My best friend and I were both the long-lost, true-born daughters of wealthy families. After we were found and returned to our rightful homes, we kept in touch, always painting a rosy picture for each other. I told her I was the family jewel—doted on by my father, adored by my mother, and shadowed by my clingy older brother. She told me she was the shining star, the absolute pride and joy of her parents. That was until we met again. I was a stick figure, ravaged by anorexia from stomach cancer, while my family insisted my diagnosis was a fabrication. She was a beach ball, her depression fueling a binge-eating disorder, while her family called her a “fat pig” every single day. After a long, heavy silence, we both spoke at the same time. “How about we drop the act and just run?” 1 The first thing I said to my best friend, Stella, when we reunited after three years was, “How the hell did you end up looking like this, too?” One of us was a stick figure, the other a beach ball. It was a pathetic sight. “I’m just a little curvy, that’s all. A true beauty,” Stella said, attempting a flirty hair flip. But the loose flesh on her cheeks and the faint, dark patches on her skin betrayed her bravado. I’d also seen the bottles of antidepressants spilling out of her purse. So, I teased her. “What, your parents don’t love you? Can’t win against the fake daughter?” She blinked. “Whoa, are you a psychic?” “Nope. My parents don’t love me either, and I can’t win against the fake daughter in my house.” Silence. For three years, we’d been faking happiness for each other. Now, finally, all our cards were on the table. Outside the coffee shop, the city lights began to glow. A massive flatbed truck drove by, carrying a brand-new, cherry-red Ferrari. The truck bed was decked out in shimmering lights, with a scrolling LED sign that read: “Happy 18th Birthday to our daughter, Jasmine!” I sighed. “That girl is so lucky.” Stella just nodded. “Yeah. That’s the fake daughter from my family.” I fell silent again. A long moment passed before Stella and I spoke in unison: “How about we drop the act and just run?” Our three-year charade was only to keep the other from worrying. But now, we both understood just how toxic our families were. My stomach cancer was ignored; Stella’s depression was dismissed. If we didn’t run, were we just supposed to sit here and waste away? “Okay, let’s run!” Stella declared, her voice firm, without a shred of hesitation. But then her phone rang. A woman’s furious voice erupted from the speaker. “Stella, where the hell are you? It’s your sister’s 18th birthday party tonight, get your ass back here now!” All of Stella’s newfound confidence vanished. It was clear she’d been tormented for so long that her mother’s voice triggered a primal fear. “I’m… I’m out for a run, trying to lose weight. I’ll be back soon,” she lied, her voice shaky. Her mother’s rage escalated. “Oh, so now you know you need to lose weight? Why don’t you just drop dead? Look at your sister, so beautiful and perfect. And you? You’re a disgusting fat pig. The sight of you makes me sick!” Stella’s fingers clenched, her lips pressed into a thin, white line. “Get back here now! If you don’t show up tonight, you can stay out for good!” her mother shrieked, treating her as less than human. Stella’s eyes instantly flooded with bloodshot rage. “For three years, you’ve held that over my head, threatening to kick me out. Fine. From now on, I’m not coming back!” “What did you say? Fine! Good! Get out, and the farther the better!” Her mother slammed the phone down. Stella put her phone away and wiped the corners of her eyes. Finding them dry, she let out a wry, liberating laugh. “Ha! I can’t even cry anymore. Isn’t that great?” Yeah. It was great. We were all out of tears. It was time to run. 2 Our plan was simple: escape to the City. It was far away and full of opportunities—mainly for Stella. She dreamed of being a singer. Ever since we were little, Stella loved to sing. She was the songbird of our small town. When she first returned to her family, she begged them to let her take voice lessons. But the fake daughter, Jasmine, sabotaged her at every turn. She conspired with the music teacher to belittle Stella’s talent, claiming her voice was weak and completely unsuited for singing. Instead, they pushed her into dance. So Stella was forced onto the path of ballet. She had zero interest in it. To make matters worse, Jasmine constantly bullied her—slipping razor blades into her ballet slippers, telling the teachers Stella wasn’t trying, and convincing them to teach her the wrong techniques. Naturally, Stella failed to achieve anything. The crushing pressure sent her into a deep depression, and her only coping mechanism was binge eating. She ballooned to over two hundred pounds. “I have to be a singer,” Stella said, her eyes burning with ambition. “When I get to the City, I’m going to climb my way to the top of the music world, step by step. I’ll prove to my family that I’m so much better than Jasmine. I’m not a pig!” I didn’t say anything. I just handed her a business card. It was my only connection, a wealthy friend in the City who was also a music student. She could help Stella get started. “Go find her. It’s all I can do to help. I don’t have any money,” I said, frustrated. A supposed heiress, and I was broke. Stella was penniless too, but she had a plan. She started a video call with Jasmine. When the call connected, Jasmine was a picture of perfection in a white dress, sitting amidst a mountain of presents, happily tearing them open. “Oh, sister,” Jasmine cooed, her voice dripping with fake concern as she unwrapped another box. “Mom said you weren’t ever coming back. Did something happen?” Her lips were curled in a smug, mocking smile. Stella shrugged. “I’ll be back later. Blood is thicker than water, right? I am the real daughter of this family, after all. I have their blood in my veins. How could I not come home?” The words were laced with sarcasm, a direct hit to Jasmine’s biggest insecurity. She was a fraud. Seeing the displeasure on Jasmine’s face, Stella pressed on. “But, you know, I could stay away. Give me a million dollars, and I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again.” Jasmine’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? I’ve offered you money to get lost plenty of times before, and you always refused.” “Believe it or not. If you don’t, I’m coming home right now. And if I die, I’m dying in that house!” Stella hung up. A moment later, a text came through from Jasmine: [The million is on its way. You’d better stay gone forever. If you come back, I have a hundred ways to make you suffer.] “She’s a real piece of work,” I commented. “Just like the one in my house.” 3 Stella got the money. Without wasting a second, she dragged me to the airport. I checked her ID and her antidepressants, nagging her one last time. “Be safe in the City, okay? Don’t let anyone scam you. Be smart with the money. You can do this!” “I know, I know. Wait, what?” Stella turned to look at me. “You’re not coming with me?” Of course, I wanted to run. But I couldn’t run that far. I was in the final stages of stomach cancer. I didn’t have much time left. I couldn’t go with Stella and burden her with my body. But I didn’t tell her that. I just smiled. “I am running, but I need to get some cash together first, you know? You go on ahead and wait for me. We don’t want your parents changing their minds and coming after you.” The thought of that scared her. She stopped arguing. As her figure disappeared through security, I bent over and coughed up a mouthful of blood. My stomach burned. I found a chair and collapsed into it, unable to keep up the strong front any longer. I took out a small mirror. My face was pale, my lips colorless. I was knocking on death’s door. It was a shame I couldn’t run with Stella. But at least she was free. I clutched my abdomen, my head bowed, trying to catch my breath in a dizzy haze. My phone buzzed. I forced myself to sit up and open my eyes. It was my father. I answered, and his deep, authoritative voice filled my ear. “Ivy, what is the meaning of this letter you left? You’re cutting ties with us?” I started to laugh. I’d decided to run long before meeting Stella. I’d already left the letter, severing my relationship with my parents and my brother. From now on, my death was my own, and their lives were theirs. We would no longer be in each other’s way. “I’m a person. You’re animals. Of course, we should sever ties.” I had nothing left to fear. I’d sent Stella on her way. What was there for a dying girl to be afraid of? My father was furious, unable to believe I would say such a thing. Before he could yell at me, my mother snatched the phone. “Ivy, what did you say? We’re animals? Have you lost your mind? I think you’re the animal, you cold-blooded creature! This family has done nothing but try to make you feel welcome. We’ve given you food, clothes, everything you could ever want! And this is the thanks we get? You call us animals?” She was livid. Then, through the phone, I heard the fake sobs of my replacement, Chloe. “Why can’t we ever seem to win sister over? The pressure is killing me. I feel like such a monster… Every time I see her emotionless face, I just feel so suffocated…” “My sweet girl, don’t cry. It’s not your fault. It’s your sister’s. She’s just a cold-hearted animal!” 4 So, I was a cold-hearted animal. Maybe I was. Why was I so cold? I started coughing up more blood, my mind wandering. Did my parents love me? I suppose they did. In their own way. From the moment they brought me home, they were constantly trying to show it. My room was identical to Chloe’s. We had the same dolls, the same clothes filling our closets. Anything the fake daughter had, I, the real one, had too. They were so terrified of showing favoritism that they bought two of everything, letting me pick first. It had been like that for three years. But one thing was different. When Chloe had a fever, my parents were frantic. They rushed her to the hospital themselves, constantly checking the time, urging the driver to go faster. When I had a fever, they had the driver take me to the hospital. And that was it. When Chloe wanted to go on vacation, my parents cleared their schedules. They packed bug spray, sunscreen, snacks… they even brought her little teddy bear. When I wanted to go on vacation, they had the housekeeper take me. And that was it. When Chloe wanted a late-night snack, my parents would drag themselves out of bed and spend an hour making it for her by hand. When I wanted a late-night snack, they told the maid to make it. And that was it. On the surface, Chloe and I were treated equally. We both got better from our fevers. We both went on vacation. We both got our snacks. But the process was different. It had been like that for three years. And so, my blood turned cold. Like a snake sensing the coming winter, I knew I had to hibernate to survive. When I was little, an old woman in my town told me that snakes hibernate, or else they’ll freeze to death. I asked her, “But don’t their mommy and daddy snakes hold them to keep them warm?” The old woman just laughed. “You don’t have a mommy and daddy. Why are you thinking about that?” She was right. I didn’t have a mommy or a daddy. My adoptive parents died of illness shortly after buying me. I was raised by the whole town, eating scraps from a hundred different families. When I turned sixteen, my birth parents came and took me home. I thought I wouldn’t have to eat scraps anymore. I thought when it was time for me to hibernate, I would finally have a mother and father to hold me. But in the end, I was still hibernating alone. Listening to the endless accusations and Chloe’s fake sobs on the other end of the line, a sense of peace washed over me. I had no one left, nothing holding me here. I was ready to hibernate for good. So I said, “I’m dying soon. When I’m gone, I want you to take me back to my town and bury me in the bamboo grove on the hill. Thank you.” 5 The other end of the line went silent. Then came my father’s cold command: “Ivy, what is this nonsense? If you want to die, go die somewhere else. I have no patience for this drama!” My mother chimed in. “Ivy, I am so disappointed in you. Three years! We could have tamed a stray dog in three years, but you? You’re still so cold, so heartless. You never once treated us like family, and now you’re pulling this stunt…” She paused, as if remembering something, her tone hardening. “Stomach cancer, right? You’ve mentioned that a few times. Let me tell you something, stop trying to play these games. Your sister looked up your medical records. You don’t have cancer!” Oh, how kind of my dear sister, to go and check my medical records. But then, how could she have missed it? A violent cough shook my body. The answer was clear. My sister wanted me dead. But it didn’t matter. Death was coming anyway. I was in the final stage. It’s not like I was going to ascend to godhood. “I’m tired. I don’t want to fight anymore. Just remember to bury my ashes in the bamboo grove.” I hung up and slumped back in my chair. Hours later, an airport security guard woke me. He saw the bloodstains on my collar and jumped, offering to call an ambulance. I waved him off, telling him it was just paint. With a collar full of “paint,” I left the airport and found a spot to lie down under a highway overpass. At least it was summer. I wouldn’t freeze. After some sleep, I felt a bit better. I checked my remaining funds and decided to buy myself an urn. A person who never had a home in life should at least have one in death. An urn seemed like a nice home. I searched for a while and finally found a decent funeral home. I carefully selected a plain white urn. It was about the size of a melon, big enough to hold my handful of ashes. On my way back to the overpass, Stella messaged me. She was all settled in, had found an apartment, and was full of energy, ready to start losing weight and taking voice lessons. [You go, girl. I’ll be there soon.] I smiled as I typed, not realizing I’d wandered into the street. A Lamborghini screeched to a halt, its bumper just inches from me. I looked up. The car was familiar. The door opened, and a man in a tailored suit got out, his face a storm cloud. “Ivy, what the hell are you doing? If you’re looking for a payout, find someone else to hit!” It was my dear brother, Brandon. I was always scared of him. He was so aggressive. The day I came home, I overheard him telling my parents, “Don’t start ignoring Chloe just because your real daughter is back. Chloe is sensitive. She can’t handle being upset.” To put Chloe at ease, he made a point of being cold to me. When I called him “brother,” he’d just snort in response. I’d been afraid of him ever since. He was the only one in the family who didn’t even pretend to like me. But now, I was dying. I wasn’t afraid of anything. “Are you blind?” I snapped. “Learn how to drive!” Brandon froze, staring at me in shock. “What did you say?” “I said, are you blind? Learn how to drive,” I repeated. His shock turned to angry amusement. He strode toward me, then his eyes fell on the urn in my arms. A sneer twisted his lips. “What’s with the urn? Getting your coffin ready?” “Yes,” I nodded simply. This was my coffin. His anger seemed to evaporate, replaced by pure mockery. “Ivy, oh, Ivy. You’re really committed to this act, aren’t you? First, you insist you have cancer. We don’t believe you, so now you’re upping the drama?” I didn’t answer. I was too tired. Why did I have to deal with these idiots? “What, cat got your tongue?” Brandon narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t stand being ignored. I squatted down, suddenly feeling even more exhausted. My body ached, my spirit was drained. Even holding the urn felt heavy. “Ivy, my patience has a limit! It’s been three years. I’m done trying to cater to your moods!” Brandon’s rage finally exploded. He snatched the urn from my arms. I scrambled to my feet. “Give it back!” He held it high above his head, his face a mask of contempt. “What’s that? Not so silent now?” “What do you want from me? I’m dying. Please, just give it back,” I panted, feeling blood begin to rise in my throat again. “Hah! You lie without even blinking. Chloe already checked your medical records. You don’t have cancer. Do you think we’re stupid?” Brandon was like a predator with his teeth clamped on his prey’s throat. “If you want to die so badly, go find a wall to run into! Stop pulling these pathetic stunts!” With those words, he lifted the urn high and then slammed it onto the pavement! With a loud crash, the white porcelain shattered into a hundred pieces. All the strength left my body. I collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down my face. Why was I crying? The urn wasn’t expensive. I could buy another one. But still, I cried. Maybe it was just… the pain. It was all just too much. 6 Brandon left without a second glance at my crumpled form on the sidewalk. I just lay there, figuring I might as well wait for death to take me. But the sun was too hot, the pavement scorching. I forced myself up, wiped my tears, and staggered toward the shade of the overpass. I only made it a few steps before my head spun and the world went black. Great, I thought as I fell. My beautiful face is about to be cooked medium-rare. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. My face was not, in fact, cooked. The doctor told me a sanitation worker had found me and brought me in, even paid my admission fee before leaving without a name. Life is a real piece of work, I thought. A total stranger could bring me to a hospital, pay for my care, and disappear without a word. And my own family? They insulted me, disbelieved me, and left me for dead. I wanted so badly to run, but I was too sick. I couldn’t go anywhere. The doctor saw I was awake and told me to notify my family. My condition was severe. I didn’t have long. I asked him how much time I had left. “If you’re lucky, maybe two months. If you’re unlucky, it could be a matter of days. But most people in your condition last about two months,” the doctor said hesitantly, worried about my reaction. I was indignant. “Wait, why do I have to live for two more months?” “Huh?” Don’t “huh” me. I really didn’t want to live for two more months. I wanted to die. So I asked the doctor, “Could you maybe make my luck… worse?” “Huh?” 7 All the doctor could say was “huh.” What a quack. There was nothing I could do but lie there and wait to die. If I was unlucky, I’d have to wait two months. Or was it lucky? My head was so foggy I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. I checked my phone. Stella had sent a bunch of messages. [Ivy, the City is amazing! It feels so good to be free, not walking on eggshells all the time!] [Having money is awesome too! This million is going to last forever, haha!] [I found a really famous vocal coach! She evaluated me and said my voice is incredible, that I have a lot of natural talent!] [I started my diet! It’s so easy to lose weight when you’re not depressed!] … I smiled as I read. That’s my girl. It felt like when we were kids, playing hide-and-seek in the bamboo grove. That same simple joy seemed to be returning. [Ivy, when are you coming? I miss you,] she sent in a new message. My smile faded. I put on a happy voice and sent her a voice message back. [Soon, soon! Just have to take care of a few things. Don’t worry!] That seemed to satisfy her for now. The following days were spent waiting to die in the hospital while cheering Stella on. She had conquered her depression and was making real progress with her weight loss. She often sent me videos of her singing. Her voice was beautiful. Even though she was still plus-sized, her talent shone through. She was our town’s songbird, and she sang better than anyone. About half a month later, my mother contacted me. She’d finally remembered I existed. “Ivy, are you still sulking? When are you going to come home?” Her first words were an accusation. I was confused. “Sulking about what?” “Your brother told me he smashed your urn. You only bought it to upset us anyway, right? He did the right thing. What are you so angry about that you’ve stayed away for two weeks?” she continued to scold. Oh, so that’s what this was about. I thought for a moment, then spoke calmly. “I didn’t buy it to upset you. I’m really dying. I was just worried my ashes wouldn’t have a place to go, so I prepared one for myself.” “Shut up!” A furious shout came through the phone. It was my brother, Brandon. He’d snatched the phone. “What the hell is wrong with you? I was actually going to listen to Chloe today and try to convince you to come home, and here you are, spouting this ‘I’m dying’ nonsense again! Are you insane?” “Brandon, stop yelling at her. Let me talk,” Chloe’s voice chimed in. Brandon added one last furious threat. “Chloe’s going to talk to you. You’d better listen. If you dare upset her, I’ll kill you!” “Sis, don’t take it to heart. Brother’s just in a bad mood today,” Chloe said, now in full control of the phone. I lay in bed, my eyes closed, a smirk on my lips. Chloe continued, “Sis, please come home. We all really miss you.” “Go to hell,” I said bluntly. Chloe choked on her words, then her voice turned pitiful. “Sis, are you mad at me? I’m sorry. I know I haven’t done enough these past few years. I know I’m the outsider…” “Since you know, why don’t you get the hell out of my house?” I sneered. She froze for a second, then her voice broke into a sob. “Okay… I’m sorry. I’ll leave…” “You should just die. I can buy you an urn too. Cash on delivery.” “IVY!” Brandon’s roar exploded through the phone. My parents had had enough, too. The line went dead. I had to hand it to Chloe. She was a pro. She’d had the phone on speaker the whole time, making sure I dug my own grave with the family. But who cared? The only thing I cared about was when I would finally die. Just then, the doctor walked in. I waved him over cheerfully. “Hey, Doc. I’ll give you a tip. Can you make me die faster?” “Huh?” 8 Still couldn’t die. The suffering continued. During that time, I wrote a letter for Stella. It was simple. I asked her to buy an urn for me and take my ashes back to the bamboo grove on the hill behind our old town. Our town had been destroyed by a flood, but that grove was resilient. It had grown back. I gave the letter to the doctor and asked him to hold onto it, to only give it to Stella after I was gone. This time, the doctor didn’t say “huh.” He took the letter with grave seriousness. He wasn’t a quack after all. Time flew by. The two-month mark was approaching. I didn’t have much longer. I was slipping in and out of consciousness, rarely lucid. Stella couldn’t reach me most of the time and knew something was wrong. Every chance she got, she’d ask when I was coming to the City. I could only keep putting her off. The doctor was worried about me. “Kiddo,” he said again, “you really should call your family. You’re not going to make it.” My eyes lit up. “I’m finally dying?” “Yes. It’ll likely be today or tomorrow.” “That’s wonderful!” “…” The doctor was speechless. He just urged me to call my family. I nodded. A final burst of energy, a death rally, surged through me. I sat up and called Stella. “Stella, let me see you. Send me a video. I haven’t seen you in forever.” She hadn’t sent a video in over a month, and I missed her. She replied immediately. “What’s the rush? I was planning a surprise for you.” “What surprise?” She told me to guess. I rolled my eyes. “Forget the surprise. I need to see you now. My big-dicked soul is thirsty!” “Gross!” she texted back with a laugh, then sent a video of herself. I opened it and saw a radiant, glowing Stella. My eyes went wide. She had lost so much weight. She was still curvy, but the lifeless, heavy energy was completely gone. The dark spots on her face had vanished. She was vibrant, her features sharp and beautiful. She looked amazing. “You’re incredible, babe. In my next life, I’m coming back as a man to love you fiercely!” I joked. She called me disgusting, then started bragging. “I’m doing great. Losing weight and practicing singing every day. My cover songs are actually getting some attention online. A record label is talking to me about a contract.” Yes! The songbird of our town was finally about to fly. “Ivy, when are you really coming?” Stella asked the old question again. I thought for a moment. “Come pick me up in two days.” “Pick you up? Okay, you got it. I’ll be there!” After hanging up, my final burst of energy fizzled out. My head lolled to the side, and I collapsed back onto the pillow. I was at my weakest. But of course, someone wouldn’t let me rest. My mother sent me a voice message. She’d found out I was in the hospital. “What do you think you’re doing? Faking a hospital stay to get sympathy? Are you going to get your ass home or not?” Some people are so strange. They hate you, but they still demand you come home. I couldn’t be bothered. I blocked her number. Then she sent a text. [Fine. Block me. We’ll come drag you home ourselves! You’re insane, making such a fuss over a stupid urn for this long. I’m having your brother bring you ten urns to apologize!] She was about to explode. I looked down at my own emaciated, skeletal body and shook my head. Ten wasn’t necessary. Half of one would be more than enough to hold what was left of me. 9 When my parents arrived, I was curled up in a ball under the covers, coughing. The pain was so intense I hadn’t slept in days. A strong wind was rattling the window, and I just wanted to hide, not even letting a single strand of hair show. So when they stormed into my room, they didn’t see me right away. They just saw a lump under the blanket. “Ivy, get out here!” my father roared, kicking the foot of the bed. All his pent-up frustration was boiling over. Seeing me “hiding” was the last straw. The bed frame groaned. The jolt made my head spin, leaving me even weaker. “Ivy, are you deaf?” he yelled, kicking the bed again. The impact sent a fresh wave of coughs wracking my body, filling my mouth with blood. My mother snorted. “Stop faking it. I’ve had it. If three years wasn’t enough to tame you, then you can just go back to your hick town today!” She marched over and grabbed the edge of the blanket. Just as a torrent of coughs threatened to tear my lungs apart, she ripped the covers off me. “Get up! Your brother is on his way with your stupid…” Her words died in her throat. She saw me. The sudden rush of cold air triggered the most violent coughing fit yet. A spray of dark blood erupted from my mouth, splattering against the wall. My chest was already stained a deep, blackish-red. “Ah!” My mother shrieked and fell backward, landing hard on the floor. My father, his face a mask of rage just a second before, now stared in horror, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. I must have looked hideous. I didn’t want anyone, especially the people I hated most, to see me like this. I fought through the pain, trying to pull the blanket back over myself. “Ivy…” my mother stammered, scrambling to her feet. Her face was ashen as she lunged forward, grabbing my hand. “Ivy… what is this… Ivy!” I tried to pull away. Her touch felt disgusting. But I had no strength left. All I could do was curl up tighter, trying to hide my face. “Ivy, what happened to you? It’s Mommy…” She was trembling all over, her voice lost. She turned and screamed, “Doctor! Doctor!” Before the doctor could arrive, someone else did. My brother Brandon and my sister Chloe walked in together. They were actually carrying urns, each holding a large bag stuffed full of them. “Mom, Dad, where’s Ivy? I’m here to apologize!” Brandon bellowed as he entered, his voice dripping with resentment. Then he saw the blood-spattered bed and my shriveled form. He froze. The bags of urns slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. He raised a hand to rub his eyes, his throat working, his body tensing up. “Mom… Dad… is that… is that sister?” Chloe asked timidly, her face a picture of fear, but her eyes gleaming with triumph. No one answered her. My mother was sobbing, chanting my name over and over. My father turned to run for a doctor and tripped, falling flat on his face and knocking out a tooth. Brandon approached the bed with stiff, wooden steps. With every step, the color drained further from his face. By the time he reached my bedside, I was completely spent, unable to even curl up anymore. My wasted body was exposed for all to see. “Ivy… what… this isn’t possible. You’re lying…” Brandon’s voice was like lead, each word a heavy weight. I couldn’t answer. I could only laugh. Laugh at myself. Why was my life so pathetic? Even my dying moments had to be a spectacle for everyone to witness. “Ivy, answer me! You’re faking this!” Seeing my silence, Brandon suddenly lost control, lunging forward and pulling me into his arms. “Hey, say something, Ivy!” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking into a sob. “I… I didn’t know you really had cancer. Why didn’t you just say so!” Say so? The day I was diagnosed, I told them. No one believed me. Chloe even went to “check for me” and then declared I was lying. And they all believed her. I begged for a little money to get treatment on my own. Still, no one listened. Did they not have the money? Of course they did. They just stubbornly believed I was lying, that their beloved Chloe was telling the truth. I tried to borrow money from everyone, even Stella. Stella only sent me $389.20. I knew instantly something was wrong with her. Why would she only be willing to lend me that much? That’s why I went to find her. Two “true daughters,” who had spent three years faking their happiness, finally faced the cruel reality. We were both unloved. And we were both no match for the imposters. But at least Stella was free now. And at least, I was about to be free, too.

