On our fifth wedding anniversary, Josh Mason finally showed up, holding a baby. “Accept this child,” he said, his voice low and steady, “and you can remain Mrs. Mason.” A wave of murmurs rippled through the guests. Everyone knew how desperately I loved Josh. Everyone assumed that, just like every other time, I would yield. I rose to my feet, and with a gentle push, sent the champagne tower behind me crashing to the floor. I stared coldly at the man before me. “As you wish,” I said, my voice cutting through the chaos. “Let’s get a divorce.” Josh’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Is it really so hard for you to adopt a child?” Adopting a child wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was being expected to raise the child he’d had with his old flame. 1 Shards of glass and champagne flew everywhere, turning the elegant ballroom into a disaster zone. The fifth-anniversary party I had spent nearly a month planning was ruined. My husband, Josh, seemed to have completely forgotten what day it was. His eyes were fixed on the baby in his arms. He dismissed my outburst as a tantrum over his tardiness. After calming the guests, he walked over to me, the baby still cradled in one arm. He reached out and wrapped his other arm around my waist. “Stop making a scene, Evelyn. You’re scaring everyone.” I twisted out of his grasp. “If you’re so set on this, then let’s adopt a different child. I don’t want this one.” It was the last compromise I could offer, and one final test for him. “Why not? Evelyn, I know you love children. Isn’t it a good thing for us to finally have one of our own?” “Evelyn, just look at him. He’s so plump and fair, absolutely adorable.” Josh held the baby out for me to see, his face earnest. He took my hand, trying to guide it toward the infant, trying to force me to accept this new reality. The baby in the swaddling clothes was pristine, looking no more than two or three months old. His features favored his mother—Sierra Thorne, the one that got away. He waved his tiny arms and smiled at me, a cherubic expression that could seemingly heal all the world’s ills. “See? He’s smiling at you,” Josh beamed. “I told you he was meant to be with us.” He had failed the test. Utterly. A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart. I snatched my hand back, my patience wearing thin, and took several steps away from him, putting a chasm of space between us. He thought that by ambushing me here, in public, on our anniversary, he could force my hand. He thought I wouldn’t dare to say no. But I found I could no longer maintain the polished facade of Mrs. Mason. 2 My gaze shifted to a figure standing behind him, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Josh, are you so insistent on adopting this child because of her?” In an instant, Sierra Thorne became the focal point of every eye in the room. She stood frozen, her eyes welling with tears as she tried to defend herself. “Mrs. Mason, Josh and I are ancient history. How could this baby possibly be ours?” “I never said the child was yours and Josh’s, Ms. Thorne. Why are you in such a hurry to deny it? Or is it that the child is yours and Josh’s?” “I… I…” Sierra bit her lip, rendered speechless. The whispers in the crowd grew louder, the gazes sharper, all of them aimed at Sierra. “So that’s why. I was wondering why Mrs. Mason, who’s always so agreeable, was putting her foot down this time. The baby isn’t adopted, it’s the mistress’s.” “Mistress or not, I heard she’s Mr. Mason’s first love. She’s his personal secretary now, you know.” “If it wasn’t for old Mrs. Mason disapproving back in the day, she’d be the one who’s Mrs. Mason now.” “Who cares if she’s his first love? She interfered in a marriage, got pregnant out of wedlock—that makes her the other woman, period. Let’s not forget, the real Mrs. Mason is Evelyn. She and Mr. Mason are legally married. Who the hell is Sierra Thorne?” Sierra’s face was ashen, a single tear clinging to her eyelash. She looked desperately toward Josh. “That’s enough, Evelyn!” Josh stepped forward, pulling Sierra behind him protectively. He shot a single look across the room, and the chatter died instantly. After all, everyone in Crestwood was wary of the Mason family’s influence. “Sierra is just my secretary. Don’t make things difficult for her.” A profound weariness washed over me. I finally understood that I couldn’t follow my grandmother-in-law’s advice to live a good life with him anymore. It was impossible. I looked down at the wedding ring I had worn for five years. The sharp, stinging pain bloomed in my chest again. I twisted it off my finger. “I’m done being Mrs. Mason.” I threw it. The diamond ring sailed through the air in a perfect arc before landing in the swimming pool with a soft splash. Just like our marriage—it began with a grand spectacle and ended in silence. Leaving Josh and the guests staring in shock, I gathered the hem of my gown and walked away. In their eyes, I had always been the graceful, composed Mrs. Mason who always considered the bigger picture. But tonight, I had lost all dignity. And I didn’t care. 3 The party broke up in disarray. That night, Josh didn’t come home. The housekeeper told me he had taken Sierra and her son home. I didn’t call him. He didn’t send a single message. When Josh returned the next morning, I was in the middle of breakfast. He handed his coat to a maid and pulled out a chair to sit down. Halfway through my toast, my appetite vanished. I stood up to leave, not sparing him a glance or a word of greeting. He suddenly called out behind me. “Don’t you have anything to ask me?” What did he want me to ask? About the baby? About where he was last night? The old me would have screamed at him, thrown a hysterical fit. And what would I have gotten for it? Josh’s brow was knitted in a frown of impatience. “Stop being so unreasonable. Sierra and I just have a professional relationship.” A professional relationship that produced a child. A professional relationship that, just last night, had resulted in a picture on Sierra’s social media of them kissing, wrapped in a passionate embrace. Now that I was too tired to care, too exhausted to ask, he was demanding to know why. I turned slowly. He was watching me, an expectant look in his eyes. I averted my gaze, walked to the cabinet, and retrieved a manila envelope. I placed it on the table in front of him. “Josh, let’s get a divorce.” His face froze. “Over something this small, you want a divorce?” He always did this—minimized everything, making it seem like I was the one at fault, the one being irrational. My nails dug into my palms. I looked at his nonchalant expression. “The baby wasn’t adopted at all, was he? He’s your son with Sierra Thorne.” The day the baby was born, I had just finished my last surgery when a colleague in the OB/GYN department told me Josh was there to pick me up. I didn’t even change out of my scrubs, rushing down, afraid of making him wait. I found him outside the delivery room. A nurse was holding a newborn, congratulating him. “Congratulations, Mr. Mason. It’s a healthy baby boy.” Josh held the child, his eyes shining with a joy he couldn’t hide. Sierra lay weakly on a gurney, her eyes glistening with tears, the very picture of pitiable beauty. “Josh…” she whispered. He stroked her hair and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “You did so well, Sierra. Thank you for giving me a son.” I stood there, thunderstruck, convinced I had misheard. One of the nurses couldn’t help but ask, “Mr. Mason, didn’t you say she was your sister?” His expression soured instantly. “If a word of this gets out,” he threatened, his voice dropping to a low growl, “you know the consequences.” I tried to tell myself it was a mistake. Josh wasn’t that kind of person. But I was wrong. I had been wrong from the very first time he’d suggested we adopt a child. 4 A flicker of surprise crossed Josh’s face, but it was quickly masked. He calmly pulled out a cigarette and lit it, showing none of the panic of a man who’d just been exposed. “Evelyn, you know that in our circle, it’s not exactly unheard of for a man to have a woman on the side.” It wasn’t unheard of. Especially when that woman was the love of his life. But unlike the other wives in our circle, I couldn’t tolerate it. I couldn’t just look the other way. Josh took a long drag from his cigarette. “And you should also know that if you hadn’t driven Sierra away back then, the title of Mrs. Mason would have never been yours.” From the very beginning, no matter how many times I tried to explain, he believed I was the one who forced Sierra to leave the country. A month before our wedding, I had asked him directly. He was the one who said he wanted to marry me. Now, somehow, it was all my fault. The thick smoke stung my eyes, and I coughed, tears welling up. Josh glanced at me, then stubbed out the cigarette with his long, elegant fingers. He knelt in front of me. He frowned, his thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek. “Are you that upset? You seemed pretty tough at the party last night.” “Don’t worry. I promised my grandmother that you would always be Mrs. Mason.” “If you want, we can bring the child here for you to raise. Grandma has always wanted a great-grandson, and Mason Industries needs an heir.” “If you’re not willing, Sierra can raise him herself. I’ll set them up somewhere, make sure she never bothers you.” Listening to him, I couldn’t help but laugh. I didn’t even want the title of a wealthy wife anymore. Why on earth would I want to raise another woman’s child? 5 At the hospital, I went to the Chief of Staff’s office. He held my resignation letter, asking me one last time. “Are you sure about this, Evelyn? The conditions there are harsh, and it’s dangerous. It’s nothing like working here.” I didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure. I’ve already passed the interview. Please, just sign it.” For the past five years, I had strived to be the perfect Mrs. Mason, managing his social life on top of my demanding career. From now on, I didn’t have to play a role for anyone. I just had to be myself. I was immensely grateful that I had never listened to Josh and quit my job as a doctor. Otherwise, I’d be completely lost right now. After leaving the office, I finished my handover, packed the few personal items from my locker, and said goodbye to my colleagues. On the way home, I received a call from Grandma Mason. She wanted Josh and me to come to the family estate for dinner. The fifteenth of every month was their standing family dinner. I watched the scenery blur past the car window, hesitating before finally dialing Josh’s number. “What is it?” His voice was cold, and I could picture the icy expression on his face. I clutched the phone. “Grandma wants us to come to the estate for dinner.” “Got it.” He’d been like this ever since Sierra returned—distant and cold. The abrupt way he hung up told me exactly who he was with. 6 The sun was setting by the time I reached the estate. Because Josh and I were so busy, and Grandma didn’t want to live with us and be a bother, we had agreed to this monthly dinner, a promise to always come back no matter what. Grandma Mason’s face lit up when she saw me, but her smile faltered when she saw I was alone. “Evie, dear, why are you by yourself? Where’s Josh?” “He had a last-minute meeting,” I said with a practiced smile. “He’ll be here later.” I handed my things to a servant and helped Grandma inside. Josh arrived just as dinner was being served. He fell into his old habit of peeling shrimp for me and placing choice pieces of food in my bowl. I didn’t refuse, silently eating what was given to me. We barely spoke a word throughout the meal. After dinner, Grandma Mason pulled me into her room. She asked if Josh and I were fighting. I didn’t know how to answer. Telling her the truth felt cruel. As if reading my mind, her cloudy eyes focused on me. “Did that rascal do something to hurt you? You tell Grandma, and I’ll teach him a lesson.” I shook my head. “Grandma, if I told you I wanted to divorce Josh, would you be angry with me?” “Evie, don’t you worry. I will make sure you get justice.” Her voice trembled with sudden emotion, and she started to rise, ready to confront her grandson. 7 I quickly calmed her down. “It’s no use, Grandma. He doesn’t have me in his heart. You can’t force feelings. I spent five years trying and I still couldn’t reach him.” “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life tied to him. It will only bring us both more pain.” “Divorcing him is a decision I’ve thought about for a long time. It’s not an impulse.” Grandma’s aged hands covered mine. She let out a long sigh. “I had hoped you and Josh could find happiness together, support each other. I never imagined it would come to this.” “Alright then. A girl as wonderful as my Evie deserves someone better.” “Grandma, I actually came to say goodbye.” Her voice grew agitated. “What are you talking about? Even if you divorce Josh, as long as I’m here, this will always be your home.” A warmth spread through my chest. “I’ve been accepted by Doctors Without Borders. I leave in two days.” Grandma Mason froze, her eyes slowly turning red. “Evie, listen to Grandma. Just stay here in Crestwood. Don’t go anywhere.” I knew what she was worried about. My parents had been with Doctors Without Borders. They had died on their last mission, providing aid in a war zone. I remembered that day vividly, throwing a tantrum on the floor, begging them not to go. My mother had stroked my hair gently. “Be good, Evie. Mom and Dad are doctors. We have to go where we’re needed. We promise, this is the last time. When the mission is over, we’ll come back and never leave again.” “You listen to your grandma, and don’t cause any trouble.” She was a liar. She promised she would come back, but she broke her promise. The Sullivans and the Masons had been friends for generations. After my own grandmother passed away, I was taken in by the Mason family. Grandma Mason treated me like her own granddaughter. 8 Grandma Mason made Josh kneel in the courtyard. I knew she was doing it for me, to give me some sense of justice, but what was the point? It wouldn’t make him love me. She didn’t relent, not even by noon the next day. Under the blazing sun, beads of sweat dripped from Josh’s forehead, but he remained silent, his back ramrod straight. Somehow, Sierra got word and showed up. “Why are you here? Go back,” Josh rasped, his voice raw. “And watch you suffer? No.” With tears in her eyes, Sierra squared her jaw, clutched her baby, and knelt before the family. “Grandma, it’s all my fault. Please, don’t punish Josh.” Grandma Mason looked down at her, her voice dripping with ice. “Don’t you dare call me that, Ms. Thorne. I haven’t earned that title. I’m disciplining my own grandson. What does that have to do with you?” Sierra’s face paled, but the sound of her baby’s cries seemed to give her courage. “I know you look down on me, Grandma. But this child is Josh’s. He is a Mason. Are you going to deny your own blood?”

