually get it. This is like that ‘broken plate’ test. The moment Leo got provoked, he confirmed their narrative that he was just a fat bully. Sometimes, little kids are the cruelest people of all.】 11 A dull ache spread through my chest. I waited until Leo’s sobs subsided before I started to reason with him. I explained that whether Lily wanted to play with him or not was her choice, her freedom. He shouldn’t have tried to get her attention by pushing her after she ignored him. Seeing his confused expression, I tried a different approach. “It’s like when the other kids call you Dudley. You told them you don’t like it, but they didn’t listen. They even turned it into a joke and tried to force you to accept it. That made you unhappy. It made you feel like they were being mean, right?” I continued, “That’s the feeling of not being respected.” “Did you, without meaning to, do the same thing to Lily today that those kids did to you?” Leo was quiet for a long time, thinking. A sad, guilty look crossed his face as he nodded. He promised he wouldn’t do it again. I gently pushed on. “So, what should you do tomorrow?” “I’ll go apologize to Lily.” “And what if she doesn’t accept your apology?” He looked up at me, his expression certain. “It’s her choice not to accept my apology. I won’t bother her anymore. I’ll just try my best to be better, and wait for her to forgive me.” As I stroked his head, he bit his lip and added in a small voice, “Mommy, I feel really bad about what I did to Lily. I want to make it up to her. Can I?” 12 The next day, for the first time ever, I agreed to let Leo take his limited-edition snack box to kindergarten. Just as he was about to leave, I called him back. I told him that if anyone called him Dudley again, he needed to tell them, clearly and seriously, that he didn’t like it. And then he needed to tell the teacher that their words were hurting his feelings. He looked down at his shoes. “What if they don’t listen to me?” “You will have done everything you needed to do. The rest is their problem. Their parents’ problem. Don’t ever look for fault in yourself because of someone else’s bad behavior. That’s a fool’s game.” The commentary feed approved. 【YES! That’s exactly it. You call me a name, I tell you I don’t like it, you do it again? That means you’re the one who’s stupid and has no manners. It has nothing to do with me.】 【What a great way to separate the issues. No internalizing. I love it.】 【I’m kind of jealous of the mini-villain. The original is such a gentle mom…】 【Am I the only one who thinks Leo is just scamming her for snacks?】 ……… As Leo walked into his classroom, he kept looking back at me over his shoulder. I gave him an encouraging smile. I watched him hand the snack box to Lily, then take two steps back and offer a formal, little bow of apology. Then, I turned and walked toward the administrative office. My son had done his part. The rest was up to his mother. ……… In the weeks that followed, the smiles on Leo’s face became much more frequent. Even his temper seemed to have mellowed. He told me the teacher had spoken sternly to the children who were calling names. Now, no one in the class did it anymore. Lily had forgiven him. She even gave him a small bag of homemade cookies as a thank-you gift. 13 Before I knew it, the day of Cole’s return arrived. That night, I was asleep in my room—our room. In the deep darkness, a pair of hands suddenly clamped around my throat. A low, furious voice hissed in my ear. “How did you get in here? Did your System crack the code? Didn’t I tell you never to come near my room?” I recognized Cole’s voice instantly. Without thinking, my hand flew up and I slapped him across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the silent room.

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I’m the most notorious actress in Hollywood. My agency booked me on a new wilderness survival show with one condition: I had to be the villain and make their new “America’s Sweetheart” look good. The problem? The day we arrived, we lost contact with the entire crew. The reality show became a real survival situation. So, I built a shelter, trapped wild game, and started a fire. I was thriving. Meanwhile, the “perfect” idols were having screaming matches, fighting over supplies, and having complete meltdowns. What none of us knew? The hidden cameras were still rolling. And the whole thing was streaming live, 24/7. 1. “Two hundred thousand. That’s my final offer.” “Three hundred thousand,” I countered. “Not a penny less.” My agent, Mark, looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “Bella! Are you delusional? Your reputation is toxic. The studio is doing you a favor by booking you. You should be grateful!” And whose fault was my reputation? When I refused to have “drinks” with an investor, the studio leaked stories that I was a diva. When I had an eye infection, they said I was rolling my eyes at a veteran actor. When a co-star from my own agency groped me and I pushed him off, I was the one blacklisted for “bullying a rookie.” I took a calm sip of water. “Two hundred grand to participate, I can accept. But to go on national TV, act like a brat, and make your new star, Evie, look like an angel? That’s an extra hundred thousand.” My contract was up in two months. He knew it. He huffed, but he agreed. After signing the contract for Wilderness: Ten Days and Nights, I walked out humming. It was perfect. As soon as my contract expired, I was done. Quitting the industry. My first stop: the Amazon. I already had the spot picked out. God, I couldn’t wait. Before I was “Bella,” I was “Sky,” an anonymous survival blogger with over a million followers on my streaming channel. Twice a year, I’d do a live broadcast from the middle of nowhere. Then I got scouted in a mall and spent two years in this hellhole. I was rusty. I was itching for a challenge. This show was just a paid vacation. My friend texted me: Look at Twitter. I didn’t have to. I knew the cycle. The studio’s PR machine was already spinning. #BellaTheBitch joins #Evie on new reality show. The comments were… predictable. Half for Evie: “OMG my girl is going on a show with LIAM! Squeee!” “Ugh, but a survival show? My poor baby, she’s too delicate!” “Evie, we love you!” And half for me: “How does she still have a career? Who is she sleeping with?” “I swear, if I have to see her face, I’m gonna be sick. Can’t they replace her?” “Bella on a survival show? She’ll probably try to poison the others.” “Stay away from Evie, you psycho!” I glanced at the comments, completely unfazed, and closed my eyes for a nap. 2. The day of filming arrived. We were flown by helicopter to a remote, uninhabited island. The crew searched our bags, confiscated all our food, and gave us each one bottle of water. Evie had to surrender a hidden bag of potato chips. She pouted at the camera, giving them a tiny wave. “Goodbye, little chips. I’ll miss you.” I suppressed an eye-roll. The live chat would eat that up. She’s so adorable. Evie knew how to play the game. There were five of us. Me, Evie, and three men: the triple-Oscar-winning actor Liam, and two former boy-band members, Jay and Finn. Just my luck. Jay was the rookie who’d groped me, now a red-hot solo artist at a rival agency. He saw me and immediately walked over, hand outstretched, a slimy smile on his face. I just turned my back and walked away. I knew I’d get slammed for it. But I was 60 days from freedom. I didn’t care. Our first task was to hike, alone, to a “pre-set base camp.” Our luggage would be waiting. Before we left, I palmed a Swiss Army knife from the prop table. As I did, I saw Liam watch me. He didn’t say anything. He just picked up a lighter. 3. We hiked for an hour. When we reached the coordinates, there was… nothing. Just a dense, mosquito-infested jungle. No camp. No crew. No luggage. “What’s going on? Where is everyone?” Evie asked. “Did we take a wrong turn?” Jay said. Liam, calm as ever, just said, “Call them.” There was no camera crew with us on the hike. But when we pulled out our phones… no signal. Evie’s sweet-girl mask cracked. “Fuck! What is this?!” Jay and Finn just stared. This was not the “America’s Sweetheart” they knew. Jay, apparently just as fake, pulled a pack of cigarettes from inside his sock. Evie immediately held out her hand. “Give me one.” She put it to her lips, then realized. “Shit. Anyone got a light?” “Fuck!” Jay kicked a tree. “What is this place? Where the hell are they?” I glanced at Liam. He was calmly watching the chaos, his lighter presumably safe in his pocket. A smart one. Finn just looked at the sky. “It’s getting dark.” Jay kept kicking the tree. None of them saw the tiny red light blinking from a fake rock in the bushes. The live feed was currently filled with Jay’s furious face. Wilderness: Ten Days and Nights had been the #1 live event since it launched two hours ago. It now had ten million concurrent viewers. This was the real show: use hidden cameras to see what “perfect” celebrities do when they think no one is watching. The entire production was top secret. Not even the agencies knew. The live chat was losing its mind. “Whoa… Evie’s been smoking for years. Look at how she holds it.” “She’s an adult? She can smoke?” “Yeah, but Jay’s language… my ‘pure’ boy… 😭” “Dude, if you were dumped on an island, you’d be cussing too.” “Right? It’s just… real. I love it!” “Jay smoking is kinda hot…” “Wait, why is Bella so calm? She’s just… looking around.” “What’s she doing?” 4. I’d found a large, fallen log. I was using my knife to chisel at a rotten spot. “What are you doing?” Evie asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “Finding a place to sleep.” Jay sauntered over. “Need some ‘manpower’ for that, sweetheart?” “Get lost,” I said. He sneered. “Still pissed about last year? I barely touched you. Besides, I’ve had way hotter women than you…” His words were cut off by a loud CRACK as I split a section of the log. I flipped the knife in my hand, catching it by the handle. The blade was pointing right at him. Jay swallowed. He backed off. 5. The live chat exploded. “Wait… what did he just say?” “Remember that ‘Bella bullies rookie’ scandal? That was… this?” “Jay’s fans… you good? Your boy just admitted to sexual assault.” “He’s canceled. Oh my god, he’s canceled.” “This is disgusting.” “They’re probably faking it for the show! The audio is bad!” “Denial is a river in Egypt, sweetie.” “If I were Bella, I’d have stabbed him by now.” “She’s been taking shit for his crime for a year.” “HOLD UP. Did anyone else see Bella just… carve a shelter out of a tree trunk? In like, five minutes?” “That… that looks just like ‘Sky.’ The survival streamer.” “Where’s Liam?”

