The System tasked me with pacifying the villain. So, naturally, I picked the most brutal, volatile man in the duchy. I gave him my heart—and everything else. Six months later, the System finally rebooted: 【HOST! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHY HAVEN’T YOU STARTED YOUR MISSION?!】 I pointed to the man sitting by the fire, the one patiently peeling the pith off a clementine for me. “I did pacify him. He asks ants for permission before he steps on them now.” The System was silent for 1.5 seconds. 【…HOST. THAT’S KAEL. HE’S THE MALE LEAD. THE VILLAIN IS HIS GENTLE, SOFT-SPOKEN BROTHER, JULIAN.】 So, I faked my death and married his brother. At the wedding feast, Kael, who was supposed to be in mourning, crashed the party and cut down my guards. He used his sword to lift my bridal veil. “My new sister-in-law,” he whispered, his eyes hollow, “bears a striking resemblance to my dead wife. It’s… unsettling.” “Perhaps I’ll just peel your face off and make it a locket.” 1 The snow was falling. I was curled by the fire, watching Kael. “Get all the white strings off,” I ordered, kicking his knee. He just huffed a small laugh, his fingers expertly cleaning the fruit. He held a perfect slice to my lips. I bit his finger. Gently. He didn’t flinch. He just fed me another slice. This time, his finger pressed the fruit past my lips and… lingered. I glared at him, my cheeks burning. He just smiled, his eyes dark. “Want more?” I wanted the clementine! Suddenly, a sound like a dial-up modem exploded in my head. 【HOST! WHO IS THIS MAN?! WHY AREN’T YOU ON-MISSION? I’M BEING FLAGGED BY THE ADMINISTRATION!】 I mentally gestured to Kael. “This is the villain. He’s pacified. Now, where’s my private island, my billion-dollar payout, and my spaceship, System?” A 1.5-second pause. 【…I’ve just cross-referenced the mission file. That’s Lord Kael. The protagonist. Your target… is Lord Julian. His brother. Oh, Host. I’m so, so sorry.】 I was going to be sick. 2 Six months ago, the System dropped me into this world. “Pacify the villain. He’s one of the Duke’s sons. Good luck.” Then it glitched and went offline. Working on pure stereotype, I scanned the available aristocrats. I picked Kael. He was the most ferocious, the most volatile, and, by far, the most beautiful. He was constantly threatening to “have people’s heads on a spike.” How was that not the villain? So, I got to work. I dedicated myself to the mission. I showed him every moon in the sky—shaky moons, blurry moons, moons seen in double… And I’d turned him into this. A perfect, quiet, fruit-peeling boyfriend. And now you’re telling me I tamed the wrong man? That the actual villain is Julian? The soft-spoken, smiling, “gentle-breeze-in-a-meadow” brother? This is like telling a farmer he’s been tilling the wrong field! “I hate you, System!” 【Host! I’ve applied for a ‘death escape’ protocol! You can fake your death, get a new identity, and go after the real target. Same reward!】 “You know, System, I’ve always valued our friendship.” “So, what’s my glorious death?” 【…Choking on a clementine.】 3 I heard Kael lost his mind. One second, the love of his life is laughing. The next, she’s dead. Fruit. It was the fruit. He carried my “body” to every physician in the city. When the royal doctor pronounced me dead, Kael put a sword to his throat. “Say that again,” he roared, “and I’ll have your head.” The System, narrating this to me, sounded confused. 【Host… I thought you said he was gentle now?】 “Oh, that?” I said, applying my lipstick in the mirror. “That was just a limited-time demo. The free trial expired.” I was in a safe house, getting ready for round two. I stuck another gold pin in my hair. “System, are you kidding me with this new identity? It’s just my old face with a beauty mark.” 【It’s a very strategically placed beauty mark! There was no time to re-render your avatar! I’ll give you a hundred free-face coupons after the mission!】 “Forget it. Just edit the mission file. Make Kael the villain. I’m good at pacifying him. I’m really good at it.” 【No! The protagonist belongs to the female lead!】 Ugh. That trope. “So all that ‘pacifying’ I did… all those late nights… that was for nothing?” 【…That was my bad.】 4 Lord Julian was the third son. Not the heir, not the favorite. He was marrying me, the “lowly daughter of a minor baron.” But everyone came to the wedding. Including Kael. He looked awful. Pale, dark circles under his eyes. He looked like a ghost who’d lost his haunting grounds. I walked down the aisle, my veil covering my face. As I passed Kael, I felt a wave of such intense, cold energy that I nearly stumbled. It got worse when Julian took my hand. It felt like a thousand needles pricking my back. “System, he recognized me. I know it.” 【Impossible! I patched the bug that made you mistake the target! He can’t see you!】 To prove its point, the System generated a “sudden gust of wind” that blew my veil back. Kael just stared. Blankly. The guests, my NPC audience, all gasped. “An angel!” “The most beautiful woman in the world!” And with that, I was hurried off to the bridal chambers.

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The world ended. It’s every man for himself. To find sanctuary, I put on my best “innocent and helpless” act and knocked on Elias’s door. I know he has a basement. And I know he’s been waiting for a chance to lock me in it… 1 I stood at the rain-streaked window, watching the broken, twilit street below. A few dozen infected shambled aimlessly. It’s been almost six months since the outbreak. Six months since “preventable and controllable” collapsed into total system failure. I’ve been locked in this shoebox apartment, cut off from power, internet, and water. Even my hoarded food is almost gone. Through the glass, I traced the path of a raindrop. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt the sun, or touched anything outside these four walls. The infected on the street were in rags, their flesh rotting. I felt like I was rotting right along with them. Just then, a flash of red fell past my window. Thump. It hit the pavement, the body and the red dress blooming like a grotesque flower. Every infected on the street froze, their slow, shuffling movements stopping as one. They all turned. Then, like sharks smelling blood, they descended, a frantic mob tearing into the offering. I watched, numb. She was the girl from 14B. We’d nodded in the elevator once or twice. I knew she loved long dresses and sometimes brought home flowers. She was the eighteenth person from this building to jump this month. I couldn’t wait any longer. I was terrified I’d be next. I opened my closet, pulled out my sexiest slip dress, and sat at the dusty vanity. I put on just enough makeup to look human, then walked across the hall and knocked on his door. The door opened. Elias. He was immaculate. Crisp white shirt, slacks, elegant wire-rimmed glasses. His sleeves were rolled up, like he’d just been cooking. The smell of real food and the sound of classical music wafted from inside. It was like the apocalypse hadn’t bothered to give him a courtesy call. “I’m out of food,” I said, no preamble. “Is your offer still good?” A small, slow smile curved Elias’s lips. “Of course.” 2 Elias moved in across the hall over two years ago. He probably started “knowing” me long before that. A face in a coffee shop, a stranger on the subway, some influencer’s tagged photo at a bar. I was just another transplant trying to make it in the city, living a normal 9-to-5 grind. He was a tenured university professor from old money. We should have never crossed paths. But then the “coincidences” started piling up. The bar. The lobby of my office building. The same subway car, day after day. It happened so often, and he had a face that disarmed you, so we naturally fell into a “nodding acquaintance” routine. Then came the comments on my Instagram. The Venmo friend request, which he used to find my private handle. He was everywhere I was. It started to feel less like coincidence and more like terror. I suspected he was up to something, so I started moving in packs, never walking home from the train alone. Until one evening, I came home, and he was standing right in front of my door. His tall frame was slouched casually against the wall, the hallway light glinting off his glasses, his fingertips drumming a silent rhythm on his thigh. “What do you want?!” I completely lost it, fumbling in my bag for my pepper spray. “This is my apartment! You’re not welcome here!” He chuckled. A low, amused sound. He slowly pulled a set of keys from his pocket and dangled them. “Just a coincidence, I’m afraid. I bought a place here, too.” He theatrically inserted a key into the lock of the door opposite mine. “This is my home,” he’d said. My protest died in my throat. I was a renter. He’d bought the other three units on my floor and had them combined into one sprawling apartment. 3 Before the fall, that was Elias. I knew he wasn’t normal. No sane person fixates on another human being like that. But every single one of his actions was, technically, legal. He never touched me. He was never violent. He was always polite. Even his social media comments were blandly supportive. If I called the cops, what would I even say? Even my best friend, after months of my spiraling paranoia, thought I was losing it. “Maybe he just has a crush on you, Elara?” But I knew. He was a lunatic. A genuine, patient, terrifying lunatic. He was playing a game. A cat-and-mouse game where he was the cat, and he was enjoying the silent, suffocating tension. He loved knowing I was terrified and had no one to turn to. I tried to move. Elias, in a gesture of “neighborly kindness,” even offered to come with me to look at new apartments. As the realtor droned on, Elias pointed to a listing. “I think this one is nice.” I wasn’t interested. I just wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, he didn’t know about. “You know,” he’d added idly, “I’ve been thinking of buying in this neighborhood, too.” The realtor beamed. I felt my blood run cold. I understood his message perfectly: No matter where you go, I will be there. He was a patient spider, weaving this massive, invisible web. And he was just waiting, one step away, for me to walk right into it. The zombie apocalypse didn’t create this situation. It just smashed the pause button on our stalemate and hit fast-forward. 4 My apartment was a studio. Elias’s was a custom-built fortress. “Your supplies lasted this long,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “I’m impressed.” After the world went to hell, he’d “neighborly” invited me over for dinner three times. I refused all three. We both knew what that invitation really meant. Now, he was just making casual conversation, as if he wasn’t a predator and I wasn’t his prey. “How much food do you have?” “Just a bit.” He opened a pantry door. It wasn’t a pantry; it was a storage room. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with rice, pasta, and cans. Spam, Chef Boyardee, corned beef hash, smoked salmon… I swallowed hard. I’d been eating canned tuna—and for the last three days, my cat’s food. The cat food I’d traded my last box of tampons for in the building’s barter group. “What are you in the mood for?” He leaned against the doorframe, his voice low. The storage room was small, and he was too close. His voice felt like static electricity on the back of my neck. I took a step back. “Whatever.” “Whatever?” He paused, then smiled again. “Alright. I’ll make us ‘whatever.’” As he passed me, he casually tossed a small box into my hands. I looked down. Tampax Pearl. I… I walked out of his storage room and sat in his living room. It was the first time I’d ever been inside. Spotless. Heavy curtains, thick rugs. And through it all, the classical music, powered by some small generator. The growls of the infected outside were just a faint, ignorable buzz. I watched the strong lines of his back as he expertly prepped frozen steak and vegetables from a mini-fridge. I needed to figure out how to avoid becoming just another item in his pantry. 