My husband was a famous philanthropist. His monthly salary of thirty-eight thousand dollars—he donated every single cent to charity. The household expenses, my in-laws’ medical bills, our son’s tuition—all of it fell on my shoulders alone. My monthly salary couldn’t cover everything, so I had to discuss it with my husband: “Could you keep a little of your salary each month for the family?” My husband got angry: “I earn my own money from my own work. If I want to donate it, I’ll donate it. Do you really think you can control that too?” My in-laws chimed in to help him: “Our son is a famous philanthropist. Instead of being proud of him, you’re trying to scheme for his money and ruin his reputation. How can you be so selfish?” Even my five-year-old son blamed me: “Mommy won’t let Daddy be a good person. Mommy’s bad!” I nodded and didn’t argue anymore. Then I turned around and agreed to the company’s six-month closed training program. I wanted to see how this family of philanthropists would survive without my salary.

On payday, Anthony had just gotten home from work when he posted on social media: “Donated $158,000 this month. A small contribution, may kindness spread.” The post included his donation records and certificates from the charity organization. It quickly garnered a flood of likes and comments: “Mr. Anthony is such a good person! Not only did he donate his salary, he even donated his year-end bonus!” “Donating his entire monthly salary without keeping a cent—that’s a true philanthropist. Respect.” Anderson and Polo also quickly liked and commented: “Worthy of being our good son. So proud of you!” I sighed, turned off my phone, and opened my budget book. This month I had to pay our son’s tuition, prepare for my in-laws’ medical expenses, the car loan, the mortgage, and pay back last month’s credit card overdraft for household expenses… The total came to over eighteen thousand dollars. My salary was twelve thousand dollars. We were six thousand short. It was like this again. Every month at this time, the family bills felt like a knife pressed against my throat, making it hard to breathe. I took a deep breath and turned to look at Anthony on the couch. He was still scrolling through Twitter, smiling occasionally—probably because someone had praised him again. After hesitating several times, I spoke up: “Anthony, I want to discuss something with you.” He looked at his phone without even lifting his head: “Go ahead.” I paused, then said gently: “The bills this month are eighteen thousand, but my salary is only twelve thousand. We’re six thousand short.” “Could you stop donating all your money in the future and keep a little for the family?” Anthony’s finger stopped scrolling. He looked up at me like he’d heard something completely unreasonable, and said with displeasure: “I work hard to earn my money. If I want to donate it, I’ll donate it. Do you really think you can control that?” I explained: “I’m not trying to stop you from donating. I just hope you can keep a little for the family.” “Dad has heart problems, Mom has diabetes, our son needs to go to school, and we still have car and mortgage payments. The expenses are too high. I can’t handle it all on my own salary.” Anthony snorted coldly and said self-righteously: “If you can’t handle it, why don’t you work harder?” “People only think I’m great when I donate all my money. Why are you trying to interfere with my good deeds just because you want to be lazy?” I looked at Anthony in disbelief. I really hadn’t expected him to say something like that. For this family, to earn more money, I often worked overtime late into the night. All these years, I hadn’t bought myself a single piece of clothing, hadn’t slept a full night, and I didn’t even dare take sick leave when I was ill.

I had given everything I had. Now that I truly couldn’t support it anymore, I just wanted him—as a husband, a father, and a son—to take on a little of his responsibility and obligation. How could that look like me not working hard enough and wanting to be lazy in his eyes? I was about to speak when my in-laws’ bedroom door opened. They had clearly heard my conversation with Anthony just now. As soon as Polo opened the door, she said to me earnestly: “Juliet, this really is your fault.” “Anthony is a famous philanthropist. Instead of being proud of him, how can you scheme for his money?” My chest felt stuffy with frustration, but I still explained gently: “Anthony is also part of this family. You’re his parents. I just want him to consider our family a little while he’s donating. How does that make me a schemer?” “And besides, the money isn’t even for me.” “Dad’s heart condition requires long-term medication. That imported medicine costs over six hundred dollars a box. Your insulin has run out too. If there’s no money, I can’t even afford your medication.” Polo waved her hand impatiently: “Enough, enough. We know our own bodies.” “You’re using us as an excuse because you’re being precious and afraid of hard work, aren’t you?” Father-in-law Anderson also snorted disdainfully: “Exactly. I’ve never seen anyone as selfish as you.” “The reason Anthony became a household-name philanthropist is because he donates his entire salary without keeping a cent. If you ask him to keep some for household expenses now, aren’t you just ruining his persona and reputation?” “Anthony finally became a philanthropist everyone respects. As his wife, instead of following his example, how can you hold him back over this little bit of money?” The three of them took turns attacking me like I was some unforgivable criminal. Looking at them, I felt like someone had struck me over the head with a club. I instantly became clear-headed. All these years, Anthony had been busy with donations every day. As soon as he got off work, he went to various charity galas and donation events. Meanwhile, besides frantically working, I had to squeeze out time to take Anderson and Polo to the hospital for appointments, checkups, and prescriptions. I often used even my company lunch breaks to take them to the hospital. Whenever that happened, Polo would hold my hand and say: “Juliet, Anthony only has his charitable work in his heart. This family is so lucky to have you.” “Without you, Anderson and I wouldn’t know what to do.” Anderson would also look grateful: “You’ve sacrificed so much for this family. If Anthony ever wrongs you in the future, tell us. We won’t let him get away with it.” Even Anthony often sighed: “Juliet, marrying such a considerate and understanding woman like you is the greatest blessing of my life.” “Don’t worry, I’ll treat you well in the future and make up for all your hard work these years.” They said it so sincerely, and I believed them. So all these years, I gritted my teeth and bore all the suffering and exhaustion alone. Because I thought they genuinely understood me, appreciated my efforts, and needed my help. I thought once Anthony’s charitable work stabilized, he would turn back to look at this family, share the burden with me, and keep his promise to never let me suffer any grievance. But today I finally realized—I was wrong. Terribly wrong. Those grateful words and heartfelt promises were nothing but pretty lies to deceive me from beginning to end.

They never intended to contribute anything to this family. What they needed was a fool who would work tirelessly without asking for anything in return. As long as I didn’t ask for money, didn’t complain about being tired, and didn’t ask for help, I was the good daughter-in-law and good wife in their eyes. But the moment I truly couldn’t hold on anymore and wanted them to share a little of the burden, they started calling me precious, selfish, and unreasonable. In this moment, I suddenly felt like all my efforts over the years were a joke. Just as I was feeling bitter inside, my son, who had been playing with blocks on the balcony, suddenly ran up to me and said with displeasure: “Mommy’s bad. I hate Mommy!” I looked down at my son’s angry little face. My heart felt like someone had grabbed it and squeezed hard. This child—I had traded my life for him. When I was pregnant with him, I had severe morning sickness. Everything I ate, I threw up. I lost fifteen pounds in the first five months. The doctor said the fetus was developing slowly. I forced myself to eat. I ate, threw up, and ate again. At seven months, I developed gestational hypertension. My legs swelled like pillars. Every step I took left me gasping for breath. The day I gave birth, I hemorrhaged badly and nearly died. But now, this child I had traded my life for was saying I was bad, saying he hated me. I took a deep breath, crouched down, and asked him: “Henry, how did I become a bad mommy?” Henry put his hands on his hips and pointed at me self-righteously: “My classmates and teachers at preschool all say Daddy is a good person. You’re stopping Daddy from being a good person, so you’re a bad person!” “You bad mommy, I hate you. I never want to see you again!” After saying that, he turned and ran to Anthony, hugging him tightly, unwilling to look at me again. Seeing this, a flash of smugness appeared in Anthony’s eyes. He straightened his back, looked at me, and said proudly: “See? Even Henry knows you’re in the wrong.” “You really should reflect on yourself. Stop talking about money all the time. You reek of greed. It’s embarrassing.” Seeing the four of them united against me, I didn’t argue anymore. Instead, I asked Anthony one last time: “Are you sure you’re unwilling to contribute any part of your salary to household expenses?” Polo’s insulin had run out. Anderson’s heart medication was nearly gone. And Henry’s tuition had been delayed day after day. My account was completely empty. This family desperately needed money to survive. Faced with my question, disgust floated in Anthony’s eyes. “After all that’s been said, you’re still eyeing my money?” “Fine, then today I’ll make you give up completely.” After saying that, he opened his phone in front of the whole family and operated it for a bit. A few seconds later, he held the phone screen up to my face. He announced condescendingly: “See this? I’ve directly linked my salary card to the charity organization’s account. It can’t be changed for three years.” “From now on, my salary will automatically transfer to the charity’s account every month. Don’t even think about going after my salary anymore.” Seeing this, Polo was the first to clap and cheer: “Anthony, you did the right thing!” “Donations should be clean and complete, with no way back. That’s a true philanthropist.” Anderson nodded repeatedly and gave a thumbs up with pride: “Exactly. I support you.” Then he looked at me meaningfully: “Unlike some people who’ve fallen into the money pit, only knowing money, money, money all day. Those kinds of people are too narrow-minded and destined to amount to nothing.” Henry also clapped and cheered: “Daddy’s so great! Daddy’s a good person!”

“I love Daddy the most!” The whole family, neat and tidy, happy all around. The eyes looking at me all seemed to see me as an incompatible villain. Looking at those eyes full of contempt, I found it somewhat laughable. All these years, Anthony had never done anything for this family. Yet he became the great hero and good person in everyone’s eyes. While I, who had drained myself of everything, became the villain in everyone’s eyes. If that’s the case, what was I even struggling for? I nodded calmly: “Donations really should be done without reservation. I hope he can keep it up forever.” Seeing that I had finally changed my position, Anthony looked relieved: “You’ve finally come to your senses.” “I’m doing a great deed. As my wife, you should support me. If the family doesn’t have enough money, work harder, do more overtime. If that doesn’t work, you can get a part-time job.” My in-laws immediately nodded: “Exactly. Look for the problem in yourself first. Having a good husband like Anthony is your honor.” “Stop thinking about being lazy and eyeing his money all day.” I smiled and didn’t say anything more. Instead, I silently took out my phone. Three days ago, my manager had sent me a message: “Juliet, the company has a six-month closed training program at headquarters.” “The spots are very hard to get. After the training, you’ll come back as a director with several times the salary.” “The company leadership all think you’ve been working extra hard these years and are very suitable for this spot. Think about it?” At the time, I replied: “Manager Kevin, my in-laws are in poor health and my child is still young. The family can’t do without me. I probably can’t go.” It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go. I just couldn’t let go of this family. Because this training was completely closed. For six months, I couldn’t go home, couldn’t use my phone, and couldn’t contact anyone from the outside world. Six months without anyone earning money at home—who would buy Anderson’s medicine? Who would take Polo to her checkups? Who would pay Henry’s tuition? Who would pay the mortgage and car loan? Manager Kevin thought it was a pity and said: “Don’t refuse so quickly. This opportunity is really good. Think about it more carefully.” Looking back now, I was so foolish. I almost gave up such a great opportunity for professional development for a group of people who didn’t consider me family at all. I took a deep breath and typed a few words: “Manager Kevin, I’ve decided to participate in the training. When do we leave?” Manager Kevin replied almost instantly: “I was waiting for you to say that!” “We leave tomorrow. Just submit your materials tonight.” I replied “Okay,” then quickly prepared the materials and submitted them. Manager Kevin was also very efficient and immediately booked me a flight for tomorrow morning. The next day, I woke up before dawn. Anthony and my in-laws were all still sleeping. I simply packed my luggage and took a cab to the airport alone. When the plane landed, it was already afternoon. As soon as I turned on my phone, countless missed calls and messages from Anthony flooded in: “Juliet, where did you go?” “My parents’ medicine has run out. Hurry up and buy it. They’re very uncomfortable right now.” “Also, the preschool teacher just called and said Henry’s tuition has reached the final payment deadline. If we don’t pay today, Henry will be forced to withdraw!” Looking at those anxious messages on my phone, I smiled. Now they knew to panic? Where were they earlier? My phone was still vibrating. Messages kept flooding in.

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My roommate Sophie loves borrowing things from me. Today it’s dance shoes, tomorrow it’s knee pads. But ever since she started borrowing from me, my body has gotten stiffer day by day. I can’t do splits anymore, I lose my balance during turns, and my knees buckle when I land jumps. Meanwhile, she’s gone from being a transfer student who couldn’t even pass basic technique to becoming Mrs. Foster’s handpicked candidate for the arts program entrance exam. Mrs. Foster grows more disappointed in me each day while valuing Sophie more and more. She constantly compares the two of us, and I’m always the one getting sighs and head shakes. Even my boyfriend Ethan has started looking down on me, getting closer and closer to her. After yet another skills assessment where I ranked dead last while Sophie came in first in the whole class, I stumbled upon Ethan in the stairwell with his arm around her waist. I rushed forward to confront them, only to hear words that turned my blood to ice. “Her talent is all mine now. Just one more borrowing and she’ll be completely useless. Then we can be together forever.” So that’s the truth. I confronted them, and Sophie and Ethan pushed me down the stairs together. They told everyone I’d jumped because I couldn’t handle my failing grades. I died wrongfully. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Sophie first borrowed my dance shoes. You love borrowing things? Then I’ll make sure you get what you deserve.

I hadn’t even recovered from the shock of being reborn when I saw Sophie holding a pair of my pointe shoes. In my past life, it all started with these shoes—the first step toward my destruction. Without thinking, I snatched the shoes from Sophie’s hands. “I can’t lend you these shoes.” Sophie froze, not expecting this reaction from me. I’d always been generous—if other students forgot knee pads or resistance bands, I’d always help out. She tugged at her ponytail, and her eyes immediately turned red as she looked at me with wounded expression. “Emma, you’re usually so generous. Is it because I’m a transfer student that you look down on me? You won’t even lend me a pair of dance shoes?” That’s when Ethan appeared, looking at me accusingly. “Emma, how can you discriminate against Sophie just because she transferred in halfway? You won’t even lend her dance shoes?” The other students in the practice room heard the commotion and gathered around, sizing us up. Lily stood beside me with her arms crossed, glanced at Sophie, and said nothing. Jessica poked her head out of the dressing room, touching her earring with an expression that said she was enjoying the drama. “Emma’s usually pretty cool about stuff like this. There must be some misunderstanding, right?” “Yeah, last week when Sophie forgot her water bottle, Emma was the one who gave her hers.” “Yesterday morning I saw Emma bringing Sophie breakfast.” Hearing these words, Sophie’s face flushed with embarrassment, and tears began streaming down her face. She just kept crying, unable to say a word. Ethan stepped forward and grabbed the pointe shoes from my hand. “They’re just shoes. You’re being so petty, Emma.” He shoved the shoes into Sophie’s hands. “Sophie, just take them and wear them.” Sophie held the shoes and looked at me with an exaggerated show of reluctance. “Emma, can I please just borrow these shoes for two days?” I didn’t agree right away. My tone was flat when I spoke. “These pointe shoes were custom handmade for me by my grandmother’s special order from Master Bennett. Everything from the materials to the last was made according to my foot shape. The labor alone cost thirty thousand dollars.” As soon as I finished speaking, the practice room went silent for two seconds. Jessica instinctively pulled out her phone to check prices, scrolled twice, then put it down. A girl in the front row clicked her tongue. “Thirty thousand dollar pointe shoes? That’s more than my living expenses for an entire year.” Another girl beside her muttered quietly. “She really knows how to pick them. Goes straight for the most expensive pair.” Sophie’s fingers unconsciously picked at the shoe’s surface, her face turning red and white by turns. “I didn’t know these shoes were so expensive. If you think I’m not worthy of borrowing such expensive shoes, then I’ll give them back. But could you maybe—” Before she could finish, I snatched the shoes back. I knew she wanted to borrow something else, so I cut her off directly. “Sorry, I don’t have any extra dance shoes to lend you today. There are so many other students in the class—why don’t you ask them?” She stood there stunned, my words blocking her. Ethan’s expression darkened, and just as he was about to speak, I interrupted him again. “Ethan, since you care so much about Sophie, you have at least three spare pairs of shoes in your locker. Why can’t you lend her one?” “Or does Sophie only want to borrow my shoes?” Panic flashed across Sophie’s face. She tugged at her ponytail and quickly shook her head. “It’s not like that. I just thought since we’re roommates, I’d ask you first.” I nodded. “I know. That’s why I want to ask you a question too.” My gaze fell on the ankle support visible at Sophie’s ankle. It was a custom piece with a silver clasp, engraved with a small “E.” That was the birthday gift I’d given Ethan last month. “Ethan, since you treasure the things I give you so much, why is the ankle support I gave you on Sophie’s foot?”

