The second year after my biological parents took me “home,” our entire family was dragged into a horror game. A Glamour Ghoul, her robes slipping off a decaying shoulder, was painting a fresh layer of skin onto her face. She cooed at my brother, asking if she was beautiful. A disassembled Doll giggled and rolled across the floor, looking for a new playmate to “fix.” I stared at the familiar circus tent, the familiar faces, and screamed, covering my eyes. “Melody! Julian! What are you two doing?!” The Ghoul froze, yanked her dress back up, and hastily reapplied her “normal” face. The Doll’s limbs snapped back onto her torso, and she stood up, dusting off her pristine vaudeville dress. “Our Little Terror,” Melody gasped, “what are you doing back here?” 1 [All players, please note: You have entered the Nightmare Stream.] [Current Instance: Carver’s Carnival of Curiosities] [Difficulty: SSS-Class, Fusion Instance] [Objective: Survive for ten (10) days] [Players: 10] [Good luck, players.] When the mechanical voice faded, I was numb. A second ago, I was at home, getting screamed at. It was a contest of who could cry harder: me or my “sister,” Claire. Claire was crying because her SAT scores were lower than mine, and she needed to look sympathetic to our parents. I was crying because I was terrified. I’ve always been able to see things. Right then, Claire had a decaying baby doll sitting on her shoulder and a drowned woman clinging to her back. I blinked the tears away, and the scenery changed. I looked around. My new “family” of five was here. So were five strangers. Claire was screaming, burrowed into our mother’s arms. “Where are we? What is this place?” Our father shielded our brother, Josh, scanning the environment like a paranoid guard dog. I stood off to the side, alone. The five strangers—three men, two women—looked like veterans. The one with a scar down his face looked at us in disgust. “Great. An SSS-class fusion, and we get five rookies.” “This batch is low-quality. All they do is scream.” “Shut them up.” I cautiously approached them, picking the woman who looked the most competent. “Excuse me, ma’am? Do you know what’s happening?” The woman raised an eyebrow. Her features were sharp, assessing. “Well, a rookie that speaks. That’s a first.” She shot a look of contempt at Claire. “Better than that shrieking mess.” “This is a horror game. You get pulled in if you have a desperate wish. You clear instances, you get points. Points buy you anything—money, power, health. Anything.” “And if you fail?” Her eyes darkened. “You die. You become fuel for the game.” She paused, then looked me over again. “I’m Alex. Stick with me, kid. Don’t touch anything.” I beamed. Tough, but not heartless. I’d chosen well. “Thank you, Alex. I’m Vera.” 2 Suddenly, a live chat stream flickered into existence in the air. [SSS-Class? This team is toast.] [Carver’s Carnival? That instance has three bosses! Ten days? They won’t last three.] [That rookie Vera got lucky, latching onto Alex.] [Man, Alex and Marcus (the scar guy) have the worst luck. Five dead-weight rookies. F.] I pointed. “Alex, I can see… comments?” “Normal. Every instance is live-streamed. Helps survival, sometimes. You can get intel from the chat.” I nodded. The rusted iron gates of the carnival screeched open. We were standing in the middle of a bizarre, old-timey midway. It looked… familiar. It looked just like the carnival I grew up in before this family “found” me. Even the carousel horse with the missing eye was the same. [Task 1: Enter the Midway and survive the Doll’s playtime.] [It’s opening night! The Ringmaster presents his favorite act: Dolly the Living Doll! But Dolly is broken and needs new parts. She is looking for a replacement.] [Dolly will appear in 30 seconds. Hide. If Dolly catches you, you will be ‘re-made.’] [The show begins in ten minutes. Good luck.] 3 Chaos. Everyone scattered. Alex grabbed my arm and dragged me toward a midway game booth, shoving us into a deep storage cabinet. Claire and my mother, seeing us, scrambled in right behind us. The cabinet was tiny. Four people was a nightmare. Alex scowled, about to leave, but it was too late. A sound began: a thud… scrape… thud… scrape… A high-pitched, giggling voice sang, “Here I come… ready or not…” A dismembered porcelain torso, dragging itself by one arm, rounded the corner. “Are you in here?” giggle “Or in here?” The thudding stopped. Dolly let out a piercing shriek of laughter. “Found you!” A terrible, wet tearing sound, followed by a man’s scream. It sounded just like my father. My mother burst into tears, her hands clamped over her mouth. [Player Mark Harding (Dad) has failed. Assimilated by Dolly. Remaining players: 9] The chat went wild. [That’s SSS-class for you. Two minutes, one dead.] [His own son, Josh, shoved him out! Damn!] [The ‘re-making’ is brutal. They’re literally pulling his limbs off and snapping them into a doll body.] Seeing the chat describe my father’s end, Claire and my mother shook violently. I just felt… nothing. In the year I’d been “home,” I’d been blamed, framed, and hit. I couldn’t find a tear for him. 4 The thud-scraping started again. This time, it stopped right outside our cabinet. “Someone’s in the closet…” she sang. We all held our breath. “Hee hee hee… I see you! I see you!” “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Claire went rigid. Alex held up a finger: Don’t move. The chat was frantic: [It’s a bait! Don’t open the door!] [This boss is smart. She’s phishing.] [She won’t leave. You have to sacrifice one. A monster won’t hunt in the same room twice after a kill.] Claire and my mother looked at each other. In one swift, brutal motion, they grabbed me and shoved. Alex lunged—”Vera!”—but she was too late. I stumbled out of the cabinet and fell, landing face-to-face with the doll. She was beautiful, porcelain skin, rose-painted lips. And completely familiar. I burst into tears. “Melody?” I sobbed. “What did they do to you?”

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I went to the bank to withdraw $75,000. The teller must have misread the slip, because she gave me $750,000. An extra $675,000. I told customer service the amount was wrong. She said once I left the counter, it wasn’t their problem. You don’t say? That night, the branch manager called me. “Sir, you took $1,200,000 from our bank this afternoon. $75,000 was yours. Please return the $1,125,000 immediately.” I said: “?!” 1 Today, I went to the bank for a cash withdrawal. The teller was half-asleep and mistook $75,000 for $750,000. She handed me several heavy cash bags. I hesitated. I don’t have $750,000 in my account. I had $75,000 and maybe a few grand in change. Looking at the extra $675,000, my DNA lit up. My throat went dry. Nobody dislikes money, especially a windfall of this size. The teller snapped me out of it. “Please count your cash. Per bank policy, once you leave the counter, we are not responsible.” I nodded. I took the money and walked straight out of the bank. As soon as I was on the sidewalk, I pulled out my phone and hit “record.” With the camera rolling, I used my other phone to call the bank’s 800-number. “Hi, my name is Kevin Zhang. At 3:33 PM, I made a withdrawal at your Springfield branch. I’ve just realized the amount is incorrect. I need to schedule a time to come back and correct this.” I made sure to enunciate withdrawal clearly. I hate dealing with this bank. If it weren’t such a hassle, I’d have closed my accounts years ago. The lobby is always palatial, with a dozen teller windows. But only one is ever open. The others all have “Next Window Please” signs, even as the line snakes out the door. The staff mills around, chatting, like the customers are just scenery. I’ve complained before. They just stare through you. And God forbid you want to withdraw your own money. They treat you like a suspect, grilling you. But if you want to deposit? Oh, then it’s a full-court press trying to sell you high-fee insurance products or managed funds you don’t need. 2 The customer service rep on the phone was clearly bored. “Mr. Zhang, our policy clearly states that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible. I understand your frustration, but there is nothing I can do. I’m sorry.” “Are you kidding me? What’s your employee ID? I’m trying to do you a favor.” “A favor for us?” She actually laughed. She’d heard this script a million times—from people who were shorted money and found out too late. She rattled off her employee ID and then went back to the script. “Sir, I really can’t help you with this. The ‘leave the counter’ policy protects both parties. You confirmed the amount at the window. We consider the transaction closed. Have a nice day!” She hung up. A second later, a text message pinged: Please rate your recent service. I gave her five stars. She had given me exactly what I needed. I’ve had it with these people. I’m not the one who makes their job difficult. But they’re always trying to trick customers. I’d come in to make a simple deposit, and they’d try to “upgrade” my savings account into some garbage insurance plan. “Better returns,” they’d say. Better commissions, they meant. When I needed to withdraw, they’d act like I was robbing them. “What is the purpose of this withdrawal?” As if I needed their permission. If I was vague, they’d cite “fraud risk” and refuse the transaction. The internet is full of these stories. Your own withdrawal for $5,000 gets your account frozen. Meanwhile, some scammer in another country drains $500,000 without a single flag. Don’t even get me started on inheritance. My wife’s mother passed, and they told her a death certificate and a will weren’t enough. They said “the name on the utility bill doesn’t perfectly match the will.” It’s impossible. Thinking about it, I opened my banking app and transferred the last few thousand dollars out of my account. 3 The sun set. The workday ended. But at the First National Springfield branch, the panic was just beginning. They close to the public at 5 PM, but the staff stays late to balance the books. Tonight, the books weren’t balancing. They were short. Hundreds of thousands of dollars short. Everyone was going to be held responsible. Soon, they found the error. A customer, Kevin Zhang, requested $75,000. The teller, in a daze, paid out $750,000. The worst part? They checked my account. It was now at $0. They couldn’t even claw the money back. It looked organized. Premeditated. They pulled the teller into the manager’s office, grilling her. Was she my relative? An accomplice? After confirming she was just incompetent, the supervisor went to the Branch Manager’s office, his face pale. “Mr. Henderson, what do we do? We’ve checked. The teller doesn’t know him. It was a genuine mistake.” “And I’ve checked his file. This is the same Kevin Zhang who’s been suing us for the last year. The odds of him returning this willingly are zero.” The branch manager, Henderson, stared at my customer file for a long time. He finished his cigarette. “We can’t hide this,” he said. “It has to go up to corporate. We’ll report it. We’ll take the heat. We’ll do our due diligence to recover the funds from Zhang.” He took a long drag. “But nobody takes our money. If he wants to play, he better be ready to lose everything.” “When you report it to corporate, say he took $1,200,000. Say he’s shorting us $1,125,000.” 4 Late that night, my phone rang. “Is this Kevin Zhang? You made an unauthorized withdrawal from our bank today. It has created a significant financial loss. This is your official notice.” The voice was cold and arrogant. “The issue was a teller error, but it resulted in you taking several hundred thousand dollars. We will be dispatching agents to your home tonight to retrieve the funds. Please cooperate, or we will be forced to pursue legal action. Any additional losses incurred will be your responsibility.” This was a clever script. Even if I argued about them coming over, I’d be implicitly admitting I had their “several hundred thousand.” And “unjust enrichment” is a real legal concept. I just don’t get these guys. In this situation, shouldn’t the first call be… nice? “Mr. Zhang, we’re so sorry, we made a huge mistake, a ‘beautiful mistake’ as they say, haha. Our teller is new. We’d be so grateful if you could help us correct this.” Then, offer a $500 gift card and a bottle of wine. I’d have brought the $675,000 back tomorrow. But no. It’s their mistake, and they’re calling to threaten me? After a year of their nonsense, my patience was gone. “Several hundred thousand? What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about that.” “And besides, your own customer service rep told me: ‘Once you leave the counter, you’re not responsible.’” “Err… yes. About that policy. The final interpretation of that rule rests with the bank.” “Under that rule, if you fail to count your money, you are not protected. If we overpay you, that is unjust enrichment, which is illegal.”

