When I found out my husband, Ray, was cheating again, I didn’t scream or cry. I just sent him a link to a real estate listing I’d been looking at. “We should buy the kids a couple of condos here.” He got the message. “Done.” I immediately texted the real estate agent. “I’m bringing my husband in tomorrow to pay. Yes, two units, in full.” After years of marriage, I’ve learned to focus my attention on only one thing: my husband’s money. He, however, is full of regrets. He wants to come back to the family, to start over with me. Too late. His role in this house is now just an ATM. 1 Late one night, a woman sent me an intimate photo of herself and Ray. I didn’t flinch. This wasn’t the first time. I forwarded the photo to Ray, then sent him the brochure for the condos I’d already picked out. “How about we buy the kids a couple of condos here? Think of it as their high school graduation present.” The development had just opened. It was in a prime location with great amenities and beautiful landscaping. I’d already taken my mom to see it twice. We both loved it. I was just trying to figure out how to get Ray to pay for it when this woman handed me the perfect opportunity on a silver platter. A few moments later, Ray replied: “Okay.” I immediately messaged the agent. “I’m bringing my husband over tomorrow to pay. That’s right, two units, paying in full, in my daughter’s and son’s names.” The next morning, I was waiting at the sales office when Ray finally arrived, a glaring red mark on a conspicuous part of his neck. “Well, well. Looks like someone had fun,” I quipped. He ignored the jab and just handed me a card. “Couldn’t I just transfer you the money? Why do I have to come down here every time?” “Nope,” I said, wagging a finger at him. “Can’t do that.” “These condos are a gift to the children, part of their personal assets. It’s only right that you, their father, handle the transaction. It avoids any future confusion where you might claim I embezzled our shared marital assets.” Ray rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. You know I’m not that kind of person.” I know he probably wouldn’t go that far. But people change. When we were first in love, I never would have imagined he would betray our marriage. The agent we’d been in contact with greeted us with a beaming smile. The paperwork went smoothly, without any hitches. As we left the sales office, Ray gestured for me to get in his car. “No thanks, I drove.” Then, after a moment’s thought, I added a little piece of advice. “You know the only thing I care about is money. Have your fun with the women on the side, but don’t give them too much. If it’s too much, I’ll start to miss it. And if I get upset, I might just have to go ask for it back, and that would be unpleasant for everyone.” Ray let out a cold laugh. “Heh. You’re so generous now. Not like you used to be.” 2 What was I like before? The first time I found out Ray was seeing other women, I wanted him dead. Ray and I met in college. We fell in love, and I was with him when he started his business, through all the hardest times. When the business finally took off and the company started turning a profit, we got married. It felt like the natural next step. Not long after, we got the wonderful news that I was pregnant with twins. Back then, I thought this was the definition of a perfect life. Until the third trimester. That’s when Ray cheated. I was heavily pregnant, and I caught him with his secretary in his office. The shock and anger nearly sent me into premature labor. I was in a hospital bed, trying to keep the babies from coming too early, and Ray was kneeling beside me. “Ava, she seduced me. Please, just forgive me this one time.” Is that what all cheating men say? Blame the other woman? As if he had no fault in the matter. It takes two to tango. They were both disgusting. My parents rushed to the hospital. My mom held my hand, her face a mask of pain, while my dad kicked Ray square in the chest. Even his own parents were furious with him. Before he could react, his mother slapped him hard across the face. “Ava is carrying your children! How could you?” Listening to them scream at him, listening to Ray’s pathetic apologies, my heart felt like it was being torn to shreds. The tears just wouldn’t stop. What good were his regrets now? A crack had formed in our love, and it could never be repaired. To make up for what he’d done, Ray transferred all of our assets into my name. His parents also gave me a substantial amount of money, telling me to focus on my health. Soon after, through waves of agonizing pain, I gave birth to my son and daughter. That period was the darkest time of my life. I was filled with joy at the arrival of my children, but at the same time, I was consumed by the grief of their father’s betrayal. The pain was indescribable. But life had to go on. I took all my anger out on Ray. I hated him, I loathed him, and every day, I silently cursed him. You think he learned his lesson then? Of course not. After getting caught the first time, Ray did behave himself for a while. He was a good provider, he loved the kids, and he was a family man. My parents advised me to give him another chance, for the sake of the children. But a dog will always return to its vomit. And cheating is never a one-time thing. 3 On the day of our children’s first birthday party, Ray was late. He wasn’t answering his phone. A cold dread washed over me. Sure enough, when he finally arrived, the first thing I saw was a smudge of lipstick on his shirt collar. Rage shot through me. I pulled him into a secluded corner. “What’s wrong?” Ray asked, oblivious. “What’s wrong?!” I hissed, my voice low and shaking as I pointed to the lipstick stain. “Today is our children’s first birthday party. We’ve invited so many relatives, so many clients. And you, Ray, you were out screwing around?” My nails dug into my palms. Ray panicked and grabbed my hand. “Listen, let me explain.” I yanked my hand away. “You have a clean shirt in the car. Go change. Now.” My nose burned, and I could barely hold back the tears. But then I remembered what day it was, and I forced a smile onto my face. That night, we had a massive fight. I tore through his car, searching everywhere, until my eyes landed on the dashcam. Ray was still trying to deny it. “Nothing happened…” But when the sound of their flirtatious laughter filled the car, he fell silent. “You bastard, Ray!” I slapped him, hard. Ray lit a cigarette and pulled a card from the glove compartment. “There’s eighty thousand on here.” “Can’t you just try to understand? I have all the pressure of the company on me. I’m tired, too.” He was tired? Who isn’t tired? Does being tired give you an excuse to sleep with other women? If that’s the case, then maybe I should go find another man, too. “Ray, I want a divorce.” I gave him one last, cold look, took the card with the eighty thousand dollars, and went home. 4 Of course, we didn’t get a divorce. The whole affair ended with Ray buying me and the kids thirty thousand dollars’ worth of gold jewelry. I never really wanted to divorce him. Maybe it was the old saying that a new baby brings good fortune, but after the twins were born, Ray’s business boomed. In just one year, his assets grew to a level we had never dreamed of. Besides, the children were still nursing. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them to go back to work. My job was to spend his money, to take care of myself, to raise my children well, and to ensure that we all lived a comfortable, prosperous life. That’s the reason I’ve stayed with him all these years. In those difficult days, Ray used money to shut me up. He bought me and the kids cars, houses, and covered all our expenses. I took the money from Ray without hesitation and spent it lavishly on the children and myself. Horseback riding, archery, golf, skiing—whatever they were interested in, I supported them, encouraging them to learn and experience everything. They went to the best schools, the best after-school programs, and we traveled all over the country. For the past dozen years, I’ve been living this life, spending the money Ray earned, enjoying the benefits he provided. And slowly, my heart has detached itself from him. The only thing left between us is the pure, simple relationship of money. 5 Faced with Ray’s mockery, I just laughed at myself. “I’m a very generous person. I was young and foolish to fight with you before. Don’t worry, I’ve seen the light. As long as the money is right, you can go out and fool around as much as you want. Just don’t catch anything. Because when you get old, I’m not taking care of you.” My words were blunt, and for some reason, they seemed to annoy him. “Ava, is money really that important to you now?” “Of course it is. Without money, would the kids and I have the life we have now?” Thinking of the children, I pressed him again. “You need to transfer me some money. Their college entrance exams are coming up, and I want to take them on a trip to relax and de-stress. Also, my spa membership is about to expire.” As I wracked my brain for other major expenses, Ray had already transferred fifty thousand dollars to my account. “Thanks, boss!” The moment the money hit my account, I beamed at him. As long as he pays, I have no problem being pleasant. “And one more thing. The exams are in two months. You need to handle last night’s situation. If it affects the kids in any way, neither I nor their grandparents will ever forgive you.” “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” Ray scoffed, rolling up his car window. As his car sped away, I just shook my head. A mother’s love makes you strong. As long as my children are not affected, I don’t care about anything else. But if he ever dares to let my children get hurt in any way, I will drag him to hell with me. 6 When I got back to my studio, my two master tailors and their apprentices were already busy sewing a custom-made qipao for a client. I love wearing qipaos. At first, I had them custom-made by professionals. Back when I first found out about Ray’s affair, I spent money as a way to vent my anger, splurging on the things I loved. Slowly, I started to think about making them myself. Once the kids were a little older, I traveled all over the country to learn the art of qipao making from different masters. I filled one of our spare properties with all kinds of fabrics and tailoring tools. Whenever the kids were at school, I would retreat to my little haven and lose myself in sewing. This small, focused work was what helped me heal from the pain. I made qipaos for my mother and my mother-in-law. I wore them to pick up the kids, to meet friends for lunch, and to accompany Ray to business functions. To my surprise, I received a lot of compliments. People kept asking me where I had my qipaos custom-made. An idea sparked. I had Ray buy me a commercial space, and I opened my own custom qipao studio. The money I made was nowhere near what Ray gave me, but it was my own income, and that felt good. I couldn’t handle the work alone, so I hired two master tailors and took on two apprentices. After greeting everyone, I walked over to the fabric section. The college entrance exams were in two months. I wanted to make myself a special qipao to wear to bring them good luck. And soon after the results came out, it would be their eighteenth birthday. I also needed to make a special dress for my daughter to wear to her coming-of-age party. As I was focused on selecting fabrics, I heard a noise at the door. “Excuse me, is anyone here?” “Yes, we’re here!” Knowing that everyone else was busy, I called out and hurried to the front of the studio. A beautiful young woman was standing there. Our eyes met for just a second. But a woman’s intuition told me: this was the woman who sent me the photo last night. She looked me up and down, her hand subtly resting on her stomach. “I’d like to have a qipao custom-made. But I just found out I’m pregnant. Do you have any recommendations?” As I took her measurements, I started chatting with her. “Since we don’t know how your pregnancy will affect you, whether you’ll have morning sickness or gain a lot of weight, I’d suggest a fully-buttoned style…” Before I could finish, she cut me off. “I don’t even know if this baby will be born. Ma’am, do you think my baby will be born?” If it was anyone else’s, of course it could be born. But if it was Ray’s, I would not allow it. The woman grabbed my hand. “Ma’am, Ray listened to you and wants to break up with me. But the baby is innocent. You have children too, so you must understand. I promise, after the baby is born, I won’t cause you any trouble.” As she spoke, tears started to well up in her eyes. The others in the studio looked over. I took a deep breath and led her to the seating area. “Does Ray know you’re pregnant?” “No, he doesn’t.” “Alright. You go home and wait. I’ll talk to Ray for you.” I glanced down at her stomach. “Don’t worry. I will make sure you get a proper resolution.” The moment the woman left, I stormed over to Ray’s office. “Honey, what are you doing here?” Ray asked, surprised. I slammed the office door shut and slapped him across the face. “How dare you create an illegitimate child to compete with my children for their inheritance?” I didn’t care what Ray did on the side. My bottom line was, he could not let these women bother our children, and he could not have any illegitimate children. Ray’s fortune was vast, and every penny of it had to go to our kids. He had been so careful for so many years. And now, just as the kids were grown, he messes up like this. The slap stunned Ray. “A child? What child?” “You’re still going to pretend?!” I glared at him and slapped him again. “She came to my studio and begged me to let her have the baby.” Realization dawned on Ray’s face, and it turned dark. “I always use protection. Besides, before we even got together, I told her I had a family. We both knew what this was.” “I don’t care about any of that,” I said with a cold smile. “This baby cannot be born. You will take her to get an abortion, and you will give her some money for her trouble.” I looked down at his crotch with contempt. “Ray, if you can’t control that little thing of yours, maybe you should just get it cut off. Or get a vasectomy.” Ray’s face turned ashen. “Ava!” I looked around his office, wondering how a man like this could be so successful. “You will arrange for her to have the procedure. Now.”