Sophie looked down at her ankle and tried to pull her pants down to cover it, but it was too late. Her words came tumbling out faster. “I, it’s just that, no, Ethan just felt bad that I didn’t have good ankle support, so he lent me his to protect my feet. It’s not what you think.” Lily beside me stretched lazily and spoke in a conversational tone. “Well, I don’t have good ankle support either. How come nobody feels bad for me?” Jessica, who’d been watching from the sidelines, chimed in. “The ankle support I’m wearing is two-year-old hand-me-down, and I haven’t seen anyone giving me the good stuff with names engraved on it.” Ethan’s face couldn’t take it anymore. He glared at me angrily. “That’s enough, Emma. Are you deliberately targeting her just because I’ve been taking care of Sophie a bit more? I only care about her as a classmate. Don’t let your jealousy hurt innocent people.” Even now he’s still blaming me. It was the same in my past life—everything was always my fault. “Which eye saw me targeting Sophie? If anything, you’re the one who can lend out ankle support with my name on it but can’t spare a pair of shoes. They’re both things I gave you—how come you’re playing favorites?” My words left him opening and closing his mouth, his fists clenched, unsure whether to keep them raised or drop them. Ethan tugged at his collar and forced out a smile. “Stop making a scene. You’re not yourself today. Go back and get some rest.” Just then, I heard a voice. It was like it came from far away, with a metallic mechanical quality. “Host, we just completed binding today. If you accept items from Ethan, from this day forward you can only borrow his fate.” Sophie’s expression changed drastically. She pushed away Ethan’s hand. “I don’t want to borrow your things. I just remembered I have a spare pair of shoes in my bag.” She turned and ran toward the dressing room. That voice—was it the system Sophie had bound with in my past life? I could actually hear it speaking. I lowered my head and pretended to organize my shoe bag while my mind raced. So there was such a rule. No wonder in my past life Sophie only targeted me. Later when other classmates voluntarily offered her things, she wasn’t happy about it. Turns out she could only bind to one target. I remember in my past life she said more than once how she envied me—said I had a good family, good talent, a handsome boyfriend, and teachers who liked me. She even said how nice it would be if she could be me. Turns out she really meant to become me. Lily came over and whispered. “Did you take the wrong medicine today? How come you’re suddenly so tough?” I didn’t answer because that metallic voice spoke again. “Host, the binding window is only forty-eight hours. If she won’t lend to you, you can choose to bind someone else. But I must inform you—only by binding someone whose fate is better than yours can you borrow their good fortune. If you bind someone whose fate is worse than yours, their bad fortune will transfer to you.” “I don’t want anyone else’s fate. I only want Emma’s.” Sophie said this quietly in the dressing room. Through the thin wall, I heard it crystal clear. Not heard her voice—heard the system repeating her choice. So she only had forty-eight hours. Tomorrow, she would definitely come looking to borrow from me again. What should I do? I couldn’t keep avoiding her forever. I grabbed my shoe bag and walked out of the practice room, my mind turning over one thought again and again. The system said if she bound to someone whose fate was worse than hers, the bad fortune would transfer to Sophie. In other words, as long as what I lent her didn’t belong to me but to someone whose fate was worse than hers, what Sophie would borrow wouldn’t be good fortune but someone else’s misfortune. The problem was, where would I find this “person with worse fate”?

I walked to the school gate where a girl in a school uniform blocked my path. She was holding a cardboard box with a printed photo taped to it. The photo showed a girl with a ponytail wearing dance clothes, smiling brightly. “Excuse me, Rachel from the dance team at Clearwater High next door was in a serious car accident. She’s completely paralyzed now and can only lie in bed. We’re raising donations for her. Could you contribute?” I stared at the girl’s face in the photo. “What’s her current condition?” The girl’s eyes reddened. “The doctor said her spinal damage is too severe. She won’t be able to stand for the rest of her life. She’s only sixteen. Her fundamentals used to be the best on our team. Now forget dancing—she can’t even get out of bed.” “We’re fundraising just to help her be more comfortable in the hospital.” I said nothing and pulled out my phone to scan the QR code on the box, making a transfer. The girl looked at the amount and froze for a full five seconds. “You… you donated twenty thousand?” “Which hospital is she in?” “City Central Hospital, Rehabilitation Building, third floor.” I made note of the address. I bought a basket of fruit and took a cab to the hospital. When I pushed open the hospital room door, Rachel was propped against the raised head of her bed reading an old textbook. From the neck down she was covered with a thin blanket, and the outline beneath it was frighteningly thin. She saw me enter and blinked. “Who are you here to see?” “You.” I placed the fruit on her bedside table. “My name’s Emma. I’m from the same city, studying dance at Greenwood Arts High. I heard about what happened to you, so I wanted to come see you.” Rachel tried to sit up straighter. I quickly stepped forward to adjust her bed. “Thank you. You dance too?” “Yeah.” She stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled. That smile was identical to the one in the photo, but her cheeks had hollowed out significantly. “I used to dance too. Not anymore. The teacher says it nicely—calls it ‘temporary recovery.’ Really it means I never have to come back.” I glanced at the cabinet in the corner of the room. Old things were piled on top—yellowed resistance bands, worn knee pads, and a pair of old pointe shoes with a name written in marker on the surface. Rachel. “Are these all things you used before?” “Yeah. My mom wanted to throw them out but I wouldn’t let her. They don’t mean anything really, just keeping them for memories.” I opened the bag of new dance supplies I’d bought from the school store and placed a complete set of brand-new stationery, workbooks, and wireless earbuds on her bedside table. “These are for you. Don’t just lie around in the hospital doing nothing. Listen to some lessons, read some books.” Rachel looked a bit embarrassed. “This is too expensive.” “Keep them.” I pointed to the cabinet in the corner. “You won’t use those old things anymore. I’ll help you get rid of them so you don’t have to keep feeling sad looking at them.” She hesitated, then nodded. “That’s probably for the best. Seeing them there hurts every time. Go ahead and throw them away for me.” I stuffed all of Rachel’s old dance shoes, old resistance bands, and old knee pads into my backpack. Walking out of the hospital entrance, I pulled out those old pointe shoes to look at them. The soles were worn thin, the satin surface had sweat stains, and the ribbons showed curved creases from being tied in dead knots and untied. These were shoes worn by a girl who would never stand again. Sophie, this is the fate I’ve prepared for you. Early the next morning, as soon as I entered the practice room, Sophie caught up and grabbed my arm. “Emma, I’m sorry about yesterday. I already returned the ankle support to Ethan. Please don’t be mad anymore, okay?” “Mm.” Seeing my cold tone, she quickly changed her expression and rubbed her hands together awkwardly. “I forgot my dance shoes in the dorm today and there’s no time to go back before fundamentals class. Could you lend me a pair?” Afraid I’d refuse, she sped up, adding urgently. “I don’t need your expensive ones. I’ll wear whatever you give me. Old ones are fine, worn-out ones are fine.” I didn’t refuse. I pulled out the old pointe shoes I’d taken from Rachel’s hospital room yesterday and handed them to her. “Here. You don’t need to return them.” Sophie hadn’t expected me to be so agreeable today. All her prepared words stuck in her throat. She stared at the old shoes for two seconds—the surface was somewhat worn, but the size was about right for her. I made to take them back. “If you think they’re too old, forget it.” She snatched them away and clutched them to her chest. “I don’t mind. I just didn’t expect you to be so generous. Thank you, Emma.” Lily in the back row heard this and leaned back with her arms crossed, tilting her head at Sophie. “What do you mean ‘didn’t expect’? When has Emma not been generous? But you—yesterday people caught you wearing her boyfriend’s ankle support, and today you have the nerve to come borrow shoes?” Sophie’s face flushed. She waved her hands frantically. “That’s not what I meant. Lily, don’t misunderstand. She didn’t lend me shoes yesterday, so I thought she wouldn’t today either. I’m actually really grateful to Emma.” Ethan saw me lend out the shoes and walked over, tugging at his collar, his face showing a kind of restrained excitement. He couldn’t resist a sarcastic jab. “They’re just old shoes. Was it really necessary to make such a big fuss yesterday?” I rolled my eyes at him.

The class bell rang. Mrs. Foster walked into the practice room, took attendance, then had everyone go to the barre for warm-ups. Sophie changed into those old dance shoes and stood in her position. That metallic voice rang out accordingly. “Congratulations, Host. Borrowing successful. This system has begun executing the fate transfer program. The target subject’s advantages will gradually transfer to the Host, while the target subject will gradually have their luck drained until they become worthless.” Sophie lowered her head, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly. She thought she was about to possess my life. In my past life, after she borrowed my things, I started feeling unwell that same day and got the simplest questions wrong in class. Today I paid special attention to my body. Leg stretches, leg lifts, floor work. I carefully felt each movement. No discomfort at all. On the contrary, during PE class when Sophie was running, her foot suddenly went soft and her knee hit the track. When the PE teacher helped her up, her right leg visibly trembled. After returning from the nurse’s office, Sophie sat at her seat, stealing glances at me. “Emma, do you feel unwell today?” This was a test. I yawned and slumped on my desk, pretending to lack energy. “You noticed. I don’t know what’s wrong today. My body feels especially stiff. This morning when I was stretching, it felt like my bones were about to break.” A hint of smugness crept into the corners of her mouth as she made a show of consoling me. “You must be exhausted from rehearsing so much lately. You’ll feel better if you sleep early tonight.” I hummed in agreement and continued slumping. During afternoon fundamentals class, I deliberately messed up a simple turn and was corrected on the spot by Mrs. Foster. She frowned and tapped the barre. “Emma, you’ve been in terrible form lately. You can’t even stabilize a second position turn. How are you going to participate in next month’s assessment?” I kept my head down and said nothing. From the corner of my eye, I saw Sophie’s shoulders relax as she picked at her nail polish, unable to hide her smile. She thought everything was going according to plan. After school that evening, Sophie stopped me again. “Emma, my resistance band is worn out. It almost snapped during practice. Could you lend me one?” “Sure.” I pulled out Rachel’s old resistance band from my backpack and handed it over. “Here. You don’t need to return it.” I grabbed my backpack and walked out. Just as I left the practice room door, I heard something heavy hit the floor behind me. I turned around. Sophie had fallen flat on the floor, her right leg curled up, her face pressed against the ground. She’d fallen as if her knee had suddenly lost all strength. Two nearby students rushed to help her up. Sophie’s face was deathly pale, her right hand clutching the resistance band she’d just received. “I’m fine. Just missed a step.” She stood up forcefully, waving and smiling. But I saw that when she stood up, her right leg shook three times before stabilizing. She didn’t know whose fate she’d borrowed. She thought she was stealing my talent. In reality, she was stealing Rachel’s fate. The fate of a girl who would spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair. Sophie’s leg was getting worse. The next day during fundamentals class, Mrs. Foster had each group come up one by one to do center practice combinations. Small jumps, medium jumps, grand jumps in sequence. Sophie was in the second group. The first four eight-counts went fine, but when she got to the grand jump, her right foot pushed off and her body flew into the air. The instant she landed, her landing leg suddenly buckled. She barely kept from falling, but the whole movement was crooked like someone had shoved her from the side. Mrs. Foster frowned and tapped the floor with her teaching stick. “Sophie, your grand jump landing was unstable. What’s been going on with you lately? Last week in the second group, your landings were the cleanest.” Sophie stood there as her right leg involuntarily trembled. She had to press her heel hard into the floor to stop it. “Mrs. Foster, I think it’s because I bumped my knee yesterday and it hasn’t fully recovered yet.” Mrs. Foster nodded without pressing further and turned her gaze to me. “Emma, your turn.”