5 Elias was a good cook. I wasn’t surprised. A man like him seemed to be perfect at everything he did. We sat at opposite ends of a long, formal dining table. Low lights, classical music, fresh vegetables and meat, a single lit candle. It was a date I couldn’t have afforded even in the old world. I was wolfing down the food, all pretense of manners gone. It had been so long since I’d eaten anything that wasn’t preserved in salt or tin. He swirled a glass of red wine. “Slow down. No one’s going to steal it.” I couldn’t help myself. In this, we were no better than the infected—driven by a base, desperate hunger. When I was finally full, I put down my fork and wiped my mouth. I looked at him, my voice cold. “It was delicious.” “My pleasure.” That perfect smile. “What do you want?” I asked. The rain outside lashed against the windows. “What do I have to pay for this meal?” I repeated, staring him down. I’m not an idiot. I know what the world is now. Supplies are the only currency. Dark bargains are the new normal. My DMs in the building’s defunct chat app were full of offers: A meal for a few hours. No strings. They didn’t even bother to be polite. A starving girl has no negotiating power. Elias’s invitation was classier, but the subtext was the same. He was offering a feast. The payment would have to match. The stereo switched to a slow, romantic ballad. We stared at each other, a perfect picture of a couple at dinner. But I knew this was a transaction. Elias laughed. He actually threw his head back and laughed, a full, rich sound. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just dinner, Elara. Why so tense?” He put his glasses back on, his eyes sharp. “The way you were looking at me, I thought you were going to bite me. I’m the one who invited you, but you look like I’m the one who offended you.” I narrowed my eyes. “I have nothing to pay you with. Except cat food.” “I don’t need you to pay me.” Elias idly pushed a piece of steak around his plate. He looked up, his eyes catching the light. “…Except for one thing.” “What?” “Guess.” That infuriating, playful smile was back. I clenched my fists under the table. Then, slowly, I relaxed them. I stood up and started gathering the plates. He might be a psycho, but I’m not. I have basic manners. I silently cleared the table, went into his kitchen, and started washing the dishes. When I finished, Elias was sitting on the sofa, reading a book under a brass floor lamp. His long legs were crossed. He glanced up as I came out. “Very domestic.” I… “If there’s nothing else,” I said, untying the apron I’d found, “I’ll be going.” Elias just grunted, his eyes already back on his book. That’s it? I walked to the door, still in disbelief. A stalker who’s been obsessed with me for years, in a world with no rules, finally gets me—desperate and starving—into his apartment… just to feed me? Elias, are you broken? I frowned, glancing back at him, and bent down to put on my shoes. The second my fingers touched the heel, I heard it. A low, guttural groan from the other side of the door. A sound I heard every day, all day. I froze. I put my shoes down silently and looked through the peephole. The hallway was dark. Nothing. I must have imagined it. But just as I started to pull away, a single, blood-red eyeball pressed against the glass from the other side, staring right at me. I screamed and stumbled backward—right into a solid chest. Elias was already behind me. His arm snaked around my waist, steadying me easily. The infected outside slammed against the heavy door. He looked down at me, his eyes tracking to my lips, and that slow smile returned. “Oh dear. Looks like you can’t go home after all.” I glanced at his Bluetooth speaker. It finally clicked. Why he was playing music loud enough to be heard in the hall. Asshole. He did it on purpose. My apartment was ten feet away, but I couldn’t go back. Elias. You magnificent bastard. 6 The sky was dark. The rain kept falling. Elias was reading. I was trapped. This was his plan all along. Invite me over. Use the music as a lure. He knew zombies had good hearing. We’re on a high floor, but they can climb stairs. It just takes them a while. After six months, the lower floors were all empty. The building group chat had been full of warnings: Stay out of the stairwells. Keeping quiet was rule number one. You had to live like the dead to avoid the dead. Elias, who had survived this long in such comfort, knew this. I looked at his thick, plush Persian rugs, the sound-dampening panels on the walls. He knew. He’d used a single meal to lure the infected and cut off my only escape route. Brilliant. I had to talk to him. “Hey,” I whispered. Elias just shifted his book, one eye peering over the top. The zombie at the door heard me. It started scratching furiously. “Shh.” He put a finger to his lips. “You lured it here. Can you kill it,” I mouthed. Elias put his book down and, with perfect politeness, mouthed back: Can’t hear you. I… I got up, barefoot on the soft rug, and walked over to him. “Kill it,” I mouthed, pointing at the door. He tilted his head, showing off his perfect jawline, and pointed to his ear. His expression was angelic. I… I bit my lip, tucked my hair behind my ear, and leaned in close, whispering in a voice only we could hear, “Kill. It.” Elias leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. This time, he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “Heh.” A puff of hot breath hit my neck, followed by his low, amused rumble. “Why don’t you just kill me?” My eyes flew open. His voice was low and magnetic, and it made my quiet whispering feel ridiculous. The zombie at the door went even crazier; I could hear the metal of the doorframe groaning. In that instant, we just stared at each other. I wasn’t sure who was more unhinged—him, or the thing at the door. Just as I was about to really let him have it, he yanked me by the wrist, pulling me into his lap and clamping a hand over my mouth, all in one fluid motion. “Shh—” His voice was a vibration that seemed to pass from his chest to mine. “Someone’s coming. Let them handle it.” His embrace was like steel. For the first time, I felt the terrifying strength hidden under that polite, professorial exterior. As he spoke, he reached over and turned a small, black cube on the side table. Instantly, the entire apartment went dark and silent. The lights died, the fridge hummed into silence. In the quiet, with only the sound of the rain, I could hear two heartbeats. Mine was a frantic rabbit. His was… also fast. Faster than his cool, woody cologne would suggest. His hot breath puffed against my neck. I struggled, and his arms just tightened. “Listen.” It might have been the word, or it might have been a kiss brushing my skin. I couldn’t tell. But I closed my eyes, and I heard it. Footsteps. Heavy, frantic, and clashing with the sound of the rain. Someone was coming down the stairs. The zombie, drawn by the new sound, groaned and moved away from our door. A second later, the thud of the stairwell door being kicked open echoed down the hall. A fight broke out. Curses, a sickening thwack. The infected shrieked as an axe—it had to be an axe—bit into it, over and over. I knew it was just a monster, but I couldn’t stop shaking. Elias’s hand moved from my mouth, sliding down to wrap around me in a full embrace. It was too warm, too safe. I was enveloped in his clean, woody scent, and my terrified, clenched spine just… relaxed. But a moment later, a voice from the hall made my blood run cold. “That music definitely came from this apartment. Let’s hit it!” I sat bolt upright. Raiders. The building was full of them now. For the first two months, the tenants’ group chat was for sharing info. Then the supplies ran out, and people turned into animals. Anyone who even hinted at having extra food got hit. I’d heard them at night, ambushing neighbors. Sometimes for just a single pack of ramen. The only thing scarier than the dead was the living. The voices outside continued. “Who the hell is playing music in the middle of this shit? They gotta be loaded! Anyone know who lives here?” “No idea, man. They’re not in the group chat.” “Heh. Hiding, huh?” “Boss, maybe we just heard it wrong… Who’d be stupid enough to make noise? If they’re not in the chat, the apartment’s probably empty.” “Shut up, you idiot! That means they don’t need the chat. It means they’re self-sufficient. They’ve probably even got a generator!” A metallic screech came from the door. A crowbar. This was bad. I looked at Elias, frantic. He still looked completely unbothered, a faint smile on his lips, as if it wasn’t his door they were trying to bust down. I grabbed his shirt. Do something! Elias put on a show of thinking hard, then held out his hand. His lips moved: Phone. I had no idea what he wanted it for, but the door was visibly bowing. I dug it out of my dress pocket and gave it to him. The power had been out for ages, but we all charged our battery packs during the rare hours the grid came back up. Elias took my phone and, to my horror, unlocked it with a casual swipe. He knew my passcode. As I reeled from that, he opened my Bluetooth settings. Connected, at the top of the list: Elara’s Speaker. My stomach dropped. That was my S.O.S. I didn’t know what I was walking into. Before I came over, I’d set up a plan. If he tried anything, I’d hit a macro on my phone, and my speaker would blast a pre-recorded “Help me,” along with his name and apartment number. How did he know? How did he know about my escape plan? I watched, frozen, as he opened my Spotify, selected a Mozart playlist, and his long finger pressed ‘Play.’ Across the hall, my own apartment burst into music. “Shit! It’s the other one!” “Dumbass is practically begging to be robbed!” “I know that unit. It’s just some chick. Probably already turned. Even if she hasn’t, one axe is all it takes. C’mon!” The prying at Elias’s door stopped. The footsteps rushed across the hall. Click. Elias locked my phone and, never letting go of my waist, settled back into the darkness. I sat in his lap, listening to the sound of raiders destroying my home. And he held me, his hands easily wrapped around my last-ditch effort at survival, as if it were nothing at all.

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Before our wedding, my fiancé, Julian, was kidnapped while picking up my dress. He survived but claimed he’d forgotten me. Any mention of the wedding and he’d pass out. The doctor said it was a stress-induced second personality. Then I found out I was pregnant. The doctor said, “A baby might be the very thing to wake up the man who loves you!” I drove to his place with the sonogram, hope pounding in my chest, only to overhear him laughing with his friends: “Julian, you’re a goddamn genius. Faking a second personality just to get out of the wedding? What’s next, a third?” “No,” Julian said. “I love Maya. This is the only time I’ll ever lie to her. I just need to sleep with ten more women, then I’ll stop.” “Ten? That’s it? You can’t even try every position with ten. Just keep the act up for a year. It’s not like Maya’s going anywhere. She’d die for you.” His voice turned cold. “I’d never make her wait that long. Now, are you guys gonna find me some girls or not? I want them hot, and I want them new. One every three days. I’m not letting this mess up my wedding timeline.” My hand trembled as I tore the ultrasound picture to shreds. I turned around and drove straight back to the hospital to schedule the abortion. 1 When the doctor saw me back so soon, she thought something was wrong. When I told her I wanted to terminate, her jaw dropped. “Maya, you’ve been trying for so long for this baby. If you do this… it could be the shock that makes your fiancé’s condition… permanent.” I gave her a bitter smile. “Honestly, if I told him the truth, that’s what would probably make him collapse for good.” He was too busy enjoying his buffet of “hot, new” women. I still couldn’t understand it. This was the man who had begged me, with tears in his eyes, to marry him. The doctor, unable to change my mind, insisted on calling Julian before I signed the consent forms. “Maya, this isn’t just your decision. Even if his… illness… makes him not want this right now, he should be here. He should sign off. What if this is all a misunderstanding?” I just stroked my flat stomach. I didn’t fight her. I have PCOS. Getting pregnant was a miracle. Julian knew it. He didn’t care; he fought with his parents just to be with me, “child-free” or not. If I was giving up this miracle, he deserved to be the one to hang up on it. The doctor was barely two sentences in when Julian’s laugh, cold and sharp, came through the speaker. “How much did Maya pay you to pull this stunt? I told you, I don’t know her, and I’m sure as hell not marrying her.” “And tell her to stop with these pathetic-ass traps. Who’s to say the kid’s even mine?” The click of the disconnect echoed in the silent surgical prep room. I signed the forms myself and closed my eyes. When I woke up, my phone was buzzing. Several texts. All from Julian. 