To escape a forced marriage, I pretended to be mute for six months. But I still ended up married to the crippled, gloomy tycoon of the Upper East Side—my father’s friend, the man I grew up calling “Uncle.” Because of his “disability,” I have to do everything myself in the bedroom. One night, exhausted and dizzy, I bit down hard on his shoulder to stifle a scream. Suddenly, floating text—like a live stream chat—appeared before my eyes. [LMAO, they are both faking it so hard.] [Girl, just scream at him already. Our billionaire loves dirty talk.] [The gloomy ghost’s legs have been fine for ages. The pervert just likes watching her do all the work.] I snapped. I looked him in the eye and yelled, “Silas Thorne, you are absolutely useless!” He paused, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face as he rubbed his thumb over my lip. “Hmm? If I’m so useless, how did I just miraculously cure your voice?” 1 I am the villain of this story. Before I “awakened,” I tried to drug the male lead, Liam Sterling. But I failed. The one who succeeded was the innocent “white lotus” heroine. When Liam sobered up, he went on a warpath. He hunted me down socially and professionally. When he couldn’t catch me, he decimated my family’s business. The Vance empire was bleeding cash, and my dad, desperate to stop the hemorrhaging, started looking for a marriage alliance. But nobody wanted to touch the toxic waste that was our company, or me—the spoiled, notorious heiress Sloane Vance. So, my dad set his sights on Silas Thorne. Silas Thorne. The King of New York’s old money. Gloomy, cold, ruthless. He was my dad’s friend. I grew up calling him “Uncle Silas.” Back when I drugged Liam, Liam had choked me and forced the rest of the spiked drink down my throat. Silas was the one who rescued me. He took me to his estate, tied my hands with his silk tie, and made me kneel in his library. He disciplined me with a ruler, hitting my palms over and over. He was terrifying. But because of the drugs in my system, the pain felt… different. That night, right in front of the portraits of his ancestors, I assaulted him. I think I even broke a wheel off his wheelchair. 2 After that, I ran. The list of people hunting me now included Silas Thorne. Between being choked, drinking high-proof liquor, screaming for hours, and the sheer trauma, I lost my voice. Literally. I left a note for my parents and fled to Europe to “seek treatment.” Six months later, I was dragged out of a pounding nightclub in Ibiza and hauled back to New York. I pointed frantically at my throat, signaling to my dad: The Thorne family won’t accept a mute bride. My dad sighed. “Sloane, we’re broke. You’re mute. Silas is crippled. The only reason the board forced him to take this deal is because they think he can’t do any better. You being mute? It’s a feature, not a bug.” Me: ? 3 On my wedding night, I was shaking like a leaf. My dark, brooding “Uncle” rolled his wheelchair toward me. He gripped my chin, his thumb pressing against my throat. “Mute, are we?” I nodded, trembling under his touch. Rumor had it that anyone who crossed Silas Thorne disappeared. And I hadn’t just crossed him; I had molested him. And forced him into marriage. I was pretty sure he was going to kill me. “Good,” he murmured. “The soundproofing in here isn’t great.” Me: ? Silas patted my head and handed me a small box. “My legs don’t work, Sloane. You’ll have to help me.” I held the box like it was a live grenade. You pervert. Even though we aren’t blood related, I’m significantly younger than him. Was he really going to make me do this? “Scared?” I nodded, then shook my head. I am Sloane Vance, the Queen B of Manhattan. I don’t get scared. I knelt on the rug, my hands shaking as I reached out. Silas let out a heavy sigh, scooped me up, and placed me on his lap, facing him. He guided my hands. “Easy, Sloane. You’re a novice. Don’t rush.” “Sit still. Don’t fall.” “This is a custom-made titanium wheelchair. It’s sturdy. You can be bold.” … 4 Silas was truly useless. I had to do everything. Every time, I ended up exhausted, yet he forced me to keep going. A month later, I was so tired my eyelids were glued shut. I bit down on Silas’s shoulder, hard, just to stop myself from cursing him out. If he found out I’d been faking my muteness this whole time, God knows how he’d punish me. I rubbed my eyes, cursing him internally. Suddenly, glowing text appeared in the air in front of me. [LMAO. They are both faking it so hard. I can’t.] [Sloane, baby, just scream at him. Our Big Boss loves dirty talk.] [Actually, Silas is suffering too. He can’t move, he just has to watch her take the lead. He’s about to explode.] [The heiress definitely doesn’t know yet. The gloomy ghost’s legs healed ages ago, but this freak likes watching her do the work.] [Please, just call him a name. We want to hear it.] Me: … I turned my head to look at Silas. Sweat dripped from his temple onto my collarbone. His cold eyes were burning with desire, his breathing heavy and ragged. His hand gripped my waist so hard his knuckles were white. I tested my voice. It was dry and raspy. “Uncle Silas.” Silas froze. I let it rip. “Uncle Silas, you are really useless.” The hand on my waist tightened instantly. “Say that again?” My lips trembled as I unleashed a month’s worth of frustration. “What? Can’t hear me? Legs don’t work, ears don’t work either? Fine, listen closely. I said—” “You can’t do anything. You are a waste of space.” Silas brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. He looked at me, the mockery in his eyes undisguised. “Hmm?” The night grew darker. Silas rubbed his thumb over my lips. “If I’m a waste of space, how did I just cure your voice?” 5 “Bastard.” I cursed him as I threw on my clothes and locked the bedroom door. His legs were fine. He lied to me. But I didn’t dare confront him. If he got angry, he’d destroy me. The best strategy was to run. Bars, racing, golf, parties, horse riding, male models. As long as I kept moving, Silas couldn’t catch me. That weekend, I met up with my entourage for pool. They were surprised to see the new guy on my arm. “Done chasing Liam Sterling? You disappeared for six months; he was actually looking for you.” “Don’t like him anymore. Bored.” “Bored? Yeah right. But who’s the curly-haired kid? He’s cute.” The curly hair belonged to Leo, a model. My best friend was styling a shoot for the Van Der Woodsens and asked for my opinion. I didn’t like the clothes, but I liked the guy wearing them. [It’s the puppy dog! He only loves the villainess. He can be sweet or wild, gets jealous, has a great body. He becomes a famous actor later.] [Sloane grabbed him just to piss off the male lead, but the puppy fell in love for real.] [Is nobody worried about the Uncle? He’s going to lose his mind when he finds out she’s not partying with him. The four-way jealous showdown is going to be fire.] I shoved a pool cue into Leo’s hands. “Five shots. Ten grand for every ball you sink.” “Sloane, seriously? Your dad is stressing over the merger, and you’re burning cash?” Listen, in this life, I can do without love. But I cannot be ugly, poor, or embarrassed. “Daddy spoils me.” They didn’t know I was spending Silas’s money. Leo’s technique was average. I walked up behind him, wrapped my arms around him, and covered his hands with mine. His ears turned bright red. “Hands this pretty, and you can’t sink a ball?” He lowered his eyes, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “I didn’t want you to lose too much money.” Kid knows how to talk. “Spending on you isn’t a loss.” Five shots later. I pinched his cheek. “Go have fun.” “You really over Liam? Weird.” “What’s Liam Sterling? Just a pastime.” “Ahem.” Someone winked at me frantically. I bent down to line up a shot. Suddenly, a warm chest pressed against my back. A sinister voice whispered in my ear. “Is that so? A pastime.” I jumped. It was Liam. His hand gripped my waist, thumb rubbing suggestively. “I wondered where you went for six months. Found a new toy?” [AHHH IT’S THE MALE LEAD! GET OFF HER! THE HEROINE IS GONNA BE MAD!] [This is the scene where the leads meet! Liam doesn’t love our girl yet.] [Major angst point: the male lead flirts with the villainess to make the heroine jealous. Crap, how is Sloane getting out of this?] Getting out of it the same way I get out of everything. I shoved Liam off me. “Obviously.” I flicked my earring. “After trying other flavors, I realized you’re pretty bland, Liam.” Liam grabbed my wrist. “You think you can just walk away? It doesn’t work like that.” He sneered. “Guess what? I have evidence of what you did to me. If I…” My heart skipped a beat. But then I remembered—my dad and Silas surely cleaned that mess up. And frankly, that was the plot’s fault. Current me would never roofie anyone. “Did what?” the crowd asked, hungry for gossip. Liam lit a cigarette, taking his time. “Something very bad.” “How bad? Did Sloane climb into your bed?” Liam blew smoke. “You do something bad, then run away. Not very polite, is it?” The smoke hit me, choking me. Slap. I backhanded him across the face. “Blow smoke in my face again and see what happens.” Liam licked the corner of his lip and smiled. A dark, cold look settled on me. If we weren’t in public, he would have strangled me. [Male lead is so hot… but Sloane is iconic. This toxicity is delicious.] [Do you guys have no morals? She drugged him!] [I’m here for the drama. Besides, blowing smoke in someone’s face is disgusting.] Leo suddenly appeared, shoving Liam back. Liam laughed. “You think she’s a prize? You’re that desperate?” Leo grabbed my wrist. “Sloane, let’s go.” “Sloane.” Liam called out. “Finish the game. You win, I leave your family alone.” “Deal.” Win or lose, it didn’t matter.