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When the impoverished campus beauty confessed to my buddy for the tenth time, he pointed at me: “Mason’s poor too. You two would be a perfect match.” She looked at me. Her lifeless eyes suddenly lit up. Ten years later, she soared to success. The first thing she did was thank me for my decade of companionship. Everyone knew she loved me to the bone. Until she saw my buddy at a banquet, forcing a smile as he poured drinks for others. Turns out, his rich heiress wife had gone bankrupt and committed suicide. She handed me divorce papers: “If you weren’t occupying this position, he could have come to me.” We had our first fight in ten years. She froze my bank accounts. I’d rather die than sign the divorce papers. Until Dad was critically ill, and she wouldn’t pay a single cent. I watched helplessly as Dad died. Mom shoved me to the ground, sobbing: “Why did you fight with her! If you hadn’t fought, your dad would’ve been cured! The one who shouldn’t have died is dead, and the one who should be dead is still alive!” My sister stared at me with red eyes too. My five-year-old son tugged at my sleeve, crying: “Where’s Grandpa? Where is he? Why didn’t Daddy save Grandpa?” That night, she looked at me mockingly: “How much longer are you going to cling to this position?” I handed her the signed papers. I won’t cling anymore. I’m going to find Dad. **1** When I pushed the signed papers in front of her, she froze. “So obedient this time?” “Yes.” She leaned closer to me. “What are you plotting? Might as well say it.” “I’m going to find my dad.” Lila Shaw smiled. “What, transferring your uncle to another hospital?” I froze. I looked at her in some surprise. “Your uncle’s condition can only be treated at the hospital I recommended. If you go find him, where are you transferring him to?” She… didn’t know Dad was already dead. A bitter smile flashed across my face. “That’s none of your concern.” With that, I stood up and dragged over the suitcase I’d packed long ago. I didn’t have much. One suitcase couldn’t even be filled. After fighting with her for so long, almost everything I owned of value had been sold. But it still wasn’t enough to cover Dad’s surgery costs. Maybe Mom was right. I was the one who killed him. I should go atone for it. I opened the door. Suddenly, my shoulder was grabbed. She pinned me against the wall by the throat. “Playing hard to get?” Lila Shaw looked at me: “You refused to sign before no matter what. Now you’re so obedient. “What are you planning to do to Ethan once you walk out that door?” Always like this. She always assumed the worst of me. Before, I would smash things around the house to remind her that I was her husband of nearly ten years. But now, I actually laughed: “Strangle me then. Perfect—widowhood will automatically dissolve our marriage.” Her hand recoiled as if burned. She looked at me in disbelief for a moment. Seeing I had no intention of dodging. She spat out “psycho.” And turned to leave. I found a rental apartment. I’d saved up a lot of sleeping pills. Finish them all, and I could leave quietly. I looked at the gray, bare branches outside the window. Smiled a little. Opened the pill bottle. A huge crash. My hand shook. The bottle fell to the ground, pills scattered everywhere. Lila Shaw gripped my arm tightly. A cold smile on her lips: “So that’s why you signed the papers so obediently—you wanted to kill Ethan! “Someone! Take him away!” Before I could explain, I was forcibly dragged away. The car stopped in an empty lot in the suburbs. I was pulled out. Thrown in front of Ethan White. His arms and legs were covered in wounds. He looked at me with red eyes: “Mason Turner, I may have fallen on hard times, but I still have morals! “I never thought of destroying your family. Why did you have me kidnapped and humiliated? “If Lila hadn’t arrived in time, those animals you hired would’ve killed me by now!” Looking at those people I didn’t recognize at all, I said coldly: “I didn’t.” “Still denying it?” Lila Shaw gripped my chin. “These people all confessed you hired them. What, could Ethan have staged this himself?” Ethan White quickly exchanged a glance with those thugs. They suddenly burst into tears: “Sir! Are you really going to deny knowing us!” “Yeah, sir! You said you’d take responsibility if anything happened!” “You said Mr. White was selling himself, that we didn’t need to worry about consequences! If we’d known he was someone Ms. Shaw cared about, we wouldn’t have dared even with a hundred times the courage!” Ethan White’s eyes reddened, as if he’d suffered the greatest humiliation. Lila Shaw’s hand gripping my chin nearly crushed my bones: “Keep being stubborn, and you can forget about your father’s medical expenses forever!” I looked at her with red eyes. Suddenly smiled: “Father? He’s already gone! What medical expenses?” Lila Shaw’s pupils contracted sharply. The next second, a slap landed hard on my face: “Now you’ll say anything just to be contrary!” Ethan White suddenly spoke: “Mason, even though you and Lila have some conflicts, she’s never taken it out on your uncle. Even I, an outsider, know that Lila has a special medical account for your uncle. She deposits hundreds of thousands every month.” **2** I froze. Looked up at Lila Shaw. Her expression was ice-cold, same as always. How could someone like this possibly give Dad hundreds of thousands in medical expenses every month? If that were true, how could Dad have died! They’re all lying to me. Using a fictitious account to threaten me into divorce. All lying to me… Lila Shaw said coldly: “Even now, you still refuse to admit it?” I took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?” “Kneel down and apologize to him.” “Hey, that’s not necess—we used to be broth—” Before Ethan White could stop me, I’d already knelt down and kowtowed respectfully: “I’m sorry.” Lila Shaw looked at me in disbelief. I stood up. Dusted off my knees: “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.” The pills scattered on the rental floor—I haven’t taken them yet. “Stop.” A knife was placed on the table. Lila Shaw said coldly: “Ethan suffered so much because of you. An apology isn’t enough.” I turned around. She sneered: “However many cuts he took, you take the same.” Ethan White covered the scrape on his arm and frowned. “Fine.” Perfect. No other way to die anyway. I picked up the knife. Stabbed it hard toward my own heart. “Mason Turner!” A hand gripped the hand holding my knife with all its strength. Lila Shaw fought desperately against my force. I stared at her. The knife tip moved two inches closer to my heart. “Mason Turner!!” I gripped the knife handle. She gripped my hand. But couldn’t overcome my strength. “If you want your child thrown into an orphanage, go ahead and stab that knife in now!” I froze. “Mason Turner, I won’t raise that bastard.” I opened my mouth. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. “You…” She interrupted me: “If you really want to die, take that bastard with you. “Looking at that face so much like yours makes me sick!” Right… Lila Shaw hates me. So little Beau… she’d hate him too… If I die, no one will really take care of Beau. Maybe Lila Shaw would even get people to bully him… The knife was yanked out abruptly. I coughed up blood, staggered, and was caught by her. Before losing consciousness, I heard her shouting sternly: “Ambulance! Call an ambulance!” When I woke again, I was lying in a VIP hospital room. Lila Shaw looked at me with a cold smile: “Your methods are getting more sophisticated. “Even threatening death is performed so realistically.” I looked at her. She gave a mocking smile. “Ethan was right. You really should be an actor.” She left. I lay alone in the bed. Staring at the white ceiling. Covering my heart. That afternoon, I knocked on my sister’s door. Dad’s portrait still sat on the table. Seeing it was me, she moved to close the door immediately. I stuck a hand in the gap. “Stella, I’m here to ask you for something.” My sister turned her head away, refusing to look at me. I entered the room. She sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette. She didn’t smoke or drink. After Dad died, she started both. “I’m sorry, Stella. I should have listened to you from the start.” She exhaled a smoke ring. Said nothing. “I shouldn’t have been unwilling to give up those ten years. I shouldn’t have fought with you and Mom over Lila Shaw. I should have listened to you from the beginning and given Lila Shaw’s husband position to Ethan White. “I’m sorry…” My sister laughed coldly: “Is sorry useful? Can sorry bring Dad back?” I choked up. She looked at me: “It’s because you were always single-mindedly jealous that Mom died!” She spat out the last few words through gritted teeth: “How did I end up with a brother like you!” I lowered my head, trembling as I spoke: “But Stella… I’m begging you, take care of Beau.” She froze. “Lila Shaw won’t take care of him. She’ll soon have children with someone else. “I’m not asking you to treat him like your own child. “At least don’t let him be bullied.” My sister stared at me, then suddenly laughed coldly: “What, playing the guilt card?” I said nothing. “Having a father like you is Beau’s born misfortune.” “Stella, I’m begging you.” “Get out.” “Stella…” “Get out!” An ashtray smashed at my feet: “Get out! Don’t dirty Dad’s eyes by being here!” I turned around. Dad’s portrait was on the table. Looking at me kindly with a smile. I knelt down. Kowtowed deeply. Turned around. Knelt before my sister again and kowtowed: “Stella, I’m begging you.” Without waiting for her shocked look, I turned and strode away. **3** Walking out the door, already in the car. My sister’s voice came from the doorway: “Don’t ever come back! Die wherever you want to die! Don’t say you’re my brother! The Turner family doesn’t have a brother like you!” I gripped the steering wheel, my eyes uncontrollably stinging. It doesn’t matter if I get scolded. I know. In the end, Stella won’t abandon Beau. I started the car. And drove away. The sleeping pills sat quietly on the table. I lay on the bed in the rental apartment. Set up a timed message for the landlord. To be sent after twenty-four hours. Asking him to help me contact the funeral home. Selling my last few luxury items could get me over two hundred thousand. Not enough for Dad’s surgery. But enough to compensate the landlord for his losses. After doing all this, I fed the pills to myself. The door was suddenly kicked open. My throat was grabbed. I involuntarily threw up. My chin was gripped by Lila Shaw. Her eyes were red: “What did you do! What did you and your father do to Ethan!!” Lila Shaw had never lost control like this. Even in the past when we fought endlessly over divorce papers. She’d just give me a cold smile and say: “Fine, then we’ll drag this out. Let’s see who can outlast whom.” I’d never seen her so furious. Still confused, Ethan White appeared at the door. The performance costume he’d been wearing was now replaced by haute couture. But it was torn and tattered. Blood at the corner of his mouth. He rushed up like a madman. Punched me hard in the face: “How can you be so vicious! “Won’t you and your father be satisfied until you’ve destroyed me!” I looked at him blankly. His chest heaved violently: “I told you, I have morals. I would never destroy your marriage with Lila! “We were brothers once. How could you be so depraved as to have your father send me a message, trick me into going to the hospital to see him. “Then have a bunch of animals treat me like a dog and take pictures of me!” I laughed. As expected. Framing me again. But I’m so tired. Too tired to explain. Ethan White gritted his teeth, trembling: “If Lila hadn’t found me, those photos would be all over the internet by now!” “What a coincidence.” I didn’t even lift my eyelids: “Every time I supposedly frame you, Lila Shaw shows up right on time.” He froze. I smiled and looked up: “Just like you arranged it all in advance.” “Bang!” A hand shoved me hard. The back of my head hit the wall. Lila Shaw furiously threw a stack of photos in my face: “You’re saying Ethan used this method to humiliate himself just to compete with you!” In the photos, Ethan White’s face was covered in injuries, his eyes panicked. Countless hands forcing him to look at the camera. His eyes full of humiliation and tears. At first glance, it was indeed very pitiful. But looking closer, the angles and composition of these photos were too refined. Like someone had written a script in advance. Under the blanket, my hand gripped the sleeping pills I hadn’t finished. I sneered: “Not bad photography. Could be used as artistic portraits.” “You!” Ethan White was stunned. I looked at Lila Shaw: “What exactly do you want, Ms. Shaw? “Beat me up or put me in prison? Either way, hurry up. I still have things to do.” Lila Shaw’s fists trembled slightly. “That would be too easy on you.” A dozen burly men walked in from the door. “Naturally, we should give you a taste of your own medicine!” I froze. Cameras were set up in no time. Lila Shaw gave cold instructions at the door: “However you bullied Ethan, do the same to him! However you photographed Ethan, photograph him the same way!” With that, the door was closed. Before I could make a sound. My mouth was covered. **4** Ethan White’s photos were carefully designed. But my photos were truly humiliating. In no time, a hundred photos were taken. My face was covered in punch marks, blood at the corner of my mouth. Lying on the bed, eyes vacant. Lila Shaw checked those photos. Took away the negatives. Revealed a mocking expression. She came to my bedside and leaned down: “Tell me, if your father saw you doing this kind of work on the side, would he just drop dead on the spot?” I stared at the ceiling, saying nothing. She sneered. Stood up. Called her subordinate: “Prepare the car. We’re going to the hospital to see the old man.” “Yes!” She walked away. From under the blanket, my hand came out. The sleeping pills—I could finally take them. Dad, I’m coming to apologize to you. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. At that moment, Lila Shaw was going downstairs. Her subordinate called again: “Ms. Shaw! This is bad! The hospital says the old man passed away a month ago!” “What did you say?” Lila Shaw frowned. Suddenly thought of something. Turned around in panic. “Mason Turner! You’re pulling this trick again!” She burst through the door. Sleeping pills scattered on the floor. I lay on blood-soaked sheets, eyes already closed. “Mason Turner!!” “Mason!” Lila Shaw rushed over. Blood still trickled from the corner of my mouth. She looked at the scattered pills on the floor. Her eyes turned red: “Mason! Don’t scare me! What are you trying to do!” I felt my hand being gripped tightly. Lila Shaw’s voice trembled slightly: “Mason, I wasn’t really going to send out your photos. I was just trying to scare you! You wouldn’t take your photos public, would you? “Those photos are all destroyed. I never intended to show them to your uncle either! Please, don’t die, please…” But I couldn’t respond anymore. Slowly closed my eyes. Lila Shaw watched as I was pushed into the emergency room. She stood there listlessly. Still clutching my phone. The phone was stopped on my message draft page. She looked down. The screen still had blood on it. Asking the landlord to help contact a funeral home? All luxury items as compensation to the landlord? What is this… Lila Shaw’s hands trembled slightly. Mason… had already thought about suicide this early?! No, wait… Remembering the subordinate’s phone call, she immediately called back: “Go check what’s really going on with the old man!” Soon, she saw the empty hospital room. Her eyes turned red. “When the old man passed, we tried to contact you, but you never answered. In the end, it was the gentleman who claimed the body.” She never answered? Lila Shaw thought she’d heard wrong. Took out her phone. There were no calls from the hospital at all! “Impossible. We called! Check your call history if you don’t believe us!” “No need.” Lila Shaw’s voice turned cold. Her phone password was set by Ethan White. If someone tampered with the call history, it could only be him… She went to Ethan White’s residence. As soon as she opened the door, Ethan White rushed to hug her: “Lila! I was just about to find you! “Just now I saw someone lurking around my place again, similar to those people last time. Is Mason trying to hurt me again?” Lila Shaw looked at him coldly. Said nothing. “Lila?” Ethan White slowly released her. “Done with the act?” “Lila, I don’t know what you’re talking about?” “Why is there no record of the hospital’s call?” Ethan White’s breath caught. “I… I don’t know.” “Still lying!” She suddenly grabbed Ethan White by the throat: “The medical account I set up for the old man—why is there no balance! “Why every month when I transfer money, do you simultaneously have an extra sum of assets in your name! “Whose pocket did the money really go into!”

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Holden and I were in an arranged marriage. In these five years, he never even touched my hand. I was sick of this marriage in name only. So I deliberately staged a fake affair. I took some suggestive photos and sent them to Holden from a burner number. [Mr. Sterling, your husband tastes good.] [I’ve liked Silas for a long time. Why don’t you divorce him and let me have him?] Holden was the proudest man I knew, with a severe obsession with cleanliness, and he couldn’t stand betrayal. I thought after seeing those photos, he’d furiously hand me divorce papers. But I never expected Holden to ask me, eyes bloodshot with rage: “That bastard—who is he?” The photos were taken at carefully chosen angles. My collar hung loose, deliberately exposing my collarbone, and I’d pinched several suggestive red marks on my neck myself. Even the slight tilt of my face looked like I was nestled in someone’s embrace. The photos didn’t show anyone else’s face—just a blurred wrist resting vaguely on my shoulder, suggestive enough, yet calculated to cut deep. Finally, using that newly registered anonymous number, I sent the photos to Holden. [Mr. Sterling, your husband tastes good.] [I’ve liked Silas for a long time. Why don’t you divorce him and let me have him?] The moment I pressed send, I actually felt relieved. Then I muted my phone and went to the bathroom, washing my face for a long time. When I looked up at the mirror, I found myself smiling. It was a smile of liberation. I was certain Holden would divorce me. After all, someone as proud as Holden couldn’t possibly tolerate such humiliation. I even started planning my post-divorce life. I’d already picked out a house on the west side of the city with a ginkgo tree in the yard. My phone screen lit up again soon—a message from Holden. To my regular number. I dried my hands and opened the message in front of the mirror. In the chat box were two words, as cold as always. [Where are you.] I snorted. He was so cold to me, so I didn’t need to be warm to him either. I replied just as coldly with two words. [Home.] My message sank like a stone into the ocean. After that, I got no further response from Holden. When the villa door opened, I was sitting on the living room sofa, toweling my dripping hair, still steaming from the bathroom. Holden stood in the entryway for a few seconds, then walked toward the study. His footsteps paused for an instant as they passed in front of me. I thought he was going to say something to me, but he just glanced at me coolly before looking away. Then the footsteps resumed, the study door opened and closed again. I stared at Holden’s retreating back disappearing through the study door, my heart pounding. Holden didn’t ask me anything. He didn’t mention the photos. He didn’t mention the text message. The confrontation I’d planned, the interrogation, even him furiously demanding a divorce on the spot—none of it happened. Holden acted like every other ordinary evening, coming home from work and shutting himself in the study. I froze. This wasn’t how it should be. Wasn’t Holden supposed to angrily question me? Wasn’t he supposed to throw those photos of my affair in my face? I suddenly felt disappointed. I’d so carefully staged this betrayal, yet he didn’t care at all. Or was he waiting for me to speak first? My mind was in chaos when my newly registered burner phone received a text from Holden. [I don’t care what trash heap you crawled out of, stay away from Silas.] [You’d better pray I don’t find you, or wherever you touched him, I’ll destroy that part of you!] My whole body froze on the sofa, all the warmth draining from me in an instant.

Holden’s response caught me off guard. I gritted my teeth and, determined to force him into divorce, typed out two more lines on the anonymous number. [Mr. Sterling, Silas has told me many times he doesn’t love you.] [You don’t love him either. It’s just a business marriage between you two. Wouldn’t it be better to set each other free?] After I sent the message, there was no response for a long time. The villa was so quiet I could only hear the ticking of the wall clock. I sat on the sofa until my whole body went stiff. It wasn’t until late at night that I dragged my heavy feet back to the bedroom. I don’t know how much time passed before the mattress beside me sank slightly. Holden lay down next to me. He didn’t turn on the light. In the darkness there was only steady breathing, slowly drawing closer to me. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep, but my heart was about to burst. Holden didn’t do what he usually did—just lie down and stay still. But I could feel his gaze falling on my face, on my neck, lingering for a long time without moving away. The air thickened bit by bit. Holden’s gaze seemed to pierce right through me. Suddenly, a hand with a cool temperature touched my neck very lightly. The moment his fingertip brushed those red marks I’d pinched onto myself, Holden’s movement stopped abruptly. I stayed rigid, pretending to be asleep, but my ears were already burning. Then Holden moved his hand away and leaned down close to me, his scent enveloping me. The next second, his lips landed extremely lightly on those red marks on my neck. Holden’s lips touched my skin only briefly, yet they were scorching hot. In the darkness he murmured to himself, his tone dripping with murderous intent. “Whoever dared to leave marks on you.” “I’ll cut off his hands.” My back went rigid instantly. I didn’t dare let my breathing pattern falter. My marriage with Holden was a complete business arrangement. For five years we’d shared the same bed with different dreams. In outsiders’ eyes, I was the glamorous partner of Holden Sterling. But only I knew our marriage was as empty as a blank sheet of paper. I was sick of his extreme coldness toward me these five years, sick of playing the loving couple in public while being strangers in private. I didn’t want to be bound by this marriage in name only anymore. I had to make him thoroughly disgusted with me. So the next day, I sent him even more suggestive photos. I deliberately chose more provocative angles. The neckline pulled even lower. I lay on my side on the bed, the blanket barely covering my waist and abdomen, with bruises I’d pinched onto my sides. I made my eyes deliberately hazy, as if I’d just experienced intimacy. No one else, no props—just my expression and those self-inflicted bruises were enough to let imaginations run wild. I expressionlessly pressed send. The anonymous number’s message shot toward Holden once again. [Silas was very good today too.] [Mr. Sterling, it doesn’t matter if you don’t divorce. I can be his lover.] After sending it, I tossed my phone aside and sat in the living room, but my heart was pounding uncontrollably.