【Look, I don’t care what we were. This is me now. You need to get your shit and move out of my house.】 He was so “thoughtful.” He’d rented a fully furnished apartment for me in the same complex. He’d even paid the first month’s rent. He’d signed a one-year lease, just so it looked legitimate. 【Consider the first month a parting gift. You don’t need to pay me back.】 I looked at the biohazard bag on the table, the one holding the bloody tissue that was supposed to be our baby. I typed, my hand steady: 【Okay. Thanks.】 I’d let the rent be his only contribution. He didn’t contact me for the three days I was in recovery. His Instagram story, however, was a nightly reel of club lights and clinking glasses. He was making up for all the “lost time” he’d spent being faithful to me. I knew it was for me. My burner account, which he’d also accepted a follow from, couldn’t see a single post. So I gave him what he wanted. I liked every video. I was checking out when I saw him, sprinting down the hall with a doctor, pushing a gurney. He saw me, turned his head, and pretended I was invisible. But I heard the ER doctor shouting. “I need Room 1 prepped! Patient has a corpus luteum rupture, massive internal bleeding! Get me four units of RH-negative, stat!” “What do you mean, we’re out?!” The doctor hung up his phone, panicked, and relayed the news to Julian. Julian, who had just snubbed me, stopped dead. He ran to me. “Maya. If you donate blood to Chloe, I’ll… I’ll forget all about this stalking shit.” I just stared at him. “I’m not stalking you…” “Whatever! Just shut up, we’re wasting time!” He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the doctor. “She’s RH-negative. Take as much as you need.” I tried to pull my arm back, but he was too strong. I just laughed. “You don’t know me, remember? How do you know my blood type?” I held his gaze, waiting. 2 Julian ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Is this really the time? Fine! If we were together for six years, it makes sense that in a crisis, my subconscious would remember you’re a universal donor, okay?” But I’d just had a D&C. I was still bleeding. “I can’t,” I said, my voice flat. “I just had an abortion. I’m not stable enough. Find someone else.” Julian’s face turned purple. “You’d lie about that? You keep saying you love me, but you won’t donate a little blood to save a life? You’d actually lie about an abortion?” He shook his head, disgusted. “I knew it. You’re a cold, manipulative bitch. No wonder I can’t remember a single second of loving you.” He wasn’t wrong. If he’d ever truly loved me, he wouldn’t be standing here, blind to the fact that my face was as pale as his new girlfriend’s. He wouldn’t be forcing me to save the woman he was cheating with. The monitors on the gurney shrieked. The doctor didn’t have time for this; he rushed Chloe to the ER. Julian tried to drag me with them. When I dug my heels in, he just grunted, grabbed me by the waist, and slung me over his shoulder. “Maya, I don’t care if you want to or not! I’ll owe you one! I’ll… I’ll marry you! We’ll have the wedding, just like you want!” All the fight went out of me. He’d saved my life once, years ago, pulling me from a car wreck. I guess this made us even. I watched my blood, dark and warm, fill the bag. My heart turned to ice. The second the needle was out, Julian snatched the bag and ran with the nurse. I called out to his retreating back. “Julian! We’re clear!” A wave of dizziness hit me. The world went black. I woke up in a recovery bed. The doctor looked like she wanted to scream at me. Instead, she just sighed. “You need to rest. And you can’t donate again for at least six months.” I smiled. “Okay.” As she was leaving, I heard the young nurse whisper to her, “Why didn’t you tell her we couldn’t reach her emergency contact? What if she’s mad…?” “She’s not mad,” the doctor said. “She knows. God, what a waste. He’s not worth it.” I looked at my phone. The doctor had tried Julian more than a dozen times. He hadn’t picked up. But he had found time to text me. 【Maya, what the fuck is your problem? Stop having the hospital call me. Know your place.】 I was almost glad he hadn’t answered. I couldn’t imagine the things he would have said. I didn’t reply. I just lay there for a full day until I had the strength to stand. I went to the hospital’s rooftop garden for some sun. And of course, Julian’s friends were there. They were all holding flowers and fruit baskets. For a second, I thought they were for me. I turned to leave. But they’d already seen me. They surrounded me, smirking at my hospital gown. “Well, well. Heard Julian was here with his new girl, so you had to fake an illness, too? That’s commitment.” “Seriously, Maya. You gave a little blood. You didn’t have to put on the ‘damsel in distress’ act.” “Damn, her ‘sick’ makeup is flawless, though. I always said you were a schemer. Julian never believed us…” Julian’s friends had always hated me. They thought I wasn’t good enough. Julian had forced them to call me “sis.” Now, they had his permission to finally say what they really thought. Julian himself came up from the elevator, saw me, and scowled. “Maya, are you serious?” “I already said I’d marry you. You don’t have to bribe the doctors to check you in so you can spy on me. Do you have any idea how suffocating this is?” “I’m telling you right now, if you pull this shit after we’re married, we won’t last a year.” 3 “You don’t have to marry me.” For six years, I’d given him space. When he wanted to go out, I was the designated driver. When he wanted a “boys’ trip,” I booked their flights and hotels. He’d offer me his phone to “check,” and I’d always refused. I loved him, and I refused to be the controlling, suffocating woman my mother was, the woman who drove my father away. I thought I’d given him the perfect, trusting relationship. We were, I thought, just as in love as we were in college. Now I knew. My love was “suffocating.” That’s why he needed to escape? I looked him in the eye, searching for one shred of the man I knew. There was nothing. He saw the look on my face and tensed. He snatched a bouquet of lilies from his friend Ryan and shoved them at me. “Fine. Whatever. Take the flowers and get out of here. You got what you wanted.” He thought I was the same girl who’d be happy with a cheap gift. He thought he could do anything, and I’d still be waiting, because I was the girl who “would die for him.” I pushed the flowers back. “These are for your girlfriend. Not me.” “And I’m serious,” I said, my voice finally clear. “The blood was a gift. You don’t have to marry me.” A flicker of panic crossed his face. She’s not supposed to say that. “Maya, I…” His friends all coughed loudly. He reset his face. “I’m a man of my word, Maya. We’re getting married.” I just smiled. “Go be with your girlfriend. I’m checking out.” His panic grew. He didn’t know this version of me. Ryan and the others grabbed him, pulling him toward the elevator. “C’mon, man, Chloe’s waiting. She’s just playing hard to get. It’s what they do, right? First the victim card, now this.” “Yeah, man, what you did… getting a girl that hot, but also that… fragile… You’re lucky she’s tough. Unlike some people, who faint over a little needle prick and demand a wedding…” I heard them all the way down the hall. I didn’t feel pain. Just… cold. I went back to our condo while I knew he’d be at the hospital. I called a cleaning service. The lead cleaner saw the decorations, the “Mr.” and “Mr.” (we were both Yizhou in the original) pillows, the boxes of wedding favors. “Ma’am, this is all brand new. You want me to… throw it all away?” “Yes. My fiancé died.” She gave me a look of such pity. She and her team were ruthless. They took down the giant wedding photos first. In a few hours, every trace of “us” was gone. Every photo album, every gift, every stupid souvenir from six years of my life. The woman pointed to the ten black trash bags by the door. “Are you sure, honey? This is a lot of… memories.” “I’m sure.” I deleted my fingerprint from the smart lock and walked away. 4 I didn’t go to the apartment Julian rented. I checked into a private recovery clinic. I’d almost forgotten about the security cameras at the condo. The notification popped up on my phone. I clicked it. Julian and Chloe, stumbling in, kissing. He saw the empty room and shoved her away. “What the hell?” He pulled out his phone. It rang once before Chloe snatched it. “Nuh-uh. You’re with me now. No-exes-allowed.” Her hands were already unbuttoning his shirt. He hesitated, then growled and pushed her against the wall, his mouth on hers. I’d never seen him like that. Not even our first time. He was… feral. Clothes hit the floor. “Julian… baby… be gentle, I just got out of the hospital…” He was panting, his eyes red. “I can’t. I’ve been… God, I’m so backed up. You get on top.” Chloe’s eyes glittered. “Only if you tell me… who do you love more? Me… or her?” The fire in his eyes died. He went cold. “Maya is my fiancée. What do you think?” “We had a deal,” he snapped. “A good time. That’s it. If your body wasn’t so damn fragile, you wouldn’t even be here right now.” Chloe’s face crumpled. She slid off him, tears streaming. “How can you say that? I almost died for you! Go on, then! Go find someone else!” Julian, the man who hated tears, instantly melted. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her, murmuring. I watched, numb, as they moved from the living room to our… to his… bedroom. He’d seen me cry every day for a month after his “accident.” He’d told me to stop being manipulative. He’d paraded women in front of me, saying, “Even if I loved you, a little fun doesn’t hurt.” I was so, so glad I didn’t have that baby. I logged out of the camera app and deleted my account. The next morning, he called me. The first time since the kidnapping. I sent it to voicemail. He texted. 【Maya, what the fuck? I said I’d marry you. Why did you throw out all our wedding shit?】 I lied. 【This place has bad vibes. I bought a beach house. Moved my stuff there.】 A new follower request popped up. Chloe. I declined. She sent it again. Message: I have a video of you and Julian you might want to see. I accepted. She immediately sent me a video. But it was of… her and Julian. Two minutes later, a string of crying emojis. 【Omgggg, sis, I’m so sorry! I thought that was you! It won’t let me delete it! I was wondering why Julian was so…energetic… I guess he just really, really likes me!】 【Honestly, if I were you, I’d take a class or something. You don’t want to lose a man like that!】 A Venmo notification. $10,000. Memo: For the blood. I’d rather pay cash than in ‘husband.’ XOXO. See you at the wedding! I declined the payment. 【Consider it my wedding gift. Best of luck.】 I blocked her. I spent the next two weeks healing. My flight was booked. I was leaving to stay with my best friend, Leah. I went to the jewelers to buy Leah a gift. I remembered… our rings. The custom ones I designed. I had to get them. The jeweler looked at me with pity. “Mr. Julian picked those up last week, ma’am.” Of course he did. I walked out, and ran right into him. And Chloe. Their hands were linked. They were wearing my rings. Julian saw me looking. “Maya… the rings…” “They look good on you,” I said, and turned. “Maya, wait!” “Julian!” Chloe whined, pulling him back. “You promised you’d take me to my dress fitting!” I didn’t look back. The day of the wedding, I left the clinic and got in a cab to the airport. At the same time, Julian’s friends, a makeup artist, and my custom gown arrived at the empty apartment. They rang the bell. No answer. The neighbor poked her head out. “You guys looking for someone? No one’s lived there for a month.”