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My mother jumped from the balcony right in front of my father. The blood spread farther than I could have imagined. After that, my father’s paranoia spiraled. He hated me for not being able to keep my mother here, and his cruelty became my daily reality. He was convinced that if he was hard enough on me, my mother’s heart would soften. That she would come back from the other world. She never did. But I found the last words she left for me. “My darling, I’m sorry I couldn’t take you with me then.” “But when you’re an adult, you can make your own choice.” “All you have to do is die. You can leave this world and come find me—” I stood on the same rooftop where she had jumped, taking one last look at my father as he sprinted toward me, his face a mask of madness. I didn’t want him anymore. 1 The night before my eighteenth birthday, my phone buzzed with something I hadn’t seen in years: a video call request from my father. I answered. It wasn’t his face on the screen. It was Lora’s. The daughter of Seraphina, my father’s childhood sweetheart from her first marriage. Lora’s eyes were full of triumphant malice. She tilted the phone, pointing toward the kitchen behind her. Through the half-open door, I could just make out the figure of Mike. My father. He was wearing an apron, cooking for another woman and her child. And the boy who always said he liked me… He was sitting on their couch, casually playing with the family cat as if he’d been there a thousand times. It made sense. Mike barely acknowledged my existence. Why would Leo feel any obligation to stay with me? Lora covered her mouth, her eyes dancing with glee. “Poor little thing. Your daddy and your boyfriend don’t want you anymore! They’re not even celebrating your birthday with you tomorrow. Too bad, you little jinx who killed her own mom—” Before she could finish, Mike walked out of the kitchen. He was holding a plate of cola chicken wings—my favorite. He ambled over and took the phone from Lora’s hand. His eyes glanced at the screen, and a flicker of recognition passed over his face. The faint smile he’d been wearing instantly vanished. His voice was like ice. “She called? Don’t answer Anya’s calls anymore. She’s bad luck.” 2 My mother came to this world when Mike was at his lowest. The System told her that the main storyline here was nearly over. But Mike, the story’s second male lead, was trapped in the darkest chapter of his life. The main heroine had left him, his family’s business was bankrupt, and a rival had left him with two shattered legs. Many readers felt his ending was too tragic. They wished for someone to appear by his side, to pull him from the abyss. That’s when my mother, Elara, was sent here. The System promised her that when her mission was over, she could choose to stay or to leave. She stayed by Mike’s side. She helped him heal, nursed him back to health, and together, they rebuilt his empire from the ashes. The day his company went public, my father knelt on one knee and proposed. “Elara,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “will you marry me?” She didn’t say yes right away. “Mike,” she said instead, her voice steady. “You know I’m not from here, right? You know I was sent by a System.” “If you ever betray me, I will go back to my world, and I will never return.” Mike gripped her hand, shaking his head fiercely. “I will never, ever do anything to hurt you.” At the time, neither of them could have imagined what was coming. After the story was supposed to have ended, the plot took a sharp, unexpected turn. The main hero and heroine did not live happily ever after. The heroine, Seraphina, got a divorce. She moved back to the city, bringing her daughter with her. 3 By the time I was born, the distance between my mother and father was already a vast, cold ocean. Seraphina and my father were childhood sweethearts, and she always seemed to have a reason to call him away. She was sick. Her child had a fever. Her pipes burst. There was a strange man lurking in her neighborhood. In the beginning, my mother would call him, her voice tight with frustration. Eventually, she just grew tired of it. When it was just the two of us, she would pull me onto her lap, hold me so tight I could barely breathe, and whisper, “Anya, if Mommy wasn’t here anymore, what would you do?” I knew my mother didn’t belong to this world. I knew she had a System that could take her away. But I had never seen it, never heard it. Until one night. For the first time, I heard the System speak to her. It was a cold, mechanical voice, yet it seemed to carry a strange, human-like sorrow. “Host, I apologize. We lost contact with you for a period of time.” “The plotline has now destabilized. The interaction between the second male lead, Mike, and the heroine has become too frequent. We must repair the world’s narrative.” “Because you do not originally belong here, we require you to leave.” My mother’s face crumpled in agony. She sank to her knees, her face in her hands, and a choked sob escaped her lips. “I don’t care about Mike anymore. I don’t want him. But what about Anya? She’s my daughter. She’s so little. What will happen to her?” The air was thick with a heavy silence. But there was no other way. The System replied, “I am sorry. But this is the only way.” 4 I still remember the day my mother left. She made me a plate of cola chicken wings and brought them to my room. She unclasped the jade pendant from her neck and fastened it around mine. “Daddy is coming home soon,” she said, her voice impossibly gentle. “I have something important to talk to him about. You stay and play in your room, okay, Anya?” My parents hadn’t seen each other in a long time, not since their cold war began. I knew she wouldn’t have called him unless it was something critical. Maybe… maybe she was really leaving. But I didn’t say a word. I just clutched the pendant at my throat and nodded. I finished the chicken wings and waited. And waited. But my father never came home. Bored, I cracked my door open. My mother was standing on the balcony, on the phone. The apartment was silent. I could hear every word. “I told you, this is the last time,” she said, her voice shaking with rage. “My System is taking me away. Are you coming or not?” My father’s voice on the other end was a cold sneer. “I told you, Seraphina’s daughter has a fever today. I can’t leave. And stop threatening me with your System. It doesn’t work on me. It can take you home? Fine. Go. I don’t believe you’d actually abandon Anya and go back to your own world.” My hand tightened on the doorknob. I watched my mother lower the phone, defeated. A soft, static crackle filled the air. The System had appeared on its own. It sounded almost embarrassed, its voice low. “I apologize for the intrusion, Host. I am here to remind you. You have ten minutes before you must detach from this world. For the sake of a clean narrative resolution, your departure must be facilitated through the method of death.” My mother didn’t speak. She turned and looked at me. Then she slowly walked over, a sad smile on her face. She pulled me into a fierce hug and kissed my cheek. A single tear fell onto my skin. “Anya,” she whispered. “Go back to your room and sleep now.” Ten minutes later, I was sitting on my bed, wrapped in a blanket. A shadow fell past my window. 5 Was I sad? Of course. But more than that, I was relieved for her. My mom was finally going home. Even though I was only eight, I could tell how unhappy she was. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night and find her sitting on her bed, crying silently in the dark. I think if it weren’t for me, she would have left a long time ago. I don’t know what her world was like, but it couldn’t be worse than this one. There, she could be free. She could be whatever she wanted to be. Before she was my mother, she was herself. Maybe that’s why, when the police officer told me my mother had jumped to her death, I didn’t cry. I didn’t show any sadness. I didn’t say a word. I just stood there like a cold, unfeeling machine. I heard whispers around me. “Is that really the mother who killed herself?” “She seems so calm.” “She doesn’t look like a normal seven or eight-year-old. Is there something wrong with her?” … I looked up. Mike was there. His eyes were red, and he was shaking as he walked toward me. He raised his hand. And slapped me across the face. “She told you the System was taking her away. Anya. Didn’t you even try to stop her? You haven’t shed a single tear. Is your blood cold?” 6 The police had called him. At first, he refused to believe my mother would actually leave. He argued with them on the phone for a long time. It wasn’t until he arrived and saw the body under the white sheet that the reality crashed down on him. My father completely fell apart. I had never seen him like that. So broken, so pathetic, so full of disbelief. He was a man with endless money, the master of a billion-dollar empire. But in that moment, he was just a man crying with regret and cowardice. He didn’t dare pull back the sheet. He was afraid. Afraid to see her face. Afraid to be reminded that he had missed his last chance to see her. He couldn’t accept it. So when someone tried to comfort him, reminding him that he still had a child, my father finally remembered. Oh, right. I have a daughter. He stood up. And turned his rage on me. “Why didn’t you keep her here? Why? Couldn’t you have cried? Begged? Pleaded with her? Were you mute?” 7 Mike didn’t take me home with him. I may have only been eight, but I wasn’t stupid. I could see the coldness, the distance, the pure hatred in his eyes. From that day on, he wanted nothing to do with me. I only saw him a few days a month, when I was sent to the old family mansion. Most of the time, I lived in my mother’s old apartment, cared for by a nanny. He didn’t even come for my ninth birthday. It was my first birthday without my mother. The nanny was already asleep in her room. I was all alone. I wanted to call Mike, but I was afraid of bothering him. So I just sat on the floor, going through the presents my mother had given me over the years. And that’s when it happened. I discovered that I could connect to the System, too. A strange voice emanated from the jade pendant around my neck. “Hello, Host. I am System 0231, taking over for System 0230. My files indicate that today is your birthday.” 8 ??? Host? I froze. “Me?” I whispered. “I’m a Host? I get my own System?” It took a moment to sink in. I fumbled with the clasp and took the pendant off. The voice was definitely coming from it. It sounded like a boy, maybe a teenager, with a clear, deep voice. He was different from my mother’s System. Less serious, and much gentler. He paused for a moment before answering me. “Yes. This is because of your mother, Elara. She was an exceptional agent. She gave more, and lost more, than most. According to regulations, she earned tens of millions of mission points, which could have been converted into cash and taken back to her original world…” “But she gave it all up.” “Your mother said she was afraid you would be lonely, that you would be sad, that no one would take care of you… so instead of taking anything for herself, she chose to leave a System for you, too.” “She hoped you would feel like she was still with you.” 9 I clutched the pendant. And finally, the tears came. I hadn’t cried when my mother left. But now, I couldn’t stop them. The reality hit me with the force of a physical blow. My mother was really gone. And she had left me everything she possibly could. The System asked, “Host, would you like to make a birthday wish?” I wiped my tears. I clasped my hands together and said, each word deliberate, “I hope my mom is happy and joyful in her world.” After a long pause, I added another wish, in a voice so quiet it was barely a whisper. “And I hope my father knows… it wasn’t my fault my mom died. I’m not a bad kid. I hope he stops hating me.” 10 My father seemed to forget he had a daughter. For the first few years, he’d still have me over to the mansion occasionally. But eventually, even that stopped. The rumors said he had gotten back together with her—the woman who had driven my mother away. He bought a beautiful penthouse near his office and moved Seraphina and her daughter in. Time passes. Nothing stays the same. When my mother died, Mike had knelt on the ground, consumed by a regret so powerful it seemed it would swallow him whole. Now, even my nanny had heard the news. After serving my dinner, she gently stroked my hair. She hesitated, then tried to comfort me. “It’s okay, miss. The master has just lost his way. Once he figures things out, everything will be alright.” Figures things out? I wasn’t holding my breath. I just wished… I just wished I would never have to see Seraphina and Lora again. But it seemed even that simple wish was too much to ask for. 11 At fifteen, I tested into the city’s top high school. Two weeks into the semester, Mike pulled some strings and got Lora—who hadn’t even passed the standard entrance exams—a spot in my class. A Rolls-Royce dropped her off at the school gates. She was decked out in designer clothes from head to toe, looking every bit the part of a true heiress. She instantly became the center of attention. “Oh my god, are those the limited-edition sneakers?” “Is that an Hermès bag?” “…She’s so rich. Does anyone know whose daughter she is?” … As if hearing their whispers, Lora stood at the front of the class, a small smile playing on her lips, and began her introduction. “Well, my family is okay, I guess. You’ve probably heard of them. My dad is Mike Reed, the CEO of Reed Corp. My mom is his childhood sweetheart. My dad loves my mom so much, he even let me take her last name.” After she finished, dozens of heads swiveled in my direction. On the school’s mandatory family information form, under the “Father” section, I had also written “Mike Reed.” The class president had glanced at my form when he collected it. “Mike Reed? The billionaire? Then why are your clothes so plain? And I’ve never seen anyone drop you off or pick you up. Are you really his only daughter?” Under the weight of their questioning stares, I had lowered my head, clutching my pencil. “Yes,” I’d whispered. “But he’s very busy… really, really busy.” Now, looks of dawning comprehension spread across their faces. The whispers started again. “Liar.” “How pathetic. Why would someone pretend to be someone else’s daughter? Is she ashamed of her own dad?” “Awkward. Getting called out by the real thing.” “Hilarious.” … The cruel laughter washed over me. I was just about to go numb when the boy sitting behind me suddenly stood up. He slammed his hand on his desk. “Is this really necessary? Who cares who her parents are? It’s none of your business!” 12 I was always quiet, always kept to myself. That was the first day I learned his name. Leo. He had one of the top scores in the city. He was smart, popular, and came from a wealthy family. He was a ray of sunshine. His father ran a media conglomerate. His outburst silenced the class. The teacher finally arrived, blissfully unaware of the drama. “Find an empty seat so we can get started,” he told Lora. The “real” heiress smiled sweetly. She walked down the aisle and stopped next to Leo. “Can I be your deskmate?” she asked, her voice soft and cloying. “Please?” 13 After school, Leo caught up with me. I didn’t understand why a rich kid like him would insist on riding the crowded city bus with me, getting jostled by commuters, just to explain something so trivial. “The teacher made her sit next to me,” he said, breathless. “There weren’t many other empty seats. It’s not like I wanted her to…” I just nodded. He glanced at me, trying to read my expression. “I saw your exam scores. Your math is a little weak. I could help you, if you want. I’m pretty good at it.” … After a moment of silence, he scratched his nose and asked casually, “So, Anya… why did you write that on the form?” Oh. So he thought I was a liar, just like everyone else. But for some reason, in that moment, I refused to let it go. I turned and looked him straight in the eye. “Why? Because Mike Reed is my biological father. My mother was his legal wife. According to the law, whose name am I supposed to write? I think I’m being a lot more honest than some people.” The bus screeched to a halt at my stop. I didn’t look at Leo again. I just pushed my way through the crowd and got off. But to my surprise, he followed me. His house was still another thirty minutes away. He ran after me, grabbing my sleeve. He looked so guilty, like he knew he’d messed up. He kept apologizing. “Please forgive me, Anya. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad, okay?” 14 I didn’t have many friends in high school. For three years, I was basically an outcast. Lora had her own little clique, and her mother, Seraphina, had somehow gotten a seat on the school’s board of directors. So even though Lora’s grades were terrible, no one dared to cross her. Only Leo, who came from an equally powerful family, paid her no mind. And only he ignored the stares and the whispers and always chose to be with me. We walked to and from the bus stop together. We studied together. I was so used to being alone that I was cold to him at first. He’d often look at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Anya, are you still mad at me for what I said that first day? You can hit me if it’ll make you feel better.” Eventually, I softened. And as I did, he talked more and more. “Let’s go see a movie this weekend.” “My dad’s client gave us some concert tickets. Are you interested?” “There’s a new barbecue place downtown everyone’s talking about. Wanna try it? My treat.” … In our final semester, with the college entrance exams looming, he brought it up casually one day. “Anya, where are you applying to college? Let’s go to the same city.” He grinned, his eyes bright and confident. “Because… I think… I’m starting to, uh, like you. A lot. So, what do you say? College together?” My head snapped up. I stared at him, stunned. The sunlight was streaming through the window, dappling our desks. A breeze rustled the pages of my workbook. I had no idea how to respond. After a long moment, I twisted the pen in my fingers and mumbled, “You know we can get in trouble for talking about this stuff at school.” Leo just threw his head back and laughed. He reached out and ruffled my hair. “Okay. I’ll save those words for after graduation then. The day our exams are over, you wait for me. I’ll come find you, Anya.” In that moment, I reached out my hand. I thought I had caught the sunlight. It was only later, looking back, that I realized the light had never been shining on me at all. 15 That night, I took out my pendant and told the System everything about Leo. He had told me he’d be busy for a while, dealing with something important, but that I could leave him messages. He’d investigate any questions I had when he got back. Over the years, even with the nanny, the System had become my constant companion. He taught me everything—how to ride a bike, how to cook instant noodles, how to use the washing machine. I held the pendant and whispered, “What do you think of Leo?” There was no answer. The System wasn’t back yet. “I think he’s pretty great,” I said to myself. “After the exams, I’ll go find him.” Leo and I were at different testing centers. After my last exam, I got on the bus and followed my usual route home, piecing together the location of his house from the little details he’d let slip in our conversations. There was only one gated community of mansions in that area. I stood outside the main gate and pulled out my phone. I was going to call him. He had said he would find me after the exams. But if I went to find him… it was the same thing, right? I found his number and was just about to press call when I heard his voice. It came from just a short distance away. “What are you doing here? I told you I was busy today.” My head snapped up. A girl was standing in front of him, laughing. “Busy with what? Going to find that bastard’s daughter?” It was Lora. 16 They were standing inside the gates of the community, separated from me by a world of wrought iron. Leo’s brow was furrowed in annoyance. “Are you serious? You can’t actually be falling for her, can you? We had a deal. Just play around with her, make her fall for you, and then dump her hard.” Lora took a step forward and poked him in the shoulder. “Don’t forget, Leo. You and I are the ones who grew up together. And your dad’s company still does business with mine, so don’t get any ideas, big shot…” Leo’s face darkened. He stepped back, putting distance between them. After a long moment, he bit out a single, clipped word. “Leave.” I clutched my phone, suddenly grateful I hadn’t made that call. How humiliating would that have been? Lora pouted, then huffed. She started to walk away, then turned back. “Fine, fine, have it your way. But don’t forget, our families are having dinner tonight to celebrate. You can’t bail on that.” 17 I rode the bus home alone. All along the route, there were banners celebrating the end of the exams. The bus passed a bakery with a sale sign in the window. I got off and went inside, choosing a simple cream cake with no decorations. The girl at the counter saw my school uniform and smiled. “Just finished your exams? Buying a cake to celebrate? Or is it for a birthday? Do you want me to write anything on it?” If she hadn’t mentioned it, I would have forgotten myself. Tomorrow was my eighteenth birthday. For years, my birthdays had been quiet affairs. My mother was gone, my father was absent, and I had no friends. It was always just me, the nanny, and the System. But this year, the nanny was sick and had gone back to her hometown, and the System was away. My coming-of-age ceremony was shaping up to be just like the rest of my life. Lonely and quiet. I managed a small smile and shook my head. “No, thank you. It’s just for a post-dinner snack.” That was the night I received the video call from Lora. My screen filled with her face, then my father’s, then Leo’s. They were all there, like a real family, sitting together, celebrating the end of the exams, celebrating the bright futures of their children. Lora’s voice was a triumphant sneer. “Look, it’s the jinx who killed her own mom.” Mike’s was a cold dismissal. “Don’t bother with her. She’s bad luck.” The call ended abruptly. And in the sudden silence, I heard a voice I hadn’t heard in months. It was the System. “Host, I’m back.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385655”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day I found out I was pregnant was the day my on-again, off-again boyfriend of ten years, Jack, finally kicked me to the curb. He bailed, only to announce his engagement to someone else a week later. I became the laughingstock of our social circle. Through the worst of it, Aidan was the one by my side. Everyone whispered about it. “If Elara was a lovesick fool, then Aidan was her knight in shining armor, swooping in to raise another man’s child.” “The hero finally ditched the side character, so the second lead gets his chance, right?” Aidan shielded me from all of it, a silent guardian, just as he had been for years. The day I finally accepted his proposal, the tall, handsome man’s eyes turned red for the first time. “Lara,” he choked out, “I swear I’ll make you happy.” On our wedding day, I found myself inexplicably thrown seven years into the future. The thirty-five-year-old Aidan was looking at me, his voice cold, his face a mask of impatience. “Just tell me,” he said. “What will it take for you to finally agree to the divorce?” 