Less than a minute after I sent the message, my phone screen lit up. Holden’s reply practically crashed in. [Send one more and see what happens.] [You’re in the city, aren’t you?] [This is my final warning. Stay away from Silas.] Holden had connections throughout the city. It wasn’t surprising he could trace this burner phone’s IP address. I needed to successfully divorce him before Holden found the owner of this phone. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I replied. [Silas says he doesn’t want to live like a grass widow with you anymore.] [Every time we’re together, Silas says he can’t live without me now.] [Mr. Sterling, are you impotent?] I waited a long time, but Holden didn’t reply again. Not until two in the morning, when the bedroom door was pushed open. Holden’s footsteps were stumbling, heavy, and completely erratic. A thick smell of alcohol rushed into the room with him, like someone had knocked over an entire bottle of liquor, the fumes spreading rapidly. Holden had never come home this drunk before. He still didn’t turn on the light. Only the moon pushed a small patch of light through the curtain gap. I faced away from him, gripping the corner of the blanket. Soon, the mattress beside me sank down. Holden pulled up my pajama top, his fingers trembling slightly. When he saw the bruises on my sides clearly, he completely lost control. The next second, his scalding breath heavy with alcohol pressed down. Holden suddenly flipped me over, his palm cupping the small of my back with force great enough to embed me into his very bones. Before I could struggle, he lowered his head and kissed fiercely on those red marks I’d pinched onto my neck. Then he kissed my lips hard. Not a gentle touch, but a kiss filled with madness and fury. His voice was hoarse and broken. “Silas, how could you let someone else touch you…” My chest tightened. All the grievances and resentment rushed to my head in an instant. I could no longer pretend to sleep. I pushed hard against his shoulders. “Holden, let go of me!” “What are you doing!” But not only did he not let go, he pinned my wrists above my head, immobilizing all my movements. I was kissed breathless by Holden, tears falling uncontrollably. Taking advantage of Holden pausing for breath, I turned my head away, my voice trembling as I spoke to him. “Holden, I had an affair.” I bit out those words viciously, tears falling with my ragged breathing. “I’ve been with someone else.” “I’ve already fallen in love with someone else.” “Aren’t you a germaphobe? Aren’t you the proudest person?” “Then let go of me now! Divorce me!” With each sentence I spoke, the violence radiating from Holden intensified. He didn’t fly into a rage, didn’t push me away. Instead, he held me even tighter, so tight I could barely breathe. He pressed his forehead against mine, those always-cold eyes red and frightening in the darkness. “I won’t divorce you.” “Silas, but I can let you compare whether your lover or I am better.”

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During the holiday break, I brought my boyfriend home to meet my parents. My dad is a retired detective. Throughout dinner, he kept serving my boyfriend food and pouring him drinks, being incredibly courteous. The moment my boyfriend left, Dad slammed his chopsticks down on the table. “Ethan’s right leg can’t support his weight properly when he walks. That’s clearly an old gunshot wound. What kind of man are you dating?” I explained, “Ethan served in the military for two years. It’s normal to have some old injuries.” Dad scoffed. “Two years in the military? The calluses on that kid’s left hand, between his thumb and index finger—those come from handling a gun for at least five years!” “Two years versus five years—that’s almost triple the difference. If he has nothing to hide, why would he understate it?” I stood there, frozen. Dad had already picked up the phone. “Hey, Jack, I need you to run a background check on someone for me.” Three days later, I found out my boyfriend was a wanted fugitive.

“Ethan, right? Have a seat, have a seat.” As soon as we walked through the door, Dad greeted him with a smile. Ethan sat down and set his gifts on the table, extremely polite in his manner. Mom went into the kitchen to continue cooking while Dad started chatting with him. “Claire mentioned you run your own company?” “Yes, I sell security equipment. It’s a small company, just getting started.” “Mainly surveillance systems and access control, supplying office buildings and residential complexes.” Dad nodded and asked, “Military background? I can tell from your posture.” Ethan smiled. “I served two years, been out for a while now.” “Which unit?” “Northeast region, regular infantry.” I sat there listening, thinking the atmosphere was pretty good. Dad rarely showed this much warmth to a stranger. Ethan was charming, complimenting every dish, which made Mom beam with delight. Dad poured him a glass of whiskey. “Come on, have a drink.” “Sir, I really can’t hold my liquor.” “Don’t be shy. You’re family now—I can’t let you leave here sober, can I?” Ethan couldn’t refuse and took a sip. Dad kept serving him food and drinks, asking questions left and right, acting like a truly dutiful future father-in-law. I felt pretty happy about it. Halfway through the meal, Mom said we were running low on ribs and needed to buy more, asking me to come along. I said okay. Once we got in the elevator, Mom was still smiling. The moment the elevator doors closed, her expression changed completely. “Claire.” “Tell me the truth. What does Ethan really do?” I was stunned. “Didn’t he already say? Security equipment.” “He’s not just in security. Your dad just texted me.” “He said Ethan’s right leg can’t support his weight properly when he walks. That’s clearly an old gunshot wound. What kind of man are you dating?” I explained, “Ethan served in the military for two years. It’s normal to have some old injuries.” Mom scoffed. “Two years in the military? Your dad says the calluses on that kid’s left hand, between his thumb and index finger, show he’s been handling guns for at least five years!” My mind went blank. Ethan had been my boyfriend for eight months. He was always gentle and considerate around me, never lost his temper, never even raised his voice. How could there be something wrong with him? Mom pulled me out of the elevator and we stood downstairs for a moment. “When you started dating him, did you ever see his ID?” I thought back. “I did. Once when he was buying train tickets, I glanced at it, but I didn’t memorize the number.” “What state did his ID say he was from?” “Wisconsin.” “Has he ever taken you back to his hometown?” I shook my head. “Have you met his friends?” I shook my head again. Mom took a deep breath. “Alright, let’s go back. Don’t let him notice anything.”

After dinner, Ethan helped Mom clear the dishes. Mom said it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted, carrying plates into the kitchen. Dad took this opportunity to call me into his study. He closed the door, and his expression completely changed. “How did you meet him?” he asked directly. “At a friend’s gathering. He was the one who added me on SnapChat,” I said. “He pursued you?” “Yeah.” “For how long?” “About a month. He picked me up from work every day, took me out on weekends. He was really attentive.” Dad didn’t respond, sitting down at his desk. “Dad, aren’t you overthinking this?” I ventured carefully, “Isn’t it normal for someone who served in the military to have calluses? A leg injury could have come from training exercises in the service.” “When he walks, his right leg rotates outward,” Dad interrupted me. “Do you know what kind of injury causes that posture?” I shook my head. “A bullet wound to the hip joint or thigh, with the bullet lodged in the bone. After it’s removed, walking looks like that. This isn’t a training injury—training injuries don’t change your gait.” “I’ve been a detective my whole life. I’m not wrong about this.” I opened my mouth but didn’t know what to say. “Also, there’s a patch of noticeably hard skin on Ethan’s left hand, between his thumb and index finger.” “That comes from holding a gun long-term. A regular soldier serving two years wouldn’t develop that. The thickness of those calluses takes at least five years.” “Two years versus five years—that’s almost triple the difference. Why would he understate it?” I couldn’t answer. Dad picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number. “Hello, Jack, this is Robert Mitchell. I need you to run a background check on someone… Yes, I need it today. Ethan, from Wisconsin.” After hanging up, Dad looked at me. “Tonight, have him stay at a hotel, not here at home. Until we know for sure, I don’t want him coming through that door.” When I came out of the study, Ethan was sitting on the couch watching TV. Seeing me emerge, Ethan patted the seat next to him. “Come sit. This show’s pretty interesting.” I walked over and sat down. He naturally put his arm around my shoulders. “What did your dad want to talk about?” he asked casually. “Nothing much, just asking about your company.” I looked at the man in front of me, and everything seemed normal. But also not normal. “I’ll book you a hotel for tonight. We don’t have a spare room.” He glanced at me. “Okay.” He didn’t ask any questions. We’d been dating for eight months, and he’d never argued with me, never refused anything I asked. Now that I thought about it. Who could be that perfect? At one in the morning, I couldn’t sleep. I suddenly remembered something. We’d been together for eight months, and he’d never let me visit his company. Every time I offered to pick him up, he’d say, “I’m working late today, don’t come. I’ll come to you.” Where was his company, really? The next morning, Dad was up before me. “Jack found out a few things.” “First, the identity ‘Ethan’ does exist, but the address registration was transferred from Wisconsin to here three years ago. The original records before the transfer can’t be found.” “Second, the security company he says he runs—he’s not the registered owner. It’s registered to a woman named Rebecca Hayes. What’s his relationship to her? Don’t know.” “Third, and most importantly.” “The photo on his ID matches someone in the fugitive database with ninety-one percent accuracy.” My heart felt like someone had seized it. “What fugitive?” “In 2017, there was a gun-related incident in the Southwest. The suspect fled and hasn’t been apprehended since.” “DNA and fingerprints were recovered from the scene, but the identity was never confirmed.” I sat on the couch, my whole body cold. “Dad, are you sure?” “Ninety-one percent match isn’t one hundred percent, so I haven’t drawn a final conclusion yet.” He looked at me, his eyes serious. “Today, you’re going to ask him out. Find a way to get his fingerprints.” Dad pulled out a pair of transparent gloves and a glass from a drawer. “Get him to drink water. Don’t wash the glass. Bring it back to me. Jack has connections to compare it against the fingerprint database.” I stared at the glass, my hands trembling.

The next morning, Ethan texted me saying he wanted to check out downtown. We went to a mall in the city center, browsed for a while, then I suggested getting coffee. When I was ordering, my hands kept shaking. When I came back with the tray, Ethan was looking at his phone. Seeing me approach, he immediately put it down. “Careful, it’s hot.” He took his cup. I noticed how he held it. Thumb and middle finger gripping the sides, the other three fingers suspended in air. My heart sank. Dad had mentioned that experienced shooters habitually keep their index finger suspended independently, ready to pull a trigger. We sat for over an hour, making small talk. He kept talking about getting married in the future, buying a house, having kids—so earnestly. If this had been before yesterday, I would have felt happy. But now, I just felt a chill down my spine. When we parted ways, Ethan asked, “What did your parents think of me? Did I do anything wrong?” “They liked you. Don’t overthink it.” “That’s good.” He touched my head. “Next weekend I’ll pick you up and we’ll go look at houses.” “Okay.” He turned and walked into the subway station. I clutched the glass I’d secretly hidden in my bag. When I got home, Dad was waiting in the living room. I handed him the glass. He put on gloves and held the glass under the lamp to examine it. On the glass surface were three clear fingerprints. “That’s enough,” Dad said. He placed the glass in an evidence bag, took photos, and sent them to Jack. “Fingerprint comparison takes time. Fastest result is tonight.” I said, “Dad, if he really is a fugitive…” “What do you want to say?” “I want to say, he was good to me…” “Good to you?” Dad finished my sentence. “Claire, people capable of those kinds of things are a hundred times better at treating you well than ordinary people.” “Because they know that only by completely fooling you will you never question who they really are.” At five in the afternoon, Jack called. Dad answered, listened for a few moments, and his expression changed. “Okay, I understand.” He hung up and looked at me. “It’s a match.” “The fingerprints recovered from the 2017 Southwest gun incident scene are identical to Ethan’s.” “So he…” “His current identity is fake. No one knows his real name. The suspect from that case only had a codename: Scorpion.” Scorpion. The man I’d been dating for eight months had the codename Scorpion. Dad stood up and walked to the window. “Jack already reported it. Following protocol, tonight or tomorrow, someone will come take him in.” “What should I do now?” “I’ll call him,” Dad said. “Tell him I want to take him out for a meal, have a proper talk.” “He’s your boyfriend right now. He won’t refuse.” I looked at my dad. This fifty-nine-year-old man, standing straight as a tree. Mom came out of the kitchen, still wearing her apron. “You two need to stop.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her expression was steady. “As a mother, I don’t want to get involved in this. But there’s one thing.” She looked at me. “You’ve been dating him for eight months. Has he ever done anything inappropriate to you?” I thought about it. No. Not once. He always stopped at the right moment, always respected my wishes, always stopped before I felt uncomfortable. Now that I thought about it. He knew he couldn’t leave any evidence. Dad glanced at me and picked up the phone, dialing Ethan’s number. “Hello, Ethan, I’d like to take you out for dinner, tonight if you’re available?” Something was said on the other end. Dad laughed. “Drink with you? I’ve never been afraid of anyone.” After a few more words, he hung up. “He’ll be here at seven.” The clock on the wall pointed to six-forty. I stood on the balcony looking down. On the street below, people came and went. That black sedan—when did it park there? I didn’t know. But the front end was pointed directly at the building entrance. Two people sat inside. I couldn’t see their faces. Jack’s people were already here. At five minutes to seven, the doorbell rang. Dad went to answer it. I stood at the end of the hallway and saw Ethan standing at the door, holding two more bags. He’d changed into a dark jacket, his hair fixed with gel, looking particularly sharp. “Sir, I brought you some good liquor.” Dad smiled and took the bags, stepping aside to let him in. As Ethan was changing his shoes, his movement paused. He’d seen those two figures on the balcony. His smile was different from all his previous smiles. “Claire, are you and your dad hiding something from me?” Cold sweat covered my back.