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1 I was five months pregnant when my husband’s old flame set my house on fire. I didn’t call him. I just wet a towel, pressed it over my nose and mouth, and waited. I didn’t call him, because in my last life, I did. I screamed for him to save me. He was a fire captain. He came. He got me out, and the baby was saved. But Chloe—his “one that got away”—was still inside. By the time he went back for her, it was too late. She burned to death. He told me it wasn’t my fault. He told me to rest, to focus on the baby. He even took a leave of absence to take care of me. Then, the day I gave birth, he took me to Chloe’s grave. And right there, in the dirt, he cut our newborn son’s throat. The blood splattered his face. “Do you know what it feels like to burn alive, Elara?” he’d hissed, his eyes red. “I want you to feel everything she felt.” He doused me and the baby in gasoline and lit the match. As the flames ate me, I saw his face. “You set that fire,” he screamed. “You thought you could play the victim? You’re paying for what you did!” Now, I opened my eyes. The smoke was thick, and I was back. 2 The acrid smoke choked me, and the pain in my lungs snapped me back to the present. I grabbed my phone. This time, I didn’t call his personal number. I dialed 911. I heard the sirens. I saw his truck, Engine 12. I saw him, Owen, my husband, in full gear. He ran into the burning building. I watched as he carried Chloe out, bridal style. Only then, when she was safe, did I crawl to the hallway and call for help. His crew saw me. They thought I was joking. “Seriously, Mrs. Thorne?” one of them snapped. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” A piece of the ceiling, a heavy light fixture, broke free and slammed onto my stomach. I spat out a mouthful of blood. They just… watched. I gritted my teeth, dragging myself through the smoke and debris, and collapsed on the lawn. Every oxygen tank, every cold compress, every paramedic was focused on Chloe. Owen didn’t even look at me. “You got what you deserved,” he spat. I was soaked in sweat and blood. I could feel the baby… I could feel it slipping away. In the last life, Chloe and I had both called him. He chose me. He chose the baby. He went back for her, but the roof collapsed. He’d told me he was fine. He’d comforted me. And all of it, all that care, was just a long, slow-burning revenge. Now, he wouldn’t even give me a bottle of water. I saw the pool of blood forming beneath me. “Help… my baby…” I rasped. “Please…” The firefighter closest to me, his friend, finally turned. His face was a mask of contempt. He nudged me with his boot. “Stop faking, Elara. Everyone at the station knows you hate Chloe. Jesus, you’re pathetic. You set a fire while pregnant just to get his attention? Well, he’s busy. You’d better pray she’s okay, or he’ll divorce your crazy ass.” I knew Owen didn’t love me. I didn’t know his entire crew hated me, too. A violent contraction seized me. I couldn’t breathe. My skin was blistering from the heat. No one helped. Finally, I heard a different voice. “Hey… that’s… that’s a lot of blood. Is she… is she really hurt?” “Nah,” the first guy said. “It’s a prop. She’s just trying to get the Captain to look at her. Fine. I’ll get him.” I didn’t get his concern. I got his rage. His gloved hand cracked across my face. “Elara! Get up! Stop pretending!” “Are you insane?” he roared. “Setting a fire and getting yourself trapped in it? You’re pathetic!” I tried to explain. My throat was too dry. My stomach was cramping so hard I saw stars. I just grabbed his sleeve. Help me. He hesitated. For one second. Then he pressed his hand, hard, down onto my pregnant stomach. “Nice try. Chloe already told me you’d be hiding somewhere, pretending to be a victim. I believed her.” He turned to leave. “Captain!” one of his men yelled. “She’s… she’s really bleeding!” “It’s fake, dumbass,” Owen shouted back, not even turning. “She’s five months along. You can’t miscarry that easily. If she wants to play dead, let her.” The pain became a solid, black wall. I fell into it. I dreamed of him. The cold, brilliant guest lecturer I’d had a crush on. I’d pursued him relentlessly. Flowers, coffee, basketball games. He finally agreed. I thought it was the start of my life. It was the start of my nightmare. The dates he’d cancel. The “emergency calls” that pulled him away. I found out the truth on our wedding day. An anonymous email. A ten-year email chain between him and Chloe. He’d been with her the whole time. I was… I was the other woman. And I’d won. I was so afraid of losing him, I never even confronted him. When Chloe “died” in the first life, I was… relieved. He’d been so kind. He’d bought out every baby store in the city. All of it… all that “love”… was just a performance. To make sure I was happy and healthy, right up until the moment he could destroy me. 3 When I woke up, I wasn’t in the flames. I was in a hospital. It wasn’t Owen. It was a man I didn’t know. “You’re awake? I’m your downstairs neighbor. I ran up to check the smoke, found you on the floor. I… I’m so sorry. The doctors… they said the baby…” I managed a smile. “It’s… not your fault. I know. Thank you.” A stranger. A stranger saw I was dying, and my own husband… “What is wrong with those firefighters?” the neighbor fumed. “They just left you! I already filed a formal complaint. It’s all over the neighborhood forums.” I shook my head. “My… husband… he’s dead.” The look of pity on his face was all I needed. I paid him back for the hospital fees and sent him on his way. The “forums” were more than I expected. #FireCaptainLetsPregnantWifeBurn. It was on Twitter. It was on TikTok. The video my neighbor took of me, bloody and unconscious on the lawn, was everywhere. The department was in full-blown crisis mode. I was about to text Owen the divorce papers when a message from Chloe came through. She was in the same hospital. Two floors down. It was a picture of Owen, spoon-feeding her broth. I closed the app and called him. It took five tries. “What?” he snarled. “Do you want? To see if Chloe’s dead? Sorry to disappoint you. I saved her. She’s fine.” “Elara, I can’t believe what you did. You tried to kill her. You have one hour to get down to her room and apologize. Or we’re done.” Before I could speak, I heard her whimpering. “Owen, no… don’t be mad at her. It’s my fault… If she says I set the fire, just… just agree with her. A pregnant woman can’t be stressed…” “See?” he barked into the phone. “She’s a saint, and you’re a monster. I’m handling this.” “Fine,” I said. “Let’s get a divorce. I’ll email the papers.” I hung up. The texts started instantly. [Where are you? Are you crazy?] [You think I’m scared to divorce you? You’re pregnant! You’ll be on your knees begging me to sign that birth certificate!] [Get that shit offline, Elara. NOW. Don’t make me tell the world what you really are.] I blocked his number. The nurses on my floor were all whispering. “Did you see the guy in 305? So hot. And he’s so devoted to his girlfriend.” “I heard he’s cooking for her. In the hospital cafeteria! He rented out a kitchen!” I just stared at my IV. That night, the doctor told me the smoke inhalation and the blunt-force trauma to my abdomen had scarred my uterus. I would never be able to have another child. My first reaction… was relief. 4 The backlash was so bad the Fire Commissioner had to give a press conference. He threw me under the bus. “This fire was the result of a tragic domestic dispute,” he said, reading from a script. “The arsonist, Mrs. Elara Thorne, acted out of jealousy.” To “prove” it, Owen’s personal account posted a photo of our marriage license. The narrative flipped. Instantly. My name, my face, my old social media accounts were everywhere. #ArsonistWife. #ElaraThePsycho. My phone was just a stream of death threats. The hospital staff started treating me like a prisoner. I didn’t say a word. I just waited. The day I was discharged, I sent Owen one text from a new number. “Tomorrow. 9 AM. Courthouse. Be there.” He called immediately. “Finally,” he sneered. “Decided to crawl out of your hole? I gave you a chance. You didn’t take it. You want a divorce? Fine. But don’t think you’re getting the kid. You’re an unfit, psychotic mother!” I hung up. I opened the home security app on my phone. And I downloaded the footage from the living room camera, two days before the fire. The footage of Chloe, walking in with a can of gasoline.

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1 My sister, Stella, discovered she had a five-point resemblance to the beloved wife of a corporate titan. To take her place, Stella arranged a meeting, planning to stage a car crash and kill the woman. I got there just in time to stop her. On the way back, I tried to reason with her. “Liam Bright built his empire from nothing. He’s ruthless, sharp as a whip, and hides a knife behind his smile. He’ll see through your little tricks in a heartbeat, and when he does, he’ll drag our whole family down with you.” Stella nodded, seemingly agreeing with me. But when we got home, she slipped a lethal dose of weed killer into my glass of water. As I lay dying, she whispered in my ear, “You’re just jealous. Jealous that I have a face that can marry into a dynasty. You destroyed my dream, so I’m destroying you.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my sister planned to meet the CEO’s wife. … The deafening crunch of metal on metal ripped through the air, and Stella bolted from her hiding spot. She scrambled to the person lying motionless on the pavement, her voice a theatrical shriek. “Forget the car! Someone call 911, now!” With a face of perfectly applied makeup, Stella began performing CPR, not even hesitating to press her mouth to the stranger’s for rescue breaths. Blood bloomed on her pristine white dress, a macabre flower that would make any onlooker praise her selfless bravery. The ambulance arrived, and with it, the reporters. Stella whirled on the cameras, her face a mask of righteous fury. “Have you no decency? What are you filming at a time like this? A life is on the line!” She turned back, her voice thick with urgency as she relayed the CPR details to the paramedics. “Doctor,” she pleaded, “you have to save her. She’s so beautiful… it would be such a tragedy if she died.” The doctor, moved by her passion, reassured her. “We’ll do everything we can, miss. Do you know her family?” Stella shook her head, the perfect picture of a concerned stranger. “I’m just a passerby. But I’ll go with you. I can cover her medical expenses.” The doctor praised her kindness and ushered her onto the ambulance. As Stella turned, she deftly slipped the victim’s phone into her own pocket, a movement so swift it was almost invisible. I watched the ambulance speed away, its sirens wailing into the distance. Half an hour later, a sleek, black luxury sedan pulled up to the curb. A man in a sharp grey suit jumped out. I recognized him instantly—Liam Bright’s assistant. He surveyed the scene before approaching the police to discuss the incident. I pulled out my phone and sent Stella a text. [Stella, I just saw you on the news. What did you do?] Her reply was instantaneous. [None of your business.] A slow smile spread across my face. My sister had read one too many billionaire romance novels, convinced that all powerful men were idiots. After a chance encounter with Liam Bright, all it took was a single offhand comment—”You look a lot like my wife when she was younger”—for her to start dreaming of a life of unimaginable wealth. In my last life, I had pleaded with her, begged her to see reason, and it got me a horrific death. This time, my first priority was to cut myself out of her mess, so that when Liam Bright’s vengeance came for her, I wouldn’t be caught in the blast zone. I was about to head home when my phone rang. It was the hospital’s blood bank. A patient was in critical need of a rare blood type, and they were asking if I was available to donate. Both Stella and I had this rare blood type; our numbers were on file at the regional blood center. Without a second thought, I went. I never imagined the patient in need would be Liam Bright’s wife. After donating, I went to the waiting room to recover. Stella was there. She froze when she saw me. “What are you doing here?” “I got a call,” I said, settling into a chair. “Someone needed my blood type, so I came.” I glanced at her, my voice casual. “What about you? What were you doing at the scene of the accident?” When I’d first heard about her plan, I’d tried everything to stop her, even threatening to report her to the police. She eyed me, wary of my suspicion. “Just a coincidence. I was just passing by.” “Ah,” I said, letting the matter drop. I closed my eyes, feigning exhaustion. But Stella couldn’t resist the urge to gloat. “Luna,” she began, her voice dripping with triumph, “do you know who that woman is? She’s the wife of the richest man in the city, Liam Bright. Liam told me I look just like she did when she was young. Once she’s dead, I’ll be the next Mrs. Bright.” Before, I would have told her to stop dreaming. This time, I played along. “Wow, congratulations! When you’re rich and famous, do you think you could get me a job at Bright Corp?” My fawning praise visibly pleased her. She scoffed. “Mom and Dad were right about you. You were born to be a worker bee. I’m about to have all the money in the world, and all you can think about is a job.” Just then, Liam Bright’s voice echoed from the hallway. Stella’s eyes lit up. She shot to her feet, ready to go make an impression. “Get out of sight,” she hissed at me. “And don’t you dare ruin this for me.” We were twins. She was terrified I’d steal Liam’s attention. She really didn’t need to worry. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to be as far away from her as possible. When the axe fell, I didn’t want to be spattered with her blood. But then, a sly, cruel smile touched her lips. “Then again,” she mused, “with a face like yours, it probably wouldn’t matter if he saw you.” Her meaning was crystal clear. We were twins, yes, but not identical. The same features that made her stunning were merely plain on me. It was as if my face was the original photo, and hers had been run through a beauty filter set to max. She was the masterpiece; I was the rough sketch. Stella sashayed out of the room. A moment later, I could hear her voice, cooing and consoling Liam, pitched so high and sweet it was almost sickening. The blood donation had left me weak, so I curled up in the chair and drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, the hallway was silent. I checked the time and decided to head home. The elevator was taking forever, so I took the stairs. The moment I pushed open the stairwell door, I heard voices. It was Liam Bright and his assistant. “Mr. Bright, we tracked Mrs. Bright’s phone. The last signal was here at the hospital, but it’s gone now.” I froze, not daring to breathe. Thankfully, neither of them noticed me. Liam’s voice was ice. “Investigate it quietly. Don’t involve the police.” “Sera would never go to a neighborhood like that. Something’s wrong. That girl, Stella… she’s suspicious. We start with her.” “And Mark,” Liam added, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper, “if I find out who did this to my Sera, I swear to God, I’ll make their entire family pay.” A cold shiver snaked down my spine. The rumors were true. Before Liam Bright became a CEO, he was a notorious street fighter who had even done time. Terrified, I scurried home. The sound of my sister and parents laughing greeted me as I walked in. Mom was fussing over Stella, lamenting how much she’d sacrificed—donating blood, paying the hospital bills—and had bought her a pile of iron supplements. Stella waved her off dismissively. “You have to spend money to make money. Paying her bills is the only way I can keep in touch with Liam.” Dad sighed. “You could have just given them the money. Why did you have to donate blood? You have a rare type; it’ll take ages for you to recover.” “And how else was she supposed to die?” Stella said with a cunning grin. “I did my research. Seraphina Bright is severely allergic to mangoes. I ate three of them right before I donated. She doesn’t stand a chance.” The three of them launched into a giddy fantasy about their new life of luxury once Stella married into the Bright family. I chose that moment to step out. “How could you do something like that?” I stared at Stella, my voice trembling with manufactured disbelief. The room fell silent. I grabbed Stella’s arm, pretending to pull her toward the door. “It’s not too late. We can go to the police and confess.” Stella shoved me away. “Are you insane, Luna? My plan was flawless. That part of town is a dead zone—no security cameras. The car’s already been disposed of. As long as you keep your mouth shut, no one will ever suspect a thing.” I narrowed my eyes. “Do you really think all rich people are as stupid as you are? Why would a woman like Seraphina Bright be in a rundown neighborhood like that? No cameras doesn’t mean no witnesses. And you even got reporters involved! You’re an absolute idiot!” Stella faltered for a second, then her confidence returned. “They won’t suspect me. Luna, why are you so worked up? Are you just jealous?” “I’m scared you’re going to ruin this entire family! If you don’t turn yourself in, I’ll call the police myself.” The words were barely out of my mouth before a hand tangled violently in my hair. Dad yanked me back and kicked me hard in the leg. The pain sent me crumpling to my knees, but he wasn’t finished. He slapped me twice across the face, his rings cutting my cheek. “Your sister is doing this for our family, and you want to call the cops? If I’d known you were this venomous, I would have strangled you in your crib!” “Hit her! Hit her!” Mom chimed in. “She’s a worthless brat who only learns the hard way.” Stella stood with her arms crossed, a cold smirk on her face. “Harder, Dad. Make sure she can’t ruin our big chance.” I endured the storm of kicks and punches, a grim sense of déjà vu washing over me. It was just like the last time. After Stella poisoned me, I had begged them to take me to the hospital. Instead, they locked me in my room and watched impassively as my life faded away. I could never understand it. Why did they love her and hate me? We were twins. But she got new clothes and a good school, while I wore rags and was treated like her servant. The pain intensified, and I screamed, silently counting down the seconds. A few minutes later, a knock came at the door. It was our neighbor, asking about the noise. Dad stopped, his voice instantly changing to something calm and pleasant. “It’s nothing, just our clumsy older daughter took a little fall.” He shut the door and kicked me one last time. “Have you learned your lesson?” In the past, I would have stayed defiant, even after a beating like this. This time, I was a terrified rabbit. “I was wrong, Dad, I was wrong,” I whimpered. “I shouldn’t have said those things about Stella.” He was still angry. “Are you still going to the police?” “No! Never! I won’t!” After I begged and pleaded for forgiveness from him, Mom, and Stella, Dad’s rage finally subsided. “Stop your blubbering,” Mom snapped, her face a cold mask. “Go make dinner. We’re starving.” I obediently got up, put on an apron, and went to the kitchen. Just then, Stella’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it and let out a piercing shriek. “She’s dead! Seraphina Bright is dead! I have to get to the hospital. I need to be there to comfort Liam!” She scrambled to her room, throwing on a new outfit, redoing her makeup, and stepping into a pair of impossibly high heels. Worried about her going out so late, Mom and Dad grabbed the car keys to drive her. Once they were gone, I packed my things. It was time to leave this house for good. On my way out, I ran into the neighbor again. He frowned when he saw my bruised face. “They did it again, didn’t they?” His eyes fell to the suitcase in my hand. He clicked his tongue. “Good for you. Get out of here. If you stay in this house any longer, they’re going to be the death of you.” I thanked him and hailed a cab. The radio was buzzing with the news: the wife of the city’s richest man had died in a tragic hit-and-run. Liam Bright was offering a one million dollar reward for any information leading to the driver. The cabbie whistled. “This driver’s got some nerve, hitting a Bright and then running. A guy with that much money will find him like it’s a game.” “Mmm,” I murmured. “I heard that Liam Bright used to be a real gangster,” the driver continued. “Met his wife and cleaned up his act. Now that she’s gone… I feel sorry for whoever’s in his way.” I nodded again in agreement. The person who was about to be the most unlucky of all had no idea what was coming. For the next few days, the internet was flooded with two stories: Liam Bright’s heartbroken plea for information about his wife’s death, and the heroic actions of my sister. A photo of her, dress stained red, kneeling on the pavement performing CPR, went viral. Millions shared it, calling her a goddess, an angel. Another video surfaced of Stella at the hospital, silently weeping. “I’m so sorry,” she told a reporter, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t save Mrs. Bright. I just didn’t try hard enough.” In the background, Liam Bright stared at her, his expression unreadable, intense. Stella forwarded this video to our family group chat. [Look at the way Liam’s looking at me. He’s totally falling for me.] Mom and Dad chimed in with their enthusiastic agreement, the three of them lost once more in their delusional fantasy. I typed out a single reply. [He’s definitely moved. Looks like he’s moved to kill.] My message, as expected, sent Stella into a rage. She fired back a series of screenshots of her conversations with Liam. They had exchanged hundreds of messages over the past few days. Stella offered him comfort; Liam responded, telling her that her words had been a great source of solace. The tone was bordering on intimate. [Still think he doesn’t have feelings for me?] she texted, smugly. I couldn’t help myself. [Or maybe he’s just playing you to get information. Liam Bright can have any woman in the world. Why would he be interested in you?] Stella exploded. [Luna, I haven’t forgotten what you tried to do. Are you asking for another beating?] Dad replied: [Where have you been hiding? Don’t think for a second we can’t find you.] They tore into me again, ending with a final warning: if I went to the police, they would kill me. I put my phone away and looked out the window. After leaving home, I’d found a small apartment to rent. It was all I could afford—a tiny place in the same rundown industrial district where Seraphina Bright had been hit. Every day on my way home from my new job, I saw Liam’s assistant, Mark, going from shop to shop, asking questions, collecting security footage. A couple of days later, Stella posted another screenshot in the group chat. It was an invitation from Liam Bright for her and our parents to be his guests at his private estate. He wanted to thank her properly. Stella tagged me. [See, Luna? Now do you understand how charming I am? This isn’t just a thank you dinner. He’s introducing me to his life!] I didn’t reply. Stella was so wrapped up in her seduction plot that she failed to notice a few crucial details. All news reports about Seraphina Bright’s death had been scrubbed from the internet. The police were no longer investigating. And Liam’s assistant hadn’t been seen in the neighborhood for two days. This wasn’t a dinner party. It was an execution. They had finally sealed their own fate. I sighed, ready to head back to my apartment and treat myself to a decent meal. Just then, a black luxury car glided to a stop in front of me. Liam Bright’s assistant, Mark, stepped out. “Miss Luna, I presume?” he said, his smile polite but unreadable. “Mr. Bright would like to see you.”