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I am the hopeless Third Place. Every major exam, every ranking list—always stuck at number three. That is, until the day the results for the National Math Olympiad came out, and I suddenly saw the comments floating in the air. [OMG, the male lead totally tanked his score on purpose! He couldn’t bear to see Mia get punished.] [The heroine, Mia, purposely got the last question wrong too! The power couple is letting each other win. I am sobbing, I ship them so hard!] [They made a bet that whoever got second place had to run ten laps around the track, but they both tried to throw the game. Too bad they threw it too hard, and some NPC snatched first place.] [What’s her name? Zoe Reynolds?] Hearing my name, my heart hammered against my ribs. I am Zoe Reynolds. And it looked like my days of being the eternal bronze medalist were finally over. 1 In AP Calc, Mr. Harrison put a brutal problem on the board. I chewed on the end of my pen for ten minutes, calculating furiously, before accepting that this beast was outside my pay grade. I turned to the desk behind me. The resident genius. “Jace? Could you explain how to solve this? I’m stuck.” Jace Sterling was usually cold, the type who treated words like a limited currency. He rarely helped anyone. But this time, he glanced almost imperceptibly toward a certain seat in the front row, paused, and then set down his pen. His voice was cool, detached. “Sure.” He was concise. In three sentences, he untangled the knot in my brain. A true academic weapon. I looked at him with genuine admiration, completely missing the glare burning a hole in the back of my head. After the bell rang, I pulled out a tin of imported Danish butter cookies—my stash—to thank him. “Thanks for the help, Jace. Here.” I extended my hand. Clang. Before I could blink, the tin was slapped out of my hand. It hit the linoleum, cookies shattering into buttery dust. Mia Jenkins stood there, covering her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! It was an accident. I’ll buy you a new one, okay?” “No, it’s—” Before I could finish saying it’s fine, she cut in, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Besides, Jace doesn’t eat cookies. He’s gluten-intolerant. Didn’t you know?” I froze. I didn’t know that. Gluten-intolerant? But every time he came over to my place to drop off packages for his mom, he inhaled my Nana’s homemade apple pie. He’d eat three slices in one sitting. Before I could process the lie, Mia stepped over the mess she made, chin high, and marched up to Jace. She slapped a notebook onto his desk with the arrogance of a queen. “Hey, Ice Prince.” “Since you love helping people so much, explain this one to me, too.” Her voice was bright, bratty, and demanding. Jace, who usually froze people out for breathing too loud, didn’t get mad. Instead, the corner of his mouth ticked up. A smile so faint it was barely there, but his eyes? They were soft. He tapped the empty desk next to him with his pen. “Sit.” Smart, pretty girls get different rules. Without being asked, Jace’s lab partner scrambled out of his seat, winking as he left. “So, the derivative of this function…” Mia crossed her arms, pouting. “You think I’m dumb like the rest of them? I actually solved it ages ago. I have a different method. But if you call me a genius, I might deign to share it with you.” Social cues dictated I should leave. But they were discussing a new method for the problem. I stood there, listening, my brain lighting up. Wait, if you drop an auxiliary line between point A and E… I tried to chime in. “Actually, if you—” Ignored. I tried again. “What if we—” Nothing. It was like a force field surrounded them. I didn’t want to give up. A good scholar shares knowledge, right? If we pooled our brains, we could crack this three different ways. Just as I prepared to physically insert myself into the conversation, text started scrolling across my vision like a Twitch chat. [Jace is so sneaky. He helped that random girl just to make his wifey jealous.] [That girl asking for help is such a Pick-Me. Thank god Mia came in to mark her territory.] [Our Mia is a genius! Look at that Pick-Me trying to join the conversation and getting ignored. LOL.] [High IQ couple goals! I live for this academic rivals-to-lovers dynamic!] I frowned. Pick-Me? Who? Me? 2 It took me half a day of reading the floating text to figure it out. I was living inside a YA romance novel. Jace and Mia were the main characters. Jace was the textbook tortured hero: abusive dad, bedridden mom, little sister, brooding soul. Mia was the rich heiress destined to “save” him. At school, they were academic rivals. In private, they were apparently sucking face behind the bleachers. This should have had nothing to do with me. According to the chat, I was “NPC A.” A background character. But… I looked at the two of them, shoulders touching, and then at the comments screaming OMG SO CUTE. I furrowed my brow. How did I become the “Pick-Me”? I’m ranked third in the entire grade. I work my tail off. Why am I the villain just because I’m not them? Just because they hold the top two spots, does that make me a joke? And honestly, did they think Jace was some kind of prize? I bent down, cleaned up the crumbled cookies, and quietly swiped the scratch paper off Jace’s desk. Since they were geniuses, they didn’t need his notes. I handed the paper to my best friend, Chloe. She squealed and hugged me. “Zoe! You’re a wizard! How did you figure this out? I’ve been staring at this problem for an hour. You’re the GOAT!” I preened a little. “It’s nothing. Just math.” A crowd gathered around Chloe’s desk to see the solution. “Reynolds is a beast. Top three for a reason.” “Unlike some people who just brag.” “Seriously, Zoe, have you considered giving Einstein a run for his money?” I was laughing with them when I felt a cold stare. I turned. Mia was looking at me. Her expression was a mix of disgust, arrogance, and dismissal. She mouthed something at me. Don’t even try to compete. You can’t win. The chat exploded. [YAS QUEEN! Mia declaring war on the evil NPC!] [Put her in her place!] [I love a strong female lead! I hate these side characters who think the hero likes them just because he explained one problem. Sit down, honey!] Me: ? Literally, what did I do to you people? 3 From then on, every time I got within ten feet of Jace, the chat would appear. And Mia would swoop in like a hawk, staring me down with her big doe eyes as if I were about to trip and fall onto her precious boyfriend’s lips. Even though I did nothing. I took a deep breath. I tried to ignore the floating text. I tried to ignore Mia’s radar. I even quit our three-person study group. Last semester, Mia had approached me with a sweet smile. “Math Olympiad is coming up. Let’s form a study group!” I agreed. I even shared my “Holy Grail” binder—a collection of the hardest contest problems from the last ten years that I’d spent months compiling. I gave a copy to Jace, too. Scholars compete, sure, but I believed in rising tides lifting all boats. Apparently, that philosophy wasn’t mutual. I found out later they threw my binder in the trash. Mia’s high-priced private tutor had sneered at it. “Why waste time on problems from random state competitions? Stick to the Ivy League prep books.” The chat revealed the truth: The study group was just a cover so they could hang out at the library on weekends without their parents getting suspicious. I was the chaperone. The beard. While I was passionately explaining geometry proofs, they were holding hands under the table. I thought Mia’s flushed cheeks were from the library’s heating system. Nope. I was just part of their foreplay. Kermit sipping tea.jpg Gross. They didn’t know how valuable my binder was. I didn’t bother explaining. If they wanted to toss it, that was their loss. I kept my head down and grinded. The chat, however, knew the truth. [Stupid girl! That binder had legit questions from every state final! You can’t even find those online!] [Jace threw his copy out too. He has to show loyalty to his wifey. A true male lead doesn’t accept gifts from other girls.] [NOOOO! There was a question in there that’s exactly like the one on this year’s Olympiad!] Wait. Exactly like the one on the Olympiad? My eyes lit up. For the first time, I was grateful for the hallucinations. The binder was 180 pages. To finish it before the competition, I needed to do twenty pages a day. Forty problems. Let’s go. One afternoon, Mia breezed past my desk, smelling like Chanel No. 5. She saw me chewing on my pen, wrestling with a complex function. She smirked—a little curve of triumph mixed with pity. “Zoe, aren’t those questions a little… advanced? Above our syllabus?” I didn’t look up. “Just practicing.” “I just mean… if you don’t have the aptitude, don’t force it. Those problems aren’t meant for you.” She paused, widening her eyes innocently. “Don’t overthink it, though. I’m just looking out for you. You’re not mad, are you?” The malice was palpable. I didn’t get it. All I did was ask Jace for help once. I don’t usually curse. But I don’t let people walk all over me, either. I looked her dead in the eye. “None of your damn business.” The class went silent. Mia, who had clearly never been told ‘no’ in her life, turned bright red. She glared at me, eyes watering, and ran out of the room like a victim in a soap opera. The chat went nuclear. They called me every name in the book. Jace, who missed the interaction but saw the aftermath, marched over to my desk. The temperature in the room dropped. “Did you make her cry?” I looked up at him. “And?” I knew explaining was useless. To these two, reality was whatever they decided it was. Jace looked taken aback by my lack of defense. He squinted at me, analyzing. Then, with maximum arrogance, he said, “No matter what you do to get my attention, I won’t like you. I only love Mia.” I stared at him. It was so absurd I almost laughed. I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re delusional.” What is his problem? We’ve been neighbors for years. He acts like I’ve been harboring a secret crush since kindergarten. Is narcissism a requirement for male leads? 5 I ignored them. I focused on the grind. The competition was held in D.C., a few hours away. It was my first time traveling without family. Nana was worried I’d get carsick, so she packed a bag of tangerines for me. On the bus, a classmate turned green. I pulled a tangerine from my reusable ‘Shop-Rite’ bag. “Here. The citrus smell helps.” “Oh my god, Zoe, you’re a lifesaver.” Mia was sitting two rows ahead, wearing a floral dress that probably cost more than my rent. She craned her neck like a swan. She spoke loudly enough for me to hear. “Ugh. The air in here smells like poverty.” She leaned onto Jace’s shoulder. Jace looked at her with a gentle expression I’d never seen at school. “Sorry, princess. Just endure it a little longer. Some people have no public decency.” I rolled my eyes again. Helping a sick kid is lacking decency? And what was Mia so proud of? The guy next to her was poorer than I was. I just wanted to get off the bus. When we arrived, I walked past them. Mia practically shouted: “Ice block, don’t look at her!” “Is she prettier than me? Is she? If you look at her again, I’ll gouge your eyes out so you can only look at me!” The chat laughed. [Hahaha, possessive Mia is so cute!] [The wifey is jealous! The cool guy melts for her.] [Does this Pick-Me have no shame? Always trying to insert herself.] I snapped. I stopped and turned around. “If you spent half as much time studying as you do inventing drama, maybe you wouldn’t embarrass yourself on the test.” I knew their “elite” tutor was a fraud who fed them flashy, impractical problems. I didn’t wait for their reaction. I walked into the exam hall. When the test landed on my desk, my heart soared. I recognized the patterns. I’d solved variations of these problems dozens of times. I had this in the bag. Ivy League application, here I come. I didn’t know then that Jace and Mia were about to pull their biggest stunt yet.

