After graduation, the whole family went on a trip to the coast. My sister, having forgotten her favorite bikini, demanded I make the two-hour drive back home to get it. When I refused, my father slapped me so hard my lip split. My mother blamed me for not reminding my sister, insisting I had to be the one to go back. Humiliated and heartbroken, I broke down sobbing. My parents, calling me a disgrace, locked me in the vacation condo to “think about what I’d done.” When the three-hundred-foot tsunami came, I had no way to escape. I was swallowed alive by the wave. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that moment, with my sister demanding I go home and get her bikini. I nodded meekly. “Of course. I’ll go get it. You guys have fun at the beach.” 1 “Sadie, are you listening? Get in the car and go get my bikini. The blue one. I need it if I’m going to get in the water!” The familiar, imperious voice snapped me back to reality. A tremor went through my entire body. I stared, breathless, at my sister, Brooke. She was tearing through her suitcase, frustration etched on her perfect face. She couldn’t find the designer bikini she’d bought specifically for this trip. My parents were fluttering around her, trying to help, their words a useless balm. They urged me to just go, to make the drive before Brooke started to cry. This was… My head whipped around to look at the window, at the calm, sapphire-blue ocean. A sharp, phantom pain prickled my skin. It became hard to breathe, as if a giant hand were squeezing my lungs shut. Down below, on the street, a little girl on her father’s shoulders was squealing with delight. “The ocean is so pretty, Daddy!” It was all too familiar. Frighteningly familiar. I was back. I had been reborn into the first day of our family vacation. Reborn four hours before a three-hundred-foot tsunami would obliterate everything. We had only been in the condo for ten minutes when Brooke started her tantrum about the bikini. I get carsick. I’d already thrown up twice on the way here. The thought of another four hours in a car, alone, was a special kind of hell. In my first life, I had refused. I told them I felt sick, that we could just buy her a new one at any of the countless shops lining the boardwalk. After all, the swimsuit they’d bought for me was a twenty-dollar afterthought from a roadside stand. My refusal was met with a barrage of parental fury. “Do you have any idea what the material in those cheap suits could do to your sister’s skin? What if she has an allergic reaction?” “You’re the older sister, Sadie. Is it so hard for you to help her out for once? I swear, you’re just selfish, always in a rush to have your own fun. You’re eighteen years old, act like it!” The usual lecture. The usual comparisons. Brooke was bubbly and adored; I was quiet and withdrawn. Brooke could talk her way into anything; I was silent and sullen. I could only stand there, my jaw tight, saying nothing. “Look at you with that dead-fish expression,” my father had sneered. “No wonder you only got into community college. “Your sister is going to Duke. She has a real future. And you? What’s the point of you? Running an errand is the most useful thing you can do, and you can’t even do that without complaining!” My silence always enraged my father. His words grew sharper, more venomous. He had conveniently forgotten why I was only going to community college. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Maybe he just didn’t care that he’d ended up in the hospital from a drinking binge the week before my SATs. My mother and Brooke had both claimed they were too exhausted to deal with him, so I was the one who spent my nights in a hospital chair instead of studying. Running on no sleep, I bombed the exams. My family refused to even consider letting me retake them or apply again next year. They wanted me in a two-year program, out, and earning money as soon as possible. They all remembered. They just thought it was perfectly reasonable. As long as Brooke got into a good school, that’s all that mattered. As long as Brooke was happy. When Brooke wanted a beach vacation after graduation, my parents booked it instantly. I was just lucky enough to be brought along. The first real vacation they’d ever taken me on in my nineteen years of life. Of course, I was the one who had to carry almost all the luggage up three flights of stairs. And now, I was supposed to drive two hours back to get a bikini. 2 “Sadie, are you deaf? I told you to go get my bikini!” Brooke’s voice turned shrill, slicing through my daze. I pulled back from the window, a cold dread washing over me. The peaceful, sun-drenched ocean outside might as well have been a monster baring its teeth. Who could possibly imagine that in four hours, a terrifying wave would surge from the deep and destroy everything in its path? “Sadie, this is your fault for not reminding her. You know how she gets. Now go!” my mother snapped, glaring at me. I took a deep breath, trying to push away the paralyzing fear of the wave. I looked at my mother. Why would I remind her? I didn’t know she’d forget. And why is it my job to remember for her? The last time, I had dared to ask that question out loud. In response, my father had lunged, the back of his hand catching my mouth. The blow sent me sprawling to the floor. “When I tell you to do something, you do it! Can’t you see your sister is upset?” he had roared, ignoring the blood trickling from my lip. That slap had shattered me. For nineteen years, I had tried to understand what I had done wrong, why my own family treated me with such disdain. The injustice of it all finally broke me, and I started to wail, a raw, hysterical sound that I couldn’t control, sobbing until I nearly passed out. This only annoyed Brooke more. She stormed out of the condo, shouting that she was going to the beach and I had better have her bikini ready when she got back. They were staying for three days; if she couldn’t wear it today, she would wear it tomorrow. My parents, looking disgusted, kicked me a few times for good measure before locking me in the room. “Crying won’t solve anything,” they’d spat. “You stay in here and think about your attitude. You can come out when you’re ready to go get the damn swimsuit.” Then they left, the sound of the lock clicking shut echoing in the silent room. As if I were a piece of luggage to be left behind. I had huddled on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees, my body shaking with silent, soul-crushing sobs. Hours later, as dusk began to fall, the calm ocean suddenly churned. The tide pulled back with an unnatural speed, and then, the water began to boil. By the time I realized what was happening, a colossal, three-hundred-foot wave was charging toward the shore like an avenging god. I screamed, throwing myself at the door, twisting the locked knob until my skin was raw. It wouldn’t budge. I ran to the window, shouting for help, just in time to see my parents dragging Brooke to the car. They glanced up. I know they did. We were only on the third floor. They saw me. But they didn’t hesitate. They jumped in the car and sped away without a backward glance, disappearing in seconds. I died in a tsunami that felt like the end of the world. 3 “Sadie, are you mute? I’m asking you one last time. Are you going to get my bikini or not?” This was Brooke’s third demand. She was officially furious, her face flushed and blotchy. Because I hadn’t said a word. My father was already moving toward me, his hand raised to strike. The scene was about to repeat itself. I would be beaten, locked up, and left to die. I quickly sidestepped, forcing a smile onto my face. “Brooke, don’t be mad. This trip is all about you. I’ll do whatever you want.” I turned to my father. “Dad, while I’m home, should I grab that bottle of Maker’s Mark you like? You could have some with dinner tonight.” My father’s hand froze mid-air. The anger on his face lessened. “That’s more like it. Go on, then. Four hours round trip. You’ll be back before dark, plenty of time to have some fun.” He lowered his arm and turned to Brooke. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. Dad will take you out on the jet skis.” “I want to go on the helicopter tour, too. For pictures,” Brooke demanded. I knew about the helicopter tour. Eight hundred dollars for ten minutes. If I had ever asked for something like that, my father would have kicked me out of the room. But for Brooke, he agreed instantly. My mother beamed, giving Brooke a thumbs-up. “Look at you, so brave! A helicopter ride!” Brooke shot me a triumphant, smug glance. She was showing off, flaunting the love that was reserved only for her. The only thing I had ever received was a slap or a shove. A familiar pang of pain twisted in my chest, but it was quickly replaced by an icy numbness. A person who has already died once has no time to mourn the love they never had. “Mom, Dad, Brooke, you guys have a great time at the beach. I’m leaving now to get the swimsuit.” I turned and walked away, the picture of obedience. They were satisfied. They would wait for me, expecting me to return in four hours. But they didn’t know that in four hours, the tide would recede with a horrifying silence, only to return with the force of a thousand storms. Maybe it was an undersea earthquake, or a volcanic eruption. Whatever the cause, an unprecedented tsunami was about to descend upon this entire resort town. I remembered it clearly. The wave was taller than our hotel building. At least three hundred feet. A wave that high was almost unheard of in human history. The 2004 Indonesian tsunami that shocked the world, devastating 14 countries and leaving over 270,000 dead or missing, had a maximum height of just over 150 feet. Of course, terrain and elevation play a huge role. But this wave… this wave was three hundred feet tall. Even if our town, Seabrook, was situated on higher ground, with hills and forests to break the impact… I couldn’t let myself think about it. The image of the apocalypse was already burned into my mind. I had to hurry. Four hours. How was I going to survive? 4 I had seen the tsunami with my own eyes. I knew what that monstrous wall of water was capable of. I had to assume the worst-case scenario: that the entire city of Seabrook and the neighboring coastal towns would be wiped out. Ideally, I would get on a plane and fly a thousand miles away. But there wasn’t time. It would be a miracle if I could even get out of Seabrook itself. It was the day after high school graduation; the roads were choked with tourists. We’d been stuck in traffic for half the drive here. Driving back to my house in two hours was a fantasy. So, escape wasn’t the answer. I had to think about immediate shelter. A high-rise building? I dismissed the thought instantly. In the face of that apocalyptic wave, any man-made structure was a joke. The tallest skyscraper would crumble like a sandcastle. No, the shelter had to be solid. It had to be high. A mountain. On the east side of Seabrook was Shepherd’s Peak State Park. Its highest point was over four thousand feet above sea level. It had well-maintained infrastructure, and at the summit, there was an old stone lodge that could serve as a shelter. I’d volunteered there once for a park cleanup day; I knew the layout. Better yet, it was only a forty-minute drive from here, and I could take the highway. It was 2:00 PM now. If I could get to the base of Shepherd’s Peak, I’d still have time to stock up on supplies and get to the top. There was enough time. That was the plan. As I walked out of the condo complex, I saw a maintenance worker passing by, carrying a large tool bag. A box of roofing nails was visible inside. I stopped him. Ten dollars later, I had a pocketful of nails. I walked to the ground-level parking lot and found our family’s SUV. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I scattered the nails on the ground behind all four tires, points facing up. The second the car moved, the tires would be shredded. I imagined my family frantically trying to escape, the hiss of the tires deflating. The image was almost beautiful. I dusted off my hands and hurried away. Time was wasting. I had to get to Shepherd’s Peak, get supplies, and get up that mountain. 5 The Uber I called sped along the highway. I had hoped it would be clearer than the local roads, but it was still bumper-to-bumper in places. A drive that should have taken forty minutes dragged on for an hour and a half. Panic clawed at my throat. I could only pray for the traffic to move faster, just a little faster. Finally, we got off the highway. From here, it was only five minutes to the park entrance. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. It was 3:35 PM. The tsunami would hit around 6:00 PM. I had two and a half hours. I didn’t need much. Just enough food and water for a week. A tsunami, for all its destructive power, is fast. Once the initial surge passed, I just had to wait for the national guard and rescue teams. It wasn’t ideal—if I had more time and help, I’d stockpile for a month—but I was alone. Carrying a week’s worth of supplies up a mountain was the absolute limit of my strength. As the car passed a small residential area, I had the driver pull over. I ran into the local grocery store. I filled a backpack with high-energy, low-volume foods: canned goods, beef jerky, protein bars. Then, I grabbed two reusable shopping bags and loaded them with self-heating meals, dried fruit, and nuts. The last stop was a pharmacy for a basic first-aid kit: ibuprofen, antibiotics, band-aids. By the time I was done, the backpack was a dead weight on my shoulders and the bags were cutting into my hands. My back ached. But this was enough to last me a while if I was careful. The most important thing was water, but it was too heavy. I only bought three bottles. I remembered there was a natural spring-fed waterfall near the summit of Shepherd’s Peak. I wouldn’t be without water. I checked my supplies one last time, called another Uber, and gave the driver the address for the park. It was now 4:36 PM. One hour and twenty-four minutes until the tsunami. My phone rang. It was Brooke. I answered. She didn’t even say hello. “Are you home yet? I need you to bring my white sun hat, too. If you’ve already left, turn around and go back. I have to have that hat.” 6 Listening to Brooke’s commanding tone, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a bitter, exhausted laugh. For my entire life, she had treated me like a servant. I was so used to it, so conditioned to cater to her every whim, to placate her, to do anything to avoid her anger and the punishment that would follow. If I hadn’t already died once, her voice would still fill me with a familiar dread. But Brooke couldn’t scare me anymore. Still, I didn’t argue. Not yet. There was still over an hour until the wave. If I provoked her now, knowing her temper, she might throw a fit, decide she didn’t want to be at the beach anymore, and start heading home to confront me. That would give my family a much better chance of survival. “Okay, Brooke. I’ll turn around and get your hat. It might just take me a little longer to get back to the beach,” I said, my voice dripping with false compliance. I could hear her sneer through the phone. “I love how pathetic you sound. Keep it up.” In the background, my mother’s voice chimed in. “Sadie, since you’re making another trip anyway, you might as well bring my makeup bag. I was going to bring it but it was too much of a hassle.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Of course, Mom. I’ll get it. See you soon.” “That’s a good girl,” my father added. “See? When you’re not difficult, everyone’s happy.” It was the closest thing to praise I’d heard from him in years. I hung up the phone. The car pulled up to Shepherd’s Peak State Park. I didn’t have the driver drop me at the main entrance, but at a service gate on the west side. It led to an employee access trail. I remembered it from my volunteer days. I looked up at the towering peak, a profound sense of safety washing over me. There was no safer place in the world right now. I took a deep breath and started up the trail with my supplies. The ranger in the gatehouse was napping, oblivious. The heat was oppressive, easily over 90 degrees. Only a fool would be hiking in the middle of the afternoon. As a result, the trail was completely deserted. There were probably other tourists in the park, but they’d be on the main trails, near the visitor center. I was panting, my lungs burning. I had to stop every twenty feet. My vision started to swim. Finally, dizzy and exhausted, I reached the halfway point. There was a large plaza here and a station for the cable car that ran to the summit. The plaza was empty, but the cable car was running. I got in, wiping sweat from my forehead, and checked the time on my phone. 5:26 PM. Thirty-four minutes until the tsunami. The sun was still beating down. There was no wind. No sign at all of the impending doom. But my heart was starting to pound, the memory of that apocalyptic day wrapping around me like a shroud. I closed my eyes and breathed deep, feeling the small breeze created by the moving cable car. I could almost smell it—a strange, metallic tang in the air. The wave was already forming, out in the deep ocean, still miles away. At 5:47 PM, the cable car reached the summit. Before me stood the old stone lodge, its slate roof shimmering in the heat. It was just as deserted as the trail had been. I didn’t waste time looking for anyone else. I found a small, unused chapel off the main hall and slipped inside. It was dedicated to some forgotten local saint. I remembered dusting the pews during my volunteer work. I offered a silent nod to the statue, then sat down heavily on a bench. My head was spinning, my limbs felt like lead. The climb, the heat, the stress—it had all taken its toll. But I was here. I was safe. I was in a stone building, four thousand feet above sea level. It was 5:52 PM. Eight minutes to go. I twisted the cap off a bottle of water and began to chug it. My phone rang again. It was Brooke. 