Only after they conspired to kill me did I learn that Stella Randell hated me to her core. It didn’t matter that I had funded her for years, throwing money and resources at her, giving her the best life imaginable. In her mind, I had used my wealth and power to blackmail her, to tear her away from her first love. When I opened my eyes again, Stella was throwing my credit card on the ground, her gaze cold and proud. This time, I simply said, my voice flat and detached: “If that’s how you feel, then the sponsorship ends now.” 1 The credit card landed with a sharp clatter at my feet. “Why are you here again?” The girl’s voice was laced with pure annoyance. I followed the sound, my gaze locking onto Stella across from me. Her face was a delicate, porcelain mask, but there was an undisguised chill in her eyes. Seeing my silence, Stella’s friends grew bolder, their teasing loud and unrestrained. “Come on, Stella, Louis is head over heels for you. Just give the guy a chance!” “I heard he gives her a six-figure monthly allowance. What a show-off—” “But Stella’s gorgeous and a top student. She has tons of guys after her. Money isn’t everything.” “Exactly. Besides, Stella doesn’t care about materialistic things like that.” … In the center of the group, Stella tilted her chin up arrogantly. “Louis, can you please stop with your condescending charity? I’m busy. I don’t have time to entertain a rich kid like you. Besides, I have my own two hands. I don’t need to depend on anyone!” The girl before me was defiant, speaking the exact same lines I remembered from my past life. Only now did I finally believe it. I was reborn. 2 In my previous life, I didn’t just pay for Stella’s college education; I sent her abroad for her post-grad, helping her achieve her dream of becoming a research scientist. Even though she was always cold toward me, I brushed it off as her being fiercely independent, a byproduct of her strong pride. It wasn’t until she returned, famous and successful, that she got me drunk and tricked me into signing a fraudulent contract. The vast Croft family fortune vanished overnight. Not long after I went bankrupt, I had a car accident. In my final moments, she leaned close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “Louis, the doctors say you won’t make it through the night. Good. Leo made sure to have your brakes tampered with. “And don’t you dare call me cruel. If you hadn’t used my future to threaten me, Leo and I wouldn’t have wasted all these years apart. What could you ever give me besides money? Only Leo could give me real love. “You can die in peace now. Without you, Leo and I will be perfectly happy together.” Her gaze grew colder, and my breath hitched in my chest. As my consciousness faded, I could vaguely see her smiling, wrapped in Leo’s arms, a tenderness in her eyes I had never once seen directed at me. I closed my eyes for the last time, my heart filled with rage and bitter regret. 3 My thoughts snapped back to the present. I lowered my gaze and bent down to pick up the credit card. “Louis, just give it up,” a clear male voice cut in. “No matter how much money you throw at her, it doesn’t mean she’ll ever want you.” I looked at the young man standing next to Stella. He was tall and lean, a taunting smile playing on his lips. Leo. Stella’s classmate. The two of them were always “studying” together at the library. I had warned Stella about him multiple times, but she just sneered that I was possessive and had a dirty mind. In my past life, after I sent Stella overseas, I thought they had finally lost contact. Now I realized they had probably been in touch the entire time. But I never forced them apart. If she had just been honest with me back then, there’s no way in hell I, Louis Croft, would have willingly been played for a fool. Stella let out a cold scoff. “Did you hear that? Stop wasting your time. I’m never going to take your money!” A smirk touched my lips. The next moment, under the shocked gazes of everyone present, I snapped the credit card in half and tossed the pieces into a nearby trash can. When I turned back, jaws were hanging open all around me. I looked at Stella, my voice devoid of emotion. “There was twenty thousand dollars on that card. It was for that overseas exchange program you wanted to join. But since you’re so high and mighty, I guess you don’t need it. “I’d rather throw it away than give it to you.” 4 Stella froze for a few seconds, her face flushing a deep crimson before she managed to compose herself. “What kind of game are you playing now? I never asked you for anything! This was all your own idea! And I hate your filthy rich attitude more than anything. You think just because you have some money, you can run my life? You’re pathetic!” Her best friend quickly chimed in, finding her voice. “Yeah! Stella can’t stand guys who reek of money.” “Money isn’t everything, Louis. Maybe you should try reading a book sometime. How else are you going to have anything in common with someone like Stella?” “She’s brilliant and beautiful. I heard she’s going to study at a top university abroad. One day, you really won’t be good enough for her!” Watching Stella stand there, her expression growing more conceited by the second, I suddenly remembered the first time we met. Back then, she was sallow and painfully thin, dressed in a wrinkled shirt, looking lost and helpless. She came from a single-parent home, and her mother was gravely ill. She was about to drop out of school to work and pay the medical bills. At that critical moment, she heard that Croft Industries sponsored gifted students from low-income families and came to us for help. She stood before my parents with a ramrod straight spine, vowing to repay our kindness tenfold. She was pretty, and the way her eyes reddened as she spoke not only won my parents’ sympathy but also stirred something in me. In just a few short years, she had transformed from a malnourished, impoverished student into a little princess draped in luxury brands. Not only that, but she had become arrogant and condescending, constantly belittling me. Thinking of how it all ended, my gaze turned to ice. “If you despise it so much, then consider the sponsorship terminated. The Croft family has done more than enough for you.” 5 Before Stella could speak, her friend jumped in. “Hey! Are you really going to hold a grudge just because we said a few things? How petty can a guy be?” I used to have a crush on Stella, and by extension, I was generous with her friends, often giving them expensive little gifts. Over time, I had bred a pack of greedy, ungrateful vultures who had lost all respect for me. The thought filled me with disgust, and I regretted being their fool for so long. “Get lost.” My cold stare made her flinch and shrink back. Stella’s face was a mask of humiliation, but she forced herself to speak. “Louis, why are you taking it out on my friend? Don’t think you can threaten me with money. I don’t care! And you’d better keep your word and never bother me again!” She glared at me with such loathing you’d think I had committed some unforgivable crime against her. Seeing her so agitated, Leo gently rubbed her back, shooting a smug, challenging look over her shoulder at me. In my last life, Stella would deny her relationship with Leo while keeping me at arm’s length, knowing it would make me jealous and insecure. Now, I couldn’t wait for them to be chained together, as long as they stayed the hell away from me. “Fine. I’m a man of my word.” With that cold parting shot, I turned and walked away. 6 That afternoon, I called my assistant, Hayes. “Starting today, stop all payments to Stella Randell’s accounts. The sponsorship is over.” Hayes, who was usually the picture of calm professionalism, looked utterly shocked. Before he could respond, I continued. “Change the locks on the villa in the Hills. She is not to be permitted entry. Also, she’s no longer allowed to run a tab at any Croft-owned businesses. If she can’t pay, have her thrown out. Oh, and cut off her mother’s medical expense coverage.” The look on Hayes’s face shifted from shock to profound relief. He nodded eagerly. “Right away, sir.” In the past, no matter how many times he had warned me about Stella, I had never listened, even finding him bothersome. Now, I couldn’t get her away from me fast enough. Experience is a brutal teacher, but you only need to learn its lessons once. He was about to leave when I stopped him. “Hayes, wait.” He paused, a questioning look in his eyes. I opened the drawer of my desk. Just as I expected, a beautiful jewelry box was sitting inside. It held a diamond necklace. In my last life, I gave it to Stella for her birthday. She’d called my taste tacky before reluctantly accepting it. At the memory, I simply handed the box to Hayes. “This is for you.” He was stunned for a moment, then immediately tried to refuse. “If you don’t want it, I’m just going to throw it away.” I dangled the box over the trash can. After a moment of hesitation, Hayes took the necklace, his face filled with genuine gratitude. Now that I thought about it, Stella’s birthday was coming up soon. Her good life was officially over. 7 After confirming the cancellation of the sponsorship, I had dinner with my parents and told them everything. My mother paused, a bit taken aback. “Louis, you used to talk about her constantly. Are you sure about this?” I nodded firmly. “An ungrateful person doesn’t deserve the Croft family’s support. Since she feels like our money is an insult to her, let her learn to stand on her own two feet.” My father considered this for a moment, then spoke slowly. “Alright. It’s your decision. I’ll have Hayes draw up a new list of candidates for the sponsorship.” With that settled, the mood at the table lightened considerably. In my past life, Stella constantly complained to me, convincing me that my parents looked down on her because she was poor, and she actively drove a wedge between us. After I went bankrupt, it was my aging parents who ran themselves ragged trying to bail me out. The stress caused my father’s heart condition to relapse, and my mother lived in a constant state of anxiety. In the end, there was no miracle. There was only the news of their son’s death. But this time, I would protect my family. As for the debts Stella owed, I would collect them, one by one. 8 On the way home, my restaurant manager sent me a security video from the downtown steakhouse, one of my father’s properties. In the video, Stella stood surrounded by a group of classmates, speaking condescendingly to a waiter. “My name is Stella Randell. I know your manager, Mr. Reed.” Her friends chimed in. “Stella never has to pay when she comes here. It’s basically her family’s restaurant.” “Why would you pay for your own birthday party at your own place?” “Exactly. Even Mr. Reed listens to her. You’d better think carefully before you answer.” Leo scoffed. “You must be new here if you don’t even know that.” The waiter wavered but held his ground. “I’m sorry, I am new, but our restaurant policy doesn’t allow for running a tab. Mr. Reed is out of town and didn’t mention any exceptions.” Stella frowned, clearly annoyed. “You’re ruining the mood. I’m going to have you fired for this.” She let out a huff and started texting Mr. Reed, holding her phone up for everyone to see as if she owned the place. But the moment she sent the message, a glaring red exclamation mark appeared on the screen. Visible. Undeniable. I looked at my driver, who had undoubtedly heard the entire video. “Change of plans. Take me to the downtown steakhouse.” “Yes, sir,” he replied, his voice calm. As the city lights blurred past the window, my expression darkened. This was going to be a birthday Stella Randell would never forget.

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I was in the art studio when the heavy lamp directly above me came crashing down. I threw my right hand up to block it. My boyfriend, claiming he had no money, took me to a back-alley clinic. The delayed treatment cost me my right hand. Because of that, I missed the finals of the national art competition and the once-in-a-lifetime chance to study under a grandmaster. I had no choice but to go back to working three jobs a day just to survive. Six months later, while delivering food, I stumbled upon the truth about his family’s wealth and overheard a conversation he was having with a friend. “Liam, that girl—Aria—only had a minor fracture. You actually had them amputate her hand.” “Hmph. It should have been crippled long ago. Since she survived, of course, her hand had to pay the price. After all, I promised Emily I’d help her win the national competition, that I’d clear any obstacle in her path. I won’t allow anyone to threaten her.” Hearing those words, I finally understood. The enviable love I thought I had was nothing but a cruel joke. My boyfriend was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And if that’s the case, I don’t want him anymore. 1 His friend teased, “It’s not like Emily Weasley is short on good teachers. And Aria is your girlfriend. She was counting on that apprenticeship as her only shot. If she ever finds out the truth, you’re going to have a real mess on your hands.” “If you don’t say anything, no one will ever know. Besides, the only reason I got close to Aria in the first place was for Emily.” He then raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and give Aria that new healing ointment your family developed.” His friend hesitated. “But that formula hasn’t gone through clinical trials yet. If she uses it and something goes wrong, it could affect her nerves. Her hand might ache or tremble for the rest of her life.” Standing outside the door, my heart clenched. Tears welled in my eyes. The next words out of his mouth were even more heartless, invisible blades plunging deep into my soul. “You’re always complaining you don’t have data. Well, here’s your clinical trial right here. And if there are problems? Even better. It’ll guarantee she can never pick up a brush again, not even with an assistive device. She can’t be a threat to Emily anymore.” “Damn, Liam. You’re ruthless. Still not letting her go after all this time. Such a waste of talent. What are you going to do if Emily runs into more geniuses in the future? Eliminate them all one by one?” Liam cut him off, annoyed. “It can’t be helped. Aria’s just unlucky. She’s Emily’s personal demon. Since she was lucky enough to survive the accident, as long as she can’t paint anymore, Emily’s obsession will fade, and she’ll achieve even greater things.” After a pause, he added, “I’ll compensate Aria, of course. She only lost a hand. I can make sure she never has to worry about money again.” At that, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I struggled to compose myself, placed the delivery bag by the door, and numbly wheeled my scooter away. I stared at the empty space where my right hand used to be and bit my lip until I tasted blood. For six months, the memory of painting with that hand felt like a distant dream. I never imagined the falling lamp was a premeditated attack, an “accident” designed by my own boyfriend to eliminate a rival for his childhood sweetheart. My hand could have been saved, but he had it amputated. To Liam, I was never his girlfriend. I was just an obstacle, Emily’s demon, that needed to be exorcised. I remember waking up in the clinic, Liam holding me in a tight, worried embrace, as if trying to merge our bodies into one. “You scared me to death,” he’d whispered. “I was so afraid something would happen to you. Thank god you were quick and blocked it with your hand. If it had hit your head… I can’t even imagine.” He held me tighter. “Thank god you’re still here. Thank god you’re okay.” I thought it was love. Now, knowing the truth, a chilling coldness spread through me. What an actor. That lamp was meant to kill me. My survival was an unwelcome miracle. Since I didn’t die as he’d wished, he had my hand severed, ensuring I could never hold a brush again. The man was truly heartless. I wiped my tears and, without another moment’s hesitation, booked a flight to the capital. That night, after my last delivery, I returned to the cramped basement apartment I rented for fifty dollars a month. “Aria, you’re back. You must be exhausted,” he said, handing me a glass of water. After I drank it, he produced a vial of medicine. “This is a new wonder drug from the hospital for healing.” Remembering his conversation, I refused. “I don’t want it. I’m still going to paint.” Liam smiled gently. “Don’t be scared, Aria. This is a special medicine designed to help you hold a brush again.” His smile sent a wave of goosebumps over my skin. Designed to make sure I can never hold a brush again, I thought. I shook my head. Liam’s expression darkened. “Aria, don’t be difficult.” My head started to spin, and I collapsed onto the bed. Through a hazy fog, I felt the prick of a needle in my arm. A searing pain shot through my right arm, and I curled into a ball, whimpering. Liam panicked, grabbing his phone. “What’s happening? Why is she in so much pain?” His friend’s voice on the other end was calm. “Liam, I told you there would be side effects.” Liam wasn’t listening, just raging into the phone. Through my blurry vision, I let out a cold, silent laugh. He was still acting, even now. This was all his idea. He was determined to erase any possibility of my hand healing. Taking my hand wasn’t enough. When he saw me practicing with an assistive device, he grew worried again, rushing to destroy my nerves, to take away even that last sliver of hope. 2 I woke up in that same back-alley clinic. The “doctor” saw I was awake. “You’re up. I’ve given you a painkiller. Does your right arm still hurt?” I shook my head. “Not as much. But I can’t seem to lift it.” I tried to demonstrate, straining with all my might, but my right arm remained limp and unresponsive. Liam seemed to let out a breath of relief. Then, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Aria. This is all my fault.” His eyes were bloodshot, and he truly looked distressed. He leaned down and hugged me, his tears tracing a path down my neck. I kept my head down, my own eyes clear and cold. This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it, Liam? Destroy me to elevate Emily. Concerned for my “recovery,” Liam insisted on carrying me home. Lying in bed, I opened my long-neglected social media account. A flood of hateful messages appeared. Someone had even doxxed me in the comments. 【This basement-dwelling rat loves to steal other people’s work and pretend it’s her own.】 【Looks like she’s missing a hand. Serves her right. A plagiarist gets what she deserves.】 