After marrying my nemesis, I fell ridiculously in love. My days became a blur of sweet nothings and blistering fucking. Six months into this intoxicating routine, I decided to surprise him for a lunch date. Instead, I walked into a brawl between him and my childhood best friend. My friend landed a solid punch. “You son of a bitch. You dared to force her into this marriage? Do you have any idea how much she despises you?” Griffin slowly wiped a smear of blood from his lip. The words hit their mark, and his eyes turned venomous. “Of course I know,” he hissed. “So what? You really think I’d ever let her go?” A wave of sympathetic glances washed over me from the onlookers, as if I were the tragic heroine in a dark romance, stolen and caged. I looked down at myself, dripping in jewels and designer clothes. My world shattered. Weren’t we… weren’t we a love story? The kind where you marry first, and fall in love later? 1 Deep in the night, I was waging war from behind my laptop screen. “Let me spell it out for you,” I typed, my fingers flying across the keyboard. “Your boyfriend is gaslighting you. Grand gestures and sweet talk are cheap. The only real metric is his wallet. Follow the money, honey. That’s where the love is.” A user shot back instantly. “Who is this high-and-mighty bitch telling people how to live? They’re a happy couple, leave them alone.” The replies piled on. “Seriously. How much did your husband spend on you? Bet he bought you a tacky gold bracelet and now you think you’re a relationship guru.” A few seconds later, I uploaded a photo of the diamond on my finger. A rock the size of a quail’s egg. “Auction price was five million. A little gift from my husband.” The replies trickled to a halt, then started again. User 1: “…Why do you guys always have to poke the bear?” User 2: “Ugh, rich people. Get out of our comment section.” I rolled my eyes, tapping out one last defiant message. “I told you my husband genuinely loves me… you just didn’t want to believe it.” I snapped the laptop shut. Griffin was still in the shower. I kissed the massive diamond, then slipped into a red lace nightgown, all strategic cutouts and delicate straps, and draped myself across the bed to wait for him. Six months into my marriage with Griffin, and our relationship was blossoming. The evidence was clear: One, my family may have gone bankrupt, but Griffin’s vast fortune was more than enough to sustain my lavish lifestyle. Two, Griffin may have been a scholarship kid I used to torment for years, but he held no grudges. After the wedding, he became my loyal servant. Whatever I wanted, he provided. Click. The bathroom door opened. The man I’d been waiting for emerged, a towel slung low around his hips. Droplets of water clung to the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, catching the lamplight like tiny pearls. I drew out his name, my voice thick and syrupy. “Griffin. Come serve your queen.” His dark gaze raked over my body as he silently crossed the room. I decided to praise him generously. “I’m very satisfied with this gift. Next time, I want something bigger. An emerald, I think—” He silenced me, his mouth crashing down on mine. The sound of tearing silk filled the air, and my expensive nightgown was reduced to ribbons. Outside, a gentle rain began to fall. Inside, my muffled protests turned into whimpers. “Griffin, you dog, I didn’t say you could start—” “Hush, Sloane. If you want the emerald, you’ll be quiet.” 2 A few days later, I was adorned with a new set of priceless emeralds. Strolling through the city, I felt like a pedigreed Persian cat, sleek and untouchable. It was a weekday, so the high-end department store was quiet. That’s why I easily heard someone call my name. “Ms. Hayes?” A young woman in a sensible pantsuit stood among a small group of people. She was plain, the kind of forgettable face you see once and never again. I’d known a face like that years ago. A classmate of Griffin’s. Audrey. Back in prep school, our year had two charity cases. Griffin, the major one, and Audrey, the minor one. The two of them were always eating lunch together, a little island of have-nots. Inseparable. I studied her for a moment before her name surfaced. “Audrey.” “I’m surprised you remember me.” She extended a hand. “I work for Mr. Vance now. I’m his assistant.” I offered a tight, polite smile, making no move to take her hand. “Is there something I can help you with, Audrey?” She slowly retracted her hand. “Oh, no, don’t get the wrong idea. I’m just here to do a site inspection for Mr. Vance. I didn’t expect to run into you.” Her gaze lingered on my emeralds, a flicker of something in her eyes before she smiled. “It must be nice being a housewife. Not a care in the world, just shopping and spending. After all the hell you put Griffin through back then, it’s amazing he can be so forgiving. You’re a lucky woman.” I watched her, letting the silence hang in the air before I laughed. “You’re lucky too, you know. You just happened to get that scholarship my father donated to the school. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here, working for my husband.” The corner of Audrey’s mouth twitched, her practiced smile flattening into a thin line. I beamed at her. “What’s wrong? You look upset. I’m sorry, I thought you enjoyed these little trips down memory lane.” She had no idea what I’d put Griffin through. She wasn’t even there for most of it. Did he not warn her to stay away from me? She was playing with fire. “I have to get back to work,” she said, her voice clipped. “Enjoy your day, Ms. Hayes.” That evening, when Griffin came home, he found me slumped on the sofa. An empty bottle of red wine lay on its side at my feet, a dark stain bleeding into the cream-colored rug. He set down his briefcase and silently took out his phone, texting the cleaner. Then he came over and bent to lift me into his arms. I gave him a weak shove. “Kneel.” Griffin paused, then carefully knelt before me, the fabric of his suit trousers creasing. I prodded his shoulder with the toe of my shoe. “You hired a female assistant?” He caught my ankle, his thumb stroking the delicate skin. “It’s a corporate policy. Gender diversity.” He lowered his head, his lips tracing a path up my calf. “But my executive assistant, the one who deals with me directly, is a man. Does that ease my queen’s mind?” The bad mood that had been poisoning my day began to evaporate. In less than a minute, I was his again, completely. I draped myself over his shoulders, scrolling through my phone. “I don’t get it,” I mumbled. “Mom and Dad took your money, so why won’t they answer my calls?” “They’re busy with their new venture. You can’t answer the phone when you’re building an empire.” “Oh.” The wine was making my head swim. Griffin carried me to the bed and gently stroked my hair. “Sloane,” he said softly, “if they were broke, completely penniless, would you still want to talk to them?” I burst out laughing. “I don’t talk to paupers. You know that.” His dark eyes were unreadable, like pools of ink. “What if I went bankrupt?” A truly terrifying thought. I pressed my fingers to his lips. “Shh, don’t even joke about that. It’s horrifying.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, smiling. “If you ever lose your money, I’ll be the first one out the door.” Griffin’s expression remained placid as he looked at my smiling face. Then, he suddenly flipped me over. “I’ve just realized something,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my back. “I think I prefer the sound of your crying.” His hot, hard body pressed against me from behind. “And if my queen ever tries to run… I’ll just have to break her legs.” 3 The alcohol sent me into a deep, dream-filled sleep. Seeing Audrey had dredged up memories I hadn’t revisited in years. It had been so long since I’d dreamt of the young Griffin. The year he transferred to our school was one of the driest summers on record in New York. For months, not a single drop of rain fell. The drone of the cicadas was a constant, piercing scream that seemed to tear at the sky. During homeroom, our teacher walked in with a new student. He wore a faded, washed-out school uniform, his dark eyes downcast, radiating a cold indifference. I’d never seen anyone so obviously poor. His backpack was literally held together with patches. But he was also devastatingly beautiful, and the girls in our class stared at him, their eyes practically boring holes through his cheap clothes. Scholarship kids weren’t a novelty. The school had a quota to fill every year. Usually, a handsome one like him would be claimed by some rich girl within a year, turned into a pretty accessory. So I admired his proud, isolated posture. I was curious to see how long it would last. A year passed. Griffin hadn’t become anyone’s plaything. Instead, he’d become class president. Our class was full of lawless trust-fund babies. The teachers, not wanting to antagonize our powerful parents, had chosen the boy with no connections to be their enforcer. One day, Griffin announced it was time to collect class dues. He then read out a list of students who were delinquent. The first boy whose name was called swaggered to the front, pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, and threw it in Griffin’s face. “You think everyone’s a broke piece of trash like you? Can’t even afford the dues?” “So I forgot. You had to call me out in front of everyone?” “Who are you trying to humiliate, huh? You charity case.” A ripple of laughter went through the classroom. The next few students did the same, showering Griffin with bills that fluttered to the floor. Griffin bent down and began to silently pick them up. Snickers followed him. “Hey, mutt, you can keep the change. A little tip for you.” I was about to pull out my phone to text the principal when my best friend, Ford, grabbed my arm. “Don’t get involved, Sloane. If these people want to slum it with us, they should expect this.” I hesitated, then pulled out my own thick roll of cash and walked over. “Here’s mine.” Griffin glanced at the money, his voice flat. “It’s too much.” “The rest… do whatever you want with it.” I’d heard he was from an orphanage, that he had to scrimp and save just for tuition. The poor thing. Suddenly, Audrey appeared from nowhere and shoved me. “Get lost! Can’t you people just leave him alone?” I stumbled, my hipbone cracking against the corner of a desk. A sharp pain shot through me. Griffin finished collecting the money and stood up, his face an emotionless mask, his eyes deep and dark. “You want to be like them, Queenie? Go on. Throw it in my face.” I had a temper, too. The next second, a storm of bills engulfed his face, harder and more furious than anyone else’s. His beautiful features flickered in and out of view through the fluttering cash. I had to admit, the sight of Griffin’s face surrounded by money was a perfect match. Of course, from that day forward, Griffin and I were at war. If he wouldn’t accept my charity, then he could expect my wrath. We spent the next few years locked in a bitter rivalry. I usually had the upper hand. It wasn’t uncommon to see Griffin standing in the sweltering heat, waiting in line at an ice cream truck for me. Or on cleaning day, mopping up the ink I’d “accidentally” spilled on the floor. Did he not fight back? He couldn’t. A poor student who’d pissed off the richest, most powerful girl in school had nowhere to run. Of course, when he got really pushed, he’d grab my wrist and pin me against the wall of the empty basketball court. A warning. But that only ever resulted in more creative and vicious retaliation from me. I thought he would spend his entire life under my thumb. But the old saying, “never underestimate a poor boy with ambition,” proved to be true. Years later, my family’s empire crumbled. Griffin, on the other hand, had risen like a phoenix, becoming a titan of industry, a man everyone wanted to please. The day he proposed our marriage alliance, I nearly destroyed his office. “You want revenge? Dream on!” I swung a golf club, smashing the last of his computer monitors. “You want to marry me? Fine. Give my family a hundred million dollars, and promise that everything you earn after we’re married is mine to spend. Otherwise, I’ll shatter that window and take you down with me!” I expected him to back down. Instead, his face darkened, and he bit out one word: “Done.” That night, a hundred million dollars was transferred to my parents’ account. The prenuptial agreement was signed. All of Griffin’s income was legally mine. To spend as I pleased. And that’s when things got awkward for me. Because it turned out… he really, really wanted me. Our wedding night lasted for three days. I was practically broken. I made a burner account and anonymously posted on a forum: “My husband wants to have sex seven times a night. Does this mean he hates me?” The internet exploded. “Shut up. Your happiness is deafening.” “Yes, he despises you. He loathes you. You should divorce him immediately and send me his contact info.” “The rich get richer, and the thirsty stay thirsty…” “Okay, serious answer: A man who can still go seven times a night after 25? Cherish him. He is biologically, fundamentally attracted to you. You can’t hate someone into your bed like that.” Even though I’d suspected Griffin had a secret crush on me, seeing it confirmed was deeply satisfying. All those other rich girls couldn’t tame him. But in the end, he was mine. I really was a master of my craft. 4 When I woke up, Griffin was already at the office. I glanced at my phone and saw that our old high school group chat, usually dormant for years, was buzzing with activity. My childhood best friend, Ford, was back in town. He messaged me right away: “Sloane, dinner tonight?” “Just us?” “And a few others from the old crew.” I knew exactly who “the old crew” was. “No thanks. Griffin doesn’t get along with them, so I’ll pass.” Ford: “??? What does Griffin have to do with anything???” Oh, right. He’d been in Antarctica for the last few years photographing penguins, practically disconnected from civilization. “Griffin and I are married.” “Was it your choice?” “Not entirely, but now I think—” “Okay, got it.” Ford hung up before I could finish. My thoughts drifted back to Griffin. It occurred to me that since we got married, we’d never actually been on a proper date. I put on a full face of makeup, feeling giddy, and headed to Griffin’s company. His assistant told me Griffin had also gone to the class reunion. He was kind enough to call a driver to take me there. The whole way, my anger simmered. What was Griffin thinking? Going to a class reunion without even telling me. He didn’t bring Audrey, did he? The car pulled up, and I stormed inside. As I rounded the corner of a staircase, I could hear a commotion from a private room down the hall. Then, a sickening thud. “You son of a bitch. You dared to force her into this marriage? Do you have any idea how much she despises you?” I came around the bend just in time to see Ford’s fist connect squarely with Griffin’s jaw. Griffin staggered back against the wall, spitting out a mouthful of blood. The words hit their mark, and his eyes turned venomous. “Of course I know,” he hissed. “So what? You really think I’d ever let her go?” “Fuck you! Why don’t you get Sloane over here and see who she chooses.” Griffin grabbed Ford’s wrist, his voice a low, cold sneer. “No need. I’ll never give her that choice. She is—and always will be—my wife.” “You’re… a monster,” Ford seethed. “This is imprisonment! It’s abuse!” “Call it what you want. I don’t care.” Suddenly, someone spotted me. “Sloane! What are you doing here?” Every head in the room swiveled in my direction. Their faces were filled with pity. “Poor thing. No wonder we haven’t seen her in so long.” “Locked away and tortured all this time. She must have come here to run away with Ford.” My head was spinning. I caught my reflection in a nearby window—a woman dripping in jewels and designer clothes. My world shattered. Weren’t we… weren’t we a love story?