7 The moment I answered, she started screaming. “Did you lose a leg? What is taking so long? I want to wear my bikini and my hat and take pictures in the ocean! I’m dying of boredom here!” My parents were in the background, their voices adding to the chorus. “The sun is about to set! We want to get pictures of Brooke in the golden hour! Get back here now!” A cold, sharp smile spread across my face. The sunset? Pictures? In a few minutes, you’re all going to be dead. All my caution vanished, replaced by a liberating rush of adrenaline. “I’m not coming back to the beach,” I said, my voice calm. “I’m at home, enjoying the air conditioning.” “What?” Brooke was stunned into silence for a second, before erupting. “Sadie, are you messing with me? If you’re not coming back, who’s going to bring me my bikini and my hat?” “Are you disabled? Do you need me to do everything for you? You’re eighteen years old, but you have the brain of a spoiled toddler.” “What?” Brooke sounded genuinely confused. The line went quiet. I could practically hear the gears grinding in her head. Then, a roar of pure fury. “Sadie, what did you just say? Did you call me disabled? Did you say I have the brain of a toddler?” Her shriek brought my parents into the conversation. My father snatched the phone, his voice a low growl. “Sadie. You dare talk to your sister like that? Have you lost your mind?” My mother’s voice, shrill and panicked, joined in. “Sadie, what did you say about your sister? Say it again! I dare you!” “Your sister is a spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child…” I repeated it, over and over. “You… you… Sadie!” My mother was hysterical. The precious angel she had coddled for eighteen years had never been criticized, let alone by the family slave. My father bellowed, “Sadie, you just wait. I’m going to come home and I’m going to chop you into pieces and feed you to the dogs!” Click. I hung up. I wasn’t going to listen to any more of that. I waited for the final three minutes to pass. 5:57 PM.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385666”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d found two injured, perverted little snakes. And they would not stop trying to crawl down the collar of my shirt. I was dangling one from each hand, right in the middle of scolding them, when the text boxes suddenly appeared in front of my eyes: 【OMG, those are the brooding male lead and the unhinged villain. How dare this side character talk to them like that?】 【She used to bully them when they were kids. She’s a major reason they had their villain origin story.】 【This whole ‘chance encounter’ was actually planned by both of them to get their revenge.】 【They just burned through too much of their energy fighting. Once they recover, they’ll use their true forms—yards and yards of them—to crush her and eat her.】 What? I’ve never bullied a snake in my life. But the two snakes coiled around my wrists did exactly what the comments described. They bared their fangs at me. 1 I found them on my way home, two small snakes fighting on the edge of the walking path. It was interesting enough that I stopped to watch from a distance. One was the color of polished ink, the other a stark, porcelain white. They were barely a foot long, two thin little things that were, in their own way, kind of cute. But they fought with the fury of dragons. Their upper bodies were tangled in a tight knot, mouths gaping wide. Both were already showing signs of the skirmish, little scrapes and nicks on their scales. The white snake managed to roll over, pinning the black one. It reared back, fangs bared, ready to strike at the other’s head. Just as it was about to land the blow, its eyes met mine, and it froze. I wondered if I’d startled it. The black snake seized the opportunity, twisting and sinking its teeth into the white one from below, instantly reversing their positions. But the white snake didn’t fight back. It went limp, letting the black one bite, its bright, rosy-pink eyes fixed on me. A pang of sympathy hit me. Bolstering my courage, I took a step forward and clapped my hands, shouting, “Hey! Knock it off!” To my utter astonishment, the black snake actually seemed to understand. It stopped its attack. The white snake lay on the grass, exposing its soft underbelly. The bite marks were clear against its pale scales, and it looked like it was on the verge of death. The black snake stared at me with its beady, black-bean eyes, then glanced at the motionless white snake beside it. A frantic energy seized it, its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth so fast it was a blur. It looked like it was trying desperately to speak. Seeing my bewildered expression, it gave up and simply copied the white one, flopping onto the grass and going perfectly still. Well, I figured that was a truce. I turned and continued home. It wasn’t until I was standing at my front door, digging through my purse for my keys, that I realized they had followed me. Our eyes met—all six of them. In perfect unison, both snakes went limp and dropped to the welcome mat with a soft thump. It was the most blatant case of insurance fraud I’d ever seen. “You want to come home with me?” Both of them started wagging their tails furiously. “I don’t know,” I hesitated. “Wild snakes can be dirty, have parasites and stuff. And I’m pretty sure there are rules against just picking up wildlife.” The white snake stopped moving, its tongue flicking out pathetically. The black one, however, started spinning in tight circles, as if trying to show me how clean it was, that it wasn’t wild at all. 2 After a moment of internal debate, I let them in. I didn’t have a proper terrarium, so a clear plastic storage bin would have to do for now. Surprisingly, they were almost unnervingly obedient. When I pointed to the bin, they slithered right in. I spent a while on my phone, using an image recognition app to figure out what they were. The consensus was corn snakes. Following the app’s recommended links, I found a beginner’s guide and ordered some antiseptic spray and other supplies for delivery. While waiting, I spoke to the bin. “From now on, I’ll call you Ash,” I said to the black one, “and you’ll be Ivory.” I didn’t actually expect them to understand. My impression of snakes had always been that they were cold, detached creatures, not particularly in tune with humans. When the supplies arrived and I was unboxing the antiseptic, I said aloud to myself, “Okay, Ivory, you’re first.” To my shock, the little white snake nudged the lid of the bin with his head and slithered out on his own. He even rubbed against my palm like a cat, a bizarrely affectionate gesture. Inside the bin, Ash curled into a tight, miserable ball in the corner, head lowered. He wasn’t even flicking his tongue anymore. “Ash,” I said, testing it out. He lifted his head to look at me, and I could have sworn I saw a glimmer of hope in his almost featureless face. Ivory licked my palm with his forked tongue, as if hurrying me along. I felt compelled to explain myself. “Ivory’s wounds look worse, so he goes first. I’ll get to you right after, okay?” Ash’s head drooped back down. I carefully straightened Ivory out on a towel and gently applied the antiseptic to each of his wounds. I checked his scales, too, but found no sign of mites or parasites. When I was done, I switched him out for Ash and did the same. He was just as clean. My theory solidified: they weren’t wild. They had to be someone’s lost pets. It was the only explanation for them being so clean and well-behaved. As I was thinking this, I discovered a larger wound hidden amongst the scales near Ash’s neck. No wonder he seemed so dejected earlier. His injury was actually more severe, it was just harder to see against his dark coloring. He’d gotten the short end of the stick. “Oh, you poor thing,” I murmured, gently rubbing his little belly to comfort him. Ash lay on the table, looking so content his eyes were closed, letting out the occasional soft hiss. Now it was Ivory’s turn to sulk in the corner of the bin, the picture of reptilian misery. 3 I reached in and scooped Ivory out, wanting to give him a comforting belly rub, too. But the little snake twisted and squirmed, evading my touch every time. I let out an amused laugh, gently poking his head. “What’s wrong, Ivory? Such a temper.” He coiled into a tight ball and ignored me. Finding it funny, I poked his side. “Hello? Anybody home?” That finally got a reaction. Ivory uncoiled, rolled over, and exposed his belly. Ash, seeing this, grew agitated. He started slithering back and forth in front of Ivory, blocking my path. I nudged him aside. Before my fingers could even touch Ivory, Ash bit me. It wasn’t hard, more of a firm pinch meant to get my attention. “Ash, you have to learn to share,” I said, lifting him up and moving him further away. It was a mistake. He arched his body like a spring and launched himself directly at my collar. “Ash!” I reached up to grab him, but he was too quick, disappearing down the front of my shirt. I had no choice but to pull the collar open to see where he’d gone. Just then, Ivory, who had been so docile, decided to join the chaos, darting into my collar as well. …I really should have just lifted the hem of my shirt. The cold, slithering sensation of two snakes against my skin sent a shiver down my spine. They were moving around frantically, their scales creating a dry, rustling friction against me. I quickly pulled up my shirt, only to find them fighting again. Was this why they were abandoned? “Ash! Ivory! No fighting!” At the sound of my voice, both snakes froze, slowly closing their mouths. I grabbed one in each hand, dangling them by their tails. “No more fighting, do you understand me?” I lectured. “If I catch you two fighting again, I swear I’ll turn you into soup. You hear me?” The moment the words left my mouth, something bizarre happened. Translucent text boxes started to appear in my field of vision, like on-screen comments in a video. 【OMG, those are the brooding male lead and the unhinged villain. How dare this side character talk to them like that?】 【She used to bully them when they were kids. She’s a major reason they had their villain origin story.】 【This whole ‘chance encounter’ was actually planned by both of them to get their revenge.】 【They just burned through too much of their energy fighting. Once they recover, they’ll use their true forms—yards and yards of them—to crush her and eat her.】 What? I’ve never bullied a snake in my life. But as I looked down, the two snakes in my hands began to coil around my wrists, just as the comments described. And they bared their fangs at me. The instant our eyes met, they snapped them shut again. 4 I decided I was just hallucinating. It had to be the stress from being unemployed. Shaking it off, I posted a “Found Pets” notice online. The snake owner community is a lot smaller than the one for cats and dogs. My post got a few comments but no messages for days. True to form, however, the two snakes were on their best behavior. They didn’t fight again, though it was clear they still couldn’t stand each other. They were constantly vying for who would get petted first, a petty rivalry that I had to mediate carefully. I tried to be as fair as possible. If I pet Ash first one time, Ivory would be first the next. With the fighting issue resolved, they developed a new bad habit. Every night, after I’d fallen asleep, they would nudge the lid off their bin and slither into my bed. I laid down the law three separate times. But the fourth time I woke up to find them both plastered against my skin, I gave up. I was getting used to their cool temperature, anyway. … Friday. I woke from a deep sleep to a strange coldness on my stomach, followed by a faint, pinching pain. Opening my eyes, I saw the two of them, Ash and Ivory, furtively trying to worm their way under my pajama top. When they realized I was awake, they both froze for a second before burrowing even more frantically. I snatched them up before they could get any further. “We’ve been over this. No going under my clothes. Do you two want to be soup? You little perverts.” Ivory dangled from my hand, the picture of innocence. Ash coiled around my wrist and started flicking his tongue against my skin. I pointed a finger at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” He retracted his tongue and went limp, hanging from my wrist dejectedly. And then the text boxes appeared again. 【LOL, does she really think he’s trying to flatter her? He’s trying to figure out the best place to kill her.】 【Weren’t the male lead and the villain venomous? I seem to remember that.】 【She bullied them as kids, and now she just keeps doing things to piss them off. I wonder if her death is going to be particularly gruesome.】 A knot of dread formed in my stomach. I quickly lifted my pajama top. There, on my abdomen, were several faint, reddish marks. They looked like bite marks. They hadn’t broken the skin, but the intent was terrifyingly clear. 5 These two snakes were actually trying to kill me. But I’ve never, ever bullied a snake. Was it because I threatened to turn them into soup? Could they really be that petty? I tried to act as normal as possible as I placed them back in their bin, this time weighing the lid down with two heavy books. I pulled out my phone and reposted the “Found Pets” ad on every platform I could think of. If no one claimed them, could I just… release them? But would that make them hate me even more? I spent the entire morning crippled with anxiety. Maybe heaven was listening. At three in the afternoon, I finally got a private message. 【Hi, I think those are my snakes. When would be a good time to pick them up?】 【This afternoon is fine. Just let me know when you’re here.】 I replied, sending her my location. A quick【Okay, thank you】popped up in response. An hour later, there was a knock on my door. The woman standing outside was gorgeous, dressed in a designer dress and holding a professional-grade snake carrier. The comments exploded. 【The female lead is so beautiful. A true heiress. No wonder the hero and the villain fought over her for so long.】 【Okay, this was actually a smart move by the side character. With the female lead here, they probably won’t try anything.】 【I don’t know… I have a feeling they won’t let her off that easily.】 “Hi, I’m Rae. What should I call you?” she asked, her voice as polished as her appearance. “Uh, hi. I’m Paige.” Her last name is really Rae? The text boxes were right. My belief in this strange reality solidified. Remembering what the comments said, I quickly led her to the storage bin. Sure enough, both snakes froze when they saw Rae. “You can just take them,” I said, eager to be rid of them. “Okay. Thank you so much for looking after them.” Rae opened the bin and reached for Ash. But he kept slithering around, expertly avoiding her grasp. She gave up and went for Ivory instead. She managed to pick him up, but before she could get him into the carrier, he shot out of her hands like a bolt of lightning, landed on me, and scurried up into my collar. Seeing his chance, Ash followed suit, launching himself out of the bin and right after Ivory. Rae: “…” Me: “!!!” 6 “I swear, they’re mine. I have pictures on my phone,” Rae insisted, fumbling to show me. As she scrolled, her thumb slipped, and for a split second, two photos of enormous pythons flashed across the screen. One ink-black, one porcelain-white. They were unmistakably Ash and Ivory, but massive. Seeing my face drain of all color, Rae quickly scrolled back. “Oops, sorry about that. Slipped.” But it was too late. With a speed I didn’t know I possessed, I plunged my hands under the hem of my shirt to grab the snakes. Oh god, are they going to poison me right here in front of the female lead?! The moment my hands were inside, both snakes obediently coiled around my arms. They even started hissing at each other over who got to wrap around my wrist. It was a habit they’d developed over the past few days. I had foolishly thought it was a sign of affection. I motioned for Rae to open the carrier. With a single, desperate motion, I flung them both inside. They landed in a tangled, dazed heap, and I slammed the lid shut and locked it tight. Finally. I could breathe again. Ash recovered first, furiously slapping his tail against the plastic, as if heartbroken that I had abandoned him. Ivory just lay there listlessly, the very picture of a depressed and pitiful creature. Given his temperament and coloring, Ivory had to be the male lead, and Ash the villain. Rae picked up the carrier. “Thank you so much. Let me buy you dinner.” Seeing the predatory way both snakes were now staring at me through the clear plastic, I shuddered. I waved my hands frantically. “No, that’s okay! Just please, keep a close eye on them. Don’t lose them again.” And for the love of God, don’t let them find me. I had a feeling that after being tossed like that, their gazes had gotten even more unsettling. 7 That night, I had a… vivid dream. It started with a faint coolness tracing paths across my skin, which gradually spread, becoming a heavy weight. My whole body felt pinned down, as if constricted by something powerful. But it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was almost comfortable. My body felt feverishly hot, and the cool pressure was a welcome relief, making me want to press even closer. … When I finally surfaced into consciousness, I was filled with a sense of despair at myself. To have such a ridiculous dream. With snakes. Two of them! It had to be because those little monsters were always crawling into my bed. Thank God they were gone. I sighed. And opened my eyes. Staring back at me was a colossal, pure black python. The one from Rae’s photo. I stopped breathing. Slowly, carefully, I sat up, only to see the massive white one lying on my other side. Only a small portion of their bodies was actually on the bed; the rest snaked across the floor in thick, chaotic coils, filling my small bedroom almost completely. My entire body was covered in what looked like love bites and faint bruises from being squeezed. If someone walked in, they’d think they’d stumbled onto the aftermath of a horror movie shoot. So much for a close call. They had been busy trying to kill me all night, and I’d been busy… enjoying it in my sleep. The on-screen comments returned, confirming my horror: 【Why did they fade to black last night? I thought it was because the scene was too bloody, but the side character looks fine.】 【My guess is the hero and the villain started fighting again over who got to deliver the final blow and ended up exhausting themselves.】 【Looks like they’re dead set on killing her.】 On the bed, the white python stirred, as if about to wake. I scrambled out of the bedroom, making eye contact with it for just a second before slamming the door and locking it. The hissing from inside the room grew louder, more frantic, followed by a series of heavy thuds against the door.