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At three in the morning, a bizarre “freeloader notice” popped up in our building’s HOA group chat. [Due to my elderly mother’s advanced age, and to provide her with a comfortable retirement environment, I am officially issuing a freeloader notice to all neighbors. The requirements are as follows:] [First, you must provide the master bedroom. You will pay me a $100 daily allowance for her care, and all meals must be cooked to a Michelin-star standard. No exceptions!] [Second, my mother needs absolute silence when she sleeps. Any households with children or pets must send them away immediately to avoid noise!] [Third, each stay will last exactly one week. If my mother experiences any physical discomfort or illness during her stay, you will bear full legal and financial responsibility!] I took one look at the message and figured the guy had a few screws loose. I ignored it. The very next day, he tagged me directly in the group: [Apt 602! Why didn’t you reply “received”? You ungrateful bitch! Fine, we’ll start by moving into YOUR place!] But what he didn’t know was that I’m a certified psycho. By messing with me, he just kicked a steel plate. 1 First thing in the morning, someone started violently pounding on my front door. “Open up! Open the door, you little tramp!” “How dare you ignore my messages? Do you know who I am? Do you have any respect for the rules?!” “If you don’t roll out here right now, I’m going to smash this door into splinters!” I rubbed my eyes in annoyance, my fists instinctively clenching. The last person who woke me up from a good sleep got his leg broken on the spot. But I had just managed to escape from my family, so I needed to keep a low profile. I peeked through the peephole. It was the guy who lived across the hall in Apt 603, standing there with his old mother. He was short, incredibly fat, and his face was so bloated with grease that his eyes were reduced to tiny slits. How could someone looking like that have the audacity to parade around so arrogantly? His skin was thicker than a brick wall. I clicked my tongue, shook my head, and yelled through the door: “Yeah, I didn’t reply to your text. So what?” That sent 603 into an absolute frenzy. He started slamming his shoulder against the door. “You stupid bitch! You dare provoke me?!” Seeing his unhinged mental state, I casually grabbed a heavy meat cleaver from the kitchen before swinging the front door open. “Can I help you?” The fat guy from 603 looked up, ready to curse me out, but the moment he saw the glint of the cleaver, he swallowed his words. I curled my lip and flicked a shiny quarter right off his bald head. “What’s the matter? You’re reduced to begging at my doorstep now? Take the money and get lost!” “Keep the change. Think of it as a tip.” Feeling deeply insulted, 603 pointed a stubby finger at my face. “Don’t push your luck, you little whore. My mom is moving into your apartment today!” “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let her in right now! Otherwise, I’ll make you pay!” I touched my own cheek and batted my eyelashes innocently. “Really? But I’m already so pretty. How are you going to make me pay?” “Unlike you. You barely have three hairs on that shiny dome, but you’ve got more fat than a prize-winning pig. You were practically born to be exceptionally ugly!” 2 603 was half-dead from anger. He opened his mouth to snap back, but his mother shoved him aside. The old bat had a sharp, mean-spirited face. She looked me up and down with pure disdain. “A little brat like you doesn’t deserve to live in such a nice apartment. Aren’t you afraid of bad karma?” “Me moving in is doing you a favor! I’ll cleanse this place of its bad juju. You should be thanking me on your knees!” Saying that, the mother and son exchanged a look and tried to aggressively shove their way past me into my apartment. I didn’t even bother lifting my eyelids. I just stuck my leg out. They tripped and faceplanted hard into the hardwood floor. Only then did I calmly clap back. “If you want to cleanse bad juju, why don’t you go live in a coffin? You only have a few years left anyway.” I reached down and poked the bald guy’s head. “And you. How did your mom give birth to such a useless loser?” “You can’t even afford to take care of your own mother. Why don’t you go jump off a bridge?” “If I had a son like you, I would have shoved you right back where you came from to save myself the embarrassment!” The mother and son were so stunned by my verbal barrage that they couldn’t even scramble to their feet. Without giving them a chance, I ruthlessly kicked them both out into the hallway and slammed the door shut. 603 stomped his feet furiously in the hall, leaving one final threat: “You just wait!” I went back to my living room and kicked my feet up. I’ll wait. Let’s see what kind of circus act he tries next. Right then, I got a friend request on WhatsApp. It was the girl who lived downstairs in Apt 503. I accepted it, and she immediately sent a massive block of text: [I heard the whole commotion! You are amazing!] [But honestly, I advise you to just swallow your pride and let it go. Don’t provoke him anymore. It’s just for one week.] [He is the tyrant of this building! Anyone who disobeys him ends up miserable!] Reading her message, I actually started getting excited. [Miserable? How miserable?] 3 It turned out Todd from 603 was notoriously relentless. Not only was he totally unreasonable, but he was a massive cheapskate. During the holidays, he would drag his mother door-to-door demanding cash gifts. If anyone refused, he would literally defecate on their doormat. If someone didn’t give enough money, he would leave funeral wreaths at their door and blast depressing funeral music in the middle of the night. A few neighbors had ignored his group chat messages in the past, so he threw dead rats and rotting cockroaches through their windows. He had everyone so terrified they couldn’t sleep peacefully, terrified of missing his texts. No wonder a dozen people replied “Received!” at 3 AM like it was a royal decree. [Why didn’t you guys just call the cops? That’s straight-up harassment!] I asked. Jessica from 503 replied with a shrugging emoji: [Calling the cops doesn’t work. His mom is super old, so the police just tell us to be understanding and mediate.] [Eventually, people just couldn’t take it anymore and moved out. Three families moved out this month alone.] He had already squeezed the older tenants dry. Seeing new blood move in, he came up with this “freeloader” scheme to exploit us. Jessica tried her best to persuade me: [Seriously, just keep the peace. You can’t beat him.] I rubbed my chin, my grin widening. Jessica was a sweet, single girl living alone; she obviously couldn’t handle a thug like him. But I was different. I wasn’t exactly a “normal” person either. Now I had the perfect excuse to let my true nature run wild. My slender fingers typed out a quick reply: [Building tyrant, huh? Don’t worry. I’ll make him my bitch.] 4 The moment I stepped out of my apartment the next morning, I was hit by the overwhelming stench of urine and a massive pile of human feces right on my doormat. I went back inside and checked my Ring camera. Sure enough, it was the bald loser from 603. He had sneaked over in the middle of the night to take a dump, looking incredibly smug about it. Honestly, his strategy was brain-dead. He lived directly across the hall from me. Friendly fire was practically guaranteed. I didn’t say a word. I just silently grabbed my mop. Todd and his mother popped out of their apartment, thinking I was coming out to clean it up. They pointed and laughed. “How’s that? The smell of piss and shit isn’t so nice, is it?” “If you had just behaved and let my mom move in, this wouldn’t have happened.” “Let me tell you, this is just the beginning. Watch your back!” I completely ignored them. I shoved past the two of them and sprinted down the stairs. Todd and his mother exchanged a confused look. Not knowing what I was doing, they stupidly followed me down. I ran straight to the public dog park dumpster, aggressively plunging my mop into the deepest, nastiest sludge I could find. Trembling with excitement, I hoisted the dripping mop over my shoulder and marched back. Before Todd could even react, I slammed the mop directly into his face. He opened his mouth to scream, and I aggressively jammed the mop head right between his lips, twisting it like a blender. In an instant, Todd’s mouth and nose were packed with literal crap. His mother shrieked in horror. “Oh my god, my precious baby boy! What are you doing?!” “Stop it right now, you psycho!” I casually pulled the mop back and aimed it at the old bat, flashing a sweet, friendly smile. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty to go around.” “A mop dipped in crap turns me into John Wick!” 5 With that, I shoved the mop right into the old hag’s face. She was slightly smarter than her son; she knew to keep her mouth clamped shut. So, I just used the mop like a giant basting brush and painted her entire body with it. Todd, his own face covered in feces, actually gagged at the smell of his own mother and ran away holding his nose. Seeing him run, I leaped forward like an acrobat and slapped the soaking wet mop head right on top of his bald dome. He instantly threw up. Between dry heaves, he gasped, “You… you are so f*cking disgusting…” “I’m done fighting you… just stop! Blergh!” Only then did I pull my mop back. I crossed my arms and sneered. “This is just the beginning. You have until noon to scrub my doormat spotless.” “Otherwise, I can’t guarantee what I’ll do next!” The mother and son, both dyed a disgusting shade of brown, exchanged a bitter, defeated look. But knowing I possessed a literal biological weapon, they tucked their tails and scurried back to their apartment. When I went back out later, the mess in front of my door was completely gone. I figured they’d lay low for a while, so I went back inside to relax. But then I heard a commotion coming from downstairs. “I already told you, my mom is staying at your place today! Do you not understand English?!” “It’s dangerous for a girl to live all alone, isn’t it?” “If you don’t let my mom stay, who knows? A creep might sneak into your apartment in the middle of the night. Things happen.” Todd smiled like a greasy pervert, getting aggressively handsy with Jessica from 503. Terrified by his threats, Jessica pinched her nose at his stench and tried to compromise, pulling three crisp hundred-dollar bills out of her purse. The old lady’s eyes lit up the moment she saw the cash. Just as she reached out to grab it… I grabbed my mop and stomped down the stairs. “What’s this? Bullying the weak again?” “Do you want me to show you what happens when I dip this mop in piss? I’ll go full Hulk mode!” Seeing my mop, the mother and son immediately backed off. Muttering curses under their breath, they turned around and slinked back to their floor. Jessica grabbed my hand, thanking me profusely. She warned me to be careful, saying Todd was not the type to let things go. But I wasn’t worried. Let them come. I had an entire arsenal of crazy left to unleash. 6 Sure enough, the second I opened my door the next morning, Todd and his mother were back at it. Without me even touching her, the old bat threw herself onto the hallway floor and started rolling around, throwing a massive tantrum. She clutched her chest, wailing dramatically: “Oh lord! My heart! My heart is giving out! My stomach hurts, my arms hurt!” “Is anyone going to help me?! Ow!” “This young brat is abusing the elderly! I’m dying! Son, call the cops and have her arrested!” They were putting on a coordinated show. It was a classic extortion scam. Todd shot a sleazy, conspiratorial wink at his mom, then glared at me arrogantly. “My mom has a fragile heart. You made her so angry she’s having a cardiac episode.” “What are you going to do about this?” “Do I call the cops and have you locked up, or do you want to pay us off and settle this privately?” I rubbed my fingers together and flashed him a bright smile. “Oh no, we can’t just settle this privately!” “It just so happens I know a little CPR. Let me cure your mother right now!” Before he could react, I shoulder-checked him out of the way and mounted the old lady on the floor. I balled my fists and started relentlessly hammering her chest. The old bat screamed in genuine agony. She suddenly looked full of life—completely different from her fake groaning a second ago. Thanks to my miraculous healing hands, she was now squealing like a slaughtered pig. “Son! Son, save me! I’m dying, I can’t take it!” “Get this crazy bitch off me!” I smiled like an absolute psychopath and slapped the old hag across the face. “I haven’t cured you yet! Stop screaming, I’m administering emergency first aid!” Todd didn’t even rush to save his mother. Instead, he pulled out his phone and started recording me. He threatened me from behind the camera: “You’re assaulting my mother in broad daylight! I’m going to ruin your life online!” “I gave you a chance, but you didn’t take it. Get ready to be famous!” With that, he uploaded the video straight to TikTok and Twitter. His caption read: [SHOCKING! Woman violently assaults elderly grandmother in public! A total collapse of human morality!] I rolled my eyes. His caption was so incredibly basic. So, I pulled out my phone and uploaded the security footage of him taking a dump on my doormat. My caption read: [SHOCKING! Thirty-year-old bald incel defecates in public hallway! A total collapse of human morality!] Let’s see who gets famous first!

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“Aunt Susan and I are happily married now. As my daughter and son-in-law, you two need to show some respect and contribute.” As soon as I walked through the door, I heard my dad making demands of my husband, Liam. “I want a $100,000 cash gift, another house bought in this same gated community, and when the baby is born, Maya, as the older sister, can help raise him.” I walked in with a dark expression, and the room instantly went dead silent. My dad was paralyzed from the waist down, sitting in a wheelchair. Aunt Susan, the caregiver, instinctively stood up when she saw me. I ignored her and fired straight at my husband: “Liam, my dad has dementia and is getting scammed into a marriage. Why didn’t you just call the cops? What’s with all the arguing?” Liam shot me a look of grievance and quickly jogged over. “I was waiting for you to get here!” I glared at him, but he didn’t care, just grinning as he stood behind me like a bodyguard. My dad turned his head away, speechless. I looked at the caregiver, who seemed nervous but carried a hint of smugness. I said coldly, “Susan, you’ve been working here for almost three months. Have I ever been late paying your $3,000 a month salary? All you had to do was cook three meals a day and clean the house. I even hired someone else to bathe him and change his clothes. He’s paralyzed in a wheelchair—what kind of happiness can he possibly give you?” She looked helplessly at my dad. “A woman needs a home of her own, to be her own master. Being a caregiver is just being a servant to someone else.” I sneered. “Then you really are destined to be a servant. I never treated you like one, yet you knelt down of your own accord.” My dad frowned, clearly displeased. “Watch your tone! I am informing you, not negotiating! I’m at this age, can’t I make my own decisions?” An old creep who still can’t control his lower half at his age. I mocked him, “You’re paralyzed in a wheelchair. Do you really have no idea why someone would be interested in you? You want to make your own decisions, yet you expect me to fork over the cash to buy you a wife. Talk is cheap.” Still angry, I added, “Damn it, I hate pretentious people the most.” My dad clutched his chest, looking at me in disbelief. “You… you ungrateful daughter!” Then he sighed, softening his tone. “Susan is pregnant. She secretly got it checked—it’s a boy. You know my situation. I lived off your mother’s family’s wealth, and you didn’t even take my last name. I don’t have grand ambitions, I just hope to face my ancestors with pride when I die. God has been good to me, finally sending me a son right as I have one foot in the grave.” He was so sincere, even wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Maya, I haven’t asked you for much in this life. Consider this a plea from your father.” I watched his performance with cold detachment, casually picking up an apple Liam had brought over and taking a bite. “I don’t have money… Liam and I work normal jobs. We aren’t destined for sudden wealth.” He panicked. “Didn’t your grandfather leave you an inheritance?! You can definitely afford this $100,000 cash gift.” My eyes instantly turned sharp. My grandfather had only one daughter—my mother—who grew up terribly spoiled. In college, my mom fell in love with Richard, a guy from a poor, rural background. He had seven or eight siblings, no money to his name, just a decent-looking face. Knowing my grandfather didn’t like him, he seduced my mom into getting pregnant out of wedlock, using his own life and the baby in her belly to threaten my grandfather. My grandfather, who had been a dominant force his entire life, finally compromised. His only condition was that both of them had to forfeit their right to inherit his estate. My mom agreed. She thought it was just my grandfather’s prejudice against a poor country boy. They were both college-educated; she believed they could build a good life through their own hard work, and that time would eventually prove Richard’s worth to my grandfather. Richard thought the same. The old man only had one daughter. If he didn’t leave his fortune to her, what was he going to do? Donate it all? But my grandfather was a man of his word. He didn’t give them a single penny, only buying appliances and furniture as a dowry. Life was stable after that, until I was ten years old. My grandfather fell severely ill, and Richard finally revealed his true colors. He abused my mother, started messing around with other women, and openly bragged that once the old man died, he’d be a millionaire. When my grandfather heard the rumors, he clung to life. Diagnosed with only three months to live, he forced himself to hold on for six. He knew my love-struck mother was unreliable, so he took all his cash, partnered with a local community trust, and developed a commercial business park. He set up a strict will: I could only access the inheritance in installments when I turned eighteen, twenty-five, and thirty-five. With the local trust’s intervention and the loyalty of the community my grandfather had supported, most people saw right through Richard and despised his gold-digging ways. After my grandfather died, Richard brought a different woman home every day. My mother fell severely ill and became bedridden, wallowing in self-pity every day, blaming herself for causing her father’s death. She couldn’t understand why Richard had changed so drastically. Eventually, suffering from severe depression, she took one of his mistresses with her and drowned herself in a lake. Snapping back to the present, I sneered at him. “So that was your goal all along.” Knowing he was entirely cut out of the old man’s will, he actually came up with this twisted scheme to try and scam me out of my money. I looked at Susan’s completely flat stomach and fell deep into thought. Susan rubbed her belly, attempting to play the emotional card. “Maya, I know this looks bad. At first, I refused him, but he kept insisting. He took all the pressure for me. His kindness and perseverance touched me.” “To me, he’s just a pure, kind-hearted older boy. Now that I’m pregnant—and it might be a boy—I know your mother couldn’t give him one her entire life. I’ve heard the love story between your parents. Since she loved your dad so much, she must be heartbroken in the afterlife that she couldn’t leave him a male heir.” “You’re a woman, you must understand how that feels.” The more I listened, the angrier I got. “Shut up! What gives you the right to talk about my mother?!” I grabbed the glass of water in my hand and hurled it straight at her. Richard pushed himself up on his wheelchair and threw his body in front of her, taking the hit. He shrieked as the heavy glass struck his head. I sneered. “Your stench of patriarchal entitlement is way too strong, Susan.” “Richard lived off my family’s wealth. And he wants to pass down his lineage using the Miller family’s resources? Isn’t that biting the hand that feeds you?” “Neither my grandfather nor my mother ever said a daughter couldn’t carry on a legacy. You, a mere caregiver who schemed her way up, are suddenly worried about my family’s lineage?” “Let me put it bluntly. Even if this kid is born, I could make him take my last name, Miller. Try me.” Hitting a nerve, my father’s face flushed crimson, his age spots trembling. He tried to stand up, but only managed to stumble and crash back into his seat. “Maya! Your mother has been dead for twenty years! Do you expect me to stay celibate for her forever?!” “You miserable bastard, what gives you the right to mention my mother?!” I snapped. He sounded indignant. “I admit I wronged your mother, but she’s gone! What can I do to make up for it now?” “I don’t have many good days left. Susan is my last woman. I can’t bear to see her working as a caregiver for other people. Can’t she just stay by my side?” He wanted to play the emotional card, but unfortunately, I had no emotions left for him. I mocked him, “When did our family ever stop you from leaving?” “Did my grandfather not give you the chance?” “It was you who couldn’t bear to leave the house and the money.” “If you had any backbone, you would’ve stood up, made your own money, and never leached off my mother’s family.” My words left him red-faced and speechless. “Stop talking,” he finally muttered, glancing nervously at the caregiver beside the bed. I knew what he was thinking—he didn’t want to look weak in front of his ‘true love’. But in this world, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. “Every day you are alive, you should be repenting for what you did to my mother and my grandfather.” Back when Richard brought women home, my mother had screamed like a madwoman. But he just mocked her from his high horse: “If you hadn’t failed to give me a son, I wouldn’t have to look for other women.” Even my mother, an only daughter who grew up showered in love, began to believe it was her fault. She would grab me like a maniac, her eyes bloodshot, screaming and asking why I wasn’t a boy, convinced that if I had been, Richard wouldn’t have cheated. People like him are cowards who prey on the weak. A leopard never changes its spots. Right in front of them, I called the domestic staffing agency. “I remember the contract I signed with your agency. It stated that if any of your caregivers engage in an inappropriate relationship with their client, your agency will pay a penalty fee, correct?” Susan’s eyes widened in terror. She lunged forward to stop me, but Liam blocked her easily. I continued talking to the person on the line. “Ms. Miller, you can’t just say things like that. Our caregivers undergo professional training, they wouldn’t just… We need evidence for these kinds of claims… Please apologize to our employee.” “Does a marriage license count as evidence?” The line went dead silent for a second. “It counts…” There was a specific reason I chose this agency: their strict insurance policies. I knew Richard’s true nature better than anyone. As long as the person was female, he’d go into heat. That was why I always hired male nurses for him. The caregiver’s only job was to maintain the house and do light cleaning; she was never supposed to interact directly with him. I never expected him to still find an opening. It didn’t matter. I didn’t even need to lift a finger—someone else was about to be much more desperate than me. The insurance company would have to pay me the penalty, and where would they get that money from? They certainly wouldn’t let Susan and Richard off the hook. Paralyzed in his wheelchair, my dad spun around in a panic. “What are you doing?! What are you doing?! You monster! How did I end up with a daughter like you?!” I smirked, speaking with feigned innocence. “Look at it this way. If I get the settlement money, I’ll have the cash to pay for your wedding gift.” He went silent for a moment before bursting into a tirade. “You have a black heart! No matter what, I am your father! I gave you life and raised you, and this is how you treat me?!” I purposefully egged him on. “Well, what am I supposed to do? If I put the pressure on, they’ll actually pay me $100,000. All you do is demand $100,000 from me.” Beside him, Aunt Susan was panicking. “Richard, you can’t let them make me pay! Where am I supposed to find that kind of money?!” My dad patted her hand to comfort her. “No, no, don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.” He turned back to me, his face sagging into a pleading look. “Maya, Susan is having a high-risk geriatric pregnancy. Her health is poor, and she’s at risk of a miscarriage. Can’t you just consider this $100,000 a loan from your father?” I smiled sweetly. “Nope! But I can introduce you to a reliable loan agency… Though… what exactly do you have to put up as collateral?” Susan looked at him with desperate hope, but Richard turned his head away and remained dead silent. Heh… Men. They’ll preach about true love until their lungs give out, but the second it threatens their own wallet, their lips are glued shut. The room fell completely silent. Just as I kept a straight face and turned to leave, a heavy sigh came from behind me. “Didn’t your grandfather… leave you a sum of money?!” I turned around, examining this man. His face was etched with fine lines, a few age spots dotting his jawline. He looked refined and cultured, but underneath, he was nothing but a demon reincarnate. There was never a moment I didn’t want to send him straight to hell. Suppressing the sheer hatred in my heart, I stared directly into his eyes and spoke slowly, deliberately: “Where are my mother’s ashes?” That day, years ago, my mom had just gotten back from picking up her medication at the psychiatric ward when she caught Richard tangled up with another woman. The mistress, believing she was carrying a golden male heir, acted like she already owned the place. Her deliberate mockery triggered my mother’s illness, leaving her howling in agony on the floor. Furious, I grabbed a knife, charged at the woman, pinned her down, and pressed the blade to her neck. When she saw Richard running in, she panicked and thrashed wildly, accidentally driving her own neck into the blade. I hadn’t expected her to hit an artery. Warm blood sprayed across the room, pasting my eyelashes shut with a sticky crimson film. Terrified, I slumped on the floor, paralyzed, too afraid to look at the woman bleeding out. I couldn’t even tell… was she alive… or dead? In that moment, my mentally ill mother snapped back to a chilling clarity. She gave me one last, devastating look of absolute despair, then grabbed the bleeding woman and threw them both into the decorative pond outside. My dad knew he had caused a fatal incident and that things had blown completely out of control. On one hand, he had to pay a massive settlement to the dead woman’s family. On the other, he was terrified to come home, genuinely afraid his “psychotic” daughter would slit his throat in his sleep. In the end, he stole my mother’s ashes to use as leverage against me. Because he knew that I really was crazy. Susan came to my house alone, standing awkwardly by the coffee table, too afraid to sit. She had entirely lost the aggressive, entitled pregnant-woman attitude from a few days ago. “Maya, I know I’ve wronged you, but he’s still your biological father. There shouldn’t be permanent grudges between father and daughter. Just go apologize and give him some face.” She looked deeply conflicted. “I know you don’t like me, but the baby in my belly is your little brother.” “You expect me to act like a mother to a brother who’s over thirty years younger than me?” I asked coldly. Her face went pale, and she stammered, “I’m only 45… I can raise him myself.” I scoffed. “Is the old man going to change his diapers with his shaking, Parkinson’s-ridden hands from a wheelchair?” She suddenly dropped to her knees, hugging my legs, sobbing. “I know we messed up, but the baby is innocent! Please, I’m begging you, give him a chance to live.” I pried her fingers off my legs. “Get out.” She stumbled to her feet, throwing out a venomous parting shot. “You are so heartless!” My dad called to curse me out. “What did you do to Susan?! If anything happens to her, I will end you.” I sneered back. “Oh no, I’m so scared. Hurry up and jump out of your wheelchair to come beat me up.” “You…” “Give me my mother’s ashes back, and we cut all ties. I don’t care if you have ten sons after that.” Yeah, right! My mother loved him so much. She suffered through ten months of severe morning sickness and endured ten hours of grueling labor just to have me. If I let you have another child, my grandfather would literally roll over in his grave from sheer rage! He said, “Two million dollars, and I’ll tell you exactly where they are.” I flat-out refused. “Then I guess I’ll just wait and see how you plan on ‘ending’ me.” The very next day, the video of a haggard Susan crying and kneeling to beg me was uploaded to TikTok. A mob of outraged netizens started harassing me, throwing rotten eggs at me in public, calling me an overbearing, controlling bitch. Some misogynistic older women even started insulting my mother online. “He needs a son so your mother can hold her head high in the underworld! Otherwise, she’s probably suffering in the eighteenth level of hell right now!” Insult me all you want, but insult my mother? Absolutely not. I charged straight into the crowd and started throwing punches. Liam took a few slaps to the face before he managed to drag me out of the mob. Then, local news reporters interviewed my dad. “Susan and I are true love. At my age, finding a woman who understands me, cares for me, and doesn’t mind my disability is incredibly rare.” [I know what my daughter is upset about, but she can take it out on me. Why is she bullying Susan? Susan is innocent, and the child in her belly is innocent.] [She was raised by her grandfather. She always looked down on me because I lived off her family’s wealth. She despises me.] [Honestly, one of the reasons I wanted a son was for Maya’s mother. She passed away early, and there was no son to carry her casket. Her ashes are still unburied because of it.] Hearing that made my blood boil. I wanted to reach through the screen and strangle that absolute beast. I really should have killed him back then. It was entirely his fault, yet he was twisting the narrative, playing the victim, and framing me. Liam tried to calm me down. “Hold on, Maya. Your plan is almost complete!” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to cool down. The internet rumors spiraled out of control. In his latest video, Richard announced he was taking me to court for failing to fulfill my legal obligation to support and care for him. Liam handed me his phone. “A text from Aunt Susan.” [$50,000, plus $5,000 a month for his pension, and I can talk your dad out of this.] I picked up the phone, pressed the voice memo button, and replied: “He is not worth that price.”