1 “I do.” The words slipped out automatically, a reflex from the ceremony I’d just left. It took me a few seconds to realize my surroundings were all wrong. There were no cheers, no guests, and no response from Aidan. The man who had been looking at me with tear-filled eyes at the altar just a moment ago now wore a look of pure indifference. My answer seemed to smooth the deep furrow in his brow. “Since you agree…” “A divorce?” The word finally registered. “Why?” Silence hung in the air for a beat too long. Aidan’s voice was heavy. “Elara, can you please stop changing your mind over and over again?” “There’s no point in dragging this out. Do you really want to make such a scene that neither of us can walk away with any dignity?” His impatient expression and icy tone made the world feel unreal. Aidan had never looked at me like that. Before this, he had proposed to me four times. I’d turned him down the first three times, terrified he would end up hurting me too. But he had been relentless, telling me again and again, “Lara, I’ll never leave you.” “I’ll chase you for the rest of my life. Please, just don’t push me away.” “Just give me one chance, please?” He’d even had a single, crimson dot tattooed right over his heart. For me. I stared at his face, my mind reeling from the whiplash. Aidan tossed a file onto the table with a sigh of frustration. “When you’ve made up your mind, just contact me. I’m giving you one more month, max.” “Otherwise, we’ll just let the lawyers handle it.” 2 My gaze drifted downward. The bold, black letters on the cover of the file seared into my eyes. DIVORCE AGREEMENT. Aidan had already signed it. His familiar, elegant script, the same script I’d seen just a minute ago on our handwritten vows, was now scrawled across this sterile white paper. He knew I loved old traditions, so he’d insisted on writing our vows himself. And now, that same hand had signed away our future. I pinched myself, hard. The pain was real, but this nightmare didn’t end. The sharp edge of the paper sliced my finger. A drop of red bloomed on the agreement, a stark contrast to the white page. It reminded me of the handfasting cord we’d tied around our wrists at the wedding. The vibration of my phone pulled me back. The screen displayed the year: 2025. Seven years after our wedding day. A message from someone named ‘Mark’: [Mr. Scott is driving towards Riverside Park. Destination is likely the West End.] I scrolled up. The chat was filled with reports on Aidan’s every move. And photos of him with a woman who lived in the West End. According to the chat history, I’d hired this private investigator three months ago. A week ago, I’d asked him for detailed information on the woman, preparing for a confrontation. [Eva Vance, 27, from Oakhaven.] [Started as an intern at Mr. Scott’s company three years ago, later promoted to his personal assistant.] [Contact info is…, but Ms. Hayes, confronting her directly right now might not be the best move.] The P.I., probably used to these messy situations, was advising caution. I never made that call. My fingers traced over the intimate photos on my screen, zooming in again and again. A hot burn started behind my eyes, and soon, tears blurred the screen into a watery mess. Before I could dial her number, her name flashed across my screen. An incoming call. “Took you long enough to answer.” Eva’s voice was light, laced with an unmistakable thread of triumph. “Weren’t you desperate to meet me?” 3 The moment I saw Eva, I froze, my feet feeling like lead. She looked even more like me than in the photos, only younger, fresher. She’d chosen the coffee shop; clearly, she was a regular. A waiter hurried over. “Welcome back! The usual today?” “Just milk this time,” Eva said, raising an eyebrow at me. “I’m pregnant. The doctor said I need to cut back on caffeine.” She watched my knuckles turn white where I gripped my purse, then feigned a moment of realization. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I hit a nerve?” “Look, I’m a direct person, so I’ll just be honest. What man doesn’t want a child of his own?” “Since you can’t give him one, shouldn’t someone else be allowed to?” I stared blankly at her flat stomach, the palms of my hands stinging. Seven years ago, I’d lost our first child. The miscarriage was followed by a severe illness, and the doctors told me it would be nearly impossible for me to conceive again. Aidan never brought it up, but I knew how much he loved kids. So, I’d been seeing specialists in secret, forcing down bitter medications. My mom would cry just watching me. “You wouldn’t even drink a sip of cold medicine when you were little…” It was agony. I’d drink the medicine, throw it up, and then force myself to swallow it again, the bitter taste clinging to my mouth. I wanted so badly to have a child with Aidan. Everyone said he’d be an amazing father to a little girl. I never thought that after seven years… We still wouldn’t have a child of our own. 4 Watching Eva’s carefully protective gestures, I finally understood Aidan’s urgency. She was pregnant. In another couple of months, she’d start to show. He didn’t want her, and his child, to be without a proper name. Sensing my gaze, Eva placed a hand over her stomach. “Aidan has probably mentioned this to you many times. I have no issue with the asset division. Settle it however you see fit.” “You two were together for so long. You wouldn’t want things to end on an ugly note, right?” She spoke with the exact same phrasing Aidan had used. I could almost picture them, rehearsing this conversation, complaining about how I was dragging my feet, refusing to let go. “If I don’t agree to a divorce, you can’t move up… Are you afraid of your child being labeled illegitimate?” Eva’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes filled with contempt. “You think I’m dirty? That I’m manipulative?” “The love is gone, but you cling to him like a leech. Don’t you think that’s disgusting?” I imagined the 35-year-old me must have become incredibly weak over these seven years of marriage. So weak she couldn’t even make a single phone call to demand the truth. I straightened up, and just as I reached for my hot coffee, a sharp, violent pain tore through my abdomen. The world went dark for a second, and I barely managed to grip the edge of the table to stay upright. Eva grabbed her purse, her eyes wide with alarm. “If anything happens to this baby, Aidan will never forgive you!” I gritted my teeth against the wave of agony, my knuckles white on the table. “Aidan told you not to see me, didn’t he? If he finds out you came to threaten me into a divorce…” Eva’s face paled. “Don’t be so dramatic,” she muttered, turning to leave. 5 I collapsed the moment I got home. When I woke up, it was the next day. Slivers of light pushed through the curtains, illuminating a cold, silent apartment. The entryway was a mess. Aidan hadn’t come back. I used the wall to pull myself up, my body aching as I stumbled to find some painkillers. But when I opened the medicine cabinet, there wasn’t a single painkiller inside. Instead, there were neatly organized bottles of vitamins and various brands of hangover remedies. My handwriting covered the labels, tiny notes detailing when Aidan should take his vitamins and which remedy worked best for different situations. Tucked at the back of the cabinet was a small notebook. February 27th: A picked the fruit out of his lunchbox again. Punishment: two Vitamin C gummies. March 6th: Showed off at a work dinner, drank too much, and got sick. Babbled nonsense all the way home. Punishment: No alcohol for three days, only stomach-soothing broth. March 13th: Forgot his hangover pills again… The entries were frequent at the beginning, but as I flipped through the pages, they became sparse. Until finally, the pages were blank. I ran my fingers over the slightly damp paper, lost in a daze. My phone buzzed. A message from my mom. [Honey, you two haven’t been back in so long. Your father and I miss you.] [Thanksgiving is just around the corner. You’ll be coming home with Aidan this time, right?] I blinked away the blurriness in my eyes and opened my chat with Aidan. A sea of my green message bubbles was met with only a few terse replies from him. [Saw this tie while shopping, thought it would look great on you.] [This plant looks like a giraffe! Doesn’t it look like the one we saw on our safari trip?] [Found that old song you used to love. Haven’t heard it in ages.] [It’s raining, make sure you dress warm. I packed a scarf in your suitcase.] [I made fish soup, with that soft tofu you love.] Aidan: [Last-minute business trip.] My shared moments had become a monologue. His rare replies were dismissive. The very last message was from two months ago. A reminder from me. [Don’t forget tomorrow. You promised Mom and Dad we’d visit.] He still hadn’t replied. 6 I called him. He finally picked up on the third try. “What is it?” “Thanksgiving is coming up. Mom and Dad want us to come home.” There was a long pause on his end, followed by an impatient sigh. My heart plummeted. Before he proposed, Aidan, afraid I’d get homesick, promised my parents we would visit for every holiday and at least once every two months. But now, it had been over half a year since we’d gone home together. “We’ll see.” He was about to hang up, but I cut him off. “You promised me.” On the day we were supposed to leave, Aidan came home. He watched me get into the passenger seat, his expression cold. “Elara, this is the last time.” “They’re going to find out about us sooner or later. I’ve given you more than enough time.” The scenery blurred past the car window. A small charm on the rearview mirror chimed softly. It was a cheerful sound, but it felt jarringly loud. Aidan had a lot of stressful work events, so he always preferred quiet music in the car to unwind. I had chosen quiet, soft trinkets for him. His favorite had been a small, lavender-filled sachet I’d embroidered myself. Now, it had been replaced with a jumble of cold, clanking metal charms. I stared at the tangled chains, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Why did you lie to me?” Why did you say you were on a business trip when you were setting off fireworks for someone else in another city? Why did you promise we’d do a hundred things together, only to leave the pages of our journal blank? Why did you propose one moment, swearing to love me forever, only to turn around and share all those romantic gestures with another woman? I couldn’t understand. Aidan slammed on the brakes, his eyes flashing with ice. “Elara, are you really one to talk about lies and betrayal?” 7 “What’s that supposed to mean?” His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Have you ever been completely honest with me?” I stared at him, confused, but before I could ask, a sharp cramp seized my stomach. I stumbled out of the car and rushed into the rest stop, but all I retched up was blood. In the mirror, my reflection was ghastly. My face was pale and gaunt, my cheeks sunken. No amount of makeup or bright lipstick could hide the aura of sickness clinging to me. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead and, clutching my stomach, slowly made my way back to the car. I knocked on the window. “Can you turn around after this? I need to go to the hospi—” “You should just go home by yourself today.” Aidan was staring at his phone, his brow furrowed. “Something came up at the office. I have to go back and deal with it immediately.” I glanced at his screen. The chat window was open. It was Eva. “Aidan, I can’t go back alone right now. I’m not feeling…” The window slid up, cutting off my words. I took two steps after the car, and the world spun. A metallic taste filled my throat as my stomach convulsed. I crumpled to the ground, curling into a ball as darkness swallowed me whole. 8 When I woke up, the sharp smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils. After I collapsed at the rest stop, a kind stranger had brought me to the nearest hospital. My phone showed over a dozen missed calls from my frantic mother. “Honey, you said you’d be here by seven! Are you stuck in traffic?” “Mom, don’t worry.” I blinked against the sting in my eyes. “Something urgent came up with Aidan’s company, so we had to rush back. We might not… we might not be able to make it home for a while.” “Oh, as long as you’re okay.” My mom sighed in relief. “Your father and I know you’re both busy. We’ll see you at Christmas.” Listening to her gentle chatter, my nose burned even more. In my last relationship, I was young and stubborn, and I’d charged headfirst down a dead-end road. My parents had worried endlessly. So when Aidan started pursuing me, they were hesitant to trust him. It wasn’t until after my miscarriage, when Aidan stayed by my side day and night, enduring countless closed doors only to reappear with his heart on his sleeve, that they were finally moved by his sincerity and accepted him. At our wedding, my mother cried until her eyes were swollen. When my father placed my hand in Aidan’s, his own eyes were red. “Don’t worry,” Aidan had promised them. “I’ll make Lara happy for the rest of her life.” I never thought that in seven years… just seven short years… This is what we would become. After reassuring my mom, I hung up and went to get my test results. The moment I opened the folder, my fingers froze. I gripped the paper, my knuckles turning white. Gastric Cancer, Stage IV. 9 I don’t know how long I walked, numbly grateful for the cold wind on my face that seemed to clear my head. When I got home, I was surprised to see a familiar figure waiting. The moment he saw me, Aidan shot up from the couch and grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “Are you done with your games?” I frowned at him, confused. Aidan slammed a stack of photos onto the table. Every single one was a picture I had seen on my phone. “Elara, what the hell do you want?” “Hiring someone to follow her, take pictures of her, trying to hurt her… you did all that just to force my hand, didn’t you? If you have a problem, you come at me!” Eva, terrified I would reveal she had initiated our meeting, had played her trump card. She must have known she was being photographed all along. No wonder the angles were so perfectly intimate. I didn’t have the energy to argue. All I wanted was to lie down and sleep. But Aidan yanked me back, his eyes blazing with a righteous fury, as if I were the most despicable person on earth. Pain shot through my shoulder, and I braced myself against a cabinet to stay upright. “Eva is certainly clever…” My weary smile seemed to sting him. He tightened his grip, nearly crushing my bones. “Elara, you have no right to look down on her.” “Of course, someone like you, always so high and mighty, you could never see any fault in yourself, could you?” “That expression… it’s disgusting. Just like your parents.” He spat the words out, his face twisted in a snarl. I froze for a moment, then slapped him across the face, hard. His head snapped to the side, his face falling into shadow. “Don’t you dare talk about my parents!” I was shaking, the pain in my body and my heart becoming one. “I can’t talk about them? Or do you just think I’m not worthy?” Aidan let out a sudden, harsh laugh. The red handprint on his cheek was stark as he grabbed my other hand before I could strike him again. “Elara, all these years, that’s what you’ve really thought, isn’t it?” 10 I stared at Aidan, dumbfounded. I had no idea why he was saying these things. “My parents never did anything to—” “I heard them at the hospital! They never approved of me, did they? They thought someone like me could never make you happy. They thought marrying their precious daughter to me was a complete tragedy.” The hospital? My mind drifted back to the time I was hospitalized after losing our first child. Aidan had been there for me, day and night. It was then that I finally started to let him in. My parents, seeing that I no longer pushed him away, realized I was finally ready to move on. But they still had their reservations. “Honey, we know you’re hurting right now. Starting a new relationship might be a good distraction, a way to feel better.” “But if you haven’t forgotten the last one, it’s not fair to Aidan.” They had hesitated, then continued, “Besides, Aidan is still so young. We believe he has a bright future, but marriage is a serious commitment. We want you to be happy, not to rush into something out of desperation because of your current situation.” Back then, Aidan was young, in love with me, and broke. I knew what my parents were afraid of. They were afraid I would suffer, afraid I would walk down another dead-end street. I had promised them then, “Mom, Dad, don’t worry.” “Besides you two, no one will ever love me more than Aidan.” Before our wedding, to show their support, my parents gave Aidan a substantial sum of money to start his own business. I never imagined that in his eyes, it wasn’t a gift. It was charity from on high. “Admit it, Elara. You’re just like them. Even after you were with me, you were still obsessed with your ex. You even met up with him the night before our wedding.” Aidan closed in, his grip on my wrist threatening to shatter bone. He was right. The night before our wedding, I did see Jack. That reckless fool had gotten drunk, climbed the fence into my parents’ yard, and started waxing nostalgic. “Lara, I know you don’t really want to marry Aidan. As long as you don’t push for marriage, we can still be together like before. I don’t mind…” A slap from me cut him off. “You hit me?” I slapped him again, harder this time, and grabbed a nearby wine bottle, pointing it at him. “I was a fool for ever getting tangled up with you, but I’m telling you now, I am marrying Aidan because I want to.” “If you ever say another word to disrespect him, I won’t hesitate to call the police.” Jack looked at me and suddenly laughed. “Elara, you really haven’t changed, have you? Still such a believer in true love.” “Aidan is not like you. You don’t have the right to even be compared to him.” “We’re all the same, Elara. You’re just too naive to see it.” 11 The pain was so deep it stole my breath. I swallowed the metallic taste in my mouth and looked up at Aidan. “Is that really who you think I am?” His words were a knife, twisting in my heart. “Elara, did you think that because I chased you like a pathetic dog, I deserved to be your second choice? That because I love you, I should just live in the shadow of your perfect ex, picking up his scraps and thanking you for the privilege? “That no matter what I do, I’ll never measure up to the man who threw you away? Sometimes, people are just pathetic. And you’re one of them.” Aidan slammed the door on his way out, leaving me alone in the crushing darkness. The seeds of doubt had been planted long ago. Now, they had grown into a monstrous tree, leaving no room for a single word of my defense. 12 Before checking into the hospital, I made a trip to a small chapel on a hill. I climbed the stone steps one by one, leaving behind my last wishes. I wished for my parents to stay healthy. I wished for myself to hold on a little longer, to make the goodbye less sudden. After lighting a candle, a young groundskeeper approached me. “You’re back,” he said with a gentle smile. “Here to see the wishing tree again today?” I paused for a moment. I remembered. I did have a wish hanging on that tree. After Jack and I broke up, I had come here to take down the wooden charm we’d hung together. The branch was a little too high. I stood on my toes, stretching, and finally lost my balance. The charm, carved with the words Forever and Always, flew from my grasp. But it didn’t hit the ground. It landed, perfectly, in the hands of Aidan, who had been quietly following me. He stammered, afraid I’d be angry, “I’m sorry, Lara… I was just worried about you being out here alone.” I stared at the charm in his palm. In that moment, it felt like a sign from the universe. Telling me that no matter how far I fell, no matter how much it hurt, Aidan would always be there to catch me. Just as he had silently watched over me for the past ten years. So I took his hand. “Hang it back up.” I watched him clumsily tie it back in its place. “A little higher,” I teased, pinching his arm. “The heavens can see it better if it’s higher. Don’t you want them to wish us a lifetime of happiness?” Aidan froze, the meaning of my words slowly dawning on him. “Us?” His eyes welled up. He looked so endearingly clumsy, fumbling with the string, pricking his finger in the process. That was the day we got together. Now, I walked toward the old wishing tree. It was almost completely covered in charms and ribbons; most people now used the newer tree on the other side of the path. After seven years of sun and rain, our charm was faded and worn. I reached up to touch it, and through a gap in the branches, I saw a familiar sight. Aidan was holding Eva, lifting her up as she stretched to tie a brand-new ribbon to the highest branch of the new tree. “Can you reach?” he asked. “Higher, a little higher!” Eva squealed playfully. “I want to tie it at the very top!” The string on our old charm had rotted away. I gave it a gentle tug, and it fell into my hand. Aidan’s name was so faded it was almost illegible. Only my name, Elara, remained clear on one side. A stubborn coincidence. I clutched the charm and turned away. I called Aidan. “I’ve made up my mind,” I said. “Let’s get a divorce.” Aidan seemed surprised by my quick decision, but I could hear the relief in his voice. “Okay. When?” “Tomorrow.” 13 The next day, I didn’t make it to my appointment with Aidan. The pain that night was unbearable. Just before I passed out, I managed to call for an ambulance. When I came to after emergency treatment, I saw dozens of missed calls from Aidan. “Elara! What the hell is your game now?” He was furious. “Is it fun for you, jerking me around like this again and again?” My throat was raw, and I could taste rust. “You need to stay still. Let me get you some water.” Aidan paused when he heard the nurse’s voice. After a few seconds of silence, his tone softened slightly. “Where are you?” He arrived in less than half an hour. He stood by my bed, his brow slightly furrowed. “What are you doing here?” I looked at him calmly and told him the truth. “Cancer.” Aidan froze. It took him a few seconds to process the word, and a flash of disbelief crossed his face. But just as quickly, the disbelief morphed into contempt. “Elara, that’s not going to work. I thought I made it clear. There’s no future for us…” “Do you have a pen?” I held out my hand. “Let’s not wait. I’ll sign it now.” Aidan seemed surprised by my lack of hesitation. It wasn’t until the signed divorce agreement was in his hands that he seemed to fully grasp what had happened. After confirming everything was in order, his expression finally softened. “See? If you’d just done this earlier, we wouldn’t have had to go through all this ugliness.” “You know I tried to do this peacefully at first. I never wanted it to get this bad.” I was exhausted. All I wanted was to sleep. I turned my head away without responding. Aidan started to walk away, the papers in his hand, but then he stopped. He turned back. His question was almost absurd. “Did you ever truly love me? Even for a second.” Realizing how pathetic that sounded, he rephrased. “Elara, do you have any regrets?” Looking at him, he felt like a complete stranger. Utterly and completely unfamiliar. “Do you?” I didn’t answer his question, but asked one of my own. “Do you regret being with Eva?” Aidan stared at me, his lips trembling slightly, but in the end, he said nothing at all.