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The System told me to use my special talents to save the villain. The problem? I’m the heroine of a spicy novel. So, this is how it went: When the villain, Ryker, was about to go pick a fight with the story’s golden-boy hero, I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered, “Baby, I need you.” When his crew called him to join a brawl, I wrapped my legs around his waist. “Baby,” I panted, “I need you… again.” After three days and three nights of this, he tried to leave again. I dragged my exhausted body up, ready for another round, and he just burst out laughing, a raw, incredulous sound. “Do you really think I’m some kind of machine? Can’t a guy even take a piss?” 1 Me, a soft, pliable heroine built for tangled sheets and happily-ever-afters, was suddenly dropped into a thriller to redeem the story’s villain before he crashed and burned. I snuck a glance at the steel-corded muscle of his chest and the ferocious tiger tattooed down his arm, its fangs bared in a permanent snarl. A shiver of pure terror went down my spine. “This is really not my comfort zone…” I mumbled to the air. The System’s voice pinged in my head, dripping with disappointment. “You’ve handled three main male leads at once. You can’t handle one little villain? Use your talents!” But my talents were being soft-bodied and crying prettily. How was that supposed to save anyone from a dark, tragic fate? “Host, stop him! The villain is about to go provoke the hero!” The System’s alarm blared in my mind just as Ryker shrugged on a leather jacket, heading for the door of his penthouse. I didn’t have time to think. I scrambled forward and threw my arms around him from behind, clinging to his broad back. It wasn’t just that I’d die if the mission failed. In this world, I was Sienna, Ryker’s fiancée, a deal brokered by our families when we were kids. If he ended up dead for pissing off the story’s designated hero, my fate would be even uglier. His body went rigid. He looked back over his shoulder, his expression one of pure disbelief. “Now, Host! This is it! Use your special skills! Kiss him! Kiss him until he can’t walk, let alone leave!” Following the order, I stood on my toes, slowly leaning in. But as my eyes focused, I saw the glint of metal on his tongue—a piercing. I froze. Terrifying. Utterly terrifying. My type was the well-mannered, gentlemanly hero, the kind who reads poetry, not the kind who looks like he gargles with gravel. A second later, a large, warm hand landed on my head, ruffling my hair gently. “Be good. I’ll be back soon.” “Host! This is the day he makes an enemy of the hero for life! You cannot let him leave!” His hand was on the doorknob. In a panic, I launched myself at him, jumping onto his back and locking my arms around his neck like a terrified koala. “Baby… I need you…” “Host, you… you…” The System sounded like it was blushing. My own face was on fire, tears of humiliation welling in my eyes. I had no other ideas. This was the only tool in my toolbox. Ryker stared at my reddened eyes, a look of amused exasperation on his face. “You want it that badly? Bad enough to cry?” I nodded, and the tears started to fall in earnest. This was so mortifying. Before I could wallow any further, his mouth came crashing down on mine. “Save the tears,” he growled against my lips. “You’ll need them later.” I should have known when I saw his physique. I just hadn’t realized how… creative Ryker could be. I cried until my voice was gone. Finally, a notification popped up from the System. “Congratulations, Host! Side mission complete!” 2 The next morning, I woke up to the handsome sight of Ryker’s lean, muscular frame. I had to admit, aside from this whole “redemption” quest, it wasn’t so different from my usual spicy-novel world. And the tongue piercing? A surprisingly… unique experience. I was just about to take advantage of the morning light for another round of “bonding” when he slid out of bed, pacing the room in his sleep pants with a restless energy. Then he disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a chef’s knife. Both the System and I gasped in unison. “What is the villain doing now!?” Thinking fast, I tugged the strap of my silk nightgown down my shoulder. As his eyes locked onto me, momentarily stunned, I lunged, snatching the knife and tossing it under the bed. His gaze darkened, a rare flicker of confusion in their depths. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just feel… hot. Restless. Like I need to break something.” Oh. I understood completely. Now this was my comfort zone. I took his large hand, pressing it firmly against my chest. My voice was a soft, suggestive purr. “How about now? Feeling even hotter? More restless?” The fire in his eyes blazed. It was like a lightbulb went off over his head. The next second, he swept me into his arms and tossed me back onto the bed. Once again, the problem was swiftly solved. The System gave me a mental thumbs-up. “Impressive!” Unfortunately, we hadn’t even gotten all our clothes off when his phone rang. “Ryke, it’s Ethan. He’s making a scene on our turf! The guy has zero respect for you!” Every alarm bell in my body went off. Ethan. That was the hero of this story. I could not let them meet. Ryker hung up, his expression apologetic as he looked at me. “Sienna, I have to go to the office. Tonight, we can…” Go? Not a chance. I didn’t even hear the rest of his sentence. I surged up, silencing him with my mouth. My legs hooked around his waist, my hands starting their work. It only took a few seconds for Ryker’s breathing to turn heavy and ragged. After a long, breathless session, I was still terrified the hero hadn’t left yet, so I clung to him, refusing to let go. “Baby, again… again…” Relying on the frankly supernatural stamina of a spicy-novel heroine, I managed to keep him in that bed for three straight days. On the morning of the fourth day, I woke from a daze to see him fully dressed and ready to leave. The last dregs of sleep vanished instantly. I dragged my aching body up, forcing my voice into that familiar, pleading tone. “Baby…” Ryker turned, his face shadowed with exhaustion, and just laughed. “Do you really think I’m some kind of machine? Can’t a guy even take a piss?” Oh. Right. The bathroom. My face flushed crimson. I gave him a weak, “Please, be my guest” gesture, then dove under the covers in shame. But I waited, and waited, and he never came out. Could he have… passed out on the toilet from sheer exhaustion? A wave of guilt washed over me. I crept toward the bathroom, but before my hand touched the doorknob, the System’s alarm shrieked in my head. “He’s gone! The villain is about to confront the hero! Host, you have to stop him!” Damn it. Ryker had played me. 3 By the time I arrived, Ryker and Ethan were already squared off. Ryker wore an expensive custom suit like it was a set of sweats, the shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing the hard planes beneath. The sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, showing off that snarling tiger tattoo. His crew, dressed in similarly expensive, similarly casual attire, stood behind him, smirking at the man opposite them. A bunch of high-class gangsters. After the last few days, I thought I’d stopped being afraid of Ryker. But when he turned his head and his dark eyes locked on me, his gaze sharpened. “Sienna,” he barked, his voice low and commanding. “Get over here.” I flinched instinctively but couldn’t stop my eyes from darting to the other man. Ethan really lived up to the “hero” title. He was wearing a cheap, off-the-rack gray suit, but he made it look like couture. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. His skin was pale, his nose perfectly straight. Even surrounded, he looked completely calm, a faint, almost challenging smile on his lips. I had to admit it. Ethan was one hundred percent my type. “Host, where are you looking? This is a one-on-one story! And watch it! The villain’s darkness rating is climbing again!” The System screamed in my head when it noticed me staring. I snapped back to reality, right into Ryker’s furious gaze. Crap. I shrank, scurrying over to his side. His expression softened slightly, but when he looked back at Ethan, his eyes were pure ice. “You like his face that much? Fine. We’ll peel it off and feed it to the sharks.” He was that brutal? “Host, originally the hero was just supposed to get beaten up today. Now, thanks to you, he’s going to be faceless!” An idea sparked. If something… permanent… happened to Ethan, wouldn’t my mission be over? Ryker wouldn’t die a tragic death, right? Before I could even voice the thought, the System shut me down. “Don’t even think about it! He has plot armor! You side characters can’t kill him! If you want to survive, you have to get on his good side!” Fine. I leaned against Ryker, my voice syrupy sweet. “Baby, the poor sharks are so cute. Why would you feed them something so disgusting?” Ryker stared down at me, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not just saying that because you feel sorry for him?” Are you kidding me? When it’s my life on the line, a handsome face means nothing. I glanced at Ethan’s slightly paling face and said, with iron-clad conviction, “He’s so ugly. It’s actually nauseating.” Ryker’s tense jaw finally relaxed. But across the way, Ethan’s hands clenched into fists, his glare now laser-focused on me. …So much for gratitude. To save my own skin, as the crowd was breaking up, I secretly pressed a small, folded note into Ethan’s hand. It read: I was forced to say that. It’s not what I believe. I figured he’d at least be grateful, maybe spare me when he inevitably rose to power. Instead, a second later, he crumpled the note and threw it right back in my face. “Hey! Who the hell do you think you are!?” “You don’t touch our boss’s girl!” Ryker’s crew instantly swarmed around me like a protective wall. He himself looked furious, cupping my face, checking to see if I was hurt. It was into this chaos that Ethan’s clear, ringing voice cut through. “Sienna, I won’t let you get away with this!” Suddenly, every eye was on me again. It had been nothing, but his words made it sound like I was some kind of villainous mastermind plotting his downfall. To make matters worse, one of Ryker’s eagle-eyed guys picked up the crumpled note and handed it directly to him. Ryker’s face grew darker and darker as he read. He looked down at me, his voice a low growl that seemed to come from deep in his chest. “Playing good cop behind my back? Trying to win over the pretty boy?” He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Sienna, you’ve got some nerve.” With that, he turned and stormed off. The jackass Ethan had already disappeared. The System’s voice was dripping with sarcasm in my head. “Wow. You’re the most impressive Host I’ve ever had. You were supposed to be saving the villain. Now you should probably figure out how to save yourself. You’ve made an enemy of the hero, and now the villain, your only ally, hates you too. Just brilliant.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, Ryker’s crew started chiming in. “Come on, Sienna, that was too much. We know Ryke isn’t as pretty as that guy, but you can’t do him dirty like that…” “Yeah, right in front of him! Our boss has way more stamina, for sure!” “I don’t know, Milo,” another one piped up. “That dude looked like he works out. He’s got abs. Might be a real contender.” Ryker, who hadn’t gone far, stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze locked on the direction Ethan had left, a vein throbbing in his neck. At the same time, the System’s alert pinged, this time with a confused tone. “That’s weird… Why is his darkness rating skyrocketing again? Did they reschedule the fight?” 4 The System forced me to go home and soothe Ryker’s wounded ego. When I walked in, I found him shirtless, doing push-ups on the living room floor. A fine sheen of sweat coated his bronze skin, highlighting the deep grooves of his back muscles. The lines were fluid and powerful, gleaming under the lights as he moved. Then I noticed something, and I stopped. “Honey, where’s your tattoo?” He grunted, not missing a beat. “Didn’t like it. Had it removed.” His breathing was deep and steady; he wasn’t even winded. Impressive. My mind involuntarily flashed back to the past few nights, and my cheeks burned. I don’t know if it was the absence of the terrifying tiger or if I’d just gotten used to his rough-around-the-edges persona, but looking at him now, I wasn’t nearly as scared. I walked over to him and bent down. As his head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief, I settled myself carefully onto his back. The muscle was solid as a rock, yet surprisingly comfortable. It held me steady, making me feel secure. I traced a finger up his spine, which had gone completely rigid, to the nape of his neck. The touch was light, but it made his whole body jolt. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle this?” “Get off,” he growled, his voice thick and strained, like he was holding something back. I pretended not to hear him, leaning down until my lips were almost brushing his ear. “Want to play a game? If you can do a hundred push-ups with me on your back, I’ll tell you a secret.” He paused, seemingly uninterested, and started to shift to let me down. “A secret about me,” I added quickly. “And you. And Ethan.” He froze instantly. Those dark eyes lifted and studied me for a long moment before he bit out, “Don’t fall off.” In that moment, I suddenly thought… Ryker was kind of cute. “One.” “Two.” … “Thirty.” His breathing and form were still perfectly steady. “Ninety-nine.” “One hundred.” The moment he finished the last rep, I was about to praise him when a pair of strong hands gripped my waist, and in one fluid motion, he flipped us over. Just like that, I was the one on the floor, pinned beneath him. “The secret,” he demanded, his voice raspy. I was enveloped in his scent, a heady mix of sweat and pure male energy. I collected myself and began. “The truth is, we’re living in a world where everything is pre-written. You’re the villain, I’m the side-character fiancée, and Ethan is the hero. After he endures a set amount of suffering, he’s destined to become the richest man in the country, taking everything that’s yours. And because we bullied and tormented him, you and I are destined to die horrible deaths.” Ryker clearly didn’t believe me. “Been reading too many novels?” Seeing my serious expression, he paused, then added, “If you’re that worried, I’ll just have someone… take care of him.” As if I hadn’t already thought of that. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, which only seemed to provoke him. “You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you?” “This is a life-or-death situation! Can we please not talk about feelings right now?” I snapped. But he was still skeptical, his expression dismissive. “Why should I care? You expect me to bend the knee to some nobody like Ethan?” I sighed and decided to lay it all out. “Because I’m one of the top-ranked Hosts on the System’s leaderboard.” I told him everything—about the different worlds, the missions the System sent me on, the whole crazy truth. The sheer volume of information left him stunned, staring at me in silence for a long time. “Baby,” I said, my voice softening, my tone turning gentle. “We have money, we’re good-looking, we have all this… and we’re so… good together.” I saw the corner of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly at the last part. “Are we really going to throw away our amazing life for some guy who doesn’t matter?” His gaze drifted to mine, and for the first time, it was completely serious. “So what do you think we should do?” The brainwashing was working! I pressed my advantage. “The hero is still in his ‘suffering’ phase. We have to help him, become his greatest benefactors! That way, he won’t want us dead later!” It was a tactic I’d used in countless worlds. Humiliating, but incredibly effective. Ryker’s mouth twitched, clearly unconvinced. “And you don’t have any other motives?” I shook my head vigorously, my face a mask of sincerity. “None.” He considered it for a few seconds before finally relenting, though his tone was non-negotiable. “Fine. But you are not to meet with Ethan alone.” 5 The next morning, for the first time, Ryker and I just talked, no strings—or bodies—attached. It was a novel experience. Which was, of course, exactly when Ethan showed up at our door, arms laden with gifts. The System pinged. “Host! After yesterday’s scene, all the big players in the business world are terrified of offending the Vance family and have canceled their orders with the hero’s company! This is the perfect opportunity to bury the hatchet! Seize it!” Oh, so this was an easy one. My eyes lit up and I looked at Ryker excitedly. “Ethan’s here to beg for help! Go, go help him!” Ryker glanced down at me, then his long index finger came up and gently pinched my lips, forcing my overly bright smile to disappear. “I know.” He said it, but then he turned and headed upstairs. “Honey, the living room is on the first floor.” He didn’t stop or look back. Terrified Ethan would give up and leave, I decided to go down and stall him myself. But I had barely reached the living room when Ryker came down, having followed me. “Mr. Hayes. Fancy seeing you here,” he said, his voice laced with its usual swagger. I was used to it. What was strange was that the normally casual, rebellious Ryker was wearing an impeccably tailored black suit. The shirt was buttoned all the way to the collar, accented with a dark red tie. The pants were perfectly creased, making his legs look impossibly long, and even his hair was styled with precision. His usual swagger was gone, replaced by the cool, controlled aura of a man in charge. He must have noticed me staring, because the corner of his mouth ticked up in a barely perceptible smirk, clearly pleased with my momentary speechlessness. Ethan’s shock was just as profound as mine. While he was still processing, Ryker pulled me into his side, his voice a low whisper in my ear. “Helping him is one thing. But I’m not letting him think for one second he can seduce my fiancée or get one over on me. Not happening.” Which eye did he use to see him seducing me? The hero belongs to the heroine, okay? I have professional ethics. I never mess with the main plot! I was about to protest when Ethan finally recovered, his voice sincere. “Mr. Vance, yesterday was my mistake. I was impulsive… Please, give me another chance.” With that, he bowed a full ninety degrees. A true hero. Able to bend when necessary. “Give him a chance! Give it to him!” I whispered urgently, tugging on Ryker’s arm. He ignored me, clamping a hand over my mouth instead. “Mr. Hayes, wasn’t it just yesterday you were so sure you’d make it on your own? What happened to all that confidence?” Ryker’s tone was pure arrogance. This wasn’t helping! “Mmph! Mmph!” I stomped my foot, trying to pry his hand away, but he held it firm. We were supposed to be helping him! This was going to be a disaster. “Mr. Vance, the workers at the factory are waiting for their paychecks. If this shipment doesn’t sell…” “That sounds like a problem you need to consider,” Ryker cut him off coldly, as Ethan’s voice grew tight with desperation. I was starting to sympathize with the guy. Ryker was a ruthless capitalist. “If you’re truly sincere,” Ryker continued, his tone leaving no room for argument, “the Vance corporation can buy your products. At half price.” Ethan’s face went pale. He hesitated for a long time before finally turning and walking out. 6 The second my mouth was free, I exploded. “That was your idea of helping him?” Ryker held up his hands, the picture of innocence. “I said I’d help. He didn’t agree. What was I supposed to do?” “You couldn’t have just paid full price?” I couldn’t understand why Ryker would throw away such a golden opportunity. What good was saving a little money if you lost your life in the end? He had his priorities all wrong. Furious, I plopped down on the plush rug, turning my back to him. He just sat down right next to me, his heavy arm wrapping around my waist, his chin resting gently on my shoulder. “It’s like you said. He’s a nobody, someone who doesn’t matter. It’s not worth risking our fantastic life over,” he murmured, his voice soft and coaxing. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” His ‘knowing what he was doing’ had just chased the guy away. I lifted my head to argue, but my gaze met his. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing him in a soft glow, erasing any trace of his usual intimidating aura. His skin looked fair, his eyes as gentle as a spring pond, watching me quietly. As our eyes held, I felt something in my chest begin to melt. His fingertips traced my cheek, a touch as light as a feather, soft and ticklish. “Sienna,” he whispered, his voice husky and hypnotic. “Want to play another game?” I felt like I was being pulled into his gaze, and I nodded without thinking. “Last time we lasted three days. This time… let’s try for four. What do you say?” Even with my special constitution, that was pushing it. “Baby, we have our whole lives ahead of us…” I protested weakly, but he clearly wasn’t in a negotiating mood. His warm lips brushed mine, ghosting back and forth, his hot breath on my neck. “Trust me,” he whispered against my ear, his words perfectly clear. “Ethan will be back. And if you can last until the fourth day, I’ll help him. Immediately.” I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes. Fine. I’ll treat it as a survival challenge. The next second, Ryker’s kiss descended, overwhelming me.