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My husband, Harry Shaw, lost his memory in a car accident. He didn’t forget a single person or a single thing in his life. Except for me. His best friend teased him, “You’ve got some nerve. Better watch out, or you’ll be the star of your own midlife crisis, begging for her back.” Harry’s expression was dead serious. “Even with amnesia, I know for a fact I could never fall for a manipulative woman like her. If I really married her, it must have been a marriage of convenience.” “My type has never changed. I love women who are pure and kind.” Outside the door, I stared at the photo on my phone of Harry and a young woman named Lily kissing. I smiled. It took an accident for me to finally hear what he truly thought. I immediately called my lawyer. An hour later, I pushed the door open. “Here are the divorce papers. Sign them.” 1 My sudden entrance froze the air in the room. Harry’s friend, Michael, coughed awkwardly, trying to smooth things over. “Eleanor, Harry’s just had an accident. His head’s not on straight. You know how he is. Everyone in Crestwood knows he’s completely obsessed with you.” If I hadn’t overheard Harry’s words just moments before, I might have believed him. I might have still believed that Harry was head-over-heels in love with me. I let out a soft, humorless laugh, but Harry cut me off. “I don’t know why I supposedly loved you for the past decade, but the me of today doesn’t remember loving you. I want to correct my past mistake.” His brow was furrowed, his expression grave. “Let’s keep our business between us. Don’t drag other people into this. They’re innocent.” He looked at me as if I were some kind of monster. I scoffed and slapped the divorce papers onto his chest. “Of course.” “Sign the papers. We’ll file tomorrow.” Without looking up, Harry flipped through a couple of pages and signed his name with a flourish. “Well, that’s a surprise. I’m shocked a woman like you isn’t trying to take me to the cleaners.” His words stopped me in my tracks. A woman like me? What kind of woman was that? Before I could ask, Michael, sensing the shift in my expression, jumped in. “Hey, you two, just calm down! Isn’t this a little hasty?” “Filing for divorce tomorrow? Do you even have your marriage certificate with you?” Michael’s intention was to get us to slow down, to talk things through. But his words had the opposite effect. Harry and I both froze, our eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment. He quickly looked away, his disgust palpable. Harry and I were childhood sweethearts. We got married the moment we were legally able. I still remember our wedding day: April 1st, April Fool’s Day. I had said it was an unlucky day for an anniversary and suggested we find a more auspicious date. But Harry had pouted, his face a mask of disappointment. “We promised we’d get married the day after your birthday. I can’t wait another second.” He’d cajoled me, “Your birthday and our anniversary, back-to-back. Isn’t that the best kind of luck? It’s a gift from the heavens!” He’d even wiped away a fake tear. After we got the certificate, Harry took eight different photos of it from every conceivable angle and posted them all online. Our friends flooded his feed, teasing him for being so smug, warning him that an April Fool’s wedding might be a sham. It was just a joke, but Harry had panicked. He snatched the certificate from my hand, his expression deadly serious. “It’s not a sham.” And with a swift rip, he tore it to shreds. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice filled with righteous conviction. “Without a marriage certificate, you can never divorce me!” The memory was so vivid I could almost see his boyish, innocent smile. But in a flash, it was replaced by the impatient, scowling face of the man before me. The handsome planes of his face were now etched with fine lines. Still handsome, but no longer the Harry I remembered. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked toward him. Under his suspicious, wary gaze, I picked up the divorce papers. “We were so young and foolish,” I said with a laugh. “Look at the trouble we’ve made for ourselves now.” I turned to leave. As I opened the door, I ran into Lily, who was holding a thermal lunch box. Her tight-fitting dance leotard hugged her slender, youthful frame. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. The moment she saw me, she flinched and bowed her head. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaw.” Her timid demeanor reminded me of when she first accepted my sponsorship. She was as shy as a rabbit. But I knew better now. This was no herbivore. “Go on in,” I said, my voice flat. “He’s been waiting for you.” My words startled her. Her shoulders trembled. Harry’s voice, sharp and angry, cut through the air. “Eleanor! Watch your mouth!” 2 The tension that had momentarily dissipated returned, thicker than before. I turned back, a bitter laugh escaping my lips, and met Harry’s furious gaze. “Lily is still a student. She’s a very sensitive girl. Were you trying to ruin her with those words?!” He was so angry he was struggling to breathe, his recently injured body heaving. “Can’t you see she’s about to cry?” “Why are you still so malicious?” My family, the Calloways, was a complicated one. In my younger years, I’d fought tooth and nail with my father’s illegitimate son. Harry had been the one to protect me, to help me reclaim what was rightfully mine. Back then, I had asked him if he thought I was a manipulative, wicked woman. He’d said, “My Eleanor is just smart. Besides, I’ll always be with you.” That promise of “always” had carried us through seven years of marriage. Seven years in which, due to my fragile health, we were never able to have a child of our own. He knew how much I wanted a child, so he suggested we sponsor one. Lily was the child we sponsored together. On paper, it was a joint act of charity, but over the years, I was the one who looked after her, who cared for her. I never imagined that when she came to Crestwood for college, she would end up in Harry’s bed. “Mrs. Shaw, I’m so sorry!” Lily’s sudden apology, delivered from her knees, broke through my thoughts. “It was my fault. I got into a fight with my roommate and I shouldn’t have called Mr. Shaw to pick me up. Then he wouldn’t have been in the accident.” “It’s all my fault. I was being presumptuous, thinking I had a home to go to…” As she spoke, she slapped herself, once, twice. The sight of it was too much for Harry. “Eleanor! Stop this nonsense! Lily has a performance in two days! Help her up!” He started to get out of bed. Lily scrambled to his side, helping him, her face streaked with tears. “Mr. Shaw, I’m so sorry…” Their hands clasped together. Harry’s eyes seemed to well up as well. “Don’t cry, Lily.” When he turned to look at me again, the pain in his eyes was replaced by disgust. “The accident had nothing to do with Lily. Instead of dealing with the aftermath, you come here to harass her. You have no sense of the bigger picture. So petty!” I had seen the surveillance footage and the dashcam video from the accident. At the moment of impact, Lily was in the passenger seat, crying and pulling Harry’s hand toward her chest, whispering, “Mr. Shaw, my heart hurts.” The police officer watching the video with me had scratched his head in embarrassment, muttering something about a TV drama villain coming to life. I didn’t know what “aftermath” Harry expected me to “deal with.” Was I supposed to play the fool? I scoffed. “I guess I don’t have the grand perspective of Mr. Shaw’s little angel.” I opened the door and kicked the lunch box Lily had dropped out of my way. As the door closed behind me, I heard Harry’s enraged shout: “Eleanor!” Just after I left the hospital, I received a voice recording from Lily. In the recording, I heard Harry’s deep voice. “Lily’s birthday is coming up. How about Mr. Shaw buys you a house, so you’ll have a home of your own?” “Can I pick it out myself?” Harry chuckled. “Of course. Whatever Lily likes.” “I like the villa on the west side of town. That’s where I first met you.” There was a two-second pause, followed by the sound of heavy breathing and a woman’s soft moan. I slammed my phone shut. Harry must have loved Lily so much that he had forgotten all about the other woman on the west side of town. That was our first home, the home we still lived in. Even after I took back control of the Calloway family company and could afford any house I wanted, I never moved. Harry had once asked me why, and I told him it held our memories. He had teared up then, swearing to love me for the rest of his life. Now, another woman was coveting that house, and all he could remember was that it was where he first met Lily. My assistant spoke cautiously from the driver’s seat. “Ms. Calloway, Mr. Shaw is only like this because of the amnesia…” I held up a hand to silence her. How ironic. Harry remembered everything, except how to love me. 3 The day Harry was discharged from the hospital arrived quickly. He and Lily were laughing as she pushed his wheelchair into the living room. I was grooming my cat, Patches. Lily’s shriek startled both me and the cat. “Eleanor, put the cat in the other room! Lily is allergic to cats.” Harry clumsily maneuvered his wheelchair to shield a pale-faced Lily. I didn’t even look up. “If she’s allergic, she can leave. No one’s asking her to stay.” A second later, Lily’s tearful voice filled the air. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Shaw. I just saw that you weren’t here to pick up Mr. Shaw, so I took it upon myself to bring him home. I overstepped.” “I’ll leave right now.” Harry grabbed her wrist, his face dark. “You failed to fulfill your duties as a wife. Lily helped you, and you have the audacity to criticize her!” “And from today on, Lily is living here. You will keep your cat under control, or you’ll have me to answer to.” My hand, holding the brush, froze. I looked up at him. “Answer to you? And how will you make me answer?” Patches had been his eighteenth birthday gift to me. Back then, I was a Calloway in name only, treated worse than my father’s illegitimate child. No one remembered my birthday. Even the maids bullied me. Harry gave me Patches, a symbol of completeness, and told me that from then on, he and the cat would be my family. I couldn’t keep a pet at the Calloway mansion, so he had taken care of him until we got married. He should have been the one with the deeper bond with Patches, but now, the look in his eyes was ice-cold, as if he were looking at a common, annoying pest. Harry didn’t answer my question. I thought it was just an empty threat. Until I returned from a week-long business trip and couldn’t find Patches anywhere. Lily emerged from the kitchen when she heard my voice. She leaned in close, a smile playing on her lips. “Are you looking for that cat?” she whispered. “Such a pity. He’s dead.” The sound was soft, but the smile on her face grew wider. She played a recording. The sound of Patches’ tormented struggles filled the living room. His shrill, piercing cries made my hair stand on end, a bone-deep chill seeping into me. “What did you do to him?” “What did you do to him?!” I grabbed her by the throat, my voice rising with each repetition of the question, my eyes wide with horror. A cold voice from the top of the stairs broke the moment. “Eleanor, let her go.” “Where is Patches?” Harry looked down at me, his expression disdainful. “He was just an animal. If he’s dead, he’s dead. Don’t take it out on Lily.” “He caused Lily to have an allergic reaction and end up in the hospital. Death was too good for him.” He announced my cat’s death with the same flat, emotionless tone he might use to comment on the weather. “Today is Lily’s birthday. Don’t ruin her mood over an animal.” At the mention of Lily’s birthday, a smile finally appeared on his face. “I’m planning to transfer the deed of this house to Lily. Come upstairs and sign the papers.” He turned his wheelchair and started to leave, not giving me a second glance. I was about to follow him, to argue, but I was stopped by Lily’s scream and the sound of a slap. When Harry turned back, he saw Lily, her cheek red and swollen, clutching her face and sobbing. “Mrs. Shaw, I didn’t want Patches to die either! You’re right to hit me!” She looked at me, tears streaming down her face. “As long as it makes you feel better, you can hit me as many times as you want!” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, a willing martyr. I had to laugh. A masterclass in playing the victim. “Eleanor, there’s a limit to your antics! Do you really think you run this house?!” The Harry who used to look at me with such tenderness, who used to believe me and defend me without question, was gone. In his place was a man whose eyes were filled with a chilling hatred, as if he wanted to tear me to pieces. Our eyes met. I let out a cold laugh. I turned and slapped Lily across the face. I have never been a pushover. If I could survive the viper’s nest of the Calloway family, I could certainly handle this. “I didn’t give you that first slap. But this one,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, “you’d better remember it.” Smack! “This one was from Eleanor Calloway.” Smack! “This is my house. No one can protect you here. Not even Harry Shaw.” 4 As I raised my hand for a third slap, Harry grabbed my wrist. He shoved me back. “Eleanor, apologize to Lily,” he warned, his voice low and menacing. “Or don’t expect me to show you any mercy for old times’ sake.” I laughed, a wild, hysterical sound. “Old times’ sake?” “What are you going to do to me? The same thing you did to Patches?!” Harry just shot me a look of disgust, as if to say I was being ridiculous. Then he turned to Lily, his face filled with concern, and gently examined her cheek. He blew on it softly, like he was comforting a child, whispering, “Pain, pain, go away.” The tender gesture was a cruel echo of the boy I once knew. They left together, hand in hand. Harry didn’t look at me once. He just threw one last sentence over his shoulder. “We have twenty days left in the mandatory cooling-off period for the divorce. I don’t want to see you again during that time.” I slowly sank to the floor. My assistant rushed in to help me, but her hand came away covered in thick, sticky blood. “Ms. Calloway! You’re hurt!” A pair of scissors from the kitchen island was embedded in my lower back. My phone buzzed. A text message. [Does it hurt? These are the same scissors I used to cut off that animal’s tail. 😉 ] I moved out of the villa after that. I kept the scissors, a constant reminder of my hatred. The day before the cooling-off period ended, I went to the hospital to have my dressing changed. As I was leaving, I saw Harry and Michael. “You’re not even divorced yet, and Lily is two months pregnant. This is an affair!” Michael was berating him. Harry, however, just smiled gently. “You don’t understand. Eleanor and I have reached the end of the road.” “I love Lily.” “It wasn’t until I met Lily that I realized how terrifying Eleanor is.” The smile on his face faded. “Her father brought his illegitimate son home, paved a golden path for him. But Eleanor managed to cripple the boy and destroy her father’s reputation in the company, forcing him to step down. Now he’s locked away in a mental institution where no one can see him.” “A woman that manipulative… isn’t that terrifying?” I had never hidden my methods from him. Back then, he had praised me for my intelligence. Now, he was calling me malicious. As I was leaving the hospital, I received a text from Lily with a picture of her ultrasound. [Harry says you’re a barren hen. ~] The next day, after Harry and I finalized the divorce, he spoke. “Eleanor, my memory is back. But I know for sure that I don’t love you anymore.” I nodded. “I know.” “You know?” I smiled. “I also know that you never lost your memory in the first place.”

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After I took a tumble down the stairs, Eleanor finally agreed to leave work to take care of me. But just as we were pulling up to the hospital, she got a call from a client and had to turn back. Later, as I was dragging my fractured leg downstairs to pay the bill, I saw her childhood best friend, Rupert, post a picture of her tending to his knee. The caption read: Who knew a grown man could be so clumsy? Good thing I have my Ellie to patch me up. That’s when I knew. There was no client. Our mutual friends didn’t dare comment. Only I did. I left a single like, and a reply: An idiot needs a babysitter. You two should just get together. 1 Eleanor was a workaholic. So when she said a client needed her, I understood. I even told her to prioritize her work, to go back and not worry about me. But then, as I hauled my broken leg down to the billing office, I saw it. The picture Rupert had posted. Eleanor, kneeling at his feet, dabbing antiseptic on his scraped knee. And that caption: Who knew a grown man could be so clumsy? Good thing I have my Ellie to patch me up. Something thick and hard lodged itself in my throat. I blew up at her over the phone. Her voice was frayed with impatience. “You get angry over everything,” she said. “If I’d told you the truth, do you really think you could’ve rested and recovered peacefully?” After that, my messages went unanswered. Radio silence. That night, my body rejected the anesthetic. I woke up multiple times during the surgery, drowning in waves of agony. When they wheeled me out of the operating room, there was no one there for me. A kind nurse saw me struggling and helped me downstairs. Still no word from Eleanor. I was left to juggle work emails and calls on my phone while navigating the hospital on crutches, a dead weight chained to my leg, hobbling up and down floors to pay bills and pick up prescriptions. The same sweet nurse took pity on me, running those errands for me when she could. The day I was discharged, a message from Eleanor finally appeared. I’m coming to get you. I knew what that meant. It was her way of turning the page, of wiping the slate clean. It was always like this between us. She hated fighting. Whenever I confronted her about Rupert, she’d give me the silent treatment, letting me stew in my own anger. Then, when she was ready to move on, she’d reach out. By then, my fury would have burned itself out, leaving nothing but embers. She could turn my emotions on and off like a switch. This time, the silence lasted for nearly half a month. In the past, a message like that would have sent a jolt of relief through me. I would have been thrilled that she was finally making time for me. But now? Nothing. A flat, calm sea. The days I’d spent fighting through this alone had cooled my head considerably. I typed back a simple reply: Don’t bother. I’ve already checked out. Her response was immediate. Then I’ll pick you up from home. No need, I’ll get a cab. I’m already on my way. Wait for me. I’ll be there in thirty. 2 Thirty minutes bled into an hour. No sign of Eleanor’s car. The sky had bruised from dusk to a deep, starless black. It was 9:30 PM. Not a single text from her. I didn’t ask. After another ten minutes, I gave up, opened the Uber app, and ordered a ride. It was 10:30 PM by the time I got home. The driver, a kind older man, saw me fumbling with my crutches and insisted on helping me up the five flights of stairs. The hallway light was busted, and there were no security cameras, so I kept a video call going with a buddy as we climbed. The driver didn’t seem to mind my caution. He got me to my door, gave a small nod, and left. Still nothing from Eleanor. I didn’t text her to demand an explanation. I just went inside, sent the driver a generous tip through the app, and collapsed onto the sofa. A new notification lit up my phone. It was Rupert’s Instagram. He’d posted another picture. That familiar silhouette was there, dabbing at another scrape on his arm. The caption was practically giddy: Barely five minutes after Ellie leaves and I take another tumble. Seriously, what’s wrong with me? LOL. The way she scolds me while wrapping my scrapes is just too cute! 3 I’d never been comfortable with the fact that Eleanor had a childhood best friend like Rupert. Every interaction felt like a small jab to the ribs, but I couldn’t stop myself from watching their every move. The weirdest part was when he added me on social media out of the blue. It turned out Eleanor had given him my contact. “I’m busy with work,” she’d explained. “Rupert’s all alone in New York. If he needs anything, maybe you can help keep an eye on him.” I, a person who rarely checked my feed, became a chronic scroller, my blood boiling with every flirty post he made featuring my girlfriend. It always ended in a massive fight. In the past, a post like this would have sent me into a rage. I would have called Eleanor, demanding she explain herself. But this time, I just tapped the ‘like’ button and left a comment. An idiot needs a babysitter. You two should just get together. My phone rang. It was my boss, Ms. Vance. I picked up. “Ethan,” she said, her voice crisp and direct. “I’ve spoken with corporate. We can raise your salary to one-point-three million. What do you say?” Our company was expanding its market presence. The London office was desperately looking for a new director. They had specifically requested me, but I’d turned it down every time, using the distance as an excuse. “And listen,” she continued, “I got approval for fifteen days of leave every five months. You can still fly back and see… your girl. How does that sound?” So, she’d known all along. It was never about the distance. It was about how far I’d be from Eleanor. I let out a short, sharp laugh. “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Vance. I don’t need the vacation days. When do I leave?” There was a stunned silence on the other end, then her voice bloomed with excitement. “End of the month! You got it, Ethan! No backing out now!” “I’ll start the transfer paperwork tomorrow.” 4 I was buried in a mountain of backlogged work on my laptop, so completely absorbed that I didn’t hear the front door open. When I finally looked up, Eleanor was standing there, her brow furrowed in a slight frown. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” I glanced at my mobile. Sure enough, a few missed calls from around midnight. “I went to the hospital to pick you up. You weren’t there,” she said, a clear note of irritation in her voice. “Oh, really?” My tone was light, almost surprised. “My bad. I figured you weren’t coming tonight, so I just grabbed an Uber.” She looked at me as if she’d misheard. In the past, if she was even a minute late, I would have been on the phone, demanding to know where she was. That would have inevitably led to her accusing me of being suspicious, triggering another one of her cold spells. I would never have just carried on with my own plans without a word. She sighed, a long, weary sound. “Look… Rupert fell again. He has a congenital bone condition; even a small fall could mean a fracture. I couldn’t just leave him.” “Mm-hmm.” I didn’t even let her finish, just offered a placid, noncommittal hum. “Ethan?” She seemed taken aback. “Yeah?” I glanced up from my screen, feigning confusion. Her frown deepened. “You’re not mad?” “Mad about what?” I offered a small smile. “You two are childhood friends. I get it. It’s fine.” She took a deep breath and sat down beside me on the sofa. “You’re still angry, aren’t you?” “Nope,” I said, my smile unwavering. “I stopped caring about that stuff a long time ago.” She let out another soft sigh, her fingers finding mine and lacing through them. “I know I was wrong. I’m admitting it first this time. Can we just… let it go?” I chuckled lightly. “Seriously, it’s fine. You don’t have to do this. You’re making it into a bigger deal than it is.” A flash of pure shock crossed her features. This was the first time she had ever conceded first. And I had just refused her olive branch. The truth is, when someone no longer lives in your heart, it’s impossible to get angry at them. I checked the time and closed my laptop. “It’s getting late, Ellie. I’m going to bed.” I pushed myself up, but a searing pain shot through my leg, and I crumpled to the floor. 5 “Ethan!” Eleanor lunged, grabbing my arm. I gently pushed her hand away, my voice devoid of any anger. “I’m okay. Just forgot my crutches.” She frowned. “Why do you need crutches?” I answered with an airy calm. “It’s fractured.” In that instant, she froze. Perhaps she was remembering the excuse she’d just given me—that she was afraid Rupert might have a fracture. Her expression became a tangled mess of emotions. “I’m so sorry…” It was the first time she had ever truly apologized. She bent down to help me up. “Let me help you to bed.” To my own surprise, I shook my head and pushed her away again. “It’s okay. Could you just grab my crutches for me? They’re by the door. I can make it myself.” She didn’t move. “Wouldn’t it be better if I helped you?” In the past, if she’d offered any physical closeness, I would have melted into her arms. But now, the offer held no appeal. I smiled faintly. “No, thanks. I can manage on my own.” Her gaze was sharp, probing. “You’re still angry, aren’t you?” I paused. “No, really.” It was strange. She couldn’t stand it when I was angry, but now that I wasn’t, she seemed just as unhappy. She took a step closer. “If you’re angry, just say it. It’s not like I won’t listen. Why are you being like this?” 6 Eleanor hated conflict. She had a mind like a steel trap, capable of dismantling any argument, yet she’d repeatedly turned down invitations to join the university debate team. In her professional life, she was a woman of few words. When I was angry, her first instinct was to flee. “I’m exhausted from work every day,” she used to say. “I don’t have the energy for your baseless accusations! The reason I listen to Rupert is because he’s fragile. We grew up together; what’s wrong with me being a shoulder for him to lean on? If I actually liked him that way, where would that leave you? Besides, he never criticizes me! Can you just stop comparing yourself to him for once?” Those words used to pierce me like shards of glass. Now, remembering them, I felt nothing. Instead, I was just curious why she suddenly wanted to hear me out. I sighed. “I’m not angry. I’m really not.” Her breathing was uneven. “Then why won’t you let me help you?” “Because…” I kept the gentle smile fixed on my face, as if the memory of waking up in agony was a distant dream. “When I came out of surgery… I was alone then, too.” She stared, unblinking. “You had surgery?” I nodded. “You seemed busy. I didn’t want to bother you.” The corners of Eleanor’s eyes reddened. When she looked at me again, there was something new in her gaze… a flicker of pain. “You should have told me.” I shook my head. “It’s over now. If I could get through it alone then, I can certainly manage now that I’m recovering.” She looked down, her breath deepening. When her eyes met mine again, they were swimming with guilt. “So you’re blaming me for not being there.” I was done explaining. “I’m really not. Can you please just get my crutches? I want to go to sleep.” “If you’re not angry, why won’t you let me take care of you?” she pressed, stepping even closer. I was too tired to argue. I gave up, hopping on one foot, stumbling toward the door where I’d left the crutches. “Just drop it. Let’s go to bed.” Her fists were clenched at her sides. I ignored her, grabbed my crutches, and made my way to the bedroom. As I lay down, I heard her voice, sharp with fury. “Fine. Be that way. I’m going to go take care of Rupert!” The front door slammed shut. I glanced at the bedroom door, flicked off the lamp, and rolled over, closing my eyes. Within minutes, I was sound asleep. 7 I met Eleanor in the student union back in college. I was captivated by her sharp intellect and a profound, quiet confidence I’d never seen in anyone else. It took me ages to work up the nerve to ask her out. We’ve been together for six years—three in college, three after. And for almost all of it, my world has revolved around hers. My classmates from our graduating year are pulling in millions now, while I’m still hovering around six figures. Thinking back to when I was top of my class, I realize just how much I’ve let slip by. I didn’t text Eleanor again. My days were a simple loop: finish my work, then study for my certifications. Ms. Vance had hinted at another salary bump if I passed. Eleanor, for her part, hadn’t contacted me since she stormed out. That wasn’t unusual. She was never one for texting what could be said in person. Our typical dynamic was me sending her a barrage of updates about my day, to which she might reply with a perfunctory “Ok” or “Got it.” It never used to bother me. Not until I saw her chat logs with Rupert, the easy back-and-forth, the inside jokes. That’s when my composure finally cracked. That fight, like all the others, ended with her giving me the silent treatment. Thinking about it used to twist my stomach in knots, prompting me to find some new excuse to start another argument. Now, the memory just floats by, weightless. The prospect of a pay raise was infinitely more compelling. I had been planning to ask Eleanor out for a meal, to finally have the talk about our relationship. But she beat me to it. She sent me a picture of a reservation number for a private dining room. Let’s have dinner. I glanced at the restaurant I was about to order takeout from and realized, with a jolt, that it was the same place. Old habits die hard. This was Eleanor’s favorite spot. I had once secretly learned how to cook all of their signature dishes, hoping to surprise her. But she always said eating at home was a hassle; it was quicker to just go out. My culinary efforts were left to languish. Another habit I needed to break. Okay, I replied. 8 At 7 PM, I pushed open the restaurant door. I was off the crutches by then, but my walk was still a clumsy, uneven limp. A waiter kindly showed me to the private room. As the door opened, the first thing I heard was a peal of laughter. “No way! Your man really said that? If it were me, I wouldn’t be so petty!” Rupert was sitting right next to Eleanor, leaving only the seat directly across from them for me. I froze for a second, not expecting a third person. Eleanor looked up, a small, practiced smile on her face. “Oh, you’re here. We were just talking about old times.” Her eyes darted over my face, searching for a reaction. “Right. Carry on, then.” I returned her smile with one of my own and calmly made my way to the empty seat. Eleanor’s expression flickered. I turned to the waiter. “Could we get a menu, please?” The menu was in my hands for less than a second before it was snatched away. Rupert leaned intimately toward Eleanor, his finger tapping the page. “Ellie, this one’s amazing. And this one, and this…” She laughed softly. “Come on, you’re the one who wants it, aren’t you?” His eyes were full of a playful, adoring light. “No, it’s really that good.” Eleanor took the menu from him, checked off the items he’d pointed to, and handed it to the waiter. The waiter hesitated, looking at me. It was only then that she seemed to remember I was there. “Oh, right,” she said, passing the menu to me. “See if there’s anything you want.” I knew that look. It was the same analytical gaze she used to give me back when we first started dating, whenever I was giving her the silent treatment. The same look she’d have in those rare debate tournaments, searching for the fatal flaw in her opponent’s argument. She was watching me, waiting for me to crack. But I just glanced at the menu and smiled. “Looks good. Rupert has great taste.” Her hand, resting on the table, flinched. She looked at me as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. I passed the menu back to the waiter. “That’ll be all, thank you.” 9 After the menus were gone, a shadow fell over Eleanor’s face. Rupert, oblivious, draped an arm around her shoulder and grinned at me. “Heard you were mad at Ellie. Don’t worry, I gave her a piece of my mind for you!” I was in the middle of replying to a client’s message. I looked up and smiled politely. “Oh, that? It was nothing. Just a small thing.” Rupert clearly didn’t think so. He leaned in closer to Eleanor, pinching her cheek. “Hey, don’t take it personally, man. We’ve been like this since we were kids. I’m not interested in this block of wood, so you can relax!” I smiled again and went back to my phone. “Actually,” Rupert continued, his voice taking on a theatrical tone, “the reason Ellie takes such good care of me is because she kind of owes me her life.” Eleanor playfully swatted his arm. “Oh, stop it.” “No way! I can tell you never told him the story!” Rupert was practically glowing with self-importance. “You see, Ethan, when we were little, Ellie had a huge fight with her parents and ran out into a thunderstorm. I went looking for her and took a really bad fall. My leg never healed right. Turns out I have a congenital low bone density. That one fall almost crippled me for life!” Eleanor laughed, but her eyes were fixed on me. “Ethan’s not the jealous type. You don’t have to explain.” I looked up from my phone and echoed her smile. “She’s right. I stopped caring about that a long time ago.” Eleanor’s face went dark. The dishes began to arrive. I reached for a piece of the crispy-skin pork belly, but before I could get it, her chopsticks intercepted mine, snatching the piece and placing it in Rupert’s bowl. “Here,” she said with a soft smile. “You love this dish, don’t you?” All the while, she was watching me from the corner of her eye. I just smiled, picked up another piece for myself, and continued responding to a client’s voice message with my free hand. Her expression soured instantly. “You,” Eleanor said suddenly, her voice sharp. “Go sit on the other side.”