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My husband tricked me into a divorce because his little intern was pregnant. I stared at the papers in my hand—a liver cancer diagnosis and a positive pregnancy test—and finally, I could breathe. The cancer was my husband’s. The baby was his best friend’s. To make sure I wouldn’t suspect a thing, my husband, Liam, had given me the house and all our savings. I looked at him, my heart swelling with a strange, sharp pity. “Aren’t you worried I’ll take this for real, Liam?” He gave me that gentle smile, the one that used to make my knees weak. “Then I guess I’ll have to live with that.” I just shook my head. You poor, stupid man. The ink on our divorce papers was barely dry when I married his best friend. Liam’s disbelief was a sight to behold. “Audrey? Don’t you love me anymore?” I clutched my purse to my chest. “Let’s not get confused,” I said. “I’m not your wife. And I am definitely not your nurse.” 1 My husband, Liam, was the perfect man. Thoughtful, kind, and ridiculously good to me. That didn’t stop him from sleeping with Chloe, the fresh-out-of-college intern from his office. The moment I found out, my world tilted on its axis. But Liam worked in investment banking, pulling in over twenty grand a month. He was my winning lottery ticket. I couldn’t just throw him away. And then there was his best friend, Leo. A trust fund kid who’d slummed it in finance for fun. He was handsome, charming, with the kind of old-money politeness that felt like a weapon. I had a thing for him. A secret, stupid little crush. Being married to Liam, it was something I kept locked away. But after I found out about the affair? The lock didn’t feel so strong anymore. 2 Leo was Liam’s colleague. He was the one who always brought my husband home after a client dinner went too long or a celebration got out of hand. He was also the one who told me. He’d helped me get a dead-drunk Liam onto our bed one night. As he was leaving, he paused at the door, his expression unreadable. “You know, Audrey,” he said, his voice low and laced with something I couldn’t quite name. “You should really come out to these things more often. It’s hard to keep a man on a leash if you’re not holding it.” After settling Liam, I rushed back to the living room. “What is that supposed to mean? Tell me.” Leo looked almost pained. He pulled out his phone and, with a heavy sigh, showed me a picture. Liam, with his arm wrapped tight around a girl—Chloe. Her smile was pure poison. She was the same girl who’d been orbiting him since her university days, a classic office predator. Liam had always been so firm about us, so I’d never given her a second thought. 3 I went through Liam’s phone. His main account was clean, meticulously so. But he had a burner account, hidden deep within a folder of useless apps. It was a digital shrine to their affair. Explicit photos, secret messages. I screen-recorded everything. My first instinct was to build a magnificent PowerPoint presentation, a corporate-style takedown, and email it to his entire company. But that felt too easy. Too quick. And honestly, a man who could generate that much income was an asset I wasn’t ready to liquidate. That was two months ago. I’d been dragging my feet, marinating in my anger. In that time, Leo’s attention toward me had shifted from casual concern to something much more… focused. 4 One night, he brought Liam home again, completely wasted. We managed to haul him onto the bed, and I was struggling to unbutton his shirt when I felt it. A hand, warm and firm, on the small of my back. A moment later, a solid chest was pressed against me. I froze, my voice a strangled whisper. “What are you doing?” Leo’s arms wrapped around me. “Don’t you know, Audrey?” he murmured into my hair. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.” “Let go of me,” I hissed, trying to pull away. “Why are you still with him? He’s already checked out,” Leo’s voice was a low thrum against my back. “I’m younger. I have more money. And I wouldn’t cheat on you. Be with me, Audrey. I’ll treat you right. Better than him.” Just as I was about to refuse, he kissed me. 5 It had been three years. The number of times Liam and I had sex had dwindled to maybe once a month. Kissing was practically off the table. I used to think his high-stress job had drained him. Now I knew it was Chloe. Leo’s kiss was wet and hot and hungry, and it woke something up in me. With my husband passed out just inches away, the thrill of it was a jolt to my system. But I still found the strength to pull back and slap him. Hard. “Get. Out.” He touched his cheek, a flush creeping up his neck, and left without another word. 6 That weekend, someone new moved into the apartment upstairs. It was Leo. He came by, all bright smiles and neighborly charm, to let us know. Liam, oblivious as ever, saw nothing strange about it. A few minutes later, Liam announced he had to go back to the office to “handle some things.” The moment his car was out of the garage, there was a knock on my door. It was Leo. “He went to see Chloe,” he said, no preamble. “How do you know?” He made a tsking sound and showed me his phone. It was a screenshot of a text from Chloe herself. “Why would she text you?” “She invited me over for a drink. I said no,” he smirked. “So she had to prove she wasn’t lacking for male attention.” 7 I rolled my eyes and tried to shut the door, but he blocked it with his foot and slipped inside, backing me against the wall. His arms came up on either side of my head, caging me in. My heart hammered against my ribs. “He betrayed you, Audrey,” he whispered, his face close to mine. “Why are you still playing the loyal wife?” “What do you want?” I said, my hands pressed against his chest. “I’ll call the cops.” “Don’t tell me you feel nothing. Why else have you been stealing glances at me for the past year?” I bit my lip. “How do I know this isn’t some twisted game? That Liam didn’t put you up to this, to catch me cheating so he could divorce me without losing a dime?” A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his handsome face, then he laughed, a low, throaty sound. “You think you’re in a movie, sweetheart?” 8 And then he was on me, lifting me up and carrying me to the sofa. He pinned my wrists above my head, his body a heavy, welcome weight. “How about this,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I’ll give you all the leverage. When we’re done, you can go to the police. Tell them I forced you. How does that sound?” He started kissing me again, and this time, my struggles were half-hearted at best. He paused, his breath hot on my neck. “You don’t have any security cameras in here, do you?” I shook my head. Probably not. Still, he got up, pulled out his phone, and used some app to sweep the room for listening devices. I just watched him, my clothes in disarray, my face flushed. I wanted this. It had been so long since I’d felt wanted. I was barely thirty, but I felt like I was living in a convent. The needs were still there. 9 The scan finished. He lunged. As his hands went to the waistband of my pants, I stopped him. He seemed to think it was part of the game. “Do you have your latest health records?” I asked. The mood shattered. He froze, then let out a sharp “Fuck.” He sat up, fumbled for his phone again, and pulled up a full medical report. It was a month old. I wasn’t convinced. He left, promising to go to a clinic first thing in the morning. He seemed more desperate to get laid than my husband ever had. 10 All I could think about was his face, the heat of his breath, the feel of his lips on my skin. I went and changed my underwear. I was starting to understand Liam. This felt good. After three years of passionless routine, this raw excitement was a drug. That afternoon, Leo returned, dressed in a sharp suit. As I reviewed the brand-new, time-stamped medical report, he casually loosened his tie, and before I knew it, he was using it to bind my wrists together. He kissed me, his voice a low growl. “Is this better, Audrey? Feel safe now?” My protest was a weak, breathy, “No…” His eyes went dark, like he’d just been shot up with adrenaline. 11 Afterward, he held me in our marital bed. “What if Liam comes back?” I whispered, a thread of panic weaving through my post-coital haze. He glanced at his phone. “He won’t. They’re at a spa upstate.” “Oh.” I started kissing him again. I wanted more. I’d been starving for too long. 12 When Liam finally came home, he looked exhausted. “You look awful, honey,” I said, all wifely concern. “Are you feeling okay?” I’d seen the texts Chloe had sent to Leo. To keep up with her, Liam had been relying on a steady diet of performance-enhancing drugs. That explained why he was useless at home, why our monthly encounters felt like a mandatory, joyless chore. His expression flickered. “Just… tired. A lot of late nights at the office.” “You need to rest.” I brought him a glass of water. Then I went to the laundry room and stripped the bed, tossing the evidence of my afternoon into the washing machine. You couldn’t be too careful. 13 Liam’s life fell back into its rhythm of work and client dinners. He was out drinking three, sometimes four nights a week, always coming home completely obliterated. And Leo was always the one to bring him. While I unbuttoned Liam’s shirt, Leo would be unbuttoning mine. Sometimes, I’d watch my husband’s sleeping face, my heart pounding with terror. The fear only seemed to make Leo more excited. I was developing a taste for it. Then, Liam announced he was going out of town for two weeks for a big project. This was normal. 14 The moment he was gone, I moved in with Leo. It was just an elevator ride away. During those two weeks, a strange thing happened. My rage at Liam began to cool. I had hated him for his betrayal, but now… now I understood. Marriage could be profoundly boring. And life is too short to be tied to one person. If I had a husband and a lover, my energy was divided. Liam would no longer suffocate under the weight of my undivided attention and love. It was a win-win-win situation. Liam probably felt the same way. After all, his paycheck was still direct-deposited into our joint account—an account that was solely in my name. 15 Another two months passed. Liam looked worse and worse, his skin sallow and his eyes hollow. It was like he was running himself into the ground for fun. My best friend, Maya, gave me a voucher for a full executive health screening. I figured even if we weren’t sleeping together, with the way he was playing around, it was better to be safe. I made him go. Before the results were even back, my phone buzzed. It was a screenshot from Leo. A text from Chloe: [Wanna see what it’s like with a pregnant woman? Because I am.] I started chewing on my thumbnail. She was pregnant? This complicated things. 16 A money tree like Liam was hard to find. A guy like Leo was fun, but he wasn’t the type to stick around. If Chloe was pregnant, would Liam actually divorce me? Before I could even start strategizing, the hospital called. Liam’s results were, in their words, “concerning.” I rushed over to pick them up. Suspected liver cancer. It needed more tests for a final confirmation, but as Maya said, it was almost certainly a done deal. Given his lifestyle—the constant drinking, the smoking, the stress—it made a grim kind of sense. 17 I looked at the report and felt a wave of nausea. Maya looked at me with pity. “God, Audrey. Don’t tell me he’s got cancer and you’re pregnant.” I frowned, then drove to a pharmacy and bought a test. Positive.

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I woke up as the villain in someone else’s love story. The plot was supposed to be simple, really. A tragedy wrapped in romance. The devoted husband, Ethan, loved his wife, my sister, Lydia. But Lydia was sick, a fragile beauty with a failing heart, and she wasn’t long for this world. This is where I, or rather, the original owner of this body, was supposed to make her grand, ruinous entrance. She was to crawl into her brother-in-law’s bed in a moment of weakness. And Lydia, ever the saint, wouldn’t just forgive her little sister. No, she would make Ethan promise to marry her after she was gone. A dying wish. An inescapable trap. Of course, all of that was just the prologue to the real story. The main event was a new woman arriving in Ethan’s life, a vibrant soul who would teach him to open his heart again, to heal from the grief. They would get their happy ending. As for the inconvenient placeholder wife? She would be driven to suicide by public humiliation and her husband’s cold shoulder, conveniently clearing the stage for the true heroine. 1 And the timing of my arrival? Just perfect. I came to consciousness on my sister and brother-in-law’s bed, arranged like a sacrifice waiting for the slaughter. But it was the fire raging under my skin, a thick, chemical heat, that told me this wasn’t part of the original script. I tried to push myself up, my muscles screaming in protest. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the plush carpet, a jolt of something sharp and ugly shooting up my spine. My purse had been tossed near the bed. Inside, among the usual clutter, was my phone and, surprisingly, a digital voice recorder. Fighting the rising tide of heat and nausea, I flicked the recorder on, slid it under the lip of the nightstand, and stumbled toward the bathroom, my phone clutched in a sweaty palm. I locked the door behind me. A woman about to seduce her brother-in-law wouldn’t drug herself. She wouldn’t need to. This was sabotage. The question was, who was the saboteur? My fingers felt like sausages as I dialed. “911, what’s your emergency?” “Someone drugged me,” I rasped, my voice cracking. “I think… I think they’re going to try and rape me. Please, you have to get here. Now.” Next, my mother. “Mom,” I whispered, the effort immense. “Can you come get me? I feel… really sick. I don’t want to worry Lydia.” I hung up before she could ask too many questions. My consciousness was fraying at the edges. I turned on the tub, fumbling with the faucet, and collapsed into the basin before it was even a quarter full. The shock of the ice-cold water was a brutal, welcome relief, a temporary dam against the inferno inside me. God, this was a mess. My memory of what happened next is a collage of broken sounds. Someone shouting my name. “Audrey? Audrey, where are you?” The heavy thud of a shoulder hitting the bathroom door. Raised, frantic voices. And then, nothing. Just the silent, welcoming dark. 2 Things got interesting. Apparently, my picture-perfect sister and her doting husband had been invited downtown for a little chat with the police. Their story was smooth. After dinner, they realized I was missing. Worried, they started searching. They found my bedroom empty and their own master bathroom locked from the inside. They had no idea why I would be in their room, and fearing the worst, they tried to break down the door. A date-rape drug? What was that? They had no idea. With no cameras in the bedroom and no witnesses, it was their word against… well, no one’s. “We’re tracing the source of the drug,” the detective told me, his voice a low rumble. “You just rest. Don’t worry.” His name was Ryan, and he’d been here since I woke up. He watched me with a focused, analytical gaze that felt like it could see right through my skin. A cop’s sixth sense, maybe. “I left a voice recorder by the bed in the master bedroom,” I said, my own voice still hoarse. “Maybe it picked up something useful.” Ryan gave a curt nod. “Got it. I’ll have someone check.” He turned to my mother. “Ma’am, you should stay with Audrey. I’ll check back in later tonight.” “You go on, Ryan. You have work to do. I’ll be here with her. Don’t you worry.” After Ryan left, my mother’s face crumpled with anxiety. “Do you think he’s angry?” Oh, right. Ryan was my boyfriend. We were supposed to get married at the end of the year. I raised an eyebrow. “Angry? About what? That I was drugged?” “How could this happen?” she lamented, her hands twisting in her lap. “How could something like this happen?” “You should ask Lydia,” I said flatly. Her head snapped up, her expression instantly defensive. “That’s impossible. Your sister would never do something like that.” “The three of us ate the same dinner,” I reasoned, keeping my tone level. “The only difference was the glass of milk Lydia handed me afterward. Unless the milk itself was poisonous, that’s our variable.” I held up a hand to stop her protest. “Look, I’m not accusing her in a court of law. I don’t have proof. But some things are obvious to anyone who isn’t willfully blind. Even if Lydia didn’t physically put the pill in the glass, she knew about it.” My mother stared at me, her mind clearly reeling. “Then… why did you tell me you were just feeling sick? Why did you say you didn’t want to worry her?” I shrugged. “What was the alternative? Calling you and screaming that Lydia drugged me? What would have been the first thing you did?” Silence. I answered for her. “You would have called Lydia to ask if it was true. You would have walked me right into the fire. Sometimes, a well-placed lie is a lifeline.” My mother wasn’t the type to play favorites. Even with Lydia’s congenital heart condition, she had always been fair to her younger daughter. In the original story, my mother was one of the witnesses who found me in Ethan’s bed. She had slapped me, dragged me home, and only relented to the marriage because of Lydia’s tearful begging. When I—the original me—had finally jumped from that building, my mother’s grief was the most profound. As the shock began to subside, she reached out and brushed the hair from my forehead. Her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a new, steely resolve. “I will not let you suffer this injustice, Audrey. I promise you.” 3 They found the recorder. The contents were, to put it mildly, explosive. Lydia: What happened? I put her on the bed. Where did she go? Ethan: Maybe she woke up and went back to her room. Lydia: I’ll go check. … Lydia: She’s not there. I’ve looked everywhere. She’s gone. Ethan: The bathroom. Lydia: It’s locked. A sharp rapping sound. Lydia: Audrey? Audrey, are you in there? Are you not feeling well? Open the door, sweetie. Let me in. Ethan: She must have passed out. Lydia: Break it down. Ethan: Lydia, let’s just stop. This is crazy. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Lydia: But I’m dying! What will you do when I’m gone? What about Leo? The only person in the world who could love Leo like her own son is Audrey. Ethan: But she clearly knows something’s wrong, or she wouldn’t have hidden. Lydia: It doesn’t matter. In the end, I’ll be the victim. Everyone will believe me. And Audrey… she’d never do anything to jeopardize my health. … Wow. That happy couple really showed me the sheer diversity of the human species. Ryan was watching me again, a deep frown line creasing his forehead. I cupped my face in my hands and gave him a small smile. “Like what you see?” His expression didn’t change as he dropped his gaze. My mother was the one who looked truly devastated. Her face was ashen, and she seemed to be swaying on her feet. “How could she?” she whispered. Whether she could or couldn’t, she did. “We’ve got a lead on the source of the drug,” Ryan said, his voice all business. “As it stands, this looks like a conspiracy between the two of them. Ethan’s lawyer wants to speak with you. He’s hoping you’ll sign a settlement agreement and drop the charges.” “Never!” my mother snapped. “I’ll do it,” I said. They both looked at me. My mother’s eyes filled with pain. “Audrey, you don’t have to consider my feelings. From this day forward, I don’t have that daughter.” I wasn’t planning on being a saint. Lydia was on death’s door, and Ethan’s family had deep pockets. He probably wouldn’t see much jail time anyway. Besides, for a crime like this, you don’t just want justice. You want to destroy the soul. “Is there really no cure for Lydia’s condition?” I asked. My mother shook her head. Her congenital heart disease meant she was never meant to live a long life. But she had tempted fate. Against all medical advice, she had insisted on having a child for the great love of her life. She’d barely survived giving birth to Leo, and her body had paid the price. For the last six months, her heart failure had been getting progressively worse. She was practically living at the hospital. Her doctors had already told her to get her affairs in order. She was dying. What a shame. If only she could live another couple of years, she could meet her husband’s real true love face-to-face. Now that would be a spectacle. I was genuinely disappointed to miss it. I turned back to Ryan. “I’m willing to drop the charges, but on one condition. They both have to get on their knees and apologize to me.” The woman whose life I now inhabited, Audrey, had been drowned in shame and abandoned by everyone she knew. She only survived a year after Lydia’s death. It was a year of pure, unadulterated agony that ended with a final, desperate leap. That couple owed her an apology. Ryan nodded once, his face unreadable. He turned and left without another word. Watching his strong, steady back, I remembered his fate in the original story. When the whole world had turned on Audrey, Ryan was the only one who believed her. But she, broken and ashamed, felt she was no longer worthy of him. She ended their engagement. A month later, Ryan died during a high-risk operation. Audrey secretly attended his funeral. She overheard his captain saying, “He wasn’t even supposed to be on that mission. He volunteered, insisted on it. He hadn’t been himself lately, so much anger bottled up inside him. It’s my fault. I never should have approved it.” Boom. Audrey’s world shattered. From that day on, she was just a walking corpse.