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The first time I took a client out, the dinner bill was $200. Finance would only reimburse me for $100. The finance director sneered, “Personal expenses are to be paid out of pocket.” I was so furious I couldn’t even eat. The next time I hosted the client, I didn’t touch a single bite. The client was confused. My boss was furious. Three days later, the ten-million-dollar deal was dead. My boss stormed into the finance department, his face a mask of thunder. “Tell me,” he roared, “why did you cut her reimbursement?” 01 The city lights began to twinkle, painting the heart of the metropolis in strokes of neon and gold below. I raised my glass, its crystalline surface reflecting the smiling face of Mr. Davies, and my own, flush with ambition. “To a successful partnership, Mr. Davies.” The crisp clink of our glasses was like the opening note of a symphony, heralding a grand new beginning. This was the project I’d been chasing for three months—a deal worth ten million dollars. The client was a titan in the industry, and their Director of Procurement was the man sitting across from me, Adrian Davies. Landing this account would completely change my standing in the company. The atmosphere was perfect. We moved seamlessly from industry trends to personal hobbies, and I could feel the flag of victory waving just within my reach. My heart pounded with a raw hunger for success, for the brilliant future I saw laid out before me. When the evening concluded, the bill came to $200. I paid with my personal card without a second thought, my mind consumed with the imminent victory and the absolute necessity of showing our client the utmost respect. Compared to a ten-million-dollar deal, two hundred dollars was a drop in the ocean. The next day, I submitted my expense report, the receipt neatly attached, to the Finance Department. I considered it a routine formality, nothing more. What I was met with, however, was the eternally frosty face of the Director of Finance, Miranda Vance. She picked up my report and scrutinized it like a cheap forgery, her eyes darting between my face and the paper. The only sound in the office was the rhythmic hum of the printer, an oppressive noise that made the air thick and hard to breathe. Slap. The flimsy piece of paper was thrown back onto my desk. It landed with a soft thud, but it felt like a silent, stinging slap across the face. “Rejected.” Her voice was utterly devoid of warmth, as if it had been dredged up from a frozen cellar. “Personal expenses are to be paid out of pocket.” Her tone was steeped in an unassailable arrogance, as if I were a common thief trying to swindle the company. My mind went completely blank. “Ms. Vance,” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady, though my fingertips were already going cold. “This was for hosting Mr. Davies. It’s all clearly itemized on the receipt.” Miranda let out a short, sharp laugh, a sound laced with venom. “You ate half of it, so you can pay for half of it. One hundred dollars, out of your own pocket.” She leaned forward slightly, each word a deliberate strike against my nerves. “Linda, don’t think I don’t know how you sales people operate—wining and dining on the company’s dime to make yourselves look important.” Her words dripped with condescending stereotypes and unconcealed contempt for my entire department. My face flushed a deep crimson, blood rushing to my head. “This wasn’t a personal expense. It was a business dinner, for the company’s—” “For the company?” she cut me off, her voice suddenly sharp and high. “Then why didn’t you just book out a Michelin three-star restaurant? Would you have submitted that bill too, expecting the company to foot it?” She added, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “You’re young. Don’t pick up those shady habits so early in your career. Trying to line your pockets with company money won’t fly with me.” “Line your pockets.” Those words were like four red-hot pokers driven straight into my heart. I felt a wave of humiliation and rage wash over me, so intense it felt like my blood had frozen in my veins. The few other employees in the finance department shot me glances of either pity or amusement, and their eyes felt like daggers in my back. I just stood there, my hands and feet ice-cold, the words of my defense caught in my throat. In the face of her authority, any explanation was useless. Finally, I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms, and forced out a single word through gritted teeth. “Fine.” I picked up the condemned expense report and filled out a new one for only $100. As I accepted the outcome, a violent cramp seized my stomach. A heavy, indigestible stone seemed to have lodged itself in my chest, making every breath a burning effort. That $100 wasn’t much, but it felt like a mountain, crushing every last ounce of my professional dignity. I couldn’t sleep that night. Lying in bed, I watched the shifting patterns of neon lights dance across my ceiling, a reflection of my own chaotic thoughts. I kept replaying Miranda’s disdainful eyes, her cutting words echoing in my mind like a broken record. The intertwining feelings of injustice and fury burned through me, making my insides ache. It wasn’t about the money. It was about my professionalism, my hard work, my dedication to this company—all of it being so casually and cruelly trampled under her heel. No. I sat up in bed and told myself this would not happen again. I would not let something so petty undermine my professional self-worth. A stubborn resentment began to smolder within me. I swore I would prove myself with my results, prove that I, Linda Sterling, was not the person she made me out to be. I swore I would never again let my personal feelings interfere with my work. I thought this was a sign of mature restraint. I never imagined it was just the dangerous calm before another, far more destructive storm. 02 A week later, I hosted Mr. Davies for a second time. This was the crucial meeting to finalize the contract details. I arrived early at the upscale restaurant I had booked. The private room was elegant, with a stunning view of the glittering river. But my mind was heavy, Miranda’s words echoing in my head: “Don’t think I don’t know how you sales people eat and drink.” That sentence was a thorn in my side. Fine, I told myself. I’ll show you. I’ll show you whether or not I’m “lining my pockets.” Mr. Davies arrived on time, as gracious and amiable as ever. The dishes were brought out, one after another, each one plated like a work of art. I smiled, served him portions, refilled his tea, and engaged in lively conversation about every clause in the contract. I appeared professional, poised. But from beginning to end, the plate in front of me remained empty. I was on edge the entire time, only taking a few token sips of water. The aroma of the exquisite food filled the air, but the scent alone made my stomach churn. I didn’t touch a single bite. My gaze would occasionally drift, my entire being radiating a tense, distracted energy. Mr. Davies was a perceptive man. He quickly noticed my unusual behavior. He asked with concern several times, “Linda, is the food not to your liking today?” “Why are you only drinking water? Are you not feeling well?” Each time, I forced a smile and brushed it off. “Oh, no, not at all. I’ve just been a bit tired lately, not much of an appetite. It’s nothing, please, you enjoy.” My smile must have been painfully stiff; I could feel the muscles in my face twitching. The concern in his eyes slowly gave way to a subtle, yet noticeable, confusion. Eventually, he stopped asking. He just ate in silence, and the once-warm atmosphere between us became tinged with a delicate awkwardness. When the dinner ended, Mr. Davies’s smile was much more strained than the last time. As he shook my hand goodbye, his eyes held a flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher—disappointment. He said a polite, “Let’s be in touch,” but unlike before, he didn’t mention setting up our next meeting. My heart sank. I dragged my exhausted body back to the office. The moment I stepped inside, I knew something was wrong. My colleagues in the sales department were all at their desks, heads down, silent. The door to my supervisor Mark’s office was shut. The next second, the door was wrenched open. Mark stood in the doorway, his face dark, his eyes shooting daggers at me. “Linda! In my office, now!” He practically roared it. My stomach dropped. I followed him inside. Bang! He slammed the door behind us, the sound making my heart jump. “What the hell was that tonight?!” Mark demanded, his hands braced on his desk as he leaned forward, his presence overwhelming. “The client just called me to complain! He asked if our company has a problem with him. Said you hosted him for dinner and didn’t eat a single bite, that you looked miserable the whole time. He thinks we’re slighting him!” Every word was like a whip cracking against my nerves. His voice was filled with accusation, with profound disappointment in my supposed lack of professionalism and my childish “tantrum.” An overwhelming sense of injustice tightened its grip around my chest, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him about the finance department, about the humiliation over that $100. But the words died on my lips. I was afraid that if I told him the truth, I would sound petty, like I was making a big deal out of nothing. Risking a multi-million-dollar deal over a hundred-dollar expense? Who would believe that? Who wouldn’t think I was overreacting? All I could do was lower my head and silently endure it, my eyes instantly burning with tears. “Well? Cat got your tongue?” Mark’s anger was still blazing. Seeing my silence, he seemed to grow even more furious, slamming his hand on the desk. “Linda, I had the highest hopes for you! I thought you were sensible, that you had judgment! Do you have any idea what level of client Mr. Davies is? There’s a time and a place to be moody, and this was not it!” I bit my lip, hard, fighting to keep the tears from falling. He had no idea what had happened. In his eyes, I was just an emotional subordinate who had screwed up a critical dinner. Mark took a ragged breath, trying to calm himself, but his next words struck me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me completely stunned. “He also mentioned,” Mark said, his voice grave, “that he sensed a poor internal atmosphere and chaotic management within our company. He now has serious doubts about our future partnership. Do you understand how serious this is?!” Those words froze me in place. The blood ran cold in my veins. I finally understood the disappointment I had seen in Mr. Davies’s eyes. He didn’t just see a woman with no appetite. He saw a company that was harsh and unsupportive of its own employees. He saw the glaring evidence of a major internal conflict. How could a company that wouldn’t even support its own sales manager’s basic client entertainment, a company whose employees carried their resentment into client meetings, be trusted to execute a multi-million-dollar contract? I finally realized. It was all because of that $100. Because of Miranda’s dismissive “personal expense” and her high-and-mighty arrogance. I wanted to scream, to shout, to pour out all the injustice I felt. But my throat felt like it was filled with cement. I couldn’t make a sound. For the first time, I understood how, in the corporate world, a seemingly insignificant personal emotion could, through silence, inflict such catastrophic professional damage. An all-encompassing sense of powerlessness washed over me like an icy tide, submerging me completely. I’m finished. The thought surfaced in my mind with terrifying clarity. 03 The next morning, I was jolted awake by the shrill ringing of my phone. The name “Mark” flashed on the screen. My heart lurched. A deep, ominous feeling gripped me. With a trembling hand, I answered the call. Mark’s voice on the other end was heavier than I had ever heard it, laced with a raw hoarseness. “Linda… I just got the official email. Davies is canceling the deal.” His tone was a mixture of barely suppressed rage and, more than anything, a profound, weary disappointment. Boom. My mind went completely blank. The world suddenly muted, all sound fading into nothing. The phone slipped from my nerveless grasp and hit the floor with a dull thud. Ten million dollars. The project my team and I had poured months of our lives into. My hopes for a promotion, my career blueprint, all my effort and anticipation… Gone. Like a giant soap bubble, pricked and vanishing into thin air. The world was suddenly devoid of color. I don’t know how I managed to get to the office. The atmosphere was strange. Colleagues were gathered in small groups, whispering amongst themselves. Their voices were low, but they felt like a thousand tiny needles, pricking my ears, stabbing at my back. I could hear them clearly: “Did you hear? The big Davies deal is dead. Because of Linda.” “Seriously? I thought she was Mark’s star player.” “Well, I heard she gave the client a major attitude at dinner, threw a fit. Pissed him right off. A multi-million-dollar deal, gone just like that. Some people.” “Jeez, so unprofessional. Great, now the whole department’s year-end bonus is probably shot.” I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. I hadn’t just lost the most important deal of my career; I was being branded as “unprofessional,” “moody,” and “a liability to the team.” In everyone’s eyes, I was the villain. My career had just been publicly sentenced to death. I walked numbly toward my desk, each step feeling like I was walking on broken glass. Just then, the door to Mark’s office was once again flung open. He strode past me, radiating a thunderous fury, and marched straight toward the finance department at the end of the hall. A moment later, a furious roar echoed through the entire floor. “Miranda! Get out here!” The office fell instantly silent. Everyone looked up in shock. I couldn’t make out the specifics of their argument, only the sound of Mark’s rage, which seemed powerful enough to tear the roof off, and Miranda’s sharp, unyielding replies. A faint flicker of hope ignited within me. My boss… does he finally know the truth? Is he standing up for me? But that hope was quickly drowned by a wave of despair. So what if he argues with her? The deal is gone. The client’s trust is lost. I’ve already been crucified. It’s too late. This whole incident made me deeply question my trust in the company, in the very idea of fairness in the workplace. A finance director who wielded regulations like a weapon, completely ignoring the realities of the front-line business. A manager who, when a problem arose, only blamed his subordinate without first trying to understand the full story. Was this company really worth my dedication? I sat down in my cold chair and opened my laptop. On the screen was the draft of the contract, on which I had typed in red letters: “VOID.” The word burned my eyes. Tears, which I had held back for so long, finally began to fall, silent drops splashing onto my keyboard. I felt like I had been abandoned by the entire world. Despair, like a ferocious tide, completely swallowed me whole. 04 Mark’s fight with Miranda ended in a stalemate. A colleague who was there later told me Miranda’s defense was simple: “I followed company policy to the letter. My process is rigorous and flawless. If the sales deal fell through, it’s because of incompetence in the sales department. Don’t try to pin that on Finance!” She used company policy as an impenetrable shield, and Mark had no comeback. Ultimately, the issue escalated to senior management. The result? Mark was officially reprimanded for “ineffective management of subordinates, resulting in a significant loss for the company.” He emerged from the meeting looking defeated. And I, Linda Sterling, as the one directly responsible, became the epicenter of the storm. What made my heart sink even further was hearing that Miranda, at a subsequent internal meeting, had made a pointed remark about “certain employees who lack a sense of responsibility and professional competence, yet attempt to challenge the authority of company policy with petty tricks.” Everyone knew she was talking about me. From that day on, Miranda’s retaliation began. It wasn’t a sudden storm, but a slow, creeping death, like being a frog in a pot of slowly boiling water. Every single one of my expense reports was blocked. From a few dollars for printing costs to several hundred for a travel allowance, nothing was spared. The reasons were always varied and absurd: “improperly formatted receipt,” “purpose of expense not detailed enough,” or simply, “this month’s budget is tight, try again next month.” Any document I submitted that required her approval would be intentionally delayed. An urgent request could sit on her desk for a week. This caused serious delays for the smaller projects I was managing. The clients were demanding updates, my team was anxious, and I was caught in the middle, overwhelmed. Mark spoke to me a few times. His tone was much softer now, his eyes holding a hint of guilt, but his words still conveyed his anxiety about the project timelines. He was clearly feeling the heat as well. Gossip circulated through the office that I had “pissed off the money god and was getting what I deserved.” My colleagues began to distance themselves from me, subtly at first, then more obviously. No one wanted to be seen as too close to me, afraid that their own expense reports would get the same treatment. I was like a walking plague, shunned by everyone. I always ate lunch alone. When I walked into the breakroom, any lively chatter would immediately cease. I felt a profound sense of helplessness and rage, as if I were trapped in a transparent glass cage—observed, judged, and isolated by everyone, with no way out. I tried to fight back. I got a copy of the company policy manual and studied the reimbursement rules, word for word. And there, buried in the dense text, I found it: “The final determination of what constitutes a personal expense for entertainment purposes rests solely with the discretion of the Finance Department.” It was a massive loophole, giving her absolute power. In other words, if Miranda Vance said it was a personal expense, it was. There was no appeal. Those cold, clinical words were her fortress and her sharpest weapon. At a company-wide weekly project meeting, with all the department heads and senior executives present, it was my turn to report on my project’s progress. As I was speaking, Miranda slowly, deliberately, cut in. “Linda, since everyone is here, I have a question for you.”

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My husband’s death was ruled an accidental drowning. As I was sorting through his belongings, a copy of a property deed fell out from between the pages of a journal. When I pushed open the door to that house, I froze. The interior was cozy and romantic. The expensive furniture, plush carpets, and crystal chandelier glittered even under a layer of dust, unable to hide their opulence. Compared to our cramped, rundown apartment, it was another world. Hanging on the wall was a happy family portrait: him, his first love, and a pair of twin children. On the desk lay a suicide note in a messy scrawl: [Julianna, after you left, every day has been a living hell, an agony I can’t bear. Now that Mom is gone and the children are grown, I have nothing left to tie me to this world. I’m coming to find you, to continue our love story on the other side!] My legs gave out from under me. I practically had to crawl my way out of that room. In that moment, all I wanted to do was dig up his grave. But the rage and grief overwhelmed me. A sweet, metallic taste filled my throat, and after spitting out a mouthful of blood, my world went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the tenth year of our marriage. 1 When the police called to inform me that my husband Eddy’s body had been found in the West Hill Reservoir, I was still at the office, burning the midnight oil to deal with a client’s last-minute design changes. Over forty, hormones a mess, and still slaving away like a workhorse after 10 p.m. My resentment was already at an all-time high. So when I heard the news, my first thought was that it was a scam. “Go to hell,” I snarled into the phone. “I hope all you scammers die.” The officer on the other end didn’t get angry. In a calm, professional voice, he rattled off his badge number and the station’s address. He explained that some night fishermen had found my husband’s body and that his ID was in his wallet. He asked me to come to the scene as soon as possible. Half-believing, I hung up. On the drive to the reservoir, I tried calling Eddy over and over, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Forty minutes later, I arrived at the location the police had given me. The night was pitch black. The sound of the reservoir’s current and the cries of unseen animals were bone-chilling. I stumbled through the uneven terrain, my feet sinking into the soft earth, running towards the only cluster of light in the darkness. And there, I saw him. A man, lying stiff and straight on the riverbank. He was wearing the white shirt and black trousers he always wore, now stained with mud and grime. His shoes were gone, his bare feet crisscrossed with cuts. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. When I saw his face, I froze, as if struck by lightning. It really was him. My husband, Eddy. 2 After a thorough investigation, an autopsy, and a review of the security footage from near the reservoir, the police ruled out foul play. The medical examiner found alcohol in his system, and the official cause of death was accidental drowning while intoxicated. Our children flew back from overseas as soon as they heard the news. I was so consumed by grief that my blood pressure spiked, causing me to faint several times. I ended up in the ICU. My son and daughter handled all of their father’s funeral arrangements. By the time I was discharged, Eddy had already been buried. It wasn’t until the children took me to his gravesite that I realized, to my horror, that they had buried him in a joint plot with their biological mother, Julianna. But they had been divorced for over twenty years… I stared blankly at my children standing beside me. My daughter, Lily, spoke in a flat voice. “It’s what Dad wanted.” She pulled a document from her bag and handed it to me. “This is the will Dad wrote. The lawyer gave it to me and my brother when we got back. You should read it too.” My hands trembled as I took it. Just as Lily had said, the will stipulated that he was to be buried with Julianna. Lily continued, her voice devoid of emotion. “The last page is about the assets. The death beneficiaries for all of Dad’s insurance policies are me and Leo. His mutual funds and stocks were purchased before he married you, so they’re considered his personal assets. He left those to us as well.” “As for the old apartment…” Lily paused. “Dad left you your 50% share, but you’ll have to pay us the market value for his half. Of course, you could also sell the place and give me and Leo half the money.” Leo, who had been silent the whole time, finally looked at me. His expression held a flicker of guilt, and his lips trembled slightly. “Mom, Lily and I got our green cards. After we settle things here, we won’t be coming back. You need to take care of yourself.” I looked at the two children I had raised for twenty years, a wave of disbelief washing over me. I didn’t even realize when the tears had started to fall. A lump of pain formed in my throat, my voice so hoarse it was almost a whisper. “How… how could you do this to me?” I had been married to Eddy for twenty years. I had been a stepmother to Leo and Lily since they were barely five years old. I loved my husband, stood by him through thick and thin. I cared for his children with all my heart. I respected his parents, did everything a daughter-in-law should. And in the end… They had schemed against me until I had nothing left. 3 I stumbled back to our apartment, my body feeling heavy and weak. Everything inside was just as Eddy had left it. We had lived in this apartment for nearly twenty years. I had bought this second-hand place the year after we got married, using the dowry my parents had given me. The building was over thirty years old, rundown and shabby. It was less than eight hundred square feet. At one point, five of us, including my mother-in-law, had been crammed into this tiny space. For years, I had scrimped and saved. To send Leo and Lily to study abroad, to pay for my mother-in-law’s dialysis treatments for her chronic kidney failure. I always told myself, things will get better. It will all be okay. But now I realized I was nothing more than a tool for their family. My eyes were vacant, lifeless pools as I moved like an automaton, gathering Eddy’s belongings, intending to throw them all out. As I cleared out his closet, I found a journal tucked away at the very bottom, beneath a pile of old clothes. Inside, I found a yellowed piece of paper. It was a copy of a property deed. The owner was Eddy Scott. I went to the address on the deed. After verifying my ID, a locksmith opened the door for me. The moment I stepped inside, I was utterly stunned. This was clearly Eddy and Julianna’s love nest. The walls were covered with photos of them with their children. The decor was warm and romantic. The expensive furniture, the luxurious carpets, the crystal chandelier that sparkled even under a layer of dust. Compared to our cramped, rundown apartment, it was another world entirely. I moved with heavy steps toward the master bedroom. The room was enormous, with a walk-in closet, a vanity, a king-sized bed, and a spacious, sunlit bay window. The clothes in the closet were all designer, neatly organized. Next door was Eddy’s study. The sight that greeted me there was a dagger to the heart. The walls were a chronicle of their family’s happy memories—from the children’s elementary school days to their college years, they had traveled the world together. All the places I had dreamed of going but never dared to spend the money on. I collapsed into the chair at the desk. On the desk lay a single sheet of paper with a line of writing: [Julianna, in the two years since you passed away from your illness, I have been living in torment, every day an agony. My duty to my mother is now done, and the children are grown. I have nothing left to tie me to this world. I pray we can be reunited in the afterlife, to continue our love story.] … It wasn’t an accidental drowning while drunk. It was a suicide, to be with her. I tore the note to shreds, a primal scream of rage building in my chest. 