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The moment I sank into the bath, a low hum filled the air. A drone hovered outside my bathroom window, its red light blinking. Instead of jumping up, I curled into a ball, grabbed the shower rod, and swept the curtain across the window. After scrambling into a robe, I rushed to the window—it was still there. I yanked the curtain open and recorded it with my phone until it zipped away. I immediately shared the video in our building’s group chat: “Whose drone is this? Spying outside bathrooms—have you no shame?” Residents erupted: “That’s the one outside my window days ago!” “I was undressing! This is harassment!” I tagged property management, who promised an “immediate investigation.” I thought it was over. I never imagined the drone had just begun—and now, it was only targeting me. 1. The property management investigation went nowhere. They claimed there were too many blind spots in the security camera coverage to identify the operator. Judging by the silence in the group chat, my neighbors weren’t being bothered anymore. The drone was now my personal stalker. I live on the 16th floor. The view is expansive, which also means I’m completely exposed. Day one, it hovered outside my living room window, its camera lens aimed squarely at me. I drew the curtains. Day two, it circled my bedroom window at midnight. I bought heavy, blackout curtains and plunged my apartment into perpetual twilight. Day three, I was cooking in the kitchen. I turned my head, and there it was. A cold, electronic eye, separated from me by a single pane of glass. I felt like an animal in a glass cage, observed at will by an unseen keeper. I called the police. An officer came, took my statement, and then gave me the line. “Ma’am, without evidence of physical harm or a clear recording of you in a private setting, it’s very difficult to press charges. We recommend you take extra precautions.” Extra precautions? I kept every curtain drawn, living in a self-imposed darkness 24/7. I was starting to feel like I was molding over. That night, I was watching a movie with the volume cranked up. A piercing whine suddenly sliced through the film’s soundtrack. The drone’s propellers. It was practically plastered against my window. I stormed over and ripped the curtains open. A small spotlight had been attached to it. A harsh, white beam of light stabbed through the darkness, aimed directly at my eyes. I stumbled back, my eyes stinging, tears streaming down my face. It was taunting me. A surge of pure rage flooded my senses. I grabbed an apple from the counter, slid open the window, and hurled it with all my might. The drone dodged it with a nimble dip. It wobbled smugly in the air for a moment, then flew off. I watched it disappear. Upwards. I was on the 16th floor. There were more than a dozen floors above me. I shut the window and sat in the dark, listening to the frantic drumming of my own heart. This wasn’t over. 2. The next day, I took a half-day off work. I went to an electronics surplus store. “Do you have any high-powered laser pointers?” I asked the man behind the counter. He pulled a long, unmarked box from under the counter. “This one can hit a target three miles away. Creates a visible beam at night. Don’t point it at anyone’s eyes. It’ll blind them.” “I’ll take it.” That evening, I sat on my sofa in the pitch-black living room, and I waited. I’d left a small crack in the curtains. Sure enough, at 9 PM sharp, the familiar buzz returned. It circled at a distance first, as if scouting for danger, before slowly approaching my window. The spotlight clicked on again. Now. I raised the laser pointer, aimed through the crack in the curtains, and centered the beam on that glowing camera lens. I pressed the button. A brilliant green line shot out and landed squarely on the drone’s eye. The drone jolted violently, as if it had been burned. The light from its camera instantly died. It twitched erratically in the air for a few seconds, then scrambled away in a panicked retreat. A wave of grim satisfaction washed over me as I watched it flee. That night, I slept soundly for the first time in weeks. The next morning, I felt refreshed and ready for work. I opened my front door, and a putrid stench hit me like a physical blow. My door was smeared with a thick, dark red liquid, still dripping goo onto the welcome mat. It smelled like rancid animal blood. The keyhole of my lock was completely filled with hardened glue. My key wouldn’t go in. The door couldn’t be locked from the outside. I stood there, my stomach churning. 3. I didn’t clean the blood. I didn’t touch the lock. I called property management, my voice eerily calm. “My door has been vandalized with some kind of filth and the lock has been destroyed. I need you to send someone to handle it. Also, please check the hallway security footage.” The building manager arrived quickly, his face paling at the sight. “Ms. Vance, this… this is despicable! We’ll check the cameras right away!” I nodded, went downstairs, bought a new deadbolt, and called a locksmith to forcibly remove the old one and install it. My phone was quiet all afternoon. Just before quitting time, the manager called back, his tone apologetic. “Ms. Vance, we reviewed the footage, but… the person was wearing a hoodie and a face mask. We can’t see their face.” “Which floor did they come from?” I asked. “…The 17th.” I hung up. The 17th floor. A package I’d ordered arrived that evening. A smart video doorbell, complete with motion detection and cloud storage. I installed it myself in under thirty minutes. With that done, I ordered takeout, sat on my sofa, and watched the live feed of my front door on a spare phone while I ate. They would be back. I waited for two nights. Nothing happened. The drone didn’t reappear. It seemed they had given up. On the third night, I was reading when my phone buzzed. A notification from the doorbell app. “Motion has been detected at your front door.” I immediately pulled up the live stream. A figure in a black hoodie was creeping toward my door. He was carrying a small bucket. Just as I’d predicted. He stopped in front of my door, twisted the lid off the bucket, and raised it to splash its contents. I pressed the two-way talk button on the app. “Don’t move.” My voice, broadcast through the doorbell’s speaker, wasn’t loud, but it cut through the silent hallway like a knife. The figure froze, sloshing some of the liquid from the bucket. He looked up in terror, his eyes fixing on the tiny doorbell. “I’m recording this,” I continued. “Turn around now, take the stairs, and I can pretend this never happened.” He stood there, paralyzed, clearly weighing his options. “You have three seconds. Three… two…” Before I could say “one,” he dropped the bucket and bolted for the stairwell. I watched him vanish from the screen and saved the video clip. In that split second when he looked up, his mask had slipped just enough to reveal the lower half of his face. A young face, twisted with malice. 4. I didn’t post the video to the group chat. That would only make them more careful next time. I needed a knockout blow. The next day, my internet slowed to a crawl. Videos buffered endlessly, and web pages took ages to load. I called my service provider. After running a diagnostic, they said the line was fine, but my data usage was abnormally high. A number of unauthorized devices were connected to my network. I logged into my router’s admin panel. Sure enough, the list of connected devices was filled with unfamiliar names. One of them stood out: “KK-Drone-Controller.” KK? I suddenly remembered something. There was only one family on the 17th floor. Apartment 1701. The last time I was in the management office, I had glanced at the resident file for 1701. The owner: Sharon Keller. Her son: Kyle Keller. KK. They had been piggybacking on my Wi-Fi the entire time, using my own network to control the drone that was spying on me. No wonder they always knew exactly when I was home. A fire ignited in my chest. I didn’t change the password. Not yet. I opened my laptop and started searching. “How to track devices on your Wi-Fi.” “IP address location.” “Network forensics.” It took me all day, but I found a method. Using specialized software, I could capture the data packets being sent by any device connected to my network. While the data itself was encrypted, I could see which servers it was communicating with. The “KK-Drone-Controller” was constantly pinging a cloud server belonging to a major drone manufacturer. I even found the server’s IP address. I screenshotted everything—the MAC address of the device, the server logs, all of it—and saved it. Only then did I go back into my router settings, blacklist “KK-Drone-Controller,” and change my Wi-Fi password. The next morning, I had just woken up when my doorbell began to ring incessantly, accompanied by furious pounding. I looked through the video feed. A middle-aged woman’s face, contorted with rage. Sharon Keller. Kyle’s mother. “Open this door! You open up right now! You little witch, what did you do to our internet?!” she shrieked, hammering on the door. I activated the speaker. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Don’t play dumb with me! My son said it was you! It was working fine yesterday, and now we can’t get online! What are you trying to pull?!” She had just admitted it. I smiled. “Oh? Are you sure you know how your internet works?” The woman outside fell silent. “Wh-what are you talking about! We have our own service!” “Is that right? Well, that’s funny. I was checking my router yesterday and found an unauthorized device that’s been stealing my Wi-Fi. The device name was ‘KK-Drone-Controller.’ I’ve already filed a police report and given them the device’s MAC address and all the evidence of the servers it was connecting to. The police said that theft of service, if severe enough, is a federal crime.” I heard a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the door. Then, dead silence. A few seconds later, the woman erupted like a cornered animal. “You’re a liar! You vicious little tramp, how dare you frame my son!” She started kicking the door, screaming every curse word imaginable. I didn’t engage further. I muted the speaker and calmly went to make myself a cup of coffee. Listening to her impotent rage from outside my door, I took a sip. It had never tasted so sweet. 5. Sharon Keller’s tantrum lasted for fifteen minutes before neighbors and property management finally persuaded her to leave. The world was quiet again. That evening, the power in my apartment went out. It wasn’t a tripped breaker. My neighbors’ lights were all on. Only my unit was plunged into darkness. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and checked the breaker box. All the switches were in the correct position. I called management. “Ms. Vance, please hold on. We’ll send an electrician right over.” As I waited, a deep sense of unease settled over me. My video doorbell was offline without power. I was blind to what was happening outside my door. I dragged a heavy chair and wedged it under the doorknob. And then I heard it. Soft footsteps. They stopped right outside my door. Next, the faint, metallic scrape of metal on metal. Someone was picking my lock. Every hair on my body stood on end. I held my breath and tiptoed to the door, pressing my ear against the cold steel. Whoever it was, they were clumsy. After several minutes of fumbling, they couldn’t get it open. I heard a muffled curse. They seemed to give up. Then came a different sound. A soft hissing. Like something being squeezed into the keyhole. Superglue. They were trying to lock me in. What if there was a fire? The thought sent a jolt of ice through my veins. I crept to the kitchen and pulled the longest, sharpest carving knife from the block. Just then, my phone rang. It was the electrician. “Ms. Vance, I’m on your floor, but the door to the utility closet in the hallway is locked from the outside. I can’t get in. Let me go find the master key.” My heart sank. They had locked the utility closet, too. Almost simultaneously, I heard the person outside my door react to the sound of my phone. The footsteps started again, this time running frantically toward the stairwell. I rushed to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty. I yanked the door open. The acrid smell of glue filled the air. The keyhole was completely sealed. Down the hall, the utility closet door had a heavy-duty U-lock clamped around its handles. They weren’t just trying to harass me. They were trying to trap me. I backed into my apartment, my heart pounding against my ribs. My phone lit up again. A text from an unknown number. “Enjoying my gifts? This is just the beginning.”