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The moment the lab exploded, my fiancée, Jenna, sprinted past me. She ran toward Kyle, who was standing in the safest part of the room, and threw herself over him, shielding him with her own body. When the deafening roar subsided, she was the first to help him into the ambulance. She never even glanced at me—the man covered in blood and shrapnel, collapsed on the floor. He was the boy she had practically raised for eighteen years, the one who had taken over every inch of her heart. There was no room left for anyone else. A colleague got me to the hospital. I barely survived. The moment I was moved out of the ICU, I fought through a wave of agony and, with a voice raw and broken, called my professor. “Professor Miller, I’ve made my decision. I’ll join your confidential research project. I don’t care if it means leaving in a month and having no contact with anyone for the next five years. I’ll do it.” My wedding was supposed to be in one month. The day I had dreamed of for years. But I didn’t want it anymore. … In the hospital, visitors came and went. All my friends and family stopped by. But Jenna, my fiancée, only made a single phone call. “My sweet Kyle is an absolute mess, I can’t get away,” she’d said, her voice rushed. “You’ll just have to take care of yourself. I have to go, he won’t eat unless I feed him myself. You know how he is.” The “sweet Kyle” she was talking about was her nephew. How pathetic. After ten years together, my life was less important to her than her nephew’s dinner. It was Jenna who’d had a crush on me first, who chased me relentlessly. When other girls made fun of how poor I was, she’d gotten into a screaming catfight, scratching one girl’s face so badly she was nearly suspended. I loved the shrimp po’boys from a little place in the old quarter, and she’d go buy them for me, rain or shine. My grades in calculus were dragging me down, so she’d stay up all night creating study guides for me, breaking down my mistakes and explaining every concept. She was the one who had followed me around like a shadow, who confessed her love and told me she wanted to spend her life with me. And she was the one who, time and time again, abandoned me for Kyle. The fresh sting of my wounds was a constant, searing reminder: a woman who doesn’t love you should have been left behind long ago. I hardened my heart. I deleted every photo, every mention of her from my social media. Then, one by one, I sent a message to my friends and family. [The wedding next month is canceled. Please don’t make the trip.] Twenty-five days later, I checked myself out of the hospital and took a cab back to the house we were supposed to start our married life in. The giant, custom model aircraft I’d spent months sourcing for the front lawn were gone. In their place stood two massive Transformers. The swing I’d built for Jenna had been torn down, replaced by a huge, cartoonish sign that read: “Kyle & Auntie Jenna’s Love Nest.” Below the text were two cartoon figures, locked in a kiss. I didn’t have to ask. I knew it was Kyle’s doing. It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled a stunt like this. But no matter how absurd his demands, Jenna always indulged him. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I typed Kyle’s birthday into the keypad and let myself in. Five days. That’s all I had left before I left with Professor Miller. I needed to pack. I went straight upstairs. I never expected that when I pushed open the bedroom door, I would find them tangled together in my bed. Kyle was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants. His lip was bruised, as if it had been bitten, and fresh scratch marks raked across his chest. Jenna, in a flimsy slip dress, was nestled against him, her body wrapped around his like a vine. On the floor, a black lace thong lay discarded. I thought I was prepared for anything. But seeing them like that, in my bed, sent a hot rush of blood to my head. This was my house. My bedroom. How could they do this to me? “Alex! You’re back! Why didn’t you say anything?” Jenna jolted awake, scrambling out of bed and hastily pulling on a robe. “It’s not what it looks like. Kyle and I didn’t do anything, don’t get the wrong idea!” Kyle stirred, awakened by the noise, and mumbled petulantly, “I’ve been scared of thunder since I was a kid. I can only ever sleep if I’m holding Auntie Jenna. Don’t tell me you’re going to be petty about something so small, Uncle Alex.” The sheer audacity of it all made me want to break down. But as I stood there, trembling with rage, I remembered the promise I’d made to myself when I left the hospital. I would not be her pathetic, lovesick puppy anymore. I would not lose my composure over her again. “There’s nothing to be petty about,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Don’t worry. Even if you started screwing right here in front of me, I wouldn’t stop you.” I turned to leave. I had to get out before I shattered. But Jenna lunged after me, grabbing my arm, her voice laced with fury. “Kyle and I have done nothing wrong! You’re his elder, how could you say something so disgusting to him? Do you have any idea how much psychological trauma that could cause him? Go apologize to him right now!” I ripped my arm from her grasp, the dam of my control finally breaking. “Psychological trauma? Kyle won’t eat his dinner? Is that all you can think about? Jenna, I was in the hospital for twenty-five days! I almost died! Did you spare even a single second to worry about me?” At the mention of the hospital, her anger faltered, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “It’s not that I didn’t want to visit you! It’s just… Kyle was so traumatized by the explosion. He needed me to comfort him. I couldn’t get away!” Her words extinguished the last ember of hope in my heart, leaving only cold, dead ash. The thousands of words I wanted to scream, the burning sting behind my eyes—it all just vanished. What was there left to fight for? Jenna didn’t love me anymore. That single sentence was the answer to every question I’d ever had. Kyle called for her from the bedroom. She shot me a frustrated look and snapped, “We’ll drop it for today. But don’t you ever speak to him like that again.” Then she was gone. Not one word about how I was. Not one question about my recovery. “So this is it,” I whispered to the empty room. “This is where it ends.” I stood there for a long time before finally moving to pack. I took my documents and a few changes of clothes. Everything else, I left. The last things to go were the dozens of portraits Jenna had painted of me when she was first trying to win me over. A friend of mine, an artist, had once joked, “These portraits have no technique, but they’re all emotion. I couldn’t paint something so full of feeling if I tried.” It was those portraits that had made me believe she truly loved me. I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. I carried the box of paintings outside and set them on fire. Jenna found me just as the flames began to lick at the canvases. She ran toward the fire, shoving me aside. She plunged her hands into the blaze, heedless of the heat, trying to rescue the pieces that hadn’t yet burned. “What are you doing?!” she shrieked, her voice trembling. I wanted to say, I don’t want them anymore. Instead, I said, “They were infested with termites.” For years, all we did was fight. I was so tired. I didn’t want to fight anymore. Jenna hesitated for only a second before tossing the singed paintings she’d saved back into the fire. “My sweet Kyle is terrified of bugs,” she said. “I’ll paint you new ones.” “Don’t bother.” There was no us anymore. The flames roared, then shrank, then died, leaving nothing but a pile of gray ash. Just like our love. I swept the ashes into a trash can and posted on my social media: [Five days, including today.] Then I went to the guest room, as far from the master bedroom as I could get, and fell into a dreamless sleep. 2 The next morning, I woke up to a flood of teasing comments on my post. Everyone assumed it was a countdown to the wedding. Jenna had even replied: [I can’t wait to walk down the aisle to you either.] She was the world’s greatest liar. My body and soul ached with exhaustion, and she still wanted to play the part of the happy couple. I didn’t have the energy to play along. I ignored everyone and went downstairs. At breakfast, Jenna asked, “Alex, our appointment to get the marriage license is this afternoon, right?” It was. But I had no intention of going. Before I could say anything, Kyle leaned over and draped an arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “Auntie Jenna, I just remembered. There’s a huge basketball game this afternoon, one I’ve been dying to see.” Jenna tapped his nose affectionately. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Kyle shrugged. “Just remembered. It’s not like I did it on purpose. If you’re too busy, I can just go by myself. I mean, it’s not like I’d mind getting hit on by a bunch of hot girls. Might even meet my soulmate.” He made a show of getting up to leave. “Wait!” Jenna jumped up and grabbed his hand. “I never said I wouldn’t go with you!” She turned to me, her expression pleading. “Alex, you see…” I scoffed. “Only the two of us can get the marriage license. Is there a law that says you have to be Kyle’s date to a basketball game?” Her face darkened. “Kyle is just a kid at heart. He’s been looking forward to this game for so long. Are we really going to let a little thing like our marriage license ruin it for him?” “If you were never going to listen to my opinion, why did you bother asking?” “Alex…” “Fine! I’m not stopping you. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve canceled. What’s one more? Kyle is the most important thing, after all. Go.” The old me would have screamed and argued, desperate to make her see how wrong she was. But now, I couldn’t summon the energy. Besides, I didn’t want to marry her anyway. Seeing that I wasn’t going to fight, Jenna’s expression softened. “See? You’re finally starting to be more understanding. Don’t worry, the wedding is still three days away. I promise we’ll get the license before then.” With that assurance, she and Kyle left, arms wrapped around each other. As they walked away, Kyle, nestled against a giggling Jenna, turned back, shot me a triumphant smirk, and flipped me the middle finger. “Auntie Jenna’s not coming home tonight! We’re gonna party hard, so don’t bother us, Uncle Alex!” I had had enough of their shameless behavior. I took out my phone, recorded a short video of them, and saved it to the special folder I kept for them—a collection of videos and photos of their overly intimate moments. I zipped the folder and sent it to the wedding planner. Hello, I’d like to change the photo and video montage that will be played during the ceremony. Please use these instead. Thanks. Then, I posted on my timeline: [Four days left.] They loved showing off their “affection” in front of me. I was just helping them share it with the world. In four days, everyone would get to see their touching “family bond.” The next day, Jenna called. “I won’t be back today or tomorrow. The tournament is a three-day event, and Kyle is having so much fun. I’ve watched him grow up. If I’m not there, I’m worried someone might take advantage of him.” I gave a noncommittal “uh-huh” and hung up. I spent the day at her company, finalizing my resignation. On the way home, I updated my status: [Three days left.] The tournament ended, but Jenna still didn’t come home. Another phone call. “I… I’m not coming home tonight either. Kyle threw me a surprise bachelorette party. You know, one last hurrah before the wedding. I know we have the rehearsal tomorrow and things are busy, but it was such a sweet gesture from him…” For the first time, she sounded unsure of herself, as if even she realized how ridiculous her actions were. In the background, I could faintly hear Kyle’s voice complaining, “Auntie Jenna, when you lose a game and have to kiss someone, you don’t have to bite my lip so hard!” Jenna abruptly hung up. I said nothing. I just systematically went through the house and had movers throw out everything that had a connection to me. The clothes I’d bought her, the lamps I’d chosen, the furniture and dishes I’d picked out. Anything and everything that was mine. [The final day!] I looked around the empty, cavernous house and posted one last time. After today, no matter how much love, hate, or resentment I felt, I was done with Jenna and Kyle for good. Jenna commented: [Don’t worry, darling. This party won’t affect our wedding at all. I’ll be there on time tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you to make me your wife!] But whether she was on time or not, I had no intention of marrying her. I didn’t reply. I just stared at the ceiling until dawn. The next day, at the wedding, the officiant prompted me to get on one knee and present the ring. I looked at Jenna, radiant and smiling in her white gown, and I said, “We’re through, Jenna. I don’t want a woman as tainted as you.” Then, in front of all her friends and family, I turned, grabbed the suitcase I had waiting, and walked out to the helicopter my professor had arranged.

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The day of the car crash, they all forgot about me. I died alone, silently, in a forgotten corner. 1 When the crash happened, my mind went blank. Every sensation turned to numb static. So numb, in fact, that when Mrs. Monroe ripped me from the car and slapped me across the face, I didn’t even feel the sting. “Anya, you little monster! The Monroes raised you for over a decade, and this is how you repay us?!” “If anything happens to Chloe, I will send you straight to hell!” She shoved me aside and scrambled to Chloe’s side. “Chloe, baby, are you okay? Doctor! Somebody save my Chloe! She’s bleeding so much!” The paramedics were swarmed by the Monroes, dragged and pulled toward Chloe. They all forgot that I had been in the crash too. My brother, Ethan, and my… benefactor, Craig, arrived moments later. Ethan shot me a look of pure hatred before following the ambulance to the hospital. Craig looked like he wanted to flay me alive. He barked an order at his assistant, Leo. “Lock her up. I’ll deal with her later.” Leo, who had started to follow the ambulance, reluctantly turned back. “Miss Monroe. Let’s go.” His voice was laced with a palpable disgust. I didn’t move. It was as if my brain had lost control of my body. For the first time ever, Leo, my bodyguard and assistant, laid a hand on me. He dragged me to the car and shoved me inside. My head slammed against something hard. The cotton fog in my brain seemed to shift, and a flicker of feeling returned. A single drop of blood fell from my nose onto the back of my hand. “Leo,” I managed, my voice a weak plea, “can you take me to the hospital first?” “The hospital? What for? So you can try to finish the job on Chloe? Or are you going to fake an injury to get sympathy from Mr. Robinson and the Monroes? Dream on! I won’t be your accomplice this time.” He didn’t even spare me a glance. He floored the gas, and the car shot toward the secluded villa on the outskirts of the city. The force of the acceleration slammed me back into my seat, a violent jolt to my already fragile insides. The taste of warm salt filled my mouth. I couldn’t speak another word. The pain was becoming clearer, sharper. When we finally arrived, Leo practically threw me into the small, dark room in the basement. He seemed to be in a hurry, so much so that he didn’t even notice the new bloodstains on my clothes. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care. With the last of my strength, I grabbed his sleeve. “Can… can you get me some painkillers…?” The pain was overwhelming now. I knew something was wrong, something was broken inside me. Leo recoiled as if I’d burned him, trying to shake my hand off. “Don’t touch me! Fine, I’ll get them!” A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you,” I whispered. He stiffened, and for a moment, the raw fury in his posture seemed to soften. “Just wait here.” By the time Leo got to the hospital, Chloe had already been examined and her wounds bandaged. They were just superficial cuts and bruises. Nothing serious. Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, Ethan, and Craig were all gathered around her bedside. Chloe was like a princess, surrounded by all the love and beauty in the world, basking in the affection of those who adored her. It was a beautiful picture. Leo didn’t disturb them. He backed out of the room quietly and slumped against the wall in the hallway, the tension finally leaving his body. After a long while, he stood up. On the way back, he remembered to stop and buy the painkillers. But when he returned to the villa, the brief moment of gentleness was gone, replaced by his usual cold, grim expression. “I got your painkillers,” he snapped, pushing open the door to the dark room. There was no response. He flicked on the light. In the dim, yellow glow, a trail of blood snaked across the floor. I was curled up on the cold concrete, no longer breathing. 2 I was transported into a novel. Five years ago. I found myself in a popular story about a long-lost heiress, a classic “switched at birth” tale. I became the fake heiress, the one who had stolen the real one’s identity for years. In the book, she was a manipulative, two-faced character who initially fooled everyone, causing them to misunderstand and mistreat the real heiress. But when her true nature was revealed, she was despised by all and met a tragic end. The real heiress, of course, became the beloved protagonist. From the moment I arrived, I knew my role. I had no intention of fighting the real heiress for her place. I was the one who suggested the DNA test, who helped the Monroes find Chloe—who was being abused by her adoptive parents—and I willingly gave up my childhood engagement to the story’s male lead. I walked away from the Monroe family with nothing, ready to pursue my own happiness: Craig Robinson. In the book, he was the rich, handsome second male lead, the one who would ultimately sacrifice everything for the heroine. I helped him rise from the ashes of a corporate takeover, helped him reclaim his empire. Along the way, I even saved the story’s third male lead, the villainous Leo, from his self-destructive path of opposing the heroine. But I forgot one crucial detail. Craig’s heart was always meant for the heroine. I forgot that Leo’s opposition to her stemmed from a deep, unrequited love that had twisted into obsession. From start to finish, their devotion was always, irrevocably, for her. And I was just collateral damage. … Leo stood over my body for what felt like an eternity. I searched his face for any flicker of guilt, of regret. There was none. After about an hour, he finally moved. He closed the door, acting as if nothing had happened, and walked away with the same steady, measured steps as always. He went back to the hospital and stood guard outside Chloe’s room. In the original story, he had been her bodyguard, silently protecting the object of his pure, burning love. Late that night, after the Monroes had left, Craig stayed behind to watch over Chloe. Only when she was sound asleep did he step out for a breath of fresh air. He saw Leo and pulled out a cigarette, asking casually, “Where’s Anya?” As he was about to light it, he seemed to remember something. He put the lighter back in his pocket, holding the unlit cigarette between his fingers, just for the feel of it. He was always so willing to change his bad habits for Chloe. I hated the smell of smoke too, but he never cared about that. “In the basement,” Leo replied. Craig nodded, unconcerned. “Make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble.” “She won’t. Not ever again.” “What?” Leo’s voice was low, almost a mumble. Craig hadn’t heard him clearly. Leo seemed to snap back to himself. “She’s being very good,” he said. This time, Craig heard. A cold, mocking smile twisted his lips. “She always plays the victim after she screws up. Does she really think I’ll let her off easy because of our past? Not this time. This time, I’m going to make her regret ever being born.” He viciously stubbed the unlit cigarette out on the side of a trash can. Leo’s expression flickered for a moment. “Within three days,” Craig commanded, “I want one hundred written apologies from her. And I want her kneeling outside this hospital. She can get up when Chloe forgives her.” Leo stood outside the hospital for a long time after receiving his orders. I don’t know what he was thinking. Maybe he was imagining how much more satisfying it would be if I were still alive, kneeling there with a hundred pages of apologies in my hands. 3 Back in the basement, Leo wiped the blood from my body with a towel, lifted me onto the makeshift bed, and then meticulously cleaned the floor. His face was a blank mask, his movements efficient and practiced, like a crime scene cleaner. When he was done, he took out a pen and paper. “This is a critical time for Mr. Robinson and Chloe. Your actions can’t be allowed to ruin the happiness she deserves… You stole her life for more than a decade. You owe her this. But, as compensation… I’ll write the hundred apologies for you.” He was so generous. He sat there, next to my corpse, and began to forge my handwriting. The first time he’d done that was a year ago. Chloe had gone to a club to see the male lead, the reckless playboy Lucas Sterling, and had almost been assaulted by a group of thugs. The Monroes were incredibly strict and never allowed their children in places like that. Chloe had always been a wild child, but she craved her family’s affection. I had covered for her countless times to help her bond with them. So, that time, it was easy for her to say that I was the one who had invited her. For Craig’s and Leo’s sakes, I had been trying to distance myself from her, so I denied it. But Leo produced a note, in my handwriting, proving my “guilt.” Somehow, they even got the thugs to confess that I had hired them. It was the first time the Monroes looked at me with disappointment and disgust. And it was the first time Craig saw the “vicious, evil” side of my nature. Leo had always believed that Chloe and Lucas were a bad match. He felt that a goddess like Chloe deserved to be cherished and loved, the way I was. He believed that Craig was her true soulmate. More than once, he had said, in front of both me and Chloe, that she would be much happier with Craig than with Lucas. When I first read the book, I thought so too. Craig’s silent, lifelong devotion to Chloe was heartbreaking. The other women around him were just annoying obstacles. Except now, I was one of them. The one he betrayed. The boomerang had come back around, and it hit me right in the heart. Over the next three days, Leo wrote day and night, producing one hundred perfect apologies. By the time he was finished, my body had started to smell. He bought armfuls of potpourri and incense to cover the scent, and then filled the room with bags of ice. Craig was very pleased with the apologies. “Where is she?” “She…” Leo, exhausted and sporting dark circles under his eyes, was slow to respond. “She can’t come.” Craig’s face twisted into a furious sneer. “Can’t come? She caused a car crash that nearly killed Chloe, and she can’t even be bothered to apologize in person? It seems I’ve spoiled her over the years! I was going to let her off easy, but she just had to push it!” Even as a spirit, I felt my chest tighten until I couldn’t breathe. The pain wasn’t physical, but it was etched into my very soul. 4 Chloe stayed in the hospital for seven days. In those seven days, Lucas never once showed up. But Craig was by her side the entire time, day and night. “Craig,” Chloe finally whispered, her voice choked with tears. “I wish you were him.” Craig’s heart ached for her. He gently pulled her into his arms, letting her cry into his shirt. He stroked her hair, murmuring words of comfort. “Whenever you need me, I’ll be here.” I sat beside them, a silent ghost, watching the arms that once held only me now cradle another woman. I felt no sadness, no joy. Nothing. The truth was, the car crash had been partly Chloe’s doing. In the novel, the heroine often resorted to self-harm to get the male lead’s attention. But she could never let anyone know it was intentional, or Lucas and her family would see her differently. So, once again, I became the scapegoat. She probably thought a hospital stay would be enough to bring Lucas running back. But it wasn’t. After seven days, Chloe was discharged. The entire Monroe family dropped everything to come and get her. Once again, she was their beloved princess. “Mom, I want ice cream!” “You just recovered! No ice cream! Thank God you didn’t scar…” Mrs. Monroe lovingly stroked Chloe’s forehead. “If she had even one scar, I’d go and carve up Anya’s face myself!” Ethan declared, his voice filled with righteous anger. The rest of the family nodded in agreement, their eyes burning with a hatred so intense it felt like they wanted to tear me limb from limb. “It… it wasn’t really her fault…” Chloe mumbled, looking down. But she would never tell them the truth. Craig’s eyes also flashed with anger, but ultimately, I was his responsibility. “I’m sorry,” he said to the Monroes. “I apologize on her behalf. As compensation, I’ll have her transfer ownership of the heart-shaped island to you.” The heart-shaped island. The first gift Craig ever gave me. A symbol of our love. “Really?” Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Of course.” “But… won’t Anya be upset? I offered to buy it from her before, for a lot of money, and she refused.” Chloe looked down, feigning disappointment. Craig’s lip curled. “This is what she owes you. What right does she have to be upset?” In that single moment, every hope, every last shred of feeling I had for him, shattered. I collapsed in the corner, watching as Chloe jumped for joy. “Ah!” she cried out, twisting her ankle. Craig caught her, his voice a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “Be careful. Don’t you know your foot is still injured?” Chloe pouted. “I was just so happy!” Craig gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “If I’d known it would make you this happy, I would have given it to you sooner…” The last bit of light in my spectral eyes faded. I couldn’t watch anymore. I floated away, back to the only place I wanted to be. Back to my body. That evening, Leo came back with a contract. “Mr. Robinson is transferring the island to Chloe. It’s what you owe her…” I watched him as he rambled on, then signed my name in his perfect forgery and pressed my thumb to the ink. “Mr. Robinson is taking Chloe to the island for a vacation. Don’t be upset. I’ll stay here with you.” He seemed to notice the chill coming from my body and pulled a thin blanket over me. His mind, I think, was starting to unravel.