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At 19, I had my first taste of intimacy with the school’s golden boy, Julian Sterling. Afterward, I overheard him on the phone. “Three days. You guys lost.” “No way, unless you send a pic to prove it?” Julian agreed, but at the last second changed his mind and only sent a photo of my sleeping face. From then on, he was addicted to me. And I was the perfect, obedient girlfriend. Until I left for a college on the other side of the country, blocked him on everything, and vanished. I heard Julian went crazy looking for me. I just laughed. He pursued me because of a bet; I went along with it because a girl from the trailer park only gets one shot at a guy like Julian Sterling. Once I slept with him, the spell was broken. 1 Nineteen-year-old boys have infinite energy. even the arrogant, high-maintenance trust fund kids like Julian Sterling. This was seven days after graduation. Three days after he “confessed” his feelings. We were practically strangers. The first time was quick, but he recovered fast. After that, he was relentless. My body was a new toy he couldn’t put down. The stubble on his jaw, clean-shaven earlier, had grown back, scratching my chest raw. I bit him. It only made him more aggressive. When it was finally over, he held onto me, satisfied but greedy. “Chloe.” He kissed my earlobe, his voice low. “Shower? Round two?” Then his voice softened. “Unless you’re too sore? Since it’s your first time.” I bit my swollen lip, closed my eyes shyly, and nodded. He carried me to the bathroom. An hour later, I stared blankly at the ceiling. Who would have thought Julian Sterling—the ice prince of our high school, whose family owned half the town—would be obsessively kissing every inch of a girl from the wrong side of the tracks? 2 It was almost dawn when he finally stopped. He collapsed on top of me, face buried in my neck. “Chloe, you like it?” he mumbled. “If you like it, want to come over every day?” I was too exhausted to open my eyes and just hummed a response. His phone buzzed. He got up, answered it, and collapsed onto the sofa near the bed. “What’s with the noise?” His voice was raspy, smug. The guys on the other end were loud. “Did you just finish?” “Yeah.” Julian couldn’t hide the pride. “Three days. Pay up.” “Did you take her V-card?” “Obviously.” “Damn, dude. She looks so innocent.” “So what? It’s me. You think there’s a girl I can’t get?” “I don’t buy it. Chloe is a prude. She blushed when I said hi to her last week. You expect me to believe you bagged her three days after finals?” “Believe what you want.” “Unless you got pics. That was the deal. Pics or it didn’t happen.” Julian didn’t hesitate. “Wait.” He walked back to the bed. 3 I was curled up on my side, a habit from sharing a small bed. My black hair stuck to my face. I had cried twice during the night. My eyelashes were still wet, casting shadows on my pale cheeks. My lip was swollen where I’d bitten it. I was deep asleep, breathing steadily, occasionally letting out a small, soft whimper. Julian reached for the blanket, then stopped. Instead of pulling it down, he pulled it up, covering me to my chin. Only my face was visible. He snapped a photo. His phone buzzed again. “Lame, Julian. Where’s the rest?” “Fuck off.” His voice was colder now. “She’s my girlfriend now. Watch your mouths.” “Okay, okay, chill.” “How long you gonna keep this up, though? A week?” “Maybe. Until I leave for Stanford.” “Right. You’re going to California. What if she follows you?” Julian laughed. “California is huge. Finding someone there is like finding a needle in a haystack.” “True. A girl with her background? You guys live in different universes.” 4 They weren’t wrong. My mom did two years for assault. Now she ran a food truck selling breakfast tacos. My dad was dead. Every holiday, I worked the truck—cooking, cleaning, taking cash. I always smelled like grease and onions. No matter how much I scrubbed. When Julian first approached me, he asked, “What’s that smell in your hair?” “Helping my mom at the truck,” I said honestly. “Maybe don’t stand so close. You’ll smell like grease.” “Who cares?” Julian smiled, unbothered. “Your mom’s tacos are supposed to be good. Bring me one tomorrow? I’ll pay.” He shoved a twenty in my hand. I tried to refuse, but he insisted. The next day, I brought ten tacos. I gave Julian the loaded special. The rest went to his friends. His friends wouldn’t touch them. Julian took a bite, frowned slightly, and threw the rest in the trash the second I walked into class. He never asked for tacos again. Instead, he bought me expensive shampoo and body wash. Brands I couldn’t pronounce. I looked them up; they cost more than my weekly grocery budget. Before coming over tonight, I used them. I smelled like expensive flowers. Julian was satisfied. No frowning. 5 Julian kissed me awake. “Chloe.” His chest was hot against my back. “Stay the day?” I bit my lip. “I can’t. The food truck…” “I’m your boyfriend. I don’t want you working like a dog. Here.” He kissed my neck, his hands roaming. “I’ll give you money. Lots of it. Just give me your time.” I shook my head, pushing him away, tears welling up. “I like you, Julian. I don’t want your money.” A single tear rolled down my cheek. Julian looked genuinely moved. But I knew men. In bed, they’d promise you the moon. Especially since I was his “first” too, in a way—his first conquest for a bet. He felt guilty. “I know you’re not like that,” he soothed. “If you were, you wouldn’t have rejected all those other guys.” I cried silently. “Don’t cry, baby. The money is just because I care. No strings attached.” I hugged his waist. “Julian… I’m doing this because I want to, too.” When I got home, I had a transfer notification. $10,000. Memo: Gift. I lay on my creaky metal bedframe, counting the zeros. My family had never seen this much cash at once. It wasn’t enough. My mom’s victim was paralyzed. His family came every month for “medical expenses.” It was a black hole. But now, I saw a way out. I’d be good. I’d make Julian want to keep me around. I’d get more money. Then I’d go to college, pay off the debt, and take my mom far away.

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I was scrolling through social media when I stumbled upon a thread about a guy who had fallen for a married woman. His posts were absolutely unhinged. “If you knew the woman I love belongs to someone else, you’d pity me too.” “People say I have no morals. You know who has no morals? That dog of a husband who married her without notifying me first!” I was just about to leave a comment telling him to seek therapy when I accidentally clicked on his profile. His pinned post was a photo of a woman’s back. I froze. That was my back. 1 There was no mistaking it. My best friend, Fiona, took that photo of me. I had only ever posted it on my private Instagram story. I scoured this guy’s entire profile. Nothing. Just the ramblings of a desperate, lovesick secret admirer. Probably because his latest post was so unhinged, the thread had gone viral. The comment section was a war zone. Most people were just there for the drama, but the moral police were out in full force. “First time I’ve seen someone romanticize being a homewrecker. That couple is unlucky to have a stalker like you.” “They are a legitimate couple. What’s a sewer rat like you doing trying to break up a happy home?” “Male jealousy is terrifying. You’re already attacking the husband?” The poster, clearly triggered, started defending himself in the comments. “Who’s a homewrecker? This is unrequited love. Is it illegal to crush on a married woman?” “The woman I love married someone else. Can’t I even cry about it?” You can cry. But you can’t cry about things that aren’t true. Since when was I married? Who started this rumor? Seeing the view count tick higher and higher, and terrified that someone I knew might see it, I prepared to DM him to take my photo down. But when I refreshed the page, the pinned photo was gone. It had been replaced by a text post: Manifesting their divorce: Day 1. Dude. Stop manifesting. Can you maybe do a background check first? How do you mess up the intel this badly while stalking someone? I couldn’t help it. I commented: “Are you sure she’s actually married?” A minute later, he replied: “You don’t need to comfort me. I’m sure.” Nobody is comforting you, weirdo! I was actually laughing out of sheer confusion. Who was this? Who is this inexplicable person? I spent the whole night going through my contacts list. Everyone seemed normal. No one looked like the type to run an anonymous simp account. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day, I dragged my corpse-like body to the office. I ordered a coffee and, seeing a “Buy 4 Get 1 Free” deal, grabbed a few extra for my team. When I got back from the lobby, the entire office was crowding around the conference room glass. I peeked in. And immediately locked eyes with the man inside. It took me one second to recognize him. Julian. The hottest illustrator of the moment. His face was even more legendary than his art. My Editor-in-Chief (EIC) had moved heaven and earth to get an exclusive interview with him. Seeing the human mountain blocking the door, the EIC frowned. One sharp look sent everyone scattering back to their cubicles. I started handing out the coffees. When I got to the last two, I turned around and bumped right into Julian and the EIC. Julian looked at me, then his gaze dropped to the coffee in my hand. He stared at it like it was the Holy Grail. I felt awkward under his intense stare. Out of politeness, I offered, “Do you want one?” I expected him to say no. Instead, he nodded immediately, his eyes lighting up with an emotion I couldn’t place. I paused for a second, then mechanically handed him the cup. He took it without hesitation, the corners of his mouth tilting up. I gave the other one to my boss and sat down at my desk, totally confused. I opened the app. “Secret Admirer Guy” had updated his thread. “She gave me a coffee today.” I stared at the screen. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Wait. Is “Secret Admirer Guy” my coworker? I lowered my head, scanning the room like a spy. Everyone looked normal. Typing away, looking bored. This was weird. Since when were my coworkers Oscar-worthy actors? The poster seemed ecstatic. He fired off three updates in a row. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.” “Do you think the fact that she gave me coffee means she likes me?” This level of delusion triggered the trolls in the comments. “This isn’t even crumbs, bro. You’re starving.” “Maybe her husband ordered it for her and she didn’t want it, so she treated you like a trash can.” “Stop dreaming. A happy life isn’t meant for you.” He refused to accept defeat. “What do you know? She gave coffee to a lot of people, but when she handed it to me, she smiled.” My mouth twitched. Is it possible that I just have a resting nice face? Whatever the commenters said, he ignored them, drowning in his own fantasy. Looking at him fighting the world, I became obsessed with finding out who he was. 2 I pretended to work while secretly profiling everyone in the office. I was about to give up when Justin, the shy intern, walked up to my desk. He looked like he was about to defuse a bomb. He shoved a box of chocolates at me. He stammered, eyes glued to the floor. “Zoe… thanks for the coffee.” Right. I forgot about him. His face was tomato red. The rest of the office pretended to work, but I could feel their eyes darting toward us. They lived for this drama. He looked like he would stand there until the end of time if I didn’t take it. To save him from embarrassment, I took the box. I opened it. A giant heart-shaped chocolate sat in the middle. Case closed. This kid had to be the Secret Admirer. You really can’t judge a book by its cover. He looks so introverted offline, but online he’s a total maniac. I put the chocolate away and refreshed the thread, expecting a victory post. Updated 1 minute ago. “My world is collapsing. Someone gave her chocolates.” “That pink packaging… could he be any more obvious?” “I haven’t even stolen her from her husband yet, and now I have a rival?!” …What? Is this guy a ghost? Is he living in the ceiling tiles? The commenters were having a field day. “Two guys lining up to be homewreckers. What a time to be alive.” “Does her husband know his wife isn’t going to work, but entering the Lion’s Den?” “Fighting over who gets to be Side Piece #1 and Side Piece #2?” “They are a happy couple! Leave them alone!” The poster snapped back. “Actually, I don’t think her husband is a good guy. She never posts him on social media. If he was presentable, she’d show him off.” “Also, it seems like a secret marriage. If she were my wife, I’d never hide it! It’s definitely the guy’s fault!” Look, buddy. I’d love to post him. The problem is, he doesn’t exist. Every time this guy posted, I got more confused. I scoured his following list, his likes, everything. Nothing. I almost DM’d him, “WHO ARE YOU?” but my boss pinged me. Since everyone else was busy, the Julian interview fell into my lap. My assistant for the project? Justin, the intern. He sent me twelve messages in a row, practically vibrating with excitement. He really had zero poker face. Unlike the Secret Admirer, who was apparently a ninja. I gave Justin some busy work and went to contact Julian. I got his contact info from the boss and went to add him on WeChat. But a contact popped up. No nickname. I clicked the chat history. Empty, except for the default “I’ve accepted your friend request” message from years ago. I racked my brain. I had no memory of adding him. I assumed he was one of those spam accounts or a delivery driver I’d added and forgot to delete. It turned out to be Julian. I sent a tentative message: “Are you Julian?” Seconds later: “I am.” I politely asked how we were already friends. He said he forgot, too. We added too many people for work; it happens. I stopped worrying about it and started discussing the interview prep. Julian was… different than I expected. He was too easy. Whatever request I made, whatever question I proposed, he just said, “No problem.” My boss told me he was “temperamental” and to be patient. Where was the temper? Because he was so cooperative, the prep was smooth sailing. I posted on my timeline: “Met a dream colleague today.” Ten minutes later, the Secret Admirer updated. “She said she met a dream colleague. Is it possible she means me? We just chatted for thirty minutes.” “Even though she forgot how she added me, we talked for half an hour. Who wouldn’t call that chemistry?” “Pure talent. Can’t be taught.” I stared at the text. My hands started to shake. No way. Is the Secret Admirer… Julian?! 