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I was bound to an Evil Sidekick System, but I’m a cat. The system sighed. [Whatever, the plot’s already a mess. Go seduce the male lead.] By day, he was unmoved: “It’s just a cat.” When no one was looking, he’d squat down: “Who’s my widdle fuzzy-wuzzy!!!” The system told me I had to leave, play the “White Moonlight” role. I had to wait for the male lead to get with the substitute female lead, then reappear. The three-year-timer went off. I cracked my claws. For cat’s sake. Let’s see what this “substitute” is all about. 1 When the so-called male lead appeared, I strolled over, rubbed against his jeans, and gave his ankle a little tail-curl. “Meow.” Then, I executed a perfect 10/10 flop onto the pavement. Human. Look at me. I dare you to feel nothing. Gasps erupted around us. “Oh my god, oh my god!” “Duchess! She’s so friendly!” “That is a quality cat. A true gentle-kitty.” Every time I meowed, a human would meow back. The guy next to the male lead looked jealous. “Liam, what’d you do? Duchess is all over you.” Anyone else would have been a puddle on the ground, phone out, snapping pictures. But Liam, unused to the attention, just took a step back. His voice was flat. “I don’t know. I don’t have time for this. I’m leaving.” And he just… left. I stared at his retreating back. Wait. He… he just walked away?? 2 I had a reason for approaching Liam. I was happily employed in the “Operation: Mooch from Naive College Students” program. They named me Duchess because my “Cat Morals” were impeccable. Life was good, except for one small annoyance: I hadn’t heard a normal human voice in months. It was all baby talk. “Who’s a widdle kitty-witty? Who’s my precious baby? Yeeeees.” And the meowing. So much meowing. Not from me. From them. Still, I was set. I was going to be the beloved campus cat for life. Until this “Evil Sidekick System” thing bound itself to me. A second later, it went stiff. [Wait. Why are you a cat?] [My data said to bind with the most famous female on campus! I was supposed to get the freakin’ Campus Belle!] I flicked my tail. Old-school system. These days, the campus belle has nothing on the campus cat. It tried again, cautiously: [Um. Meow? Would you be interested in a side hustle? Great benefits.] I was confused. [A side what?] The system realized it couldn’t unbind. It started to short-circuit, sobbing about how it “only bound the wrong person, it wasn’t a bad system,” and then it started humming “Mr. Brightside.” I took pity on it and allowed it to pet me, hoping it would shut up. It petted me and cried at the same time. So annoying. [Fine,] I finally hissed. [What do you want? What’s in it for me?] It brightened. [If you complete the mission… I can make you human!] Me: [So you can’t help me at all? Useless. And why would I want to be human?] System: [Uh… you can eat more stuff? And you live longer? Like, 80 or 90 years!] I was unimpressed. [Eat more ‘stuff’ like ‘crow’? Live longer to ‘pay bills’? No thanks. What’s the job?] It went quiet. [Okay, I have an idea. The plot’s weird anyway. Just… go seduce the male lead.] It braced for rejection. I just blinked. [That’s it?] So, I swaggered over. And he walked right past me. Fine, human. You’ve successfully piqued my interest. 3 It was dark when Liam finally returned to his dorm. He fumbled his keys, and they slipped, rattling down a storm drain. He squatted by the curb, staring into the abyss. “A magnet… I need to find a magnet…” This was my chance. I trotted up next to him, and he immediately scooped me up. Liam smirked. “Cats like watching drama, huh?” I gave him a warning hiss. Put me down. He got the message. “Fine, you little brat.” You’re the brat. I ignored him, stuck a paw through the grate, hooked the keyring with one claw, and flicked it out onto the sidewalk. Liam looked genuinely shocked. “Are all cats this smart?” I puffed out my chest. That’s right, human. Bet you want to pet me now, don’t you? A quiet laugh. “Smug little thing.” He gently rubbed my head. “Thanks,” he said, “but I can’t get too close.” “If I get scratched, I’d need a rabies shot.” “And… I can’t afford one.” I tilted my head. “Mrrow?” Rabies? From a cat scratch? I asked the system. [He’s a poor student. Works three jobs to cover tuition and living expenses. He’s not kidding. A rabies shot would wreck his budget.] Me: [What does that have to do with anything?] System: […Right, you’re a cat. It’s a vaccine humans get if they’re bitten or scratched by an animal, just in case.] Me: [Ugh. Pathetic male lead. Can’t even handle one scratch.] Humans. So fragile. [So I just have to not scratch him?] Right. I could work with that. 4 My campaign began. His attitude softened day by day. It went from: “Don’t come over here.” To: “I said don’t come over.” To: “Fine, come over.” To: “Come here.” To: “Here.” Three months later, he could still say (publicly): “It’s just a cat.” But at night, when no one was around, he’d drop his bag, squat down, and whisper-shout: “MY LITTLE FLUFF-NUGGET!” I didn’t even have to do anything anymore. Me: [Literally just breathing.] Liam: [Such skill! Such calculated affection!] System: [This guy’s personality switch is giving me whiplash.] I purred on his lap, flicking my tail. [What? You mean this isn’t a universal talent?] System: [I’m starting to think Cleopatra’s secret weapon wasn’t her beauty. It was just a cat.] 5 Liam started bringing me food. He’d seen other students give me the fancy stuff—Sheba, Tiki Cat. He apologized for only bringing me a bag of Meow Mix. Me: [Awesome. Second dinner.] Today, he brought a Churu tube. I loved this stuff. I buried my face in it. Liam, ever frugal, started squeezing the tube from the bottom, rolling it up like toothpaste to get every last drop. He squeezed a little too hard. BONK. The tube hit me right in the face. I froze. He hit me. Liam froze, too. He looked horrified. Then, he looked at the tube, wound up, and slapped it. “Bad tube!” he hissed. “Bad!” I cautiously leaned in again. He went back to squeezing. BONK. He hit me again. He was still hitting me. This human is trying to murder me with a meat-paste delivery system. I’d had enough. I gave him the BAP-BAP-BAP right on his face. How dare you, sir. I am not to be trifled with. It was the first time I’d hit him. He just stared, then said quietly, “When a cat slaps you… the first thing you feel is the toe beans.” Me: [?] I hissed and stalked off. I felt a little bad. I’d kept my claws in, but if humans were really that fragile, had I broken him? The next day, he wasn’t there. The day after, I waited by his dorm. His roommates left for class. No Liam. I panicked. [System! Did I kill him?!] System: [The odds of death-by-toe-bean are low… but not zero? Hold on, he’s not dead.] I followed his scent, slipped through a gap in his dorm’s window screen, and found him. He was just in bed. Oh. Sleeping. I hopped up and nudged him. Hey. My bad about the BAP-BAP. Wake up, pet me, and accept my apology. He didn’t move. I walked up to his face and sniffed. You’re… really warm today. And you smell… bitter.