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Three months into my marriage with Julian, I slit my wrists. As my soul drifted in the air. I expected to see him weeping, searching the world for me, or at the very least, kneeling at my grave, repenting, clutching my corpse day and night. Just like in those trashy romance novels—the CEO, at the top of the world, groveling for his dead wife, his hair turning white overnight, his company bankrupt, with nothing left but to follow her in death. But none of that happened. Julian just looked at my body and said, “What a hassle.” He didn’t regret it. There was no groveling. Instead, my death just opened up a spot for his little orphan, Chloe, who slipped right into the role of Mrs. Julian. I looked down at the knife in my hand. Time rewound to the day of the suicide. Why should I be the one to die? I was never the one who deserved it. I dropped the knife. I walked out of the room. Before Julian could move Chloe into our marital home, I signed my name on the divorce papers. 1 The sting of pain made me realize I was back. The memories of my death flashed through my mind. I had tried to kill myself because of a text Chloe sent me thirty minutes earlier. A photo. Her on top, Julian on the bottom. An intimate, suggestive pose in the cramped, quiet space of a car. I was furious. I called Julian, over and over. He didn’t pick up. Then he just started declining my calls. Everyone in the city knew I loved Julian to death. That I couldn’t live without him. They even nicknamed me “Maya, the beautiful psycho.” At that moment, the thought of Julian with another woman made me lose my mind. I quickly made a new group chat, added all our mutual friends, and announced I was going to kill myself. Everyone in the group told me to calm down. Only Julian replied with two cold words: “Go ahead.” Those two words shattered my nerves. I was so desperate for just one tiny scrap of love from him that I actually live-streamed my suicide attempt. In the video chat, all my friends were horrified. Julian finally reacted. He muttered “psycho” under his breath and sped back. He was finally coming back to me, leaving that other woman. It was wonderful. He could only be mine. But I’d cut too deep. I actually died. As my soul drifted, I was desperate to see him realize his love for me, to see him hold my body and suffer. But he did nothing. He just had me cremated. A month later, he married Chloe, letting her usurp my position. This suicide attempt taught me one thing: loving yourself is better than loving any man. Julian, I’m done loving you. Chloe’s text was still on my phone. I wasn’t polite in my reply. “Julian likes to be the one on top. He’s not into your aggressive-looking ‘moves.’” She didn’t reply. I walked out of the bathroom and threw all my suicide tools into the trash. Ten years of trailing after him, begging for scraps of affection, only to trap myself. It wasn’t worth it. I sent Julian a text. “The divorce papers just need your signature.” 2 Julian got home fast. His first words: “Not dead yet? Trying a new tactic? Divorce?” His sarcastic digs were, technically, true. In my last life, the only reason I’d managed to marry him was because of our families’ business partnership. The Miller family company was on the verge of bankruptcy. Me marrying him meant my family, the Shaws, were basically giving them a blood transfusion to fill their bottomless pit. So, every time I threatened divorce, Julian would cave. Back then, I thought his compromise was love. The only love he had for me. Now I knew it wasn’t love. It was leverage. He was caving to protect the Miller family’s bottom line. I got my emotions in check, just in time to see Chloe standing behind him. Chloe. Two years younger than me. The girl the Millers had adopted from an orphanage. She and Julian had grown up together. Childhood sweethearts. How could I have ever been stupid enough to think, like in a novel, that the “new girl” could ever beat the “childhood sweetheart”? Besides, I was never the “new girl.” In Julian’s eyes, I was just “Maya, the beautiful psycho.” I handed him the divorce papers. “Sign it.” Julian laughed, tore the document in half, and tossed it aside. “Chloe’s moving in. She’ll be taking the master bedroom. You got a problem with that?” A problem? How could I dare? In my last life, it happened just like this. Chloe insisted on having our master bedroom. I refused, so she had to sleep in the guest room. She ended up “falling” out the window. She claimed the guest bed was too close to the sliding glass door and she “just… slipped.” Sure. “Slipped.” What normal person sleeps with their balcony door wide open? Julian blamed me for it. He said, “to teach me a lesson,” he locked me in the guest-closet. No food, no water. By the time he remembered I was in there, I was barely breathing. My best friend was furious. “Divorce him, Maya. If you keep this up, that bastard is going to kill you.” But my brain was broken. I actually argued with her. “If he’s a bastard, why is he only a bastard to me?” “Why does he only want to kill me?” “It’s because he loves me. He loves me to death.” After hearing that, my friends started to drift away. Thinking about it now… God, I was a moron. Since Chloe loved to play “cuckoo in the nest” so much, I decided to just give her the nest. “Fine.” I agreed, my voice calm. 3 Chloe’s eyes flashed with surprise. All the drama she’d prepared was suddenly useless. She looked me up and down, then tugged on Julian’s arm. “Julian… that other thing…” she said, trailing off. Julian pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. The gesture was so academic, so elegant. I used to be obsessed with that “sexy intellectual” look. Now I realize I was so sick, I’d have found a golden retriever in glasses attractive. Julian spoke. “Chloe’s health isn’t great, and we’re trying for a baby. You’ll take care of her for the next two weeks. You studied nursing, didn’t you?” I did. For him. Back when his family’s company was imploding, he was drinking himself sick at client dinners. He ended up in the hospital for two weeks with a torn stomach lining. They couldn’t afford a private nurse, so I taught myself. I stayed by his bed, never sleeping. If he so much as shifted, I was there with water. If he turned, I was massaging his back. I was more attentive than a hospice nurse. I thought he’d remember my kindness. He just remembered I was a free caregiver. I agreed again, but this time, with a condition. “Julian, give me back the three Shaw family corporate seals I gave you. Then I’ll do it.” Those three seals were what had resurrected his company. I’d married him and moved across the country. My parents, in Chicago, had been dead-set against it. They gave me the seals as a last resort. They said, “With these, every one of our partners in this city will give the Millers a meeting.” They also told me, “The day you ask for these back, we’ll be on the next flight to get you.” When I gave them to Julian, I made him promise to carry them. They were his key to the city. In my last life, I’d asked for them back once. He’d pointed a finger in my face and screamed. “Maya, who the hell do you Shaws think you are? You think these ‘seals’ are magic? We don’t need your family. The Millers can rise again on their own!” That’s when I learned: you can’t domesticate a wolf. You can’t warm a heart of stone. He didn’t want them? Fine. Julian sneered and pulled one from his breast pocket, tossing it on the table. “Here’s one. You’ll get the other two, one per week.” I knew what that meant. I had to take perfect care of Chloe for fourteen days. Once I had them, I’d be gone. My parents would handle the divorce. I let go of all the love I’d ever had for him. I couldn’t wait to see if Chloe would still love him, her one and only, when he was just a man drowning in debt. 4 So, for the next few days, Chloe lived with us. The “trying for a baby” thing… last time, that news had put me in the hospital. It triggered a psychotic break. Because, of course, the baby they were “trying” for was Julian’s. Chloe had spun this story about being a devout… something-or-other… and how she owed the Millers a life-debt. Since Julian was married to me, and I was barren after three years, she couldn’t bear to see the Miller line end. She would “sacrifice” herself. She would be their surrogate. It was all a lie. It was just old-fashioned adultery. She sent me photos and videos. Every. Single. Day. I was stimulated to the point of vomiting blood. I’d shown up at his office, a wreck. Disheveled, skeletal, my hair falling out. He was in an international board meeting. I burst in, screaming, ruining the deal, and clung to his leg, begging him to love me, begging him to give me a baby. I’d actually said, “I promise, my baby will be smarter and better than hers!” That stunt ruined his reputation. He’d had me locked up. When I wouldn’t stop screaming, he had me committed. He only let me out when I’d been “re-educated” by the staff at the mental hospital. It still hurts to even think about it. Why did I debase myself like that? The irony was, Chloe didn’t know the real reason we didn’t have kids. My parents had done their research. The Miller family had a nasty genetic disorder. The children were often born with severe disabilities or brain damage. So, to get my seals back, I became the most dedicated nurse in the world. 8:00 AM. I’d have the kitchen prepare bird’s-nest soup and bring it to her. Chloe would take one sip, then dump it on my arm. “This is trash. I’m telling Julian.” I endured. Noon. I hired a specialist to come and apply moisturizing oils, to help her “glow.” Chloe demanded I do it. “Maya, are you sure your delicate, rich-girl hands can handle this?” I endured. 10:00 PM. Julian would come home, and he and Chloe would go into the bedroom. Julian would look at me, his face a mask of “regret.” “Maya… it’s all for the family. You love me. You understand, right?” I’d stand outside the door, listening to their “efforts,” while I took a call from my parents. “Maya, we got the second seal.” “Are you… are you ready to come home?” One more to go. One more seal, and every single contract the Miller company had signed in three years would be void. All of them were stamped with my family’s authority. Our partners only recognized the Shaws. I stood at the door, peeking through the crack at the two of them. I smiled. “Mom, Dad. Come get me in one week.”

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Before transmigrating, the System let us pick skills. I sneezed, and between ‘Might’ and ‘Beauty,’ I chose ‘Mutate’. Just because I said the Demon Lord’s feet were white and soft, he stopped going barefoot. And I… I built my career on being a pervert. 1. I was chosen by the System along with two other girls. Before transmigrating, the System let us pick skills. Rosie picked ‘Beauty,’ Lily picked ‘Might.’ I was still hesitating when I accidentally sneezed and picked ‘Mutate’. Me: “…Can I reroll?” System: “Rest assured, Host. Every skill is extremely practical. Do the Hosts have any other questions?” Me: “First of all, I didn’t do anything to any of you…” Before I could finish, we were kicked into the book. After a wave of dizziness, I slowly woke up. Can anyone tell me why we’re being strung up from the ceiling of a great hall?!! A man, cold as frost and radiating evil, sat on the throne. Red robes, black hair unbound. He looks just like the book’s main villain, the Demon Lord Kaelen. Which means we’re… we must be in Chapter 23. The Demon Lord picks his handmaidens, and we, as spies from the number one righteous sect, the Skyguard Sect, snuck in, got caught, and are being interrogated. Mamma mia!! I remember this chapter. Everyone dies. Rosie and Lily, hanging next to me, hadn’t processed the plot yet. Kaelen gestured to his guards, and a guy with a bull’s face stepped up and cracked a whip at us. Rosie burst into tears: “Waaaaah.” Lily was defiant: “If you’ve got the guts, let me down and we’ll fight one-on-one!” Me: “Ahhh~ That’s the stuff~” Rosie: “…” Lily: “…” Bull-Face: “…” Bull-Face silently took a step back. I wanted to cry. I didn’t mean to! But my skill is ‘Mutate,’ which sounds a lot like ‘Pervert’! Maybe Lily’s challenge worked. Kaelen had us cut down. He walked toward us, his feet bare. His voice was rough: “Since you dared to sneak into my Demon Palace, you must be prepared. The Skyguard Sect sent me three gifts. I’ll be sure to kill you beautifully and send you back.” Lily whispered, “We have skills, right? Use them!” Rosie went first. She “stumbled” and fell delicately into the Demon Lord’s arms, ready to conquer him with ‘Beauty’. Kaelen just tossed her aside. “Feed her to the fish demons.” Lily charged, trying ‘Might.’ The next second, Kaelen had her by the throat. “Fertilizer.” I quietly asked the System: “What happens if I die?” System: “You are already dead in the real world. If you die in the book, you will just… disappear. But if you complete the mission, reform the Demon Lord, and save the world, you will get a chance at rebirth.” Seeing me frozen, Kaelen looked down at me. “Hmph. And what are you thinking?” I trembled: “D-do I really have to say?” “Say it, or I’ll kill you right now.” “Your feet are… really white… and soft.” I couldn’t stop myself. “Sss… haah.” … 2. Aaaaaah! This stupid system! I was only thinking it, I didn’t want to say it! Visibly, Kaelen tucked his feet back under his robes. The next second, he roared: “Tear her limb from limb!” I lunged and hugged his leg. “My Lord! I’m not a spy! I’m here to defect! I’m so sick of those righteous sects! You are handsome, magnificent, and the true ruler of this world!” Kaelen sneered. “Handsome? You find me handsome when I’m killing people?” Me: “Ah, no. When you’re not wearing clothes.” Kaelen: “…” Aaaah, this stupid mouth! Kaelen gripped my chin. “You want to defect? Prove it.” Prove I wasn’t with the righteous sects. Easy. I opened my mouth and cursed them, from their ancestors to their descendants. I used every curse word I’d ever learned. By the end, Kaelen was frowning. Bull-Face patted my shoulder. “Kid, stop. That’s too foul. Even I can’t listen to this.” But I saved my life. Kaelen said he’d keep me around, so I was thrown into the servants’ quarters. I was so tired, I passed out. When I woke up… I was a white cat. Me: “System. Explain.” System: “This is your skill, Host. ‘Mutation’.” Mutate… so that’s what it meant. “Wait! Then what’s with all those perverted comments?!” The System was silent for a long time. “Just your personality.” Don’t say it. You’re worse than I am. 3. Under the cover of night, I stretched my new cat body and explored the Demon Palace. The protagonist of this book is the top disciple of the Skyguard Sect. It’s a standard ‘level-up and collect a harem’ fantasy. I’m just cannon fodder. A pretty-face who gets killed off before even joining the hero’s harem. And the villain, Kaelen… the book described him as evil and ruthless. But I latched onto the important part: ‘Strong build, eight-pack abs.’ I mean… I have to go see, right? It was only as I was climbing Kaelen’s roof that I slowly realized… …I really am a pervert. This brief moment of self-reflection made me slip. A powerful force wrapped around my neck and yanked me down. The world spun, and I fell into water. MRRROW! I shrieked and scrambled out of the water, coming face-to-face with two magnificent pecs. I looked up. Kaelen was studying me. “A cat?” A low-level demon scrambled in. “M-My Lord! Forgive me! I’ll dispose of this pest at once!” He lunged for me. I struggled, fell back in the water, and tried to kick off the bottom of the pool to launch myself. I… kicked the wrong spot. There was a low grunt. I was lifted out of the water again. Oho. This kitty… is toast… 4. Kaelen’s face looked… pained. Like he was holding something back. The little demon by his side didn’t dare breathe. In this heavy atmosphere, I started to… knead. Right on Kaelen’s chest, with my little pink paws. “Meeeew~” You think this is a desperate struggle? Wrong! An adorably fluffy kitten! Making biscuits! On your pecs! You’re gonna kill me? Impossible. Absolutely impossible. …His pecs feel really nice… I stared at the spot my paws were kneading… and drooled. I swiped at the drool, missed, and it dripped onto his hand. … “Tonight, we’re having cat.” No! He was about to hand me to the demon when I grabbed his hand and nuzzled it, purring my little heart out. He paused. He squinted at me. “This cat… it seems to have some spiritual energy.” I nodded frantically. “You, leave. I have other plans for this cat.” I’d saved my life. Again. Wait! I clung to the door of the granary. Your “other plans” are… PEST CONTROL??? Before I could object, I was tossed inside. When I was dragged out half an hour later, I was holding a rat, trying to see if it was a boy or a girl. The rat suddenly poofed into a large, burly man, clutching his chest and sobbing. “I’ve never met such a perverted cat in my life! It’s just… too much!” Kaelen waved his hand. The rat-man scrambled away. Kaelen stared at me, deep in thought. “Indeed… a spirit cat. That rat demon has only been cultivating for a hundred years, and your aura let him shapeshift.” He chuckled, pulling me into his arms. “From now on, you stay with me.”