3 Thanks to Julian, I had another sleepless night. The idea that Julian was the unhinged poster was about as plausible as a fish riding a bicycle. The next morning, I walked into the office to find a group of colleagues huddled around a phone, debating something heatedly. “Zoe!” One of them shoved the phone in my face. “Don’t you think the woman in Julian’s new painting looks familiar?” “We all feel like we’ve seen her, but we can’t place her.” I lifted my heavy eyelids. I was instantly awake. The eyes. The nose. That was me. I was sweating bullets looking at a painting that was a 70% match to my face. My mouth twitched. My colleague took that as agreement. “See? You think so too, right?” Yeah. Familiar. Too familiar. I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, looks familiar. Can’t place her though.” My colleague looked disappointed. “It’s so weird. It feels like I just saw her.” Stop talking. Please. I should have been safe. Julian’s art style is abstract enough that people were only suspicious, not certain. But I forgot one variable. Fiona. My best friend who recently became a die-hard Julian fan. When Fiona sent me the painting, I knew the game was over. Before I could deny it, she texted: “Don’t tell me that’s not you. He drew the mole on your earlobe. He drew the tiny birthmark by your hairline.” “He even drew the earrings I gave you for your birthday.” “Others might be blind, but I’m not.” Until she pointed it out, I hadn’t realized how detailed it was. How could a guy who observed me this closely make the rookie mistake of thinking I was married? Fiona was blowing up my phone. I couldn’t explain it in text, so I just forwarded the viral thread to her. She sent back a string of question marks. “Don’t change the subject. I know this guy is funny, but this isn’t the time.” I typed slowly: “This is Julian.” Fiona went silent for a full ten minutes. She needed time to process this glitch in the matrix. “You’re telling me this guy, who is actively plotting to steal a married woman, is Julian? The famous artist?” “Is he schizophrenic?” Then, Fiona realized the biggest plot hole. “Wait. When did you get married? Why wasn’t I invited?” “I didn’t know I was married either!” I yelled at my phone. “Apparently, only Julian knows!” “So Julian created an imaginary enemy online and wrote dozens of posts fighting him?” “Is this the same cool, mysterious artist I see in magazines?” Fiona declared she had been scammed. “I am unstanning. Actually, no. I’m becoming an anti-fan.” 4 I don’t know if Fiona actually unstanned, but she definitely decided to stir the pot. The night before the interview, Julian was nervous. He posted continuously. Asking about outfits, cologne, body language. He didn’t look like he was prepping for an interview; he looked like a mistress prepping to confront the wife. The netizens were roasting him alive. But one comment stood out among the mockery. “Working together is the perfect chance to make your move. I support you pursuing true love. Who cares about ‘homewrecker’ labels? Just don’t get caught.” “Besides, from your description, her husband sounds awful. You’re basically saving her.” I recognized Fiona’s chaotic energy immediately. Her comments drew massive aggro. People started attacking her. “Are homewreckers organizing online now?” “Look at her profile, she’s a Julian fan. Typical. Trash fans for a trash artist.” “Wait, what does Julian have to do with this? This anonymous poster isn’t Julian.” Except he is. In just a few sentences, Fiona had turned the comment section into a battlefield between Julian’s fans and his haters. This was high-level manipulation. In a corner of the internet nobody noticed, Julian quietly liked Fiona’s comments. He even jumped in to defend her. “Why are you scolding her? She’s just a kind netizen supporting true love. What did she do wrong?” “And what’s wrong with liking Julian? He’s handsome and talented. Isn’t it natural to like him?” Bro. This is not the time to stroke your own ego. The comment section was a mess. I woke up to find Julian was still arguing with his own anti-fans at 3 AM. I was worried he’d look like a zombie for the interview. I was wrong. He looked radiant. He looked better on three hours of sleep than I did on ten. Online, he was a keyboard warrior. Offline, he didn’t dare look me in the eye. He only dared to glare silently at Justin, who was standing next to me. Justin noticed. “Zoe, does Mr. Julian hate me?” Obviously. He thinks you’re competition for the position of “Side Piece.” I smiled and told him not to overthink it. Justin nodded, looked at Julian, and subconsciously took a step closer to me. Julian’s eyes narrowed. Despite being insane online, Julian was a pro. His answers were insightful and eloquent. He went from “Crazy Guy” back to “Cultured Artist” in my brain. At the end, the EIC let him speak freely. He thought for a moment, then looked up at me. I had a very bad feeling.

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The year I returned to New York, my life was a mess. I was passing out flyers and, exhausted, leaned against a luxury car parked on the street to catch my breath. Inside, a London-based investment banker was arguing with his trophy girlfriend. “It’s just an old picture frame!” the girl snapped, eyes red with anger. “I’m not apologizing. I’m just a replacement anyway. If you’re so upset, go find someone who looks even more like her!” Fuming, the man glanced out the window and pointed straight at me just as I pulled off my mascot head. Our eyes met, and he froze. Suddenly, floating text—like a livestream chat—appeared before my eyes. [LMAO. He accidentally points at the White Moonlight. The Ex-Wife must be secretly thrilled seeing the Male Lead hasn’t forgotten her after all these years.] [But our Substitute Sister has already healed his heart with her love. Will he still choose the villainess?] [After all, the Male Lead hates dirty things, and the Villainess… looks pretty cheap right now.] 1 “Hey, I’ll give you five million dollars. You won’t have to worry about money for three years. Will you be my mistress?” Julian shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at me with impatient, heavy-lidded eyes. Halfway through the sentence, he stopped. The casual arrogance on his face vanished, replaced by a look of profound complexity. I froze at “five million dollars.” Is the pay for being a stand-in really that good? My eyes darted around before landing on the iced americano in his hand. The new Starbucks brew, supposedly great for staying awake in this heat. Maybe the silence stretched too long. The girl in the Miu Miu dress puffed out her cheeks, turning to glare at me. “Why are you even asking her? She’s dying to say yes. Gold diggers are everywhere these days…” She stopped mid-sentence. “No way. Someone actually looks that much like her?” seeing Julian still staring at me, the girl felt a sudden pang of crisis. She looked me up and down. “But her style is tacky, she’s not as pretty as me, not as young, and her face is sweaty.” She stomped her stilettos. “Fine! Choose the flyer girl! I’m going to find another man!” “Tara.” Julian finally spoke. He tore his gaze away from me, frowned, and grabbed the girl throwing a tantrum. Tara was still muttering, aggrieved. “Let go.” “It’s just a yellowed picture frame. It broke, so what? You didn’t even yell at me when I secretly sold her apartment!” I paused. So the little apartment we lived in was sold long ago. People get sentimental as they age. I had been saving money, hoping to buy it back… As she spoke, tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. “And didn’t you say you hated it when people mentioned her name…” She tugged at the man’s sleeve, looking up at him. Julian rubbed his temples, about to scold her. But when he looked down, he froze again. I followed his gaze and froze too. It was uncanny. Or rather, it was exactly like 18-year-old me. Especially that look. Whenever I couldn’t finish my homework and cried in secret, I would look at him with that same bratty expression. After a long moment, Julian’s voice rasped. “Enough. Stop it. I’m not mad at you.” He paused. “And I don’t want to just find some random woman…” I slowly raised the flyer in my hand, interrupting him. “If you can help me hit my quota, sir, I’m willing.” The air went dead silent. Julian looked at me. In his dark eyes, I felt like I could see the reflection of my own fake smile. I had just taken off the mascot head. Hair stuck to my face. I was a mess. Reunions are so pathetic. After all these years, he still had that habit. Pursing his lips when he was in a bad mood. I blinked and changed my tune. “Sorry. Just joking.” Tara let out a breath of relief. Looking at me like I was an idiot, she pulled Julian a little further away. Pushing her luck, she asked, “So, can I never see that photo again?” Julian glanced indifferently at the shattered frame on the ground. “Mn.” He pulled a band-aid from his pocket and took the girl’s hand. “Stop talking. You scratched yourself.” 2 They drove off in the Rolls Royce. I stood there in a daze. The text barrage exploded in my vision. [LMAO. What is the Ex-Wife fantasizing about? Does she not remember who initiated the brutal breakup?] [She refused the arranged marriage and got suppressed hard. Then she got jealous and gave the Male Lead the cold shoulder. He spent a week abroad fixing the company mess.] [He came home and cooked immediately to surprise her, and she broke up with him because the fish was slightly burnt.] I gripped the flyer, my knuckles turning white. [The Male Lead was so good to her. Gave her his heart and soul. Stayed up late helping her with homework in high school, saved his allowance to buy her gifts.] [Exactly! She deserves it! Haven’t seen the Male Lead smile like that in ages. Thank god he met our little sunshine, the Substitute Sister.] [Whatever, let the Ex-Wife keep suffering. The Male Lead wasn’t supposed to throw that photo away until he was old, but the plot just sped up.] Oh, is that so? I sighed, looking at the lonely photo on the ground. It had been well protected. Not a hint of yellowing. I thought hard. This was taken a week before we broke up. The boy’s eyes were curved in a brilliant smile, holding the girl’s hand like a treasure. In contrast, the girl was expressionless, looking rather cold. My memories were hazy, and my head started to throb. Thinking of Dr. Lin’s warning, I blinked and decided not to think about it. Just as I bent down to pick up the photo… “Sarah! What are you doing standing there? Get back here!” I quickly grabbed my flyers and ran back. When the event ended, I went home. Key in hand, ready to open the door, I realized I forgot the photo. My memory is terrible. It’s so frustrating. I rode a shared bike back, but the photo was gone. A street cleaner had just finished sweeping the leaves. Under his puzzled gaze, I squatted and sifted through the pile of leaves. Nothing. Then, a familiar voice spoke beside me. “Sarah, you’re destined not to keep anything.” My heart gave a little ache. I turned my head. Dr. Lin squatted down too, handing me a tissue. A flash of complexity and pity crossed his eyes, but his smile was gentle. “Did you eat?” I shook my head, and he pulled me up. He scolded gently, “If I don’t watch you, you won’t eat on time, will you?” “Let’s go. Look at you, dust all over your clothes.” Knowing his tough-love nature, I smiled and trotted after him. “Okay, I’ll treat you to seafood hotpot. Wait, you’re allergic to seafood… no, wait, you hate carrots.” His expression dimmed. He draped his coat over me naturally. “You remembered wrong again. I’m not allergic