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I was an hour deep into a late-night webcomic binge, blush-reading a scene I definitely wouldn’t want anyone to see over my shoulder, when I hit the last panel. And instead of “Next Episode,” it just said: On indefinite hiatus. I felt a primal scream build in my chest. No. No. He couldn’t stop there. Not when the male lead was finally about to trick the heroine into confessing! I was desperate. I scrambled to the author’s DMs. Me: Bawk bawk! Please, author-nim, just a few crumbs? We’re starving out here! Just pretend you’re feeding the chickens! Bawk bawk! To my shock, he actually replied. Author (Handle: “Chickadee”): I’m so sorry. The comic’s inspiration came from my wife. But she’s been so cold to me lately. She keeps talking about this other man… telling me to “know my place.” I’m terrified she’s going to leave me. I’m so depressed I can’t even pick up my pen. Oh. Oh. This was… juicy. But more importantly, it was a problem. My problem. I needed that update. Time to work some magic. Me: That’s rough. But you know, it just so happens I’m a certified relationship coach. I’m amazing at this stuff. Why don’t you send me your number? We can text, I’ll give you a few pointers. Pro-bono, of course. He sent his number instantly, thanking me like I’d just saved his life. I punched the digits into my phone. And my contacts list helpfully pulled up an existing entry: Julian. …Julian. My husband. My fake, cold, “let’s-keep-our-distance-and-never-interfere-in-each-other’s-lives” husband. The man I married three months ago in a panic to get my mother to stop trying to set me up with her dentist’s weird son. That Julian. Which means… I’m the cold wife. And… wait, what “other man”? Oh, god. He must mean my new boss, Mark, the one I’d been complaining about nonstop. This was a disaster. But… my webcomic… That night, I knocked on his bedroom door (on the opposite side of the apartment). He opened it, looking startled. He was already in his pajamas. I put on my best damsel-in-distress face. “It’s… it’s kinda cold tonight. My room is freezing. Could you maybe… come warm up my bed for me?” The normally stoic man stared, and the tips of his ears turned a fascinating, brilliant shade of red. 1 I got home from work, exhausted. The smell of garlic and soy hit me as I opened the door. Julian was in the kitchen, his back to me, untying an apron. Wide shoulders, narrow waist… not half-bad. I quickly looked away and made a beeline for my room. The food smelled incredible, but it wasn’t for me. Our agreement was clear: we were roommates who shared a marriage certificate. Separate lives. Separate everything. “You’re home late again,” his voice, surprisingly, came from the living room. “Have you eaten?” I stopped. “Just a long day. I was going to order a delivery. Did I bother you?” “No,” he said. He was standing there, looking awkward. “It’s just… I made way too much. If you want some, there’s plenty.” I raised an eyebrow. He immediately backpedaled. “Don’t misread this. I just hate wasting food.” “Got it, got it. We’re not a real couple. I won’t get any ideas.” There were five dishes on the table, including my absolute favorite—spicy kung pao chicken. Since he offered, I wasn’t going to argue. A long, pale-skinned hand reached over and picked up the ladle. “I’ll get you some soup.” “Oh. Thanks.” In three months, this was the first time we’d ever eaten together. And damn, he could cook. I kept my head down, shoveling rice, my mind flashing back to when I’d begged him to marry me. I’d overheard him complaining to a friend about his own family’s marriage pressure. I was desperate. He was… convenient. I hadn’t expected him to be gorgeous. Six-foot-one, sharp nose, and pale skin that seemed to glow. When he’d first looked at me, I’d blushed like a total moron. He’d laid down the law immediately. “We only act like a couple in front of our parents. I’m a programmer, I’m busy, and I’m not interested in marriage. Don’t interfere in my life, and I won’t interfere in yours.” When my lease was up, he’d even let me move into his spare bedroom, rent-free. I’d been so grateful, I spent the first month trying to be nice to him. He misinterpreted it as a crush and got even colder, finally telling me, “Mia, if you cross this line again, our contract is terminated.” I’d apologized profusely. “Got it, Julian! Won’t happen again.” 2 So, I ate this meal in total, anxious silence. Then my phone rang. I scrambled to the balcony to take it. It was Mark, my new boss, asking why my progress report wasn’t in his inbox before the deadline. I went back to the table, my mood ruined. Between my job from hell and my favorite webcomic being dead, life just felt bleak. To my absolute horror, my nose started to sting. I was going to cry. Right here. “Mia? Are you okay?” Julian looked terrified. He shot up, grabbed a box of tissues, and sat in the chair next to me. I sniffled. “Can I… can I vent? You won’t find it annoying?” “Of course not. Go ahead.” He looked a little guilty, probably remembering his “don’t talk to me” rule. I took a deep breath. “It’s that bastard, Mark! He’s awful! He calls me into his office for ‘updates’ ten times a day, and then he texts me after hours. I swear, my entire life is just reporting to him. I told him he should spend more time with his wife, and you know what he said? ‘I’m single.’” I was sobbing now, and I didn’t notice Julian’s expression hardening. “Is he young?” he asked, out of nowhere. I wiped my eyes. “Uh, yeah. Not yet thirty.” “Younger than me?” I froze. Oh, crap. I had no idea how old Julian was. I’d been so nervous at the courthouse I forgot to even look at the license. He saw me hesitating and said, “I’m twenty-six.” “Oh! Then he’s older. He just turned twenty-nine,” I blurted out. I only knew because my work friend Chloe and I had just been gossiping about him. Julian didn’t say anything. The air got weird. “I… I didn’t mean you’re young. I mean, he’s old. And annoying. You’re… you’re great. Age-wise.” I was babbling. I shut up. He looked down, his voice going flat. Back to the cold stranger from day one. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” It was 8:15 PM. “The dishes can wait,” he said. “Goodnight.” “Oh. ‘Night.” I’d screwed it up. I’d made dinner weird. 3 Back in my room, I couldn’t sleep. I just kept staring at the last panel of “Chickadee’s” webcomic. It was so good. The male lead was this perfect, sly, green-tea type, always subtly manipulating the oblivious heroine, and the cliffhanger was him this close to finally getting her to confess. I DMed him again on my main account. Me: Bawk bawk! Just one more page? I’ll give you my firstborn! And he replied. Chickadee: Sorry. I just can’t. My wife… she mentioned that other man again. I’m in agony. My heart throbbed for my comic. This poor, lovesick, secretly-talented man. My brain kicked into gear. I had one year of experience as a volunteer community mediator. I knew how to handle domestic disputes. This guy was a hopeless romantic. He was a project. Me: You know, this app is terrible for giving real advice. I’m actually a certified relationship coach. Add me on this burner number. We’ll get your wife back. He sent his info immediately. 4 I typed the number in. Contact “Julian” already exists. I stared. I searched again. And again. The profile picture: a fluffy white Samoyed. Julian’s profile picture. No. My stoic, boring, programmer husband… was “Chickadee”? The author of the spiciest, sweetest romance comic on the internet? And I was his “cold, cruel wife” who was “leaving him for another man”? I wanted to die. But I really wanted that update. I created a new burner account and sent him a message.

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My sister is… intense. She’s got a bit of a thing for her little brother. When I was ten, we were almost kidnapped. I shoved her out of the way and they took me instead. By the time I was ransomed, my face was ruined and my legs were broken. That’s when Victoria truly took over the family business. I became the one thing in her life she truly loved, and her one trigger for absolute, psychopathic rage. Some kid in her orbit laughed at my scars and called me a freak. Victoria had his head shoved into a duffel bag full of rats. He didn’t have much of a face left. Someone else whispered I was a cripple. She had him put through a car compactor. Victoria is the queenpin of this city, a woman who makes grown men tremble. But she spoils me rotten. She poured a fortune into sending me to Switzerland—the best surgeons in the world to rebuild my face and fix my legs, followed by a quiet university education. Before I flew home, I got an invitation. She was engaged. You’re finally going to have a brother-in-law to spoil you, too, she texted, sending a picture of the guy. But the moment I stepped into the villa she’d bought for me, the door crashed open, and her fiancé burst in with a crew of thugs. He thought I was her secret sugar baby. He pointed at me, his voice cracking with tears. “Victoria’s coming,” he sobbed to his men, “and when she gets here, she’s going to see what I do to the ‘competition’.” Then he looked at me, his eyes full of hate. “Tell me,” he sneered, “what makes you so special?” “Bang!” The glass of the patio door exploded inward. A dozen men in black suits stormed into the living room. I recognized the man in the lead: Chaz. The guy from my sister’s photo. Before I could even say “congratulations,” he swung a metal golf club straight at my face. A sickening crunch. Pain exploded in my nose as warm blood gushed down my chin. I stumbled back, disoriented. “You little boy-toy! Finally caught you!” Chaz screamed, his face purple with rage. “Thought you could just hide out in Europe forever, huh? Sucking my fiancée dry?” He swung again, a vicious blow to my side that cracked a rib and sent me sprawling to the floor. I tried to shield my head. “You’ve got it wrong,” I gasped. “I’m…” Chaz jammed the head of the golf club into my mouth, chipping a tooth. The metallic tang of blood filled my throat. “I’ve got it wrong? You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know Victoria bought you this mansion?” “You heard we were engaged, so you came crawling back, didn’t you? Try to worm your way in, or at least keep the money flowing!” “Today, you learn what happens to parasites!” He kicked me, hard, rolling me over. My head slammed against the marble coffee table. I was getting angry now. “You’re wrong! I’m Victoria’s brother! I’m Leo!” “She sent me an invitation to the wedding… she…” Chaz paused. One of his men leaned in. “Boss, I have heard she has a twin brother. Leo. Been in Switzerland for years.” Chaz glanced at my face. “Twin? He looks nothing like her.” Just then, another man walked in. Scar on his face. My sister’s right-hand man. Blade. He’d know me! He’d been with our family forever. “Blade! It’s me! Leo!” I yelled, my voice thick with blood. Blade stared. “Who the hell is this? And how does he know my name?” Chaz swung the club again, this time shattering my jaw. I screamed, but no sound came out. “He’s the sugar baby I told you about,” Chaz said. “He must have overheard your name.” Blade shook his head. “No… he said he was Leo. That’s the young master’s name. No one outside the family knows that.” He stalked over and grabbed my face, turning it to the light. “Doesn’t look like him.” My heart sank. He hadn’t seen me since the surgeries. “Wait,” Blade said. “He was sent away for surgery. Is your face… new?” I nodded frantically. Yes! It’s me! Chaz scoffed. “A kept-man who lives off his looks? Of course he’s had plastic surgery.” Blade held up a hand. “Face can be faked. ID can’t. Search him.” Two men pinned me down. I struggled, and Chaz backhanded me across my broken face. “Tie him up.” I was bound and humiliated as they rifled through my pockets. Blade looked nervous. “Chaz, what if he’s telling the truth? If this is really him…” Chaz just lit a cigarette. “So what? I’m engaged to Victoria. I’m family. She’ll forgive me for being a little rough. It just shows how much I love her, right?” Blade nodded. “Right.” They found my wallet. Chaz yanked it out, flipped it open, and burst out laughing. “See? I told you. Fucking liar.” Blade read the ID. “Name… Chris Chen.” He read my university ID. “Jack Chen. This is a fake. The young master’s name is Leo. And he’s in Switzerland, not England.” My blood ran cold. After the kidnapping, Victoria had moved my identity to our mother’s maiden name. She’d told everyone I was in Switzerland as a decoy, but secretly sent me to London for school. All to protect me. Victoria, your paranoia is going to get me killed. Blade’s eyes turned to ice. “You dare impersonate the young master? Beat him.” They descended on me. My phone, which had been in my jacket pocket, clattered to the floor. The screen lit up. Blade saw my lock screen and froze. “Wait.” It was a photo of me and Victoria, last Christmas in the Alps. He picked it up. “This… this is your phone?” I nodded, hope surging. Chaz sneered. “Blade, come on. It’s called Photoshop.” I grunted, trying to get him to unlock it. He understood, and held the phone up to my swollen face. It clicked open. He saw my texts. “He… he has her listed as ‘Sister’,” Blade whispered. Chaz snatched the phone. “That’s what all these gold-digging freaks do! ‘Sister,’ ‘Mommy,’ ‘Daddy’…” He scrolled up, his face turning purple. “She… she calls you ‘my baby’? She says she ‘can’t wait to live with you’?” I wanted to explain. I was her only family. Of course she missed me. Chaz was shaking. Blade looked at me, then at the phone, then at me. “He… he does have the young master’s eyes. Always looked like he was about to cry, even when he was happy. Boss, I’m telling you, this might be him. If we’re wrong…” Chaz nodded, suddenly calm. “You’re right. I’ll just… I’ll just call her.” “If he’s her brother, I’ll apologize. But if he’s not…” He looked at me, his eyes dead. “I’ll make him pray for what Blade’s men are about to do to him.” He had his men gag me and dialed. “Hey, babe! I was just thinking… you said your brother was coming home for the engagement. What day does he get in? I want to get him a gift.” Her voice, happy and clear, came through the speaker. “Oh, that’s so sweet! He lands tomorrow night.” My heart stopped. I’d changed my flight to today. To surprise her. Chaz’s eyes met mine. They were full of triumphant hatred. He was going to hang up. I bit down. Hard. The man holding my mouth roared and let go. “SISTER, HELP ME!” I screamed, pouring every ounce of strength I had into it.