I steadied myself and traced the source. A popular art blogger had called me out on behalf of a friend. I clicked on the friend’s profile. My heart sank as I saw the familiar artwork. Those were my paintings. I stumbled out of bed and started rummaging through my things. The folder where I kept my original sketches was empty. Just then, Liam walked in from the bathroom. “My paintings,” I demanded. “Did you take them?” Caught off guard, he stammered, “Aria, I was just worried they would upset you, so I moved them somewhere safe.” I held up my phone, showing him the post. “Then what is this? Why does someone else have my work? Or did you sell it?” “Aria, there must be some misunderstanding,” he insisted. “I didn’t sell your paintings.” “If it’s a misunderstanding and you didn’t sell them, then she must have stolen them and posted them herself?” “Aria, that’s enough!” Liam cut me off, his voice self-righteous. “You have no proof. How can you accuse someone of theft? What are you trying to do?” I sneered. “My work is in her possession, and she’s online accusing me of plagiarism. I’m not allowed to clear my name?” He frowned, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “It’s late. Stop making a scene. So what if they say you stole it? You can’t paint anymore. You’re not part of that world. A few words online won’t hurt you.” His hypocrisy was breathtaking. It was clear he was protecting her. I lowered my head, my eyes filling with tears, and pretended to sob. Liam, thinking he’d been too harsh, came over and put his arm around me. “Aria, forget about what’s online. We’ll focus on making a good life for ourselves.” His cold hand roamed my waist, and then he swept me into his arms, laying me gently on the bed. The moment his lips met mine, I held up my right arm, the stump of my wrist between our faces. I didn’t miss the flicker of disgust in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “My arm… it still hurts. It’s not a good time.” He forced a smile and buried his face in my neck, taking a deep breath before kissing me one last time. “Alright. I’ll let you off the hook for today.” The truth was, in the six months since my injury, he hadn’t touched me. Every time he accidentally brushed against my right arm, he would recoil as if burned before pretending everything was normal. I turned my back to him, violently scrubbing his scent from my skin. The nausea and hatred were overwhelming. Later that night, while he was asleep, I scrolled through the blogger’s friend’s feed. The more I saw, the more my blood ran cold. 3 The account had to be Emily’s. She made no effort to hide it, posting picture after picture of gifts from her “childhood friend,” many of which were identical to the ones Liam had given me. Except mine were fakes. Hers were the real deal. I remembered Liam telling me, “Aria, I can only afford knock-offs for now, but I promise one day I’ll be able to give you the real thing.” I had swallowed his lies, but the truth was, he had always had the money. The gifts I had saved up for, working multiple jobs to buy him, he never used. They were too cheap. And all those Valentine’s Days he’d missed, claiming he had to work? He was with her. She had even posted a photo from the national art competition six months ago, holding her first-place trophy. The caption read: “Half the credit for this award goes to my dearest Liam! I’ll be sure to reward him well tonight!” The day she won her trophy was the day I lost my hand. That night, I was alone in that filthy clinic. Liam had told me he was investigating the falling lamp. In reality, he was celebrating Emily’s victory. When he came back the next day, he said it was just a freak accident. Of course it was. He was the one who arranged it. I closed my eyes, focusing on the faint, phantom ache in my right arm. The next morning, Liam acted as if nothing had happened, leaning in to kiss me. I turned my head away. He frowned slightly, then sighed. “Aria, are you still mad? Don’t be. I know you’re not that petty. Be good, okay?” And then he left. I knew where he was going. Today was Emily’s birthday. For the past three years, Liam had always thrown her a huge party. He would come back the next day with a piece of cake she had supposedly made. I never ate it, telling him I was allergic to nuts. He would just laugh and say, “Aria, you’re poor, but you’re so picky,” before eating the whole thing himself. Around noon, I received another text from the same anonymous number: 【22 Riverfront Villa. Come and see the difference between you and a real person, you pathetic charity case.】 Before, I would have been too busy working to bother with such childish games. But now, with my right arm useless, I had time. So I went. As I approached the door, I heard Liam’s voice. “Let’s give a warm welcome to our queen, the rising star of the art world, the goddess Emily Weasley!” I remembered all the empty promises he’d made, how he was going to treat me like a princess once he had money. I pushed the door open. When Liam saw me, he instinctively pushed Emily away. She pouted. “Liam, I heard you’re keeping some secret girl on the side. Is it true?” Liam had never “kept” me. I was the one working three jobs to support us both. His support only existed in his fantasies. A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “Don’t listen to them. It’s not true.” “No secret girl, or no girlfriend?” Emily pressed. Liam hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Neither. I told you, I just want to watch over you as you grow up.” Emily beamed, then pretended to just notice me. “Oh! This… incomplete delivery person… doesn’t seem to belong here. You weren’t invited, were you?” Everyone in the room knew what was going on, but they all played dumb, just as Liam had played me for a fool for so long. I gave a cold laugh, my eyes locked on Liam. “I worked hard at my art, hoping my talent would lead to a better life. I worked three jobs a day so we could have a home of our own one day. I trusted my boyfriend because I loved him.” Liam’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. 4 My voice trembled as I continued, “But some people don’t deserve it. Liars don’t deserve anyone’s honesty.” A snicker came from the side. “The things you’re talking about, sweetie, Liam already has in spades. He has plenty of houses. Art is just a little game he plays to keep his goddess happy. And as for love? We can get that whenever we want.” A wave of laughter filled the room. “That’s enough! Shut up!” Liam’s face was dark. “This is Emily’s birthday party. Don’t let some irrelevant person ruin it.” The moment he finished speaking, I turned and walked out. A burst of cheerful music started up behind me. My presence, like my entire existence to them, was nothing more than an ant to be crushed, not worthy of a second glance. But was that really true? If I was so insignificant, why did beating Emily just once turn me into her “personal demon”? I looked at my perfectly intact left hand. A demon isn’t so easily exorcised. Liam didn’t know I was ambidextrous. In the three years we were together, he could barely remember my birthday without a reminder. How could he know anything else about me? For the past six months, I had been secretly practicing, training my left hand to paint. He was always so “disappointed” that I couldn’t paint anymore. I used to think he was sincere, so I kept my left-handed ability a secret, planning to surprise him one day. Thank god I did. Otherwise, he probably would have taken my left hand too. He was certainly capable of it. Five days ago, I had sent a letter, along with one of my mother’s keepsakes and some of my new work, to her former art mentor. I received a reply almost immediately. I had wanted to tell Liam, but just a single drawing left out on the table had made him so paranoid that he’d moved to destroy me completely, to ensure my right arm could never be used again. I packed what little I owned, threw all of Liam’s things in the trash—they were all probably trash to him anyway—contacted the landlord, cancelled my phone plan, and left the city. Six months later, the National Art Competition was held in the capital. Last year’s provincial champions from all over the country were competing. Rumor had it that several reclusive grandmasters were planning to take on apprentices from this year’s finalists. Emily was determined to win. Liam was there with her, of course. He never missed one of her competitions. So when he saw me, the girl he had been searching for, in the convention hall, he froze. He thought he was seeing things. But Emily saw me too and marched right over. Her voice was sharp. “What are you doing here?” She glanced at my right arm with contempt. “You can’t even paint anymore. Are you working as a janitor?” Liam stood beside her, his lips pressed into a thin line, saying nothing. I was there on behalf of my new mentor, so I had arrived early to prepare and had thankfully avoided them until now. I pretended not to hear and turned to leave. Liam suddenly grabbed my arm. “Aria, where have you been for the past six months?” I shook him off. “Sir, do I know you?” He frowned, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. “Aria, it’s been six months. Haven’t you thrown enough of a tantrum? Stop this.” His voice softened. “Now that you know who I am, I’ll give you whatever you want. Just leave Emily alone.” I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Let’s be clear. I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I just don’t want you anymore.” I turned and walked away, ignoring the icy fury that instantly clouded his face. The competition was being live-streamed, and thousands of followers of popular art bloggers were tuning in. When Emily and Liam saw me sitting in the judge’s panel, their jaws dropped. “She’s an amateur! A cripple!” Emily shrieked, her voice echoing through the hall. “How can she be a judge? She’s a thief who steals other people’s work!”

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As the nation’s top animal behaviorist, I was conducting a final evaluation of Caesar, our pride’s alpha lion. The moment I entered the isolation corridor, the heavy alloy gate slammed shut behind me. But instead of an alarm, the PA system blared the voice of the park director’s wife—my wife, Jessica. “Welcome back to the stream, everyone! Today’s ultimate challenge: we’ve locked our ‘top animal trainer’ in with the king of the jungle. Will he wet his pants in ten minutes? Place your bets!” Caesar, the lion I’d raised since he was a cub, was crouched low, growling. I reached for my tranquilizer gun, then froze. The liquid inside wasn’t pale yellow—it was a murky, angry red. The vet Mark’s smug voice came over the speaker. “Leo, forgot to mention—I swapped your tranquilizer for pepper spray. Wouldn’t want you hurting Caesar. You two are best buds, right? Use the power of love!” Caesar’s bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils told me he’d been drugged with agitants. Mark was getting back at me for stopping him from petting a tiger bare-handed last week. I tuned out the speakers, focused only on the 500-pound predator before me. My hand slipped into my pocket and closed around a small remote. I pressed the button—the master override for every electric fence in the predator enclosures. “If you won’t let me live,” I shouted at the nearest camera, “then you’ll all die with me!” “Jessica! This is the master switch for the entire zoo’s predator enclosures!” “The second I press this button, it won’t just be Caesar. Every single big cat, bear, and wolf will be out!” “This zoo is in the heart of downtown! Think about the body count! How many death sentences is that worth for you two?” My voice trembled with fury, but every word was a steel-tipped dart. The PA system went dead silent for a heartbeat before Mark’s terrified shriek pierced the air. “Leo! Dude, don’t do it! Just calm down, man! Be cool!” But then, Jessica let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Mark, what are you afraid of? He’s bluffing!” “Only the zoo’s owner has access to a switch like that. He’s just a glorified zookeeper. Where would he get something like that?” “Alright, folks!” she announced to her audience, her voice bright again. “Want to see me really get Caesar worked up? Start dropping those Golden Lions in the chat, and I’ll give you a show!” I almost laughed out of sheer, blistering rage. Keeping my eyes locked on Caesar’s every twitch, I yelled back, “Jessica, did it never once occur to you to ask why someone with zero qualifications, like you, was hired as the director of a major zoological park?” I threw myself to the left, dirt and gravel spraying as Caesar lunged, his claws swiping through the air where my head had been a second before. “It’s because I’m the secret owner of this zoo,” I bellowed, my lungs burning. Silence from the other end. Gasping for breath, I started shouting the secret clauses from the employment contract we’d signed—clauses only the two of us and my lawyer knew. Jessica’s breathing on the other end became heavy and ragged, as if a hand were clamped around her throat. Panic finally set in. “Leo, honey, don’t! I was just kidding! It was a prank for the stream!” she pleaded, her voice a desperate whine. “Don’t take it seriously! I’m opening the gate right now! I’m letting you out!” “Just please, don’t press that button!” But Caesar wasn’t giving me a break. I couldn’t dodge in time. His claws, sharp as scalpels, raked across my arm. My heavy work uniform tore like paper, peeling back flesh and sending a gush of hot blood spilling out. The rich, coppery scent of it filled the air. Caesar let out a thunderous, triumphant roar. I stared at the alloy gate. It remained stubbornly, fatally shut. My hope turned to ice in my veins. “You have ten seconds, Jessica! Open this gate NOW!” Her dream, she’d once told me, was to run her own zoo. So I’d poured my life savings into secretly buying this one. To spare her any sense of obligation, I’d set up a shell corporation to hire her, making it all seem like a lucky break. I was going to tell her everything tomorrow, on our wedding anniversary, and sign the whole thing over to her. A surprise. Instead, here she was, trying to impress her sleazy boy-toy by feeding me to a drugged-up lion on a live stream. “Ten!” “Nine!” I began the countdown, each number torn from my throat. In the adjacent enclosure, the scent of my blood had agitated the Bengal tiger. It began slamming its massive body against the fence connecting our two habitats, the impacts echoing like drumbeats of doom. “Jessica! Jessica, do something! I’m freaking out here!” Mark’s voice was a high-pitched squeal. Jessica was completely unraveling. “Honey! Leo, stop counting! Please stop! The gate… it must be malfunctioning! I’ll call maintenance! I’m calling them right now!” I stopped counting. The gash on my arm burned like fire. Using the precious seconds while Caesar regrouped, I scrambled up the rockwork of the lion’s den, clawing my way into the branches of a decorative tree. Before I could even catch my breath, Jessica’s voice, now laced with an unrestrained mockery, echoed from the speakers. “Oh, no, honey. What a shame.” “The maintenance guy says he’s already clocked out for the day. He can come in tomorrow, though.” “Why don’t you just hang out in there for the night?” Below me, Caesar was ramming the tree trunk with his colossal body. The entire tree shuddered violently, groaning as if it might snap at any moment. In my condition, I wouldn’t last an hour, let alone the whole night. Waves of dizziness from the blood loss washed over me, but they were nothing compared to the bone-deep chill of betrayal that had settled in my heart. “You’re insane, Jessica. You actually want me to die, don’t you?” The speakers erupted with their unrestrained, dual laughter. “Took you long enough to figure that out, Leo?” Jessica said. She cleared her throat, and I could just picture her aiming her phone’s camera right at my pathetic, blood-soaked form. “But hey, thanks for that little escape performance just now. The viewer count is through the roof! I guess you’re not completely worthless after all.” A rock whizzed past my head, smacking hard against the trunk. Mark was on the other side of the fence, picking up stones and hurling them at me. “What are you doing all the way up there? Get down here!” he taunted. “Our top donor just said if you fall out of that tree, he’ll drop twenty Supernova gifts!” Jessica squealed with delight, her voice twisted with manic glee. “Did you hear that, Leo? Get down here, now!” “If you don’t start earning your keep, I’m not even buying you an urn when you’re dead!” My life or death had become just another gimmick to farm engagement on their goddamn live stream. I raised the remote again, trying to say something, anything, but another violent slam from Caesar shook the tree so hard I nearly lost my grip. I could only cling to the rough bark, splinters digging into my palms. Watching my desperate struggle, Jessica walked right up to the gate’s bulletproof glass, her face alight with amusement. “Oh, stop the act, Leo.” “The owner’s personal assistant just called me a few days ago,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “Told me the big boss is overseas scouting new locations and won’t be back for a while. Did you really think I’d believe a lie that stupid?” My heart clenched. I’d forgotten. To maintain the surprise, all official communication had been routed through my personal assistant, Lynn. Jessica paused, her tone shifting to a syrupy, false gentleness. “Besides, you’re Mr. Morality, aren’t you, Leo? The park hasn’t even closed yet. There are still visitors outside. If you let all the predators out and people get hurt… you couldn’t live with yourself, could you?” “Be a good boy. Climb down and have a little playtime with Caesar. It’s what everyone wants to see.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. My heart plummeted. I had thought the remote was my trump card, the one line she wouldn’t dare cross. But she had already factored my conscience into her sick equation. She knew my decency was her weapon. Seeing my silence, she smiled, satisfied. “You have no parents, Leo. No one to even mourn you.” “And for an animal trainer to be killed by one of his own animals… well, that’s just a workplace accident, isn’t it? Perfectly understandable.” “So just rest in peace. I’ll use the money from this stream to take good care of our child.” Our child? My mind went blank, a deafening roar drowning out everything else. Before I could even process the bombshell, Mark sidled up behind her, placing a hand on her stomach with an air of intimate ownership. “Don’t you worry, Leo,” he said, his voice slick with slime. “I’ll take good care of Jessica and the baby for you.” “After all,” he grinned, “they’re both mine now.” “Oh, and by the way, there should be a pretty hefty life insurance payout from the zoo after you die, right? It’s a big number, but I guess I can do you a favor and spend it for you.” The two of them, a perfect pair, their shamelessness so profound it made my stomach churn with bile. I swore to myself, if I survived this, I would tear them limb from limb. On their stream, the soap-opera-level drama must have triggered a new wave of donations. To please their audience, Mark found a long bamboo pole and began jabbing it at me through the fence. “Get down! Come on, Leo! Get down here!” The pole stabbed into my open wound. The agony was so intense I almost let go of the trunk. I was a broken, bleeding mess, trying to dodge the pole while keeping an eye on the increasingly frantic lion below. Just as Caesar gathered his powerful legs for a soaring leap, I launched myself sideways, landing heavily in the branches of a smaller, neighboring tree. Caesar’s lunge missed, and he crashed to the ground with a heavy thud, letting out a roar so powerful it felt like it would rupture my eardrums. The world was spinning from the blood loss. He was completely feral now. No matter what calming sounds I tried to make, he ignored them, his blood-red eyes fixated on me. I was filled with utter despair. Then, a crackle of static came from the walkie-talkie clipped to my collar. “Kssht… Leo? Leo, you there? How’s it going? Are you done with the assessment?” It was my colleague, Dave! Like a drowning man spotting a lifeline, I fumbled for the talk button. “Dave! Help—” “Dave, please don’t bother my husband while he’s working.” Jessica’s crisp voice cut through the channel, easily overpowering my weak cry. “He’s in a critical phase of calming Caesar down. He can’t have any distractions.” She had a walkie-talkie, too. She had locked me out of the channel. All I could do was listen as Dave’s apologetic voice came through. “Oh! Oh, my bad, my bad! I thought he’d be finished by now. That Leo, what a pro! Alright, I’ll leave you guys to it!” With a final crackle, the radio went silent.