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I am the gold-digging girlfriend in a story about a self-made man. The day my billionaire boyfriend’s empire crumbled, a voice in my head—let’s call it the System—gave me a mission: dump him. Brutally. So I left every diamond, every Birkin, every Cartier watch on the cold marble floor of our penthouse and told him, “You’re broke. And I don’t do broke.” He went on to claw his way back to the top with the kind of rabid fury only a man scorned can muster. I figured my story would end with him, newly powerful, grinding my life into dust as revenge. So you can imagine my surprise when I was suddenly abducted and woke up chained to a four-poster bed. This felt… off-brand. I frantically pinged the System. “I thought all I had to do was dump Grant Donovan! What the hell is this?” The System’s reply was a digital sneer. 【Dump him? Who told you to leave with nothing but the clothes on your back?】 【You didn’t just break his heart, you idiot. You became the ghost he’s chasing. You’re his goddamn white whale!】 1 It wasn’t until I was bound to the System that I understood my place in the universe: I was the bitchy, money-hungry side character in a novel. According to the script, my role was to be shallow and materialistic, to discard the hero, Grant, the moment his fortune vanished. Then, years later, once he’d rebuilt his kingdom bigger and better than before, I was supposed to crawl back, begging for a second chance. My grand finale? Utter ruin and a tragic, lonely death. “This seems a little harsh,” I murmured after downloading the plot summary. The System, assuming I was heartbroken about ditching the man who was destined for greatness, tried to console me. 【Don’t worry. The second you dump him, I’ll deposit one hundred million dollars into an account for you. Way better than kissing his ass for pocket change.】 I saw it had misunderstood. “That’s not it,” I said quietly. “It’s just… I was the one who chased Grant. I pursued him. To just throw him away the second he loses his money… it feels wrong.” The System went silent. For a long moment, there was nothing. Then, hesitantly: 【…You’re the gold-digging girlfriend. You don’t get a conscience.】 “Oh.” I nodded, as if that made any sense at all. My apparent compliance thrilled the System. Its voice buzzed with excitement. 【Okay, listen. When he gets home tonight, you need to humiliate him. Destroy him. I want to see him on his knees, begging you to stay.】 It was practically vibrating with glee. 【And of course, no matter what he says, no matter how much he pleads, you will turn your back and walk out that door without a second glance.】 “I get it.” 2 Two in the morning. The heavy sound of the front door closing announced Grant’s return. When I looked up, his gaze met mine for a split second before skittering away. His eyes were a roadmap of exhaustion, threaded with red. He hadn’t slept in days. Of course he hadn’t. His family’s company had imploded, and as CEO, the weight of that failure was his alone to carry. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he opened his mouth, then closed it, the words lost somewhere between his pride and his pain. 【Now! This is the moment!】 The System’s voice was a feverish whisper in my mind. 【Slap him. Go completely ballistic and demand to know why he’s home so late.】 “That doesn’t feel right,” I hesitated. Grant had been through hell for days, working himself to the bone. Even if we were breaking up, he deserved a shred of dignity, not a shrew screaming in his face. 【One hundred million dollars.】 “…” Okay, that was a pretty compelling counterargument. I met Grant’s eyes, took a deep breath, and swung at his face with both hands. Crack. The sound echoed in the cavernous, silent apartment. The sight of his reddening cheek made my own eyes sting with tears. It was his face, but it was my heart that ached. “Where—where have you been?” I tried to make my voice a furious roar, but it came out as a broken squeak. “Don’t you care about me anymore?” The second half of my line died in my throat. The look in his eyes—a glacial, bottomless despair—terrified me. If I wasn’t so hopelessly attracted to him, I never would have been brave enough to chase after a man like Grant Donovan in the first place. Even when he was rich, he was intimidating. Suddenly afraid he might hit me back, I threw myself forward, wrapping my arms around him in a desperate hug. My sobs were real now, my voice muffled against his chest. “Do you have any idea how scared I was, being here all alone?” The System: 【?】 【Ava, this is not in the script.】 Its voice was frantic. 【You’re supposed to be delivering your villain monologue. You’re supposed to be pushing him into his dark era!】 “…” I ignored it. The System tried again, its tone urgent. 【One. Hundred. Million.】 Right. The script. I pushed away from him, sniffing and wiping my eyes. Before I could speak, his arms shot out, pulling me back against him. It wasn’t a gentle embrace; it was the hug of a drowning man, fierce and possessive, as if he were trying to merge our bodies into one. His voice was a low, ragged whisper against my hair. “Never.” “The company… there are some problems,” he murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He finally let me go and reached for a shopping bag he’d left by the door. 【The breakup line! Now, Ava, say it!】 The System screamed. 【One hundred million!】 “You told me once you loved this style of bag,” Grant was saying, his voice strained with forced nonchalance. “I saw they released a new color—” “We need to break up.” His hand, holding the expensive leather bag, froze in mid-air. He lifted his gaze, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Why?” I met his bloodshot stare, my own heart a cold, heavy stone in my chest. “You can stop pretending. I know you’re bankrupt.” His breath hitched. As he watched, paralyzed, I walked through our home. I opened velvet-lined drawers and glass display cases, pulling out every piece of jewelry, every designer handbag he’d ever bought me. I piled them all in the center of the living room, a glittering mountain of our shared history. “The life you can give me now isn’t the one I want.” “Is this just because I lost my money?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Yes.” With that single word hanging in the air, I grabbed the suitcase I’d packed earlier and walked to the door. “All of this—” Grant’s voice called after me, choked with pain. “I don’t want anything you gave me,” I said, delivering the final, killing blow. “It’s all tainted now.” 【Ava!】 The System shrieked in my ear. I braced myself for a lecture, but instead— 【You are, without a doubt, the most brilliant protégé I have ever had!】 3 To reward my stellar performance, the System immediately purchased a sprawling villa for me in the city’s most exclusive gated community. It was practically glowing with pride. 【I’ve worked with a lot of hosts, Ava. So many. But you… you follow directions perfectly. You’ve earned this.】 As a bonus, another ten million dollars appeared in my bank account. The System materialized a digital clipboard. 【Okay, phase two. Our objective now is to completely crush any lingering hope he has, forcing him to channel all that despair into his career.】 The second half of that sentence sent a chill down my spine. “Wait, this mission isn’t over?” 【Nope.】 The System sighed, a surprisingly human sound. 【Who knew the great Grant Donovan was such a romantic? It’s pathetic.】 But its mood brightened instantly. The little orb of light that represented it bounced in the air, its praise effusive. 【Then again, my host is a certified goddess. It’s only natural the male lead would be obsessed.】 It continued to flatter me, but I barely heard it. I took a bite of a crisp apple, my mind elsewhere. Grant Donovan was a lot of things, but a romantic fool wasn’t one of them. I remembered the time I’d been kidnapped—a botched ransom attempt. Grant had listened to the kidnappers’ threats with chilling indifference. If a couple of undercover cops hadn’t stumbled upon the scene, I would have been a headline. He was only with me because I’d been relentless. He was a man who operated on logic and power, not love. Any lingering feelings he had for me now weren’t love; they were just the bruised ego of an alpha male who couldn’t stand being the one who was left. He didn’t love me. But so what? My new goal was to become the one that got away. The perfect, tragic memory that would ache in his chest like a phantom limb for the rest of his life. 4 According to the System, Grant’s next public appearance would be at a high-profile charity gala. He would be a ghost at the feast. Bankrupt and stripped of his power, he’d be an object of pity and scorn. His former business rivals would circle like sharks, eager to humiliate him. My job was to be the shark with the biggest teeth. I embraced the role with gusto. As a reward for my enthusiasm, the System dropped another fifty million on jewelry for me to wear to the event. I wept with gratitude. “System, you’re too good to me.” Its reply was pure bravado. 【My host will be the most dazzling woman in the room. No exceptions.】 5 The System must have had absolute faith in me, because it went ahead and altered the memories of the event’s host, making me the woman who had once saved her life. This little bit of neuro-hacking landed me in a private second-floor box with a perfect bird’s-eye view of the ballroom below. It wasn’t long before a commotion near the entrance caught my attention. 【Showtime, Ava! He’s here!】 The System sounded more nervous than I was. I leaned forward, listening to the sneering voices float up from below. “Has the standard for this gala dropped so low? They’re letting just about anyone in off the street now, aren’t they?” “Seriously. The guy is bankrupt, but he shows up to a charity event to pretend he still matters? I bet he can’t even afford a glass of champagne.” A wave of cruel laughter followed. 【That’s your cue, Ava! Time to make your entrance!】 The script called for me to descend the grand staircase and deliver a verbal coup de grâce, humiliating Grant so thoroughly that he’d never be able to show his face in this town again. I stepped out of the box and saw him cornered by a group of men at the base of the stairs. I recognized the man leading the pack: Leo Wyatt. Back when Grant was on top, Leo was a world-class sycophant, constantly trying to curry favor for a business deal. Now that Grant had fallen, he was the first one there to kick him. Leo sneered, blocking Grant’s path. “Well, well. If it isn’t the great Grant Donovan, fallen all the way to the janitorial staff. How does it feel, buddy?” His smug gaze swept the area and landed on me. His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Oh, look! Ava’s here too. Did you also come to polish the silver?” I just stared at him. For a supposed villain, he was an idiot. A moron so blinded by his own arrogance that he couldn’t recognize the millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds sparkling around my neck. He was destined to be a footnote in someone else’s story. Grant’s head snapped up. He hadn’t expected to see me. His pupils contracted, a flicker of raw emotion crossing his face before he caught sight of my gown, my jewels. The flicker died, his expression shuttering as he looked away. I started down the stairs, my heels clicking softly on the marble. “Your breath stinks, Leo. Are you trying to get thrown out again?” Leo’s face flushed. He had a notorious habit of crashing high-end events he wasn’t invited to, often by bribing security or literally climbing over walls, only to be unceremoniously ejected. It was a sore spot. “Listen to you, Ava,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re just an orphan. Without Grant Donovan bankrolling you, you’re nothing. Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?” The charity gala wasn’t the most exclusive event, so the crowd around Leo was mostly his usual gang of hangers-on. One of them stepped forward, puffing out his chest. “Yeah, an orphan defending a janitor. Do you know who I am? I could have both of you thrown out on the street with one word.” “I don’t care who you are,” I said, spotting a flash of crimson across the ballroom. I raised my voice. “Sloane! He’s being mean to me!” 6 That’s right. I was now an adopted daughter of the Sinclair family. A heartfelt thank you to the System for rewriting the memories of Sloane Sinclair, the heiress to the Sinclair fortune, transforming me from a nobody into her beloved little sister. Hearing the commotion, Sloane made her way over, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “What’s going on here?” The guy who had just threatened me immediately started tattling. “Cousin, these two are crashing your party. They were being incredibly rude to me.” “Did I ask you?” Sloane shot him a look so cold it could freeze fire. Her gaze swept over Leo Wyatt, and her frown deepened. “And haven’t I told you to stop associating with trash like this?” “Ms. Sinclair, you misunderstand,” Leo stammered, thinking she was talking about me and Grant. “Arthur isn’t with them.” “I was talking about you,” Sloane said flatly. The color drained from Leo’s face. Sloane turned to her assistant. “The Sinclair family may not be royalty, but that doesn’t mean we allow any stray dog to wander into our home.” “But cousin, he’s not—” Arthur protested, desperate. “I’m not your cousin,” Sloane cut him off, drawing a clear line in the sand. “We’re not that close. If you can’t respect my wishes, then you will address me as Ms. Sinclair.” “Then what about her?” Arthur pointed an accusing finger at me. “She just called you her sister.” “Oh.” Sloane glanced at me, and I offered a small, apologetic smile. A corner of her mouth lifted, her eyes softening with genuine affection. “That’s because she is.” Arthur looked like he’d been slapped. Tonight’s gala was a Sinclair event, and Sloane was too busy playing host to linger. Before she left, she leaned in close to me. “Next time some nobody with a big mouth tries to bully you, get his name. I’ll deal with him later.” A shiver went down Leo Wyatt’s spine. As he tried to slip away unnoticed, Sloane’s assistant stepped in front of him, his smile polite but firm. “Mr. Wyatt, hello. I’d just like to inspect your invitation.” Leo looked horrified. “Are you accusing me of sneaking in?” The assistant just nodded honestly. 7 Sloane gave me a few more instructions before she was swept back into the crowd. The stage that was set for a grand, dramatic humiliation was now empty, save for two people: me and Grant. The System buzzed around my head, its confusion palpable. It was running diagnostics, trying to figure out where the script had gone so wrong. It knew something was off, but it couldn’t put its finger on it. 【Host,】 it prompted uncertainly, 【aren’t you supposed to be… you know… humiliating the male lead?】 Even though our audience was gone, the scene still had to be played. The mission was to make him give up on me completely. But before I could say a word, Grant spoke first, his voice low. “…I’m not a janitor.” … Did he really see me as that shallow? Okay, fine. I was. Leaning into the role, I looked him up and down with disdain. “What is someone like you even doing here?” 【Whoa, host! You’re amazing!】 The System’s confusion instantly vanished, replaced by a flurry of pink, heart-shaped bubbles. I gave an imperceptible wave, a silent command for it to be cool. Then I reached into my clutch, pulled out the bank card I’d prepared, and held it out to him. Grant didn’t take it. 【Host, why are you giving him money?】 The System’s confusion returned. It felt like its circuits were about to fry. 【Giving him money will just make him even more attached to you!】 【This is a power move,】 I sent back calmly. 【It’s a form of humiliation. You’re a System. You wouldn’t get it.】 【Oh, I see!】 It nodded, not seeing at all. Grant’s gaze dropped to the black card in my hand, then slowly traveled up to my face. “Ava, are you looking down on me? In your eyes, am I really so pathetic that I need your charity?” 8 The raw aggression in Grant’s voice was so intense that the System, floating in the air beside me, flinched and ducked behind my shoulder. “No,” I said softly. “In my heart, you’ve always been invincible.” In this context, the words sounded like a mockery. If he were truly invincible, his company wouldn’t have gone under. I wouldn’t have left him. He opened his mouth to say something, but he heard my next words, spoken so quietly they were almost lost in the ballroom’s distant murmur. It was a whisper, but it was loud enough for him to hear. “I just wanted to help you.” His breath caught. “If—and this is just a hypothetical,” he began, taking a deep, fortifying breath as if bracing for a blow. “If I made all my money back… would you come back to me?” See? Men are all the same. When I was throwing myself at him, he acted like he couldn’t care less. Now that I’ve walked away, he’s full of regret. But as the woman who was determined to become his eternal, untouchable memory, I couldn’t just say what I was thinking. Out of his line of sight, I dug my nails into my palm, the sharp pain bringing tears to my eyes. “No,” I whispered. I bit my lip, hesitating as if I wanted to say more. “The truth is, I…” But then I stopped, my expression falling as if remembering a terrible truth. My voice dropped, heavy with sorrow. “A gold digger like me could never deserve you.” 9 Grant didn’t take the bank card. I was back in my eight-thousand-square-foot villa, sobbing my heart out. “System, do you think he really doesn’t love me anymore?” 【Host, try not to think about it like that. You may have lost the man, but you gained a fortune!】 The System frantically searched its database for comforting phrases. I subtly angled the tablet on my lap so it would be in the System’s line of sight. The open web page was an article titled: “How to Comfort a Grieving Woman.” The most prominent suggestion, in a large, bold font, was: THROW MONEY AT THE PROBLEM. The System pondered this for a moment. 【Host, I know money can’t buy happiness, but… it’s all I have.】 【Ten million has been transferred to your account.】 “I don’t want money,” I wailed, turning my head away dramatically. “I just want love!” 【Fifty million.】 “Grant may be gone, but it’s okay.” My voice was filled with newfound, albeit shaky, resolve. “I’ll pull myself together. I’ll start sponsoring a whole stable of male models.” The System breathed a sigh of relief, glad to see I was finally moving on from my pity party. It floated closer and saw I was scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. When it focused on the words, it let out a digital shriek. 【Host, you have cancer?!】 It immediately scanned my entire body. 【That can’t be right. My diagnostics are clean. Is my programming bugged?】 I finished writing the last sentence and looked up. “Can you forge a terminal diagnosis for me?” 【Host, what do you need that for?】 To become the beautiful, tragic memory he can never touch, of course. “I’m powerless now,” I said sadly. “If Grant holds a grudge and decides to come after me for revenge later, no amount of money will save me.” This part was true. According to the standard tropes of his genre, the hero always returns to crush those who wronged him. As the girlfriend who dumped him the second he went broke, I was first in line for the reckoning. 【But that’s why I arranged for the Sinclairs to take you in,】 the System said, confused. 【You’re actually their long-lost daughter. The real heiress.】 “Huh?” I was floored. 10 Unbelievable. This was so ridiculously cliché. “So, Sloane Sinclair is my actual sister?” 【Yep.】 The System nodded. 【You think just any orphan gets to date the male lead?】 “…” That was a surprisingly harsh way to put it. But, seeing as it had given me over a hundred million dollars, I decided to forgive its bluntness. 【As the chosen one of this world, everyone in Grant’s orbit, man or woman, has an extraordinary background. Especially his girlfriend.】 … And here I thought I was just some poor girl who got lucky. My mind immediately jumped to the practical implications. “Does this mean I get a piece of the Sinclair inheritance?” Even a small percentage would be life-changing. 【Oh, you’ll get it,】 the System confirmed. 【You’ll inherit the Sinclair Corporation’s massive, nine-figure debt, and then you’ll be hunted down by creditors and brutally murdered.】 “…” “Can I politely decline my birthright?” I asked weakly. 【No.】 The System’s refusal was polite but firm. 【It’s part of the mission. According to the script, as you lie dying, you will see Grant one last time. You will confess your regrets, prompting him to deliver his iconic line.】 “What line?” 【Never underestimate a man with nothing to lose.】 … Hold on. Grant was never the “underdog.” Even after his company went bankrupt, he still had all those assets I left behind—the jewelry, the bags. That alone was worth tens of millions. He wasn’t poor. I was. I felt tears of despair welling up. Before mailing the bank card to Grant, I added one last, handwritten note. If I hadn’t gotten sick, I think we would be married by now. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be by your side when you needed me most. If there’s a next life, I hope I can find you again. It was my last-ditch effort to save my own skin. After the courier picked up the package, I felt a sense of calm resignation. The System, seeing my stoic acceptance of fate, made a suggestion. 【Host, it will take the male lead three years to reach the pinnacle of his power. Why don’t we take a nice, long vacation in the meantime?】 “I’m not in the mood.” I stared out the window at a forty-five-degree angle, letting a single, perfect tear trace a path down my cheek. “Nothing interests me anymore.” 【Host, don’t give up,】 it said, trying to cheer me up. 【Once the mission is complete, you can fake your death and escape!】 “But I’ve lost the only man I’ll ever love,” I whispered. “All I want now is to be alone, to find some peace. I heard there’s a private island up for auction soon…” 【I’ll buy it for you!】 the System declared, seizing the opportunity. 【Host, will that make you feel a little better?】 I nodded, my expression a mask of beautiful sorrow. “Perhaps. A little.” 11 I have no idea what kind of budget the universe allocated to the System, but over the next year, I managed to swindle—I mean, receive—several hundred million dollars from it, far exceeding the original one-hundred-million-dollar reward. The System often felt like something was off, but it could never quite figure out what. It eventually concluded that it was just being overly sensitive. I was lounging on a beach chair, sunglasses on, lazily watching the seagulls glide over the turquoise water. Life was so peaceful, so idyllic, that it took me a moment to realize one of the seagulls was getting progressively larger and louder, its cry sounding suspiciously like rotor blades. As a helicopter descended onto my private beach, the System also registered the anomaly. 【I’m sensing a powerful alpha presence,】 it noted with awe. “What’s happening?” As far as I knew, the only people who knew the location of this island were Sloane and my estranged biological father, and that man couldn’t care less about me. Was Sloane visiting? I watched the helicopter warily. A second later, the System screamed. 【RUN, AVA! IT’S THE MALE LEAD!】 Oh, crap. The plan was three years! How did Grant find me after only one? I’d mapped it all out: in the final year, I’d fake a relapse, looking pale and fragile. Grant would find me on my “deathbed,” and his heart would fill with pity, not rage. Not like this. Not with me lounging on a private beach, sipping a piña colada and looking like a bronzed goddess of leisure. Even a blind man could see I’d been playing him. I am so screwed.