4 I don’t know how long I sat there. Finally, I pushed myself up, my knees aching. I staggered out of the room. All I wanted in that moment was to find Eddy’s grave and dig it up with my bare hands. But the overwhelming grief and rage crashed through my body. A mouthful of blood surged up my throat. My vision went black, and I fell backward, into the darkness. 5 When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting at a table laden with food, surrounded by a cacophony of noise. The clatter of dishes, the murmur of conversation—it all washed over me like a tidal wave. It took me a moment to remember where I was. This was the celebration dinner after Leo and Lily had finished their end-of-middle-school exams. Both of them had been accepted into the city’s top high school. They had received full scholarships for all three years, plus a six-thousand-dollar academic prize each. At this moment, Eddy was leading the children from table to table, accepting congratulations from friends and family. Everyone was praising him, the university professor, for raising such brilliant children. Julianna, sitting next to my mother-in-law, was beaming, her face glowing with pride as if she were the guest of honor. I picked up the glass of red wine in front of me and downed it in one gulp. The cool, slightly tart liquid slid down my throat, a sharp reminder that this was not a dream. As I was trying to get my bearings, a sharp, whiny voice cut through the noise. “Nora, you really are the lucky one. After a scandal like yours, you still managed to land a great husband like Eddy. No uterus, so you didn’t have to go through the pain of childbirth, and you got a pair of perfect kids for free. Some people have all the luck.” I looked up. The speaker was Kate, a former classmate of Eddy’s from university, two years his junior. She now worked at the same university as him, also a philosophy professor. Her voice was loud. Many people had heard her. Julianna raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips as she looked over, clearly anticipating a show. Kate clucked her tongue. “How did you get so lucky? I heard ten years ago your father was practically trying to pay someone to marry you, offering a whole apartment as a dowry. Who would have thought Eddy would have such bad taste? So many women were after him, and he chose you. There’s just no justice in the world.” I looked at her face, slightly twisted with jealousy, and felt a strange mix of amusement and pity. I knew she had harbored a crush on Eddy for years, only to be beaten to the punch by her supposed best friend, Julianna. By the time she found out, Julianna was already two months pregnant. Their friendship ended on the spot. Later, a heartbroken Kate had married someone else. Not long after her wedding, Julianna had abruptly divorced Eddy, abandoned her children, and moved abroad. 6 Kate had never quite gotten over not marrying Eddy. So she always targeted me, constantly picking at my old wounds. In the past, I had been ashamed of what had happened to me, so I would always just lower my head and endure it. She had said these exact same words in my past life, and I had let them slide. It was my children’s celebration, their teachers and friends were here, along with Eddy’s colleagues. I didn’t want to make a scene. But now, none of that mattered. Slam. I slapped my chopsticks down on the table. “You’re right, I am lucky!” I shot back, my voice loud and clear. “You’re jealous I married Eddy, aren’t you? How about I give you this ‘luck’? Fulfill that little decade-long crush of yours. Then maybe you’ll stop buzzing around me every five minutes, whispering about how I don’t deserve him.” Kate’s face went white. She shot a panicked look toward her husband. “Nora, are you insane? What are you talking about?” I sneered. “Am I? What about all those flirty texts you send him? The way you hang all over him, batting your eyelashes? Do you think I’m blind? Every time, you just have to bring up my assault, don’t you? Just to humiliate me.” “Yes, I was assaulted! I was beaten so badly they had to remove my uterus! But even then, it was your precious Eddy who came chasing after me. If you have a problem with it, take it up with him!” Heads turned in our direction. Kate’s husband was staring at her, his eyes dark. Eddy rushed over, his face a mask of fury. He shot a glare at Kate, then grabbed my arm, hissing, “What are you doing? This is a special occasion! Why are you bringing up all this old baggage in front of everyone?” I yanked my arm away, my face cold. “What did I say? She’s the one who starts it every single time. Are you blind?” Kate’s husband walked over, his face grim. He pulled his wife up from her chair and forced a tense smile at us. “Nora, Professor Scott, I’m so sorry. I just got an urgent call from work. We have to go. We’ll come by and visit properly some other time.” Without another word, he dragged a protesting Kate out of the hall. 7 The noisy banquet hall fell into an awkward silence. The looks on people’s faces were a complex mixture of pity, curiosity, and judgment. Julianna, who had been enjoying the show, now stood up. She moved to stand beside Eddy, a faint, mocking smile on her face as she looked at me. But when she spoke, her voice was soft and gentle, a sweet, chiding tone. “Nora, nobody is judging you for what happened in your past, but you don’t have to broadcast it for everyone to hear, do you? You’re Eddy’s wife now. When you say those things, think about how it makes him look.” “And even if you don’t care about Eddy, Leo and Lily still call you ‘Mom.’ How do you expect them to face their classmates after this?” I followed her gaze to where Leo and Lily were standing a short distance away. Leo’s hands were clenched into fists, his eyes red with fury. Lily’s eyes were filled with tears, her expression a mixture of hatred and disgust. I remembered them at the gravesite, waving Eddy’s will in my face, urging me to sell the apartment and give them their share. I let out a cold snort. “Their biological mother isn’t dead. What right do I have to be their mother?” “When their real mother finally kicks the bucket, then we’ll talk.” “You—” Julianna was speechless, her face flushing a deep red. Her watery eyes pleaded for help from Eddy. A flicker of cold fury passed through Eddy’s eyes. He grabbed my arm again, his grip so tight I thought my bones would snap. He hissed, his voice low and dangerous, “Nora, that’s enough. Don’t make this any more embarrassing for everyone. If you want to throw a fit, do it at home.” 8 I looked up, straight into his eyes, and a wave of pure, unadulterated hatred washed over me. Sensing the tension, a few friends came over to play peacemaker. “Professor Scott, come on, we were just about to ask you for some parenting tips. My kid is failing half his classes. You have to tell us your secret…” Soon, the hall was filled with noise again. I sat back down, my expression like ice. A dull ache spread through my chest. I poured myself another glass of wine and drank it down. I knew the smartest thing to do was to divorce Eddy, escape this family of parasites, and start a new life. But they had deceived me for my entire adult life. How could I just let go of all this hatred? 9 After the party, when everyone had left, it was just me and Eddy’s perfect little family of four. My mother-in-law’s raspy voice cut through the silence. “Nora, if you have no shame, we do. Are you trying to make sure everyone in the world knows about your sordid past?” “Do you think that’s something to be proud of? With your reputation, and the fact that you can’t even have children, I wouldn’t have approved of you even if it was your first marriage.” “Someone like you, damaged goods, you’re not worthy of my son.” “Mom!” Eddy cut her off sharply. “I told you not to bring up the past again. Why are you starting?” I looked at my mother-in-law. She was healthy, full of vigor. At this point in time, she hadn’t yet been diagnosed with chronic kidney failure. She didn’t need to suck up to me, to sweet-talk me into paying for her dialysis and driving her to the hospital every week. In my past life, after her diagnosis, I had taken care of her for nearly eight years. Every Saturday, without fail, I would take her for her treatment. I cooked her special low-protein, low-sodium meals. She had died peacefully in the hospital two months before Eddy’s suicide. The line in his note, “My duty to my mother is now done,” was a duty I had fulfilled for him. I let out a cold laugh. “If I hadn’t been injured and had my uterus removed, do you think I would have even looked twice at Eddy?” “Do you think your son is such a great catch? His professorship was a sham. If my father hadn’t pulled every string he had to get him a recommendation, he’d still be struggling as a lecturer.” “Don’t you dare act like you’re saints when you’re nothing but a bunch of hypocrites.” My words hung in the air, creating a sudden, tense silence. My mother-in-law, clearly not expecting me to fight back so directly, turned a shade of purple, her body trembling with rage. 10 Standing beside her, Eddy, having been hit where it hurt, roared, “What is wrong with you today? Just because Kate said a few words, you have to go crazy?” Lily shrieked, “This was supposed to be my and my brother’s celebration! Why did you have to talk about being assaulted? How am I supposed to face my classmates now? Why do you always have to ruin everything?” I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the volcano of rage about to erupt inside me. “You’re right! I am crazy! What are you going to do about it?” I turned to Lily. “And who cares if you can face your classmates or not? I haven’t complained about how ugly and short you are, with your upturned nostrils, embarrassing me in front of my colleagues!” Lily was, admittedly, not conventionally attractive. Though she and Leo were twins, Leo resembled their beautiful mother, while Lily was the spitting image of their grandmother. Lily froze for a second, then completely broke down. She let out a loud wail and ran out of the banquet hall, crying. I had no desire to waste any more words on them. I grabbed my bag and walked out. 11 Outside the hotel, the sky was completely dark. The summer night air, though cool, still felt sticky against my skin. I kicked a loose stone on the sidewalk, my mind a chaotic mess. Memories of what had happened to me resurfaced, and the feeling of drowning returned. I had been assaulted. It was during my senior year of college, during my internship. I was walking home from a late shift when someone dragged me into a dark alley. Security wasn’t as good back then. There were no cameras in those narrow backstreets. He clamped a hand over my mouth. I fought back with everything I had. In the struggle, I managed to land a hard kick to his groin. That only enraged him. He threw me to the ground, but when he tried to assault me, he found he was unable to. Frustrated and angry, he pulled up his pants and began kicking my abdomen, over and over. Then he left me, like a discarded rag, by a dumpster. My parents searched for me all night. When the doctor told them my uterus had ruptured and my bladder was damaged, that they had to perform a hysterectomy to save my life, my mother fainted on the spot. My father’s hair seemed to turn white overnight. The man was sentenced to ten years in prison, but the damage he did to me was permanent. I had to use a catheter for three months. I underwent a full year of therapy before I could even begin to function again. After that, I was filled with self-loathing, insecurity, and shame. I didn’t dare to date, convinced I wasn’t worthy of anyone. Until I met Eddy. He was like a light in my dark, empty life. I thought he was my savior, my beacon. That’s why I poured everything I had into our marriage. Even when his mother was cruel, even when my stepchildren, influenced by their grandmother and their mother, were hostile and resentful, I cherished our marriage. I never imagined that he was Satan, hiding behind a mask of light. Another hand, pulling me down into the abyss. He had utterly destroyed me, turning all our beautiful memories into daggers that he used to stab me, over and over. 12 It was almost midnight by the time I got home. The apartment was dark. They were probably all asleep. I heard a rustling sound from the balcony, an eerie noise in the dead of night. I turned on the light and went to investigate. There, I saw a narrow-mouthed bamboo basket, covered with a fine-mesh bag. The rustling was coming from inside. The scene was chillingly familiar. The hairs on my arms stood on end. It was full of venomous snakes. In my past life, after Leo and Lily’s exam results came out, my mother-in-law insisted it was because her prayers had been answered. She had somehow acquired over a dozen venomous snakes, planning to take the children to the mountains to release them for good karma. When I found out, I tried to stop her, telling her to release some fish instead if she was so determined. She told me that you couldn’t eat an animal you had released for karma. She still wanted to eat fish, but she certainly wasn’t going to eat venomous snakes. Seeing that it was useless to argue with her, I waited until she had gone for her morning walk in the park, then took the basket of snakes to a wildlife rescue center. The staff there were horrified when they opened the bag. They were all highly venomous silver-banded kraits. Because kraits are a protected species, the staff immediately called the police. I was subjected to an hour-long lecture and had to sign a statement promising never to illegally buy or sell wildlife again. My mother-in-law threw a massive tantrum, accusing me of ruining her spiritual cultivation. I turned and walked back into the living room. This time, I had no intention of interfering. 13 The next morning, my mother-in-law returned with breakfast and immediately started giving orders. “Eddy, go wake up Leo and Lily. We have to go to the mountains to release the animals after we eat.” Eddy rubbed his temples, annoyed. “Mom, can you please not involve the kids in your superstitious nonsense?” She shot him a glare. “What do you know? If I hadn’t prayed for you back then, do you think you would have gotten into university? And the kids’ good exam results? That was all my doing.” Seeing that it was pointless to argue, Eddy just frowned and went to wake the children. When the kids were at the table, my mother-in-law started handing out breakfast. There was nothing for me. I didn’t care. I went to my room, grabbed my ID, our marriage certificate, and the household registration book, and slammed the door on my way out. I took a taxi straight to the property registration office. Just as I suspected. A 2,500-square-foot property was registered under Eddy’s name. The registration date was three years ago, the same year Julianna had returned to the country. The mortgage had been cleared just two months ago. He must have paid it off early. I had the staff stamp the inquiry form. On my way to the office, I couldn’t stop thinking. A man as meticulous as Eddy, how could he have been so careless as to leave a property registered in his name? In my past life, all I had seen was a photocopy of the deed. This was a man who had only named his own children as beneficiaries on his insurance policies, who had schemed to take my half of the apartment I had paid for. How could he have willingly let me get half of this house, which was already worth millions? 14 Just after our weekly meeting, the phone in my office rang. I put it on speaker. Leo’s panicked, crying voice came through the line. “Mom! Mom, you have to come quick! Grandma got bit by a snake when we were releasing them. She passed out from the pain, and I can’t move her! We’re on the south side of the mountain, halfway up. You know the place, we had a picnic there last time we went hiking. By the big rock.” “Dad’s not answering his phone. Mom, I’m so scared, the snakes are crawling everywhere… Please, come save me!” “Ah! Get away from me! Don’t come over here!” Leo’s terrified screams echoed in my office. “Mom, did you hear me? Can you please hurry?” his cries started again. My hand instinctively reached for my phone to call 911. But just as my finger was about to press the button, I paused. I slowly put the phone down. If my mother-in-law’s gods could grant her grandchildren good grades, surely they could keep them safe. I spoke into the phone. “Leo, honey, I’m out of town on a business trip. You need to call your dad or 911.” There was a three-second silence on the other end. “Mom, I’m calling your office landline.” Oops. “I mean, I’m about to leave for my trip. The taxi is waiting downstairs. I have to go, I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up. Then, I turned off my cell phone.

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After Claire came back home, I stumbled across an anonymous poll online. [When a woman cheats, who does she feel guiltier about: her husband or her lover?] A staggering 99% voted for the lover. I turned and asked Claire, “Do you feel that way, too?” She set down her book, her gaze distant, veiled with a weariness she couldn’t put into words. “Eason, I’m back now.” Her voice was flat. “What more do you want from me?” 1 With a heavy brow, Claire rose and went to the balcony, pouring herself a glass of water to cool down. I watched her. Against the glittering backdrop of the city lights, her slender silhouette melted into the soft darkness, a picture of lonely elegance. Half an hour later, she returned, her face fixed in a strained, placating smile. “The company’s having its annual Family Day. You should come with me. I’m free this weekend, so we can go shopping and get you something to wear.” Claire’s company held these events from time to time, but she’d never invited me before. When I’d asked about it once, she had just frowned, her face a mask of impatience. “That’s just a perk for the junior staff, Eason. The spots are limited. As a department head, I have to be considerate. It’s not worth fighting them for a spot.” Right now, I desperately wanted to ask her, So you don’t have to be considerate this time? But I didn’t. Ever since Claire moved back in, a suffocating, sticky tension had settled between us. Yes, sticky. Like a lump of phlegm caught in your throat—it won’t go up, it won’t go down, but it’s always there, a constant, disgusting reminder of its presence. “Okay,” I said. She smiled, as if she were pleased. But the moment she turned away, the smile vanished, replaced by a sigh so faint it was almost silent. Later that night, as I turned off the lights to sleep, the door creaked open. It was Claire. “Are you asleep?” We slept in separate rooms now. She had taken the guest room. The day she chose to “return to the family,” she had stood by the door with her suitcase and said, “Eason, we both need time and space to heal. Let’s not share a room for a while.” Back then, I was still drowning in a chaotic sea of extreme emotions. The searing pain of betrayal by the one person I trusted most; the self-loathing for my own unhinged actions after everything blew up; the bitter satisfaction of holding the moral high ground… Every expression, every gesture felt twisted and magnified. I had tilted my chin up, sneering at her. “What are you thinking, Claire? Did you really believe I let you come back just to sleep with you? Do you assume everyone’s mind is as filthy as yours?” “As you wish,” she’d replied, her voice flat, not a flicker of defiance in her eyes as she dragged her suitcase into the guest room. … Now, she stood by my bed, watching me in the darkness for a long moment. Then, with a soft rustle of sheets, she lay down beside me. “Eason, we’re still husband and wife.” Her voice was thick with moisture. It was strange. It was just a simple sentence, and I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel the reluctant submission in her words, the resigned sigh behind them. It was as if she were offering herself to me. As if she were finally bowing to fate. A surrender to the marriage that still, technically, existed. A gift of mercy bestowed upon me, her partner of ten years. Outside, the moon hung tired and cold, looking down on the world with indifference. I couldn’t stop myself. I finally said the name I hadn’t uttered in three months. “What about Leo?” “Isn’t he the only husband you acknowledge in your heart?” The air in the room froze solid. In the darkness, the woman behind me erupted, her voice sharp and furious. “Why are you bringing him up? Why would you say his name?” “I’m back! We’ve both paid the price! You got everything you wanted!” “Eason, what in God’s name do you still want from me?!” 2 I didn’t want anything. I just couldn’t help it. I felt so damn wronged. I just wanted to rip apart the fake, fragile veneer that had been stretched over my life. Claire and I met in college. We fell in love during a campus event, married the year after graduation, and had our son, Rory, the year after that. Everything felt so natural, so right. I was the extrovert—sunny, outgoing, a people person. She was the introvert, a brilliant researcher whose career had stalled because she hated networking. I felt her talent was being wasted, so I used my own PR skills, leveraging a connection through my boss to get an introduction to the director of her research institute. For weeks, I got up at the crack of dawn to bake pastries and drive them across town to the director’s mother, who had a notorious sweet tooth. Claire was disdainful of my efforts. After all, I was a grown man doing something she considered demeaning. “My abilities speak for themselves,” she’d said. “Why do I need you to stoop to such cheap tricks? You’ll just end up with nothing, and I’ll be the one who looks like a fool.” I carefully protected her academic pride, admitting my approach was clumsy, but I smiled and said, “Even if it fails, it’s no big deal. Think of it as just being kind to an old woman. Besides, knowing a director like him could help my own career, too.” The director was impressed by my persistence, and given that Claire’s work was genuinely outstanding, he endorsed her during a critical promotion review. After five years of being overlooked, Claire finally got the advancement she deserved. Her salary and bonuses soared, but with one hand in research and the other in management, her workload became immense. With no one to look after the house and Rory at a crucial age, we talked it over and decided I would step back from my demanding role at my job and take a less stressful position. That would give me more time for our family and allow me to fully support her career. I always thought I was the lucky one. When I picked Rory up from kindergarten, the other moms would chat, and they all agreed our family was the model of modern happiness: a college-sweetheart marriage with a strong foundation, a successful wife, a full-time “super dad” with a relaxed job, and a bright, adorable son. I felt happy and fulfilled. Sure, I’d feel a pang of regret seeing former colleagues who were less competent than me get promotions and raises, but I told myself that a family is a single economic unit, a shared destiny. What I gave up was for the greater good of us all. And that was enough. The first time I saw the name “Leo,” it was on a research paper on her desk. The authors were listed as: Claire White, Leo Vance. I handed her a mug of herbal wellness tea I’d brewed and joked, “Your names actually sound good together. Just reading them, I can imagine some epic, star-crossed love story.” At the time, I was blissfully ignorant, wrapped in the comfortable lie of my life. I didn’t notice the fleeting tenderness in her eyes as her gaze fell on his name. “He’s a single colleague, Eason. Don’t make jokes like that.” She looked down, pushing the report aside, her tone a soft warning. 