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In Veridia City, the most pitiful and the most vicious heiress shared my last name. The day my stepsister Morgan tried to shove my head in a toilet, Sebastian Thorne—the young prince, bleeding and hunted—shot her through both hands. “She is this city’s future queen!” he snarled. “Let’s see who dares touch her now.” That rescue only deepened Morgan’s hate. She tortured me creatively while undermining Sebastian’s bloody rise to power. A decade later, the day he seized his family’s empire, Sebastian booked the city’s finest suite to propose. But when I opened the door, he lay tangled in silk sheets with Morgan, both naked. The room fell silent. Everyone knew she was our sworn enemy. Morgan smirked, flaunting the marks on her skin. “Don’t give me that ‘I mistook you for your sister’ excuse, Sebastian. You knew it was me. You let me win the East Side project, didn’t you?” “Face it—you want a queen, not a weakling like her.” Sebastian smiled faintly. He didn’t deny it. As guests gasped, he picked up the ring and reached for my hand as if nothing happened. I stood still. “You once said,” I asked quietly, “that when you took power, I could do anything in this city.” “Does that still hold true?” He paused, surprised I hadn’t collapsed as usual, then nodded confidently. “Of course.” 1 I smiled back. The next second, I grabbed a fistful of Morgan’s hair and dragged her from the bed into the adjoining bathroom. I snatched the toilet plunger from its stand and brought it down on her with all my strength. Foul water and flecks of blood splattered everywhere. The guests screamed and scrambled back, their looks of pity curdling into disgust. Morgan, who had spent her life grinding me under her heel, shrieked in disbelief, her hand flying to her face. “Stella, are you insane?! Your mother had no class, and she raised a goddamn lunatic!” “You think this was my idea? It was Dad! He was ashamed of you! He told me to ‘discipline’ you properly!” My vision turned red. I swung the plunger harder, a decade of torment erupting in a single, violent burst. The calm smile on Sebastian’s face shattered. Crack. The sound of a gunshot echoed in the small space, and the plunger fell from my nerveless fingers. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. I only realized what had happened when a warm drop of blood trickled down my cheek. He had fired at me. The scene superimposed itself over the memory from ten years ago, when he had risked everything to protect me from Morgan. Only this time, I was the one on the other side of the gun. A wave of bitter grief washed over me, hot and sharp. “Sebastian…” “Stella! How could you do something so vicious to your own sister? I don’t even recognize you anymore!” I stared at his moving lips, unable to process the words. Morgan? My family? Her mother was the mistress who had destroyed mine. After Morgan was born, my own mother had a mysterious “fall” that broke her leg and left her partially paralyzed. From that day on, our lives became a living hell. After my mother died in a fire, I, the true heiress, was left to scavenge for moldy scraps in garbage cans. It was Sebastian who, at great personal risk, had climbed the walls of our estate again and again, bringing me bags of food. I still remembered the feeling of my hot tears mixing with the warmth of the food bags on my cold hands. Those years were filled with hard, tasteless survival biscuits, but to me, they were the sweetest things in the world. Sebastian had walked with me through that darkness. And yet, he could still stand here and call Morgan my family. I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. I only caught the words, “The only Mrs. Thorne will be you.” 2 But his eyes never left Morgan’s trembling shoulders. He didn’t see the web of my hand, split open by the bullet’s shockwave, blood welling up from the wound. I heard my own voice, terrifyingly cold. “Don’t bother. No one’s forcing you to play out this twisted soap opera.” “Sebastian, we’re done.” He froze, the words seeming to hang in the air between us as he stared, uncomprehending. After all, we had nearly died together in the trunk of a kidnapper’s car, and even then, I hadn’t left his side. Just as he reached out, a flicker of hesitation on his face, Morgan let out a sharp laugh. “Done? Stella, who are you trying to fool?” “You have nowhere to go! This is just another one of your pathetic games, trying to guilt-trip him with that time you saved his life!” Sebastian’s expression turned to ice. He hated being manipulated. Morgan’s voice turned sickly sweet. “They always say the thing we have in common is our dimples. Why don’t we just carve yours out? Then Sebastian will never get us mixed up again.” Sebastian hesitated for a split second. It was all the opening Morgan needed. She clutched her stomach. “Ow… I’ve never been hit like that in my life. We… we weren’t careful. What if… what if she just hurt our baby?” He shot her a weary glance, then gave a final, fatal nod. Her bodyguards seized me instantly, twisting my arms behind my back. My eyes widened in disbelief, but before a word could escape my lips, Sebastian cut me off, his voice deceptively gentle. “Stella, you always said you hated your dimples.” “Thorne Medical has the best cosmetic surgeons in the world. Don’t worry, there won’t be a scar.” The tip of a blade pressed against each of my cheeks, and a starburst of agony erupted. The bodyguard, loyal to Morgan, maliciously twisted the blade. Tears streamed down my face, hot and involuntary. I used to despise every feature I shared with her. On my eighteenth birthday, I’d waited all night for him to celebrate with me. His phone was off. When I finally dragged my heartbroken self back to the tiny safe house we shared, I found him tangled in our narrow bed with her. The world dissolved into a deafening roar. I remember stumbling to the wall, my body shaking as I threw up until there was nothing left. He knelt before me, swearing he’d been drunk, that he thought it was me. I’d sobbed, shaking uncontrollably, asking him why, why, why? At thirteen, he was a bloody, bruised mess, but he’d still kicked the teeth out of the thugs who followed me home from school. At fifteen, he was a fugitive who couldn’t afford a decent coat, but he’d saved for months to buy me a necklace I’d glanced at once in a shop window. On my seventeenth birthday, I’d hidden under the covers, whispering into the phone. “Are you crying? Because I said I love you, are you crying?” His choked voice came back, “I haven’t even given you flowers yet, I haven’t officially asked you… you can’t be the first one to say it.” And now… now there was a second time he “mistook” her for me. And a third. By the tenth time, Morgan had ripped the covers off and sneered, “How could anyone make the same mistake ten times? Even if you can’t see, can’t you feel? My sister is built like a twig. Just admit it, you want me!” And he had just stood there, silent. With two bleeding holes carved into my face, I was thrown to the floor like a broken doll as the crowd dispersed. 3 The engagement party I had dreamed of for months was ruined. A love forged over a decade of shared survival was shattered. I lay on the cold floor until the wounds on my face went numb, then propped myself up with my left hand. I dialed a number I hadn’t touched in years. “I’ve changed my mind,” I rasped. “I know you can help me. I want them to pay.” I spent seven days in the hospital. Sebastian arranged for the top cosmetic team, but he never showed his face. My bedside table was piled high with financial magazines, each one heralding the new, powerful alliance between the Thorne and Vance empires. The latest issue’s headline blared: “A New Bride for the Thorne Prince?” My phone buzzed. An anonymous video. On the screen, Morgan was losing her composure. “Fine! I give up! I admit it! At first, I was just using you to torture my sister, but then… then I fell for you! I love you, Sebastian, how could I not?” “You designed my villa yourself, you stocked the cabinets with my medication, arranged by date. Every time I worked late, you were downstairs, chain-smoking in your car, just waiting for me… Even that fire at the old manor… you took the blame for me, let my sister stab you over and over… You have feelings for me too, don’t you?” “Answer me!” she screamed, her voice raw. Her assistant tried to intervene, and Morgan slapped her across the face. “Get out!” In the dead silence that followed, I heard Sebastian let out a weary sigh. Then, one clear word: “Yes.” 4 A roar filled my head, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. My mother died in that fire. The firefighters found a small wooden carving of me clutched in her charred hand. I had been so consumed by grief I nearly followed her. Instead, I took a pair of scissors and carved ninety-nine cuts into Sebastian’s arms as he held me, weeping and apologizing, saying it was his enemies who had killed her. He never flinched, just held me tighter. “It’s okay, Stella, it’s okay. I’ll stay with you for the rest of your life. You have me. I only have you. Just like when we were seven… don’t let go of my hand, okay?” All the things that had anchored me, all the promises that had saved me… they were all lies. Staring at a headline predicting the soaring stock prices of the new Thorne-Vance joint venture, I scheduled the video to be sent to thirty major media outlets. You love a power couple? Then let’s watch you crash and burn at the height of your glory. That evening, Sebastian appeared at my bedside, calmly reviewing my medical charts. When he saw I was awake and not throwing a hysterical fit, he looked surprised, then pleased. He reached for my hand. But I slapped it away, hard. His face fell. “Stella! It was a misunderstanding! How long are you going to drag this out?” “My mother,” I whispered, tears finally breaking free. “Did you cover for Morgan?” I expected shame, denial, anything. But his expression only grew colder. “So it was you. You leaked the stories. Morgan was right.” As if on cue, Morgan burst through the door, tears streaming down her face. “Everyone is slandering my mother, calling her a homewrecker… She was a devout woman, and your mother dragged her name through the mud!” My own father, who had been sitting quietly in a chair, stood up and pointed a finger at me. “You ungrateful brat!” The world began to warp and twist around me. 5 I tried to lunge at them, to tear them apart, but my body gave out. As my vision went black, I fell into a familiar embrace, and a voice, gentle and cruel, whispered in my ear. “I have the wooden carving your mother made.” “Stella, go to the press. Tell them it was all a lie. Please?” Through a blur of tears, I almost laughed. The sound died in my throat, replaced by two words hissed through clenched teeth. “You’re… pathetic.” “I should have let you die in that gutter all those years ago.” His smile didn’t falter. He took my hand and turned on the live feed on his phone. Dozens of his men surrounded my mother’s grave, shovels held high. My breath caught. My heart stopped. “You can’t.” Before the words were even out, there was a loud crash on the video feed. The glass on my mother’s portrait on the headstone shattered, the cracks like tears streaming down her face. The pain in my chest was unbearable. I collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. A flash of anguish crossed his face, a flicker of the boy he used to be, the one who hid in my house for a decade, the boy my mother fed and protected even as her own body was covered in bruises. He tilted his head back, exhaling a heavy breath. But he didn’t stop them. The grave cracked under the blows. And so did my heart. “I’ll do it!” I begged, my face a mess of tears and snot. “I’ll do anything! Just make them stop!” The tension in his face eased. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight. “I can forgive you this time. But you are not to cause any more trouble for Morgan. Do you understand?” “Good girl,” he murmured into my hair. “We’re the ones who are going to grow old together.” His embrace was as warm as ever, but I was shivering, frozen from the inside out. The plane is about to land, Sebastian. There is no ‘we’ anymore. At the press conference, I was a puppet on a string, surrounded by flashing lights. “My parents’ marriage was already over,” I recited from the script. “Morgan’s mother was not a third party…” From the front row, Sebastian watched me, his brow furrowed. He didn’t look happy. Suddenly, Morgan gave me a sly, triumphant smile. The next second, thousands of photos rained down from the ceiling. Photos of my mother being dragged away by homeless men. “No! Don’t look!” I screamed, lunging to grab them, but it was too late. Morgan snatched the microphone. “I always respected the late Mrs. Vance! But it turns out she was the one cheating on my father! And with such… gutter trash!” The room erupted. I flew at her, my hand raised to strike, but before it could land, her theatrical sobs echoed through the speakers. The scene devolved into chaos. “Stella!” Sebastian’s hand clamped around my wrist like a steel trap. His eyes were hard, filled with a crushing disappointment. “You faked this apology just to set a trap and ruin her?” “Is the kind, gentle Stella I knew really dead?” I couldn’t hear him. “Sebastian… please, call the police… don’t let them do this to my mother’s memory…” I begged incoherently. A flicker of pity crossed his eyes, but then Morgan leaned against his shoulder, her soft sobs undoing any mercy I might have been shown. “I really thought she loved you,” she whispered. “But the day you became head of the family, she threw filth on my mother’s name and told everyone you were just her pathetic lapdog.” Sebastian let out a series of cold, harsh laughs. He swept her up into his arms and turned to leave. His butler glanced nervously at the frenzied crowd. “Sir, shouldn’t we leave some security for Madam?” Sebastian paused. Just as he was about to speak, Morgan suddenly went limp and collapsed backward in his arms. 6 He caught her, his face etched with alarm. She held up her phone, sobbing. “Someone desecrated my mother’s grave… they poured feces all over it…” On the other end of the line, the cemetery groundskeeper stammered, “The person… they also left a bouquet of white chrysanthemums at the first Madam’s grave. They said… they said it was on the young miss’s orders.” Morgan clutched at her heart, and her assistant wailed at Sebastian, “Mr. Thorne, her mother is her pride, her only weakness!” Sebastian’s eyes were bloodshot with rage. He whirled on me. “Do you have any idea that the next part of this press conference was to announce our wedding date? I wanted to marry you properly, and you pull this stunt!” My mother loved baby’s breath, never chrysanthemums. He knew that. He used to go with me to her grave every year. But now, he had forgotten. Tears of bitter laughter streamed down my face. “I wish I had done it.” The reporters swarmed me. Seeing my lack of remorse, Sebastian trembled with fury. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to his car. When I saw the familiar gates of the cemetery, a cold dread filled me. “No!” At his command, men with shovels brought them down on my mother’s headstone. It shattered. He held me fast as I struggled, his voice cold and hard in my ear. “Stella, when you make a mistake, you face the consequences.” “Besides, Morgan has already promised me. Once this business with her mother is settled, she will treat me as nothing more than a brother-in-law.” “I am giving you the dignity of being Mrs. Thorne. I won’t touch you. But you need to learn your place.” I watched, screaming, as they dug up my mother’s urn. “I’m not marrying you! The wedding is off! Leave my mother alone!”