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The System told me to save the villain. The original plan was a classic childhood-friends-to-lovers arc, but I messed up. I picked the wrong age. I chose twenty instead of ten. The System shrieked in my head, a burst of digital static. [MY GOD, HOW CAN ONE PERSON CAUSE SO MUCH DAMAGE?!] I stood calmly in front of the villain’s apartment, faced with a wary-looking little boy, and broke into a wide, delighted smile. “Well, look at you! All grown up! Your Auntie Ava used to hold you when you were just a baby!” The System: [?] The Villain: “?” 1 As I stood on the worn-out welcome mat in front of Leo Blackwood’s door, the System was still having a meltdown in my consciousness. [Oh my god, I look away for one second and the entire world collapses!] [How can you be so reckless?! Host, your job was to redeem the villain with love! Now you’re old enough to be his mother!] […] It went on and on, a frantic, buzzing commentary. I remained as steady as a rock. Just a short while ago, I’d been hit by a car. As I lay dying, the System bonded with me, telling me that if I could successfully redeem the story’s villain, I would be rewarded with a new life in this world. It painted a beautiful picture. I promised without hesitation, “Don’t worry. You can count on me. I’ve got this.” Then, with a slip of my finger, I selected the wrong age. The original setup was for me to be his childhood friend. I was supposed to help him in school, protect him from bullies, heal his wounds, and become the one pure, unforgettable love of his life. But now, I was just some “older woman.” It didn’t matter. There are a million ways to change a person’s life. Who says being his first love was the only path that would work? Ignoring the System’s frantic sputtering, I stepped forward and knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door creaked open a few inches, revealing a small, sallow face. The boy was maybe seven or eight years old, rail-thin with messy black hair. A fresh bruise colored the corner of his mouth. His eyes, fixed on me, were full of undisguised suspicion. His voice was childish and soft as he asked, “Who are you?” The moment I saw him, my expression shifted, moving from assessment to surprise, and finally to pure joy. My voice rose with feigned delight. “You must be Leo, right?” “Honey, you’ve gotten so big! Your Auntie Ava used to hold you when you were just a baby!” The System: [?] Leo Blackwood: “?” 2 Hearing my words, the little boy, who had been on high alert, just stared, his eyes clouded with confusion. “Auntie?” The System’s digital CPU was about to fry. [Host, what kind of aunt are you supposed to be?] Without missing a beat, I spun the tale. “That’s right. I’m Ava Rose, your mother Eleanor’s long-lost sister. We found each other right after you were born. I’ve been living abroad all these years… I had no idea that she…” At this, I dug my nails hard into my thigh. The sharp pain brought a faint redness to my eyes. I knelt to his eye level, forcing a pained but gentle smile. “But my sister’s child is my child. From now on, Auntie Ava will take care of you.” I delivered the lines with heartfelt sincerity. Leo was stunned, listening with wide eyes. After a long moment, he murmured, “But… Mom never said she had a sister.” “She passed so suddenly, honey. And you were so little back then. It’s perfectly normal that you don’t remember me.” I seamlessly picked up his thread of doubt. Out in the world, you are who you say you are. In the original story, the villain didn’t come from a traditionally loveless home. On the contrary, his mother, Eleanor, had adored him. But when Leo was five, she got sick and needed money for treatment. She went to his wealthy biological father, who threw them out. In the end, Leo could only watch as his mother passed away in a hospital bed, her eyes full of tears. After that, young Leo survived by collecting scrap metal and bottles, enduring constant scorn and bullying. He grew up, fell in love with a girl he could never have, and spiraled into villainy, only to meet a tragic end. Afraid he still didn’t believe me, I started sharing stories about his mother—intimate little details that no stranger could possibly know. By the time I finished, the little boy’s gaze was shimmering, the corners of his eyes turning red. Dusk was settling, and it was getting close to dinnertime. I stood up and said warmly, “Alright, I’m going to go get some groceries. You be a good boy and wait here for me, okay?” He pressed his lips together, his dark eyes locked on me. Finally, he gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Okay.” I could see the suspicion and caution hadn’t completely vanished from his eyes, but I wasn’t bothered. A kid on his own needs to be careful. An hour later, I returned with bags of groceries. Before I even reached the stairs to his apartment, I felt a pair of eyes on me. But when I looked up, I saw nothing. It wasn’t until I was back at his door that I saw him standing in the exact same spot, his gaze flicking to the grocery bags in my hands. I saw his throat work as he swallowed. After a long pause, he stepped aside, a little stiffly, to let me in. “Come in.” His voice hadn’t changed yet; it was soft and high-pitched, sounding incredibly well-behaved. But I saw it. The hand hidden behind his back was gripping a wooden stick. I sighed internally. Okay. He believed me, but not that much. The System’s voice dripped with sarcasm in my mind. [Right. Because that story was so convincing.] I just shook my head. [No, you don’t get it. The fact that he let me inside is a sign of trust.] The System: […] 3 Thankfully, I’d lived alone for years and had become a decent cook. I made roasted chicken, creamy macaroni and cheese, a pot of corn chowder, and sautéed green beans. A proper meal. When I set the food on the table, Leo didn’t move at first. He just watched me cautiously from under his lashes. I calmly started eating, then gestured to him naturally. “Dinner’s ready.” Only after he saw me take a bite of every single dish did he finally start to eat. Even then, he only picked at the food around the very edge of the serving plates. I couldn’t stand to see it. I picked up the serving spoons and piled his plate high with food. Once his plate was overflowing, I went back to eating my own meal. In my peripheral vision, I saw the little boy stare silently at the mountain of food on his plate. His grip on his fork tightened, and he ducked his head so low his face was nearly buried in his plate as he ate. When we were finished, before I could even start clearing the table, a small hand reached out and took my empty plate. “I’ll… I’ll wash them!” With that, his small, thin figure rushed into the tiny kitchen, and there was no stopping him. I raised an eyebrow. Heh. A proud little guy, aren’t we? 4 The living room and kitchen were separated only by a single old, yellowed sliding door. His small frame was just a head taller than the kitchen counter. He stood on a little stool, washing the dishes with practiced efficiency. Over the sound of running water, I noticed his ears twitch slightly. Perhaps because he didn’t hear any movement from me, he couldn’t resist a slight turn of his head. He looked over his shoulder and met my smiling gaze directly. Caught in the act of peeking, the little boy froze. A second later, he whipped his head back around, a flustered look on his face. I chuckled to myself. The kid was actually pretty cute. I decided not to tease him anymore and stood up. “Leo.” He paused his washing, his hands still in the soapy water, and turned back to look at me, his dark eyes waiting for me to continue. I grabbed my purse and gave him a little wave. “It’s getting late. I should head home now.” With that, I turned and walked toward the door. Silence from behind me. I was almost at the threshold when a small, urgent voice called out. “Are… are you coming back?” I stopped, turning my head slightly. Leo was still standing by the sink, his hands covered in soap suds he hadn’t bothered to rinse off. He was staring at me, his small face tense, his eyes hiding a yearning he couldn’t quite conceal. He was still just a kid, not yet skilled at hiding his feelings, not yet the dark, brooding man he was supposed to become. I blinked, feigning a casual, adult tone as I put on my shoes. “What’s this, kid? Don’t you want me to come back? If I don’t, who’s going to cook for you? Don’t see me out, now! I live just around the corner!” Hearing this, Leo’s tense expression visibly relaxed. He turned his back to me and muttered a soft, “Oh.” But I could see it clearly. The tips of his small ears were slowly turning pink. Ha. Just you wait, kid. Get ready to be smothered by the heavy love of an elder. 5 With the System’s help, I’d moved into a building directly across the street from Leo’s a couple of days ago. As I left his apartment, the System’s snide voice returned. [He wasn’t going to see you out, you know.] I pulled his door closed, catching a final glimpse through the closing gap. Leo had already turned back to the sink, focused on washing the dishes. I let the door click shut, completely unbothered. [You don’t understand. That’s just something adults say. No kid actually takes it literally.] The System: […Whatever.] But just as I got back to my own apartment, before I could even sit down, the System let out a small gasp. [Huh?] [What is it?] I asked. There was a pause, then its tone turned strange. [Go look out your window.] Confused, I did as it said and walked to the window. Across the way, a window slid open. The room inside was dark, no lights on. At first glance, it was just a black square, but then I could clearly make out a small, thin silhouette. This part of town was full of old, run-down buildings. Families that had made some money had long since moved away, leaving the neighborhood feeling even more desolate at night. A single, dim yellow streetlight illuminated the narrow road below. I watched as Leo stood at his window, his gaze fixed on the end of the street, as if searching for something. The small figure stared at the empty road for a long, long time before finally closing the window. Realizing what he had been looking for, a warmth spread through my chest, and I couldn’t help but smile. That silly kid. I was long gone by the time he thought to see me off, wasn’t he? 6 Leo had school in the mornings. Usually, he would just buy a plain bun from a corner store for breakfast. But he didn’t expect that the next morning, as soon as he opened his door, he’d find me standing there with a bag of breakfast. He froze. The morning light fell on his face. Besides his large, dark eyes, his little face was thin from malnutrition. It took him a long moment to process. “You… you’re here,” he stammered. Well, at least he wasn’t carrying a stick today. Progress. I smiled and gently squeezed his cheek, placing the warm bag in his hands. “Yep. Eat up. When you’re done, Auntie Ava will take you to school.” The school was a long way from his apartment. In the original story, Leo ran the entire distance every day. Because it was so far, he was often late and punished by his teachers. The warmth of the breakfast seeped through the bag into his hands. Leo’s fingers twitched, and he glanced down. Inside the bag were breakfast sandwiches, a carton of milk, and a hard-boiled egg. He looked up at me, his expression gentle, his lips pressed into a tight line. Just as I thought he might thank me or get shy, he said, “You don’t have to. I can go by myself,” clutched the bag, and bolted. I watched, stunned, as Leo’s figure disappeared down the street, a question mark slowly forming over my head. “?” Wait. He just… ran? 7 I was utterly baffled. The next second, I broke into a dead sprint after him. Perhaps not expecting me to follow, Leo glanced back, did a double-take, and faltered for a second. I chased him for over a mile, panting, finally catching up to him. I bent over, hands on my knees, gasping for air like I’d just run a marathon. I looked up and saw him, not even flushed or out of breath. I fell silent. Kids these days are built different. Leo stared at me, his expression unreadable but complex. His tone was still flat. “Did you need something else? I’m going to be late for school.” I took a deep breath, fumbled in my pocket, and pulled out four dollars, pressing the coins into his hand. “Take the bus.” It was a four-mile trip. Running would take him over an hour. It was too much. The boy who had led me on a wild chase stared down at the coins in his palm, his pupils contracting slightly. “…” Just then, I saw a city bus approaching in the distance. I quickly asked the System for confirmation that it went to his school, and when it confirmed, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, there’s your bus! Quick, get on! I’ll watch you go.” Leo didn’t say a word as I gently pushed him toward the bus. Just as the doors hissed shut, he suddenly turned back. His eyes met mine, and his lips moved, as if he was trying to say something. But the bus engine rumbled to life, and I couldn’t hear him. I didn’t think much of it and turned to walk home. I didn’t know. The moment I turned away, the boy who had just found a seat scrambled to the window, his eyes staying on me until I was completely out of sight. 8 In the weeks that followed, I brought Leo breakfast every morning, rain or shine. He didn’t come home for lunch, so I called his homeroom teacher, paid for his school lunches for the rest of the semester, and made dinner for us every night. At first, Leo was still cautious and barely spoke. As time went on, he… still barely spoke. I sighed. The System couldn’t resist a jab. [Host, what is a kid supposed to talk about with an adult like you? If you were his age, growing up together, you could have had a perfect romance.] I scoffed, dismissing the idea. Who said redemption had to be about romance? Just as I was about to argue, my phone rang. I pulled it out, saw the caller ID, and answered. “Hello, Mr. Davison?” A polite voice came from the other end. “Hello, you’re Leo Blackwood’s aunt, correct? The school is holding parent-teacher conferences today. If you have time, we’d appreciate it if you could come.” Parent-teacher conferences? I frowned slightly. Leo hadn’t mentioned it. After a moment’s thought, I replied, “Of course. I’m on my way.” Every other kid would have a parent there. He would too. 9 Leo was in the fourth grade. Though he looked more like he was seven or eight, the System’s file said he was ten. I found Mr. Davison’s classroom, arriving just as the meeting was about to start. The room was packed with parents. I scanned the crowd and finally spotted Leo in a seat shoved into the corner, right next to the trash can. He was slumped over his desk, his face turned away, a look of pure boredom etched on his features. The other students were gathered around their parents, chattering excitedly. Someone noticed Leo. “Is Leo Blackwood’s family a no-show again?” “Didn’t you hear? His dad doesn’t want him. I overheard Mr. Davison on the phone with him once. His dad said he couldn’t make it and told the teacher to just unenroll Leo and send him to an orphanage.” “Leo’s so weird. I guess it makes sense nobody wants him…” The whispers reached my ears. Leo’s expression slowly darkened, and his hands, hanging by his sides, clenched into tight fists. But he didn’t say a word. Suddenly, a hand rested on his shoulder. Leo looked up, annoyed. The moment he saw me, his eyes widened. He shot up from his seat, grabbed my sleeve, and started pulling me toward the door. His voice was uncharacteristically stubborn. “Why are you here? This stupid meeting is a waste of time.” “My grades are crap anyway!” I gently took hold of his arm, stopping him. He looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. I glanced around the room, meeting the curious stares of the other parents. I placed a hand on Leo’s shoulder and introduced myself loud and clear. “Hi everyone. I’m Leo’s aunt. I’m here for the conference.” With that, I calmly sat down in his seat. It was so close to the trash can I could smell something sour. The room fell silent for a moment. Then, a low voice, laced with a barely concealed tremor, reached my ear. “Don’t sit there. It’s dirty.”