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My husband, Michael, was in a car crash. Critically injured, on the brink of death. The doctor said saving him was pointless and told me to prepare myself. Oh, I was prepared. With a wave of my hand: “Let’s not trouble the hospital. Cease treatment.” Get the death certificate, cancel his social, send him to the crematorium. Six hours later, he was a pile of ash. I patted the urn: “Michael, oh Michael, you really are a good man!” Vast fortune, died young, no will. I get two-thirds of the entire estate. Could there be a more considerate man than Michael? 1 My husband, Michael, died in a car crash and left me a huge inheritance. Could there be a more considerate man than Michael? Thinking of how considerate he was, I naturally had to be considerate too. So, I called the luxury wellness retreat where Michael’s parents were vacationing and told the attending doctor to give them the most expensive check-ups and nutritional IVs. A son’s death is a serious matter. What if the two old folks couldn’t take the shock? I had to help them get their health in order ahead of time. And then there was his little mistress. When Michael was alive, I turned a blind eye. Now that he’s dead, it’s time to settle scores. I took a moving company to her apartment and, with a wave of my hand, “Move it!” The little mistress wasn’t home, which made things easy. Sealed everything up, packed it all away. When we left, the only thing left besides her personal items was a bed. I didn’t want that. Too dirty. It was a lot of stuff. I spent all night sorting, picking out what I wanted and selling the rest for scrap. The scrap collector had just pulled away when the police knocked. “Elena? Someone’s reported you for burglary!” “Officer, I’ve been framed! I’m a law-abiding citizen!” “We’ll see. Come with us to the station to clarify the situation.” Of course I went. I didn’t steal anything, why would I be scared? When I got there, I immediately saw Amber. The second she saw me, she jumped up and started screaming, “Elena, you thief! How dare you steal my things!” I frowned, seeing her jump around like that with a seven-month belly. I kindly reminded her, “You should be careful. If you jump that kid right out of you, don’t you dare blame me!” “You dare curse my baby!” Amber really doesn’t listen to reason. I told her to be careful, and she got more violent, even trying to hit me. What could I do? Ask the police for help, of course! I quickly hid behind an officer. “Officer, officer, she’s trying to frame me with her baby! You’re my witness! Protect me!” The staff managed to pull Amber away, giving me a look that was hard to describe. I asked, “Are you impressed by my legal awareness? Thinking about how I avoided being framed? No need to thank me, it’s every citizen’s duty to study the law!” Their expressions became even more complex. “Sit down. Let’s clarify this ‘burglary’ first.” I was taken into a small room. The interrogator looked grim. “Yesterday at 8 PM, what were you doing at The Astoria?” “Moving.” “Moving? Was it your stuff to move?” He slammed the table, throwing down a stack of photos. “The homeowner has already filed a report. You’ve got some nerve, bringing a whole moving company. What, you think you’re filming a movie?” They’d probably never seen a ‘burglar’ this brazen. They almost laughed out of anger. “But… the apartment is mine.” I started pulling things from my bag. “Property deed, bank payment slips, ID. Here, see if anything’s missing.” Now it was the interrogator’s turn to be stunned. He checked the documents word by word, and finally confirmed it. I was, in fact, the owner. They called Amber back in, along with the building manager. “What exactly is going on?” The manager said, “Ms. Amber is the resident. I’m sure of it. I see her all the time.” Amber shrieked, “Elena stole my stuff!” 2 I smirked. “Amber, you’ve got some nerve. You were homeless. Michael and I felt sorry for you and lent you the apartment. How did ‘lent’ become ‘yours’? Check your conscience. You’ve lived there for years. Have you paid one cent in rent?” Amber’s face went white. “The apartment isn’t mine, but the things inside are! Officer, she stole my things!” “You have the nerve to say that?” I pulled out another stack of papers. “Officer, here’s the renovation invoice. Here are the furniture purchase orders and payment records. You can check them against the items.” After speaking politely to the officer, I turned to Amber. “As for your dirty clothes and smelly socks, I threw those out before I moved. The things I took—the furniture, the appliances, the cabinets—which one of them has your name on it?” The officer said coldly to Amber, “You said she stole your things. What did you lose? Make a list.” Amber grabbed the pen, gritting her teeth. I sneered. “Amber, you haven’t worked in four or five years. I’m very curious what ‘valuables’ a broke freeloader like you could possibly own.” Her face went ashen. She couldn’t write a single word. I sat back, perfectly calm. Of course, I knew exactly what was in that room. Michael had been planning to divorce me for six months. He’d been moving assets like a rat, laundering cash into gold bars and hiding them in a safe in that apartment. A safe that was embedded in a storage cabinet. A safe that I had already found last night and moved to a very secure location. I wasn’t afraid of her writing it down. Even if she did, who would believe her? A woman who mooches off others… has a stash of gold bars? Who did she think she was fooling? In the end, Amber mumbled that the room was such a mess, she got flustered and didn’t notice I’d already set her personal items aside. The police gave her a harsh lecture. Amber just bit her lip, furious, but couldn’t say a word. I got a lecture too, for not notifying the resident before moving, causing a misunderstanding, and wasting police resources. I immediately apologized and promised it would never happen again. We walked out of the station together. I gave her the official notice: “I’m selling that apartment. You have three days to get out. Otherwise, you can pay rent. Thirty thousand a month.” “That’s robbery!” she shrieked. I gave her a side-eye. “The Astoria. Prime location, massive flat. You think that’s not worth thirty grand? Go look it up.” She knew it was true. She seethed, “Elena, don’t get cocky. I’m going to tell Michael what you did. Just wait until he deals with you!” “Oh, really?” I smiled. “You’ve probably already called him, haven’t you? Did he pick up?” Her face changed. She clutched her phone. My smile widened. I told her, “Don’t bother. He can’t pick up. He’s a pile of ash now.” Amber let out a piercing scream. “Elena, you are a vicious bitch! How dare you curse him to die! You two were in love for so many years! He’s your husband!” I covered my ears, annoyed. When she was done, I said, “So you do know he’s my husband? Then why are you so upset? You don’t believe me? Fine, go check. The accident was at 10 AM yesterday. It should be on the news. Here’s a copy of his cremation certificate. You can go ask the crematorium.” 3 I shoved the paper into her hand, got in my car, and left. I heard her shriek behind me and saw in the rearview mirror that she’d collapsed, clutching her stomach. I took out my phone to call 911. Then I thought… eh. We’re right outside the police station. Someone will call for her. They might even drive her there. Saves an ambulance fee. I’m just so kind, saving those medical resources. Back home, I turned off my phone, took a bath, had a nice meal, and a good sleep. I was woken up by a call from my building’s security. “Ms. Lin? There’s a couple at the gate claiming to be your parents-in-law. They want to see you.” Michael’s mother’s voice screeched through the intercom: “Elena, you heartless monster! Michael was just dead and you had him cremated! Why didn’t you let us see him one last time? You venomous woman, get out here!” I dug a finger in my ear and said, “Not seeing them.” This was my condo, not the one I shared with Michael. The security guards here don’t know his parents. I hung up, turned on my phone, and saw hundreds of missed calls and texts. I deleted them all and turned it off again. The next morning, the police were at my door. “Someone is accusing you of murder. Please come with us.” “I’ve been framed! I’m a law-abiding citizen!” I cried out. The officer’s eye twitched. “Let’s go clarify the situation first.” I went obediently. I didn’t murder anyone. What was I afraid of? When I got there, I saw Amber again, sitting with my parents-in-law. The second my mother-in-law saw me, she lunged. “Elena, you venomous witch! You didn’t even let me see my son’s face! You’re going to hell!” Seeing her jump around so energetically, I was relieved. Those expensive supplements at the wellness retreat really worked. I said, “Mom, be careful. If you break a hip, don’t blame me.” “You killed my son, and now you’re cursing me!” She and Amber were really cut from the same cloth. “Aaaargh!” she howled, and lunged again. What could I do? Ask the police for help! “Officer, help!” I ducked behind him again. “She’s using her ‘mother-in-law’ status to attack me! That’s domestic violence! Domestic violence is illegal! Protect me!” The staff, struggling to restrain her, gave me that look again. I asked, “Are you impressed by my legal knowledge? I even know about domestic violence! No need to thank me, it’s my duty to educate the public!” Their expressions grew even more complex. “Sit down. They’ve accused you of murder. Let’s get this clarified.” I was taken to the small room. The interrogator threw down a paper. “Your in-laws provided the accident report for your husband’s crash. It says the cause was brake failure. They accuse you of tampering. What do you have to say?” “I do. They’re lying!” I immediately defended myself, while feeling deep sympathy for the officers. “Officer, my in-laws are elderly. They don’t understand the law. Did they just come here to make a scene without any evidence? And you had to arrest me anyway?” The officer’s face froze. I felt so bad for him. 4 He glared at me. “Your mother-in-law stated that you are responsible for the car’s maintenance. It’s serviced once a month. The last service date was three days before the crash. Did you not notice anything wrong with the brakes?” I looked at him sincerely. “I didn’t take it in this month. Something came up.” “What came up? Think clearly before you answer. And if you’re innocent, why did you have him cremated so quickly? We’ve learned it was less than six hours between his death and the cremation!” He stared at me. It was a valid point. If I was innocent, why turn him to ash so fast? I looked back, just as sincerely. “Officer, is there a waiting period for cremation?” The room was silent. “Answer the question!” one officer snapped. “Just answer what you’re asked!” The other officer tried to be nice. “If you can’t explain this, it looks very bad for you. Just cooperate with us. You said yourself you’re a law-abiding citizen, right?” I had to respond to that. “It’s because I was sick of him! I was with him when he had nothing. Now he’s rich, and the bastard wants to divorce me! Three days ago, I was about to take the car for service, but he came home and started a fight, so I didn’t go. Now he’s dead. Am I supposed to keep his corpse around for New Year’s? If it weren’t illegal, I’d use his ashes as fertilizer to grow dog-piss mushrooms!” The officers stared at me, finally convinced I wasn’t lying. They were expecting a defense. They didn’t expect the unvarnished truth. I even added, “You can ask our building manager! There’s surveillance footage. I hit him and threw him out. They all saw it.” They called my in-laws and Amber back in. Amber immediately asked, “Officer, is it clear? Elena murdered him!” The officer glared at her. “What does this have to do with you? Who are you to him?” Amber turned red, looking at my mother-in-law. “Auntie…” “She’s… she’s my goddaughter! Michael’s godsister!” my mother-in-law stammered. “The law doesn’t recognize ‘godsisters.’ He has no relation to you. Stop inserting yourself into this.” Amber’s face turned purple. The police had already confirmed with the building and checked the surveillance. Michael did come home the day the car was due for service, and he did fight with me. “The car wasn’t serviced, which was your son’s own fault. The cremation, while fast, was legal. Filing a report is your right, but filing a false accusation without evidence… that has legal consequences. Understand?” My mother-in-law didn’t care. “Elena, you demon! You didn’t even let me see my son one last time!” I expertly dodged behind the officer. “Mom, let’s be clear. It’s not that I wouldn’t let you. He fell off a cliff. He was… a mess. I could barely handle seeing him. If you saw him, you’d have passed out, and we’d have two funerals to plan! I was thinking of you!” “You dare curse me!” she shrieked. The officer, holding her back, glared at me. “Can you just… not talk?” Sure. I zipped my lips.