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The System finally remembered me, but only after my husband and son had left me to rot in a nursing home. By then, I was just an old woman in a wheelchair, my hair a crown of white. The System apologized, its digital voice laced with surprise at my state. [Host, what happened to your points?] I lifted my tired, clouded eyes and began ticking them off on my gnarled fingers. A home for our new marriage, funding my husband’s career, my son’s rare and catastrophic illness… [You didn’t save any for yourself?] “Oh, I did,” I rasped, a dry, bitter laugh catching in my throat. “I saved them for a car accident at 68 that crippled me. For a husband who rekindled an old flame in his twilight years. For a son who couldn’t be bothered. And for this… waiting to die in a nursing home.” The System fell silent. Then, it offered compensation. “In that case,” I said, my voice finding a sliver of its old strength, “I want to go back to the beginning. I want to undo it all. And I want every single one of my points back.” I arrived in this world as a little girl with a smile that could light up a room. That’s how I intend to leave it. 1 The autumn sun was a warm blanket as the nurse wheeled me out into the courtyard. One of the other residents recognized me and turned to whisper to her friends. “This place must be really high-end. They’ve even got Julian Jeffords’s wife here.” “I heard she has the whole top-floor luxury suite. Three or four nurses just for her.” “Imagine that. A life of luxury when she was young, and now the best nursing home when she’s old, while her husband is still out there making blockbuster movies. Some people have all the luck.” A few pairs of eyes drifted over to me—some envious, some indifferent, some cold. No matter how lucky she is, their looks seemed to say, she ended up in here with the rest of us. “She’s not even that pretty. How did an outsider like her ever marry a star?” “Back in the day, her husband was the biggest name in Hollywood. The video store shelves were half-filled with his movies.” “Oh, I still have some of his posters! If he ever visits, I’m going to ask for an autograph. A final fangirl dream come true!” “Shhh… I hear he doesn’t visit much.” 2 Old minds forget, but the stir I caused every time I came downstairs was a daily ritual. Being Mrs. Julian Jeffords, wife of the legendary actor, made me an endless source of afternoon gossip. Sometimes, a bolder resident would approach me, calling me “Mrs. Jeffords” with a kind smile. The conversation always revolved around my husband, praising the tireless artist who was still so dedicated to his work, even at his age. When he wasn’t acting, he was pouring his soul into charity. Julian’s star shone so brightly it cast a benevolent glow on his wife, even from a distance. I always offered polite, brief responses. A nod here, a quiet word there. Eventually, their narrative shifted. They began to speculate that our marriage was a sham, that we’d been living separate lives for years. That Julian was only keeping me here out of a sense of duty, a final act of charity for his wife of several decades. I’d heard countless rumors about us over the years. This time, they’d finally hit the nail on the head. Mostly because I was too tired to pretend anymore. I’m no actor. I couldn’t face a camera like he did, calmly discussing his wife’s health with the practiced ease of a man who knew every detail, yet couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone or spare an hour for a visit. “I’ve even donated to your husband’s foundation,” one woman told me, her eyes gleaming. “The one that builds libraries for children in rural communities.” “And I heard he’s now working on a project for children with leukemia! You have such a wonderful husband, Mrs. Jeffords. He’s storing up so many blessings for you!” Yes, his foundation. The one he named after me: The Effy Angel Foundation. He’d told the press his wife was a kind and gentle soul, an angel who appeared when he was at his lowest, who helped him through the darkest times. He wanted to share that warmth with the world. “Devoted Husband” was the new role Julian had adopted in his old age. In the glittering, fickle world of Hollywood, a love that lasted a lifetime was something to be celebrated. The foundation had two directors. He was one. The other was not me. The woman who traveled with him to remote towns and comforted the needy was someone else entirely. My son, Aidan, had tried to soothe me. “Mom, you can’t be so petty. Dad is doing all this to build good karma for you. He’s an old man, running himself ragged out there. Isn’t it all for you? “Your monthly expenses here—the nurses, the doctors, the special meals—it’s not cheap. Dad insists on the best. “And Isabelle is just helping him because he’s working so hard. You know how Dad is, he’s a perfectionist. He only trusts people he knows well. “Isabelle is a woman who’s been pampered her whole life, and now she’s wading through mud in the mountains for him, without a single complaint… “I guess you can only blame your own failing health.” 3 I learned about Isabelle Moreau a month ago. My son and his family were visiting. My grandson was watching a video on his phone, pointing at the screen and shouting, “Grandpa! Grandpa!” It was a broadcast from Julian’s latest charity event. After wrapping a film, he always threw himself headfirst into philanthropy. It was, in his words, the only time he felt like he was truly contributing to society—when his feet were on the ground, helping others. In the video, Julian, dapper in a black suit, was graciously introducing the foundation’s new co-director to the press. “Ms. Moreau is a dear friend of many years,” he announced. “She has dedicated herself to charity work, and we found we share a common purpose. This new initiative, providing winter clothes and shoes for children in the mountains, was her brilliant idea.” At his cue, Isabelle stepped forward. She wore a stunning, smoky-blue silk dress, a string of lustrous pearls at her throat that highlighted her timeless elegance. Basking in the flash of the cameras and Julian’s admiring gaze, she glided to the podium to detail the new project. “Look, Grandma! Grandpa’s doing good things again!” my grandson chirped, shoving the phone in my face. But all I could see were the deep smile lines crinkling at the corners of Julian’s eyes as he watched Isabelle speak. He praised her meticulous attention to detail, her kindness, her gentle spirit. The children in the mountains, he said, all called her “Grandma Isabelle.” A sharp-eyed reporter noted that Isabelle seemed to have been part of the foundation for quite some time. Her face had appeared in the background of photos from years ago, a touch of silver hair amidst a sea of younger volunteers. Julian was unruffled. “Yes, Ms. Moreau has been with the team for a long while. She’s always been hands-on, never complaining, never pulling rank. She insists on being on the front lines. Her appointment as co-director was a unanimous decision by the entire team.” I looked up at my son. “How long has she been around?” Aidan’s face became a mask of discomfort. He stammered, saying he’d only met her a few times when picking up his father. “That pearl necklace,” I said, my voice quiet. “I have one exactly like it.” A piece of that quality wasn’t a common coincidence. “The one you gave me three months ago.” Aidan swallowed hard. His wife, seeing his struggle, cut in and laid it all bare. “Two years ago, for Dad’s birthday. He celebrated it with his charity team, and we all went out to dinner. After that, they started meeting more often. She’s an old friend of his, after all. A respected elder. And… Isabelle’s company is a major partner with…” I held up a hand, silencing her. Two years ago. I’d had a bad cold that turned into pneumonia. Julian was away on a charity trip in the mountains and couldn’t get back. It was the first time I’d missed his birthday. While I was in the hospital being cared for by nurses, Julian was formally introducing Isabelle to our son. Isabelle’s family owned one of the country’s top corporations—a corporation that had a deep partnership with Aidan’s company. Seeing my silence, Aidan’s brow furrowed. “Mom, it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you. But what good would it have done? They’re just friends. Telling you would only make it seem like they have something to hide.” “Dad was just connecting me with her. Isabelle has helped my business a lot.” “I’m almost forty, Mom. I have a family to support, a career to build. I’m not asking you to help me, but at least… don’t get in my way.” As he was leaving with his wife and son, he pushed his glasses up his nose and let out a heavy sigh. “Besides…” He paused, his voice dropping. “Mom, in your condition, what can you do for me anyway? Keeping you here, paying for your care… it costs a fortune every year. Dad is pouring money into his charities, and my company is losing money.” “Mom, when you get old, you have to learn to let things go. You had a superstar for a husband. You’ve lived a glamorous life. You can’t have everything…” 4 Julian and Isabelle attended a gala. A star-struck guest mistook her for his wife, calling her Mrs. Jeffords. Isabelle blushed demurely. Julian, after a moment’s pause, laughed it off. “You flatter her,” he joked. “Isabelle looks years younger than my wife.” Isabelle was a delicate flower, raised in a greenhouse, untouched by the hardships of the world. Her petals were, of course, more vibrant than a wildflower weathered by decades of wind and rain. The System watched the clip with me, its synthetic voice full of sympathy. [Host, you’ve endured so much.] I was never supposed to be in this world for so long. I was a task-runner, forgotten when my System got into a cosmic brawl and lost track of me. My original mission was simple: help Julian Jeffords achieve fame and fortune, then gracefully exit his life. Julian was handsome, tall, with strong brows and eyes that held a deep, gentle warmth—a look that didn’t fit the rugged masculine ideal of that era. Fresh out of acting school, his childhood sweetheart had just married and moved abroad, leaving him broke and struggling. One bitter winter evening, he was huddled outside a theater, gnawing on a stale piece of bread. He looked up and saw a girl with a beaming smile. “Hi,” I said. “My name is Effy. I’m your biggest fan.” The beginning was hard. Rejection was a constant companion. I worked three jobs to keep his dream alive. Not because I pitied him, but because his success was my only ticket home. After five years of sharing scraps and washing dishes in restaurant kitchens, my hands covered in a roadmap of tiny scars, he finally landed a supporting role. I stood outside the movie theater in my stained kitchen apron, staring at the poster. Julian’s face was tiny, tucked away in a corner, completely overshadowed by the stunning lead actors. But I didn’t care. I leaned in, tracing the familiar lines of his face with my finger, smiling like an idiot. The storm clouds had finally parted. The rest of our life was supposed to be sunshine. Julian, the unknown supporting actor, stole the show. He became an overnight sensation. But I never received the “mission complete” notification. Instead, at his victory party, Julian proposed. 5 After my fifth request to return home was denied, the System went dark. That’s when I knew. I had been abandoned. Julian, holding a bouquet of roses and wearing a brand-new suit, pulled me into the spotlight for the first time. He dropped to one knee. “Effy,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for everything.” “Will you marry me?” He was a rising star. Announcing a girlfriend was one thing, but proposing was career suicide. His fanbase was made up of young women who adored his looks. An act like this could have buried him, sending him right back to that cold, tiny apartment and stale bread. That night, a fan in the crowd broke down, screaming. She lost her mind, lunging forward, trying to attack me. Reeling from the realization that I was trapped here, I was thrust into chaos. Julian wrapped his arms around me, shielding me. I watched, numb, as the frantic fan smashed a beer bottle over his head. “Effy…” he whispered, blood trickling down his temple. “Don’t be afraid…” Thinking back on it now, the memory of the man who held me so tightly, even when faced with violence and uncertainty, feels hazy, distant. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t called me by my name in years. Or maybe it’s because the only place I ever see him now is on a screen. 6 Pulling some strings, the System did some digging on Julian for me. [I have to tell you this, Host. Your and Julian’s joint assets are almost gone.] [A large portion went to your son’s startup. The rest was poured into the foundation.] [However, it appears the foundation is now primarily funded by public donations. The account that Julian controls, his personal wealth, hasn’t contributed to the foundation in a very long time.] Over the years, Julian’s “devoted husband” persona had made The Effy Angel Foundation incredibly popular. Donations from corporations and the public now more than covered all its expenses. Julian no longer had to spend a dime of his own money. Ever since I got sick, he had taken full control of our finances. [I don’t know what he’s so afraid of you finding out,] the System added. [It’s not like you have much money left to your name anyway.] I managed a weak, bitter smile. I was past the point of wanting to dig any deeper. The bond we shared as husband and wife had been discarded by him long ago, without a second thought. He and Isabelle had been in contact, on and off, for twenty years. When her husband passed away, he personally flew overseas to bring her back. It was only after my health failed that he brought their relationship out into the open. “I want to heal my legs first,” I said. Because my points had been spent in increments over many years, each request to reclaim them would take time. The System agreed. In one week, I would walk again. “But…” As an equal exchange, I had to return the value of what I was reclaiming. It wasn’t a small price. I thought for a moment. “My legs were injured because of him. The price should come from him,” I decided. “Take his lifetime of achievements. His reputation as a screen legend. Is that enough?” After all, his fame was something I’d bought for him with my points in the first place. That reckless proposal should have gotten him blacklisted by the studios. I spent a fortune in points to spin the narrative, turning a career-ending move into a testament to his romantic, daring charm. Two years ago, on a snowy night, Julian was injured on a film set. I rushed out of the house, driving frantically, and skidded on a patch of ice. His injury was minor. I ended up in the ICU for three days and three nights. My son told me that while I was fighting for my life, his father never left the waiting room. Julian, a man obsessed with his appearance, let his hair go gray in those three days. He looked like any other terrified old man in the hospital, hunched over in a plastic chair, his eyes hollow and vacant. But there was a hand on his, a soft voice whispering comfort in his ear. What I didn’t know then was that Isabelle had been there with him for all three of those days. He had trembled, turning his hand to grip hers tightly. “Thank God you’re here,” he’d whispered. “Thank God…” They say hardship strengthens a bond. I just never imagined it would be their bond that was strengthened. All it cost was my accident. A pair of legs that would never walk again. “It’s settled,” I said, my voice firm. “His lifetime of honor for a pair of legs. It’s a fair trade.” After all, I was the one who gave it to him in the first place.