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1 While my husband was on his deathbed, his kidneys failing, I fell in love with his half-brother. When he recovered, he found a younger woman as his revenge. He paraded her at family dinners, forcing me to kneel and wipe her shoes. He had roses flown in from across the world for her, promising a love that would never die. He let her break into my safe and shatter the jade bracelet my mother had left me. I knew I was at fault, so I endured it all. But then, for her sake, he stole the appointment I had moved heaven and earth to get for his brother with a world-renowned specialist. His brother died because of the delayed treatment. That’s when I finally understood. Endurance was useless. Adrian and I were broken beyond repair. We were destined to spend the rest of our lives torturing each other. We were each other’s karma. … I watched, numb, as Liam’s body slid into the incinerator’s searing heat, reduced to a box of ash. I buried him myself. Staring at the brilliant, carefree smile etched on his headstone, the grief I had suppressed for so long finally broke free, a tidal wave threatening to drown me. I knelt before his grave, tears falling like broken pearls, each one a tiny hammer blow against the cold stone. I traced the outline of his face on the photograph, staying there from dawn until the sky bled into a bruised purple. “Liam, I have to go now,” I whispered, my voice raw. “Someone has to pay for what they did to you. Don’t go too far. Wait for me. Once I’ve had my revenge, I’m coming to find you.” I left the cemetery, my heart a cold, hard stone in my chest. Revenge. I would have it, no matter the cost. The sorrow had curdled into a white-hot rage. Liam didn’t have to die. I had practically crawled on my knees to get him that appointment with Dr. Kingston, the one man who could have saved him. But Adrian had used his right as my husband to cancel it, giving the spot to his precious little girlfriend for a common cold. By the time I found out, Dr. Kingston had already left the country in a fury. All I could do was hold Liam in my arms as he took his last breath. I slammed the accelerator to the floor, the car screaming down the highway like a soul fleeing hell. I dialed Adrian’s number. He answered instantly. “Clara, are you finally ready to crawl back and beg? If you get on your knees, I might just find it in me to forgive you. I might even help that bastard brother of mine.” His mocking voice crackled through the speaker, followed by a chorus of laughter from his friends. “Is the ice queen finally melting? See, what’s the point of being so stubborn? Just say you’re sorry. We’ll all be witnesses!” “Yeah, Clara! And bring a case of the good stuff. Show us you’re serious!” “And don’t forget a gift for Janice! You need to apologize properly if you want Adrian to lift a finger for that short-lived bastard Liam.” The last embers of my sanity burned away at the mention of his name. “Fine,” I rasped. “Give me the address.” I hung up, the roar of the engine a counterpoint to the frantic drumming of my heart. I screeched to a halt in front of the private club, snatched a security baton from the guard post, and stormed inside. I kicked the door of the private room off its hinges. Adrian looked up, his eyes filled with a lazy, arrogant amusement. “Well, well, Clara. Where’s the gift for Janice?” Marcus, the one who’d called Liam a bastard on the phone, sauntered toward me with a smirk. I swung the baton. A sickening crack, and blood erupted from the gash on his head. “Clara, you’re insane!” he shrieked. 2 Before anyone else could react, I grabbed Janice, who was standing there with a smug little smile on her face. I brought the baton down hard on her stomach. She let out a piercing scream, and Adrian finally snapped out of his stupor. He shoved me away, gathering Janice protectively in his arms. “Clara! Have you lost your mind? You’re like a rabid dog, biting anyone in your path!” he snarled, his face a mask of disgust. I walked toward him, my knuckles white on the baton. “Yes, Adrian, I’m insane. I went insane the moment you and this little tramp stole Liam’s only chance to live!” He scoffed. “Is it that spineless parasite again? Did he run crying to you? He really has mastered the art of—” I slapped him, the sound echoing in the silent room. “You don’t get to say his name. You murderer.” The slap ignited his fury. He stood up, jabbing a finger into my shoulder. “He was a nobody, a mistake. Why can’t I say his name? And don’t you forget, Clara, you are still my wife!” His eyes were filled with a cold violence. He grabbed me and forced me to the floor. “Now, my dear wife, apologize to my beloved Janice. If you’re good, I might be in a generous enough mood to help that half-breed live a few more days.” I struggled, but he was too strong, pinning me in front of her like an animal. I smiled up at him, a chilling, empty thing. “Fine. If you can save Liam, I’ll get on my knees and beg.” His face darkened for a second before the sneer returned. “Alright. Let’s see just how far you’ll go for him.” The moment he let go, I lunged like a starving wolf, tackling Janice to the ground. I sank my teeth into the soft flesh of her neck, wanting to tear out her throat. Adrian roared with rage and threw me across the room. My head hit the floor, but I felt nothing but a wild, exhilarating release. I started to laugh, a low, guttural sound, as Janice shrieked in terror, blood streaming down her neck. Adrian stormed over and hauled me to my feet by my collar. His eyes were chips of ice. “Clara, you push your luck! Get naked. Kneel on the floor and beg Janice for her forgiveness!” “Or what?” I wiped the blood from my lips, my gaze unflinching. I grabbed his tie, pulling his face close to mine. “Or you’ll kill me?” I whispered in his ear. Rage flashed in his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace Liam had given me, dangling it in front of my face. My breath caught. I reached for it, but he clamped a hand around my throat, using the necklace to toy with me like a dog with a treat. “You want this? Then do as I say,” he purred, his voice a venomous whisper. “Are you so pathetic now that you have to resort to being a thief, Adrian?” I sneered. I had torn the house apart looking for it, blaming myself for losing the one precious thing Liam had left me. “We’re married, my love. It’s not stealing,” he said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Just take off your clothes and apologize to Janice, and I’ll give it back to you. Simple.” I closed my eyes. “Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll do it.” He sat back on the sofa, watching me with an unreadable expression. As I walked towards Janice, I stripped off my shirt, the cold air hitting my bare skin. I hesitated for a second, then unzipped my pants and let them fall. A chorus of jeers and lewd comments erupted from his friends. “Damn, Clara’s lost it, but look at that body…” “If she wasn’t Mrs. Thorne, I’d…” The words washed over me, meaningless. My hand went to the last piece of clothing, but just as I was about to remove it, Adrian shot to his feet. “That’s enough!” He strode over, grabbing my face, his voice laced with venom. “You make me sick.” “Apologize to her like that. Your body is disgusting to me.” He threw me to the ground. I crawled to my knees in front of Janice. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, my nails digging into my palms. The humiliation of apologizing to my love’s murderer was a physical agony. “Adrian, I’m scared,” Janice whimpered, trembling like a delicate flower. “Louder! And bow your head!” Adrian roared at me. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and slammed my forehead against the floor. “Janice, I’m sorry!” When I looked up, Adrian was staring at me with dark, glittering eyes. “You really do love that bastard, don’t you, Clara?” “You know what? I don’t think I want to give this back to you after all.” And with that, he threw the necklace out the eleventh-story window. “NO!” I screamed, a raw, primal sound, and lunged for the window like a moth drawn to a fatal flame. “Clara!” 3 The chain grazed my fingertips, but just as a flicker of hope ignited, Adrian yanked me back. I watched it fall, disappearing into the night, just like Liam had slipped through my fingers. “No! My necklace! Give it back!” I thrashed in his arms like a madwoman, trying to throw myself out the window after it. He dragged me back again and slapped me hard across the face. “What is this pathetic act, Clara? Playing the heartbroken lover for me?” he seethed, his face inches from mine. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the crushing weight of despair. I slid down the wall, a broken, sobbing mess. A hand touched my shoulder, and Adrian’s voice, suddenly stiff, broke through my grief. “Clara… stop crying. It was just a necklace. I’ll buy you another one.” I looked up, my eyes red and swollen, and grabbed the front of his shirt. “You think it’s that easy? We were supposed to leave each other alone, Adrian! Why did you have to interfere? Why did you have to take his life away?” “Why?” I wailed, a caged animal’s mournful cry. “I am your husband, Clara, have you forgotten?” he shot back, his own eyes turning red. “You humbled yourself for that parasite, you came back covered in bruises from begging for him. Where was my honor? What about my pride?” “My husband? You have some nerve! What about her? You bought out entire auctions for her! You paraded your affair in front of the whole world and used my dignity as your doormat! What about my pride then?” We were two warring nations, locked in a battle with no end. “Janice is different,” he said through gritted teeth. “So was Liam!” “Don’t you dare compare that trash to her!” “He wasn’t trash! He was your brother! Your own flesh and blood!” “Enough, Clara!” he yelled, ripping my hands off him. “It was a stupid necklace. If you don’t want my money, then go ask that bastard to get you a new one.” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, his hands trembling as he tried to light it. I stumbled to my feet, tears streaming down my face. “He’s dead.” “He can’t give me anything ever again.” Adrian froze. The lighter clicked four times before a flame finally caught. “Dead?” he said, his voice strangely hollow through the smoke. “Good. Better that way. Cleaner.” A wave of pure, unadulterated hatred washed over me. I didn’t want his casual dismissal. I wanted him to hurt, to feel the same gut-wrenching pain I felt. I walked through the smoke and stood before him, a terrifying smile on my lips. I gently placed a hand on his abdomen. “Did you know? The kidney that’s keeping you alive right now… it was Liam’s.” “He was afraid you’d feel guilty, so he never told you. The man you despised most in the world gave you his life.” I stared into his eyes, watching his face go blank, then contort through disbelief, landing finally on a mask of pure agony. My smile widened. His pain was my only pleasure. “Why don’t you go thank him in person?” I whispered, my voice the devil’s own temptation. He just stared at me, his eyes a dead, bottomless pool. “Adrian, don’t listen to her!” Janice rushed to his side, clinging to his arm. “It wasn’t Liam! If it was, why didn’t he say anything that day, when you… when you had him beaten?” Her words were a steel blade, twisting in my already bleeding heart. “What did you say?” I rasped. Adrian moved Janice behind him, shielding her from my view. I went feral, pounding on his chest with my fists. “He saved you! How could you beat him? He was dying, and you wouldn’t even leave him in peace!” “Why aren’t you dead? You should be in hell! You both should be in hell!” I screamed and clawed and bit at him, and he just stood there, taking it all, his face a stony mask. Finally, exhausted, I slumped to the floor, my heart a hollow, aching void. “Adrian, I’m scared,” Janice whimpered. “I’ll take you home,” he said, his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he turned and left with her. The room, once filled with noise and people, was now silent, empty except for me. I staggered to my feet. What was the point of living? But how could I die, when my enemies were still breathing? I ran after them, getting to my car first. The moment Adrian’s engine started, I floored it, ramming my car straight into his. I just wanted them to die.