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I’m secretly married to a university professor who rarely cracks a smile. During one of his public lectures, I accidentally broadcast a steamy romance novel from my phone. He was the male lead. I was the author. The resulting uproar nearly blew the roof off the lecture hall. Dr. Miles’s gaze cut through the crowd and landed squarely on me. “My office. After class.” That night, he pinned me against the door, and I was trembling like a leaf. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I’ll never write it again.” He loosened his tie, his voice a low whisper. “Too late. Ten minutes for every word. You do the math.” 1 It was the first open lecture of the new semester. The hall was packed, standing room only. The moment my roommate dragged me inside, my eyes met a cool, impossibly handsome face. My heart stopped. The man stood at the podium in a crisp white shirt, his calm, intelligent eyes looking at me through thin-framed glasses, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he took in my deer-in-the-headlights expression. “Class is about to start,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “Please find a seat.” My roommate grabbed my arm, foiling my escape attempt, and pulled me into the front row. “Let me introduce you,” she whispered excitedly. “Professor Miles. My ultimate crush.” His hands, shuffling papers on the lectern, were just inches away. A simple wedding band gleamed on his ring finger. It was a perfect match for the one hanging on a chain around my neck. The second our eyes met again, I ducked my head, my entire body rigid. Oh, God. Can someone please tell me why my practically-a-stranger husband, who was supposed to be doing research abroad, is suddenly back in the country? Last month, in a drunken fit of madness, I’d sent him a series of progressively thirstier photos in the middle of the night. Dr. Julian Miles, ever the gentleman, had simply pretended he never saw them. When I sobered up, I remembered we barely knew each other. Our marriage was a family arrangement, a convenience. So why in the world was he suddenly here, at my university, as my new physics professor? This was a nightmare. Professor Miles stood straight, his gaze sweeping over my huddled form before that faint smile returned. “Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I will be taking over this physics course for the semester. I look forward to a productive term with all of you.” His voice was like a cool spring breeze, but it brought back a flood of memories that were suddenly attacking me. His faculty position… it was at Ashton University. I could feel his eyes on me, and I shrank further into my seat. Was he really going to fail me just because I’d sent him a few suggestive texts? He said nothing more about it, and the first lecture of the semester began. Sitting directly under his gaze, listening to that cool, melodic voice, I felt a wave of drowsiness wash over me. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was my editor. Talia, your professor character is pure fire. Polish this up, we’re taking it live! Half-asleep, I tapped the file she sent. The screen froze. A few seconds later, a robotic female voice emanated from my phone’s speaker. “In the dead of night, I slipped on Professor Miles’s white shirt and stumbled through his door, crashing into his arms.” “Oh, Professor… please, hold me tighter…” I jolted awake. My phone’s text-to-speech feature was on, broadcasting my R-rated prose to the entire lecture hall. I fumbled to silence it, but it was too late. Oh my God, oh my God, make it stop… The room was dead silent. Professor Miles had stopped talking. His expression was as serene as ever, but I felt his gaze on me like a physical weight, and I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “I’m so sorry, my phone is broken…” I stammered, tears welling in my eyes. In my panic, I accidentally turned the volume up. The AI voice launched into the next, even spicier scene. The students around me were beet red, frozen in stunned silence. Professor Miles tapped a piece of chalk against the lectern. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound echoed in the suffocating silence. Finally, he spoke to me for the first time since his return. “Thank you for that… contribution. Please see me in my office after class.” 2 The silence in his office was deafening. I sat across from him, the ticking of the clock in the corner marking every second of my agony. Professor Miles was grading papers, his head bowed. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, its warm, golden light filtering through the leaves and falling across his perfectly tailored shirt, casting long, elegant shadows. He hadn’t said a word to me since I’d walked in. He hadn’t even mentioned the novel. Was he going to divorce me for writing fanfiction about him? “Um, Professor, I’m really sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He looked up and smiled faintly. “I understand. Artistic expression.” His gentle tone completely disarmed me. I managed a weak smile back. “Right, right… as long as you understand. I’m actually a very conservative person. My editor makes me write those scenes… there aren’t many of them.” The atmosphere seemed to relax. He pulled out a gift bag and placed it on the desk. His voice was polite and warm. “My return was a bit rushed, so I only managed to get you a cashmere scarf. The shirt will have to wait until next time.” Shirt? Professor Miles’s shirt?! I met his gentle gaze and realized he had completely misunderstood. Oh God, he thinks I’m a creep… Just as I was about to try and salvage my reputation, my phone exploded with a flurry of messages from my editor. The notification sounds drew both of our attention. “Does Julian really like doing it in the kitchen?” “That’s a fire hazard. I suggest you change it.” “The office scene is hot, though! Spill water on him, then pounce, use ‘changing clothes’ as an excuse to get him… where do you come up with this stuff?” My head shot up. Professor Miles’s calm gaze was fixed on my phone screen. Then, his eyes slowly lifted to the cup of water I was clutching in my hands. He smiled. “Are you… going to spill it?” A strange, mortifying silence filled the room. Finally, blushing furiously, I managed to choke out, “I would never do that. You have my word.” 3 After leaving his office, Professor Miles drove me to my parents’ house for dinner. They were thrilled he was back and had cooked a feast. I sat in the passenger seat, feeling like my soul had left my body. My editor was trying to comfort me via text. “Relax. He’s a serious academic. You think he has time to read smut on some little writing platform?” I snuck a glance at him. My heart immediately started doing a frantic tap dance against my ribs. He was focused on the traffic, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the steering wheel. The neon lights of the city washed over his handsome profile, painting him in shifting colors. The air in the car suddenly felt very hot. “He probably thinks I’m a total pervert,” I texted. “Well, aren’t you?” she shot back, along with a screenshot of an illustration I had drawn for the story. The caption read: Professor Miles’s Laundry Day. The top comment: “If you know, you know. He’s doing his own laundry because someone made a mess… and he was happy to do it.” “Someone explain?” a newer comment asked. “Go play somewhere else, kid.” I quickly logged onto the site and posted an update. “Taking a short break, guys. The subject has returned. Please, let’s all be cool.” My fans, however, were anything but. “Let’s go, girl! Get this story to #1 so the Professor can see it!” “A happy author means a happy fandom!” “OMG, this is like a live feed! Author, please, live in my phone!” “We’re here. There’s a car behind us,” Miles’s voice pulled me from my phone. “I didn’t write about a car! You’re mistaken!” I blurted out, shoving my phone away. I looked up and saw his baffled expression. I realized he was talking about the rearview mirror. “So,” he asked, a hint of amused resignation in his voice, “what exactly have you been writing?” “…” Kill me now. I was so flustered that I nearly walked into traffic getting out of the car. Miles grabbed my hand to pull me back. The gentle warmth of his skin and the subtle, woody scent of his cologne was like a spark landing in my palm, spreading a dizzying heat through me. Remembering my disastrous physics grades, I said anxiously, “I’ll study really hard. I promise.” He just grunted in response. Fearing he didn’t believe me, I raised my hand as if taking an oath. “I mean it! I’ll be a model student. Please, just don’t tell my parents about my grades.” He must have seen the genuine panic in my eyes because a soft, helpless laugh escaped him. “Alright,” he said. “I won’t.” His gaze made my heart flutter. Before I could respond, my mother’s booming voice came from the front door. “Talia, what is this you posted online? ‘Used to be scared to tell my parents I was dating, now I’m scared to tell my husband’? What is that supposed to mean?” I froze on the spot. I met Miles’s questioning look and blurted out, “My boyfriend is a fan-art character on a website—” I clamped my mouth shut, nearly biting my tongue. It was fan-art of him, and the thirsty comments were still all over it. Thankfully, he didn’t press for details. He just politely greeted my mom, who immediately forgot her anger and ushered him inside. As we walked in, I heard his low, warm chuckle. “I hope dinner tonight isn’t keeping you from your boyfriend.” “…” I am going to die. That night, to prevent him from finding the story, I frantically deleted comments. My readers were having a field day. “Oh ho, the plot thickens.” “Two minutes and another comment is gone. Don’t worry, I took screenshots. Professor, DM me, I’ll send them for free.” I barely tasted my food. When dinner was over and Miles stood up to leave, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. “You two head home,” my mom said with a loving smile. “Drive safe.” I blinked. “Me too?” “You’re married. If you don’t go home with your husband, where else would you go?” I turned and saw Miles standing by the door, holding my coat, waiting for me. My face went pale. This was a lamb walking willingly into the lion’s den. And so, I was brought to his home. After we’d signed the papers, he’d left for his research fellowship abroad. This was the first night we would ever spend alone together. My heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I stood in the doorway like an ostrich, refusing to go any further. “The master bedroom is that way. Your clothes are in the closet. You can shower first.” I found myself staring at the alluring line of his waist as he bent down to take off his shoes. “So… am I showering alone?” I asked, my face burning. In the dim light, his gaze found mine. “You’re certainly… direct.” I snapped back to my senses and scurried into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My whole body felt like it was boiling. I could die of embarrassment. After my shower, I furiously texted my friends. “How do you make a man fall hopelessly in love with you?” My roommate replied instantly: “Talia! Look at you go! Already staying out all night, huh? And you’re still thinking about chasing guys?” They sent me a link to a post on the university’s online forum. My “glorious” moment in the lecture hall had gone viral. Someone had uploaded the video. It already had thousands of comments. “HOLY CRAP, TALIA VANCE IS LADY T! You can find her new story, My Wild Days with Professor Miles, on the Crimson Quill platform!” “Are she and the professor for real? Is this, like, a memoir?” “No way! That’s Julian Miles! Ashton’s untouchable Ice King! His failure rate is insane; they call him the Gentle Blade. Talia’s screwed for finals.” “Noooo, my professor’s reputation! He has such a pure, ascetic face, there’s no way he’s like that in private…” My personal social media accounts had been blown up. People were demanding an explanation. Worse, they were flooding Professor Miles’s official university profile page. “Professor Miles, you should sue her. For real.” “Look at what she wrote about you! (See attached screenshot)” Oh god, they were posting excerpts of my story and the fan-art directly on his page. I could feel a heart attack coming on. It was over. There was no hiding it now. Then, Chloe, the most popular girl in my year, chimed in. “But… isn’t Professor Miles married?” She posted a photo. A clear shot of his hand, with the wedding band unmistakable on his ring finger. Chloe added: “I know his wife. I just spoke with her tonight. My cousin said she had no idea about any of this.” The gossip mill went into overdrive. “Wait, you call her your cousin?” “Yes, we’re very close. She said she hopes Talia Vance will stop fantasizing about her husband. It’s making her very uncomfortable.” “By the way, she’s flying back to the States soon. She said she’d like to treat everyone to dinner to thank them for their support.” The tide of public opinion turned in an instant. “Does anyone know this Talia girl? Tell her to stop embarrassing the rest of us.” “The real wife is coming back. The delulu fanfic girl must be terrified now, lol.” Her words were so confident, for a second, I actually doubted myself. Did I dream up my own marriage? I pulled up the digital copy of our marriage certificate on my phone and stared at it. A handsome man, a beautiful woman. A match made in heaven. Even if God himself descended, I was still Julian Miles’s wife. 4 The internet mob was terrifyingly efficient. Within minutes, Professor Miles’s profile page was wallpapered with my writing and drawings. The thought of him seeing it all made me want to spontaneously combust. I had to get to his phone and delete everything before he saw it. Half an hour later, I pushed open his study door, my heart pounding. The room was quiet. He was sitting at his desk, the soft glow from his laptop screen illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He looked up at the sound, his brow furrowing slightly when he saw me standing there, barefoot. “Still awake?” As I got closer, he finally took in my attire—one of his white button-down shirts. Oh god, this looked less like a stealth mission and more like a seduction attempt. A hot blush flooded my face. His gaze traveled slowly down from my collarbone, over my waist, down my thighs, before finally meeting my crimson face. “Talia,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “What is this?” He set his pen down on the desk with a soft click. The small sound sent a shiver down my spine. My legs were shaking. I started babbling nonsense. “I… I was cold. Just looking for something to wear…” He leaned back in his chair, a half-smile playing on his lips. “This is a study,” he reminded me, his tone laced with amusement. My eyes locked onto his phone, sitting on the corner of the desk. Steeling myself, I swung my leg over and sat on the desk, right in front of him. I managed to snatch the phone. In doing so, I blocked the light from his small desk lamp. His face was instantly plunged into shadow, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, his voice, now husky and deep, drifted out of the darkness. “Talia, you are currently sitting on your physics homework.” “Do you have any idea what this behavior constitutes?” I held my breath, planting a foot on his thigh for balance. “Um, what? I’m just…” In a flash, he was on his feet, his hands on either side of me, trapping me against the desk. Click. He turned off the lamp. Darkness swallowed the room whole. I was enveloped in that woody scent, and before I could react, a strong hand curved around my waist. His voice was a hot breath against my ear. “You’re showing contempt for classroom decorum.” “And disrespecting your professor.” “And, you’ve managed to get your own homework wet.” “I have never had such a difficult student.” There was a hint of censure in his cool tone now. My body went limp. I rested my forehead against his shoulder, on the verge of crying from pure shame. “I’m sorry, Professor…” “I don’t accept apologies. Look at me.” The command was absolute. The moment I lifted my head, his mouth was on mine. Fireworks exploded behind my eyes. My hands scrabbled uselessly at his shirt as I surrendered completely to his aggressive conquest. In the darkness, he paused, his voice laced with a helpless amusement. “You really do have a thing for my shirts, don’t you?” My breathing was ragged, my skin on fire. I was so overwhelmed I thought I was going to pass out. I had pushed his phone aside during the kiss. Suddenly, the screen lit up, a blinding notification cutting through the darkness.

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My husband’s younger brother, Neo, decided the Felton family estate was the perfect backdrop for his new reality dating show. Which is how Adrian and I, his older brother and sister-in-law, accidentally became the show’s reluctant counterparts. At first, the internet forums dismissed me as a mere prop. The neglected wife with the difficult mother-in-law, a pale shadow next to the show’s glittering stars. But then, things started to change. Soon, the producers were being flooded with comments: [@FeltonLoveProducers: I live for the moments with the big brother and his wife! Petition to get them more screen time!] [I’m literally scouring the corners of the screen for crumbs of their sweetness!] [My sugar levels are dangerously low. I need a dose of Adrian and Celeste, stat!] 1 Neo Felton’s love life was a whirlwind romance, splashed across the tabloids and trending on social media every other day. His girlfriend was the one and only Penelope “Poppy” Vance, a bona fide movie star. The prodigal son had finally been tamed. He spent a solid month wearing down Adrian until my husband finally relented, agreeing to let them film the show at the family manor. Adrian didn’t bother to tell me until a week before the cameras were due to arrive. “We just have to cooperate for a few episodes,” he said. “If you don’t want to be on camera, we can move out for a while.” I was sprawled languidly across the sheets, my shoulders a pale gleam of skin against the dark cascade of my hair. “Forget it,” I murmured. “Too much effort to move.” I’d lived in the Felton estate for the three years I’d been married to Adrian. It was home. I was too lazy to pack. 2 The morning filming began, I drifted downstairs, still half-asleep. Adrian had already instructed the crew not to film me without permission, so the cameras were pointedly focused elsewhere. The ground floor was already buzzing with activity. Poppy Vance was the center of it all, surrounded by an entourage, playing the lady of the manor to perfection. She caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye and gestured graciously to the head housekeeper. “Mrs. Gable, could you please get Celeste some breakfast as well?” Mrs. Gable hesitated, her gaze flicking to me for confirmation. I stifled a yawn and gave a slight nod. Only then did she signal to the kitchen. Neo, already at the table, greeted me. “Morning, Celeste.” My eyes felt heavy with sleep. “‘Morning.” “Adrian already left for the office?” he asked. “Hm? I guess so,” I said, my voice thick with uncertainty. The man was up before the sun, every single day. Even after a long night, nothing could disrupt the routine he’d followed for decades. But that was Adrian Felton. As the heir to the Felton empire, his legendary self-discipline and control were ingrained in him. He never, ever lost his composure. Even our private life was scheduled with an almost clinical precision. While I waited for my food, Poppy suddenly glided over and sat beside me, linking her arm through mine with a practiced smile aimed at a nearby camera. “This is Celeste’s first time on camera, so she’s a little shy,” she cooed to her audience. “I hope all my fans will be extra sweet to her!” She turned to me, her smile dazzling. “Don’t be nervous, Celeste. My fans are the best.” And just like that, I was on screen—no makeup, a thoroughly bewildered expression on my face. Poppy kept an eye on the live comment feed, her own sweet smile never faltering as she cherry-picked questions to answer. “You think Celeste looks familiar? Hmm, maybe it’s because she has one of those familiar faces.” “You’re asking how old she is? Shhh! It’s not polite to ask a lady her age!” After answering a few more questions and realizing the focus was still stubbornly on me, she gracefully returned to her seat, trying to steer the conversation back to herself. The live feed, however, was still buzzing. [So that’s Neo Felton’s sister-in-law? The wife of the Felton Corporation’s CEO?] [She really does look familiar, and not in a generic way. I swear I’ve seen her on TV before!] [Is she trying to ride Poppy’s coattails to get famous?] [Poppy is so generous, letting her sister-in-law get free screen time.] [I’m only here for Poppy! She’s so gorgeous!!!] [Poppy is so lucky. Her fiancé is handsome, rich, and totally spoils her!] Meanwhile, my mind was a million miles away. I was exhausted. Utterly drained. Adrian had just returned from a week-long business trip. And last night, my meticulously disciplined husband had decided to… make up for lost time. All of it. My body was still protesting. 3 After breakfast, Neo disappeared into the study to handle some work, leaving me once again in the clutches of the relentlessly cheerful Poppy. She pulled me onto the sofa to look at wedding dresses. She and Neo were engaged and planning a wedding for the near future. “Celeste, what do you think of this one? Isn’t it gorgeous?” I glanced from her to the glossy bridal magazine in her hands. “It’s beautiful.” “What about this one?” Another glance. “That one’s beautiful, too.” “Celeste,” she began, flipping through the pages with feigned casualness, “I heard you and Adrian never had a wedding ceremony?” I took a loud bite of my apple. Crunch. “We didn’t,” I replied after a moment. Poppy gasped, her hand flying to her lips in mock horror. “Adrian didn’t even give you a wedding?” “I was the one who didn’t want one,” I clarified, shaking my head. Adrian and I had an arranged marriage, a union of dynasties. There were no feelings involved, at least not at first. Before we signed the papers, he’d asked me, “When would you like to have the ceremony? A church or a beach wedding?” Back then, I had zero expectations for our marriage. We were complete strangers, names in a contract. The thought of exchanging rings and kissing a man I didn’t know in front of a crowd of people was horrifying. “Let’s just skip it,” I’d said without a second thought. “It seems pointless.” I remember how he’d just stared at me, his gaze deep and unreadable. After a long silence, he agreed. And whenever anyone asked, he simply said it was his decision, taking all the blame and shielding me from the gossip. Poppy, however, seemed to have missed my explanation. “But every woman dreams of her perfect wedding day,” she went on, her voice laced with a pity I didn’t want. “How could Adrian not give you that?” I didn’t bother to explain further. It wasn’t worth the energy. “Neo says he’s going to give me the wedding of the century,” she sighed, her tone a perfect blend of complaint and adoration. “I told him not to be so extravagant, but you know how he is. He says he’ll never let me have a single regret about marrying him.” She fanned the magazine pages. “But look at all these dresses! They’re all so perfect, I just can’t choose.” Her happiness was so radiant it practically glowed through the screen, and her fans lapped it up. [Neo spoils Poppy so much! She’s living a real-life fairytale.] [This is what I’m here for! Neo and Poppy are the sweetest couple ever.] [Talk about a reality check. Look at the scowl on the sister-in-law’s face.] [Can you blame her? Her marriage is just a business deal. I bet it was Adrian who refused to have a wedding.] “Celeste, my head is spinning,” Poppy declared dramatically. “Why don’t you pick one for me?” She pushed the magazine towards me. I flipped through a few pages at random and pointed. “This one is lovely.” Poppy gave it a cursory glance. “The waistline isn’t very flattering.” She snapped the magazine shut. “Oh, never mind. I’ll just have Neo help me choose later. He always has the best taste.” 4 After the wedding dresses, she moved on to rings. “Celeste, didn’t Adrian buy you a wedding ring?” Poppy asked, her eyes zeroing in on my left hand. On my ring finger was a simple, unadorned band. Its strange, stylized crest looked like something you’d find in a cheap souvenir shop. “He did.” I glanced down at the ring. The day we got our marriage license, I found two ring boxes on my nightstand. One held a diamond the size of a small planet. The other held this. Adrian had asked me which one I wanted to wear. I thought this one was ugly, but the diamond was so large it seemed impractical for everyday life. I chose this one without much thought. “That’s it? Did Adrian pick that up at a corner store?” She let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, I’m just joking, you know me! Don’t take it seriously.” She stuck her tongue out playfully for the camera. Then, she held out her own slender hand, showcasing the massive diamond glittering on her middle finger—her engagement ring from Neo. She wiggled her fingers. “I told Neo not to spend so much. A diamond this big is just heavy, and it gets in the way. But he insisted. I couldn’t stop him.” She sighed again, the picture of burdened love. “And just the other day, he told me I have to pick a wedding band with an even bigger diamond.” She turned her bright eyes to me. “Celeste, you have to help me choose.” “Sure,” I said. I had nothing better to do, so I started slowly flipping through the catalog she offered. Just then, Neo finished his work and emerged from the study. He wrapped his arms around Poppy from behind, planting a kiss on her cheek. “How’s the ring shopping going, beautiful?” Poppy snuggled back against him. “Celeste and I were just looking,” she said sweetly. Then her voice took on a concerned tone. “Neo, darling, don’t you think Adrian is being a bit… thoughtless? He didn’t even get Celeste a proper ring.” She looked at him with wide, compassionate eyes. “Maybe we should buy one for her? You know, to make up for it. It would be our gift.” She must have thought he’d agree immediately, praising her for her generosity. Instead, Neo’s gaze swept over my hand, and he chuckled. “Poppy, my love, you should never underestimate that ring.” He pointed at my hand. “That’s the Felton family signet. It has been passed down for generations. It signifies the matriarch of the family.” He paused for effect. “Wearing that ring, Celeste could walk into any room in this city and command it. Seeing that ring is the same as seeing Adrian himself.” The smile vanished from Poppy’s face. For a moment, she was completely still, her expression frozen. Her eyes, now fixed on my ring, were a mixture of disbelief, calculation, and a flicker of raw desire. Wait, what? This ugly ring meant that? Why hadn’t Adrian told me? I thought it was just a piece of metal. I only wore it because it was lightweight and didn’t get in the way. [HOLY— I knew that ring wasn’t some cheap knockoff! If you look closely, that crest is the Felton family emblem!] [I thought Adrian didn’t care about her, but he gave her the ultimate symbol of power!] [Don’t worry, Poppy, you’ll get one when you’re married.] [Doubtful. There’s only one matriarch. Unless something happens to Adrian and Neo inherits everything.] [Why shouldn’t Poppy get one?! Just because Neo is the second son, she can’t be the matriarch and wear the ring?!] [Adrian supposedly dislikes his wife, so why did he give her the ring?] [She’s his wife, and he’s the heir. Who else was he going to give it to, you?] The comment section exploded into a full-blown war over the ring. Poppy was practically vibrating with jealousy, her eyes glued to my hand. It was only when Neo prompted her, “Poppy? What’s wrong?” that she managed to tear her gaze away. She quickly grabbed Neo’s arm and pulled him to the other end of the sofa to look at diamond catalogs, her voice a little too bright.