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After the lightning strike, my childhood best friend and I woke up. He was the obsessive psycho male side-character. I was the vicious, bitchy female side-character. We were, in short, the villains. In the original story, after failing to win the protagonists’ love, he frames the hero, and I torture the heroine. After waking up, we were both just… tired. We decided to take one for the team and just date each other. At our engagement party, the stoic hero and the sweet heroine cornered us, their eyes red. “Why?” they demanded. 1 Asher and I were your classic, bored rich kids. He was a Level-5 simp, hopelessly chasing Lily, the brilliant, broke scholarship student who wouldn’t give him the time of day. I was a Level-10 psycho, desperately obsessed with Connor, the ice-king CEO. I was so in love I’d actually tried to drug him. That night, a thunderstorm was rattling the city. I’d cornered Connor in his office. I was going in for a kiss. He was motionless, his perfect mouth an inch from mine. Just as I was about to make contact, he shoved me back. He actually brushed off his suit jacket, his face twisted in disgust. “You’re pathetic, Sloane. Get out.” I just stood there, stunned. Meanwhile, Asher had just been brutally rejected by Lily—again. His offer to pay her tuition had, apparently, wounded her pride. “Stop trying to buy me, Asher. I will never like you.” He was standing outside my condo, soaked to the bone, when I pulled up. He told me his sob story. It was the only thing that made me feel better. “God,” I sighed, “you look like a drowned rat.” He sneered. “And you look like the psycho they just kicked out of the party. We’re a matched set.” We stared at each other. A massive crack of thunder split the sky, and a bolt of lightning hit the sidewalk right between us. As we were thrown back, the last thing I remember was yelling: “What the hell did you do to piss off God? And why am I getting dragged down with you!” 2 When I woke up in the hospital, my head was full of a story that wasn’t mine. I was a character in a trashy romance novel. I was Sloane, the “vicious best friend,” whose job was to make the heroine’s life hell. Asher was the “psycho male friend,” who loved the heroine so much he eventually kidnapped her, only to be brutally murdered by the hero. My ending? Even worse. The hero, Connor, has me committed to a high-security asylum—even though I’m perfectly sane—where I eventually set fire to my own room and die. A chill went down my spine. Note to self: Stay away from Connor. I sat up. Asher was sleeping peacefully in the next bed. His face was angelic, his eyelashes ridiculously long. A total waste. He had the face of a K-Pop idol but the brain of a lemming, chasing a girl who hated him. I was about to sneak out when his eyes snapped open and he grabbed my wrist. “Sloane? But… you were supposed to burn to death.” My jaw dropped. “You know? You’re a ‘character’ too?” He looked around, confused. “Am I… did I get sent back?” We stared at each other. In that moment, we both had the exact same thought: What a dumbass. The door burst open. My father and his mother rushed in, both crying. His mom grabbed my dad’s arm. “I knew it, Robert! They’ve been best friends since birth! They were always meant for each other. Even a lightning strike couldn’t separate them!” My dad nodded, his eyes wet. “The psychic was right! It’s fate! The second we signed the engagement papers, they both stabilized! It’s a miracle!” I’m sorry, what? 3 Apparently, in the ICU, we were both circling the drain. Our parents, in a fit of rich-people desperation, had consulted their high-end spiritual guru. The guru told them our souls were “dangerously intertwined.” If we weren’t “bound” in this life, our “negative karma” would kill us both. So, while we were in comas, they had their lawyers draw up a marriage contract. And it worked. We woke up. Asher looked at me. “So. What now?” I looked at the diamond ring they’d put on my finger. I sighed. “What can we do? I’m the villain. No matter what I do, I lose.” Asher actually smirked. “You know… maybe we should just go through with it. Save ourselves the trouble of harassing the heroes. We can just… I don’t know… harass each other.” It was like a lightbulb went off. He was right. Connor already thought I was toxic. Why waste my energy? I could just stay here and “ruin” Asher. Maybe I’d even survive the final chapter. I grabbed his hand. “Asher, you’re a goddamn genius.” He immediately looked horrified. “Sloane, I was kidding. I think of you as my sister. I can’t… I don’t feel that way about you…” That pissed me off. I climbed onto his bed, straddled his hips, and pushed him back against the pillows. I leaned down until our noses were almost touching. “You don’t?” I whispered. “Are you sure?” My fingers traced the outline of his T-shirt, slowly sliding down his chest until they rested right above his jeans. His eyes went dark. His voice was a strained whisper. “Sloane. Stop playing.” I felt the unmistakable twitch under his waistband. I laughed and jumped off the bed. “See? You feel it.” 4 Asher went to the bathroom, presumably to take a cold shower. I immediately grabbed my phone and posted a picture of the ring. @Sloane_Official: Tomorrow, 6:40 PM. Marrying this idiot. @Asher_King My phone exploded. Congrats!!! Is this a joke? Wait… what? You two? Since WHEN? I was replying with smiley-face emojis when a new text popped up. From Connor. My “Do Not Answer” contact. ? A second later: Sloane, what game are you playing now? He was the hero. I probably shouldn’t piss him off. 🙂 Getting married tomorrow! You should come! He didn’t believe me. Is this fun for you, Sloane? I heard the bathroom door open. Asher came out, his hair wet. The water droplets on his chest made him look… sharp. Dangerous. I stared. I’d known him for twenty years. When did he get hot? He flicked my forehead. “What are you staring at?” My face felt warm. “Nothing. Just texting.” He saw the name on my screen. His face went dark. He snatched the phone out of my hand. “I thought we were getting married. Why are you texting him?” 5 He held the phone over his head. I jumped for it. “Give it back!” He just laughed, holding it further away. “Not until you kiss me.” “Asher, we’re friends! That’s weird!” Just then, the phone started ringing. Connor. He was actually calling me. Asher hit “Decline.” “Okay, fine!” I said. I lunged up to kiss his cheek. He turned his head at the last second. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collision. His lip split. Blood welled up instantly. He just stared at me, then licked the blood off his lip. It was… surprisingly hot. “Sloane,” he said, “are you part-dog? Why do you always bite?” My heart was hammering. “I… I’m sorry.” I’d spent my whole life chasing Connor. I’d never actually kissed anyone. Asher, obsessed with Lily, was in the same boat. We were two 25-year-old disasters. How… how do you do it?

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I was born with a gilded tongue. Whatever I speak becomes truth. When I was just learning to talk, I babbled that Dad was going to get rich. That night, he won a hundred million dollars in the lottery. When I was six, I said the old town mayor’s missing grandson would come home safe. The next day, someone found the boy, grubby but unharmed, at the edge of town. At eighteen, I commented online that the failing Devereaux Corporation would make a comeback. Two weeks later, their stock skyrocketed, restoring them to their former glory. And so, on the strength of my gilded tongue, I was welcomed as an honored guest by the Sterling family. But I had barely stepped into the Sterling mansion when someone grabbed my long hair from behind and dragged me to the floor. “You bitch! I can’t believe you had the nerve to seduce my fiancé, but to follow him all the way to his home? You must have a death wish!” Falsely accused, I tried desperately to explain, but they were convinced I was a shameless homewrecker and started kicking and hitting me. Amid the sharp crack of my silver bracelet shattering, I tasted the coppery tang of blood in my mouth. But no one knew my gift came with a price—a curse of misfortune. Anyone who draws my blood is doomed to a life of bad luck. And it looked like the Sterling family was about to go bankrupt for good. 1 “Miss Summers, please have a seat. Mr. Sterling is on his way back from the office right now.” “He’ll be here shortly,” the housekeeper said, her voice dripping with reverence as she offered me a placating smile. I waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Thank you.” I was born with a gilded tongue; my words were law. At first, Mr. Sterling had been skeptical. Two years ago, as a test, I’d simply said his company’s stock would rise. By that evening, it had soared. The once-teetering Sterling Enterprises had managed to hang on for two more years, all because of that single sentence. From that day on, Mr. Sterling knew I was the miracle he’d been searching for. He’d pulled out all the stops to get me to speak for him again, even offering to write my name into the Sterling family registry, promising me generations of their family’s reverence. I’d only reluctantly agreed. After settling me in, the housekeeper went to the kitchen to prepare a fruit platter. The other servants treated me with the utmost respect, their eyes filled with awe. I sat on the plush sofa, waiting quietly for Mr. Sterling, when a sharp, tearing pain shot through my scalp. I frowned, turning just in time for a crystal glass to shatter against my forehead. The world blurred in a haze of red. Clutching my head, I saw Chelsea Quinn’s face, twisted with rage, through the curtain of my own blood. The two servants beside me panicked at the sight of my injury. “Miss Summers is an honored guest of Mr. Sterling! Who are you?” Chelsea gritted her teeth. “I’d like to see you try and stop me. I’m Leo’s girlfriend!” She glared at me. “You slut, you actually dared to seduce my Leo? And you chased him all the way to his home?” Her friends, a posse of perfectly manicured girls, sneered at me in disgust. “Look at her, dressed in rags. How can she even compare to our Chelsea?” “Anyone with eyes can see who the better choice is.” “What a cheap whore. We’re going to teach you a lesson today.” They spat the word “homewrecker” at me, one after another, until I felt worthless. I scowled, my voice cold as ice. “I’m not a homewrecker. Stop spouting nonsense.” I turned to leave, but Chelsea’s hand cracked across my face in a vicious slap. “You shameless bitch. Don’t think I haven’t seen you hanging around my boyfriend.” Her long fingernails jabbed toward my eyes, her voice a shrill shriek. “You probably spend every waking moment plotting how to get into his pants, don’t you?” I suddenly remembered Leo Sterling. Desperate for me to use my gift to help his family, he had been showering me with attention every single day. I never imagined he had a girlfriend like Chelsea. The surrounding servants, finally snapping out of their shock, formed a protective circle around me and gently tried to tend to my wounds. My voice was frigid. “Mr. Sterling invited me here to help his family. I have nothing to do with your boyfriend.” One of the maids spoke up timidly on my behalf. “Miss Summers has a gilded tongue. Whatever she says comes true.” At that, Chelsea clutched her stomach and burst into hysterical laughter, tears streaming down her face. “If she has a gilded tongue, then I’m a goddamn angel from heaven. You’ve been running your mouth this whole time, so where’s the magic?” I sighed inwardly. My gift was powerful, but it had a limit: I could only use it once a year. I never wasted it lightly. Chelsea smirked, crossing her arms. “Do I look like an idiot? You really think I’d believe that crap? You tried to mess with Chelsea Quinn, and I swear, I’ll make you pay.” Her eyes were like a viper’s, cold and venomous. Her friends closed in, their faces masks of cruel amusement. She was here for me. I took a step back, my voice hoarse. “If you lay a hand on me, the Sterlings will not let you get away with it.” Chelsea was the first to lunge, grabbing my head and slamming it against the floor. “You little whore, you still dare to talk back? Girls, get her! Teach this homewrecker a lesson!” 