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1 My girlfriend, Luna, dragged me to one of her elite inner-circle parties. To liven things up, the table started a game of Truth or Dare. When I lost the first round, they asked me what color my boxers were. When I lost the second, they made me drink arm-in-arm with the women on either side of me. When I lost the third, they all started hooting, daring me to French kiss the scene’s reigning princess. I shot a dark look at Luna, but she just laughed. “It’s just a game, Carter. Don’t be a coward.” “Close your eyes, open your mouth, it’ll be over before you know it,” she said, just as she opened her own mouth to take a grape her best friend, Julian, was feeding her. She even gave his lips a little suck for good measure. I could usually tolerate their shady little games, but now she wasn’t even bothering to hide it in front of me. I raised a hand, hooking my finger under the princess’s chin, and let out a low laugh. “A French kiss? How boring. Let’s play for higher stakes.” … The princess, Stella Roth, stared at me with a flicker of interest. “Oh? And what did you have in mind?” I leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “A marriage license. You in?” “Fuck,” she hissed, stubbing out her cigarette. Without a second glance at the others, she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room. … As we walked out of City Hall, Stella had a wicked grin on her face. “Carter Graves, I’ve been chasing you for years and you never gave me the time of day. What’s with the sudden change of heart? Trying to use me to make your little girlfriend jealous? You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.” “If you’re having second thoughts, City Hall is still open. We can go right back in and get a divorce.” Stella just snorted, pressing her lips close to my ear. “Once you’re on my pirate ship, you’re never getting off. Now you just wait for me, baby. I’m going to plan us a wedding.” As if she was afraid I’d back out, she snatched the marriage certificate from my hand and tucked it carefully into her inside pocket before leaving. I wanted to call my father, who was overseas, and tell him what I’d done, but I realized in my haste I’d left my phone back in the private room. When I got back to the door, I could hear them teasing Luna. “Damn, Luna. Your own boyfriend loses a dare and has to kiss another woman, and you don’t even bat an eye. But now that Julian loses, you’re all worked up? Talk about playing favorites.” Luna’s laugh was careless. “It’s different.” Those two words, combined with the protective way she draped her arm around Julian’s shoulders, were like knives scraping my eyes and ears. “Oh, come on, we all know Julian’s your favorite toy, but you can’t be a sore loser. The dare stands. Julian has to French kiss the Davenport heiress.” I pushed the door open, my eyes locking with Luna’s. She didn’t ask where I’d been or what I’d done. She just jerked her chin at me. “You’re back? Good. Julian’s too shy. You can take his turn.” Her words were so absurd I had to laugh. “Luna, what do you take me for? If he was really so ‘shy,’ he wouldn’t have his arms wrapped around someone else’s girlfriend. If you ask me, he’s shameless as hell.” The room went quiet. It was awkward. Luna had been the one to introduce Julian to this circle. Everyone had seen how close they were, but Luna always insisted he was just her best friend. And since I, the official boyfriend, never made a fuss, everyone just got used to it. No one expected me to snap today. “Here we go again,” she sighed. “How many times do I have to explain this? There’s nothing going on between Julian and me. He’s my best friend, which makes him your friend. What’s the big deal about helping him out?” “And don’t think I don’t know you begged Stella to help you ditch the game. You didn’t do a thing. So really, you’re the one who was a sore loser. This is the perfect chance to make up for it. Don’t ruin the mood for everyone. Are you going to do it or not?” “No,” I said, my voice firm. Julian pouted, speaking to Luna in a whiny, passive-aggressive tone. “Wow, you really can’t control your own man, can you? You’re a real disappointment. Fine, I guess Daddy will have to handle this himself.” He made a move to stand up. Luna yanked him back down. After shooting me a look of pure annoyance, she pulled Julian into her lap and crashed her lips onto his. As the crowd roared, they kissed until a string of saliva connected their mouths. After a full three minutes, she finally let him go. She wiped a stray bit of moisture from the corner of her lips with her thumb and shot a challenging look at the Davenport girl. “Miss Davenport, you don’t mind if I take your place, do you?” “Hahaha, of course not! Luna, you’re so possessive! And damn, what a kiss. I think Julian’s knees are weak.” Luna’s gaze fell back on me, dripping with sarcasm. “There. You’re too precious to be bothered, so I handled it. Are you satisfied now?” I’d always known she felt differently about Julian, but this was the first time she’d been so blatant in front of me. A bitter taste filled my chest, but I forced it down. I said nothing, just grabbed my phone and turned to leave. I’d just opened the door when a hand clamped around my wrist. Luna looked at me with exasperation. “Come on, it was just a game. Are you really this angry? You didn’t want to do it, so I didn’t force you. But Julian is my friend. How could I just stand by and let someone take advantage of him?” “Carter, be reasonable. Don’t throw a tantrum with me. It would have been embarrassing for Julian. Be good.” Even now, all she could think about was him. I ripped my hand away. “You didn’t want to see him taken advantage of, so it was okay for me to be sexually harassed, forced into drinking games, and dared to kiss someone? Don’t think I’m an idiot. Those last few rounds were supposed to be Julian’s losses, but you rigged the game so it would be me!” “Luna, I can’t stand your so-called ‘best friend’ anymore. I’m done. We’re breaking up.” Luna froze, a look of genuine shock on her face. Before she could speak, Julian came over and linked his arm through mine. “Hey, Carter, don’t be mad. This girl is just too loyal, you know? It’s all my fault for losing the game. Tell you what, I’ll chug this whole bottle of whiskey as an apology, how about that?” “Don’t touch me. Get the hell away from me.” I shoved him off. He stumbled back, looking embarrassed, and reached for the bottle. Luna snatched it out of his hand. “Are you crazy? You know you have a sensitive stomach!” “Don’t worry about it! Didn’t you see Carter getting angry? Even if I drink till I’m coughing up blood, Daddy has to help you patch things up with your man.” Julian tried to grab the bottle, but Luna held it away, her eyes darting toward me. I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to do what I always did. Every time Julian crossed a line, I would eventually cave for her sake and say it was fine. But not this time. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. A hard look entered Luna’s eyes. She lifted the bottle to her lips and started chugging. “Luna! Don’t! You’re allergic to alcohol!” someone shouted. She didn’t stop until it was empty. Then she smashed the bottle at my feet. “Are you happy now?! Julian already offered to apologize. Did you have to be such an asshole about it?!” “Carter Graves, you said you wanted to break up, right? Fine. I’m done coddling you. I guess that means we can cancel the wedding next week. Just don’t come crying back to me when you regret this. The sight of you makes me sick!” Watching Luna, willing to trigger her own allergy just to protect Julian, I felt a surge of bitter irony. I used to be the one who drank for her at parties because I cared about her. She would always coo about what a good boy I was, but she’d never once asked if I liked drinking, or if it made me feel sick. I didn’t say another word. I just pushed open the door and left. Behind me, I heard their friends trying to reason with her. “Luna, are you really not going after him? I’ve never seen Carter that angry before. What if he’s serious? You guys have been together for seven years…” “Hah. He’s just putting on a show. Don’t worry, he’ll come crawling back in a day or two. That spoiled rich kid needs to be put in his place anyway. Otherwise, how is he going to properly serve my parents after we’re married?” The tears I’d been holding back finally fell. So that’s all I was to her. A pathetic lapdog she couldn’t get rid of. The thought of seeing Luna’s face again made me sick, so I went to my other apartment in the city. It wasn’t until the next day that I remembered: if we were broken up, I needed to get my things. I’d barely stepped out of my building when a raw egg, reeking and slimy, splattered across my face. A group of bleach-blond punks started shoving me. “You’re Carter Graves, right? Think you’re hot shit ’cause you’re rich? Think you can bully our Julian?! You think his fans are just gonna sit back and watch?!” “Why’d you force him to drink with you? And you hit him when he said no! If you’re so into forcing people to drink, why don’t you go sell yourself?! I hate rich scum like you who throw your weight around!” “You’re a menace to society! You don’t deserve a woman like Luna! Julian is the one who’s perfect for her! You should just crawl back into whatever hole you came from!” The building’s security guards finally ran over and chased them off. Dazed, I pulled out my phone and saw my name trending. The headlines were bright red and impossible to miss: PRIVILEGED HEIR SLAPS MODEL, FORCES HIM TO DRINK IN SHAMEFUL DISPLAY OF POWER! ARTIST LUNA VANCE DEFENDS FRIEND IN BRAVE ACT OF LOYALTY! There was even a video, maliciously edited, of what happened at the hotel. The clip of me shoving Julian away was cut to look like I was slapping him. Him reaching for the bottle was framed as a moment of noble suffering. Besides being a model, Julian was also a minor influencer. His only response to the incident was a single post: It’s all in the past. I’m okay. Thanks for all your concern, my loves. (Forced smile emoji) Of course, his fans lost their minds. I didn’t need to guess who had orchestrated this media storm. When I got to our apartment, Julian was there, wearing my pajamas, lounging on the sofa. There were several angry-looking hickeys on his neck. Luna was watching him with a look of pure adoration as she painted his portrait. I used to beg her to paint me, but she always brushed me off impatiently. “Carter, I don’t like to use my art for such boring things.” But she had painted hundreds of portraits of Julian. He was her muse, she’d said. When she saw me, her expression shifted to one of smug certainty. “Couldn’t stay away, could you? It hasn’t even been 24 hours.” “Carter, since you’re the one who came crawling back, I suppose I can forgive you. I’m sure you’ve seen the news. Julian sprained his ankle when you pushed him yesterday. If you give him a foot massage right now, I’ll release a statement clarifying what happened. Okay?” “Hah. Sorry, I don’t make a habit of apologizing to backstabbing little parasites,” I sneered. I turned and walked toward the bedroom. Enraged, Luna grabbed a heavy paperweight from her desk and hurled it at me. A sharp pain exploded in my forehead, and blood started to flow. “Carter Graves, watch your damn mouth!” She strode over and forced me to my knees at Julian’s feet. “You need to take responsibility for your own mistakes. You are going to massage his foot, right now!” “In your dreams,” I spat through clenched teeth. “Oh, sweetie, why are you so rough with your boyfriend? Is that what I taught you?!” Julian purred, still playing his part. “Carter is a delicate flower. He’s always looked down on people like me. Don’t force him. You can just give Daddy a massage yourself~” Julian, who had been enjoying the show, gave Luna a playful slap on the ass. Seeing the blood streaming down my face, Luna’s expression flickered for a moment, then hardened into disgust as she let me go. She tossed a box of tissues at me. “See? Julian is much more forgiving than you are. Clean yourself up. Don’t get blood on his portrait.” So, seven years of our relationship meant less than a single word from Julian. How hilarious. I ignored the tissues and went to the bedroom to pack. When I emerged with my suitcase, Luna was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Wow, Carter, you’re really getting good at this act. First, you refuse to wipe the blood off your face, and now this? Are you trying to play the victim?” “Don’t think I’m going to fall for it this time. Unless you apologize to Julian for what you did yesterday, that story online is—” Before she could finish, Julian cried out, “Luna, the posts are gone! They’ve all been taken down!” Luna blinked, then turned back to me, her eyes filled with even more loathing. “You work fast, don’t you? You paid them off, didn’t you? Carter, this is what I can’t stand about you. You think just because your family has some connections, you can do whatever you want to Julian. If you pull something like this again, I swear to God, the wedding is off.” I was surprised. I hadn’t done it. But hearing her words, I just said flatly, “Whatever. It’s not like I’d marry you anyway.” I didn’t look at her again as I walked out the door. Back at my apartment, I’d just finished cleaning my wound when Stella called. “Darling,” she purred. “Were you satisfied with my performance?” So, it was her. “I just saw the news. You went back to that party yesterday? Carter, you didn’t change your mind, did you? We’re married now, you can’t just leave me for someone else. What’s so great about that bitch Luna anyway, that you let her walk all over you…” Hearing the jealousy in her voice, I couldn’t help but chuckle. “What are you talking about? Of course not. I just left my phone there and went back to get it.” “And… thank you, Stella.” Her cheerful tone returned instantly. “Then you’re a good husband. And since you’ve been so good, I got you a reward.” “Your mother’s last work, that angel sculpture? I found it. And I bought it. It should be delivered to you tomorrow.” I was ecstatic. After the sculpture was bought by an anonymous collector, I’d searched for it for years with no luck. I couldn’t believe Stella had found it. The next morning, the doorbell rang. I rushed to answer it, my heart pounding, only to see Julian’s smug face. He was holding the angel sculpture, turning it over in his hands as he sauntered in. “Sorry, I saw the delivery guy at your door and signed for it for you.” “I hear this thing is worth two hundred million? Carter, you really are pathetic. You talk a big game about breaking up with Luna, but behind her back, you’re still tricking her into spending money on you, aren’t you?” “Anyone can see that I’m the one Luna loves. We’re going to get married sooner or later. If you have any shame at all, you’ll stay away from my woman. And my money.” I looked at him coldly. “You’re delusional. Luna didn’t buy this. I lost interest in her a long time ago. If you want to be her trash collector, that’s your business. I’m not interested.” “Give me the sculpture. It’s important to me.” “Hmph. You say that, but you can’t bear to part with a gift from Luna. Well, today, I’ll help you let go.” With that, Julian tossed the angel sculpture into the roaring fireplace. Without thinking, I lunged for it, but he grabbed my wrist, holding me back. “Let go of me!” “Fine. I’ll let go,” he said with a vicious smirk. He yanked my hand forward, placing it on his own head, and then screamed in mock terror. “Carter, please! Don’t burn my face!” The next second, I was thrown to the ground. Julian was huddled in Luna’s arms, his eyes red as he tattled on me. “Luna! I was just trying to talk to him, to get him to stop fighting with you! But he found out you’re pregnant with my baby, and he called me a whore and tried to burn my face!” “You were the one who said you wanted a son as beautiful as me! We’re best friends, I was just trying to help you! I can’t believe he’d be so cruel!” I was stunned. I couldn’t believe they were having a baby together. “I didn’t touch him.” After that brief explanation, I looked toward the fireplace. The bottom half of the sculpture was already charred. I had to get it out. But I’d barely taken a step when Luna’s hand clamped around my throat. “Carter, now you’re lying too? Julian is always honest and straightforward. He would never frame you. Are you too much of a coward to admit what you did?” The pressure was immense. I winced in pain. “Luna, I told you, I didn’t do it! Let go of me! He threw my mother’s last sculpture in the—” “Enough! Stop trying to slander Julian! I’m sick of your excuses! Today, you are going to kneel and apologize to him!” No matter how frantically I pointed at the fireplace, she wouldn’t even look. Luna had her men hold me down. Julian’s eyes glinted. “Oh, sweetie, don’t be so hard on him. Carter’s a proud man. And the floor is so cold, it’s bad for his knees. It’s okay, I’ll help him.” He suddenly grabbed my head and forced it down. He slammed my head against the floor over and over, forcing me to bow to him a dozen times before he was satisfied. “See? Now you don’t have to kneel. Aren’t I the one who really cares about you?” Ignoring the throbbing pain in my forehead, I scrambled toward the fireplace. But the angel sculpture had already been reduced to ashes. My mother had carved it for me after I was born, pouring all of her love and sorrow into it as she battled her illness. It was made from a rare, precious wood, a masterpiece of craftsmanship. A maid had stolen it and sold it, and I had sworn I would get it back. And now, it was gone forever. Just like my mother. Seeing me kneeling before the fireplace, sobbing, Luna’s expression softened with a hint of pity. But then, as if remembering something, her face hardened into disgust again. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop the act. You were the one who tried to hurt Julian. Don’t play the victim now.” “Get out,” I said quietly. Anger flared in Luna’s eyes. In front of me, she made a call and cancelled our wedding, which had been scheduled for the following week. “Carter, you heard. I’m having Julian’s child. It was an accident, but I have a responsibility to take care of him and the baby. You shouldn’t stay here for a while. Who knows what other twisted ideas you’ll come up with to hurt Julian.” “Don’t worry, after the baby is born, I’ll have him legally registered as your son. He’ll call you father. But you have to change this vicious personality of yours. As punishment, I am officially postponing the wedding.” She took Julian’s hand and left without a backward glance. I watched, my face a blank mask, as Julian shot me a triumphant smile and held up nine fingers. The ninth time. This was the ninth time Luna had postponed our wedding for Julian. The first time, it was because he was going out of town for a photoshoot and was scared to be alone, so Luna went with him. The second time, it was because he had a cold and needed to be taken care of, and she told me not to be jealous, that they were just friends. And now, it was because she was having his baby. How utterly laughable. That night, Julian sent me a dozen videos. In them, Luna was lovingly painting his body with oils, her voice hoarse with passion. “Julian, you’re my true muse. So pure and clean. Carter is just some tacky rich kid, coasting through life, reeking of money.” “If his father didn’t know Richard Carmichael, the international art master, and couldn’t get me an introduction and provide me with resources, why would I have ever looked at him?” “My family is a family of scholars. If I married someone so vulgar, my ancestors would roll over in their graves.” They had sex all over the house, from the living room to our bedroom, leaving no corner untouched. I covered my mouth, tears streaming down my face. Julian was a kept man, living off his “best friend” Luna, his modeling career nothing more than a hobby. And that was what she called “pure and clean.” I had chosen not to take over my family’s international business, instead starting my own company from scratch. And I was the one who was “tacky” and “coasting.” I cried for I don’t know how long before I finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. The next day, Stella called. “Husband, remember that rose manor in France you love so much? That’s where we’re getting married. It’s all set up. You can come check it out whenever you want. If there’s anything you don’t like, I’ll change it.” I was stunned. How had she moved so fast? That rose manor was famous. They called it Le Jardin de la Déesse, the Goddess’s Garden. I’d loved it since I was a child. I couldn’t believe she remembered. Luna couldn’t even name one thing I liked. When I arrived in France, Stella sent her new personal assistant to pick me up. The assistant first took me to be fitted for a custom-made suit, which was surprisingly exquisite. Stella, apparently suffering from a case of pre-wedding jitters, insisted I rehearse the ceremony with her. Our wedding, she declared, had to be perfect. When we arrived at the Goddess’s Garden, we found Julian, also in a suit, and Luna, in a full wedding gown, arguing with the security guards at the gate. “The Goddess’s Garden has always been open to the public! My fiancé and I are here to take our wedding photos. Why won’t you let us in?” “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the owner of the garden is preparing for a wedding here, so it’s closed to visitors for the time being.” When Luna saw me, a guilty look flashed in her eyes, but it quickly turned to rage when she noticed the suit in the assistant’s hands, a groom’s boutonnière pinned to the lapel. “Carter, this was your doing, wasn’t it? I told you, the wedding is postponed! Don’t you understand English? It seems you still haven’t learned your lesson.” “Oh, by the way, you really scared Julian the other day. He’s been having nightmares. As compensation, I promised him we’d do a wedding photoshoot. You’d better not cause any trouble.” Julian’s eyes were glued to my suit. “Luna, that suit is gorgeous! I want to wear that for our pictures, can I? Please?” When Luna hesitated, he pouted. “And you call yourself my best friend. You won’t even do this one little thing for me. I’m so disappointed. You know my stomach hurts when I get upset.” Luna immediately grew anxious. She turned to me and commanded, “Alright, Carter, I’ve said my piece. The wedding is postponed anyway, so there’s no harm in letting Julian borrow the suit for a bit.” When I didn’t respond, her face darkened, and she reached for my arm. “Don’t think you can get away with just giving me the silent treatment. Who do you think you are, sulking all the time? And another thing, until I’ve forgiven you, I don’t want to see your face. Give me the suit, tell this man to let us in, and then you can go back and think about what you’ve done.” But before her hand could touch me, someone kicked it away. “Try saying ‘get lost’ to my husband one more time. I dare you.”