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1 To build a “scholarly genius” persona for his celebrity crush, my boyfriend sent my antique collection to a TV appraisal show. The celebrity, his crush, declared it a fake and smashed my antique vase on the spot. I didn’t even know my prized possession was missing until the show aired. When I went public, accusing them both, they joined forces to call me an extortionist. As the internet mob turned on me, I countered by suing them both for theft. I wonder, for a few tens of millions, how many years will they get in prison? … The day Treasure Quest aired, I was in my new apartment, unpacking boxes with the TV on for background noise. The host was introducing the celebrity guest, Seraphina Remar, in his usual over-the-top tone. On screen, Seraphina was the picture of elegance in an ethereal white dress, smiling sweetly as she spoke. She lived up to her reputation as the entertainment industry’s resident intellectual. “And now—let’s have Seraphina determine if our next treasure is the real deal or a clever fake!” At the host’s cue, a short-necked porcelain vase was carefully brought onto the stage. I shot upright. That vase… it looked identical to one from my collection. But wasn’t my vase supposed to be at my boyfriend Caleb’s place? Before I could process the thought, Seraphina’s saccharine voice filled the room. “This vase,” she announced with unwavering confidence, “is clearly a modern reproduction. The craftsmanship is crude, and the glaze is all wrong.” She picked it up and, with a casual flick of her wrist, tossed it to the ground. A sharp crack echoed as porcelain shattered into a thousand pieces. The studio audience gasped. My mind went blank. The bag of chips in my lap tumbled to the floor. A sickening premonition washed over me. I had to be sure. I grabbed my keys and raced to Caleb’s apartment. I’d recently bought my own place and, before the official move, had stored most of my belongings at his. Could he really have taken my things, put them on national television, and let Seraphina destroy them? My heart hammered against my ribs as the image of the shattering vase played on a loop in my head. When I got to his rented apartment, I pulled out the spare key he’d given me. But the key wouldn’t turn. The lock was stuck. He’d changed the locks. That bastard had changed the locks and hadn’t even bothered to tell me. I took a deep, shaky breath and called him. He answered, his voice thick with annoyance. “What is it?” “I’m almost done with my new place,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m ready to move my stuff out.” Caleb scoffed. “I’m busy. We’ll talk about it later.” “What about the lock—” He hung up before I could finish. Come to think of it, he’d been impatient and distant for a while now, never even messaging me first. Forcing myself to stay calm, I called a locksmith. After describing the situation and sending a photo of my ID, the locksmith had the door open in minutes. I burst inside, tearing through the living room, the bedroom, the storage closet. The vase was nowhere. My body trembled with fury. I took pictures of everything with my phone. And then I realized it wasn’t just the multi-million dollar Meissen porcelain vase that was gone. A Renaissance-era gilt-bronze statuette and a rare Dürer sketch, Winter Woods, were also missing. Each one was worth a fortune. I tried calling Caleb again, but he rejected the call every time. Finally, a text came through. “I said I’m busy, can’t you understand English? Whatever it is can wait.” I tried calling one more time and discovered he’d blocked my number. “Fine, Caleb. Just you wait,” I seethed, my teeth clenched. I called a moving service and had them transport the rest of my belongings to my new apartment. Then, I scrolled through my contacts and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “Bill, I need to borrow your lawyer. I’ve run into a bit of trouble.” An infuriatingly smug voice answered from the other end. “Well, well. If it isn’t my dear sister. The one who said she was chasing her passion for history, joining some archaeological dig, and blocked us all. Has Miss Peyton decided to grace the mortal world with her presence again? Finally remembered you have a brother?” I was in no mood for his games. “Cut the crap, Bill. Someone smashed my Meissen vase. I need to make them pay.” Bill clicked his tongue. “The one you bought at the auction last year? Your favorite little toy? Fine. Send me your address. I’ll have my lawyer head over.” After hanging up, I still couldn’t calm down. I’d met Caleb during a time when I was estranged from my family, trying to pursue my own dreams. I thought he was kind, gentle, understanding. I never imagined he was capable of something like this. The lawyer arrived half an hour later and helped me take inventory of my losses. Most of my collection had been purchased at auctions with my allowance over the years. I had meticulous records for every single piece. The lawyer, Mr. Liu, pushed up his glasses. “Mr. Caleb took antiques valued at nearly forty million dollars without your consent, then changed the locks to prevent you from retrieving your property. We have a strong case for theft.” “How much time would he get for something like this?” I asked. “Given the extraordinary value, the statutory sentence is ten years to life in prison.” I nodded. That was all I needed to know. Just as I was about to tell the lawyer to proceed, my phone rang. I answered it. A stern male voice was on the line. “Hello, is this Miss Peyton? This is the police department. We need you to come in to assist with an investigation.” I froze. An investigation? What investigation? Baffled, I went to the station with my lawyer. The moment I walked in, I saw Caleb sitting across from an officer. And next to him, scrolling through her phone with a faint, smug smile, was Seraphina Remar. The officer got straight to the point. “Miss Peyton, we’ve received a complaint that you broke into a private residence. Please explain.” Caleb lifted his chin. “That’s right. Did you break into my apartment? That’s illegal, you know.” “Illegal?” I laughed, a bitter, angry sound. I turned to the officer. “I paid for half the rent on that apartment. All of my belongings are there. He changed the locks without my permission and stole my vase and other antiques! And now he has the audacity to accuse me?” Mr. Liu produced printouts of the rent transfers and the lease agreement and handed them to the officer. “These are records of Miss Peyton’s rent payments to the landlord, spanning six months. We also have records of other transfers.” “Legally speaking,” he continued, “Miss Peyton was a co-tenant for this period and possessed the same rights as Mr. Caleb. He had no right to change the locks and bar her from the premises without notice.” The officer reviewed the documents, his brow furrowed as he looked at Caleb. “What’s this about?” Caleb’s face stiffened. “She… she gave me some money, but I’m the one who rented the place. She has no right to go through my things!” “Go through your things?” I gestured towards the contract. “I have every right to retrieve what belongs to me. You, on the other hand, stole my Meissen vase, sent it to that show, and let Seraphina smash it. Are you going to deny it?” Seraphina finally looked up, her tone light and dismissive. “Honey, you can stop the act now. I saw that vase. It was a cheap reproduction. It’s broken, so what? I don’t know where you picked up that piece of junk, but to claim it’s a priceless antique? Are you trying to extort us?” Caleb’s expression soured. “Peyton, I knew you were desperate for money, but I didn’t think you were this crazy. You’d stoop to this?” As he spoke, he shot a contemptuous look at Mr. Liu standing beside me. “I’ve been busy lately, and look at you, already hooked up with some rich guy. You know what? I won’t even bother with you. Just take your junk and get out.” Mr. Liu ignored Caleb’s taunts and addressed the key issue. “While taking inventory of the missing items, we also discovered that a bronze statuette and a sketch are gone. Mr. Caleb, it would be in your best interest to return them immediately. These are also antiques, each valued in the millions.” Caleb waved his hand impatiently. “Are you done with the theatrics? Seriously. I threw all her stuff out a long time ago. It was worth a few hundred bucks at most. Millions? That’s hilarious. Go ahead, sue me. Let’s see what you can possibly dig up.” I gritted my teeth, my voice ringing with conviction. “Fine. I’ll see you in court.” Caleb and Seraphina sauntered out, while my lawyer and I stayed behind to give our statements and solidify the evidence. But the moment we stepped out of the police station, I was blinded by a barrage of camera flashes. A swarm of reporters had appeared from nowhere, their lenses all pointed at me. They surrounded us, microphones practically shoved in my face. Questions came like machine-gun fire. “We just got a tip that a civilian is trying to extort the show and its guest, Miss Seraphina Remar, for publicity. Are you that person?” “Were you brought to the police station for extortion? Or for breaking and entering?” “Do you have any comment?” Even with my lawyer trying to shield me, they were relentless, like flies buzzing around my head. The noise was deafening. But I understood. This was Seraphina and Caleb’s doing. They had arranged this. Just as I was trying to figure out their endgame, Seraphina, who had been waiting outside, stepped in front of the cameras, playing the victim with a look of pure innocence. “Everyone, please don’t misunderstand,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Miss Peyton might have some misconceptions about me. She claims the vase was worth millions, but perhaps she was deceived when she bought it. After all, I’ve studied these things since I was a child. I do know a little something.” Her words sent a ripple through the crowd of reporters. Their gazes shifted to me, as if I were some pathetic clown. One of them said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I bet she’s doing it on purpose. You see these types all the time. They think celebrities are easy targets, that they’ll pay anything to protect their reputation. Shameless.” I pointed a shaking finger at Seraphina. “If my things are fakes, then why are you still holding onto my statuette and my sketch? Why won’t you give them back?” Seraphina sighed dramatically. “I didn’t want to make a scene, but since Miss Peyton is being so aggressive, I suggest we have them appraised on the next episode of Treasure Quest. You claim the statuette and sketch are valuable, right? Then let’s have a master appraiser examine them in front of a live audience. We’ll see then if they’re fakes.” The reporters’ eyes lit up. “Great idea!” they chorused. “Miss Peyton, you wouldn’t be too scared, would you?” I gritted my teeth, fury rising in my chest. I finally saw their plan. They wanted to use the show to humiliate me again and boost Seraphina’s fame. I laughed coldly. “You’re on! Let’s see how you spin this lie.” A triumphant smirk touched Seraphina’s lips. “Excellent. The show will arrange a time. Then you can be reunited with your precious ‘treasures,’ Miss Peyton.” The crowd dispersed. I clutched my phone, watching the victorious silhouettes of Seraphina and Caleb walk away. It was a vicious move, using public opinion to crush me. But she’d forgotten one thing. My antiques all had certificates of authenticity. Every last one of them was real. She and Caleb were holding onto my statuette and sketch, thinking they could pass off fakes? Just you wait. On that show, I was going to make them choke on their own medicine. On the day of the Treasure Quest taping, I sat in the audience, blinded by the stage lights. The whispers from the crowd around me were like daggers. The producers had deliberately seated me in the audience. According to the schedule, I would only be brought on stage for an “interview” after the appraisal. The camera kept panning over to me, and the host smirked. “We have a very special guest in our audience today, Miss Peyton. We hear you have some objections to Miss Remar’s last appraisal?” The audience erupted in laughter. “The nerve of some people,” someone whispered. “Trying to pass off fakes.” “She’s probably just jealous of Seraphina’s fame. Probably some rival fan trying to cause trouble.” I clenched my fists, the anger churning in my stomach. All I could do was bite my tongue and stare at the stage. Let’s see how they were going to play this. Seraphina, dressed in a stunning haute couture gown, was her usual charming self, effortlessly maintaining her scholarly persona. After a brief, superficial lecture on appraisal basics, she gestured to the statuette and sketch on the table, her tone dripping with contempt. “The provider of these… ‘treasures,’ Miss Peyton, despite being from a working-class background, insists they are genuine and worth millions. She has even threatened to sue me for compensation. So today, we have invited the most respected authority in the field of archaeology, Professor Albright, to give his expert opinion.” Seraphina let out a small, condescending laugh. “Let’s just hope Miss Peyton doesn’t try to deny the results this time.” From the director’s booth at the side of the stage, Caleb spoke into a headset. The host immediately turned his malicious gaze back to me. “Miss Peyton, would you care to come on stage and say a few words? Or are you only brave enough to cry foul online?” Another wave of derisive laughter swept through the audience. “Look at how she’s dressed. She doesn’t look like someone who can afford multi-million-dollar antiques. She must be desperate for money.” “I bet after the appraisal, she’ll just deny it again and keep slandering our Seraphina.” “She’s not bad-looking. Maybe she’s trying to become an influencer by stirring up drama.” I shot to my feet, my eyes sweeping over the people who had spoken. “Is that all you do? Spout baseless rumors? Every single piece in my collection is genuine, with certificates from world-renowned experts. What does Seraphina Remar have? A carefully crafted public image?” The studio fell silent, stunned by my outburst. But the host quickly recovered, his voice laced with false sympathy and obvious mockery. “Miss Peyton, please calm down. Rest assured, the expert we have today is the most authoritative history professor from Cambridge University. His appraisal is far more reliable than some questionable certificate you might have, wouldn’t you agree?” The most authoritative history professor from Cambridge? An elegant, familiar face flashed in my mind: Professor Albright, the mentor who had guided me into the world of history. His every word, every appraisal, was considered the gold standard in the field. And then, in the next second, Professor Albright himself walked onto the stage. He moved with a quiet dignity that instantly captivated the audience, drawing a round of applause. Seraphina rushed to greet him, her face plastered with a sycophantic smile. But the professor paid her no mind. He turned to face the audience. “I am here today,” he announced, his voice clear and strong, “for my student.”