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1 My wife, Elena, bailed on our daughter’s Annual Spring Showcase, claiming a last-minute work emergency. She even insisted we skip it too. Seeing the disappointment cloud my daughter Sophie’s face, I decided to take her myself. The moment we stepped onto the school grounds, my blood ran cold. There, on the main stage, sat Elena. And next to her, nestled on a plush sofa like they owned the place, were her high school sweetheart, Adrian Vance, and his son. They looked for all the world like a perfect family of three. Elena was holding a microphone, speaking eloquently about achieving the perfect work-life balance. Every so often, she’d glance at Adrian, sharing a private, knowing smile. The crowd of parents and students erupted in applause. The adoration fueled her, a smug satisfaction spreading across her face. Even the little boy beside her wore a look of arrogant pride. Then came the Q&A. I shoved my way to the front and snatched a microphone from one of the ushers. “Excuse me, Ms. Sterling,” I called out, my voice booming through the speakers. “I have a question. Since when did you have a son? And does your husband know about it?” … My words hung in the air, instantly replaced by a wave of angry whispers from the parents and students around me. Their gazes, sharp with disdain, cut right through me. “Who is that guy? So rude.” “He’s probably just some nobody, jealous of Elena’s husband. Trying to get her attention this way. She runs a billion-dollar company; it’s not surprising she has a few delusional stalkers trying to worm their way in.” “Pathetic.” On stage, a flicker of panic crossed Elena’s face when she saw me, but she masked it in an instant. Adrian, however, wasn’t so composed. He put on a show of wounded indignation. “Elena, honey, what is he talking about?” I ignored him completely, my eyes locked on Elena. “You haven’t answered my question, Ms. Sterling.” She reflexively tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then, in front of everyone, she took Adrian’s hand and squeezed it tight. “This,” she declared, “is my answer.” Adrian’s expression softened with emotion as he pulled her into a deeper embrace. The crowd collectively gasped, “Awww!” “This is true love, right in front of us! So brave!” “Elena Sterling is an absolute icon. A powerhouse CEO who adores her husband and child. She’s perfect!” Their glares toward me intensified, dripping with contempt. “Yeah, that shut him up. Tried to stir up trouble and got put in his place.” “Look at that loser. Does he really think he can compare to Elena’s husband? Everyone knows her husband holds a top position at Apex Holdings, that he’s her right-hand man. What a joke, comparing a titan like that to this… this nobody!” Just then, my phone vibrated. A text from Elena. “Ethan, don’t misunderstand. I promised Adrian I’d pretend to be Dylan’s mom for the day. He’s never had a mother, the poor thing. But you… you not only disobeyed me, you came here to publicly humiliate me. Stop this nonsense right now.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Elena always had a fiercely competitive streak. It’s why, after we married, I poured everything I had into supporting her career, making her the General Manager while I managed the real power behind the scenes. But now, it seemed she’d forgotten who was king and who was the pawn. Apex Holdings was founded by my grandfather. I hold 75% of the shares. My fingers flew across the screen, firing off messages to the heads of HR and Legal at Apex. Today, in front of this entire audience, I was going to strip her of that title. My daughter, Sophie, couldn’t stand hearing them insult me. Her voice, though trembling, rang out with fury. “What are you talking about! That’s my mom, Elena, on stage! My dad is her husband! That man is the other woman—I mean, the other man!” The crowd burst into laughter, their mockery growing louder. “Like father, like daughter. So young and already a little gold-digger. Truly rotten to the core!” “Are you blind? Ms. Sterling is showing off her perfect family. How could they be fake?” Suddenly, the boy from the stage, Dylan, stormed over to us. He glared at Sophie with pure malice. “Who are you calling a homewrecker? Are you and your dad that desperate to latch onto a rich family? Have you no shame!” He raised his hand to strike her, but I caught his wrist in a vice grip. My gaze lifted past him, settling on Elena, who stood just a few feet away. “Elena,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I’m giving you one last chance. Are you going to tell them the truth?” 2 Elena’s brow furrowed. After a moment, her voice came out, cold as ice. “I don’t know you, sir. I pride myself on my composure, but I will not tolerate you spreading these malicious lies about my husband and my son. Our corporate legal team doesn’t take these things lightly.” Sophie’s face crumpled in disbelief. “Mom, what are you saying? You don’t recognize Dad and me?” A fresh wave of derisive laughter swept through the crowd. “Give it up, little girl. You’re really committed to the act, huh? You should drag your pathetic father out of here before Ms. Sterling decides to really crush you. You common folk have no idea the power you’re messing with.” Even Sophie’s own classmates started chiming in, their faces twisted with disgust. “Sophie, you’re so gross. You always act so prim and proper, but you’re just trash underneath.” Sophie grabbed Elena’s sleeve, her voice pleading. “Mom, what’s wrong with you? Why are you saying you don’t know us?! Say something! Defend us! Didn’t you hear the horrible things they’re saying about Dad?” Elena yanked her arm away, shoving Sophie so hard she stumbled backward, a look of raw betrayal on her face. At the same time, Adrian intertwined his fingers with Elena’s, shooting me a triumphant, provocative smirk. In that instant, I understood. Adrian knew everything. I immediately pulled my daughter close. “Sophie, if she won’t claim you, then from this day forward, you don’t have to claim her either.” As the words left my mouth, Elena’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. A moment later, my phone buzzed again. “Ethan, I already explained. I’m just being Dylan’s mom for one day. Can’t you have a little compassion? If I acknowledge you now, how are Adrian and Dylan supposed to face everyone? How can Dylan even show his face at school again? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t thrown this tantrum. You deserve every insult you get. Now take Sophie and go home and think about what you’ve done.” A humorless smile touched my lips. It seems she’s been sitting in the General Manager’s chair for so long, she’s forgotten who granted her that power in the first place. Just then, a teacher, acting as a mediator, hurried over, announcing that the showcase’s main event, the family fun run, was about to begin. As we walked toward the athletic field, Adrian brushed past me, a smug grin plastered on his face. “A kept man like you was always going to get dumped. Only a man with ambition, a man like me, is worthy of a successful entrepreneur like Elena. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take your little brat and disappear.” I scoffed. A man with ambition? HR had already sent me his file. Adrian was a nobody Elena had fast-tracked into his position. He barely understood the company’s most basic operations. It was clear he knew I was Elena’s husband, but he had no idea I was the one who truly controlled Apex. My legal and HR teams messaged to confirm they had drafted her termination papers and our divorce agreement. They were on their way. I wasn’t leaving. I was going to stay and tear the masks off their hypocritical faces in front of everyone. I would get justice for myself and for my daughter. Elena and Adrian were escorted to the VIP viewing platform, where school administrators and fawning parents swarmed them with compliments. Elena held her chin high, basking in the glory, every inch of her radiating smug satisfaction. Meanwhile, Sophie stood at the starting line. She forced a small smile in my direction, and I gave her a thumbs-up. Then, in a flash, everything changed. Dylan suddenly darted onto Sophie’s lane and stuck out his leg. My daughter, caught completely off guard, pitched forward, slamming hard onto the track. I sprinted toward her. Her face was contorted in agony, beads of cold sweat dotting her forehead. Her knees were a bloody mess of scraped skin and gravel. A sharp pain lanced through my own chest. But the perpetrator, Dylan, was laughing, a triumphant look on his face. “That’ll teach you and your pathetic dad to mess with us! Let’s see you try that again!” Rage exploded in my chest. I was about to land a fist on his face when Elena threw herself in front of me, shielding him and Adrian. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “It was just kids playing around. Are you, a grown man, really going to make a scene over this?” My chest heaved with fury. “Playing around? Are you blind? Look at her! She’s in serious pain! That was a deliberate attack!” Adrian just chuckled languidly. He pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet and scattered the bills over Sophie’s injured body, his eyes fixed on me. “This is what you two have been after all along, isn’t it? Money. Take this as compensation for her little scrape. Now get lost.” The onlookers erupted in laughter, their eyes filled with scorn as they sided with Elena and Adrian. “See? That’s what happens when you cross the powerful. You just have to suck it up and take it.” “They started it, trying to pick a fight with the Sterlings. They got what they deserved. Serves them right if her legs are broken!” “Her husband already paid you off! Now scram!” The school nurse was tending to Sophie. My daughter’s eyes, filled with tears, searched for Elena, pleading for help. But Elena turned her head away. The light in Sophie’s eyes dimmed. She reached for my hand. “Dad,” she whispered, her voice thick with pain. “You were right. As of today, I don’t have a mother anymore.” 3 Hearing Sophie’s words, Elena’s brow furrowed again, but this time she shot me a look filled with blame. My gaze swept past her, past Adrian, and landed on the sycophants who had cursed my daughter and me with such venom. I looked at them, one by one, and began to speak, my voice calm and clear. “The Peterson family, aluminum alloys. The Clark family, concrete supply. The Miller family, organic food processing…” As I named them, their smug expressions faltered, replaced by stunned confusion. I was right about every single one. Apex Holdings had its hands in countless industries, and all of them relied on my company to survive. “As of today,” I announced, my voice ringing with authority, “Apex Holdings is terminating all contracts with your businesses.” They stared, first in disbelief, then they burst out laughing, turning to Elena. “Look at this guy! He’s completely lost it. First, he claims to be your husband, and now he’s pretending he can sever our contracts on behalf of Apex.” “Who the hell do you think you are? Ms. Sterling hasn’t said a word! Call a damn ambulance; this guy needs a psych ward!” Elena’s expression darkened, her face a thundercloud. She stepped closer, hissing under her breath. “Ethan, my position at Apex is secure. What do you think you can possibly do? Do you really think anyone still listens to you? Get out of here. Now.” I gave her a long, meaningful look but didn’t answer. Instead, I turned back to the laughing crowd and to Adrian. “There’s one thing you all seem to have misunderstood. It’s true that Elena is the General Manager of Apex Holdings. But I am the one who calls the shots.” Adrian stared, then let out a teary-eyed laugh. “He really is insane.” “I’ve been working at Apex for a while now,” he declared, puffing out his chest. “My wife is the GM! I’ve never seen this lunatic before in my life. He probably doesn’t even know which way the front doors of the building face!” I simply smiled. My people were almost here. Adrian’s security clearance only got him as high as the 10th floor. He’d never set foot on the 35th, where my office was. The crowd roared with laughter, all except Elena. The look she gave me now was pure venom. I knew why. She was terrified. Suddenly, Sophie’s phone rang. She answered it, and a strangled scream tore from her throat. On speaker, a distorted voice snarled, “You little trash, learning to be a gold-digger from your deadbeat dad. So shameless…” I snatched the phone and hung up, realizing with a jolt that someone had posted today’s events online. And they hadn’t just posted it—they had twisted the story, smearing me and my daughter with vicious lies, even doxxing her by publishing her phone number and school information. My eyes shot to Adrian. He was smirking at me, his expression a mask of pure malice. He mouthed the words: “A little gift. Do you like it?” Sophie was trembling uncontrollably as her phone lit up again and again with hateful calls and notifications. The parents who were so eager to impress Elena now closed in on us, a tight circle of hate, their words like daggers. “See? The public knows the truth! You two belong in the gutter!” “Impersonating an Apex executive? Get ready to be sued into bankruptcy! Apex’s legal department is legendary. You won’t even have a house left to cry in!” Someone sneered, “Oh, I’m sure he’ll find somewhere to cry. A pretty boy like him can always find some rich old lady’s bed to crawl into!” Just then, two sleek, black Escalades roared to a stop at the school entrance. Someone with a sharp eye yelled out. “That’s the Apex Holdings logo! The executives are here!” The sycophants preened, puffing their chests out as if they shared in the glory. They advanced on me and Sophie, their mouths twisting into cruel smiles. “It’s over for you two now! Ms. Sterling wasn’t just making empty threats. This is the real deal! You’re going to lose everything!” One man held up his phone, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light as he live-streamed. “Hey everyone, it’s the follow-up to the viral story about the gold-digging loser versus the CEO! Hit that follow button; you’re not going to want to miss this! Watch a titan of industry absolutely destroy this pathetic nobody!” Adrian shot Elena a look of adoration, his face glowing with a mixture of surprise and delight. When he looked back at me, his arrogance was boundless. His son, Dylan, stood beside him, chin held high in triumph.

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1 My entire family left for a ski trip to the Aspen mountains, leaving me behind. “I didn’t know you couldn’t even ski or rock climb, Nora,” Sherry, the girl I was swapped at birth with, pouted. “If I’d known, I would’ve picked somewhere else.” My parents and brother rushed to console her, saying it wasn’t her fault—I was just too ‘uncultured’ for such things. If only Sherry never came back, I thought, watching their car disappear down the drive. Then the unthinkable happened. An avalanche tore through the resort. My parents and brother returned home, looking like shell-shocked ghosts. “Sherry didn’t make it out,” my mother wailed, pulling me into a crushing hug. “Nora, you’re our only daughter now.” But I felt no relief. No joy. Because a second earlier, a text had buzzed on my phone. It was from Sherry. “Nora! Mom, Dad, and Leo are all dead!” … My mother must have felt me go rigid in her arms, because she slowly pulled back. “What’s wrong, Nora? We’re back now. Don’t be scared.” Her voice was so gentle it was alien to me. She only ever spoke that way to Sherry. With me, her tone was always as cold and sharp as winter ice. I stared at the three figures standing in the doorway. Though their faces were bruised and their clothes were stained with patches of what looked like dried blood, they were unmistakably my mother, my father, and my brother, Leo. So why would Sherry say they were dead? No, wait. If my mother was telling the truth, Sherry was the one who didn’t survive the avalanche. So who sent me that text? “Let’s get you out of those filthy clothes,” Leo said, his voice hoarse. He helped our sobbing mother into the living room. “Nora needs a minute to process everything.” As they passed me, a wave of bone-deep cold washed over me, making me shiver. A comment I’d seen on a news article about the avalanche flashed through my mind. “A tourist caught in a slide that big? They’re gone. If your loved ones come home safe, take a good, hard look. Make sure they’re still human.” The commenter, who claimed to be a mountain guide, had tried to explain that victims of a disaster sometimes don’t realize they’ve died and are driven by a single, obsessive need to return home. He was relentlessly flamed and deleted the comment. Something that bizarre… Could it be happening to me? As if on cue, the last ray of sunlight vanished below the horizon, plunging the living room into a deep, oppressive twilight. Or maybe it was just my imagination, but the temperature in the house seemed to drop several degrees. “Nora, what are you doing just standing there? Close the door,” my father’s voice rasped from the shadows. The way he turned was… wrong. He didn’t just turn his head; his entire torso rotated with it, stiffly, like he was frozen solid. The hair on my arms stood on end. I took an instinctive step back, my hand fumbling behind me for the doorknob. My phone buzzed again, a frantic vibration against my palm. It was Sherry. She’d sent a picture. Three black body bags, lined up neatly in a row. A new text followed. “They just flew the bodies back. Where the hell are you, Nora? I told you to get a car and meet me.” BANG! An arm slammed the door shut behind me. I snapped my head up, my eyes meeting my brother’s. He was looking down at me, his face unreadable. “Nora,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper, “who are you texting?” 2 He took another step forward, his presence filling the cramped entryway. I hadn’t noticed it before, but his skin had a sickly, grayish pallor, like meat that had been left in a freezer for days. My back was pressed hard against the door; there was nowhere left to run. I frantically mashed the power button, the screen going dark, and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “It was just Grandma and Grandpa. Asking if I’d heard anything. I was just letting them know you were safe.” Leo paused, then nodded slowly. A flicker of something like sadness crossed his face. “Ah. It’s a shame about Sherry. She was so fragile… she didn’t make it until the rescue team arrived. You should probably break the news to them gently.” He sighed. “Oh, right. I should call the rescue team, let them know we’re okay. I lost my phone on the mountain. Let me borrow yours.” Before I could react, he snatched my phone and held it up to my face to unlock it with facial recognition. Panic flared in my chest and I lunged for it, a purely instinctual reaction. Leo seemed startled by my sudden movement and lost his footing. He crashed to the floor with a heavy thud. The phone flew from his hand, hit the wall, and shattered into a spiderweb of glass and plastic. “Nora, are you okay?” he said, scrambling to his feet. In a complete break from character, he didn’t scold me. Instead, he anxiously checked to see if I was hurt. “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you the newest iPhone in a few days, I promise.” A lump formed in my throat. A crazy thought sparked in my mind: if they could always be this kind to me, did it really matter if they were human or not? “I’m fine, Leo. It’s just too dark in here. Let me get the lights.” Taking a deep breath, I reached for the light switch. A common saying echoed in my mind: ghosts have no shadows. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that this was all just my terrified imagination running wild. Click. The chandelier blazed to life, bathing the opulent living room in brilliant white light. And behind all three of them, faint but distinct shadows stretched across the floor. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My mother warmed a pot of milk for my father and Leo, but poured a glass of juice for me. “For your lactose intolerance,” she said with a soft smile. “You can have this.” I took the glass, stunned. It was cherry juice, my favorite. This was the same woman who used to call my condition a “poor person’s disease” and force me to drink milk until I was sick, insisting I had to “get used to it.” “Nora,” my father said, his voice heavy, a trace of guilt on his stern face. “Sherry’s master bedroom… you should move in there.” Leo looked at me with an apologetic expression and gently ruffled my hair. “And make sure you lock your doors and windows. Especially on the ground floor.” I lowered my head, taking small sips of the juice. The sweetness spread from my mouth to my heart, and for a moment, I didn’t want to think about Sherry’s messages at all. Leo was still talking. “Especially tonight. Don’t open the door for anyone. Especially not for Sherry.” “Who?” I asked, sure I had misheard. At that exact moment, the chandelier flickered violently. And then went out. In the suffocating darkness, I could feel three wooden faces turn toward me. Three voices spoke in unison. “Don’t let Sherry in.” 3 “What happened to the lights? Another power outage in the neighborhood?” my father grumbled, getting up to check the fuse box. The sudden darkness sent a shiver down my spine, but their last words were still ringing in my ears. I forced myself to ask, “Sherry? Why would she be at the door? I thought she was… gone.” The dining table fell silent for a moment. Then, my mother began to sob softly again. “She is. But just before she passed… she kept asking why. Why it wasn’t you in the avalanche. Why it wasn’t you who died.” Her words choked off into a sob. Leo sighed heavily. “We’re afraid her resentment might keep her here… she might try to harm you. It’s always better to be safe than sorry. We’ll be careful for now, and then find a good day to have a cleansing ritual performed for her.” I hugged my arms tight, my thoughts a tangled mess. Their explanation sounded plausible. And even though they had always favored Sherry, the concern they were showing me now was something I had only ever dreamed of. Sherry, on the other hand, had been my tormentor from the day I was welcomed—or rather, tolerated—back into this family. She was terrified of losing her parents’ affection, of going from princess to pauper overnight. The ski trip itself had been her idea; she’d specifically chosen the destination after learning I couldn’t ski or climb. Who was I supposed to believe? My father’s footsteps returned, accompanied by a string of curses. “Yep, the power’s out. We pay such high property management fees for what? Not even a backup generator. All they do is hand out candles.” He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit four white candles. The wicks caught, casting an eerie, greenish glow. Leo’s face changed in an instant. He blew them all out in a single breath. “These candles are wrong! Dad, did the security guard hand these to you himself?” My father looked confused. “No, they were just sitting on the doorstep. If it wasn’t security, then who—?” He stopped mid-sentence. We’d had power outages before, but management had never distributed candles. Four candles. The exact number of people in this house. A shiver traced its way down my spine. Could it be… was Sherry’s ghost really here to torment us? Wait. If Sherry was right and my family’s bodies had been recovered, their names would be on the official list of victims. My phone was broken, but there was a laptop in Sherry’s bedroom. If I could just confirm who died, I could stop scaring myself. “I—I think I’m going to go to bed,” I said, pretending to be frightened as I stood up. “Lock your doors and windows, and don’t wander around. Call for us if you need anything,” my mother said, patting the back of my hand. Her palm was icy cold, the touch so chilling it jolted me. And it cleared my head. Their kindness… it felt too deliberate. Too forced. I could understand a change of heart after losing one daughter, but could it really be this sudden, this complete? I quickly locked myself in Sherry’s room. The laptop, however, hadn’t been used in ages and the battery was dead. I rubbed my throbbing temples. Just my luck. I’d have to wait for the power to come back on. I got up to close the window. The pale moonlight streamed into the room, casting my reflection on the glass. And behind me, standing in the darkest corner of the room, was Sherry. 4 “Ahhh—!” A scream tore from my throat, my mind blank with terror. My legs turned to jelly, refusing to move. I could only watch as Sherry crossed the room in two long strides and clamped a hand over my mouth. Her hand was devoid of any human warmth. Her clothes were soaking wet, as if she had just clawed her way out of an ice-filled crypt. Her eyes, stark white against black pupils, were wide and staring, practically pressed against my face. “Who are the people outside?” Sherry’s voice was flat and wooden, each word forced out. “Why do I hear Mom, Dad, and Leo?” I struggled frantically until she finally loosened her grip. I didn’t know how to answer. If my family’s story was true, and I admitted it was them outside, would Sherry remember she was dead and drag me down with her out of spite? But if I lied, how could I explain it? “Nora. Speak,” Sherry’s tone grew more menacing, her icy fingers tightening around my neck. But what if my parents’ story was the lie? What if Sherry was the real survivor? I had to take a chance. “Are you sure Mom, Dad, and Leo died in the avalanche?” I asked, turning her question back on her. Sherry’s brow furrowed in annoyance, a familiar habit whenever she had to deal with me. “Obviously. The rescue team dug them out themselves and filed the death certificates. How could it be fake?” she snapped. “I sent you the pictures. It’s hard to get a cab when you’re hauling three bodies, and it’s pouring rain out there. That’s why I asked you to pick me up. Were you just ignoring me on purpose?” The words tumbled out of her in a rush, and some color finally returned to her pale face. My heart rate began to slow, but my doubts weren’t completely gone. “If I didn’t pick you up, how did you get back? And why didn’t you use the front door? Why were you hiding in here?” Sherry stared at me, her eyes hollow. The vacant look sent a fresh wave of goosebumps across my skin. “You have the nerve to ask me that? I had to call a hearse from the crematorium to take them first before any taxi would even consider picking me up,” she said. “I got to the front door and heard Mom, Dad, and Leo talking, saying they couldn’t let me in. What kind of sick game are you playing, Nora? They’re dead!” Sherry shoved her phone in my face. The screen showed a call log to a local crematorium and a digital copy of the official victims’ list, with my parents’ and brother’s names clearly written. A crematorium wouldn’t just take bodies without verifying their identities. My mind went completely blank. Her story was just as plausible. But if she was telling the truth, then who were the three people outside? I stammered as I told her how my family had arrived before her, claiming that she was the one who had died in the avalanche. Sherry’s mouth fell open. Before she could speak, a loud, heavy banging echoed from the bedroom door. Knock-knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock-knock. “Nora, was that you screaming? What’s happening in there?” It was my mother’s voice, laced with panic. Sherry’s face darkened instantly. She pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t make a sound!” “People knock three times,” she whispered, her voice a ghostly breath. “Ghosts knock four.”

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The night before my wedding, my best friend Stella arrived with wine for an impromptu bachelorette party. When I opened the door, she hugged me, her clothes smelling of the cigarettes Matthew smokes. I have asthma; he quit for me eight years ago, but lately, the scent on him had grown stronger. Three days earlier, I finally asked him about it. He quickly turned his phone face-down, saying work was a mess and he had to leave town. I only saw his tired face and hurried to help him pack, ignoring the hidden phone and the smoke. As I thought back, Stella drank half the bottle, staring blankly at our wedding portrait on the wall. A tear rolled down her cheek. Dread filled me, but before I could speak, her phone buzzed. After ignoring it repeatedly, she grabbed her purse. “Work called—I have to go,” she slurred. “Aim the bouquet at me tomorrow!” She left in a rush, tear-streaked. But I saw the caller ID: my fiancé, Matthew. 1 The last shred of hope I was clinging to dissolved when a push notification lit up my phone. It was a video, shot from a hidden angle. In a dimly lit alley, a man held a woman locked in a fierce embrace. The man was tall and impeccably dressed in a suit; the woman, stunning in a slinky crimson dress. They looked like a scene from a movie, a perfect match. But it was the watch on his wrist that made my world stop. The diamond-encrusted face glinted, revealing the letters M & C etched around a cheesy little heart. My fifth-anniversary gift to Matthew. M for Matthew. C for Clara. And the woman he was kissing… dangling from her purse was a small, hand-knitted rabbit with a single red rose tucked behind its ear. I had made that for Stella. I’d clipped it onto her bag myself, just an hour ago. The comment section was a frenzy, a celebration of the “insane chemistry” between the “hot, mysterious couple.” Ten thousand comments, and every single one was a fresh twist of the knife in my heart. Twelve years ago, at seventeen, I’d said with a goofy grin, “Stella is the best person in the world to me.” When my parents tried to force me to change my college major, threatening to stop me from studying art, she was the one who helped me run away in the middle of the night. From that day on, she shouldered everything: rent, utilities, our living expenses, and my tuition. She worked at a downtown bar, singing and hustling to keep us afloat. When I wanted to drop out and get a job to ease her burden, she lit into me, screaming at me for the first and only time. Even then, the harshest words she ever said were aimed at herself. “Clara, do you want to end up like me? With people whispering ‘slut’ behind your back for the rest of your life?” Stella was two years older, but her family had bled her dry, so she never made it to college. She made her living singing in smoky bars. “Don’t you worry,” she’d said, her chin held high. “I can take care of you.” I remembered her expression, her voice, as clearly as if it were yesterday. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. How did we get here? How did we end up like this? 2 Eight years of love, twelve years of friendship—all turned to ash in a single moment. For a man? Was he worth it? Stella, who never bought herself so much as a new bracelet, who used the same cracked phone for two years, had bought me the latest model the day it came out without a second thought. And when I finally started making real money as an illustrator, I didn’t get a mortgage; I bought her a car, paid in full. We were the kind of friends who would give each other our last dollar. We’d empty our own pockets to see the other happy. If she and Matthew had just told me they had feelings for each other, I would have stepped aside. I would have let them go. But why play me for a fool? Was the thrill of the secret worth destroying me? I wiped my tears and opened Stella’s social media profile. Back when I was a struggling art student, she was already a local celebrity, a singer with a devoted following. Every time she posted a video, she’d demand I like and comment, and she’d pin my comment to the top to drive traffic to my portfolio. The moment I became an established illustrator with a steady stream of commercial work, she stopped. “Linking yourself to a bar singer is bad for your brand,” she’d told me. “It’ll cost you clients.” But now, everything was different. Her last post was from a performance three days ago. The video was shaky, but in the frame, besides Stella on stage, you could clearly see a man’s forearm in a crisp white shirt. I didn’t need to zoom in. I knew it was Matthew’s. Three days ago. The day he told me he had to work late because of a problem at the office. How strange that “working late” meant spending the entire night at a bar, listening to her sing. September 11th. Matthew was “working late” again. In the background of Stella’s video, his reflection was clearly visible in a TV screen. They were in a hotel room. And he was still wearing the watch I gave him. September 1st. Stella was out of town for a week, helping a friend open a new bar. Matthew was on a “business trip” for five of those days. He came back with a bandage on his forehead and scraped knuckles. He said he’d gotten into a fight defending some girl from a drunk. And today. Matthew was “working late.” Again. I started crying, then laughing, then crying again. The past and the present crashed together in my mind, a chaotic mess of memories and lies. For a moment, I wished I was delusional, that I had imagined it all, because anything was better than this reality. We were supposed to get married tomorrow. My wedding dress was hanging in the closet. The hair and makeup artists were scheduled to arrive in eight hours. My bouquet was sitting on my vanity. I had practiced the bouquet toss eight hundred times, determined to make sure Stella would be the one to catch it. Everything was ruined. They say that after a complete breakdown, you become unnaturally calm, almost numb. I opened my laptop and started drafting an email to cancel the wedding. My eyes drifted back to my phone. Should I call them? Confront them? Listen to them stumble through a string of pathetic excuses before finally admitting their disgusting betrayal, only to turn it all around and blame me? Just then, my screen lit up with a notification. A charge on our shared credit card. I clicked on it. It was from a hotel. The room, priced at $1,888 a night, was one of their “fantasy suites.” Matthew and I had only been there once, the night he proposed. He really knew how to spend my money. Any thought I had of ending this with dignity vanished, consumed by a white-hot rage. I’m the kind of person who gets even. 3 I slammed the delete key and walked to my art studio. If they were so in love, then fine. I’d give them the wedding they deserved. A stack of unused invitation sleeves sat in the corner. I found a simple template online, typed in the names of our guests, and printed a new, thick stack. It was much faster than the ones I’d hand-painted, one by one. As I slipped the new inserts into the fancy sleeves, I saw their names on the paper, and a sharp pain twisted my stomach again. For me, it had been love at first sight with Matthew. He was on stage, the new student representative, dressed in a crisp white shirt and wire-rimmed glasses. He spoke with a calm, steady voice, an aura of cool detachment that made you want to be the one to break through it. The line of people trying to win him over stretched from the lecture hall to the campus gates. I was just another face in the crowd, the quiet art major who was always too busy with projects to “accidentally” run into him. But Stella knew. The day after she figured out I had a crush on him, she cornered him in an alleyway near campus as he was heading home. She had a lollipop stick hanging from the corner of her mouth, her voice pure swagger. “My girl here wants to get to know you,” she said, jerking a thumb in my direction. “Give her your number.” Matthew’s gaze landed on me, and he sighed, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. My hand trembled as I scanned his code. As I put my phone away, he turned his arm toward Stella. “What about you?” Stella just shoved me forward and strolled away. “Don’t have a phone,” she called over her shoulder. And later… when did they exchange numbers? I sealed the last invitation, clutching my stomach as I curled into a ball by the desk. Every memory of Matthew and Stella together replayed in my head. The way he would turn his head to laugh at her jokes, the way he’d play along with her antics, how he’d challenge her to drinking contests and then drive her home. I was so naive. I thought he was just being nice to my best friend because he loved me. Once the pain subsided, I grabbed my wedding dress and took a cab to the hotel. This wedding was supposed to be my dream, a fantasy I had spent a year and a half designing and supervising every detail of. Matthew wasn’t interested in any of it, and I never asked him to be. I only wanted his opinion on the invitations and the party favors. Now, I had to tear that dream down with my own hands and face the brutal truth. I had all the photos of us taken down, leaving only the two bare names at the entrance. Matthew & Clara. I whispered his name, and the suffocating weight in my chest began to lift. More than Matthew, I hated Stella. She was the one who pushed me to follow my art, the one who was with me through every struggle. She was more than a friend; she was my family. And the deepest cuts always come from family. I spent the entire night on the top floor of the hotel, just sitting. When specks of light began to dance across the floor, I pulled back the curtains and realized the sun was rising. In the ballroom next to mine, another couple’s family was bustling about, their faces beaming with joy as they prepared for the big day. I looked down at my own shadow. I was used to being abandoned, used to being alone. It wasn’t so bad. At nine o’clock, the wedding motorcade pulled up to the hotel entrance. The other bride, surrounded by a crowd of loved ones, walked through the doors toward her future. My eyes drifted to where the cars had come from, and then I saw him, tucked away in a corner. Matthew. He was chain-smoking in the shadows, one cigarette after another, until a hand snatched the last one from his lips. Stella ground the cigarette out with the heel of her shoe and, without a word, slapped him hard across the face. “Matthew,” she hissed, “don’t make me lose all respect for you.” 4 Like a guilty child, Matthew grabbed her arm. “Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Just stay a little longer.” They embraced, holding each other so tightly it was as if they were trying to merge into one person, to melt into each other’s bones. Watching them, I felt like the villain, the one who had cruelly kept them apart. A laugh escaped my lips. I had been so considerate, stripping the wedding down to the bare essentials to save him from the stress. All he had to do was show up, say his vows, and exchange rings. I never imagined he’d use the free time I gave him for a final, passionate rendezvous with another woman. I waited until they disappeared inside the venue. Then, I walked downstairs. Just as I’d instructed, a large trash bin was placed by the entrance. Beside it was a box of the new invitations, every instance of “Clara” replaced with “Stella.” I knew them. They’d be hiding backstage, whispering sweet nothings, too wrapped up in their drama to notice anything else. For the first time all day, a genuine sense of relief washed over me. Vengeance, it turned out, was the best therapy. The staff followed my orders perfectly. As guests arrived, their original invitations were collected, tossed into the bin, and replaced with the new ones from the box. A confused murmur rippled through the wedding hall. Matthew’s face was a mask of thunder. He knew something was wrong, but not what. He just didn’t want to be here. Don’t worry, I thought. I’m going to make this a day you’ll never forget. The hour struck. The lights went down. And I walked onto the stage, dressed in my pure white wedding gown, and took the officiant’s microphone. As Matthew and Stella watched in dawning horror, I spoke, my voice ringing through the silent hall. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the wedding of Matthew and Stella.” A single spotlight hit Stella. She looked up, a bitter smile playing on her lips, as if she’d been expecting this all along. “Clara…” she began. Matthew snapped out of his shock and lunged for the microphone. “Clara! That’s not funny! This joke has gone far enough!” I simply picked up a second mic. “Let’s take a look at their incredible love story, shall we?” Stella grabbed my wrist, her eyes begging me. “Clara, you can’t—” On the massive screen behind us, the picture from the alley flashed into view—their passionate kiss, followed by the unedited video of their desperate embrace from just moments ago. Matthew froze, his face draining of all color. Then, his shock morphed into rage. “That’s photoshopped! Those are fakes!” I laughed coldly. “So let’s all give them a round of applause—the whore and the liar. May they last forever!” Matthew tried to salvage the situation, turning to the stunned guests. “Everyone, I am so sorry. My fiancée… she’s been under a lot of creative pressure lately. She’s not herself.” His grip on my wrist loosened. I shoved the microphone into Stella’s hands, my voice a low whisper only she could hear. “Stella, we’re done.” This was my last act of mercy—not blasting this all over the internet and destroying what was left of her life. As for Matthew… I’d made sure to invite his CEO and his wife. His career was over. Stella’s eyes were a swirling mix of emotions. “Clara, I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then, her tightly clenched fist opened. A single piece of paper fluttered from her hand, drifting on the air and landing at the feet of a guest in the front row. She raised the microphone to her lips, her gaze locked on Matthew. “You want to know what that is, Matthew?” her voice boomed. “That’s the receipt for my abortion!” Matthew looked as if he’d been struck by lightning, stumbling back a step. I had started to leave, but now I paused, a curious spectator to my own tragedy. Let’s see how this plays out. Faced with public humiliation, would Matthew choose his reputation or his one true love? This was better than any soap opera. His eyes darted to me, desperate. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He shook his head violently. “You’re lying! When did we ever sleep together?”