3 The next time I saw the name “Leo Vance” was six months later. I was making a PowerPoint for Rory’s presentation as class representative, but my laptop died. Claire was out at a department dinner, so I went into her study and used her computer. While searching for templates in her cloud drive, I accidentally clicked on a shared folder. It was titled: [My Love]. Claire was an impeccably organized person. Inside, there were 27 subfolders, all neatly labeled by year and month. Intuition is a strange, terrifying thing. Before I saw that folder, it had never once crossed my mind—not for a single second—that Claire could be hiding something. But in that moment, as I moved the cursor to click on one of the files, I realized my hand was shaking. I sat there and read for two hours. The [My Love] folder documented the secret, blazing two-year-and-three-month emotional journey of a woman and a man. They had been colleagues in different departments, brought together on a research project. In the endless days and nights that followed, they engaged in exhilarating intellectual discussions, a meeting of souls. Slowly, one’s heart stirred, and the other’s feelings ignited. They were acutely aware that their connection was forbidden by morality, by the world. They made a pact: their love would be pure, platonic. They would never touch, never succumb to base human desire. Perhaps shielded by this hypocritical cloak of “moral responsibility,” they allowed themselves to pour out their hearts, to unleash their love in this private Eden. Claire called Leo “my one true husband.” “You walked past me today, and I caught the unique, intoxicating scent of your body. My heart leaped.” “So many men in this world are tainted, but you… you are a pure, untainted sanctuary for my soul. Thank you for cleansing my life.” “I fall asleep thinking of your face, repeating your name in my mind over and over.” “I used to mourn my thirty-three wasted years, but then you appeared like a silent savior. Suddenly, all my past suffering became worthwhile.” Leo called Claire “my angel.” “Angel! My love! My wife!” “This morning, I found a few of my long hairs and gently placed them on your desk. In a way, we’ve now shared a bond, like tying the knot.” “In the meeting minutes, our names were printed one above the other. I felt a secret thrill. The two most beautiful names in the world, dancing together, intertwined.” “Angel, I had a dream last night… an unspeakable dream. I was crying out your name. When I woke up, there was only emptiness, my soul adrift.” “I think about you day and night. My performance reviews are tanking, but it was old Mrs. Henderson who got the pink slip. Angel, you pulled strings for me, didn’t you? I feel so guilty and so grateful at the same time. How can I ever repay you?” Below that entry was Claire’s tender reply: “Don’t feel guilty, my love. A wife is happy to bend the rules for her husband. I’ve never cared for power or position, but in this moment, I’m so glad to have it.” … 27 folders. 30 documents in each. A total of 810 entries. For 810 days and nights, they had shared and edited this digital Eden, baring their souls to one another. It was early September, and the last dregs of summer heat still clung to the city. But sitting in that study, an icy chill spread through my entire body, as if I’d been plunged into a freezer. 4 I stormed out of the house in a daze. A part of me still refused to believe it. It had to be fake. A cruel prank, a setup, someone trying to frame her. I called her phone. No answer. She said it was a department dinner. I went from restaurant to restaurant, searching for her. I had to confront her, right then and there. I had to know the truth. I finally found her in a loud, steamy Korean BBQ joint. A large group was laughing and talking around a long table. Claire sat at the head, a faint, polite smile on her lips. She looked exactly as she always did: elegant, poised, a successful woman in her prime. To her right sat a man in a white hoodie. He seemed shy, but his smile was radiant. My feet froze to the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to take another step. I could hear the younger employees joking around. “Claire, we admire everything about you, except for how much of a hard-ass your husband is! We’ll just have to admire that from a distance!” “Yeah, seriously! You’re so cool and collected, a true genius. Why do you listen to an outsider like your husband and run your team like a drill sergeant?” It took me a second to process what they were saying. Claire wasn’t a natural manager. Her method was to do everything herself because she felt it was a waste of time to teach others. As a result, she was the most overworked person in her own department, with no time left for her own son. I had suggested she needed to be a stricter boss, to delegate and hold her team accountable, otherwise their performance would always be at the bottom. I never knew what she’d told them, but it was clear they’d laid the blame squarely at my feet. But I didn’t care about that right now. My eyes were locked on the young man. He sat there, a gentle smile playing on his lips, graceful and composed amidst the chaos of the restaurant. He had an almost ethereal quality. He smiled and said softly, “Alright, alright, stop teasing Claire. From now on, if any of you are swamped, I’ll help out.” The others roared with laughter. “If only Claire’s husband were like you, Leo! Our lives would be a dream! What a shame!” My heart sank into a black pit. Of course. It was him. Leo Vance. The group started toasting him, and he blushed like a peach blossom, his smile radiant. Suddenly, Claire stood up, took the glass from his hand, and downed it in one gulp. “We don’t pressure people to drink in my department. Don’t pick on him. I’ll drink for him!” Leo’s lips curled into a soft smile as their eyes met. The others cheered and refilled her glass. With a flourish, she drained that one, too. I watched from afar, my body shaking violently. Claire had a sensitive stomach. The slightest thing could trigger agonizing pain. For years, besides caring for Rory, nursing her stomach back to health had been my top priority. I’d searched for folk remedies, brewed bitter medicines, made special herbal teas. Nothing cold, spicy, or harsh ever touched her lips. I loved spicy food, but I never used a single chili when I cooked for us. I’d even take the watermelon out of the fridge an hour before she got home so it wouldn’t be too cold for her. And alcohol? She was never to touch a drop. All my painstaking effort, all my care, to heal her stomach. And now, to win a smile from her “one true love,” she was throwing it all away, pouring glass after glass of poison down her throat. Something inside me snapped. In a moment of pure, blinding rage, there is no logic, no rational thought, no weighing of consequences. With a roar in my ears, I charged forward. I snatched the glass from her hand and smashed it on the floor. “You bitch!” I screamed. Claire stared at me, her face a mask of shock. “Ah—!” Leo scrambled back, stumbling and knocking over a cart with a sizzling hot plate. The scalding oil splattered across his face and forehead. He screamed. Claire gasped, crying out his name. “Leo!” Everyone rushed toward him. Suddenly, a powerful force shoved me from behind. I lost my balance and crashed to the floor, my head striking the corner of a table. One of the young employees glared down at me. “Where did this psycho come from? You’re not getting away with this!” I clutched my head, a wave of hot liquid flowing down, blurring my vision. Through a red haze, I saw Claire rushing toward me in a panic. I didn’t care. I just screamed, my voice raw and broken. “I saw it! I saw the whole damn folder!” “You two are disgusting! A pair of filthy animals!” 5 The events that followed feel like a dream when I look back on them now, three months later. A nightmare. A hideous, twisted nightmare. The shock and the blow to my head were too much. After my furious outburst, the world went black. I woke up in a hospital room. Claire was sitting beside me, her head bowed low. My voice was a weak croak. “Get out.” “Don’t let me see you. You make me sick.” Her body flinched. She looked up, her face gaunt, and spoke in a raspy whisper. “Eason, please don’t get agitated. It’s not what you think.” I grabbed the thermos on the bedside table and threw it at her. She didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. It hit her with a dull thud before clattering to the floor. She closed her eyes for a moment, then bent down, picked it up, and placed it back on the table. “You can hit me, you can scream at me, I don’t care,” she sighed. “At this point, I’m not going to make excuses. I just want to say one thing: I swear, we never crossed that line.” I glared at her, my teeth clenched. “And? Am I supposed to praise you for your moral fortitude? Thank you for not stooping to a disgusting physical affair?” A pained expression crossed her face. “Do you have to be so vulgar?” I dug my nails into the mattress, trying to control the trembling in my hands. “You think my words are disgusting? What about what you did? Every time I think about the crap you two wrote, I want to vomit! Pretending to be some tragic, star-crossed lovers. What a load of bullshit! It’s not platonic, it’s just plain sleazy!” I used to watch movies and TV shows where a husband would have a complete meltdown after his wife cheated, and I’d always thought it was so pathetic, so undignified. It’s just a woman, I’d think. If she’s tainted, just let her go. But now, with it happening to me, I found I couldn’t control myself at all. I was consumed by rage and betrayal, a pressure building in my chest like it was about to explode. I wanted to hurl the vilest, most poisonous words at them. I wanted to drag them both down into the abyss with me. In an instant, I had transformed from the cheerful, friendly Eason into a bitter, violent madman. And the way Claire was looking at me now, she saw a madman, too. That only fueled my rage. I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her face. “Get out!” Claire slowly smoothed her messy hair, her voice calm now as she stood up. “You’re too emotional to have a rational conversation right now. I should go.” She continued, her tone detached. “That junior colleague, Matt, who pushed you? He came and apologized to me. You can’t blame him. He didn’t know who you were, and you came out of nowhere and scared Leo, causing him to get hurt. He was just defending his friend.” “Leo has some burns on his forehead that might scar, but he’s not going to press charges, so you don’t have to worry about that.” “Look, this whole situation isn’t as sordid as you think. Just calm down. If you really can’t get over this, then whatever punishment you decide on, I’ll accept it without a word of complaint.” She bent down, picked up the pillow, placed it back on the bed, and walked out of the room. 6 I was in the hospital for three days, my mind a fog. I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, and each time I woke, it took a few seconds to separate the nightmares from reality. My dad came to visit. He said Claire had called him and explained everything, worried that I’d be alone. He sighed. “She was very sincere. She admitted her mistake but swore nothing physical ever happened with that man. Remember when you were obsessed with that basketball player? You wrote a whole notebook full of letters to him. Just think of it like that.” I shook my head. “It’s not the same.” “But is it worth wrecking your health over? If not for yourself, you have to think about Rory.” My father-in-law and sister-in-law came next. They sat on either side of my bed. My father-in-law chuckled. “Technically, Claire was in the wrong here. But you know, she’s always been a magnet for men, and now that she’s so successful, it’s inevitable that some wolf would try to snatch her up. It’s good this happened. It’s a wake-up call before things went too far.” My sister-in-law, sipping an iced Americano, added, “Look, Eason, I’m not just defending my sister, but she’s a person of principle. She has integrity. I bet she was set up. Besides, this isn’t even really cheating. It’s… flirting. And barely even that. She’d never say anything truly out of line.” As my father-in-law was leaving, he looked at me with a grave expression. “The fact that Claire was willing to tell us everything shows that her conscience is clear. Of course, you have a right to be upset, but it’s time to let it go. She’s up for the Associate Director position soon, and if people see you two fighting, it could hurt her chances.” … Honestly, I had no idea what to do. Get a divorce? Over a decade of history, the home I had so carefully built, Rory’s future, the perfect image we had in the eyes of the world… My dad, my father-in-law, my sister-in-law—they were all telling me not to ruin my health, not to disrupt the family harmony. It was as if divorce wasn’t even on the table. In their minds, this was nowhere near serious enough for that. But my heart felt like it was clogged with concrete. Claire came every day with a thermos of soup. When I ignored her, she would place it gently on the table and leave in silence. Rory called me a few times, crying, asking when I was coming home. He said Mommy’s cooking was terrible. I truly didn’t know what to do. The day before I was discharged, I went down to the small hospital garden for some fresh air. And I saw them. Leo and Claire. Leo was in a patient gown, and Claire was holding two thermoses. They were talking in low voices. They stood face to face, and a gentle breeze lifted Claire’s long hair, letting it dance across Leo’s face, his lips. He stood perfectly still, letting her hair caress him. It was a silent, intimate moment. After a while, she looked down and handed him one of the thermoses. The wind carried Leo’s soft voice to me. “Angel.” A roar filled my head, and I charged. The moment Claire saw me, her eyes widened in terror. I grabbed Leo by the collar of his gown, dragged him to the ground, and screamed, “How dare you! How dare you show your face again!” Leo yelped, clutching at his collar. A few of their younger colleagues came running over. Seeing the scene, they tried to pull me off him, pleading, “Eason, you’ve got it all wrong! We just came to visit Leo and ran into Claire!” As I raised my fist to punch him, someone stepped between us. I heard Claire’s voice, cold as ice. “That’s enough!” The young colleagues awkwardly tried to pry my hands off Leo, but my grip was like steel. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, pointing and whispering. Leo’s shoulders were slumped, a wounded look on his face. Claire glanced at him with pity, then turned her cold eyes on me and shouted, her voice ringing through the garden. “I swear on our son Rory’s life, nothing happened between us! We never slept together! We never kissed! We never even hugged!” “Eason, you keep pushing this, again and again. First, you scarred his face, and now you’re humiliating him in public. If you keep acting like a lunatic, then let’s just get a divorce!” My body went rigid. I stared at her in shock. “What did you say? Divorce?” “On what grounds are you threatening divorce?” The crowd started murmuring. “Wow, she swore on her own kid’s life. She must be telling the truth. I thought he was catching a cheater, but it looks like the husband’s just a psycho.” “And he scarred that poor guy’s face? Look how vicious he is. No wonder she wants a divorce.” “That woman looks so gentle and quiet. He must have really pushed her to the edge.” In my stunned silence, my grip on Leo’s collar loosened. His friends quickly pulled him away from me. Through the crowd, Leo slowly lifted his head and met my gaze. His eyes were filled with mockery, contempt, and even a hint of pity. And suddenly, I was calm. For the first time since I discovered that folder, for the very first time, I was completely and utterly calm. I turned to Claire and spoke slowly. “No. I don’t agree to a divorce.” At least… not yet.

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I’m a stay-at-home dad. I had no idea the teacher’s home visit was being livestreamed to the entire school community, a camera pinned discreetly to her collar. The lens panned across our living room, a space where every available inch of wall was a shrine to the nation’s sweetheart, Catherine Shaw—autographed photos, posters, and magazine covers. The teacher and the top student’s mother exchanged a look of cold disdain. “So, you’re a Catherine Shaw fan?” “Catherine Shaw,” I said, “is my wife.” The live chat immediately blew up. 【No wonder their kid is failing. The dad’s a delusional shut-in! And he dares to claim our goddess?】 Just then, the front door opened. Catherine Shaw, known to the world for her elegant and cool demeanor, stepped inside. Her voice, however, was a warm, gentle melody meant only for me. “Honey, do we have guests?” 1 A few months ago, our daughter’s school sent home a consent form for a livestreamed home visit series. The teacher assured us it was just a project comparing the home environments of a top-performing student and a struggling one. I signed it without a second thought and promptly forgot about it. A struggling student? What did that have to do with my daughter? She wasn’t a genius, but she was hardly at the bottom of her class. I was in the middle of preparing dinner when the doorbell rang. “Who is it?” My daughter, Sophie, usually just burst in on her own. I had just set a dish down when the front door swung open. Sophie skipped in and started changing into her slippers. Still in my apron, I swept her up into a big hug, lifting her high into the air. “Sophie-bear! Did you have a good day at school? Eat lots of yummy food? Did you get your money’s worth out of that school lunch?” Because this was a mandated school viewing, the live chat was still sparse, filled mostly with skeptical parents who weren’t expecting much from the “underachiever’s” family. 【Ah, so this is the struggling student’s home. Figures.】 【They call it ‘positive reinforcement parenting.’ I call it not giving a damn about grades.】 【Sophie is so cute, though. Who cares if she can’t read? She can just…】 【Whoa, someone should check that last comment. Doesn’t sound like they’re joking.】 I was so focused on my daughter that I didn’t even notice the teacher and another family standing awkwardly in the doorway. Sophie’s sweet, soft voice finally broke through my bubble. “Daddy, the teacher is here.” I hoisted her onto my hip and turned. A flustered-looking woman stood by the door, next to a stern-faced mother and her son. “Ms. Evans, please, come in,” I said calmly. “Don’t worry about your shoes.” Ms. Evans hesitated, her eyes darting around the spacious, open-plan apartment before landing on the mother and son beside her. “This is Sophie’s classmate, Julian, who placed first on the last exam, and his mother, Diana.” I gave them a slight nod, still holding Sophie. “Nice to meet you. You’re here for the…” 【Seriously? This guy doesn’t even know to offer his kid’s teacher a drink? What terrible manners.】 【No wonder the kid’s grades are in the toilet. The father has zero social skills.】 Ms. Evans finally stepped inside, looking uncomfortable. “Mr… uh, Sophie’s dad. Are you aware of Sophie’s score on the last exam?” As if just remembering, I put Sophie down and gestured to the sofa. “Please, make yourselves comfortable! I’ve got something on the stove. My wife will be home any minute, and she gets a little grumpy if dinner isn’t hot and ready when she walks in.” 2 I disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Sophie alone with our guests. Diana’s eyes, filled with undisguised contempt, scanned the apartment. Her voice was sharp, dripping with condescension. “So, a house husband. The woman is the breadwinner, and the man stays home. How… pathetic.” Ms. Evans said nothing. She, too, was taken aback by the situation. It explained why Sophie always talked about her dad at school, but never her mom. Still, this apartment was in one of the most expensive school districts in the city. A place like this had to be worth millions. The dad was handsome enough; maybe he was a kept man, a trophy husband. She wondered about the age gap between him and Sophie’s mother. A sudden, nasty thought seemed to occur to Diana. “Wait a minute. Is he some boy toy she keeps on the side? Is the little girl… illegitimate?” She made two loud, disgusted “tsk” sounds. Ms. Evans quickly tried to change the subject. She scooped Sophie into her lap. “Sophie, all these pictures of Catherine Shaw… is she your daddy’s favorite actress?” Sophie beamed, her smile pure sunshine. “She’s my mommy!” The live chat erupted in outrage. 【What? They’re even poisoning the kid’s mind?】 【What kind of values are they teaching her? Letting a child this young get obsessed with celebrity culture? Is that even legal?】 I emerged from the kitchen carrying a platter of food just in time to hear Sophie’s proud declaration. I smiled. “That’s right, sweetie. She’s your mommy.” To protect Catherine’s career, we’d always been careful about letting Sophie call her “mommy” in public. But here, in our own home, it should have been fine. Ms. Evans looked at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. “What are you talking about? She’s just a child. Saying things like that will have a terrible impact on her development. And it’s incredibly unfair to her real mother. The woman is out there working hard to support this family, and you’re not just erasing her contribution, you’re stealing her very title.” I let out a soft laugh, guessing exactly what they were thinking. With a touch of theatrical flair, I said, “No, you don’t understand. Catherine Shaw really is my wife.” The three of them stared at me. After a long pause, Ms. Evans asked hesitantly, “She… isn’t?” It was clear they still didn’t believe a word of it. I looked at my daughter. “Sophie, can you entertain Ms. Evans and our guests for a minute? I’ll be right back with our marriage certificate.” 3 I went into our bedroom. The marriage certificate was locked away in a safe, the combination being the date we officially tied the knot. I never imagined that even with the document in my hands, they would still refuse to believe me. I placed it on the coffee table. Ms. Evans’s eyes widened, and she quickly covered the certificate with her hand. “Mr… uh, Sophie’s dad. You know that forging official documents is a felony, right?” Diana picked it up, scrutinizing the paper. “Wow, this is a pretty convincing fake. Looks almost identical to ours.” Even with physical proof, the online audience remained convinced I was a liar. 【This guy is walking a thin line. He’s certifiably insane.】 【LOL, this freeloader probably has no idea this is being broadcast to thousands of people.】 【Already called the cops. Can’t wait to see him get arrested live on air.】 【You sure about that? What if you’re the one filing a false report?】 【Come on. You really think our goddess would marry some deadbeat stay-at-home dad? That’s the stuff of cheap romance novels!】 I couldn’t help but chuckle at Ms. Evans’s accusation. “It’s real.” I grabbed a tablet lying on the end table and pulled up the official government services portal. “Here, let’s take a look. The national database doesn’t lie…” Before I could finish, the soft click of the front door was followed by the beep of the keypad. A warm, familiar voice, tinged with exhaustion, floated into the room. “Honey, do we have guests?” I set the tablet down, a wave of relief washing over me. “Well, the woman herself is here. I guess we don’t need any more proof.” The moment she heard her mother’s voice, Sophie shot up and sprinted towards the door. The pitter-patter of her little feet was followed by a squeal of “Mommy!” that could melt the coldest of hearts. The voice was familiar to the viewers, but Catherine’s public persona was so cool and composed that no one recognized this soft, gentle tone. 【Aww, her dad might be a lost cause, but that little girl is an absolute angel.】 【My goddess? Are you kidding me? Everyone knows she’s the epitome of ice-cold elegance. That sweet, syrupy voice? No way!】 【Ugh, this loser. What gives him the right to even dream? He’s not worthy of breathing the same air as her.】 Ms. Evans’s chest-mounted camera was still angled down, so the viewers could only see the lower half of Catherine’s face. But the palpable shock on the faces of the teacher and Diana told the whole story. “You… you two are…” Ms. Evans shot up from the sofa. In that instant, the camera jerked upwards, and the full picture came into view: Catherine Shaw, the nation’s sweetheart, holding little Sophie in her arms. The live chat froze for a split second, then exploded. 【!!!!!!!!】 【WAIT. MY GODDESS IS MARRIED?!】 【NO, CATHERINE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! What do you see in him? Is it his poverty? His ugliness?】 A tidal wave of comments flooded the screen. The world had gone mad. This was supposed to be a simple school documentary. Most of the parents watching were married themselves, but this revelation hit them like a freight train. Simultaneously, on every social media platform, the hashtag #CatherineShawMarried shot to the top of the trending charts. Millions of fans refused to believe the devastating news. But they followed the links, flooding the educational channel’s livestream. And there she was. The stream’s viewership skyrocketed, growing exponentially until it hit the server’s maximum capacity. The moment she saw Catherine, Ms. Evans panicked. She spoke into her earpiece, her voice trembling. “We have a situation. Should I cut the feed?” Before anyone could answer, Catherine gently set Sophie down. She walked over to Ms. Evans and gave a slight shake of her head. Then, she extended her hand. “Hello. I’m Sophie’s mother, Catherine Shaw.”