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I showed up at Berkeley College to enroll, only to be told Lia Lockwood had already registered. She was even living in the villa my dad bought for me. And she and my fiancé were playing the happy couple. I rubbed the calluses on my fingertips, hardened from years of playing the guitar. What in the absolute hell? If she was Lia Lockwood… …then who was I? And was this condescending jerk looking down his nose at me really my fiancé? 1. “Lia Lockwood has already completed her registration.” “Impossible!” I stared at the admissions officer. “This is my acceptance letter.” “That letter was sent out over six months ago. If it was yours, why wait until now to show up?” I clutched the letter, a slow burn of fury building in my chest. Right after my mom passed away, my dad had pushed me to attend Berkeley and, while I was at it, marry some fiancé I’d never even met. We’d had a massive fight, and his bodyguards had unceremoniously dumped me on a plane. The moment I landed, I’d made a decision. This was my life. Before shackling myself to college, I was going to take six months to see the world. But yesterday, my dad had called, his voice clipped and cold, announcing he was coming to visit. Panic seized me. I knew I couldn’t hide anymore, so I rushed here to finally enroll, only to be met with this disaster. Well, if I couldn’t register, I’d at least go to the villa Dad had bought for me. I needed a place to crash. All the way there, one question hammered in my mind: Who had the audacity to steal my life? When I got to the house, I punched in the security code. The screen flashed bright red: ACCESS DENIED. I tried again. And again. Same result. Just then, I heard footsteps inside. “Who’s out there?” a man’s voice called. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. The door swung open, revealing a tall, well-built man. From inside, a woman’s voice drifted out, laced with curiosity. “Peter, who is it?” My blood ran cold. Peter? My fiancé. The one I’d never met. A moment later, an impeccably dressed girl appeared behind him. She was about my age and looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Stunned, I managed to ask, “You’re Peter? Then… she is?” Peter’s gaze swept over me, his expression turning to ice. “This is my fiancée, Lia Lockwood. Who are you? And what are you doing here?” So, this was her. The imposter who’d stolen my spot at school and was now living in my house. A wave of rage washed over me. I met his cold stare and said evenly, “This is my house.” Peter laughed, a short, ugly sound. “Are you serious? Everyone knows Mr. Lockwood bought this place for his daughter, Lia.” “I’m Lia Lockwood!” “You?” His eyes raked over me, from my tangled hair down to my frayed t-shirt and dust-caked boots. He shook his head in contempt. “The Lockwood heiress is a pristine little princess. Her family worships the ground she walks on. You, dressed like that? You expect me to believe you’re a Lockwood?” The girl calling herself Lia arched an eyebrow, her smile sickeningly sweet as she adopted a look of magnanimity. “Seeing as we share a name, if you’re really that broke, I could spare some cash. But you really shouldn’t lie, you know.” I clenched my fists, taking a deep breath to quell the fire in my gut. “You’re sure she’s Lia?” “Of course I am. Now get lost! I’ve never seen someone so shameless.” I stared them down, a cold plan forming in my mind. I pulled out my phone, opened a familiar online forum, and found a thread that had once been my digital home. I typed a single message: I’m back. The replies came instantly, a flood of notifications. Whoa! You’re finally here! Where have you been for the last six months? You promised us a jam session when you arrived! Yeah, after all these years as online friends, we finally get to meet you in person! We have to see you! A smirk touched my lips. I scrolled through the excited comments and dropped the villa’s address. I’ll be home tomorrow. Bring your guitars. Then, looking up at the two of them, I let out a low, cold laugh. “Just you wait.” 2. The next morning, a crowd had gathered outside the villa. Every single person was armed with a guitar case or an instrument bag, their faces buzzing with excitement and anticipation. The fake Lia opened the door, her jaw dropping at the sight of the small mob on her doorstep. “Uh… can I help you?” “Excuse me… is Lia here? We’re here to see her,” someone from the crowd called out. “I’m Lia.” A guy in the front laughed. “Awesome, we finally get to meet the Guitar Goddess in person! You kept us waiting long enough. Let’s do this! We’re dying to hear you play!” “Yeah, come on, Lia! Don’t make us come all this way for nothing!” I stood in the middle of the group, having changed into an old hoodie, my face mostly obscured. “That’s right,” I chimed in. “We’re all here for a performance from the master herself.” The color drained from the imposter’s face. Her lips trembled as she struggled to find words, forcing a brittle smile. “I… when did I say you could come over?” Someone immediately held up their phone, showing her the forum page. “You posted it right here, didn’t you?” he said, pointing to the post made by the verified account. “This is the official ‘Lia, the Guitar Goddess’ account. Are you saying that’s not you?” A flicker of panic crossed her face. “No! It was me… I posted it,” she stammered, waving her hands dismissively. “Sorry, it just slipped my mind.” She gave a weak, awkward laugh and stepped aside, gesturing for us to come in. I smiled coldly and followed the crowd into the villa. This was the first time I’d ever set foot in my own house. I looked around. The decor was opulent, but in a gaudy, over-the-top way. It screamed ‘new money,’ completely devoid of any real artistic soul. I am going to expose this fraud today, I vowed silently. The fake Lia wrung her hands, still trying to weasel her way out. “You know… I’m a little busy today. Maybe some other time…” “We came from all over just to see you play today!” someone interrupted. “Now that we’re here, you have to play at least one song for us.” I added my voice to the chorus. “Yeah, just play anything. After all, the Guitar Goddess’s fingerstyle is legendary. That’s what we’re all here to see.” At the mention of her playing, her face turned another shade paler. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. “Okay… okay,” she said, her voice strained. “Let me… let me just get everyone some water.” She turned and fled toward the kitchen. I was about to stop her, but the others were already thanking her. Fine, I thought with a smirk. You can’t run for long. A moment later, we heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by a sharp cry. The imposter emerged, clutching her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her face a mask of regret. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can play today.” Before she could say another word, I strode forward and grabbed her hand. A small, clean cut on her finger was welling up with blood. “What a coincidence. You hurt your hand right now? Or is this just an excuse to get out of playing for us?” The crowd murmured, their expressions shifting from excitement to suspicion. “Yeah,” someone muttered. “The timing is a little… perfect.” Just then, Peter came storming down the stairs, his face a thundercloud. He shoved me aside and rushed to her. “Lia! What happened? Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” She looked down, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Peter, it’s nothing… It was just an accident. It’s not her fault…” I let out a derisive snort. “Peter, don’t you find it a little strange? Lia Lockwood is a famous musical prodigy, a genius on the guitar. You two have been together all this time. Are you telling me you’ve never once heard her play?” 3. Peter’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with suppressed rage. “That’s enough! Stop pouring salt on her wounds. She was in a car accident right after she got here. Her fingers were severely injured. She can’t play anymore.” The imposter kept her head bowed, a flicker of triumph in her eyes hidden beneath a veneer of tragic sorrow. “It’s true,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I can’t play for you all… But that doesn’t mean I’m a liar…” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, another convenient injury. First a car accident, now a cut. Your fingers certainly are delicate, aren’t they? Do they get injured every time someone questions you?” The murmurs in the crowd grew louder. Doubt was starting to creep into their faces. Her expression hardened, her voice trembling with manufactured hurt. “How could you say that? That accident was the most traumatic experience of my life… Why do you keep bringing it up? Do you have some kind of grudge against me?” Peter’s face darkened. He glared at me. “Are you done? She’s the victim here. Stop harassing her!” He held up her hand, pointing to a faint scar on her knuckle. “Here’s your proof. We have the hospital records too. Do you want to see them?” The crowd gasped. “Oh, so that’s what happened…” someone said softly. “What a tragedy.” The imposter looked up, sighing dramatically. “Regardless, I’m truly sorry for letting everyone down…” “Oh, you’re committed to this lie, aren’t you? You’d even hurt yourself for it…” “What is your problem?” Peter roared, stepping menacingly toward me. “Are you deliberately targeting her?” He suddenly lunged forward and ripped the hoodie from my head. “I knew it! You’re the troublemaker from yesterday! You came back just to start more trouble, didn’t you?” His fury boiled over. He raised his hand to strike me. My heart pounded, but I stood my ground. “I’m the real Lia Lockwood,” I said, my voice cold and clear. “If you don’t believe me, call my father. Ask him.” “Fine. Call him.” Gritting my teeth, I pulled out my phone and dialed my dad’s number. The call wouldn’t go through. The screen just showed a spinning ‘Connecting…’ icon. Peter saw it and sneered. “What’s wrong? Can’t get through? The real heiress act is falling apart, huh?” I took a deep breath, refusing to back down. “Then call your father. He’ll know the truth.” Peter’s expression faltered for a second before hardening into a contemptuous smirk. “Still making up stories? Lia has been by my side this whole time. There’s no way she’s a fake!” “Fine. Then I’ll expose her myself.” I locked eyes with her. “In the old Lockwood estate, there’s a centuries-old pine tree in the backyard. Tell me, where does it stand?” I watched her, searching for any hint of a lie. But she remained perfectly calm. A small, confident smile played on her lips as she answered softly, “There are no pine trees at the Lockwood estate. Only a row of fragrant sweet olive trees.” My stomach dropped. How did she know that?! A terrible premonition washed over me just as Peter’s rage exploded. He grabbed me, his voice a low growl. “You planned this all along, didn’t you? You came here just to torment her!” People rushed forward to intervene. The imposter even made a show of trying to calm him down. “Peter, stop, it’s just a misunderstanding.” Her voice was gentle, but her words were poison. “She’s probably just jealous.” Her comment was like gasoline on a fire. Peter shoved me to the floor. “You’re just jealous of Lia,” he snarled, a cruel smile twisting his face. “You keep making trouble for her. Since you’re so obsessed with her fingers, I’ll make sure yours end up just like hers—broken!” He snatched a heavy ceramic vase from a nearby table, raising it high above his head. His eyes were wild with malice; he was actually going to do it. I struggled against his grip, a chilling fear seizing me. I’m a guitarist. My hands are my life! The crowd cried out, trying to pull him back, but he was too strong. The imposter just stood there, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, as if she couldn’t wait to see me crippled. Just as I braced for the impact, regretting my reckless plan, a cold voice cut through the chaos from the doorway, radiating an authority that silenced the entire room. “Well, isn’t this a party?”

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My wife and I were a power couple. Ten years of what I thought was love. That illusion shattered the day her boy toy stormed into my office behind her back. The young man’s arrogance was suffocating. “Claire will kick an old man like you to the curb for me, sooner or later.” I couldn’t have cared less. In fact, I turned right around, told my wife I wanted a divorce, and threw her out of the company. Suddenly, she was panicking, forcing her little lover to his knees in front of me, begging for my forgiveness. 1 “You’ve got no looks and no talent. What right do you have to monopolize Claire for a decade?” “Claire said she’s giving me the villa at The Water’s Edge. She knows you wanted it, but she gave it to me anyway. It’s only a matter of time before she kicks an old man like you to the curb for me.” Leo leaned over my desk, his hands braced on the polished mahogany, looking down at me with contempt. The Claire he was talking about, Claire Thornton, was my wife of ten years. Just a few days ago, a friend had given me a subtle warning. “Claire’s been getting awfully close to a new employee. Want me to take care of him for you?” He’d slid a folder of photos across the table. In them, Claire and Leo weren’t overly intimate. The most damning picture was of Leo’s hand on the small of her back as he held an umbrella for her in the rain. I glanced at them, neither accepting nor refusing my friend’s offer. After a decade together, I wasn’t going to resort to such ugly tactics. So I gave her three days. Three days to cut ties with Leo, and I would pretend it never happened. She agreed without a moment’s hesitation, her voice thick with guilt. “I’m so sorry I made you worry. It’s my fault.” And now, here was her lover, parading his arrogance in my office. The Water’s Edge was prime real estate—exclusive, private, the perfect place to hide a secret. Was Claire planning on keeping a lover? A wave of revulsion washed over me as I looked at Leo. My decision was instant. I picked up my phone and called Claire, telling her to get to my office. Immediately. Leo stared at me in disbelief, then burst out laughing. “Who do you think Claire is? Some stray you can just whistle for? Calling her over will only make her despise you more!” I ignored him, pulling a cigarette from my desk drawer and lighting it. Leo coughed dramatically, then had the audacity to try and snatch it from my hand. “I can’t stand the smell of smoke. Put it out!” The moment his hand shot forward, I flicked the cigarette twice. The hot ash landed squarely on his arm. He yelped and recoiled, staring at me like I was insane. “You son of a bitch, you burned me!” He lunged, aiming to punch me, but my free hand shot out and slammed him to the floor. Twenty years of professional combat training made dealing with a preening pretty boy like him effortless. He was howling on the ground when the office door swung open. Leo’s eyes lit up. He scrambled to his feet and clung to Claire’s leg, sobbing. “Claire, you’re finally here! Julian burned me with his cigarette, and then he hit me!” Claire’s brow furrowed—her classic tell for annoyance. She looked at me, her eyes a mixture of guilt and anger, as if furious that I’d embarrassed her by roughing up her pet project in public. “Julian, he’s my employee, you can’t just—” “Don’t,” I cut her off, my voice ice. “Don’t you dare lecture me. He wouldn’t have made it past security without the access you gave him. Claire, have I been too good to you all these years?” In our entire relationship, I had never raised my voice to her. Even when she made mistakes, I was the one who calmly cleaned up her messes. I would never have publicly humiliated her like this. Those simple words made her eyes flash with shame and fury. “You… you’ve gone too far!” Leo, seeing her anger, immediately fanned the flames. “Exactly, Claire! He clearly has no respect for you, or he’d never say something like that.” He thought he was stoking her rage against me. He didn’t expect her to violently shake his hand off. “Who the hell gave you permission to speak?” she snapped, her voice dripping with scorn. “What are you that you think you can lecture me?” I wasn’t surprised. After ten years of marriage, no one knew Claire better than I did. She could coddle Leo, spoil him like a pet, but she would never let him jeopardize her interests. Our marriage was as much a business merger as it was a romance. If it fractured, the fallout would be catastrophic for both of us. In the end, the only person Claire truly loved was herself. Her anger at me now was purely because I had embarrassed her—I had kicked her dog without asking the owner. The cigarette burned down to the filter. I crushed it out in the ashtray. “I gave you three days to handle him,” I said, my voice flat. “You didn’t.” Claire took a few steps closer, her voice softening. “I was wrong, okay? If you don’t like him, I’ll get rid of him. Why stoop to his level?” She glanced over her shoulder, her tone turning cold. “You. Apologize to Mr. Shaw.” Leo stared at her, then at me, his pretty eyes welling up with tears. “Now!” Claire repeated, her patience gone. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, his voice thick with resentment. “I’m sorry.” Claire finally smiled, gently shaking my arm. “See? He apologized. Let’s just drop it. If you’re still upset, you can go find another woman. We can play our separate games.” She was protecting him, trying to smooth things over. But I don’t tolerate sand in my eyes. I had given her a chance because I still had feelings for her, and because, technically, she hadn’t crossed the line. Flirting was one thing. An affair was another. But now, my decision was made. I pulled my arm from her grasp, my voice laced with disgust. “Separate games? You think you’re worthy?” Claire froze, her expression hardening. “Julian, I admit you’re more capable than I am, but I’m no pushover. I run nearly half of this company’s operations. I’m offering you an out; you should take it. We’re adults. We both know that monogamy is a myth. I have money and status now. I can have any man I want. This attitude of yours will only hurt the company.” Her voice grew sharper with every word, ending in a cold sneer. “Besides, how would you benefit from a divorce? I’d advise you not to push your luck.” I swiveled in my chair and sighed. I had fallen for Claire because of that fierce confidence, that courage. I admired her pride and her talent. But she didn’t understand. The company had grown far beyond what her abilities could manage. “You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t tolerate betrayal.” I paused, my voice dropping. “No matter how much I loved you, I will not have a wife who cheapens herself with trash like that.” Claire’s hands clenched into fists, her face crimson with rage. “You’re calling me cheap?” She grabbed my collar, her knuckles white. My eyes drifted calmly from Leo back to her, a mocking smile on my lips. “You’re willing to associate with vermin like him. What does that make you?” “Claire, I’m done talking. My lawyer will have the divorce papers on your desk tomorrow. We’re finished.” Her lips trembled, and her grip on my collar slackened. She stumbled back, repeating my words in disbelief. “You… you want to divorce me?” “I won’t accept it!” I gave her a cold look. “It’s already done. What makes you think you have a choice?” I had meetings to attend. I wasn’t about to let this melodrama derail the entire company. I stood up and walked toward the door. Claire tried to follow, but Leo grabbed her arm. “Claire, if you go after him now, he’ll know you can’t live without him!” he hissed. “You’re amazing! You can have any man you want. That old fool doesn’t appreciate you! Besides, you’re the majority shareholder. You can just fire him and become the sole boss!” His words actually made her stop. I walked into the conference room without a backward glance and started the meeting. It was ten p.m. by the time I got home. My phone was ringing incessantly. Claire. I ignored it. She called again. And again. Finally, I answered. “Julian! Come get me,” she slurred, her voice thick with alcohol. The background noise was a deafening wall of electronic music. My first instinct was to hang up. But we were still legally married. If something happened to her, it would be my problem. I grabbed my keys and drove to the bar. The moment I stepped into the private room, a bucket of water crashed down on my head. I dodged, but not fast enough. My shirt was soaked. The metal bucket clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop at Claire’s feet. She was draped over Leo, her arms around his neck, her eyes full of defiance. “Julian, I thought you wanted a divorce. Why did you come running the second I called?” she taunted. “The great Julian Shaw, pathetic as a stray dog you can’t get rid of.” Leo roared with laughter. “Not a stray dog, a drowned rat! Hahahaha!” I took a deep breath, trying to hold on to my last shred of reason. As I turned to leave, Leo leaped off the sofa and grabbed my arm. “Did I say you could leave?” he snarled. “You hit me today. Now we settle the score.” His fist came flying at me. I sidestepped and threw him to the ground. This time, I didn’t hold back. He hit the floor hard, a line of blood trickling from his nose. Claire screamed. “Julian! How dare you hit him again! Do you want to be thrown out of this company?” She raised her hand to slap me, but I caught her wrist and flung it away. I had no idea what nonsense Leo had been feeding her, but it had clearly worked. Leo staggered to his feet. “Stop pretending you’re so noble,” he spat. “You only came running because you’re desperate to keep your job. One word from Claire, and you’re out on the street!” I straightened my disheveled collar as my assistant arrived with a fresh shirt. Their childish provocations were laughable. “Go on then,” I said. “Try me.” The next day at the office, everyone stared at me. I walked calmly to my office, only to find all my belongings piled up outside the door. Leo was lounging in my chair, his feet propped up on my desk. He whistled when he saw me. “You’re fired!” That’s when I noticed the company-wide email from Claire, announcing my termination. In the same breath, she had appointed Leo as the new CEO. I remembered her threats from last night and almost laughed. For years, I had worked in the shadows, quietly building the empire and letting her take all the credit. I had paved the way for her to live out her dream of being a powerful businesswoman. And to protect her from whispers that she’d slept her way to the top, I never let anyone know the extent of my involvement. Only a handful of major shareholders knew who really held the reins. As soon as Claire appeared, they descended. “Claire! You can’t fire Julian! He’s the heart of this company, our cornerstone!” “That’s right! We’d be nowhere without him!” Claire’s lips curled into a cold smile. “So what? I’m the boss here. My decision is final. If anyone has a problem with it, you can get out too.” She thought her threats would silence them. She forgot these were seasoned veterans, not easily intimidated. “Julian built this company from the ground up. If anyone should be leaving, it’s you!” “We all know who’s done the real work and who’s been coasting. You think your shares are all that matter?” “Julian has poured his blood, sweat, and tears into this company for you, and you throw him away for some boy toy? We’ll pull our investments and stand with Julian!” The shareholders tore her apart, their words sharp and merciless. She should have been furious. Instead, she hesitated. With so many people siding with me, could she really win this fight? But Leo couldn’t wait. “Claire, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” he urged. “Get rid of these old fossils, and the company is all yours! You’ll be the undisputed queen, and all the profits will be ours!”