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My neighbor pounded on my door in the middle of the night, a deep gash on her hand. I grabbed my first-aid kit and patched her up. The next day, she reported me to the state medical board for practicing medicine illegally. I didn’t argue. I quietly accepted my suspension from the hospital and waited for the investigation. In the community group chat, she gloated: “That’ll teach these little nurses a lesson!” Five days later, her elderly father choked on a piece of food and stopped breathing. She hammered on my door, screaming for help. I stood on the other side and said calmly, “I’m on suspension. I can’t risk practicing medicine illegally. You’ll have to wait for the paramedics.” 1 It was one in the morning when the frantic ringing of my doorbell jolted me awake. “Sarah! Sarah! Open the door! Help me!” It was my neighbor, Linda. Her voice was a terrified shriek, laced with tears. I threw on a robe and rushed to the door. The moment I opened it, the thick, coppery smell of blood hit me, making me gag. Linda stood there, her face ghostly white. Her left hand was crudely wrapped in a kitchen towel, but blood had already soaked through, dripping between her fingers onto the floor. “I was cutting fruit… I think I hit an artery! Sarah, you’re a nurse, right?” “Please, help me! I’m getting so dizzy!” She swayed on her feet, about to collapse. I didn’t have time to think. I pulled her inside. “Don’t panic. I’ll take care of it.” I sat her down on the sofa, ran to my bedroom, and grabbed the professional-grade first-aid kit I always kept on hand. As a surgical nurse at City General, this kind of trauma was second nature to me. “Hold still. This is going to sting.” I carefully cut away the blood-caked towel. A deep wound, almost down to the bone, gaped at the base of her thumb. It was bleeding profusely, but she’d missed the main artery, only severing a small vein. I pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and began to clean the wound with an iodine swab. “Ah! That hurts! Be gentle!” Linda screamed. “There are shards of glass in the wound. They have to come out, or it will get infected,” I explained, my hands never wavering. Decontaminate, disinfect, apply ointment, pack with gauze, and secure with a pressure bandage. The whole process took less than ten minutes. The bleeding stopped completely. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on my forehead. “There. It’s not too deep, and you didn’t damage any tendons.” “Keep it dry for a few days and go to a clinic to get the dressing changed regularly.” I took a fresh sterile gauze pad and a roll of bandages from my kit and handed them to her. “Take these for your dressing change tomorrow.” Linda stared at her neatly bandaged hand and let out a long, shuddering breath. “Sarah, thank you so much! You’re my savior!” “I have to take you out to dinner to thank you properly!” She grabbed my hand, gushing with gratitude. I just waved it off, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over me. “It’s nothing. We’re neighbors. Just go get some rest.” After she left, I looked at the puddle of blood on my living room floor and the stained sofa cushion and sighed. I started cleaning. I didn’t get back to sleep until three. The next morning, I went to work with dark circles under my eyes. That afternoon, while I was preparing medications, the head nurse called me into her office. “Sarah, did you treat a neighbor’s wound at your home last night?” “Yes. She was bleeding heavily, it was an emergency,” I answered truthfully. The head nurse slapped a file down on her desk. “Your neighbor, Linda, filed a formal complaint with the medical board this morning.” “She’s accusing you of practicing medicine illegally without a license in an uncertified location. She claims your improper procedure caused a severe infection.” “She’s demanding you pay for her medical bills, lost wages, and pain and suffering. A total of fifty thousand dollars.” Fifty thousand dollars. My mind went blank. A chill spread through my limbs. The same woman who had called me her “savior” just hours before had turned around and stabbed me in the back. “She also said…” the head nurse paused, “that the medical supplies you used were expired, and that your hostile attitude caused her extreme psychological trauma.” Rage surged through me, so hot it felt like my blood was boiling. A fire lodged in my throat, and I couldn’t speak. Every single item in my kit was from the latest batch, purchased through the hospital’s internal supply channels each month. There was no way anything was expired. I looked at my boss, my voice raspy. “That’s a complete lie.” “Whether it’s a lie or not isn’t the point right now,” she sighed. “The medical board has accepted the case. The investigators will be here tomorrow. Sarah, according to protocol, you’re suspended, effective immediately, pending a full investigation.” 2 I walked out of the head nurse’s office in a daze. My colleagues looked at me with a mixture of pity and curiosity, but mostly, they just looked away. “Illegal practice.” For anyone in the medical field, it’s a career-destroying accusation. I could hear the whispers from the corner of the nurses’ station. “See? No good deed goes unpunished. She stuck her neck out and got it chopped off. Serves her right.” “Fifty grand? That neighbor is ruthless. It’s a straight-up shakedown.” “You never know, though. How do we know her supplies were clean? What if she really did mess it up?” The words were like needles, piercing my heart. I went home, and before I could even catch my breath, my phone started buzzing violently. The community group chat. It was Linda. She had tagged me in a post to all three hundred members. She’d attached a photo. Her hand was re-bandaged, but she’d deliberately loosened the wrapping to make it look sloppy. The skin around it had been photoshopped to a raw, swollen red, making it look “severe.” I could tell instantly the “redness” was just smeared-on lipstick. Immediately, a woman named Janet chimed in. She was the head of the community association, a notorious gossip who loved to stir up trouble. What’s going on here, Sarah? The chat exploded. Neighbors who knew nothing about the situation piled on. “That’s horrible! How could you betray someone’s trust like that?” “Exactly! Don’t offer to help if you don’t know what you’re doing!” “What a terrible nurse. Using expired supplies just to save a few bucks?” I stared at the cascade of false accusations. I wanted to fight back, to post all my evidence and tear their lies apart. But as I typed the first word, I stopped. I suddenly understood. Arguing with a mob fueled by outrage was pointless. They didn’t want the truth. They wanted a spectacle. I deleted my message and left the group chat. I took a deep breath, walked into my bedroom, and locked the very first-aid kit that had saved Linda’s life deep inside a closet. Then, I sent a text to my head nurse. I accept the hospital’s decision. I will cooperate fully with the investigation. To Linda and Janet, my silence was an admission of guilt. It was weakness. Their performance became even more theatrical. BREAKING NEWS! That nurse Sarah has been suspended! See? Justice will be served! Thank you, Janet, for standing up for me! And thanks to all my wonderful neighbors for your support! That’s how you deal with these nurses! They think a white uniform makes them angels? Look, she’s too scared to say a word. She knows she’s guilty! This isn’t over until I get my $50,000. Not a penny less! She’s going to pay! I could almost see Linda’s gloating face through the screen. I smiled. It was a quiet, cold smile that I could feel on my own lips. 3 The days of my suspension were harder than I could have imagined. I couldn’t go to the hospital, couldn’t put on my scrubs. I felt like the core of my identity had been ripped out. I replayed every detail of that night in my head, confirming again and again that my procedure had been flawless. I photographed the lot numbers, manufacturing dates, and expiration dates of every single item in my first-aid kit. I even managed to pull the security footage from my apartment hallway. The video was grainy, but it clearly showed the stark contrast between Linda’s panicked arrival and her calm departure. With all my evidence prepared, I waited for the investigators’ summons. Meanwhile, Linda and Janet’s show continued in the new HOA group chat they’d created. Every day, Linda posted an “update” on her condition. One day, the wound was supposedly filled with pus. The next, she couldn’t lift her arm. The day after, a doctor had supposedly told her she might have permanent nerve damage. She painted herself as a tragic victim, brutalized by a negligent nurse. Janet, for her part, fanned the flames. She even posted a notice on the community bulletin board titled: “Official Condemnation of Resident Sarah Jenkins of Unit 1502 for Endangering the Safety of Her Neighbors.” It was printed on red paper in stark black ink, like a public shaming notice, nailing me to a pillar of disgrace. Every time I went out to take out the trash, I could feel the other residents’ eyes on me. Contempt, avoidance, smug satisfaction. Once, in the elevator, an older woman saw me, immediately grabbed her grandson, and pulled him into the corner, muttering under her breath. “Stay away from her, sweetie. Her hands are dirty, and so is her heart. You might catch it.” An invisible hand squeezed my heart, so tight I couldn’t breathe. I was the one who had saved a life. Why was I the one being publicly crucified? Five days later, the call from the investigation team finally came. I went to the hospital with all my evidence. Facing the two grim-faced investigators, I felt no fear. I presented my evidence, one piece at a time: the photos of the supply lot numbers, the clear expiration date records, the hallway security footage, and even photos showing how I had properly disposed of the medical waste. I calmly recounted every step of the procedure, from cleaning the wound to bandaging it, along with the medical justification for each action. “Based on my assessment of the wound and the sterile procedure I followed,” I concluded, “the probability of infection occurring during my treatment is less than one in a thousand.” “If Ms. Linda’s claim of a ‘severe infection’ is true, there are only two possibilities.” “First, after receiving my emergency aid, she removed the bandage herself, causing a secondary contamination of the wound.” “Second, she deliberately faked an infection in order to extort money from me.” My words shifted the atmosphere in the room. The investigators exchanged a look. When the interview was over, I walked out of the hospital into the blinding sunlight, a massive weight lifted from my shoulders. I trusted the facts to clear my name. When I got home, my phone showed that Linda was still performing in the group chat. Today happened to be a holiday, the Festival of Lights. Linda had posted a photo of a lavish dinner, with a bowl of steaming sweet rice balls in the foreground. Happy festival, everyone! Once I get my settlement money, I’m treating all my supportive neighbors to a huge feast! @Linda, congrats in advance! You can’t go easy on people with no medical ethics! A chorus of agreement followed, all of them praising her “brave” fight for “justice.” I looked at the screen, at all those hypocritical faces, and turned off my phone. I boiled a bowl of frozen dumplings and ate them alone, in silence. Outside my window were the lights of a thousand homes and the occasional firework. My own world felt cold and empty. Just as I was finishing my meal… BANG! BANG! BANG! A pounding on my door, even more frantic than before. It was followed by Linda’s voice, now a distorted, desperate shriek of pure terror. “Sarah! Open the door! Please, open the door!” “Help me! My dad… My dad is dying!” 4 Through the peephole, I saw a face twisted in absolute horror. Linda, her hair a wild mess, was throwing her body against my door, creating a series of dull, heavy thuds. “Sarah! I’m begging you! Please come out and look!” “My dad choked on a sweet rice ball! He can’t breathe!” Her voice was raw, every word trembling. I didn’t move. I didn’t make a sound. THUD! Linda started kicking the door, making the heavy steel frame vibrate. “Sarah, are you even human?! You’re a nurse!” “If you let him die, you’re a murderer!” She started screaming curses, spewing every vile word she could think of. I could picture the scene on the other side of the door. A life, slipping away with every second. My hand clenched into a fist, my nails digging deep into my palm. As a nurse, saving lives is my instinct. My brain was racing, every step of the Heimlich maneuver flashing through my mind. If I opened the door, it would take me maybe thirty seconds to save a man’s life. But… I remembered her gloating in the group chat. “That’ll teach these little nurses a lesson!” I remembered the notice on the bulletin board, its angry red paper burning in my mind’s eye. I remembered the old woman in the elevator, her look of disgust. I remembered the lonely, sleepless nights of my suspension, the feeling of being utterly alone and betrayed. Why? Why should I? Why did they get to hurt me, to trample on my profession and my dignity, and then demand my help as if it were their right? I slowly walked to the door and leaned against the cold, hard steel. Outside, Linda’s screams and curses continued, now mixed with desperate pleas. “Sarah, please, I was wrong! I’m not human, I’m an animal!” “I shouldn’t have reported you! I don’t want the fifty thousand! I’ll get on my knees for you!” “Please, just save my dad!” THUD! THUD! THUD! She’d given up kicking and was now banging her head against the door. I took one final, deep breath, suppressing the last flicker of a nurse’s impulse. Then, through the door, in a voice that was perfectly calm and clear, I said: “Linda, I’m very sorry.” “I am currently on suspension. I am the one you reported for practicing medicine illegally.” “I can’t break the law. You’ll have to wait for the paramedics.”