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The moment I snapped into existence in this cliché angsty novel, a holographic “System” notification popped up in my vision. OBJECTIVE: WIN OVER HUSBAND (ETHAN VANCE). I told it, “Sure, got it,” and immediately called Ryan, the 6’2” college freshman from my mom’s book club. So, when my “husband” Ethan finally came home, cradling his injured “white moonlight,” he found me and a guy with glorious abs cuddled on the couch watching a horror movie. “Oh, you’re back?” I said, not moving. “Ryan here has a fever, and his dorm’s on lockdown, so he’s crashing with us.” I pointed with my chin. “His clothes were soaked from the rain, so I let him borrow your silk pajamas. It’s not like you ever come home to wear them anyway.” Ethan’s eyes went bloodshot. He shoved his childhood friend, Chloe, off his arm and pointed a trembling finger at me. Before I could say anything, Ryan looked up from my shoulder, his big, innocent eyes wide. “Claire? Is… is Ethan mad?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse from the “fever.” “But… isn’t his friend staying here, too?” The System shrieked in my head: [HOST, WHAT IS THIS TOP-TIER GREEN TEA MANIPULATOR YOU’VE FOUND?!] I glanced at the “Conquest” progress bar. Ethan’s disgust, which was at 90% when I arrived, had just dropped. I hid a small smile. “He brings his white moonlight home, I host a college kid. Seems fair to me,” I muttered. “After all, who doesn’t have one that got away?” 1 The movie’s cheesy sound effects filled the villa, mixed with Ryan’s clear, confused voice. “Claire, does the plumbing always make that clang noise right before the ghost shows up?” I nodded, distracted. “Yeah. Classic horror trope.” “Oh. Well, next time the pipes in my dorm act up, I’ll just think of you, and I won’t be scared.” He leaned a little heavier against my side, smiling, revealing one small, sharp canine tooth. I stared at the pajamas he was wearing. Ethan’s pajamas. The dark silk was open three buttons down, showing off a truly impressive landscape of muscle. Ryan’s hair was still damp from his shower, his face flushed from the “fever,” and one of his hands was gripping the fabric of my own shirt. He noticed me looking and had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry, Claire. I’m just… not great with scary movies.” Perfect, I thought. This kid is a natural. Two hours ago, I was in my world, rage-reading this exact novel and texting my group chat about what a spineless idiot the heroine was. Next thing I know, I’m her—Claire, the doormat wife. The System was buzzing. [HOST, WE’RE GOING BIG! COMPLETE THE OBJECTIVE, AND YOU GET TEN MILLION DOLLARS AND A TICKET HOME!] I’d looked at the System panel. ETHAN VANCE: DISGUST LEVEL 90%. Apparently, karma is a bitch. The System was babbling about how I needed to use “self-sacrifice” and “emotional anguish” to make Ethan pity me and finally fall in love. I felt my liver ache just listening to it. So I gave the System a vague “k,” and called Ryan. Within an hour, a “drenched,” “feverish,” and “homeless” Ryan was at my door. Just as the movie hit its jump-scare climax, the front door’t’s electronic lock beeped. CLANG. The sound from the movie and the door opening were simultaneous. I shrieked and dove straight into Ryan’s arms. He, to his credit, wrapped a solid arm around my waist, hissing “What? What?” Then a furious voice cut through the dark. “What the hell are you two doing?!” Ethan was silhouetted in the doorway. And he was, as I predicted, half-carrying a woman in a delicate white dress. Her makeup was perfect, but she wore a pained, brave expression. Chloe. His “one of the guys” childhood best friend, the one that got away. I shoved Ryan off me and crossed my arms. “God, Ethan, you scared the life out of me! Don’t you know how to announce yourself? We’re trying to watch a movie.” Ethan hit the lights. His eyes landed on Ryan, then on the pajamas. His face froze. I took a chip from the bowl Ryan was holding. “Ryan has a fever. Dorms are on lockdown. He’s crashing here.” I repeated my lines. “His clothes were soaked, so I let him borrow your pajamas. You never come home anyway.” I smiled at the woman he was holding. “This must be Chloe, right? You should take her upstairs. Hit the lights on your way out.” 2 Ethan looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. He violently let go of Chloe, who stumbled. “You let another man,” he seethed, “wear my clothes? Claire, have you no shame?” Chloe, having regained her balance, put a worried hand on his arm. “Ethan, don’t be angry. I’m sure Claire has a perfectly good reason.” Her eyes flicked to Ryan. “This must be a relative, right, Claire? Because… if he’s not, this does look a little…” Right on cue, Ryan spoke up, his voice the definition of wounded innocence. “Claire? Is Ethan… mad at me? Is it because I’m wearing his pajamas, or… just because I’m here?” Ethan glared. “It’s my house. What do you think?” Ryan looked down, then back up, his expression a perfect blend of confusion and hurt. It was a “soul-punch” of a look. “Oh. But… didn’t you bring a friend home, too? How come your friend is okay, but Claire’s isn’t?” Chloe immediately jumped in. “That is completely different. Ethan and I grew up together. We’re practically family.” She laughed, a breezy, “cool girl” sound. “I’m not like other girls. I’m just one of the guys.” Ryan’s eyes lit up. “Oh, ‘one of the guys’! That’s so cool. Claire thinks of me as a little brother, right, Claire?” I had been enjoying the show, but it was my turn. “Exactly. Ryan’s my mom’s best friend’s son. He’s basically my annoying little brother.” I smiled sweetly at Chloe. [HOST! HIS GREEN TEA LEVELS ARE OFF THE CHARTS! HE’S THREE TIMES MORE TOXIC THAN THE PLOT ALLOWS! YOU’RE RUINING THE MISSION!] The System was having a meltdown. But a second later, a different alert dinged. [HUSBAND DISGUST LEVEL: -2. PROCEEDING.] The System went silent. I smirked. Silly AI. It doesn’t get male psychology. This isn’t about love. It’s about possession. And Ethan just found out someone else was playing with his toys. 3 Chloe’s face was thunderous. “Ethan,” she huffed, “is this really the woman you married? I told you, you should have let us vet her first. What kind of upbringing…” I tuned her out. “Get him the hell out of here, Claire,” Ethan bit out, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me say it again.” Ryan actually flinched, shrinking closer to me. I slammed my water glass on the table. “Stop yelling! Can’t you see you’re scaring him? He’s sick!” Ethan’s hands clenched into fists. “Claire. We are married.” “Oh, I’m aware,” I snapped, suddenly fed up. “Why are you acting like some possessive psycho? I told you, he’s just crashing for one night. Now, go take care of your ‘brother’ Chloe. She looks like she’s about to collapse.” “My…’brother’ Chloe?” she sputtered. I nodded, all concern. “Yeah. You’re injured, right? You’re still standing, though. You’re not… faking it, are you?” Chloe immediately went pale and swayed. “Ethan… I’m… I’m suddenly so dizzy…” Ethan looked from my face to Ryan’s, then back to Chloe, who was doing a convincing impression of a wilting flower. Trapped, he let out an animalistic sigh and scooped her into his arms. “Go to your own room tonight, Claire,” he ordered, marching up the stairs. “And don’t stay up late.” I just waved. Ryan unpaused the movie. In the next thirty minutes, he “jumped” six times, “accidentally” grabbed my hand three times, and “panted” from fear twice… which just so happened to press his rock-solid abs against my arm. “Claire… I’m really scared.” I gave his arm a reassuring pat. Right on the bicep. “Don’t worry, Ryan. I’ll protect you.” I was so focused on the abs, I didn’t even notice the small, knowing smile on his face. 4 The villa was huge. When I got tired, I just picked a guest room. I was woken up by a crash and a yell. [HOST, WAKE UP! THE HUSBAND AND THE GREEN TEA RINGER ARE THROWING DOWN!] Ugh. Can’t a girl get some sleep? I ripped the door open. Ryan was standing right outside my room, in his pajamas. Ethan was at the end of the hall, looking… relieved? My annoyance vanished when I saw Ryan’s pajama buttons were still undone. “What are you two doing?” Ryan was the first to speak, his voice full of hurt. “Ethan thought you were in my room. He just… burst in and started yelling. I told him you were in here, but he wouldn’t believe me. He wanted to see for himself.” I zoomed in on the important part. “He just burst in? Ethan, why are you acting like a lunatic?” I went to Ryan, “checking him” for injuries. He looked fine, just a little bruising on his ego. Ethan exploded. “Are you blind, Claire? I’m the one who’s hurt!” I finally noticed his hand. It was bleeding. Ryan looked down, the picture of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Claire. He just… he came in so fast… I thought he was a burglar…” “Ethan, you have issues!” I snapped. “You break into his room in the middle of the night? You’re lucky that’s all that happened. You scared him!” “I’M THE ONE WHO’S BLEEDING!” he roared. “This is about trust, Ethan! Clearly, you don’t trust me! If there’s no trust, what’s the point? Just go to bed.” I pulled Ryan back into his room, shut the door, and went back to my room, slamming the door. [HUSBAND DISGUST LEVEL: -2. HUSBAND ANGER-AT-RYAN LEVEL: 300%.] “Whatever,” I mumbled into my pillow. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Green tea vs. ‘cool girl’ tea. Let them fight.”