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My husband, Julian, was the epitome of cool restraint. So my best friend, Summer, gifted me a secret weapon. “Put this on,” she’d said, “and tell me you can’t conquer him in seconds.” After a moment’s hesitation, I clutched the sliver of fabric to my chest and, with a blush burning my cheeks, stepped into his study. Julian looked up from his work, and his calm, gray eyes instantly darkened with desire. Ten minutes later, the cold metal of his laptop was digging into the small of my back. I was just about to cry out when my phone buzzed. It was Summer. Her voice on the other end was shredded with sobs. “You promised you’d stay true to me! You couldn’t resist even this little temptation? You betrayed me! I’m going to jump from the rooftop right now!” My brow furrowed. Before I could even ask what she meant, Julian reached for the phone, his own voice hoarse. “My phone. Let me handle this.” 1 Even without speakerphone, I could hear the raw agony in Summer’s cries. Her name had always suited her; she was a vibrant, dazzling force of nature. To hear her so broken felt like a giant hand was squeezing my heart. “Did something happen?” I was frantic. “She’s not even dating anyone, what does she mean ‘betrayed’?” My mind raced. “Maybe she’s in danger and this is some kind of code…” I was shaking, my hands trembling as I tried to get away, to rush to her side. But the intricate lace ties of the outfit were a tangled mess, impossible to undo in my panic. In stark contrast to my hysteria, Julian was unnervingly calm. He pinched the bridge of his nose and, with one arm, lifted me off the desk. “Claire, calm down,” he said, his voice a low murmur as he stilled my fumbling hands. “I’ll take care of it.” Tears streamed down my face. “How can you take care of it? You don’t even know Summer!” I shouted. “She called your phone, she must be in serious trouble… No, I’m calling the police…” I reached for my phone, but stopped when I heard Julian speaking into his, his tone soft and gentle. “You’re drunk, aren’t you? You know you can’t handle your liquor. You should have gone straight home. Why are you still out making a scene?” My hand froze mid-air. Julian’s expression was impassive, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I’m married. Having a physical relationship with my wife is perfectly normal. Stop being ridiculous. Are you at the usual spot? Stay put. I’ll have your father come get you.” The other end of the line went quiet. Without a moment’s hesitation, Julian dialed a new number. “Mr. Evans? Summer’s on the rooftop of The Cypress Lounge. She’s had too much to drink. Could you go pick her up? And maybe get her some of that FANCL hangover remedy on the way… Yes, of course. It’s no trouble at all.” I hadn’t noticed when the window had been opened, but a cool breeze swept through the room, making me shiver. Silence descended. Julian stood before me, his powerful, muscular torso bare. His eyes reflected my own image—flushed, disheveled, and covered in faint red marks. His Adam’s apple bobbed. We both spoke at the exact same time. “Should we… continue?” “What was that all about?” 2 Seeing the coldness in my expression, Julian’s desire seemed to evaporate. He reached a long arm around me and snatched his shirt from the messy desk. As he began to button it, he answered my question. “You’re asking about Summer? We used to be neighbors.” I was stunned. I’d known Summer for a year, and neither of them had ever mentioned this. Especially Julian. Every time I tried to arrange for us all to have dinner together, he’d make an excuse. There was even that one time Summer’s landlord was harassing her, and she came to our place for safety in the middle of the night. Julian had dodged that, too. He’d said he had to work, leaving at one in the morning, still in his pajamas. At the time, I’d wondered what kind of case required him to work through the night. Then, a warmer thought had replaced it: Julian was just a man who valued his boundaries, a man of integrity. Thinking back on it now, I had to ask. “Then why didn’t she come to our wedding? You sound so close to her father…” “Can we just not talk about her?” Julian’s voice suddenly sharpened into a snarl. The documents he was tidying scattered across the desk again. “She’s having a meltdown, do you have to have one too?” My heart sank. He hadn’t lost his temper like that in years. The last time was three years ago, when his right leg was still numb and unresponsive… I instinctively took a step back, terrified that he would do what he did back then—smash the nearest glass against the floor. Seeing my cautious retreat, Julian seemed to snap out of his rage. He rubbed his temples. “I’m sorry.” He stepped forward and gently pulled me into a hug. “I’m just angry at her, not at you.” I swallowed the lump of hurt in my throat and managed a small “Okay.” 3 It was as if Summer’s call had never happened. Julian held me as we slept, just like any other night. But long after his breathing had evened out into a steady rhythm, I lay wide awake. My thoughts were a tangled mess, a chaotic storm that refused to let me rest. Just as I was finally drifting off, the man beside me quietly slipped out of bed. He walked into the living room. I heard his low voice speaking into his phone. “Don’t cry. I’m on my way.” 4 On any other night, I would have sleepily opened the bedroom door and asked, “Where are you going?” Or I would have assumed it was an urgent work matter, gotten up to help him with his coat, and whispered, “Be safe.” But I didn’t. I held my breath, not making a sound. I watched as Julian, impeccably dressed in a full suit even in the dead of night, walked out the front door. I didn’t waste a second. I threw on a coat, booked a ride-share, and was waiting just outside our building as Julian’s car pulled out of the underground garage. I told the driver to follow him. Forty minutes later, he pulled up in front of a residential building in the western suburbs. I got out of the car. And I watched, my own eyes seeing it, as before Julian could even knock, the door flew open and Summer, like a brightly colored butterfly, threw herself into his arms. 5 This was obviously Summer’s home. The middle-aged man and woman who followed her out were her parents. Which meant her whole story—about being all alone in this city, struggling to make it on her own—was a lie. I suddenly remembered her clinging to my arm, her voice sweet and playful. “Claire, you’re the only real friend I have in this whole city! I love you so much! My only regret is that I didn’t meet you sooner.” For the past year, Summer had called me every single day to share every little detail of her life. We’d walked arm-in-arm shopping for lingerie; we’d huddled under the same blanket, sharing secrets. We clicked instantly, feeling like we’d known each other for a lifetime. But now, it felt like my entire world was crumbling. 6 In the few minutes I stood there, debating whether to confront them, Julian had already come back out. I scrambled to hide around the corner. I saw Summer clinging to his arm, her voice a raw, desperate scream. “Julian, are you insane? Are you really going to spend the rest of your life with that woman?” She was wearing a vibrant, strappy dress, a wide expanse of pale skin on display. She pressed her body against his without any shame. “You don’t love her! When you were with me, you were so alive! Not this calm, respectful, celibate man she talks about!” Summer let out a bitter laugh. “Have you forgotten? When you and I were locked in that hotel room for three days and three nights… when you left me so weak I couldn’t even get out of bed? I spent a year getting close to her just to find you, and you avoided me at every turn. Julian…” She took his hand and pressed it against her chest. “Feel my heart. Can’t you tell how much it hurts? Even when she’s wearing that slutty lingerie for you, one call from me, and you drop everything to come to my side. Ask yourself, do you really love her?” Julian didn’t pull away. His eyes were dark, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His voice was a low murmur. “You need to stay away from now on.” He withdrew his hand and took a step back. His tall frame shuddered, but he didn’t answer her question. “I can’t betray Claire.” Then he turned, his movements sharp and final, and got back in his car. 7 I couldn’t name the feeling swirling in my gut. Long after Julian’s car had disappeared from view, Summer was still screaming. “What you have with her isn’t love! You’re just paying off a debt! But you don’t get it, Julian! If you hadn’t told me all those vicious lies, if you hadn’t made me break up with you without knowing the truth… I would have been the one to see you through it all! You’re a coward! You were afraid your busted leg would be a burden, so you tricked me into leaving the country… Do you have any idea how I survived after we broke up? Come back here! You bastard!” Lights began to flick on in the apartment building. Figures appeared in windows. Summer’s parents tried to pull her inside, but she fought them. Then, the sharp crack of a slap echoed in the night air, followed by a man’s voice, choked with frustration. “Have you sobered up yet? He’s married! For God’s sake, have some self-respect!” A few seconds later, the complex fell silent. I pulled my coat tighter around me, found the nearest hotel, and checked in for the night. 8 I lay on the unfamiliar hotel bed, tossing and turning. Five years ago. The unattainable guy I’d crushed on all through college was suddenly sitting across from me, my blind date. Back then, Julian had been in a wheelchair, his gaze downcast, his face a mask of despair. “I have a good feeling about you,” he’d said. “But as you can see, because of the car accident, this leg… I don’t know if I’ll ever walk again. If you’re not okay with that, I…” My heart was pounding, but I feigned a calm I didn’t feel and cut him off. “I don’t mind.” He looked up, startled. I quickly added, trying to sound professional, “I mean… I’m a nurse. To me, this is… manageable. Besides, what matters most is the connection between two people.” From that day on, I became his partner in the long, grueling process of rehabilitation. The massages and exercises were just physically exhausting. But the real trial was his spirit. Time and again, he would come home, humiliated by the taunts of strangers, and explode in a fit of rage. Once, I tried to comfort him, and he smashed a teacup on the floor, a shard of porcelain slicing my calf… Those three long, agonizing years. Just thinking about them still made it hard to breathe. So now, until I could be sure if what Summer said was true, I couldn’t face him. As I racked my brain, trying to come up with an excuse for not coming home, my phone buzzed with a text from him. 【Urgent work trip. Out of town for a couple of days.】 【I’ll miss you.】 In the darkness of the hotel room, a laugh escaped my lips. A bitter, hollow laugh at my own naive, foolish heart. 9 I had no idea where Julian went after leaving Summer’s house. I tried to force myself to be calm, to go through the motions of my day. I worked diligently, my feet moving quickly through the hospital wards. I thought I could make it through one normal day. But at four in the afternoon, news broke of an earthquake in the southern province. They were calling for medical personnel to volunteer for the emergency response team. When the head nurse was taking names, she skipped right over me. “The situation is severe. They’ll need people for at least a month. Claire’s definitely not going; we all know her husband, the lawyer, can’t live without her. Okay, Li, you’re up…” “I’ll go,” I said, repeating myself when she didn’t seem to hear. “Sign me up.” Ignoring the stunned looks from my colleagues, I said, “I’m just going home to pack a few things. I’ll be back by six for assembly.” To my surprise, just as I finished packing a change of clothes in my bedroom, I heard the front door open. It was Julian, home early with a friend.

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My husband’s childhood sweetheart has “autumn melancholy syndrome.” Every year, when autumn arrives, she becomes despondent and suicidal. For her, he cancels three months of his life to travel abroad and keep her company. “Molly, she’s in a fragile state. Don’t overthink it.” I gradually grew accustomed to his annual three-month disappearance. Until, on a business trip to France, I saw him with a five-year-old girl by his side. “Daddy, why do you only spend three months with Mommy and me? I want you for longer, much longer.” My husband picked her up in a doting embrace, then took the hand of his childhood friend standing beside them. “Daddy’s situation is special, Aria. Be a good girl. When you turn eighteen, I’ll bring you home to meet Grandma and Grandpa.” In silence, I arranged everything, then left, pretending I knew nothing. Autumn faded into winter, and my husband called. “Serena’s condition has stabilized. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I looked at the coffin and the signed promissory note I had prepared, a cold smile touching my lips. “Good. I’ll throw you a welcome home party.” 1. It was an early autumn afternoon in Paris. I stared, frozen, at the three figures in the square. My husband, Jacob Thorne, was feeding pigeons with a little girl. “Daddy, why do you only spend three months with Mommy and me? I want you for longer, much longer.” A roar filled my head. Since when did Jacob have a child? I must have misheard. Or… he was so fond of Serena’s daughter that he’d made her his goddaughter, and the child, in her innocence, had simply misspoken. Serena leaned against Jacob’s shoulder, her voice a mixture of grievance and coquettishness. “Jacob, I’ve been with you for seven years without a name to my title. Aria is five years old now. Are you really going to make us wait another thirteen years?” Jacob sighed, a note of helplessness in his voice. “I have no choice, Serena. The Thornes and the Leroys have a generational marriage alliance. Marrying Molly was a duty. She will always be Mrs. Thorne in name. If she ever found out about you two, the Leroys would stop at nothing to harm you.” He paused, his tone becoming firm. “But don’t worry. According to Thorne family tradition, a child gains their inheritance rights at eighteen. As my blood, Aria will have the right to officially inherit the Thorne fortune. By then, it will be a done deal. Even if Molly finds out, she won’t be able to do anything.” Serena seemed convinced. She sighed softly and rested a hand on her stomach. “Alright. But you can’t have children with her. Otherwise, my Aria and the baby in my belly will be bullied in the future.” Jacob gently stroked Serena’s still-flat stomach. “Don’t worry. Aria and this son will be more than enough for me.” His voice dropped lower. “As for Molly, I’ve been secretly drugging her. She’ll never get pregnant. The Thorne family has no desire to be further entangled with the Leroys. This cursed bond ends with me.” Boom. The tightly wound string in my mind snapped. So that was it. Six years of a childless marriage. I had been checked by doctors; I was perfectly healthy, but I could never conceive. Jacob’s grandmother had even comforted me with kind words. “These things take time, my dear. A child is a gift of fate.” It turned out he was the one pulling the strings of my fate. Rage replaced the initial shock and heartache. My trembling hands clenched into fists as I pulled out my phone. “Aunt Genevieve, Jacob is cheating. I’m enacting the Leroy family code.” “And have a custom coffin made. One large enough for a family of three.” The next afternoon, I “coincidentally” appeared on the Champs-Élysées, a street they frequented. The moment Jacob saw me, the smile on his face froze, replaced by pure, unadulterated panic. “Molly? What are you doing here?” My own smile never wavered as I walked forward and linked my arm through his. “I’m in Paris on business. I knew you were here, so I thought I’d give you a little surprise.” Jacob forced a laugh. “It’s certainly a surprise…” Just then, a timid voice called out. “Honey…” Serena walked over, holding two ice cream cones. When she saw me, she froze, the color draining from her face. My gaze shifted to her, a playful smirk on my lips. “Who are you calling ‘honey’?” Serena flinched, shaking her head frantically, her eyes darting away. “No, Miss Leroy, you misheard. I was calling him by a nickname, ‘Jules’.” She was so flustered that a hint of a provincial accent slipped out. I chuckled, my eyes fixed on her rosy cheeks. “It seems Paris agrees with you, Miss Frost. You’re glowing. I take it your ‘autumn melancholy’ has greatly improved?” Serena gave a tight, awkward smile. “The weather has been lovely lately… my condition has stabilized.” At that moment, the little girl fluttered over like a butterfly and hugged Jacob’s leg, looking up and chirping, “Daddy!” That single word seemed to freeze the very air around us. Jacob’s face went pale. He quickly bent down. “Aria, you said it wrong. You’re supposed to call me ‘Godfather’!” The little girl pouted, about to argue, but Serena lunged forward and shoved one of the ice cream cones into her daughter’s mouth. “Here! Go eat this over there, don’t bother the grown-ups!” The girl winced from the cold. “Mommy, I don’t like vanilla! That’s Daddy’s favorite!” The last traces of color vanished from Serena’s face. She fumbled, trying to swap it with the chocolate cone. “Go, go, let’s eat over there…” “Stop.” My voice was quiet, but it halted them in their tracks. Serena’s back was trembling. I slowly walked towards them, unclasping the necklace from my own neck and offering it to the little girl. “It’s the first time we’ve met, Auntie didn’t bring a gift. This is for you.” The girl looked at the pendant curiously. “It looks like… a bullet.” “You have a good eye,” I said with a nod of approval, my voice calm. “That’s exactly what it is. Someone tried to rob your godfather once. I took a bullet for him. This was extracted from my arm.” The girl’s eyes widened with the kind of awe children reserve for heroes. “Wow, Auntie, you’re so cool! You can block bullets!” Hearing the story, a flicker of something—perhaps a distant memory of gratitude—crossed Jacob’s face. He finally spoke, his voice strained with forced composure. “Molly, that’s a keepsake between us. It has a special meaning. Giving it to a child… isn’t that inappropriate?” I turned to face him, my smile deepening. “What’s inappropriate about it? She calls you ‘Godfather,’ doesn’t she? By that logic, she should call me ‘Godmother.’ A gift for my goddaughter is perfectly reasonable, wouldn’t you say?” My gaze shifted to Serena, whose face was now ashen. “Right, Miss Frost?” Serena’s lips trembled as she forced a smile that was uglier than a grimace. Just then, the little girl rummaged in her small backpack and pulled out a bracelet, holding it out to me. “Auntie, this is for you!” My pupils contracted. My expression hardened instantly. It was a jade bracelet, inlaid with a small gold charm engraved with the secret Leroy family crest. It was one of my mother’s heirlooms, my dowry, passed down through generations of Leroy women. It had vanished without a trace last year. I had used all my connections, even filed a police report, but it was never found. And all this time, he had stolen it to give to his illegitimate daughter. The moment Jacob saw the bracelet, his face contorted. “Molly, listen to me, it’s a fake! It’s not the one you lost! I just liked the design, so I had a copy made for the kid to play with…” He shot Aria a venomous glare. “Aria, give that back! It’s not worth anything, Auntie won’t want it!” He reached out to snatch it back. I was faster. I grabbed the bracelet from the girl’s hand. “No, I love it.” Watching the color drain from both his and Serena’s faces, I added slowly, “The one my mother gave me is gone. This replica will be a nice memento, don’t you think?” I pretended to examine it closely, then let out a small laugh. “The color of this jade… it’s almost convincing. But the craftsmanship, the engraving is so blurred… a fake is a fake. It can never be the real thing.” Jacob’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly. He let out a quiet breath of relief. “Of course. It could never compare to yours.” Serena, however, looked ill. She pressed a hand to her forehead and swayed, collapsing weakly against Jacob. “Jules, I feel dizzy… so sick…” I watched her clumsy performance with cold, impassive eyes. Jacob, however, was a flurry of concern. He pushed me aside, scooped Serena into his arms, and shot me a reproachful look. “I’m taking Serena to rest. Her health is fragile! You… just stay away!” I stood motionless as the three of them hurried away and disappeared around the corner. I looked down at the bracelet in my palm. How many other secrets had Jacob kept from me all these years? I took out my phone and called a contact at a local French conglomerate. “Ethan, it’s me. Get me the best private investigator in Paris…” After securing the company’s contracts, I flew back home. That evening, Jacob’s video call came through right on schedule. Seeing me at home, he visibly relaxed. “Molly, Serena’s condition is getting worse. I really can’t leave… I’m so sorry you have to spend your birthday alone again.” I managed a “tolerant” smile. “It’s alright. Her health is what’s important. I understand.” “I had your gift sent over,” he said quickly, as if presenting a prize. “It should be there soon. I know you’ll love it.” I glanced at the trash can in the corner of the living room, stuffed with 999 red roses and a cloyingly sweet black truffle cake. The same as every other year. Utterly uninspired. I used jet lag as an excuse and ended the call. A message from the private investigator arrived. I opened it. It was a photo of Jacob, Serena, and Aria setting off fireworks, celebrating their “Happy 7th Anniversary.” A wave of nausea washed over me. Was I the other woman? They had been together for seven years. We had been married for six. For six years, I had spent every one of my birthdays alone. “Molly, Serena’s ‘autumn melancholy’ is very serious. She’s an orphan. If I don’t take care of her, no one will.” “Molly, you’re the most generous and kind person I know. Please, forgive her. She’s not well.” He had lied to me for six years while he was with her for six years. What a monumental fool I had been. My phone vibrated again. It was Ethan. “Molly, I’ve seen the ‘scenery’ here in France. Is there anything you need my people to do? Teach him a little lesson, or perhaps make Miss Frost…” He didn’t finish, but his meaning was clear. My eyes turned to ice. “No. When the time is right, I’ll buy you a drink.” Ethan chuckled softly. “What kind of drink?” “A drink at my husband’s funeral.” His laughter grew louder, but there was no surprise in it. “In that case, I’ll be there. And I’ll send the biggest wreath.” After hanging up, a sense of profound exhaustion and absurdity washed over me. I once thought Jacob and I were destined to be together. The Vance family had also proposed a marriage alliance back then, but I had refused without hesitation. All because of that day in America, when we were robbed at gunpoint. I took a bullet for him, and he took three knife wounds protecting me. In the hospital, he looked at my bandaged arm, I looked at his swaddled torso, and we both smiled. “Jacob Thorne,” I had said, “I think we can call this a bond forged in blood. It must be fate.” Now, it seemed it was just another one of life’s cruel jokes. Ding-dong. The doorbell rang. It was my aunt, Genevieve Leroy. After reviewing the investigator’s file, she frowned. “The Thornes and the Leroys. A generational alliance.” “I was married to Jacob’s uncle, Marcus Thorne, for ten years. In the end, it was nothing but a mess of broken pieces. I divorced him.” She looked at me, her gaze deep. “And now, you and Jacob… are no exception. Perhaps the Thorne family is rotten, from the roots to the leaves.” “But Molly, be sure. Once you make your move, there’s no turning back. Are you truly prepared to be this ruthless?” I lifted my head to meet her gaze and nodded firmly. “He wants to have it all, the wife and the mistress. He can’t have his cake and eat it too.” “When he married me, he knelt in the Leroy family chapel and swore an oath. If he ever betrayed Molly Leroy, he would suffer a terrible death and be subject to my judgment. The reckoning has come. If heaven won’t take him, I will.” My aunt studied me for a long moment, then clapped me firmly on the shoulder. “Alright. Since you’ve made up your mind, I’ll help you clean up the mess.” I knew she had the power to do it. Marcus Thorne had been a notorious womanizer. She had dealt with his first two mistresses quietly, without a trace. It was only the third time that she chose the most dramatic path. At a Thorne family banquet, she had publicly whipped him thirty times with a horsewhip, leaving him bloody and humiliated, and used the scandal to force the Thorne matriarch to strip him of his inheritance rights. Then, she had coolly returned to the Leroy family with her children, changing their surname to Leroy. My aunt gave Marcus three chances. I would not. In six years, Jacob had countless opportunities to turn back. He didn’t take a single one. My patience had run out. Forensic specialists turned our home upside down and finally found the substance Jacob had been using to poison me. I stared at the swapped-out vitamin bottle and gave a bitter laugh. For six years, except for the three months he was away, he would prepare my vitamins and a glass of warm water for me every single night. I used to think he was so thoughtful and considerate. It was all a lie. The consideration was fake; the poison was real. He had gone to such great lengths to ensure I would never get pregnant. Just then, another update came from the PI. Jacob and Serena had been spotted at a top-tier auction house in Paris. I glanced at the calendar. Today was Serena’s birthday. My birthday gifts were always roses and cake, but for Serena, he went to an auction house. Hah. Trying to win the lady’s favor? How could I not help him? I immediately contacted my art consultant in France. “Keep your eyes on Jacob Thorne. Whatever he bids on, you follow. The only goal is to drive the final price up to a level that will make him bleed.” “Understood, Ms. Leroy.” Serena had her eye on a piece of ancient jade, one that symbolized “eternal love.” Jacob raised his paddle again and again. My consultant shadowed his every move. The price skyrocketed. Jacob’s face grew darker and darker. Finally, after another bid, he could no longer contain himself. He turned and yelled at my consultant across the crowded room. “Sir, are you deliberately trying to cross me? Do you know who I am? I am Jacob Thorne, head of the Thorne family and son-in-law to the powerhouse Leroy family!” The consultant offered a professional, placid smile. “My apologies, sir. This is France. I don’t know you.” Jacob was visibly enraged. He gritted his teeth and, with a burst of reckless bravado, shouted a final, staggering bid. “Two hundred million!” The ancient jade was sold to Jacob Thorne for an astronomical price. I knew his personal liquid assets were nowhere near enough to cover that figure. Sure enough, my phone rang soon after. “Molly, we have an urgent project at the company that needs a bit of a cash injection for turnover. I was wondering…” I let out a silent, cold laugh, but my voice was full of concern. “How much do you need?” “One hundred and fifty million.” “Alright.” I agreed readily, then immediately changed my tune. “But I’ll need you to use your equivalent shares in the Thorne Group as collateral.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. After several seconds, he spoke, his voice laced with disbelief. “Molly? Do we… really need to do things this way between us?” His tone was that of a man who had been deeply wronged. I scoffed. “Fine, then. Go ask your parents for the money.” Sensing I wouldn’t budge, he immediately caved. “Alright. Fine.” I emailed him the digital collateral agreement and received his signed copy moments later. I was curious to see just how deep his love for Serena ran. When faced with a choice between power and love, between his status and his children, what would he choose? The show was about to begin. For over two months, the PI sent me a steady stream of information, enough to make a feature film. Autumn faded into winter, and Jacob called. “Molly, Serena’s condition has stabilized. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I looked at the coffin and the signed promissory note I had prepared, a cold smile touching my lips. “Good. I’ll throw you a welcome home party.”