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At Nina’s birthday party, I lost a game of dares. Her male assistant, Ron, announced the penalty with a smirk. “Find some E-girl and be her boyfriend for a day. And yeah, that includes a make-out session, minimum.” The room erupted in laughter. I ignored them and looked at Nina. She took a nonchalant sip of her champagne. “A dare’s a dare, Ryan. You’re not going to bail, are you?” I smiled. “Fine.” My voice cut through the noise. “But one day doesn’t feel like enough.” “If I’m going to do this… I’m going all in. Let’s make it a lifetime.” 1 I pulled out my phone, and right there, in front of everyone, I posted on my public social media feed: “90s fossil looking for an E-girl to rock my world. Online and waiting. Urgent.” The accompanying picture was of my Porsche keys resting on the table. The raucous laughter in the private suite died instantly. Nina’s fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute, her knuckles turning white. The vibrant, beautiful mask she wore cracked. “Ryan, what do you think you’re doing?” Ron immediately plastered on his signature fake smile and stepped forward to smooth things over. “Hey, it’s just a game, man. A joke. No need to take it so seriously, right? We’re all just having fun.” As he spoke, his eyes darted subconsciously toward Nina. Suppressed whispers started buzzing around the room like flies. “Wow, Ryan’s got a thin skin…” “Totally. He’s obviously jealous, trying to put on a show for Nina.” “So petty for a grown man. He needs to learn to read the room.” “Probably because Nina and Ron have been so close lately. He’s feeling insecure…” “He’s just embarrassing himself. Nina hates it when people mix business with personal stuff.” I listened to their barely-hidden commentary, a cold smile playing on my lips. They had no idea. Today wasn’t just Nina’s birthday. It was the fifth anniversary of the day we met. Our wedding was scheduled for the first of next month. Ron and Nina were high school classmates. He’d returned from overseas three months ago, and Nina had personally hired him, claiming the company “needed new blood.” Ever since he became her assistant, my relationship with Nina had slowly soured. Ron was a master of manipulation. On his first day, he brought coffee for the entire office, greeting everyone with infectious enthusiasm. He always managed to appear “at the right time,” handing Nina a file she was just about to look for, offering an opinion she was just about to voice. He was a charmer, a sweet-talker, and he’d quickly won over all of Nina’s colleagues and friends. In contrast, my quieter, more reserved nature seemed jarring and out of place. He always called me “Ryan, my man,” with a deferential tone, but the smile never reached his eyes. He would casually bring up funny stories from his and Nina’s school days, using nostalgia to make her relax when she was stressed with work. Then, he’d shoot me a look that was part apology, part challenge. Nina’s attitude had shifted, too. At first, it was normal. Then, I started seeing a comparative glint in her eyes when she looked at me. She would laugh at one of Ron’s insignificant jokes but brush off the dinner reservations I’d meticulously planned. She would listen patiently to his over-the-top flattery but cut me off with “I’m too tired from work” when I tried to talk about our future. Just like now. In the face of my actions, Nina just stared at me, her eyes, once filled with love, now cold with impatience and disgust. “Ryan,” she finally said, her voice like ice. “Delete the post. Don’t embarrass yourself here.” Ron chimed in immediately. “Yeah, Ryan, come on, man. Just delete it. It’s Nina’s birthday, let’s not ruin the mood.” He reached out to pat my shoulder, but I sidestepped his touch. I kept my eyes on Nina. “Embarrass myself?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Weren’t you the one who told me a dare’s a dare?” Ron’s face tightened for a second before he forced another smile. “Dude, I was just kidding around, it was a random thought. Why are you getting so worked up…?” “A joke?” I cut him off. “Some jokes have a way of becoming real.” My gaze flickered to him. “And some people, if they pretend for long enough, start to believe their own act.” 2 The implication was clear. Ron’s smile froze on his face, a flicker of malice in his eyes. The whispers around us grew louder, colored with the excitement of impending drama. “Damn, the gloves are off…” “What crawled up Ryan’s ass today?” “Guess he’s been holding it in for a while. But starting a scene like this is just going to push Nina further away, isn’t it?” Nina took a deep breath, visibly trying to control her anger. “Ryan. I’m saying this one last time. Delete the post.” Her voice was low and dangerous. “And then apologize to Ron.” I just chuckled, picked up my phone, and in full view of everyone, added a comment to my original post: “Note: Not a joke. Serious inquiries only. I’m in this for the long haul.” Then, I turned the screen towards them. I saw Nina’s pupils contract, her face draining of color. “I lost the game. I accept the penalty. As for the apology…” My gaze drifted to the diamond ring on her finger, the one I’d saved a year’s salary to buy. She had been so happy when she’d put it on. “I refuse.” The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Others tried to intervene, to smooth things over, but the damage was done. Nina, her chest rising and falling with suppressed fury, shot me a venomous look but finally dropped the subject of the post and the apology. When it came time to cut the cake, the atmosphere was painfully awkward. Nina picked up the cake knife, her eyes scanning the crowd, deliberately skipping over me, though I was standing right in front. “Ron, come help me.” “It would be my honor, Nina,” he replied instantly, stepping up to her side. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands clasped together over the knife. They were so close their faces were almost touching. The room filled with applause and catcalls. I stood there, a cold observer watching a play I was no longer a part of. After Nina made her wish and blew out the candles, Ron produced a small, velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a platinum bracelet, glittering with pavé diamonds. “Happy birthday, Nina,” he said, his voice soft but clear enough for everyone to hear the intimate use of her first name. “I had this custom-made in Paris last month. I hope you like it.” A brilliant smile bloomed on Nina’s face. “Ron, you’re too thoughtful!” she gushed. “Anything from you, I’ll love!” She immediately slipped the translucent, emerald-green antique bracelet from her wrist and tossed it casually onto a nearby table, as if it were a piece of clutter. That bracelet had been a family heirloom. My mother gave it to her before she passed away, telling her it was for the woman who would marry into our family. “Here, help me put it on,” Nina said, extending her wrist to Ron with a hint of a flirtatious pout. He carefully fastened the sparkling new bracelet around her delicate wrist, his fingertips brushing against her skin. They locked eyes and smiled. “Wow, it’s gorgeous!” “So sparkly! The design is amazing!” “Yeah, way better than that tacky old thing she was wearing before!” “This is what I’m talking about! This suits Nina’s style so much more!” “Ron, you have such good taste! So thoughtful!” The compliments flew, each one a stinging, invisible slap across my face. Expressionless, I walked over. While all eyes were still on the new bracelet, I reached out and picked up the emerald one from the table. The chatter died down. Curious, expectant eyes turned to me. Nina noticed, her brow furrowing slightly. I held the heirloom securely in my palm, then looked up at her, my voice calm but loud enough to cut through the silence. “Since this ‘tacky old thing’ isn’t good enough for you, maybe it should go back to its rightful owner. Back to my mother.” The room went dead silent. Nina’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so direct, to bring my mother into it. A dark look flashed in Ron’s eyes before he masked it with a smile. “Ryan, man, why are you being like this? Nina was just trying on the new bracelet. Why are you getting worked up over an old piece of jewelry? It’s her birthday. Can’t we all just be happy?” “I’m not worked up,” I said, my tone still flat. “She doesn’t want it. So I’m taking it back.” “I’d rather not insult my mother’s memory.” 3 Without waiting for their reactions, I carefully placed the bracelet in the inside pocket of my jacket and turned to leave. Behind me, Nina’s voice, sharp and cold, cut through the air. “Take it back then! Who do you think cares about that ugly thing? It’s old and gaudy. I wouldn’t wear it if you paid me!” Ron hurried after me, grabbing my arm. He lowered his voice, but it was still loud enough for those nearby to hear. “Ryan, don’t be impulsive. She’s just angry. If you leave now, you’re blowing this whole thing up…” I violently shook his hand off. The force sent him stumbling back a step, the concerned mask on his face nearly cracking. “Save it, Ron,” I said, giving him a cold glance. “You’re overplaying your part.” Nina’s voice was shrill. “Ron! Leave him alone! Let him go!” I walked out of that suffocating room without looking back. Outside, the night air was cool. I leaned against my car and lit a cigarette, the nicotine finally loosening the knot in my chest. My phone buzzed. A reply on my social media post. I opened it. Without even looking at the photo the person sent, I dropped a pin of my location. “Come now. I’ll be waiting.” Less than twenty minutes later, a girl on a shared electric scooter pulled up. She jogged over, asking hesitantly, “Hey… are you the guy?” “I’m Mia.” I looked her over. She was the stereotypical E-girl. Short skirt, tight top, brightly colored hair, heavy eyeliner. But her eyes held a surprising timidity, and her voice was soft. “Yeah,” I said, stubbing out my cigarette. “Let’s go. I’ll take you somewhere.” Mia followed obediently, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, careful not to touch anything. I drove to a nearby bar I frequented. It wasn’t top-tier luxury, but the ambiance was decent. I found us a booth, ordered her a beer, and got myself a Coke. She sipped her drink quietly, occasionally stealing glances at me. “So, you…” She was about to speak when a familiar wave of noise came from the entrance. I looked up and sneered internally. You’ve got to be kidding me. Nina, Ron, and the whole party crew swaggered in. Ron was leaning close to Nina’s ear, saying something that finally brought a small smile to her face. Then they saw me. And they saw Mia. Nina stopped in her tracks. The smile on her face froze, then melted into a scowl. Her eyes, like shards of ice, cut across me and landed on Mia. A flash of triumph lit Ron’s eyes before he replaced it with a look of perfect, manufactured concern. “Well, well, if it isn’t Ryan,” he called out, his voice just loud enough to draw attention from the surrounding booths. “Found an E-girl to rock your world already? That was fast.” He emphasized the words, drawing a few snickers from his cronies. His eyes raked over Mia like she was a piece of meat, a contemptuous smirk on his lips. “Seriously, man? Even if you’re fighting with Nina, you don’t have to… debase yourself like this, do you?” He shook his head, a picture of disappointed pity. “Comparing this trash to Nina is like comparing heaven and earth.” “Have your fun, I guess, but don’t get too serious. You might catch some disease. Ruin your whole life.” The words were vicious and cruel. Beside me, Mia flinched, her head sinking lower. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her glass. “Ron’s right,” a woman who was always sucking up to Nina chimed in, her critical gaze sweeping over Mia. “Look at how she’s dressed. That whole vibe. She’s obviously not a decent girl.” Another man snickered. “Yeah, she’s not even worthy of shining Nina’s shoes.” “Ryan, are you trying to slap Nina in the face?” “He’s probably just hit rock bottom. Can’t have the best, so he picks up the worst.” “So pathetic…” 4 The insults came one after another. Quiet, but each one a poisoned dart. Ron stood among them, smiling faintly, pretending to mediate. “Alright, alright, that’s enough, everyone. I’m sure Ryan’s just not thinking straight right now.” Nina remained silent, her face a cold mask. She held her chin high, watching the scene as if it were a boring play that didn’t concern her. Only the tight line of her lips and the fury brewing in her eyes betrayed her true feelings. She probably felt that me being with a girl like Mia was the ultimate insult to her. I ignored the buzzing flies, took a sip of my Coke, and looked at Ron. “Are you done?” His smile didn’t waver. “Ryan, don’t get me wrong. We’re just looking out for you…” “Looking out for me?” I cut him off, my gaze shifting to the proud woman beside him. “Nina, control your dog. His barking is getting on my nerves.” Nina’s face changed instantly. Ron’s smile froze. He recovered quickly, sighing dramatically. “Ryan, how can you talk to Nina like that…” I didn’t look at him again. I turned to Mia, who was still staring at the table, her shoulders trembling slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger. Nina shot me a cold, contemptuous look. “Let’s not bother the happy couple. We’re here to drink.” She turned, and Ron was instantly at her side, his hand hovering protectively at the small of her back. They moved to a large, reserved booth not far from ours. Through the music, Ron’s eyes would occasionally flick over to our table, a cold, triumphant smirk on his face. I couldn’t be bothered with him. “Mia, call your friends,” I said. “As many as you can get. Tonight’s on me.” She blinked, looking at me, her eyes uncertain. I nodded. She finally pulled out her phone and started typing. Before long, the entrance to the bar became a hive of activity. Groups of young women started arriving, each dressed in a unique, colorful, and bold style. They found our booth and squeezed in, laughing and chattering, instantly filling the space with life. “Mia, is this the hottie you were talking about?” a girl with bright pink hair leaned in, sizing me up without any pretense. Another girl in a crop top chimed in, “Damn, girl, you lucked out! He’s actually cute!” They knew how to have a good time. They ordered drinks, started playing dice, and moved to the rhythm of the music, their laughter infectious and carefree. The somber mood at our table was instantly incinerated, replaced by a vibrant, chaotic energy. Soon, our booth was clearly the life of the party, drowning out Nina’s more subdued corner. The sound of our laughter, the clatter of dice, and the occasional cheer drew glances from all over the bar. Ron looked over several times, a strange expression on his face. Nina kept her back to us the entire time, her posture ramrod straight. I played a few rounds of dice with the girls, drinking Coke whenever I lost. I listened to their ridiculous stories, chiming in here and there. In this simple, loud, and unpretentious environment, I felt a sense of ease and happiness I hadn’t experienced in years. It was late when we finally left. I paid the bill and walked out with Mia. And of course, in the parking lot, our paths crossed again. Nina and Ron were standing by their car. Nina’s eyes landed on me and Mia, and she let out a cold, scornful laugh. “Well, Ryan, you certainly work fast,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “First meeting, and you’re already rushing off to get a room?” Ron stood beside her, silent, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the show. I opened the passenger door for Mia. Once she was in, I turned back to Nina, a careless smile on my face. “Why not?” Before she could react, I got in, closed the door, and started the engine. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I could see Nina in the rearview mirror, standing frozen, her face a mask of fury under the dim lights. I didn’t go home. I found a nearby five-star hotel. “Two adjoining king rooms, please.” Mia looked at me, surprised, but said nothing, just stood quietly to the side. I handed her one of the key cards. “Get some rest.” She took it, murmuring, “Thank you.” We went to our separate rooms. After a shower, I lay in bed, the darkness broken by the glow of my phone. A new notification. Ron had updated his social media. It was a single photo. Shot from above, he was leaning against a headboard, shirtless, with a drunk-looking woman in his arms. “The world I’ve been searching for… and it’s all you. Finally found you. Glad I never gave up.” The woman’s face was censored, her long hair fanned out. But I recognized the profile, the silhouette. And the background. It was Nina. And they were in the master bedroom of the home I had been preparing for our marriage. I smiled, liked the post, and left a comment: “The mood is set. Might as well make it official tomorrow.”