2 I winced, blood trickling from my forehead, drop by agonizing drop. My patience had run out. My gaze turned glacial as I stared at Chelsea. “I am an honored guest of the Sterling family. What are you?” My voice was low and dangerous. “Leave now, and I can pretend this never happened.” But you’ll still be cursed with bad luck for a while, I thought. Seeing my utter disregard for her, Chelsea finally snapped. Her eyes blazing red, she threw herself at me, straddling my chest and raining down blows. Pinned to the ground, I had no strength to fight back. But as she leaned in, I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into her ear. She shrieked, clutching her ear, her eyes filled with murderous rage. Her friends rushed forward, pinning me down as each one took a turn slapping me. A searing pain ripped through my scalp as they dragged me backward, my head bouncing on the gravel path outside. I let out a muffled groan. A circle of sharp, stiletto heels closed in around me, trapping me. When a heel ground into the back of my hand, I heard the sickening crackle of small bones. The first slap made my right ear ring. “That’s for being a homewrecker, you shameless tramp.” The second left my left cheek swollen and burning. “I hate sluts like you who go after other people’s boyfriends. It’s disgusting.” By the third, I could taste the rust of blood in my mouth. “People like you don’t deserve to live.” They took turns yanking my hair, pulling my head back until bloody strands stuck to my swollen face. Fingernails deliberately raked across the corner of my eye, and warm droplets of blood trickled down into my collar. They were vicious. The two servants stood by, paralyzed with fear. I looked at them, my voice strained. “Call Mr. Sterling! Now!” I gasped for air, trying to warn Chelsea through gritted teeth. “Let me go, or I swear you will never set foot in this house as a Sterling.” Chelsea just scoffed and kicked me again and again. “You really think I’m that stupid? You’re just some country bumpkin. ‘Gilded tongue,’ my ass! You were just trying to seduce Leo while I wasn’t looking. I see right through your pathetic plan.” Her pointed shoe dug into my ribs. As I curled up in pain, my forehead struck the sharp edge of a concrete step, and blood immediately blinded my right eye. Finally, she grabbed me by the neck and slammed my head against the edge of a coffee table. As a shard of porcelain sliced open my chin, blood dripped onto the pristine floor. She sneered, delivering one final, brutal kick to my stomach. “Bitch!” I clutched my stomach, my body contorted in agony. “What are you all doing?!” The housekeeper finally emerged from the kitchen, a fruit platter in her hands. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw me. She rushed over and helped me to my feet. “Miss Summers is Mr. Sterling’s esteemed guest! He gave specific orders to treat her with the utmost care! Who dared to do this?” She turned and her eyes met Chelsea’s. Chelsea just laughed. “Auntie Mae.” “Miss Quinn, what are you doing here?” Chelsea looked at her, her voice dripping with disdain. “Esteemed guest? She’s just some hick from the sticks. Let me tell you, I’m going to be the next Mrs. Sterling.” The housekeeper glanced from Chelsea to me, a look of conflict on her face. Finally, with a sigh, she let go of my arm. I couldn’t stand on my own and collapsed back onto the floor. Chelsea smirked, triumphant. “Some gilded tongue. More like a professional con artist! You tell me,” she demanded of the housekeeper, “are her words magic or not?” Auntie Mae’s eyes darted around before she scurried over to Chelsea’s side. “What gilded tongue? She’s just a fraud.” My heart plummeted. 3 Chelsea basked in the housekeeper’s fawning. I was bleeding everywhere, with no strength left to fight. It felt like all the air was being forced out of my lungs; I couldn’t even speak. Chelsea’s long nails dug into my chin, forcing my head up. Her eyes fell on the necklace I was wearing. Before I could protect it, she ripped it from my neck, leaving a raw, red line on my skin. “Give it back,” I croaked, my voice raw with desperation. The necklace… it was the only thing my mother left me. I clenched my jaw. “Give it back to me!” I tried to lunge for it, but the two girls holding me down beat me back into submission. Chelsea dangled the necklace in front of my face. “So this little thing is that important to you, huh?” She smiled cruelly. “I can give it back. Why don’t you get on your knees and beg me? If I’m in a good mood, maybe I’ll return it.” My eyes burned with hatred. I balled my fists, glaring at her. Chelsea looked at the necklace with disgust. “Guess you don’t care that much after all. In that case…” She made a show of getting ready to throw it away. Words tore from my raw lips. “I’ll kneel.” Saying it felt like every last drop of strength had been drained from my body. She bent down, patting my cheek condescendingly. “Look at you, knowing your place. Well, get on with it. I don’t have all day.” My eyes were fixed on the necklace in her hand. I closed them and forced my body to the ground. Just get it back, I told myself. Then she will pay. On my knees, I stared up at her, my voice a hollow rasp. “Give it back.” A triumphant grin spread across her face. “You think I’ll give it back just because you asked? Let me tell you, this is what you get for being a homewrecker.” With that, she threw the necklace on the ground and stomped on it with her heel. I watched, helpless, as the delicate silver chain snapped and the locket was crushed into a mangled piece of metal. My voice was a shredded whisper. “I’ll kill you. I’LL KILL YOU!” I scrambled to my feet and lunged, my hands closing around her throat. “She’s crazy! Get her off me!” Her friends dragged me away in an instant. My entire being thrummed with pure hatred. “Chelsea Quinn,” I seethed, “I won’t let you get away with this.” At my threat, they all burst into laughter. Chelsea doubled over, howling with mirth. “Oh my god, did you hear that? This little bitch from the sticks says she won’t let me get away with this. I’m so scared! I’d love to see you try.” Her face darkened. “Looks like you haven’t learned your lesson. Girls, give her another round.” They swarmed me again. This time, I didn’t resist. I curled into a ball on the floor, letting their fists and feet rain down on me. “Hahaha, look! I think we broke her! She’s not even fighting back!” Chelsea’s laughter echoed in the room. Staring at the growing pool of my own blood on the floor, a slow, cold smile spread across my bloodied lips. 4 Seeing me smile, Chelsea’s amusement turned to fury. “What the hell are you smiling at, you bitch?” she roared. “You think this is funny? I’ll make sure you never smile again.” My voice was a soft, chilling whisper as I looked right at her. “Your face is about to be ruined.” Her eyes flew wide. Her expression turned darker than a storm cloud. “You whore, how dare you curse me? I’ll kill you for that.” She rolled up her sleeves and stalked toward me. But in the next second, she slipped and crashed to the ground. “Ah!” she screamed, her hands flying to her face. “Chelsea, your face!” one of her friends gasped. Chelsea fumbled for her compact mirror, and her scream intensified. She clutched the bleeding side of her face, her eyes locking on me with pure venom. My gaze drifted to the small razor blade that had mysteriously appeared on the floor, and my smile widened. Enraged, Chelsea scrambled toward me. “You jinx! You did this!” she shrieked. “If you’re going to run that filthy mouth of yours, I’ll make sure you can never speak again.” My nails dug into my palms. My voice was raspy. “You wouldn’t dare.” She arched an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m going to be the next Mrs. Sterling. You’re just a nobody from the countryside. Why shouldn’t I dare to put you in your place?” She gave her friends a look. They immediately seized me. She pulled two long, slender needles from her purse and advanced on me, step by deliberate step. “Today, I’m doing the world a favor by shutting that cursed mouth of yours for good.” “Even if you pierce my throat, it will heal.” As the words left my lips, a flicker of gold flashed in my eyes, so fast that no one noticed. She was quick. The needle plunged into my throat. Pain exploded through my body. I thrashed wildly, but no sound came out. Seeing my silent agony, Chelsea looked ecstatic. “This is what happens to whores like you.” Tears streamed down my face. The pain in my throat sent waves of cold sweat through me. My vision started to blacken. I was losing consciousness. The housekeeper, Auntie Mae, ran to Chelsea’s side. “Future Mrs. Sterling, that’s exactly how you deal with shameless women like her. Back in my day, we would have drowned a seductress like this in a pig cage.” I bit my tongue, the sharp tang of blood keeping me lucid. Chelsea dusted off her hands, a smug look on her face. “You’re right. A filthy woman like her needs to be cleansed. Let’s go wash her up.” She looked down at me as if I were a piece of trash. “Grab her.” Just as they moved, a deep voice cut through the air. “Who are you people? What are you doing in front of my house?” “Elara!” It was the voice of Mr. Sterling.