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Eight months pregnant, and I was at the hospital alone for a check-up. As I passed a park bench, I saw my husband, Vincent, who was supposed to be on an overseas business trip. He was kneeling, gently massaging the ankle of his childhood sweetheart, Stella. Vincent, always a man of few words, was now murmuring endless reassurances, making promises to soothe Stella’s petty pouting, letting none of her complaints fall on deaf ears. The sweet nothings I’d never heard from him made her giggle coquettishly. The Vincent I saw then was a stranger, a completely different person from the man I knew. This time, I didn’t collapse. I didn’t rush forward screaming and shouting like I used to. Instead, I slipped the wedding ring from my finger and tossed it onto the side of the road. In the third year of our marriage, I decided I wanted a divorce. 1 It was three in the morning when Vincent finally came home. He froze for a second when he saw me sitting on the sofa, then walked over, the faint scent of another woman’s perfume still clinging to him. “Why are you still up so late? Is the baby kicking up a fuss?” I shook my head and pushed the divorce papers across the coffee table toward him. “Let’s get a divorce.” Vincent let out a soft, weary sigh. He spoke with the casual, placating tone one might use with a child. “Oh, I see. Don’t you think it’s time for bed?” I unlocked my phone, pulled up the photo I’d taken that afternoon, and held it in front of his face. “I saw everything.” He paused for a fraction of a second, his expression unchanging, a familiar look of weary resignation settling on his features—the look that said I was overthinking things, as always. “I just see her as a sister.” With that, he sat down on the sofa opposite me, calmly waiting for the storm to break. He was prepared for the usual scene: me, hysterical and relentless, interrogating him, cornering him, demanding an answer he would never give. He would just sit there, silent, letting me unleash my fury, letting me smash things around the house until I collapsed onto the floor, exhausted. Then, he would shatter my remaining strength with a single, dismissive phrase. “Don’t be dramatic.” He would methodically clean up the chaos I’d created, replacing every broken object with an identical new one, putting everything back in its place. He would help me up, guide me back to our room, and, completely unfazed, even bring me a glass of water. “You must be tired. Have some water. It’ll soothe your throat.” Looking at Vincent’s impassive face, a profound exhaustion washed over me. It all felt so pointless. My emotional turmoil was just a performance to him, and in his eyes, I was no different from a madwoman. The eight-month belly was a heavy, leaden weight, and my legs were swollen and stiff. I calmly pushed myself up from the sofa and presented the signed divorce papers to him again. “Sign it.” My composure seemed to catch him off guard. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then finally relented with a condescending smirk. “Who put you up to this? Playing for such high stakes this time? Aren’t you afraid I’ll actually walk away?” “Fine, I’ll sign. Then you go to bed. Remember the baby.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “We have to go to my parents’ place in a few days. I’ll come and pick you up then.” I knew he wasn’t taking the divorce seriously. He thought that with me being eight months pregnant, an abortion was out of the question. To him, this was just a more sophisticated tantrum than smashing vases. Signing a piece of paper meant nothing; it was just a way to placate me. He scrawled his name with the practiced ease of someone signing a trivial document—messy and indifferent. After signing, he even noticed me struggling to stand and came over to massage my cramping legs, cooing at the baby in my belly. But this time, I was serious. 2 Everyone said I’d married a wonderful man. Mature, stable, and endlessly patient with all my moods. A rising star in the business world with a brilliant future, he was the perfect match for a pampered girl like me. And Vincent played the part perfectly. When we first married, I tried to be the perfect wife. I, who had never cooked a day in my life, tried to make him a meal and nearly burned the kitchen down. As I stood there crying in fear, Vincent came home. He said nothing, just quietly cleaned up the mess. “We have a housekeeper. Just tell her what you want to eat.” The dish I had painstakingly prepared was unceremoniously dumped in the trash. Whenever I clumsily messed something up, whenever I was heartbroken and falling apart, there was no comfort. My feelings were ignored, though he always efficiently fixed the problem. Then he would say: “Crying over something so small is pointless.” I thought that was normal. I thought I was just too clumsy, too sensitive. During my pregnancy, I couldn’t keep anything down. Morning sickness was an all-day affair. The constant nausea and discomfort, a double torment, made my temper increasingly volatile. I’d break down over the smallest things or burst into tears when I caught the scent of an unfamiliar perfume on his clothes. Vincent would just watch. Sometimes, he’d shut me in a room and let me scream and rage, never offering an explanation or a defense. “Pregnant women are sensitive. You’re overthinking it.” And yet, in his own way, he was good to me. He would drive four hours in the middle of the night to get me the specific cream-filled donuts I was craving. He would stand in line for five hours just to buy my favorite cake. He always remembered my cycle, ready with a cup of hot tea and a heating pad. Piece by piece, these gestures built a picture of a perfect, problem-solving husband. But my emotions, never acknowledged, never soothed, were like nails hammered into a board; the slightest touch sent a fresh wave of pain through me, leaving behind a scarred and splintered surface. Looking back on our three years of marriage, I realized I’d become a caricature of a bitter, nagging wife. 3 I packed a bag and went to my best friend’s place. Anna’s jaw dropped when she saw me on her doorstep, pregnant and hauling a suitcase. “You and Vincent had a fight?” she asked, her expression pure disbelief. “No way. It takes two to argue, and Vincent is basically a brick wall. I don’t believe it.” Before I could answer, a small, sweet-smelling bundle of energy launched herself at me. Anna’s four-year-old daughter, Lily, beamed up at me. “Auntie Aria, I missed you so much!” I smiled and stroked her hair. “See? Auntie came to visit you.” Anna gently pulled her daughter back. “You little rascal, be careful! Auntie has a baby in her tummy. Go get her a glass of water.” Watching Lily’s vibrant energy, I instinctively cradled my belly. A faint flutter, a tiny movement, answered my touch. I wondered if my baby would be just like her. I sat down, catching my breath, and got straight to the point. “I got a divorce.” Anna choked on her water. “A divorce? You? I don’t believe it.” “Vincent is so good to you! He remembers every little thing, drives across the state for your cravings, even lets you get away with murder at his company.” “And you,” she continued, “you’re head over heels for him. You analyze every little thing he does, get lost in your thoughts, cry yourself to sleep at the slightest hint of trouble.” “If you two could get a divorce, I’d give up on love entirely.” A tired smile touched my lips. “But that’s not what I wanted. He could handle any problem, but he could never handle my emotions.” “What he felt for me… it wasn’t love. It was a sense of duty.” Anna was speechless, her face etched with concern. “What about the baby? You want your child to be born without a father?” I bit my lip, feeling a wave of uncertainty as my hand went to my stomach again. Seeing my expression, Anna sighed in resignation. “Alright, forget it. Just get some rest for now.” I was drifting in a hazy sleep when a knock on the door startled me awake. A glance at the clock showed it was three in the morning. I opened the door to find Vincent standing there. He was holding a bag. “You didn’t tell me you were staying at a friend’s. You forgot your usual toiletries, and I brought them over, worried you wouldn’t be comfortable. I’ll come back to take you home in a few days.” He then turned to Anna, who had appeared silently behind me. “Pregnant women can be like that,” he said, his tone dripping with false apology. “Please bear with her. I really appreciate you looking after her.” I stared at him. He was so considerate, even bringing a gift for Anna. But he never once asked me why I had left. He just had his one-size-fits-all explanation: she’s pregnant, she’s hormonal, she’s irrational. As Vincent drove away, the passenger-side window rolled down. In the dim glow of the streetlights, I saw her. Stella’s profile. Three in the morning. A man and a woman, alone. A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. My heart felt surprisingly calm. So this is what it feels like to be completely numb. If all those unresolved emotions were the fuse, his infidelity was the final, crushing weight that made me certain: I had to get a divorce. 4 The first time I suspected Vincent was cheating was in our second year of marriage, at his company’s annual gala. That night, a torrential downpour swept through the city. I was late because I had been visiting my mother’s grave. Vincent was a man of rigid principles. Punctuality was paramount. So, he left me behind and went to the event by himself. The cemetery was in a remote area. I was soaked to the bone after waiting half an hour in the rain before a car finally stopped for me. By the time I arrived, the gala had already been underway for thirty minutes. I searched everywhere for Vincent but couldn’t find him. I called his assistant, whose voice was hesitant and stammering. “Mr. Blackwood ran into Ms. Stella on the way… she wanted to stop for bubble tea… He’ll probably be here in another half hour.” I waited. Finally, I saw them. Vincent and Stella, arm in arm, strolling into the grand hall. Rage erupted in me. I stormed over, tore Stella away from him, and grabbed the front of his suit jacket. My eyes were red with fury as I confronted him in front of everyone. “So you left me behind to go pick her up?” “Vincent, I am your wife!” Whispers rippled through the crowd. The accusations flew. Vincent, publicly humiliated, didn’t even flinch. Only after I had vented my rage did he speak, his voice smooth and placating. “Aria, Stella is like a sister to me. We grew up together.” He reached for my hand, but I slapped it away. With a sigh of theatrical helplessness, he pulled me into his arms. “My dear wife, you always misunderstand. Isn’t my devotion to you enough? What more do you want from me? Should I tear my heart out for you to see?” He looked out at the guests, his eyes filled with a look of indulgent apology, as if to say, forgive my wife, she has a bit of a temper. The onlookers chuckled knowingly. They saw me as the spoiled princess and him as the doting, world-class husband. Stella chimed in, her voice dripping with innocence. “Aria, please don’t misunderstand. There’s nothing between Vincent and me. If something were going to happen, it would have happened years ago.” I was half-convinced, calmed by Vincent’s gentle reassurances. But the fact that he had broken his own rigid rules for Stella left a deep unease in my heart. It was the first time I had ever seen him bend his principles for anyone. Later, I found out I was pregnant. Vincent’s attitude towards me didn’t change; if anything, he became even more attentive. I let the incident go, but life had another blow waiting for me. I accidentally saw his chat history with Stella on his computer. Their conversation was a constant stream of messages, back and forth, about everything from a stray dog on the street to planning her upcoming birthday. Their chat window was full, vibrant, and alive. I slumped in the chair and opened my chat with him. A month’s worth of my one-sided chatter, my attempts to connect, was met with his terse replies. “Okay.” “Fine.” “Got it.” I had always thought Vincent was just a man of few words. I never realized he saved his words, his stories, and his comfort for someone else. When I brought him lunch at his office, I discovered Stella had become his personal assistant. Vincent seemed rushed when he came out to meet me. As he leaned in, I saw it—a smudge of lipstick on his collar. I don’t remember how I got out of there. All I recall is the image of the overturned lunchbox and Stella crying in Vincent’s arms. It was the first time I had ever seen him comfort someone. He was so gentle, so patient. But I was already pregnant. I didn’t want my child to grow up in a broken home. I didn’t want my child to be without a father. Through countless nights, awake with pain and crying until my pillow was soaked, my spirit completely crumbled. I kept asking myself, what is the point of marriage? Is this what love is supposed to look like? But for the sake of my child, I swallowed the bitter pill and carried on.