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To pay for my college, my sister married a rough widower from the next town. She smiled, saying he had a trade and we’d never go hungry. But that night, I heard her crying through the wall. For three years, she hid bruises under thick makeup, telling me to just study so her misery would end. One day, seeing fresh marks on her, I reached out and suddenly heard her thoughts: 83 more days. Once Wanda gets accepted, I’ll turn on the gas and take him to hell. I froze, then forced a smile. I pulled out my top-of-the-district report card, tore it up, and said coldly, “This is useless. I’m getting a job at the factory.” 1 The sound of ripping paper was deafening in the cramped kitchen. The sheet that boasted a score in the 99th percentile, proof of my top ranking, was reduced to a confetti of failure, fluttering to the grimy floor. Kate’s hands, busy washing vegetables, went still. After a long moment, her gaze lifted from the scattered pieces of paper to my face. Her eyes, usually so full of quiet endurance, flashed from confusion to disbelief, and then to a tidal wave of fury. “Wanda!” Her voice trembled. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Have you lost your mind?” What’s wrong with Wanda? She always shows me her grades like they’re treasures! Does she know what I’ve given up for her? After everything, she says this to me now? I forced my chin up, affecting a smile that felt like cracking glass. “I haven’t lost my mind. I’ve just realized that school is a dead end. I’m going to work.” She lunged, grabbing my wrist. Her fingers were shaking. “This is your future! I’ve worked myself to the bone to give you this chance, not for you to throw it all away for some factory job!” “My future?” I laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. “My future is hiding in my room studying while I listen to that man beat you every day? Besides, jobs are scarce. By the time I graduate and make any real money, he might have already killed you.” “I’m done letting you plan my life,” I spat. “I’m going to make my own way.” “You—” Kate raised her hand, her palm whistling through the air toward my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the sting. But it never came. Her hand stopped, hovering in the air, trembling violently before falling, limp and defeated, to her side. She was only twenty-three, but strands of premature silver already threaded through the hair at her temples. Did I want to marry this monster? Did I want to be his punching bag? If it weren’t for her, I could have had a better life. She… Wanda, what right do you have to say these things to me? Her silent, screaming despair ripped through me, a pain so sharp it felt like my own heart was tearing apart. But I held her gaze, my careless smile plastered on my face. Her expression was a storm of emotions: pain, confusion, disappointment, and something else… resentment. As we stood locked in a tense silence, a knock echoed from the front door. “Kate, you home? Mail’s here!” 2 It was Mrs. Gable from next door. Kate hastily wiped her tears, took a deep, shuddering breath to compose herself, and went to open the door. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, simply taking the envelope with a mumbled “thanks” before shutting the door again. Her eyes fell to the letter in her hand, and her entire body went rigid. Written on the envelope in elegant, flowing script was a single name: Kate. The return address bore the name of the sender, printed in clear, stark letters: Clara Bellweather. Kate’s fingers gently traced the name, her eyes suddenly burning with a fierce, forgotten light. I heard the envy and bitterness swirling in her thoughts. Clara… She’s probably on the biggest stage in the country by now… I should have been there with her. If I hadn’t chosen Wanda… I was six, and Kate was eleven. Our father had gambled away everything we had and vanished. Our mother, broken, had swallowed a bottle of bleach on a rainy night. Just as we were sinking into despair, Clara and her parents had arrived, Clara in a beautiful dress that seemed to glow in our dim, dusty house. While I was sleeping, they took Kate into the other room. “Come with us, Kate,” they’d said. “You and Clara grew up together. We’ve always thought of you as our own daughter.” “And you have such a gift for dance. We’ll make sure you can keep training, right alongside Clara.” Kate had hesitated for only a second. “What about my sister? What about Wanda?” “Wanda’s too young. We can’t take on another. But we can arrange for her to go to a good group home. They’ll feed her, clothe her…” From that day on, Kate never danced again. She collected cans, worked market stalls, washed dishes in greasy diners—propping up our fragile world on her slender shoulders. And Clara? She had gone on to the best performing arts school in the country. Now, on the verge of graduation, she was rumored to have already been recruited by a prestigious dance company. Kate still clutched the letter, her fingertips trembling. The envelope was thick, as if it held a photograph. I didn’t need to see it to know what it was: a picture of Clara, radiant under the lights of a grand stage. “Kate…” I began, my voice soft. She jolted back to the present, stuffing the letter into her apron pocket as if it had burned her. She turned back to the sink. “Go do your homework.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. She kept her back to me, saying nothing more. I watched her, her silhouette so thin it looked like it could be torn apart by a stiff breeze, yet it carried the crushing weight of our entire existence. Did she resent me? I didn’t know… But every time a letter from Clara arrived, an uncontrollable flicker of anger and grief would surface in Kate’s eyes when she looked at me. She’d be cold for days. And yet, she would still wake up before dawn to make me breakfast. She would still wait up late into the night until I came home. I clenched my fists. You’re right, Kate… I thought. You shouldn’t have given up dancing for me. You shouldn’t have endured his fists for me. And you damn well shouldn’t be planning to die for me. Your life is worth a thousand times more than my future. 3 The internet cafe was a haze of stale smoke and blinking screens. I sat at a terminal in the far corner, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless. “Wanda!” A familiar, sharp voice, laced with a tremor I knew all too well, cut through the din. I whipped my head around. Kate stood at the entrance, her worn-out sundress clinging to her frame. Her hair was a mess, and her forehead was slick with sweat. She stared at me, her chest heaving, her eyes a blaze of frantic anger and a flicker of something else—fear. She stormed over to my terminal and ripped the headphones from my ears. “Mr. Davison called me!” she hissed. “He said you haven’t been to class in a week! What the hell are you doing?!” I looked down, making a deliberate show of tugging at the collar of my oversized school jacket. “Nothing. Just didn’t feel like going.” My voice was flat, layered with a practiced, defiant slouch. “Didn’t feel like going?” She sounded like she’d just heard a foreign language. “You once went to school with a 102-degree fever. And now you ‘don’t feel like going’? I asked around on every block until someone told me you’ve been wasting your days in here!” “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to get you this far? Who do you think you’re answering to?” Her grip was like a vice, bruising my wrist. No… this can’t be happening… I traded my entire life for Wanda’s future. How can she do this? Her thoughts were a silent, desperate scream, a wire tightening around my own heart. I hardened myself, wrenching my arm from her grasp. I stood up, looking down on her. “That’s right, I don’t want to go. What’s the point? Vince doesn’t have half your brains, but you’re still the one depending on him to survive.” The words landed like a physical blow. She staggered back, the color draining from her face. She didn’t say another word. She just grabbed me, practically dragging me out of the cafe and all the way home. The moment we pushed open the door, the stench of cheap whiskey hit us like a wall. Vince was sprawled on the sofa. He saw us and immediately started yelling. “Where the hell have you been? I’m starving! Where’s my damn dinner?!” Kate flinched. “I… I’ll make it right now.” “Make my ass!” Vince shot to his feet, grabbing an empty bottle from the coffee table and hurling it straight at her. “I’ll teach you to keep me waiting!” Without a second thought, I threw myself in front of Kate. The bottle grazed my temple and shattered against the wall behind us. Glass sprayed everywhere. “Vince,” I said, lifting my head to meet his furious, bloodshot eyes. “Calm down. I was just having a drink with Ace yesterday. He might have mentioned that little loan you took from him…” At the name “Ace,” a muscle in Vince’s jaw twitched. I pressed on, my voice deliberately casual. “Ace said not to worry about the money. Said it was on the house, on account of me. But…” I paused, my gaze flicking to my sister, who was trembling behind me. “He’s got this thing… he can’t stand guys who get rough with their women at home. Says the noise is bad for his nerves.” Vince’s expression shifted. He looked me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time. After a moment, he spat on the floor and forced a grotesque smile. “Well, damn, Wanda. Look at you, all grown up. A hell of a lot more useful than your sister! Should’ve said so earlier. We’re all family here…” Muttering under his breath, he grabbed his jacket and slammed the door behind him. The room was left in a dead, ringing silence. Slowly, Kate lifted her head. She looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. Her eyes were wide with shock, fear, and something deeper—a kind of soul-crushing despair. “How do you know someone like Ace? Wanda, tell me, what have you really been doing this past week?!” I met her gaze, my heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. “Nothing much,” I lied, forcing a smirk. “Just figured hanging with his crew is more interesting than staring at textbooks. Ace says I’m sharp. Says if I stick with him, I’ll be set for life…” “Shut up!” Kate shrieked, cutting me off. She rushed forward, her hands clamping down on my shoulders, shaking me hard. “Do you know who Ace is? Drugs, violence… he’s a monster! You’ll destroy yourself! Snap out of it!” “I am snapped out of it!” I shoved her away. “I’m wide awake! Awake enough to know that a diploma won’t save us! At least if I’m working, I can take care of myself and not end up beaten to death alongside you by that animal!” It was as if all the strength drained out of her at once. She froze, her face a mask of disbelief. Tears began to stream silently down her cheeks, but she made no sound. She just stared at me, her eyes filled with a hollow emptiness, with resentment, and with absolute despair. How did Wanda become this person? This is the sister I gave up everything for? The one I threw my life away to protect? No… she’s just confused. She’ll still take the exams. She has to. It’ll be over soon. I just have to hold on a little longer. Just a little longer. Kate, once you’re dead, it’ll all be over. It’s better for you, and better for Wanda… She turned away, shuffling silently toward the kitchen. Listening to her thoughts, I felt an invisible, icy wall rise between us. 4 For the next month, Kate seemed to be waging a war within herself. She remained cold and distant, but there were no more explosive confrontations. I could see the effort it took her to contain her pain and her bitterness. After all, if it wasn’t for me, she would be living a completely different life… And every day, I heard her heart’s silent weeping. Maybe it would have been better if I’d died with Mom that night… I’m so tired… Your life is over, Kate. Stop dreaming. It’s all your fault for being weak, for raising that little parasite. No… don’t say that about Wanda. She’s just lost. She’ll come around… On the day of the final practice exam, I sat with a blank test paper in front of me for two hours. When the bell rang, I was the first one to walk out. The result was predictable. A perfect zero across the board. My homeroom teacher called Kate in. In the cramped office, the teacher’s voice was heavy with disappointment. Kate stood beside me, head bowed, her hands twisting the hem of her worn-out dress. “Mrs. Miller,” he said, his tone strained, “this was the last exam before the finals! She handed in a blank paper! Does she even want to go to college anymore?” “It’s not that she can’t do the work! Her previous scores put her at the top of the district. She could get into any Ivy League school she wanted!” All eyes were on me. I looked at my sister’s hunched, humiliated posture, took a deep breath, and spoke, my voice sharp and cold. “What’s the point of a degree? You get it, you come out, and you still can’t protect yourself. You just learn to take a beating and then put on a smile, just like her. A future like that? You can have it. I don’t want it.” The air in the room froze. Kate’s head snapped up. The color drained from her face, leaving it a ghostly white. She stared at me, and I watched the last glimmer of light in her eyes shatter, leaving behind nothing but dead, grey ash. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just looked at me as if I were some grotesque, alien creature she’d never seen before. My heart gave a painful lurch. Does she hate me? Does she truly hate me now? I hate you… Wanda, you’ve ruined my life, and now you’re going to ruin my dignity in front of everyone? No… what dignity do I have left? Am I even a person anymore? Her thoughts were fragmented, broken. She said nothing. She simply turned and stumbled out of the office, her back so slumped it looked as if her very soul had been ripped out. It was dark when I got home. Kate was sitting in the living room, shrouded in shadows. She hadn’t turned on the lights. “Kate…” I started, my voice hoarse. “Do whatever you want,” she cut me off. Her voice was laced with an undeniable disgust and frustration. “From now on, just do whatever the hell you want. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a sister anymore.” She got up, went into her room, and shut the door. I’m just her sister. I’ve done enough. I took pity on her, but who’s going to take pity on me? I fought back the urge to run to her, to hold her, to apologize for everything. I wiped away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling and went to my own room in silence. The silence held until the next afternoon. Vince came home, cursing and fuming. He’d clearly gambled away all his money again. His eyes, red and wild, scanned the room, finally landing on Kate. His fists clenched. “Damn it all! Useless! Where’s the money? Get me some goddamn money! What happened to my paycheck this month? Didn’t I give it all to you?” Kate stood there, numb, unresponsive. It was a lie. He’d given her a pitiful amount for groceries, keeping the rest for himself. “You useless bitch, feeding two deadbeats like you… I should just kill you and be done with it!” Vince’s face was purple with rage. He snatched his leather belt off a chair and brought it down hard across Kate’s back. He was a mountain of a man, over two hundred pounds, crushing my sister’s small frame beneath him. Fists and slaps rained down on her. Her screams echoed through the small house. My heart hammered against my ribs. I walked over, pulled the envelope with the tuition money from my backpack, and held it out to him. “Vince. I have some.” He froze, his arm mid-swing. He snatched the envelope, licked his thumb, and counted the bills. His scowl melted into a grin. “See? Wanda’s the smart one!” he crowed, peeling off a small stack and shoving it back into my hand. “Here, this is from your big brother. You stick with me, kid, I’ll take care of you!” He pocketed the rest of the cash and swaggered out the door. Kate’s face was swollen, blood trickling from her nose and mouth. But she acted as if nothing had happened. She quietly got to her feet and, without a single word or glance in my direction, went back to her room. It was as if she was no longer a part of this world. Had she given up on me completely? Late that night, I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me. Suddenly, a faint noise came from the next room. I held my breath, straining to listen, focusing my mind. …Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. While she’s gone… it’ll all be over. …The gas valve… just have to turn it… It’ll be quick… no more pain… The thought, so clear and calm, was a bullet straight through my heart. My mind went blank. The blood in my veins turned to ice. No… It can’t be happening… not like this.