to seafood, and I like carrots.” “Oh, right!” A long time later, a man in a dark trench coat walked out from behind a plane tree. He leaned against the tree, answering a call. The female voice on the other end was cheerful. “Julian, I found a really nice dress! But I like both the white and the red one…” Julian absently rubbed the old photo in his hand. The white dress on the girl in the picture shimmered. “Pick white. It suits you.” 3 Days passed uneventfully. I almost forgot about the encounter. Except for the chat barrage chattering in my brain every day. They said Julian casually gave my favorite plushie to Tara. They said Julian took down all my photos in his room. They said Julian stopped calling my name in his nightmares. … They were thrilled. [Thanks to the Ex-Wife, the Male Lead has finally let go of his obsession. The plot is moving to the sweet romance arc!] While they talked, I was pruning the flowers on the windowsill. The chat waited for me to get upset and cut my hand. I breathed out slowly. It’s actually better this way. It’s been so long. I only came back to the country to sneak a peek at him. Calculating the days, I’d be leaving in two months anyway. Boredom set in, so I took a few delivery orders. Purely because I was broke, and for some reason, certain orders paid ridiculously well. Wearing the yellow helmet, I sometimes remembered years ago, when business was bad. Julian ran deliveries just to buy me the prettiest white dress. Waiting at a red light, I looked left at an old apartment building. It was the little apartment we chose together. I wondered who owned it now. Ghost-guided, I took a detour, carrying the takeout up the stairs. Nothing had changed. The faded red couplets, the stickers I secretly cut out. Even the plants outside the door were clearly well-tended. Puzzled, I leaned my head against the door to listen. Suddenly, the door opened. I stumbled. Hands steadied me, deliberately keeping a small distance. “What a coincidence.” A familiar, deep voice. It was Julian… He still wore the scent of cedarwood. His eyes were dark. I stepped back awkwardly, frozen, not knowing how to greet him. Julian slowly sat back down by the tea table and brewed a pot of tea. “Come in and sit.” I widened my eyes, about to wave him off. He spoke calmly. “Long time no see. Is Miss Sarah unwilling to even say a word to me?” Julian remembered me. I pursed my lips, looking conflicted at the takeout in my hand. Whatever. Late is late. “I ordered it. If you’re hungry, eat it.” I paused. Looking at the receipt, it was the dumplings I used to love. A long-lost feeling surged in my heart. The decorations inside hadn’t changed. He was waiting for me. I didn’t say much and gently closed the door. My heart raced as I nervously sat opposite him. Julian handed me a cup of tea indifferently, not looking at me. I opened the box and took a tentative bite. It was spicy. So spicy tears welled up instantly. I grabbed the hot tea and gulped it down. My heart hurt too. Julian had forgotten I don’t eat spicy food. 4 The chat laughed. [The Male Lead didn’t say he ordered it for her. He was just being polite! The Ex-Wife is delusional.] [It’s just a coincidence that the Substitute Sister likes the same place, and she loves extra spicy!] [The Male Lead is only here because he fought with the Sister and needed space.] As I sat in silence, Julian frowned. He got up and gently patted my back, tossing the takeout into the trash. After I drank all the tea, he asked, lips pursed. “Sorry. I haven’t ordered from there in a long time.” “How do you feel now?” I couldn’t read him. Was he trying to mock me? But the worry on his face flashed by too quickly. I hesitated, then asked one last question. “Why didn’t you sell this apartment?” He paused. His face remained calm. “It’s listed. Maybe because it’s old, no one wants it yet.” “I come back occasionally to maintain it, see if I can get a better price.” I let out a slow “Oh.” I stood up to leave. “Mr. Thorne, I have things to do. I’ll be going.” He gave a soft “Mn.” Sipping his tea, he didn’t look up. I thought about it. This was probably the last time we’d see each other. But I couldn’t find the words. “Goodbye.” He didn’t reply. Maybe he didn’t hear. After finishing my deliveries, riding my scooter back, my phone rang. It was Dr. Lin. I picked up. I had something to tell him anyway. “You went to see Julian again?” I gave a weak “Mn.” “But I’m not curious anymore.” “Yeah. Like I said before, you’re just exes. You dated, it blew up, you broke up. Now he’s getting married.” “You should just come back to Norway with me.” Dr. Lin sighed on the other end, rambling about something. Suddenly, a car swerved in front of me. It was coming right at me. “Sarah!” A panicked shout made me flinch. My scooter wobbled and tipped over. I scraped my knee. The driver stepped out in high heels. “Ten thousand dollars. Is that enough to shut you up?” Coincidentally, it was Tara. I looked back and saw Julian. But his gaze swept over me indifferently as he politely helped me up. Then he frowned. “Tara, apologize.” The girl’s eyes reddened immediately. Julian paused, correcting himself. “I’m doing this for you. If the other party makes a scene, you’re in the wrong.” I spoke carefully. “Actually, I’m fine.” Tara glanced at the ridiculous yellow helmet on my head, her expression turning disdainful. She threw a card at me. “She loves money anyway. She won’t appreciate your kindness.” “Julian, let’s break up.” He said coolly, “Because of her?” “Hmph, no. I wouldn’t lower myself to be jealous of a woman like that. I just want to know one thing: why did you delay the engagement?” Julian hesitated for a long time. “Company issues.” “Liar! Was it because your mother didn’t like me today? Don’t think I didn’t notice.” She stepped closer, aggressive. Julian lowered his head, his smile strained. The chat cried. [Sister, don’t blame the Male Lead! He really tried! There was no choice.] [Old Lady Thorne is too powerful. If she disapproves, she’ll transfer the company shares. So sad!] I frowned slightly. A vague memory flashed. I recalled that six years ago, Julian’s mother opposed us just as vehemently. But it affected nothing. Julian never cared about his mother. “I want the wedding next Monday, or we break up!” Julian didn’t try to stop her. She drove off in a huff. I squatted, about to pick up the card. Julian pulled me up. His eyes returned to their usual indifference. He smiled. “Sarah, is this how you take care of yourself?” [The Male Lead must be so disappointed seeing his White Moonlight rotting away.] [Ugh, Male Lead, forget the Ex-Wife! Go chase the Sister! She’s stopped just up the road, regretting it!] Before the chat could gloat, his voice rasped. “I accept your offer.” “Five million. Don’t leave me again. Deal?” He reached out and hugged me. I froze. The chat went silent for a second. [WTF? Why is the plot going back to this conflict point? Die, villainess! Don’t agree!] [It’s fine, it’s fine. He’s just putting on a show to make the Sister jealous. Look how stiff his hands are.] [The Ex-Wife better have some self-awareness. Didn’t you see how emotional he got when the heroine was mentioned?] I lowered my eyes. If you didn’t pay close attention, Julian’s hug really was stiff and awkward. Like he was trying very hard to avoid something. He held me for too long. Just as I was about to push him away, my shoulder felt wet. I froze. He was crying. Actually, he didn’t need to act so convincingly for me. After all, he is Julian. I smiled and agreed readily. “Okay.”

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01 Lately, my husband has been carrying a foul odor. It’s hard to describe. It’s like a backed-up septic tank mixed with the smell of rotting fish. Whenever he gets close, the stench intensifies, making me sick to my stomach. “Elaine, can we… tonight?” He hugged me from behind again, his warm breath on my neck. But the first thing to hit me was that familiar, putrid smell. My stomach churned. I shoved him away. “Marcus, you smell disgusting!” The desire on his face vanished, replaced by a flash of annoyance. “Elaine, are you sick? How many specialists have we seen? They all said I’m fine! What the hell is your problem?” I rolled my eyes. He was right. His medical reports were perfect. Not even the slightest sign of inflammation. But I was born with a hyper-sensitive nose, and I couldn’t stand this smell. It was exactly like a sewer. 02 Marcus stormed into the bathroom, his face dark. The sound of the shower filled the silence. I sighed, frustrated. Tonight was his birthday, and I still couldn’t bring myself to be intimate. As long as this smell existed, our marriage was on hold. I rubbed my temples, annoyed. My eyes landed on the smartwatch on the nightstand. It was the birthday present I’d given him just this evening. Marcus is a tenured professor at a top-tier university. He’s always buried in research and grant proposals. Nearing fifty, he needs to watch his health. So, I got him a watch that tracks his heart rate. I picked it up, idly exploring its features. Suddenly, the watch vibrated and two messages popped up on the screen. [Prof, can we not do it in the office next time?] [It still hurts.] My fingers froze. Professor? Office? Hurts? The words hit my brain like hammers. And then, I understood. Oh. That’s why he stinks. He’s cheating. Well, that solves that. 03 Looking back, Marcus had been acting strange for two months. He’s an engineering professor. His life is lectures and his lab. This is a man who wouldn’t notice if his collar was inside-out. But two months ago, he suddenly started caring about his appearance. He started researching anti-aging serums and skincare. He’d stand in front of the mirror at night, tapping toner onto his face like some influencer. His phone, once tossed carelessly on the counter, became his lifeline. He took it into the shower. He slept with it under his pillow. He even clutched it in his hand when he went to the bathroom. When he looked at his screen, he’d subconsciously angle his body away, shielding it. Once, I brought him a plate of fruit and got too close. He flinched like a startled rabbit and locked his phone. When I asked, he always had an excuse. “It’s just my grad students. They might message about the experiment at any time.” Right. He’s been teaching for twenty years, but now he’s this dedicated. 04 The watch buzzed again. It was a reply from Marcus. [Don’t worry, no one ever goes to that office.] [I’ll buy some cushions for the chair. You won’t get bruised.] [Remember to use the cream I got you. To help with the swelling.] The affair was confirmed. I picked up my glass of water and took a long drink. The cold liquid barely cooled the acid rising in my throat. My heart felt like it was in a vise. Marcus and I were the model couple. We’d been together since college. Twenty-five years. We survived the poverty of grad school, paid off our mortgage together, and earned our professorships together. To everyone else, we were a perfect team. But while I was settling into our life, he was building a new one somewhere else. I swiped open the watch’s message interface. The student’s username was “C-is-for-Courage.” The avatar was a cartoon cat. It was the kind of cutesy avatar all the kids use. Our own daughter had a similar cartoon dog one. The thought that my husband’s lover was my daughter’s age made me feel even sicker. Just then, the shower stopped. I quickly put the watch back on the nightstand, slid under the covers, and pretended to be asleep. Marcus walked out, wrapped in a cloud of steam. The foul odor was temporarily masked by his body wash, but it was still there, seeping through. The mattress dipped on his side. I lay in the dark, my eyes wide open. 05 Who was “C-is-for-Courage”? I started running through a mental list. Names starting with C. Chris? Cole? Chloe? Wait. That new female student Marcus had brought on this year… her name was Chen. Chloe Chen. Marcus’s engineering department was a notorious boys’ club. He was famously sexist. I’d argued with him about it dozens of times. “Women are just as capable in STEM, Marcus. You can’t just dismiss them.” He’d scoff. “Their logic isn’t the same. They do fine in undergrad, but they can’t handle the pressure of real research.” He once said, “By the time a woman gets her PhD, she’s an old maid. Her mind isn’t on academics; it’s on finding a husband. It’s a waste of grant money.” Every student he ever mentored was male. But this year, he made an exception. He brought on a female student. Chloe Chen. And he wouldn’t stop praising her. “She’s meticulous in the lab,” he’d say. “Her data is perfectly organized. So much better than the sloppy boys.” At the time, I was relieved. I thought he’d finally overcome his prejudice. Now, I had to wonder. Was he really praising her academic skills? I pictured Chloe. A quiet girl, pale skin, always in a hoodie and black-rimmed glasses. She looked like the studious, serious type. I had even envied Marcus for finding such a good student. How ironic. Why? It’s hard enough for women in STEM. Why would she throw her career away on a shortcut that would only end up hurting her and every woman who came after her?