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After I was reborn, I found myself tethered to a Misery System. Only then did I realize I was the throwaway daughter in a tragic novel. The rule was simple: the more I suffered, the more money I’d get. Just as my parents brought home the daughter of my dad’s fallen army buddy, ready to lay down the new house rules for their adoption, I beat them to it. “I’ve already cleared out my room. Mrs. Gable’s son went off to college and she’s lonely, so I’ll be staying with her for a while.” “All that stuff in there was just cheap junk you got me for my birthdays. I figured Maya wouldn’t like it, so I had a junk collector haul it away. It came to $531.20. I sent you the request in the group chat.” “Oh, and you’re probably too busy for the parent-teacher conference next week, so I asked Mr. Henderson, my history teacher, to stand in for you.” “Mr. and Mrs. Henderson have always been so good to me. It wouldn’t be a big deal if I started calling them Mom and Dad, right? After all, it’s not like you’re short one daughter now.” My parents’ faces grew darker with every word I spoke. The System shrieked in my head, furious at my laid-back rebellion. But a second later, a different notification chimed. A hundred thousand dollars had been deposited into my account. Well, this wasn’t so hard after all. Misery is misery, right? Who says it has to be mine? 1 My father’s brow furrowed into a knot of fury. “You sold everything in your room?” “Just because we brought Maya home, you had to pull this cheap, vindictive stunt?” “How old are you?! How did you get so malicious?!” I was still basking in the glow of the sudden ten-grand windfall, and it took me a moment to snap back to reality. After being reborn and learning I was just cannon fodder in someone else’s tragedy, my initial plan was to simply check out. I didn’t want the pain, and I certainly didn’t want to profit from it. I just wanted to live one life, peacefully. But I never imagined that tormenting my parents could also trigger a payout. Now this was a game-changer. After the hell they put me through in my last life, it was time to collect, with interest. I waited quietly for my father’s tirade to run out of steam before I spoke, my voice soft. “But Dad, weren’t you the one who told me to get rid of all that junk yesterday?” The room fell silent. “I told you yesterday, those were my birthday presents from every year since I was a little girl. They were my best memories. I said I couldn’t bear to throw them away.” “And what did you say then?” I paused, perfectly mimicking his dismissive tone from the day before. “‘It’s all moldy and you treat it like treasure? Just toss it. That crap is just taking up space.’” “So, I did as you asked. I didn’t throw it out, though. I sold it. Made over five hundred bucks. Turns out my ‘best memories’ were worth a little something after all.” “So why are you yelling at me now?” My father froze. He seemed to remember where all that “crap” had come from. Every birthday, every Christmas, he had bought those things for me, piece by piece. There was a time, when I was little, that he truly loved me. That all changed the day Maya entered our lives. But he was too stubborn to admit it. “You dare talk back to me?! I’ll teach you a lesson.” “That’s enough!” my mother cut in, frowning. “Your father was just talking. Why do you have to take everything so literally?” “And you can stop running around. For now, you can sleep on the folding cot in the living room. We’ll clear out the storage room for you soon enough.” I feigned shock. “The storage room? It’s so dark and damp, you can barely turn around in there. You’d really let poor Maya sleep in a place like that?” At that, my father snatched an ashtray and hurled it to the floor, where it shattered. “Stop playing dumb! That room is for you!” “You’re my daughter! You can handle a little hardship, can’t you?!” Seeing his rage, my mother quickly tried to smooth things over. “Let’s not talk about that. Ava, didn’t you want to go camping at South Creek?” “I took time off work. We’ll go this weekend, all of us. We’ll take Maya with us.” The irony was so thick I could taste it. “Mom, you’ve been dangling that South Creek camping trip in front of me for three years.” “Every single time, you were too busy, no time. But the moment Maya shows up, you can suddenly take a vacation?” My mother’s face hardened, her brow knitting in annoyance. “Why do you have to be so petty?” “That was then, this is now. Maya just lost her father. What’s wrong with me taking a few days off to be with her?” I shook my head, my voice laced with regret. “Well, that’s a shame. I’ve already made plans with Mrs. Gable for this weekend.” “You three have a wonderful time. Remember to take lots of pictures. And if you feel awkward posting a family photo with me missing, feel free to Photoshop me in. I really don’t mind.” My father’s brow tightened again. “You ignore your own family to run off and take care of strangers? What is wrong with you?” I straightened up, my expression suddenly serious. “Dad, you’re thinking too small.” “Mrs. Gable tells everyone what a wonderful job you’ve done raising me. I’m building your reputation in the community. You should be proud.” My words seemed to paralyze him. His jaw twitched. “You really are something else. Her son goes abroad, and you rush over to be the perfect substitute child.” “I raised you all these years just so you could lecture me?!” He paced back and forth, fuming, then spun around and pointed a finger at me. “Fine! Go! Go be Mrs. Gable’s daughter right now!” “And don’t you dare call me Dad anymore! Go on, let her adopt you! Let’s see what kind of touching mother-daughter drama you two can cook up!” Sensing the spotlight had shifted away from her, Maya placed a slender hand on her forehead and swayed, a delicate flower collapsing onto the sofa. “Uncle, Auntie, please don’t fight because of me.” “I think… I think my father in heaven wouldn’t want to see you unhappy because of me.” The mention of her deceased father instantly softened my parents’ expressions. They turned to her, cooing and comforting their precious treasure. With no one blocking my way, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out without a backward glance. 2 In my last life, being “too understanding” was what killed me. After Maya arrived, my parents’ world revolved around her. All their love, all their time, was hers. The only time I ever tried to “compete” was when I was burning up with a fever. I mustered the courage to call them. The call ended with my father screaming me into a bloody pulp over the phone. “You wake us up in the middle of the night because you have a fever?” “Go to the hospital yourself. Your sister has her final exams tomorrow. Your mother and I are here with her. We don’t have time to come back.” I was shaking uncontrollably from the fever. The moment I hung up, I collapsed. If Mrs. Gable hadn’t come over with some soup and found me, that fever would have been the end of me. When I was later diagnosed with severe depression, my father called and berated me for two hours straight, every word a nail in my coffin. Dad, you said we were family, that we should be the ones to understand each other the most. So I tolerated your favoritism. I gave way to Maya at every turn. But I understood you. Who was there to understand me? The memories of my past life sent a wave of raw emotion through me, a tide of grief flooding my heart. The System’s mechanical voice suddenly crackled to life. 【ALERT! Host’s emotional state is in extreme flux. Severe suffering detected. Misery System activating.】 【As long as the host continues to suffer, the system will provide immense rewards to help the host reach the pinnacle of life.】 【Host, you must find ways to suffer…】 【Wait… that’s not right…】 【Why has the initial ten-thousand-dollar reward already been disbursed?】 【The ones being tormented… are the host’s parents?!】 【This must be a system error. Host, please cease this dangerous behavior. You should know, I am a veteran system that has guided many hosts…】 Before the System could finish, my phone began to vibrate violently. I didn’t need to look. It was my parents, bombarding the family group chat. The System’s voice grew laced with astonishment. 【No, no, this can’t be… The system is registering an overwhelming influx of misery-data from the host’s parents!】 【TRIGGERING STAGE TWO REWARD. ONE MILLION DOLLARS!】 【My god… so this is how the system can be played?】 The notification of a million dollars hitting my bank account completely washed away the lingering sorrow. “System,” I said, my voice calm, “after the hell of my last life, I already decided. If I have to make a living by being miserable, I’d rather be broke.” “This time, I’m going to live for myself.” The System seemed to have accepted the bug in its own programming. 【So, what is the host’s plan now?】 A small smile played on my lips. “If their misery is my profit, then I’m going to keep hitting them with all the emotional manipulation they ever threw at me. I’m going to make them hurt.” With that, I turned and walked decisively toward the Gables’ house. 3 Soon enough, my parents cut off my allowance. They thought it would force me to come crawling back. I couldn’t have cared less. Instead, I invited Mrs. Gable’s husband, David, the head of a tech firm, out for coffee. Being reborn meant my head was filled with knowledge of the future. Mr. Gable scanned my business proposal, his casual glance slowly sharpening into focused intensity. “You’ve got guts, and a brilliant vision. Come to my office on Monday. We’ll talk details.” He added, his tone serious, “Your parents are going to deeply regret choosing their adopted daughter over you.” Before I knew it, it was my father’s birthday. The first thing on my feed was Maya’s nine-photo grid, with a picture of my parents hugging her as they cut a cake right in the center. My father’s comment was right below it: 【Thank you, my sweet girl. Having you is the greatest blessing a father could ask for!】 He’d even added five red heart emojis. I lightly tapped the ‘like’ button. Not two minutes later, a message from my mother popped up: 【I see you ‘liked’ the post. You have time to scroll on your phone but no time to come home for your father’s birthday. Some daughter you are.】 【So what if Maya is with us now? Can’t you try to understand our situation?】 Understand? Oh, I understood perfectly. After all, Maya wasn’t the only one busy celebrating someone else’s father’s birthday. My mother waited and waited, but my reply never came. She slammed her phone down on the coffee table, rubbing her temples in frustration. My father, scrolling leisurely on his own phone, sneered. “You’re still wasting time messaging her? She’s probably eating instant noodles in some crappy apartment right now.” “Let her get a taste of the real world. She’ll come running back home soon enough…” His voice trailed off. On the local news livestream, a broadcast from a river cruise lit up his screen. There I was, smiling, presenting a custom-made cake to Mr. and Mrs. Gable. The cruise ship was a galaxy of lights on the dark water, and comments flew across the screen: 【Now THAT is a daughter of the year. I’m not jealous at all. Nope.】 【Proudest dad on the internet right now. Look at Mr. Gable’s grin, it’s splitting his face!】 My phone buzzed wildly. It was my father. “Ava, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” “It’s Mr. Gable’s birthday too. I’m helping him celebrate. What’s the problem?” My father laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “He has his own son. Does he really need some outsider fawning over him?” I feigned shock, raising my voice. “Dad, keep it down! What if Maya hears you? That would break her heart.” I could hear him shaking with rage on the other end. “What does this have to do with Maya? Stop dragging her into this.” “How does it not have anything to do with her?” I said slowly, cutting a slice of cake. “Dad, you treat Maya better than you treat your own flesh and blood. For all you know, she probably thinks of you as her real father.” “And you know, Mr. Gable said the same thing. He said I’m so good to them, they’ll treat me like their own daughter. Better than their own son, even.” “Oh, wait. Maybe I should start calling him Dad David now.” “You—!” “Hey, hey, don’t get upset. Your birthday present from me arrived. Don’t forget to grab it.” At the mention of a gift, he managed to choke back his anger. “Well… at least you have some conscience left…” My father eyed the crumpled cardboard box by the door with suspicion. It had arrived earlier, looking so beaten up he’d assumed it was something cheap my mother had ordered and ignored it. As he tore it open, I heard Maya’s gasp on the other end of the line. “Oh! Why did Ava send you work gloves? You can get these on the street for like, five dollars…” A heavy, ragged breathing came through the phone. It was my father. “…This is it? Are you sure you sent the right thing?” “I raised you for eighteen years, and this is all you think I’m worth? This garbage?” I sighed dramatically. “If I send you something expensive, you say I’m wasteful. If I send you something cheap, you say it’s an insult.” “Why don’t you just tell me what you want?” “Or is it that as long as it comes from Maya, you’d treasure it even if it was a blade of grass?” It was as if I’d struck a nerve. He exploded. “What’s with that sarcastic tone? Do you think this is about the price?” “It’s about the lack of thought! You just fob me off with this junk!” Maya chimed in with her fake concern. “Uncle, don’t be angry. Maybe Ava is just a little short on cash…” Just then, the cruise ship’s announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “And now, a special presentation from our very own Ms. Ava, a sixty-thousand-dollar fireworks display in honor of Mr. Gable!”

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The dorm building was on fire. I risked my life, rushing into the inferno to save the campus queen who was trapped inside. I was awarded a plaque for “Heroic Bravery.” I became the hero of the entire university. But when the campus queen woke up, in front of all the media, she pointed a trembling finger at me and said: “It was him! He’s the one who set the fire. He wanted to violate me!” My parents charged over, slapped me hard across the face in public, and knelt before the girl’s parents, kowtowing. “We failed to raise this monster! We disown him! We beg you, please be merciful!” My best friend took the stand in court and testified that he’d “personally seen” me carrying a gas can towards the dorms. I was sentenced to ten years. On the day I went to prison, my parents sent someone with a letter. “Atone for your sins in there. Don’t you ever get out and embarrass us again.” My arms and legs were broken. I drew my last breath amidst shattered bones. It was my parents who had paid off the prison bosses, telling them to “discipline me properly.” A tear of blood streamed from my eye. I saved her. Why did the whole world want me dead? When I opened my eyes again, I heard screams from below the dorm. The fire… it had just started. … “Fire!” “It’s the girls’ dorm! Somebody help!” The screams tore through the campus. My eyes shot open. Before me was the familiar ceiling of my dorm room, the yellowing walls. The air was thick with the smell of something burning. My roommate, Finn, leaped from his bed, barely bothering to pull on his pants. “Leo! Wake up! There’s a fire!” I sat up, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had lived this scene once before. It was identical. Finn scrambled into his clothes and rushed to the balcony. Below, the flames painted half the sky red. Thick smoke billowed from a window on the third floor. “It’s Alice’s dorm!” Finn’s voice was choked with a sob. “She’s still in there! I saw her this afternoon, she never came out!” He spun around and gripped my arm, his knuckles white. “Leo! You’re the most athletic guy here, the fastest runner!” “Go save her! Hurry!” I looked at him, motionless. In my last life, I had listened to him. I had charged in like a bull. I carried Alice out of that inferno on my back. And I became a monster—an arsonist and an attempted rapist. I stared at Finn’s frantic face. This same face, later on the witness stand, had spoken with such conviction. “I saw Leo with my own eyes, carrying a gas can to the girls’ dorm.” I pried his fingers off my arm, one by one. “I’m not going.” Finn froze. He stared at me as if I were a stranger. “What did you just say?” “Leo, that’s Alice in there! The campus queen!” “She’s going to die!” “I’m not going.” What did it have to do with me? If I save her, I die. If she dies, I live. It took me an entire lifetime to earn a second chance at this multiple-choice question. “Are you insane?!” Finn roared. “How can you be so cold-blooded! That’s a human life!” The shouts from downstairs grew louder. Someone was yelling Alice’s name. Someone was calling 911. I put on my shoes, grabbed my phone and wallet, and prepared to evacuate with everyone else. Finn blocked my path, his eyes bloodshot. “Leo, I’m begging you! If you just get her out, I’ll give you anything you want! You’ve always had a crush on her, right? This is your chance!” A crush? In my last life, that crush got me ten years in prison and a broken corpse. “Move.” “If you won’t go, I will!” Finn gritted his teeth and turned to bolt out the door. I grabbed his arm. “The fire trucks will be here any second. If you go in there, you’re just killing yourself.” “Let go of me!” Finn thrashed like an enraged bull, shaking me off. “Leo, I never knew you were this kind of person! A coward who just stands by and watches someone die! If anything happens to Alice, this isn’t over between us!” He stormed out of the room. I stood there, listening to his fading footsteps. I walked to the balcony. Tongues of fire were now licking out of the window, devouring it whole. The black smoke coiled into the sky like a great dragon. I saw Finn make it downstairs. He was being held back by a couple of professors, who wouldn’t let him get any closer. He was pointing up towards our dorm, screaming something at them. Probably telling them how I, his good friend, had refused to save anyone. Soon, the wail of sirens grew from a distant cry to a piercing scream. I turned and left the dorm. This time, I just wanted to live. Even if I had to bear the world’s scorn. The firefighters got the blaze under control quickly. Alice was rescued. She was covered in soot, unconscious. An ambulance whisked her away. I stood in the crowd, a cold observer. Chatter about the fire buzzed around me. “Heard it was aging wiring on the third floor.” “So scary. Thank God everyone’s okay.” “Is Alice all right? She’s the face of our university.” Just then, Finn marched straight towards me. “Leo!” he bellowed. He got in my face and grabbed the collar of my shirt. “Why didn’t you save her?! You could have done it! Why did you just stand there and watch her burn?!” His spittle flew into my face. “Why should I?” “What?” Finn looked at me as if I’d told the world’s sickest joke. “You’re asking me why you should have saved her?” He was trembling with rage. “That’s a human life, Leo! Do you have a conscience?!” Our student advisor pushed through the crowd, his brow furrowed, and pulled Finn away. “Finn, calm down.” He turned to me, his expression just as grim. “Leo, what exactly happened here? Finn said that when the fire started, he begged you to rescue Alice, and you refused?” I nodded. “Yes.” The advisor fought to keep his voice level. “Leo, I need an explanation. Why?” What was I supposed to say? That I’d already died once, murdered by the very person I saved and the friend standing right in front of me? “No reason. I was scared. I didn’t dare. Is that reason enough?” “Scared?” Finn exploded again. “You’re lying! You placed in the top ten at the S-City Marathon last semester! During orientation, you did the fifty-foot rope climb in twenty seconds! Everyone on this campus knows you’re in peak physical condition! You were scared?” He turned to the advisor and the students gathering around. “Listen to him! He’s lying! He wasn’t scared at all! He’s just cold-blooded! He left her to die!” The advisor pushed his glasses up his nose, his expression hardening. “Leo, this university teaches us to help one another, to have a sense of collective honor. Your actions today were incredibly selfish and callous! You have failed the values we strive to instill in you. I will report this to the dean’s office. You can expect disciplinary action.” I looked at his self-righteous face and found it almost funny. Disciplinary action? Better than a death sentence. “Whatever.” Finn’s face turned purple with rage. “You… you…” At that moment, a well-dressed middle-aged couple, flanked by the university president, hurried over. Alice’s parents. Alice’s mother saw the advisor and immediately grabbed his arm. “Mr. Henderson, how is our Alice? Her father just got off a plane, we came straight here!” “Mrs. Green, please don’t worry. Alice has been taken to the hospital. Her life is not in danger.” Mr. Green surveyed the scene with an imperious gaze. “What happened with this fire? Has the cause been determined? This university had better have an explanation for us!” The advisor wiped sweat from his forehead. “Mr. Green, rest assured, we will conduct a full investigation.” Seeing them, Finn seemed to find his courage and rushed over. “Mr. Green! Mrs. Green! I know what happened! I know some things!” He pointed a trembling finger at me, his voice filled with grief and fury. “It was him! When the fire first started, he was the only one who had a chance to get in there and save her! I begged him! I got on my knees and begged him! But he wouldn’t go! He just stood there and watched! He said he was scared! He’s a coward! A cold-blooded bastard!” Mrs. Green swayed, nearly fainting. Mr. Green’s face darkened until it looked like a storm cloud. He took long, deliberate strides towards me. CRACK! A sharp, ringing slap. My head snapped to the side, my cheek burning. Mr. Green pointed a finger at my nose, hissing each word. “If anything… anything at all happens to my daughter… I will make you, and your family, pay.” My parents drove through the night from our hometown. The advisor had called them, saying I was in “huge trouble.” I was sitting on a bench in the hospital corridor, waiting for the results of Alice’s tests. The moment my mother saw me, she marched over and, without a word, slapped me. “You monster! How could we have raised something like you!” Her voice was shrill, drawing the eyes of everyone in the hallway. My father was right behind her. He kicked the back of my knee, hard. I buckled and fell to the floor. “Kneel!” he roared, pointing at a nearby hospital room door. “Get over there and kowtow to them! Apologize!” I looked up at them. One face, familiar and wrinkled from years of hard work. The other, which I’d always respected, severe and unsmiling. “Do you even know what happened?” I asked. “Of course, we know!” my mother shrieked, pointing at me. “Your advisor told us everything! You stood by and did nothing! You let that poor girl, that campus queen, nearly burn to death! Do you have any idea who her family is? Her father is the chairman of the Green Corporation! How could people like us ever afford to cross them?” My father’s lips trembled with rage. “I’ve lived my whole life as an honest man, and you, my worthless son, have thrown it all away! What was the point of raising you! Hiding when it matters most! If you had saved her, you’d be a hero now! You’d bring honor to this family! But what are you now? A coward! The laughingstock of the whole university!” I pushed myself up and dusted off my knees. “I did nothing wrong.” “You still dare to say you did nothing wrong?!” My father raised his hand to hit me again. “I didn’t start the fire. I didn’t push anyone in. I just chose to protect myself. What did I do wrong?” “You…” My father’s hand froze in mid-air. But my mother was relentless. “You did nothing wrong? Their daughter is lying in that room, and you did nothing wrong? If you had a shred of decency, you would have been the first one in! It’s too late for excuses now! You’ve ruined this entire family!” Just then, the hospital room door opened. Mr. and Mrs. Green emerged, along with the university president. “Mr. Green, Mrs. Green, I’m Leo’s father,” my dad stammered, grabbing my mother. “I’m so sorry, truly, so sorry!” He started to pull my mother down to their knees. The president quickly stopped them. “Please, there’s no need for this. Let’s just talk things through.” But my parents wouldn’t listen. “We failed to raise this monster!” My father pointed at me, pledging his loyalty to his future benefactors. “We disown him! From this day on, he has nothing to do with our family! We beg you, be merciful, just let us live!” My mother was on the floor, sobbing hysterically. “We’re just ordinary people, we can’t afford to pay…” Mr. Green’s gaze went past them and landed on me. “Disown him?” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “Easy for you to say.” “My daughter inhaled a massive amount of smoke. Her vocal cords and lungs are damaged. The doctor says there may be permanent consequences.” With every word he spoke, the color drained from my parents’ faces. “She is a broadcast journalism major, a future artist. Her voice is her life. Your son destroyed her future, and you think disowning him fixes everything?” Mrs. Green dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, her voice choked. “My daughter… she’s only twenty…” My father fell to his knees with a loud thud. He grabbed Mr. Green’s leg, tears streaming down his face. “Mr. Green, I’m begging you! Please! Hit me, curse me, do whatever you want to me! It’s not the boy’s fault, it’s mine! I failed as a father!” The university president tried to mediate. “Mr. Green, look, what’s done is done. Perhaps we can discuss a solution…” “A solution?” Mr. Green’s eyes, cold and sharp, turned back to me. “It’s simple. He drops out of school. Then, he will kneel at my daughter’s bedside until she wakes up and personally forgives him. Otherwise, this is not over.” I didn’t kneel. I was suspended from school and confined to my dorm to write a self-criticism report. Finn moved out. My parents called me a dozen times a day, trying to force me to go kneel and apologize to Alice. “Leo, do you even have a heart? Your father lost his job because of you! His boss said having someone from a family like ours was bad luck! Would it kill you to just go and kneel? Do you have to drive our entire family to ruin before you’re satisfied?” I just hung up the phone. In my last life, my parents had dragged me to my knees. And what did it get us? Deeper humiliation and the complete destruction of our family. I wouldn’t be that stupid again. Three days later, Alice woke up. The hospital was swarming with reporters and university officials. My advisor “requested” my presence. He said it was the Greens’ demand. I was “escorted” by two security guards and made to stand outside her room. A reporter asked, “Alice, can you tell us what happened during the fire?” Alice’s gaze slowly drifted past everyone and landed on me, standing in the doorway. She raised a trembling hand and pointed. “I remember… when the fire was raging, I was trapped. I was so hopeless. And I saw a figure, standing in the doorway. It was him…” Her finger pointed steadily at me. “It was Leo.” “He just stood there, watching me. I begged him for help, but he didn’t move. He even… he even smiled.” BOOM. “Oh my god! He smiled?” “Is he a demon?” “That’s terrifying! This was attempted murder!” My mother screamed and lunged at me. CRACK! Another slap echoed through the hall. “You demon! You’re not human!” She tore at my clothes like a madwoman, pounding on my chest. My father charged over, kicked me to the ground, and started stomping on me relentlessly. “I’ll kill you, you monster! We don’t have a son like you!” I lay on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling. Through her oxygen mask, I could see the corner of Alice’s mouth curve into a triumphant smirk. My parents fell to their knees, bowing their heads to the ground again and again. “We’re sorry! We’re so sorry!” Just then, two uniformed police officers walked in. The one in the lead strode over to me and looked down. “Leo?” I didn’t answer. “You need to come with us,” the officer said, his voice firm. “We found something at the scene of the fire. Something… that might belong to you.” I was taken to the police station. The light in the interrogation room was blindingly white. The officer across from me placed a clear evidence bag on the table. Inside was a partially melted disposable lighter. The cheap kind you get for a dollar. “We found this in a corner of the fire scene,” he said, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “It has your fingerprints on it. Leo, we now have reason to suspect your involvement in this arson case.” I stared at the lighter, a chill spreading through my chest. In my last life, they framed me with a gas can. This time, a lighter.