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1 The day I was found by my birth parents, I was four years old. A bodyguard in a black suit drove me to a palatial estate nestled in the hills, a place that looked more like a palace than a home. That’s where I first met her. The false daughter, Claire, wearing an exquisite chiffon dress and a hair clip that probably cost thousands. She tilted her head, all innocence and purity. “Are you the new cleaner’s daughter?” Given the personality my “adoptive” parents had beaten into me, I should have been terrified by the opulence, completely frozen and at a loss for words. But… apologies. This time, I’m the one who’s been reborn. I opened my eyes. Outside the tinted window of the luxury sedan, the world blurred past. Inside, it was just me, a tiny body huddled in the plush leather seat, and the bodyguard up front, all black suit and sunglasses. My eyes were lifeless, staring out the window. There was no childish wonder, just a deep, profound boredom. I really don’t get it. Why give a second chance at life to someone who has absolutely no desire to live? Hmm… I tried to remember. My last life ended in… suicide? Yeah, I think that was it. The car moved fast, tracing the exact same path from my previous life, heading straight for the gilded cage that would trap me for a lifetime. That villa. A monument to extravagant wealth, a place only the true upper echelon had the right to inhabit. Inside lived the perfect family of four. The father, a CEO with terrifying power and influence. The mother, a beautiful and elegant socialite. The brother, a handsome and gentle protector of his little sister. And the sister, the innocent, doted-on family pet. They adored their youngest daughter. They spoiled her so much they couldn’t even bear to send her to kindergarten until she was four. And then, the drama. The routine kindergarten physical revealed the shocking truth: the precious angel they had cherished for four years, the girl who was their entire world, wasn’t biologically theirs. Their real daughter—me—had been swapped at birth. For four years, I’d been living in a run-down, remote fishing village. Though it was hard to accept, the wealthy parents immediately arranged to have their biological daughter brought back. But they could never have predicted that one day, they would scream at this same daughter, all to protect the fake one: “You’re so venomous! I’d rather you had died out there!” That brother, always so warm and gentle to the world, would one day stand in front of Claire, shielding her from me. His voice, a cold warning: “Know when to back off. Don’t push it.” My fiancé, a man I barely knew, part of an arranged marriage alliance, would look at me with undisguised contempt. From the moment I was brought “home,” everyone thought Claire was better, sweeter, more pitiful. I was the “real” daughter, supposedly returned to a life of luxury, but I was forever trapped in a life of comparisons, disgust, and false accusations. All I wanted was to be loved. And I was destroyed by that very desire. I felt something wet on my cheek. A tear. But I don’t feel sad. Not at all. I prodded my sluggish, numb brain. After a moment, I could only curse. This new body is so damn sentimental. I remembered something else. Right before the darkness consumed me in my last life, a voice whispered in my ear: “You can’t fight the protagonist’s aura…” Can’t fight it? If I can’t fight it, why let me be reborn? Were you not entertained enough by my first life, watching me pace my cage like a pathetic animal? Or was my last life just not pathetic enough for you? The car was silent. No one answered my questions. 2 I was brought into the villa. Warren and Helen Ashford were already waiting on the sofa, beside them, my nine-year-old brother, Evan. They hadn’t expected, I suppose, that no one would bother to change my clothes. I was still wearing my adoptive cousin’s hand-me-downs—a filthy, worn-out shirt. On my feet were a pair of equally filthy sandals, the soles peeling off. My straw-colored hair was matted in clumps. I didn’t miss the flicker of shock and… something complex… in their eyes. I didn’t know if they were disgusted by my clothes, or just by me. “Mommy~” A girl in a poufy pink dress, her hair in perfect ringlets held back by a sparkling clip, descended the spiral staircase. A nanny followed dutifully behind her. Her dress was beautiful. The vibrant color, the delicate embroidery of little bunnies and flowers. Look at that. In an instant, she had captured everyone’s attention. I have to admit, in my last life, I envied Claire. Even when I was pathetically trying to pull rank as the “real” daughter, I envied her. Her biological parents loved her—so much they’d swapped me for her, ensuring she’d have a good life. My biological parents loved her—before I died, hardly anyone even knew she was the fake. My brother loved her, protecting her at every turn. Everything that was supposed to be mine, loved her. Only I hated her. 3 My name is Audrey. Before my “real” parents found me, I was called Marina. Living in a fishing village, the name “Marina” was predictable, a choice I never got to make. Later, Warren Ashford changed “Marina” to “Audrey,” meaning “noble strength.” I was so happy then. I felt like a pearl, finally wiped clean of the mud, rescued from the filth. Only later did I realize the meaning didn’t matter. What mattered was the sound. “Audrey.” It sounds a lot like “Oddity.” I was, and always would be, the odd one out. My lifelong nemesis is Claire. A name that means “clear, bright.” A name Warren and Helen chose together, filled with their hopes and dreams. Everything she had, everything she would ever have, was supposed to be mine. She had a cunning that she masked with a clumsy, innocent facade, but I could never beat her. In the end, I lost. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I was just so tired. I could no longer feel even a sliver of joy from the scraps of affection they threw my way. “Claire!” Helen instinctively shot up from the sofa and started towards her, then remembered. She stopped, turning to give the nanny behind Claire a complicated look. The nanny just lowered her head, looking distressed. Claire walked right up to me. Like we were born to be enemies, she noticed me immediately. Or maybe it was just that, in this palace of wealth, I was impossible to miss. A little beggar. Even her nanny was dressed better than me. She rubbed her eyes, still red from crying, and her voice was perfectly, childishly innocent. “Who are you? Are you the new cleaner’s daughter?” The exact same words as last time. Warren, Helen, and Evan hadn’t reacted yet. Everyone in the room was just watching us, like an audience. What did I do last time? Oh, right. Last time, I was so scared I plopped right onto the floor. Overwhelmed, my only clear thought was how soft the floor was. It was covered in a beautiful, plush rug, softer than the sand after the tide goes out. First impressions are everything. Claire had the ultimate advantage. From our very first meeting, I had already lost. She was pale, delicate, and lovable. I was sallow, skinny, and pathetic. This time, tears streamed down my face. My voice was small and timid. “Did… did my mommy sell me here? She said if I wasn’t good, she would sell me.” “Marina was good. I was good.” I choked back my sobs, putting on the best performance I could for the audience—a child terrified, but trying desperately to be brave. This was Claire’s signature move. It always triggered everyone’s pity, making them feel like she was the most pitiful creature on earth. I scorned it in my last life, but now? It’s actually kind of fun to try. She was never that smart. Her tactics were clumsy, relying entirely on that so-called… protagonist aura… to win the sympathy of idiots. I’d suffered so much because of it. Now, I wanted her to have a taste of her own medicine. An eye for an eye, isn’t it? From the sofa, I heard Helen’s heartbroken sob. I felt a wave of self-loathing. Is she really that sad? Does she have any idea she’ll be one of the people who pushes me to my death? That she’ll stand by and watch as Claire steals every single thing that belongs to me? I looked at Claire. Her focus was entirely on me. A small smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. My pitiful state clearly pleased her. Like a princess, she looked down on me, so much smaller and thinner than her. She spoke, as if granting me a great favor. “You’re so pathetic. I’ll talk to my mommy. You can be my personal maid.” I had to hide my laughter at her clownish performance. I was just waiting for the real boss to arrive. 4 “Insolence!” A woman in her sixties, radiating an aura of old-money elegance, swept in through the front door. An assistant holding a briefcase followed her. The moment she spoke, the grand hall fell silent. Even Helen stopped crying. “Grandma~” A sweet, sugary voice. Claire lifted the hem of her dress and trotted over. It was obvious she was a favorite. But, to her dismay, the matriarch she adored walked right past her and knelt in front of the little beggar. Grandma stroked my matted hair, her smile surprisingly gentle. “What’s your name?” I dropped the act. My voice was calm. “My name is Marina.” I pointed at Claire, who was standing a few feet away, frozen. “Are you hiring me to be her personal maid?” My voice cracked, and I started crying again, as if I’d been deeply wronged. “Can I say no? I don’t want to be anyone’s maid.” “The money my mommy took for selling me… I’ll pay you back. I’ll pay you back double when I grow up.” I choked on the words. In my last life, Grandma was the only one immune to Claire’s protagonist aura. She was the only one who watched me grow, saw my efforts, and actually praised me. Of course. I’m not delusional enough to think I can beat Claire’s aura. But Grandma is a woman who values two things above all: bloodline and the family’s interests. She’ll dote on you if you have Ashford blood, and she’ll discard you if you don’t. To hold onto that one sliver of support, I worked myself to the bone. I became the perfect granddaughter she wanted. But even then, I could never outweigh Claire in everyone else’s hearts. I still fell for every one of Claire’s flimsy traps. In the end, I must have disappointed her, too. “Good girl,” she said, her voice firm. “Of course you won’t be a maid. Do you know who you are? You are my real granddaughter. You are the princess of the Ashford family.” She said it for me. But she also said it for everyone else in that room. “Grandma! No! I’m your granddaughter!” Claire ran over and threw her arms around her. The assistant at her side instinctively pulled Claire off. Claire just struggled and wailed, her cries becoming hysterical. Helen, too, was covering her mouth, tears streaming. Grandma stood up, took my hand, and led me to the sofa. “Marina is an Ashford. The DNA results are back. A 99.9% match.” The assistant, free of Claire, opened his briefcase and took out the paternity test. Claire seized the opportunity and ran to Helen, who hugged her tightly, both of them crying. I felt nothing. In my last life, this scene played out constantly. It always ended with them blaming me. Be more tolerant, Audrey. Claire has been through so much, why can’t you just be the bigger person? What they really meant was: Why did you have to be the real one? You’re ruining my perfect mother-daughter relationship with Claire. “An Ashford, lost for four years,” Grandma said, her voice like steel. “I suspect this ‘swap’ wasn’t an accident. If it was a simple mistake, there’s nothing to be done. But if it was deliberate… this family will not be made fools of.” She shot a cold glance at the sobbing Claire. “Furthermore, this child, Marina, has suffered for four years in Claire’s place. I don’t care about scandals or gossip. Find a good day, make the announcement, and restore Marina’s proper identity.” “Warren. You’re the father. You decide.” The man who had been silent on the sofa finally nodded, his expression severe. He glanced at his wife. “Fine. I’ll have my team handle it this week. In the meantime, let… Marina… rest and recover here.” “As for Claire…” Grandma cut him off. “It’s not that this family can’t afford to raise another child. But Audrey and Claire… their identities are awkward. Claire has occupied Audrey’s place for four years, enjoyed everything that was Audrey’s. It’s time for her to go back where she belongs.” “We don’t know what dirty tricks those Baxter people pulled, but even if the child is innocent, the Ashfords are not unfeeling. We can set up a trust for Claire. It will be enough for her to live comfortably for the rest of her life.” She looked at me, then back at them, decisive. “The children are still young. It’s best to correct this now.” In Helen’s arms, Claire didn’t seem to understand everything, but she knew she was being sent away. She started screaming, begging “Mommy” and “Daddy” not to abandon her, promising she’d be good and eat all her vegetables. Evan just stood by her, rubbing her back to calm her down. I stared at my dirty sandals, feeling absolutely no hope. I already knew how this farce would end. Helen couldn’t stand Claire’s heart-wrenching cries. And Warren, deep down, was a romantic who always indulged his wife. In the end, Claire stayed. It wasn’t even difficult. They decided we would live as “fraternal twins.” She would be the eldest daughter, I would be the second. Helen gave me a guilty look, then immediately looked back down at Claire in her arms, her eyes full of love. “Mom… what if… what if we let Claire stay? I’ve raised her for four years. She’s my daughter, too.” “Four years… that’s over a thousand days of being her mother. I didn’t know… I always thought she was mine. I gave her the best of everything…” “This was all a terrible mistake, it must mean Claire and our family are destined to be together. It’s not like we can’t afford one more child.” “And Marina… Audrey… she needs time to adjust. Wouldn’t it be better for her to have a sister?” I blinked, fighting the urge to laugh. She’s the daughter you raised for four years. But me? Your actual daughter? I didn’t get your love. I suffered for four years in her place. And now, I’m expected to “understand” your feelings and graciously accept the girl who stole my life? Not a chance in hell. I tugged on Grandma’s skirt. She looked down at me, pausing before she could reply to Helen. “I’m hot,” I said. Everyone looked at me. It was August, sweltering. The villa’s central air was humming, but I was wearing a threadbare, fleece-lined shirt that was meant for late autumn, the sleeves hanging past my hands. It’s safe to say Claire’s biological parents, the Baxters, never bought me a single item of clothing after they swapped us. I wore whatever their relatives’ kids grew out of. Didn’t matter if it was for a boy or a girl, too big or too small. As long as I wasn’t naked. The assistant heard me and asked Grandma if he should take me to change. Grandma nodded, but I immediately thrashed and refused. She looked puzzled, but there was a more pressing issue at hand. She just told the assistant to roll up my sleeves to help me cool down. In front of everyone, the assistant pushed up the long, filthy sleeve. And revealed my arm. Covered in bruises. Big ones, small ones, yellow, purple, and black. Someone in the room gasped. Helen pushed Claire away and lunged at me, but Grandma was faster. She blocked Helen, gripping my arm gently, her voice shaking with rage. “What is this? Marina, you tell Grandma. Who did this to you?” Helen stood just behind her, sobbing, covering her mouth, wanting to get closer but unable to.

