1 The very first day I met my birth family, I knew my real enemy wasn’t the girl who’d taken my place. It was her sycophantic cousin, standing right beside her. When Sophie, the girl who’d grown up in my stead, was clearing out the master bedroom for me, my cousin Isabelle quietly slipped in and started unpacking her own luggage. She actually thought I would just swallow that. “You’ve just arrived, you’re probably not used to it yet. You can stay in my room for now,” she’d said with a saccharine smile. I walked into the room, grabbed her suitcase, and threw it right out the window. “Now that I’m back,” I announced, my voice calm but cold, “I’m the one who makes the rules in this house.” Behind me, Sophie, who had been bullied and pushed around by Isabelle for more than a decade, started weeping. Tears streamed down her face in two thick, dramatic lines. “I knew you’d come,” she sobbed. “I’m so glad I never gave up hope!” Please. Call me a control freak, I don’t care. If I was going to run the lives of a family I had no blood ties to, you better believe I was going to run this one. … I’ve had this inexplicable urge to control everything around me for as long as I can remember. By the age of three, I was already the tiny, tyrannical matriarch of my household. My adoptive parents and my two older brothers would just scratch their heads in my presence, always repeating the same mantra: “Chloe’s the smartest one in the family. Whatever Chloe says, goes.” I remember when I was a kid, I once stormed into my brothers’ school brandishing two kitchen knives to take care of the punks who were bullying them. The gossip spread through our small town like wildfire. “The Davises are all so quiet and honest,” people would whisper, “but that youngest daughter of theirs is a little terror. You sure she’s really theirs?” Turns out, they were right. The summer I turned nineteen, I was told my birth parents were the Walters family, from the city of Auburndale. Coincidentally, that’s where I was going to college. The Walters family called me repeatedly, making up endless excuses to get me to visit. Curiosity finally got the better of me, and I agreed to go see them. They were well-off, living in a large villa in a gated community, and apparently owned a small company. The day I arrived just so happened to be Mrs. Walters’ birthday, and they were having a small dinner party with relatives. Before the meal, the guests mingled in small groups. Among the younger crowd, one girl, dolled up to an almost painful degree, caught my eye. She was Isabelle, the daughter of Mr. Walters’ younger brother. I couldn’t figure out why a cousin, who was neither the birthday girl nor the host, was dressed like a Christmas tree. She fit my stereotype of a schemer perfectly. And sure enough, it didn’t take long for Isabelle to start showing her true colors. It wasn’t even noon yet, but Sophie had already prepared several hot dishes. She approached me timidly. “Um… I cleaned out the room for you this morning. You can move in whenever you’re ready.” She pointed to the largest bedroom on the second floor. I was surprised; the girl who took my place was more sensible than I’d expected. My gaze shifted from the mountain of plates stacked by the stove to Sophie’s hands, which were covered in small burns. “All this food… did you cook it all by yourself? Didn’t you guys think of going to a restaurant or hiring a caterer?” Sophie managed a shy, awkward smile. “Mom and Dad say homemade food is cleaner. And it shows our sincerity to the relatives.” Sincerity? They were making a young girl cook a three-course meal for a dozen people. If they were so sincere, why didn’t they lift a finger themselves? For the first time, I took a proper look at the girl whose life had been switched with mine. Sophie had her dark hair tied back in a low ponytail. She was thin, with a dark complexion, not very tall, with a pear-shaped figure and a round, plain face. I sighed internally. She was a Davis, through and through; she had our family’s face. Unaware of my thoughts, Sophie said hesitantly, “Chloe… want me to show you to your room?” I smiled and followed her upstairs. The moment we opened the door, the color drained from Sophie’s face. The room was filled with someone else’s luggage. “This isn’t my stuff!” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I swear, I emptied the room for you.” She was on the verge of tears. I just watched her calmly. “So, you’re saying you’ve already given this room to me, which means I can do whatever I want with it, right?” Sophie blinked, then nodded even more vigorously. With her confirmation, I walked in, picked up the duvet and pillows from the bed, and tossed them out the window into the garden below. Then, as Sophie stared in stunned silence, I picked up a laptop from the desk, snapped the screen back until it cracked, and threw it out the window, too. Afterward, I turned to Sophie and smiled. “Don’t worry,” I said, my eyes crinkling. “I know this isn’t your stuff.” “It belongs to your dear cousin, Isabelle.” 2 I’d seen Isabelle sneaking upstairs earlier, dragging her bags into the room. She wanted to claim the best bedroom for herself, thinking she could pull a fast one while I was distracted. I almost laughed out loud. Just how much had the Walters family spoiled this niece of theirs? Did she really think she was so special that I, the actual daughter, would just roll over and accept this insult? Sophie looked at the chaos, then back at me, her eyes shining with pure adoration. I dusted off my hands. “If you really want to thank me, you can help me unpack.” I had only brought a small backpack with some toiletries. The only valuable item was a small aromatherapy diffuser. I have trouble sleeping, and I can’t get a wink without it. Seeing Sophie actually start to reach for my bag, I couldn’t help but pat her on the shoulder. “I’m kidding,” I said, my tone softening. “It was just a joke. You don’t have to act like a maid.” I gently steered her out of the room and downstairs, intending for her to finally sit down and rest. But the girl was pathologically diligent; she scurried right back into the kitchen. The Davis work ethic was clearly hardwired into our genes. Honestly, I had come here with a whole playbook of strategies to deal with the “fake daughter.” I never expected her to be so… disarmingly simple. Luckily, my performative cousin, Isabelle, was still flitting about the party, a big, bright sign on her forehead that practically screamed, “Come at me.” Less than ten minutes after I’d disposed of her luggage, I noticed Isabelle heading back upstairs, probably to bring in more of her things. It was only a matter of time before she discovered her belongings scattered across the lawn. I was curious to see if she would come down and scream at me. That would give me the perfect opening to ask exactly what gave her, a mere cousin, the right to act like the queen of her uncle’s house. But Isabelle was more cunning than that. She decided to give me a taste of my own medicine. A moment later, my things came crashing down from the second-floor window. Then, she came downstairs and sat right across from me without a word. As our eyes met, she shot me a quick, venomous glare. The object she’d thrown was my aromatherapy diffuser. So, later, as she was pouring drinks, she made a point of running her fingers over a glass tumbler and saying to Sophie, “Glass things are just so fragile, aren’t they? Next time you go shopping, you should get the plastic kind. They don’t break, and they last for years.” A command disguised as a suggestion. And Sophie, bless her meek heart, just replied, “Oh, okay. I’ll remember that.” A great-aunt overheard and immediately started fawning over Isabelle. “Isabelle is not only beautiful, but she’s so sensible! Already thinking about being thrifty at her age.” Others chimed in. “I’ve watched this girl grow up. She’s been brilliant since she was a child. Reciting poetry at six, knew her multiplication tables backward and forward at seven.” “I bought her a Lego set once, and she finished it in an afternoon. I knew right then she was going to be successful.” Isabelle’s mother, my Aunt Carol, was a woman whose phoniness was practically an art form. She wrapped an arm around Isabelle’s shoulder and feigned humility. “Well, if she were as smart as you all say, she’d be getting a full scholarship to Auburndale University.” I remembered then—the results for the college entrance exams were being released today. At Aunt Carol’s reminder, everyone started predicting that Isabelle was a shoo-in for A.U. Isabelle smiled demurely. “It’s all thanks to Uncle and Aunt’s guidance. And, of course, the good Walters family genes.” It was a backhanded slap at Sophie—implying she wasn’t smart, wasn’t capable, wasn’t pretty, and now, that her genes were inferior. Sophie sat in silence through it all, her head bowed so low her chin was practically touching her chest. And what were her parents—my parents—doing while this was happening? 3 As the relatives anointed Isabelle the shining star of the family, my own father, Mr. Walters, beamed with pride—at his niece. “That’s just Isabelle being her brilliant self,” he said. “Not like Sophie, who can’t seem to do anything right.” The birthday girl herself, Mrs. Walters, added, “Sophie just isn’t cut out for academics.” Aunt Carol was positively glowing. She raised her glass. “My dear sister-in-law, Isabelle has lived with you for so many years, eaten your food, been shaped by your wisdom… you’ve raised her into such an outstanding young woman. I’m almost ashamed to call myself her mother.” The other relatives piled on. “It’s true! The clothes Isabelle wears, the school supplies she uses—always the best brands.” “Even after my brother’s family made it big, they never forgot about us poor relatives.” “And my sister-in-law is a senior teacher in the district! She treats Isabelle even better than her own daughter, sparing no expense or effort for her education.” An elder of the family nodded sagely. “He’s the head of our generation, after all. He hasn’t forgotten his roots.” My birth parents soaked it all in, sitting at the center of the table, trying and failing to suppress their smug smiles. My suspicions were confirmed. This couple was the type to sacrifice their own child for the sake of appearances, all while patting themselves on the back for their magnanimity. They would bend over backward for a relative just to earn a good reputation. Isabelle knew them inside and out. That’s why she had the audacity to take over my room on the very day I arrived. She knew that even if I made a fuss, they would force me to back down for the sake of their precious public image. And right on cue, my clueless mother opened her mouth. “I treat Isabelle well because she deserves it,” she declared. “Sophie doesn’t look good in anything, unlike her cousin.” Isabelle looked absolutely triumphant. Perhaps tired of picking on the ever-passive Sophie, she decided to set a trap for me. “Chloe has a great figure, too,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “You can tell she’s a Walters girl. Now you can wear my old clothes!” I had to stop myself from laughing. She wanted to fight a control freak for territory? I asked her, my voice light and casual, “Why would I wear your hand-me-downs? Do you think you’re worthy?” I was the one who controlled others. No one controlled me. Isabelle froze for a second, then quickly recovered. “Chloe, you just got here, so you don’t know. Sophie could never fit into my clothes, but you’re much thinner than her.” I set down my chopsticks. “What does my being new here have to do with you offering someone your second-hand clothes?” “Or are you saying that Sophie, who was raised as their own daughter for nineteen years, isn’t even worthy of her cousin’s old clothes?” “But me, the daughter who just walked in the door—I’m just barely worthy enough to receive them?” Isabelle started to panic. “Chloe, what are you talking about? You’re their real daughter!” “I’m just a guest here, I don’t have that kind of power.” “Anyone who didn’t know better would think I was bullying my own cousin.” “You’re being too sensitive. You’re probably just not used to things yet. It’s okay, I don’t blame you.” When people know they’re in the wrong, they resort to playing the victim. Too bad for her, we control freaks are masters at spinning the narrative. I folded my hands on the table. “Am I being too sensitive? Or are you, in your own subtle way, trying to lay down the law for me? Telling me that in this house, all the kids have to use your leftovers.” Isabelle shot up from her chair. “Chloe, that’s outrageous! I never meant that at all!” I immediately glanced at the heads of the household, Mr. and Mrs. Walters, whose faces had darkened. They were obsessed with their reputation. The moment they sensed this girl wasn’t as docile as they thought, they would start revoking her privileges. For people like them, their public image was more important than anything. It must be the Walters family’s control-freak gene. As a fellow sufferer, I knew exactly how to treat the symptoms. “Cousin, why are you so angry? Perhaps you should have some soup to cool down.” “We’re celebrating a birthday here. Aren’t you being a little spoiled, raising your voice at someone else’s party? It’s almost like you have no respect for the hosts.” “All the relatives were just saying how sensible you are. Don’t you think you’re making them look bad now?” After a moment of tense silence, my father, Mr. Walters, finally spoke, his voice tinged with displeasure. “Isabelle. Chloe just got home. Some things are for the adults to arrange.” At his words, my cousin froze in place. The rest of the relatives, who had just witnessed my verbal assault, stared in stunned silence. And Sophie… Sophie was looking at me with a newfound reverence. 4 Isabelle didn’t dare say another word. The heads of the Walters household were her patrons, after all. Her parents, my uncle and aunt, worked out of town and only came back for holidays, leaving Isabelle entirely in the care of my parents. Their financial situation was significantly worse than that of my birth family. Originally, Isabelle’s plan was to stir up conflict between me and Sophie, then sit back and reap the benefits. She never imagined I could dismantle her scheme with just a few sentences and leave her completely cornered. My Aunt Carol’s eyes darted around, and she quickly came up with a new tactic. “You’ve misunderstood, brother. Isabelle is just used to being the big sister; she instinctively wants to take care of her younger cousins.” “Isabelle just finished her exams, she’ll be off to college in September. She’s just going to miss Chloe, that’s why she’s being a little overbearing.” This family was certainly good at sweet-talking. No wonder they’d managed to convince my parents to dote on their niece instead of their own daughter. The other relatives quickly jumped in to smooth things over. “If Isabelle gets into A.U., she won’t be able to come home as often.” “Some of her clothes probably won’t be suitable for college anyway, so it makes sense she’d want to leave them for her cousins.” “That’s right, I haven’t even asked yet. Isabelle, what do you think you scored on your exams?” Isabelle casually brushed her hair back. “Well, in all the practice exams, I was scoring over 600.” A few of the male cousins chimed in, “The exams in our district are notoriously hard. Isabelle definitely broke 650, maybe even 700!” Isabelle, sensing another opportunity, turned her attention back to me under the guise of concern. “Sophie and I both took the exams this year. We don’t need to talk about Sophie’s results, but what about you, Chloe? What did you estimate your score to be?” We don’t need to talk about Sophie’s results? Sophie awkwardly stood up. “There are still a few dishes to finish. I’ll just go check on the stove.” No one answered her. No one cared about her feelings. Aunt Carol, however, was fixated on my academic performance. She moved her chair closer to mine. “Don’t be afraid to say, Chloe. No one will blame you if you’re wrong.” One of the cousins added with a smirk, “Yeah, the schools in the countryside don’t have many resources. Just doing your best is enough.” Amid their gleeful, expectant gazes, I answered clearly, “Seven hundred and thirty-five.” The table fell silent for a few seconds, then Isabelle let out a sudden, sharp laugh. She quickly apologized, claiming she’d choked on her water. “I was just so surprised,” she said, feigning innocence. “Chloe, honey, I asked for an estimate. Why did you give such a precise number, down to the single digit?” “Do you have any idea what that score means? You could get into the best program at A.U. with that.” My birth mother, Mrs. Walters, adopted the tone of a seasoned educator. “Don’t the teachers in your town ever analyze the admission scores from previous years?” She was implying my high school teachers were unprofessional, that they couldn’t grasp the exam’s key concepts and gave their students overly simple tests. Aunt Carol seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She patted my shoulder. “It’s good for young people to have dreams.” Then she started offering “advice.” “If you’re really set on A.U., the Hamiltons’ son next door goes there. You can ask him for some pointers; he’ll give you a reality check.” Mrs. Walters added, “I just ran into Mr. Hamilton yesterday. He said Ethan just got home.” My eyes narrowed slightly. “The Hamiltons? Are you talking about Ethan Hamilton?” The moment I said his name, Isabelle’s face lit up. “He’s a famous e-sports player, on the A.U. team! Do you watch his streams? If you want his autograph, I can get it for you.” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you two close?” Isabelle exchanged a look with my parents, then lowered her head and bit her lip coyly. “I guess you could say that. If you want to retake the exams next year to get into A.U., I can ask Ethan to help you study.” I couldn’t tell if her little act of blushing modesty was for my benefit or for my parents’. Aunt Carol leaned in, her eyes glinting with cunning. “Ethan and our Isabelle are practically childhood sweethearts,” she whispered conspiratorially. “The Hamiltons are very wealthy, you know. Twenty years ago, they had a chandelier that cost a million dollars. Their son has all the debutantes chasing after him, but he’s always preferred to hang out with our Isabelle.” This was a wealthy neighborhood, home to multi-millionaires. The Walters had snagged this villa, one of the least desirable ones in the corner of the development, purely to network with the upper crust. Their own daughter, Sophie, lacked the charm to do so, but their pretty, tall niece Isabelle was a social asset. A single business deal with the Hamiltons could sustain the Walters’ company for a year. Of course they preferred the niece who could help them. In the end, Aunt Carol’s bragging about exam scores and the boy next door was all about putting me down. She was terrified her daughter would lose her favored status and the perks that came with it. To cement her daughter’s image as an irresistible siren, she continued, her voice full of pride, “Ethan is such a proud boy; he won’t give other girls the time of day. But the moment he sees our Isabelle, it’s ‘Izzy, Izzy’ this and ‘Izzy’ that. He absolutely adores her.” I closed my eyes for a moment, a slow smile spreading across my face. Then I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Ethan Hamilton. Heard you have a lot of little “sisters” throwing themselves at you?

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The call came from my fund manager in Switzerland. He was informing me that the beneficiary on my trust fund had been changed and that I needed to come in to sign off on the new paperwork. I froze, the phone feeling cold against my ear as my mind struggled to catch up. That trust fund was my inheritance from my father. My name, and my name alone, was on it. How could the beneficiary possibly be changed? I immediately called my husband, Brian. His voice was a warm, reassuring balm over the phone. “It’s probably just a scam, Eleanor. Don’t worry about it.” “Oh,” I said, my tone deceptively light. “They must be pretty committed scammers, then. They even managed to bribe our family’s long-time fund manager.” Brian’s voice hitched for a fraction of a second before he laughed it off. “These new AI voice scams are getting crazy sophisticated, you know? They can mimic anyone. Just ignore it for now. I’ll handle it when I get back to the States.” I smiled and agreed. The moment we hung up, I was already drafting a text to my legal team, telling them to prepare the divorce papers. Brian seemed to have forgotten. My phone is protected by a military-grade firewall. No scam call is getting through. 1 After hanging up, I sent a concise text to my assistant. 【Find Brian’s current location. And find out who he changed my fund’s beneficiary to.】 That series of trust funds was worth billions. It was the bedrock of my family’s legacy, the source of my own power. When my assistant sent back the location, I booked the first flight out. As I approached the hotel, I could hear the staff whispering amongst themselves. “I’m so jealous of Mrs. Croft. It’s only their third anniversary, and Mr. Croft bought out the entire auction for that jewelry set!” “That’s not all! I heard he just added another three hundred million to her fund!” My heart sank. A leaden weight settled in my stomach. Today was indeed my anniversary with Brian. But it wasn’t our third. It was our seventh. He was cheating on me. And he was trying to give my inheritance to his mistress. I took a step toward the grand ballroom, ready to confront him, but a uniformed attendant immediately blocked my path. “Whoa, whoa, who do you think you are? This is a private event, you can’t just walk in here.” His eyes raked over my simple, understated casual wear. “Dressed like you just rolled out of bed… You think this is the place for you? Get lost before you ruin the atmosphere for Mrs. Croft’s anniversary party.” I glanced down at my clothes. It was true, I was dressed for comfort, not for a gala. For years, I had been the woman behind Brian, the invisible force propelling his success. I only ever stepped into the public eye when his company faced a crisis I needed to personally resolve. Normally, I would have calmly explained the misunderstanding. But right now, all I felt was a cold, simmering rage. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I am Mrs. Croft.” The attendants erupted in laughter, one of them doubling over as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “You? Mrs. Croft? If Mr. Croft heard you say that, he’d die laughing!” One of them poked the sleeve of my jacket, his tone dripping with contempt. “Is anything you’re wearing worth more than twenty bucks? And you have the nerve to call yourself Mrs. Croft? You must be desperate for a payday.” In my thirty years of life, no one had ever dared to speak to me this way. I was about to respond when a soft, feminine voice cut through the air. “What’s going on here?” I looked up. A woman in a stunning, champagne-colored mermaid gown was gliding toward us. The portly attendant who had been mocking me instantly transformed, his face crinkling into a fawning smile. “Miss Reed! What are you doing out here? Please, go back inside and rest. Don’t tire yourself out.” He then shot me a venomous glare. “We’re just dealing with some trash who wandered in. Dressed like she buys her clothes at a flea market and claiming to be Mrs. Croft. Shameless, trying to crash the party.” He turned his head and spat on the ground near my feet, the disdain in his eyes palpable. “Open your damn eyes and look! This is the woman Mr. Croft adores. The real Mrs. Croft!” He jabbed a thumb in my direction. “And you… you’re nothing. Why don’t you go find a puddle and take a good long look at your pathetic self before you dare utter her name again?” Mia Reed? Wasn’t she the scholarship student Brian was sponsoring? He’d told me her story years ago—parents passed away, brilliant student but couldn’t afford tuition. He’d convinced me to help fund her entire four-year degree. I even pulled some strings to get her a comfortable administrative job at his company after she graduated. But how could she be Mrs. Croft? Just then, another text from my assistant lit up my screen. 【Ms. Levinson, Brian Croft transferred the beneficiary status of your trust to a woman named Mia Reed.】 The world seemed to tilt on its axis. It all clicked into place. I walked slowly toward Mia Reed, a cold smile playing on my lips. “If you’re Mrs. Croft,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “then I’d like to know… who am I?” 2 The moment Mia saw me, the triumphant smirk on her face froze. She instinctively hid her hands behind her back, but not before I saw it. The exquisite, one-of-a-kind diamond bracelet Brian had just won at that charity auction. “Eleanor? What… what are you doing here?” Her voice trembled. But she recovered in a heartbeat, her expression shifting into one of weary annoyance. “Miss Levinson, I know you’ve had a crush on my husband for a long time, but you can’t just cause a scene like this.” Her voice dripped with false pity. “No matter how hard you throw yourself at him, he’s never going to be with you.” Hearing this, the attendants shot me looks of pure disgust. “So she’s a pathetic homewrecker! And she tried to impersonate the real wife? God, how shameless can you get?” The whispers started, sharp and cruel. “This is hilarious. If you’re going to be a gold digger, at least aim within your league!” “Miss Reed is the one Mr. Croft cherishes. Does this woman really think she can compare?” I said nothing. I simply took out my phone, my movements slow and deliberate, and pulled up the photo on my lock screen: a picture of Brian and me on our wedding day. “A crush on your husband?” I held the phone up to her face, my voice as sharp as broken glass. “Mia, look at this photo and tell me again. Who is your husband?” She glanced at the screen, then looked back at me with an expression of profound disappointment. “I know you’ve resented me ever since I started helping you with your tuition, you were always jealous of how kind Brian was to me. But really, Eleanor… resorting to photoshop? You should have more self-respect.” With a flourish, she pulled a marriage certificate from her clutch. There, in crisp black ink, were their names: Brian Croft and Mia Reed. “This,” she said, tapping the embossed seal, “is the real deal. It can’t be faked.” The attendant who had been harassing me shoved me backward. “You see that? That is the real Mrs. Croft. You’re just some ungrateful charity case who got a little help and now thinks she can seduce a real man. Pathetic!” “Get the hell out of here before you ruin everything! If you delay Mr. Croft and Miss Reed’s anniversary party, not even ten of your miserable lives would be enough to pay for it!” Not enough to pay? I almost laughed. I’d like to see if Brian had the guts to make me pay for anything. When I met him, Brian Croft was just another intern at an investment bank, wearing a threadbare shirt that had been washed one too many times. At my father’s corporate galas, he didn’t even have the standing to hand a business card to a junior executive. It was I who defied my father, who insisted he wasn’t beneath our family. It was I who pulled him into my own project team, who coached him, who handed him the multi-million dollar deals that made him a tech mogul. “Brian Croft wouldn’t dare,” I muttered. The words had barely left my lips when a stinging slap cracked across my face. The attendant glared at me, his face twisted in disgust. “What, you’re still not done with your little act? Mrs. Croft is being nice to you, and you’re still pushing it.” He then turned to Mia, his voice instantly becoming syrupy and obsequious. “Ma’am, a woman like this who doesn’t know her place needs to be taught a lesson! Otherwise, she’ll never stop! I say we should scratch up that pretty face of hers, maybe then she’ll stop trying to seduce Mr. Croft!” “You’re pregnant, you can’t get worked up. I’ll drag her out of here myself and show her what happens when you cross the Crofts in this city!” He lunged for me, his thick fingers reaching for my arm. Suddenly, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the chaos from the entrance. “Stop this at once! What do you think you’re doing?” 3 Brian stood there, radiating an aura of power in his custom-tailored suit. Everyone froze. “Mr. Croft! This woman was impersonating your wife and even tried to attack her! We were just teaching her a lesson for you,” the attendant explained, fawning over him. Mia immediately crumpled into Brian’s arms, bursting into tears. “Brian, it was horrible…” Brian’s gaze swept over the scene, his brow furrowing in anger. He was about to speak when his eyes landed on me. He stiffened. He took a half-step in my direction, but I was faster. I closed the distance between us and slapped him hard across the face. Twice. The sharp, cracking sounds echoed in the stunned silence. Everyone stared, their jaws hanging open. “Is she insane? She just hit Mr. Croft!” “I thought she was just some broke wannabe, but… does she have a death wish?” Brian’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. I ignored the whispers, a bitter smile on my face as I looked into his eyes. “What’s wrong? Can’t I hit you?” I gestured toward Mia. “Or are you going to defend her now?” His jaw tightened, and he sighed, about to speak. But then Mia clutched his sleeve, her voice a tearful whisper. “Brian, you promised me.” He hesitated. A flicker of something—guilt? fear?—crossed his face before it was replaced by a mask of cold fury. He rounded on me, his voice booming. “Eleanor! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “Are you trying to make a scene? Have I spoiled you too much? Is that it?” Make a scene? How dare he accuse me of anything? “Brian, I have one question for you,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Is the child in her belly yours?” At my words, fresh tears streamed down Mia’s face. “Eleanor, I know you’ve been obsessed with my husband since I started sponsoring your education. I know you send him suggestive pictures late at night. I can ignore that, but how could you say something so vile about my unborn child?” Her voice broke. “Are you trying to force him to divorce me just so you can take my place?” Brian’s expression softened as he looked at her. He pulled her closer, stroking her hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I believe you.” Then, he turned back to me, his face hard as stone. “Eleanor, you’ve disappointed me more than I can say. Get your things and move out of the house. Today.” His words struck me like a physical blow. I couldn’t believe it. He was actually brazen enough to flip the entire narrative, to cast me in Mia’s role and present her as his wronged wife. To make her… me. Hearing Brian’s command, the attendant who had slapped me pointed a finger in my face and started shouting. “The real Mrs. Croft was kind enough to sponsor you, and this is how you repay her? By trying to steal her husband? You’re an ungrateful snake!” “Trying to destroy a happy marriage? Look in the mirror! You’re not worthy to even be in the same room as them!” I ignored the insults, my eyes locked on Brian. I spoke each word slowly, deliberately, making sure he felt the weight of them. “I fought with my own family for you, Brian. I built you up from nothing to where you are today. When you couldn’t even afford to eat, I gave you the seed money for your company.” “And now you cheat on me, you have a child with another woman… Brian, how can you live with yourself?” My words only seemed to make his face darken further with rage.

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At our high school reunion, Rosalind, the former prom queen, posed a question to the women at our table. “After ten years of marriage, what would you do if you found out your husband was cheating?” Most of the women immediately said, “Divorce him!” Then, Rosalind’s gaze fell on me. I laughed and declared, “The only way I’m leaving my marriage is in a black dress.” Everyone chuckled at my dark humor, but Rosalind’s face went pale, a strange look clouding her eyes. … Seven days earlier, Rosalind had called me to organize this reunion. It had been nearly twenty years since we’d graduated, and the thought of seeing everyone again filled me with a giddy excitement. I have a problem: when I get excited, I can’t sleep. The first night, I tossed and turned, unable to settle down. My husband, Eason, drowsily wrapped an arm around me. “What’s wrong, honey?” “Rosalind is planning a high school reunion. I’m just too excited to sleep.” “You’re silly,” he murmured, gently patting my back like he was soothing our daughter. “Let’s count sheep together.” Under his calming touch, I finally drifted off. It’s no exaggeration to say that my husband was the gentlest, most understanding man in the world. Which is why, at the reunion, when Rosalind asked her question and I made my bold declaration, I felt completely secure. “The only way I’m leaving my marriage is in a black dress.” Everyone laughed. Everyone except Rosalind. I thought it was just a bit of party chatter. I had absolute faith in Eason. But for the rest of the night, I felt Rosalind’s eyes on me. Whenever I tried to meet her gaze, she would quickly look away. Later, I cornered her in the restroom. “Rosalind, we’ve known each other for years. If you have something to say, just say it.” She forced a laugh and denied anything was wrong, but I saw right through it. “Spit it out.” Her eyes met mine, her expression deadly serious. “You have to promise me you’ll stay calm.” A knot of dread tightened in my stomach, but I took a deep breath and nodded. Rosalind took out her phone and opened her photo gallery. The world exploded. It was like a landmine had gone off in my head. There were dozens of photos of Eason with different women. I’m not the jealous type; a simple group photo wouldn’t have bothered me. But these were different. The way he held them, the intimate poses—more intimate than any he ever struck with me—and the look in his eyes… it was pure, unadulterated lust. “These… who are…?” Seeing my confusion, Rosalind swiped to another picture with a bitter smile. “Look at this one.” It was a photo of her and Eason. Together. Rage erupted in my chest. The mistress was flaunting it right in my face. “He told me he was single!” Rosalind said quickly. “That bastard lied to me!” “Why should I believe you?” She showed me their chat history. It was a nauseating mix of sappy declarations, explicit flirtation, and financial transactions. “He said he was unattached. He took over a hundred thousand dollars from me, and I was living in a fantasy, dreaming of marrying him and having his kids. Then, one day, Sienna sent me a picture of his family—a picture of him with you—and I realized it was all a lie.” “Sienna? Who’s Sienna?” My head was spinning. “Another woman he scammed.” Anger, confusion… I hadn’t even processed Rosalind, and now there was a Sienna. I left the reunion without saying goodbye. I had to go home. I had to confront Eason. What had he been doing behind my back? How many women were there? Rosalind chased after me. “Cathy, don’t do anything reckless!” Reckless? If she weren’t an old classmate, I would have slapped her across the face. “Cathy!” She grabbed my arm. I violently shook her off. “Get your hands off me! Don’t you dare touch me!” Rosalind’s eyes immediately filled with tears. Playing the victim now, you hypocrite? I spat on the ground and jumped into a taxi, leaving her standing there. As the cab sped away, my mind raced. How should I confront him? How could I possibly unleash the hurricane of fury building inside me? Then, my phone rang. It was Eason. How dare that monster call me? I answered, ready to scream, but a soft voice came through the speaker. “Mommy, when are you coming home? I miss you.” My throat tightened, and tears burned my eyes. After ten years of marriage, I had finally been blessed with my daughter. My five-year-old Lily was my entire world. If I blew up my marriage, what would happen to her? If Eason was prepared for this, he could easily fight me for custody and win. My own words from earlier echoed in my mind. The only way I’m leaving my marriage is in a black dress. I swallowed the tears, my resolve hardening into something cold and sharp. I wouldn’t let Eason just walk away. For a monster like him, the only destination was hell. When I got home, Eason was as attentive as ever. He had my slippers ready and was drawing me a bath. On any other day, I would have melted and rewarded him with a kiss. Now, the sight of him made me want to vomit. He was a beautiful facade hiding a rotten core. “Honey, did you have too much to drink?” he asked, noticing my expression. He didn’t suspect a thing. To him, my forthright personality had always been as transparent as glass. His ability to be a philanderer on the streets and a saint in the home proved he was light-years ahead of me in the art of deception. No woman who discovers her husband’s betrayal can remain calm. It’s impossible. But what could I do? The only thing I could do was force myself to think clearly. I had already lost so much. I couldn’t afford to lose everything. I played along with his assumption, pretending to be drunk. I stumbled into the bathroom and made loud retching noises, letting the tears I’d been holding back finally stream down my face. “I need to shower,” I mumbled, pushing him out and locking the door. I turned on the water and sobbed until I was empty. Later, I curled up in bed with Lily and held her until she fell asleep. Eason quietly opened the door, tucked us in, and left as silently as he came. Everything had happened so fast. One moment, I was certain he was cheating. The next, seeing his familiar tenderness, a sliver of doubt crept in. Could the photos be fake? Rosalind and I hadn’t seen each other in over a decade. Why would she go to the trouble of organizing a reunion just to tell me she was sleeping with my husband? It felt like she had another motive. Was she trying to drive me away so she could take my place? It was certainly possible. Rosalind called again, saying she wanted to talk. “I don’t want to talk,” I said coldly. “If you think you can destroy my marriage with a few photos, you’ve picked the wrong person.” There was a long silence before she hung up. I sneered. Did she think her pretty face gave her a license to do whatever she wanted? Beauty is not a substitute for brains. But she didn’t give up. The next day, she showed up at my office. “Cathy!” she said, pulling me into her car before I could protest. “What the hell do you want?” I snapped. “Is wrecking my family some kind of game to you?” She didn’t say a word, just drove. We ended up in a part of town I’d never been to, a place throbbing with neon lights and pulsing music. Since getting married and especially since having Lily, my world had shrunk to a simple triangle: the office, home, and her preschool. I believed a married woman’s place was as a devoted wife and mother. Rosalind, clearly a regular here, led me to a discreet corner booth. “There’s going to be a show,” she said. “I need you to watch it, and I need you to stay calm.” It was a show, all right. I watched with my own eyes as Eason walked in with another woman, his hands all over her, their every move oozing with a practiced intimacy. “That’s Sienna,” Rosalind whispered, her eyes fixed on my face. “As far as we can tell, besides you, his wife, he has two other girlfriends: me and her.” Watching Eason’s sleazy performance, my mind flashed back to the gentle, caring man at home. The confusion was overwhelming. Should I believe Rosalind, or should I believe Eason was innocent? Ultimately, the three of us sat down together. Me, Cathy, Eason’s wife and a senior manager at a private firm. Rosalind, the owner of a chain of beauty salons, scammed out of her heart, her body, and her money. And Sienna, a wealthy heiress with two private hospitals in her family, who had suffered the same fate as Rosalind. The silence was thick with tension. Rosalind asked me again what I planned to do. As Eason’s legal wife, if I chose to forgive him, they would both walk away and let me try to save my marriage. “We were classmates, Cathy,” Rosalind said earnestly. “I want what’s best for you. Otherwise, I would have never told you any of this.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. My marriage needed a third party to salvage it. “We can back off,” Sienna said, her voice sharp. “But can you guarantee that bastard will change his ways and become a faithful husband?” Who could guarantee that? No one. And even if I saved this marriage, could I ever truly trust him again? Could I sleep next to a man whose body and soul were so thoroughly tainted? I couldn’t. But if I chose divorce, what would I be left with? The company I worked for—the company I had poured my heart and soul into for a decade—was legally registered under his aunt’s name. Eason was the silent owner. I had worked tirelessly, thinking I was building our future, only to realize he had planned this from the start, leaving me with nothing. Our house was in both our names, but what good was half a house? A divorce would leave me unemployed and homeless; Eason had the capital to easily buy out my half. Worst of all, I could lose Lily, the daughter I nearly died to bring into this world. A divorce would leave me with absolutely nothing. I sat in silence, the weight of my failure crushing me. Rosalind and Sienna were smart; they understood my predicament. Rosalind gently took my hand. “Cathy, don’t worry. We’re going to teach that bastard a lesson. Together.” My demand wasn’t greedy. I just wanted what was rightfully mine: a share of the profits I had generated for the company over the past ten years. Sienna scoffed. “Is that all? If it were me, I’d take back ten times what he stole.” I managed a weak smile. That was the difference between being married and just dating. For them, a breakup was the end of it. For me, I had Lily to consider. I couldn’t afford to burn everything to the ground and risk losing her in the process. They say three women are a drama waiting to happen. Our little play was about to begin. The company’s legal owner was Eason’s aunt. That meant in a divorce, I had no claim to it. But I had made that company millions, and I wasn’t walking away empty-handed. As the de facto boss, I knew every corner of the business, especially its finances. The first step was to not arouse Eason’s suspicion. So, I had Rosalind make an anonymous tip to the tax authorities, reporting the company for tax evasion. Soon enough, the auditors showed up.

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I’ve got a crush on my best friend’s uncle. The word is he has shoulders for days and a waist you could span with two hands—a body built to drive a woman mad. The only catch? He’s a man of few words and even fewer desires, completely immune to the charms of the opposite sex. During my sophomore year break, I went to visit my best friend, Rosie, in her hometown. She begged her uncle to pick me up from the airport. Thinking he was collecting a child, the man had my name broadcast over the airport’s PA system. “Paging little Tia. Your uncle is waiting for you at the information desk. Please do not talk to strangers.” I sprinted toward the desk, my face burning. When he saw me, the man froze for a heartbeat, his demeanor instantly cool and distant. But later that night, he held me so tightly in his arms that the very concept of distance between us ceased to exist. 1 Rosie was at a family reunion and video-called me to complain. But I wasn’t listening. My eyes were glued to a man standing in the corner of the room. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. His dark suit jacket was casually draped over a nearby chair. He’d forgone a tie, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms traced with the faint blue of his veins. He had an air of handsome indifference that was, somehow, devastatingly sexy. High-bridged nose, thin lips. The man was a masterpiece. My gaze drifted down… and down… until a sudden warmth flooded my nose. “Tia! Are you okay? You’re having a nosebleed!” Rosie’s shriek echoed from my phone. Her voice was so loud that it drew the attention of several people at the party. There I was, sitting in my bright yellow cartoon pajamas, my hair a mess in a haphazard bun, gnawing on a slice of watermelon. From the corner, it seemed the man’s gaze flickered toward the screen. Thank God I wasn’t there in person. They couldn’t see my current state of disaster, or I would have died of humiliation on the spot. Rosie was still fussing over me, but I just wiped the blood away with the back of my hand. “I’m fine,” I said with a goofy grin. “I think I’m in love.” 2 Rosie’s eyes went wide. “No way! You’re finally interested in someone? You’re dating? When did this happen? How did I not know!” I smirked, lowering my voice. “Not exactly, Rosie. I’m talking about the guy in the corner, just behind you.” I pointed gingerly at my screen. “The tallest, most handsome one.” She followed my finger, and her eyes widened even further. “My uncle? You’ve got a thing for my uncle?” “Your uncle?” Rosie nodded. “Yep, that’s him. I mean, he’s gorgeous, obviously, but Tia, if you’re thinking about trying to date him… you’re in for a world of hurt. It’s basically impossible.” Her words were a bucket of ice water. He was her uncle? I thought he was our age, a senior in college at most. The man had a face that completely defied his real age. “How much older is he than you?” I asked. “Six years.” My eyes lit up. Six years! That wasn’t so bad! Not an insurmountable gap at all. “Why is he so hard to get?” I pressed, my hope rekindled. Rosie started ticking points off on her fingers. “He’s famously aloof, a man of few words, and completely uninterested in romance. He’s ruthlessly self-disciplined, the kind of guy who stays perfectly rational no matter what. Even though he’s only a few years older than me, he’s the one person I’ve been terrified of my entire life.” “As far as I know,” she continued, “the concept of ‘dating’ doesn’t even exist in his world. He’s twenty-six and I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend. Not once. He spent all of college buried in a lab, and the second he graduated, he took over the family business. It’s only been a few years, and he’s already number one in the industry.” Rosie’s tone was cautionary. “Tia, my uncle is the ultimate catch. The number of women who have tried to pursue him over the years isn’t in the dozens, it’s in the hundreds. And every single one of them has crashed and burned. They couldn’t even get close enough to touch him.” She gave me a serious look. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 3 I hadn’t realized he was that accomplished. Hearing Rosie lay it all out, I felt the chasm between us yawn wide. The gap in our age and life experience felt like a canyon I could never hope to cross. Defeated, I decided to give up on the idea. But after that day, something strange happened. It was like I was bewitched. For a solid week, I had a series of… unspeakable dreams. And he was the star of every single one. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I was a complete novice in these matters. His face was seared into my brain, impossible to forget. In the middle of the night, I crept out of bed, flipped open my laptop, and searched for official information on him. John Chen. CEO of Chen Corp. 26 years old. Six-foot-one. Single. “John Chen.” I whispered his name, and it felt good on my tongue. It was a nice name. Staring at his formal, corporate headshot, I couldn’t resist. I opened my chat with Rosie. “Rosie! I can’t get your uncle’s stupidly handsome face out of my head! What do I do?!” I couldn’t help it. I was just a normal woman with a healthy appreciation for beauty. To my surprise, Rosie was awake and replied instantly. “What can you do? How about this: you come visit me, and I’ll get my uncle blackout drunk and deliver him to your bed?” Me: “Get him drunk?” Rosie: “Totally! He might look like he can hold his liquor, but he’s a total lightweight. One drink and he’s out cold!” I considered the plan. A trip to visit Rosie… I was on break anyway. It was perfect! I typed back furiously: “Okay, I’m coming to visit. But…” Rosie: “But what?” Me: “But I don’t want to just sleep with him. I want to win him over! Rosie, I’m going to pursue your uncle!” Rosie: “Holy crap. You’re serious?” “Yes!” She didn’t reply for a long time. When she finally did, it was with the gravity of someone making a momentous decision. Rosie: “Alright. That’s my girl. Go big or go home! I don’t care how impossible he is. I will use every trick in the book to make you two fall in love!” Me: Overwhelmed. Crying. Clinging to her leg… 4 After getting a full debrief from Rosie on John’s personality and preferences, I was finally on a plane to Crestview. At the exact same time, Rosie was on a plane heading out of town. Using her trip as an excuse, she had begged John to pick me up from the airport and look after me for a while. To build the suspense, she deliberately only told him my name, Tia. She emphasized that he needed to take very good care of me, that he had to take me everywhere he went, or I might get lost. Naturally, John assumed he was picking up a small child. After the plane landed, John couldn’t get through to my phone. A few minutes later, as I was wheeling my suitcase through the terminal, I heard my name over the PA system. “Paging little Tia. Your uncle is waiting for you at the information desk. Please do not talk to strangers.” And again. “Paging little Tia. Your uncle is waiting for you at the information desk. Please do not talk to strangers.” The social anxiety was real. Face flaming, I rushed toward the information desk with my luggage. As I got closer, I slowed my pace, catching my breath. My eyes landed on a powerful back. John was standing there, leaning casually against the counter, his fingers drumming a light, impatient rhythm on the surface. He projected an aura that was half relaxed, half intimidating. He wasn’t in a suit today, but a casual shirt and jeans. His perfect physique made him look good in anything. He was like a painting you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. Girls all around were sneaking glances at him, but no one dared approach, deterred by his formidable presence. We hadn’t been properly introduced yet, and I agonized over what to call him. Should I call him what Rosie does? After a moment of hesitation, I finally found my voice. “Uncle?” 5 John heard me and lowered his gaze. His eyes fell on me, and for a split second, he looked completely stunned. He straightened up, gesturing toward the still-broadcasting speaker. A deep, pleasant voice washed over me. “My apologies. I didn’t realize you weren’t a child.” My ears burned as I shook my head and mumbled that it was fine. He took my suitcase from me and extended a hand. “Hello, I’m John Chen.” I had whispered that name to myself countless times on the way here. My eyes were involuntarily drawn to his hand—it was all elegant knuckles and long, graceful fingers, with neatly trimmed nails. Hesitantly, I reached out. The moment our fingertips touched, I whispered, “I know.” Lifting my gaze to meet his, I managed a nervous greeting. “My name is Tia. It’s nice to meet you, Uncle John. Thank you for looking after me.” His eyes were dark pools of ink. Was it my imagination, or did they seem to dim for a fraction of a second after I spoke? It happened so fast, I couldn’t be sure. But his demeanor immediately grew more distant, his voice cooler. “It’s no trouble.” Still, the warmth from his palm sent a jolt through me. 6 John was a perfect gentleman. Once he took my luggage, I didn’t have to lift a finger. In the car, I sat obediently in the passenger seat, buzzing with the excitement of our first real meeting. He had the unmistakable air of a man in charge. His presence was so powerful that just speaking to him made my palms sweat. But the face from my dreams was right there, sitting next to me. I picked at my seatbelt, unable to stop myself from stealing glances at him. He kept one hand on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead, seemingly oblivious to my little movements. As we drove past city landmarks, he would point them out, telling me their stories. History, when told in his voice, suddenly became fascinating. The more I listened, the more I was drawn to his quiet, mature charm. His voice was a clear, comforting baritone that made me want to relax. Gradually, my own inhibitions started to fade. I became more talkative, the initial awkwardness melting away. I even found myself poking his arm to get his attention. “Uncle, look! What’s that?” “Is that another famous Crestview building?” “It’s so pretty!” “And it’s right downtown, it looks like a fun area.” “Wow, look at that one, too!” When I got no reply, I turned. “Uncle, why aren’t you…” My voice trailed off. I found myself looking directly into John’s handsome eyes, which held the lingering traces of a smile he hadn’t quite managed to hide. My voice dropped to a whisper, my ears heating up. “Why didn’t you answer me?” John let out a soft chuckle. “So, Tia’s finally not nervous anymore, is she?” He had noticed my anxiety. And he had been subtly, wordlessly, helping me overcome it. My heart gave a violent lurch. Damn. Was this the power of a mature man? And he called me Tia! Realizing this, I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from turning up. The ripples in my heart were spreading. Maybe John Chen wasn’t so cold after all. 7 The car pulled into the driveway of a beautiful villa. John got my suitcase out of the trunk, and I followed him inside. He opened a closet and pulled out a pair of women’s slippers in a cheerful butter-yellow. My eyes lit up. It was my favorite color! He instinctively bent down as if to help me put them on. My face flushed. “Uncle, I can do it myself!” He’s being too kind! I screamed internally. Is this part of the service? I slipped them on. Damn. They were a perfect fit. My size, and my favorite color. Surely they weren’t bought specifically for me, were they? The thought had barely formed before I dismissed it. No way. If he knew anything about me, he wouldn’t have thought he was picking up a kid at the airport. Which meant… these slippers were for another woman. Rosie’s intel was wrong. Just like that, my giddy excitement deflated. My head drooped. I had a rival. And judging by this, she was someone important to John. He led me upstairs to a bedroom. When he opened the door, it was clear the room had been decorated for a girl. There was a new toothbrush, toothpaste, even a fluffy new towel that had already been washed. Every detail was thoughtful and welcoming. John leaned against the doorframe. “You can stay here for now. My room is to the left, and my office is on the right. If you need anything, even if I’m working, feel free to come find me.” He expected me to be pleased, but my head hung even lower than before. Who said John Chen was a stoic who was uninterested in women? This room, so perfectly prepared… it must have been for her, too. 8 John had noticed my mood shift earlier, but now he seemed baffled by my deepening gloom. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well? Or was I driving too fast? Are you carsick?” “Maybe I’m just a little carsick,” I mumbled, taking a step back. His hand froze in mid-air before dropping to his side. The moment the words left my mouth, I was kicking myself. Tia, what are you doing? You can’t even control your emotions? How rude! You want to make a bad impression on your first day? I wanted to explain, but I didn’t know what to say. In a moment of panic, I blurted out, “Thank you so much for picking me up today! You’ve been a huge help!” I tried to force a winning smile, but it felt stiff and unnatural. “Really, thank you! Because of you, the four seasons are warm! Thank you, because of you…” My hands started moving on their own, performing some bizarre, grateful dance as John just stared at me, his expression unreadable. I snapped my mouth shut, mortified. I wanted to slap myself. What was I doing, trying to be funny? It just made things a hundred times more awkward. He must think I’m a total weirdo. My shoulders slumped in defeat. “Okay, fine. I’m just carsick, Uncle. Don’t worry, it’ll pass. I’ll just rest for a bit.” I thought I was hiding my feelings perfectly, but my act was full of holes. As I started to close the door, I saw a flash of helplessness in John’s dark eyes. The man who always seemed to have everything under control now looked like he was struggling to figure out how to handle my mood. His voice was soft. “Alright. You get some rest. Call me if you need anything. I won’t disturb you.” He gently closed the door for me. Was it my imagination, or did his retreating figure look almost… lonely? 9 My parents are both teachers, and from middle school through high school, I was always in a class taught by one of them. I was raised under a strict set of rules, a product of countless regulations. As a result, I never had a crush during my teenage years. Back then, I genuinely believed that dating young was a serious transgression. It was only when I left my parents’ nest that I realized the world outside wasn’t so scary after all. The desires I had suppressed deep inside began to grow wild. When I got to college, the number of guys who tried to hit on me made me realize I probably wasn’t ugly. But this was the first time I had ever been so intensely interested in a man. After a night of feeling sorry for myself, my fighting spirit returned. So what if the room was prepared for another woman? I was the one living in it now. We were under the same roof! A man of this caliber… I was the one who was winning here. My mind drifted to John’s incredible body, which even his clothes couldn’t hide. I couldn’t sleep. I spent the night trying to guess his measurements, but even his corporate bio didn’t have those details. Moving in together right after we met… this was a test, wasn’t it? John was single, successful, and ridiculously handsome. It would be weirder if I didn’t have any competition. I had timing and proximity on my side. I needed to take advantage of this perfect environment. What was I moping about for? The next morning, I was bursting with energy. When John saw that my mood had lifted, he seemed to let out a sigh of relief. But I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Hadn’t he slept well? Or had he been working all night? 10 In the days that followed, John cleared his schedule to show me every corner of Crestview. A CEO of his stature, personally playing tour guide just for me. He must have been incredibly busy, but he never let it show in front of me. The only clue was the light in his office that often burned late into the night. Every outing was planned meticulously. All I had to do was follow him, no brain required. The more time I spent with him, the more I realized that the man who seemed so unapproachable on the outside was actually incredibly thoughtful and observant. He remembered the food I liked after I mentioned it just once. He picked up on my hobbies, my taste in music, everything. He took me to a high-end auction. Without me saying a word, he knew exactly which item had caught my eye. He bid for it without batting an eyelid, driving the price up until it was his. The next day, it was sitting in my room. I turned to find him, my heart soaring. “Uncle John, is all this for me?” He was just leaning against the doorframe, a faint smile on his lips. “I had a feeling you’d like it.” At glamorous parties where I knew no one, he would instinctively draw me into his circle of safety. Even while talking business with others, his eyes would follow me. He told me that meeting the people at these events would be good for my career after graduation. Because of him, I navigated the galas with ease, making connections and seizing opportunities. Being with John was just… comfortable. I insisted on wearing high heels to go out, loving how they looked. He never tried to talk me out of it. But every single time, just as my feet were starting to ache, he would crouch down, pull a pair of sneakers out of his backpack, and help me change into them. I had no idea when he’d started carrying them. One afternoon, sitting on a park bench, he gently examined my ankle for any redness while lightly flicking my forehead with his finger. “Next time you want to wear heels, how about we just wear them for the photos? Okay?” he asked, his tone gentle and consultative. His perfect manners, his unwavering consideration. I couldn’t tell if this was special treatment reserved just for me, or if it was simply his good upbringing, a favor for a friend. All I knew was that in the moment our eyes met, my heart lost all control. Thump. Thump. Thump. A current zapped through my body. I think, I really think, I’m falling for John Chen.

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My name is Angela. I’m the wife of Damian Sterling, the CEO of the Sterling Corporation, and the mother of his two sons. You’d think that having two sons would mean I could walk on air in this high-society world. In circles like these, producing a male heir is the ultimate currency. But I know the truth. My two precious boys… they aren’t exactly normal. They’re human by day, but at night, they turn into cats. So, I’ve learned to keep my head down, to shrink into the background and make myself as small as possible. I live every day in a state of quiet terror, terrified that Damian will discover I’ve cheated on him. The problem is, my supposed rival for his affections is a cat—and where the hell am I supposed to find the other man in that equation? 1 There’s a legend that runs through the Sterling family: because their ancestors were so ruthless, their hands so stained with the blood of their rivals, they were cursed with difficulty in conceiving. For generations, there has only ever been a single heir. So when it came to choosing a wife, it wasn’t just about beauty or family connections. The ability to bear sons was the ultimate trump card. And I, Angela, just so happened to have a mother who was a master at it. After my mom married my dad, she popped them out one after another. Other families might have two kids in three years; my mom had triplets in one go, cranking out six boys in just three years. Six of them. All boys. Can you believe the nerve? Even though we were constantly scraping by with so many mouths to feed, my mom walked with her chin held high, her voice booming with pride. In a world that worshipped sons, who could compete with her fertile womb? Who could dare challenge her track record? Word of her legendary fertility spread, and as her only daughter, I became the town’s most sought-after prize. From the day I turned eighteen, our doorstep was worn thin by suitors. In the end, it was the Sterling family’s offer that won. And just like that, I was married off. My life’s new purpose: to carry on the family line. For a country girl suddenly thrust into the gilded cage of high society, the pressure was suffocating. But for a two-million-dollar marriage settlement, I swallowed my fears. I waved a tearful goodbye to my parents and six older brothers and climbed into the waiting limousine. Of course, those weren’t tears of sorrow for my departure. They were tears of pain from chipping their teeth on gold. My parents and brothers, bless their country-bumpkin hearts, had never seen real gold before. Their first instinct was to bite it. Every single one of them ended up with a broken tooth. Watching the scene unfold, I wanted to scream, “Could you at least try to save me some face?” That was one reason I left. The other was simpler: you don’t argue with a force of nature. Just try saying no to a billionaire family and see what happens. When I first arrived at the Sterling estate, I was left alone for a month to learn etiquette. The second month, I was sent to Damian Sterling’s bed. My first impression of my benefactor? Mr. Sterling was young, formidable in bed, and visited my room with dutiful frequency. As expected, a month later, I was pregnant. A wave of relief washed over me as the doctor confirmed the news. I hadn’t failed my family. I hadn’t tarnished our reputation as premier son-producers. Ten months later, as the woman carrying Damian Sterling’s first son, I was the focus of the entire family. After a full day and night of labor, a piercing cry announced my success. I had delivered the heir. Damian came to see the baby. He glanced into the swaddling clothes, his face a mask of indifference. “You’ve worked hard,” he said, then turned and left without another word. The Sterling matriarch, his mother, rushed in, her face etched with anxiety. She unwrapped the baby, inspecting every inch of him, before she too shook her head and walked out. Their reactions sent a spike of panic through me. Was there something wrong with the son I had worked so hard to deliver? I pushed myself up, ignoring the pain, and leaned over the bassinet to get a closer look at my newborn son. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. Five fingers, five toes. I looked again. His lips were a perfect bow, his eyes bright and clear, his skin as smooth as porcelain. He was a beautiful baby. A cherub straight out of a Renaissance painting. Not only was there nothing wrong with him, any other family would have been delirious with joy to have such a perfect, healthy boy. I couldn’t understand it. Even if they didn’t praise me, shouldn’t they at least acknowledge my effort? Shouldn’t there be some kind of reward? They gave my family two million dollars just to marry me; now that I’d given them a living, breathing heir, there was nothing? Or maybe they were just stunned with happiness, their brains short-circuiting? Cradling my sweet-smelling little boy, I waited eagerly for my benefactor’s reward. As night fell, I sent the nanny off to have her dinner, wanting a moment alone with my son. But the reward never came. Instead, something happened that nearly scared me to death. The sweet, milky-smelling baby in my arms… dissolved, right before my eyes, into a tiny black kitten. It mewed softly, tumbling and rolling in the blankets on the bed. Oh, my God. My father. My six brothers—what was happening? Where was my son? My beautiful baby boy? Why was he a cat? If I hadn’t seen the transformation with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. I was certain I’d only ever been with Damian, that I hadn’t cheated. So how could my child be a… a hybrid? How was this even possible? I trembled as I watched over the tiny, furry creature all night, refusing to let anyone near the room. As the first rays of dawn touched the horizon, I was sure my life was over. A thousand different ways to die flashed through my mind, but none of them seemed quite right. 2 “Waaah! Waaah!” A human sound from the bundle of fur in my arms? I looked down. The kitten was gone. In its place, nestled in the blankets, was my plump, perfect prince—my precious son. I called the nanny in to feed him while I watched, my heart pounding with suspicion. He ate, he slept, he gurgled and cried when he was hungry—he was a perfectly normal baby. I started to wonder if I’d suffered some kind of postpartum hallucination. My family had no history of… abnormalities. The day passed in a haze of doubt. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, my hybrid—no, my beloved son—transformed into a kitten again, right before my eyes. Cradling the mewing ball of fur, I cried silently. Son, please be quiet! If you keep meowing, they’ll kill us both! After that second transformation, the last of my hope withered and died. My God, my grandmother, my coat, my jacket—my brain felt like it had been scrambled into mush. I spent another sleepless night trying to figure out where this mutation could have come from, but I had no answers. For my own survival, and for the survival of my hybrid child, I learned to be invisible. I stopped going to the gardens. I stopped visiting the kitchens. I stayed by my son’s side, guarding our terrible secret. But then, when my son was six months old, I found out I was pregnant again. The matriarch sent nourishing soups. Her husband sent ginseng. Even the wives of other prominent families sent bolts of fine fabric. After six months of living like a ghost, I could finally hold my head high again. During that time, I’d observed that my hybrid son’s human form was stable during the day. So, I started venturing out again. I went to the gardens, I instructed the kitchen on menus. My pregnancy cravings and late-night hunger even prompted Damian to have a small, private kitchen built in my villa. I, Angela, was back in the game. The other society wives started visiting my villa for tea and gossip again. Soon, another ten months passed, and the day of delivery arrived. My first son’s little brother was born. I peeked at him nervously. He was human. Thank God. Tears of relief pricked my eyes. But Damian’s reaction was the same as before. A grim expression, and then he was gone. The matriarch sighed, shook her head, and left. Still, the birth of my second son earned me a promotion: I was no longer just the wife of the CEO, but the Lady of the house. I was ecstatic—a promotion meant better benefits. With one human child and one hybrid to raise, I needed every penny I could get. My joy, however, was short-lived. As the sun set, my second beautiful, chubby son transformed into a kitten right before my very eyes. He was identical to his hybrid brother, a creature of pure black fur, except for the very tips of his ears, which were white. How thoughtful. Was this so I could tell them apart? This time, I didn’t faint. I just sat there, my heart a block of ice, as two tiny kittens playfully wrestled on my bed. And so, once again, I retreated into the shadows. No more causing trouble. No more tea parties or gossip sessions. No more picking flowers, chasing butterflies, or ordering special meals from my private kitchen. I lived a quiet, peaceful life, raising my two hybrid children. My dedication paid off in an unexpected way. My eldest, once he turned a year old, only transformed into a cat during the midnight hour, between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. My younger son wasn’t there yet—he still transformed the moment the sun went down. I took care of their every need myself, terrified of letting the secret slip. Ironically, my tireless devotion to my sons earned me a reputation as a model mother, and even the matriarch rewarded me for it. Sometimes, I’d let myself dream. With two healthy sons, maybe I could one day fight for the position of head of the family. Then I’d hear the meows in the dead of night, and the fantasy would shatter. Forget it. I’d be lucky to keep my head. After the birth of my second son, Damian’s visits became less frequent. I didn’t mind. Unlike the other wives, I never tried to win his favor with homemade soups or pastries. In fact, I was the one woman in this entire social circle who genuinely wished for Damian to have more children with other women. The more heirs he had, the less attention he’d pay to mine. And the less attention he paid, the safer my two hybrids would be. The longer the three of us would get to live. God, just thinking about it brought tears to my eyes. 3 Time flew by. In the blink of an eye, my eldest hybrid was five, and my younger one was three. By carefully cultivating the image of a fragile woman recovering from a lingering injury, I had managed to keep our villa quiet and isolated for years. It was as if I’d fallen out of favor. The good news was that my eldest could now maintain his human form almost perfectly, only changing during the full moon. My younger son was still a work in progress—he transformed every three days. To ensure their physical and mental well-being, I lived a life of constant deception. By day, we ate simple, bland meals. By night, we feasted on fish and meat. More accurately, I was practically living on bread and water during the day, stretching the food budget for a CEO’s wife and two young masters just to afford a few extra fish for my boys at night. Watching my two little cat-sons devour their meal, I would shed a silent, bitter tear for myself. My darling hybrids’ father, who are you? Where are you? On the outside, I was a doting mother. On the inside, a storm was raging. I was at my breaking point—my hybrids were now eating seven fish a night. Sob. The kitchen manager I’d bribed told me he couldn’t justify increasing our order any further. Over the years, I’d learned their personalities. My eldest was stoic and serious, always trying to act more mature than his years. He was thoughtful, obedient, and had a small appetite. He doted on his younger brother, respected his mother, and only ate two fish a night. My younger son, on the other hand, was a little terror and a bottomless pit. One day he was tearing up the matriarch’s prized orchids, the next he was scrapping with a society wife’s precious Persian cat. He was a constant source of anxiety. Thankfully, he only caused trouble in his cat form, or our secret would have been out long ago. Lying in bed, I reflected on the challenges of raising two hybrids. It hadn’t been easy. “Mom, Leo’s gone.” My eldest son’s grim face appeared at my door. “What—” The scream died in my throat as he shot me a stern look. “Mom, please wait quietly in his room. I’ll go find him.” “Be careful. Please, be careful.” “I will.” With that, he transformed into a sleek black cat and vaulted over the garden wall, disappearing into the night. “That little rascal,” I sighed, wringing my hands. “He never gives me a moment’s peace. Oh, I hope no one catches him. My baby boy…” I sat on a stool, my mind racing with terrible possibilities. Just as the moon reached its zenith and I was about to sneak out to search for them myself, my two hybrids returned. “Oh my god, what happened to you two?” My eldest’s black fur couldn’t hide the blood matting the corner of his mouth. But my younger son was in worse shape—all four of his legs were limp, completely useless. I quickly lifted the smaller cat from his brother’s back. As my fingers brushed against his soft, broken limbs, tears streamed down my face. “Mom, Leo is badly hurt,” my eldest said, shifting back into his human form. “His internal energy isn’t stable enough to hold his human shape.” “Where did you find him? Where did that little devil run off to?” I asked, my voice choked with panic as I dabbed at the blood on his lip. “Don’t worry, Mom. His injuries aren’t that serious. Our bodies can heal themselves. I found him in Dad’s study. We’ll have to wait until he wakes up to find out who hurt him. You should get some rest. I’ll take him back to our room to recover.” His calm, methodical demeanor managed to soothe my frayed nerves. “Okay, okay. Go quickly. Make sure you take good care of your brother. My poor little hybrid, you must have been in so much pain. Sob…” I called after them, the image of that small, limp body burned into my mind. My heart ached, and I couldn’t stop the tears. What kind of monster would be so cruel to a helpless kitten? Don’t let me find out who hurt my baby boy. I swear, I’ll have my eldest scratch their eyes out. 4 Worried sick about my sons, I only managed to doze off near dawn, slumped against the headboard. “Hurry, hurry…” “Find it…” “Check over here…” “You go that way…” The commotion outside the villa jolted me awake. Bang, bang, bang! Someone was pounding on the main gate. The cleaning lady rushed to open it. For years, I hadn’t even kept a personal maid, all to protect my sons’ secret. I rose, checked my reflection—I looked presentable enough—and pulled back the curtains to see what was happening. “My Lady,” the head of security said, bowing low as he led a team of guards into the courtyard. “Last night, a black cat broke into the master’s study and scratched him. We are under orders to find the creature. We ask for your cooperation.” His words sent a chill down my spine. My hybrid son had scratched Damian? Damian was the one who had hurt my sons? Even a tiger won’t eat its own cubs, but Damian… he had injured both of them in one night. My heart shattered. “My Lady, if you would please allow us, we will be thorough but careful not to damage any of your belongings,” the captain said, bowing again. “Captain, please, do as you must,” I murmured, still lost in a fog of grief over Damian’s cruelty. I sat in the garden pavilion, watching numbly as the guards finished searching the main house and moved towards the side wing where my sons slept. I felt like I was forgetting something important. My head throbbed from lack of sleep. I just couldn’t place it. “Young Master, please open the door. We’re here to conduct a search,” the captain announced, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he bowed toward the door. Wait. A black cat? My younger son was still unconscious. He couldn’t transform back into a human! If they burst in there now, it would all be over.

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For six years, I was secretly married to an Admiral’s daughter. Yet everyone at Port Sterling Naval Base saw me only as a pitiful doctor chasing a woman far beyond his reach. She never corrected them. Everything came to a head at a victory celebration. A voice laced with scorn cut through the crowd: “Dr. Cross, the Admiral’s daughter is engaged to a diplomat’s son. Stop dreaming.” Even Seraphina stood coldly nearby, champagne in hand. “Don’t waste your time on me,” she said. In my past life, that broke me. I exposed our marriage certificate, only for her to call it a childish prank. To protect David, she had me jailed for a week. Later, pirates ambushed my transport. Bleeding out, I sent a distress signal. She received it but chose the opera with David over saving me. I died knowing I was just a pawn. Now, reborn at that same moment, I met her indifferent gaze with a calm smile. “Very well. I wish you and Mr. Croft a happy life together. By the way, my transfer’s been approved. Farewell.” 1 For the first time, a crack appeared on Seraphina Vance’s ice-cold facade. Standing beside her, David Croft’s triumphant smirk froze on his lips. He shot a panicked glance at Seraphina. “Sera, what is he…?” I didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing. I turned and walked away. In my last life, I shoved our marriage certificate in their faces. The stunned silence was followed by Seraphina tearing the document to shreds, claiming I’d forged it. I came out of the brig seven days later with half my hair turned gray from the stress and despair. This time, I couldn’t be bothered to even present the evidence. There’s no point in fighting for someone who doesn’t give a damn about you. “Ethan!” Seraphina’s voice was sharp, chasing after me. I didn’t stop. The sound of her heels clicked rapidly on the polished floor, getting closer. A second later, her hand clamped down on my wrist. I stopped, not struggling, just turning my head to look at her. Her face was a mask of fury. “What is this? What new game are you playing? A transfer? Who authorized it?” It was the same tone she’d used in my past life as I, half-mad with grief and betrayal, grabbed her uniform and demanded to know why she’d left me to die. “Ethan, what kind of scene are you making now?” I pushed the memory away and used my free hand to pull a folded document from my satchel. “Commander Vance,” I said, my voice steady. “Read it carefully. It was approved directly by the National Military Medical Center. Your authority doesn’t extend that high.” Her pupils contracted. That transfer was a favor, cashed in. It was a debt owed to me by a four-star general whose granddaughter I’d saved. In my last life, I never asked for anything in return, but the general insisted he owed me a debt that could never truly be repaid. This time, I called it in early. Seraphina snatched the paper from my hand, her eyes scanning the text. Her expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and finally hardened into a dark glower. “Cancel it,” she commanded, her eyes locked on mine. “I forbid it.” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. I wrenched my wrist, now red from her grip, free and took a step closer. “And on what grounds do you forbid it?” I tilted my chin up, meeting her gaze without flinching. “On the grounds of our secret marriage certificate that can never see the light of day? Or on the grounds that you’ve stood by and let the entire base humiliate me for six years?” Her mouth opened, but no words came out. I pressed forward, closing the space between us. “Seraphina,” I whispered, the name feeling like ash in my mouth. “To me, you are nothing anymore.” Just then, the sound of expensive leather shoes echoed from the end of the hall. David came running, a look of faux concern plastered on his face as he stepped between us. “Dr. Cross, how can you speak to Sera like that? She’s been more than patient with you all these years. You should be grateful…” “Move,” I cut him off. “You…” “I said, move.” My voice was quiet, but it held a new kind of steel. David, for all his bluster, instinctively took a step back. He bit his lip, his eyes welling up with crocodile tears. “Dr. Cross, I never wanted to be your enemy. I just love Sera. Is that so wrong?” “No,” I nodded. “But standing in my way is.” With that, I brushed past him. He shouted at my back, “Ethan Cross, you’re just a common medic! Without Sera’s protection, you’re nothing!” I stopped and turned to look at him, a faint smile playing on my lips. “Am I? I thought I was just making room for you.” The color drained from David’s face. He lunged at me, his fist raised, but an arm shot out and stopped him. Seraphina had appeared, her expression unreadable as she gripped David’s wrist. “David, stop it.” His eyes instantly reddened with real tears this time. “Sera, you see? This is how he treats me! He has no respect for you at all!” Seraphina didn’t answer him. Her gaze was fixed on me. “Commander Vance,” I said formally, “I wish you and Mr. Croft all the happiness you deserve.” And then I left, without a single look back. 2 My transfer was blocked. The official reason was beautifully crafted nonsense. The base is currently engaged in a highly classified medical research project, and Dr. Cross, as a core member, cannot be reassigned at this critical juncture. I stared at the notice and almost laughed out loud. A core research member? I was a trauma surgeon. I hadn’t even been briefed on the project, let alone seen the inside of that lab. I knew it was Seraphina’s doing. She was a woman accustomed to control, to having the world bend to her will. The phone rang while I was organizing patient files. Her father’s voice, the Admiral’s voice, boomed through the receiver, laced with its usual condescension. “Ethan, I hear you’ve been acting out.” I said nothing. “I understand that young men have tempers,” he continued, “but you need to learn your place. The Vance family is not a ladder for a man of your background to climb, nor is it a cage you can just walk away from. Come back, apologize to Seraphina, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened.” My fingers tightened on the receiver until my knuckles were white. Then, I relaxed. “Admiral,” I said calmly, “I think I’ll leave that particular blessing for you to enjoy.” I hung up. The retaliation was swift. The next day, the rumors started. They slithered through the barracks and the mess hall, poisoning every conversation. Dr. Cross has no professional ethics. He’s been using his position to harass a superior officer. He’s a social climber, trying to marry into the Vance family by any means necessary. The stories were viciously detailed, woven with just enough truth to be believable. When I was getting food in the mess hall, I heard the whispers behind me. “I heard he’s been some commander’s secret boy-toy for six years. Now he’s trying to make it official.” “Shameless. The woman’s already engaged and he won’t give up.” I turned, tray in hand, and the gossipers immediately fell silent. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the source of the slander. The Vance family was trying to destroy my reputation, to make my life in the Navy so unbearable that I’d have no choice but to come crawling back to them, begging for mercy. But a man who has already died once has very little left to fear. Three days later, the base hosted a diplomatic event. Several foreign military attachés were visiting for a tour and exchange. David, as a diplomat’s son, was naturally part of the welcoming committee. As the on-duty physician, my only job was to remain in the clinic and be ready. That afternoon, chaos erupted. One of the foreign attachés collapsed, his breathing ragged, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple. Anaphylactic shock. Severe. Someone burst into the clinic, screaming for a doctor. I took one look at the man and knew we had seconds. “Get the crash cart! I need epinephrine, now!” A corpsman ripped open the medical kit and then froze. “Doctor… there’s no epinephrine.” My blood ran cold. Impossible. I had personally inspected that kit yesterday. Every vial, every ampule was accounted for. The attaché’s breathing grew fainter. The people around me started to panic, their fear turning to accusation. “What do you mean there’s none? How is this clinic being run?” “If he dies, who’s responsible?” “Get him on oxygen, keep his airway clear!” I commanded, trying to remain calm. “And get the nearest hospital on the line, have them dispatch a full emergency team, now!” I dropped to my knees and began chest compressions. Thankfully, the backup team arrived in time. The attaché’s life was saved. But the investigation report placed the blame squarely on me. The inspection log, which should have shown my signature from the previous day, had vanished. In its place was a forged document, showing the kit hadn’t been checked in three days. I looked up and saw David leaning against the doorframe of my office. He was holding a cup of coffee, a gentle, cruel smile on his face. “Dr. Cross, I hope you’re not thinking of doing anything rash. After a screw-up this big… well, if it were me, I don’t know how I’d ever show my face again.” I got to my feet and walked toward him. “You think this is enough to destroy me?” “Destroy you?” He laughed, the sound full of genuine amusement. “Oh, Ethan, you give yourself too much credit. You’re just a mistake Seraphina made, a stain she was always going to wipe away. I’m just helping her clean up the trash a little early.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just imagine, what if that attaché had actually died? Negligent homicide? An international incident? Or would they just ship you straight to a court-martial?” I stared at him. This man, in his obsession to marry Seraphina, had gone completely insane. That evening, I received my official orders. Suspended from duty, pending further investigation. 3 The heavy steel door of the brig slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing in the small, concrete cell. On the third day, Seraphina came. “Just admit it was your mistake, and I’ll step in and protect you,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “You’ll get a formal reprimand, a demotion, but you’ll be able to stay in the Navy. It’s your best option.” I didn’t move. “Ethan, don’t be stubborn,” she continued. “You can’t win against my family, and you certainly can’t win against the Crofts. Confess. And this all goes away.” She was offering me a lifeline, on the condition that I get on my knees and admit to a crime I didn’t commit. To admit I was incompetent, that my medical ethics were flawed, that I was unworthy of the uniform I wore. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I wondered how I could have ever loved this woman. I was just an intern at the naval hospital when we met. She was already a decorated Special Forces commander, not just an Admiral’s daughter. During a training exercise, a mortar misfired. She was hit by shrapnel, bleeding out and unconscious. On a makeshift operating table, I was the one who dug three pieces of metal out of her. When she woke up, the first thing she asked was my name. After that, she began to pursue me, in her own awkward, clumsy way. I thought her coldness was a shield, a wall she put up. I was wrong. It wasn’t a shield. It was her foundation. “What if I told you David did it?” I said, finally looking up at her, my voice flat. Her brow furrowed instantly, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Ethan, don’t be ridiculous. Don’t drag innocent people into your mess.” “I know David,” she stated, as if it were fact. “He would never do something like this.” In her world, David was forever the innocent victim, and I was forever the one making a scene, lying, making excuses. “You know him?” I pushed myself off the cot and walked to the bars of the cell. “Seraphina, what do you really know about him?” I stared into her eyes. “You know I would never shirk my responsibilities. You know I have a perfect record after six years as a physician. You know how much my honor as an officer means to me. And yet, you still choose to believe him instead of me.” “Because the evidence is against you,” her voice grew colder. “You were responsible for the kit. You were in charge of the epinephrine. How am I supposed to believe you?” I laughed until my eyes stung. “What if I told you the kit was tampered with the day before the event? What if I told you David knew in advance that the attaché had a severe peanut allergy? What if I told you he personally arranged for the catering to include powdered peanuts in the pastries?” Her expression didn’t change. “Do you have proof?” My heart stopped for a beat. She didn’t care about the truth. All she wanted was my submission. “No,” I said, letting all emotion drain from my face. “But I will find it.” “Ethan.” Her voice was low, a clear warning. “Don’t fight a battle you can’t win. Admit your guilt, accept the punishment. It’s better for both of us.” I took a step back from the bars. “Seraphina, when have you ever once considered what’s better for me?” She fell silent. I looked at her, this woman who once made my heart race, and all I felt was a profound sense of pity. “Seraphina,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “the day is coming when you will come begging me. Remember that. You will beg me.” She stared at me for a second, the contempt in her eyes overflowing. “It seems seven days in the brig isn’t enough for you,” she said, turning to leave. “You can stay in here and keep dreaming.” 4 At the court-martial, David sat in the front row of the gallery, a picture of solemn support. Seraphina was seated to the side of the judicial panel. The duty roster was presented as evidence. My signature was there, but the date had been clearly altered. Three corpsmen testified that I had been distracted and unfocused that day, claiming that I must have tampered with the kit after their initial inspection. I listened to the cascade of lies and didn’t say a single word in my defense. The presiding judge finished reviewing the file and looked up. “Dr. Cross, do you have anything to say in response to these charges?” Whispers rippled through the gallery. I scanned the room. Not a single person in this court was on my side. But then, I had always been alone. My gaze finally landed on Seraphina. Her face was as impassive as ever. “Your Honor,” I began, my voice ringing out in the silent courtroom. “My defense has nothing to do with this medical incident.” The judge frowned. “Dr. Cross, what are you talking about?” I didn’t hesitate. “I am formally requesting this court launch a full and immediate investigation into Commander Seraphina Vance on charges of illegal confinement and conspiracy to endanger the life of a service member!” The room fell into a dead silence. I turned to face Seraphina. The color was draining from her face. “She did this,” I announced, my voice booming, “so that she could use me as a living blood bank and a personal pharmacy for her terminally ill brother, Leo Vance. She has been doing this, by deceiving me into a fraudulent marriage, for six years!” Seraphina shot to her feet. I kept my eyes locked on her. “Furthermore, I have reason to believe that six years ago, as a new recruit, I was the victim of a so-called ‘medical accident’ where I was illegally transfused with blood products from Leo Vance himself!” The courtroom erupted. The judge slammed his gavel. “Order! Order in the court!” David was ghost-white, stumbling to his feet. “You’re lying! Leo has been…” “He’s been dead for years, right?” I cut him off. “Except that’s not the story the Vance family tells, is it? The official story is that he’s receiving treatment abroad. Commander Vance even takes a personal trip to ‘visit’ him every year.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a thick file, holding it high. “These are my complete medical records for the past six years. Every blood draw is documented. And every time, the amount of blood taken was far beyond what is required for routine tests. But on every single record, the field for ‘Purpose of Draw’ is conveniently left blank.” An officer of the court took the file to the judge, whose face grew darker with every page he turned. “This is absolute nonsense!” Seraphina roared. I ignored her, sliding a small, encrypted USB drive across the table to the judge. “This is a copy of a hidden medical file that Commander Vance kept. I managed to decrypt it.” The drive was plugged into a laptop, and the data filled the screen. Patient: Leo Vance. Condition: Rare genetic disorder, fewer than twenty documented cases worldwide. Requirement: Blood transfusions from a specifically matched donor, twice monthly. And there it was. Starting six years ago, the donor code was listed as EC-001. My initials. “Leo Vance first showed symptoms at age twelve,” I continued, my voice cold and clinical. “Six years later, at eighteen, during my enlistment physical, my blood was found to contain a unique antibody. Three months after that, I was involved in a ‘medical accident’ and transfused with blood products from an ‘unidentified source’.” The gallery was in an uproar. Seraphina stared at me, raw panic finally breaking through her composure. “Ethan, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” I turned to her, a true smile finally reaching my face. “Of course I do. I’m saying that to save your brother, you turned me into your personal, living blood bag.” Her face was as white as a sheet. “Your suspicion isn’t proof!” she stammered. “Where is your evidence?” I didn’t answer her. I just looked at the judge. On the screen, he had pulled up another file. It was the original incident report from my transfusion six years ago. The signature of the attending physician belonged to the Vance family’s private doctor. The line item for the source of the blood had been redacted. But you can’t redact a digital footprint. Seraphina staggered, grabbing the railing for support. “This involves family privacy,” she gasped, turning desperately to the judge. “This is a matter of military security, I demand…” She was cut off by the sound of unified, heavy footsteps from the back of the courtroom. Several officers in different uniforms stood up. The man in the lead flashed a badge. “Judge Advocate General’s Corps. We’re taking over this case.” The last traces of color drained from Seraphina’s face. She knew. Once JAG was involved, there would be no burying this. “Commander Seraphina Vance,” the JAG officer announced in a grim voice, “you are under suspicion of conducting illegal medical experiments, unlawful imprisonment, and endangering the life and health of a service member. A full investigation begins now.” Two military police officers moved toward Seraphina. But her eyes were locked on me, filled with a terrifying mix of disbelief and fury. I felt nothing. The JAG team worked with terrifying efficiency. In less than an hour, they found the missing syringe of epinephrine. It was hidden in David Croft’s office desk. The fingerprints on it weren’t his, but they belonged to his personal assistant. The judge slammed his gavel one last time. “On the matter of medical negligence, the court finds the defendant, Dr. Ethan Cross, not guilty. You are acquitted of all charges.”

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The call came just before my bone marrow donation. It was my brother, Henry. “Hey,” he said casually, “if I get your marrow, will I turn out ugly like you?” I was too on edge to process it at first. He continued, “I’m grateful, but I’ve always liked Talia more. She’s beautiful. Giving me your marrow… that’s your duty as my sister, right?” His words struck like a blow, leaving my mind blank. Then my parents chimed in from the background. “Henry, stop,” my mother said mildly, “your sister is about to have surgery.” Then she added, “But he’s not wrong. Don’t get worked up.” “You’ve never been a beauty, Nora,” my father rumbled. “Not like Talia. She’s pretty and charming. Everyone likes her.” Suddenly, it clicked. This wasn’t just about my looks—it was punishment for calling off my engagement after discovering my ex was cheating with Talia. Fine. If that’s how they felt, there was nothing left to say. I swung my legs off the hospital bed and began removing the sterile gown. My parents rushed over. “What are you doing? Stop making a scene.” “Let go of me,” I said, my voice low and cold. “Or I’ll call security.” 1 My mother grabbed my arm. “The doctors will be here any minute! What are you doing? Do you want to make us a laughingstock?” My father’s eyes were filled with disgust. “A man who cheats before the wedding is only going to be worse after. Talia took a bullet for you and shielded you from disaster. You should be thanking her, not holding a grudge.” I tilted my head back and let out a cold, sharp laugh. The story was pathetically simple. My cousin Talia, the girl who had spent her entire life trying to take everything that was mine, had finally snatched my fiancé, too. She’d done it at our engagement party, wrapping her arms around him right in front of me. I’d lost my mind and demanded we call the whole thing off on the spot. Ever since, my parents had blamed me for ruining Talia’s reputation. “How’s Henry doing?” Just as we were locked in our standoff, Talia herself appeared in the doorway, a vision of concerned grace. My parents’ faces instantly softened. “Talia! What are you doing here?” As if summoned by a psychic link, my brother Henry burst out of the sterile isolation ward, ignoring the frantic protests of the nurses. “Talia! I knew you’d come see me!” I watched as they all flocked around her, a bitter taste rising in my throat. Talia’s eyes found me, and she offered a gentle smile, holding out a small, elegant gift bag. “I wanted you to have some wedding favors,” she said sweetly. “I’m getting married this weekend. Your uncle said you’d probably still be in the hospital, so… we didn’t send an invitation.” My eyes burned with rage. I glared at her, and Henry immediately jumped in front of her, shielding her like a knight. “Why are you looking at her like that?” he snarled. “You’re an ugly, vicious witch! No wonder no one wants you!” He took a step closer, his face contorted with disgust. “The thought of having your marrow inside me makes my skin crawl!” I froze. Was this really my brother? The same brother I had been caring for day and night since his diagnosis, ever since we found out I was a perfect match? Now, for Talia, he could say something so vile. With a monumental effort, I fought back the tears and turned to my parents, my last hope. My mother stepped forward and smoothed the collar of my shirt. For a second, the warmth of her hand on my neck made my heart ache, and the tears threatened to spill over. But then she spoke. “You have always been such a disappointment,” she sighed. “The surgery is in an hour. Why must you always cause trouble?” “Look at Talia. She’s so busy with work, yet the moment she heard Henry was having his operation, she rushed right over. And then there’s you.” Her voice dripped with condescension. “This is why everyone loves her, Nora. And why no one loves you.” Her words landed, and every sacrifice I’d ever made for them turned into a cruel joke. In that moment, something inside me snapped. I grabbed my donation consent form from the bedside table and, with a single, violent motion, tore it to shreds. My mother lunged for me, but I shoved her back. My brother started to shout something, and I slapped him, hard, across the face. “You give me…” Before I could finish, a storm of slaps rained down on me. I instinctively curled into a ball, shielding my head as my father’s rage descended. I stumbled backward until I crashed to the floor. He stood over me, panting, his eyes bloodshot. “Get out! You are no daughter of mine.” His voice was raw with fury. “We don’t need you. Someone else can donate to Henry.” It was as if I’d been waiting to hear those words my whole life. The last, stubborn thread of hope inside me finally died, and in its place, I felt a wave of absolute, liberating peace. Now, I could finally leave them for good. 2 I used a nearby bed to pull myself to my feet. My parents and my brother were clustered together, protectively surrounding Talia, staring at me as if I were a wild animal. A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside me. I never knew they were so afraid of me. Sensing my resolve, my mother tried a different tactic, her voice softer now. “Don’t be so dramatic. Families say things they don’t mean. Are you really going to abandon your brother?” “No matter what, we’re family,” she pleaded. “If you want, I’ll apologize on their behalf. I’m his mother, I’ll get on my knees. I’ll do anything, if you’ll just stay and save Henry. I’ll be your servant for the rest of my life, how about that?” Talia glided over, taking my hand. “Everyone was just emotional,” she cooed. “Your parents are getting older; we should be more understanding. Besides, if you leave, what will happen to Henry? You’re his sister. Can you really bear to watch him die?” I almost laughed in her face. “If I leave, he’ll still have you, won’t he? You were a match, too, remember?” After my uncle—Talia’s father—died in a car accident and his wife remarried, my dad brought Talia to live with us. Perhaps out of guilt or nostalgia for his late brother, my parents began to shower her with affection, growing colder and more distant with me each day. It’s true what they say—being loved makes you bloom. The more they doted on her, the more beautiful and radiant Talia became. I, on the other hand, was thin, sallow, and unremarkable. Whenever we went out, people would praise my parents for raising such a wonderful girl in Talia. As they soaked in the compliments, their resentment towards me grew. At the dinner table, any plate with meat on it was always placed in front of Talia. If I dared reach for a piece, my father would slap my hand away. “Were you raised in a barn? Look at you, like a starved stray. It would be a waste of good food anyway.” My entire childhood was a battle against this injustice. So, as an adult, I threw myself into my work. I gave them everything I had, desperate to prove I was better, more successful, more worthy of their love than Talia. When Henry was diagnosed with leukemia, I was the first to get tested. Even though both Talia and I were matches, I rushed to the hospital to sign the consent forms without a second thought. And what did it get me? The unloved child is always invisible. No matter how much I gave, I would always be the one they despised. Rather than pour my life into a bottomless pit, leaving was the only choice I had left. 3 I grabbed the duffel bag I’d kept with me at the hospital. It was filled with things for Henry—special foods, clean clothes, everything he’d need. Now that I was leaving, I wouldn’t be taking them with me. I turned and handed the bag to my parents and Talia, explaining each item. “After this incident, the doctors will be even stricter about his isolation. These apples and pears need to be steamed before he can eat them. And this…” My voice broke. “This is a plane ticket to Sweden for him. The air quality there is better; it’s good for recovery.” My vision blurred with tears. I looked up and saw their faces, still masks of arrogance and disgust. I wiped my eyes, turned, and threw the entire bag into the trash can. I ripped the plane ticket in half. “Hey! What are you doing? You said that was for me!” Henry yelped, reaching out as if to stop me. I shoved the bag deeper into the bin. “You want it? Go ask your precious Talia to buy it for you.” I turned back to the four of them. “If there’s nothing else, you can leave now. I need to change.” They stared at each other, stunned. It seemed they never expected me, the family doormat, to finally grow a spine. When my parents still didn’t move, Talia gave Henry a subtle look. The two of them each took an arm and escorted the older couple out of the room. Through the glass window in the door, I saw the four of them huddled together, with Talia at the center, plotting. My mother kept glancing nervously in my direction. I don’t know when it started, but every family decision, big or small, was made by the four of them, without me. I used to cry and scream about being excluded, only to be told, “Are you crazy?” My only confidant was my dog, Daisy. I hugged her every night just to be able to fall asleep. When Talia found out, she must have said something to my parents, because they exploded at me. “You don’t even care about your own family, but you cuddle that stupid dog all day,” my father had yelled. “You’re losing your humanity.” He threw a knife at my feet and locked both me and Daisy out on the balcony. “You can come back in when you’ve killed that animal,” he’d said. “Otherwise, you can starve out there.” Then, he, my mother, Talia, and Henry all left for a week-long vacation. It was the dog days of summer. The heat on the balcony was suffocating. For seven days, I survived on dog food and sips of rainwater. But my poor Daisy… the heatstroke took her. When my parents returned, they didn’t ask how I’d survived. They only asked, “Are you done with your nonsense now?” After that, I stopped fighting. No matter how close the four of them were, I never protested again. After packing my things, I was ready to leave. Henry pushed the door open, an impatient look on his face. “Fine, I’m sorry, okay? You’re my sister. I shouldn’t have called you ugly. I shouldn’t have called you a witch.” He sighed dramatically. “There. I said it. Now you should go apologize to Mom, Dad, and Talia.” I just rolled my eyes. “Thank God I didn’t give you my marrow. You don’t deserve it.” Growing up, he had always been the bully. I had never said a harsh word to him in my life. Hearing me now, he flew into a rage, raising his fist. “Don’t push it! Who the hell do you think you are, acting like everyone owes you something?” I shrugged. “If you’re done talking, move. Good dogs don’t block the door.” He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. “Walk out that door and you’re never coming back. Mom and Dad will never forgive you!” The spot where my father had hit me still throbbed with a burning pain. A family like this, a home like this… I was better off without them. Talia approached, her eyes red-rimmed. “This is all my fault. I’ll make sure Henry and your parents spend more time with you from now on,” she pleaded. “Everything they buy for me, I’ll give it to you. If that’s not enough, I’ll leave. I’ll go away and I won’t come back until you’ve forgiven them.” For all her supposed tears, not a single one fell. It was her classic routine, and I was sick of it. But some people always fell for it. Henry, who had just “apologized,” was now her champion again. “Talia, why are you begging her? We like you because we want to. Some people are just born to be hated.” Behind Henry’s back, Talia’s tearful eyes were filled with triumph and provocation. The sight made me nauseous. She grabbed my hand again. “It’s my fault. Please don’t go.” I was so tired of her games. I tried to pull my hand away, but somehow, in the movement, she stumbled back and knocked over a thermos of hot water sitting on a table. It splashed all over her arm, instantly turning her fair skin an angry red. Before I could even process what had happened, Henry’s fist connected with my face. “You just had to take it too far, didn’t you!” he screamed. “She apologized to you! What more do you want?” He grabbed my shirt. “I’ve hated you for years! If Talia hadn’t stopped us, Mom and Dad would have kicked you out long ago!” I tried to fight back, but before I could even raise my arm, my father clamped it in an iron grip. “You ungrateful viper. I knew this day would come.” My mother, ever my father’s loyal supporter, jumped in, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “How could you attack your own family? You have no conscience!” Fearing a scene in the hallway, they dragged me by my hair to the far corner of the room. As I struggled, I managed to pull out my phone and dial 911, screaming my location into the receiver. Seeing the phone, Henry lunged, snatched it, and stomped it into pieces. “What are you doing? Do you want the cops to arrest Mom and Dad?” When they finally stopped, I was a bloody mess on the floor, every inch of my body screaming in pain. I stared at them with pure hatred. “Unless you kill me right here, right now, I’m going to make sure the police arrest every single one of you.” My mother and brother flinched, but my father stood his ground. “So what? I was disciplining my own child. What’s that got to do with the police?” Thankfully, the police arrived quickly. My father was still fuming. My mother immediately pointed at me. “Officer, arrest her! She promised to donate bone marrow to her brother, he’s already in the sterile ward, and now she’s backing out!” “And she assaulted us!” she shrieked, holding up Talia’s scalded arm for the officer to see. “This woman is a menace to society!” The officer looked at Talia’s arm, then at my bleeding face. His expression grew grim. “This constitutes assault. All of you are coming down to the station.” My father, who had been silent, suddenly spoke up. “My daughter didn’t hit anyone,” he said firmly. “She’s planning on applying for a government job soon. A police record would ruin her future.” The daughter he was referring to, of course, was Talia. He would move heaven and earth for her. To make me drop the charges, my father transferred ten thousand dollars to my account as “compensation.” I accepted the money, then looked him straight in the eye. “Some things can’t be solved with money.” My parents glared at me, wishing they could devour me whole. “What else do you want?” “Simple,” I said. “I’m going to the records department.” “I, Nora Harris, am formally and completely cutting all ties with you.”

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After three years of playing the designated social outcast, I finally completed the mission. Before my scheduled “death,” the System gave me one day to say goodbye to my targets. I’d been holding it in for three years. It was time to go scorched-earth on each and every one of them. To my moody, controlling adoptive brother: [You think you’re so deep and mysterious? You’re just a poser with a trust fund!] To my arrogant jock of a childhood friend: [Three years of tutoring and you still have the IQ of a golden retriever. Are you brain-damaged?] To my cold, older fiancé: [Who would be desperate enough to marry an old man like you? You’ve practically got one foot in the grave!] A moment later, my phone buzzed with replies. Moody Adoptive Brother: [? Is this a code? Are you in trouble? I’m on my way home now!] Arrogant Jock: […I was just pretending to be dumb to make you feel like you were good at teaching, okay? God, you make me so mad. Just you wait!] Cold Fiancé: [Is someone trying to poach you? Let’s meet and discuss this in person.] Just then, my doorbell started ringing like crazy. At the same time, the System’s voice screeched in my head: [HOST, I READ THE DATE WRONG!] [YOUR EXTRACTION ISN’T FOR ANOTHER SEVEN DAYS!] Me: “?” Part 2 It was my third year of being the girl everyone loved to hate. And I had finally, finally, finished the mission. For three years, I’d played the part of the timid, doormat protagonist perfectly. I was a ghost at school. At home, my adoptive brother, Julian, treated me like his personal assistant. I had no friends, and my family barely tolerated me. Then, a glimmer of hope: an arranged marriage to the powerful Pierce family. But, of course, on the day of our engagement party, the truth came out. I was the switched-at-birth fake heiress. The Sterlings’ real daughter had been found. Just like that, the world turned on me again. I was public enemy number one. Maybe that was the final straw the System was waiting for. After three years of radio silence, it finally reactivated. [Congratulations, Host! The ‘Universal Scapegoat’ mission is complete. A substantial reward is waiting for you.] [You will be returned to your original world tomorrow.] I blinked. “What about ‘me’ in this world?” I asked. The System chuckled. [Don’t you worry about that. We’ll arrange a little accident. A clean exit.] That easy? “Are you sure? It’s really over? No more missions?” I had to be certain. The System puffed out its digital chest. [Absolutely! Tomorrow, you can cash your check and go home!] Relief washed over me. The System said I had one day to say my goodbyes. But as I thought about it, there was nothing and no one to say goodbye to. These people probably wouldn’t even flinch if they read my obituary. Bored, I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Right on cue, it vibrated. A message from a contact I’d saved as “Mr. Broody Poser.” [I’m having a dress for the gala sent to the house tomorrow.] [For God’s sake, don’t wear one of your ugly ones. You’re embarrassing me.] That was my brother, Julian Sterling. Or, I guess, my adoptive brother now. My parents’ golden child. From the moment I was dropped into this world, he’d treated me like something he’d stepped in. Moody, condescending, and a master of the backhanded compliment. He’d criticize my taste, my grades, my very existence. All I had to do was walk past him to earn a look of pure disgust. But he was the Sterling heir, and no one dared to challenge him. Not even my own mother, who just told me to keep my head down and endure it. I’d endured it for three years. I’d been his quiet, obedient little shadow. But I was leaving tomorrow. And today, I was done enduring. Me: [You think your taste is so great?] Me: [Attached Image] Me: [Is this supposed to be a dress or a designer garbage bag?] Me: [And that wasn’t a typo.] Me: [You walk around like you’re some kind of fashion god. Honestly, even though you’re a miserable person with no real friends, literally 0 people care what you wear.] A long pause. Then, a single question mark appeared. I think I broke his brain. The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a message came through. Julian: [What happened to you?] My fingers flew across the screen. Me: [Nothing happened.] Me: [I’m just sick of your act.] Me: [You poser.] My phone went silent. Julian had probably short-circuited from rage. But who cared? I put him on Do Not Disturb. A soft knock at my door. One of the housekeepers peeked in. “Miss Ava, the car is waiting.” “It’s taking you back to school for the event this afternoon.” Even though I was now the “fake” Sterling, my parents, out of some lingering sense of duty, were letting me finish high school at the prestigious Northwood Prep. The ride to school was silent. Even the driver could probably sense the toxic atmosphere back at the house and didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop when I opened the door to a furious voice. “Ava, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you?” Part 3 I looked up. A guy was standing there, glaring at me, his chest heaving with anger. I gave him a once-over. “Why were you waiting for me?” Liam Prescott looked like he’d been slapped. “?! I felt sorry for you, okay?” he sputtered. “Nobody was going to ask you to prom. I was going to do you a favor and be your date, and this is the attitude I get?” The Prescotts and the Sterlings were old family friends. That made Liam, unfortunately, my childhood acquaintance. With his lazily handsome face and star athlete status, he was basically king of Northwood Prep. Our parents had once even tried to set up an arranged engagement between us. Liam had shut that down publicly. I can still remember the look of pure disgust on his face at the dinner party. “Her? An engagement with her?” he’d scoffed. “Are you insane? Are you actively trying to ruin my life?” His very public rejection had made me the laughingstock of our entire social circle for a year. But hey, his reaction had also netted me 100 experience points, a third of my total mission goal. So, I wasn’t planning on holding a grudge. But then his two cronies, who were flanking him, decided to chime in. “Yeah, Ava. Liam’s doing you a huge favor. You should be grateful.” “What’s with the attitude? You still playing hard to get or something?” Hearing that, Liam’s lips tightened into a thin line. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Ava. I’m talking to you.” I looked at him, genuinely confused. “You’re in my way. I need to get to the main building.” He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Did you hear a single word I just said? Aren’t you even going to apologize?” I blinked. “Apologize? To who?” “To you?” “As if.” Liam froze. “You were waiting for me, but you never bothered to text me,” I continued, ticking the points off on my fingers. “What, am I supposed to be a mind reader? And I never asked you to be my prom date. So who is this whole knight-in-shining-armor act for? Do you need a tissue? Maybe you can squeeze out a few tears to make it more believable.” His two buddies looked scandalized and jumped to his defense. “He was just trying to be nice since you’re pathetic and have no one else! You’re so ungrateful!” “Why are you being such a bitch? You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” I shot them a bored look. “Duh, of course it’s on purpose. Why else would I say it?” I gestured between them. “What are you guys, his personal cheerleading squad? Did you get a two-for-one deal on loyalty or something?” I then swept my gaze over all three of them. “Look, I know my words are harsh. But it’s not like any of you deserve a compliment.” Liam was the first to snap out of it, reaching out to grab my arm. “Ava—” My bodyguard smoothly stepped between us. I glanced back at Liam over my shoulder. “Look, I’m in a surprisingly good mood today, so if you have something to say, spit it out before I change my mind.” But the expression on his face wasn’t the rage I expected. It was… confusion. And a strange sort of panic. “Ava, today you’re…” he stammered. “Are you sick or something?” I’d braced myself for an explosion, and that’s all he had? Seriously? All this time, I’d been surrounded by the most pathetic bunch of posers and wannabes. I’d really overestimated them. Part 4 I didn’t bother with Liam again and headed straight for the principal’s office. I had more important things to do. Even though the whole school was buzzing about prom, it held zero appeal for me. It was just an excuse for the popular kids to dance and take pictures. As the resident ghost, I never had a date, so I hadn’t even bothered to get a dress. I was just wearing a hoodie and jeans. When I came out of the principal’s office, the looks I got in the hallway were different. Sharper. More pitying. “So she’s not a real Sterling…” “That explains so much. She has none of their class…” “Her and Julian are from two different worlds. Poor Julian, having to put up with an adoptive sister like that.” The rumors about my parentage had finally made it to school. I pulled out my phone and saw twenty missed calls. All from Julian. A number that had been dormant for a decade was suddenly blowing up my phone. I half-wondered if he’d signed me up for some spam-call service online. I didn’t bother calling back. I just opened his texts. There were too many to read, but the last one caught my eye. Julian: [I’m coming home tomorrow.] He was supposed to be on a business trip overseas. Staring at the message, I had no idea what to say. So I just locked my phone. Whatever. It was his house. He could come and go as he pleased. On my way out, I ran into Liam again. He was in a tux now, the boyish edges of his face sharpened into something more mature. When he saw me, his jaw tensed. “Ava, why haven’t you changed yet?” he asked, his voice low and strained. “I’m not going to the dance,” I said flatly. I don’t know what was wrong with him. Usually, he’d be with Chloe Sanders, the most popular girl in our grade, by now. As Liam opened his mouth to say something else, my bodyguard politely blocked his path. “Mr. Prescott, Miss Ava is engaged to Mr. Pierce.” Liam’s face went cold. “I know that! You don’t have to tell me!” I just rolled my eyes and nodded to my bodyguard. “Let’s go home.” As I got into the car, I saw a few of Liam’s friends rush over to him. They were talking animatedly, gesturing towards my car. I watched Liam’s expression shift from confusion to shock. I could guess what they were telling him—the big, juicy gossip about my real identity. The car started to pull away. Suddenly, Liam shouted my name. “Ava—!” He was running after the car, his face desperate. The driver accelerated, and the tinted window slid shut. I watched in the rearview mirror as Liam’s figure got smaller and smaller, until he was just a black dot in the distance. I turned to my bodyguard. “What’s his deal?” He considered it for a moment. “Maybe he’s getting his cardio in for the day.”

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On the fifth anniversary of my marriage to my stepbrother, he killed himself. He left me only a torn piece of paper. On it were three words: I hate you. He had every right to hate me. He’d raised me for ten years, and I’d repaid his kindness by drugging him and climbing into his bed. I made him lose the love of his life. I faked a pregnancy to trap him into marrying me. I knew he didn’t love me, but I was too selfish to let him go. In the end, I drove him to his death. And I died on the way to his funeral. I thought that would be the end of it, a final, clean break. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I drugged him. Caleb was dead. I was in a coffee shop with my lawyer, finalizing the divorce papers, when the call came. “Give him the money, the house, everything,” I said, my voice flat. The lawyer looked at me, surprised. “Ms. Ross, you intend to walk away with nothing?” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his expression baffled. “My understanding is that Mr. Hayes initiated the separation. Legally, he’s the party at fault…” I held up a hand to stop him. “Just write it that way.” The money, the house—it was all his. I’d already poisoned so many years of his life; I had no right to his possessions now that it was over. “Well, in all my years handling divorce cases, you’re certainly the most generous client I’ve ever had,” the lawyer said with genuine admiration. A bitter smile touched my lips. If he knew what I’d done to Caleb, he wouldn’t be saying that. For years, everyone in Caleb’s life had a name for me: the psycho. The monster who’d coveted her own stepbrother. The ungrateful viper he’d raised. “If you’ll review this one last time, you can sign right here. I’ll have the agreement couriered to Mr. Hayes.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise as I took the pen. I’d just started the first letter of my name when my phone rang, shattering the quiet of the café. “Am I speaking with Ms. Stella Ross? This is St. Jude’s Medical Center. We’re calling about your husband, Caleb Hayes. He was admitted following a suicide attempt…” The pen slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and the world blurred. I never imagined he hated me that much. That he would rather die than spend another day tied to me. But he was just one signature away. I was so close to finally setting him free. Part 2 By the time I reached the funeral home, Caleb was already in an urn. The moment she saw me, his grandmother, her eyes red and swollen, slapped me hard across the face. “You monster. How dare you show your face here?” I didn’t flinch. I just stared at the black-and-white photo of Caleb, my mind numb. It had been six months since I’d last seen him. That was the day he’d asked for a divorce. “Jessica’s back in town,” he’d said, his voice devoid of emotion. “After all these years, I’ve never forgotten her.” He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. “Name your price, Stella. Whatever you want. Just sign the papers.” I’d flown into a rage. I smashed everything in the living room, screaming at him like a banshee. “A divorce, Caleb? Don’t you even think about it!” I’d shrieked. “The only way I’m leaving this marriage is in a casket. There’s no divorce for me, only widowhood.” He didn’t say a word. Just like every other time we fought, he silently started cleaning up the wreckage I’d made. I thought I’d won. I thought the subject was closed. But when I woke up the next morning, he was gone. His clothes, his pictures, every trace of him had vanished from the house, as if he’d never been there at all. And now, my own words had become a twisted prophecy. I was a widow. Right at the moment I’d finally decided to give him his freedom. A metallic taste filled my throat, and a wave of pain so intense it buckled my knees brought me to the floor. A storm of regret washed over me, but all it produced was a useless, silent, I’m sorry. Grandma Hayes refused to let me attend the funeral. She ignored my pleading and physically pushed me out of the building. When I tried to force my way back in, she shoved a crumpled piece of paper into my hand, her eyes burning with hatred. “You want to see what he left behind? This is it! This is the only thing he left!” I froze. My fingers automatically smoothed out the paper. The familiar handwriting sent a chill straight through my soul. “Still want to come in?” she asked, her voice dripping with venom. I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. The three words on the paper burned in my mind, a repeating, searing mantra. I hate you. Caleb never made enemies. It was painfully obvious who those words were for. Part 3 I clutched that piece of paper and stood outside the funeral home all night. I couldn’t go in, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. As dawn broke, I saw his family emerge, carrying the urn. They got into a car. I scrambled to mine and followed at a distance. The road leading up to the cemetery was a winding mountain pass, slick and treacherous from last night’s rain. The higher we climbed, the more difficult the driving became. I prayed silently, a desperate bargain with a universe that had never listened. Just let me see him off. Just let me finish this one last journey with him, and I’ll do anything. As the thought crossed my mind, a shadow fell over my car. A massive boulder, dislodged from the cliffside by the rain, crashed down onto the roof. The piece of paper I’d been holding fluttered onto my lap. I looked at the words—I hate you—and laughed through my tears. Of course. I was so arrogant I’d forgotten. Caleb didn’t want me here. He didn’t want me to see him off. As my vision faded to black, I closed my eyes and made a vow. “Caleb, if there’s a next time, I swear I’ll leave you alone.” Part 4 “Stella, are you insane?!” “I’m your brother! You drugged me!” The familiar voice echoed in my ears. I apologized instinctively. “I’m sorry.” The words had barely left my lips when a pair of strong hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. “A little late for sorry, don’t you think?” His warm breath tickled my ear. I snapped my eyes open in disbelief. Standing in front of me, very much alive, was Caleb. “Caleb?” His eyes were flushed with a mixture of desire and anger. I immediately shoved him away and, acting on pure instinct, slapped myself hard across the face. The stinging pain was real. Tears of pure, unadulterated joy streamed down my cheeks. It wasn’t a dream. I was really back. “I’m not the one who’s mad, why are you hitting yourself?” Caleb frowned, grabbing my hand. His eyes were filled with… concern. A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. It was just like the first time. I was the one who had drugged him, who had planned this whole disgusting thing. But instead of being furious, he blamed himself for not being a better guardian, a better brother. Afterward, he’d taken all the blame. His fiancée, Jessica, broke up with him. His grandmother was so enraged she’d cut him off completely for a year. Through it all, he never once told them what I had done. If I hadn’t become more and more possessive, more unhinged over the years, he never would have come to hate me so much. He never would have sought death as an escape. Remembering how I never even got to see him one last time, I pulled my hand from his grasp, my eyes red. “Caleb, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it… I just wanted to see if this stuff worked. I’ll call 911 right now…” I fumbled for my phone, but he suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. His voice dropped, and his eyes darkened. “You were… testing it on me, Stella?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “If it worked, who were you planning to use it on?” I hadn’t expected him to believe my frantic, ad-libbed excuse. But then I realized, this was the perfect out. If he thought I was in love with someone else, it would be a relief for him. A good thing. I forced a shy, embarrassed smile. “The quarterback at my school. I’ve had a crush on him for ages. When I confessed to you before, I was just… practicing.” The hand on my wrist tightened, his knuckles turning white. “Stella, you used me as a guinea pig for some other guy?” “Is he really that special?” Part 5 “Is it really worth it, Stella? To do something like this for a guy?” Caleb’s expression was a complicated mix of disbelief and… something else. It was like he was scolding a naive little sister, but also like he was interrogating the ghost of my past self. For a moment, the present blurred with the past. The first time this happened, right before I pushed things past the point of no return, he had held my hand just like this and asked me the same question. “Stella, do you have any idea what you’re doing? What people will say? Is this really worth it to you?” Back then, I was young and fearless, blinded by my obsession. I knew the world would condemn us, but I didn’t care. I just tilted my head up and kissed him. “It’s worth it,” I’d whispered. The scene shifted back to the present. I said the same two words, but this time, I pulled my hand away from his. “Caleb, he’s the love of my life. Anything is worth it for him.” I immediately dropped my gaze to the floor, terrified he would see the blazing love for him in my eyes. And because of that, I missed the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face. “Fine, Stella. You’d better not regret this.” Before I could answer, he’d shoved me out of the hotel room and slammed the door. Remembering the intensity of the drug, I hesitated for a moment and knocked. “Caleb, are you sure you don’t need me to call 911?” Silence. My anxiety spiked. I was about to call security to break down the door when a familiar voice came from behind me. “Stella? What are you doing here?” I turned around stiffly. A pang of pain shot through my chest when I saw who it was. “Jessica. What are you doing here?” Jessica held up a small paper bag from a pharmacy and smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What do you think, sweetie? We’re all adults here. I’m not here to play Monopoly with your brother in the middle of the night.” Before I could respond, the hotel room door opened. Caleb stood there in a bathrobe, his hair damp. He frowned when he saw I was still there. “Why haven’t you left yet?” A bitter coldness spread through my chest. I kept telling myself this was for the best. Caleb and Jessica were supposed to be together. It was only natural that he would call her. This was the right thing. “Never mind, the medicine…” he started to say. “You guys are busy! I’ll head home now!” I practically fled. The moment I was back in my own apartment, the tears started falling. I guess people are just greedy creatures. I was the one who chose this path, to put things right, to go back to being a normal sister so he could live a long, happy life. But the second I saw him standing with another woman, the pain was unbearable. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to go back and drag him away. I didn’t sleep all night. When I opened my eyes, the very first thing I wanted to do was check his Instagram to see if they’d made it official. I slapped myself. Then I jumped out of bed and started packing. “Stella, what are you doing now?” “Caleb? Why are you home so soon?” I stared at him, my mind reeling. From my past life, I knew how strong that drug was. Last time, he had kept me in that hotel room for three days straight. How was he home after just one night? He saw the look on my face and his expression darkened. “What, you’re disappointed to see me? Were you hoping I’d be gone longer so you could pack up and move in with your precious quarterback?” I never thought he’d jump to that conclusion. It was almost funny, but also deeply sad. I would probably never get the chance to live with the person I loved. “No, that’s not it,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m moving into the dorms. It’ll save you the long drive to pick me up from campus every day.” My university was on the other side of the city. I should have moved into the dorms freshman year, but because of my obsession with him, I’d stayed at home, forcing him to drive me back and forth every day. I paused, then added, “Besides, we’re not real siblings. And now that we both have people we’re interested in, it’s… probably not a good idea for us to live together anymore.”