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Framed for a scholarship student’s rape and murder in my past life, I was sentenced to life. My own girlfriend provided the “evidence,” and my parents testified against me. For twenty years in prison, I clung to the hope they had a reason. Upon release, they welcomed me with a lavish dinner—only for me to wake up as a ghost, reading headlines that I’d committed suicide out of guilt. Then I reopened my eyes. I was back on the night it all began. If they were determined to paint me as a monster, fine. I’d become a spectacle—a man hospitalized in front of a live audience, impossible to frame. I hit “Go Live” and started devouring mangoes from a street stall like a madman. “Is this guy crazy?” “The owner’s frozen!” “What a channel launch!” As viewers flooded in, I counted down. Right on time, I collapsed, foaming at the mouth. Darkness. 1 The moment I passed out, the live chat went into a frenzy. “Is he for real? Is this guy nuts?” “Swollen lips, trouble breathing, hives breaking out all over… that’s anaphylactic shock! Someone call 911!” The fruit stand owner’s expression shifted from anger to horrified shock. He stumbled back, hands raised in surrender. Sticky, sweet mango juice coated my hands, the taste in my mouth a cloying mix of sugar and bitterness. Only one thought burned in my mind. Even if I die, I’m dragging every last one of them to hell with me. The wail of the ambulance siren was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. As the paramedics rushed toward me, the fruit stand owner grabbed my hand, his voice trembling. “Son, whatever it is, it’s not worth this. If you die on me, I’ll never sell another piece of fruit in my life!” His words struck me like a physical blow. A complete stranger showed me more compassion in a single moment than my family had in a lifetime. The irony was suffocating. I gripped his hand, my voice a desperate rasp. “Sir, can you do me a favor? Please, keep the livestream running. All the way to the hospital.” In the chaos, unnoticed, I palmed a small fruit knife from his stand and slipped it into my pocket. The chat was a mix of advice and mockery. “Dude, don’t get stuck with his medical bills! It’s not worth it!” “That poor owner. Worst luck in the world, running into this psycho.” “Wait… isn’t that my coworker? He’s usually such a quiet guy. What the hell happened?” Seeing that last comment sent another pang through my chest. The cruel joke was, in my last life, the only people who ever believed in my innocence were my colleagues. I’d been arrested right after work that day, accused of murder. I thought it was a misunderstanding, that I’d be released in no time. Then my father came to visit me. His first words were a command. “Julian, stop being stubborn. Confess. As your father, I can’t cover for you any longer.” I had just stared at him, completely bewildered. The detective on the case, a man named Miles, was a bulldog for justice. He’d grabbed me by the collar, his eyes shot with rage. “You bastard. Do you have any idea she was just eighteen? She’d just gotten into college.” The evidence against me was impossibly perfect. My own girlfriend, Chloe, had submitted the video of me threatening and kidnapping the victim. The fruit stand owner hesitated. I clutched the phone tighter, screaming at the paramedics who were trying to move me. “If you don’t let me keep this stream live, I’m not going to the hospital!” Two of them moved to restrain me. Without a second thought, I pulled the fruit knife from my pocket, my eyes wild with desperation. “You come near me, and I’ll kill myself right here!” The chat exploded. “WHOA! What the hell happened to this guy? He looks genuinely broken. That look in his eyes… that’s not an act.” “He’s completely lost it. I know this guy, he was about to get married. House, car, the whole deal. This makes no sense.” “Fruit stand owner’s internal monologue: Great, the knife is mine too!” A police car pulled up, and the man who stepped out made my entire body go rigid. Detective Miles strode forward, his brow furrowed, but he kept his voice calm and steady. “Son, whatever’s wrong, the police are here to help. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” His words sent a tremor through me. My throat closed up. The live chat fell silent. In my last life, this was the man who had sent me to prison. The fruit stand owner rushed forward. “Kid, I promise, I’ll keep the stream going all the way to the hospital! Just please, don’t hurt yourself!” Every eye was on me. I kept the phone in one hand, the knife in the other. “I don’t trust anyone. Stream it. All of it.” The viewer count surged past twenty million. The owner agreed, taking the phone. I was finally helped onto the stretcher and into the ambulance. The chat was already buzzing with theories of a deeper conspiracy. On the way to the hospital, the police identified me and contacted my parents. My phone rang. It was my dad. The owner held the phone out to me, and I nodded. “Julian, you are such a disappointment. You might as well just die in that hospital.” “Why do you always have to cause a scene? Do you have any respect for me as your father?” “I’m telling you right now, you get online and you apologize to everyone, or you’re not welcome in this house tonight!” He hung up before I could even respond. The chat was split. Some thought my father was in the right; others found him unbearably cold. Detective Miles, riding with us, muttered under his breath, “What a heartless bastard.” The comment reached my ears. I looked over at him, the truth burning on my tongue. But who would believe me? The man in that video looked exactly like me. The police had confirmed it wasn’t a fake. My own parents had given statements against me. What kind of parents would frame their own son? Detective Miles caught my gaze, a flicker of contemplation in his eyes. I thought about the girl, the student who had just started college. I dredged up the memories of that night and crooked a finger at him. I whispered a few words in his ear. Detective Miles shot up so fast he hit his head on the ambulance ceiling. His expression was stone. “Are you serious?” I nodded. This time, let’s see how they frame me now. I lay in a hospital bed, the steady drip of the IV a metronome counting down my fate. The chat was filled with comments of “boring,” “clout-chasing loser,” and “viral attempt failed.” But I had already won. I had twenty million witnesses. Then I saw the time on my phone and a cold dread washed over me. 8:31 PM. It was the time from my nightmare. The timestamp on the video. The moment “I” dragged that girl through the door, tearing at her clothes, spewing vile words. If I’d had more time after reincarnating, I wouldn’t have resorted to something so desperate. My parents never came. Chloe never came. The fruit stand owner, who had stayed with me, looked increasingly grim. “Kid, maybe they have their reasons,” he said, trying to comfort me. “Maybe they’re just caught up. Don’t overthink it. What do you want to eat?” Yeah. Reasons. Right up until the moment they fed me poison, I stupidly believed they’d been threatened, that it was all part of some larger conspiracy. But after they killed me, they had my body cremated immediately and told the media I had died of shame. “You can turn off the stream now,” I told him. As the owner stared at me, confused, his phone rang. He answered, and a voice barked from the other end. “This is Detective Miles. Is Julian Shaw awake?” “Put him on.” He must have been watching the stream. I didn’t take the phone. I just looked into the camera and smiled faintly. “Detective, you want to know how I knew? You’ll have your answer in a few days.” Amidst a flood of question marks from the chat, I ended the broadcast. But the call was still connected. Detective Miles’s voice was tight with anger. “If you knew what was going to happen, why didn’t you stop it? She was only eighteen—” “—her life was just beginning,” I finished his sentence, my voice utterly calm. It was the same line he’d used on me, over and over, during my interrogation in my past life. My life had just been beginning too. I’d just paid off my mortgage, my car loan. I was about to propose to Chloe. Instead, I was betrayed by everyone I loved and thrown in a cage for twenty years. And even then, I never blamed them. When I got out, all I wanted was to live a quiet life with them. They never wanted me to live at all. “Detective,” I said softly, my eyes starting to burn. “Today is my birthday.” I hung up and looked at the fruit stand owner. “Sir, I’d like a bowl of noodles.” He shot to his feet, ready to run out and buy them, but then he sat back down. He pulled out his phone, ordered something, and handed it to me. “Here. You pick what you want. It’s on me. I hope, from now on, you don’t face any more obstacles you can’t overcome.” Last life, I was so busy I didn’t even remember my birthday until the next day. Five days later, I was arrested. The hospital room was dim, but for the first time, it felt like a light had been switched on in my life. As I ate, the owner watched me, his eyes glistening. “My daughter,” he said quietly. “She just started college this year. She’s delivering food to save me some money.” My blood ran cold. The girl who died… she was delivering food to earn extra money too. It couldn’t be a coincidence. “She’s stronger than me,” I said, the only comfort I could offer. “She’s a brave, good kid.” Around midnight, my IV was finished, and I went home. The owner had rushed off after a phone call, but not before I managed to stuff all the cash I had into his pocket. I opened the door. The apartment was clean and tidy, just like last time. Chloe was in bed, murmuring sleepily. “What took you so long? You must be exhausted.” She wrapped her arms around me. My body went rigid. I didn’t dare close my eyes. It was her video that had sent me away for twenty years. I kissed her forehead, just like I always did, and went to wash up. What now? Her familiar, steady breathing filled the room. I took her phone, slipped out into the night, and raced to my best friend Flynn’s house. The moment he opened the door, I shoved the phone at him. “Back up everything on this to my cloud drive. And install a tracker on it.” Flynn yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Jules, man, what’s the rush? Did Chloe cheat on you or something?” “Fifty grand,” I said flatly. “You in or should I find someone else?” “I’m in, I’m in!” He got to work while I crashed on his couch. At five in the morning, I took the phone back, stopping to buy Chloe breakfast on the way home. Flynn’s words echoed in my head. “Bro, I checked everything. There’s nothing on there. You’re being paranoid.” The days passed in a haze of anxiety. I wrote a will and had it notarized. “Upon my death, all my assets are to be donated to charity.” On the fifth day, I was at work when Detective Miles walked up to my desk, his expression grim. “Julian Shaw, you’re a suspect in a rape and murder investigation. You need to come with us.”