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I was the child my parents abandoned during the kidnapping. I was seven; my fraternal twin siblings, Joshua and Isabelle, were ten. Three kids, ten million dollars—and the kidnappers only let one come home alive. The call reached my father’s study while he handled a high-stakes overseas merger. So my mother answered. That life-altering call lasted less than three minutes. Her voice was cool, detached—like negotiating a business deal. “The twins are non-negotiable. Joshua’s a business prodigy, Isabelle a gifted socialite. They’re the Thorne family’s legacy.” “I’ll pay the ransom,” she went on, “but I want both twins back unharmed.” The kidnapper laughed, calling her greedy—ten million wasn’t enough for three. Without hesitation, my mother said: “The little one… she has less potential. Let’s cut our losses. Our liquid assets are tight.” See? Even then, it was the cold calculation of the wealthy. They didn’t choose a child—they chose the highest-return investment. Later, police raided the hideout. In the chaos, a bullet grazed my left kneecap. I survived, but returned to the Thorne family as their only flawed asset—a limping, damaged good never to be shown off. 1 My name is Aurora. A name that means “dawn.” The light that breaks over the world. When my parents named me, perhaps they once hoped I, too, would be a shining glory for the Thorne family, just like my siblings. But after the kidnapping, my very existence became a living, breathing reminder of their shameful decision. And my name became a bitter irony. The light never shone on me. I became the Thorne family’s deepest shadow. The day I came home, I was met with an eerie, suffocating silence. Joshua and Isabelle were swarmed by nannies and therapists, hailed like returning heroes. They were physically unharmed, merely shaken. My parents clutched them, murmuring endless reassurances. “It’s okay, my darlings. It’s all over now.” And me? I was carried out of the car by our driver, Arthur, my leg encased in a heavy plaster cast. I was left standing alone in the grand foyer like an unwelcome ghost. My mother’s gaze finally fell upon me, but it lingered for only a second before shifting to my leg. There was no pain in her eyes, only a sharp, appraising scrutiny, as if she were assessing the remaining value of damaged goods. “What did the doctor say? Will it scar? Will it affect her walk?” She wasn’t asking me. She was asking Arthur. The old driver shifted uncomfortably. “The doctor said the bullet damaged the ligaments, ma’am. I’m afraid… her walk might always be a little… affected.” “Affected.” That one word was a verdict, a final judgment that cast me into a permanent, icy exile. My father sighed, walked over, and gave my head a perfunctory pat. His tone was one of weary charity. “Aurora has suffered, too. Go to your room and get some rest.” From that day on, my left leg became a forbidden topic in the Thorne household. No one ever mentioned it. No one ever asked if it hurt. No one ever offered a word of comfort when a rainy day sent a dull ache through my joints and drained the color from my face. They simply, silently, made sure that in every family portrait, I was seated in the front, my leg hidden by the long folds of a skirt. Or they’d simply crop the photo from the waist up. Gradually, in all the photos released to the public, the Thorne family consisted of only four members: the loving parents and their perfect, beautiful twins. I became the hidden one, the flawed secret they kept locked away from the light. My brother, Joshua, inherited our father’s business acumen and charisma. He was the undisputed heir to the Thorne Corporation, a master of social graces since childhood. My sister, Isabelle, was a perfect copy of my mother’s artistic flair and social ambition. Trained in ballet and piano, she was the most dazzling jewel of high society. They were the family’s legacy and future. I was the accident and the burden. A private driver took me to and from school, but my parents never attended a single parent-teacher conference. My grades were average, and they’d say, “Aurora’s health is delicate. We shouldn’t ask too much of her. As long as she’s happy and healthy, that’s enough.” It sounded like love, but the real translation was: She’s a cripple. We don’t expect her to amount to anything. One year, on my birthday, our cook, Mrs. Gable, made me a bowl of longevity noodles. Isabelle drifted into the kitchen, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “What is that smell? Mrs. Gable, I thought I told you, I can’t stand onions or cilantro.” Mrs. Gable quickly explained, “It’s for Miss Aurora, ma’am.” Recognition dawned on Isabelle’s face, followed by a light, dismissive laugh. “Oh, right. I forgot it was your birthday.” Her eyes swept over me, her gaze lingering on my leg with undisguised contempt. “Honestly, do you even have the right to celebrate a birthday? Mom and Dad have been ridiculed behind their backs for years because of you. What gives you the right to celebrate anything?” “You know,” she added, her voice a cruel whisper, “it would have been better for everyone if you’d just died with those kidnappers.” She turned and sauntered away, a graceful, poisonous swan. I was left alone, staring at the steaming bowl of noodles, my appetite gone. My hand, holding the fork, was frozen mid-air. A hot flush crept up my neck as I bit my lip, hard. A disabled daughter was an indelible stain on the Thorne family’s reputation. In their eyes, I should just be grateful to be alive; I had no right to ask for more. But I had my own light, didn’t I? 2 From a young age, I secretly asked my teachers to help me enter art competitions. I taught myself to sketch, to paint with watercolors, to capture life in quick, fluid lines. Last year, one of my pieces made it to the finals of the Continental Young Artists’ Prize. I didn’t win, but it was enough to plant a small seed of confidence in my chest. My gaze fell, and a tear traced the curve of my eyelashes, splashing silently into the bowl. But when I excitedly presented a portrait I’d painted of my parents to them, they barely gave it a glance. My father was on the phone, and he just laughed apologetically to the person on the other end. “Sorry about that, my youngest just ran in to cause a scene, waving some scrap of paper around. Anyway, as I was saying, I think the East End project would be perfect for Isabelle. She’s a real prodigy, you know…” My mother came in with a tray of tea, set it down, and then unceremoniously pushed me out of the room. “Go play somewhere else. Why must you always be underfoot? Can’t you just stay quietly in your room?” The painting fluttered from my hands and landed on the floor like a butterfly with a broken wing. My father’s words, my mother’s shove—they were like two ringing slaps across my face. I went back to my room, picked up the painting my father had called a “scrap of paper,” and tore it to pieces, shred by shred. The vibrant colors, the lines and shadows I had been so proud of, now felt like knives in my heart. Stop being a fool, Aurora, I told myself. In this house, even your breath is a burden. What worth could your art possibly have? In that moment, I understood with chilling clarity: they weren’t just ignoring me. They were wishing I would disappear. From that day on, I shed every last illusion of familial love. All I needed was a chance—a chance to leave this place for good. The only lifeline I could grasp was my art. Last year, my painting Aurora had been a finalist in that prestigious competition. It depicted an abandoned warehouse. Sunlight streamed through a broken window, creating sharp, distinct beams of light. In one of those beams, a tiny, overlooked dandelion stubbornly pushed its way through a crack in the concrete floor, crowned with a fluffy white head. That was me. After the competition, I received a private message from Elysian, one of the country’s top art galleries. They wanted to represent me exclusively and promised to protect my identity with an anonymous pseudonym. I signed the contract without hesitation, under the name Echo. With my first advance, I hired the best physical therapist in the country. My leg, under systematic treatment, could never be fully healed, but my walk transformed from a noticeable limp to a subtle inconsistency, almost imperceptible unless you were looking for it. The steadily growing numbers in my bank account were the foundation of my escape plan. I was a patient spider, silently spinning my web, waiting for the perfect moment to trap them and shed my old skin. That moment arrived on my twentieth birthday. The Thorne family was hosting a grand charity gala to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the Thorne Corporation. The highlight of the evening was a charity auction. My brother, Joshua, as the heir apparent, would give the keynote speech. My sister, Isabelle, would donate one of her own oil paintings, Swan Lake, to be auctioned off, burnishing the family’s philanthropic reputation. And I, once again, received a warning from my mother. “Aurora, tonight’s guests are very important. You will behave yourself. Find a quiet corner and stay there. Do not wander around.” My mother stared at my face, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. I looked far more like her than Isabelle did—and prettier, too. What a pity… She handed me a drab, gray, outdated evening gown, her tone leaving no room for argument. “And another thing. Don’t wear any bright colors. We can’t have you upstaging your sister. Remember, tonight is about Joshua and Isabelle.” I looked at my reflection in the mirror—a ghost in muted colors, dressed for a funeral. “I understand, Mother,” I said calmly. Resistance was futile. In this house, I had long ago mastered the art of obedience. 3 The ballroom was a glittering sea of couture gowns and whispered secrets, the air thick with the scent of champagne and ambition. Joshua, immaculate in a custom-tailored suit, stood on the stage, his speech punctuated by waves of applause. Isabelle was a vision in a stunning scarlet gown, a blazing flame that captured every eye in the room. Her painting, the amateurish Swan Lake, was lauded by the auctioneer with absurd hyperbole. It was finally sold for half a million dollars to one of my father’s business partners, earning her a standing ovation. She linked her arm through our father’s, smiling like a triumphant queen. I sat in the most inconspicuous corner, sipping my juice, an invisible spectator at their carnival. Suddenly, a stir at the ballroom entrance. The true prince of the city’s elite had arrived: Damian Blackwood, the formidable head of the Blackwood Group. Dressed in a stark black suit, he moved with a cool detachment that set him apart from the clamor. The moment he entered, my father, with Joshua and Isabelle in tow, hurried to greet him, his smile a sycophantic display. “Mr. Blackwood! Your presence graces our humble event!” Damian offered a curt nod, his gaze sweeping the room without interest. His deep-set eyes held no ripple of emotion. He was clearly unimpressed by the Thorne family’s fawning. The auction continued. “Our next item is quite special,” the auctioneer announced. On the large screen behind him, a new painting appeared. The entire canvas was cast in oppressive, gloomy tones, save for a single dandelion bathed in light, its life force so palpable it seemed ready to burst from the frame. The name of the painting was Aurora. My eyes widened. I stared, unblinking. That was my painting. The one I had anonymously donated through Elysian Gallery. I never imagined it would appear here, at my own family’s gala. My palms grew slick with sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs. “This piece, titled Aurora,” the auctioneer said, “comes from an anonymous artist known only as Echo. The bidding will start at one hundred thousand dollars.” The words were barely out of his mouth when Isabelle, sitting with her circle of socialites, let out a derisive snort. “Echo? Never heard of her.” She fanned herself languidly and rolled her eyes. “Some no-name artist crawling out of the woodwork, trying to get her work into an event like this. And look at it—it’s a chaotic mess. An absolute eyesore.” Her brother, Joshua, frowned beside her. “The composition and theme are so provincial. It lacks sophistication.” My parents didn’t even bother to spare it a glance. In their world, a painting with an unknown artist and a somber style had no place at their meticulously curated event. As expected, a dead silence fell over the room. No one raised a paddle. The awkwardness was thick enough to taste. I clenched the fabric of my dress, my nails digging into my palms. Just as the auctioneer was about to declare the piece unsold, a cool, clear voice cut through the silence. “Three million.” A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Every head turned. The man holding the paddle was none other than the unapproachable, unimpressible magnate himself—Damian Blackwood. My father nearly bit his tongue in shock. The sneer on Isabelle’s face froze, melting into sheer disbelief. Damian lowered his paddle. His voice was calm but carried an undeniable weight of command. “I am quite fond of this painting. I trust no one will object.” No one had wanted it a moment ago. Now that the prince had spoken, who would dare challenge him? The auctioneer’s voice trembled with excitement. “Three million going once! Three million going twice! Three million, sold! Congratulations, Mr. Blackwood!” Amid the thunderous applause, I lifted my head. My gaze traveled across the sea of faces and met Damian Blackwood’s. He was looking in my direction. No, not at me. At the painting projected on the screen behind me. His focus was intense, scorching, like a man who had finally found a long-lost, priceless treasure. After the auction, Damian didn’t linger. He ignored my father’s invitations to stay and Joshua’s attempts to offer him a toast. He walked directly to a staff member and asked in a low voice: “I would like to meet the artist, Echo. Do you have her contact information?” 4 The news that Damian Blackwood wanted to meet Echo detonated in the Thorne household. My father immediately saw it for what it was: a golden opportunity to latch onto the Blackwood dynasty. He mobilized his entire network, trying to uncover the identity of this mysterious artist. Isabelle, abandoning her previous disdain, began obsessively studying Echo’s style. She even bribed an employee at Elysian Gallery for information. She presented a few printouts of my paintings to our mother, her voice brimming with manufactured confidence. “Mother, look. This Echo’s style is actually quite similar to mine. Perhaps Mr. Blackwood saw a reflection of me in her work.” My mother was thoroughly convinced. The very next day, she hired the city’s most renowned art tutor to teach Isabelle how to replicate my paintings. They discussed it openly in front of me—how to become Echo, how to leverage that identity to get close to Damian Blackwood. Joshua was more pragmatic. He found me, his tone laced with a condescending generosity. “Aurora, you like to draw, don’t you? See if you can find out anything about this Echo in your little art circles.” He assumed my “liking to draw” was nothing more than childish scribbling. He had no idea that the Echo he was desperately searching for was the very sister he held in such low esteem. I lowered my eyes, hiding the storm of emotions within me. “I don’t know anyone by that name,” I said softly. A week later, Isabelle had produced a technically proficient but soulless copy of my work. My father pulled some strings to have the painting delivered to Damian Blackwood, strongly hinting that Isabelle was, in fact, Echo. However, recognizing that Isabelle was still a novice, my father had a rare thought for me. He instructed me to paint a copy as well, as a backup plan. Of course, from the weary sigh he gave, it was clear he had no faith in this backup. In his mind, if the brilliant Isabelle couldn’t pull it off, what hope did a failure like me have? Standing nearby, Isabelle let out a snort of laughter. She tapped my blank canvas with her freshly manicured nails, her eyes dripping with scorn. “Dad, are you serious? Her? This cripple has never succeeded at a single thing in her life. The garbage she paints will just end up embarrassing the Thorne name.” My father sighed again, not refuting her. He clearly agreed. “It’s just a backup. Better than nothing, I suppose.” I kept my gaze down, my long lashes hiding the universe of feelings in my eyes. I simply gave a soft, “Mm.” To be considered a backup plan was the highest honor the Thorne family had ever bestowed upon me. I locked myself in my small studio for two straight days. They thought I was struggling to copy, ineptly mimicking the real Echo they could never hope to be. They didn’t know. I was Echo. I didn’t copy anything. I painted something entirely new. 5 It was a painting of dandelions again. But it was no longer the single, lonely flower struggling through concrete from my painting Aurora. This new piece was set against a backdrop of a vast, open field under an endless, brilliant blue sky. The focus was a cloud of dandelion seeds, scattered by the wind. Each seed, with its tiny parachute, was soaring fearlessly into the distance, toward a new world filled with unknown promise and hope. Every single seed was rendered in exquisite detail, radiating a life force so vibrant it felt as if they might fly right out of the frame. I named it Nirvana. As I laid down the final brushstroke, I exhaled a long, slow breath. I knew that after this painting, nothing would ever be the same. When I gave the painting to my father, he was already impatient. “Are you done yet? What took you so long? Isabelle finished hers ages ago.” He took the canvas, glanced at it dismissively, and the furrows on his brow deepened. “What is this mess? I told you to copy Aurora, not paint a bunch of fluffballs. It looks nothing like it! I knew I couldn’t count on you.” Isabelle, standing beside him, covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. “See, Dad? I told you. What could she possibly accomplish? This looks worse than something I drew when I was three. If Mr. Blackwood sees this, he’ll think Echo is insane.” My mother walked over, took one look, and averted her eyes in disgust. “Forget it. Don’t even take it out of the house; it’s an embarrassment. Aurora, just stay home. Don’t come along and cause trouble.” I looked at the floor and whispered, “Okay.” My obedience was their reassurance. They took Isabelle’s soulless copy and my painting, which they considered trash, and headed to the private gallery where they were to meet Damian Blackwood, their hearts full of confidence. I, as the creator of the backup plan who “might be asked a few questions,” was ordered to come along. My mother chose the most unremarkable gray dress for me, instructing me repeatedly, “When we get there, you tell them Isabelle was kind enough to guide your painting. Do you understand? Don’t say anything else, and don’t you dare steal your sister’s spotlight.” I nodded like a puppet, devoid of emotion. They had no idea. I wasn’t there to be a prop. I was there to reclaim everything that was mine. The private gallery was quiet and elegant. Damian Blackwood sat in a rosewood chair, steam curling delicately from the teacup before him, slightly obscuring his handsome face and adding to his air of detached nobility. He didn’t look at us. His gaze was fixed on the painting beside him—my Aurora, now exquisitely framed. My father rubbed his hands together, his voice dripping with sycophantic charm. “Mr. Blackwood, we’ve found her for you. We’ve brought you Echo.” He pushed my sister, Isabelle, forward. Isabelle immediately adopted the air of a reserved, slightly shy artist. She gave a small nod. “Mr. Blackwood. It’s a pleasure. I am Echo.” Damian’s gaze finally lifted from the painting and landed on Isabelle. It was a flat, clinical look, the way one might inspect an inanimate object. It made the smile on Isabelle’s face twitch and stiffen. “You painted this?” he asked. “Yes,” Isabelle said, feigning composure as she began reciting the lines her art tutor had drilled into her. “My inspiration for Aurora came from a… rather unpleasant experience. The dandelion represents the will to strive for the light, even in the darkest of circumstances…” She didn’t get to finish. Damian cut her off. “Is that so?” He picked up Isabelle’s copy from the table. After a single glance, he let out a short, sharp scoff and casually tossed it to the floor. The glass in the frame shattered with a piercing crack. The color drained from Isabelle’s face. “This painting,” Damian said, his voice as cold as ice, “has a passable form, but the brushwork reeks of vanity and impatience. It is utterly devoid of soul. The person who painted this wasn’t thinking of art, but of what it could buy them.” “You,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “call yourself Echo?”