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When the morning sickness and dizzy spells sent me running for the bathroom, my boyfriend, Grant, was at a party, playing a “tie a cherry stem with your tongue” kissing game with his assistant. Even as I retched until I tasted blood, he was wrapped around her, lost in the moment. On the way home, we got into a car accident. I had just been lifted onto a stretcher when Grant yanked me off, his face cold. “You’re tough,” he spat. “Stop wasting medical resources.” He then lifted his crying assistant onto the stretcher in my place. When we arrived at the hospital, everyone rushed her to the ER. I walked alone to the OB-GYN check-in desk. “Hello. I need to schedule an abortion.” “The baby. I don’t want it anymore.” … The moment I finished changing into the surgical gown, the door flew open, and Grant stormed in. He threw a thin, woven bracelet at my face. “Hannah, who gave you permission to put this tacky thing in my bag?” Grant didn’t believe in superstitions. Even the prayer bracelet I’d spent an entire day hiking to a monastery to get for him, he’d laughed at and tossed in the trash. I picked the red string bracelet off my lap, my gaze flat. “I didn’t give it to you.” Hearing that, he snatched it back and quickly tied it onto his own wrist. I knew it was from Chloe. A little “wish bracelet,” probably for them to be together forever. I reached out and grabbed his hand. He flinched, his eyes full of suspicion. I ignored him and retied the clumsy knot, pulling it tight and secure. My fingers were so cold they made him pause. He finally looked at me. “Why are you in a hospital gown?” I answered lightly, “Just a minor procedure.” Grant’s brow furrowed. He was about to accuse me of faking illness for attention—his usual move. But just then, a nurse came in to draw my blood. He opened his mouth, about to ask her what was wrong, when his phone buzzed. A FaceTime from Chloe. Her voice was a high-pitched pout. “Grant, the hospital is so scary at night…” Without a second glance at me, he turned and strode out of the room. He bumped the nurse on his way, jogging her arm. The needle slipped, and blood welled up. I hissed in pain. He didn’t look back. The doctor came in with the consent forms. I signed my name without even reading the risks. Thirty minutes later, it was over. I had just gotten off the table when I got a text from Grant: [Wait for me out front] It was snowing outside. I sat on a hard plastic bench, wearing only my thin street clothes, and waited for two hours. He never showed. Two nurses walked past, chatting about their shift in the ER. “I’ve been working here for years, and I’ve never seen a man so devoted.” “I know, right? He held her the entire time, even through the X-rays. And when they found one tiny scrape on her leg, he called in a helicopter to have her transferred to a top-tier trauma center.” I opened my phone. Grant had changed his profile picture to a cartoon fox in sunglasses. It was a matching set with Chloe’s, the bunny cop. I closed the app and opened my airline app. Due to the blizzard, the earliest flight home was in two days. I booked the ticket. I walked out of the hospital and went home alone. At 3 AM, Grant finally came home. He opened the bedroom door and slid into bed beside me. In the darkness, he reached out, his hand moving toward my pregnant belly. I turned over, giving him my back. Grant let out an impatient tsk, got up, and went into the bathroom, slamming the door. In nine years, anytime he’d shown the slightest displeasure, I would have panicked, chasing after him, apologizing, begging him not to be mad. Tonight, when he came out of the shower, he found me exactly where he’d left me, unmoving. “Pathetic,” he muttered. He left the master bedroom and didn’t come back. The next morning, I found a wine glass stained with lipstick on the coffee table. I didn’t shake him awake. I didn’t scream or demand to know who he’d been with. I calmly made myself an omelet. I had just sat down when Grant, finally awake, grumbled, “Don’t wait up for me tonight. Client dinner.” He opened the fridge, chugged some ice water, and then paused, realizing I hadn’t nagged him about the water being bad for his stomach, nor had I asked who the “client” was. He frowned, looking at me through the kitchen’s glass partition. “Hannah, did you hear me?” I swallowed my food. “Mm-hm.” I kept eating. He grabbed his black overcoat and threw it at me. “Your birthday present.” The coat, which reeked of Chloe’s sweet perfume, landed on my flat stomach. As he watched, I reached into the pocket and pulled out a small gift box. Inside was a diamond ring. Before I could speak, Grant’s face darkened, and he snatched it away. “Wrong pocket,” he snapped. “Yours is in the other one.” In the other pocket was a large, emerald brooch. I looked at it for a second, then pushed it back to him. “It’s beautiful,” I said politely. “But I don’t have any clothes that would go with it. Besides, my birthday was three months ago. You should just give it to Chloe, along with the ring.” He was speechless. Finally, he managed, “There’s a jewelry auction in two days. You can come with me.” It was the first time he’d ever asked me to be his plus-one. For the last six months, Chloe had been the one on his arm at every event. They were even arm-in-arm in the group photos from his “guys only” yacht trip. It was all so, so tiresome. “No, thank you. I don’t need anything.” “You’re sure?” I nodded. “It would be better if you took Chloe.” My honesty was rewarded with his immediate fury. “Hannah, go look in the mirror. Just look at yourself. Do you have any idea how pathetic and jealous you sound?” In the past, that would have started a screaming match. Now, I couldn’t be bothered to say a word. I just stood up to go to my room. His phone rang. It was Chloe’s special ringtone. She was crying, absolutely hysterical. She’d gone to take the trash out and forgot her keys. “What am I going to do, Grant?” “You silly thing. Just stay right there, don’t move. I’m on my way.” He hung up and started for the door. “Grant,” I called out. He stopped, his face hard. “The scarf you asked me to knit. It’s finished. It’s hanging on the coat rack. Don’t forget to take it to her.” His expression flickered. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something. But just then, Chloe sent a voice memo. It was just her, meowing like a cat and asking him to bring her a latte. His face softened. He grabbed a paper gift bag from the rack—dumping the baby clothes I’d bought onto the floor—stuffed the scarf inside, and left, a small smile on his face. I looked at the discarded baby clothes, then walked into his home office. I ignored the framed photo of him and Chloe on his desk and went straight to the safe. I tried his birthday. No. My birthday. No. Our anniversary. No. I typed in Chloe’s birthday. The lock clicked open. As I pulled out my passport and birth certificate, two small paper stubs fluttered to the floor. The movie tickets from our first date. I tore them into tiny pieces and dropped them in the trash. Then I went to my room and packed a bag. That evening, Grant called. He needed me to run a file to him at a restaurant. The snow was coming down hard. I put on my heaviest coat and went myself. When I pushed open the restaurant door, I found Grant and Chloe in the middle of a toast, their arms linked, drinking champagne. The raucous laughter at their table died the moment they saw me. Grant just looked annoyed. The others looked on, amused, clearly waiting for me to start screaming. But I didn’t. I just handed him the file. “I need your car keys. I left something in your car.” At that, Chloe pulled the Porsche keys from her purse and stuck her tongue out at me. “Sooo-rry, Hannah. I’m always oversleeping, so Grant just gave me his car to drive to work.” “Don’t call her that, sweetie,” Grant said, his eyes full of adoration as he wiped a drop of champagne from Chloe’s lip. “It’s confusing.” I seconded his motion. “He’s right, Ms. Davis. Grant and I aren’t married. Please don’t misunderstand.” I took the keys and turned to leave. Grant grabbed my arm, his expression strange. “Hannah, you’re pregnant. The smell of alcohol is supposed to make you sick. Why are you…” Before I could answer, Chloe gasped, clutching Grant’s arm. “Oh no, Grant! Is she going to the car to look for that pearl necklace? Oh, I’m so clumsy… I think I lost it. What do we do?” The necklace she was talking about was my grandmother’s. I heard Grant soothe her. “It was just a cheap necklace. Don’t worry about it.” I put the keys down on the table. My voice was calm, no anger, no sadness. “He’s right. It’s just a cheap necklace I’ve worn for nine years. If you liked it that much, consider it a gift.” I walked out. As I was pulling up a rideshare app, Grant ran out after me. He shoved a takeaway bag into my hands. It was soup. “Your OB-GYN appointment is tomorrow,” he said, as if granting a favor. “I’ll go with you.” I lied. “You’re mistaken. It’s the day after.” He started to argue, but then he saw Chloe standing in the restaurant doorway, watching. He immediately turned and ran back to her, taking her hand, blowing on it to keep her warm. I watched them go back inside. I’ve always hated fish. I found a stray cat and dumped the soup. Then I went home. He didn’t come home that night. I didn’t call. At 5 PM the next day, just as I was putting on my coat, Grant came home unexpectedly and pulled me into his car. We ended up at the main Harrison estate. He dragged me in front of his parents. “Mom, Dad. This is Hannah.” After nine years, he was finally introducing me. His timing was terrible. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, it’s a pleasure. Unfortunately, I have an urgent matter to attend to. Please excuse me.” I turned to leave. Grant’s fingers dug into my wrist. “She’s kidding, Mom. She’s just nervous. Why don’t you get dinner started? I’ll show her around.” He dragged me upstairs to his childhood bedroom, forcing me on a “tour.” My constant checking of my phone quickly got on his nerves. “Hannah, you begged me for years to see this room. Now you’re here, and you’re silent. What’s wrong?” “Hm? Oh. It’s nice.” My non-answer made him scowl. “What’s on that phone that’s so interesting?” “Nothing.” He grabbed the phone from my hand and pointed it at his face to unlock it. The screen flashed: Face Not Recognized. He looked genuinely shocked. “Why isn’t it working?” Before I could answer, there was a sharp sound from outside the window. Grant, who was much taller, saw something, and without a word, he dropped my phone and bolted from the room. Ten minutes later, I followed the sound of giggling to the back garden. Chloe was there, wearing a flower crown, playing a childish game of balancing on a retaining wall while Grant held her hands. “Grant, hold on tight! Ahh, save me!” She “slipped” and fell dramatically into his chest, her face flushing. They paused, then smiled at each other. Grant’s smile vanished when he saw me. “Oh, hi, Hannah!” Chloe chirped, still holding onto Grant. She playfully batted his chest. “I get it. The bad boy finally decided to bring the old ball and chain home to meet the parents.” She grinned. “Congratulations, Hannah.” Her voice was full of blessing, but her eyes were watery, as if she were about to cry. It made Grant’s heart ache. “It’s just dinner, you little idiot. It’s not a big deal,” he cooed. He looked back at me, his face cold. “Is dinner ready?” Before I could answer, dozens of thin, black snakes dropped from the tree branches above us. I was so startled I fell backward. Chloe let out a bloodcurdling scream. Grant didn’t even look at me. He just grabbed Chloe, pulled her into his arms, and ran. He didn’t come back until the animal control officers had arrived to clear the garden. He finally remembered me, but I was long gone. The security guard at the front gate told him I’d left. I sat in the airport terminal, waiting for my flight. My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. I finally answered just before boarding. Grant’s voice was frantic. “Where are you?” He’d clearly been home and found the place empty. “None of your business.” He paused, then his voice turned angry. “A pregnant woman shouldn’t be having these emotional episodes. Stop this tantrum. Give me your address, I’m coming to…” He was cut off by the sound of a loud, wet kiss. I could hear Chloe laughing in the background. Grant cleared his throat. His voice turned cold and professional. “A work emergency just came up. You’ll have to get a cab home.” He hung up, then added one more text: [Text me when you’re home.] I opened the message thread. And, as he wished, I sent him a text. [Grant, we’re done. I sincerely hope you and Chloe are happy together. Forever.] The “Read” receipt appeared. I blocked his number, his socials, everything. Then I turned off my phone.