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It was a few days after I gave Chad Pei my first time. My brother, Joshua, suddenly called and asked me to dinner. My eyes stung as I looked at the man who, not long ago, had whispered in my ear that he would cherish me for a lifetime. Now, Chad was blushing as he carefully peeled a shrimp for another girl. My brother, oblivious, just grinned at me. “Jealous? Feeling like you want to start dating, too?” I fought back the tears and managed a smile. “Yeah, Joshua. Weren’t Mom and Dad saying they wanted to set me up with someone really great?” “I’m in.” The bowl in Chad’s hand suddenly slipped and crashed to the floor. 1 A waiter quickly came over to clean up the shattered porcelain. My brother shot Chad a confused look. “Dude, what’s wrong with you? Get a girlfriend and you can’t even hold a bowl steady?” The panic on Chad’s face vanished in an instant, so fast I thought I’d imagined it. He leaned back, cool and composed, a slight smirk on his lips. “You got it.” Chloe Fuchs gazed at him, her eyes shy and shimmering like a spring pond. “Oh, stop it.” Chad leaned back in his chair, draping an arm casually over the back of hers, effectively pulling her into his space. He looked down at her, his expression radiating pure adoration. “What, you don’t like hearing that? Hmm?” Chloe gave him a playful shove. My brother covered his face, groaning about their public display of affection. I just kept my head down and focused on my food, pretending not to notice the way Chad’s eyes kept darting in my direction. Joshua returned to our previous conversation. “Lils, were you serious just now? If you’re not joking, I’m totally going to call up Connor Kang and set something up.” My hand tightened around my spoon. I took a sip of soup before forcing another smile. “Of course, I’m serious. Seeing how in love Chad and Chloe are, it just makes me want to find someone, too.” I put extra emphasis on the words in love. Chad’s hand, midway to his mouth with a spoonful of soup, paused for a fraction of a second. Then he turned to Chloe, his voice soft. “Careful, it’s hot.” My brother laughed. “Alright, alright! It’s about time my little sister started dating. I’ll call Connor as soon as we get home.” Clang. The sound of a spoon hitting the table was jarringly loud. Chad’s voice was low. “Sorry. Slipped.” Chloe took his hand, her voice laced with concern. “Did you burn yourself?” Joshua groaned again about being the third wheel, complaining that he shouldn’t have invited me out last minute, forcing me to suffer through their lovey-dovey display with him. Chloe’s cheeks were flushed the color of a sunset. Toward the end of the meal, Chloe excused herself to go to the restroom. Just then, my brother got a call and had to go move his car. Suddenly, it was just Chad and me at the table. He idly flicked a lighter on the table, one eyebrow raised. “Well, look at you, Lily Shen. All grown up.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. “Learned how to play hard to get, have you?” Even a fool could feel the sharp edge in his words. The bitterness I’d been suppressing rose in my chest again, a giant hand squeezing my heart until it ached. I struggled to speak, to force a smile. “What? Is there a rule that says you’re allowed to start fires, but I can’t even light a candle?” Chad’s lips parted, as if to say more, but then Chloe reappeared. He tossed out a hurried sentence. “Don’t overthink it. I’ll explain when we get back.” Then he left me, rising to meet Chloe with a welcoming smile. She said her professor needed her for something, so she had to head back to campus. Chad nodded in understanding, wrapping an arm around her waist to walk her out. Chloe looked back at me apologetically. “We have to go, Lily. See you later.” I just shook my head, mumbling that it was fine. As they left, Chad kept glancing back, but I just stared down at my plate, refusing to meet his eyes. When Joshua returned to an empty table, he was bewildered. “Where’d Chad go? He was supposed to pay today. Did he seriously dine and dash?” I didn’t answer. My brother, still not sensing my distress, just grabbed his coat and went to settle the bill. 2 We were stopped at a red light when Joshua finally broke the silence. “Lils, what’s wrong? You’ve been quiet ever since we left the restaurant.” I forced a smile, trying to change the subject. “Joshua… I think I want to come home.” He slammed on the brakes, his face lighting up with pure joy. “You finally want to come home? Seriously? That’s fantastic! I’m telling Mom and Dad right now. I’ll have Maria redecorate your room, anything you want. Just tell me what you’re thinking, and I’ll make it happen.” As he started driving again, he continued to ramble. “So, when do you want to move back? Today? Is that too soon? Would it be a hassle for everyone?” I looked at him, suddenly anxious. He reached over and affectionately ruffled my hair. “Silly girl, what are you talking about? It’s never a hassle when family comes home. Don’t you worry about a thing. Hey, should we let Chad know?” I shook my head softly. “No, let’s not. It’s a small thing, no need to bother him. I wouldn’t want Chloe to get the wrong idea.” Joshua nodded, then launched into a detailed plan for redecorating my room. I turned my head to the window, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. The trees outside blurred into a green streak. It was on a day just like this that I first went to live with the Peis. When I was three, an old beggar came to our door. After my mother gave him a meal, he looked at me with an unnervingly serious gaze and told her, “If you want this child to see her eighteenth birthday, she must be raised far away from you. Otherwise, she is fated to perish before she turns ten.” My parents dismissed it as nonsense at first. But after my third birthday, I started getting sick. Constantly. The worst time, the hospital issued a critical condition notice. In a moment of panic, my brother reminded my parents of the old man’s words. After much debate, they decided it was better to be safe than sorry. So, they sent me to live with close family friends in the next city over. The Pei family. Chad’s family. I had lived in their home for fifteen years. By the time the car pulled up to the Pei’s villa in the hills, the tear tracks on my face had dried, and my brother was none the wiser. I jumped out of the car, feigning cheerfulness. “Hey, Joshua, just give me a minute. I’ll grab my stuff. I’ll be quick.” The garden in front of the villa was in chaos. Workers were bustling about, digging and planting. Seeing me, the Pei’s housekeeper looked flustered. “…Miss Shen. Why are you back so early?” I was confused at first, until I saw it: all of my luggage, haphazardly piled outside the door to the storage room. The housekeeper rushed to explain. “Young Master Pei said to move you to the east wing room. It’s just… it hasn’t been prepared yet, so we had to put your things here for now. Please, have a seat. I’ll get the staff to speed things up.” A heart I thought couldn’t break any further was brutally gouged once more. I managed a bitter smile. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t their fault. I bent down and began picking up my things, carefully placing my important documents back into my suitcase. The noise from the garden was a constant hum. I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “Why all the sudden landscaping?” The housekeeper answered respectfully. “The young master said there will be a happy occasion in the family soon. The future Mrs. Pei loves lilies of the valley. So we have to clear out the… unimportant plants to make room for them. He had them flown in from overseas yesterday. They’ll be here this afternoon. They’re very precious.” My mind went blank. I loved tulips. I’d mentioned it to Chad several times, how I dreamed of having a field of them in the garden. He’d either frown and say it was too much trouble, or just wave me off and tell me to ask the housekeeper. As a guest in their home, I never felt comfortable making such a frivolous request. But lilies of the valley… they were a hundred times more delicate and difficult to care for than tulips. So, it was never about it being too much trouble. It was about who he was willing to be troubled for. At the very bottom of the pile was a box of things related to Chad. The 9,999 paper cranes he’d folded for me. Our first photo together, both of us careful not to stand too close, terrified his parents might see something. A piece of coral he’d brought back from his first deep-sea dive when he was eighteen. He’d said he hoped we would share many firsts together, that he only wanted to experience the wonders of the world with me. Flashbacks from last night flooded my mind—his arms around me, his voice coaxing me into one more time. It was more nauseating than any soap opera. I had laid in his arms and asked when he would tell our parents about us. He’d said, “Soon.” And soon turned out to be today, a dinner with his girlfriend. Tears fell again. The housekeeper asked gently, “Miss Shen, are you alright? The room in the east wing has the same layout, it gets plenty of sun. It just hasn’t been used in a while, so it’s a bit dusty. If there’s anything you’re not happy with, please just say the word. Otherwise, the young master will be upset with us when he returns.” I shook my head. “There’s no need. I’m going to stay at my family’s home for a few days.” She breathed a visible sigh of relief. I picked up my suitcase and pointed to the box of memories. “Please, throw all of this away for me.” The housekeeper looked stunned, but she eventually just nodded. Fifteen years with the Peis. Today, it was finally over. My brother was slouched in the driver’s seat, playing on his phone. When he saw me emerge, he leaped out to help with my suitcase. “You sure you don’t want to stay a few more days?” he asked. I glanced back at the villa, just a few yards away, and gave a bitter laugh. “No. I’m done.” 3 On the highway home, Chad called. I ignored it, treating it like a spam call. My brother was focused on driving and didn’t notice. He brought up the dinner again. I finally broke, my voice hesitant. “Joshua… how do Chad and Chloe know each other?” My brother sighed, lost in thought. “Ah, Chloe. She’s Chad’s ‘one that got away.’ His dream girl. He’s been single all these years, just waiting for her to come back to him. In high school, he even got suspended for her. She was waitressing, and some customer was harassing her. Chad grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it over the guy’s head. He broke the guy’s ribs, got his own leg broken in the fight, and they both ended up at the police station. Since Chad was a minor, they settled it with money, but because he’d skipped school to be there, he still got suspended.” He shrugged. “That’s what I heard, anyway. I wasn’t at the same high school. You were away at that summer camp, so you probably never heard about it.” My heart, already at rock bottom, plunged into an abyss. So that’s what happened. That summer camp. We were camping at a national park. That night, a few workers from a nearby construction site snuck into our campground. I can still feel it—the calloused hand on my thigh, the sticky, nightmarish feeling that clung to me like a disease. There were screams. I wasn’t the only one. The other girls’ parents arrived one by one, demanding answers. My parents were overseas. My brother was at his dorm and couldn’t get there quickly. I didn’t want to bother Chad’s parents. The only person I could think of was Chad. When I called him, my hands shaking, I expected him to drop everything and come right away. But his voice on the phone was vague. “…I’ve got something going on over here. Can you just hang tight for a bit? Okay? I promise, you’ll see me first thing in the morning. I swear it.” Disappointed, I agreed. The camp put us up in a hotel. I couldn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could smell was the stale smoke on that stranger’s clothes. The next morning, an exhausted-looking Chad appeared at my hotel room door. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I threw myself into his arms and sobbed. He stumbled back, sighing with a mix of helplessness and affection. “Hey, hey, I’m here now, aren’t I? What’s with all the tears?” It was only after I’d cried my eyes out that I noticed he was on crutches. He told me he’d injured himself playing basketball. That he had to sneak past the nurses at the hospital to get here. I was flooded with guilt and sadness. I gently touched his injured leg. “Does it still hurt? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” He gave a wry smile. “It hurts,” he teased. “But if you kiss it better, it might stop.” He froze after he said it, as shocked as I was. Because I actually stood on my tiptoes and placed a soft, fleeting kiss on his jawline. I tried to pull away, mortified, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms. His breathing was heavy, his voice suddenly thick and raspy, as if he was fighting for control. He spoke through gritted teeth, each word deliberate. “Lily! Kissing… that’s the guy’s job.” I just mumbled, “Oh,” my mind a complete blank. “Why are you crying?” My brother’s worried voice pulled me from the memory. He was about to pull over, but I grabbed a handful of tissues and quickly wiped my face, inventing an excuse. “…I was just so moved by Chad and Chloe’s love story.” Joshua looked at me, half amused, half exasperated. “You girls are so sentimental. It’s that easy to make you cry?” He was about to say more when his phone buzzed. The screen lit up with Chad’s name. I turned to stare out the window, terrified my expression would give me away. Chad’s deep voice, laced with a strange anger, filled the car through the speakers. “Joshua, do you have any idea where your sister is?”