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1 The day I got my cancer diagnosis, tabloids ran photos of my husband at a prenatal check-up with his intern. My son Jamie smashed my phone—for the first time, father and son united against me. “I’m married to Amy now,” my husband Marcus sneered. “You won’t chase her away like you did Vera.” Jamie held up his name-change papers proudly. “I took Aunt Amy’s last name too! We’re the real family!” I crumpled the diagnosis, clinging to dignity. “Then let’s divorce.” Marcus laughed. “Divorce? We were never married. Just get out if you’re leaving.” Jamie shoved me toward the door. “Get out!” As the door slammed shut, I called my mother-in-law. “You heard him—you’ll agree now.” She sighed. “Raina, the Cole family wronged you years ago.” I hung up. Suddenly, a white snake lunged at me, fangs sinking into my arm. From the balcony, Jamie cheered. “Good job, Snowy! Teach her to tattle on Aunt Amy—die!” My arm’s puncture wounds turned blackish-purple. I scrambled to my car, but a Maybach slammed into it, flipping it over. Marcus stared through the shattered windshield, eyes cold as the snake’s. “You lied about cancer? Let’s see if you die this time.” His car sped off, my screams lost to the wind. … The wind cut through me like a harbinger of death. I squeezed my arm, trying to slow the venom’s spread. My cries finally attracted a passerby. As he helped me into his car, he muttered, “Did you cross the mob or something?” A bitter smile touched my lips. “Maybe.” I barely made it to the hospital, only to find the emergency room deserted. “Mr. Cole’s new wife had a scare with the baby,” a young nurse explained, rolling her eyes. “All the doctors are with her.” She lowered her voice. “Honestly, she just ate too much, but she’s claiming it was a shock. Figures. When you’ve got someone to dote on you, you can be as dramatic as you want.” When she saw my arm, her casual demeanor vanished. She rushed to get a doctor, but Marcus blocked her path. “It’s a pet snake. How venomous can it be? She’s faking.” Jamie puffed out his chest. “Yeah! Even I can play with Snowy. That bad woman is just trying to bully my mom!” The son I had carried for ten months, calling another woman “mom,” and me, a “bad woman.” I collapsed at the door, my nails digging into the frame. “Please,” I begged, “help me…” I wasn’t afraid to die, but I refused to die here, in his territory. Marcus’s gaze flickered for a second as he saw my swollen, discolored arm, but then he sneered. “That’s an old trick, Raina. You could at least try to be more creative.” Amy fluttered her eyelashes. “Wow, sis, you must have used a lot of eyeshadow to get that effect.” Jamie, her loyal little soldier, immediately pounced on me, pinching my arm hard. “I’ll expose her!” The new life I had nurtured with my own blood and love had become my abuser’s sharpest weapon. When rubbing didn’t work, he ran to get a knife, intending to scrape the “makeup” off. A doctor quickly intervened, examining the two puncture wounds. “This is definitely a snakebite. We need to start treatment immediately!” “Liar! Snowy doesn’t bite people! She’s faking!” Jamie shrieked, swinging the small knife toward my wound. The doctor stopped him. “Mr. Cole, this is not a bite from a common pet snake. Please, tell me what kind of snake it was so we can administer the correct antivenom.” Marcus scoffed. “Didn’t you say you have cancer? You’re going to die anyway, why waste the serum?” “Mr. Cole, this is a matter of life and death!” the doctor pleaded. “This is not the time for games. Every second we delay puts the patient in more danger!” A flicker of doubt crossed Marcus’s cold eyes. Seeing this, Amy let out an exaggerated sigh. “Wow, sis, you’re amazing. You can get any man to rush to your defense, can’t you?” The temperature in the room plummeted. The look Marcus gave me was more venomous than any snakebite. “Throw her out! I want to see if a pet snake can actually kill someone.” Two security guards dragged me away. I watched in horror as Jamie slammed the door shut. The heavy frame crushed my fingers, sending a white-hot bolt of pain through me. A cold sweat broke out all over my body as the icy grip of death closed in. Just as I was about to fall into the abyss, a hand grabbed mine. “It’s a long shot, but we have to try! Don’t give up!” I had a brush with death, but I survived. After checking my vitals, the doctor let out a long breath. “We took a gamble and used the right antivenom, but you missed the optimal treatment window. You’ve lost most of the function in your arm.” “But,” he added, looking at my chart, “I’ve seen your cancer diagnosis. Luckily, we caught it early. With aggressive treatment, you can beat this.” I managed a dry laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.” After being discharged, I had just stepped out of the hospital when everything went black. I came to in a moving car. The familiar streets flashing by filled me with a primal fear. We arrived at our destination, and a pellet, shot from an air gun, hit me squarely in the temple. I collapsed, blood beading on the pristine lawn like a string of crimson pearls. For five years, Jamie and I had clung to each other for warmth. Two souls rejected by Marcus, we would lie in bed at night, counting the stars, secretly wiping away each other’s tears, and wishing for a kinder tomorrow. “Mommy,” he would whisper, his small arms wrapped around my neck, “next time Daddy gets angry, you can hide behind me.” But then Amy appeared. It took only one night for Jamie’s initial dislike to blossom into adoration. Under her tutelage, he learned that by hurting me, he could earn Marcus’s affection. “Good job,” Marcus would say, ruffling his hair. That one phrase was enough to erase any lingering guilt Jamie might have felt. “But it’s not enough,” Marcus would add, his eyes like shards of ice. He hated me to his core. “That pathetic, victim act of yours might fool my parents, but it will never fool me!” “Oh no!” Amy would cry. “What if your parents believe her again and try to break us up?” “They won’t!” Marcus’s voice would rise, his fists clenching. “I won’t let history repeat itself!” It was only then that I understood how terribly wrong my “rescue” of him had been. Six years ago, Marcus had been abandoned by Vera, the love of his life. He developed severe PTSD, spiraling into a cycle of manic depression and self-harm, pushing everyone away. My own family had just fallen on hard times. My online plea for help was seen by Marcus’s mother. Realizing I was the daughter of an old family friend, she took me in. To repay her kindness, I took on the impossible task of helping Marcus heal. For countless days, I endured his verbal and physical abuse. On more nights than I could count, I woke up with his hands around my throat. He would confuse me with Vera, sometimes begging for forgiveness, other times raging with accusations. I bore it all in silence. A year later, he was better. But his mind, as a defense mechanism, had rewritten history. In his new reality, I was a gold-digger who had forced my way into his life and driven Vera away. His doctors advised me to let him believe it, to become the villain in his story. I had nearly lost my life saving him, and this was my reward. He had the butler bring the family whip. “Slandering others with your lies,” he’d said, his voice dangerously low. “Do you admit your mistake?” CRACK! The whip tore through my skin. My strength evaporated. Blood and sweat mingled on my skin. I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled. “You’re the one who’s mistaken!” CRACK! “Admit it!” He put all his strength into it. I felt my soul being ripped from my body. A strangled sound escaped my throat, but I couldn’t form any words. CRACK! “Say it! Say you were wrong!” My clothes were shredded, sticking to my raw flesh. “I… was wrong…” I whispered, my breath failing. Another lash. “Louder!” Blood trickled down my back, pooling on the floor. “Oh, dear,” Amy gasped. “My shoes.” Jamie immediately knelt and picked up her stilettos. Seeing a speck of blood on them, he kicked me hard. “You witch! You got Mommy’s shoes dirty!” Marcus glanced over, his voice softening as he spoke to Amy. “Don’t be upset, darling. I’ll buy you new ones.” The hatred in Amy’s eyes faded, replaced by a simpering sweetness. “You were a little rough with her, honey. She looks like she’s in a lot of pain.” Marcus laughed coldly. “She’s a great actress. You could hit her, and she’d still pretend it hurts.” “Really? Let me try.” She took the whip, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Marcus came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and patiently explained the proper technique. “Careful now, don’t hurt yourself.” He sounded as if he were teaching her to play golf, as if the person at their feet wasn’t a living, breathing human being. Amy, who bore a slight resemblance to Vera, brought the whip down with even more force than Marcus had. Pain wracked my body. I choked back a mouthful of blood. “It’s true!” she squealed with delight. “I barely used any force, and she’s acting like she’s dying.” She held her hand out to Marcus. “You made me hold this nasty thing. My hand hurts.” He kissed her fingers and led her to the sofa, ordering the bodyguards to continue. They hesitated, but his voice was sharp. “If you don’t do it, you’ll be next!” The whip whistled through the air. Amy covered her eyes, crying, “It’s too scary!” Jamie took her hand. “Let’s go upstairs, Mommy. I bought you some beautiful flowers.” Marcus stood up as well. “Don’t stop,” he commanded, “until I say so.” But I passed out long before I heard the word “stop.” When I woke up, only my assistant was by my side. “Mr. and Mrs. Cole know what happened. They’ll be here this evening.” She looked at me with pity. “Mr. Cole announced this morning that Amy has been appointed as a director. You’ve been… reassigned to the warehouse.” “Some of your colleagues tried to speak up for you, but they were fired on the spot.” I could tell she had also been affected. I patted her hand. “Then come with me. We’ll go abroad.” Marcus’s mother had promised me this. To compensate, she was giving me control of their overseas operations. Her eyes widened. “Abroad? You’re the new CEO they’ve been talking about?” I smiled, which pulled at the wounds on my back. Wincing, I said, “Help me contact someone.” That evening, Marcus’s parents came straight to the hospital from the airport. They promised me justice. At nine o’clock, the cream of society gathered at the Cole family estate for a grand gala. My carefully chosen gown hid the ugly whip marks. I stepped out of the car in high heels, entering this house for the last time. A bodyguard blocked my way. “No unauthorized personnel.” It was the man who had whipped me yesterday. He held his arm out, barring my path, his eyes filled with contempt. After five years of pouring my life into this family, I was now a nobody, someone anyone could step on. I lifted my chin. “I was invited.” I didn’t reveal that I was the guest of honor. I simply handed him my invitation. The next second, Jamie was pointing a toy gun at me. “She’s a thief! Don’t let her in!” From a distance, Amy shot me a triumphant look. This was her doing, of course. The bodyguard straightened up, tossing my invitation aside. “We’ll have to search you.” The guests around us scattered like I had the plague. This was the ultimate humiliation. In front of everyone. I tried to back away, but strong hands seized me. The pain and shame were unbearable. “Marcus!” I cried out. “Is this how you treat your guests?” His eyes narrowed, turning even colder when he saw the guard’s hands on my waist. “Fine,” he sneered. “Then take it off yourself.” Amy, nestled in his arms, giggled and playfully punched his chest. “Honey, you’re so naughty. If she really takes it off, how will she ever show her face in public again?” Marcus raised his voice, making sure everyone could hear. “A woman who sleeps her way to the top doesn’t care about things like that.” “Either you take it off, or you get out!” His glare was sharp enough to cut. “Don’t be a hypocrite!” Our eyes met across the room. A wave of despair washed over me. I bit my lip until I tasted blood and slowly, deliberately, pulled down the zipper of my dress. “Marcus, I truly regret the day I saved you.” With every inch the zipper descended, another inch of my scarred, mangled back was revealed. I heard gasps from the crowd. “What is that? Is she a monster? It’s hideous…” Marcus’s eyes flickered. For a second, it looked like he remembered something, but then he shook his head, chasing the fleeting images away. “Nonsense!” he snapped. “What are you waiting for? Help her!” They tore at my clothes, ignoring my struggles. Every inch of my skin was violated. They found the newly formed scabs from the whipping and ripped them open without hesitation. Blood splattered on the floor. I was too weak from the pain to fight back. I could only watch as my dress was torn from my body. “Stop!” My mother-in-law’s voice cracked like a whip. A suit jacket was draped over my shoulders. She was trembling with rage. “Marcus, how could you do this? Raina is our family…” “She’s your family! I never agreed to it!” Even facing his parents, his anger barely subsided. His mother pointed at Jamie. “You didn’t agree to have a child with her? If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, I never would have begged her to stay…” Jamie shrank back, his eyes wide with terror. He clung to Amy, shaking his head frantically. “No! I wasn’t born from that bad woman! I’m Amy’s son!” His mother froze, staring at them in disbelief. “Jamie, who taught you to say that? How can you disown your own mother?” “Nobody taught me!” Jamie glanced at Amy, then pointed a defiant finger at me. “She’s a wicked witch, not my mother!” His mother swayed, nearly fainting. His father caught her, his face grim. “Marcus,” the man in his fifties said, his voice laced with steel, “is this how you treat the person who saved your life?” Marcus’s head snapped toward me. “What lies have you been telling them now?” His mother, having recovered slightly, told him the truth, her voice choked with sobs. “I’ve failed my dearest friend. I’ve ruined her daughter’s life to save an ungrateful monster.” “And I’ve failed Raina,” she cried. “She gave up everything for this family, for you, and ended up with cancer, only to be humiliated like this.” “If I had known, I would have told you from the beginning that Vera left you of her own accord. Then Raina wouldn’t have had to suffer all these years…” She sank to her knees, weeping. I moved to help her up, but Marcus grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall. This was his most common symptom when he had an episode. I had endured this feeling of suffocation for a year. “Feel familiar, Marcus?” I rasped, my face turning purple, my eyes filled with scorn. His grip faltered for a second, then tightened again. “You’re lying!” “Cancer? The wicked live long lives. You’re not that easy to kill.” “And you dare to slander Vera! If it weren’t for you, she never would have left me!” he roared, demanding proof. His mother tried to speak again, but he silenced her with a shout. “Shut up! You’re just as untrustworthy as she is!” The bodyguards moved in, restraining his parents. This party, which was supposed to be my vindication, had become my execution. He squeezed my throat, his eyes bloodshot. “You saved me? Vera abandoned me? Who can prove it?” Below the stage, his parents were gagged. Onstage, I was being strangled. His fingers tightened, his face contorted like a vengeful ghost. “No one can prove it! Because it never happened…” “You’re lying. And the price for lying… is death…” “I can prove it!” A clear, bright voice cut through the tension. Marcus’s pupils dilated. He turned, his movements stiff and robotic…

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