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1 I am the designated sidekick to a super-rich heiress. She calls me her best friend, swipes her card to buy me clothes and bags, and never lets me pay for anything when we go out. Lately, she’s developed a massive crush on the campus king. And she wants me to be the one to date him. “I know we can never be together, but it would kill me to see someone else have him. So you go for it. He’s all yours.” Help! How am I supposed to tell my best friend that I just slept with her older brother? “Anna, you’re my best friend. Everyone else just wants my money. You’re the only one who likes me for me.” Jenna linked her arm through mine, resting her head affectionately on my shoulder. Hearing her say that, I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. Because I didn’t just want her money. I wanted her brother. I’d seen him once in high school, dropping her off. He had the face and body of a runway model. The way he’d leaned down to stub out his cigarette, the sharp line of his jaw… it hit me right in the heart. So, I latched onto Jenna. She had a massive circle of “friends,” but I managed to outlast them all. Being friends with an heiress is the life. A luxury car picks you up, you never have to look at a price tag, and you get to experience a world completely different from the one you were born into. I studied my butt off to get into the same university as her, all because I couldn’t bear to give up this lifestyle. “Anna, I’m so in love with Alex,” Jenna sighed, looking lost in a romantic haze. As her loyal lackey, I immediately chimed in. “He’s totally worth it! He’s gorgeous, smart… his family is just a little… ordinary. Like mine.” In reality, Alex was from a perfectly normal, middle-class family, and he was one of the most popular guys on campus. But to an heiress like Jenna, he might as well have been a peasant. “But I know we can never be together,” she continued, a determined look on her face. “Still, it would kill me to see someone else have him. So you go for it. He’s all yours.” She cupped my face in her hands, a playful smile on her lips. “My beautiful Anna, a guy like Alex will be a piece of cake for you!” The serious look in her eyes made me panic. Oh god, Jenna, how do I tell you? I just slept with your brother last night… My legs are still weak… From her perspective, I was the worst kind of person. I forced a tight smile. “Uh, Alex isn’t really my type.” “That’s not what you said a second ago,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. “It just feels weird, you know? Since he’s the guy you like…” I tried to hedge, hoping she’d drop the ridiculous idea. “That’s the point! If he got with anyone else, I’d be miserable. But with you? I’d be happy! I’d feel like my best friend found a great guy, and I could finally move on.” The more sincere she sounded, the more my guilt grew. I racked my brain for an excuse. “Actually… I think your brother is way hotter than Alex. Can I go after him instead?” It was a half-joke, half-truth. She waved a dismissive hand. “No way. My brother will end up in an arranged marriage. My parents are already looking for a fiancée for him. If you go after him, you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak. It’s the same as me and Alex. The gap is just too big.” My head started to spin. I’d always known this, of course. I’d even told myself that I wasn’t losing anything, that a wild, passionate affair with a guy like him was more than I could have ever asked for. “Well… I’ll think about it,” I mumbled, looking down. “Trust me, Anna. Alex is the one. He’s from your world.” … She was right. We were both ordinary people. I shouldn’t have aimed so high. But sleeping with Ken Gordon for so long… I’d already won. “Okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “If you’re really sure you don’t mind, then I’ll do it.” Ken had been so busy lately. Sometimes I’d hear him take calls, his voice low and tense. It was probably his family, pressuring him. I was the girlfriend who wasn’t even qualified to walk through his front door. “You’re the best, Anna!” I pushed down my feelings and took the shopping list Jenna handed me. She sent me Alex’s contact info, followed by a series of cheering emojis. She had a fancy party to go to that night, the kind I wasn’t invited to. After we parted ways, I found a bench and started composing a breakup text. I wrote and rewrote a thousand-word essay, but I couldn’t bring myself to send it. A year as the secret girlfriend… our thrilling, illicit affair was finally coming to an end. A voice message from Ken popped up. “What kind of love poem takes half an hour to write?” His voice was as magnetic and intoxicating as ever. I sighed, deleted the essay, and reminded myself that a secret girlfriend doesn’t get to do the breaking up. For a guy like him, being dumped was the ultimate humiliation. “Just thinking about my hubby,” I typed back. I was shameless. I knew he would never marry me, but I called him “hubby” anyway. He’d hated it at first, but eventually, he’d grown to like it. Ken is typing… I quickly sent another message. “Hubby, I saw this bag I really want… it’s two million dollars… can I have it? meow~” I attached a GIF of a kitten aggressively nuzzling a teddy bear. I never wanted for money when I was with him—he was far more generous than Jenna. But this was the first time I had ever asked for something so extravagant. Asking for a two-million-dollar bag the morning after sleeping with him… it screamed “gold digger.” He transferred the money without a second’s hesitation. “It’s yours.” I stared at the number on the screen, and tears started to fall. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. In his eyes, I was just a woman after his money. It was a comfortable, easy dynamic for him. If I had demanded love instead, it would have been a joke. I cried for a while, then picked up my phone again. “You’re so generous, hubby! Can you buy me an apartment, too? One of those penthouses at The Grandview.” “How much.” He replied instantly. I looked up the prices. They started at ten million. “Ninety million.” I scoffed, stopping myself from typing a hundred million. I could already picture him frowning at his phone, confirming his suspicions about me. “I’ll have Chen take you to sign the papers tomorrow.” 2 I shot to my feet. Seriously? You’re not even mad? My mind was a mess. I turned off my phone, trying not to think about it. The next day, Jenna asked for a progress report. I realized I hadn’t even added Alex yet. “Progress: -1.” “?” “He didn’t add me back.” “Ugh, he’s like that. It took him five hours to accept my request.” I patiently chatted with her for a while longer. She was hungover from the party, and this would have been the perfect opportunity for me to play the caring friend. But thoughts of Ken kept weighing me down. That afternoon, as I was leaving the library, a man named Mr. Chen called. He said the paperwork was ready and waiting for my signature. This has to be a joke, right? I got in the car, steeling myself for the inevitable humiliation. But there was no mockery, no lecture. Mr. Chen respectfully led me to the sales office and into the VIP manager’s room. “Are you sure you want to sign?” I asked, half-expecting the act to drop any second. Aren’t you going to call me a gold digger now? Mr. Chen looked confused as he pushed the contract toward me. “Mr. Gordon has already picked out a villa for you, but he said this location is closer for you and would be more convenient.” I glanced at the contract. My name was printed in black and white. I sighed and put the pen down. “I’m sorry, I don’t want it.” Mr. Chen looked baffled. The manager looked like his world was ending. “Ma’am, if you have any concerns, please let me know. I will do my absolute best to resolve them.” Money could be returned. A house was a whole other level of entanglement. What was Ken thinking, actually agreeing to buy me a house? In the end, I just left. A gift like that, given during a relationship, could be taken back after a breakup. It was too messy. “You don’t like it?” Ken’s call came through. His voice was as cool and steady as ever. “I don’t like it. And Ken, I’ve been thinking. I don’t like you anymore, either. Let’s break up.” What was there to be concerned about? For a rich boy like him, the messier the breakup, the more he’d hate you. And if he didn’t hate you, it was even simpler. It was just about money. He’d just find someone new. I hung up before he could respond. For good measure, I blocked his number and deleted his contact. I tried to act casual when I got back to my dorm, but a message from Jenna was waiting. I reluctantly opened my chat with Alex. Turns out you have to actually click “add friend” on a contact card. Who knew? This time, he accepted instantly. A simple “hello” emoji popped up. I was feeling pretty miserable. On a whim, I sent him a series of reaction GIFs that, when strung together, told a story: “See this flower? I’d rather throw it away than give it to you.” After I sent it, I just stared at my phone. I was supposed to be charming him, for Jenna’s sake. But I just didn’t have the energy. I felt like crying, but I held it back. A voice message came through. It was Alex. “It’s okay. Where did you throw it? I’ll go pick it up.” His voice was lighter than Ken’s, with a lazy, sun-drenched quality. And that line… it was smooth. Especially considering he didn’t even know who I was. All he had to go on was my profile picture—a stylized, dark- Goth bunny. Not exactly flirtatious material. …So he was the type to flirt with anyone. A real “cast a wide net” kind of guy. So this was the man my heiress friend was crazy about. “Did he accept? Send me a screenshot,” Jenna texted. I couldn’t bring myself to screenshot my own ridiculous GIFs. I sent her his reply instead. She was ecstatic. “OMG, Alex uses reaction GIFs? And he sent one first? Babe, I’m shipping this so hard.” If you heard his voice, you’d be building the whole boat, I thought. I wanted to block and delete him too, but I restrained myself. After the “breakup” with Ken, I became a hermit. My life was a simple routine: library, eat, sleep. I didn’t even have time for Jenna. “Anna, meet me at The Reverie tonight. I have a party, but you can wait for me in the lobby. It’ll be late and you won’t get a cab. You have to come.” It was an order. Now that I was done with Ken, I knew I couldn’t be Jenna’s sidekick anymore. What if I ran into him? The fallout would be catastrophic. Jenna’s revenge would be terrifying. I didn’t want to go, but she didn’t give me a choice. “By the way,” she added in a follow-up call, her voice buzzing with excitement, “I don’t think Alex is poor! I just saw him with old Mr. Crawford. I think he might be his grandson? Let me do some digging. Hold off on the seduction for now, okay?” I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, an out. “Okay! Should I just delete him, then? I always thought you two were perfect for each other. And now that you’re in the same social circle, it’s even better!” “Yeah, you can delete him. I know you don’t like him anyway,” she said with a laugh. “Oh, and send me a screen recording of you blocking him. I want to make sure you’re really over him.” “Okay.” I had been ignoring Alex’s messages for days, avoiding any place I might run into him. It was just too awkward. After hanging up, I started the screen recording, blocked Alex, and deleted his contact. I took a screenshot of my block list and sent it to her for inspection. Suddenly, a terrible feeling washed over me. I scrolled through my phone, the feeling growing stronger. Oh, crap. I knew I’d forgotten something. 3 The second name on my block list… wasn’t that Ken’s? My best friend’s brother? More than two minutes had passed. It was too late to unsend it. Jenna’s end went silent. She hadn’t replied. Did she see it? What is she thinking? Why isn’t she asking me about it? I clutched my phone, my anxiety skyrocketing. My mind raced, playing out every possible scenario of her explosive anger. Time ticked by. I was sick with dread, but I didn’t dare ask. “When you get to The Reverie, have Old Chen bring the card up to you.” “Anna, Alex is the real deal! He’s Mr. Crawford’s actual grandson! I can’t believe someone with his background could be so low-key at school. I love him even more now! So, so much!” Just as I was about to suffocate from the tension, two messages from her came through. She hadn’t noticed. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling like a beached fish tossed back into the water. I spammed a few reaction GIFs to discreetly push the screenshot further up the chat history, ending with a GIF of a person on a speeding motorcycle. “On my way, my lady!” “I can’t believe the campus king has such a background and is still so humble! No wonder you have such good taste!” As a qualified sidekick, I always knew how to provide the right kind of emotional support, saying exactly what she wanted to hear. And she always fell for it. After the emotional rollercoaster, I collapsed onto my bed. The sky outside my dorm window was dark. With the stress gone, my thoughts immediately drifted back to Ken. Ugh. So pathetic. I put on some light makeup and headed out to meet Jenna, feeling completely drained. At the restaurant, I met up with their driver, Old Chen. He handed me the car keys and a credit card. “We were in a hurry tonight, so we took Mr. Gordon’s usual car. Can you handle it, Miss Anna? If not, I can have someone bring another one over.” My hand froze. Ken’s car? I instinctively clutched the keys, then quickly tried to hand them back. “You know me, Uncle Chen. I wouldn’t dare.” He looked troubled. He made a quick call. “Yes, Mr. Gordon’s car is at The Reverie. You’re coming now? Great, I’ll wait for you to swap.” He hung up and turned to me. “Miss Anna, could you please wait here for Little Chen? He’s bringing the miss’s car over now.” Little Chen? My blood ran cold. That was Ken’s personal driver! He had been a witness to my entire secret, year-long affair, chauffeuring me between villas and hotels. Swap keys with him? No way. I made a split-second decision and bolted. “Uncle Chen, I’m running late! I’ll go up first! Just leave the keys at the front desk for me!” I sprinted away, leaving a bewildered Old Chen in my wake. I paused to catch my breath on the second-floor landing and saw Alex around the corner. He was leaning against a window, smoking, his gaze lost in the night sky. The cigarette in his hand had burned almost to the filter. If it weren’t for Ken’s god-tier looks, I probably would have fallen for a guy like Alex—fresh, sunny, and handsome. But having just blocked him, even though he didn’t know it was me, I felt a pang of guilt. I tried to sneak past him toward the main hall. But his hearing was sharp. He caught my movement out of the corner of his eye. I froze, wondering if I should say hi. Do I normally say hi to him? I racked my brain. When I was deep in my Ken-induced love fog, did I ever acknowledge him when I was with Jenna? While I was hesitating, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked briskly toward me. I looked around. No one else was there. He was coming for me. “Hey… fancy seeing you here, Alex,” I said, my shamelessness kicking in. If I couldn’t hide, I might as well own it. But as I waved, he grabbed my hand. He stared at me, his eyes clouded with a sullen emotion. “Why did you delete me?” He knows?! A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. My mind raced. How do I get out of this social nightmare? “Was I texting you too much? Did I annoy you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost wounded. “Did I say something to upset you?” If his one text every couple of days counted as annoying, then my constant stream of messages to Ken could be classified as harassment. “What are you talking about?” I played dumb. It was the only way. I looked up at him, blinked innocently, and forced a bright smile. “I don’t have your contact info, so I couldn’t have deleted you. You must have me mistaken for someone else. You’re the campus king, after all. So many people want to add you.” I thought it was the perfect excuse. But his gaze hardened. “I didn’t say it was WeChat.” My smile froze. He pulled out his phone and showed me his WeChat profile. “Is it true that a lot of people want to add me? Then you should add me.” I was dying inside. What do I do? Can you even add someone who’s on your block list? I cursed myself for not using a burner account. “Anna, what are you doing?” Jenna appeared, resplendent in a designer gown and towering heels, slowly walking toward us. The click-clack of her shoes on the marble floor sounded like the countdown to my execution. I panicked, trying to pull away, only to remember that Alex still had a death grip on my hand. …It was over. I struggled, but he wouldn’t let go. “Jenna, I need to talk to her. Can you give us a minute?” Alex said coolly, stepping in front of me protectively. No. This was not happening. I was about to pry his fingers off my hand when a chill ran down my spine. I looked up and saw him. Ken. It was really, truly over. Why was he here? What was I going to do? I stood frozen, watching the impossibly handsome, impeccably dressed man walk toward us. He was tall, with long legs, exuding an aura of cool elegance, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, a cold smirk on his perfect face. A coldness I had never seen before. He walked right past me, as if I didn’t exist. The faint scent of his cologne was gone in an instant. I had imagined a thousand different scenarios, but I was not prepared for this—for him to look right through me. A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes began to burn. A tear escaped, then another, splashing onto my arm. Why am I crying?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385328”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was about to graduate and job hunting was a nightmare. Then I stumbled into an audition for a reality show looking for regular people, and somehow, I got cast. On the show, the guests were asked about their childhood friends. I said, “I mostly just played with boys when I was little.” The internet comments immediately lit up: 【And there it is. The ‘I’m not like other girls’ girl.】 But then I added my next line: “We used to blow up cow patties with firecrackers. The girls wouldn’t play with me because they thought it was gross. Looking back, it was pretty disgusting. I deserved to be an outcast.” The internet: 【Wait, what now, sis?】 1 I was a media studies major, staring down the barrel of graduation and a terrible job market. I sent out applications to dozens of companies, but my field is a minefield for new grads. Every offer was either for minimum wage, unpaid overtime, or a soul-crushing six-day work week. I finally found one that offered a decent salary, but my enthusiasm died when the HR rep asked, “Would you be open to dressing according to the boss’s daily preferences?” and sent me a folder of “examples.” I thought they were interested in my talent; turns out, they were just interested in my looks. I applied to so many places that when HR managers called, I often had no idea which job they were even talking about. During one of these calls, it took me half the conversation to remember I’d applied to be an artist manager. I aced the interview. The two HR reps stared at me for a long time, asking everything from my relationship status to whether I’d had plastic surgery. Finally, one of them leaned forward and said earnestly, “We actually have another position that would be a much better fit for you, Ms. Song. Are you interested?” He told me the starting salary was over ten thousand a month after the probationary period, with full benefits and weekends off. I was young and naive. It wasn’t until later that I realized the “position” was as an on-screen personality. But the contract wasn’t one of those predatory long-term deals, so it seemed harmless enough. And just like that, they threw me onto a reality dating show as a civilian guest. The HR guy swore up and down that if it didn’t work out after the show, they’d move me to a behind-the-scenes role. “…” I never imagined the star-making machinery of an entertainment company could be run this haphazardly. Was this place even legit? But hey, I was already there. On the first day of shooting, the makeup artist was chattering away as she worked on my face. “Your company is something else, swapping out a cast member right before filming.” I’m a natural chatterbox, so I played along. “Hey, I’m the new girl. Do you know why they made the switch?” “Oh, the original girl they cast was supposed to be the ‘brainy’ one. But she got a last-minute offer for a PhD program. She chose to break her contract and go to meetings with her advisor instead of becoming famous.” The makeup artist told me the girl had an Ivy League undergrad and master’s degree. A PhD would complete the set. That was some serious brainpower. As a graduate from a decent-but-not-prestigious state university, I had nothing to add. “But don’t you worry, Melora,” she said, patting my cheek. “You’re gorgeous. When filming starts, just cozy up to a few of the guys and girls. If you can get one popular ‘ship’ going, you’re set. And hey, if that doesn’t work, you might just find a boyfriend to take home. I’ve checked them out, and the guys on this show are all keepers.” Wait, what? This makeup artist had clearly been around the block. Following the producers’ instructions, I made my entrance as the second-to-last female guest. I let my eyes sweep across the room, making eye contact with everyone before gracefully taking a seat next to a cool, androgynous woman with long hair and a tailored suit. God, you know my weakness. I can’t resist a butch woman in a suit. 2 I was wearing a simple white dress. On a dating show, you can’t have just one type of personality; they cast for every archetype the audience might want to see. My role was the “innocent college girl,” yet to step into the real world. The last to arrive was a stunning woman in a short, red slip dress. Her long legs captured the attention of every man in the room and quite a few of the women, too. Lust is a human instinct, after all. The show’s selling point was “authenticity.” Not only were there celebrity commentators in an observation room watching a live feed, but the whole thing was also being streamed online for the public. “Alright, everyone’s here. Why don’t we start with introductions?” a man said, taking the lead. He looked a bit older, with deep-set features and a commanding presence. Of the four men and four women, he was the only one wearing a Rolex—a genuine one, and a model you couldn’t get even if you had the money. “I’ll go first,” he said. “My name is Nathan Zhao. I’m 28. I started a new media company a couple of years ago, so I guess you could call me a small business owner.” Wow. The classic CEO type. 【Whoa, a real-life alpha CEO.】 【I knew they existed! Young, handsome, and rich!】 【Just the watch on his wrist costs more than a ‘small business.’ Who the hell stole my trust fund baby life!】 Next was the guy beside him, dressed head-to-toe in trendy streetwear. He was handsome in a very polished way. “Hi everyone, I’m Leo Lin, 25. I did my undergrad and master’s abroad and just graduated from Columbia last year with a degree in finance. I’m working at my family’s company now, but I’m really passionate about music, so I’m also a musician on the side.” So we had the international finance bro, too. The next two men were a lawyer named Rainn Su, who wore wire-rimmed glasses and a simple silver ring, looking elegant and subtly husband-material in his gray slacks and white shirt, and a young actor named Ethan Xu. At only 20 and still in college, he was clearly here for exposure. You could already see his small but dedicated fanbase spamming the live chat. After the men, it was the women’s turn. The cool woman in the suit went first. “My name is Victoria Zhuang, I’m 27, and I’m one of the investors in this show. My family thinks there’s something wrong with me for being single at this age, so when they heard this was basically a matchmaking show, they forced me to join. They said there’d be men and women, and I should just take my pick.” Wait, what? The live chat exploded. 【Did she just say she’s not picky about gender? When did domestic reality TV get this bold?!】 【She’s an absolute queen. That one sentence has me hooked.】 【A ‘matchmaking show’ LMAO.】 【With Victoria here, I’d watch this show even if it was terrible.】 