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I’m a B-list actress with a benefactor. And recently, my benefactor ran into a little trouble. He was outed as the wrong baby, swapped at birth—a fake heir to a fortune. The day the news broke, his adoptive parents kicked him out. He had to move in with his biological family. Seeing him so lost, I couldn’t stand it. In a moment of grand, heartfelt impulse, I threw my arms wide and declared, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” Later, after I’d graduated from benefactor-protégée to actual girlfriend, I went with him to meet his parents. That’s when I finally understood what “moving” meant for him. It meant leaving his adoptive father’s mansion in the Hollywood Hills… for his biological parents’ sprawling, gated estate in Montecito. That son of a bitch. He played me. 1 I first saw the news about Ethan being switched at birth where everyone sees everything: online. The gossip blogs were ruthless, claiming in breathless, self-assured posts that Ethan Prescott, the “fake heir,” had been cast out of the family, left with nothing. I didn’t believe it. Not at first. But I waited at home until late, and when Ethan finally walked through the door, the exhaustion was written all over him. He moved like a man carrying an invisible weight, his usual confidence replaced by a hollowed-out look in his eyes. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I softened my voice. “What’s wrong? Rough day?” He folded onto the couch beside me and leaned his head on my shoulder. It was a gesture of pure vulnerability, a silent plea for support I had never, not once, seen from him before. “I moved,” he said, his voice flat. Those two words were all the confirmation I needed. The tabloid headlines flashed in my mind. “Is it true?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “What they’re saying online… about the mix-up at the hospital?” “Yeah,” he murmured into my shoulder. “I guess my last name is Hayes now.” His voice was so deflated, so unlike him. I could feel the blow this had dealt to his entire world. And who could blame him? The people who had raised you for over two decades suddenly weren’t your parents. It was a seismic shift that would shatter anyone. I gently ran my fingers through his hair, trying to offer some small comfort. “You know,” I said, forcing a light tone, “Ethan Hayes has a nice ring to it. Maybe even better than Ethan Prescott.” He managed a weak, fleeting smile. “Maybe.” Seeing him struggle to keep it together, I swallowed the hundred other questions I wanted to ask. It wasn’t the time. “Go get some sleep,” I said softly. “Try not to think about it too much.” Ethan nodded and pushed himself up, heading for the bedroom. But after a few steps, he stopped and looked back at me, his eyes full of a raw uncertainty. “Chloe,” he said. “Can you… stay with me?” “Of course.” I crossed the room in a heartbeat. He took my hand, his fingers lacing tightly with mine, and led me into the bedroom. 2 Ethan likes to hold me when he sleeps. Tonight was no different. Except it was. Tonight, he held me tighter, with a desperation that felt like he was trying to meld me into his own body, as if he were trying to anchor himself to the only solid thing in a world that had turned to liquid. My face was pressed against his chest, the familiar scent of him all around me. On any other night, I would have been blissfully nuzzling into him, drunk on the closeness. But tonight, I just wrapped my arms around his waist and gently patted his back, trying to soothe him into sleep. I understood. His life had been upended. He needed comfort, a pillar to lean on. And seeing him in so much pain made my own heart ache. Which was a problem. He was my benefactor, not my boyfriend. He was now the “fake heir.” The smart thing to do would be to worry about my career in this cutthroat town, not his emotional state. My future in Hollywood, which he had so carefully paved, was now a dead end. That’s what I should have been thinking. But instead, I found myself gently smoothing the frown lines from his forehead with my thumb. My career was built on Ethan’s influence—I’ll be the first to admit it. Yes, I worked hard. I’m tenacious and I don’t give up. But Hollywood is a place where hard work alone gets you nowhere. You need opportunities. You need luck. And if you don’t have those, you need a powerful patron. When I started, I had nothing but raw energy and a burning ambition. Then, at the wrap party for some forgettable film, someone with a grudge slipped something into my drink. The next thing I knew, I was being led into the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel—Ethan’s suite. I was dizzy, my limbs felt like lead. A single, foggy thought, It’s over, drifted through my mind, but I was powerless to fight it. Sometime later, Ethan came back to his room. As fate would have it, he was drunk too. He apparently mistook me for a body pillow and slept soundly, holding me all night. The next morning, I woke up in the arms of a strange man and nearly screamed the hotel down. But before the scream could escape, I was struck by the impossibly handsome face just inches from mine. Well… damn. It wasn’t that I was opposed to him, specifically. I was just, you know, morally against the whole predatory casting-couch culture of the industry. I studied his face. His eyes were closed, framed by impossibly long lashes. That strong jawline, that perfect nose… how did all the best features end up on one person? As I was lost in my critical analysis, his eyelashes fluttered. A moment later, his eyes opened, meeting mine directly. My heart stopped. 3 Ethan sat up, rubbing his temples. He seemed to be replaying the night, and after a moment, he said with absolute certainty, “I was drunk. I wouldn’t have… done anything.” I looked at his wrinkled shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth skin of his chest and the faint outline of abs beneath. I nodded. “I know. You just held me all night.” We showered separately and then sat on opposite ends of the sofa, observing each other in the quiet morning light. With his hair still damp and dressed in fresh clothes, he looked sharp and serious. He broke the silence. “I’ll find out who was behind last night. As for us… I’m sorry. I’d like to offer you some form of compensation for the trouble.” “It’s okay if it’s not long,” I blurted out. Ethan just stared at me. “?” My brain caught up with my mouth. “Oh! Compensation. Right.” To be fair, Ethan was blameless in this. He was just a drunk guy who came back to his own room to sleep. I was the one who shouldn’t have been there, even if it wasn’t my choice. But he felt he had wronged me and wanted to make it right. Who was I to refuse a helping hand? Sometimes, the right stepping stone is worth more than a thousand steps taken on your own. I thought for a moment. “There’s a TV series I want to audition for.” 4 I told him the name of the show and the director. Ethan was efficient. “That’s easy. I’ll call the director.” And just like that, I was on the cast list. I wasn’t even a top-three character, but I was ecstatic. I packed my bags and moved onto the set, ready to work. Ethan, probably worried I was just some freeloader wasting his recommendation, started showing up on set to “supervise.” He’d ask the director how my performance was, if I was being cooperative. He’d ask me if I was surviving the director’s notoriously tough style. Terrified he’d change his mind and have me replaced, my answers were always a variation of, “The set is great, the director is great, and the director says I’m great, too!” I’d put extra emphasis on that last part. Ethan would just give a little “hmph” and say, “Keep it up.” It was only later that I found out he was the show’s executive producer. During that shoot, Ethan’s visits became more frequent, and his attitude toward me softened. He started asking about my day, sent flowers and a gift for my birthday, and even started driving me home after late-night shoots. I knew this wasn’t just about making sure I was working hard. He wanted to make me his mistress. His kept woman. So, being me, I decided to just ask him. Ethan was silent for a long time, then looked at me with a baffled expression. “Is that what you think this is?” “Just tell me if I’m right or wrong.” I was so sure of my own deduction that I didn’t even wait for his answer. “Look, I’m not that kind of girl… unless you let me feel them first.” Ethan looked completely lost. “?” He smirked, a real smile finally breaking through his serious exterior. “Feel what?” “Your abs, obviously. Got to inspect the goods first.” He actually laughed, a real, throaty laugh. “I have to say, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a benefactor having to pass a physical inspection.” But even as he said it, he took my hand and guided it to his stomach, pressing it against his shirt. The sudden warmth and hardness of the muscle beneath the fabric made my hand tremble. I was all talk; when it came to actually doing anything, I was a complete coward. He took a slow breath, his voice dropping low. “Well? Are you satisfied?” I gave a tentative press and nodded wildly. “Very satisfied. We’re good.” I mean, look, I’m a person of principle. I can’t be bought with money or swayed by power. But. Everyone has their exceptions. And apparently, mine were a killer set of abs and a handsome face. 5 Ethan was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. He meticulously planned my career path, guiding me from an unknown nobody to a solid B-lister. I wasn’t a viral sensation, but I was a working actress who never lacked for quality roles. It was only after I was with him that I realized what it was like to be treated fairly, to not have to constantly fight off petty attacks or backhanded sabotage. For the first time, I was filled with a genuine confidence, a hope for the future. I even started to believe I could make a real run for an Oscar someday. And then, just as I was getting ready to really hit my stride, my foundation crumbled. My Oscar dream shattered with a silent, sickening crack. 6 Mourning the death of my Oscar dream, I eventually drifted off to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, Ethan was already out of bed. He emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, another one ruffling his dark hair. God, he was beautiful. That body, that face. Lying there on my side, watching him, I realized with a jolt that I had no desire to cut him loose and save myself. So I said it. “Ethan… from now on, let me take care of you.” He froze, towel in hand. “What?” “I said, I’ll take care of you,” I repeated, sitting up and making a grand, sweeping gesture. “So what if you’re not a Prescott anymore? So what if you’re broke? Don’t be scared. I can make money. I’ll support you!” Ethan just stood there, silent. He was probably overwhelmed with emotion, touched by my loyalty. Finally, after a long moment, he raised an eyebrow. “You’ll support me?” he asked, a strange glint in his eye. “You’re sure you don’t want to break up with me? After all, I’m just your benefactor. Not your boyfriend.” My eyes darted away. Okay, so maybe the thought had crossed my mind for a second. To cover my guilt, I raised my voice. “What kind of question is that? I’ll have you know, Ethan Hayes, you are seriously underestimating me! I’m not the kind of person who only sticks around for the good times!” A slow smile spread across his face. “So?” “So! From now on, I’ll be out there making a living, and you can stay home and be beautiful!” He tossed the towel aside and walked toward me. In one smooth motion, he lifted me out of the bed and settled me onto his lap, so I was straddling him. He peppered my face with soft kisses—my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips. “You’re really something,” he murmured against my skin. “Like a princess from a fairy tale. How could I ever repay you?” I was genuinely trying to think of what I wanted in return, but his lips found mine again, deep and consuming. He kissed my eyes, the tip of my nose, and returned to my mouth. His hand tangled in my hair, giving a gentle tug that made me tilt my head back, surrendering completely to the kiss. By the time he finally pulled away, I was breathless, my face flushed and my eyelashes damp with involuntary tears. Through the haze, I heard him whisper with a low chuckle. “My good, kind-hearted girl. How about I offer myself in return, hmm?” 7 After breakfast, I transferred one hundred thousand dollars to Ethan’s account. My heart ached with every zero. It wasn’t that I wanted to give him that much. But when I thought about everything he’d done for me—the roles, the jewelry, the designer dresses—it was the least I could do. He had been generous with me, and I couldn’t be stingy with him now. Still, it hurt. “You have to be careful with this,” I lectured, channeling my inner financial advisor. “You know I’m a very frugal person. From now on, we need to spend wisely.” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “Those old friends of yours, the ones who still treat you like a brother? Take them out for a decent meal, keep those connections alive. You never know who might be able to help you down the line. But the ones who ghosted you, who kicked you when you were down? Forget them. You got that?” I was trying to think of what other sage advice I could offer when he leaned in and kissed me again, cutting me off mid-sentence. I went still, my brain short-circuiting. I pushed lightly against his shoulder. “Hey—mmph—you need to listen to me.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression utterly sincere. “I’m sorry. You’re just so cute when you’re earnestly planning my future. I couldn’t help myself.” I… damn it. He was a cunning bastard. He knew I was a shallow creature, that a single piece of praise could turn my brain to mush. I tried to look stern. “Even if you say that, I’m still going to be a little bit mad at you.” A girl had to maintain her authority as head of the household, after all. 8 Even though I was pretending to be mad, seeing the familiar light back in Ethan’s eyes made me genuinely happy. With his mood lifted, I could head to work without worrying. I was currently filming a major historical drama. The director was a legend in his late fifties, at the peak of his creative powers. There are no secrets on a film set. Everyone more or less knew about my connection to Ethan. He’d never tried to hide it, visiting me openly on set before. But because he was so young and handsome, no one was quite sure what our relationship was. Some guessed we were dating, others thought we might be cousins. The ones who guessed correctly—that I was a gold-digger who’d landed a powerful benefactor—kept it to themselves. Whatever they thought, they had always treated me with a polite, professional distance. But now, with the scandal swirling around Ethan, the whispers were getting louder. As soon as I arrived on set, I heard them. “Is it really true? I saw the story trending and then it just… vanished.” “The Prescotts must have killed it. A family like that controls the narrative.” “I wonder what’s happening with Ethan now.” “It’s Ethan Hayes now. And what do you think is happening? He got kicked to the curb, obviously.” “My money’s on Chloe dumping him by the end of the week.” I pretended not to hear, walking past with my head held high. But inside, I was fuming. Why did everyone assume the worst of me? Not only had I not dumped him, I had pledged to support him! Ethan himself said I was like a fairy-tale princess! Just as I was mentally defending my honor, a particularly sharp voice cut through the chatter. “Well, well. So the golden boy of Hollywood turns out to be a cheap knock-off.” I stopped and looked up. Rick Donovan. In all my years in the industry, I’d lived by a simple code: don’t start trouble, and always be polite. I didn’t have many enemies. Except for one. Rick Donovan. 10 The year I broke into the business, I landed the fourth female lead in a fantasy series. “Fourth lead” was a generous title; I was basically a glorified extra. Rick, a veteran actor, was playing the main villain. He had a decent reputation—good actor, no scandals. Since we had scenes together, we got to know each other. At first, he was kind, like a mentor. He gave me tips on finding my light and connecting with the camera. I respected him and saw him as a kind-hearted senior colleague. Toward the end of the shoot, we had a stunt scene on wires. My character, a reformed demoness, was supposed to die with his villain. The script called for us to fall from a height onto a crash pad below. The visual effects team would handle the “souls dissipating” part in post. But as we fell, just as we hit the mat, Rick’s hands squeezed me. Twice. On my lower back, just above my ass. Our costumes were bulky, and he must have thought no one would see. But I felt it. Crystal clear. I’ve always had a short fuse, and back then, I was young and reckless. In a flash of pure humiliation and rage, I shot up from the mat and swung my arm, slapping him square across the face. The crack echoed through the suddenly silent set. Rick, utterly humiliated, has held a grudge against me ever since. Funny. I never even complained that he made me hurt my hand on his thick-skinned face. Later, I found out he was the one who had me drugged and sent to Ethan’s room. He probably thought someone of Ethan’s status would ruin me for the intrusion. He never imagined I’d grab onto that golden branch and soar. Instead, his own career nosedived. His roles dried up, his fame faded. Now, he was stuck taking bit parts in other people’s projects, like this one. I knew Ethan was behind it. He was a fiercely protective man. If someone tried to screw me over like that and he did nothing… he’d have to be possessed. 11 I hadn’t seen Rick in years before starting this film. It never even occurred to me we’d end up on the same set. Here, he was playing a minor character who gets killed off in a few episodes. I get it. Directors don’t usually care about actors’ personal beefs as long as they can do the job. And I didn’t care either. Now, my name carried more weight than his. I wasn’t afraid. And in our history, he was the one in the wrong. I had the moral high ground. If anyone was going to be forced out, it shouldn’t be me. He wasn’t scared, so why should I be? So we coexisted on set, ignoring each other. It was a kind of cold peace. But now he was insulting Ethan, and that, I could not tolerate. I stared him down, my voice laced with ice. “It’s always the dogs in the cheapest kennels that bark the loudest.” Rick blinked, then his face flushed with anger. “What did you just say?” I clicked my tongue. “I’m talking to you. Who else? Have you really fallen so far that the only way you can feel good about yourself is by mocking someone else? That’s just sad.” That shut him up. 12 Seeing Rick speechless put me in a great mood. I had a fantastic day of shooting, and even went out for amazing Korean barbecue with Ava, the actress playing the female lead. When I got home that night, Ethan had already cooked dinner. After washing my hands, I sat down at the table and saw all my favorite dishes laid out. I couldn’t help but tease him. “So this is the life of a kept man? Do you actually know how to cook all this? Or is it just fancy takeout? It’s not poisoned, is it?” Ethan placed a glass of warm milk in front of me. “One hundred percent homemade, organic, and gluten-free. Care to try?” I cautiously picked up a piece of slow-braised short rib. After a few chews, I gave him a big thumbs-up. “Delicious!” After a long day at work, coming home to a delicious meal served by a handsome man was exactly what I deserved. As I ate, I asked, “So, what did you do all day?” “Checking up on me?” Ethan smirked. It had been a casual question, but his response made me feel a flicker of benefactor-like power. “Yep!” I said, getting into the role. “I’m exercising my rights as your provider. Report on your daily activities, stat!” Ethan laughed. “Alright, here’s the summary. I met with Liam Prescott.” “Liam Prescott?” “The real Prescott son.” I immediately tensed up. “He asked to see you? What did you guys do? He didn’t give you a hard time, did he?” Ethan propped his chin on his hand, a playful smile on his lips. “And if he did? What would you do?” 12 I was baffled. What kind of question was that? “What else could I do? Swallow my pride and take it, of course.” Ethan just stared at me. “?” “I mean, we can’t afford to make enemies with people like that right now,” I explained reasonably. “If he looks down on you, you just have to… look down at the floor and walk away.” Not wanting to crush his spirit entirely, I added, “Revenge is a dish best served cold, you know.” Seeing the frustrated look on his face, I circled back to the original question. “So, what did you and Liam talk about?” “Just… family stuff,” Ethan said. “I wanted to get a better sense of my biological parents, to make it easier to fit in with the new family.” “And did you? Have you met them yet? What are they like? Are they easy to get along with?” Ethan seemed unsure. “They seem… okay? My father is very serious, doesn’t say much. My mother is more of a politician, very smooth. Every word is carefully chosen.” They both sounded like a handful. I couldn’t help but worry. “You need to be on your best behavior with them. Keep that temper of yours in check, you hear me? But if they’re not good to you, don’t force it. You still have me,” I said, patting my chest proudly. “If you get tired, you can always rest on my broad, supportive bosom.” 13 I finished my speech and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to praise my beautiful, kind soul. But that idiot Ethan completely missed the point. He raised an eyebrow. “Keep my temper in check? What temper, exactly?” I started to think. What temper did Ethan have? I honestly couldn’t think of anything. I chewed on my fork, racking my brain. The only scenarios that came to mind were the ones in bed where I’d end up cursing at him and kicking him away playfully. Or the countless nights he’d driven to pick me up from the airport or a remote set in the middle of the night. Or that one time I’d tried to cook for him and ended up breaking three plates and two bowls, and he just cleaned up the mess without a word of complaint. The more I thought about it, the more shocked I was. How was this possible? I couldn’t remember him having a temper, but I could suddenly recall plenty of instances of my own. This was not how the power dynamic was supposed to work! Feeling a wave of guilt, I shot him a few sheepish glances. “You know what? Let’s just drop it,” I said, my voice suddenly much smaller. “I’ll save you the embarrassment. Let’s just eat.” Ethan just smiled and, with a swift move of his fork, stole the last piece of my favorite short rib. 14 That weekend, I had to attend a gala hosted by my agency’s CEO. At these kinds of events, swarming with industry moguls and investors, actors and pop stars aren’t the main characters. We’re just part of the decor, adding a bit of color to an otherwise boring affair. As far as I could tell, I had about as much functional purpose as the floral arrangements at the entrance. I couldn’t participate in the conversations about investments, market trends, or IPOs, nor could I just relax and enjoy the food. All I could do was stand there, holding a glass of champagne with my back straight, drifting through the crowd and exchanging meaningless pleasantries with familiar faces. After a few rounds of forced small talk, I found a quiet corner to hide in and texted Ethan. “Everyone here is talking about such complicated stuff. I don’t get any of it, but I can’t leave. I’m so bored.” He replied almost instantly. “Seriously. Don’t they know that a princess has to shower, do her makeup, curl her hair, and pick out a gown? Such a boring party is hardly worth all of Princess Chloe’s effort.” I frowned at the screen. That was a weird thing to say. It felt… sarcastic. Was he making fun of me for being high-maintenance? I sent back a GIF of a cat throwing punches. “I’m docking your allowance!” Ethan: “?” Ethan: “What time can you leave? I’ll come pick you up.” I estimated the time. “Another hour, maybe.” 15 I kept checking my phone, and after about an hour, people started to trickle out. Figuring Ethan must be close, I started walking toward the exit. Just as I neared the ballroom doors, a foot shot out from the side. My long dress blocked my view, and my high heels made me unsteady. Before I could even register what was happening, I was crashing to the ground. A sharp, searing pain shot through my knee and elbow. The only saving grace was the thin carpet covering the floor, which probably saved me from a broken bone. Tears welled in my eyes from the pain, but I looked up, my voice fierce. “Who the hell did that?” Rick and his manager, Angela, were standing over me, covering their mouths as they snickered. “Oh my, what a klutz,” Angela said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Did you hurt yourself?” Angela was a middle-aged woman who had been with Rick since the beginning of his career. I used to admire her loyalty for sticking with him through his decline. It’s easy to find people who will celebrate with you, but hard to find those who will weather the storm. But tonight, that same woman had just tripped me and was now taunting me. I blinked back the tears and spat back, “What bad luck. Feels like I just stepped in something nasty.” 16 Rick’s face contorted with rage. “What did you just say?” Angela put a restraining hand on his arm. In the process, her wine glass “accidentally” tilted, spilling red wine all over my dress. “Chloe, this isn’t the place for you to throw a tantrum,” she said coolly. “This may look like a big party, but there’s only one person who really matters here tonight: Liam Prescott.” She gestured around the room. “Since taking over the Prescott empire, he’s been managing some massive projects. Everyone here tonight is trying to get on his good side, hoping for a piece of the pie. And you, who’s been playing house with the fake heir, have the nerve to show your face here?” She looked down at my stained dress and laughed. “Look at her, Rick. She’s a mess.” I’m not a patient person by nature. I’m impulsive and I hold grudges. Being with Ethan, who constantly coddled and praised me, had only made my temper worse. And okay, maybe Ethan wasn’t a powerful heir anymore. But I was still a B-list actress, wasn’t I? Did they think they could humiliate me like this without consequences? Normally, after a fall like that, I would have just stayed on the floor and waited for Ethan to come rescue me. It really, really hurt. But I couldn’t let them get away with this. In my book, the headline “Actress Gets in Fight at Gala” was ten times better than “Actress Gets Bullied at Gala.” Fueled by pure rage, I forced myself to my feet. I walked right up to Rick and Angela and, with all my strength, slapped each of them across the face. “You’re nothing,” I seethed. “But you sure act like you’re something special. I was trying to ignore you, but you just had to push it. You’re trash. You should try being decent people for a change. You wouldn’t want your bad karma passed down to your kids, would you?” Angela, clutching her cheek, lunged at me. But Rick held her back, his face a mask of fury, his voice low and menacing. “Chloe, this is Liam Prescott’s event. Don’t push your luck. Get out of here while you still can, before Mr. Prescott has security throw you out.” His words grated on me. I opened my mouth to fire back, but a calm voice cut in from behind me. “I don’t believe I said anything of the sort.”

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