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My husband has selective hearing. If I ask him to take in the laundry, he doesn’t hear me. If I ask him to do the dishes, he doesn’t hear me. When I finally scream at him in frustration, he just watches me silently, letting me lose my mind. Then, he never fails to add, “I never said I wouldn’t do it. What are you freaking out about?” I’ve finally had enough. I’m tired. So, I started to play his game, developing a selective hearing of my own. And this time, the one who’s going crazy is him. 1 After dinner, I took our son, Leo, for his bath. On my way to the bathroom, I specifically told my husband, Addison, to remember to do the dishes. He was glued to his phone and grunted an “uh-huh” without even looking up. But when I came out of the bathroom after getting Leo washed and ready for bed, the dinner table was still a disaster zone. Addison was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, letting out little snorts of laughter every now and then. “Addison, didn’t I ask you to do the dishes?” I asked, my voice tight as I fought to keep my anger in check. He still didn’t look up, his fingers flying across the screen. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t rush me.” Since he said that, I couldn’t really press the issue. After I tucked Leo into bed, I came back out to the living room. The dirty dishes were still sitting on the table, untouched. I glanced at Addison, who was still lost in his phone on the sofa, and thought, He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t need me to ask him three or four times to do a simple task. If I kept nagging, it might just make him dig his heels in even more. Swallowing the words that were about to burst out, I went back to our room and went to sleep. The next morning, I got up to make breakfast, only to find yesterday’s dishes exactly where I’d left them. Grease had congealed into a sticky, disgusting film on the table. After sitting out all night, it was hard and nauseating to scrub off. I remembered how I’d reminded him again and again last night to clean the table and do the dishes. And what did he do? He played on his phone from six o’clock until God knows when before finally stumbling into bed. Time for his phone, but no time for the dishes. A hot fury surged through me. I cleaned the table, washed the dishes, and then made breakfast. By the time Addison got up, I was already eating. “Oh,” he said, feigning surprise. “There’s breakfast?” He sat down across from me without another word and started digging in. “Addison.” I took a deep breath, trying to force down the inferno in my chest. “Didn’t I remind you twice yesterday to do the dishes? But when I got up this morning, they hadn’t moved an inch.” Addison didn’t say anything, just kept eating. I slammed my fork down on the table and glared at him. Sensing my anger, he finally looked up with a sheepish grin. “Oh, wow, I just forgot. Look at you, getting all worked up.” “Don’t worry,” he added, his tone far too cheerful. “I’ll get them next time. I promise!” Looking at his smug, carefree face, a profound sense of helplessness washed over me. 2 After breakfast, I got up to wake Leo. As I left the table, I told Addison to take the clothes out of the washing machine and hang them up to dry. This time, he nodded enthusiastically. “Mission accepted.” I figured that after what happened yesterday, and with me having just lost my temper, he’d actually do it. It wasn’t even a big deal—just a few items of clothing. It would take him five minutes, tops. I got Leo dressed and ready, and without even checking the laundry, I took him out the door. I dropped Leo off at daycare, then headed to work. When I got home that evening, I glanced instinctively toward the balcony. Seeing no clothes hanging there, my stomach dropped. I rushed over and threw open the lid of the washing machine. Just as I’d feared, this morning’s load of laundry was still sitting there in a damp, crumpled heap. After being sealed in the machine all day, a sour, mildewy smell hit me. There was nothing for it. I had to wash them all over again. The moment Addison got home, he flopped onto the sofa and pulled out his phone. Our living room connects to the balcony, and the washing machine isn’t exactly quiet, but he acted as if he couldn’t hear a thing. When the machine beeped, signaling the end of the cycle, I shouted from the kitchen. “Addison, the laundry’s done! Go hang it up!” Silence. I poked my head out of the kitchen and called out again, louder this time. “Addison, hang up the laundry!” Still nothing. Clutching my spatula, I stormed over to the sofa and kicked his foot. He slowly tore his eyes away from his phone, his expression full of annoyance. “I heard you, I heard you.” “I heard you the first time.” “It’s just hanging up some clothes. I’ll get to it.” That was it. I exploded. “You’ll get to it? Didn’t I ask you to do it this morning before I left? Did you do it then?” “I came home to find the clothes still in the washer, and they stank! Do you have any idea?” Addison just clicked his tongue. “So I forgot. You just wash them again. It’s not a big deal. I don’t know what you’re so mad about.” His casual, dismissive attitude made me feel like I was the one making a big deal out of nothing. I repeated myself one last time, my voice steely. “Remember to hang the clothes. I’m going back to cook.” 3 Addison didn’t respond. I went back to the kitchen to finish dinner. By the time I brought the food out, the clothes were still not hung up. Addison wasn’t on the sofa. I glanced around and saw the bathroom door was closed. Great. He was in the bathroom. I was done waiting for him. I went and hung the laundry myself. When Addison came out of the bathroom, the clothes were already drying on the line. He shot me a smirk but said nothing as he sat down at the table and started to eat. The sound from his video clips was blasting, the noise filling the small apartment as he ate and watched. Leo is only three, at that age where he’s curious about everything. He saw Addison eating with his phone and looked at me. “Mommy, why can Daddy watch his phone while he eats, but I can’t?” I know the best way to teach a child is by example. So I said quietly, “Addison, can you just eat your dinner? Put the phone away.” Addison didn’t react, his thumb continuing to scroll. I raised my voice. “Addison, put the phone away.” Still no response. I took a sharp breath and yelled, my voice ringing through the room. “Are you listening to me? Did you hear what I said?” “Put the phone away and eat your dinner!” Addison rolled his eyes at me, his face a mask of irritation. “I know, I know! God, you talk so much. You sound just like my mother.” He sneered. “Chloe, you’re not that old. Don’t go into early menopause on me.” I felt like I was going to explode. Ask him to do one simple thing, and he drags his feet. Talk to him, and it takes three tries before he even acknowledges me. Is he deaf? Are his legs broken? Or is there something wrong with his brain? 4 I didn’t want to fight in front of our son. So I tried to reason with him. “You’re eating and playing on your phone, and Leo is watching you. He’s going to copy everything you do.” Addison was completely unbothered. “He can eat and play on his phone too. I’m not stopping him.” A firestorm of rage was building inside me, but I had nowhere to direct it. “Addison, do you hear yourself?” “He’s three years old! You want him to pick up bad habits like this? What happens later?” Addison just shrugged. “Well, he’s not gonna starve.” I couldn’t stand to say another word to him. I fed Leo his dinner, and only then did I start to eat my own. After Addison finished, he went right back to his phone. “Addison, go give Leo his bath.” My plan was that while he bathed Leo, I could clean up the kitchen, and then I could read Leo a few stories before putting him to bed. Addison was still glued to his phone, laughing so hard his eyes disappeared into slits, but he didn’t answer me. I kicked him again, and he finally looked up at me. “What!” he snapped, his voice dripping with impatience. “I said, go give your son a bath! Are you deaf?” Addison let out an annoyed “tsk.” “Alright, alright. I got it.” “So much nagging.” I finished my dinner and went to do the dishes. When I came out of the kitchen, I found Addison lying in our bed playing on his phone, while Leo sat on the floor watching TV. The bath was still not done. “Addison, I asked you to give Leo a bath. When exactly were you planning on doing it?” He didn’t answer, just shifted his position on the bed, his eyes never leaving his phone. I was so tired. So incredibly tired. And in that moment, I finally understood. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hear me. He was pretending not to. Because he knew that if he just played dumb, played deaf, eventually I’d get fed up and do it myself. I couldn’t understand it. His mom had only been gone for three days. How did Addison turn into this person? 5 Addison and I met and fell in love on our own. We’d been dating for over a year when I got pregnant unexpectedly, so we got married. At the time, I had a good job and was on the fast track for a promotion. I didn’t want to quit because of the baby, so Addison asked his mom to come and help. My mother-in-law was a wonderful woman. When I was recovering from childbirth, she cooked me four different meals a day, never repeating a dish. She took amazing care of Leo, and I barely had to lift a finger. This year, Leo turned three and started preschool. His mom said she wanted to go back to her hometown; she wasn’t used to the big city. Honestly, I was sad to see her go. Her being here made our lives so much easier. But if she wanted to leave, I couldn’t stop her, so I agreed. I had forgotten that when his mom was around, Addison wouldn’t even get his own plate of food. She would serve him and bring it to him at the table. When had he ever done a single chore? So now that she was gone, he just assumed life would continue as it always had, with him being waited on hand and foot. But a good home requires effort from both people. When one person does too much, they’re bound to break. I decided it was time Addison got a taste of his own selective hearing. 6 I took Leo, gave him a bath, read him a picture book, and tucked him in for the night. The next day, I made breakfast just for Leo and me. After we ate, I woke Leo up and had him get ready. When Addison finally emerged from the bedroom, he found the kitchen empty. He asked me, “Where’s breakfast?” I didn’t answer him, just focused on packing Leo’s school bag. Addison asked again, his voice a little louder. “Where’s breakfast?” I just said, “Oh, we already ate.” “You didn’t make any for me?” Addison sounded annoyed. I shrugged. “You never asked me to.” “You!” Addison was so angry he just stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Ha. He couldn’t handle that? This was just the beginning. That evening, Addison said he had a work dinner and wouldn’t be home. I was perfectly happy with that. I picked Leo up from preschool and took him out for dinner. We even went to an indoor playground. By the time we got home, I gave him a quick bath, and he was so exhausted he fell asleep without me even having to read him a story. The third day, at breakfast, I once again told Addison to remember to hang up the laundry. I knew he wouldn’t do it, so I only put his clothes in the washing machine. Leo’s and my clothes had been washed and dried the night before. Sure enough, Addison didn’t hang up the laundry. When I got home from work, his clothes were still sitting in the washing machine. I didn’t touch them. They were his clothes, not mine. If he couldn’t be bothered to hang up his own clothes, why should I do it for him? It wasn’t until the next morning that Addison realized he had nothing clean to wear. His company requires a uniform for work. He has two sets. One was still sitting in the washer, and the other, which he wore yesterday, was already starting to smell. “Chloe, why didn’t you hang up my clothes?” he asked, his voice laced with anger. I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I ask you to hang them up yesterday morning? You didn’t do it?” Addison was speechless. He must have assumed that, like last time, I would see the unhung laundry, rewash it, and hang it up for him. He never expected that I would stop enabling him, that I’d just let his clothes sit in the washing machine for a day and a night. When Addison finally pulled the clothes out, the stench almost knocked him over. “Chloe, did you do this on purpose?” “Last time I forgot to hang the laundry, you noticed right away. This time, you deliberately let my clothes sit in there all day, didn’t you?” I’d never met anyone so shameless. “And you,” I shot back, “did you deliberately not hang them up?” “You figured that if you didn’t do it, I would, so you just decided not to bother.” Knowing he was in the wrong, Addison could only pull on yesterday’s dirty uniform and head to work. 7 I thought after these last couple of days, Addison might finally learn his lesson. But then, I overheard a conversation between Addison and one of his buddies. “Man, I’m so over it. It’s just a bunch of little things, and she’s constantly on my case about it.” “If she cooks, I have to do the dishes.” “If she does the dishes, I have to give our son a bath.” “If she puts the laundry in, I have to hang it up.” “Why?” “It’s such a small thing, does it really have to be me? Can’t she just do it herself?” “When my mom was here, she never asked me to do a single thing!” I couldn’t hear what his friend said on the other end, but whatever it was, it just made Addison angrier. “You think I haven’t tried that?” “I used to just drag my feet. Not do the dishes, not hang the laundry.” “And you know what happened?” “She stopped making me dinner. She only washes her own clothes and Leo’s.” “I’m serious, man. I’m so done.” “If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, you think I would’ve married her?” “I must’ve been cursed to end up with her!” I stood just outside the study door, hearing every single word of his rant. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. So that was it. The only reason he married me was because I was pregnant. And I was foolish enough to think it was for love. Especially with his mom being so wonderful, we never had any of the typical mother-in-law drama. So I just assumed that my relationship with my husband was fine, too. I never imagined this is how Addison truly felt about me. The truth is, he knew exactly what he was doing all along. He was doing it on purpose. If he despises me that much… then maybe it’s time to let go.