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Since I was a little girl, I knew my family was different. I didn’t have a dad. My father had climbed the social ladder. While my mother was still pregnant with me, he couldn’t wait to marry the daughter of a powerful political boss. That was the extent of my knowledge about him. I didn’t know his name, his age, or what he looked like. That was, until my grandmother fell seriously ill. St. Jude’s Medical Center told us that Dr. Harrison, the top surgical oncologist, was booked solid for over a month. My boyfriend, Ethan, tried to pull some strings to bump us up the list, but he was just a resident. He didn’t have that kind of pull. As Grandma’s condition rapidly deteriorated, my Aunt Susan let it slip. She muttered that maybe I should reach out to my father—maybe he could get us a bed. That was the day I learned my father lived in the exact same city as me, and that he had massive influence at St. Jude’s. Grandma snapped at Aunt Susan, telling her to shut her mouth. “If I don’t get treatment, then I don’t get treatment! I’ve lived long enough anyway.” I closed my bedroom door and privately asked my aunt for his name. Robert Vance. My father’s name was Robert Vance. When I typed his name into a search engine, dozens of news articles and political profiles popped up. His office contact number was right there on the city government’s website. The line connected. “Hello, who is this?” “This is Chloe,” I said, my nails biting into my palms. “Dad.” 1 We agreed to meet at a coffee shop near City Hall. Before the meeting, I scoured every public record I could find. I learned his wife’s name was Patricia Sterling, the Vice President of St. Jude’s Medical Center. His daughter was Olivia Vance, a recent college graduate. I even found Olivia’s Instagram. Fine dining, luxury vacations, designer jewelry, picture-perfect family portraits… every single post was undeniable proof of a girl who had grown up drowning in love and privilege. Did she know I existed? Did she know she had a half-sister just six months older than her? Did she know this sister had grown up being called a bastard, a girl who lost her mother at birth and became an orphan in every sense of the word? A shadow fell over my table. Robert Vance had arrived. He stared at me for a moment. “You look a lot like your mother.” I looked him up and down and offered a faint smile. “Do I? I can’t really remember. She died too early. My memories of her are pretty much gone.” Robert’s smile froze. Dropping the pleasantries, he lowered his voice. “All these years… I’ve done you both a great disservice.” Both. He said both. He always knew I existed, yet he had never once bothered to check on me. I fought to suppress the well of grievance and rage in my chest. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I understand.” A look of relief washed over Robert’s face. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman. If there’s anything you need, just ask.” I had been waiting for that exact sentence. “My grandmother is sick. It’s very serious,” I said. “But we can’t get an appointment with Dr. Harrison at St. Jude’s for her surgery. Can you help us?” He fell silent for a long moment. “St. Jude’s won’t work. How about City General?” “Dr. Harrison is the leading authority on this specific cancer. If City General was an option, I wouldn’t have presumptuously called you today,” I replied. “Besides, your wife is the Vice President of St. Jude’s. Wouldn’t that be easier?” Robert offered a bitter smile. “You don’t understand. That’s exactly why it won’t work.” He avoided my gaze, looking out the window at the busy street, watching the autumn leaves drift to the pavement. Suddenly, it all made sense. His wife didn’t know I existed. And more importantly, in his eyes, the stability of his perfect family was far more important than my grandmother’s life. Robert turned back to me, having made his decision. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call a friend at City General and get your grandmother admitted immediately. I’ll wire you twenty thousand dollars for the medical bills. If you need more, just ask.” My biological father was trying to pay me off. To him, my silence was worth exactly twenty thousand dollars. “I don’t need your money,” I said. “I opened my own photography studio in college. I might not make as much as you, but I’m not here to extort you.” A flash of embarrassment crossed Robert’s face. “Don’t be silly, no one’s calling it extortion. It’s what I should do as a father.” He checked his Rolex and stood up to leave. “We’ll leave it at that. I’ll call my buddy at City General and get back to you.” “I’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars,” I interrupted. “Just get her admitted to St. Jude’s.” He frowned, finally flashing a hint of paternal authority. “Chloe, what kind of nonsense is that? Stop being unreasonable.” I was being unreasonable? How many times did I have to say it? Besides the cancer, Grandma had a host of chronic illnesses. City General’s surgical survival rates were miles behind St. Jude’s. Going to St. Jude’s gave her a fighting chance. Going to City General was a death sentence. How could I let her just wait to die? She was the one who chased away the neighborhood kids who called me a bastard. She was the one who stayed up for days nursing me when I had pneumonia. She was the one who, at nearly seventy years old, was still stringing cheap beads together to save up for my college tuition. She was the only family I had left. Robert raised a hand to a waitress. “Check, please.” I chased him out onto the sidewalk, calling out softly, “Dad.” He turned around, visibly impatient. “Chloe, don’t make me—” I dropped to my knees right there on the concrete, my voice trembling. “Please, Dad. I promise no one at St. Jude’s will find out who I am. I promise I won’t ruin your family. Please. I’m begging you.” That day, Robert Vance stood in silence for a very, very long time. I could see the hesitation in his eyes, weighing whether his biological daughter’s desperate tears were worth risking his happy, comfortable life. Eventually, he told me to go home and wait for his call. I thought he had agreed. I went home, elated, and told Grandma that Dr. Harrison would be doing her surgery soon. “It’s Dr. Harrison! The best scalpel at St. Jude’s. He saves everyone he touches.” But Grandma didn’t smile. “Your aunt and uncle couldn’t even get us on the waitlist. You’re just a young girl fresh out of college. How did you pull that off?” I quickly made up an excuse. “My friend from college is a doctor at St. Jude’s, remember? Ethan? Remember him?” The old woman looked at me flatly. “Did you go find your father?” My words caught in my throat. I stumbled over my next sentence. Grandma, usually so gentle, turned fierce. “Chloe! Even during our hardest times, I never once went to him. Do you know why? I want you to live your entire life knowing he owes you everything, and you owe him absolutely nothing!” Tears spilled down my cheeks. “But you’re sick! You’re so sick. If it means you get to live to a hundred, who cares if I owe him?” “A person’s life is defined by their dignity,” Grandma said coldly. “Robert Vance looked down on my daughter, and he looks down on my granddaughter. Well, this old woman looks down on him! I don’t want his pathetic charity!” I cried even harder. “But I need you! I need you to live! What am I going to do without you?” Grandma started coughing violently. I panicked, rushing over to rub her back. “I’ll stop, I’ll stop talking about it.” Her coughing gradually subsided, and she leaned back against her pillows. “In this life, I raised your mother, and I raised you. You both turned out beautiful and capable. I’ve lived these decades. I’ve had enough.” She reached out and wiped my tears. Her fingers were rough, the back of her hands dotted with age spots, but they were just as warm and gentle as I remembered. “Little Chloe, everyone has to leave eventually. No one can stay with you forever. You have to be strong, you hear me?” I choked on a sob and told her I understood. But I didn’t know those would be the last words she ever said to me. The next morning, I made breakfast and went to wake her up. She wasn’t breathing. The morning sun filtered through the curtains, illuminating a face whose eyes would never open again. 2 After the funeral, my insomnia was unbearable, and I was mentally exhausted. My studio team gently suggested I take a few days off. I thought about it, but saw no point. You always have to keep moving forward, right? Can’t sleep at night? No problem, perfect time to edit photos. Can’t eat? Even better. Plenty of people pay good money to lose weight. I flooded my brain with a relentless workload, eradicating any possibility of feeling grief. Until one afternoon. I woke up, drifted like a ghost to the fridge, and opened it. Sitting on the shelf was a bag of cranberry bread. It was my favorite flavor. I didn’t remember buying it; maybe my best friend, Hailey, had brought it over. Just as I was about to open it, I noticed the bread had expired. The production date printed on the sticker was exactly three days before Grandma died. I suddenly broke. Clutching the plastic bag, I collapsed in front of the open refrigerator and bawled. The reality of Grandma’s absence, which I had tried so desperately to ignore, crashed over me like a tidal wave. It hurt. God, it hurt so much. Her hanging spider plants were still green and lush. But the goldfish in her tank were all floating belly-up because no one had fed them. She used to love sitting in her old rocking chair watching TV. I used to complain that the creaking noise was annoying. It wasn’t noisy anymore. But the silence was deafening. I had always thought our two-bedroom apartment was too small. Today, I realized that for one person, it was agonizingly huge. My phone buzzed. It was an unfamiliar number. “Hello?” Robert’s voice came through the speaker. “Chloe, I asked around for you. St. Jude’s is totally off the table. But I hired the best lead surgeon at City General. Take your grandmother to admissions and tell them you’re my second cousin.” I felt a sudden, bone-deep chill. It was snowing outside today. It was so cold. “There’s no need,” I interrupted. Robert’s voice raised in annoyance. “Chloe, don’t be stubborn. Do you have any idea how hard it is to book Dr. Evans? I had to pull a lot of favors to get this surgical slot.” I let out a hollow laugh. “There’s no need. My grandmother is already dead.” His lecturing came to a grinding halt. Only the sound of his breathing remained on the line. Staring blankly ahead, I asked him calmly, “Robert… why wasn’t it you who died?” Beep. Beep. Beep. He hung up on me. My legs gave out. Gripping my phone, I squatted deeply onto the floor. My tears hit the hardwood, leaving tiny, wet craters. A few days ago, at Grandma’s wake, I held vigil until dawn. As Aunt Susan helped me to a chair, she finally broke down crying. She told me how much her heart broke for me, and she cursed Robert’s name. She told me the whole truth. Over twenty years ago, Robert and my mother were already engaged to be married. But then, he caught the eye of Patricia, a wealthy socialite whose father was a major political player. Robert kept stringing my mother along while simultaneously aggressively pursuing Patricia. He was terrified Patricia would reject him, so he kept my mother as a backup plan, swearing he would marry her. By the time Robert successfully secured Patricia’s hand in marriage, my mother was seven months pregnant. Robert tried to pay her ten thousand dollars in a private settlement to get an abortion. Naturally, my mother refused. Unlike Robert, she actually wanted her child, even if it meant facing a lifetime of rumors and judgment. But the world is incredibly unfair. The victims suffer the worst fates, while the greedy and the wicked sail smoothly through life. Just as Robert’s political career began skyrocketing, my mother died of complications in the delivery room. Grandma called Robert, begging him to come to the hospital to see my mother one last time. He told her he was busy drinking with his new father-in-law and didn’t have the time. It wasn’t until today that I fully understood why Grandma forbade me from going to Robert, and why she wanted him to forever be in my debt. Because she saw right through him. Men like Robert Vance possessed no conscience. Absolute self-interest was his only law of survival. I had been shielded for too long. Protected so well that I had forgotten that vile, despicable people walk among us. But why? Why did he get to live such a perfect life? I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my flesh. In that moment, I genuinely wanted to drag Robert Vance straight to hell with me. 3 I opened Instagram and found Olivia’s profile, scrolling through every single post. It was a continuous feed of tranquility, joy, and privilege. Just recently, she posted a photo holding a designer handbag. The caption read: Best Dad in the world! Secretly bought me the bag I’ve been dying for! The date was the exact same day my grandmother passed away. While I had been waiting in agony for Robert’s reply, he had already decided to reject my plea for St. Jude’s. He was just stalling me. He had enough free time to go buy his daughter a luxury bag while my grandmother died. I clenched my fists. The sheer malice rising in my chest threatened to swallow me whole. Swallowing my rage, I scrolled down further, reading every single post from top to bottom. One post caught my eye—Robert’s birthday. It was a family portrait taken in a private dining room. Robert sat at the head of the table. In the center was a massive cake with glowing candles. He was making a wish. I saved the photo and drew a red circle around one specific detail. I thought I finally had a way to destroy him. I made a phone call to a former client, Mrs. Miller. She had hired me previously to shoot her family portraits. Her youngest daughter had taken a few photography lessons from me, and wanting to build a network, I hadn’t charged her. I even shot a free music video for the girl. Now, it was time to cash in that favor. “Hi, Mrs. Miller! It’s Chloe. Remind me, what department does your husband work in at City Hall?” Mrs. Miller told me her husband worked in the exact same department as Robert. She complained that the department director had just been promoted to the state level two weeks ago, leaving a massive vacancy. All the deputy directors were fighting tooth and nail for the spot. She sighed heavily. “Honestly, my husband probably doesn’t stand a chance. Another deputy director’s father-in-law just retired from the State Senate but still has deep ties to the Mayor. He basically hand-picked the Mayor back in the day.” I smiled. “No matter how much power someone has, promotions still have to comply with state ethics and legal regulations, right?” “Of course they do,” Mrs. Miller replied. “But the problem is, his age, qualifications, and record are all flawless. He hasn’t made a single mistake in his tenure. How do you find a flaw in that?” Not necessarily, I thought. When I scoured Olivia’s Instagram a few days ago, I noticed something very strange. On Robert’s birthday cake, the candles clearly read “44”. There was no way he was 44. Aunt Susan had told me he was in the same high school class as my mother. When he used to visit my grandmother, he specifically mentioned he was one year older than my mother and promised to take good care of her. If my mother were alive today, she would be 47. Which meant Robert should be 48. A simple logical deduction: if Olivia confidently posted a cake with “44” candles on her public social media, it meant that to his current family, Robert being 44 was an established fact. Two contradictory facts. One of them had to be a lie. So, which one was it? I drove to the state university archives, the school Robert and my mother had attended. I tracked down an old professor who still worked in administration. After some small talk, I explained my visit. “My grandmother recently passed away. She told me my parents actually met studying here. Professor, if it isn’t too much trouble, could I look at their old student files?” The professor knew I was an orphan and immediately called the archivist to grant me access. In the dusty, yellowing folders, written in faded blue ink, were the words: Robert Vance. Male. Born: 1973. A man born in 1973 had magically transformed into a man born in 1977. I took out my phone, snapped a photo of the archive document, and texted Mrs. Miller. Why would a city official lie about his age on his federal and state background checks? She replied quickly: Lots of reasons. Sometimes they alter it to bypass strict age caps for fast-track political fellowships, or to qualify for “Under 40” political appointments. In politics, once you age out of a certain bracket, no matter how capable you are, the party won’t invest in promoting you to higher office. I stared at my phone, deep in thought. People forget that before the digital age, state records were entirely paper-based. The transition to fully digitized identity systems only happened over the last twenty years. Back then, paper records had massive loopholes. It wasn’t uncommon for people’s names or birthdates to be permanently altered just because a county clerk misheard them. I didn’t care exactly how Robert managed to forge his official identity. But one thing was absolutely undeniable: According to federal and state ethics laws, falsifying official background checks, lying on civil service forms, and committing perjury to secure government employment or promotion was a felony. At the very least, it meant an immediate suspension. At worst, it meant a permanent ban from public office, stripping of pensions, and potential jail time. Whether Robert altered his age at the beginning of his career or specifically for a promotion, the fact that he tampered with his official state file was a massive ethical violation. If this scandal broke right as he was vying for the director position, there was no way he’d get the job. Under the guise of “building a portfolio for family portraits,” I offered to do a free photoshoot for the Miller family. Mrs. Miller happily agreed. I deliberately dragged the shoot out until 6 PM. Feeling bad, she insisted on buying me dinner. Exactly what I wanted. During dinner, I asked Mr. Miller, “Mr. Miller, do you happen to work with Robert Vance?” His brow furrowed slightly. “Bob? Yeah, I do. Do you know him?” His expression changed. His tone shifted. He didn’t like Robert. I smiled gently. “Yes, actually. Robert is an old college buddy of my uncle. I heard my uncle mention today that Robert seems to be aging backward.” Mr. Miller looked at me thoughtfully, repeating the phrase. “Aging backward? What do you mean by that?” I leaned in and said with a knowing smile, “He’s the exact same age as my uncle. But my uncle celebrated his 48th birthday this year, while Robert celebrated his 44th. Wouldn’t you say he’s aging backward?” Mr. Miller understood instantly. A flash of triumphant joy crossed his face before he masked it with a cough. “Chloe, those are heavy accusations. You need evidence for claims like that.” I pulled up the photos on my phone: his original university archives, his birth year, and his class graduation photo. Mr. Miller zoomed in on Robert’s birth date. He nodded subconsciously. When he looked back at me, his eyes were incredibly warm. “Chloe, if it isn’t too much trouble, could you forward those two photos to my wife?” I knew exactly what he was going to do. I smiled and put my phone away. “Of course.” Even after putting that in motion, I tossed and turned in bed. Relying entirely on someone else to execute my revenge wasn’t enough to bring me peace. I needed double insurance to ensure Robert Vance would never rise again. First, I checked the legal statutes. I consulted a friend from college who was now an attorney. I wanted to make absolutely sure that releasing truthful, documented evidence of a public official’s fraud didn’t violate any defamation or libel laws. He confirmed that as long as I was presenting objective facts to official oversight channels, I was entirely protected. He also warned me, “Just remember, don’t incite a mob or protest, or you could be hit with a public disturbance charge. But if you’re just filing an official complaint as an individual, you’re perfectly fine. Go for it.” At the end of the call, he asked curiously, “Who the hell did you cross paths with?” After I told him the whole story, he laughed. “Chloe, don’t worry. I deal with guys like this all the time. He won’t dare sue you.” Whether Robert dared to or not was secondary. I needed an airtight case. I drove to Robert’s old high school and used the same excuse. I found his high school records, confirming the 1973 birth year, and photographed them as well. Next, I drafted a formal whistleblower complaint. I listed every piece of evidence meticulously, had my lawyer friend polish the legal phrasing, cited the specific state statutes he violated, and prepared to submit it to the State Ethics Commission. Additionally, I printed out hundreds of flyers. The font was massive, and the message was simple: Official Whistleblower Report: City Official Robert Vance Falsified Federal Documents and Committed Background Fraud! My lawyer friend offered one last piece of advice. “Chloe, if you’re going to do this, do it right. The Attorney General’s Anti-Corruption Task Force is auditing the city next week. Submit your complaint to both the Ethics Commission and the Federal Investigators simultaneously. Hit him from both sides!” I took his advice and patiently waited for next week to arrive.