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1 I was heading home for the New Year when my wife, Phoebe, gently supported her one true love—a man with a conveniently broken leg—and brazenly shoved a standing-room-only ticket in my face. “Here, this is Mark’s ticket. You two should switch.” When I didn’t move, she nudged me again. “Alan, I’m talking to you. Didn’t you hear me? Mark’s leg is injured; he can’t stand for the whole trip. Give him your first-class seat.” I finally looked up, my gaze cold as I met theirs. My refusal was blunt. “This is my ticket. Why the hell would I give it to Mark Foster?” The phantom pain of being torn apart by a train still radiated through my body. My fists clenched. This time, I would not yield. … Phoebe was stunned by my public refusal, her face flushing with embarrassment. She immediately launched into a tirade, loud enough for everyone around us to hear. “Alan, Mark is a patient! His leg is at a critical stage of recovery. You’re a grown man. Don’t you have an ounce of compassion? You’re perfectly healthy. Can’t you help someone who’s clearly struggling?” Mark, leaning heavily on Phoebe’s arm, hopped pitifully on his good foot and looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Alan, man, I’m not trying to steal your seat. It’s just… look at my leg. I really can’t manage on my own. I wouldn’t be asking if I had any other choice.” He finished with a sad little smile, a perfect portrait of a victim. Their perfectly synchronized performance painted me as a heartless monster. The other passengers, of course, started to chime in. “Come on, the man’s injured. Just give him the seat. It’s not going to kill you.” “If he were my friend, I’d give up my seat in a heartbeat.” “Look at him, he’s practically begging you. How can you be so cruel?” I stared coldly at the chorus of self-righteous strangers. It’s always easy to be generous with someone else’s property, to solve someone else’s problems at another’s expense. In my last life, I caved under their judgment. Bullied by their words, I swapped my ticket with Mark’s. He spent the trip comfortably lounging in the first-class seat I had paid for, scrolling through videos on his phone, while I was relegated to standing in a cramped corridor. I tried to ask him to switch back for just a little while, but Phoebe shut me down immediately. “Don’t bother him,” she’d snapped. “He needs to rest.” I stood for forty agonizing hours in that crowded train car. By the time we arrived, I was exhausted, my legs trembling from fatigue. As I stumbled off the train, I lost my balance and bumped into Mark, who was walking ahead of me. He cried out, clutching his leg. “Alan, what the hell? Just because I sat in your precious seat, you’re going to cripple me for life?” Before I could even explain, Phoebe shoved me violently. “You psycho! Get away from him!” I lost my footing on the slick platform, tumbling onto the tracks below. The last thing I saw was the blinding light of an oncoming train. The last thing I felt was my body being crushed beyond recognition. My death was ruled an accident. It had no impact on Phoebe and Mark’s lives whatsoever. In fact, with me gone, Phoebe legally inherited my house and all my savings. She and Mark moved in together and lived happily ever after. The memory faded, but the ghost of that unimaginable pain still lingered in my bones. I looked at Phoebe, whose entire world seemed to revolve around Mark, and the disappointment was a chasm inside me. Three years of marriage. I thought my devotion, my endless sacrifices, would one day win her heart. But all it earned me was escalating demands and entitled orders. The face I once found beautiful now only filled me with disgust. I crossed my arms and let out a cold laugh. “I bought the ticket. I say no, and the answer is no.” My refusal sent Phoebe into a rage. “Alan, can you stop being so childish? Mark is a patient!” “Oh,” I said, my voice flat. “He’s a patient. So why did he buy a standing-room ticket?” Mark’s face turned beet red. But I wasn’t done. “Buying a standing-room ticket when you know you can’t stand, then trying to guilt-trip someone in first class… If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was some kind of scam. He clearly doesn’t care about his own well-being, so why should I?” I paused, letting my eyes sweep over the crowd. “You’d think I was his father, the way you all expect me to take care of him. But even if he called me ‘Dad,’ I wouldn’t claim him.” Mark, flustered, quickly tried to defend himself. “Alan, how can you say that? You’re the one who bought this ticket for me! How can you turn this around and blame me?” He raised his voice, playing to the audience. “I told you I was injured when I asked you to book it, but you bought me a standing ticket anyway! What were you thinking? How is a patient supposed to stand for that long? Were you trying to make my injury worse?” He swayed dramatically, looking like he was about to collapse. I had to admit, he was quick on his feet, effortlessly shifting the blame back to me. Phoebe, ever the doting nurse, immediately rushed to his side, letting him lean his full weight on her. “Don’t move, you’ll aggravate the wound.” Then she shot me a look of pure loathing. “This is my fault. I asked Alan to help you, but I never imagined he could be so malicious.” The crowd, which had started to quiet down, was instantly riled up again. “Hey, buddy, take it easy. Don’t hurt yourself.” “Don’t worry, we’re here. We won’t let him bully you.” Then, they turned on me. “What is wrong with you? Buying a standing ticket for an injured man? Do you have a heart?” “You look like a decent guy, probably went to college and everything. How could you do something so despicable?” I faced their accusations without flinching. Watching Phoebe and Mark clinging to each other, a small smile played on my lips. “Oh? So you’re saying I’m the one in the wrong here.” My sudden change in tone caught everyone off guard. “Well, if you know you’re wrong, then give the man your seat!” a passenger insisted. “Exactly! Just do the right thing!” I kept my eyes locked on Phoebe and Mark, not missing the fleeting look of triumph they exchanged. They thought they had won. They thought they could take my seat. Not a chance in hell. Just as everyone seemed to relax, my voice, lazy and drawling, cut through the air again. “It’s true. Mark asked me to buy him a ticket.” The crowd looked at me, confused. “He just forgot one little detail. He sent me a hundred dollars and asked me to buy a five-hundred-dollar first-class ticket. I guess he thinks my credit card is his personal ATM.” I spread my hands, my voice dripping with weary sarcasm. “So, tell me, folks. Should I just swallow the loss and be his personal charity, or should I be the sucker who pays for his ride?” The once-furious passengers now stared at me, then shot glances at Mark. He immediately turned his head, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. I sighed dramatically. “Look, I see you’re all very compassionate people, and I’m not a monster. If one of you kind souls would like to offer this patient your seat, I will gladly transfer this one hundred dollars to you right now.” I smiled sweetly. “He is a patient, after all. I’m sure someone here would be happy to help?” The car went silent. The moment their own comfort was on the line, their righteous indignation vanished. No one wanted to get involved in a losing deal. Only Phoebe remained steadfastly by Mark’s side. “Alan, stop trying to guilt-trip other people. This is your fault. Why should they have to fix your mistake?” I smiled at her. So, you do know what guilt-tripping is. It was fine to do it to me, but not to anyone else. The double standard was breathtaking. Our argument finally attracted the attention of a train attendant. “The train is about to depart. Everyone, please return to your seats,” she said sternly. Suddenly, Mark collapsed to the floor, his face contorted in agony. “Ow, ow, my leg! It’s gone numb! I can’t get up!” The attendant rushed to his side. “Sir, what’s wrong?” Mark looked up at her, his brow furrowed. “I… I’m injured. I’m still recovering. And I’ve… I’ve been standing for so long…” He squeezed out a few beads of sweat, his breathing shallow and panicked. Phoebe seized the opportunity, pulling me away from my seat. Without a moment’s hesitation, the attendant helped Mark into my first-class chair. But then, as if pricked by a needle, Mark shot back up, looking at me with a pained expression. “No, I can’t. He… he won’t let me sit here.” His face showed fear, but his tone was pure tattletale. It worked perfectly. The attendant, now fully on his side, physically blocked Mark from getting up and turned to me with a frown. “Is this your seat?” I nodded calmly. Her frown deepened. “Sir, helping those in need is a basic human decency. We’re taught from a young age to give our seats to the elderly, the sick, and the infirm. How can you be so selfish? This gentleman is a patient. We should be offering him our help, not standing by coldly. It won’t kill you to let him sit here. If everyone were as heartless as you, what would be left of our society?” The crowd nodded in agreement. “This guy is unbelievably stubborn. He just refuses to help.” “Yeah, we’ve been trying to talk some sense into him, but he won’t budge.” “Thank goodness you’re here, ma’am. People with no morals need to be taught a lesson.” Phoebe added her own fuel to the fire. “And to think, they’re supposed to be friends. He won’t even give up his seat.” The attendant looked at me with renewed shock. “You know each other? That makes it even worse! How can you be so cold-blooded? To watch your own friend suffer and do nothing? What kind of friend are you?” “I bought the ticket,” I stated simply. Mark jumped in, playing the noble victim. “Ma’am, I know you mean well, but if Alan won’t let me, there’s nothing I can do. I’ll just go to the standing-room car.” That was all it took. The attendant’s protective instincts flared. She firmly pushed the theatrically protesting Mark back into the seat. “That’s enough. You just sit here and rest. No one is going to make you move.” A triumphant glint flashed in Mark’s eyes as he looked at me. “Well, thanks, Alan. I appreciate it.” He held out the standing-room ticket. The attendant gave my shoulder a sharp pat. “Go on, back to your car. We’re about to leave.” Then she bustled off down the aisle. Phoebe immediately sat down next to Mark and began peeling an orange for him, not forgetting to toss a final command over her shoulder. “Alan, if you need anything over there, you can always come back and find us.” Her words were met with murmurs of approval from the nearby passengers, praising what a wonderful woman she was. I stood in the aisle, the useless ticket clenched in my fist. Mark’s pained expression had vanished, replaced by a brilliant smile. “See? Would’ve been easier if you’d just given it to me from the start. You made me stand for so long my leg went numb.” Phoebe cooed at him. “He’s sick in the head. Don’t waste your energy on a psycho.” Mark shot me a smug look as he ate a slice of orange directly from Phoebe’s hand. Anyone watching would have thought they were the married couple. Thinking back, my marriage to Phoebe had been nothing but a joke. She married me for my money, but gave her love to Mark. What a wife. I watched their sickeningly sweet display for a moment longer, then turned and left the first-class cabin. I made my way to the dining car and borrowed a small megaphone. I switched it on and recorded a short message.

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My boyfriend, Liam, had just bought a gorgeous new condo downtown. As I was online, shopping for things to decorate our new home, a jewelry ad popped up on my screen. “Purchase a bracelet from our Luminous Collection and receive a matching pair of earrings, free.” Just a week ago, one evening, Liam had mysteriously produced a velvet box. Inside were those very earrings. I was thrilled. “What’s this for?” I’d asked him. He’d kissed my ear tenderly, murmuring that he was passing a boutique, saw them, and thought they’d look perfect on me. The silver bracelet in the ad looked painfully familiar. I pulled up my best friend Ava’s social media feed. And there it was. A post from that same day: [It feels so good to be cherished.] On her wrist was that exact bracelet. And I, like an idiot, had even commented on her post, telling her she had great taste and that her bracelet was from the same brand as my new earrings. Ava had replied, “Haha, what a coincidence, babe.” A dull ache pulsed in my chest, a bitterness so sharp it almost made me laugh. All the moments I thought were signs of his special affection for me… they were just someone else’s leftovers. I was just the fool holding the freebie, cheering for the main event. 1 It was the week before our engagement party. A group of us from college were at a karaoke bar, playing a rowdy game of Truth or Dare. The energy was high, and after a few rounds, everyone was buzzing. Then, the empty beer bottle spun and pointed directly at Liam. He gave a resigned smile. “Truth, I guess.” A few of our friends exchanged mischievous glances. One of them piped up, “Since you two are getting engaged next week, let’s ask something fitting. What are you planning to name your future kids?” The question made the tips of my ears burn. I instinctively glanced up at Liam. But my gaze met his distant, unfocused stare. For some reason, I found his expression unreadable, complex. He looked down, lost in thought for a moment before snapping out of it. He lifted his head, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. “Haven’t thought of a full name yet, but for a nickname, I like Annie.” The moment he said it, the table erupted. Someone slammed their hand on the table, hooting, “That’s so sweet! You’ve actually got baby names picked out already!” Ava, sitting next to me, joined the laughter. “Annie. That’s a beautiful name.” I shyly peeked at Liam. His eyes flickered to Ava for a split second before darting away. Ava wrapped her arm around my shoulders, ready to share in my happiness like she always did. But I felt her hand, resting on my side, tighten its grip. I turned to her, thinking she was sad about her own past troubles. I quickly hugged her back and changed the subject, and the lively atmosphere returned. When the night ended, Liam and I went home. I was still glowing, secretly pleased by how seriously he was planning our future together. Before we went to sleep, I couldn’t help but ask again, “When did you come up with that name? You never told me.” The rhythm of his breathing beside me hitched for a second. Then he pulled me closer, wrapping his arm around me. His familiar scent filled the air, his breath warm against my neck. “We’re getting engaged, aren’t we? It’s only natural to think about our future kids.” “Still, I think it’s a really lovely name. How did you come up with it?” I murmured, feeling a little shy in his embrace. Liam didn’t answer right away. He just held me tighter. “We can talk about it later. Get some sleep. We have our engagement photoshoot tomorrow.” Figuring he was tired from the party, I didn’t press him. I closed my eyes and drifted off. But a cold sweat drenched my back as a nightmare ripped me from my sleep. I sat bolt upright, my hand pressed against my racing heart, trying to calm myself. That’s when I noticed it. In the dim light of our bedroom, Liam’s phone screen kept flashing to life, message after message rolling in. “Always check your boyfriend’s phone before the wedding.” A line from a stupid meme I’d seen earlier that day slammed into my mind. I never checked his phone. We’d been together for seven years, and I’d always felt cherished and secure. But staring at that glowing screen, a quiet, insistent voice in my head urged me on. As if guided by some unseen force, my fingers reached for it. Before I could even unlock it, another message preview popped up on the screen. I only needed a single glance. My blood turned to ice. A paralyzing numbness shot from my fingertips to the nape of my neck. 2 He probably thought I’d never check. The passcode was still my birthday. The moment the screen lit up, my fingers started to tremble uncontrollably. It was obvious the chat history had been cleared out. Scrolling up, I could only see the last two weeks. As I scrolled down from the top, a fresh wave of cold sweat broke out on my back. She had sent him a photo of herself in lacy lingerie. Liam’s reply: [So beautiful, babe. Kisses.] Further down, she complained about crippling period cramps. Liam had replied with a short, simple message: [I’m on my way.] A roaring sound filled my ears. My hands shaking, I checked the date and time of that message, then switched to my own phone. It was sent five minutes after I had texted Liam that I was at the clinic on an IV for terrible stomach pains, asking if he could come keep me company. An hour later, he had replied to me: [Sorry, babe, stuck in a meeting. Didn’t see my phone. I don’t think I can make it.] And I, being the understanding girlfriend, had told him not to worry. I’d navigated the clinic by myself, clutching my stomach in pain while I registered and paid the bills. It was the middle of summer, but I was shivering as if I’d been plunged into icy water. I kept scrolling down, my movements stiff and mechanical. Soon, I reached the most recent message. “I miss our Annie, Liam. I’m in so much pain.” So that was it. The foundation of our seven-year love story was riddled with holes, rotten to the core. Ava and I had been roommates in college, inseparable from the first day. We’d watched sunrises and sunsets together. We’d stayed up all night talking about life, about love. I had trusted her completely, considered her my truest friend. I even introduced her to Liam right after we started school. We had been together since our first year of high school, and by some miracle, we’d even ended up at the same university. The day I introduced them, they seemed to instantly dislike each other. Ava would even pick out the food Liam put on my plate and replace it with something she’d chosen. I brushed it off as the classic “best friend versus boyfriend” dynamic and tried my best to smooth things over. After dinner, she’d told me she still didn’t like him, saying he was just a pretty face and wasn’t good enough for me. Liam, for his part, looked equally disgusted with her. Sometimes the three of us would play video games together, but they would bicker constantly. Eventually, I stopped inviting them to play at the same time. Then, during our senior year, Ava came to me, trembling, and told me the devastating news. She wouldn’t tell me how it happened, no matter how much I asked. All I could do was hold her tight. “Don’t be scared,” I had told her. “I’ll go with you.” She was terrified of anyone we knew finding out, so she refused to go to the reputable, top-rated hospital I’d researched for her. She insisted on a small, private clinic. During that time, my heart ached for her. For her mistake, for the pale, drawn look on her face. I made her different kinds of light, nourishing broth every day. Whenever I saw her staring blankly at the ceiling, I’d quietly bring her a warm glass of milk. And now, I gripped the phone, my nails digging into my palm. The newest message at the bottom of the screen was a dagger to my heart. I couldn’t breathe. Choking back a sob, I ran to the bathroom. All the happy memories we’d shared shattered like a mirror, the sharp, glittering fragments flying back to slash me to pieces. 