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1 I was laid off from the big auto plant. Middle-aged, with no other marketable skills, the only work I could find was managing the stockroom at a small private manufacturing firm. On my first day, I saw it in the corner, a massive machine shrouded in dust. It was a state-of-the-art imported precision instrument, worth over half a million dollars, just sitting there like a heap of scrap metal. A new coworker snickered. “Don’t even bother looking. The boss paid a fortune for it, hired eight different experts, and none of them could get it working. It’s just an expensive paperweight now.” I walked over, my hand tracing the familiar lines of its chassis. “I can fix this.” The entire workshop fell silent. The boss, hearing the commotion, came over and looked me up and down with contempt. “You fix it, and I’ll give you half my shares in this company. You can’t, and you’ll spend the rest of your life paying me back for it.” The hot, dry air of the workshop smelled of machine oil and metal dust. Every eye was on me, a spotlight of disbelief and scorn, as if they were looking at a madman. The boss, Rick Thorne, a man in his forties with a growing paunch and gold-rimmed glasses, pushed through the crowd. He sized me up, his gaze as sharp as a scalpel, traveling from my faded, washed-out work shirt down to my dust-covered, steel-toed boots. Finally, his eyes settled on my hands, a roadmap of calluses and small, silvery scars. “You?” he grunted, the sound a mix of disbelief and open mockery. “John Carter, is it? HR told me you used to manage a warehouse at the old GM plant.” “I was a senior technician,” I corrected him. My voice wasn’t loud, but each word was clear. “Senior technician?” Rick acted as if I’d just told the joke of the century. He let out a booming laugh, his belly shaking. A wave of sycophantic laughter echoed through the workshop. “A senior technician working in a stockroom? Come on, Carter, that’s not even a good lie.” “I’m not lying.” I met his eyes and repeated, “I can fix it.” My gaze drifted past him to the behemoth slumped in the corner. A German DMG MORI 5-axis machining center. Its ivory-white enamel casing was coated in a thick layer of grime, like a forgotten work of art. My heart gave an unexpected twinge—the bittersweet ache of seeing an old friend again. Rick’s laughter died in his throat. A muscle in his fleshy cheek twitched, and his eyes turned hard and cold. “Alright, fine.” He clapped his hands together. “I’ve got twenty engineers on my payroll. I’ve spent over seventy grand on eight so-called experts and professors, and not one of them had the balls to say what you just said.” He stepped right up to me, his stubby finger nearly poking my nose. “And you, a new stockroom guy, you’re telling me you can fix it?” “I am.” I didn’t flinch. “Done!” He threw his arm out. “We’ll make a bet, right here, right now! You get this machine running, and I’ll give you half of this company! We’ll draw up the papers, sign them on the spot!” A collective gasp went through the crowd. Half the company. That was millions. Rick’s eyes turned vicious, like a cornered animal’s. “But if you can’t fix it, or if you break it even more…” He gritted his teeth, his voice a low growl. “This machine cost me five hundred thousand dollars. You’ll be working for me for the rest of your life to pay it off.” The workshop was dead silent. Even the whirring of the fans seemed to have stopped. “Boss, don’t waste your time with this idiot,” the shop foreman said, trying to smooth things over. “Yeah, Rick, he’s just trying to make a name for himself.” Rick ignored them, his eyes locked on mine. “You in or out?” An image of my wife, Sarah, her face pale and thin, flashed through my mind. The cost of her medication had already drained our savings. My daughter had just gotten into college; she needed money now more than ever. I’d been “downsized,” tossed aside like a fish on the shore. This trade, this skill that everyone else looked down on, was all I had left. Dignity? Dignity doesn’t pay the bills. But this fire in my chest, this burning need to prove them all wrong, was suffocating me. “I’m in,” I heard myself say. A cruel smile spread across Rick’s face. “Good. You’ve got guts.” He turned and barked at his assistant. “Mark! Get the contract! No, not a contract—a betting agreement! I’m going to teach this guy a lesson today about running his mouth!” A few minutes later, a sheet of paper, still warm from the printer, was slapped down in front of me. Equipment Repair Betting Agreement. Party A: Rick Thorne. Party B: John Carter. The terms were brutally simple: If John Carter successfully repaired the DMG 5-axis machining center, Party A would transfer 50% of the company shares. If the repair failed or caused further damage, John Carter would be liable for the full depreciated value of the equipment, totaling five hundred thousand dollars. “And I mean it about you paying me back for the rest of your life,” Rick said, lighting a cigarette. The smoke swirled around his face, making him look even more menacing. “If you can’t pay, you’ll be my indentured servant. I’ll be sure to ‘take good care’ of your wife and kid, too.” It was a naked threat. The other workers gathered around, whispering. “He’s crazy. He’s actually going to sign it.” “Look at him. How’s he ever going to pay that back? He’s signing away his entire life.” “Serves him right for being a loudmouth.” I picked up the pen, its tip hovering over the paper for a second. I remembered my wife that morning, grabbing my hand, her eyes full of worry. “John, don’t push yourself too hard. Your health is what’s important. We’ll make the money back, slowly.” I remembered my daughter’s excited voice on the phone. “Dad, I got a scholarship! It’ll help you and Mom out!” I couldn’t fail. I had to win. Without another moment’s hesitation, I signed my name, John Carter, on the line for Party B. After I finished, I looked up, meeting Rick’s contemptuous gaze. “Boss, I need an advance. Three months’ salary.” Rick stared at me, dumbfounded. Then, he burst out laughing, even louder and more derisive than before. “Ha! Hahahaha! You haven’t even started working, and you’re already asking for money? You son of a…” He caught himself, his expression shifting to one of pure disgust. “Fine! You want it? You got it!” He had the accountant bring a stack of cash and, in front of everyone, slammed it onto the table in front of me. “Two thousand bucks! Go buy your wife her medicine!” The green bills scattered like leaves, fluttering across the floor. Some slid under the greasy base of a nearby lathe. In that moment, all sound faded away. I could only hear the roar of blood rushing to my head. Humiliation, like a dull knife, sawed at my insides. I bent down in silence. Under the watch of dozens of pairs of eyes, I picked up the money, one bill at a time, each one carrying the warmth and scorn of another man. I carefully smoothed the wrinkles from the oil-stained bills, folded them neatly, and placed them in the inside pocket of my shirt, right over my heart. A young woman standing behind Rick, maybe in her early twenties and wearing a white sundress, frowned. It was his daughter, Lisa. I didn’t look at anyone. I turned and walked straight toward the dust-covered machine. My back was ramrod straight. “She’s mine now.” 2 I walked a slow circle around the DMG machine, like I was inspecting a long-lost friend. The others had dispersed, returning to their workstations, but I could feel their eyes on me, their ears tuned in, all waiting to see the “clown” in the corner make a fool of himself. Lisa hadn’t left. She stood a short distance away, arms crossed, her face a mask of undisguised skepticism and curiosity. “I need a toolset,” I said to her. She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of tools? The stockroom is full of them. Go get them yourself.” I shook my head and recited a string of German words. “Eine komplette Garnitur von der Hoffmann Group, Drehmomentschlüssel, Satz Feinmessschrauben…” Lisa’s expression froze. She only understood bits and pieces, but the authentic German pronunciation chipped away at the disdain on her face. “What did you say?” I switched back to English, patiently repeating myself. “A German-made Hoffmann Group toolset. Sixteen-piece socket set, a torque wrench, and a set of precision micrometers. They were bought with the machine when the factory was set up. Should be in a silver metal case.” The shop foreman, a jaded old-timer named Dave, let out a snort. “Hey, Carter, who do you think you are? You think you know where everything is? We don’t have anything like that here.” “You do,” I said calmly. “It’s in the stockroom, second row of shelves, third box from the top. It should have a label on it that says ‘Ersatzteile’.” Dave’s face changed. “Ersatzteile” was German for “spare parts.” The label was there, but almost no one in the factory knew what it meant. Lisa’s eyes lit up. She turned to the foreman. “Dave, go have a look.” Dave, muttering about how I was just guessing, took two workers and headed to the stockroom. A few minutes later, the three of them returned, carrying a dusty silver metal case, their faces etched with astonishment. They opened the case. Inside, nestled in red velvet lining, was a brand-new set of German tools, gleaming with a metallic sheen, the protective oil still slick on their surfaces. Dave’s face went from red to white and back again. A few hushed gasps rippled through the onlookers. The way Lisa looked at me had completely changed. I paid them no mind. I put on a pair of reading glasses I’d pulled from my pocket and took a long, thin metal rod from the case—a mechanic’s stethoscope. I didn’t open a single electrical cabinet or connect any diagnostic equipment. I gently placed one end of the rod against the machine’s main spindle housing. Then, I bent down and pressed the other end firmly to my ear. I closed my eyes. The gesture was like a seasoned old doctor listening to a chronically ill patient. “Heh, what a showoff. Who does he think he’s fooling?” a young worker whispered. “Yeah, thinks he’s some kind of machine whisperer? He’s going to diagnose it just by listening?” Lisa frowned, clearly baffled by what I was doing. I heard none of it. My world had shrunk to just me and this machine. I could hear the subtle sounds from within. The almost imperceptible, abnormal friction between the gears. The minuscule, jerky hesitation as the guide rails slid. The faint popping of air bubbles in a specific point of the lubrication line. To anyone else, it was just noise. To me, it was a detailed diagnostic report, clear as day. For a full ten minutes, I didn’t move. Then, I straightened up and took off my glasses. I reached out with my rough hands and, as if stroking a lover’s skin, ran my fingertips over the cold seams of the guide rails, again and again. My fingers could feel the microscopic misalignments and wear, measured in microns. “Well?” Lisa finally broke the silence. Her voice had lost its earlier contempt, replaced now by sheer bewilderment. I turned to face her, and to face Rick and the other workers who had gathered around again. I announced my diagnosis. “It’s not an electrical problem.” “It’s the machine’s XY-axis drive module. It took a hard impact during shipping or installation, causing an irreversible loss of mechanical precision.” “My initial estimate is a