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I’m the only daughter of a wealthy East Coast family. Ever since I was little, my parents ingrained in me that I was never allowed to move far away for marriage. After a lot of coaxing and persuading, my boyfriend finally agreed to move into our estate, take our family name, and essentially be a stay-at-home husband. Overjoyed, my dad gave us $10 million to buy a house as an early wedding gift. He said since the boy was willing to marry into our family and give up traditional expectations, we shouldn’t treat him poorly. After all, he’d be the one raising the kids and managing the household. For a woman to build a successful career, a supportive husband behind the scenes is essential. I thought my dad made perfect sense. Before we left, I discussed it with my boyfriend. I told him we’d put both our names on the deed as our marital home, just to give him some security. Oliver Vance wrapped his arm around my shoulder, looking deeply sincere. “Babe, as long as we can get married, it doesn’t matter whose name is on the deed. What’s mine is yours.” I took a half-day off from my company and went with him to the real estate office. To celebrate buying our marital home today, I even drove my brother’s Rolls-Royce. On the way, I enthusiastically told Oliver that I had already contacted an agent I knew. But suddenly, my boyfriend slammed on the brakes, stopping the car dead in the middle of the road. He stared blankly out the left window. I nudged him, confused. “What are you doing? The place is still five hundred yards ahead.” His lips pressed into a tight line. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “The new Maplewood Estates development right across the street looks nice too. Harper, didn’t you always say you loved maple trees? Let’s go take a look.” I love roses. When have I ever said I liked maple trees? Oliver must be confusing me with someone else. Before I could say another word, Oliver parked the car right in front of the Maplewood Estates sales center. He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the car. He had always been measured and composed; he’d never acted this out of character before. So I asked, “What’s wrong with you, Oliver?” A saleswoman standing by the entrance of the luxury villa sales center heard me and looked up. The moment she laid eyes on my boyfriend, utter shock flashed across her face. Her gaze dropped to our tightly interlocked hands. The way she stared made my skin crawl; something felt incredibly off. Oliver reached back and slammed the door of the Rolls-Royce with a deafening BANG. It was as if he wanted to draw everyone’s attention. As if that wasn’t enough, he reached out, tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and declared loudly, “Honey, meeting you is the best thing that ever happened to me.” I stepped back half a foot, smoothly dodging his touch. Oliver was usually never one for public displays of affection. He always said that was kid stuff. The saleswoman watched us walk into the center, her eyes glued to my boyfriend. She looked completely devastated. Inside, an agent named Ms. Davis greeted us. I looked at a few floor plans for the community but wasn’t thrilled. So, I asked Ms. Davis if they had any better layouts. Instead of answering, she looked me up and down and then completely ignored me, treating me like thin air. I thought maybe she just didn’t hear me, so I tried a few more times. Then I realized she was doing it on purpose. Whenever I spoke, she’d give zero response. But the second Oliver opened his mouth, she was overwhelmingly enthusiastic. A surge of anger flared in my chest. Just as I was about to snap, Oliver suddenly pointed at the prime luxury mansion sitting right in the center of the display model. “I want this one.” This mansion was the most expensive property in the entire development, making it incredibly hard to resell. Buying it basically meant tying up all your capital. And we definitely didn’t have that much liquid cash on hand. Ms. Davis’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees when she heard he wanted the mansion. She cranked her enthusiasm up to eleven, pitching it with everything she had. But just as she talked until her throat went dry, Oliver waved her off dismissively. “You can stop talking! Where is Chloe Harper? Have her come here.” “Who is Chloe?” He didn’t answer me. Ms. Davis froze, her joyful expression vanishing instantly. She tried to explain, “Sir, it’s the exact same if I explain it to you.” “I know everything about this mansion, and I promise you, the VIP pricing any agent can offer you will be identical.” “Did you have a prior appointment with Chloe?” As she spoke, she scanned Oliver’s outfit, silently calculating the odds of him actually buying the mansion. Today, Oliver was dressed head-to-toe in the newest Louis Vuitton collection and wearing a $200,000 watch—a casual gift from my dad when he agreed to marry into our family. In contrast, even though I was wearing designer clothes too, I looked like an exhausted corporate drone. I didn’t look nearly as effortlessly wealthy as he did. Oliver impatiently tugged at his collar, giving the agent a half-smile. “Go get Chloe. If she doesn’t pitch it, I’m not buying.” “She’s a sales agent, isn’t she? Tell her to come over here and introduce this mansion to my wife and me.” Ms. Davis went to get her. A few moments later, the saleswoman who had been hiding from us at the entrance walked over. It suddenly clicked—she was Chloe Harper. Following Oliver’s gaze, I took my first real look at this woman. She was pale, had big eyes, and a great figure. But the way she looked at Oliver was laced with deep, undeniable romantic tension. These two definitely have history. The thought instantly popped into my head. Suddenly, Oliver’s weird behavior made sense. This girl was probably his old flame. Chloe bit her lower lip, the corners of her eyes flushed red, tears welling up. She looked like she had suffered the greatest injustice in the world. She stammered as she introduced the property to Oliver, “The… the 10,000-square-foot floor plan… is our flagship mansion…” Before she could finish a single sentence, her voice choked with sobs. Although I was suspicious, my “girls support girls” instinct kicked in, and I handed her a tissue. “Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?” Smack! She aggressively slapped my hand away and covered her face. “Oliver Vance! Did you really have to bring a woman here just to humiliate me?!” Oliver hadn’t looked at me once; his eyes were glued entirely to Chloe. “This is what you call humiliation? Aren’t you a sales agent? As long as I have the money, what’s wrong with demanding your service?” I tugged at his sleeve. “The girl isn’t feeling well. Let’s just have someone else explain it.” Besides, I had absolutely no intention of buying this mega-mansion anyway, so it didn’t matter who pitched it. Oliver’s gaze was aggressively scanning Chloe’s face and body. After her outburst, Chloe didn’t even dare to meet his eyes. If someone told me there was nothing going on between them, I’d call them a liar to their face. But right now, Oliver was my fiancé, and it was time to establish my territory. I reached out and grabbed Oliver’s hand. “Oliver, didn’t we agree we were just going to buy a nice penthouse? My parents…” He cut me off frantically, terrified I’d finish the sentence. “It’s not like I can’t afford the mansion! I want to give you the absolute best. I want everyone to know that being my woman means you’ll be incredibly happy.” I was speechless. Then don’t use my parents’ money to do it, you idiot. But since he was willing to marry into my family, I figured I’d humor him for a bit. As long as he behaved, my parents wouldn’t force me to go on blind dates with other men anymore. Chloe looked at Oliver, then at me. A single tear rolled down her cheek, her eyes filled with an inescapable, profound sorrow. A beautiful woman shedding a tear is like a falling star. Oliver couldn’t look away. Completely ignoring my presence, he reached out, wanting to grab Chloe’s hand. “I… I have other things to do. Let Ms. Davis help you.” She practically fled in panic, but my fiancé’s eyes followed her every step of the way, his soul clearly dragged away with her. I tapped my fingers on the desk. Well, isn’t this interesting. But no matter how earth-shattering their tragic romance was, this girl still needed to get married. The only reason I chose Oliver was because he was handsome, highly educated, had no complicated family drama, and was famously aloof with other women. I didn’t even mind that he wasn’t a virgin. But now, right when we were looking at houses, at the final hurdle—was my golden goose trying to fly away? How was I supposed to explain this to my parents? My older female cousins would laugh me out of town. Losing a man was no big deal, but if my dad got furious and cut off my credit cards, this wouldn’t be fun anymore. Oliver was, at the very least, decent-looking, and I am admittedly a bit shallow when it comes to faces. I finally asked, “What’s going on? Is she an old friend of yours?” Looking completely crestfallen, he still had to find the energy to brush me off. “Harper, she’s just a friend from the past. Don’t overthink it, babe.” Ms. Davis, being the shrewd salesperson she was, shifted her gaze between Oliver and me, dropping a heavy hint: “So… about this mansion, are you still interested?” It was a $25 million property. There was no way I was blowing all my private savings just to get married. I waved my hand. “Let’s go back to looking at that penthous—” Oliver cut me off again. “Take us to see the mansion.” He pointed a firm finger. It was still that mega-mansion. I was starting to get pissed. “My dad only gave us $10 million. Where are we getting the rest?” Oliver casually hummed. “We can take out a mortgage for the rest. I’ll pay it.” I rubbed my temples. Are you out of your damn mind?! He said he would pay for it, but I highly suspected he meant funneling money out of the pet supply manufacturing company we co-owned. I confronted him. “Why are you so hell-bent on this mansion?” “We are short $15 million!” “Do you think that’s $1,500?” My dad was already furious that I ignored our family’s corporate empire to start my own independent manufacturing business. He rarely gave me any financial support for it. I built that pet supply factory from the ground up through sheer blood, sweat, and tears. It meant everything to me. Thankfully, our client base had stabilized over the past two years, and we were finally turning a real profit. Oliver wanting to bleed the company dry just to buy some stupid mansion was unacceptable. I would never let that happen. Yet, he acted like it wasn’t up for debate. He tossed his credit card onto the table right in front of the agent. “Go get Chloe. Tell her to come back, and I’ll sign the contract right now.” A few minutes later, Ms. Davis returned, looking hesitant. “Chloe’s daughter got sick, so she had to rush to the clinic for an IV drip. She probably won’t be coming back today.” Oliver looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “Daughter?!” Ms. Davis glanced at me, then covered her mouth with a subtle smirk. “She claims it’s her ex-boyfriend’s. Apparently, she only found out she was pregnant after they broke up. The kid is already two. So many people told her to get an abortion back then, but she absolutely refused. So desperately devoted.” Right. Oliver and I started dating exactly three years ago. I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he did the math. The next second, he looked completely unhinged. Completely ignoring the fact that I was standing right next to him, he frantically interrogated the agent. “Which hospital is Chloe’s daughter at?!” I crossed my arms, deeply suspicious. “Is that kid yours? Oliver, do not tell me your ex-girlfriend had your baby. Because if this gets that messy, this wedding is officially canceled.” Oliver looked at me and forced a smile. “How is that possible? Harper, don’t be paranoid. This girl is actually my college roommate’s ex. She was super materialistic and dumped my buddy. Now she’s struggling, and suddenly has a kid. I just need to go check. If it’s really his, I have to let my buddy know.” She’s struggling, yet you were just humiliating her five minutes ago? Are you psycho? And I was 99% sure that “college roommate” was just him. What a pathetic excuse. I played the magnanimous fiancée. “Go ahead.” He froze. I raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Changed your mind?” He looked extremely conflicted. “That card your dad gave you… can I borrow it for a bit?” I had been with Oliver for three years. He always acted so high-and-mighty, refusing to talk about money or touch my finances, which made me think he was a decent guy. Now I realized he just hadn’t found a moment where he desperately needed to flex. I shut him down instantly. “Absolutely not. That money is strictly earmarked by my dad for our house.” Then I compromised. “But I’ll give you our joint business card.” I transferred $2 million straight to him. “I just wired you your share of the company dividends.” He nodded. “Thank you, Harper. You are such an understanding girl. Don’t overthink these little things.” He hesitated for a second, looking around before his eyes locked onto a luxury car rental shop next door. “I’m going to head to the shop first. Call me if you need anything.” “Harper, let’s grab dinner tonight. I’ll book that restaurant you love.” I smiled sweetly. “Sounds great.” I didn’t go far. I watched him walk into the rental shop, then turned right around and followed him. As the old saying goes, never let sunk costs dictate major life decisions. If Oliver really wanted to rekindle the flame with his little ex, then I was going to cut the cord fast and cut my losses. Oliver rented a Maybach and sped off straight toward the clinic. I handed the keys of the Rolls-Royce to a valet service to take home, then hailed an Uber, following him at a leisurely pace. Oliver was in such a frantic rush he didn’t even notice a car was tailing him. He haphazardly parked the Maybach on the street and rushed out. Right after he ran into the clinic, a guy on an electric scooter lost his balance and sideswiped the freshly rented Maybach. Screeeech! A massive, deep scratch carved into the paint. I got out of my Uber and walked straight to the pediatric IV ward. From a distance, I could see Oliver pointing an accusing finger at the little girl in Chloe’s arms, yelling at the top of his lungs: “Is she my child or not?! How could you just abandon me and run away with my baby?! “What do you take me for?! “I have money now! I can buy a mega-mansion, I drive luxury cars, I own my own company! “Are you regretting it now, Chloe?! “Well, it’s too late! I’m getting married soon! You’re the one who betrayed me first!” He was acting like an absolute lunatic, completely ignoring the fact that they were in a public space. Chloe was still biting her lip, shaking her head frantically. “No, no! I know you hate me, but I had to leave! My father became paralyzed, and I couldn’t even afford his rehab! And then I found out I was pregnant. I knew with your personality, you would have married me. You’re a good man. “But I couldn’t! I couldn’t drag you down with me. It was enough that I was drowning in the swamp alone! “But I couldn’t bear to let Lily go. She looks just like you. She’s allergic to shrimp, and she hates green onions. “I don’t regret a single second of being with you back then. “And now that I know you’re doing better than me, I have no regrets left. Oliver, let’s just go our separate ways. Please don’t humiliate me like this! “If I lose my real estate job, Lily won’t have money for school, or books, or medical bills! I saw your new fiancée. You take such good care of her. She’s a lucky woman. It’s me who didn’t deserve you!” Chloe only managed a few sentences before tears streamed down her face. She reached out and tried to push Oliver away. “Leave! We broke up a long time ago. Why are you even looking for me?!” Ignoring everything around him, Oliver grabbed Chloe’s face and kissed her passionately. I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my own brain. What absolute psychopaths! Blood was backing up into the kid’s IV tube, and these two were too busy making out to notice?! Well, at least now I knew for a fact: this man was garbage! Just as I finished dealing with some work emails, Oliver called me. “Harper, can you wire me the other $2 million? “I went to a business meeting and rented a car, but for some reason, someone keyed it. Now the rental company is demanding $200,000 in damages. “I don’t have that kind of cash on me. Doesn’t one of your cousins own this rental agency? Can you come over and talk to them?” My face contorted into a massive question mark. ? He didn’t think of me when he was sucking face with another woman, but the second he’s done getting his kicks, he suddenly remembers he has a fiancée? Me: “Didn’t I just give you $2 million this morning?” He stammered, “The mansion required a massive deposit, so I put it down.” I couldn’t sit still anymore. I slammed on the gas, sped straight to the sales center, and right in front of Chloe, I pointed a finger at Oliver and tore him to shreds. “We worked our asses off for an entire year to earn a $2 million dividend each, and you blow it on a $25 million mansion without even blinking?! “What did you tell me when we first met? You said you didn’t care about material wealth! Now you’re throwing a tantrum, demanding to buy this mega-mansion?! “Oliver, you’ve changed. You’ve become superficial. You’re not the pure, grounded man I used to know.” Faced with my accusations, Oliver’s face turned beet red. Finally, he squeezed out, “I’ll pay you back.” I scoffed. “Pay me back? With what?!” Chloe stepped indignantly in front of him, turning the blame on me. “Oliver is only willing to buy such an expensive house because of you! “You’re just a spoiled little princess who’s never worked a hard day in her life! What right do you have to criticize him?!” Excuse me? Me?