A flustered voice came from the production team’s direction. “Uh, guests, please be mindful of your comments. Please refrain from saying anything that doesn’t align with the show’s core values. This is a live broadcast.” Not only did the chat erupt in laughter, but everyone in the room, including the celebrity panel, couldn’t help but chuckle. The woman in the red dress tossed her long hair back and smiled. “Hello, everyone. I’m Sienna Jiang, 24, and I’m a model.” Her figure was, indeed, spectacular. The last woman had her hair in a high ponytail and introduced herself as a programmer. She didn’t fit the stereotype at all. “Hi, I’m Hannah Xu.” She had a warm, gentle smile, and her eyes crinkled when she laughed. She seemed completely harmless. Finally, it was my turn. “Hi, everyone, I’m Melora Song. I’m 22, and I haven’t graduated from college yet.” On a dating show, being an unemployed student didn’t exactly make me stand out. But someone had a question. It was the lawyer, Rainn. “Melora, how did you end up on this show?” I figured he was just curious about the casting process. I glanced past the camera and saw the hopeful look on a crew member’s face, probably expecting me to spin some charming, media-savvy story. I paused for a moment, then said hesitantly, “Would you believe me if I said I was looking for an internship…?” “…” I think I saw the director’s soul leave his body. 3 【She found a dating show while looking for an internship? Is that a thing?】 【Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.】 【Which company is trying to push this girl? Victoria’s ‘family matchmaking’ story was way funnier. This excuse is so lame.】 Of course, I had no idea what the viewers were saying. The company hadn’t given me a script. I wasn’t an Ivy League student, and I didn’t have a glamorous job. I had nothing to sell but my honesty. The HR guy who hired me said that even if I bombed, they’d just give me less screen time in the final edit. Getting a little hate online was part of the deal. Besides, they were paying me. When you put eight people with different personalities and life experiences together, you’re never short on conversation. Everyone was surprisingly chatty, especially when the topic turned to their own fields of expertise. It was like a group interview. Somehow, the conversation drifted to childhood playmates. Ethan, the youngest, said eagerly, “I grew up at my grandparents’ house. I spent my days climbing trees and swimming in the river with the neighborhood kids. I got in trouble a lot.” Hannah softly shared that she had a best friend she’d known since childhood, a very cheerful and outgoing girl. When it was my turn, I thought for a moment and, again, told the truth. “I mostly played with boys when I was little. The girls didn’t like me.” Everyone looked at me, a little surprised, waiting for the rest of the story. The live chat was buzzing. 【And there it is. The ‘I get along better with guys’ girl.】 【Of course, she’s the one who’s popular with men but ostracized by women. So original.】 But then I continued, “I grew up in the country, and my favorite thing to do was blow up cow patties with firecrackers. The girls didn’t want to play with exploding crap with me. Looking back, it was pretty disgusting. I deserved to be an outcast.” The guests fell silent. The internet: 【Wait, what now, sis?】 【What kind of girl plays with exploding cow dung?!】 【Are you telling me this girl who looks like she smells of sunshine and vanilla was out in a field playing with crap with a bunch of grubby boys?】 After a moment of stunned silence, Ethan asked a very sincere question: “Did you ever get in trouble for that?” The question brought back a flood of memories. “No. There was this really annoying older boy who lived next door. I think he was a clean freak. He would always watch us from a distance, and he wouldn’t let me go home until he’d supervised me washing my hands and feet.” “Annoying older boy?” Victoria, sitting next to me, repeated. I rested my chin on my hand. “I thought he was annoying back then. He was bossier than my parents. But now that I’m older, I realize it couldn’t have been easy for him, dealing with a pack of filthy kids every day.” I couldn’t even relate to my childhood self anymore. The boy had a stern face and seemed intimidating, but he would also wipe the other kids’ faces and play games with them. He just drew the line at exploding cow dung. At the time, I thought he was pathetic for not understanding the joy of it. I sighed. “He moved to the city eventually. After that, I’d come home covered in mud every day, and my mom’s shrieks could break glass.” I finally got the spankings I’d been avoiding. The other guests couldn’t help but laugh. It seemed none of them had much experience with country life, except for Ethan, who had spent time in a remote village for a role once. “What about now? Are you still in touch with that boy?” Sienna asked with a playful smile. The model’s smile was devastating. The moment she aimed it at me, I felt a jolt. Heh. “No,” I said. “I moved to the city for school, too.” 4 My only memory of the clean-freak boy was a vague nickname. The show was scheduled to film for about two weeks. During that time, all eight of us would be living together in a large villa. After the tour, it was time to choose rooms. Leo, the finance bro, suggested with a grin, “Want to make it more interesting?” “How?” Ethan chimed in. Even the usually composed Nathan raised an eyebrow. “We’ll number all the rooms and draw lots. Let fate decide.” Fate. I liked the sound of that. The producers had originally told us to decide on rooms amongst ourselves. The rooms were all different—some larger, some smaller, some with private balconies or walk-in closets. “I’m in,” Sienna said, the first to agree. “Drawing lots is fairer. No one can feel like they got the short end of the stick.” No one else objected, and neither did I. This internship was a dream come-true—no real work, a good salary, and free room and board. After numbering the rooms, Hannah found some paper and a pen, and just like that, we had eight folded slips of paper. “Alright, let’s begin. We’ll go in order. Ethan, you’re the youngest, you go first. Then we’ll go clockwise.” Ethan drew the first slip, followed by Hannah. By the time it was my turn, there were only three left. I picked one at random. When everyone had a slip, I unfolded mine. Number 5. A guest room on the second floor. Nathan had drawn the master bedroom on the second floor, which came with an en-suite bathroom, a small balcony, and a walk-in closet. Hannah was also on the same floor. Nathan, ever the gentleman, offered to switch with one of us. Both Hannah and I immediately shook our heads like bobbleheads. “We agreed,” I said. “Whatever you draw is what you get. We have to follow the rules.” Sienna drew the master bedroom on the third floor, while Ethan and Rainn got the other two rooms up there. That left Victoria and Leo on the first floor. Leo seemed pleased with the result. He grinned at Victoria. “Looks like we’ll be close neighbors for a while.” Victoria was the picture of a wealthy heiress. Her looks, her mannerisms, and her family background combined to make her, arguably, the most eligible woman in the house. After the rooms were assigned, we all had some time to unpack. I was about to haul my suitcase upstairs when I heard Leo offer to help Sienna, who had two large bags. “Melora, let me help you with that,” a voice said suddenly. Before I could react, I saw Victoria effortlessly lift my 24-inch suitcase and start up the stairs. She had taken off her suit jacket, and the sleeves of her blouse were rolled up to her elbows. As she lifted the bag, I could see the defined lines of the muscles in her forearm. Damn, was it possible to be this cool? Is this even allowed? 5 Nathan carried Hannah’s suitcase upstairs for her before even touching his own. It was only the first day, but the initial pairings seemed to be taking shape. I didn’t have much luggage—just clothes, makeup, and some toiletries. While we were unpacking, the live feed cut to the observation room, where the four celebrity commentators were excitedly placing bets on their favorite potential couples. “This Melora girl is interesting. Her hobbies are a bit… unique. I think she and Ethan have potential. They’re around the same age, so they should have a lot to talk about.” “I don’t know, I see a weird kind of chemistry between her and Nathan.” “Are you kidding? Nathan and Victoria are the real power couple here. They’re equals.” “But Victoria and Ethan have that classic ‘mature older woman and puppy-dog younger guy’ vibe.” “What about Sienna and Rainn…” Three of them were debating animatedly when one of them called out, “Liam, what do you think?” Before the man in question could answer, the first commentator added with a laugh, “That story the girl told about the neighbor’s kid who was obsessed with hygiene sounds a lot like you. A little bit of a clean freak, a little bit of OCD.” The man sitting next to him was leaning back casually in his chair. He was young, with a face so handsome it was almost unfair. He was idly spinning a pen in his hand. “I just like to be tidy,” he said coolly, his voice clear and smooth. “I wouldn’t call it a phobia.” “Alright, alright, whatever you say. So, which couple are you rooting for?” “It’s too early to tell.” “No wonder you’re single.” “?” 6 After I finished unpacking, I went downstairs to find that most of the others were already gathered. Dinner was provided by the show, a sort of ice-breaker meal to see who liked what. I was starving. My eyes were glued to the dishes on the table. And I wasn’t the only one. Beside me, Ethan was inhaling his food with gusto. “This braised chicken is amazing,” he mumbled through a full mouth. “You guys have to try it.” “And the spicy boiled pork! It’s so good. If you can handle spice, you need more of this.” “Even the rice is good…” Poor kid. He must not eat well usually. As everyone knows, when one person at the table is eating with that much enthusiasm, it makes everyone else’s food taste better. And it wasn’t just Ethan. I was devouring my food, too, tears of joy practically streaming down my face. This was the best meal I’d had in ages. Suddenly, a piece of meat was placed in my bowl. I looked up, confused, into Hannah’s kind, almost maternal gaze. “Eat slowly,” she said gently. When I looked up, I realized the other six people were watching me and Ethan. Ethan noticed at the same time and looked up, embarrassed. “My company usually has me on a strict diet to maintain my figure,” he explained. He was only twenty, the poor guy. “The cafeteria at my school… is not to my taste,” I said. If the cameras weren’t rolling, I would have been more honest: It wasn’t just “not to my taste,” it was an abomination. It was the kind of food that made you feel sorry for the ingredients that died in vain. It was the kind of food that made alumni shudder years after graduation. And the campus was so far from the city that our delivery options were limited. Ethan and I exchanged a look of shared trauma. We were fellow sufferers, united in our culinary misery. The chat was probably going wild. 【This is not the dating show I was expecting…】 【What kind of lives do these two kids lead? They’re eating like they’ve been starved for weeks. Is the food that good, or is their daily life that bad?】 【Maybe the show should pivot to a food theme. Watching them eat is making me hungry.】 【Melora’s my classmate. I can confirm, our school’s cafeteria is genuinely terrible.】 I didn’t spend the entire meal just eating, though. I eventually joined the conversation. Hannah mentioned that she loved to cook and often invited friends over for big meals on her days off. At that, both Ethan and I lit up. “Really? Can we be friends?” “Me too! Can I be your friend?” Hannah: “…” 7 After dinner, we each had a one-on-one interview to discuss our first impressions of the other guests. This part wasn’t live-streamed. “Please give a brief evaluation of the other seven guests,” the director said. When asked to judge people you’ve just met, anyone with a normal level of social awareness will stick to vague platitudes. I rambled on for a while, and by the end, I couldn’t even remember what I’d said. “If you had to choose one guest to go on a date with, who would it be?” Now that was an interesting question. “I’d choose Victoria,” I said. The director started to say, “You can’t choose—” Before he could finish, I switched my answer. “Sienna.” The director’s face was a blank mask. “You can’t choose someone of the same sex.” “…You could have led with that.” Maybe it was my lack of professional experience, but I had momentarily forgotten the nature of this show. I consume so much diverse media online that I just remembered “dating show,” not “heterosexual dating show.” My own preferences are flexible, but I chose a woman because I genuinely enjoy spending time with other women. My childhood aversion was a phase; I’d grown out of it. “Okay, then Ethan,” I said. We seemed to get along when it came to food, so we’d probably have something to talk about. “Please state your reason.” “He’s handsome, has a great personality, and even though he’s the youngest, he’s always looking out for everyone.” “But Ethan is an actor. His job might require him to be away on set for months at a time. If you were to date, you’d have to deal with long periods of long-distance. Are you okay with that?” I propped my chin on my hand. “Director, you asked who I wanted to go on a date with, not who I wanted as a boyfriend.” There’s a fundamental difference. The director seemed taken aback by my “player” response. He stared at me, visibly stunned. After my interview, he had to talk to all the other guests. By the time he was done, he looked like he had aged ten years. I wonder what he went through. After the interviews, there was another activity. We had to go to a wardrobe room prepared by the show and choose an outfit for our potential date. The villa next door had been rented for this purpose. At first, I thought the producers were trying to be mysterious, but then I overheard a staff member mention that the neighboring villa was originally for a different film crew. The lead actor had a scheduling conflict, so filming was postponed. To cut their losses, they rented it to our director at a discount. Waste not, want not. “…” This villa was much more luxurious than ours, clearly designed for a drama about a wealthy, dysfunctional family. As I walked toward it, I saw a tall man dressed all in black emerge from the front door. It was impossible not to notice him. His long limbs and perfect proportions were not something you see on an average person. As he got closer, I recognized him immediately. Liam Pei. He was a top-tier actor who, despite his young age, had several hit dramas under his belt. His face was flawless, as if sculpted by a master artist. I don’t know when he debuted, but by the time he entered my pop culture awareness, he was already a household name. You’d have to be living under a rock not to know who he was. He was one of the celebrity commentators for our show. I’d done my research beforehand. So, the observation room was right next door. “Good evening, Mr. Pei,” I said. It would have been rude not to greet him, especially since I might end up working in the entertainment industry. It was only proper to be respectful to a senior colleague. I expected him to give a polite nod and keep walking. But he stopped. His eyes rested on my face, his gaze so intense that I wondered if I had something on my cheek. The camera was following me, but this wasn’t being broadcast live. “Melora Song, right?” he asked. His voice was even better in person than it was online. “Yes, that’s me.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, and then he walked past. Maybe it was my imagination, but for a split second, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth lift into a smile. And his eyes… they held a strange, almost fond expression. 8 In the wardrobe room, I put together a men’s outfit based on my own aesthetic preferences. In the adjacent room, the men were presumably doing the same for the women. I understood the point of this activity; a person’s choice of clothing can reveal a lot about their tastes. After the day’s filming was done, we had free time. We removed our makeup, showered, and chatted a bit. But we were all still strangers, and it’s hard to get close to people on the first day. For the first week, our electronic devices were confiscated to prevent online opinions from influencing our choices. It was essentially a closed-door group date. They even took my laptop. Fortunately, I have a habit of being able to sleep anywhere, so I crashed immediately. The next morning, my alarm went off, and I woke up with a yawn, momentarily forgetting I wasn’t at home or in my dorm room. After a quick wash, I went downstairs and found Rainn and Hannah already busy in the kitchen. A lawyer and a programmer—they seemed to have a lot in common. A dating show is a visual medium, and all the guests were attractive. I’m not conceited, just objective. My parents often marveled at their good genes. The pair in the kitchen looked like something out of a magazine, and I couldn’t help but linger on the stairs, watching them. Suddenly, a male voice whispered behind me, “They’re cute together, right?” The unexpected sound made me jump. I turned to see Ethan, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “You walk like a ghost! You scared the life out of me!” The commotion startled the pair in the kitchen, breaking the quiet atmosphere. Ethan just grinned. “Don’t be mad, Melora. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize you were so engrossed.” He was a fast worker. He was already calling me by my first name. Ethan and I went downstairs. “Rainn and I were up early,” Hannah explained. “The fridge was stocked, so we decided to make breakfast for everyone. It’s almost ready.” A few minutes later, everyone else appeared, dressed in the pajamas they’d worn the night before. Over breakfast, we all politely praised our two diligent chefs. Hannah blushed slightly. “It was nothing. I just heated up some frozen things and cooked a few side dishes.” “Well, since Hannah and Rainn made breakfast, the rest of us should handle the cleanup,” Nathan suggested. Ethan immediately volunteered. “I’ll do the dishes with Melora.” He turned to me. “Is that okay?” I just nodded, a little dazed. The others looked at us with a knowing glint in their eyes. To be honest, even I felt a little awkward. While we were cleaning up in the kitchen, the conversation was normal. The producers informed us that the outfits we’d chosen the night before had been delivered. We would draw colored balls, and whoever drew the same color would wear the outfit chosen by the other and go on a date for the day. A blind date selection. 9 One by one, everyone drew a ball from the bag. I got a blue one. When I turned, I saw Ethan holding a matching blue ball. Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor. Ethan looked pleased. The other pairings were Victoria and Nathan, Sienna and Leo, and Hannah and Rainn. And just like that, our dates were set. Next came the “fashion show.” The producers, likely for dramatic effect, had us change one by one and make a grand entrance, each reveal met with a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs.” Thankfully, there were no major fashion disasters. Victoria emerged in a pale green cheongsam, a stark contrast to her previous day’s attire. It gave her an air of cool elegance. The outfit she had chosen for her date was a pair of brown trousers and a white shirt, giving off a classic, almost British vibe. Nathan, who clearly took care of his physique, looked quite dashing in it. Next were Sienna and Leo. The outfit for Sienna looked like it had been tailor-made for her: a long slip dress with a black and red rose pattern, paired with red heels. She was breathtaking. She, in turn, seemed to favor a cooler style; Leo was dressed in dark jeans with a silver chain and a brightly colored top. Hannah was in comfortable-looking pants, while Rainn wore light brown, loose-fitting trousers, a white t-shirt, and a short-sleeved dark blue shirt over it, with a black pendant around his neck. When I went into the changing room, I found that Ethan had picked out a tracksuit for me. It was casual and practical, with absolutely zero romantic undertones. When I came out, I was, unsurprisingly, met with a wave of laughter. Ethan defensively insisted, “What’s wrong with it? I think it looks great!” The live chat: 【If my boyfriend picked out an outfit like that for a date, he’d be single by the end of it.】 【Is Ethan completely clueless? Of all the clothes available, he chose the ugliest tracksuit. His taste is a crime.】 I understood the contrast he was going for. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what looked good; it was a deliberate choice to create a moment for the show. This whole outfit-swapping activity was subtly brilliant. Once we were all dressed in clothes chosen by our partners, a new layer of intimacy hung in the air. Each couple had a different date planned. Ethan and I were sent to an amusement park. A whole day at an amusement park. Heck yes. As we stood at the entrance, Ethan and I exchanged a look. “Are you afraid of heights?” he asked. I shook my head. Then we both turned to our cameraman. “Sir,” we asked in unison, “are you afraid of heights?” The cameraman: “?” And so, we rode everything: the roller coaster, the giant pendulum, the drop tower, the spinning swing ride, the log flume… We rode them all. The feeling of weightlessness as we soared through the air was pure bliss. Just as we were getting on the roller coaster, before the cameraman could join us, Ethan quickly and discreetly turned off both of our mics. “Melora,” he whispered conspiratorially, “I know you’re also here on a company assignment to get some screen time. How about we agree to play up a ‘showmance’ for the cameras? It’s a win-win. What do you say?” So that’s what all his earlier attentiveness was about. “Deal,” I said. It was an internship, after all. I had to cooperate. By the end of the day, Ethan and I were glowing. Our cameraman, however, looked like he had seen a ghost. 10 Ethan and I returned, still buzzing from the day’s excitement, to find that all the other couples were already back. The atmosphere was… different. A subtle, romantic tension filled the air. For dinner, we had a barbecue in the backyard, gathered around a charcoal grill. I may not be a great cook in general, but when it comes to grilling, I’m a prodigy. Everyone who’s ever tasted my barbecue has raved about it. This was my time to shine. Ethan was beside me, devouring a skewer of meat and giving me a thumbs-up, his mouth too full to form words. Everyone naturally sat with their date from the day, sharing stories from their outings. I kept my head down, focusing on the grill. My mission was to ensure that no one left without trying my barbecue. “Melora, where did you learn to grill like this? This marinade is incredible!” Sienna said, leaning in close. Her beauty was almost overwhelming. I felt a blush creep up my neck. “I learned from my grandparents,” I mumbled, looking down. On my other side, Ethan let out an exaggerated gasp. “Melora, are you blushing? We spent the whole day together, and you didn’t blush once. Sienna gives you one compliment, and you turn red? Did I not praise you enough today?” In just one day, we had forged a solid bond of friendship. I smiled and gave him a gentle elbow jab. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but I shoved another skewer of meat in it, and he finally quieted down. Listening to the other couples recount their dates was fascinating. Ethan nudged me. “Hey, sis,” he whispered, “how come their dates sound so different from ours?” How should I know? I had no experience in this department either. The third day was a group activity. We were divided into teams to buy groceries within a budget and cook a meal together. There was a shopping team and a home team. I was on the shopping team. Hannah, Nathan, Rainn, and Sienna were in charge of the kitchen. Of course, while we were out, they were free to do as they pleased in the villa, and I’m sure there was plenty of interaction. When the food was served, it was clear that Hannah had been the head chef, but the other three had each contributed a dish. “So, what do you think? Is it good?” Hannah asked, her eyes full of hopeful anticipation. I replied with my now-signature line: “Hannah, we are definitely going to be good friends.” Ethan added, “Count me in! This is delicious!” Everyone else was full of praise as well. Leo said cheerfully, “Hannah, with skills like these, you could be a successful programmer or a restaurant owner. You’d kill it at either.” The greatest compliment you can give a chef is to devour their food with gusto. I don’t know if it was because I was so engrossed in my meal, but I could have sworn I saw that same, gentle, maternal look in Hannah’s eyes again. It reminded me of how my grandma used to look at me when she was fattening me up as a child. That evening, the producers arranged for us to play games. The quintessential ingredients for a romantic atmosphere: Truth or Dare and alcohol. Under the dim lighting, surrounded by attractive young people, with a subtle current of flirtation in the air, I almost started to believe that some of these budding connections were real. At least, my “shipping” instincts felt very real. I finally understood why viewers get so invested in these shows. In this kind of atmosphere, you could almost forget that these people had only known each other for a few days. Or maybe it was precisely because they were strangers that the unspoken attraction was so captivating.

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