deviation of at least 50 microns.” The statement hit the workshop like a bomb. Lisa’s eyes went wide. She rushed over to a nearby desk, rummaged through a pile of papers, and pulled out a report, holding it up to me. “But… but the diagnostic report from those eight experts concluded it was a ‘main control chip overload and burnout, drive circuit board failure, recommend complete replacement of the motherboard and servo system’!” On the report, the words “Main Control Chip Failure” were in bold red, followed by a shocking repair quote—one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. My eyes scanned the report, and a cold smile touched my lips. “They were wrong.” “How can you be so sure?” Lisa pressed, her voice urgent. I pointed to an inconspicuous hex bolt on the machine’s base. “This bolt is one of the reference points for leveling the machine at the factory. Its torque specification is incredibly strict, with a tolerance of less than 0.1 Newton-meters.” I gave the bolt a gentle twist with my fingers. “But the torque on this bolt is wrong. It’s been re-tightened.” “And by an amateur. Not only did they fail to recalibrate it, but they also destroyed the stress balance of the entire base that was set at the factory.” “That’s the real source of the precision loss.” “As for the electrical alarms,” I paused, “that’s just the system’s self-preservation kicking in. The mechanical error is causing the servo motors to overload.” The workshop was utterly silent. Everyone was staring at me as if I were some kind of alien. A stockroom manager, using only his ears and hands, had just refuted the conclusions of eight professors armed with sophisticated instruments. It was unbelievable. Rick’s face was a storm of conflicting emotions—doubt and shock warring for dominance. Lisa was completely floored. The last traces of disdain in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a profound, undisguised astonishment and intense curiosity. “Talk is cheap,” Rick said, his face grim, breaking the silence. “You said you can fix it, so fix it. I don’t care if you heard it or felt it. I just want results.” “Alright.” I said nothing more. I took off my outer shirt, leaving me in a gray, worn-out tank top. From the new Hoffmann toolset, I selected a few oddly shaped instruments. With no blueprints, no repair manual, I began to disassemble the machine’s core drive system. My every movement had a strange, fluid rhythm. Which screw to loosen, with how much force. Which component to remove, in what order. It was all as if I had practiced it a thousand times, the motions ingrained in my muscle memory. My hands, those calloused and scarred hands, moved with the grace of a dancer. The crowd of workers, who had initially been watching for entertainment, fell silent. “Look at him, pretending he knows what he’s doing. It’ll be hilarious when he can’t put it back together.” “Yeah, this is German engineering. You can’t just mess with it without a manual. He’s asking for trouble.” But gradually, the snickering stopped. Everyone held their tongue, their expressions shifting from amusement to silence, then to surprise, and finally, to something bordering on awe. To these trained eyes, what I was doing was simply impossible. It was a level of skill that transcended technique and approached art. Lisa had found a thick, original German-language repair manual from somewhere. She flipped through the pages frantically, her eyes darting between the book and my hands. Her mouth fell open. “Oh my God… your procedure…” she stammered, her voice trembling. “It’s in the manual… the ‘Emergency Calibration for Extreme Conditions’… But… my professor in Germany said this was just a theoretical best-case scenario, that no one could actually do it in real life!” The procedure demanded an impossible level of feel, experience, and judgment. One tiny mistake would scrap the entire core module. I didn’t look up, my focus entirely on measuring the clearance of a ball screw with a specialized caliper. “Theory?” I said quietly. “Twenty years ago, in Hannover, the old masters at DMG taught me this, step by step.” I paused, wiping the sweat from my brow. I looked up at Lisa’s stunned face and revealed a piece of my past. “Twenty years ago, Hannover, Germany. DMG headquarters. I was in the first group of technicians they ever invited from my country.” My mind flashed back to a time when I was full of fire and ambition. FLASHBACK In my twenties, wearing a crisp blue uniform, I stood before the most advanced machine tools in the world, my eyes shining with a hunger for knowledge. I was surrounded by stern German engineers and top technicians from across the globe. Driven by a stubborn refusal to be second-best and a natural gift, I mastered every technique in record time. I was even debating design improvements with the German masters. We drank beer together, pulled all-nighters over blueprints. We gave names to every machine we calibrated. A blond, blue-eyed engineer named Klaus clapped me on the shoulder, saying in his broken English, “John! You are a genius! A true mechanical genius!” END FLASHBACK I looked at the dusty machine before me, my gaze softening. “Back then, this model was called the DMC-60H. We called her ‘Ingrid’.” “She was like a proud, precise German woman. You had to treat her with the utmost gentleness and understanding. Only then would she show you her perfect side.” “I’m just… catching up with an old friend I haven’t seen in years.” Lisa was speechless. She stared at me—this middle-aged man in a stained tank top, his back slightly stooped. She couldn’t reconcile the man before her with the image of a washed-up factory worker laid off and forced to take a menial job. The cognitive dissonance was overwhelming. “Who… who are you?” She used a respectful tone, her voice quivering. I just smiled and didn’t answer. I turned back to my work. Using a special technique, like a dragonfly skipping across water, I began to tap the locking pins of the calibration module. The force and location of each tap were terrifyingly precise. The only sound in the workshop was the crisp, rhythmic tink, tink, tink. That sound was like a hammer, striking at the heart of every person watching. It shattered their deep-seated arrogance, the belief that a person’s worth was measured by their degree or job title. Three hours later, the mechanical calibration was complete. I fitted the last casing panel and tightened the final screw. The entire process had been flawless. Of the hundreds of parts I had removed, not a single one was left over, not a single one was missing. “Done,” I said, straightening up and letting out a long breath. The workshop was deathly still. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the miracle. Rick’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, his palms slick with sweat. His face was a cocktail of hope, anxiety, and disbelief. Lisa looked at me with open adoration. She walked to the control panel, took a deep breath, and with a slightly trembling hand, pressed the green start button. VMMMMMM— A smooth, pleasant electrical hum filled the air. The machine’s LCD screen lit up, and a series of indicator lights flashed on as it began its self-diagnostic sequence. “It’s on! The screen is on!” a worker shouted excitedly. A massive grin of pure joy spread across Rick’s face. It worked! It actually worked! This hunk of metal, condemned by eight experts, had just been brought back to life by this unassuming stockroom manager. But their joy lasted less than ten seconds. BEEP—BEEP—BEEP— A shrill, piercing alarm cut through the workshop’s quiet hum. The LCD screen flashed, displaying a wall of red error codes in German. At the very top, a bold warning message stabbed through everyone’s hopes. SYSTEM OVERLOAD! SHUTDOWN IMMEDIATELY! The alarm was so sharp it felt like it could puncture eardrums. The lights that had just turned on all went dark. The codes on the screen scrolled frantically before settling on a solid, bloody red. The celebratory mood that had just filled the workshop was instantly doused in ice water. Rick’s smile froze on his face, twisting into something uglier than a grimace. How could this happen? It was working. Why would it suddenly alarm out? Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from the workshop entrance. “Mr. Thorne! Mr. Thorne! I brought Professor Evans!” It was Mark, the assistant, escorting a man in his late fifties wearing a sharp suit. It was the head of the “eight experts” Rick had hired, Professor Evans himself. The moment the professor walked in and saw me, the “stockroom guy,” standing next to the machine, his face darkened. “Sheer madness!” he boomed, his voice dripping with academic arrogance and the fury of a man whose authority had been challenged. “Mr. Thorne, didn’t I tell you? This is an incredibly delicate piece of equipment! Any contact by an untrained person could have devastating consequences! How could you let a handyman touch my ‘patient’?!” He rushed to the control panel and glanced at the blood-red error codes, his face contorting into an expression of profound grief. He slapped his thigh dramatically and pointed at the screen. “It’s over! It’s completely ruined!” “Mr. Thorne, the motherboard is completely fried! Before, it was just a problem with the drive chip; there was a glimmer of hope. But after he’s been messing with it, a high-voltage surge has fried the main CPU! This machine is now, officially, a pile of scrap! There is zero hope of repair!” Every word from the professor was a sledgehammer blow to Rick’s heart. Rick’s face went from pale to ashen, and finally to a dark, thunderous black. He whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto me, a gaze so cold and raw it could have stripped flesh from bone. “John… Carter…” His voice was a guttural snarl, filled with the rage of a man who has been deceived and betrayed. The “life or death” agreement I had signed, the half-million-dollar debt, felt like an invisible mountain crashing down on top of me. The looks from the crowd—gleeful, pitying, scornful—weaved into a suffocating net, trapping me in the center. I met Rick’s murderous glare and Professor Evans’s smug, triumphant sneer. And I said, each word perfectly clear, “He’s wrong.” “This isn’t an overload.” “It’s a safety protocol. Someone intentionally altered the safety thresholds in the system.” The professor burst out laughing before I had even finished. “Preposterous! Absolutely preposterous!” He pointed a finger at my nose and addressed the room. “Listen to this! A stockroom manager who can’t even read a circuit diagram is lecturing me on safety parameters? This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!” “This is a classic cascade failure caused by hardware damage! Do you even know what a safety parameter is? Do you have any idea what level of security clearance is required to access this machine’s backend?” He turned to Rick, his voice dripping with feigned sympathy as he twisted the knife. “Mr. Thorne, you were too soft-hearted, and you let this con artist fool you! And now look! Five hundred thousand dollars, down the drain!” Rick’s fists were clenched so hard they were cracking. Veins bulged on the back of his hands. He pointed at me, his voice trembling with fury. “Carter, you better have a damn good explanation.” “Or that contract…” “You’re not walking out of this workshop today!”

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