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I am an original singer-songwriter in the music industry. I’ve elevated countless singers to the absolute pinnacle of pop, but I myself remain under the radar. The Masked Singer invited me to be a judge, but I chose to be a contestant instead. During the first round, I critiqued the other contestants: “The vocals are just okay. The vocal runs were handled poorly.” “This song isn’t written very well at all.” Netizens exploded: [Who the hell is this? So arrogant!] [This is a track written by Sienna, the collective Godmother of the music industry! I’ve never seen anyone so full of themselves!] [Can we just eliminate this woman already?] After my performance, the entire internet was torn between tearing me down and praising my vocals. But when I finally took off my mask, the whole web went into a collective meltdown: [Wait… who is this?!] The host teased, “You’ve been calling her your Godmother for so long, but now that the Godmother is standing right in front of you, you don’t even recognize her?” 1 I was right in the middle of fixing a track for Tyler Hayes when the producers called me. To beg for a song, Tyler had been shadowing me every day. It was beyond annoying. Of course, that wasn’t the main reason I agreed to write for him. It was because I saw a leaked screenshot of him in a group chat, asking: “Hey, if I make my favorite songwriter my girlfriend, does that mean I get an endless supply of hit tracks?” That scared me straight. I immediately opened my laptop and pulled an all-nighter to finish his song. This girl right here was being targeted. Time to pay him off with a track and run. 2 “Are you absolutely sure you’re inviting me to be a judge?” I asked again, feeling a bit resentful. “Well, Ms. Sienna, if you’d prefer, you could just be on the guessing panel,” the producer on the other end said, his tone incredibly cautious. I clicked my tongue in distaste. “Are there really no other options?” The producer froze, his voice tinged with a slight panic. “Ma’am, with your A-list status…” “Can’t I just be a contestant?” I was the ultimate behind-the-scenes ghost in the music industry!! Everyone considered me a breath of fresh air—a mysterious top-tier legend who never appeared on reality shows or variety programs. But the truth was… nobody ever invited me! My reputation had been hyped to the stratosphere, so obviously, I couldn’t lower my status to beg for a spot on a show. It had been ages since I stood on a massive stage. The feeling of the spotlight hitting your skin? It’s pure magic. Especially a show like this, where you wear a mask. You just go up, enjoy the stage, do a one-and-done round, and leave. It sounded perfect. “Wait… Ms. Sienna, are you serious?” The producer’s voice was literally trembling. I sighed, feigning regret. “Is that a no? If it’s a no, then I’ll just…” forget it. “Yes! Yes! Absolutely yes! Ma’am, we will make it happen!” “Awesome!” In my excitement, my finger slipped and hit “Send.” I accidentally sent the unedited, flawed demo to Tyler Hayes. Before I could unsend it, a message popped up. [Thank you, Sienna! It’s incredible. I love it.] [Should I ask for any revisions?] [You’re joking, right? A track from Sienna is flawless. No revisions needed.] I hesitated. The song genuinely had a flaw that could slightly tarnish my pristine reputation. But whatever. I was practically coerced into writing it anyway. Let it be. 3 Turning my attention to an exclusive indie-pop group chat, Tyler’s messages were glaringly bright. [Sienna wrote a song for me!] [She even asked if I needed any edits!] [Too bad I’m going on a reality show soon, I don’t have time for edits.] I stared at the screen in silence. Don’t tell me… we’re going on the exact same show? 4 Half a month later, I heard the show was switching from a pre-recorded format to live-streaming. The moment I stepped out of my hotel and into the production van, the live broadcast had already begun. The scoring system: 4 judges (100 points each), a 10-person guessing panel (10 points each), and 500 audience members (1 point each). Total: 1000 points. Looking at the roster, literally everyone except the audience had more public clout than me. I knew all of them, but wasn’t close to any of them. After all, the only way an introvert makes friends is by waiting for an extrovert to adopt them. I routinely stayed locked in my apartment for weeks at a time. No extrovert had found me yet. 5 Following the PA’s instructions, I walked the red carpet, headed backstage, and drew my number. Lucky me. I was the last to perform. Tonight, out of 6 singers, the last place would be eliminated, and the second-to-last put on probation. Thrilling. Every drop of blood in my body was screaming for the stage. Backstage, I watched the live feed on a monitor. The judges, wearing the show’s signature masks, were making their grand musical entrances. The production team had hyped up the judges’ reveals to bring massive traffic to the premiere. The first was Arthur Vance, my mentor and the undisputed Godfather of Music. He had been retired for years; the producers must have paid a fortune to get him. The second was Richard Cole, a major label boss with a ruthless eye for talent. Any song he backed went viral instantly. The third was Ethan Pierce, a massive pop star who perfectly blended idol traffic with genuine talent. I was the one who wrote his breakout hit. The fourth was Diana Cross, a veteran pop diva who notoriously despised singers carried by internet fame—making Ethan her prime target. As their intros wrapped up, the live chat was already rolling. [I thought the producers were baiting us! They actually got them?! Aren’t they worried Diana and Ethan will literally fight?] [I want them to fight. That’s good TV!] [Hehe, I’m actually hyped for this.] 6 The judges took their seats. The host stepped up, the guessing panel did their comedic bits, and finally, the contestants took the stage. The first singer wore a goofy fairy-tale costume. Surprisingly, they chose to debut a brand-new song. That’s usually a death sentence in singing competitions. But when the credits flashed on the screen: Lyrics & Music: Sienna. The live audience gasped. “Whoa!” “Who is this guy?!” “Of course it’s a Sienna track! You can tell from the first chord!” “I’m literally crying, it’s so good!” “He must be an A-lister. Sienna hasn’t written for anyone in ages!” In the various waiting rooms, contestants were showering the performance with praise for the cameras. My assigned PA, a girl named Lily, seemed to be an introvert too. Our room was dead silent. I hesitated. Should I pretend to be an extrovert? 7 Lily finally broke the ice. “This singer has to be an A-lister, right? I can’t believe Sienna wrote a song for him!” “No,” I replied flatly. “He’s a B-lister at best.” Lily froze, her voice cracking. “A B-lister?” “He mishandled the vocals. There’s an obvious flaw in his riff on the bridge.” “And…” Lily’s smile stiffened. “This is a track written by Sienna.” I nodded earnestly. “I know. The song isn’t written very well at all.” Lily was physically shaking. Her brain was short-circuiting trying to figure out how to do damage control. The room fell into a heavy silence. I twitched my lips awkwardly. Did I say something wrong? “Well, actually…” I started. “Cut it! Cut the feed!” Lily practically screamed, trying to drown out whatever I was about to say. The cameraman quietly mumbled, “We’re live on a national stream.” Everyone in the room looked at me like I had just committed a felony. I offered a stiff smile and awkwardly glanced at the live chat monitor. The viewer count was skyrocketing. The engagement rate was going through the roof. [WHAT THE HELL?!] [Is she seriously trashing our goddess Sienna?!] [This is a track by the Godmother of the industry! I’ve never seen anyone so arrogant!] [This show was going so well. This woman is an absolute stain on the program!] 8 I leaned in, squinting at the screen. “Sienna is just a person, right? We don’t need to deify her.” Lily scrambled to cut me off again. “Girl, you are my favorite person, but please stop talking! Are you even in the music industry? That’s Sienna!” I rolled my eyes. Fine. I won’t say anything. But the comments wouldn’t stop. [My God, is this just a scripted villain arc?] [Let’s pray she gets eliminated round one! Take off the mask and pack your bags! I swear I’ll make sure she never works in this town again!] [Is this the script the producers handed her???] [I don’t get it. Who could possibly survive the backlash of this script?] 9 I was put on a mandatory mute by my panic-stricken PA. I watched as the next singer took the stage dressed as Snow White. Her song choice? Autumn in Brooklyn. Yeah, one of mine. The moment she opened her mouth, she stunned the room. Even the four judges couldn’t hide their approving smiles. “That’s A-list talent right there,” one murmured. The live chat was a sea of praise. I nodded along. This girl had a gorgeous figure. Respect. The vocals were solid. If I could tailor-make a track for her, it would be flawless. Lily carefully studied my face. “Feline Empress, Snow White sang that beautifully, didn’t she?” I nodded. “She’s definitely good.” “But…” The moment that word left my mouth, the atmosphere in the room solidified into ice. Lily gasped for air, asking in a trembling whisper, “Empress… you’re not about to say something blasphemous again, are you?” Me: “???” “This song actually isn’t a great fit for Snow White. Her tone is a bit thin, and she sang it too pop-heavy. If she altered the bridge like this—ahhh~ ah~ ahhh~—it would carry much more weight.” I casually belted out two lines as a demonstration. The live chat numbers started spinning like a slot machine again! Lily and the cameraman exchanged horrified looks. I looked at them, confused. “Our stream numbers are peaking. Why do you guys look like someone died?” Lily looked like she was about to cry. “Ma’am, have you looked at the comments?” I paused, leaning closer to the monitor. “I’m a little nearsighted. Forgot my contacts.” [HOLY CRAP, THIS B*TCH IS TOXIC!] [Sienna’s songs are NOT for you to casually remix! Your riff didn’t even match the lyrics!] [This has to be premeditated. She’s using Sienna for clout!] [Sienna is the untouchable holy grail of our industry. How dare she tarnish her work?] [VOCAL THIEF, STAY AWAY FROM MY IDOL!] 10 I was genuinely baffled. “Does Sienna really have this good of a reputation?” Lily leaned in, her face pale. “Ma’am, Sienna is known as the Godmother of all musicians. Her status is unshakable. Your repeated jabs look like you’re targeting her, or desperately trying to steal her spotlight.” Wait. I have clout in this industry? “This is going to ruin your future career in pop!” Lily warned. I started to regret my choices. Maybe I should have just been a judge? Now I couldn’t even speak freely. I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the wait. I was practically suffocating. But looking at Lily’s pleading puppy-dog eyes, I felt bad. Making a cute girl stress out is a sin. “Feline Empress, please prepare for standby.” Finally. Lily helped me up, offering one last pep talk. “Ma’am, I wasn’t trying to scare you! This stage respects pure talent. Just give it your all, sing perfectly, and no one can vote you out!” On stage, the host gripped his microphone. “Next up is our final singer of the night, the Feline Empress! She seems to have… unique opinions regarding Ms. Sienna’s work. What kind of performance will she bring? Let’s find out.” The applause, which had been polite and steady all night, suddenly dwindled to almost nothing. I grabbed my mic. Every vein in my body was pulsing with adrenaline. Exciting. Thrilling. A tremor I hadn’t felt in years. I thrive on playing against the odds!

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