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fter I finally found my long-lost younger brother, something was off. He had a completely different personality. When I slapped him, he didn’t fawn over me anymore. He even tried to hit me back. Furious, I slapped him twice more across the face. “You ungrateful little brat! Who do you think you are?” As I was hitting him, a text stream appeared in the air before my eyes: [LMAO. The rebellious young master just ran away from his billionaire brother’s mansion. He was living his best stray life, about to join a gang, and then he gets kidnapped by the heroine and dragged home.] [One slap shattered his gangster dreams.] [Seriously though, the heroine needs to get her face blindness checked.] [Her actual poor brother is probably still starving somewhere.] Me: “?” 1 What? I got the wrong brother? I squinted, looking closely at the boy in front of me. He was clutching his face, glaring at me with eyes full of grievance and hatred. It seemed… maybe… possibly… I did get the wrong kid. After all, if I hit my real brother, he’d never look at me with hate. He’d just hug my hand with starry eyes and say, “Sis, your hand smells like vanilla. Hit me again, I didn’t get a good whiff.” Damn it. It’s all because of my severe prosopagnosia (face blindness). My adorable little brother must be huddled somewhere, waiting for me to find him. Thinking of this, I got angry again. “If you aren’t my brother, why did you come home with me?!” “I could have found him by now!” The boy stiffened his neck, about to yell back, but then he seemed to remember something and shut his mouth tight. The floating text updated: [Haha, sis, seriously? You literally dragged him home by force. He was screaming ‘You aren’t my sister! I don’t know you!’ the whole way. You just weren’t listening.] [And now the poor kid is too scared to speak because he thinks you’ll slap him again.] I felt a pang of guilt. Oh. So he was telling the truth. I thought he was just being a brat. But there was no time to argue. My real brother was waiting! I had to go find him. And dump this kid back on the street. Suddenly, my phone rang. “Hello.” I answered impatiently. A deep, magnetic male voice came from the other end. “Hello.” Damn. It was a hot guy voice! I immediately switched to my sweet, customer-service voice. “Hi there, may I ask who is calling?” The man paused. “Do you know a boy named Yu-Yu? He claims to be your brother. My own brother ran away recently, and I have a bit of face blindness… I think I grabbed the wrong kid. I’m very sorry. Send me your address, I’ll bring him over.” The text stream floated by: [LMAO. Two face-blind people crashed into each other and swapped brothers.] [What are the odds? The face-blind sis kidnaps the billionaire’s brother, and the billionaire kidnaps the face-blind sis’s brother.] [The billionaire’s brother really got the short end of the stick. The sis’s brother is eating a five-star meal at a mansion right now, while the young master just ate a couple of slaps.] 2 I started to panic. Crap. That kid is a billionaire heir’s brother. If he goes home and tattles that I beat him up… They’ll bulldoze my crappy rental apartment. They might even hire someone to beat me up. I imagined a scene: Me surrounded by men in black suits holding iron bars. The kid, standing next to a tall, cold man, hands on his hips, looking smug. “Brother, let them hit her! Hit her hard!” Terrifying. No. I can’t let that happen! “Ahem.” I forced a gentle smile and reached out to pat the boy’s head. “Little brother, big sis didn’t mean to—” Before I could touch him, he screeched like a goose about to be slaughtered. “Don’t! Don’t touch me! Just wait until I get home! I’ll have my brother destroy you!” I’m dead. So dead. Okay, the “gentle and reasonable” approach failed. I instantly dropped the smile. I grabbed a handful of his hair, my voice turning icy. “Well, no point playing nice then.” “Listen to me. If you dare say a single word about this when you get home, I will camp outside your mansion. Every time I see you, I will beat you.” My voice got lower and more menacing with every word. The boy turned pale and started shaking like a leaf. The text stream: [Is she threatening a child? She’s evil.] [Don’t feel too bad. This kid is a bully. He uses his brother’s status to terrorize scholarship students at school. He’s a nightmare.] [Does his brother not care?] [His brother runs a conglomerate. He’s busy. Plus, their parents died young. The brother feels guilty leaving the kid alone, so he spoils him. He gets called to school constantly, but he can’t bring himself to hit the kid, and scolding doesn’t work.] [Recently, the kid watched some action movies and decided to run away to join a gang. His brother was frantic looking for him.] [But even if he takes him back, he can’t really discipline him. The kid just throws a tantrum, cries about being an orphan, and the brother caves.] [So, honestly? He deserved those slaps.] I was enjoying the gossip when the doorbell rang. 3 I opened the door. A figure launched into my arms, sobbing. “Sis!” Even though his face looked blurry to me, I knew him instantly. This was my adorable brother! My heart melted. I hugged him back. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re back.” “Hello. Sorry to interrupt.” I looked up. Standing outside the door was a man. Tall, composed, aloof. Even backlit by the hallway light, his handsome, sharp features were undeniable. Was this the famous billionaire, Lucas Fu? He was unfairly good-looking. It made my dingy apartment look even worse. I tried to calm my racing heart. “H-hi.” “BROTHER!” A scream came from behind me. The boy with the slap marks on his face was cowering in the corner. He wanted to run to his brother but seemed glued to the spot, glancing fearfully at me. I’m done for. The marks haven’t even faded yet. His brother is going to tear me apart. I looked up nervously. Lucas Fu was staring at the red handprint on his brother’s face. His brows furrowed. “What happened?” His voice dropped, cold as ice, as he looked at me. “Did you do that?” My heart sank. It’s over! I pressed down on my trembling leg. Don’t panic. There’s a way out. I forced myself to look calm. I walked over to the boy, put on a comforting smile, and reached out to pat his head. See? I’m gentle. I don’t hit people. Just as I reached out… The boy flinched violently, covering his head with his arms. “Don’t hit me! I’ll listen! I’ll be good!” Me: “…” Well. That backfired. That just proved how badly I beat him. My hand froze in mid-air. Should I do a 360-degree spinning kneel to apologize? Would that look sincere? I heard footsteps approaching. Lucas Fu! He’s coming to beat me up. I was terrified. The next second, my hand was grabbed. His hand was large and warm. I looked up, confused. I caught a flash of… joy? in his eyes. Wait. What? Did I see that right? Joy? Before I could process it, Lucas spoke. “Would you be willing to work as a full-time nanny for my brother? The salary is negotiable. Room and board included.” Behind me, his brother’s face went deathly pale. The text stream: [LMAO. The brother is thrilled. He finally found someone who can handle the brat. He can’t bring himself to hit him, so he’s hiring the Face-Blind Sis to do it! She has no mercy. The kid’s reign of terror is over.] Well then. I gripped his hand firmly. “I do!” 4 Perfect timing. I just lost my job and my landlord raised the rent. I was basically homeless. I don’t mind sleeping on a park bench, but my brother, Yu-Yu, is a student at a top high school. He has homework until 2 AM. I can’t let him suffer. So, after going home with the billionaire, I went to his study to negotiate. I asked if he could transfer my brother to a better school. Lucas agreed immediately. He said he’d put Yu-Yu in the same elite private school, same class, as his brother, Leo. The irony! My brother is going to a school for aristocrats! Lucas was efficient. He called his secretary right then to handle the transfer. I bowed deeply. “Boss, you are generous! Thank you!” “I will go educate… I mean, nurture your brother right now! I’ll make him a model citizen!” I happily backed out of the room and closed the door. I turned around and saw my brother, Yu-Yu, standing there with red eyes. His fists were clenched. He was trembling. “Sis…” “Why… why did you come out of his room dressed like that? Did he… force you?” “Sis, sob, let’s go. I don’t want to live in a mansion. Let’s go back to the rental. You can’t do this for me…” “I’ll make lots of money in the future. I’ll give it all to you. I don’t want you to be bullied by him sob…” Me: “?” Touching, but… what? I looked down. Oh. In my rush to negotiate, I hadn’t dried off completely after my shower. I threw on a thin, worn-out T-shirt. It was see-through. Damn. So embarrassing. No wonder Lucas wouldn’t look me in the eye earlier. I thought he was being an arrogant rich guy. Turns out… I dragged my crying brother away from the scene of the crime. After a long explanation, he finally believed me. “Really?” “Really. Your sister is smart. I wouldn’t let myself get taken advantage of.” Besides, with Lucas’s face and bank account… who’s taking advantage of whom? Of course, I didn’t say that out loud. To Yu-Yu, I am a goddess. I deserve Chris Evans.

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My eight-year-old stepbrother was a brat. One day, he thought it would be funny to pour weed killer into a bottle of Coke. My stepdad came home from work thirsty and chugged half the bottle in one go. My mom wanted to taste the last bit at the bottom. I couldn’t help it—I slapped the bottle out of her hand and told her there was weed killer in it. Hearing this, my stepdad kicked me hard, twice. Then he grabbed me by the neck and poured the remaining Coke down my throat, every last drop. His eyes were bloodshot as he squeezed my throat. “You little bitch, you just wanted to see me die, didn’t you?” The family panicked and rushed to the hospital. I died alone, writhing in agony and starving. When I opened my eyes again, my stepbrother was pouring weed killer into a Coke bottle. I turned around and walked away, pretending I saw nothing. 1 There were two bottles of Coke on the cabinet. My aunt had bought them for me and my stepbrother, Tyler. But my stepdad and grandma had made it clear: if I dared to drink even a sip, they would break my legs when they got home. Tyler opened both bottles, took a big swig from each, and then carefully started pouring weed killer into them. “La la la~ adding some pesticide for the money-loser to drink.” Before he could look toward the door, I quickly slipped away. A moment later, Tyler came up to me, grinning, holding a bottle of Coke. “Hey sis, chopping pig feed is tiring work, right? Here, have a drink and take a break.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. “I’m not thirsty. You drink it.” He suddenly spat on my face. “Pfft! Grandma was right, you really are ungrateful! I waited until they weren’t home to let you taste something good, and you don’t even appreciate it!” I ignored him and kept chopping the feed. If I didn’t feed the pigs before my parents got home, I was in for another beating. Bored with cursing at me alone, he left. I heard him slam the Coke back onto the cabinet in the other room. Later, he went into the yard to chase the chickens and the dog, completely forgetting about the pesticide. 2 When my stepdad came home from work, I was cooking. He stormed into the kitchen and slapped me across the face. “Can’t you even pour me a glass of water when you see me come home? I feed you and clothe you, and you’re less useful than a dog!” Waiting for the ringing in my ears to subside, I looked up and forced a smile. “Dad, go sit down. I’ll make you some sugar water right away.” “That’s more like it. Hurry up, I’m dying of thirst.” He walked out of the kitchen. I knew that as soon as he saw the Coke in the other room, he wouldn’t be able to wait to drink it. By the time I finished making the sugar water and rushed to the door of the other room, it was just like in my past life—half the bottle of Coke was already in my stepdad’s stomach. Grandma was chuckling beside him. “Good, isn’t it? Tell your sister to buy two more bottles next time.” “Mom, you have some too.” Stepdad handed the Coke to Grandma. Grandma gulped down two mouthfuls, her eyes darting to my mom, who was watching her eagerly. “Alright, alright. Since you gave birth to a son for our Wang family, I’ll save a sip for you.” Mom took the bottle from Grandma and satisfiedly drank the last bit at the bottom. That’s when she saw me at the door. She shook the bottle in her hand and poured the last two drops into her mouth. Then, she threw the bottle at my head with all her might. “What are you looking at? Go serve the rice! We’ve been working all day, don’t you have any sense?” Grandma glared at me too. “There’s another bottle for your brother. Don’t you dare get any ideas.” Then she yelled out the door, “Tyler! Come back quick, your good-for-nothing sister is trying to steal your drink!” Tyler came running back like a whirlwind. As he passed me, he slammed his shoulder into mine. I lost my grip on the sugar water, and it spilled all over the floor. Mom slapped the back of my head. “Can’t even hold a bowl? What good are you?” I kept my head down, afraid to speak. She scolded again, “Are you mute? You never say anything. Just looking at you makes me angry.” Grandma picked up Tyler and unscrewed the other Coke bottle. “Tyler, ignore them. Here, drink some Coke, Grandma will feed you.” Tyler knocked the entire bottle to the ground. “I’m not drinking that! I put pesticide in it! It’s for the money-loser to drink!” Stepdad froze. His body started trembling as he grabbed Tyler’s arm. His lips were already turning purple. “Son, what did you just say?” “I said, I poured pesticide into the Coke!” Stepdad suddenly clutched his stomach and squatted down, his face flushed red. “My stomach… my stomach… it hurts so bad.” Grandma saw the uncapped bottle of Paraquat in the corner and slapped her thigh in despair. “Oh no! He poured Paraquat!” The family had no time for me anymore. They scrambled to find someone to drag my stepdad to the hospital. Before leaving, Mom twisted my ear and warned, “Take good care of your brother. If not, you’ll get it when I come back.” 3 Grandma and Mom drank very little, so they were saved. Stepdad lay in the hospital for three days before he died. When they brought Stepdad’s body back, I was adding wood to the fire. Grandma rushed in, pressed me onto the woodpile, and started pinching me hard. “It’s all you, you jinx! Did our family owe you something in a past life? Tyler added the pesticide for you to drink, why didn’t you drink it? You killed my son! I want you to pay with your life!” She grabbed handfuls of ash from the ground and shoved them into my nose and mouth. I choked and coughed tears. Struggling, I saw Mom and Tyler standing at the door. They had no intention of stopping her. I even saw the word “revenge” in their eyes. So even with a second chance at life, it was the same ending, just a different way to die. Whatever. I was tired. I closed my eyes and stopped struggling. Just when I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore, someone picked me up. She held me up with one hand and patted my back repeatedly with the other. “Spring, listen to me, spit out the ash! You can’t give up, you hear me? Boohoo… what do I do? Help! Someone help!” It was my Aunt Sarah. The only person in this world who treated me like a human being, even though we weren’t related by blood. A sudden, powerful will to live surged through me. I bent over, coughing violently, blowing air out of my nose. When I finally caught my breath, I held onto Aunt Sarah’s hand tightly. I could feel her whole body trembling. Grandma stood by, cursing, spittle flying everywhere. “Sarah, do you even know what’s going on? This little bitch killed your own brother! I raised you just so you could help an outsider piss me off?” She sat on the ground, throwing a tantrum, tears streaming down her face instantly. “My poor son! You just left, and they’re already bullying me! What am I going to do?” Seeing I was okay, Aunt Sarah went to comfort Grandma. “Mom, I know you’re sad about brother’s death. But you can’t blame it on a child.” Grandma glared at me viciously. “If I don’t blame her, who do I blame? She’s a jinx! Saving her today is useless. Don’t give her food or water. Let’s see how long she lasts.” “Mom!” Aunt Sarah suppressed her anger and coaxed Grandma. “Brother is gone, but you still have me, and you have Tyler. We’ll take care of you.” At the mention of Tyler, Grandma smiled a little. “Tyler, you must be tired. Come here, Grandma will put you down for a nap.” Before leaving, Grandma gritted her teeth and said, “Once the funeral is over, you and your mother get out of here!” She was talking about me and Mom. Mom glared at her back but didn’t say a word. 4 That night, Grandma wouldn’t let me sleep. I had to keep watch by Stepdad’s coffin. Dozing off, I heard rustling outside. I crept to the door and looked out. It was my mom. She was leaning against the yard fence, talking to a man. In the quiet night, their conversation drifted clearly to my ears. “This is some private money I saved up recently. You’ll be busy these next couple of days, buy yourself something good to eat.” It was my Uncle Dave’s voice. Aunt Sarah was so good, yet he was… with my mom behind her back. Mom pocketed the money. “I called you here for something else. Mom says she’s kicking me out after the funeral.” “How can she do that? Then I won’t be able to see you?” Mom leaned her head into Uncle Dave’s chest. “I can only rely on you now. Help me think of a way. Ideally, get rid of…” I didn’t hear the rest because I had quietly slipped into Grandma’s room. I shook her. “Grandma, I think someone’s stealing stuff outside!” She woke up instantly, jumped out of bed, and went outside. I lay by the door watching. This was going to be a good show. Dog eat dog. “Who’s there?” Hearing Grandma’s voice, Uncle Dave ran away immediately, leaving my mom standing there dumbfounded. Grandma picked up a broom from the yard and started hitting my mom. “You little tramp! My son’s bones aren’t even cold yet, and you’re meeting other men? Do you think I’m dead?” Mom was beaten so hard she ran around in circles. “Don’t you dare slander me! There was no man!” “I saw him with my own eyes! Were you cuckolding my son long ago? I’m going to break your legs today!” Grandma swung her arm with all her might, and Mom howled in pain. “Help! Murder!” Tyler, woken by the noise, ran out rubbing his eyes. Then he picked up a hoe leaning against the wall. He walked up behind Grandma menacingly. Grandma turned back and said, “Tyler, your mom found a wild man. Help me catch her. We’ll lock her in the cow shed to reflect.” Then she turned back to continue beating Mom. The next second, the hoe in Tyler’s hand smashed into the back of her head. “Old hag! How dare you hit my mom! Who gave you the guts?” Grandma made a gurgling sound, then fell straight to the ground. Tyler hit her back with the hoe again. “I’m asking you a question! Stop playing dead!” Mom ran over and hugged Tyler, her voice trembling. “Our Tyler… really is Mom’s little man!” Tyler smiled, triumphantly saying, “Let’s see who dares to bully Mom now!” I quickly climbed into Grandma’s bed and pretended to be asleep.