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The richest couple in the city were celebrating their daughter’s birthday in the grand ballroom downstairs, while my boyfriend, Andrew, was in a suite upstairs, promising me his first time. He was tied to the headboard, just how I’d left him, begging me to kill the lights and light some candles. But just as I picked up the lighter, a line of text, like a phantom chat log, flared into existence before my eyes: 【NO, LEAH! That lighter is rigged! Press it and it’ll explode in your face!】 【Andrew’s only with you to clear the way for his childhood sweetheart, Celeste, the Hitchcocks’ fake daughter. Your face is identical to a young Mrs. Hitchcock, and they’re terrified you’ll be recognized as the true heiress!】 【After the explosion disfigures you, you’ll die in a car crash arranged by the fake heiress on the way to the hospital.】 【And Andrew? He’ll dump you in a heartbeat, marry Celeste, and together they’ll murder your wealthy parents and inherit the entire Hitchcock fortune!】 【Get downstairs to the ballroom NOW. The second Mrs. Hitchcock sees your face, she’ll know you’re her real daughter…】 My hand froze around the lighter, my mind reeling in shock as Andrew’s low, husky voice called out to me. 1. “Babe, come on, light the candles. I even wore my glow-in-the-dark boxers for you…” In the dim suite, Andrew was spread-eagled, his hands bound to the headboard, his voice a magnetic, seductive purr. The phantom text scrolled frantically in my vision. 【A honey trap, classic and deadly! What a venomous pretty boy!】 【Stay calm, Leah! Do NOT press that lighter!】 【That face is your ticket back to your family. You have to protect it!】 I swallowed hard, placing the lighter gently back on the coffee table. When I didn’t move, Andrew’s tone sharpened with impatience. “Leah, what are you doing? Stop stalling.” A cold dread washed over me as I realized just how strange tonight was. We’d been together for two years, and Andrew had always used “respecting me” as an excuse to never touch me, let alone be this eager and aggressive. Just this morning, he’d told me he had something important to do and couldn’t celebrate my birthday. Then, tonight, as I was getting ready to work a late shift at the hotel, he suddenly booked this suite, inviting me for an unforgettable night. It was almost as if… he was deliberately keeping me from meeting the Hitchcocks. My heart pounded with a terrifying chill. I quickly set a ringtone on my phone and pretended to answer a call. “Okay, I’ll be right there!” I hung up and flipped on the lights, turning to Andrew. “Andrew, that was my manager. The Hitchcocks’ long-lost daughter—the one they found last year—is celebrating her birthday here too. They’re giving every employee a huge cash bonus, but I have to go collect it now!” Andrew’s face went rigid for a second before he plastered the seductive look back on. “Leah, a night like this is priceless. Is a bonus really more important than being with me?” he purred, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m giving you the chance of a lifetime. Don’t you want to take it?” His abs were faintly visible through his semi-sheer shirt, but the sight stirred nothing in me now but ice. The text was still flashing. 【Thinks he’s some kind of merman, trying to lure her in. Pathetic!】 【And he dares to tell her it’s his first time? He and the fake heiress are old news. What a scumbag!】 I bit my lip and quickly searched for news about the Hitchcocks finding their daughter last year. But every photo of Celeste was carefully angled to hide her face. A commenter explained that because she’d been kidnapped at age five, her parents were now extremely protective of her. A jolt went through me. I was also kidnapped when I was five. My adoptive parents had been kind enough, working hard to put me through college. But they died in a car crash two years ago, and on her deathbed, my adoptive mother finally told me the truth. Devastated, I wandered into the street in a daze and was hit by a car. That’s how I met Andrew, who was a doctor at the hospital. He personally tended to my leg injury, always bringing me homemade soup. After I was discharged, he came to visit and found me being cornered in an alley by a group of guys. When I resisted, they mocked me, calling me an orphan who’d cursed her parents. Andrew fearlessly stepped in front of me, told them he’d already called the cops, and scared them off. He walked me home and confessed his feelings. He said it was love at first sight, that he wanted to be with me and protect me forever. I thought he was my savior, my true love. I never questioned why, if he loved me so much, he wouldn’t touch me for two years, why he was always disappearing. I just assumed he had… issues. Now I knew the truth. His entire relationship with me was built on a sinister lie. 【It was your bloodwork report from the hospital, Leah. That’s when Andrew targeted you.】 【Poor girl, she’s been played this whole time and never knew…】 I stared at the words, fighting back a wave of nausea. “Andrew,” I asked, my voice trembling slightly, “do you really love me?” He looked startled, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Of course I do. Why else would I treat you so well? Now, go light the candles.” Rage boiled up inside me. I shoved him down onto the bed. “I don’t want candles. Why don’t we just do it like this?” Just as I expected, panic flashed across his face. “No! Turn off the lights! Let’s just use the candles, okay?” I laughed coldly to myself but obediently stood up and picked up the lighter again. As he watched with anticipation, I carried a candle over to him. “How about we light it together, Andrew?” His face went white. He tried to shrink back, but his hands were still tied. “Don’t be crazy, that’s too close to the sheets. It’s dangerous. Just light it on the table…” That was all the confirmation I needed. The lighter was definitely a trap. I had to get to that ballroom. “Andrew, they said the bonus is ten thousand dollars! I can finally buy you that watch you wanted! Wait for me!” Pretending to check my phone, I bolted for the door. Through a crack in the ballroom doors, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Hitchcock on stage, thanking the city’s elite for attending. Standing beside them was an elegantly dressed young woman—it had to be the fake heiress, Celeste. 【Whoa! MC sees her real mom and dad, and the impostor!】 The impostor, Celeste, took the microphone, her eyes welling with tears. “Thank you, Mom and Dad, for never giving up on me. Thank you for all the love and protection you’ve shown me this past year.” “But I’m 23 now. It’s time for me to give back. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to intern at the Hitchcock Corporation. I love you both so much…” My stomach dropped. They were officially announcing her role in the company tonight? 【Leah, you have to stop them!】 【If that snake gets into the corporation, she’ll bring it down from the inside!】 【She’ll extort employees, take kickbacks on every deal… the Hitchcock Corporation’s reputation gets destroyed because of her!】 My heart hammered against my ribs. I was about to burst through the doors when a hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back. “Leah, they’re lying to you! There’s no bonus! It’s just a cruel prank! If you go in there, you’ll be disciplined!” It was Andrew. A week ago, I would have believed him. A waitress bursting into a private event like this would mean instant termination. But I wasn’t afraid of that anymore. I had to know the truth. I wrenched my arm free, shoved him back, and threw open the ballroom doors. Andrew cried out my name, and the sound drew Celeste’s gaze from the stage. Her face contorted in shock. She clutched her chest, a look of agony on her face, and collapsed against Mrs. Hitchcock. Mr. and Mrs. Hitchcock rushed to her side, helping her off the stage as the room erupted in whispers. 【Damn, that bitch is faking sick the second she thinks she’s been found out!】 【Go, Leah, go! Let your parents see your face!】 Spurred on by the phantom text, I charged into the room, shouting, “Wait! She’s a fraud! I’m the real Hitchcock heiress!” The entire room gasped. Mr. and Mrs. Hitchcock finally turned their attention to the commotion. My manager, Mr. Henderson, rushed over to block their view, hissing at me. “Weren’t you on leave? What the hell are you doing crashing this event? Get out, or you’re fired!” Andrew threw his arms around me from behind. “Leah, I know you have a huge gambling debt, but you can’t just lose your mind and pretend to be the Hitchcock heiress!” “What? A gambler trying to pass herself off as Miss Hitchcock? She’s got a death wish!” The crowd murmured, their judgment swift and sharp. The Hitchcocks started to walk over, but Celeste let out another pained cry, pulling their attention back to her. I shoved Andrew off. “That’s a lie! I’ve never gambled in my life!” I turned to my manager. “Mr. Henderson, if you value your job, I suggest you get out of my way!” He laughed as if it were the joke of the century. “Leah, you must be drunk. The nerve! Security, get her out of here!” Four of my coworkers grabbed me, and Henderson patted my cheek condescendingly. “You’re fired. Now, get lost.” Panic seized me. As I struggled, an idea struck. I kicked out, sending the towering champagne pyramid crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering glass and the collective shriek of the guests made the Hitchcocks look over again. This time, Mrs. Hitchcock got a clear view of my face. Her expression changed instantly. She let go of Celeste and hurried toward me. “Mrs. Hitchcock, I’m so sorry. One of our staff members is having a breakdown. For your safety, please escort Miss Hitchcock out of here,” Henderson said, blocking me with a sycophantic smile. Mr. Hitchcock ignored him and ordered the staff to release me. “Mrs. Hitchcock, she’s the fake one! I’m your daughter, the one who was kidnapped!” I yelled, pushing past Henderson. Mr. Hitchcock finally saw my face clearly and drew a sharp breath. “Eleanor… my God, she looks exactly like you when you were young!” They looked from me to Celeste, who had followed them over. The entire room was stunned. “It’s true! This waitress looks more like Mrs. Hitchcock than her own daughter does!” Mrs. Hitchcock, Eleanor, stepped forward, her eyes scanning every inch of my face. “Mrs. Hitchcock, I am your real daughter,” I pleaded. “She’s an impostor!” 【Yes, Leah! Expose that fraud!】 Before another word could be said, Andrew grabbed my arm again. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hitchcock, this is all my fault! My girlfriend was in the hospital that day too. After she saw you, she became obsessed with the idea that she was your long-lost daughter. It’s driven her to this…” Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Dr. Vance? I remember you. You were the one who conducted our DNA test!” A wave of understanding rippled through the crowd. “So the doctor is telling the truth. His girlfriend must be crazy with jealousy, trying to latch onto the Hitchcock name!” “Right! And didn’t he say she’s a gambler? She’s probably desperate for money…” My mother’s face hardened, her expression turning to stone. “Plenty of people in this world look alike. You’re naive if you think you can fool me with just a pretty face.” Taking his cue, Henderson kicked me viciously in the side. “You arrogant little bitch! Teach her a lesson!” I fell into the sea of broken glass, sharp edges slicing into my skin. My coworkers descended on me, their fists and feet connecting with my body. My face quickly swelled, turning a mottled purple. “I’m not lying…” I gasped. Before I could finish, Henderson grabbed a bottle of champagne and smashed it across my mouth. “Shut up!” CRACK! Glass shards dug into my lips. I screamed in agony, and Henderson used the opening to shove the jagged neck of the bottle into my mouth. I choked, spitting out a mouthful of blood. The pain from the glass embedded in my tongue was so intense I couldn’t speak. Celeste, who had been watching with poorly concealed anxiety, finally relaxed. Her eyes filled with crocodile tears. “Dad, Mom,” she whimpered. “I’ve only been back with you for a year, and someone is already trying to hurt me, to replace me! My heart… it hurts so much…” She clutched her chest again, feigning another attack. “My dear girl, don’t be afraid. Your father and I will protect you. Let’s get you to a doctor right away…” As they turned to leave, tricked by Celeste once again, I forced myself to my feet, ignoring the searing pain. “Where do you think you’re going, you little slut?” Henderson grabbed my collar to drag me back. With a loud RIP, my blouse tore open. The crowd erupted in jeers and catcalls. “Well, look at that. The little psycho’s got a nice body…” My mother turned back at the noise, and her eyes fell on my exposed shoulder. Her face went pale. She rushed over, her fingers tracing the birthmark just below my collarbone. “Richard, come look at this!” she whispered, her voice trembling. Mr. Hitchcock came closer, his eyes wide with shock. “Have you had that birthmark since you were a child?” Unable to speak, I nodded frantically. “Our daughter was born with a black, crescent-moon-shaped birthmark right on her shoulder,” my mother breathed. “How could you have one too? Could it be… are you really our daughter?” 【Thank God! She was in so much pain, I was afraid she’d forget about the birthmark!】 I felt a surge of hope, but it was immediately crushed when Celeste pulled down the strap of her dress, revealing her own shoulder. “Dad, Mom, I have that birthmark too! She faked it!” Everyone looked. And there it was—an identical black, crescent-moon birthmark. My heart sank. This had to be Andrew’s doing. And right on cue, Andrew sighed dramatically. He explained that I was so desperate to impersonate Celeste that I had forced him to take a picture of her birthmark during a medical examination so I could get a tattoo to match. He pulled out his phone. There it was: a photo of Celeste in an examination room, her birthmark clearly visible. Then he scrolled through more photos, showing them pictures of a woman who looked nothing like me. “This is what Leah used to look like,” he said gravely. “She had extensive plastic surgery to look like Miss Hitchcock.” My vision tunneled. The pain in my heart was worse than any physical wound. Why? I had loved him, trusted him for two years. Why would he do this to me? 【That bastard is pure evil! Leah, find your old photos! Prove him wrong!】 The text jolted me into action. I fumbled for my phone, scrolling frantically for my old pictures. They were gone. Every single one. Not even in the cloud. Then I remembered. A year ago, when I got a new phone, Andrew had insisted on transferring all my data for me. He must have deleted every last photo of my old face then. 【Damn it, that scum really thought of everything! He’s hell-bent on destroying her!】 Seeing me clutching my phone in helpless fury, Celeste began to sob dramatically. “Mom, Dad, you promised you would always love me and believe me! But now you’re doubting me, making me expose myself in front of all these people… I might as well just die!” She snatched a cake knife from a nearby table and pointed it at her own heart. Mr. and Mrs. Hitchcock rushed to grab her arm, murmuring words of comfort. “Don’t be foolish, my dear girl. We’ll always love you. We believe you. Let’s go home now.” Mr. Hitchcock gestured for Henderson to call the police and have me, the impostor, arrested. As my coworkers dragged me away again, I knew this was my last chance. If I let them take me, Celeste would make sure I never spoke again. I was right. I heard Henderson whisper to one of the men holding me, “Proceed as planned. There’s a big reward when it’s done.” Terror clawed at my throat. They were all in on it. They were all Celeste’s people. That’s why they had made my life hell since the day I started working at this hotel. They weren’t just bullying me; they were monitoring me for Celeste, ready to get rid of me at a moment’s notice. 【Is this it? Is she still going to be disfigured and die in that car crash?】 My eyes burned with rage. No! I roared silently. If I’m the main character, I can change my own damn fate! Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I broke free, lunged for the fallen cake knife, and dragged it across my own wrist. “Oh my God! She’s trying to kill herself! Someone call an ambulance!” The room descended into chaos. The Hitchcocks spun around, their faces masks of horror. With my bleeding hand, I scrawled two words on the marble floor. DNA TEST. Someone in the crowd, moved by my desperation, spoke up. “She’d rather die than give up. Why not just do a DNA test? What if… what if she really is their daughter?” Hearing this, Mr. Hitchcock’s face grew dark and resolute. “Arrange a DNA test for her and my wife. Now.”

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At sixty, I was a legend in my field. After a lifetime of achievement, I returned to my homeland to accept a lifetime professorship at a top university. But my husband and son dragged me before the Tribunal. The charges: treason, intellectual theft, and a betrayal of the nation that had raised me. If found guilty, the sentence was summary execution. They pleaded with me, their voices dripping with false concern, urging me to see the error of my ways. All I had to do was surrender my patents to the “true victim,” and my sentence would be commuted to a mere twenty years in prison. After that, I could return to a “normal life.” I looked at them, at the faces of the two men I loved most, and shook my head with unwavering resolve. “I accept the judgment.” 1 At sixty, my hair was already streaked with silver. Looking at my husband, no longer a young man, and our son, on the cusp of adulthood, a wave of guilt washed over me. I had been so consumed by my work, so absent from their lives. That, combined with a deep, gnawing homesickness, had made my decision for me. It was time to bring my family home. My return was heralded as a national event. Armed with countless patents and a lifetime of accolades, I was immediately appointed a tenured honorary professor at Archwood University, the country’s most prestigious institution. I thought, finally, I could rest. I thought I could enjoy the quiet twilight of my life with my family. Instead, my husband, Richard, and my son, Leo, filed a formal accusation against me at the Tribunal. 【Once a trial begins, it cannot be stopped. If the accused is found guilty, they will face unspeakable torment before the final sentence is carried out.】 【Accusers Richard and Leo Reed, do you formally charge the defendant, Dr. Evelyn Reed, with the crimes of treason, intellectual theft, and betrayal of the state for personal gain?】 I was seized and brought to the stand, exposed under the glare of a thousand lights and a million watching eyes. The Tribunal had existed for nearly a decade, but it was rarely convened. Its purpose was to judge only the most monstrous of criminals. The news of a new trial had drawn a massive crowd, and the global livestream had already surpassed ten million viewers. Across from me, Richard looked at me with a pained, loving expression. “Evelyn, my love. Just admit your mistake. Sign over the patents you stole from Catherine Kane. That’s all you have to do. You don’t have to go through this.” My son Leo’s gaze was pure venom. “How could I have a traitor for a mother? You make me sick,” he spat. “You’d better give the patents back to Aunt Catherine and divorce my father. You’ve already lived a life of luxury on the back of your country. Don’t be so greedy. Twenty years in prison is more than you deserve.” A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd. “I knew it! The Tribunal only ever tries the worst of the worst. A traitor who sold out her own country… Forget the trial, just execute her now!” “Wait, I recognize her. Isn’t that the new professor from Archwood? A traitor? There must be some mistake.” “A mistake? Her own husband and son are the ones who turned her in. What mistake could there be?” The outrage in the hall was palpable, and the livestream chat exploded with fury. Patriotism is a raw nerve, and the word “traitor” had ignited a firestorm. The calls for my immediate execution were deafening. I looked from my husband and son to the woman standing in the front row of the audience. Catherine Kane. She hadn’t changed much. Still elegant, still beautiful. I, on the other hand, was stooped from a lifetime hunched over lab benches and research papers. She offered me a small, triumphant smile. A smile that said, You may have overshadowed me for decades, but look who has your husband and son on her side now. A bitter, ironic laugh escaped my lips. I turned to the Chief Justice, my voice clear and steady. “I accept the judgment.” 2 The crowd gasped, surprised by my defiance. Richard shook his head, a look of pity and scorn on his face. “However,” I continued, my voice cutting through the noise, “I request that the proceedings be held in private.” “Accusers Richard and Leo Reed, do you consent to the defendant’s request?” the Chief Justice asked, his tone grave. Richard turned to Catherine. “Catherine, you are the victim here. The decision is yours.” Her eyes flickered. “Evelyn is a renowned scientist, after all,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. “Let’s grant her this final dignity. A private trial is fine.” Richard looked at her, his expression softening with adoration. “You’re too kind, Catherine. After everything she’s done to you.” The viewers on the livestream were furious. 【A private trial? She’s obviously guilty and trying to hide it! What’s the point of watching if we can’t see the evidence?】 【Her own family turned her in. What more do we need to know? Just declare her a traitor and be done with it.】 The discontent from the crowd and the internet had no effect on the Chief Justice. His face was a mask of impartiality as he declared, “The trial of Dr. Evelyn Reed, on the charges of treason, intellectual theft, and betrayal of the state, as brought forth by Richard and Leo Reed, is now in session.” “The prosecution will have four opportunities to present evidence. If any single charge is proven, the defendant will be found guilty. The Tribunal will extract and review the relevant memories of all parties to ensure a just verdict.” “The prosecution may present its first piece of evidence.” Richard gave me one last look of disappointment. “For the first charge, I accuse Evelyn Reed of using shameless means to steal Catherine Kane’s state-sponsored scholarship for overseas study.” As he spoke, his memory materialized on the massive screen above us. It was forty years ago. A young Richard was holding a tearful Catherine in his arms. “The professor promised it to me,” she sobbed. “Why did they give the spot to Evelyn Reed in the end?” “Richard, what am I going to do? The university’s budget is tight. This might have been the last fully-funded scholarship to America.” The memory faded. The crowd began to mutter. “Forty years ago… a scholarship to study in America was a golden ticket! How could she steal that from someone?” “The last one. This Catherine woman doesn’t look like she came from a wealthy family. Without that funding, her dreams were probably crushed. Evelyn Reed ruined her life!” “They said she stole achievements, too. Looks like she’s a career thief.” The Chief Justice turned to me. “Defendant, is the accuser’s claim that you stole Catherine Kane’s scholarship true?” I gave a casual nod. “If you want to put it that way, then in a manner of speaking, I suppose I did.” My indifferent attitude made Richard’s face flush with anger. “So you admit it!” he choked out, his voice trembling. “You stole Catherine’s chance, and after all these years, you still feel no remorse!” Catherine covered her face, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Suddenly, the Chief Justice’s cold voice cut through the drama. “Verdict on the first charge: Not Guilty. The prosecution may proceed with its next piece of evidence.” The courtroom erupted. “What? She just confessed! How can it be ‘Not Guilty’? The Tribunal must have been bribed!” My husband and son were equally stunned, shouting for my memories to be made public. The protest grew so loud, challenging the very integrity of the Tribunal, that the Chief Justice turned to me. “For the honor of this court, I ask for your consent to make this memory public.” I looked at the furious, self-righteous faces of my husband and son. “Show it,” I said. I hoped they were ready for the truth. 3 My memory filled the screen. Forty years ago. I was on the phone, my voice filled with disbelief. “What? Professor Williams has been suspended over a sex scandal?” The voice on the other end was crystal clear, echoing through the silent courtroom. “That’s right. Your classmate, Catherine Kane, is also being investigated for soliciting favors in exchange for grades and recommendations.” “Professor Williams had already removed your name from the scholarship list and replaced it with hers. Now that they’re both under investigation, the scholarship has been reinstated to you. Pack your bags, Dr. Reed. You’re going to America.” The memory ended, leaving the audience in stunned silence. “So… Catherine stole Evelyn’s scholarship, and then Evelyn got it back?” “You can’t call that stealing! The spot was rightfully hers to begin with! Catherine bribed her way onto the list. What a hypocrite, playing the victim all these years!” Richard and Leo stared at Catherine, their faces a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Catherine’s expression froze. She shook her head desperately. “Richard, you know me. I would never do something like that! It was Professor Williams… he forced himself on me! I fought him off, and I even had evidence of him harassing other students.” “He probably gave me the scholarship to buy my silence,” she continued, her voice trembling. “I had no idea it was originally Evelyn’s. It seems… I’ve misunderstood her all this time.” Richard let out a sigh of relief. “I knew it, Catherine. I knew you could never do something like that. This memory of Evelyn’s must be a fabrication, something she invented to slander you.” “Don’t worry,” he said, turning to me with renewed disgust. “The next charge will stick. I accuse Evelyn Reed of stealing state secrets and research for personal glory!” He glared at me. “I can’t believe you would twist your own memories to smear Catherine. You truly disgust me.” I let out a dry laugh. The man I had shared a bed with for decades would rather believe a near-stranger than his own wife. How utterly pathetic. This time, it was Catherine’s memory that appeared on the screen. Thirty years ago. Catherine, dressed in a white lab coat, was on an overseas call, her voice trembling with excitement. “Evelyn Reed, the Starship Project is about to launch.” “You may have held me down all these years. The state may have poured all its resources into you. You may have stolen my scholarship. But it doesn’t matter now. The first starship will be my creation. My name, Catherine Kane, will be written in the annals of history, while you will be nothing but a footnote.” But just as the nation was preparing to announce the Starship Project, America made a preemptive declaration. They had already filed the patents for the key technologies, creating a complete monopoly. Our country, its most advanced project suddenly crippled, could only watch as the American starship program took off with great fanfare. When the memory ended, any voices that had been speaking in my defense fell silent. “There’s no defending her this time. That’s pure treason! Our country had a breakthrough, and she handed the secrets to America for a pat on the head.” “Still, Catherine seems pretty stupid. If the project was that secret, why would she just call someone and tell them about it?” “Don’t blame the victim! How was she supposed to know Evelyn was a monster?” The Chief Justice fixed his gaze on me. “Defendant, is the accuser’s claim that you stole the research true?” I shrugged. “Catherine never had any technology worth stealing. But yes, I did ensure America patented the project first.” My casual demeanor only enraged the crowd further. “Disgusting! And she admits it so freely! Surely the verdict will be guilty this time!” The Chief Justice reviewed my memory for comparison. The process was swift. “Verdict on the second charge: Not Guilty. The prosecution may proceed.”