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Chapter 1 I’m in the Blackwood Creek Secure Hospital, watching my brother’s wedding on a live stream. Suddenly, a man—naked, covered in blood—bursts into the reception hall and throws himself at my brother’s feet, groveling. “Ethan, my face is already ruined, you cut up all my clothes! I can’t threaten you anymore! Please, just don’t send me back to that place. I’ll stay away from Eliza, I swear…” My brother’s new bride, Eliza, explodes. She spins and slaps Ethan, hard. “Liam was always so terrified of the world, so gentle! How could you be so cruel to him?! You’re a monster!” “I’ve been too soft on you. Today, you’re going to learn that the Lu family will not tolerate your vicious, evil streak!” The wedding is over. My brother, Ethan, is dragged into a car, sent to a remote “abbey” to reflect and repent. The next time I see him, he’s on a steel table. His face is a mask of bruises, his chest is caved in, and his fingers are twisted into unnatural shapes. I look down at my own hands, identical to his, and I clench them until my knuckles turn white. My mother is sobbing behind me. “He must have been in so much pain…” My name is Caleb. Ethan was my twin. He was the bright, clever, shining one. I was the quiet, cold, hollow one. The one whose eyes made people nervous. They called me a freak, a psycho. Only Ethan ever treated me like I was human. He’d push his only piece of candy into my mouth, his eyes sparkling. “Is it sweet, Caleb?” I gently touch his cold face. His eyes are closed forever. He’ll never see me again. When we were kids, the Dean’s son cornered him in the parking lot. A few of his frat-boy friends were with him, laughing. Ethan ran. I followed them. When Ethan finally made it home, he was breathless, relieved they hadn’t caught him. He never saw me come home later, covered in blood. The moon was full that night. The police found the Dean’s entire family slaughtered. They found me in the middle of the living room, sitting in a pool of blood, calmly counting Ethan’s candy wrappers. They said I was sick. They locked me up here at Blackwood. Ethan always visited. He’d press his face to the security glass, his breath fogging it up. “Caleb, the cherry blossoms are out! They’re everywhere!” Even though I never spoke, he’d talk for hours, sharing his joy. The last time I saw him, he was ecstatic. “Bro, I’m getting married!” “I’ll have Mom stream it for you. You can see me in my tux! Think I’ll look sharp?” The wedding didn’t even finish. I wrap the leather restraint strap from my bed around the hospital director’s throat. I press until his face turns purple, forcing him to sign my release papers. Whoever touched my brother is going to die. Chapter 2 When I get home, I find Mom on the cot in the living room. Her legs are… wrong. Bent. She tells me what happened. She went to find Eliza after Ethan… died. Eliza and Liam were there. When Mom accused them, Liam just laughed. He pulled out his phone. “Dead? How? That’s weird. In this video I just got, he looks like he’s sleeping pretty soundly.” On the screen, Ethan was lying still, peaceful. Mom lunged at him. “You killed him! My son is in the morgue, broken and battered, and you killed him!” Eliza stood up, disgusted. “That’s enough! Ethan is dragging his own mother into his sick games now?” “You’re both pathetic. You’re exactly alike. Nothing but lies.” Liam, lounging on the sofa, just smirked. “Ma’am, you’re really embarrassing Ethan right now.” Eliza just motioned to the door. “Throw her out.” The bodyguards threw her out. And broke her legs. I look away from Mom and lift the white sheet from my brother’s face. The bruises. The caved-in chest. The twisted limbs. A crushed butterfly. The door buzzer rings. Then, it’s kicked open. Liam and Eliza stroll in. Liam smirks at the small altar we made. “Well, well. If it isn’t the dearly departed.” Eliza’s eyes land on the urn in my hands. Her face flickers. But when she sees my face—identical to Ethan’s—her expression hardens. “Ethan. You’re taking this ‘playing dead’ thing too far. You’d even use a prop urn to get sympathy?” Liam saunters over, arm in arm with Eliza. “Eliza just sent you to that abbey for a few days to cool off. And what do you do? You assault the staff, run away, and show up with a prop box pretending to be dead.” “What’s next? Are you going to invite us to a fake funeral?” His hand darts out to grab the urn. “Let me see what trash you dug this out of.” I pivot. He stumbles, catching himself before he falls. “Ethan!” Eliza shrieks. “You’re still not done? You dare to push Liam?” Liam’s eyes instantly fill with tears as he clutches Eliza. “Eliza, don’t blame him… He’s just mad at me for crashing his wedding. It’s all my fault…” Eliza’s face is granite. “Ethan. Apologize to Liam. Now.” I just stand there, holding my brother’s ashes. Mom, from her cot, screams at them. “Get out! Get out of our house!” Eliza grabs my wrist, her nails digging in. “Is this the trashy way your family raised you?” “Since you refuse to learn, you’re coming with me. Back to the abbey. We’ll beat some manners into you!” I let my wrist go limp. “Fine.” I am, after all, looking for the men who killed my brother. This saves me the trip. I gently place Ethan’s urn on the altar. I trace the smiling face in his photo. Sweet as candy. As I turn to leave, Mom grabs my hand. “Caleb!” she whispers, her eyes filled with terror and a terrible understanding. I pat her hand. She lets go. “Go.” I nod and follow Eliza to the car. Liam sits in the passenger seat. As soon as I’m in the back, he leans over to Eliza. “Eliza, baby, I think I have an eyelash. Can you get it?” She leans in, blowing softly into his eye. Their noses are almost touching. They completely forget I’m there. Liam glances back at me, a smug, triumphant smirk on his face. I just stare out the window. The car winds up the mountain road, getting closer to the abbey. The killer instinct in my blood is singing. It was them. They killed him. The radio crackles. “—Emergency broadcast. A patient considered extremely dangerous has escaped from Blackwood Creek Secure Hospital. Citizens are advised to—” I look at the two in the front seat. They haven’t heard a thing. I smile. Chapter 3 Eliza drops me at the abbey, and the iron gate slams shut behind me. The “Prior” of this place just stares at me, his eyes wide with fear. The heavy door clangs shut. A group of men in shoddy robes, cigarettes dangling from their lips, surround me. Their laughter is sickening. “Well, look who’s back, boys.” “Miss us, little bitch?” “You didn’t seem to have much fun last time. We’ll make sure you enjoy it this time.” “What are you waiting for? Get him. Same as before.” I keep my head down. Their heavy breathing gets closer. My muscles pull tight. When I don’t move, the leader unfurls a thick leather whip. “Stubborn piece of shit! Need a taste to remember the rules?” The whip cuts through the air. I catch it. He freezes. Then, his face twists in rage. “You dare?! I’m going to end you!” Before he can finish, I yank the whip. He stumbles forward. I hit him. A dozen times, open-handed. SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP. The sharp sounds echo in the courtyard. His friends are still laughing. “What’s wrong, Three? Can’t handle one skinny twink?” Until “Three” turns his head. A spray of blood and broken teeth hits the stones. The laughter dies. The courtyard is dead silent. The Prior screams. “Ethan’s dead! They said he was dead!” The thugs all freeze. They all look at my feet. In the sunlight, a shadow stretches out, long and clear. “Shit! He’s alive!” The leader spits blood. His eyes are murderous. “Who cares? One little punk won’t—” They lunge. I let my head fall back. A smile I can’t control spreads across my face. They don’t know. I was born with a gift. Ten years of rage. How else could I have taken out the Dean’s entire family? My blood sings with violence. I’ve only held it back for Ethan. Now, I don’t have to hold back ever again. The screaming lasted for three days. The beauty of a remote mountain abbey is that no matter how loud you scream, the sound just vanishes into the trees. When Eliza comes back, the abbey is a smoldering ruin. I’m curled up by the broken gate, clothes torn, face smeared with ash, blood caked under my fingernails. “Disgusting.” She tosses a coat at me. As I pass Liam in the car, he leans in and whispers, “Too bad you didn’t burn, you bastard.” I get in the back seat, shivering. My sleeve is dark with dried blood. Their blood. It was funny how they begged. Especially when I took the wooden mallet and, inch by inch, crushed the rotten meat between their legs. They were holy men, after all. They needed to be purified. It’s good. Now, every one of their bones is as beautifully broken as Ethan’s. I remember their agony in the fire, and I smile. Chapter 4 We get back to the mansion. As I step toward the door, Liam blocks it with his foot. “Ugh, Ethan, you’re filthy. Why don’t you wash up in the yard first?” “The hose is still working. I’ll even have the guys help you.” He sounds so thoughtful. His eyes are pure venom. It’s the middle of winter. The ground is frozen solid. Eliza doesn’t even look back. “Get clean before you come in.” The door slams shut. I squat by the rusty spigot. Three bodyguards surround me. The same three who beat Ethan at his wedding. They pull out the heavy-duty fire hose. “Sorry, Mr. Jiang.” The leader licks his lips. The freezing water hits me, and they aim it straight down my shirt. “Miss Lu’s orders. Gotta get every… crack… nice and clean.” From the second-floor window, I see the curtain twitch. Liam. When Eliza’s shadow joins his, he quickly drops the curtain. I wipe the icy water from my face and give the guards a slow, cold smile. The high-pressure nozzle fits perfectly in their mouths. When I walk inside, dripping but clean, the backyard has three new “ice sculptures.” They’re swollen and grey, like water-logged pigs. Eliza is waiting. She wraps a towel around my hair, her touch surprisingly gentle. “What took you so long? I just said rinse your feet.” She pushes a steaming bowl of chicken soup toward me. “The kitchen made it fresh. Get changed and drink this while it’s hot.” “…Okay.” I manage a raspy word. I change and come back down. Liam, his eyes burning with jealousy, brings the soup to me. Before I can take it, he “stumbles.” The entire bowl of boiling soup goes down my front. “Ah!” Liam screams. “Ethan! I was just trying to bring you the soup, and you knocked it over! You burned me!” “I know you hate me… Eliza, I’ll just go! I’ll leave! I’m just in the way!” Eliza lunges, grabbing Liam’s perfectly fine hand, her face a mask of panic. She doesn’t even glance at the massive red blisters already forming on my chest and hand. She turns on me, her voice like a whip. “Ethan! Apologize to Liam! Now!” A sharp pain lances through my chest. This. This is how they treated him. His absolute devotion, given to this. I bolt for the front door. CLICK. The high-security deadbolt engages. Eliza roars. “Ethan, what the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind?” “Apologize to Liam!” I turn, my eyes red, my face streaked with grime and blood from the bat. I walk slowly toward them. Liam, nestled in Eliza’s arms, suddenly goes pale. His hand shoots out, trembling, pointing at the TV on the wall. He’s stammering. “You… You’re…” I raise a finger to my lips. “Shhh. The game is just starting.”

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We have an admin in our office who’s like a modern-day character from Rickshaw Boy. Her biggest dream is to buy her own car. Not a fancy one. Just something so she can drive for Uber after work to earn extra cash, and maybe, just maybe, take her mom out to see the sunset over the prairie someday. It’s not an impossible dream. But every single time she scrapes together enough for the down payment, life finds a new way to body-slam her. I thought about calling her “Hustler,” after that old novel, but that felt… tacky. So I’ll just call her “Tiger Girl.” (1) I’m the one who hired Tiger Girl. To be honest, I almost didn’t. Her resume was rough. She wasn’t pretty, and her education was thin—an online bachelor’s degree. Standing there, she was the textbook definition of a small-town girl who’d never seen the world. Her only real asset was her height, but she was so rail-thin she looked like a bundle of firewood saved for a long winter. The second she walked into the interview, she gave me this big, goofy grin. “Hi, Ma’am. I’m here for the interview.” I had to stop myself from laughing. I’ve been in HR for ten years, and this was the first time an applicant ever called me “Ma’am” like I was her high school principal. It was completely unprofessional. And redundant. Of course you’re here for the interview, kid, why else would you be here? I asked her to tell me about herself. She froze, then that nervous grin got even wider. She stammered through a whole lot of nothing, which I eventually translated to: “I’m a really hard worker.” I thought, I’m not hiring for a loading dock. What good is ‘hard work’ to me? I asked a couple of generic questions, just trying to wrap it up and get to the next candidate. She seemed better suited for a night shift at a gas station. She must have seen the impatience on my face. Her smile was stiffer than the cheap, faded blouse she was wearing. “Okay, that’s all for today. We’ll be in touch if there’s an update.” I gave her the standard rejection line, signaling she could leave. She didn’t say anything, just gave me this deep, formal bow and walked out. I figured that was that. Just another forgettable face in a long line of interviews. This one just happened to be a little dim. “Ma’am? I’m sorry… could I ask you for one more thing?” I looked up from my desk. She had poked her head back in. “Uh… what is it?” “Well… if you’re not gonna hire me… could I have my resume back?” She said it so sheepishly, her face went bright red, all the way to her ears. “It’s fine, we have a shredder. Your information will be secure,” I said, a little annoyed. I figured she was worried about identity theft. Great, unqualified and paranoid. “No, no, that’s not it…” she stammered. “It’s just… that’s a color copy. I was thinking… if you don’t need it, I could use it for my next interview… just, you know, to save a little money…” Her voice got smaller and smaller, and by the end, she was staring at the carpet. “Ah,” I said, pausing. “You just wait for our call. Your chances are actually pretty good.” For some reason, I didn’t give her the resume back. The kid was… interesting. (2) I ended up hiring her. An admin-clerk spot, $3,000 a month. The girl was clearly struggling. I figured I’d do my good deed for the year. I’m not bragging when I say it was a tiny decision for me. The job is basic data entry; anyone could do it. It was so minor that even after she started, I barely noticed her. But she noticed me. Every time she saw me, it was “Hi, Ma’am!” this, “Thanks, Ma’am!” that. It was honestly annoying. We didn’t even work in the same department. Why was she acting like we were old pals? So I mostly ignored her. A quick nod in the hallway, that’s it. Until the day we ran into each other at a car dealership. It was during that big Chevy promotion. They were pushing the new Trax for something like $22,800. I was thinking of getting one for my dad—something simple for groceries and picking up the grandkids. It’s cheap, you can’t really go wrong. “Ma’am!” I’d just walked in when I heard someone call me. I turned around, and there was Tiger Girl, beaming at me. “Ma’am, you’re looking at cars, too?” She was still in her usual, slightly frumpy clothes. This was the last place I expected to see her. “Oh, hey. Yeah, just browsing…” I said, defaulting to my usual brush-off. “Wow, your family’s loaded and you’re looking at a Chevy?” she said, with total seriousness. “You should be driving a BMW! A Mercedes!” If she wasn’t so obviously sincere, I would’ve thought she was mocking me. The truth is, I’m not “loaded.” My husband and I make decent money, but with the mortgage, two car payments, the kids’ college funds, and helping our parents… there’s never enough. We have an Audi, sure, but that’s mostly just to keep up appearances. “Heh. It’s for my dad. Just need something cheap to get groceries and pick up the kids,” I said, still putting on a bit of a front. “Oh, for your dad? Well, the Trax is perfect! It’s cheap, great on gas, the value is amazing!” She started rattling off specs—range, horsepower, cargo space. I didn’t know a thing about any of it. All I knew was that this girl, in her worn-out shoes, seemed completely out of place talking about new cars. “So… you’re… looking for a car?” I finally asked. “I am! As soon as I get my next paycheck, I’ll have enough for the down payment!” She smiled, a little embarrassed. “Then I can start driving for Uber after work. It’s gotta pay better than my weekend shift at the 7-Eleven, right?” She leaned in. “And… I really want to take my mom to see the sunset on the prairie.” She told me her parents divorced when she was little. Her mom remarried, but as a woman with a kid from a previous marriage, she’d had to live her whole life “very, very carefully.” “My mom… she’s had it so tough. I’m not a big shot or anything, but I just want to be able to drive her somewhere nice. She always said she wanted to see the prairie at sunset. And I’m almost there, Ma’am! I almost have the money!” The pain in her story was obvious, but her voice was pure joy. “Hey, I’ll let you in on a secret,” she whispered, leaning closer. “They’re having their big 4th of July sale next month. You can save at least another grand! We could buy them together!” “Oh. Yeah, sure. That sounds great,” I stammered. Suddenly, my whole impression of her shifted. This kid was stronger than me. I’d had a straight, easy path: loving parents, college, job, marriage. I’d never once had to think about what would happen if my life fell apart. And this goofy, “bundle of firewood” kid had this core of steel and loyalty. “It’s a date, then, Ma’am! Next month! We’ll be official Chevy owners!” She gave me a little “yay” wave and practically bounced out of the showroom. “Ma’am? You know that girl?” The saleswoman had come up behind me. “Huh? Oh, not really. She’s just a clerk at my company. Why?” The saleswoman rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Her. She’s in here every other weekend. Test drives the Trax, never buys. Been doing it for a year. Everyone here knows her.” (3) After that, I actually researched the Trax. My dad liked it. So, the decision was made. I just had to wait for the sale, like Tiger Girl said. But I waited. And waited. The 4th of July sale was almost over, and I hadn’t heard a word from her. I kept hearing the saleswoman’s voice: …never buys. Been doing it for a year. Was she just messing with me? Fine. If you’re not going to call, I’m just going myself. I thought about it, then decided to call her. “Hey, Tiger Girl. You still want to buy that car with me? The sale ends this weekend.” “Oh… Ma’am…” Her voice on the phone was small and tight. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can… something came up with my family.” You’ve got to be kidding me. Your $3,000-a-month salary can barely cover rent, let alone a car. I never should have believed you. I hung up without another word and took my dad to get his car. It wasn’t until later that I realized how cold that was. She said something was wrong, and I didn’t even ask. So much for being the “Ma’am” she was always so nice to. But I only realized it on Monday. I was planning to swing by her desk, maybe flash my new keys, but she wasn’t there. I asked HR. They told me Tiger Girl had taken a one-month leave. Her stepfather had a massive stroke. I felt a wave of shame. She was telling the truth. I called her immediately. “Tiger Girl? It’s me. How’s your father? Is there anything I can do? If you need anything, seriously, don’t hesitate to ask.” “Oh, thank you, Ma’am…” She sounded exhausted. The background was dead quiet. “He had a stroke, but… he’s out of surgery. The doctors say he’s stable… Thank you for asking.” “Do you have enough money? If you’re short, I can lend you some. Don’t worry about paying it back right away.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. What if she said yes? But she paused, and then her voice firmed up. “No… no, it’s okay. We’re okay. The relatives all chipped in. Thank you, though, Ma’am. I’m just… sorry I couldn’t buy the car with you. I saw your picture on Facebook. It looks so great! Congratulations, you’re an official Chevy owner!” She was trying so hard to sound happy for me, but I could hear the heartbreak in her voice. Life is so damn random. She had worked so hard for that stupid car, and in the face of one medical bill, that little dream evaporated. My guilt deepened. I mumbled a few more things and got off the phone. A month later, Tiger Girl came back to the office. The goofy energy was gone. She just looked… tired. This young girl, forced to carry half her family’s weight. “Tiger Girl,” I said, stopping her in the hall. “How’s your dad? Is he recovering?” “A lot better, Ma’am. He can’t get out of bed yet, so I moved him into my apartment. It’s just easier to take care of him here.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. Suddenly, she looked like an adult. A very weary adult. “Here. This is just a little something from me. Don’t say no. Get your dad some… I don’t know, fruit or something.” I shoved an envelope with a few hundred bucks into her hand. The world is cruel. This was all I could do. “No, Ma’am, I can’t take your money!” She tried to shove it back, mortified. “I’m fine, Ma’am, really! I… I started a new side gig. I sell hot dogs from a cart at the subway station after work. It pays really well!” She practically threw the envelope back into my bag, and as if to prove her point, she added, “The money is great! Once I save up for a few months, I’ll have the down payment again!” My God. In this freezing cold? “How do you even manage?” I asked, horrified. “You have to take care of your dad.” “It’s okay! I get off work, go home, make him dinner, feed him, get him settled, and then I go to my cart. I can handle it! Hehe. Business is good. It won’t be long, and I’ll be able to buy that car!” As soon as she said “car,” her eyes lit up again. In that second, I understood. The car wasn’t just a car. It was hope. It was the one thing that proved a normal, broke-ass girl like her could still make it in this city. “You’re right,” I said, forcing a smile. “I believe you. Things will get better, and you will get that car.” (4) An adult’s life is a blur. I had my own work, my own family, my own battles trying to look like I had it all together. Despite my sympathy for Tiger Girl, I soon forgot about her struggles. We all have our own lives to live. Seven or eight months passed. I hadn’t spoken to her in ages. Then, one day, my phone rang. “Ma’am? Is your car due for its first service soon?” I was stunned. I’d completely forgotten. The car was my dad’s problem. I couldn’t believe she’d remembered. “Uh… I think so? I’m not sure…” “Well, I can go with you! And… I can look at cars again! Hehe, I saved up the down payment… again!” She told me her 25th birthday was in a few days. She’d saved up. She was going to buy the car as a present to herself. “The down payment is smaller this time, so the monthly will be higher… but between my job and the cart, I think I can just barely swing it.” Her voice was full of that old excitement. “Tiger Girl, that’s… that’s amazing! Congratulations! Okay, tomorrow. You come with me for the service, and I’m buying you lunch.” I couldn’t believe it. This kid was like a weed. Life burns her to the ground, and she just sprouts right back up. The next morning, I drove to the address she sent me. It was an ancient, crumbling apartment building in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t imagine the bus transfers it took her to get to work every day, or how she managed to drag that hot dog cart miles to the subway. When I got there, I tossed her the keys. “You drive.” She was all shy at first, but the second her hands touched the wheel, she lit up like a kid on Christmas. “Wow, this is SO COOL, Ma’am! You really can just… go anywhere! I’m definitely buying one!” Her hands were locked on the wheel at ten and two, but she was smiling so wide I thought her face would crack. At the service center, she was more invested than I was. She hovered over the mechanic like a hawk. “Sir, are you sure that filter is seated properly? Sir, I asked for the full synthetic, right?” She was relentless, asking a million questions that were somehow both stupid and necessary. Watching her, I suddenly remembered myself ten years ago, when my husband and I bought our first house. I was just like her, micromanaging the contractors, questioning every single charge. Nobody likes being that person. Life just forces you to be. That house was my proof that I’d finally made it in this city. This car was hers. After the service, I took her for Korean BBQ. She was hissing and fanning her mouth from the spice, her face flushed and happy in the steam. If she ever bought herself some makeup or a decent outfit, she’d actually be pretty. But she’d poured every bit of herself into her broken family and her little dream. Looking pretty was a luxury she couldn’t afford. The thought made me sad, but pity isn’t something you say out loud. So I just kept piling meat onto her grill. “Thanks, Ma’am! You eat, too! This is so good! I haven’t had BBQ in… God, I can’t remember. Not since my dad got sick.” She let out a huge sigh of satisfaction, then immediately clammed up. “Sorry, Ma’am. I shouldn’t have said that. Hehe.” “It’s okay,” I said gently. “Eat. You’re exhausted. It must be so hard, taking care of him.” “Ugh, you don’t even know, Ma’am,” she said, stuffing her face. “Taking care of a sick person is harder than both my jobs combined. You gotta feed him, bathe him, deal with… you know… the bedpan. You have to turn him every two hours so he doesn’t get bedsores. And he’s a patient, you know? So if one little thing isn’t right, he yells at me. The good news is, he can’t move, so even when we fight, he can’t really do anything!” She was complaining, but she was smiling. She wasn’t bitter; she was just… venting. “Hehe, but that’s all in the past! Once I get the car, it’ll be so much easier to take him to his checkups! And I can drive Uber! The hot dog cart is fine, but man, winter is cold…” She chugged her Coke, and I noticed her hands. They were chapped and raw, the knuckles red. “Well, it is in the past,” I said, raising my own glass. “Here’s to your dad’s recovery. And to you… the soon-to-be proud owner of a new Chevy.” We were finishing up, and she was groaning, totally stuffed, rambling on about her plans, when her phone rang. “Huh? My brother? He probably needs money again…” She’d told me about him. Her stepbrother. Just turned 18, working as an apprentice at some hair salon. “He’s just a kid,” she’d said. “Always needs a little help.” She answered. “Hey! Need cash again? I’m out eating… What?! A FIRE? Did you call 911?! Are you okay? Okay, okay, I’m on my way! Right now!”

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I found a new streamer to watch. I’d spend my nights helping him win donation battles and boosting his subscriber count. He had a great voice. The only problem was, there was this one song I really wanted to hear, and he wouldn’t sing it. He wouldn’t even learn it. I dropped a “Lion” (the top-tier gift) in his chat. He just nodded at the camera. “Thanks, Lyra. But I have my principles. I don’t sing songs I don’t like.” I figured he was just one of those ‘serious artist’ types. Until I accidentally overheard him on a hot mic, cooing to his second-biggest donor: “Baby Bear, you know I’d learn anything for you… just one ‘Sports Car’ gift and it’s all yours~” So, he has principles. They just don’t apply to me. Got it. I took my money next door. I dropped a Lion in a random new streamer’s chat, and through the cascade of celebratory animations, I heard the new guy gasp, “Oh my god—sister, hold on! Give me thirty minutes, I’ll learn this song right now!” At the same time, my phone buzzed. A DM from my “principled” streamer. He was… not happy. 1 Anyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for a good voice. It’s a chemical reaction. A cat with catnip. My brain just shuts off. So, when “Rhys,” the streamer I’d been simping for, refused to sing “Princess,” I was annoyed, but not that annoyed. He seemed to sense my vibe shift and quickly explained, “I have my principles, Lyra. I don’t sing songs I don’t like. It feels fake.” On screen, his face was all sharp angles and artistically messy hair. He had that detached, too-cool-for-this vibe. I just stared at my screen. My status as his #1 donor suddenly felt… awkward. He must have felt the tension, because his voice softened. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I see you as a friend, not just a wallet. I’d rather be honest with you than just… perform. Please don’t be mad. It makes me feel like crap.” It worked. I melted. He was right. He was different. He wasn’t like those other streamers who would do anything for a donation. He was authentic. I dropped a few more Lions to show there were no hard feelings. Rhys just gave a small “Mhm” of acknowledgment, as if the $1,500 in animations was just… expected. I was about to type that he could just sing whatever he wanted, when a flashy entrance notification rolled across the screen: [—Monthly #2 Donor ‘BabyBear’ has entered the chat—] “Hey, Bear!” Rhys’s voice instantly changed. It was warmer. “I learned that song you asked for. Want to hear it?” I’d noticed this before. He was always… friendlier… to BabyBear. When I’d asked him about it, he’d said, “Because I see you as a real friend. She’s just a ‘client.’” I watched her “Bear” emoji pop up in the chat, and I quietly logged off. He was just working. I get it. To make sure I didn’t accidentally click back into his stream, I swapped to an old alt account I barely used. The account had five unread DMs. All from someone named “Ren.” Ren: [Thank you so much for the follow, sister! (#^.^#) This is Ren, I’m a singer! Welcome!] Ren: [Signing off! Thanks again for the support tonight, I’ll work really hard! (#bow#)] Ren: [Hey, sister, been busy? I learned some new songs if you want to come listen!] Ren: [Good morning! Another great day to practice singing!] The most recent one was from one minute ago. Ren: [Long time no see, sister! Welcome back anytime! ~] It took me a second to remember who “Ren” was. A month ago, I was trying to help Rhys win a “Hype War.” The platform rules said one account could only contribute 100 “Hype” points. I’d made this alt account to give him an extra 100. While searching for Rhys’s stream, I’d misclicked and ended up in Ren’s. “Welcome, ‘CocoaMilk’! Welcome, ‘New-Sister-Who-Just-Joined’!” his voice had said. It was… different. Clear, warm, like a mountain stream. It wasn’t the gravelly, “trying-too-hard” baritone Rhys used. Ren’s voice was natural, and a little nervous. I’d hit “follow” and tossed him a few cheap gifts. He’d completely frozen. “Oh—wow—thank you! Thank you so much! I… wow!” The joy in his voice was so genuine it almost made me uncomfortable. I left after a minute and went to Rhys’s stream. I’d forgotten Ren, and this account, entirely. I never realized that, in the corner I’d forgotten, someone had been this grateful for a random, throwaway click. 2 I clicked into Ren’s stream. He had his camera on this time. He was just a kid, maybe college-aged, in a plain white t-shirt. He had fluffy hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a look of… pure, unfiltered himbo. When he saw my username, his eyes lit up. “Sister! You’re back! Good evening!” He smiled, and he had dimples. I typed: [You remember me?] He blushed. “Of course! You were the first person who ever gave me a gift on this platform. It sounds cheesy, but… you’re like, my original patron. Thank you for taking a chance on me.” I glanced at his stats. “Viewers: 7.” His contribution list was… sad. The top three combined didn’t break $20. I felt a pang of pity. I sent him a few “Hype” gifts. He looked shocked. “Thank you! Oh, wow, thank you. Sister, is there anything I can do? A song? A voice line? Anything?” [No, it’s fine. You’re doing great. Keep it up.] I left. I figured the Lions I’d sent to Rhys earlier were probably pulling in new traffic for him. I might as well go help him secure his ranking. I clicked on Rhys’s channel. And I froze. He was singing “Princess.” The song I’d begged for. The song he’d refused to learn. He finished with a flourish, his voice dropping into that fake-intimate register. “That was a song someone asked for a long time ago. I never sang it. But I’m singing it now… just for you, my Princess Bear.” A “Sports Car” animation ($100) immediately filled the screen. BabyBear: [If you already knew it, why didn’t you sing it for Lyra? She’s your #1. She would have dropped a ton of Lions.] Rhys let out a short, ugly laugh. “Her? God, no. I wish she’d leave. She’s so needy. ‘Emotional value,’ ‘reciprocation’… she thinks just because she throws money at me, she owns me. So desperate.” BabyBear: [Aren’t you afraid she’ll stop paying?] “Please. She’s easy. If she gets mad, I just ignore her for a few days. She always comes crawling back, apologizing. Total simp.” BabyBear: [Wow. My King.] Rhys chuckled. “Anyway… anyone else want a song? A ‘Hot Air Balloon’ for a request, a ‘Sports Car’ to learn a new one. Invest in Rhys. You won’t regret it.” My… my streamer. He’d… collapsed. I thought I was his patron. He thought I was his doormat. And his “principles?” What a joke. I was so angry, I typed in the chat: [Talking shit about your #1 donor? Bold move. What if she finds out?] A red message appeared. [You have been permanently banned from this channel.] Rhys looked at the camera with a sneer. “Some random alt account, trying to start drama. Get out of here. My fans and I know our vibe.” A second later: [You have been kicked from the channel.] I… I just started to laugh.

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When I was ten and living on the streets, I found a kid. He was eight. I made him my little brother, my sidekick. I taught him which dumpsters behind which restaurants had the best throwaways. We lived under an overpass. We got chased by stray dogs. When he got sick, burning up and not making sense, I shoplifted medicine for him. I got caught, and the store owner beat me black and blue. As I lay there, half-dead, I suddenly woke up. I realized I was the villainess of this world’s story, and the little kid I’d saved was the hero. He was destined for greatness, and I was destined to betray him, over and over, selling his company secrets until he finally had enough and sent me to prison. I looked at Leo, sleeping fitfully. I thought for a minute. Then I put the stolen medicine beside him, and I walked away. 1 Leo was almost seventeen when I left. He was old enough to wash dishes, do day labor. He could feed himself. That was enough. I left him all the food I had. I didn’t wake him, didn’t say goodbye. I just needed a clean break. The next time I saw him, it was in a hospital. I was there with Nico, the new stray I’d picked up. Nico’s… sweet, but he’s slow. He kept complaining his stomach hurt, so I brought him in. And there, getting a physical for some corporate wellness program, was Leo. Five years. I knew him instantly. He wasn’t a scrawny kid anymore. He was tall, sharp, wearing a suit that cost more than my entire life. He was exactly as impressive as I knew he’d be. We were separated by twenty feet of linoleum and shuffling patients. He stared right at me. He said my name. “Tess.” The way he said it felt like a truck rolling over my chest. It was too late to run, too late to pretend I didn’t know him. A beautiful, poised woman stood next to him. Skin like porcelain, hair like silk. I’d seen her on the news. Eliza Kane. His real sister. She asked quietly, “Leo? Who is that?” 2 I was Leo’s boss. That was a long time ago. Now he wasn’t a skinny rat living on scraps. He was the long-lost heir to the Kane fortune. He had a real life, a real home. Seeing him so healthy, so safe… I was relieved. I was about to smile, but then Leo’s gaze shifted, looking past me. He was looking at Nico. Nico, who I’d found two years after I left Leo. He’d just started following me, this lost-puppy look on his face that reminded me so much of a younger Leo. I couldn’t shake him. Now Nico, my sweet, slow Nico, asked the exact same question as Leo’s sister. “Sister,” he whispered, “who is he?” Leo’s jaw tightened. The whole temperature around him dropped. His sharp, assessing gaze made Nico nervous. Nico hates hospitals, and the needle for the blood test had already freaked him out. He grabbed my sleeve, ducking behind me. “He’s scary, Tess.” I managed a strained laugh. “Sorry. My brother… he’s a little shy.” “Brother?” Leo’s voice was dangerously low. He repeated the word like he was chewing glass. Then he finally snapped, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Tess. We lived out of each other’s pockets for nine years. When the hell did you have another brother?” 3 The air froze. The smell of antiseptic choked me. Leo’s sister pulled at his arm. “Leo, what’s wrong? What brother?” She paused, the pieces clicking in her head. Her eyes widened as she looked at me. “Wait… Tess? You’re that Tess?” I was lost. “What?” A cold, mocking smile touched her lips. “Leo, the ‘sister’ you’ve spent four years looking for? It seems she’s found a replacement.” Leo’s eyes were glistening, his breathing ragged. He’d been looking for me? For four years? He ignored his sister, his gaze locked on me, his voice tight with pain. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” I’d pictured this moment a thousand times. Pictured him crying, asking me why I abandoned him. I’d practiced a hundred speeches, but in the end, I knew the kindest thing was the cruelest cut. I let out a long breath, like I was finally unburdened. “Say what, Leo? I couldn’t even feed myself back then. You were sick all the time. You were a burden. If I hadn’t left, you’d have dragged me down with you.” His eyes filled. “Then why did you leave me all your food?” “Guilt,” I said flatly. Seeing him now, a rich heir, confirmed it. The script was real. In the years I was gone, I’d watched from afar. I saw the news when he was found by his family. I saw his rise. It all matched the script. And in that script, I’m the villain. The ungrateful, backstabbing trash. I’m destined to ruin him. And I just… I couldn’t. Maybe I am that selfish. Maybe I do have that rotten core the script says I do. I’m the person who can survive anything, and people like that are rarely good. I didn’t want to see the day it all came true. 4 Leo’s face was rigid. “A burden?” he whispered. “I was a burden? Then why… why would you pick up a stray?” He didn’t use the word, but we all saw it. Nico isn’t right. He’s intellectually disabled, stuck at the level of a young child. My hand instinctively went to cover Nico’s shoulder. That tiny, protective gesture shattered him. Leo’s face went white. He grabbed his sister’s arm, a cruel imitation of my gesture. “You’re right,” he spat, his voice shaking. “You always did have a soft spot for trash. Well, I have a real sister now. You can take your new project and… get his head checked.” He pulled Eliza and stalked away. Just like that. Over. I didn’t let myself cry. I turned to Nico. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go home. I’ll make you some stew.” I get by. I run a food cart near the elementary school, dodging city inspectors. At night, I sell screen protectors at the subway entrance, dodging the cops. It’s not much, but it’s ours. We have a two-bedroom apartment in a run-down building. It’s clean, it’s warm. One day, I was taking the trash out and saw the empty unit across the hall, 203, had movers. They were carefully maneuvering a real leather sofa through the doorway. New appliances followed. Who moves into this dump with that kind of money? A man walked out of the apartment. My heart stopped. Leo. I slammed my door, my back hitting the wood. “What’s wrong, sister?” Nico asked. “Nothing,” I panted. “Just… seeing things.” But that night, the hallucination knocked on our door. I thought it was Mrs. Pena from downstairs, who sometimes gives us vegetables. Nico opened it. Leo stood there, his face a thundercloud. He walked right past Nico, his eyes raking over our tiny, cramped apartment. He saw the single framed photo on the TV. It was of me and Nico. A local photo studio had used Nico as a model for a day, and they gave us a free portrait as payment. Leo stared at it, his jaw tight. I felt a weird, cold guilt. His gaze was a knife, wanting to shred that picture. He finally spoke, his voice quiet. “We never had a photo.” 5 It was an accusation. And it was true. The timer on the stove beeped. I went to kill the heat on the pressure cooker. I hesitated. “We’re… about to eat. You should…” “You’re not going to invite me to stay?” he cut in. The beef was on sale, but it was still beef. My life was still hard, but I wasn’t that desperate girl anymore. I could afford to feed us. I thought of the nine years he was with me. Nine years of stale bread and watery soup. I called him my brother, and I’d barely ever given him a full meal. The guilt I felt for him, I’d poured it all into Nico. Leo was right. I’d given Nico everything I’d once promised him. The regret was suffocating. I got another bowl. “Fine. Stay.”

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