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The school bully hired me, the class valedictorian, to be his fake girlfriend just to one-up the school’s Golden Boy. He wanted a trophy; I wanted his money. So the whole school watched in horror as the most bizarre couple in history emerged. The violent, untamable delinquent would show up at my classroom door every day like clockwork to “clock in” for our PDA session. He’d start a fight; I’d stop it. He’d get angry; I’d calm him down. He’d pout; I’d pat his head. The student body whispered: “Is that a leash on a rabid dog? It’s like watching a wicked witch walking her poodle.” 1 Jax Thorne, the school’s notorious bad boy, cornered me in an alley. He leaned against the brick wall, something sticking out of his mouth, looking wild and unapproachable. At first, I thought he was going to mug me. Instead, he suddenly said he wanted to hire me to date him. “Why me?” I clutched my backpack straps, burying my face in the collar of my only winter coat. “You’re pretty.” He looked absolutely certain. When he took the thing out of his mouth to speak, I realized it was a lollipop. “You have good grades. You’re the valedictorian. You can crush that Liam Sterling. And you’re hot. I’ll pay you to be my girlfriend.” Oh. Crushing Liam Sterling was the key point here. “How much?” He named a number I physically couldn’t refuse. “Deal.” 2 Jax announced our relationship with all the subtlety of a fireworks display. He told everyone, probably even the stray dogs near the cafeteria. He wanted every living organism to know I was his. I accepted the title without blushing or skipping a beat. I had no choice. He paid way too much. I was in AP Calculus, and so was Liam. First place and Second place, sitting next to each other. It made sense. However— I glanced at our desks. Mine was tidy but cheap. His was organized with expensive, high-quality stationary. That was the difference between Liam and me. He came from money. I had no parents. 3 Jax swaggered past our classroom, poking his head in. His little minions behind him waved excitedly. “Sister-in-law! Hey, Sister-in-law!” I thought for a second. According to the contract, I should respond. So I nodded and smiled at his crew. To get out, I had to step over Liam. He was writing an essay. “Excuse me.” Jax said this was all about suppressing Liam. So I added thoughtfully, “My boyfriend is here to see me.” Liam’s hand paused. He moved silently to let me pass. On the surface, Jax was delivering milk to his girlfriend. In reality, he lowered his voice and whispered urgently. “Can you keep first place this time? I heard Liam’s parents got him some insane private tutor. Like, Ivy League level. If you aren’t confident, I can get you one too.” “Grades aren’t about tutors,” I said, taking the milk. “Talent can’t be tutored.” Jax gave me a thumbs up. “Badass.” We didn’t say much else, but to maintain the “lovey-dovey” atmosphere, we stood outside the door for five minutes, pretending to have a moment. Plenty of people saw it. Jax’s “official announcement” became undeniable fact. The school forum was refreshing like crazy. [WTF? Chloe Vance and Jax Thorne? Do they even know each other?] [I see Jax lurking outside her class every other period. He’s hot, but that’s scary.] [It’s real. Confirmed. Jax’s boys said Chloe got mugged and Jax saved her. Love at first sight!] I clicked on that comment and read it carefully. I turned to Jax, confused. “Mugged? Saved me?” “It’s to romanticize the meeting. Add some flavor to the story.” “If a mugger met me, would he steal my backpack full of practice tests or my coat with the frayed cuffs?” “We’ll add more lore next time.” He was certainly confident in his storytelling skills. 4 Jax and Liam. Natural enemies. Both handsome, both rich. In high school, people naturally gravitate toward the one with the good temper and good grades. Since Liam was Number Two, the title of “School Prince” fell on his head. As for Jax, his temper was explosive. No one dared to provoke him. He texted me. [You absolutely cannot lose to Liam!] “…” I replied: [Even if I beat him, no one will think YOU beat him.] [You’re my girl. If you’re number one, I look good! I’ll give you 10k for first place this time. Next time I’ll raise the stakes.] I stared at “10k” for a long time. Then, I picked up my pen and started grinding. Until a girl knocked on the window. “Excuse me, can you get Liam for me?” I didn’t look up. I just leaned forward so she could see Liam next to me. Liam went out. I knew who she was. His girlfriend. When he came back, he had a carton of milk and a bag of cookies. Homemade cookies. They smelled amazing. Maybe this was another reason Jax hired me. Because Liam had one. Weird competitive spirit. The next second, my phone vibrated violently. [I heard his girl brought him snacks?? Where’s mine?? I want some!! You can’t let me lose to him!] Gossip travels fast. I replied calmly: [No money.] The next day, my desk was stuffed with food. [From now on, I’ll supply you daily. You just have to pretend you bought it for me. Of course, so you don’t waste study time and let Liam win, I can come pick it up myself.] Then, I waited for Jax to appear at the window every day, leaning lazily halfway inside while I put the snacks in his hand. “Sigh, why are you so good to me? I won’t starve, you know. You insist on making me come get it.” He might as well have used a megaphone next to Liam’s ear. I played along. “I worry about you.” I don’t know how Liam felt, but Jax was thrilled. When I sat back down, Liam’s first words were: “You don’t have to do this.” I turned and looked at him. I remembered the milk and cookies I saw in the trash can this morning. This guy had two faces. Wasting food is shameful. I said, “I like him.” “I love him.” “…” I acted like a girl head-over-heels in love. “I’ll fight the world for him. You have a girlfriend, don’t you? Don’t you understand this feeling? I thought you would understand me.” Liam frowned. “But I won’t inconvenience myself for your romance. Stop going out to see him. It’s distracting.” I looked confused immediately. “How many times did I inconvenience myself for you, Liam? Love letters, gifts, passing messages… did you forget all that? Why is it a problem when it’s my turn? My god, Liam, you have no conscience. If you keep this up, I won’t forgive you!” Liam’s expression was unreadable. I glanced at him. I stopped talking. My acting was solid today. I deserve every penny. 5 I knew getting involved with Jax would bring trouble. But it didn’t matter. Trouble is weightless in the face of money. My homeroom teacher dragged me to the office. The teachers at this school looked at students with uncomfortable scrutiny. The office was full of people pretending to work, but their ears were pricked up toward me. “Teacher, you don’t need to break us up.” I struck first. Teacher: “?” I spoke firmly: “Love is unsolvable.” The teacher’s face turned black. “The most important thing for a student right now is studying.” “I’m first in the grade.” “Do you know the consequences of your actions?” “I’m first in the grade.” “Call your parents!” “I’m first in the grade.” “…” Oh, he asked for my parents. I smiled. “Teacher, if you want to find my parents, you’ll have to burn paper money to notify them downstairs.” This man once told me that wild kids without parents are hard to manage. Apparently, he forgot. “How many people in this school are dating? You pretend not to see them. You only target me. Teacher, besides the dating thing, you’ve criticized me countless times before. For the sake of fairness, why don’t you call Jax’s parents?” I was kicked out. I adjusted my collar and walked away calmly. I can endure his disdain and misunderstanding. But no one will cut the bond between me and my money.

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After being roasted by my professor, I was so disheartened I broke up with my online boyfriend right there in class. The physics professor, who had just lectured us on “less romance, more studying,” suddenly looked panicked. “That’s all for today,” he announced abruptly. The class gasped. “No extra homework? No detention? Is this the same Demon Professor?” Meanwhile, my phone was vibrating like crazy. [Babe, I don’t want to break up.] [What did I do wrong? Tell me, I’ll change.] I sighed, deciding to be honest for once. [It’s not you, it’s me. If I keep dating, I’m going to fail Physics 101.] The professor was right. If my grades didn’t improve, I could kiss grad school goodbye. Suddenly, he sent a photo of a faculty ID card. [Babe, I can tutor you. I’m pretty good at physics.] My phone slipped from my hand, falling at 9.8 m/s². 1 My best friend, Tasha, was more dramatic than I was. “Chloe! You dropped your brand new iPhone 17 Pro Max!” I ignored the phone and grabbed Tasha by the shoulders, my voice trembling. “Tash, I have a friend… who is facing a life crisis, and she doesn’t know what to do!” Tasha looked confused. “What crisis?” “Hypothetically, I mean hypothetically… say my friend was online dating someone, broke up with him, and then found out his true identity. What should she do?” “How ‘true’ is this identity? Elon Musk’s son? A celebrity?” “No, it’s… more awkward. Like if you were online dating your gaming carry, and it turned out to be your mortal enemy.” Tasha backed away. “Don’t even joke about that!” “So… what do I do? Does he know who… your friend is?” “I don’t think so… maybe?” “Then who cares! You broke up online, never met, never kissed. What can he do to you?” “You’re right.” I exhaled a long breath, patting my chest. “Ugh, I’m scaring myself.” “Okay. Who is it? You look like you saw a ghost. Confess now, or I’ll—” “Oh my god, your cat is giving birth! I have to go deliver kittens!” “My cat was neutered eight years ago!” 2 Here’s the backstory. I met my online boyfriend, “Brand,” in a fan group. I couldn’t get tickets to see the singer Ash, so I joined his fan club hoping for a resale. Brand was the one who sold me his ticket. At the time, VIP tickets were impossible to get and were scalping for triple the price. He sold it to me at face value. I thought it was a scam until the physical ticket arrived via FedEx. He said his friend bailed last minute, and since I’d been begging in the group chat for a week, he decided to help me out. I was so touched. I even brought a gift to the concert to thank my fellow fan. But the seat next to me remained empty all night. Brand later told me he had an emergency at work. I felt bad for him, so I mailed him the concert merch I bought. He was surprised and insisted on paying me back. I laughed, “What kind of person do you think I am?” We started talking. We shared everything—daily life, Ash’s new songs, movies. Sometimes he’d send voice notes singing Ash’s songs. His voice was incredible—low, magnetic, husky. I saved every single one. One sleepless night, I confessed my feelings. [Typing…] appeared for a long time. Just when I thought he was drafting a rejection letter, a voice message popped up. He sounded nervous. [Sorry. I should have said it first.] I asked, “You haven’t even seen my photo. Aren’t you afraid I’m ugly?” He chuckled, a sound that plucked at my heartstrings. “I’ve imagined what you look like, but knowing it’s you behind the screen makes the rest irrelevant.” My heart skipped a beat. My face burned. I tried to change the subject. “Well… confessing is a young person’s game.” Whenever I mentioned our six-year age gap, he’d get defensive. “Fine, fine. I’m robbing the cradle.” “And I’m respecting my el—” “Babe, I miss you.” “I miss you too~” Okay, “elder” was a banned word. Got it. It wasn’t until I broke up with him in physics class that I realized… No wonder we always had the same weather, same sleep schedule, even the same winter and summer breaks. I thought he was a grad student at my university. I didn’t realize he was the professor. Mom, I think I’m in big trouble. 3 Strictly speaking, Professor Shen isn’t a tenured faculty member at our school. He’s a visiting scholar from MIT, the kind with multiple papers in Nature. The original professor for this elective was his former classmate. She went on maternity leave, and Shen stepped in to cover for her. Teaching undergrad physics was overkill for him. He was just doing a favor. At first, his classes were packed. People were standing in the aisles. Rumor had it the Physics Department got a top-tier hottie who looked like a movie star. After a few lectures, Professor Shen’s Socratic method—randomly calling on people and grilling them—scared off 90% of the eye-candy seekers. The ones left were people like me, who needed the credits and couldn’t afford to fail. I’ve always loved physics, thanks to sci-fi movies. Especially astrophysics. Professor Shen was strict about attendance, but his lectures were engaging. He made complex theories easy to understand. He treated an elective like a core major course. Some loved it; some hated it. When I realized Brand was him, I went through the five stages of grief in about ten seconds: Shock → Panic → Fear → Denial → Acceptance → Recklessness. Since I asked to break up, Shen’s texts hadn’t stopped. When he sent the photo of his ID: [MIT Physics Visiting Scholar: Shen Xiuming], I had to face a dilemma: Is it scarier to dump a professor and then have him find out you’re his student? Or to date a professor and then have him find out you’re his student? I think the first one is worse. With the second one… maybe I can kiss my way to forgiveness? I thought of Shen’s handsome, ascetic face calling me “babe” in voice notes. I thought of his long, elegant hands spinning a globe… and Venmo-ing me cash. My ears burned. I poked my head out from under the covers and opened the chat with Brand. [We don’t have to break up. But I have a condition.] He replied instantly: [Name it, babe. Anything.] I hesitated, then typed slowly: [That offer to tutor me in physics… does it still stand?] 4 To keep Shen from realizing I was his student, I only asked questions from my other physics classes. My breakup threat must have traumatized him because he was walking on eggshells. [If you don’t understand, it’s because I didn’t explain it well.] [You got this wrong because I haven’t covered that topic yet.] [Rest if you’re tired. We can continue tomorrow night.] This gentle Brand and the icy Professor Shen in class… the cognitive dissonance was real. Tasha nudged me. “Chloe, do you think Professor Shen has been… nicer lately?” I looked down, guilty. “Really?” “Yes! Today someone answered roll call for their roommate—usually a death sentence! He just made them write a reflection paper!” I once complained to Brand that 8 AM and 2 PM classes were torture. He had laughed then. I thought Mr. Self-Discipline couldn’t relate. “And! He stays 10 minutes after class to answer questions now. He used to just tell people to read the textbook!” I couldn’t listen anymore. Yesterday, he solved a problem I’d been stuck on for weeks. He asked why I didn’t ask my own professor. I said I was afraid of exposing my stupidity. Hehe. He paused, his voice soft as water. “You won’t. If you’re scared, it must mean your teacher is too cold and unapproachable.” AHHHHH! This subtle change was killing me! The desire to meet him in real life was reigniting!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386027”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel