Underneath the short video I posted, a girl tagged her boyfriend. 【Everyone move, my husband loves this type. Let him see it first!】 I tapped on her profile picture and froze. It was the girl who bullied me in high school. I’d know that face if it were ash. I didn’t sleep all night. I scrolled through every single one of her videos, then clicked on the boyfriend she’d tagged. I sent him a private message. 【Are you there?】 1 Before I saw Genevieve again, I’d imagined what she’d become a thousand times. I thought bad people got what they deserved. That she’d be miserable, broke, her life in ruins. But she wasn’t. In the videos she posted, one day she was in a ten-thousand-dollar-a-night villa at the Cheval Blanc in St. Barts. The next, she was flying to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. The day after, she was racing a convertible down the Pacific Coast Highway as the sun bled into the ocean. In her most recent photo, she was sitting in the back of a black Rolls-Royce, dressed in a Chanel suit, smiling for the camera with an audacious confidence. Not a shadow of worry on her face. She looked like she was doing great. But why should she? My fingers tightened around my phone, my eyes locked on her smiling face on the screen. Slowly, that smile morphed into the one she wore with her school uniform. She was laughing as she slapped me, one stinging blow after another. When her hand got tired, she’d let one of her friends take over while she stood to the side, grinning, holding a phone up to my swollen, bleeding face. “Smile, Leah. Aren’t you the one who loves getting attention? What’s wrong, can’t smile now?!” She yanked my hair, pulling my head back. Her smile stretched wider. “Smile!” Genevieve’s malice toward me started the day the boy she liked gave me a birthday present. He gave me a handbag. He said his mom had brought it back from a trip to Milan, that it cost over three thousand dollars. I was so horrified I refused to take it. He got angry, shoved it into my arms, and said if I didn’t want it, he’d just throw it away. I was standing there, helpless, clutching the bag, when Genevieve walked in. She snatched it from my hands. She stared at it for a moment, and then a strange, twisted smile spread across her face. It made my blood run cold. “I’ve been asking him for this bag for three months and he never got it for me,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “I guess he was saving it for you.” She looked up at me then, and the look in her eyes made the hair on my arms stand up. “You’ve got some nerve, Leah.” After that, Genevieve made my life a living hell. The thing I dreaded most each day was the final bell. I never knew when she and her friends would corner me in a bathroom for another session of beatings and humiliation. I lived in a constant state of terror, plagued by nightmares every single night. But I couldn’t tell anyone. My parents had divorced when I was young. Both had new families, new lives. The only one who wanted me was my grandmother, Nana, who walked with a limp. She ran a small, beloved local deli, waking up before dawn every day to prep sandwiches and salads just so she could afford to send me to school. I was one of the few scholarship kids at that private academy, admitted on academic merit with my tuition waived. I couldn’t tell the teachers. Genevieve had threatened to go after my nana, and I knew the school administration would turn a blind eye for a girl whose family was as wealthy and influential as hers. All I could do was study harder, dreaming of the day I’d test my way out of that place and leave it all behind. But even that small hope was stolen from me. The night before the SATs, Genevieve locked me in a bathroom again. This time, she had her friends strip my clothes off and take pictures. I was trapped in there all night, so I didn’t know that my photos were already being passed around in local group chats. I didn’t know that Genevieve had deliberately sent someone to Nana’s deli to show them to her. Nana was frantic when I didn’t come home. She locked up the shop and, with her bad leg, limped her way toward the school to find me. In her panic, she didn’t look carefully enough when crossing the street. A semi-truck, the driver exhausted from a long haul, struck her. She was gone instantly. I didn’t find out until the next morning, when a janitor finally let me out. The world tilted, spots dancing in front of my eyes. I collapsed, my mind a complete, roaring blank. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. In a single day, I lost my chance to change my life, and I lost the only person in the world who loved me. I barely remember the aftermath. I think my mind, in an act of self-preservation, walled off those memories. I only recall one of my teachers visiting. I overheard her in the hallway, her voice thick with pity. “She was a shoo-in for the Ivy League,” she said to someone. “Such a shame.” Nothing happened to Genevieve. She got a stern talking-to in the principal’s office. That was it. Her father was a major local entrepreneur, one of the city’s largest taxpayers. The principal wouldn’t dare cross him. I used what little money we had left to arrange Nana’s funeral. There was no money for a gap year or SAT prep courses. I found a job in a factory, earning just enough to survive. And Genevieve? She was sent off to a university in California to begin her brilliant life. … I sat on my bed in the dark, staring at the black ceiling. I used to do this a lot during the hardest years, just stare into nothing. Life did get better, eventually. I saved up, got my degree online, and then scraped together enough to start my own e-commerce clothing boutique. I modeled the clothes myself. Luckily, I had the looks for it, and I caught the wave of a trend at the right time. The business grew, and now, I’m financially independent. I thought I had forgotten. I thought I could start a new life. But the moment I saw Genevieve’s face, I understood. I had never let it go. I hated her. I hated her with every cell in my body. I sat there until the sun came up. Then, with fingers that felt stiff and cold, I finally clicked on the account she had tagged. It was a man’s profile, the picture just a few simple lines forming an abstract face. He hadn’t posted a single video. But it didn’t take me long to find out who he was. Rhys Thorne. Genevieve’s fiancé. Her family’s business had nearly gone bankrupt while she was in college. They’d been saved by a strategic engagement. The Thorne family was the lifeline they’d clung to. And the source of the lavish lifestyle Genevieve now flaunted. She didn’t recognize me. It was laughable, really. She had personally shoved me into hell. Her smiling face was the star of every one of my nightmares, yet she had completely forgotten me. Forgotten me so completely she was tagging her fiancé in my comments section. I tapped the message icon next to Rhys Thorne’s name. I hesitated for a moment, then typed out a single message. 【Are you there?】 2 Three days later, I opened my chat with Rhys for the hundredth time. He still hadn’t replied. I wasn’t surprised. From the research I’d done, Rhys Thorne had a remarkably clean slate when it came to women. Genevieve’s tag was probably just a casual joke, something she did knowing he wouldn’t care. It was strange, really. He was the heir to the Thorne empire. Based on the few photos and videos I could find, he was at least six-two, with a face that could have landed him on a magazine cover—a gift from his mother, a former actress. For a man who was the complete package—rich, handsome, powerful—his favorite pastime wasn’t clubbing or collecting sports cars. It was fishing. Yes, fishing. Like an old man, he’d find a spot by the ocean or a lake, set up his rod, and sit there for an entire day. It was clear that messaging him online was a dead end. I dug deeper, researching everything I could. I even staked out his office building. Rhys’s life was a predictable pattern: office, home, repeat. And every weekend, he dedicated one full day to fishing. After figuring out his schedule, I got in my car and followed him from a distance as he left work. At a red light, I maneuvered my car behind his. And I hit the gas. After the sharp crunch of metal, the car in front of me stopped. Rhys Thorne, dressed in a tailored suit, stepped out, a frown creasing his forehead. He walked back and tapped on my window. I smoothed my hair, glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror. The makeup had been done by a professional I’d paid a four-figure sum, ensuring every lash was perfect while looking effortlessly natural. It worked. As I opened the car door, the frown on Rhys’s face softened slightly. Genevieve must have known I was his type. That’s why she tagged him. A pretty face alone might not hook him, but at least it wouldn’t create an immediate aversion. I looked up, tilting my face to its most flattering angle, and offered a flustered apology. “I’m so sorry. I’m a new driver, I just got my license. I was in a hurry and I didn’t react in time. Are you okay?” Rhys shook his head and walked to the back of his car to inspect the damage. “It’s not too bad. Let’s pull over so we’re not blocking traffic. We can just go through insurance.” I nodded. We waited on the side of the road while the insurance reps handled everything. When it was all done, I casually pulled out my phone, opened my contacts, and held it out to him. “Can I get your number? Just in case anything else comes up.” My tone was so matter-of-fact, so devoid of any ulterior motive, that it left him no room to refuse. Rhys paused for a beat, then took out his phone and we exchanged information. “I really am sorry about today. Let me buy you dinner sometime to make up for it?” I asked, looking up at him. “That’s not necessary. The insurance is handled. We can just text if there’s an issue.” He rejected me, just as I’d expected, got in his car, and drove off. I watched his car merge back into the flow of traffic, a slow smile spreading across my face as I clutched my phone. Today’s mission was a success. I never expected to get close to him this quickly. Just getting his number was a victory. I like a challenge. If he had been too easy, it wouldn’t have been any fun. I found all of Genevieve’s social media accounts. She seemed genuinely obsessed with Rhys. Nine out of every ten posts were about him in some way. Her infatuation was written in flashing neon letters. The Gu family business had been declining for years. Without the Thorne family’s capital infusion, they would have gone under long ago. Genevieve. I wondered how comfortable her life would be if she lost Rhys Thorne. If fate wouldn’t serve her what she deserved, I would do it myself. 3 I spent the whole night dissecting Rhys’s social media presence. He really was a simple man. His feeds were practically empty, save for the occasional post bragging about a fish he’d caught. I didn’t message him. Instead, a few days later, I posted a photo. In the picture, the wind was sending ripples across the dark water of a reservoir. I was holding up a massive catfish, a small, knowing smile on my lips. 【Another day, another catch!】 I waited a week. No like from Rhys. No comment. But he didn’t post anything that weekend either. Clearly, he’d been skunked. The second week, I posted again. Same reservoir, another huge catfish, this one even bigger than the last. At least ten pounds. 【Fish on!】 Still nothing from him. The third week, another post. 【Can’t stop. Won’t stop.】 Then I put on a face mask and went to bed. The next morning, I opened my phone. Among the dozens of likes, I finally saw the one I’d been waiting for. A comment from Rhys Thorne. 【Where is this?】 I looked at my phone and smiled. Hooked. 4 The next time I met Rhys, he was noticeably more talkative. “So, does that spot you mentioned really have that many fish?” I subtly sized him up. He was wearing a black hoodie and gray sweatpants, his dark hair falling naturally across his forehead without a trace of gel. When he talked about something he was passionate about, his eyes widened slightly, and they shone with an unexpected light. He looked less like the cold, imposing figure from financial magazines and more like a college kid in his early twenties. I nodded. “You’ll see when we get there. I’ve never left that place empty-handed.” The truth was, I knew nothing about fishing. I’d spent the last few weeks cramming, learning everything I could for the sole purpose of catching this one specific fish. I’d found this secluded spot by asking around and spending days hiking the local mountains. When Rhys first commented, I ignored him. The next day, after posting another photo, I finally, casually replied: 【It’s up in the mountains. Pretty hard to find.】 This time, he replied instantly: 【Would you mind if I tagged along next time you go? Thanks.】 I put my phone down, ate dinner, and waited until I figured he was getting impatient before replying with a single word: 【Sure.】 … We cast our lines several yards apart. He didn’t initiate conversation, and I wasn’t about to act needy. Occasionally, when one of us got a bite, we’d glance over. I could tell that every time I reeled one in, he was dying to come over and see, but he was too proud. He’d just pretend to be casually looking around, his eyes darting back and forth. From Genevieve’s posts, I knew this was Rhys’s personality. A little cold, a little aloof. He wouldn’t even bother with polite pretenses for things that didn’t interest him. He’d probably been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, blessed with looks and wealth. He’d rarely encountered a situation that required him to be charming or proactive. He was used to being the center of his own universe. Women had probably been throwing themselves at him for years. If I was too aggressive, he’d lump me in with all the rest, not worth a second thought. After that first trip, I didn’t contact him again. But I had figured out his schedule. I started showing up at the reservoir, making sure we “ran into each other” at least once a week. But the waiting for a bite was boring. After our third meeting, he finally started talking to me again. “How did you find this spot anyway?” “I’d pretty much fished out all the nearby fisheries and public spots. They were getting boring. Found this place by accident while I was hiking one day, gave it a try, and it turned out to be gold.” Once we started talking about fishing, Rhys opened up. He got excited showing me a video of him catching piranha in the Amazon. I was duly impressed, then showed him a picture of me on a deep-sea charter with a yellowfin tuna. His eyes lit up, followed by a flicker of regret. “I’ve always wanted to go for tuna, but I’ve been too busy to get away.” He looked up at me, really looking at me for the first time. “I can’t believe you’re this into fishing. You don’t meet many women who are.” The conversation flowed. We started talking about sports, music we liked, movies, books. He was surprised to find we had so much in common. We both loved to ski. We both loved Yukio Mishima’s The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea. We were both fans of the same obscure Japanese musician. Even when our tastes differed, we could understand the other’s perspective. Before we knew it, we had talked for the entire afternoon, and the sky had turned dark. After that, we started fishing together regularly. We even adopted a stray cat that lived by the reservoir. It was a little yellow kitten, only a few months old. Whenever we showed up, it would curl up nearby, waiting patiently for a fish. If we weren’t catching anything, it would meow impatiently, as if scolding us. I named him Nugget. For good luck. I’d always greet him with cuddles and kisses. Rhys was less enthusiastic. Whenever Nugget tried to rub against him, he’d sidestep. He was a bit of a neat freak and hated getting cat hair on his clothes. One evening, as we were packing up, Rhys asked me for the first time: “When are you coming next?” I thought for a second. “Work’s been pretty crazy lately. Hard to say.” A flicker of disappointment, almost imperceptible, crossed his face. But he just nodded politely and didn’t press. I stayed away for a full week. I came back late in the second. When Rhys saw me, he didn’t let on, but I saw him subtly shift his chair a little closer to my spot. “Where have you been? You haven’t been fishing.” I walked over and knelt down to pet Nugget, who was stretched out on the ground. He had gotten fatter, his coat glossy and smooth. He looked well-cared for. “Have you been feeding him?” Rhys lifted his chin, a hint of accusation in his voice. “You’re the one who insisted on naming him, and then you just abandon him.” He quickly became smug. “Of course I’ve been taking care of him. I’ve been coming every day to catch fish for him.” Nugget walked over and rubbed against his leg. Rhys frowned, his voice full of mock annoyance. “Can you not? You get fur all over me.” But his hands moved with practiced ease, scooping the cat up and placing him on his lap. Nugget settled in comfortably, immediately shedding all over his black jacket. Rhys didn’t seem to mind. He started scratching the cat under the chin like he’d done it a thousand times. I watched from the side, a new understanding dawning on me. So, he was one of those. All tough on the outside. I smiled to myself and sat down to rig my line, but I fumbled and the hook pricked my finger. I hissed, squeezing it, and a bright red bead of blood welled up. Rhys immediately put Nugget down, grabbed a first-aid kit from his tackle box, and walked over, his brow furrowed. “How can you be so careless?” I reached for the band-aid, but he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, “Give me your hand.” “You really come prepared for everything—” I started to say, looking up with a smile, but the words died in my throat when my eyes met his. He was too close. Somewhere along the way, we had gotten too close. The orange glow of the mountain sunset was deepening into blue. The wind, trapped in the valley, carried the damp scent of water and earth. I could smell the faint, clean scent of cedar on him—aftershave, maybe. His eyes were a lighter shade of brown than most, giving them a cool, almost inorganic clarity. But right now, they were filled with nothing but my reflection. The wind blew a strand of my hair across his face. He just stared at me, frozen. It wasn’t until Nugget let out an impatient meow that we both snapped back to reality, jolting backward. Rhys quickly turned away, crouching down to pet the cat. “Alright, alright, I’m getting you food.” A laugh escaped my lips. In the dim light, I could see the tips of his ears had turned red. He sat back down in his spot and didn’t say another word. But Rhys, who usually had the patience of a stone, was fidgety all evening. He didn’t catch a single fish. From that day on, an unspoken understanding grew between us. He would always text me when he was going fishing. We started going out at least twice a week. Sometimes it was in the wild solitude of the mountains, sometimes on the vast, open sea, sometimes at a private fishery he’d booked. But it was always just the two of us. During this time, I kept a close eye on Genevieve’s social media. Her posts about Rhys became less and less frequent, until finally, days would go by without a single mention. I watched coldly, then spent my days with her fiancé, my makeup flawless, my attitude perfect. This delicate dance of ours, where we both knew what was happening but pretended we didn’t, continued for two months. I decided it was time. That evening, as he held Nugget in his lap, I suddenly spoke. “Rhys, do you have a girlfriend?”

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Late-night storms have a way of waking up a hunger you didn’t know you had. The delivery guy’s voice was… strange. “Human, it’s raining. Please wait.” It was weird enough that I peeked through the peephole when he arrived. Standing outside my door was a drenched little cat. “Human, first delivery for cat. Cat got lost.” “Please don’t give cat a bad rating.” 1 It was late, the kind of late that bleeds into early, and my stomach was staging a protest. I sat curled in my desk chair, the glow of the monitor the only light in the room, my stomach’s empty whines a sad counterpoint to the drumming rain outside. My fingers moved on their own, scrolling through the DashEats app. A picture of a spicy Szechuan chicken bowl glistened under the digital lights, a beacon of greasy hope in the stormy night. Estimated delivery time: one hour. Just as I hit ‘Confirm Payment,’ a low rumble of thunder rolled through the sky. The storm had come out of nowhere. I figured a long wait was part of the deal. My phone buzzed a few minutes later. I answered, and a bizarre, electronic voice crackled through the speaker. “Human, it’s raining. Please wait.” The voice sounded like it had been scraped through a voice modulator with a claw, each word laced with a fuzzy, vibrating hum. I stared at the app’s animation: Your Dasher is on their way! A little orange cat avatar was bouncing up and down under a cartoon raincloud. When the doorbell finally rang, I crept to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway’s motion-sensor light flickered erratically, illuminating a soggy cardboard box tied with a lopsided, baby-pink ribbon. Beneath the box, four muddy paws were planted on my welcome mat. An orange-and-white tail was curled around a plastic bag, pushing it forward. “Human, first delivery for cat. Cat got lost.” A pair of amber eyes, dripping with rain, blinked up at me. Tiny, crystalline water droplets clung to its whiskers. The food bag was wrapped in three layers of waterproof film. When I peeled it back, a cloud of steam billowed out, instantly fogging my glasses. On the blank space of the receipt, a perfect, tiny paw print was stamped in ink. Next to it, in wobbly letters, were the words: FIVE STARS PLEASE. My food had been delivered… by a cat. I opened the door and knelt. I saw an old, faded scar on the cat’s right hind leg, pale and puckered from the rain. “Do you… need a towel?” Before I could finish, the orange cat had already backed away to the corner of the landing, its tail-tip deftly pressing the elevator button. Just as the doors slid shut, I could have sworn I saw it lift a front paw to its forehead in a comical, clumsy salute, just like a human delivery driver. If it weren’t for the little paw print still on my receipt, I would have thought it was all some ridiculous, hunger-induced dream. A cat… Dasher? 2 The second time we met, it was raining again. This time, it was a Spicy Tom Yum Soup. The order was accepted by the same orange cat avatar. “Human, ventilation shaft is faster.” This time, the electronic voice was mixed with a soft purring. I pressed my ear against the door and heard a faint, scuttling sound from deep within the metal ducts of the building. It was followed by a dull thump—some clumsy idiot had clearly hit a corner. When I opened the door, the orange cat had a cobweb stuck to its head and a single, wilted wildflower tucked into the side of its delivery box. “Passed a garden. This, for human.” It nudged the flower toward me with its paw, then turned, stumbling slightly on its back leg. “Thank you, cat.” I quietly gave five stars in the app. A series of paw print emojis automatically populated the comment box. After that, I ordered a few more times, but they were all delivered by perfectly normal, human Dashers. I started to wonder if maybe I was just overworked, the stress manifesting as feline-centric hallucinations. Then came the third weekend of the rainy season, the kind of downpour that bleeds the whole city into a blurry watercolor. It was raining again. Watching the sheets of water sluice down my window, a strange thought took root. The other times… it had been raining when I saw the orange cat. Was it a special delivery service, a little cat that only worked for humans on rainy nights? I placed another order. By the time I saw the Spicy Cajun Crawfish order had been assigned to the orange cat, the clock had already ticked past one in the morning. The electronic voice on the phone was choppy this time. “Human… overpass is flooded… can you…” The background was filled with the frantic meowing of other cats. My heart seized. I ran barefoot to the balcony. Through the curtain of rain, I could just make out a small orange blur leaping between the branches of the sycamore trees. The cat was clenching the delivery box in its teeth as it scaled a drainpipe, the rain forming a shimmering silver outline around its tiny body. When it finally landed on my air conditioning unit, I saw that the fur on its neck was blown completely backwards by the wind, making it look like it was wearing an ill-fitting straw coat. “Crawfish. Must be hot.” As it pushed the box inside, its tail was so soaked the fur was matted into little clumps. I reached out to wipe a smudge of mud from its nose and my fingers brushed against a small, cold piece of metal. Using my phone’s flashlight, I saw it was a small copper tag engraved with a crescent moon. On the back, in minuscule letters, it read: Rainy Night Covenant · Seventh Delivery Squad. A rainy night… So it was true. It only appeared when it rained. Just then, the storm intensified. A violent gust of wind slammed a sheet of rain against the window. The orange cat’s ears shot up, and the copper tag emitted a faint blue glow. It started pawing anxiously at the fire escape door, its voice turning sharp. “Alternate route is flooded. Seventeen orders will be late!” It was the first time I had ever seen such a desperate look on a cat’s face. This job, whatever it was, was important to it. That’s when I decided. I slipped on my Crocs and grabbed an umbrella. “I’ll help you.” The cat’s golden eyes widened in the darkness. It ducked its head and rubbed against my ankle, a surprising warmth seeping through my cotton socks. “Human… you are good human.” That night, we navigated the labyrinth of apartment buildings together. It led me to every hidden vent and secret cat-path, its paw pads leaving a trail of tiny, flower-shaped watermarks on the tiled floors. When the last order, a hearty beef stew, was delivered, the crescent moon on its tag began to glow with a soft, pearly light. The orange cat sat in a puddle, looking up at the sky as the rain wove a luminous cocoon around its body. I reached down and felt the scar on its hind leg. It was warm to the touch, and the moonlight seemed to be seeping into the fur like liquid silver. The joint effort of the night had made the cat trust me more than ever before. “Why do you only come out during storms?” I asked softly. The cat turned and nudged my arm with its head. “Big rain, humans cannot cross big water. Many humans are still hungry.” It shook its head, its tail held high. “Humans and cats made the Rainy Night Covenant. When rain stops human delivery, the Cat Clans take orders through special paths.” Finished with its explanation, it looked up at me. “Human, please give cat five stars.” I smiled. Under the cat’s bright, expectant gaze, I gave it five stars and even added a small tip. “No need for money, human.” The cat pawed at my phone. “Just stars for cat.” It paused, then added, “The stars humans give… they can heal many wounds.” The cat’s words were a little jumbled, but I understood. During the worst storms, a cat’s small body could slip through vents and hidden passages. When human drivers were stuck, the cats took on the task of feeding the hungry. And the five-star ratings they received became a kind of energy, a magic that could heal their bodies. As the cat’s silhouette vanished into the morning mist, my phone buzzed. A new notification from DashEats: Rainy Night Special Channel is now open. Would you like to subscribe to Cat Delivery? Without a moment’s hesitation, I tapped ‘Yes.’ I hoped that the next time we met, the scar on its leg would be gone completely. 3 After grad school, I’d landed a city job right in my own neighborhood, a Community Liaison at the city council office. Mostly it was quiet, helping residents with their problems. Lately, though, there had been a string of food delivery thefts in our complex. My supervisor, eager to offload the tedious work, assigned the case to me. Such is the life of a public servant; you can’t say no. I was hunched over the security monitors in the management office when Art, one of the older security guards, shuffled over with his thermos of weak tea. “Last month,” he said, pointing a wrinkled finger at a blurry orange shape on the screen, “I saw a calico cat, clear as day, dragging a delivery box out of a ventilation duct.” He squinted at me. “You think maybe it’s these strays? Weather’s been bad, maybe they’re snatching the food.” “No, that’s not it,” I said, a little too quickly. The cats were the ones feeding people on those nights. The image of the little orange cat’s bright eyes, begging for stars, flashed in my mind. Art just shrugged. It wasn’t really his problem. He went back to his chair and his thermos. I stared at the grainy footage for another hour, getting nowhere. The tiny, fleeting shapes were impossible to track. This was an old complex, with ancient cameras, and any long-term resident knew exactly where the blind spots were. The thief had hit multiple times; they knew how to stay hidden. If only… if only the cats could help me. As if summoned by the thought, my phone vibrated. A special notification from DashEats: You have unlocked Rainy Night Covenant · Special Client privileges. The accompanying digital badge was the same crescent moon from the orange cat’s copper tag. Then, a familiar scratching sound from the window sill. The orange cat was perched outside the security grating, a brand-new blue ribbon tied around its neck. In its paws, it held a half-melted ice cream bar. “Human. A thank-you gift.” It turned its head away, a little bashfully, revealing the fluffy white fur where the blue ribbon was tied. That’s when I noticed it: the scar on its right hind leg was completely gone. In its place was a silvery, crescent-moon-shaped mark. “Your leg is healed!” I said, my voice full of surprise. The cat preened, puffing out its chest. “Cat is very punctual. Cat got many, many stars.” I took the sticky ice cream bar and glanced back at Art. He was already dozing in his chair, a radio playing softly beside him. The life of a night guard was a slow one. I turned back to the cat. “There’s a thief in the complex, stealing deliveries. Do you know anything about it?” “Cat does not know.” It tilted its head, then nudged my phone with its paw. “Human is a Special Client now. You can post a commission in the app. Other cats might have seen something.” “That’s a brilliant idea.” My eyes lit up. I grabbed my phone and started typing out a commission notice, describing the situation. I set the reward for any useful information: two cans of premium tuna. It wasn’t long before a cat accepted the commission. A message appeared in the app’s chat. Human, bring the tuna to the west gate. I bought a few cans of tuna and some cat treat sticks from the corner store and headed over. It wasn’t one cat waiting for me, but a whole crew. Leading them was a beautifully marked calico, her movements sleek and confident. She padded right up to my feet. Behind her, an assortment of other cats watched me with curious eyes. She was clearly their leader. I was glad I’d bought extra. I pulled the cans and treats from my bag. The calico let out a soft meow but didn’t touch the food. Instead, she took two steps in one direction, then looked back at me expectantly. She was telling me to follow. No work, no pay. A cat of principle. I packed the food away and followed her. The group of cats led me to one of the residential buildings. A few years ago, during the pandemic, the complex had installed delivery lockers, but now that things were back to normal, nobody really used them. Since they’d installed new elevators that required a key card, most drivers just left packages on a rack next to the lockers for convenience. It was an unsecured, all-you-can-steal buffet. Our timing was perfect. Just as we arrived, an old woman shuffled up to the rack. She glanced around furtively, then snatched a bag of food, ripping the receipt off and tossing it into a bush. I recognized her. She lived in building 39. She was known for her loud voice and her tendency to throw herself on the ground and wail whenever things didn’t go her way. Most residents just avoided her. I’d already started recording on my phone, capturing the whole thing. I would give it to my supervisor later. The old woman turned and nearly ran right into me. Seeing me glance at the bag in her hand, she scowled. “What are you looking at? Get away from me.” The cats, wary of her, had already melted back into the shrubbery. I put on a pleasant smile. “Oh, nothing, ma’am. I was just going to put up a notice. You know how all that food has been going missing?” A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but her voice boomed even louder. “What’s that got to do with me?” I just smiled wider. “Nothing at all. It’s just, a resident told me yesterday that his delivery was stolen. He’d put rat poison in it, you see, for a pest problem. He was just so worried someone might have eaten it by mistake…” “What?” The woman’s eyes went wide. She spun around and sprinted toward her building. “My grandson—!” That night, I heard the entire family had made a trip to the emergency room to have their stomachs pumped. I passed out the cans of tuna. The calico leader gracefully accepted her reward. “Thank you, human.” I smiled. “You earned it.” 4 The rainy season was in full swing. I was seeing the cats more often than ever. Sometimes it was my little orange friend, sometimes a human Dasher. Occasionally, a new cat would show up at my door. Over time, I started to notice a pattern. The later I placed my order, the higher the chance a cat would deliver it. The orange cat, Rusty, was the one I knew best. If I ordered something he liked, he’d hop right into my lap for a moment. “Human, cat is fat. Climbing stairs… makes hungry.” I’d scratch the scruff of his neck, which had definitely gotten thicker, and marvel at the universal truth of chubby orange cats. I’d share a few bites of my dinner, and then he’d be off, delivery box in mouth, to his next stop. Sometimes, a black-and-white cow cat would deliver. They were usually… a bit neurotic. I’d get messages from them periodically: Human, one moment. I’d reply: Is there a problem? Cow Cat: No. Dueling with a Meow Squad rider. I would just sigh. The beautiful and elegant calico, Cleo, would sometimes bring my food. She would give my hand a dignified rub, a gentle reminder to leave a good review. “Human, cat has many little ones to feed. Thank you for your stars.” Thinking of the kittens I’d seen her with, I would mindlessly smash the five-star button under the spell of her grace. The most responsible delivery cat was a tabby named Ash. He was lightning-fast and would even take my trash out for me on his way down. If I happened to order from a place with questionable hygiene, Ash would stand at my door and inform me, “Human, this place is not clean.” I’d scratch his head. “Thanks, Ash. I won’t order from there again.” Good cat. Bad restaurant. The most athletic was a pure white cat I called Ghost. One evening, I was working late at a client’s office across town. I was on the 30th floor when a tapping sound came from the window beside me. It was Ghost, a white blur against the night sky. I nearly had a heart attack. “Ghost! How did you get up this high?” He just looked at me. “Human, cat is very skilled.” I quickly slid the window open and pulled him inside. “Yes, yes, you are. All you cats are amazing.” “…Not all.” Ghost tilted his head, thinking. “Rusty could not climb this. Too… fluffy.” “Hey, don’t say that about the little guy.” Thanks to my Special Client status, I’d become well-acquainted with every delivery cat in a multi-mile radius. Sometimes, on my way to work, a cat would proudly present me with a freshly caught mouse. My hand would tremble as I accepted it. “Thank you, cat. But please, not again.” The rainy season was almost over. I was having a late-night snack at a 24-hour convenience store when Cleo, the calico leader, suddenly leaped onto the table beside me. She was wearing a tiny, reflective safety vest, and her tail was curled around a digital thermometer. “Human,” she said, her voice urgent. “Cat needs your help.”

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I’m on the set of Second Act, the celebrity dating show, and the host asks me which of the male contestants has caught my eye. I let my gaze drift over the three of them—the award-winning actor, the legendary rock star, the fresh-faced pop idol—and offer a serene smile. “One of the men on this stage is a serial killer. Three years ago, you dismembered my sister.” The studio lights feel like interrogations lamps. “You left her in pieces, made sure there was nothing left for us to bury, and turned her into a cautionary tale for the tabloids to mock.” I lean into the microphone, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that carries through the silent studio. “Now, it’s my turn to find you.” 1 I’m the youngest deception specialist the department has ever had. After a guest lecture I gave on micro-expressions went viral, my public profile exploded. I was the “human lie detector,” the cop who could read your soul. That’s when the producers of Second Act came calling. They offered me a spot alongside A-listers: Ethan Frost, the acting titan; Marcus Croft, the rock icon; and Liam Scott, the current heartthrob of the moment. My captain encouraged me to take it. “This is a huge opportunity, Hayes. Community outreach, public education… the department needs this win.” I feigned reluctance, but my eyes were already fixed on the wall of my apartment. It’s covered in a constellation of their faces, each photo pinned and connected by a web of red thread. Years of obsessive research, every lead, every rumor, every possible connection mapped out in excruciating detail. It’s a spiderweb, and I’m just waiting for the last strand to be spun. A cold smile touches my lips. The man who killed my sister, Sophie, is in that room. He’s one of those gods. One of those untouchable celebrities. 2 Three years ago, my world ended. Sophie was paying her way through Juilliard by playing the harp at private events. One night, a party of celebrities booked the penthouse lounge. She was called in to perform. She never came home. We found her three days later. A homeless man was scavenging behind a restaurant and found a discarded refrigerator. Inside were several black trash bags, heavy with what he thought was discarded meat from the kitchen. A lucky break, he must have thought. Then he opened the first bag. Countless pieces of my sister spilled onto the grimy asphalt. The toxicology report came back clean. No drugs, no sedatives. There were ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. She was awake for all of it. She was conscious as he took her apart, piece by piece. When the medical examiner gently told me that the remains were too fragmented to reconstruct, I collapsed right there in the morgue, a raw, helpless wail tearing from my throat. That was the day I officially made detective. My first case was my own flesh and blood. The story caused a media firestorm, of course. All the celebrities who attended the party were questioned, but it led nowhere. The exclusive club, citing the privacy of its high-profile clientele, had no security cameras in the penthouse. Their PR machines went into overdrive, expertly spinning a new narrative: Sophie wasn’t just a musician; she was an obsessed fan, a stalker who had gotten too close. It was laughable. My sister was at the top of her class, brilliant and driven. But because she had a favorite actor, she was posthumously branded a “crazy fangirl” who “had it coming.” This season on Second Act, every major suspect from that night is on the cast list. How could I possibly say no? The first day of filming is at a remote lodge upstate. I arrive early, choosing a quiet corner of the grand living room to observe. With my minimal makeup and severe posture, I’m sure I stick out. The live-stream comments are already rolling in: [Can she really tell if you’re lying just by looking at you? Seriously?] [Probably just a gimmick. She looks way too young to be a real detective. All for show.] One of the other contestants, a self-proclaimed tech millionaire, is loudly bemoaning his single status to anyone who will listen. I can’t help but chuckle. “Sir, I think showing up to a dating show while you’re actively cheating on two different women is a bit much, don’t you?” His face freezes. “What are you talking about? I’m completely single, that’s why I’m here!” he barks, his voice a little too loud. The producers gave me one instruction: be myself. “You intentionally raised your volume when you said ‘completely single,’ your eyes darted down and to the left, and you started to bring your hand to your nose before catching yourself—all classic tells of deception,” I state calmly. “Your collar carries a heavy rose perfume, you have a phone in each of your front pockets, and I saw you texting on both. Your expression was annoyed when you replied on one, and you were smiling at the other. My guess? You’re in the messy middle of a divorce and juggling an affair.” He’s not the only one staring. The entire crew is silent. The live chat explodes. [NO WAY. She just met him three minutes ago. That’s insane.] I deliver the final blow. “And you can still see the pale band on your ring finger where your wedding band was until very recently. The skin hasn’t even tanned over yet.” After a frantic background check, the producers confirm he is, in fact, married. He’s promptly kicked off the show. I finish my work and mentally count down. Three, two, one… Right on cue, a man sits down across from me. “Detective Hayes. You live up to the reputation. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet. “Would you do me the honor of being my partner for this first challenge?” He extends a hand, a warm, genuine smile playing on his lips. His face is a masterpiece, the kind of symmetrical perfection that cameras adore. Every lens in the room swivels to capture him. Ethan Frost. Three-time Golden Globe winner. A prodigy who started acting as a child and became a living legend. His filmography is impeccable, his public persona flawless. He funds charities, builds schools in impoverished regions, and has a foundation dedicated to helping fans who have fallen on hard times. I arrange my features into a look of appropriate, flattered surprise. This is exactly what I wanted. My little display of skill was all for him. Ethan Frost was the star my sister, Sophie, loved more than any other. 3 I blink, manufacturing a micro-expression of confusion. “Mr. Frost, I thought you were here as a special guest commentator for the first episode. Did the rules change?” He gives a soft, charming laugh. “The producers verified your claims, and our tech millionaire is no longer with us. They were in a bind, and I happened to be available to fill the spot. It’s a pleasure to be working with you.” When we shake, his hand is warm, his scent clean and subtle, like sunlight and cedar. I study him, my professional mask firmly in place. Could this man, this paragon of virtue, really be the monster who butchered a young woman on a rainy night? My takedown of the first contestant makes me an instant celebrity and a pariah among the other men. They give me a wide berth, terrified I might expose their own secrets. Only Ethan remains by my side, the perfect gentleman. The viewers are eating it up. The live chat is a frenzy. [A walking lie detector. These celebrities better watch their backs.] [Oh no… my fave said he has a phobia of women. Is that true? ASK HER.] I play my part. “Aren’t you afraid of me, Mr. Frost?” Our eyes meet. His smile doesn’t waver. “Everyone has secrets, Detective. But if they aren’t fatal, why be afraid? Or are you telling me you don’t have any secrets of your own?” The comment section sings his praises: [So honest and open. He’s the gold standard. Even if everyone else gets cancelled, he never will.] [Seriously. Talent, integrity, charisma… is there a more perfect man in Hollywood?] I’ve watched his original police interview a hundred times. He passed the most advanced polygraph test without a single flicker. When they showed him the crime scene photos of Sophie—the blurred, unrecognizable masses of flesh—his emotional response was textbook. I’ve magnified the footage, analyzed it frame by frame. “His pupils don’t dilate at all,” I told my captain back then. “He’s not feeling horror. He’s feeling nothing.” “Hayes, I get it, I do,” my colleague had said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “But you can’t let your grief turn into a witch hunt. Our job requires objectivity.” But my gut screamed that he was lying. And I will watch him. I will find the proof. If he is the one, he will not escape my sight. 4 The first episode’s ratings go through the roof. My presence has given the show a completely unexpected edge, and the network is quick to capitalize on it. The second episode’s date activity is set in an escape room. The theme: a murder mystery. We’re in a dilapidated mansion, spattered with fake blood. The lights flicker ominously. Ethan picks up the first clue card. “It says here this scenario is based on a real cold case from thirteen years ago,” he reads. “This mansion is a recreation of the original crime scene…” I don’t even need to look at the card. “The Blackwood Manor Murders.” Everyone turns to me. “Thirteen years ago, a family of three was slaughtered in their beds in a suburban mansion just like this one,” I explain. “The killer was never found. I assume that’s the case this is based on.” Ethan laughs, a low, appreciative sound. “Detective, you do remember this is supposed to be a dating show, right?” I understand my role perfectly. I take a step forward, placing myself in front of him with an air of righteous duty. “The police are here to protect and serve. You have nothing to fear, Mr. Frost.” Ethan sighs, shaking his head with a look of fond exasperation. The live audience goes wild. [Everyone else is playing games and flirting, and these two are solving a cold case. I am SO here for this.] [I’ve never seen him talk this much to a woman on one of these shows. Ever.] We head to the master bedroom on the second floor. A male mannequin, maybe thirty years old, lies on the bed. The prop is disturbingly realistic. While the other contestants shriek and giggle nervously, I scan the room. “The killer only wanted to kill, not to steal. The victim is still wearing his gold wedding ring,” I observe. “This suggests a specific psychological profile. He’s capable of murder, but views theft as beneath him. He likely has a stable job, or at least a strong sense of his own social standing.” Ethan raises an eyebrow. “You don’t just read the living, Detective? You read the dead, too?” “My undergraduate minor was in criminal psychology. What’s your take, Mr. Frost?” “Well, I’d hate to show off in front of an expert,” he says, his tone playful, but his eyes are sharp. He walks over to the balcony, where the female mannequin lies. “The time of death was around 3 a.m. The family was asleep. The killer took care of the child first, then came upstairs. After killing the husband, he could have easily killed the wife right there in the bed. But he didn’t. He dragged her out here.” “Maybe she was trying to escape,” I suggest. “To escape, you’d run for the stairs, for the ground floor. Not onto a balcony cluttered with a washing machine and old furniture.” He points to a single, weather-beaten streetlamp just outside the balcony railing. “He dragged her out here for this.” He closes his eyes, his voice taking on a magnetic, narrative quality. “He used the light. Just enough to see her face. To watch her expression as she died. This killer… he hates women. The husband and child were obstacles. The main event, the real delicacy, is always saved for last.” His words send a shockwave through me. The detail about the streetlamp… no one on the original case file ever noted that. It could be a whole new line of inquiry. Noticing my grim expression, Ethan leans in closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “I just shot a thriller. Did some research for the role. I’m just spitballing here, Detective. You’re not taking me seriously, are you?” His gaze is a challenge. I feel my breath catch. When you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream from one of the female contestants shatters the tension. We rush over to find her pointing at a large prop wardrobe. “Don’t come any closer!” she shrieks. The wardrobe door is slightly ajar. Stuffed inside, folded into an unnatural position, is a female body. It’s not a mannequin. The body is headless. Her feet are bound with duct tape. The cut at the neck is brutally precise. My head snaps toward Ethan. His pupils are dilated, his lips slightly parted. The fleeting expression on his face isn’t shock or fear. It is pure, unadulterated… exhilaration.

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A rich kid offered to buy me dinner. Led on by his sly encouragement, I ordered a feast of biblical proportions for a table of ten: king crab, massive lobsters, the finest French caviar—the works. It wasn’t until he flashed a malicious grin that the trap was sprung. “Babe, if you can’t finish all that, you’re picking up the check.” He thought I didn’t see it—the hidden camera on his chest, the live feed where a torrent of comments was already flooding the screen, all of them mocking me. “Look at her face, she’s screwed. That spread is $95,000. How’s some broke girl gonna pay for that?” “Did you see how greedy she was ordering? LMAO.” “Does she really think you can just leech off a rich guy that easily?” “Another point for the Gold Digger Takedown Team! Yo, share the stream, guys, this is gonna be epic!” But there, under the invisible glare of a thousand eyes, I didn’t panic as they’d all hoped. I just lifted my knife and fork, flashed a playful grin that showed the tips of my canines, and smiled. A takedown? As a creature of myth, known since antiquity for my insatiable appetite, there’s a human expression I’ve always been fond of. The most dangerous predators are the ones who look like prey. 1 A short clip went viral across all the platforms recently. It starred a man and a woman. You only ever heard the guy’s voice, but the woman was on camera the entire time. The setting was a high-end luxury boutique. The woman, giddy with excitement, tried on an array of designer bags and dresses, constantly turning to the man for his opinion. “Babe, that dress was made for you.” “That bag is sick. It’s the limited-edition season drop. Wild that this store has all the colors. You should just get them all.” “You need a pair of red-bottom stilettos with that skirt. Those ones are perfect.” Lost in the flurry of praise, the woman held her head high, preening in one exquisite outfit after another. She even threw her old clothes into a trash can right there in the middle of the store. It was only when she approached the register, arms laden with her spoils, that the fantasy shattered. “I said I’d go shopping with you, not for you.” “No way, no way… After all that posturing, you’re just some broke chick? If you don’t have the money, what are you even doing in a place like this?” The man’s voice was loud, mocking. A crowd was starting to form. The woman panicked. “But you told me to buy all this…” “So? If I tell you to buy it, you just buy it? Do you have any idea what’s in your bank account? If I told you to go jump off a bridge, would you do that, too?” Snickers rippled through the onlookers. Someone pulled out their phone and started recording. The woman, biting her lip, forced a syrupy smile. “You said you liked me. If you just pay for this, I’ll be your girlfriend.” The man let out an exaggerated, booming laugh. “My girlfriend? Who the hell do you think you are? Take a good look in the mirror. A gold digger who can’t even afford a few dresses wants to be my girlfriend? Get real.” “If you can’t afford it, go sell something. Aren’t you girls good at that? Or take out a loan. Why are you looking for a sugar daddy? You think we owe you something?” He went on like that, a relentless, ten-minute tirade. Finally, face flushed a deep, humiliating crimson, the woman returned every single item. She walked back to the trash can, retrieved her old clothes, and put them back on, piece by piece, before fleeing the store under a chorus of derision. 2 I closed the video. A series of voice messages were still popping up in my chat. “Made up your mind, babe? Send me your address, I’ll come pick you up. We can hit the shops, maybe buy a few bags, some jewelry. What do you say?” The voice was a low, gravelly attempt at seduction—identical to the man in the video. I thought for a moment, then cleared my throat and sent back a voice note of my own, my tone dripping with sweetness. “I’m not really into bags and jewelry. I’d be happy if you just bought me dinner, big boy.” Silence from his end. A moment later, a notification popped up from a private group chat. “Dudes, what the hell? Did I actually find one of the ‘good ones’? The new target just wants me to take her to dinner.” The group exploded. “Dumbass. You still believe good girls exist? She’s obviously playing the long game.” “Rule of thumb, bro: there are no women who don’t want something. Only ones who pretend to be saints and ones who know they don’t have the leverage.” The advice started pouring in. “If she wants dinner, give her dinner. Top-shelf wagyu, king crab, imported caviar. The more expensive, the better.” “Broke girls have never seen real luxury. She’ll be drooling. Let her order herself, you just make suggestions. Don’t let her stop until she’s ordered enough for seven or eight people. Enough to make someone her size literally burst.” “Once the food’s on the table, tell her you hate women who waste food. If she can’t finish it, you’re not paying. And unlike clothes, you can’t return a dish once it’s been cooked. She’ll either have to cough up the cash or eat till she pukes.” “Damn, that’s cold. I love it.” “Yes! This is gonna be prime content. The stream is gonna blow up again, hahaha.” The chat was buzzing. No one noticed my burner account, lurking silently among them. Finally, a new message from him came through. “You got it. There’s a five-star Michelin restaurant downtown. I’ll take you for a taste.” I wiped a trickle of drool from the corner of my mouth. “Okay.” 3 Staring at the mountain of exquisite dishes piled high on the table, Connor finally grinned. “Babe,” he said, barely able to contain his glee as he delivered the line he’d been rehearsing, “I can’t stand people who waste food. You ordered so much… if you can’t finish it, I don’t think I can help you with the bill.” I feigned shock. “What? All of this? You expect me to eat all of this by myself?” His smile was pure poison, the hidden camera on his chest zooming in for a tight shot of my panicked expression. “What’s wrong? Feeling the pressure now? You seemed pretty happy when you were ordering.” In the livestream, the comments were a waterfall of ridicule. “Here we go! My favorite part!” “Connor is a legend! He tricked her into ordering for ten people. $95k! Hahaha, she is so done.” “She had the balls to order it, though. I’m a big guy and I can’t finish one king crab by myself. She ordered ten.” “And she was pretending she didn’t want anything before. I thought she was just greedy, I didn’t know she was this stupid too!” “Tonight’s entertainment is top-tier. I can’t wait to see her eat until she throws up and then start crying for help!” Connor savored the comments for a moment before turning his attention back to me. “What are you staring at me for? Eat.” But I didn’t burst into tears and beg for forgiveness as they’d all fantasized. Instead, a contented smile spread across my face as I picked up my knife and fork. “Thank you, Connor. In that case, I won’t be polite.” Under a sea of disbelieving eyes, I devoured every last bite of the ten-person meal. I didn’t even leave a single grain of rice from the abalone risotto. Honestly, if I wasn’t afraid of making too much of a scene, I probably would have eaten the king crab shells, too. It felt like something I used to do, a long, long time ago. I must have been starving, I thought. 4 Connor paid the ninety-five-thousand-dollar bill, his face pale. “So… can I ask you out again sometime? My treat,” I said with a shy smile, as if I wasn’t the person who had just inhaled a meal for ten. He stared at my still-flat stomach beneath my dress, then just let out a dazed, “Huh?” The livestream comments had shifted. “Calculated every move but didn’t account for her being a competitive eater.” “No wonder she was so happy when he offered dinner. With an appetite like that, she must be starving at home.” “I’m trying to believe she went and threw it all up, but she never even went to the bathroom.” “Weird. This is just plain weird. Can’t even be mad at Connor for losing this one.” “Wait, you guys are just giving up? The Takedown Team has never taken an L like this before!” Connor was distracted, lost in thought, until a hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “Hey Connor, out with your new girlfriend?” I turned. A handsome young man with a gentle smile was looking at me. Connor quickly backpedaled. “Nah, just a friend from a game. First time meeting up.” Then he introduced us. “Talia, this is my friend, Simon Hayes.” Simon waved a waiter over and ordered three coffees. “Since we ran into each other, why don’t you stay a little longer?” He glanced tentatively at my stomach. “Ms. Talia, do you have room for a coffee?” He leaned close, and a subtle, intoxicating fragrance drifted from him. I found myself unconsciously twitching my nose. “Simon, you smell amazing,” I said. He chuckled. “You like my cologne? I’ll send you a bottle.” Connor, standing by, sounded a little sulky. “What, I don’t smell good?” I looked down, feigning embarrassment. “You smell good too, Connor. But Simon smells… better.” They both laughed, and the scent seemed to envelop me like a fine mist. I had to swallow hard to keep from drooling as the momentary feeling of fullness in my stomach was replaced by a gnawing hunger. “This might sound a bit forward,” Simon began, his voice smooth as silk, “but I was sitting behind you earlier. I saw you… eating.” He paused. “I just launched a new media company, and we have a food channel that’s looking for a host. We need a competitive eater just like you, Talia.” I looked at him, wide-eyed. “Me?” “Of course. You’re cute, Talia, and your appetite is incredible. It creates this amazing contrast. With a little promotion, you’d be a star.” Simon and I exchanged numbers. It was late by the time I got home. The moment I opened the door, my phone buzzed. A friend request from a stranger. The attached message read: I know what you’re trying to do. 5 I thought about it, then hit accept. It was a brand-new account. Default profile picture, all information blank. I sent a message: “Hello.” The reply was almost instantaneous. “Leave the group. Cut all contact with those people. You have no idea who you’re messing with.” I played dumb. “What group? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Anonymous: “You know what I’m talking about. ‘The Hunt Club.’ You’ve been lurking in there for days, right? You deliberately connected with Connor in the game, arranged to meet him, let him livestream it… You knew exactly what they were planning. Why would you do that? Are you trying to get revenge for the other girls they’ve humiliated?” I didn’t answer. Anonymous: “Whatever you’re planning, I’m telling you to stop. These guys are all rich and powerful. This group is just a sick game for them when they’re bored. If they find out you’re just messing with them, you’re finished. Do you know what happened to the last person who crossed them?” 6 Of course I knew what happened to the last person who crossed them. Her name was Tessa, a senior at City University. Three months ago, on the night before her graduation ceremony, she jumped from the roof of the library. We were both orphans, raised in the same foster home. I called her my sister. I was born with a massive appetite, which meant I was always hungry as a kid at the home. Tessa would secretly give me her food, swallowing her own saliva as she watched me eat. “What can I do? I’m the one who found you. That makes me responsible,” she’d say. She was a brilliant student, and the director of the home, taking pity on her diligence, would slip her extra eggs and milk. All of it ended up in my stomach. As I devoured the food, fighting the burning hunger and guilt in my gut, Tessa would puff out her chest and promise, “It’s okay. One day, I’ll go to college, get a good job, and make tons of money. Then you can eat whatever you want, and you’ll never have to be hungry again!” But she broke her promise. And I was angry. The next time I was starving, who would be there to take care of me? Her roommate gave me a battered journal, a small mercy. She said the school had disposed of all of Tessa’s other belongings, but she’d secretly kept this, a final memento of their friendship. The name that appeared most often in its pages was a group chat called “The Hunt Club.” 7 After lurking in the group for a few days on my burner account, I finally understood what it was for. A pack of bored, wealthy degenerates who used various pretenses to lure out women they deemed vain and greedy “gold diggers.” They would trick them into making huge purchases, then refuse to pay, deriving pleasure from their public humiliation and breakdown. But Tessa… I refused to believe she would fall into their trap for material things. Once, when we were kids, I was so hungry I stole two buns from a bakery. She found out and whipped the palm of my hand raw with a thin bamboo stick. She told me that even the poorest person must hold on to their integrity. She went on and on, lecturing me with all sorts of principles about how a noble person remains virtuous in poverty, blah, blah, blah. The rest is a blur; my hand hurt too much to remember. Tsk. Having a straight-A sister wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Make one little mistake and you get hit with both physical and psychological damage. 8 March 10th. Sunday. Sunny. I never knew people could be so cruel. What did I do wrong to be tormented like this? March 15th. Friday. Light rain. They came to the coffee shop where I work part-time. They made a scene, claiming my cup wasn’t clean, that my hands were dirty when I served them, that they got a stomachache after drinking the coffee and had to go to the hospital. They demanded I pay them. I only make eight hundred dollars a month at this job. They wanted twenty thousand. Where was I supposed to get that kind of money? My boss was kind. Before he fired me, he quietly lent me the twenty thousand. He said not to rush paying it back, but I still feel so guilty. I’ll just have to find more part-time work. If I can just hold on for a few more weeks, until I get my diploma, everything will be okay. March 19th. Tuesday. Overcast. They still haven’t let me go. I lost my tutoring job. They filed a complaint, accusing me of molesting the child, of trying to seduce the husband. The mother, who had always been so nice to me, showed up at the university screaming that I was a homewrecker. She grabbed my hair and hit me. No one helped me. Everyone just stared and pointed. When I got back to my dorm, my roommates had thrown my sheets and blanket into the hallway. They said it was a disgrace to share a room with me. It hurts so much. Why? I didn’t do anything. April 6th. Saturday. Heavy rain. It’s been months since I sent any money back to the home. I wonder how Talia is doing with her studies. Is she eating enough? It turns out there was a reason for everything. If I had known then… No. Even if I could do it all over again, I would still help her. We’re both girls. How could I just stand by and watch them humiliate her, force her to strip naked in the middle of a store? Who knew that just paying for a dress would attract a pack of monsters? They’re the ones who are wrong. Not me. But I don’t know how much longer I can hold on… I haven’t called Talia in a while. I’m not in a good state. She would worry. Endure it, Tessa. To live is to endure. You can’t give up like this. Three months later, she jumped from the university rooftop. It was graduation season, and the university didn’t want a scandal. They quietly handled Tessa’s body and her belongings, and then everything went silent. After all, she was just an orphan with no parents. The loss of a single life barely made a splash, less than the ripple from a pebble tossed into a lake. 9 I became a mukbang streamer for Simon Hayes’s new media company. After one session where I ate eight bundles of Fujian-style noodles, twenty mooncakes, ten bowls of sweet rice ball soup, six bowls of Nanchang spicy noodles, fifty soup dumplings, and for dessert, an eight-inch chocolate cake and five giant fruit teas, I went viral. Of course, the reactions were all over the place. There was shock, skepticism, people trying to replicate the meal, others analyzing the footage frame-by-frame for tricks, and a legion of commenters swearing I must have a bulimia problem. It was a circus. I ignored all of it. As long as I got to eat my fill, I didn’t care. Simon said he wanted to reward me. He took me and the team on a safari hunt in Africa. The savanna was beautiful. Simon raised his rifle and, with a single shot, brought down a magnificent male lion. Blood pooled on the dry earth. “These animals are raised in a private reserve specifically for hunting. Half a million a head,” he explained. “For people in our circle, this is the real game of power.” “Want to try, Talia?” He stood behind me, his body half-embracing mine, as he showed me how to hold the rifle, how to aim. One of his assistants threw a bloody deer leg from the truck, quickly attracting a few leopards. “This is the essence of the hunt,” he murmured, his breath hot against my neck. “A little bait is all it takes to bring out the greed in their bones. Even when they know untold danger lies ahead, they can’t help but follow their hunger—” “And then—bang.” He whispered the last word, and I flinched. The bullet whizzed over the leopards’ heads. Startled, they snatched the deer leg and vanished into the tall grass. Simon wasn’t angry. He just stroked my hair indulgently. “It’s okay. I know you girls have soft hearts.” I buried my face in his chest, forcing the sharp claws that were about to erupt from my fingertips back under my skin. Lately, my body had been changing in strange ways, as if something unknown was on the verge of waking up. The only constant was the raging hunger in my stomach. 10 After we returned to the States, the anonymous account messaged me again. “I know who you are.” “You’re Tessa’s sister. You got close to Connor and his friends to get revenge for her, didn’t you?” “You can’t win against them.” Tired of the warnings, I just blocked the account. A new request from a different burner account came through moments later. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I swear! I just want to help!” “If you really don’t believe me, let’s meet in person.” I considered it. “Only if you’re buying me dinner.” She chose a KFC. I didn’t hold back, ordering five family-sized buckets. The girl across from me, bundled up in a hat and a face mask, stared with wide eyes. I happily munched on a piece of fried chicken, taking a sip of soda and glancing at her. “Oh, you’re Tessa’s roommate.” The one who gave me the journal. She looked stunned. “You can recognize me even dressed like this?” I twitched my nose slightly. “I remember your scent.” She hesitated for a long time before finally speaking. “Don’t you have any questions for me? Like… the real reason Tessa died?” “Oh, I read the diary. It seems like she helped someone, got targeted by that group, and killed herself when she couldn’t take it anymore.” She stared at me. “And that’s it?” “What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely confused. Her voice rose with emotion. “You know how she died, and you can talk about it so calmly? Do you have any idea the kind of pain she went through before she died?” I looked up at her. “So? What did you do while she was going through all that? Weren’t you the one she helped? Why is it that you, the one who started it all, got away clean while she was pushed to the edge?” “How did you know…” “I guessed.” The girl slumped in her seat. “You’re right… I was vain. I fell for Connor’s trap. He took me to that luxury store, tricked me into trying on an expensive dress, and then refused to pay. He was going to force me to strip naked in front of everyone, livestreaming it for laughs… Tessa just happened to be passing by. She paid for the dress for me.” “That’s what set them off.” “They shifted their target to Tessa. First, they tried the same trick on her, but when she wouldn’t take the bait, they started to destroy her life. They used their money and influence to spread lies, ruin her reputation… Eventually, even the university believed them. The day before graduation, they told her she was being expelled for ‘moral turpitude.’ She wasn’t even going to get her diploma. That’s why she… she couldn’t see a way out.” I listened while finishing my buckets of chicken, then licked my fingers clean. “I’m done. Thanks for the meal.” She gaped at me, speechless. “You…” “I get it. You’re saying they’re powerful. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.” Just then, my phone rang. I answered, my voice instantly turning soft and sweet. “Simon?” His voice on the other end was bright and cheerful. “Where are you, Talia? I’m coming to pick you up. We have a big livestream tonight, you can’t be late.” I gave him the address and hung up. The smile was still on my face when I noticed the girl across from me staring with venom in her eyes. “I see now…” she sneered. “You never wanted revenge at all. Your sister’s death was just a ladder for you to climb.” “After all, without this, a girl from the bottom like you would never even get the chance to speak to powerful men like them, right?” “You’ve already been seduced by them, haven’t you? You’ve seen their power, their status, and you think you can climb into their world and live happily ever after? Keep dreaming.” “Do you think you’re special, that they see you differently? You’re just another piece of bait. If you keep this up, your end will be a hundred times worse than mine and Tessa’s combined.” I wasn’t angry. I wiped my fingers meticulously and stood up. “That won’t happen. Simon isn’t like Connor and the others. And I’m not like you.” “What makes you so different?” I tilted my head, revealing the tips of my canines. “You were all after his money. I’m different. I just want him.” “Talia!” she screamed after me, her voice thick with grief and fury. “Your sister died so horribly, and you’re willing to be a lapdog for her killers? She loved you more than anything in this world, you ungrateful, shameless snake!” “Don’t say that,” I said, looking back with a smile. “You know, we were both just orphans. Tessa… she wasn’t my real sister, anyway.”

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Everyone knew Donovan Blackwood, the king of Manhattan real estate, was devoted to his wife. The day she died in a car crash, his hair turned white overnight. From that day on, a darkness settled in him, a violent temper that drove a wedge between him and his son until they were like strangers living in the same gilded cage. Eventually, Donovan relented. He would find a stepmother for his son. And somehow, I was one of the candidates. For the culinary test, the others presented gourmet dishes. I served a greasy chili dog from a street cart on 53rd. For the talent portion, they played concertos and recited poetry. I performed a strange, modern dance routine I made up on the spot. For the test of their knowledge of Donovan Blackwood, the others sang his praises, listing his accolades and business triumphs. I leaned in close and whispered, “Mr. Blackwood, you have a mole on your left ass cheek.” Donovan went silent. That night, I was the one who was told to stay. He pressed a gun to my temple, his expression as cold and hard as the steel. “Tell me who sent you.” I dropped to my knees, my eyes darting to the empty space beside him. There, a ghost who’d been dead for ten years was flying around in a panic. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she wailed. “Everything I told you was right!” Bullshit. She also told me her husband was a big softie under that cold exterior. 1 The moment the muzzle of the gun pressed against my temple, I’ll admit it: I was terrified. “Wait!” I knelt on the plush rug, all my pride gone. “Mr. Blackwood, you’ve got this all wrong.” Donovan tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. The wrist of his gun hand twitched, and the cold metal kissed my skin with more pressure. “Wrong?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I clawed my way to the top of this city, Sloane. Do you really think I’m some fool you can play games with?” I nervously wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead, daring to meet his gaze. His features were sharp, chiseled, a face that belonged on a magazine cover but was terrifying up close. At forty, he held New York in the palm of his hand. He was right. No one could fool this man. He paused, then suddenly pulled the gun away. He retrieved a cigarette from a silver case on the table and lit it with a casual flick of a lighter. He took a long drag, the smoke curling from his lips as he exhaled, his gaze distant. “You knew the first thing Eleanor and I ever ate together. You knew her favorite way to exercise. And you knew…” his voice hardened, “…that. It must have taken a lot of work to dig all that up.” He locked his eyes on me. “You have three minutes to tell me everything. Otherwise, I have countless ways to make you talk.” My heart hammered against my ribs. This man was far more dangerous than I had imagined. Deep, gut-wrenching regret washed over me for ever taking this job. My eyes flickered again to the empty space beside him. Donovan couldn’t see her, but the ghost of his dead wife was spinning in frantic circles. She kept muttering to herself. “It shouldn’t be like this, what happened?” “I swear, everything I told you was right! Donovan loved those chili dogs, and he always said my dancing was beautiful…” “What went wrong?” The problem, lady, is that a normal person wouldn’t know about the mole on his left ass cheek! It was my own damn fault for not thinking it through, for just repeating everything she told me. The second the words left my mouth, I knew I’d screwed up. The ghost, Eleanor, floated over to me, offering a weak, apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll think of something. He’s probably just trying to scare you.” Scare me? I glanced over. Donovan was calmly loading a fresh clip into the handgun. Thump. I scrambled forward and wrapped my arms around his leg. “Mr. Blackwood,” I blurted out, “I have a secret.” 2 I have a secret. I’ve been able to see ghosts since I was a child. After a long and exhausting journey through terror, fear, breakdowns, and despair, I finally came to terms with it. I learned to just ignore them, to look right through them as if they weren’t there. That is, until a month ago, when the ghost named Eleanor found me and wouldn’t leave me alone. “Honey, you can see me? Oh, thank God! Can you do me a favor?” “Why aren’t you answering me? Hello? Helloooo?” “Please, you’re the only one who can help me. I’ll give you ten million dollars if you help me.” That’s when I stopped pretending. I turned to face her. “How much!?” “Ten million dollars!” Seeing my resolve crumble, Eleanor floated closer, her voice a seductive whisper. “It’s a small favor, really. I just need you to check on my husband and my son. Since I died, their relationship has completely fallen apart. They’re like enemies. You just have to go to my house and do a few little things for me.” I was hesitant. She pressed on. “My husband is a good man. He looks cold, but he’s kind and gentle, and he’s a total pushover once you get to know him.” “Don’t be scared, sweetie. I’ll be right there with you.” “Before I died, I stashed away a debit card. It was my secret little slush fund. If you agree to help me, the card is yours!” “It has ten million, seven hundred twenty-two thousand, four hundred and eleven dollars on it!” Damn. She had it down to the dollar. It had to be real. I was tempted. Insanely tempted. I’m the “other” daughter of the wealthy Peterson family. And while I have the name, I’m treated worse than the maids. I’m the product of an affair, a stain on the family’s reputation that everyone wishes would just disappear. I was desperate to get away from them, to leave the country and go to college, but that required money. Lots of it. After weighing my options, I gritted my teeth and agreed. 3 And now, I was regretting it. Deeply. I clung to Donovan Blackwood’s leg. “Mr. Blackwood, the truth is… your wife has been visiting me in my dreams.” It was better than saying I could see ghosts. Both were insane, but the dream angle was slightly more palatable. Donovan froze, his gaze dropping to the top of my head as he processed my words. Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, his hand shot out and clamped around my throat. “You’re a liar,” he rasped, his voice raw. “If she could visit someone’s dreams, why wouldn’t she come to mine?” His grip was crushing. Air refused to enter my lungs. My face flushed, dark spots dancing in my vision. Eleanor shrieked, zipping around us in a panic. “What do I do? Donovan was never like this!” I clawed at his hand, forcing the words out one by one. “Because… she’s… still… angry… with… you.” Donovan’s pupils contracted. His hand went slack. He stared at me, either not hearing me or not believing what he heard. “What did you say?” I collapsed to the floor, coughing violently until I could breathe again. I looked up at him, my voice hoarse, and repeated, “Because she’s still angry with you.” “You know exactly how she died, don’t you? You had a fight. She stormed out to get away from you, and she walked right into the path of that car.” “If you had just let her win that one argument, she might still be alive.” “Mr. Blackwood, your wife blames you. That’s why she won’t come to you in your dreams.” The cold, hard mask on Donovan’s face cracked. His expression shifted into a complex storm of doubt, regret, and soul-crushing guilt. The veins on the hand holding the gun bulged, his breathing ragged. I was terrified. I scooted back, praying he wouldn’t accidentally pull the trigger. He stood there like a statue for several minutes before his entire body seemed to deflate. The rigid posture that defined him slumped. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I deserve this,” he muttered to himself. Then, looking like a ghost himself, he turned and left the room. I heard the housekeeper ask, “Sir, what should we do with the young lady?” “Find a guest room. Let her stay.” “Very good, sir.” 4 Lying on the impossibly soft bed in the guest room, I was still trembling from my near-death experience. Eleanor, however, was muttering beside me. “But I don’t blame him. He looks so sad. It makes me sad, too.” I shot up, exasperated. “Lady, if I hadn’t said that, I’d be dead right now!” “I know, I know, I’m not blaming you. It’s just… it makes me sad.” “…” Right. I reminded myself that the longer a ghost sticks around, the fuzzier their thinking gets. I could forgive her for being a little scrambled. I ignored her and tried to sleep, but the fear was still thrumming through me. After a while, I saw her, a lonely, translucent figure perched on the windowsill. I felt a pang of pity. “Hey,” I said, breaking the silence. “You never told me. What were you and Donovan fighting about that night?” Eleanor paused, her form drooping with sadness. “It was because…” BANG! A loud crash echoed from downstairs. The sound of the front door being slammed open. It was followed by a raw, teenage voice, spitting the foulest words. “Donovan Blackwood! You bring another woman into this house? How dare you! Do you have any respect for my mother?!” “Come out! Or are you too much of a coward?” “Donovan! You gutless bastard!” Ah. The little demon of the Blackwood family was home. Eleanor had told me that when she died, her son was only seven. Now, ten years later, he was seventeen and in the throes of a brutal rebellious phase. It was common knowledge throughout New York that the Blackwood father and son were at war. As I was processing this, a frantic pounding of feet charged up the stairs. It stopped right outside my door, followed by a series of violent kicks. “Is the woman in here? Get the hell out!” The housekeeper’s voice was strained. “Young master, please! The person inside is a guest.” “Guest, my ass! She’s the little bitch Donovan brought home.” Hey! Who is he calling a little bitch? That did it. I shot out of bed, marched to the door, and yanked it open. I glared at the boy in front of me. “What do you want?” We stared at each other for a few seconds, and it struck me how much he looked like his father. The same nose, the same mouth, practically stamped from the same mold. But his eyes were Eleanor’s, softer and warmer around the edges. Not that his handsome face excused his rotten behavior. Liam Blackwood gave me a dismissive, head-to-toe scan. He sneered. “Someone like you thinks you can set foot in my house? Get lost.” I was so angry my organs started to ache. Eleanor floated over. “Oh, my baby boy is so big now,” she cooed. “Isn’t he just the cutest?” I rolled my eyes. Before I could think a sarcastic thought, I heard her next whisper. “Sweetie, slap him.” I froze for a second, then a grin spread across my face. My hand flew up and connected squarely with Liam’s handsome cheek. SMACK. His head snapped to the side. He was completely stunned. Then, his eyes widened in disbelief as he turned back to me. “You… you hit me?!” The housekeeper looked horrified. “Miss Sloane, you may be a guest, but striking the young master is highly inappropriate!” “You fucking hit me!” Liam exploded, lunging at me like a wild animal, his face contorted with rage as if he wanted to tear me apart. The housekeeper, fearing it would get worse, threw his arms around Liam’s waist. “Young master, please calm down!” I stumbled back a few steps. I looked at Eleanor and whispered, “Okay, now what?” Eleanor blinked. “Huh?” I scowled. “After the slap, what was the plan? You didn’t think that far ahead, did you?” The ghost just stared at me with a blank expression. I almost fainted. I’d been tricked again. The commotion was loud enough to finally draw Donovan out. “What is going on here?” The moment his voice cut through the air, Liam stopped struggling. He shrugged off the housekeeper, his eyes red as he turned to face his father. Well, his eyes were red, and so was half of his face. Donovan saw the red handprint and his expression darkened instantly. Liam’s voice was laced with hatred. “You’re a real piece of work, Donovan. Mom’s death anniversary is in two days, and you pick now to bring this woman home and let her hit me… Aren’t you afraid of my mother watching you from the great beyond?” Donovan’s gaze shot to me like a dagger. “You hit him?” “Who gave you the nerve?!” Liam scoffed. “Why are you pretending? As if she would have dared to touch me without your permission.” All three of them—the father, the son, and the housekeeper—were now staring at me. I blinked a few times, then dramatically crumpled to the floor. “Oh, what happened? I think… I think I was dreaming. Wasn’t I just sleeping? Why am I on the floor?” I looked around in feigned confusion. “Why are you all here? And you, handsome, what happened to your face? It’s all red.” Liam looked at me with disgust. “What the hell are you playing at?” I shook my head, looking lost, then my eyes lit up. I scrambled to my feet and rushed to Donovan’s side. “Mr. Blackwood, I dreamed about your wife again.” Donovan’s eyes were cold. It was clear he didn’t believe me anymore. I swallowed hard and kept bluffing. “It’s true.” I pointed to the windowsill. “In the dream, she was leaning on the sill, looking at the flowers. She said the climbing rose in the yard was a gift for the young master, that she planted it herself for his fifth birthday.” “She looked so sad. She said her son was going down the wrong path, and she wished she could do something to guide him. She even asked if she could… borrow my body for a little while. It scared me so much that I woke up.” “Master Liam, did I really hit you? Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I think I was possessed…” As the words tumbled out, the three men in front of me froze. Donovan instinctively looked at the housekeeper. The housekeeper immediately said, “Sir, I never said a word about the rose bush.” But Liam was the one who became agitated, focusing on the wrong detail. “What are you talking about? How do you know about the roses? Who told you?!” He paused, his gaze snapping to his father. “You told her? What right do you have to talk about my mother?” “Donovan, my mother must have been blind to ever fall in love with you!” SMACK. Now his right cheek was red, too. His father had hit him. The atmosphere turned to ice. Even Eleanor stopped drifting and stared blankly at her son. Liam touched his face, a twisted, humorless smile spreading across his lips. The look he gave his father was terrifying. He seemed completely unhinged. He shoved the housekeeper aside and stormed downstairs. “Sir, it’s raining outside! The young master is furious. If he goes out like this, something could happen!” “You go find him!” The housekeeper hesitated. “Sir, if you don’t go, I’m afraid we won’t be able to bring him back. You know his temper. What if he gets hurt…?” Donovan closed his eyes, his chest heaving. Before he left with the housekeeper, he gave me one last, unreadable look. I immediately bowed my head. “I’ll be good and stay right here. Don’t you worry, Mr. Blackwood.” 5 This was a house of lunatics. This father and son were both completely insane. This place was dangerous. I had to leave. In a matter of seconds, I made up my mind. I turned to Eleanor. “What exactly is this favor you need? Tell me now. I’ll do it, and then I’m out of here.” Eleanor’s expression was melancholic. She sat on the windowsill, gazing down at the roses in the yard. The rain was battering the delicate petals, making them look pitiful. “I wanted you to help them mend their relationship…” What? An abstract favor like that? No way I could pull that off. I was about to refuse when she continued, “But I never realized things had gotten this bad between them. Asking you to do this now… it’s too much.” Good, she understood. “So, you…” “I don’t know,” Eleanor said, her voice faint. “I’m lost, too. I don’t know what we can do anymore.” I fell back onto the bed with a sigh. Whatever. I’d just take it one step at a time. I was starting to realize I was stuck with a thoroughly unreliable ghost. That ten million dollars wasn’t going to be easy money. Since I couldn’t sleep, I tried talking to her again. “You still haven’t told me why you and Donovan were fighting that night.” Eleanor floated over and lay down beside me on the bed. A wave of cold washed over me, but I wasn’t scared. I was ready for the gossip. Her pale, thin lips parted. “I… I don’t remember.” “…” You wasted my emotional energy. Time for sleep. I wasn’t too mad about not getting the story. I knew this was how it worked for ghosts. The longer they wandered the earth, the more their memories faded. The first things to go were always the moments surrounding their death. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You should get some rest.” Eleanor didn’t need to sleep. Bored, she floated out of the room to explore. A few minutes later, she was back. Seeing that I was still awake, she knelt by my bed and began to hum a soft melody. I stilled. “What song is that?” “Oh, just something I made up. I used to sing it to Liam to help him sleep. Is it bothering you?” “No.” I buried my face in the pillow. “It’s beautiful. Can you sing it again?” “Of course.” I grew up in an orphanage and was only recently taken in by the Petersons, where I was treated with nothing but contempt. Being sung to sleep was a luxury I’d never known. To think that the first time would be at the hands of a stranger, a ghost… it was a strange feeling. As Eleanor’s gentle voice washed over me, I finally drifted off to sleep. 6 I didn’t see Donovan again after that night. The housekeeper said he was away on a business trip. Fine by me. I was happy to have the place to myself. I spent two days doing nothing but eating and sleeping. On Monday evening, the housekeeper knocked on my door. “Miss Sloane, the master has instructed that while he is away, you are to pick up the young master from school.” I sighed. “…Fine, I’ll go.” Mainly because Eleanor was staring at me with those big, pleading puppy-dog eyes. I couldn’t say no. On the way to the school, she chattered nonstop in my ear. “Liam used to be such a sweet boy, really!” “I used to pick him up every day. He’d give me a huge hug before going inside and tell me he loved me.” To avoid suspicion from the driver, I didn’t respond. Not that Eleanor seemed to care. She was pressed against the window, looking out at the city with a happy expression. When we arrived, I spotted Liam almost immediately. He stood out in any crowd. I got out of the car and was about to call his name when I saw him block the path of a girl pushing a bicycle. The girl had a sweet, innocent face and a high ponytail. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. “Tessa, why are you crying?” Liam stood in front of her, glancing down at her bike. “Is that a flat tire?” “Guess you can’t ride that home.” The girl, Tessa, bit her lip and said nothing. Liam bent down and smiled. “You can ride with us. My driver should be here any second.” Eleanor had a proud, motherly smile on her face. “My son is so kind. Always helping others.” I snorted. “Kind, my ass. He’s the one who let the air out of her tire.” “What?” I tilted my head. “Look at his right index finger.” There was still a smudge of black grease on it. Eleanor’s eyes widened. “That little brat!” She flew over and started throwing phantom punches at Liam’s face. Liam looked around. “Why does it suddenly feel so cold?” I walked through the crowd, grabbed the collar of Liam’s uniform, and pulled him away from the girl. Then I waved the driver over and had him put the girl’s bike in the trunk. “Hey there,” I said to the girl. “I’ll have him give you a ride home. Just tell the driver your address. Don’t be shy!” Tessa was still stunned as I ushered her into the back of the Rolls-Royce. Liam shot me a death glare. “What are you doing here!?” Tessa looked over. He immediately changed his tone, hissing at me through clenched teeth, “We’ll settle this later.” He tried to get into the car, but I held him back by his shirt. I slammed the door shut and told the driver, “Please make sure this young lady gets home safely.” 7 The car sped away, leaving Liam and me standing on the sidewalk, glaring at each other. Just as he was about to explode, I smoothed my hair. “Kid, that’s not how you get a girl’s attention.” Liam’s face flushed crimson. “What are you talking about?” “Oh? So you don’t like her? Then why’d you flatten her tire?” I paused, feigning realization. “Oh, I get it. You hate her. In that case, I’ll be sure to tell her to stay away from you so she doesn’t bother you anymore.” “Are you insane?!” Liam yelled. I just looked at him with a smirk. He was probably mortified that someone he disliked had figured out his secret. He turned and stomped away in a huff. I followed him at a leisurely pace. “You know, when you like someone, you’re supposed to be nice to them. All you’re doing is causing her trouble. That’s just going to push her further away.” Liam’s pace slowed, but he didn’t stop. I kept going. “Let me guess. You probably pull her hair at school, ‘accidentally’ bump into her desk, steal her pens, and—” “Shut up!” Liam stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to glare at me, his face still red. Ah. So I was right. “Fine, I’ll stop.” I held up my hands. “I was just about to tell you the right way to win a girl over…” I shook my head and walked past him. Eleanor kept me updated. “He’s scuffing his shoes on the pavement… he’s looking over here… he’s scratching his head… yes! He’s coming after you!” Hah. I’ve been navigating the real world for over a decade. You think I can’t handle a teenager? I smirked and hopped onto a city bus that had just pulled up. I called out to him, “Hurry up! We’re taking the bus home tonight!” He was clearly fascinated, probably his first time on public transit. He touched everything, looking around with wide eyes. Finally, he tried to act casual. “Hey, you didn’t finish what you were saying before. I hate it when people leave things half-said.” What a proud little brat. It was kind of amusing. I dropped the act and got serious. “When you like someone, you don’t have to bully them to get their attention, just to make yourself ‘special’ in their eyes.” Liam was listening intently. “What else?” “Shoot your shot,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “At this age, when everyone is awkward and shy, being direct is a superpower.” “As long as you’re sincere, she’ll feel it.” 8 The driver was already back by the time we got home. Liam walked over to him. “Did you get her home okay?” The driver smiled. “Watched her walk right in the door.” “Oh.” Liam was still a bit awkward about it and went straight to his room without another word. The housekeeper, however, looked surprised. “It seems you and the young master are getting along well, Miss Sloane.” “It’s alright,” I said with a yawn, heading upstairs. The main reason for our truce was that I promised him on the bus that I had no intention of staying in the Blackwood house or becoming his stepmother. We ate dinner separately, with maids bringing trays to our rooms. My room was on the second floor, his on the third, so we didn’t bother each other. That evening, I was chatting with Eleanor, listening to her tell funny and embarrassing stories about Liam as a child. As I was laughing, I heard faint footsteps outside my door. I stopped, exchanging a look with Eleanor. I got out of bed. The moment the footsteps stopped in front of my door, I pulled it open. A guilty-looking Liam froze in the hallway. I leaned against the doorframe. “You’re the one who’s been pacing outside my door the last few nights, aren’t you?” “Spit it out. What do you want?” Liam pursed his lips and looked up at me. “Before… when you said you dreamed about my mom. Was that true?” I was a little surprised. “You’d believe me?” Liam nodded. “Actually,” he said, his voice soft, “I think I saw her once, when I was little.” 9 Liam told me that when he was ten, he was playing around and climbed out onto the third-floor balcony. A stray cat startled him, and he fell. The moment before he hit the ground and blacked out, he thought he saw his mother. She was calling his name frantically, telling him not to fall asleep… “I broke my leg in that fall. Everyone said I was lucky to be alive, but I think… I think my mom saved me.” He took a deep breath, then looked at me, his eyes pleading. “So, besides dreaming of her… can you see her?” Instinctively, I was about to look over at Eleanor. But I heard her voice in my head. Don’t tell him. I paused. I understood her reasoning. Liam couldn’t see her. Telling him she was here, when they couldn’t talk or touch, would only create a painful obsession. If he got too caught up in it, it would be impossible for him to move on. I shook my head. “No.” Liam’s face fell with disappointment, but there was also a hint of relief in his smile. “It’s okay. Dreaming of her is good enough.” “Sloane…,” he started, a bit awkwardly. “Can you do me a favor?” Just for him calling me by my first name like that, I was all in. “Anything.” “The next time you dream of my mom… can you tell her that I miss her?” That was it. My eyes started to water. I admit, I can be a real softy sometimes. My whole perception of Liam shifted. “Of course,” I said, my voice thick. “I’ll tell her.” As he was leaving, I called out to him. “Have you ever thought that maybe your mom would want you to grow up happy? And that she’d want you and your dad to get along?” Liam stopped, his back stiffening. His voice turned to ice. “That’s impossible. I’ll never forgive him. Not as long as I live.”

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My best friend, whom I’d pursued for three years, and my rival, Kevin, who despised me, were locked in a perpetual war—and I was their battlefield. She pitied my unrequited feelings and accused him of being cold; he sneered that she was acting like my mother. I was stuck in the middle. Everything changed when her deadbeat, gambling-addicted father showed up on campus, causing a scene. Kevin, who supposedly hated her, was the first to step in—throwing a punch that sent the man stumbling. By the time I arrived, Kevin had him pinned to a wall, his eyes fierce. “She works three jobs to pay tuition, and you still want to bleed her dry?” he snarled. “It’s just fifty thousand, right? I’ll get it. Take the money and disappear from her life—or I’ll kill you.” “…How will you get it?” the man wheezed. “Her little rich-girl best friend has been after me for three years. I just have to ask, and she’ll bring the cash. Sienna is mine now.” 1 The man wiped a smear of blood from his lip and spat on the ground. “Alright, hero. You’ve got ten days. If I don’t see the money by then, I’ll haunt Sienna like a ghost. She can kiss this fancy school goodbye.” Just as he finished speaking, Sienna arrived, rushing to Kevin’s side and shielding him with her own body. Her father’s laugh was crude. “So, you two are sleeping together now?” “Get out!” Sienna’s voice was a choked sob, her lip trembling as tears streamed down her face. “I’ll get the money somehow! Just stop pushing me! If you push me any further, I swear, we’ll all go down together!” Her father just sneered and walked away. Sienna slumped against the wall, her strength gone. Even from a distance, I could see the raw tenderness in Kevin’s eyes. He knelt, his voice a soft murmur as he retied her shoelace. “You ran so fast, you didn’t even notice.” Sienna sank to the ground beside him, her fingers gently tracing the bruise on his cheek. The tears came faster. “…Don’t cry.” “Does it hurt?” she whispered. Kevin actually smiled, capturing her hand in his. “Kiss it and make it better.” His voice was so gentle it was barely a breath. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her fingers. Sienna looked down, but she didn’t pull away. “Don’t… Kevin, you know how Chloe feels about you. I can’t…” “But I’ve never liked her! She’s the one who won’t leave me alone! You know it’s always been you!” His voice was shaking with emotion. “Girls like her, these princesses born with a silver spoon… they’re not from our world. I could never be with someone like that. Never.” He pulled her into a fierce embrace, as if trying to merge their bodies into one. “You feel something for me too, don’t you? That night, when you were drunk… if Chloe hadn’t walked in, you would have been mine…” My nails dug into my palms, the sharp sting jolting me back to reality. That night… it must have been Kevin’s birthday. I had spent three months planning the perfect surprise for him. I’d gotten him a gift for every year of his life, from one to twenty-one. He hadn’t even cracked a smile. Later, I saw he had sold every single one of them online. The only gift he kept was the simple, hand-woven bracelet Sienna had given him. He never took it off. It had bothered me, but I’d pushed the feeling down. Even when I walked in on the two of them in the room next to the party, their clothes disheveled, I’d played dumb, telling myself they were just drunk. Another wave of pain washed over me. I forced myself to focus. Kevin’s voice drifted over to me. “Your father promised. Fifty thousand, and he’ll be gone for good. You’ll finally be free.” Sienna’s laugh was bitter. “And where am I supposed to get that kind of money?” “Ask Chloe,” Kevin said, stroking her hair. “She’s loaded. She spends more than that on a single handbag. Fifty grand is nothing to her.” “Don’t worry about it. I’ll ask her. That idiot is so obsessed with me, she’ll give me anything I want.” Tears welled in Sienna’s eyes. She nodded, then stood on her toes and gave him a soft, lingering kiss. In the shadows, where they couldn’t see me, my heart was being torn to shreds. I wanted to march over there, to scream, to demand an explanation. But I couldn’t. I just turned and walked away. 2 I somehow made it through my afternoon classes, a zombie moving through the motions. As I was heading back to my dorm, I saw him waiting outside the lecture hall. “Chloe.” His voice set off a ripple of whispers and giggles among the other students. “Wow, did Chloe finally land him?” “The pathetic stalker actually succeeded?” I ignored them and faced him. “What do you want, Kevin?” He looked… almost nervous. “I need to borrow some money…” Wow. Straight to the point. Not even a hint of pleasantry. He was so sure of himself, so confident that I would just roll over and hand him whatever he wanted, like the pathetic little dog he thought I was. But not this time. “No.” I walked past him, quickening my pace. He grabbed my arm, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with you? You’re being weird.” I didn’t answer. “Let me walk you back,” he offered, his voice suddenly smooth. “It’s still early. We could go for a walk. You always said you wanted to watch the moon. We could go to the field.” Yes, I did. I had asked him so many times. He had never once gone with me. Even on my birthday, I was the one who stood outside his apartment for hours, just for him to come down for a reluctant ten-minute chat. He didn’t like me. He had never liked me. This sudden charm offensive was nothing but a means to an end. It was laughable. I stared at the ground, kicking at a loose stone, biting my lip to keep the tears from falling. When I finally got back to my dorm, my roommate took one look at my face and sighed. “Kevin being an ass again?” I said nothing, which was answer enough. “Chloe, why do you do this to yourself?” she asked gently. “Is it just because he’s good-looking?” I blew my nose, still silent. It wasn’t that. It was never just about his looks. The first time I met him wasn’t in college. It was in high school. I was a hundred and seventy pounds back then, bloated and puffy from the steroids I had to take for a medical condition. Everyone avoided me. The other kids called me “Tank.” I wasn’t allowed to be in the school play because of my weight. I had to watch from the sidelines as the other girls danced, their pretty dresses making them look like graceful swans. After the show, they invited me to a cast party. I knew they just wanted me to pay for everything. But I was so desperate to fit in, I agreed. They got drunk on stolen beer and started calling me a stupid pig, calling me Tank. When I tried to defend myself, they locked me in a bathroom stall and poured a bucket of cold water over my head. “You don’t belong with us, you fat pig!” they shrieked through the door. I screamed for them to let me out, but they just laughed. It was Kevin who found me. He was just passing by. He saw me shivering and soaked to the bone, and he gave me his jacket. “Next time they bully you, you have to fight back,” he’d said. “If you’re meaner than they are, they’ll be scared of you.” Before he left, he handed me a lollipop. “Sweets make everything better,” he’d smiled. His face was silhouetted against the light, but I can still remember that smile, clear as day. He was the only person who had ever been kind to me. And just like that, I fell for him. For the entirety of our senior year, I bought him breakfast every single day. I wrote him a love letter every single day. But I never had the courage to sign my name. The summer after graduation, I worked my ass off and lost eighty pounds. I applied to the same university as him. I had gone through hell and back just to be able to stand in front of him. But he didn’t recognize me. I truly, deeply loved him. And Sienna knew everything. She knew my entire, secret history with him. She was my only friend. We’d known each other since we were six. When her parents fought, they would lock her in her room for days without food. I was the one who climbed up to her fourth-floor window, broke the glass, and got her out. The week before our final exams, her father beat her so badly she had a fever of a hundred and four. I couldn’t get a taxi, so I carried her on my back for three miles to the hospital. The two most important people in my life had conspired to make a fool of me. A sob escaped my throat, and then I was crying, my head on my desk, my body shaking with the force of it. My roommate handed me a tissue. “Chloe,” she said, her voice hesitant. “There’s something… I don’t know if I should tell you.” 3 My heart stuttered. “What is it?” “It’s about Kevin and your best friend… I mean, you and Sienna are so close, I didn’t want you to think I was just spreading gossip.” “But I just… I don’t think things are as innocent as they seem between them.” It turned out, my roommate had stumbled across a social media account of Sienna’s that I had never seen before. The profile picture was her, but the account was a secret one. A finsta. She showed it to me. I clicked on it, and my world tilted on its axis. 【He took me to the top of the mountain to see the stars. The princess called him twenty times, but he didn’t pick up once. Apparently, they were supposed to go to a concert together. She waited for him outside for three hours… Tsk, tsk. Being a stalker is hard work.】 【He got sick and begged me to visit him in the hospital. But then the princess showed up, so I had to hide behind the curtain and watch her fuss over him. She brought a huge bag of expensive, imported fruit. We ate all of it after she left!】 【At the princess’s birthday party, he got drunk and pushed me against the wall in the room next door and kissed me… If she hadn’t walked in, we would have done it… So annoying.】 【The lunch the princess made for him? He fed it all to me, bite by bite… Hehehe.】 My fingers started to tremble as I scrolled further. 【So what if you have a little money? Do you really think you’re some kind of royalty?】 【Why are some people born with a silver spoon, while I have to claw my way through the mud? Anyone who has it better than me deserves to die.】 【I bet you don’t know this, but the guy you’ve been chasing for three years pins me against a wall and kisses me until my legs give out. 😉 】 I couldn’t read anymore. It felt like my heart was being deep-fried. I lay in bed all night, unable to sleep. My eyes were so swollen I could barely open them. The next day, I dragged myself to my big lecture class. Kevin was in this one too. I deliberately chose a seat in the back corner. But when he walked in, he sat down right next to me. He dropped his bag and held out his hand expectantly. “Where’s my breakfast?” Ever since I’d confessed my feelings to him, I had brought him breakfast every single morning. “I didn’t bring it.” His brow furrowed. “…What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” I kept my head down and didn’t answer. He kept talking. “I have a basketball game this afternoon. You’re coming, right? Make sure to bring extra water. My teammates will be thirsty too.” I took a deep breath, stood up, and moved to another seat. I saw the flash of surprise in his eyes. He started to follow me, but then the bell rang. I didn’t expect him to tell Sienna. But right after class, she found me, linking her arm through mine with a bright, fake smile. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? You seem down.” She reached up and squeezed my cheek, just like she always did. Her fingers brushed against the necklace I was wearing. It was a Tiffany piece, worth two thousand dollars. “That’s so pretty…” In the past, if she had said that, I would have taken it off and given it to her on the spot. I never cared about the price. This time, I slapped her hand away. “Don’t touch me.” She jumped back, startled, then forced another laugh. I saw the anger flash in her eyes before she hid it. She changed the subject. “You’re going to Kevin’s game this afternoon, right? Let me help you pick out an outfit! We have to make sure you look stunning. That lipstick is hideous, and your dress is so frumpy…” “He’s never going to like you if you dress like that.” I turned to face her, my gaze steady. “How did you know I was going to the game? Did Kevin tell you?” “Do you two talk often?” 4 She froze. The guilt was plain on her face. I pulled my arm away and walked off. In the end, I didn’t go to the game. I turned off my phone and slept until evening. When I woke up, I was scrolling through the campus confession page and saw a photo of Kevin. It had been posted by one of his admirers. In the picture, a basketball was flying toward the stands, and Kevin had thrown himself in front of Sienna, shielding her with his body. The caption read: 【Is our campus heartthrob finally taken? My heart is broken… I saw them holding hands earlier. They’re so cute together.】 The comments started rolling in. 【OMG, isn’t that the best friend of the girl who’s been stalking him for three years? The drama!】 And then, Sienna herself commented. 【Don’t spread rumors. We’re just friends. I would never, ever go after my best friend’s crush.】 After posting that blatant lie, she immediately messaged me. 【Sweetie, don’t believe what they’re saying on the confessions page. It’s all nonsense.】 I didn’t bother to reply. For the next few days, I cut them both off. I didn’t confront them. I just… faded away. I needed time to process, to get my head straight before I said what needed to be said. My roommate was my rock. “Chloe, I’ve always thought you were a really great person,” she told me one night. “It’s just… you were always with Sienna. We’d ask you to hang out, but if she didn’t want to go, you’d back out too.” “She’s a total narcissist. She controls you, puts you down, and you just take it.” “I’ve always felt like you were a bit of a people-pleaser… but you don’t have to be. You can just be yourself, and people will love you for it.” Her words were a balm to my raw, wounded heart. Because of the bullying I’d experienced, I had always been so desperate for friends, so grateful for any scrap of acceptance. I thought it was a gift that anyone would even want to be around me. But I didn’t have to be that person. I was a good person. I deserved to be loved. I didn’t have to earn it. 5 The next day, I finally decided it was time. I was going to confront them. But before I could, I got a message from Kevin. 【I’m downstairs. Come down.】 I saw his familiar silhouette as soon as I stepped out of the dorm. He was leaning against the wall, smoking. He was holding a cup of bubble tea. “This is for you.” …Full-sugar bubble tea with pearls. He didn’t know I hated pearls, and I never drank full-sugar anything. I almost laughed. I didn’t take it. “What do you want?” I asked. He stubbed out his cigarette, his fingers trembling slightly. He must have been nervous. “Chloe, you’ve been chasing me for a long time. I can see that you really, really like me.” “I’ve thought about it. Let’s be together.” He was looking at the ground, his lips pressed into a thin line. It was as if he were bestowing some great honor upon me. Then, his tone shifted. “But…” “But?” “But you have to do one thing for me.” I knew exactly what he was going to say. But I made him say it anyway. “What is it?” “Give me fifty thousand dollars.” He said it so matter-of-factly. It was absurd. It was like he was playing a game. The way he was forcing himself to lie… it was almost funny. “Are you asking because of the money, or because you really want to be with me?” I asked, my voice sweet. He couldn’t even meet my eyes. He tried to act casual, forcing a laugh. “Of course I want to be with you.” “Plenty of girls have offered me money. There was this fat girl in high school who was obsessed with me. She used to leave me breakfast and love letters every day. It was disgusting. She was rich, I heard, but even if she had offered me a million dollars, I wouldn’t have given her the time of day.” “She should have looked in a mirror. She was repulsive.” He was still smiling as he said it, as if he were sharing a funny story. My heart seized. It felt like a hand was squeezing my throat. I looked up at him. “Do you remember her name?” “Who would remember her name? She was as fat as a pig. I just remember… everyone called her Tank. It’s hilarious, right? What a stupid nickname.” Hilarious. All the courage it had taken me, all the love I had poured into those letters and those breakfasts… it was all just a joke to him. “So, what do you say? You and me? It’s only fifty grand. Your family’s loaded. It’s not like you can’t afford it, right?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Fifty thousand is just a few handbags to me. It’s nothing.” A hopeful gleam appeared in his eyes. “But I’m not giving it to you. And I’m not going to be with you.” “You love Sienna, so you should be the one to earn the money to fix her problems. Asking me for it? What does that make you? A pathetic leech.” “You and Sienna… you two disgusting people deserve each other.” “I’m done with you, Kevin. If you two want to be beggars, go beg someone else.” “You’re bad luck.”

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Not long after Amy, his one true love, left the country, Julian Reed asked me out. My friends teased me, “After all this time, he finally realized the right person was right here beside him all along.” He said nothing. I walked on eggshells by his side, believing that a true heart could win a true heart in return. That illusion shattered the day he stood me up on my own birthday to pick Amy up from the airport. A friend of his asked him, “You chose Vivian, so why can’t you get over Amy?” His answer: “A will always be A. But B… B could be anyone.” That’s when I finally understood. It was time for me to leave. 1 We had been together for three years when Julian finally made us official on his social media. For my twenty-second birthday, he invited all our friends, promising to throw me the party of a lifetime. I was so touched, so certain that my devotion had finally paid off. I never imagined he would just… not show up. By seven in the evening, the villa was buzzing with guests, but there was still no sign of Julian. People started crowding around me, their patience wearing thin. “Vivian, where the hell is Julian?” I clutched my phone, my voice trembling as I fumbled for an excuse. “Something urgent came up. He couldn’t make it.” The truth was, I hadn’t been able to reach him for over an hour. “But he’s made all the arrangements, so please, eat, drink, and have a good time,” I added, forcing a smile. I knew most of them weren’t here for me, but I had to hold it together, playing the gracious host. Suddenly, a sneer cut through the chatter. “Look at her, playing the lady of the manor.” Another voice, louder this time, erupted in laughter. “I guess we know what’s so important. The great Julian Reed is at the airport picking up Amy!” The name hit me like a physical blow. I froze, and the wine glass in my hand slipped, shattering on the floor. The speaker was a woman named Sienna, one of Amy’s best friends. Her announcement had captured everyone’s attention. She held up her phone, waving it with a smug pride. “Amy just texted me. She’s back in the country on vacation.” I knelt to pick up the broken glass, a sharp edge slicing into my finger. Sienna sauntered over, her hips swaying, and looked down at me with disdain. “Well, well. The queen has returned. Someone must be panicking.” She let out a little laugh. “Then again, everyone knows how crazy Julian was about Amy back in high school. It was epic.” I kept my head down, saying nothing. How could I not know? I’d been watching him from the shadows since I was twelve. Seeing she wasn’t getting a rise out of me, Sienna lost interest. “This party is a bore anyway. I’m out of here.” She started for the door, then paused as if remembering something. She turned back, a malicious grin spreading across her face. “Oh, and I almost forgot to tell everyone! Julian’s throwing a welcome home party for Amy tomorrow. It’s at… Rosewood Estate.” She deliberately drew out the last two words, letting them hang in the air. Rosewood Estate. The manor Julian had designed himself when he was eighteen, built exclusively for Amy. He’d planted an entire garden of red roses, her favorite. After she went abroad, he locked the place up, forbidding anyone from setting foot inside. This villa, where my sad little party was being held, was just a temporary rental. It was May, and the climbing briars on the garden walls were in full, glorious bloom. Sienna plucked one, tossed it to the ground, and deliberately crushed it into the mud with her stiletto heel. She looked pointedly at me. “A climbing briar, clinging just to survive. It can never compare to a real rose, standing tall on its own.” A wave of snickers rippled through the remaining guests. I followed her to the door, the hostess smile still plastered on my face. “I’m sorry the party wasn’t to your liking. Have a safe trip home, Sienna.” She just rolled her eyes. “Trash will always be trash. You can’t polish a turd.” The show was over. One by one, the rest of them filed out, leaving me in the echoing silence. 2 I watched them go, and the strength drained from my body so fast I almost collapsed right there on the floor. A pair of hands caught me, steadying me. A man frowned, his face etched with worry. I turned to see Leo. I managed a weak smile. “You’re still here?” He scratched his head, his eyes darting away. “Uh, yeah. I got a call earlier. Julian said something came up and asked me to help you with the guests. What happened? Where did everyone go?” I’d known him for over a decade. He was a terrible liar. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “You don’t have to cover for him, Leo. I know he went to find Amy.” His face flushed with embarrassment. “It’s not like that! Julian knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he has a good reason. Don’t overthink it.” He tried to comfort me. “You two were childhood sweethearts. A decade of history isn’t something just anyone can compete with.” A sour ache bloomed in my chest. Among all of Julian’s friends, Leo was probably the only one who saw us that way. The truth was, Julian and I were from two different worlds. When I was ten, my father left my mother and me for another woman. Not long after, my mother dropped me at the gates of a group home and never looked back. I was quiet and timid, an easy target for the other kids. The Reeds were philanthropists. One day, Mr. and Mrs. Reed brought Julian to the home to hand out donations. All the other children swarmed them for gifts. I was hiding in a corner, crying because someone had taken scissors to my hair. The director told them I was withdrawn and couldn’t make friends. That’s when Julian walked over. He pressed a handful of candy into my palm and smiled. “Have some candy. Please don’t cry, okay?” After that, he visited often, sometimes bringing his best friend, Leo. We became close. Eventually, the Reeds decided to sponsor my education and took me into their home. From twelve to seventeen, I was Julian’s shadow. At school, some kids mocked me, calling me his “personal servant.” Julian responded by kicking over their desk, his face cold with anger. “Vivian is like a sister to me,” he warned them. “Don’t ever talk about her like that again, or you’ll deal with me every single time.” His protection warmed me, but the word “sister” was a small, sharp sting of disappointment. Then, in our sophomore year of high school, Amy transferred to our school. She was like a princess from a fairy tale, exquisitely beautiful. Every boy in school fell over themselves trying to get her attention. Only Julian remained unimpressed. Leo teased him about his high standards. Julian just shrugged, a casual smile on his face. “When I’ve got Vivi around, why would I look at anyone else?” I knew he was joking, but I felt my heart skip a beat anyway. On the first day of the second semester, during evening study hall, he came to find me. He slid into the seat beside me, his eyes gleaming with a mysterious excitement. “I have something really important to tell you.” His intense gaze made my stomach flutter. “What is it?” He leaned in close, his voice a conspiratorial whisper in my ear. “I’m going to ask Amy out.” My head snapped toward him. His eyes were shining, so bright, but I couldn’t see my own reflection in them. He launched into an enthusiastic story about how they’d met over winter break and how he’d been completely captivated by her. I sat there, frozen, my eyes glued to the open English vocabulary book on my desk. I was terrified that if I said a single word, the overwhelming sadness would spill from my eyes. Finally, he asked, “Vivi, you’re in the same class as her. You’ll help me, right?” I heard myself give a tiny, almost inaudible, “Mmm.” He glanced across the room at the girl of his dreams, surrounded by her usual circle of admirers, and left with a satisfied smile. For the rest of that study hall, my vocabulary book remained on the same page. “Abandon…” The first word on the first line of the first page. I repeated it to myself a thousand times. I hadn’t even realized it, but my love for him had already grown wild and untamable, like weeds choking a garden. 3 I buried my feelings deep and played my part perfectly, becoming his dutiful messenger, delivering love letters, gifts, and whispered messages. Julian dreamed of being an architect, and his first project was the manor he designed for Amy. She loved red roses, so he planted an entire garden for her with his own two hands. That June, with the roses in full bloom, he confessed his feelings to his princess with a heart full of devotion. She turned him down. She told him her heart already belonged to someone else, and that she would be joining him abroad soon. That night, Julian sat in the rose garden and drank himself into a stupor. I stayed with him all night, and for the first time, I saw him cry. He was so completely, devastatingly in love with her. We were so much alike, he and I. Both trapped in a hopeless, unrequited love. We ended up at the same university. He never mentioned Amy again. Then, on Valentine’s Day, he suddenly asked me, “Vivi, do you want to try being with me?” I’d just seen a picture Amy posted on social media—a picture of her kissing her boyfriend, their hands intertwined. A dull ache throbbed in my chest, but I still nodded and said, “Okay.” Looking back, it was the least romantic proposal in history. But back then, he was my entire world. Even if the path ahead led off a cliff, I would have willingly jumped with him. We only told Leo we were together. He clapped Julian on the back, grinning. “After all this running around, you finally realized the right person was here all along.” Julian didn’t respond. I knew he needed time. And I was willing to wait. For four years of college, I stayed by his side, loving him with everything I had. And slowly, he started to care. On our third anniversary, he posted a photo of us on his social media. Our fingers were laced together; we looked like a couple truly in love. I thought I had finally won his heart. I never realized it was all just a beautiful dream. Julian didn’t come home that night. The next morning, as I was heading to campus, I saw a crowd gathered at the main gate. As soon as they saw me, someone called out, “Vivian, someone’s here for you.” I pushed through the crowd and saw her. Leaning against a Harley, a stranger with striking, androgynous features, long hair spilling over her shoulders. She was so beautiful it was almost confusing. She looked up at me and smiled, an intoxicating mix of lazy and sexy that made my heart race for no reason. “You’re Vivian, right? I came here looking for you.” I eyed her suspiciously. “Can I help you?” She walked toward me, and I caught the scent of violets, unique and captivating. “My name is Violet Yang. I’m a fashion designer, and I’d like you to be my model.” She explained that she’d seen my photo at a friend’s place and believed my look and presence were the perfect match for her new collection. So she flew all the way from London to find me. I was flattered, but years of self-doubt made me want to retreat instantly. Violet, however, was completely certain. “I trust my instincts.” Seeing my hesitation, she gave me her contact information and told me to take my time thinking it over. We agreed I’d give her an answer in three days. Then, she swung her leg over the bike and rode off, disappearing as coolly as she’d arrived. I didn’t know it then, but meeting her would change the entire course of my life. 4 The next time I saw Julian was the day after Amy’s welcome party. I was heading to the library with my laptop to work on my thesis when I ran into him right outside my dorm. Our eyes met, and an awkward tension immediately filled the air. “Fancy seeing you here,” I said, the greeting clumsy on my tongue. Julian lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and frowned. “I was waiting for you.” He hadn’t smoked in a long time. The last time I’d seen him like this was after Amy rejected him. I lowered my gaze. “You could have just called.” He paused. “Are you free? Let’s get something to eat.” I nodded. “Okay.” The drive was silent, the atmosphere as stiff and uncomfortable as if we were two strangers on a first date. Julian was the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday.” I hadn’t expected him to bring it up. Before I could even process what to say, I heard myself reply flatly, “It’s okay.” A small, faint smile touched his lips. I cursed myself internally. No matter what he did, the smallest gesture of kindness from him was enough to make me forgive everything. I hated that I loved him this much, that I was this powerless. He drove me to the restaurant where he’d first asked me out. The waiter brought out a delicate cake and a bouquet of briar roses. He carefully cut a slice and placed it in front of me. “It was wrong of me to bail on you like that,” he said, his tone apologetic. “I wanted to make it up to you today.” I had no backbone when it came to him. Just knowing he still had me in his thoughts was enough to make the corners of my mouth turn up in a smile. “But this has nothing to do with Amy,” he added. Hearing her name, my smile froze. He continued, “Vivi, I need you to turn down Violet Yang’s offer.” I didn’t understand the connection, or how he even knew about Violet. I just stared at him, confused. “Why?” “Because that opportunity was supposed to be Amy’s.” That’s what he said. Julian explained that Violet had only found me because she saw the anniversary picture he’d posted on Amy’s phone. The fashion show was a major event for emerging designers. Winning the top prize meant securing funding to launch your own brand. Violet was the frontrunner, and being her model was a golden opportunity. “So, she sent you?” I asked. “Of course not!” he said quickly. “She’s just too kind. She was obviously upset, but she still told me to congratulate you for her.” I didn’t say anything. Just like in high school, once he started talking about Amy, he couldn’t stop. “She wants to be a model, and I have a hundred ways to help her. But she’s stubborn, you know? She hates relying on anyone.” He sounded like he was scolding her, but his eyes were filled with pure admiration. I looked down and shoveled a spoonful of cake into my mouth. It tasted sickeningly sweet, almost bitter. “Won’t she be angry if you do this?” I asked. He smiled confidently. “She won’t be, as long as she doesn’t find out. Just come up with a good excuse when you turn Violet down. Don’t blow our cover.” I met his gaze, my heart aching. “But doing this will make me unhappy.” Julian looked stunned. “You? You can barely get through a class presentation without shaking. Since when are you interested in a fashion show?” “I want to try,” I said, a strange defiance bubbling up inside me. I wanted to know if I was really as good as Violet seemed to think I was. His patience snapped. His voice turned cold. “Vivian, this isn’t a discussion. Take a good look at yourself. In what world do you think you can compete with Amy? Why are you trying to punch so far above your weight?” All the hurt and humiliation finally boiled over. Tears welled in my eyes. “Your heart and your mind are completely filled with Amy, but I’m your girlfriend right now!” Julian avoided my eyes, muttering, “She’s different.” “How is she different?” He frowned, his gaze flickering. “Do I really have to spell it out for you?” My heart shattered into a million pieces. I didn’t care anymore. “You love her, so why are you demanding that I make sacrifices for her?” He lost his temper. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Because everything you have—everything—is because of my family!”

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I’m a simple, honest woman. And I married the city’s biggest player. A year later, he started coming home later and later, the look in his eyes growing colder with contempt. Then I overheard him on the phone. “A plain woman like her? What makes you think she could ever tie me down?” I let out a long, slow breath of relief. Perfect. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had a good reason to ask for a divorce. That’s the thing about honest people like me—we always have to think of others first. 1 It was the middle of the night when Finn, who had been gone for two months and missed our first wedding anniversary, finally came home. I was in a deep sleep when I was roughly rolled over. Before my face was shoved into the pillow, I caught the sharp, cloying scent of perfume. It was loud and aggressive, just like Finn himself. Except this was a woman’s perfume. I struggled to turn my head, my eyes landing on a face so handsome it didn’t have a single bad angle. His Adam’s apple, prominent and sharp, bobbed as he swallowed. His eight-pack was a fortress of sculpted muscle, the V-lines of his torso disappearing into the shadows below. His eyes burned with a raw, primal lust, a fire meant to consume me. No wonder the tabloids had crowned him “Most Eligible Bachelor” for five years running. But when his eyes focused on my face, the fire flickered. The initial blaze of his desire cooled, though it was clear he had no intention of stopping. Every point of contact between our bodies felt like it was trapped under a spotlight, raising goosebumps on my skin and triggering a desperate, primal urge to flee. I forced a breathy moan. “Honey…” I cooed, pitching my voice into a syrupy, annoying whine. “Honey, you’re back early,” I chirped, faking a girlish excitement. “I missed you so, so much. I was thinking about you so hard I couldn’t even eat dinner.” That did it. The last embers of his interest died out completely. He stopped, rolled off me, and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. “Are you a child?” he grumbled, his voice laced with irritation. “You can’t feed yourself?” I let out a silent sigh of relief, brushing off his question with the ridiculous excuse that I was simply too lovesick to function. Logically, a man like Finn, who had navigated a sea of women, should have seen through my act in a second. But who was I to argue with my own stellar performance? For three years, I had played the part of the devoted, love-struck fool. I’d watched him cycle through a revolving door of girlfriends, my adoration seemingly unwavering. Finn himself once said I was the most persistent, longest-lasting lapdog he’d ever seen. I drifted back to sleep as he went to the balcony to smoke. The faint murmur of his voice on the phone reached my ears. “Finn, man, where have you been? Did you finally settle down for the wife?” Finn scoffed. “A plain woman like her? What makes you think she could ever tie me down?” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Honestly, that first time, I almost couldn’t bring myself to kiss her.” The person on the other end of the line roared with laughter. “Keep it down,” Finn snapped. “It’s the middle of the night. People are sleeping.” Just as I was about to slip completely into sleep, Finn came back inside. He placed a small box on the pillow beside my head. I forced my heavy eyelids open. Inside was a pair of diamond earrings. They were beautiful. They would have been even more beautiful if I hadn’t already seen the matching necklace from the same collection, which cost ten times as much, and didn’t know these were just the free gift that came with it. But I wasn’t angry. Not in the slightest. In fact, a flutter of anticipation stirred within me. It had been a year. A whole year since our wedding, during which Finn had played the part of a reformed man. But finally, he was starting to crack. And so was I. 2 I may be a simple woman, but I have an eye for beauty. I’m average-looking myself, but I’ve always had a thing for handsome men. The thought of an unattractive man grunting on top of me is enough to make me want to die. I’ve worked my ass off my whole life. I knew from a young age that with my looks and lack of connections, no handsome man would ever give me a second glance. I did well enough on my SATs, but it wasn’t enough. In a world of Ivy Leaguers, a degree from anywhere else is basically worthless. A master’s wasn’t enough, so I got a Ph.D. With my earnest, trustworthy face and my unwavering obedience to my advisor, I graduated with honors and landed a position at a top-tier research institute. I thought I had finally made it. But the first time I saw Finn, I knew it still wasn’t nearly enough. So I endured boozy dinners with my superiors, went back to the office to work late, and spent my weekends writing papers for their kids. Finally, at an age where most are just starting out, I clawed my way into a senior management position. And then, I was finally worthy of pursuing Finn. During my pursuit, people tried to set me up on dates. I went. And every single one of them only strengthened my resolve to win Finn over. After each disastrous blind date, I would find an excuse to see him, just to cleanse my palate. One time, at two in the morning, he happened to need a designated driver. I dropped everything and went. “You’re really that into me?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked. In the passenger seat of his convertible, a stunningly beautiful woman was passed out drunk, her silk dress slipping off one shoulder. I nodded, my gaze unwavering. Because I do not have a fetish for ugliness. “Finn,” I said, my voice full of feigned emotion. “I love you.” Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say. I think that saying is meant for this. To love beauty itself. If it just meant loving to dress yourself up, that would be far too shallow. I love myself no matter what I look like. My sudden confession made Finn burst out laughing. The wind whipped through his messy hair, revealing his sharp, handsome eyes, framed by impossibly long lashes. I suspected he’d had work done, but I didn’t care. The slender, mint-flavored cigarette was clamped between his knuckles, and ash trembled and fell to the ground with the vibration of his laughter. “Sadie Chen,” he said, still chuckling. “You’re the first person to make me laugh in a long time.” Yes, even my name is painfully plain. But starting that night, he began to give me a sliver of attention. He went from rejecting ten of my invitations to accepting one or two when he was in a good mood. Sometimes, he would even deign to eat the lunch I brought him. And eventually, we got together. It wasn’t some fairy tale where my devotion moved him to change his ways. He was simply tired of the game, and his family was pressuring him to get married. I was highly educated, didn’t run in his wild circles, had a respectable job, and was a picture-perfect homemaker. His entire family loved me. Everyone except him. I didn’t care about the reasons. All I knew was that my nightmares of being married to an ugly man and having ugly children were finally over. The day I posted our engagement photo, I felt a profound sense of triumph, silencing everyone who had ever called me delusional. At our wedding, looking at Finn’s face—a literal masterpiece of creation—I was practically delirious with excitement. His abs were a tantalizing outline beneath his crisp white shirt. When the officiant told us to kiss, I “accidentally” brushed against his chest. If I could just tie him up in a diamond harness… The thought alone made my innocent little knees go weak. Finn didn’t suspect a thing. After all, I’m an honest woman. His kiss was perfunctory, all technique and no feeling. I didn’t mind. I could make my own fun. That night, I was so happy I thought I would explode. My heart felt like a sponge saturated with pure joy. I let out a deep, satisfied sigh. The only downside was Finn’s complete lack of interest in my pleasure. I was, after all, probably the plainest woman he had ever slept with. Outside, the streetlights twinkled like man-made stars, a small compensation for a sky that had lost its own. I watched his sleeping face, the corners of my mouth turning up. Those sharp, thick brows, that high-bridged nose, those perfectly shaped thin lips. God, he was beautiful. More handsome than any movie star. Aside from the fact he didn’t love me, he was perfect. Oh well. Nobody’s perfect. As long as his face remained intact, I would love him. We honest folk are just that loyal in love. 3 But was what I felt for Finn really love? What even is love? Freud said love stems from a longing to complete ourselves. Jung said great souls are androgynous, that love at first sight is merely falling in love with another version of yourself. So, perhaps I fell for Finn in a quest to become whole. Well, I’m whole now. The next morning, Finn was still asleep when I woke up. His phone screen was lit up with a stream of notifications from profiles with influencer-style names and photos. I didn’t read the messages. I simply plugged his dying phone into the charger. As I stepped over him to get out of bed, his hand shot out and grabbed my ankle. Without opening his eyes, he pulled me down until I was straddling him. “Take care of me,” he rasped, his voice still thick with sleep, a low, impossibly sexy growl. A year ago, I would have pounced on him with glee. But now… I awkwardly climbed off him. “Honey, I have a big meeting with the board today. I can’t be late.” Finn’s expression soured. Before I left, I made sure to add, “I’m going on a business trip for three days. Take care of yourself, okay?” Worried he hadn’t heard me, I sent him a text as well. But I still wasn’t reassured. I remembered he had my messages on mute. So, I sent a message to one of his degenerate friends: I’ll be out of town for three days. Please look after Finn for me, thanks! (smiley face) I got to the office on time. That evening, I stayed late to work. My boss even stopped by my desk. “Sadie, the trip was postponed last minute, so there’s no need to rush the prep materials. You should head home early!” “I’ll leave as soon as I finish this file,” I said. Despite my words, I didn’t leave until ten-thirty. At ten-thirty, I opened the security camera app on my phone and watched as a woman knocked on our front door. Finn answered wearing nothing but a pair of sleep pants. The woman seemed to play shy. Finn gave her a quick once-over, then stepped aside to let her in. My foot slammed on the accelerator. Easy, easy, I told myself. Finn’s not that fast. At eleven, I arrived. My hand trembled as I keyed in the security code, fumbling the first attempt. When the door finally swung open, the scene was one of utter chaos. Lace panties, torn stockings… it was a sight that, for an honest woman like me, was a massive shock. But it seemed Finn was even faster than I’d imagined. The bedroom door was flung open, and the naked woman was shoved out into the hallway. “Finn,” she whined at the closed door, “I flew all this way for you! Don’t kick me out so soon. If you like something else, I can…” Her answer was a lacy bra thrown at her head. “I’ve wired you the money for the plane ticket. Now get out,” Finn’s lazy voice drifted from the bedroom. The woman wasn’t ready to give up. “If you’re not feeling it with me, I have a friend who’s a total smoke-show. Let me show you a picture! She’s at a club nearby, we could all go…” He emerged from the bedroom, glanced at the photo on her phone, and was about to speak. Then he looked up and saw me. The woman’s voice died in her throat. The apartment fell silent. 4 As the woman was leaving, she called back, “I sent you the address! Come soon!” Finn slammed the door in her face. He turned to me. “You’re back early,” he said, his tone casual, completely devoid of the guilt of a man caught red-handed. “Have you had dinner? What do you want? I’ll order something for you.” His words came out in a rush, more than he usually spoke to me at once. I didn’t answer a single question. Finn went to the coffee table, fumbling in the drawer for his cigarettes. I suddenly remembered a girlfriend he’d had years ago, one he’d really liked. She hated the smell of smoke and told him she didn’t want to breathe his secondhand fumes. He quit for her. But she eventually moved abroad for her career, and they broke up amicably. If they hadn’t, I probably would never have had my chance. He never quit for anyone again, and certainly not for me. But I didn’t want to breathe his smoke either, so I made a habit of throwing out any packs I found. He came up empty-handed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. A few seconds later, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. My eyes were wide open. I saw the look on his face—the grim expression of a soldier marching to his execution. I pushed him away. Finn’s face darkened. He had probably never been rejected by a woman in his life. Certainly not by a plain woman like me. “Who was that woman?” I demanded. “Who do you think?” he shot back, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “Sadie, have I been spoiling you?” “You were the one who chased me,” he sneered. “You were the one desperate to be with me. You’ve known who I am from day one. You accepted it then, so what’s with all this drama now?” A few tears escaped my eyes, and I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “I accepted that the man I was pursuing would date other people, break up, and date someone else. But I never said I would accept my husband cheating on me.” My tears fell freely now. Finn’s hand trembled, his expression shifting. But a moment later, he hardened again. “What’s the difference? If you can’t accept it, we can get a divorce.” He said the word “divorce” so lightly, as if he were saying “break up” to any of his ex-girlfriends. He was certain I wouldn’t be able to leave him. That I would cry and beg and fight to win him back, just like all the others. Maybe even more desperately. There was a time I thought so, too. The streetlight outside seemed to be broken. It flickered on and off, looking more like a real star than ever. But I knew that around four or five in the morning, it would shut off completely, a sudden darkness that would jolt you awake. It was worse than Cinderella turning back at midnight; at least she was a genuinely kind and beautiful person to begin with. “Okay,” I said, my voice soft. Finn froze. Before he could process it, I continued. “Finn, let’s get a divorce.”

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My mother has a saying. “If you’re willing to work hard, you’ll have an endless supply of hard work.” A girl, she insisted, should be lazy. Because the lazier you are, the happier you’ll be. So, I took her advice to heart. Even when I found out I was the villainess in a novel, I couldn’t be bothered to care. So long as I remained perfectly idle, fate couldn’t keep up with me. 1 The heroine, Claire Jensen, was a scholarship student who had just transferred to our elite academy. The day she set foot on campus, the novel’s main plot officially began. Within a single day, she had a “chance” encounter with both the school’s academic prodigy and its resident bad boy, making both of them fall head over heels for her. This, of course, caused an absolute firestorm on the school’s online forums. Why? Because said prodigy and bad boy were universally acknowledged as the two most handsome guys at the academy. They also happened to be two of my potential fiancés. My mother is obscenely wealthy. My family has been rolling in money for generations. By the time it got to me, I was a legacy heiress many times over. As my mother puts it, “Don’t go looking for trouble when there is none.” Our family had reached the point where money simply made more money all by itself. As long as we had cash, there were plenty of talented people to manage it. My biggest contribution to the family legacy was to simply stay alive and spend it. To that end, my mother had scouted several ridiculously good-looking candidates for my future husband. Among them were the two boys Claire had just ensnared: Aidan Cross, the academic prodigy, and Jax Ryder, the school’s untamable king. While neither of them stirred any particular hormonal response in me, I could certainly appreciate their aesthetic value. It’s only human to admire beautiful things. But it was clear now that neither of them was ever meant to be mine. In my own world, I was the flawless protagonist, born with a silver spoon, destined for a life of leisure. In the world of the novel, I was the villainess, destined to orchestrate my own downfall. Even my family’s fortune was fated to be squandered by my foolish schemes, all leading to a tragic end where the hero and heroine lived happily ever after, while I was left destitute and alone. A classic end for a villainess, I suppose. Realizing this only reinforced my mother’s wisdom. If I was lazy enough, I couldn’t possibly stir up enough trouble to ruin my family. Claire herself was a brilliant student; her academic prowess was the only reason she’d gotten into a school like this. The academy had waived her tuition, covered all her fees, and provided a full scholarship just to recruit her. Her new deskmate was currently buzzing in her ear, dishing out the latest gossip. “Cassia Thorne. She’s the school’s official queen bee. A total heiress. Her mom is the biggest shareholder of this academy. Even those two gods you met, Aidan and Jax? They’re on her list of potential fiancés.” “Wow,” the deskmate sighed. “That’s literally a power fantasy life.” Hearing them, I silently agreed. It was a power fantasy life. Claire frowned for a split second before smoothing her features into a placid mask. “It is,” she said calmly. “But I think a life you build through your own hard work is more meaningful. Like the satisfaction I get from my studies.” I couldn’t see her micro-expressions, but she wasn’t wrong. Some people have to pour 100% of their effort into chasing that 1% opportunity. If they succeed, they rise above everyone else. But I wasn’t one of them. I was the opportunity. Others vied for my favor, hoping I’d open the door to success for them. 2 That single piece of gossip was enough to tell me Claire was no simple damsel. She had her own agenda. A black lotus, not a white one. She’d come to this academy with a purpose: to find a shortcut. And in a school for the elite, there was no shortage of wealthy targets. Aidan Cross was her first. It seems the villainess and the heroine are always fated to clash. Aidan was making his daily, unwavering attempt to curry favor with me when Claire “accidentally” stumbled, sending her drink flying. It splashed all over him. A perfect, even coating—not a single spot on his clothes, pants, or shoes was spared. I was marveling at her technique when Claire’s panicked voice cut through the air. “Oh my god, I am so, so sorry! I’ll pay for it, I promise…” Is the next line ‘Can I get your number’?, I wondered. As if on cue, she said, “Scan my code, I’ll transfer you the money.” My eyes widened. That was so cliché. Surely Aidan wouldn’t fall for that? He couldn’t, right? Apparently, the power of the plot was absolute. Smitten at first sight, Aidan whipped out his phone and scanned her code as if in a trance. The whole process was a blur, as if he was terrified she’d disappear if he moved too slow. Seriously? Like he was short on cash? I didn’t buy it. This was his libido doing the thinking. Fine. He was officially off the list. I immediately pulled out my phone and texted my mother. Me: [Her Majesty, the Queen Mother, I trust you are well.] Mom: [Spit it out.] Me: [Aidan Cross is bad news. Pull our investments.] Mom: [emoji: Thumbs-up] I could be too lazy to deal with Claire directly, but I couldn’t let a scumbag slide. Besides, tattling was a skill I had perfected since childhood. Since Aidan was out of the running, he no longer deserved the benefits of my family’s resources. At that exact moment, the Cross family’s company received notifications that several core projects were being defunded. Key partnerships were severed with lightning speed. The Cross Corporation’s stock plummeted, a sea of red that would make any investor panic. Old Mr. Cross was so shocked he nearly had a heart attack. A flurry of calls came to our house. My mother’s reply was breezy and devastating. “That Aidan boy… his attention seems to wander. Cassia finds it all a bit tiring. We wouldn’t want to hold him back.” Once the Cross family understood the situation, they dragged Aidan home for a “discussion.” The scene was reportedly spectacular, with his father chasing him around the mansion with a golf club. It was only Old Mr. Cross’s soft spot for his grandson that stopped the carnage. When I saw Aidan a few days later, he had two black eyes. He finally looked like a real academic—the kind who gets beaten up. 3 In those few days, Claire and Aidan had become inseparable, like old friends who could talk about anything and everything. The way Aidan looked at Claire was filled with a gratitude for being “understood,” a sappy “you’re the only one in the world who gets me” kind of emotion. In other words, he was in love. From his perspective, my actions were nothing short of tyrannical, a rich girl using her family’s money to tear apart true love. Of course, Claire saw it the same way. She confronted me, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. “Cassia Thorne, you’ve gone too far!” She stood in the center of the classroom, a small crowd of gossip-mongers gathering around her. “Just because Aidan added me as a contact, you used your family’s power to crush him? To crush his entire family? You’re trampling on people’s dignity with money! You can’t control feelings with finances! Aidan is his own person, not some toy you can chain with your wealth.” Her voice rose with passion. “I know your family is powerful, but that doesn’t give you the right to do whatever you want. True happiness doesn’t come from tearing others down. This just makes you look pathetic.” The room fell silent. All eyes were on me—curious, searching, with a hint of schadenfreude. Aidan stood behind Claire, his lips pressed into a thin line, saying nothing. I slowly lifted my gaze to meet the impassioned heroine. “Oh,” I said. Claire was clearly not expecting such a flat, almost dismissive response. The long, scathing speech she had prepared got stuck in her throat. Her face turned beet red. “You… you just say ‘oh’?” she stammered in disbelief. “Mmmhmm,” I nodded, leaning back in my chair to find a more comfortable position. “Are you done? Does your throat hurt? Want some water?” I gestured to the cheap, well-worn plastic cup on her desk. Claire: “…” The other students: “…” Aidan: “…” “Cassia! You’re humiliating me!” Claire trembled with rage. “No, I’m not,” I said, my face a mask of innocence. I even let out a small, sleepy yawn. “I’m just stating facts. Pulling the investment was a standard business decision. Aidan’s behavior made the Cross Corporation a high-risk investment in my eyes. It was just a matter of cutting our losses. It’s just business, you know? Perfectly normal.” I spread my hands, a gesture that said, What’s the big deal? Aidan tugged on Claire’s sleeve, signaling her to stop. In his mind, if she could rally the students against me, great. But if she couldn’t, pushing it further would only hurt his own interests. So he switched sides. “Claire, stop. It’s my fault. I’m the one who made Cassia angry. She has every right to be mad at me.” Claire’s face went pale with fury. The first man she’d set her sights on was a spineless, opportunistic coward. Here she was, a woman fighting his battles for him, and there he was, a man hiding behind her, ready to betray her the second the tide turned. Screw him. She spun around and slapped him. The sharp crack of the impact made everyone gasp. Claire ran out of the room. Aidan, on instinct, chased after her. How they made up after that was none of my business. All I knew was, the plot had definitely gone off-script. 4 After patching things up with Claire, Aidan came crawling back to me. It was then I started to wonder—weren’t brainy types supposed to be simple-minded? How was this one so good at scheming? Jax Ryder blocked his path. An ugly expression crossed Aidan’s face. “Jax, what’s the meaning of this?” Jax sneered. “You know exactly what it means. You’re out. Stay off my turf.” Aidan threw a punch, but Jax caught his fist mid-air. “You need to hit the gym, little man,” Jax mocked. Aidan’s face turned ashen with rage, and he stormed off. Claire watched the entire exchange, her eyes gleaming. Perhaps Jax was a better choice. He seemed to have more backbone than Aidan. And stealing him away from Cassia Thorne… what a sweet victory that would be. Besides, Aidan’s family was on the decline, and he’d become stingy. Good thing she hadn’t officially become his girlfriend, or she’d have lost out. It was always better to have options. With that thought, Claire made her move. “Jax, do you remember me? We met on the first day of school,” she said, a blush coloring her cheeks. Jax turned, his brow furrowing when he saw her. “What do you want?” Claire lowered her gaze, exposing the pale, slender line of her neck. “I envy Cassia for having a friend like you. I… I’d like to be your friend, too. Would that be okay?” My jaw dropped. That was her big move? Such a clumsy, uncomfortable attempt at flirting. Was this really the heroine of this world? What kind of messed-up story was this? Couldn’t they have picked a normal one? Was Jax going to fall for it? Was the plot going to hijack his brain and make him fall stupidly in love, too? I shot him a worried look. To be honest, I had invested a lot of energy in Jax. I was self-aware enough to know I was at that age where a bad boy was exactly my type. Jax looked Claire up and down. “The new transfer student?” A spark of delight lit up Claire’s eyes. He remembered her! “Yes! My name is Claire Jensen. You remember me?” At this, I was ready to give up. So, Jax was destined to be hers, too? My gaze on him instantly turned hostile. I had found Jax in an orphanage. Well, “found” wasn’t quite the right word; we went through all the proper legal channels. To prevent any future claims on the family fortune, we set him up with his own legal identity. But everything he had, everything he was, I had given him. I was young then, and I liked playing house. My mother, indulging me, took me to an orphanage to pick out a playmate. I chose Jax. And just like that, he was lifted into the upper echelons of society. His only job was to manage my emotions. As long as I was happy, he would continue to have everything. For years, I had treated him like a character in a simulation game, investing time and money, leveling him up. He had grown more and more impressive, more and more to my liking, just waiting for me to decide to harvest my prize. And now, someone was trying to snatch him away.

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I was five when my mother returned upon hearing my father was remarrying. She cornered me outside my preschool, yanking me away before calling my father. “Adrian, if you marry her, you’ll never see Poppy again!” she threatened. For my proud mother, Elara, this was her olive branch. But my father’s reply was ice: “It’s over. Bring her back. Now.” Tears streamed down her face as she screamed, refusing to let me go. To make him regret it, she took me to another city, certain he’d beg us to return. He didn’t. Instead, he called the police. Unwilling to lose, my mother threatened to take her own life if they took me—her final trump card. Still, he married, and soon his wife was pregnant. A year later, when the baby was born, the last of my mother’s hope broke. That night, she packed my suitcase, drove me to his house, and left me on the doorstep in the dark. “Poppy,” she said, hollow, “Mommy needs a new life. Go back to your father.” 1 “Mommy, please don’t leave me…” I clutched my little backpack, my hand trembling as I reached out to tug on the hem of her dress. I was terrified she would just vanish. She frowned, yanking her dress free from my grasp. “Poppy, I’m doing this for your own good. I’m moving somewhere else to focus on my career. You can’t have a stable life with me right now.” I twisted my fingers together, my voice barely a whisper. “But… I haven’t seen Daddy in a whole year. I’m scared he won’t want me anymore.” Over the past year, after every screaming match she’d had with him on the phone, she would collapse in tears and tell me, “Oh, Poppy, your mother is so useless. Not only did I fail to win your father back, but I made him hate you, too.” I’d heard it so many times that a cold fear had taken root in my heart: Daddy didn’t want me. I couldn’t let my mother go. I couldn’t become one of those kids the grown-ups whispered about, the unwanted ones. Her patience, always thin, finally snapped. “He’s your father! Of course he’ll want you. Stop filling your head with such nonsense.” Panic seized me, and the words tumbled out. “But you said it! You’re the one who told me Daddy didn’t want me! You said he has another baby now and that he’d never look back at us…” Daddy had a new wife, a new baby. If I showed up now… he wouldn’t be happy to see me. “That’s enough!” Her voice cracked like a whip, her face a mask of irritation. “I told you to stay, so you stay. Not another word!” I flinched and clamped my mouth shut, watching her with wide, fearful eyes. She didn’t look at me again. She glanced at the expensive watch on her wrist, her tone turning cold and distant. “I have to go. You can knock on the door yourself in a little while.” With that, she turned and walked away. A gust of cold wind whipped her expensive black dress around her legs. “Mommy!” I cried out, a knot of pure fear in my throat. She didn’t turn back. She got in her car and drove away, leaving me utterly alone on the dark, silent street. I stared at the receding taillights until they disappeared, hot tears of betrayal and confusion finally spilling down my cheeks. Didn’t she even consider what would happen to me if Dad really didn’t want me? Where was I supposed to go? I stood there for what felt like an eternity, the cold seeping into my bones until my whole body trembled. I tried to summon the courage to knock, walking up to the heavy oak door several times, but my hand would freeze just inches from the wood. It was so late. They were probably all asleep. If I knocked now, I’d wake them up—Dad, his new wife, and their newborn baby. After a long time, I gave up and curled up on the cold stone steps of the porch. I would just wait. I’d knock when the sun came up. I fought to keep my eyes open, but exhaustion won. My head drooped, and I drifted into a restless sleep. In a hazy dream, I heard a kind, musical voice. “Whose little girl are you?” The voice was close. I blinked my eyes open, my blurry vision focusing on the woman kneeling in front of me. She wore a long, pale blue dress, and her face was gentle and beautiful. I recognized her instantly. Miss Claire. The woman my father had married. The woman my mother called the homewrecker who had destroyed our family. I had seen pictures of her this past year. My mother had hired someone to take them secretly. I remembered watching, hidden in a corner, as my mother screamed curses at the glossy photos before ripping them to shreds, her face twisted with a rage that terrified me. When she found me crying in the corner, she’d dragged me out. Pointing a shaking finger at a torn picture of Claire, she’d spat, “See her, Poppy? Look closely. This is the bitch who stole your father from us! If it weren’t for her, we’d be a family again! You need to remember this face. She is our enemy for life.” I had just sobbed and sobbed until I finally nodded, and only then did she let me go. Now, looking at that same face, a jolt of fear shot through me. I instinctively shrank back, my hands clutching the straps of my backpack. “Hello, Ma’am,” I mumbled. “I-I’m here to see my daddy.” Claire froze, her eyes widening as she truly looked at me. “You’re… Poppy?” 2 I quickly looked away, my gaze fixed on the tips of my worn-out shoes. I managed a tiny, almost inaudible, “Mhm.” Claire was silent for a moment, her expression a mix of emotions I couldn’t decipher. I risked a glance up and saw the complicated look on her face, which only made my heart pound faster. I was sure she was about to tell me to leave. But then, as if sensing my fear, her gaze softened, a flicker of something—pity? concern?—crossing her features. “Come inside,” she said, her voice gentle. “It’s freezing out here. Your father had to work late last night; he’s not back yet.” The rejection I’d been bracing for never came. Numbly, I followed her into the warm, bright house. In the entryway, Claire knelt down and pulled a pair of fluffy pink slippers from a cabinet. “These are new. They’ll be yours from now on.” Feeling awkward, I nodded and quietly swapped my dirty sneakers for the soft slippers. She led me into the living room and handed me a warm mug. “You must be frozen through. Drink this ginger tea; it’ll help you warm up.” “Thank you,” I whispered, taking a small sip. Claire sat on the couch across from me. She hesitated for a second before asking, “Did you get here last night?” I pressed my lips together. “Yes. My mommy brought me.” “She just dropped you off in the middle of the night and left?” Claire’s pretty eyebrows furrowed in a way that looked less like curiosity and more like anger. I couldn’t lie. I just nodded. Her frown deepened. She studied me for a long moment, her eyes scanning my slightly dirty dress. “Poppy… does your mother… does she usually not take care of you?” Her gaze lingered on my dress, and a hot blush crept up my neck. I immediately scrambled to my feet, assuming she thought I was dirtying her pristine couch. “Mommy’s really busy… she doesn’t have time for me, so my dress…” My voice trailed off. “I’m sorry, Miss Claire. I got the sofa dirty.” I stared at the floor, too ashamed to meet her eyes. My reaction seemed to startle her. “Poppy, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” she said quickly, a sigh escaping her lips. “Oh, honey…” She stood up and closed the distance between us, her hand gently taking mine. “Your room is upstairs. Let’s get you into some clean clothes, okay?” Her hand was so warm. I forgot how to react, simply letting her lead me up the staircase. As I was changing, Claire noticed the dark bruises on my arm. Her voice was soft, but laced with concern. “Poppy, can you tell me how you got these?” I looked down at the ugly purple marks and instantly clamped my mouth shut, my free hand gripping the fabric of my new pajamas. The warmth in Claire’s face vanished, replaced by a steely look, but she didn’t press me further. Just then, her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, and I saw the name on the screen: Adrian. My mother had taught me how to write my father’s name. I knew it was him. Claire glanced at me. “I’ll just be a moment,” she said, her voice gentle again. She stepped out onto the balcony to take the call. Her voice was low, but I could still catch a few words. “…the poor girl was out there all night… so irresponsible…” “…Okay, just get home as soon as you can.” I stared blankly at the bruises on my arm, the memory of yesterday flooding back. My mother was always busy with her own things, leaving me to fend for myself with slices of stale bread. But yesterday, she’d come home early. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wild as she muttered to herself, “Why… why was that baby born healthy? He has another child now. He’s never going to come back for me…” I didn’t understand her words, but I knew to stay away from her when she was like this. She sank onto the sofa and opened several bottles of red wine, drinking until she was slumped over, completely drunk. Worried she’d get cold, I grabbed a blanket to cover her. As I approached, her eyes snapped open and focused on me. She scowled and shoved me away with surprising force. “I don’t need your pity!” she slurred. “Adrian is cruel to me, and you’re his daughter. You’re probably just as rotten!” “Get away from me! Just get lost!” The push sent me stumbling backwards. I lost my balance and my arm slammed into the sharp corner of the glass coffee table. The pain was so intense that black spots danced in my vision. “Mommy, it hurts…” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes. She didn’t respond. Her eyes were closed, and she had already passed out. When she woke up, it was the middle of the night. Sober now, she ran her hands through her messy hair and began to cry, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I’m Elara Vance,” she whispered to herself. “Fierce, proud, I love and I hate with everything I have. When did I become some pathetic, bitter woman who can’t live without a man?” 3 After she cried for a while, she made a decision she believed was the right one. “He’s just a man. If he doesn’t want me, fine. I can’t let him ruin my entire life.” She pulled herself together, freshening up her makeup. When she looked up and saw me, her gaze faltered. For a brief, chilling moment, she looked at me like I was an obstacle, a roadblock on her path to a new life. I shrank back into the corner, too scared to make a sound. She stood there for a long time before finally going to my room and packing my things. She handed me my backpack, now stuffed with clothes, and knelt down, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Poppy, Mommy is moving far away, and it’s not convenient to take you with me.” “I’m going to take you to your father’s house. From now on, you’ll live with him, just like you used to.” Her words were gentle, but it wasn’t a discussion. It was a verdict. My face went pale. “Mommy, please don’t send me away,” I begged, my voice small. “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t be any trouble.” She didn’t seem to hear me. She just grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door. I cried silently in the car the whole way there. I couldn’t understand. She was the one who had taken me away so forcefully. Why was she abandoning me now? Even now, sitting in this warm, strange house, I still didn’t have an answer. When Claire came back from her phone call, she saw me staring into space, my face ashen. A look of deep sympathy crossed her face. She found a first-aid kit and gently started treating the bruises on my arm with a soothing balm. As I watched her tend to me with such delicate care, my nose started to sting. I couldn’t remember my own mother ever being this gentle with me. Elara was always consumed by her own world—plotting against Claire, trying to win Dad back. She rarely paid any attention to me, and when she did, it was usually a cold instruction: “Mommy has things to do. If you’re hungry, there’s bread in the kitchen.” I looked up at Claire’s kind eyes and soft smile. In that moment, I knew. She was nothing like the monster my mother had described. A warmth spread through my chest, and I felt my tense little body finally begin to relax. I followed her downstairs and we ate breakfast together. Just as I was wondering what to do next, the front door swung open. My father strode in, his face a cold, hard mask. The second he saw me, his brow furrowed, and his eyes grew even colder. My mother’s words echoed in my head. “Your father despises us now, Poppy…” “He has a new child. Where do you think that leaves you?” I took a fearful step back, hiding myself behind Claire. My father’s jaw tightened. “What game is she playing now?” he asked, his voice low and laced with a weariness that bordered on disgust. He clearly wanted nothing more to do with my mother. “I-I don’t know…” I stammered. “Mommy said she’s starting a new life… and that I should live with you again, like before.” Claire felt me trembling and shot my father a sharp, reproachful look. “What does any of this have to do with Poppy? This is between you adults.” She put a protective arm around my shoulders, her displeasure with him obvious. His gaze shifted to Claire, and the ice in his eyes melted instantly. The corner of his mouth even lifted into a small smile. “You’re right, Claire. I’m sorry. That was the wrong thing to say.” My eyes widened in shock. For as long as I could remember, my father had been a man of stone faces and few words. He’d made sure the nanny took care of me and occasionally asked how preschool was, but he had never, ever smiled at me. But here he was, smiling at Claire. She gave him a look that was still stern but softening. “You should know better. Don’t walk around the house with that scowl all the time. You’re scaring Poppy.” He nodded, his voice softer. “I know.” He walked over, gave Claire a quick hug, and then looked down at me. I tensed, bracing myself. “You’re six now,” he said, his tone business-like. “It’s time for first grade. I’ve already enrolled you in a school. Robert will start taking you tomorrow morning.” 4 School? For a second, I just stared at him. Then, a thrill of excitement shot through me. I could go to school? “Thank you… Daddy,” I said, the word feeling strange and foreign on my tongue. I watched his face carefully, terrified I might say something to upset him. He didn’t look at me again, simply calling Claire to go upstairs with him. I sat alone on the living room sofa, a huge grin spreading across my face. I was finally going to school. For the entire year I was with my mother, I had been a prisoner in whatever apartment we were staying in. She wouldn’t let me go to preschool, paranoid that my father would find me and take me away. My days were long, empty, and suffocatingly boring. Now, finally, I was going back to school. That night, after dinner, I lay in the big, soft bed, too excited to sleep. I kept checking my new backpack, making sure all my pencils and notebooks were perfectly in place. The next day, I left for school bursting with happiness. I came home with my head hung low. Claire noticed my mood immediately. “What’s wrong, Poppy?” she asked, her voice full of concern. “Did you not like your new school? Or did you have trouble making friends?” I shook my head. “It’s not that…” “Well, what is it then?” She glanced at my father, silently urging him to say something. He put down the file he was reading and turned to me. Noticing I was hiding something behind my back, he asked in his usual stern tone, “What are you holding? Let me see.” I bit my lip and slowly brought my hands forward. The paper in my hand was covered in big, angry red X’s. Claire took the test from me and, after a quick look, passed it to my father. He scanned the page, his expression turning sour. “How could you do this poorly? What have you been—I mean, have you not learned anything this past year?” He’d caught himself, changing his words under Claire’s sharp glare. I twisted my hands in my lap, explaining in a small voice, “Mommy wouldn’t let me go to preschool…” Today at school, I’d realized just how far behind I was. I couldn’t understand most of what the teacher was saying. Claire fell silent. For a moment, her eyes looked sad, as if she was thinking of something painful. My father said nothing for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was much softer. “One bad test doesn’t mean anything. I’ll hire a tutor for you starting tomorrow. You’ll catch up in no time.” A wave of relief washed over me. I nodded happily. My father wasn’t the scary, heartless man my mother had made him out to be. He was actually very good to me. The tutor arrived the next day. Claire, still worried, sat in on the first few lessons. Only when she was certain I could understand everything did she relax. Life settled into a happy new rhythm. One afternoon, I came home from school, skipping, and saw my baby sister for the first time. She was lying in her bassinet in the living room, dressed in a tiny pink onesie, sleeping peacefully. A group of women—Claire’s friends—were gathered around. “She’s so perfect, Claire! So quiet and calm.” Claire smiled, her eyes filled with a soft, maternal love as she gazed at her daughter. Trying not to wake the baby, I tiptoed over. “Hi, Claire. Why is the baby downstairs today?” I had learned shortly after arriving that my sister had been sick since she was born and had been kept upstairs to recover. This was the first time I had ever laid eyes on her. Claire gently stroked my hair. “Because she’s all better now. She doesn’t have to stay cooped up in her room anymore.” I nodded, fascinated by the tiny, sleeping baby. I was so engrossed I didn’t notice the atmosphere in the room suddenly turn cold. “So that’s the one the psycho left behind?” one of the women said in a stage whisper. “You should be careful, Claire,” another added. “Don’t forget what that woman did to you. Because of her, you almost died in childbirth. Who knows what ideas she’s put in this one’s head.”

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