3 I stared at my disheveled reflection in the mirror, my knuckles white as I gripped the edges of the sink. Calm down, I told myself. You have to be calm. What was I supposed to do now? Our families had already gone in together on the new condo. We’d met each other’s parents countless times. All our friends and relatives knew we were about to get engaged. The appointment for our engagement photoshoot was tomorrow. How could I possibly untangle this mess? My eyes fell back to the sickening, deceitful chat screen. Trembling, I tapped on Ava’s profile picture. Of course. Her feed was full of posts I’d never seen before. Visible only to Liam. In this secret timeline, she documented their secret romance. The first post was a screenshot from a video game. The caption read: [So much more fun playing with you without a third wheel in the way.] Liam had liked it and commented: [Stick with me, babe. I’ll always be your champion.] Another weekend, she posted a picture of their hands intertwined, showing off a pair of matching rings. A pink heart emoji punctuated the caption: [They say if you make rings with someone you love, you’ll be together forever.] I remembered asking Liam, more than once, if we could go to one of those ring-making workshops for a fun date. What had he said? Childish? Pointless? I zoomed in on the rings in the photo and it hit me— For a while, he had started wearing a silver chain with a ring on it as a pendant. When I’d casually asked where he got it, he’d answered nervously. Then, I never saw him wear it again. On Valentine’s Day, I was beaming over a single rose he’d casually bought from a street vendor. Meanwhile, she had posted a picture of a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses. Her caption: [Sometimes I’m so jealous of her for having you all those years before I did.] Liam’s comment was a kissing-face emoji, followed by: [I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.] I scrolled further up. It was the night of Ava’s birthday. On her public feed, the one I saw, it was just a standard nine-photo collage of her party. Liam, trying to keep up appearances, hadn’t even liked it. But here, on this secret feed, was a single photo. The caption: [The best birthday present.] The picture was of a man’s face in profile, eyes closed in sleep, nestled against a rumpled duvet. It was Liam. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I clutched the phone, gasping for air. That night, Ava had thrown a birthday party for a few friends. She’d had too much to drink, and I was worried about her getting home safely. I asked Liam to drive her home. At the time, I was worried he’d refuse, given how much he supposedly disliked her. He did put up a bit of a fuss, but eventually, he grudgingly agreed. After dropping her off, he called to tell me something urgent had come up at work and he had to go to the office. He didn’t come home that night. How could I have been so blind? The two people who supposedly couldn’t stand each other—my best friend and the man I loved—had been deceiving me all along. Her private feed was a diary of their secret life, a love story unfolding in the shadows. It was as if I was the one who had intruded on their relationship. Her posts were set to be visible for a year. I had no idea how long their affair had been going on. This secret, forbidden relationship had been thriving right under my nose, a toxic vine growing wild and unchecked in a space only the two of them could see. 4 The day I won a national award for a competition I’d entered, I took my best friend and my boyfriend out to celebrate. Now, looking at her private feed, I saw the photo from that night: her high heel hooked around his pant leg under the table. I saw the picture she took when I’d gone to pay the bill: her planting a soft kiss on Liam’s cheek. And when I came back to the table, they were back to ignoring each other, acting as if they couldn’t stand the sight of one another. They were getting a thrill from the danger, from the taboo. On her birthday, while I was at home waiting for my boyfriend to return from his “emergency” at work… She was receiving what she called “the best birthday present.” A last-minute work crisis? Such a flimsy excuse, but it had been enough to override my trust. I doubled over the sink, dry-heaving. And then, later, when I took a week off from my own life to take care of her in the hospital… When I was trying to comfort her, to cheer her up, helping her curse the name of the spineless man who’d done this to her… Was she just looking at a clown? That day, Ava had posted: [You once told me life held the promise of spring peace and summer quiet, of autumn serenity and winter calm. But in the end, I couldn’t keep our little one.] Liam hadn’t commented. The cleared chat history hid whatever comforting words he must have sent. Every word was a nail in my heart, but I forced myself to keep reading through the stabbing pain. So the name he’d chosen had nothing to do with me. The embryo I had helped my best friend get rid of… its name was Annie. The irony was suffocating. If I had never found out, would he have suggested we give our future child that same name? I slid down to the cold bathroom floor, unsure if I was feeling more anger or more sorrow. Scenes from our past flashed through my mind like a chaotic movie reel. The whole thing was so absurd I almost wanted to laugh. This is it. It has to end. I quickly typed out a message to my parents, then canceled tomorrow’s photoshoot appointment. Every tap of the screen felt like a hammer blow, sealing my fate. As I stared blankly at the screen, another message from Ava popped up on Liam’s phone. “I’m so sad. Can you come over and be with me?” Even knowing everything, seeing it happen in real-time was a fresh kind of agony. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant fist. I scrambled back to the sink and twisted the faucet on full blast. Cold water splashed onto my face. The roar of the water mixed with my choked sobs, and my ears began to ring. The noise finally woke Liam up. “Rachel? Rachel? What’s wrong?” I heard his footsteps approaching the bathroom door. I wiped the water from my face, smoothed my clothes, and ran my fingers through my hair. Then I opened the door, looked straight at Liam, and pressed the voice note button on his phone. “Of course, babe. I’m on my way. And just so you know, there are no refunds on this offer.” 5 A soft ding confirmed the voice message had been sent. Liam stared at me for a few seconds, his face slack with confusion. Then, as realization dawned, he lunged forward and snatched the phone from my hand. I tilted my head, savoring the look on his face. He stared at the sent message, then back at me. Panic and desperation warred in his expression, his mouth twisting into a stiff, unnatural smile. “Rachel, listen to me, I can explain. It’s not what it looks like…” His voice was just noise. I pushed past him and walked out of the room. I pulled out my suitcase and looked around our cozy little home. We’d picked out that wardrobe together. The wallpaper was my favorite color. The matching pairs of slippers and toothbrushes—every little detail was a cruel reminder of the beautiful dream that had just been shattered. I forced myself to stop looking and started mechanically packing my things. Liam was still behind me, babbling excuses. The zipper of my suitcase made a sharp click as I pulled it shut. I stood up. Liam was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. He reached a hand out as if to stop me, but then let it fall. “Rachel… please, just give me a chance. Don’t go.” I looked up, taking one last, long look at the man I had loved for seven years. The same familiar face, the same features that, for a fleeting moment, overlapped with the image of the boy I had fallen for all those years ago. But then, images of him and Ava flooded my mind, crushing the last vestiges of emotion I had left. The one who loves is always willing to forgive. The one who doesn’t is always looking for a thrill. My love had blinded me to his faults, and in doing so, had fanned the flames of his betrayal. I let out a soft sigh. “Get out of my way.” On the way to the airport, my phone buzzed incessantly. I silenced it and stared out the window, watching the world blur past. Right before boarding, I finally glanced at the messages. There were calls and texts from my parents, from Liam, and from Ava. I only replied to my parents, telling them not to worry. A while back, a senior from my college who I was close with had asked me to join her in starting a business in Seacrest City. The project was perfectly aligned with our major, and the founding team was made up of the top students from our year’s competitions. They had the funding and the management sorted out; all they needed was my technical expertise. I had turned her down, saying I was planning to get married and settle down here. The moment my flight landed in Seacrest, I called her. She was ecstatic. “This is amazing! You’re a lifesaver, Rachel. I can’t wait to see you.” This strange, new city was about to become the first chapter of the rest of my life. 6 My first day at the new company was a whirlwind of meetings and handovers. The jam-packed schedule seemed to dilute my pain, spreading it thin until it was almost manageable. When I accidentally opened my message history, the red notification dots revealed a long, rambling essay from Liam. His tone shifted from desperate pleading to a pathetic attempt to save face, and finally, to frustrated anger when I didn’t reply. “Rachel, it’s not what you think with Ava. You’ve completely misunderstood!” “We were supposed to have our photoshoot today. Where are you?” “I just made a mistake, the same mistake any man would make!” “Please come back. Can we just talk about this?” I calmly read through his ridiculous messages, a wave of disgust washing over me, eclipsing the dull ache in my heart. If I can’t fix the problem of your infidelity, I can at least fix the problem of you. The next day, as I was online shopping for things for my new apartment, a jewelry ad popped up on my screen. “Purchase a bracelet from our Luminous Collection and receive a matching pair of earrings, free.” That night, when Liam said he had a little surprise for me, I was so happy, thinking it was just one of his sweet, spontaneous gestures. I wore them every day. I even took selfies with them on. A cold realization washed over me. I navigated to Ava’s social media feed. And there it was. A post from that same day: [It feels so good to be cherished.] On her wrist was that exact bracelet. And I had even commented on her post, praising her good taste, blissfully pointing out that her bracelet was from the same brand as my earrings. Ava’s reply: “Haha, what a coincidence, babe.”

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“$28,000 a month. Sign it, or get out.” My landlady was certain I was trapped. I’d sunk over a million into renovating this place; moving was out of the question. I looked at her triumphant face as my phone buzzed quietly in my pocket. It was a text from my husband: Honey, I nailed it. The new place is $3,500 a month. Signed for eight years. A slow smile spread across my face. “Patrice,” I said, my voice full of carefully crafted hesitation, “this is a big decision. I need to talk it over with my husband.” 1 “Let me be perfectly clear, Clara,” my landlady, Patrice, announced, her voice dripping with finality. “Four storefronts, $28,000 a month. Not a penny less.” She daintily flicked a piece of non-existent lint from her mink coat, her gaze refusing to meet mine. “Either you sign the new lease, or I want you and all your junk cleared out by the end of the month.” Behind her stood the embodiment of my life’s work for the past three years: four connected storefronts, now a single, sprawling space. It was a beacon of light and activity, the undeniable jewel of this otherwise forgotten stretch of downtown. Her audacity was so extreme it was almost funny. “Patrice, our contract explicitly states that after three years, the rent will be adjusted to the market rate,” I said, keeping my voice even. “The rates on this entire street are dropping. Mr. Henderson next door, who has an even better location, just lowered his rent from $5,000 to $4,000.” I pushed a proposal across the table. “I’m offering to renew at the original $15,000, plus a ten percent increase. That’s $16,500. I think that’s more than fair.” “Market rate?” Patrice let out a theatrical laugh, as if I’d just told the world’s most hilarious joke. “Clara, darling, get a clue. Who do you think set the market rate on this street?” She pointed a perfectly manicured, blood-red nail towards the bustling street outside. “What did this place look like three years ago? A mud path with barely a working streetlight!” A hot, sour wave of anger rose in my chest. “I remember exactly what it looked like! It was me, Clara, who took over these four leaking, dilapidated shacks and sank a million dollars into turning them into what they are today!” I retorted, my voice rising. “And now that the street is thriving, you want to kick me to the curb?” “Oh, listen to you, Saint Clara the Developer,” she sneered, her eyes filled with undisguised contempt. “You think you brought this street back to life? Fine. Try leaving. Let’s see where you stack all this inventory without my property. Let’s see how many of your precious customers can even find you then.” Her words were a poison-tipped dagger, and they found their mark. Just six months ago, I’d poured another huge sum into a complete renovation, confident in the future of this location. Now, with the holiday season approaching—the busiest time of year for my business—the timing couldn’t be worse. Move? Find a new location? Renovate all over again? I couldn’t afford to lose the time, the money, or the energy. She knew it. She knew my million-dollar investment had me nailed to this spot. That’s why she felt bold enough to jack up the rent from a reasonable $3,800 per unit to a predatory $7,000. For the past two weeks, she’d ignored my calls, replying to my texts with cold, dismissive phrases: If you can afford it, rent it. If not, plenty of others can. I could practically see her smug face through the screen. “Clara, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Patrice said, rising to her feet and looking down at me. “You’ve put so much money into this place. It would all be for nothing if you had to move. It’s tough for a woman to run a business. Don’t let your pride get in the way of a few thousand dollars. Sign for twenty-eight, and I guarantee your business will be better than ever.” Looking at her face, a canvas of greed and arrogance, the last flicker of hope I had for a reasonable compromise died. I said nothing, just met her gaze with a calm, steady look. She mistook my silence for the final struggle before surrender. A victorious, cat-and-mouse smile played on her lips. Just then, my phone vibrated gently in my pocket. That faint buzz was like an electric shock straight to my heart. I pulled out my phone. A text from my husband, Thomas. Honey, I nailed it. The property exchange unit in the South End. 19-foot ceilings, same square footage as your current place. I’ve already got a designer on it. We can build a four-story mezzanine. Double the usable space, and a bigger outdoor area. And guess what the rent is? My heart skipped a beat. I held my breath. $3,500 a month. The landlord, Mr. Harrison, is a great guy. Signed for eight years, no rent increase for the first five. He said he’s moving abroad to be with his daughter and told us to do whatever we want with the place. He even said to ignore any local busybodies. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed a single word back: Perfect. Then, I slowly lifted my head and met Patrice’s triumphant gaze. I smiled, a warm, harmless smile. “Patrice, this is a really big decision. I have to go home and discuss it with my husband.” I furrowed my brow, injecting the perfect amount of hesitation into my voice. “Could you give me… three days?” “Fine,” she said with a magnanimous wave of her hand, as if bestowing upon me a great favor. “But you’d better think carefully. An opportunity like this doesn’t come around twice.” She swayed out of the store, her back radiating smug satisfaction. She had no idea. It wasn’t an opportunity I was about to miss. It was her. She was about to become a part of my past. In this high-stakes game she thought she’d already won, she had just revealed her hand. And in doing so, she had already lost everything. 2 The moment Patrice was gone, I called Thomas. “How is it? Is this Mr. Harrison for real?” I whispered, hurrying into the stockroom and closing the door behind me. “Relax, honey,” Thomas’s voice crackled with suppressed excitement. “I had someone check him out. He’s an old-timer who got a massive payout from a city development deal. He owns several commercial properties; he’s not hurting for cash. His daughter is settled overseas, and he’s moving to be with her permanently. Probably won’t be back for years.” He continued, “I had my friend in the legal department look over the contract. It’s iron-clad. He even added me on social media before he left and told me if anyone gives us trouble, just block them and focus on the business.” The knot of anxiety in my stomach finally loosened. “You’re amazing, Thomas!” “Of course, I am. I’m your husband, aren’t I?” he said, his voice beaming with pride. “This Patrice… she really thinks we’re just a couple of pushovers she can squeeze for every last drop. I’ve been sick of her for years! When we first came here, those storefronts were like pigsties, leaking and moldy. She practically begged us to take them.” “And now that we’ve made a success of it, she thinks she can bleed us dry. Not a chance.” He was right. Three years ago, we were just starting out, counting every penny. This street was a forgotten corner of the city, plagued by poor planning. Patrice’s four storefronts had been vacant for almost two years, the walls peeling, the windows broken. But I saw its potential, its unique position connecting the old city with the new developments. I was the one who convinced a hesitant Thomas to take the plunge. We did the work ourselves, clearing mountains of trash, painting walls in old clothes, learning how to lay electrical wiring from online videos. We transformed that ruin into our dream. For the first three years, business was slow. We barely broke even. But we persevered, building a reputation for quality and service, slowly but surely drawing people back to the street. The number of shops grew from just ours to ten, then twenty. You could say that this street was our baby, a child Thomas and I had raised from nothing. And Patrice was the bully trying to snatch it away now that it was all grown up. “So, what’s the plan, honey? Do we tell her to shove it?” Thomas asked. “No,” I said, my eyes catching the bustling scene outside the window, a cold glint in them. “That’s too easy.” “She thinks I can’t survive without her? I’m going to show her that not only can I survive, I can thrive beyond her wildest imagination. I just told her I need three days. Those three days are her last moments of delusion. Her last shred of dignity.” “And for us,” I continued, “it’s time to launch the Lightning Plan.” “The Lightning Plan?” “Exactly.” I took a deep breath, my mind racing, every neuron firing with adrenaline. “Get the most reliable construction crew you can find for the new place. I want them working in two shifts, 24/7. You already have the designs. Electrical, mezzanine, interior finishing—I want the best materials and the fastest possible speed. Money is no object; I have two million in our business account ready to go. I have only one requirement: in twenty days, it has to be ready to open.” Thomas gasped on the other end of the line. “Twenty days? Clara, that’s… that’s insane. It’s a military operation.” “It’s because it’s insane that she’ll never see it coming,” I said, my voice firm and unwavering. “Right now, she’s at home, feet up, waiting for us to come crawling back in three days, begging to sign her ridiculous lease. The more certain she is of that, the bigger the ‘surprise’ will be.” “For the next twenty days, it’s business as usual here. In fact, we’ll do even better, so her spies see that we’re too busy making money to think about anything else. You oversee the new construction. I’ll handle the daily operations here and keep Patrice on the hook. We’re going to pull off the ultimate deception.” Thomas was silent for a few seconds. Then, his voice came back, filled with the same fierce excitement that I felt. “Alright. Let’s do it. Let’s blow her mind.” After hanging up, I stepped out of the stockroom, my face a mask of calm, friendly professionalism once more. Mia, one of my employees, saw me and asked with concern, “Clara, that… that landlady. She didn’t give you too hard of a time, did she? She looked furious.” I smiled and patted her shoulder. “It’s fine. Just business negotiations. Don’t worry about her. Everyone, let’s focus. We hit our targets this month, and I’m giving out double bonuses!” “Yes! Thank you, Clara!” A cheer went through the store, shattering the tense atmosphere Patrice had left behind. Seeing the renewed energy in my team, my own resolve hardened into steel. Just you wait, Patrice, I thought. You’re about to learn the true meaning of regret.