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The day we visited her late husband’s grave for the anniversary of his death, my mother-in-law saw me wiping down the headstone, stormed over, and slapped me twice across the face. “How dare you touch Arthur’s things! You’re filthy!” Stella wrapped a steadying arm around her mother. “Mom’s not feeling well today, Caleb,” she said to me. “Why don’t you wait in the car?” Not, Are you okay? Not, Mom, don’t hit him. Just an order to make myself scarce. I never imagined two slaps could be my salvation. We’d been living together for two years, and a massive solo portrait of her late husband in his wedding tuxedo still dominated the living room wall. Our own wedding photo was buried at the bottom of a storage box. My rebellious stepdaughter, Zoe, was a broken record. “My daddy’s BBQ ribs were way better than this. You shouldn’t even be allowed to make them.” My mother-in-law forced me to learn the dead man’s recipes, calling me clumsy and useless when I failed to replicate them perfectly. And Stella? Every time, it was the same placid response. “Please try to be more understanding. Zoe’s just a child. She doesn’t know any better.” It took me until today to finally understand. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. It was that this family never had a place for me to begin with. I pushed myself up from the ground, my teeth clenched. My legs had gone numb, and I limped away from the grave. Behind me, I could hear her mother’s sobs and Stella’s low, comforting murmurs. Back in the car, I finally noticed my hands were trembling. Through the window, I watched Stella pull her mother into a gentle embrace, her mother’s head resting on her shoulder as she cried her heart out. Stella held her like she was the most precious, fragile thing in the world. I tore my eyes away and stared blankly at the steering wheel. My left cheek burned with a fiery sting. I probed the inside of my cheek with my tongue and tasted copper. An hour passed before Stella finally got in. She didn’t look at me, just started the car. “Caleb, my mom… she gets very emotional today. Don’t take it to heart.” I said nothing. “She’s like this every year on this day. You just have to… be more understanding.” “Stella.” I turned to face her. “This isn’t the first time your mother has hit me.” Last year, on this same day, she threw the flowers I’d brought into the trash and called me shameless. The year before that, during a Thanksgiving dinner, she announced to a room full of relatives that I was a vulture, preying on a grieving widow. She was silent for a few seconds, then pulled a wet wipe from her pocket and handed it to me. “You’ve got some dirt on your face. Clean it up.” Not, I’m sorry. Not, I’ll talk to Mom. Just a command to wipe my face clean and pretend nothing happened. I took the wipe, the cool moisture a stark contrast to my burning skin, and slowly cleaned away the flecks of mud. The car window reflected my swollen left cheek and a small cut at the corner of my mouth. “Caleb, I’ll treat you to a nice dinner sometime soon, to make up for it.” She thought a single meal could erase everything. I folded the used wipe neatly in my palm. “No need. Let’s just go home. Zoe’s waiting.” Stella let out a small sigh of relief, probably thinking I was easy to appease, as always. She turned on the stereo, and the familiar notes of a piano filled the car. Für Elise. It was Arthur’s favorite piece to play. Her eyes softened, her lips humming along unconsciously as her head swayed gently with the melody. Staring at her profile, she felt like a complete stranger. Did I really know this woman at all? Halfway home, her phone rang. It was her mother. “Mom, are you home yet?” “Mm, I know… Don’t worry, I’ll come over tonight to stay with you.” “Caleb? Oh, he’s fine. He’s doing just fine.” Just fine. I turned my head to the window, watching the city blur past. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A new text message. Ava: Thinking of you today. Hope that doesn’t sound weird… Anyway, take care. I stared at those two words. Take care. My thumb hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally just locked the phone and put it away. When we pulled into our neighborhood, Stella killed the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Caleb, I need to stay at my mom’s tonight. I’m worried about her being alone.” “Okay.” “There’s food in the fridge. You and Zoe can make something simple.” “Alright.” She paused. “You know, I should take you shopping for some new clothes. Your whole wardrobe is just black, white, and gray. It’s too drab.” I looked down at the gray sweater I was wearing. The one she’d bought me last year. Back then, she’d said the color made me look dependable, perfect for a teacher. Now, she was tired of it. “It’s fine. I have enough clothes.” The elevator ride was silent, filled only by the hum of the machinery. Stella stood beside me, then reached out as if to touch my swollen cheek. I flinched away instinctively. Her hand froze in mid-air. She let it drop, clearing her throat awkwardly. “Uh… does it still hurt? You should put some ice on it when we get inside.” The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. I stepped out first, pulling out my keys to unlock our front door. The lights were on. Zoe was curled up on the sofa watching TV, her homework spread across the coffee table. “Mommy!” She leaped up the moment she saw Stella, throwing herself into her arms. “You’re finally back! I’ve been waiting forever!” Stella knelt and ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Did you miss Mommy and Daddy?” “Uh-huh!” Zoe nodded vigorously, then her eyes darted to me. Her voice dropped. “Mr. Evans is back, too.” She never called me Dad. Not even Caleb. Just Mr. Evans, my professional title. I slipped off my shoes and walked into the kitchen. The fridge held the pork ribs and vegetables I’d bought this morning. I took them out and started washing them, preparing dinner. From the living room, I could hear them talking. “So, how was school today, sweetie?” “It was okay. I got a 95 on my math test.” “That’s amazing! You did even better than last time.” “Hehe. Daddy always said I was the smartest.” “Yes, he did. Your daddy was right.” My hand, holding the cleaver, paused for a beat. I brought it down, the heavy blade thudding against the cutting board. “Mommy, when are we going to visit Daddy? I miss him.” “How about tomorrow? Mommy will take you tomorrow.” “Is… Mr. Evans coming?” “…No. He’ll be busy.” I wasn’t busy. I just wasn’t invited. After seasoning the ribs, I felt a presence behind me. Stella was leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching me. “Caleb, why don’t you take a break? I can just order some takeout.” “It’s fine. I’m almost done.” “Your face is so swollen. You don’t have to push yourself.” She stepped forward, reaching for the bowl in my hands, but I shifted away. “I said, I’m almost done.” Her mouth opened, then closed. She retreated back to the living room. For dinner, I made sweet and sour ribs, stir-fried pork with peppers, and a simple tomato and egg soup. As I set the dishes on the table, Zoe wrinkled her nose. “Why are the ribs sweet and sour?” “What’s wrong with them?” Stella asked. “I don’t like sweet and sour,” Zoe pouted. “Daddy made BBQ ribs. They were a hundred times better than this.” I sat down and put a piece of my own cooking into my mouth. It was a little too sweet. Not enough vinegar. “Zoe, don’t be picky,” Stella said, her tone mild. “But it’s true! They’re not good!” Zoe slammed her fork down. “Daddy made—” “But your daddy isn’t here anymore,” I interrupted. The air in the room instantly froze. Zoe’s eyes went wide. Stella’s face darkened. “Caleb Evans, what did you just say?” I lifted my head, my gaze calm and steady. “I said, Arthur is gone. He’s been dead for four years.” “Are you insane?” Stella shot up from her chair, its legs screeching against the floor. “Are you crazy? How could you say that in front of a child!” Zoe let out a wail, clapping her hands over her ears as she scrambled off her chair and ran for her room. “I’m not listening! I’m not listening! Daddy’s not dead!” SLAM! The bedroom door shook in its frame. Stella pointed a trembling finger at me. “Caleb, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” “I’m perfectly clear,” I said, setting down my fork. “Stella, we’ve been married for two years, and your daughter is still living in the shadow of her dead father. Do you think that’s normal?” “She’s only nine!” “And at nine, she should know that dead people don’t come back.” “You—” She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to fight with you. You’re not yourself today. Just… go get some rest.” She turned and walked to Zoe’s room, knocking softly. “Zoe, honey? Can Mommy come in?” Muffled sobs came from inside. Stella opened the door and slipped in. A moment later, I heard her gentle, cooing voice. “I’m so sorry, baby, it’s all Mommy’s fault… Mr. Evans didn’t mean it… Don’t cry, sweetheart. How about Mommy takes you to Grandma’s house? Grandma will make you some of her famous BBQ ribs…” I sat alone at the dining table, staring at the cooling food. The sweet and sour ribs gleamed under the light, a vibrant mix of red and green peppers. I picked up a piece and chewed it slowly. It really wasn’t as good as Arthur’s. I’d been hearing that for two years. His BBQ ribs, with their rich sauce and fall-off-the-bone meat. His garlic noodles, fragrant and perfectly chewy. His every dish was the gold standard in this house. And I was just the transfer student who could never pass the test. Stella emerged from the room with Zoe in her arms. The little girl was still hiccupping, her face buried in her mother’s shoulder. “Caleb, I’m taking Zoe to my mom’s.” “Okay.” “I won’t be back tonight.” “Alright.” She waited a few seconds, as if expecting me to protest, to ask her to stay. I didn’t. After they left, the silence in the apartment was deafening. I cleared the table, scraping the uneaten food into the trash. While washing the dishes, a splash of water hit the cut on my face, and I hissed in pain. I dried my hands and took a slow walk through the living room. On the media console sat Stella and Arthur’s wedding photo. It was a large, framed print, the dark wood polished and dust-free. In it, Arthur wore a white tuxedo, smiling brightly. Stella, in her wedding dress, gazed back at him, her eyes filled with nothing but him. On the wall behind the sofa hung a portrait of the three of them. Zoe was just a baby, cradled in Stella’s arms while Arthur stood beside them, his hand resting on his wife’s shoulder. The bookshelf displayed Arthur’s piano competition trophies. The nightstand in our bedroom held the cologne he used to wear. Even the shampoo in the shower was the brand he had always used. I had lived in this house for two years, yet there wasn’t a single trace of me anywhere. Even our wedding photo was locked away in a drawer because Stella said she was afraid seeing it would upset Zoe. My phone buzzed again. Ava: You there? I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I typed a reply, deleted it. Typed another, and deleted that too. Finally, I just called her. “Hello?” Ava’s voice came through, a little surprised. “Caleb?” “Ava.” “Yeah, I’m here.” “What you said before… does the offer still stand?” There was a pause on the other end. “What offer?” “You said if I ever wanted to leave, I could always come to you.” “…” “Ava, I’ve made up my mind.” Another stretch of silence. “Caleb, are you sure?” “Yes.” “Okay. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.” “No, don’t. I can get there myself.” “Do you have the address?” “Send it to me.” “Alright.” She hesitated. “Caleb, are… are you okay?” I glanced at my reflection in the dark screen of the TV—my face swollen, my expression hollow—and managed a weak smile. “I’m fine.” “Okay. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” After hanging up, I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I had slept in this bed for two years. But every single night, I felt like an intruder. Because this was Arthur’s bed. This was Arthur’s room. This was Arthur’s home. And I was just a temporary guest. The next morning, Stella hadn’t come back. I got up, showered, and got dressed, just like any other day. Except this time, I packed a suitcase. The school was a forty-minute drive across town. I parked in the underground garage, took my suitcase, and rode the elevator up to the staff offices. A few of my colleagues were already there. “Morning, Mr. Evans!” the young gym teacher called out. “Morning.” I walked to my desk, booted up my computer, and started typing my letter of resignation. Mrs. Davis from the next desk over leaned in. “Mr. Evans, what are you doing?” “I’m resigning.” “What? Why? Everything’s been going so well for you here.” I didn’t answer, focusing on the screen. “Is everything okay at home?” Mrs. Davis lowered her voice. “I heard your wife works at a funeral home? That kind of job… it’s got to be a downer, right?” I stopped typing and looked at her. “My wife’s profession is perfectly respectable, Mrs. Davis. There’s nothing wrong with it.” “Oh, I was just making conversation. No offense meant,” she said, quickly retreating. Once the letter was printed, I took it to the principal’s office. “Mr. Evans, what is the meaning of this?” the principal said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Final exams are just around the corner. If you leave now, where am I supposed to find a replacement?” “I’m sorry, Principal, but I don’t have a choice.” “Trouble at home?” “You could say that.” He sighed. “Well, can’t you at least finish out the semester? It’s only one more month.” “I can’t. I have to leave today.” “You can be so stubborn!” he grumbled, tossing his pen onto the desk. “I won’t approve it!” I just stood there, watching him quietly. After a moment, he let out another heavy sigh, picked up the pen, and signed the letter. “Go to accounting and get your final paycheck. I’ll make sure they pay you for this month’s hours.” “Thank you, Principal.” As I walked out of his office, a wave of relief washed over me. Footsteps hurried behind me. It was Mrs. Davis. “Mr. Evans, are you sure you’re alright, leaving in such a hurry?” “I’m fine.” “So, what are your plans now?” “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out as I go.” Mrs. Davis hesitated, then decided to say what was on her mind. “Look, Mr. Evans, I’m probably overstepping… but with your wife’s situation, it can’t be easy for you. If things are really that bad, you don’t have to force yourself to stay.” I froze. “What situation?” “You don’t know?” She glanced around before whispering, “At the last parent-teacher conference, I overheard some of the other parents talking. They said your wife goes to her late husband’s grave all the time. It’s common knowledge in your neighborhood.” She leaned in closer. “Someone even said she still has his picture hanging in the living room, while yours is packed away… Mr. Evans, you’re a living, breathing man. Why are you letting them treat you like a ghost?” I couldn’t find the words to respond. “Anyway, it’s not my place,” Mrs. Davis said, patting my shoulder. “You take care of yourself.” After finishing the paperwork, I drove to Ava’s veterinary clinic. It was on the south side of town, a little out of the way, but the building was warm and inviting. A large sign with cartoon cats and dogs hung over the door: “The Healing Paw Pet Clinic.” I pushed the door open, and the young woman at the reception desk looked up. “Hello, welcome to—Caleb?” It took me a second to recognize her. “Katie?” Katie was Ava’s younger cousin. I’d met her a few times back when we were all in college. “It really is you!” she exclaimed, rushing out from behind the desk. “Ava said you might be coming today, but I didn’t believe her! What are you doing here? Is your cat sick?” “I… I’m here to see your cousin.” “Oh! Right, of course. She’s out back. I’ll take you!” Katie led me through the exam rooms to a door that opened into a small, sunny yard. Ava was kneeling under a tree, gently examining an orange tabby cat. The sunlight caught in her hair, making her glow. “Ava! Caleb’s here!” She looked up, and a warm smile spread across her face. “You made it.” “Yeah.” She stood, brushing stray cat hair from her jeans as she walked toward me. Her eyes immediately fell on my face. “What happened to your cheek?” I unconsciously touched the swollen area. I’d used some of Stella’s foundation, trying carefully to cover the bruise, but it was still visible. “It’s nothing. I just bumped into something.” Ava studied my face for a moment longer but didn’t press. “Where’s your luggage?” “In the car.” “I’ll get it,” she said, then turned to her cousin. “Katie, can you go get the guest room on the second floor ready?” “You got it!” I followed Ava to the parking lot. She opened my trunk and saw the single suitcase inside. “Is this it?” “Yeah.” She lifted it out, testing its weight. “It’s light.” I didn’t say anything. Two years of my life, packed into one small suitcase. It felt about right.

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