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I woke up on the day I first confessed my love to my childhood best friend. In the middle of the crowded hall, with everyone egging us on, he looked at my tear-streaked face and said in a cold voice: “Elara, don’t you think this is a little desperate?” Then he turned, his expression softening for the girl next to him—his perfect, unattainable crush. “Stella, just a sec. I’ll deal with this and meet you.” He turned back to me, annoyed. “Why are you always crying?” he sighed. “You should try reading a book, Elara. Stop obsessing over this stupid high school romance.” I was so tired of his voice. I shoved him. I shoved him, hard, and ran past him to the guy leaning against the lockers, the one everyone else was ignoring. I threw my arms around the school’s bad boy. “Husband…” I buried my face in his chest and sobbed. Kai was still alive. Eighteen years old and alive. I wasn’t too late. 01 The last thing I did was make Kai a promise. He held my hand, his grip weak, and made me swear I’d live to be a hundred before I came to find him. I promised. I lied. Three days later, I followed him. I told myself that if I saw him in the afterlife, I’d say I had a dream he was flirting with other ghosts. The truth was, I hadn’t dreamed at all. I couldn’t sleep without him. When I opened my eyes again, I was eighteen. I was holding a bouquet. The hallway was loud. “Do it! Do it! Kiss him!” People were pushing me, but my eyes scanned the crowd and found him in an instant—that stupid, bleached-blonde hair. He was in the corner, trying to look bored, his eyes flicking toward me when he thought no one was looking. I saw him, and the tears just came. I tried to speak, but Ethan’s voice cut through. “Elara, don’t you think this is a little desperate?” I finally saw the boy in front of me. Frowning. Annoyed. The noise died. Stella, the other academic star, broke the silence. “Ethan, we need to go over our speech for the assembly.” Ethan’s face melted. “Just a sec. I’ll deal with this and meet you.” Stella was just like him. A straight-A robot. People always said they were the perfect “power couple.” Stella once said, “I’m not like other girls. I don’t have time for drama.” Ethan had looked at her like she was a goddess. He’d told me the same thing. “I don’t like girls who are all about drama.” And for my entire life, I had been nothing but drama for him. I’d actually thought that confessing my love on my birthday, in front of everyone, would force him to be nice. I’d forgotten. He hates being forced. He took the flowers from my hands. “You should try reading a book, Elara. Stop obsessing over this stupid high school romance.” 02 I just stared. The whispers started. “Oh my god, look at her. She’s crying.” “She’s been simping for Ethan for years. This is brutal.” “I’m cringing so hard right now.” In my first life, I had cried. I’d run away, humiliated. But now, my eyes were locked on the boy in the corner. I looked right at Kai, my mouth open, trying to find my voice. The tears just wouldn’t stop. Ethan saw me. He actually sighed. “Elara, why are you always crying?” I was so sick of him. He was in my way. I shoved him, hard, and ran. I launched myself at the person I’d lost. “Husband…” I clung to him, my voice muffled in his shirt. “Kai… you’re alive… you’re alive…” His chest was warm. He smelled like sunshine and soap. I just held on and sobbed. The body in my arms went completely rigid. “Whoa… hey. I think you… got the wrong guy, dude.” His face was bright red. 03 “Elara, who the hell are you calling ‘husband’?” Ethan’s voice was sharp, angry. “Are you really pulling this stunt again?” He was right. In my first life, I’d constantly tried to make him jealous by flirting with other guys. This time, though, it was with Kai. The one person Ethan truly despised. I just cried harder, clinging to Kai. “You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive…” I couldn’t believe it. My hands fumbled with the hem of his shirt, trying to get under it. I had to check. I had to know the scar, the one that killed him, wasn’t there. Kai completely freaked out. “Whoa! What the hell are you doing?!” “Let me see!” I sobbed. “Take off your shirt, let me see!” His face went from red to purple. “I’m not a stripper!” “Please, Kai, I have to see… please…” He was frozen, his hands hovering in the air. Finally, he hissed, “Fine! Just… wait ’til we’re not in the damn hallway, okay?!” Ethan looked at us, his face a mask of pure disgust. “Elara, you’re a mess. Have some self-respect.” He turned and left. The crowd broke up. 04 “Okay, drama queen. You can let go now.” Kai’s voice was rough, but I just shook my head, my arms locked around his neck. “No. I’m never letting go.” At eighteen, my legs weren’t broken. I wasn’t depressed. At eighteen, Kai hadn’t taken a knife for me. There was still time. He sighed. “I’m walking. Are you coming?” “Mmmph.” He just… picked me up. Princess-style. As we were leaving the hall, the principal spotted us. “Kai! You’re supposed to be at practice! What are you doing, carrying a student around?” I just buried my face in his neck. Kai, without missing a beat, said, “She broke her leg, Mr. Henderson. Taking her to the nurse.” The principal softened. “Oh. Well. Good on you, son.” He’d done the same thing in my last life. Carried me everywhere. When we were alone, he put me down. He looked exasperated. “Okay, Elara. What is this?” I just wrapped my arms around his neck again. “Husband…” He looked like he was going to have a stroke. “Stop! Calling! Me! That! Who is your husband?!” “You are…” I said, my voice tiny. “My favorite husband…” He looked at the ceiling, as if praying for strength. “Elara,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Did you forget you’re the one who threw my letter in the trash yesterday?” Oh. Right. That. He’d confessed to me. I’d crumpled the note and thrown it at his chest. “I hate meatheads like you,” I’d sneered. “All muscle, no brain.” I’d only done it because Ethan hated him. I looked up at him, trying to look as sincere as possible. “That… that was a test. To see if your love was true.” I leaned in. “And Kai? I’m only ever going to love you.” He winced. “Can you just… not call me ‘husband’?” “No.” “Fine!” he exploded. “Call me whatever you want! Just… can you… can you stop hanging on me?” “But I want to hug you.” His throat bobbed. His ears were bright red. God, he was cute at eighteen.

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Before winter break, the new transfer student kept “accidentally” running into my childhood sweetheart. First, she’d twist her ankle. Then, she “just couldn’t understand” the homework. But my childhood sweetheart, Roman, is a possessive, unhinged germaphobe. So when the new girl, in front of me, hiked her skirt up and pretended to fall into his arms, Roman just stepped back. He watched her crash into the swimming pool and start to flail. “If you don’t want to live,” he said, his voice cold, “dying is always an option.” 1 My childhood sweetheart, Roman, is a germaphobe and dangerously possessive. He can’t stand anyone touching him. Except me. At his worst, he’d flinch if his own parents got too close. I’m the only leash that can hold this “mad dog.” In eighth grade, as the housekeeper’s daughter, I was sent to the same elite prep school as the young master. On the first day, I was walking past the gym in my school uniform skirt. Some idiot whistled at me. Roman grabbed a metal chair and threw it at his head. Even at a prep school filled with entitled brats, Roman was on another level. He was red-eyed, a total psycho, ready to fight the entire lacrosse team. But I just stood there. I said his name, just once. He froze. The psycho vanished. He just… turned and looked at me, his expression wounded. Mad dog to good dog, just like that. That day, the rumor that the unhinged school prince had been tamed spread across the entire campus. Soon, a new saying followed: If you piss off Roman, Sienna might be able to save you. If you piss off Sienna? You’re dead. It was cringey, sure, but it was accurate. And that rumor held true all the way through high school. Until sophomore year, when she showed up. 2 Her name was Sadie. Long, dark hair, an innocent face. She turned every head, not because she was stunning, but because she looked exactly like me. Even that aloof, don’t-touch-me vibe was a cheap copy. I saw Roman stare at her. As she passed us, she flicked her hair and shot me a look. Pure provocation. What she didn’t see was Roman’s brow furrowing, just slightly. A look of pure disgust. After first period, the teacher called me—as class president—to her office. The gist: “Please take care of the new student.” I nodded. When I got back, Roman was waiting for me, leaning against the doorframe. The second he saw me, his face lit up and he pushed off the wall to walk toward me. Sadie “happened” to be walking by at that exact moment. She stumbled, a perfect, graceful trip aimed right at Roman’s chest. Roman just frowned and took one step back. Thud. Sadie hit the floor, hard. Roman didn’t even look down. He was already at my side, smiling. 3 “What’s up? Teacher need something?” The girl on the floor, however, delivered her lines with impressive timing. She looked up, her eyes watery. “Sienna… I just got here. I didn’t do anything to you, did I? Why would you… why would you do that?” She looked so fragile, all damsel-in-distress. The few kids in the hall looked over. She thought she’d won. She didn’t get it. This is our school. They weren’t looking at her with pity; they were watching a train wreck. I’m known for being nice. I’m the class president. I don’t use the “mad dog” to bite people just because they’re annoying. But Roman stepped next to me, his whole body tense, radiating “don’t-touch-her” energy. The air in the hallway got cold. People backed away. Before the “psycho” could fully emerge, I grabbed his hand. “Let’s go,” I said. “She clearly doesn’t need help.” Instantly, the tension snapped. The only thing in Roman’s world was our joined hands. 4 The school gives us a two-hour lunch break, so most students go back to their dorms for a nap. I had to run back to grab a textbook. I passed the courtyard behind the cafeteria and heard voices. Then I heard my name. “Sienna is such a bitch! She’s always in the way! You need to figure out a way to get rid of her!” I looked. It was Sadie, sitting on a bench, eating from a lunchbox. She was completely alone. Then I heard another voice, a mature man’s, coming from nowhere. It sounded robotic. “Then earn more Conquest Points. Points solve everything.” Conquest Points? I froze. “You said this face was his type!” Sadie complained, stabbing her food. “Why isn’t he falling for me?” “He is,” the voice said. “The Conquest Value rose by one point today.” I was stunned. Roman. My Roman… was “conquerable”? “So what’s next?” Sadie asked. “That whole ‘innocent girl’ act isn’t working.” “Then change tactics. Men like novelty. Sienna is cold and aloof; she probably never shows him any affection. You be warm. Be passionate.” “Fine. I’ll try.” …I slipped away. 5 Sure enough, Sadie changed tactics. After class, she bounced over to our desks, a stack of textbooks in her arms. She was like a hyperactive sparrow, chirping away. The guy in front of us finally snapped. “Can you shut up? The teacher just explained this. Were you even listening?” Sadie tossed her hair. “I can listen and still ask questions, can’t I?” “They’re simple equations. If you still don’t get it, you should probably see a doctor.” “You don’t get it,” she said, leaning past him to smile at Roman. “I’m not really here for the answers. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you, Roman.” She propped her chin on her hands. “I like you.” The class went dead silent. Kids who were asleep were suddenly nudged awake. Roman, who had been doodling, looked up. He looked at Sadie. Then he looked at me, clearly waiting for a signal. I just turned my head and looked out the window, pretending to be bored. I heard him grind his teeth. His voice dropped ten degrees. “I don’t need you to. Get lost.” Sadie’s smile faltered. She opened her mouth to try again, but Roman grabbed the nearest textbook and hurled it. “Can’t you understand English?” The book smashed into the wall an inch from her head. A few kids snickered. Sadie stared at me, her face burning, and then stomped off.

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