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1 In my last life, my mother was in a car accident, hemorrhaging badly. I begged my brother to bring our adopted sister, Lily, to the hospital to donate blood. Lily and my mother shared the same rare, Rh-negative blood type. But after giving blood, Lily walked into the ocean under the cover of night. She left a note, accusing our family of treating her as nothing more than a walking blood bank. My brother, Andrew, handled her funeral with a chilling calm, even comforting me, telling me not to blame myself. But then, on my birthday, he dragged me to the hospital rooftop. “You’re just that vicious, aren’t you?” he’d hissed, his voice raw with hatred. “You drove her to depression, you conspired with Mom to fake this whole emergency.” “You killed Lily. Now you’re going to die to atone for her sins.” Then, he pushed me off the roof. I died with my eyes wide open, full of disbelief. When I opened them again, I was back on the day of the car accident. … The screech of tires and a violent impact yanked my drifting consciousness back to reality. I blinked, finding myself cradled in my mother’s arms. My eyes instantly welled with tears. The scene was so painfully familiar. In my last life, she had shielded me just like this, and it had caused her to bleed out. “Mom, are you okay?” “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m fine.” But I could see the blood, a dark stain spreading rapidly from her abdomen. How could she be fine? I fought back tears and fumbled for my phone, dialing for an ambulance. My hands trembled as I pressed down on her wound, trying to slow the bleeding. I caught my reflection in a shard of the shattered car window—a face filled with grim determination. A world away from the weak, helpless girl I had been before. In my past life, I had been paralyzed with fear, my first instinct to call Andrew for help. He hadn’t believed me at first, wasting precious time before finally agreeing to take Mom to the hospital. That delay cost her dearly. Though she survived, she was paralyzed from the waist down, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. The ambulance arrived quickly, and I rode with my mother to the hospital. They rushed her into surgery the moment we arrived. I stood guard outside, my eyes glued to the closed doors. This time, I didn’t wait. Even before a doctor spoke to me, I was posting on a community support group, pleading for anyone with Rh-negative blood to come forward. I couldn’t pin all my hopes on Andrew and Lily again. But more options meant more hope. I still called him. “Mom was in a car accident. She’s losing a lot of blood and needs an Rh-negative transfusion. Can you bring Lily…” “Are you still playing these games?” he cut me off, his voice dripping with contempt. “Are you so vicious you can’t even let her have a peaceful birthday?” My heart plummeted. “No, it’s true, Mom is really…” “Shut up. Mom’s fine, and the hospital isn’t short on blood.” His voice was ice. “This time, I’m going to protect Lily. I won’t let you bully her again.” Just then, a doctor came out. He informed me that the hospital’s supply of Rh-negative blood was critically low. Andrew heard him over the phone. He actually scoffed. “Wow, you even hired actors to play along with your little drama?” Panic seized me. “Mom is hemorrhaging, Andrew! She’s in critical condition! Please, just bring Lily to the hospital!” My voice was sharp with desperation, cracking with a sob. “Sister, why do you love torturing me so much?” Lily’s voice, full of feigned innocence and wounded accusation, came through the phone. “Can’t you let me have just one nice birthday?” “Still using Mom as an excuse,” Andrew’s voice was cold, certain. He had already convicted me. “You just had to pull this stunt on her birthday.” “Andrew, I’m not lying!” Tears streamed down my face. “Enough!” he roared. “You think I’ll fall for your tricks again? You’re always jealous of Lily, always finding ways to make her miserable. I’m not letting you get away with it this time.” He hung up. I stood there, clutching the phone, the dial tone a final, cold insult. I sagged against the hospital wall, consumed by a helpless rage. Just as I was about to give up, a message popped up in the support group. “City Hospital? I’m Rh-negative and I’m just around the corner.” I wiped my tears, my fingers flying across the screen. “Yes, yes!” “Okay, on my way.” Five minutes later, a series of angry voice messages came from the same person. I pressed play. A middle-aged man’s voice exploded from the speaker. “Are you kidding me? You post a fake emergency just to get back at your sister? Don’t you think people have better things to do? You’re sick!” The subsequent messages were just as brutal. I felt like I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. How? Why would he… It had to be Andrew. It had to be. The group chat erupted with insults. “What kind of person jokes about this in a medical support group?” “Takes all kinds, I guess. Someone kick her out.” My body started to shake. Anger, despair, and helplessness threatened to swallow me whole. My nails dug into my palms, but I felt no pain. I scrambled to reply. “No, it’s not fake! The patient is really hemorrhaging!” I quickly sent a photo of the hospital’s diagnostic report. “We’re at City Hospital, you have to believe me. Please, please, you have to come save my mom.” The chat went quiet for a moment. Then, a few dissenting voices appeared. “Anyone else near the hospital? Maybe check it out? What if it’s real?” “Yeah, that report looks legit.” The man with the Rh-negative blood messaged again. “I’ll come back one more time. You’d better not be lying.” A wave of relief washed over me. I thanked him profusely. While I waited, I scrolled through my contacts, calling anyone I thought might be able to help. But every call was a dead end. Wrong blood type, out of town, no answer. My only hope was the man from the group. A hope that was soon shattered. Another volley of voice messages. “I swear to god, I’m going to kill someone. Do you think it’s fun to lie to me over and over again?” I replied instantly. “No, I’m right outside the operating room. If you don’t believe me, you can ask a doctor. The accident was on Westminster Avenue.” “You’re still lying! I just asked a doctor!” his voice boomed, filled with rage. “He told me the Westminster Avenue accident was minor. The patient just has some scrapes and doesn’t need a transfusion!” “No, that doctor is lying to you! He’s lying!” The moment I sent the message, I was kicked from the group. I tried to rejoin. Request denied. Again. Denied. Again and again. I couldn’t take it anymore. I slid to the floor, sobbing. Then, my phone rang. It was Dr. Mark Evans, Andrew’s friend. “Stop making a scene, Clara. I had the admin kick you out,” he said, his voice cold. “Your brother was right. Your mother spoiled you rotten. Using these kinds of dirty tricks just to pick a fight with your sister is pathetic. Lily’s been through enough. Just leave her alone and let her enjoy her birthday.” The words stuck in my throat. I could only weep silently. He hung up, and my hope died with the call. But Andrew wasn’t finished. He called me. “Clara, you really never learn, do you? Still lying to people in the support group?” “If anything happens to Mom,” I rasped, my voice raw with hatred, “I will never forgive you or Lily.” There was a pause. Then, he laughed. “You? What are you going to do? After Lily’s party is over, I’m bringing her home. And I’m going to make sure Mom finally teaches you a lesson. A jealous shrew like you shouldn’t be living under the same roof as Lily. I’m kicking you out.” I listened, numb. Was that a human on the other end of the line, or a monster wearing my brother’s face? He used to adore me. But all of that vanished the day Lily was adopted. With our mother constantly traveling for work, Andrew was the one who raised us. But every time Lily shed a tear, Andrew would assume I was the cause. At first, I would defend myself, but that only earned me harsher lectures and even more coddling for Lily. And now, with our mother’s life hanging in the balance, all he could think about was Lily’s birthday and throwing me out of the house. The hatred inside me festered. I hated Andrew’s blindness, Lily’s hypocrisy, and my own past weakness. The light above the operating room door glowed red. Every second that passed was a hammer blow to my heart. Just as I was about to sink into total despair, a strange number called. I hesitated, then answered. “Hello? Are you the one looking for Rh-negative blood for your mother? I’m a nurse at City Hospital. I saw your post in the group.” “Yes, yes, that’s me,” I choked out. “Okay, don’t cry, sweetie. I found a record of a former patient with Rh-negative blood. I’ll send you his contact info. It’s worth a shot.” It was a lifeline. I thanked her profusely and immediately dialed the number. When the call connected, I explained the situation, my voice trembling. The man on the other end was silent for a moment. “I can donate,” he finally said. “But I’ll need compensation. A million dollars.” I agreed without a second’s hesitation. I would have given anything to save my mother. Ten minutes later, he arrived. I rushed him toward the doctor’s office, but we were intercepted by Mark Evans. “What the hell are you doing now? Are you still causing trouble?” The donor looked at me, confused. “Go to the blood donation center,” I told him quickly. “The patient’s name is Eleanor Vance. Just tell them you’re donating for her.” He nodded, still skeptical, and turned to leave. Mark tried to stop him. I wasn’t going to let him interfere again. I flew at him, a wild animal, hitting him with my fists. He and Andrew were the same, blinded by their biases. If it weren’t for him, my mother would have already been safe. I hated him. My look of pure hatred seemed to stun him. For a moment, he forgot to fight back. Hospital security had to pull me off him. A crowd was gathering. The hospital director appeared. “What’s going on here?” “Director, she’s the sister of a friend of mine,” Mark said, trying to regain his composure. “She’s just having a tantrum, making a scene at the hospital.” I struggled against the guards. “Mark Evans, you’re a fool! If I wanted to have a tantrum, why wouldn’t I just go crash Lily’s birthday party?” Mark froze, then blustered, “Your brother said Mrs. Vance was in an accident, and you were using it as an excuse to lure Lily here to give blood. You want to make her think we all see her as a walking blood bank. She’s already depressed; you’re trying to push her over the edge.” I laughed, tears streaming down my face. I turned to the director. “You all heard him. This doctor, Mark Evans, has been actively obstructing my attempts to save a patient’s life. My mother is in that operating room, hemorrhaging from a car accident, and he has been misleading potential donors and had me kicked out of a support group.” “She’s a liar!” Mark insisted. “I’ve known her for years. I’ve been to her house. She bullies Lily constantly!” The director, a man of reason, turned to a nearby nurse for confirmation. The nurse spoke softly. “Director, it’s true. The patient is this young lady’s mother. She was in a bad car accident, she’s Rh-negative, and she’s in surgery right now.” Mark’s face went white. “No… that’s impossible…” The director ignored him and headed for the operating room. Mark followed, stumbling like a man in a daze. … The red light above the door remained on, a stark reminder of the battle being waged inside. I finally sat down, my body trembling with exhaustion. Mark was shaking too, staring at me in disbelief. “How could this… but your brother and Lily…” I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the door. He kicked a trash can in frustration and started frantically calling Andrew. After a long time, the call connected. “What?” Andrew’s voice was annoyed. “Andrew, your mother is really in surgery. It’s serious.” “Heh. So Clara got to you, too?” Mark slammed his fist against the wall. “You’re going to get me fired, you bastard! Your mother is dying and you’re celebrating a birthday?” “Whatever. I’ve got to go cut the cake for Lily.” “You…” The line went dead. Mark turned to me, his face a mask of guilt. “Clara, I’m so sorry. Your brother… he completely misled me. I’ll add you back to the support group right now. I’ll clear everything up.” I stared at him, my eyes like ice. “It’s useless. No matter what you do, I’m holding you accountable. Your career is over, Mark. You’re a disgrace to your profession.” He froze, his face ashen. He wasn’t innocent in my past life, either. He had a crush on Lily and had helped her hurt me more than once. He was the reason Andrew was able to get me to the rooftop alone. Just before Andrew pushed me, a security guard had walked by. Mark had been the one to send him away. I would make them all pay. And I would make sure my mother knew the truth about the son she loved and the girl she had taken in. Two hours later, the operating room doors opened. “Congratulations,” the surgeon said, smiling. “The surgery was a success.” For the first time that day, I smiled through my tears. My mother was moved to a regular room. Around 9 p.m., she slowly woke up. “Mom.” “Don’t cry, my girl. As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters.” “Mom, Andrew and Lily…” She raised a weak hand and stroked my cheek. “Don’t worry. This time, Mom will protect you. I’m so sorry, my sweet girl. I wasn’t there for you. I let you suffer for so many years.”

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