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We’d been married for six years, separated for three, when my husband, Ethan Hayes, and I were cast on a reality show about divorce. On the show, when they asked about the state of our marriage, I told the truth. “There’s not much left,” I said. “He can’t even stand the dog I adopted. Last week, he brought up divorce again. We barely speak.” I expected the entire internet to tell me to leave him. Instead, they started finding romance in the wreckage. [GIRL, you adopted TEN dogs that kept him up all night, but he didn’t DARE get rid of them. He just quietly moved out. You don’t think that’s love??] [He only gets the courage to threaten divorce when he’s drunk and lonely. Can’t you see he’s just begging you to come home?] [I can’t watch this anymore. I’m starting to fall in love with someone else’s husband.] [Just put them on a dating show already and get it over with.] I shot a skeptical glance at Ethan. He was leaning in close, attaching my microphone, his lips brushing against my cheek in a way that felt anything but accidental. 1 Ethan and I were famously incompatible. Ever since the reality show Last Chance Love premiered, rumors swirled each season that we’d be on it. This time, it was official. Before the first episode even aired, the internet was already sharpening its knives. [The other couple might make it, but Chloe and Mr. Hayes? 100% getting divorced.] This season, the show featured two couples. Besides us, there was former boy-band idol Ryan Vance and his wife, Maya. Before filming started, the director pulled me aside. Ryan, he explained, was using the show to stage a comeback. His plan was to play the devoted husband, a stark contrast to his bad-boy image, and rake in the views. That meant all the real drama, the real conflict, was expected to come from me and Ethan. The director was practically rubbing his hands together with glee. “Your relationship is a train wreck,” he said, beaming. “You’re going to be ratings gold.” On the first day, both couples were brought into an interview room for a “marriage assessment.” The host kicked things off with two bombshell questions. “Do you remember why you got married in the first place?” “And, how often have you been intimate this year?” Ryan jumped in without hesitation. “We were in love, of course. That’s why anyone gets married.” Maya blushed. “He has a… healthy appetite,” she said softly. “It’s usually every few days.” The camera panned to us. I looked at Ethan, then answered truthfully. “I was pregnant. It was a shotgun wedding.” “As for the frequency… zero. We haven’t slept together in three years.” 2 This season, the show was live-streamed, and a feed of the online comments was visible only to the female contestants. After my answer, the chat exploded. [Wait… what? Three YEARS? Did I hear that right??] [No sex in three years? Are they even married?] [What normal guy can go three years without touching his wife?] [Chloe, honey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your husband is DEFINITELY cheating on you.] The director looked thrilled with the chaos. He signaled for the host to continue. I heard the host ask again, “For both couples, do you remember how many times you met before you got married?” The question hung in the air, baffling everyone. The live chat was just as confused. [Is the host drunk? Who the hell remembers that?] [If you can’t ask a real question, get someone who can.] Maya started counting on her fingers, then gave up with an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, it was too many times to count.” I knew the question was aimed at us. Because before we signed the marriage license, Ethan and I had met exactly once. When I gave my answer, Ryan and Maya stared at me in disbelief. “Chloe, you have to be joking,” Maya said. “You can’t get married after meeting someone one time.” Ryan took her hand, his expression disapproving. “That’s incredibly reckless. It shows a complete lack of respect for the institution of marriage. Maya and I dated for five years before we even thought about getting engaged.” The chat was a waterfall of question marks. [People are actually this crazy? My dog spends more time sniffing out a potential mate than that.] [Does anyone have the inside scoop on this? I need answers.] [^^ I heard some things. Chloe was a struggling actress who slept with Mr. Hayes for money. She got lucky and got pregnant on the first try. That’s how she trapped him.] [So that’s the story. One wanted money, the other wanted a pretty face. Disgusting.] [This isn’t a marriage, it’s a business transaction. Calling them a married couple is an insult to the word.] The internet had already dug up my past and was gleefully tearing it to shreds. I watched the comments scroll by, my face a blank mask. Because every word they said was true. 3 Meeting Ethan was a fluke. A complete accident. To pay off my mother’s gambling debts, I’d started acting, taking any extra work I could find. After a few small parts, I finally landed an agent. Not long after, she told me she’d gotten me an audition for a major role. I followed her to a hotel, but instead of an audition, she led me into a lavish party. She paraded me around, introducing me to a string of producers. One of them, a bald, middle-aged man, kept stroking my wrist with his fat, greasy hand as he “cheersed” me. His lecherous gaze made my skin crawl. I saw other girls my age, standing around like merchandise on display. This wasn’t an audition. I needed to get out. But a wave of dizziness hit me, and my body felt flushed and hot. My agent steadied me, a knowing look on her face. She pulled out a key card and told me she’d already booked a room upstairs. She and her assistant practically dragged me toward the elevator. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what was coming. But my limbs were weak, and I couldn’t break free. I was desperately trying to figure out a way to escape when he appeared. Ethan Hayes. He must have just woken up, emerging from the executive suite to head downstairs. I’d seen him in business journals—the youngest son of the powerful Hayes family, a man who controlled a vast empire. He was my only hope. As he passed us, I reached out and grabbed the hem of his jacket. “Save me.” He was smart. He took one look at my flushed face, the way the two of them were holding me, and immediately understood. He took me to his room to hide and was about to leave to find a doctor. But the drug was too strong. I’d been fighting it for so long, and I couldn’t hold on anymore. I grabbed his hand, looking up at him. “Help me. Please?” His eyes were clear and sober. His rejection was blunt. “No.” My mind was fracturing. I wrapped my arms around his waist, my body trembling. I bit his collarbone, my voice breaking as I cried. “Please? You’re sure?” I don’t know how long I begged, but eventually, his eyes darkened, his breathing grew ragged, and his hand finally landed on my waist. His voice was a low, rough rasp. “Are you sure about this?” He was handsome, clean-cut, nothing like the other men. In a daze, I nodded. “I’m sure.” The words were barely out of my mouth before he lifted me with one arm, tossed me onto the bed, and tore off his shirt. He took my hand, guiding it over the hard planes of his chest, down his abs, to the heat of him. That night was a blur. I woke up the next morning, my throat raw, staring at a stranger. I dressed quickly. “Last night… thank you. Don’t worry, I won’t cause any trouble for you. I’ll act like nothing happened.” I was at the door when he called my name. He gave me his number. “Chloe, this is my contact info. If you need anything, you can call me.” I saved the number, but I never planned to use it. The next three months were hell. The agency blacklisted me for refusing to “entertain clients.” The roles I had lined up vanished. I discovered the predatory clauses in my contract, and they sued me for an impossible sum. To make matters worse, I was late. A pregnancy test confirmed my fears. I had taken the morning-after pill. But somehow, it had survived. I couldn’t afford to keep it. The day of my appointment, staring at the number Ethan had given me, I decided to call. He was the father, after all. He deserved to know. When I told him, he was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Chloe, will you keep it?” “If you say yes, I’ll come get you. We can get married today.” He added one more thing. “I can pay the breach of contract penalty. I’ll get you out of it.” The penalty was three million dollars. I could never pay that on my own. I paced outside the clinic all afternoon, watching the sun sink below the horizon. I felt a tiny flutter in my stomach, like the first stirrings of life. I rested a hand there and called him back. “I’m at 98 West Beacon Street in Boston. Are you coming to get me?” His voice was a low rumble on the other end of the line. “Chloe, come downstairs.” “I’ve been here the whole time.” 4 I never thought I’d get married in such a blur. But life after the wedding was better than I expected. Ethan was reliable. He handled everything, big and small. I never had to worry. There was just one thing that threw me. He was a planner. Everything had a schedule. Including our sex life. His proposed frequency was ten times a week. Ten. I had no idea where he found the energy. He worked insane hours but still had the stamina for that. If he was away on business and missed a few “sessions,” he would make up for them with interest when he returned. In public, he was restrained, almost ascetic. In private, he was a different person entirely, his hot hands tracing my spine, his fingers wiping the tears from my eyes as he whispered filthy, wonderful things in my ear. But after what happened three years ago, we stopped touching each other completely. A chill in the interview room snapped me back to the present. The set was designed for the men and women to sit facing each other. Maya and I were directly under an air-conditioning vent. The fan was on high, and my legs, bare in my short dress, were freezing. But we were live; I couldn’t exactly ask them to change it. The host was still firing questions. “What do both couples hope to achieve by coming on the show?” Ryan and Maya were in sync, saying they had some friction in their marriage and hoped the show would help them work through it. They looked at each other lovingly. “We’re here to solve our problems. Divorce is not an option.” The chat was already fawning over them. [Now THAT’S a real couple. They can’t take their eyes off each other.] [The other two are so gross. This is so much better.] When it was my turn, I shrugged. “I’ve never been on a reality show before. I wanted to see what it was like.” The camera cut to Ethan. He was frowning at me, not answering. [Is Mr. Hayes just straight-up ignoring the question?] [He obviously didn’t want to be here. I bet Chloe threw a fit until he gave in.] [To give her the silent treatment on live TV… imagine what he’s like at home.] [Isn’t Chloe embarrassed? I would have walked off set.] Ethan finally spoke, but not to answer the question. He looked at the director. “Can you turn the heat up? Or get my wife a blanket? She’s sitting right under the vent. I’m worried she’ll get cold.” [I was ready for him to start trashing her, and he says THAT?] [He noticed such a small detail. I don’t know, maybe there’s still something there.] [Maya’s cold too, she’s all huddled up. I thought Ryan was so in love with her, how come he didn’t notice?] [Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Ethan is seven years older. There’s no way there’s real love in a May-December marriage like that.] [For real. He was probably just cold himself and didn’t want to say it.] After the crew adjusted the temperature, Ethan finally remembered the host’s question. The host seized the opportunity. “Mr. Hayes, you’re such a busy man. How did you find time for an eighteen-day live broadcast? I heard from the director that Chloe tentatively agreed on the 25th but didn’t give a final answer until the 30th. What happened during that week? Did you two have a fight?” This deliberate leak of information sent the live chat into a frenzy. [So they fought for a week before the show even started?] [Makes sense. Mr. Hayes is so private. He’d never want to do this. They must have had a huge blowout.] [Is it just me or is the host kind of a jerk for revealing that?] [Yeah, it’s just you. She’s a gold-digger on a TV show. What privacy does she deserve?] Ethan shot a brief, annoyed glance at the host. “I was on a business trip overseas that week. She told me about the show when I got back on the 30th.” “We didn’t argue. To be precise, we’ve never had a real fight in our entire marriage.” “And the idea that I had to ‘squeeze in time’ for this is ridiculous.” He smirked, a flash of contempt in his eyes. “Even if I’m busy, I’m not too busy to be with my wife. Half of my time belongs to her, by default.” “My wife wanted to do this show, so I’m here with her. Is that a good enough reason for you?”

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