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My period was a month late. The handsome doctor across from me asked, “Have you been with any other men? Besides me.” I flew into a rage. “Who the hell do you think you are?” He raised an eyebrow. “Your husband. Don’t you recognize me?” 1 I had just gotten back from a business trip and took a day off to see a doctor. My period was a month overdue. I sat in the exam room, facing a male doctor who was busy writing at his desk. Sunlight, filtered through the lush green leaves outside, fell across his minimalist white coat. Paired with a crisp, wrinkle-free shirt and tie, he radiated a cool, ascetic aura. The room was silent. He sat before the computer, his tall frame blocking the light from the window, casting his broad shoulders and narrow waist in a striking silhouette. “So, what seems to be the problem?” he asked, his head still bowed, his tone clinically detached. I tore my gaze away from his hands, straightened my back, and forced myself to speak. “Um, I haven’t had my period in a month, and I’ve been having some cramping… It’s not… some kind of gynecological issue, is it?” He glanced up at me from over the top of his glasses. His sharp, handsome features were framed by the lenses, a strong nose above thin, tightly pressed lips. He seemed distinctly unimpressed with me, his unfortunate patient. “Have you been with any other men? Besides me.” It took me a second to process it. This impeccably dressed doctor was hitting on me. I mean, there are a million ways to flirt, but using your professional position to harass a married woman? Seriously sleazy. A wave of humiliation and anger washed over me. “Who the hell are you? Is that how you talk to a patient?” The tip of his pen froze. He pushed his glasses up his nose, finally looking at me directly. “Your husband,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “You don’t recognize me?” I shot to my feet, grabbing my purse, my face burning. “I have a husband! Don’t you dare say things like that!” I had just gotten my marriage license a month ago. He capped his pen, leaned back in his swivel chair with his arms crossed, and studied me with a placid expression. His gaze was unnervingly direct, with a hint of amusement, as if he were enjoying a private show. My bravado faltered. “You’d better watch it, or… or I’ll… I’ll report you—” The words died in my throat. My eyes had fallen on a framed photo on the corner of his desk. It was an enlarged wedding photo. In it, I was beaming, my smile as bright as a sunflower. And next to me, looking stern and unsmiling, was this very same doctor. Holy. Crap. I had completely, utterly forgotten the man I had whirlwind-married a month ago. 2 The whole marriage thing had been incredibly sudden. I’m a moderately successful romance comic artist. I’m signed with an agency and spend most of my time traveling the world for inspiration. Getting married was my parents’ idea. All I remembered was that my husband worked at a hospital, was four years my senior, and had a good, family-oriented personality. My parents have always had impeccable judgment, so I closed my eyes and signed the papers. The day after we registered, I left for a month-long research trip to another province. We hadn’t even had a wedding reception yet. Now, a dead silence filled the exam room. Across from me sat the man I had so heartlessly abandoned. I clasped my hands in front of me like a guilty schoolgirl, my voice barely a whisper. “Honey…” So, he was a gynecologist. If I had known he worked at this hospital, I would have just called him. This whole screw-up was mortifying. Had I been staring at him earlier? God, he probably thought I was the kind of person who just gawks at handsome strangers on the street. Rupert Potter’s gaze was intense, as if he was waiting for an explanation. Just then, the door burst open as a security guard rushed in. “Dr. Potter, who’s filing a complaint?” Rupert’s expression was a delicate mix of amusement and challenge. He looked at me as if to say, Well? You wanted to report me? Go ahead. Oh, God. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I covered my face, bowed to the stunned security guard, and mumbled, “I’m so sorry, he’s… he’s my husband. I didn’t recognize him.” 3 By the time we left the hospital, it was nearly dusk. He had walked me through a full check-up and was now striding ahead of me, carrying my suitcase. My mom, having heard the whole sordid tale, was laying into me over the phone. “You abandon your new husband for a business trip right after getting married? You might as well be single! All you do is work, work, work! What good is all that money? Do you think a baby is just going to pop out of a rock?” I shot a guilty glance at Rupert and cupped my hand over the receiver. “Mom, stop yelling, you’re making me nervous!” “He’s your husband! What’s there to be nervous about? Be proactive tonight. I want a grandchild by the end of the year.” It wasn’t that I was opposed to having kids, but first, the man had to actually forgive me. A month-long trip, a threat to report him upon my return, and then I was supposed to make a move on him that very night? What kind of shameless hussy did that make me? Besides, a guy with a 100% head-turning rate like him was probably just using me as a shield against other women. There was no way he actually wanted to live under the same roof with me. Suddenly, Rupert turned to me. “What do you want to eat?” I was so startled I slammed the end-call button on my mom. “I want to go home,” I answered meekly. “And eat your cooking.” The moment the words were out, I wanted to bite my tongue off. What kind of relationship did we even have? Whose home? Whose cooking? A flicker of surprise crossed Rupert’s eyes, followed by a smile he couldn’t quite contain. “Alright. Get in the car.” The apartment was Rupert’s; I had never even seen it before. It was rush hour, and traffic was starting to build. Rupert stared at the sea of cars ahead, showing no intention of making conversation. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from my editor. “Josie, the competition’s promo just dropped. You need to step it up. I need the cover art tonight. We are not losing to them.” My name is Josephine, but my pen name is Josie. I’m known for my bold, risqué art style, which has earned me a sizable fanbase. My 2D heartthrobs are famous worldwide. I sighed and texted back, “Boss, I’ve got zero inspiration for the male lead… I don’t want all my characters to look the same.” A few seconds later, a voice message came through. I hit play without thinking. My editor’s signature gravelly voice filled the car. “Use your husband as material! Observe, learn, and deliver for your fans. Didn’t you used to joke that if you ever got married, you’d mine your husband for every last drop of creative—and financial—worth?” I frantically jabbed at the screen, but the phone seemed frozen. The message played out in its entirety. And just as it ended, the cacophony of car horns outside seemed to cease by collective agreement. The silence in the car was deafening. Like a wooden puppet, I slowly, stiffly turned my head. Rupert’s glasses were perched loosely on his nose, his profile sharp and refined against the setting sun. His long index finger tapped a light, rhythmic beat on the steering wheel. He stared at the traffic ahead, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. It was a smirk. He hadn’t just heard it; he had understood every word. A hot flush of shame spread across my face, seeming to fill the entire car. Rupert suddenly tugged at his tie, loosening the top button of his shirt to reveal the handsome hollows of his collarbones and the elegant line of his neck. The air in the car suddenly felt thick and hot. My mouth was dry. The last rays of the sunset fell on my black dress, creating a strange, prickling heat. “Seen enough?” His polite smile snapped me out of my daze. I blinked and stammered, “I’m a comic artist…” “Mm, I know.” His tone was flat. The simple platinum ring I had picked out for him at random gleamed on his finger. My own hand was bare. I think I’d taken mine off at some point, complaining it was too tight. In the suffocating silence, I turned to him, desperate to explain. “My male leads are purely from my imagination. I never use real people as models…” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Mm, I’ve seen them. The anatomy is… impeccable.” The words caught in my throat. I wanted to die. By “anatomy,” he was probably referring to the legions of long-legged, muscle-bound men wearing nothing but pants. Though Rupert’s expression remained neutral, I could detect an undercurrent of amusement and resignation. He was laughing at me again. Weren’t doctors supposed to be busy? What was he doing reading romance comics and analyzing their “anatomy”? I decided to shut up. I counted the seconds in my head, an agonizingly long wait, until the car finally broke free from the traffic and pulled into a high-end residential complex. Lush trees and beautiful landscaping surrounded us, a fountain splashing in the distance. I got out of the car, but the gentle evening breeze did nothing to cool the chill in my heart. I followed behind Rupert, each step feeling like I was walking on eggshells. Sure, he was an attractive man. Highly educated, from a good family. But I’d been single for years, and this was the first time I was spending the night at a strange man’s house. Except it was a legal sleepover. What was I supposed to do? Pounce on him and give my mom that grandchild she wanted? Pin him against the wall the second we got inside? I trailed behind the tall figure of my husband, my mind racing. His apartment was on the second floor. As he opened the door, the living room lights flicked on automatically. Rupert bent down and pulled a pair of delicate women’s slippers from the shoe cabinet. Even in that simple motion, he was more stunning than any of the heroes in my comics. His physique was, for lack of a better word, perfect. Inspiration struck. Seeing me frozen in the doorway, Rupert effortlessly lifted my suitcase inside. The apartment was immaculately clean, a perfect reflection of his personality: efficient and minimalist. I mentally calculated the odds of successfully overpowering him. The height difference was… significant. Probably not a good idea. “There’s a spare set of keys on the right. They’re yours,” he said, before walking further into the apartment. The image of the stunning curve of his back as he bent over was seared into my brain. I kicked off my shoes, grabbed my suitcase, and made a beeline for the study, closing the door behind me. Through the study’s glass wall, I could see Rupert in the spacious, brightly lit kitchen. The setting sun cast a reddish glow on his white shirt. His forearms, firm and defined, were busy at the sink. The silver frames of his glasses added a touch of ascetic beauty. I couldn’t help but think of one of my character archetypes. The cool, aloof doctor with the suit and the great ass. Long legs, lean but muscular. And my editor’s words: “Draw him bigger.” I slumped into the chair, printed out my key points, and taped them to my monitor—a reminder that my goal was to cater to popular demand. The face… I’ll just use Rupert’s. He was handsome, after all, and the “coolly ascetic” type was very in right now. His legs were definitely long enough to meet my fans’ standards. As for the abs… well, I hadn’t seen them. I’d just have to draw them from experience. So, relying on my imagination, I created a rather tempting physique for my character. A firm, trim waistline, a rounded, perky backside, suit pants revealing a sliver of black sock, and shiny leather shoes… And, of course, a form-fitting white doctor’s coat. In the initial sketch, the cool, aloof man sat in an executive chair, legs crossed lazily, his eyes cold and distant. I smiled in satisfaction, took a screenshot, and sent it to my editor with a thoughtful note: Boss, should I make the butt perkier? It would make the waistline look even more alluring. I waited for about five minutes. No reply. I opened my tired eyes and checked the chat window. Huh? Where was the picture? My conversation with my editor was still on his last message, nagging me about the deadline. A roaring sound filled my ears. I shuddered. Oh, God. Who did I send it to? Please don’t let it be my parents. I still wanted to be a respectable human being. I scrolled frantically through my chats. And there it was. In my conversation with Rupert. The meticulously designed character art. And that… eager request for feedback. No, no, no, no! What have I done?! The study door flew open. I burst out, my hair a mess, praying that Rupert was still busy in the kitchen and hadn’t seen his phone. But the scene that greeted me was this: The dining table was set with four steaming dishes and a soup. Rupert, wearing an apron over his rolled-up shirt sleeves, was leaning against the table, holding his phone. His long fingers were slowly swiping across the screen. Reflected in his glasses was the bold artwork of a… coolly ascetic doctor. Thump. That was the sound of my heart stopping. He seemed to be typing. A moment later, my phone pinged. A reply from Rupert: Approved. Approved what? The perkier butt? Rupert slowly lifted his head, his expression unreadable. “Weren’t you hungry? Come and eat.” I don’t know how I made it to the table. I moved like a ghost, sitting down and staring at my plate, too mortified to look at him. But even without meeting his eyes, I could feel his dark, intense gaze on me. I’m so dead. I had just claimed my work was pure imagination, and he catches me using him as a direct model. How could I possibly explain this? “I wouldn’t mind if you took the measurements yourself.” I was in the middle of sipping my soup. Rupert’s sudden comment made me choke, coughing until tears streamed from my eyes. I clapped a hand over my mouth, my entire body turning the color of a boiled shrimp. Was he serious? Rupert slid his phone across the table to me, his gaze sharp and precise. “If you’re going to use me as your model, you should at least respect the facts.” His fingertip tapped on the chest muscles visible between the two unbuttoned buttons of the character’s shirt. I let out a sigh of relief and managed a weak laugh. “Right!” 4 After dinner, Rupert was in the kitchen washing dishes. I tiptoed into the bedroom, planning to take a quick shower before he was done. But my hand fumbled along the wall for a good while, and I couldn’t find the light switch. Was this place that high-tech? Voice-controlled, maybe? I probably didn’t have the authorization. The room was pitch black. I was about to back out when Rupert’s voice came from right behind me. “Why aren’t you going in?” His warm breath tickled the back of my neck, making the fine hairs stand on end. I flinched and spun around. A few drops of water had splashed onto Rupert’s shirt, making the fabric cling to his chest. He was a full head taller than me, and when he looked down, there was a subtle sense of pressure. I was instantly consumed by the guilt of a trespasser caught in the act. “I’m sorry,” I stammered, “I must have the wrong—” “You don’t.” Rupert stopped me from closing the door. He pushed it back open, backing me into the bedroom step by step. His tall frame blocked the light from the living room, and darkness enveloped us. With my sight diminished, my other senses were heightened. He was close, his presence quickly overwhelming me. I buried my head like an ostrich, too scared to say a word. “Go get changed.” For a second, I had the distinct impression he was about to kiss me. My face grew hot. “My clothes are… in my suitcase—” “There are some in the closet too. Go get them.” Rupert didn’t move, effectively trapping me in the bedroom. With no way out, I had to feel my way to the closet in the dark. I pulled open a random drawer and reached inside. Soft. Silky… Did I own anything made of this material? It was so thin. Rupert leaned against the doorway, his voice nonchalant. “That’s my drawer.” I suddenly realized what the cool, silky fabric in my hand was. I snatched my hand back as if I’d been electrocuted, my ears burning. “I’m sorry…” Rupert let out a soft, dry chuckle. He didn’t turn on the light, just leaned there, enjoying my predicament. He was definitely getting his revenge. I opened the drawer next to it, grabbed a few items of clothing, and fled into the bathroom. It seemed he had prepared for my arrival. Shampoo, conditioner, body lotion—everything was there. Toothbrushes and towels came in a matching couple’s set. I tried to wash away the heat with the shower, but the more I washed, the hotter I felt. Finally, I resigned myself to my fate, dried my hair, and prepared to face the world. When I unfolded the clothes, I saw it was a large men’s dress shirt. Droplets of water from my hair had already soaked a large patch of it. And what I had mistaken for underwear was… a pair of black stockings. “…” Water and a white shirt. A combination guaranteed to spark the imagination. I, Josie, had never been this humiliated in my entire life. I hid in the bathroom and sent a desperate text to my best friend. Her reply: “LMAOOOO are you insane? You want me to drive across town to rescue you from your own bathroom?” I slumped against the door, wearing Rupert’s damp shirt and clutching the stockings. “If you don’t come, I’m going to die.” “What’s there to be shy about in front of your husband? Just wear it. I promise you’ll be fine.” I smacked my forehead in despair. “I can’t…” “Can’t what? Can’t pounce on him?” “Josie, when you were 23, you made a plan to have a baby by 26. Your 27th birthday is in exactly 10 months. The stars have aligned. The time is now. If you don’t make a move, what do you expect me to do, tie him up and deliver him to your bed?” I’m a pushover. Easily swayed. Her words ignited a sense of mission in me. I’m 26. Is it so wrong to want a baby? And anyway, we were legally married. What was wrong with being a little bold? I pushed open the steamy bathroom door. The living room was dimly lit by a single wall lamp. And then, all my carefully constructed bravado vanished. Images of countless romance comic heroines flashed through my mind, followed by a series of blush-inducing, pixelated scenes. I regretted everything. I couldn’t do it. I made a mad dash for the bedroom. Just as I reached the door, I collided with someone. The faint, clean scent of antiseptic enveloped me. “What’s the rush?” His deep, husky voice melted into the darkness, the warm, yellow light casting an ambiguous glow. It was like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. My pulse skyrocketed. “Are you hot? Isn’t my shirt cool enough?” His voice was right next to my ear, his warm breath swirling in the shell of it. “Or is it because you’re wearing one too many layers?” I struggled, but couldn’t break free. My thoughts were sluggish. “I was wrong… please, just let me go…” I managed to squeeze out the words, my body trembling with each of his breaths. He was definitely seducing me. “Dr. Potter, save me, I’m losing all my strength…” He chuckled. “We’re just getting started. You’re not very resilient, are you?” My forehead rested against his shoulder; I couldn’t support myself anymore. Rupert’s arm suddenly tightened around me, lifting me off the ground. The moment my back touched the soft bed, his fiery kiss followed. In my mind’s eye, I could see my best friend giving me a thumbs-up from afar. Fireworks exploded in my brain. Faced with his playful teasing, I surrendered completely.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385347”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel