Three years I’ve spent trying to save the resident gloomy villain, and his darkness score is still maxed out. He won’t talk to me. Won’t let me get close. Every gift I give him, he cuts to shreds and throws away. But when the story’s heroine appeared, he was the one blushing, head bowed, offering her a piece he’d poured his soul into. That was when I finally gave up hope. I found the heroine and laid my cards on the table. “I’m planning on leaving the country,” I told her. “From now on, could you take Matt Croft into your family’s care?” 1 Matt had run away from home again. It was the third time this month. After a whole afternoon of searching with no leads, I reluctantly had to summon the System, who was supposed to be on vacation. Being dragged back to work on your day off would sour anyone’s mood, and the System was no exception. The moment it materialized, it launched into a tirade. “Are you kidding me, Summer? You have got to be the worst Host I have ever seen!” “It’s been this long, and Matt’s darkness score is still off the charts?” “Can you please, for the love of god, tell me how you managed to make him hate you this much?” I lowered my head in shame. The System was right. I was useless. Three whole years. The word Matt had said to me more than any other was “hate.” He hated seeing me. Hated talking to me. Hated me being anywhere near him. Hate, hate, hate… Maybe it was the miserable look on my face, but the System’s tone softened slightly. It sent an address to my phone. “Here,” it said, its voice calmer. “He’s at this location.” “Don’t worry too much. It’s not like he’s going to disappear for good.” “Let me just run a quick diagnostic on his current emotional state—” The System paused. A moment later, its voice was filled with confusion. “What the hell?” “Why did Matt’s heart rate just skyrocket? His darkness score is plummeting!” “This… This is the signature of attraction, isn’t it?” 2 The System told me Matt must have met someone incredibly important, someone extraordinary to him. By the time I rushed over, more than half an hour had passed. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. I found Matt sitting in an old gazebo tucked behind a rock garden on the estate, his sketchbook resting on his lap as he drew with intense focus. And standing beside him was a girl with a high ponytail. She was wearing a simple white dress, looking cute and vibrant. Every few moments, she would let out a gasp of admiration. “Oh my god, this composition is absolutely flawless.” “I’m an art student too, and I can tell you right now, you’re a genius!” “Where do you go to school?” “My mentor is on the board of the European Art Association. I could recommend you to him, you know!” “And of course, I know plenty of professors at the top art schools here in the States. They would all be blown away by your talent!” … A genius? Yes. I knew that from the day I accepted this mission. Matt Croft was, without a doubt, a genius. The kind of once-in-a-generation painter whose exhibitions could ignite the artistic soul of an entire city, whose most casual doodle could fetch a fortune at auction. But this was also the same person who showed signs of autism from a young age, which by his teenage years had morphed into an atypical form of bipolar disorder. Sometimes he was manic and anxious. Other times, he was consumed by a deep, depressive gloom, capable of not speaking a word for days on end. Then, in high school, disaster struck. The Croft family’s corporation faced a sudden economic crisis and was on the brink of bankruptcy. Matt’s parents had died in an accident shortly after he was born, leaving only his elderly grandfather to manage the vast family enterprise. The old man couldn’t withstand the pressure. He suffered a stroke that landed him in the hospital. Before he passed, he used the last of the family’s assets to hire a caretaker for his grandson—someone to look after Matt’s daily life and his fragile mental state. He also entrusted this caretaker with one final task: to find a real estate mogul by the name of Miller. Mr. Miller was an old friend, a brother-in-arms from their youth to whom his grandfather owed his life. The Miller family had moved abroad years ago, and they had somehow lost touch. “But he’ll remember,” Matt’s grandfather had said, his voice a ragged whisper. “Our grandchildren, Emily and Matt, they even had a childhood engagement pact.” “With the Croft family in such dire straits… I can only ask them to take Matt in and look after him for a while.” 3 The System’s voice buzzed in my ear. “Host.” “I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now, right?” “The girl in the white dress standing next to our young villain is the heroine who just returned to the country.” “Emily Miller.” Yeah. I’d figured. Because the heroine, Emily, was an art student. In the original story, the caretaker the Croft family hired was no good. He was a two-faced grifter, skimming from the top, and treated Matt horribly. When the Croft empire finally crumbled, he took the money and ran, leaving the already psychologically fragile teenager stranded and alone in the middle of nowhere. As for finding the Miller family? He never even tried. Matt suffered immensely after that. He couldn’t even afford to stay in school. He worked odd jobs, saved every penny, only to be scammed and beaten, even having one of his legs broken. Finally, he met a true mentor, a brilliant art professor at a university. His talent was discovered, and he clawed his way up from the very bottom… only then did he become the revered artist everyone knew. By that time, the heroine had already become a rising star in the design world. And at last, Matt finally met Emily Miller. He learned about the childhood engagement pact. But by then, looking at his own scarred and broken body, he no longer had the courage to pursue her. In the story’s tragic conclusion, on the eve of Emily’s wedding to another man, Matt leaped from the roof of a skyscraper. His suicide note read: My life was ruined by that caretaker. If only he had found Emily back then, my life could have been perfect, without a single regret. 4 To change Matt’s fate, I took the place of that corrupt caretaker when I entered this world. In this reset timeline, Matt’s grandfather met me at the orphanage where I grew up and sponsored my education. When he passed away, he left me a portion of his remaining assets and begged me to look after his grandson. So, I began to take care of Matt with every ounce of effort I had. He didn’t know how to manage money, so I opened a bank account in his name, researching investment strategies to make his grandfather’s inheritance last as long as possible. His mental state was fragile, so I devoured books on psychology and took him to see specialists. He loved to paint. I, a STEM major who knew nothing about art, dragged myself to nearly a hundred exhibitions in a single year, all for the slim hope of having something to talk to him about. … But even with all that, Matt’s attitude towards me remained cold and dismissive. It was as if no matter how hard I tried, he would never let me into his world. Even during his manic episodes, he’d rather smash everything in sight than let me bring him his medication in the studio. The reason was simple: I didn’t understand art. He didn’t want a boring, mundane person like me trespassing in his creative sanctuary. But now… His attitude toward the heroine was completely different. He listened intently to her opinions on his work, slowly articulating his own thoughts in return. When Matt finished the piece, he carefully removed it from his sketchbook. He held it out to Emily, an offering. The tips of his ears were tinged with red. “Can I… Can I get your number?” he stammered. “My name is… Matt. Matt Croft.” Emily paused for a second. As she pulled out her phone, she tilted her head and scratched her nose thoughtfully. “Huh?” she said. “You know… I feel like I’ve heard that name somewhere before.” 5 In the original story, the heroine had her own destined partner. Even when she met Matt again later in life, her feelings for him never went beyond friendship. That’s why the System’s mission wasn’t for me to deliver Matt to Emily. It was for me to guide him away from the main characters, to reshape his personality outside the confines of the original plot and change his tragic ending. But now… I think I might have messed things up. Matt had met the heroine ahead of schedule. And it seemed to be love at first sight. The System started screaming in my ear. “Go get that dark-hearted brat back here, you useless block of wood!” “If you just stand there spacing out any longer, Emily’s radiance will only make him hate you more, you idiot!” Right, right. I was supposed to drag Matt back. I sighed, bracing myself. I walked over and stood between him and Emily, gently tapping Matt’s shoulder. “Matt,” I said softly. “There you are. Let’s go home, okay?” “I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. I made dinner. Aren’t you hungry?” 6 The moment he saw me, the faint smile on Matt’s face vanished, replaced by an icy mask. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line as he shot me a look of pure annoyance, his brow furrowing deeply. It was Emily who spoke, her tone surprisingly warm. She turned to me, her eyes blinking with curiosity. “You know Matt? Are you two friends? Do you have a date tonight or something?” I was about to answer when Matt cut me off sharply. “No!” His voice was laced with an urgency, as if he couldn’t distance himself from me fast enough. “She’s not my friend. She’s just the hired help,” he spat. “Just some kid my grandfather picked up from an orphanage.” “She’s nobody.” … As the words hung in the air, I heard the System suck in a sharp, embarrassed breath. Even Emily looked taken aback, shifting uncomfortably. She shot me an apologetic glance before looking at her watch, trying to smooth things over. “Does being the hired help mean she can’t be your friend?” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “What’s with the high-and-mighty tone? Besides, she’s been looking for you all afternoon. You should at least let someone know when you go out.” “Don’t do that again. You’ll make her job much harder than it needs to be!” Her voice was so kind. Even her scolding was laced with warmth, making it impossible to be angry. She really was the heroine. She’d extend her kindness even to a complete stranger like me. And thanks to her, Matt, who had been teetering on the edge of a manic episode, visibly calmed down. He lowered his head and quietly began packing his things. Slinging his art portfolio over his shoulder, he threw a glare my way. “What are you staring at?” he muttered, striding ahead. “You’re the one who wanted to go back so badly.” 7 If I hadn’t shown up, Matt and Emily could have spent more time together. Naturally, his animosity towards me deepened. On the way back, he deliberately kept his distance, his voice dripping with contempt as he questioned me. “You looked for me all afternoon?” “Summer, how are you always so free? Don’t you have a life of your own?” “I know my grandfather left you a salary, but there wasn’t that much money left. It can’t be worth you dedicating your entire existence to this job…” “Look at that girl back there. She has her own passions, her own talent.” “Not like you. All you do is hover around people, like a pathetic little shadow. It’s so damn annoying.” … I kept my head down, unable to find the words to defend myself. Before the car accident that led me to the System, I was just an ordinary person. Now, in this world, I wasn’t part of the main cast, had no special abilities, and no family. My college tuition came from the inheritance my grandfather left for Matt’s care. And even then, I had to endure his scorn. The System chose that moment to twist the knife. “Host.” “Matt’s darkness score just went up again.” “His mood was perfectly stable when he was with the heroine…” “Looks like she makes him a lot happier than you do!” —It was obvious, really. But if the heroine could soothe him better than I ever could, then what was the point of a disposable NPC like me? The Miller family was already looking for Matt anyway, now that they knew about the Crofts’ bankruptcy. If I just delivered him to Emily, wouldn’t that solve everyone’s problems? Once the thought took root, it was impossible to shake. I ran to catch up with Matt, grabbing his sleeve. “Matt,” I asked, my voice direct. “If I quit this job, if I wasn’t around anymore… would you be happier if someone else took care of you?” It was a stupid question, I know. I’ve never been good with words. He looked down at me, his expression turning cold and hard. After a long moment, he let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Summer, are you insane?” he sneered. “Who do you think you are? Someone irreplaceable?” “If you want to leave, then leave. Get out right now.” “I don’t need you.”

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The day I found out my adoptive parents had finally located their real daughter, I was drowning in guilt. As the “fake” heiress, I got her number and sent a barrage of texts, trying to smooth things over before she even arrived: “Sweetheart, I’m so, so sorry. I’ve been living a life of luxury in your place for all these years.” “Sweetheart, our parents have arranged everything, and from now on, we’re going to be sisters! I’m already so excited to meet you!” “Sweetheart, please don’t listen to any rumors. The whole family already loves you, especially me! I love you the mostest!” … The day the real heiress was set to arrive, I was buzzing with anticipation, waiting with my adoptive parents to welcome her. The next second, the front door swung open, and a gorgeous six-foot-one stranger walked in. “Mom, Dad,” he said. “I’m home.” Me: ??? Hold on. How did my sweet, delicate, heiress… turn into a dude? 1 For the twenty years I was raised by the Harrisons—the family that owns one of the country’s largest fortunes—they treated me as their own flesh and blood. I was cherished, spoiled, and protected from every imaginable hardship. I grew up swimming in boundless love and privilege. But on the morning of my twentieth birthday, everything changed. I accidentally overheard my adoptive parents in a private conversation. My adoptive mother, usually the picture of composure and elegance, sounded strained, her voice thick with tears. “Are you certain? Is this truly our biological child?” she whispered. My adoptive father’s excitement was palpable. “The DNA test is right here. It’s him. He is our son.” My mother sobbed quietly for a moment before asking, “When… when will we bring him home?” My father patted her hand reassuringly, his voice low with promise. “Soon.” “However, even though we intend to make arrangements for both children, I’m just worried about Summer, that she might…” … He didn’t finish the thought, but I understood completely. They had found their biological child, who had been missing for years. And they were worried that I, their adoptive daughter, would behave like one of those wicked “fake daughters” from novels—spiteful toward the true heir. How could they think that? I, the imposter, had occupied the true heir’s place. I had enjoyed twenty years of comfort, wealth, and security in the Harrington estate. Meanwhile, the real Harrington heir had suffered untold hardship out there. If I treated him poorly, what kind of ungrateful wretch would that make me? I would be betraying the years of kindness and careful love my parents had given me. 2 That evening, I sought them out and preemptively confessed. “Mom, Dad, I heard your whole conversation and your plans.” “You don’t need to worry. I agree to everything you discussed.” My adoptive parents exchanged startled looks. Then, a mix of surprise and joy washed over their faces. “You heard? You agree to everything?” my mother asked, her voice trembling. I nodded decisively. “Yes.” My father’s voice wavered slightly as he asked cautiously, “Summer, are you sure you don’t need time to think? This concerns your entire future…” What was there to think about? It was only right that the true heir should take his place in the family. I nodded again. “No need to consider. I agree entirely.” My mother finally recovered from her shock, her earlier anxiety replaced by overwhelming emotion. She gripped my hands tightly. “That’s wonderful, my darling! I was so worried you would disagree…” “Oh, you wonderful girl. Even if you find your own biological family someday, you must still call me Mom. That thought makes me so happy…” She then slipped the exquisite diamond bracelet from her wrist. It was an antique piece, passed down from my grandmother, which my mother rarely allowed anyone to see. “This was your grandmother’s. I’m giving it to you now.” The fact that she was giving me this treasure, which she guarded so fiercely, showed how desperately she wished for me and the returning heir to get along. I stared at the sparkling bracelet on my wrist, secretly vowing. I would treat the true heir with nothing but kindness. 3 Under the pretense of “building a connection,” I asked for the true heir’s contact information. My mother’s doting smile was practically unstoppable. “Yes, yes, build a connection! You two will be spending a lot of time together soon.” I pulled up the true heir’s profile. The avatar was completely black, with no nickname and no personalized status. I gasped, a chill running down my spine. I couldn’t imagine how much this poor child must have suffered over the years. They should be a vibrant young adult, but the harshness of life had clearly forced them into a cold, “do not disturb” persona. Filled with guilt, I sent the first message: [Adrian, hello. I’m Summer Harrington.] They replied instantly. The tone was exactly as my mother had described: cold and distant. [I know. They told me.] See? Referring to his own biological parents as “they.” It was a clear sign of emotional trauma, making him cautious around anyone trying to get close. I felt deeply sorry for him. [Waaah, Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I’ve occupied your place and enjoyed this good life for so many years…] Adrian: [No need to apologize.] [You were adopted. You didn’t ‘occupy’ anything that was mine.] I was stunned. Who said that a harsh environment couldn’t produce a beautiful soul? This vulnerable person, having suffered so much, showed no resentment, even finding a reason to excuse me. Tears sprang to my eyes. [Sweetheart, you are truly the best.] [Sweetheart, from today on, I am your family. Don’t worry, I promise to take care of you.] [I love you I love you kissy kissy smooch smooch…] Adrian replied with six dots: [……] A moment later, a new message popped up: [Don’t call me that.] Me: [What? Call you what?] This time, Adrian was silent for a full fifteen minutes before replying: [That… ‘Sweetheart.’ ] Me: [Why?] Adrian: [Don’t you think that kind of affectionate term is moving a little too fast?] I immediately refuted him: [Given our relationship, isn’t it perfectly normal for me to call you Sweetheart? How is that fast?] [Sweetheart, you need to get used to it quickly, because I’m going to call you that forever.] [A lifetime, in fact.] Adrian: [……] Adrian: [To be honest, I’m still considering their offer, so you don’t need to be so hasty.] Considering what? If he should come home? It seemed he was still wary of the family and, perhaps, of me. I rushed to reassure him. [Please don’t overthink things, and don’t listen to any gossip outside.] [Everyone here loves you, especially me. I love you the mostest!] After sending those two messages, Adrian’s chat bubble showed he was perpetually typing. One minute, two minutes, three minutes… Fifteen minutes passed before he finally sent a message, sounding slightly suspicious. [Have you… ever met me?] Oh, so that was what he was worried about. While I hadn’t met him, my guilt and my desire to compensate and protect him were absolutely genuine. But to ease his mind, I decided to tell a small white lie. [Of course! Mom showed me your photo.] [The moment I saw you, I just knew you were a truly wonderful person.] [Have you ever heard of ‘love at first sight’? That’s how I feel about you. I swear, I genuinely like you.] Adrian: [… You genuinely like me?] Me: [Of course!] Adrian: [… Ahem.] [Well, whatever. It doesn’t affect me.] [I have to go now. The chicken broth is on the stove; I need to tend the soup. Goodbye.] … His words were jumbled and confusing. I was completely bewildered, yet I zeroed in on one crucial piece of information—Adrian was cooking for an entire family? A surge of protective fury immediately welled up inside me. I was furious. 4 The next day, I ordered eighteen extravagant, five-star meals to Adrian’s current address. I also paid my family’s housekeeper, Mrs. Peterson, to go help Adrian clean his house. I even arranged for a few bodyguards to discreetly watch over him. Later, from the pile of old clothes Mrs. Peterson brought back, I found a pair of men’s boxer briefs. I almost laughed from sheer indignation. Dressing a delicate young woman in oversized men’s coats and pants was bad enough, but even her most intimate clothing was masculine? Fighting back my rage, I grabbed my phone and messaged Adrian: [You wear boxer briefs? They make you wear boxer briefs?!] Adrian was silent for a long moment. Then slowly typed: [?] Adrian, utterly baffled: [… What else should I be wearing?] This poor girl was so innocent she didn’t even know what she should be wearing. I opened my favorite online boutique. I sent him a link to the lingerie I bought frequently. [I’ve bought this pink lace number so many times! The quality is amazing, super comfortable! I’m wearing this exact one right now!] [And for the bra…] Words wouldn’t do it justice. I flipped my camera and recorded a quick demonstration of the item I was wearing, tugging playfully at the straps and lace, explaining enthusiastically: [Sweetheart, look at this style! Isn’t it gorgeous? The fabric is so soft, it doesn’t itch at all on your skin…] The moment the video sent, the chat box exploded with frantic new messages. Adrian’s emotion was more intense than I’d ever seen: [Summer Evans!] [You! You must never send that again! And stop saying such strange things!] [You, you, you! Summer! Show some decency!] 5 I burst out laughing. [With our relationship, what is there to be embarrassed about?] [Oh, speaking of bras, what about your measurements? I need to know your cup size.] Adrian: [………… Enough.] Me: [Enough is big enough? They say if you massage them, they’ll grow bigger, you know! I was thinking of trying it out!] [Hehehe, how about I practice on you? Once you get home, let me help you with your measurements and see if we can make a difference…] Adrian: [………… Shut up.] I tutted. [Why are you so stingy? What’s the harm in letting me have a little look, given our connection?] [……] Adrian stopped replying entirely. I waited a few minutes, then worriedly checked with Mrs. Peterson. [Mrs. P, where is Adrian?] Mrs. Peterson: [She was blushing furiously, threw her phone down, and rushed into the bathroom to take a shower. Is something wrong, dear?] [No, nothing at all.] I was relieved, but I couldn’t help but marvel. Taking a shower and going to bed at nine in the morning?

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To enter Sterling City’s elite, I forged a new identity: Hope, the lost granddaughter of master Alistair Finch. My target was Andrew Burke, the city’s untouchable tech mogul. I buried my true self, polishing every rough edge until I was flawless as jade. It was the only way, I thought, to stand beside my radiant, distant moon. I believed if my performance was perfect, we could share a lifetime under that moon. Then I saw my ever-calm husband publicly explode over a wild-haired coffee shop girl, destroying a billion-dollar deal. I stayed to clean his mess at a gallery gala. But on the terrace, I overheard a world-shattering talk: “Andrew, your ‘artist’ wife is quite dutiful, playing nice with the sharks for you.” “She’s the perfect facade for my new-money mansion—a perfect fake.” “A painter from the projects… thinks mixing colors can hide her poverty?” Through the phone, Andrew’s lazy chuckle rang with amusement. He knew. He’d always known. He had been acting, too. 1 My heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water, the shock so cold it was numbing. “I heard that old mentor of hers, the one she supposedly learned from, is desperate for cash. Telling everyone he has a ‘star pupil.’ I give it three months before the whole story blows up. Then Mrs. Burke’s ‘art prodigy’ halo is going to shatter into a million pieces.” “I’ll bet a month!” That was Leo, Andrew’s childhood friend and a well-known gallery owner. “That forgery of Dusk Over Riverstone Ridge was damn good, I’ll give her that. But you can’t hide the soul of a craftsman. You see the way she pontificates about Rembrandt’s use of chiaroscuro? Like she’s cramming from a textbook, desperate to prove she’s read a book or two. It’s pathetic.” Andrew let out another soft laugh, his tone casual. “I’ll bet… a year. Her pride is her weakness. She’ll do anything to keep that secret buried, probably pay the old man off. It won’t be a problem, not for a while.” He sighed, a light, theatrical sound. “Old Mr. Sterling was so insistent I marry his granddaughter, that girl who can’t paint anything but pretty little flowers. I wasn’t having it.” “Then Hope showed up, right on cue. She’s a technician, not an artist, but her hands… her hands are magic. I needed a world-class forger to get Sterling’s Moonglow out of his vault. If she could paint me a flawless counterfeit, he’d be too distracted to meddle in my marriage ever again.” He paused. “And watching her try so hard, every single day, to play the part of the ethereal, secluded artist… honestly, it’s been quite amusing.” The blood froze in my veins. So, Andrew had known from the start. My talent, my skill, was nothing more than a tool for his elaborate heist, a performance for his entertainment. A burst of laughter echoed from the main hall. Andrew suddenly shushed them. Through a gap in a modern sculpture, I saw a young woman sitting on a bench in the lounge area, looking dejected. She was wrapped in Andrew’s cashmere coat, a piece that cost more than my first year of rent. The moment she looked up, Andrew silenced his friends. “Keep it down. Don’t bother her. She pulled three all-nighters for her graduation exhibit. She’s exhausted.” Leo clicked his tongue. “Seriously, Andrew? She’s a student. Her work is… juvenile. What do you even see in her?” Andrew propped his chin on his hand, his gaze fixed on the girl. “Unlike Hope’s work, which is technically perfect but has no soul, Zoe’s is real. An ordinary piece of paper comes alive under her brush. It’s that raw, unmarketable honesty… that’s what draws me in.” Just then, the girl, Zoe, stood up as if to leave. She carefully slipped off the coat and handed it back to Andrew. “Mr. Burke, thank you again for buying my painting at the auction. I promise I’ll pay you back…” “You don’t have to.” “No, I insist,” she said, her lip trembling with a stubborn pride. “I don’t want my first sale to be… charity.” A smile touched Andrew’s lips. He reached out, his finger lightly tracing a stroke of color on her canvas. It was a gesture of incredible tenderness. “Alright, alright, you win. How about this? Host a solo exhibition at my gallery. I’ll give you the main hall.” Zoe’s eyes widened. “But… I’m just a student. My work isn’t ready…” “Forget about résumés. You have a gift, Zoe. You’ll stun them all.” She hesitated for only a second before nodding. A sharp pain, like the edge of a palette knife, twisted in my chest. That main hall at Andrew’s gallery… it had been promised to me. The minimum requirement for an artist to exhibit there was a major international award. My artistic identity was a sham, but the smaller awards I’d won, those were real. I’d entered countless competitions, building a believable history to bolster the lie of my heritage. Andrew was often away on business for his art foundation in Italy. I was so afraid he’d find my knowledge lacking that I devoured books on art history, learned restoration techniques, and spent every spare moment haunting museums and libraries. And now I knew. None of it had ever mattered to him. I finally understood. You didn’t have to be perfect to earn his affection. You just had to be someone else. Andrew gently helped Zoe pack her art supplies. “My gallery always has space for a genius.” 2 Zoe beamed, a genuine, unburdened smile. Hidden in the shadows, my limbs grew numb. I felt like I was about to collapse. I stumbled back to the event organizer’s office. He was still hoping I could smooth things over. “Mrs. Burke, this is a very awkward situation for us. You see…” He gave me a strained smile. In the past, to expand Andrew’s network in the art world, I had endured so much. I’d sipped wine with greasy collectors, listening to their half-baked theories on art, and plastered a polite smile on my face. Not anymore. I wasn’t that fool any longer. I stood up and grabbed my clutch. “Mr. Davies, your business with my husband is your own to solve. I have other matters to attend to. You’ll have to excuse me.” I walked out of the gallery like a zombie, my body moving on autopilot, and returned to the Burke estate. Andrew’s mother was in the living room, perched on a rosewood chair, sipping a rare single-origin tea. She heard me enter but didn’t bother to look up. “The luncheon with the museum board tomorrow, have you confirmed the artist list for the dinner gala?” she asked, her voice crisp. “And for the biennial in Europe next month, the butler has emailed you the itineraries for our family friends. I expect you to arrange everything personally.” “Hope, we allowed you into this family to be its artistic face. You are expected to handle these duties flawlessly. Otherwise, what’s the difference between marrying you and some common craftsman from a print shop?” Craftsman. The word stabbed into my heart again. I stood silently at the entrance, then turned toward the staircase without a word. “Stop! Are you deaf? Or is all that supposed culture you affect just an act?” I paused on the first step, my back still to her. “Find someone else,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m tired.” Her stream of venomous words followed me up the stairs, but I tuned them all out. I slammed my bedroom door shut, the sound a welcome finality. Memories rushed back, and I suddenly remembered the first time I saw Andrew Burke. I was working my way through college as a dogsbody in a small gallery, restoring broken frames. It was my first glimpse into the world of high-end art, a world that made me feel small and crushingly poor. One day, I accidentally smudged the packaging of a client’s painting. He exploded. “Watch where you’re going, you clumsy little gutter rat!” he screamed, his finger jabbing at my face. “Do you have any idea what this is worth? More money than your kind will ever see in a lifetime!” I just stood there, a prisoner in the dock, apologizing over and over, my face burning with a mixture of humiliation and shame. Then Andrew stepped in, his voice as cool and smooth as silk. “It’s a decorative piece, hardly a masterpiece. Is it really necessary to terrorize a young woman over it?” The way he signed the check to cover the perceived damages—effortless, elegant, utterly dismissive—is burned into my memory. My heart had hammered in my chest. For the first time, I felt the chasm between our worlds. I was an art student, just like the names on the gallery walls, but because I was born poor, I was destined to be trod into the mud, a nameless craftsman. But I didn’t want to be a craftsman. I wanted to be an artist. I wanted a life that glittered. And I wanted the man standing before me. In that moment, a dangerous cocktail of desire and ambition gave birth to an audacious plan. I forged paintings. I wove lies. All for a ticket into the hallowed halls of the art world. All to stand beside him. And in the end, I succeeded. Only to discover it was all a game to Andrew. He didn’t love my perfect technique; he was captivated by the clumsy, amateurish scrawls of an intern. All because she was real. How utterly laughable. I picked up my phone and called my lawyer, telling him to draw up divorce papers. It was time to end this. I tossed and turned in bed for hours. Andrew didn’t come home until well after midnight. I could hear his mother’s muffled complaints from the living room before he came upstairs. He still smelled faintly of turpentine. The scent of Zoe’s studio. He unfastened his cufflinks as he spoke. “Mother said you were rude to her today. Go down and apologize later.” I lay still, my back to him. He gently patted my shoulder. “What’s wrong, darling? You seem upset.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. The same gentle touch, but this time, I felt nothing but cold. I forced my voice to be steady. “It’s nothing. I just don’t feel well.” “By the way, how did things go with the auction house?” “They’re not resolved.” Andrew paused for a second. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cut ties with them if I have to. The last thing I want is for you to be upset.” A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. I wanted to ask him, who was it he didn’t want to be upset? But in the end, I said nothing. “Okay.” 3 I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day when I went to the gallery, the girl was already there. Zoe. She was even prettier and more innocent-looking in person, like a wildflower that had never been tamed. She was also completely clueless about the business of art. At the exhibition planning meeting, she didn’t understand the basic principles of lighting design, and her curatorial proposal was a mess of incoherent thoughts. Andrew was notoriously demanding with his staff. But with Zoe, he was a bottomless well of patience. I held my tongue until the meeting was over, then followed Andrew to his office to discuss the next quarter’s exhibition schedule. Zoe offered to pour me a glass of water. Her wrist tilted, and icy water splashed all over my silk blouse, blooming into a dark stain. The documents on the table were soaked. I finally snapped. “What is wrong with you?” She slammed the glass down, her face a mask of defiance and stubborn pride, but said nothing. “Don’t you think you owe me an apology?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Her temper flared. “It was an accident! Why do you have to be so aggressive? Don’t think you can bully me just because you’re the boss’s wife.” Beside us, Andrew watched with an expression of pure admiration. So this was the raw authenticity he found so appealing. I was about to let her have it when he grabbed my hand, running interference for her. “She’s just a kid, Hope. She doesn’t have much experience. Let me apologize to you on her behalf, alright?” My heart stuttered. I pulled my hand away. The matter was dropped, unresolved. After we finished discussing work, I prepared to leave. Andrew cleared his throat. “I have a dinner meeting tonight. You go on home, don’t wait up for me.” I knew him too well. He had a tell—he always adjusted his cufflinks right before he lied. “Alright.” Back in my office, I got Zoe’s number from HR and sent her a friend request. Sure enough, just after eight o’clock, she posted an update to her story. Andrew was in the picture. They had gone to a gritty night market near the art academy. The background was a chaotic jumble of street food stalls. This was a man who drank only one specific brand of imported water, now sitting on a plastic stool, eating spicy street-side noodles with her. It was almost funny. I scrolled through her feed. The few posts she had were all about Andrew. [Turned twenty today, and Mr. V. got me my first set of expensive art supplies! But I still love my old brushes best, hehe.] [The big boss’s first time at the night market! He was frowning the whole time but still remembered to pick the cilantro out of my bowl for me!] The more I read, the tighter the knot in my chest became. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. My heart seized when I read the message. It was him… my old mentor, the one I’d cut all ties with. [Hope. You need to help me. You think just because you’re famous now, you can pretend I don’t exist?] [I’m rotting in a basement, and I swear I’ll drag you down from your pedestal with me!] [Don’t forget where Dusk Over Riverstone Ridge came from. Five million dollars, and I’ll keep your secret safe.] I didn’t reply. My hands trembled as I deleted the message. I suddenly remembered the bet Andrew and his friends made that night at the gallery. They were betting on how long it would take for me to be exposed. My old mentor was a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later, he would explode. But I was done living in fear. So I would be the one to light the match. 4 Andrew didn’t come home until the next morning. He gave a vague excuse about a business dinner that ran all night. But I’d already seen it on Zoe’s feed. There was no dinner. He had driven her out to her favorite spot for landscape painting. They had watched the stars and painted the sunrise together. At breakfast, my mother-in-law spoke up. “The Burke Foundation’s annual charity gala is approaching, Hope. It’s time you started the preparations.” The gala was their family’s most important social event of the year, attended by a who’s who of politics, business, and the arts. I listened as she droned on, then asked, “What date is the gala?” “The twentieth.” My phone was still vibrating. One threatening text after another. [You little bitch! If you don’t answer me, I’m coming to your house!] I hesitated for a moment, then typed a reply: [You want money? Meet me on the twentieth, at the venue for the charity gala.] 5 The days ticked by. The twentieth drew closer. For some, it was a date of dread. For others, a source of joy. Zoe’s social media was a daily diary of her time with Andrew. He skipped out of the office to help her find inspiration in the countryside. He spent a weekend with her at an artist’s market, hawking her little paintings that no one was buying, just to “experience life.” A picture showed the two of them squatting on a curb, sharing a single roasted sweet potato. Every post, every photo, was a poisoned knife twisting in my heart. The threatening texts from my mentor continued unabated. The language grew more and more vile. He called me a treacherous snake, a talentless copyist. He said I was destined to rot in a basement, a ghost painter for the rest of my life. The sealed-off memories broke open again. Him, drunk, tearing up a piece I had spent two weeks on. Locking me in a windowless cellar, forcing me to copy a painting for three days straight without sleep. Beating my hands with the wooden stretcher of a canvas, screaming that I had no real talent. My head felt like it was about to split open. The pain in my chest was so intense I was shaking. I had to dig my nails into my palms, breaking the skin, just to stay calm. The twentieth was almost here. Money couldn’t save me. The glittering dream couldn’t save me. To pull myself out of this swamp of lies, I had to rely on myself. And myself alone.

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Suddenly, I could see everyone’s true identity. My best friend’s rich boyfriend had the words “Married Man, Ten Million in Debt” floating over his head. My own broke boyfriend? “Missing Heir to the Richest Family in the Country.” Right at that moment, my best friend was in the middle of a lecture, trying to convince me to break up with him. “It’s better to be a rich man’s mistress than a poor man’s wife,” she insisted. “Good looks don’t pay the bills.” “Your boyfriend could work his entire life and still not afford the toilet in my husband’s house.” 1 In the lavishly decorated Western restaurant, my best friend’s boyfriend, Jason, casually flipped through the menu. “Two orders of the M9 Wagyu Beef Wellington. The meat’s incredibly tender here.” “And two of the seared foie gras with sea urchin and caviar.” “The charcoal-grilled blue lobster… that’s a pretty big portion, so one should be enough.” With every item he named, the color drained a little more from my face and from my boyfriend, Fred’s. I stared down at the menu, a cold sweat breaking out on my back. The steak was $1,388 an order. The foie gras was $798. The blue lobster was a staggering $2,688. Add in the appetizers, salads, and desserts… dinner tonight was going to cost well over ten thousand dollars. And tonight, it was our turn to pay. Jason was my best friend Maya’s new boyfriend. They hadn’t been dating long before she excitedly insisted on a double date. Last week, Jason and Maya had treated us to a hot pot dinner. When it was time to pay, Jason conveniently got a call from a major client. He rushed out to meet them, and Maya ended up paying the bill. With my coupon. My company had a partnership with the hot pot place, and they’d given us a few $200 gift certificates for the holidays. You could use one per meal. I remembered it clearly: after the coupon, the total came to $360. 2 Fred is a firm believer in returning a favor. Since they had treated us, it was only right that we treat them back. When I suggested it to Maya, Jason had waved his hand with a magnanimous smile. “Hey, we’re all friends here. No need to be so formal.” Then he immediately called and booked a table at this restaurant. What were his exact words? “You don’t have to take us anywhere fancy. Just a casual meal is fine.” His idea of “casual” was a dinner that would cost me two months’ salary. After setting down the food menu, Jason picked up the wine list. “This restaurant owns its own vineyard in France. Their reds are exceptional. You have to try one.” “Let’s go with this Grenache. It’s got a rich, fruity body with a crisp, oaky finish.” Under the table, Fred’s hand tightened on mine. My heart gave a violent lurch. That bottle of wine cost $39,888. Fred and I had just graduated from college this year. We’d landed decent jobs at good companies, but we were still just interns. I made $5,600 a month; he made $6,800. We both came from rural, working-class families. We had fought our way to this metropolis through sheer academic grit. But the cost of living in the city was crushing. And the weight on our shoulders was immense. My mother’s health was poor, so I sent half my salary home every month for her medicine. Fred’s income had to cover our food, transportation, and rent. After six months of scrimping and saving, we had managed to put away just over $30,000. Thirty thousand dollars. In a rich man’s restaurant, that wasn’t even enough to buy a single bottle of wine. 3 The wine and food would be at least fifty thousand. Was I supposed to take out a payday loan to treat them to dinner? Maya leaned against her boyfriend’s shoulder, her face glowing with happiness. “Jason, how do you know so much about all this?” “Thank you for showing us this world. I would have never dared to step into a place like this on my own.” I was torn. My rational mind was screaming at me not to bankrupt myself just to save face. But my heart ached at the thought of embarrassing my best friend. Just as I was hesitating, the waiter collected the menus and turned to leave. Fred suddenly looked up. “Excuse me,” he called out. “We’d like to cancel that order.” “I bought a group deal for this restaurant online. We’ll just have that set menu, please.” A wave of relief washed over me. I gave Fred a mental thumbs-up. He had said what I was too afraid to say. But Maya’s expression changed in an instant. She shot to her feet, her voice high and shrill. “Fred, what is the meaning of this?” “Jason is only having dinner with you two because of me! You won’t even let him order what he wants? Are you trying to humiliate me?” She then whirled on me. “Anna! I told you to stop digging through the trash for a boyfriend!” The other diners were all staring at us. The situation was excruciatingly awkward. So awkward, in fact, that I started to hallucinate. What the hell? Why was there a line of glowing text floating above everyone’s head? 4 I rubbed my eyes hard. The text was still there, bigger and clearer than before. Jason pulled Maya back down, patting her shoulder with an air of good-natured patience. “Don’t be angry, honey. It’s my fault. This is just what I normally eat. I didn’t realize the prices would be a bit steep for them.” “How about this,” he continued. “We’ll skip the wine, but let’s keep the rest of the food.” Maya was a mess of distress and indignation. “How can we do that? You always like a little drink after dinner. I can’t let you change your habits for me.” The waiter stood there, holding the menu, looking utterly confused. Fred held out his phone. “I’m paying, so you’ll listen to me. We’ll have the group deal set menu. Here’s the voucher.” Maya jumped up again, furious. “Forget it! Who wants your stupid group deal? I can’t stand you broke losers. Jason, let’s go!” The group deal wasn’t exactly cheap. It was $1,288—a month’s worth of groceries for Fred and me. 5 They stormed out, leaving Fred and me staring at each other, with the bewildered waiter still standing beside our table. “Sir, should I still bring out the food?” I tilted my head up, squinting to read the text above his head: “Working Four Jobs to Survive.” Fred shook his head. “No, that’s alright. Thank you.” He then took my hand, his expression uncertain. “Anna, let’s go home?” he asked tentatively. I looked at him, really looked at him. Fred and I had been classmates in high school and college. In high school, he was the unattainable, handsome loner that every girl had a crush on. But right now, the text above his head was far more captivating than his handsome face. “Missing Heir to the Richest Family in the Country.” Did that mean what I thought it meant? As a devoted reader of web novels, I was very familiar with tropes like special abilities, system interfaces, and reincarnation. Could these words be… my superpower? The ability to see everyone’s true identity? I craned my neck, my eyes wide with excitement, and scanned the room. “Soon-to-be Bankrupt Heir.” “Housewife Addicted to Cheating.” “Pervert Who Likes Taking Upskirt Photos.” “Fugitive with a $500,000 Bounty.” Wait a minute. $500,000? 6 A whirlwind of nerves, excitement, doubt, and shock played across my face, scaring the hell out of Fred. He stood up, flustered, and started stammering an explanation. “Anna, I know what I did was embarrassing. But fifty thousand dollars… that’s enough to pay for your mom’s medicine for two years. I just couldn’t bring myself to spend it on one meal.” “Saving face is temporary. Living our lives responsibly is what matters. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” I barely heard a word he said. My attention was entirely fixed on the fugitive. He was sitting in a corner, cutting into a steak. He wore large, black-framed glasses that obscured half his face, and his hat was pulled down low. When he heard the commotion from our table, he glanced over briefly before quickly looking away. “I’m just going to the restroom.” I tossed the words over my shoulder at Fred and walked towards the restrooms with a straight back, feigning nonchalance. Once inside a stall, I immediately dialed 911. There was a police station just a few blocks from the restaurant. I composed my face and walked out of the restaurant, then quickly ducked around a corner, my eyes glued to the entrance. Fred followed me, his face a mixture of worry and confusion. “Anna, what are you doing? Let’s just go home. I can make you some noodles.” “Shh, be quiet!” I clamped a hand over his mouth, my gaze never leaving the glass doors. Fred looked puzzled, but he didn’t ask any more questions. He just stood there quietly, waiting with me. The police arrived faster than I expected. Within five minutes, the restaurant was surrounded by squad cars. When the fugitive was led out in handcuffs, I saw the text above his head change: “Fugitive Apprehended.” 7 The whole night felt like a dream. Fred went with me to the police station to give a statement, and I signed the “Bounty Claim Confirmation” form. The female officer who took my statement was incredibly friendly. “Thanks to your timely call, we caught him just in time. He had a knife on him. His plan was to have one last nice meal, kill a few rich people, and then kill himself.” “You didn’t just help us catch a criminal; you saved several lives. The reward money should be in your bank account in about a week.” $500,000. Just like that. Fred was so excited his face was flushed, and he walked out of the station with a clumsy, uncoordinated gait. “Anna, you’re a genius! How did you know that guy was a fugitive?” I grinned and took his hand. “I’m just broke. When I have nothing to do, I scroll through wanted lists, hoping to get lucky and spot one. And what do you know, I actually did!” After the initial euphoria wore off, Fred finally calmed down. He cupped my face in his hands, his eyes full of concern. “Anna, you don’t have to push yourself so hard. I’ll work hard to give you a good life. What you did was so dangerous. What if he had noticed you?” I looked at the brightly glowing words above his head and thought, damn, this man is handsome. On the way home, Fred lectured me about the risks, imagining a hundred different ways it could have gone wrong. His worrying nearly put me to sleep. So much had happened that I had completely forgotten about Maya. Fred, exhausted, fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. I, on the other hand, stayed up half the night on my phone, researching the richest man in the country. The more I looked, the more confused I became. The billionaire’s last name was Sterling. He was a self-made man who started as a construction foreman and made his first fortune in real estate. But according to all reports, he only had one very private daughter. There was no mention of a son. And Fred… he didn’t look anything like Mr. Sterling. 8 The next morning, I was woken by a furious pounding on the door. I glanced at my phone. It was almost noon. Fred had already left for work. To make extra money, he had taken a weekend job, spinning like a top with no days off. On the table was the breakfast he had made for me. Bang! Bang, bang! The knocking continued, as if someone was trying to break the door down. I hurried to open it and was met with Maya’s fiery, enraged eyes. “Anna! It’s the middle of the day!” Above her head floated a few shimmering golden words. “Hopeless Romantic.” It was fitting. Maya was indeed a hopeless romantic, with a vast and varied dating history. In high school, she fell for her tutor. During college orientation, she fell for her drill instructor. After graduation, it was a senior colleague at her internship. She even managed to fall in love with her personal trainer at the gym. She met Jason because he was a major client for her company. She worked at an ad agency, and her boss had put her in charge of a new project. Before the project made any headway, she and Jason were already a couple. 9 “Anna, you need to break up with Fred. Right now!” Maya stormed into the apartment without even taking off her shoes, planted herself on the sofa with her hands on her hips, and glared at me. “I told you not to date a poor man, but you wouldn’t listen! What are you keeping him around for? A man who needs a group deal coupon to eat out? For God’s sake, have some standards!” Her baseless tirade completely soured my good mood. My face hardened. “Maya, what happened yesterday was Jason’s fault, wasn’t it? He knew we’re just regular office workers. Why did he order such an expensive bottle of wine? Anyone with manners knows you don’t order the most expensive thing on the menu when someone else is treating. It’s basic etiquette.” Normally, when someone is treating you, you politely pick something moderately priced and let the host take the lead. But Jason? He ordered the most expensive items without a second thought for whether we could afford it. Maya rolled her eyes and sneered. “What are you trying to say, Anna? Jason was just being nice! He was afraid you country bumpkins wouldn’t know how to order in a fancy restaurant, so he did it for you! Instead of thanking him, you’re turning it around on him. You’re not just poor, you’re petty too!” I couldn’t stand her constant use of the word “poor.” What was wrong with being poor? We didn’t steal or cheat. We worked hard for our money. We had never taken a single penny from anyone. 10 She wasn’t always like this. Maya and I had been best friends since kindergarten. We were in the same class through elementary, middle, and high school. We only separated when we went to different colleges. When we were kids, my parents worked long hours and often weren’t home until late. Maya would always invite me over for dinner and share her secret stash of snacks with me. The Maya I remembered was warm, kind, and loyal. When had she become this person? “Alright, alright, stop with the long face,” she snapped. “You’re breaking up with Fred, and I’ve already found your next boyfriend for you. He’s a friend of Jason’s, a multimillionaire. Go change. You’re having lunch with him.” I almost laughed out loud. I was about to retort when the door opened and Jason walked in, a look of disdain on his face. “Maya, what’s taking so long? Mr. Liu will be here at eleven. We can’t keep him waiting.” Maya’s face instantly broke into a flirtatious smile. “Jason, what are you doing here? We’ll be ready in a minute.” She turned and glared at me. “What are you waiting for? Go get changed! Wear that white dress you wore for your birthday. You look good in that one.”

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After the school’s most popular girl rejected him, the resident bad boy, Ace, threw a tantrum in the middle of the classroom, making it rain cash to vent his frustration. A lot of kids scrambled to pick it up. My vision was blurry from hunger, so I joined in. But the moment I snatched a crisp bill from the floor, a translucent screen flickered into existence before my eyes. 【Who’s this extra? Doesn’t she know everyone picking up the money is the second male lead’s friend?】 【LOL, he’s just putting on a show for the female lead. He didn’t think anyone would actually take it seriously.】 I clutched the bill, my face burning with shame as I looked up. Sure enough, every eye in the room was on me. Just then, the popular girl, Alice, appeared at the classroom door. In a fit of pique, Ace shoved the rest of the cash into my hands. “From now on, my allowance is all yours.” 1 I stared dumbly at the wad of bills in my hand, barely registering Ace’s words. All I could think was that this was enough money to feed me for a very, very long time. Ever since my dad passed away and my mom remarried, I was the kid nobody wanted. My grandma had stepped up, taking on the burden of raising me. But she was old and frail, barely able to support herself, let alone the two of us. Lately, her vision had gotten worse, and the scrap materials she collected to sell were dwindling. To ease her burden, I rarely ate at school, often going home with a painfully empty stomach. Right now, I was more inclined to believe I was hallucinating from hunger. Ace must have been waiting for a response. He frowned slightly and reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The other students started hooting and catcalling. At the door, Alice saw the scene, turned on her heel, and walked away. 【Sigh, the female lead came back to give him another chance, but he had to pull this stunt.】 【If the second male lead gets the girl this early, what’s the male lead supposed to do?】 【Well, at least this little extra gets something out of it.】 It was then that I realized I was a cannon fodder character in a novel where the second male lead eventually wins the girl. Ace was acting out purely because his pride had been wounded. But none of that mattered to me. All I wanted was a full stomach. “Is this… all really for me?” I asked, my voice trembling. Ace waved a dismissive hand, his mind clearly elsewhere. “Take it. If it’s not enough, just ask for more.” “Thank you.” I clutched the money and walked back to my seat, my world completely changed. I immediately started calculating how to best use this windfall. Grandma’s diabetes medication had run out. If she didn’t get a refill, the complications would be serious. Her shoes had holes in them, and we were out of rice at home… After a quick mental calculation, I figured I’d have about three hundred dollars left for my own meals. I didn’t eat much, so it would have to last. At lunch, I ordered a bowl of plain noodles from the cafeteria. After a moment’s thought, I splurged on a marinated egg. I’d only taken a few bites when I heard someone mention Ace’s name. 2 “Yeah, over by the basketball court. Looks like a fight’s about to break out.” “Let’s go, let’s go! We can’t miss this!” I grabbed a classmate’s arm and asked what was happening. It turned out that right after rejecting Ace, Alice had started dating a notorious rich kid. Ace, furious, had gone to confront him. The pop-up screens had already given me the gist of the plot. Ace was the second male lead. He would only get his chance with the heroine after the main male lead had broken her heart. According to the current timeline, that was a long way off. Still, he had helped me. Worried he might get into trouble, I followed the crowd. From a distance, I could see Ace facing off against another guy. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife; a fight could start at any second. And, of course, that’s when Alice arrived. Without a word, she walked straight up to Ace and stood between him and the other boy. “Can you just stop it? I told you, I don’t like you.” A dark cloud passed over Ace’s eyes. Just as everyone was waiting to see him make a fool of himself, he looked up, and his gaze met mine. “Come here.” He crooked a finger at me. I didn’t understand, but I did as he said. He slung an arm around my shoulders and raised an eyebrow at Alice. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve already got someone I like.” Then he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Just play along. I’ll treat you to a feast later.” The word “feast” made my eyes light up. I could already see roast chicken, Peking duck, and grilled steak waving at me. Lost in a daydream of food, I completely missed the strange looks on everyone else’s faces. Seeing how close Ace and I were, Alice took the rich kid’s hand. “I hope so.” After the crowd dispersed, Ace let go of me, looking a little dejected. But I was too preoccupied with the unfinished bowl of noodles waiting for me in the cafeteria to notice. My stomach chose that moment to let out a loud, embarrassing grumble. Ace’s gaze dropped to my stomach, and he scratched his head. “Come on. Let’s go eat.” He was true to his word. He treated me to a real feast. I was so hungry that I stuffed my face, my cheeks puffed out like a squirrel’s. Ace stared at me, his eyes wide with shock. “Lily, how long has it been since you’ve eaten?” I counted on my fingers. “Not that long. I’ve only skipped lunch for about twenty days.” He looked even more shocked. “How are you still alive?” I swallowed the food in my mouth and sniffled. “You don’t actually need that much food to survive. Sometimes, a little porridge or just water is enough.” Ace suddenly fell silent. 3 After the meal, I looked at the plate of steamed ribs with taro, which was mostly untouched. I asked hesitantly, “Can… can I get this to go?” Ace blinked, then nodded. “Of course.” He probably sensed my awkwardness because he called the waiter over himself to pack it up for me. Outside the restaurant, I held the takeout box and said goodbye. “Thanks for the meal. It was delicious. If you ever have another opportunity like this, please think of me.” The corner of Ace’s mouth twitched. “Be careful on your way home,” he said. As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but smile. My world now had another good person in it. Besides my grandma, there was Ace. They were the only two people who had ever been willing to feed me. It felt so good to have a full stomach. But the pop-up screens were full of mockery. 【Does Lily really think Ace is interested in her?】 【Please, he’s the devoted second male lead. As soon as he graduates, he’s going to follow the female lead to the same university in the same city.】 【He wouldn’t have even noticed a cannon fodder character like Lily if he wasn’t trying to get the female lead’s attention.】 For a moment, I felt a pang of envy for Alice. She was from a good family, she was beautiful, and so many people liked her. Unlike me. I had nothing to offer. I wasn’t particularly smart or worldly, and no matter how hard I studied, I was always just stuck in the middle. Like most people, I was just ordinary, as common as dust. It fit the role of a cannon fodder character perfectly. But I wasn’t going to give up. Everyone has their own path to walk. I believed that one day, I would have a good life too. Just look at today. This morning, I was worried about how I would get through the day on an empty stomach, and now I was full. As for Ace, I had known from the start that he came from a powerful family. Whenever he got into trouble at school, a call from home would make it all go away. That’s why he could do whatever he wanted. He was never afraid to stand up for what he believed in. In three years of high school, almost no one dared to cross him. His only failure was Alice. How could I ever dare to have any other ideas about someone like him? 4 Thanks to Ace, I was able to buy my grandma’s medicine, and her vision improved a lot. I had it all planned out. When I got to college, I would work part-time while studying, so she wouldn’t have to work so hard. The final year of high school was intense. It seemed like my interactions with Ace had come to an end. Until the fifteenth of the next month, when he found me, looking mysterious. He pressed a stack of bills into my hand. “My allowance for this month. It’s for you.” I froze, vaguely remembering what he had said before. But we were practically strangers. I couldn’t just take his money because of something he said in a fit of anger. I tried to give it back. “I’d forgotten all about that. You don’t have to give me your money.” But Ace got agitated. “No way. I always keep my word.” He shoved the money back into my hand. “But if you give it all to me, what will you do?” He waved his hand grandly. “Don’t underestimate me. I’ve got a supplementary card from my dad that I can use anytime. You just take this.” He probably said it to stop me from refusing again, because he turned and left right after. “Ace…” I watched him go, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. A guy like him didn’t need to keep a promise like that to someone like me. Maybe he saw how poor I was and felt sorry for me. Whatever the reason, I was grateful. Without him, I would probably still be drooling over pictures of food in textbooks. I counted the money. It was a full five thousand dollars. More than my grandma and I lived on in a year. I didn’t dare to spend it recklessly. I put it all aside, only using it for daily necessities. After that, I was never hungry again. I ate in the cafeteria every day. With a full stomach, I had more energy, and even studying didn’t seem so tiring. But for the past few days, I hadn’t seen Ace. He skipped class sometimes, but never for this many days in a row. The pop-up screens appeared right on cue. 【See? Ace can’t get over the female lead. She just posted one selfie with the male lead, and Ace couldn’t take it. He’s been locked up in a hotel room ever since.】 【His family found out he’s been skipping school. To punish him, they’ve cut off his cards. He’s about to starve.】 【If he hadn’t given all his money to that Lily girl, he wouldn’t be penniless right now.】 How could this be happening? 5 Worried, I went to the hotel mentioned on the screen. And just my luck, I arrived just as Ace was being kicked out for not being able to pay. When he saw me, he tried to act cool. “The service at this hotel is terrible. I’m finding a new one.” “Ace,” I called out to him. “Why haven’t you been in school?” He grinned. “The knowledge is already in my head. School’s boring.” Then his tone shifted. “By the way, what are you doing here?” “Oh, I was just on my way home. This is on my way.” “Right. Well, you should get going then.” He waved at me. But I didn’t leave. “I know a new place that has really good durian pizza. Want to go try it?” Ace subconsciously touched his stomach. After a long pause, he nodded. I ordered two pizzas and pushed them both in front of him. He didn’t say anything, just started eating. He had very good manners, very refined. No wonder he was so shocked the first time he saw me eat. After a while, he stopped. He had just realized that I had been watching him the whole time. “Why aren’t you eating?” “I’m not hungry.” A flicker of sadness crossed his face. “Lily, you’re lying.” I froze. “I’m not. I’m really not hungry.” “You are. You can’t survive on just water and porridge. I only missed one meal, and I couldn’t stand it.” Oh, that’s what he was talking about. But it was true. A small amount of rice could make a large pot of porridge. It didn’t keep you full for long, but at least it filled your stomach. And you could buy a huge bundle of loose noodles for just a few dollars, enough to feed my grandma and me for days. As for nutritional value… for poor people, just being alive was enough. I fidgeted with the hem of my school uniform. “I guess I’m just used to it. I have a small stomach.” Ace looked at me and said, out of the blue, “I always wondered why everyone else’s uniform fits, but yours is so big.” “Lily, from now on, let’s both eat properly.” Yes. Eat properly. A full meal. That had always been my biggest dream. 6 Ace and I made a pact to eat together in the cafeteria every day. After a few times, I realized we were surprisingly compatible. He liked the yolks of eggs, and I liked the whites. In chicken curry, he would pick out all the potatoes, leaving me with all the chicken, which I loved. He liked the skins of dumplings but not the filling, so he would always push a bowl of filling over to me. I thought there couldn’t be a better eating companion in the world than Ace. At first, I asked him if he was doing it on purpose, just to be nice. But he denied it vehemently. “I’ve always eaten like this. Can’t a guy have his own quirks?” Of course, he could. Just like I’ve always loved meat. When my dad was still alive, I had a few happy years. There was always more meat than vegetables on our dinner table. Then he got sick, and all our money went to his medical bills. Even then, my mom would at least make sure I had one meat dish. But he still passed away. A couple of years later, my mom found someone new. She promised she would come back for me once she was settled. But I waited and waited, and all I got was the news that she had a new son. Those happy times were gone forever. Before I met Ace, I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten meat. Now, because of him, I had actually gained a little weight. My grandma noticed, but every time she asked, I just said I earned the money by doing homework for my classmates. She didn’t know much about kids these days, so she believed whatever I said. After lunch, Ace and I were about to head back when we ran into Alice. She was alone. 7 【Sigh, the female lead just had a fight with the male lead. She’s already in a bad mood, and now she sees Ace laughing with someone else. She must be even more upset.】 【The female lead actually likes Ace too, she just can’t handle being with two guys at once.】 【Ace, hurry up and comfort her! In the end, you’re the one she chooses!】 I watched the screens dispassionately as Alice walked up to us. She looked up, her eyes glistening with tears. “Ace, can we talk?” It had been a while since Ace’s failed confession. I didn’t expect Alice to seek him out herself. He must be so happy. I couldn’t help but look at his expression. But he was looking at me. He probably felt bad about just leaving me. “Go ahead,” I said quickly. “I’ll head back to class.” “Lily!” Ace said through gritted teeth. “I thought we were going to get bubble tea.” At a time like this, how could he still be thinking about bubble tea? Even I, who had never been in a relationship, knew that this was the moment to seize the opportunity and win Alice over from the male lead. Girlfriend or bubble tea? It shouldn’t be a difficult choice. I gave him a look that said, you idiot. “But Alice came all this way to find you. Maybe you two had a misunderstanding. This is the perfect chance to clear the air.” I thought I had been obvious enough. But Ace seemed to not get it. He put his arm around me again, right in front of Alice. “Sorry, I don’t think we have anything to talk about.” At his words, a tear rolled down Alice’s cheek. She looked at his hand on my shoulder, her expression full of hurt. “But you said you would always like me, whether I liked you back or not. I don’t believe you’ve moved on this quickly. You’re still mad at me, aren’t you? How long are you going to keep this up?” 【LOL, the female lead sees right through him.】 【The second male lead is just putting on a tough act. He’s dying on the inside, but he has to pretend he doesn’t care.】 【It’s fine, a little drama makes it spicier. When they finally get together, it’ll be so good.】 Ace’s hand on my shoulder tightened. I winced but didn’t say anything. He still cared about her, but his words were merciless. “I told you, don’t flatter yourself. You had the right to reject me, and I have the right to move on. Alice, since you’ve already chosen someone else, you shouldn’t come back with regrets.”

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My stepbrother kicked me out because of my skin hunger. By a twist of fate, I ended up with an elite hacker for a roommate. He was a man of few words, but a master in the kitchen. Life was deceptively calm, until one night, as I was savoring a dessert he’d made, a few lines of text flickered into existence before my eyes. [RUN! He’s a total psycho, the possessive kind. He’s got a pair of shiny handcuffs hidden under his pillow!] [He’s obsessed, constantly thinking about how to chain you to his bed forever!] [You silly girl, still eating? Once he’s done feeding you, it’ll be your turn to feed him!] And just as they warned, deep in the night, a pair of ice-cold lips pressed against mine. But instead of fear, a shiver of pure, exhilarating excitement coursed through me. 1 Before Mom and my stepfather left for their round-the-world trip, they told Andrew to take care of me. My skin hunger was acting up again, making every night an agony. To cope, I’d take scalding hot showers, one after another, until my skin was flushed raw. Hearing the water running in the bathroom yet again, Andrew knocked on the door. His voice was laced with impatience. “Elara, how many showers are you going to take? Are you that filthy?” I shut off the faucet, my voice laced with guilt. “I… I just don’t feel well.” My skin was screaming, a desperate ache for contact, for closeness. The hot water was a temporary balm, but it was never enough. Andrew’s voice deepened. “What’s wrong with you?” Wrapping a towel around myself, I opened the door. He stared at my crimson skin, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. “Are you trying to boil yourself alive?” My cheeks flushed, my eyes glistening. “The hot water on my skin… it feels good.” “This isn’t right,” he said, tearing his gaze away. “Don’t do this again.” I caught a fleeting glimpse of red creeping up the tips of his ears. As Andrew turned to leave, I grabbed his arm. “Andrew, don’t go. Can you…” I bit my lip, the words catching in my throat, too shameful to speak aloud. He stopped, his eyes fixed on my hand clutching his arm. “Can I what?” “Can you… just hold me?” The last three words were barely a whisper. I thought he hadn’t heard me. He stood silent for a full thirty seconds before finally speaking, his voice cool and distant. “Elara, I’m your brother now. You need to respect that boundary.” Summoning a scrap of courage, I argued, “But we’re not related by blood.” My voice grew bolder. “Besides, we used to hug all the time when we were dating, remember?” “Mom and Dad aren’t even home. Just… please, just hold me.” My plea became desperate. “My skin hunger is flaring up, and it really, really hurts…” Andrew cut me off. “Skin hunger? Elara, I think you’re delusional.” His tone was stern, self-righteous. “There is no chance of us getting back together. Stop using such a pathetic excuse to try and trick me.” I froze. My hand dropped from his arm. “Okay,” I said, the single word heavy with defeat. “I get it.” 2 Andrew and I dated in college. After we broke up, my mom married his dad. Just like that, we became step-siblings on paper. But it wasn’t a legal tie; we were family in name only. We’d made a silent pact to never speak of our short-lived, youthful romance. A year ago, Andrew had actually asked if I wanted to get back together. I turned him down. I had a thing for the possessive, obsessive types. He wasn’t one of them. Back then, I’d used his own logic against him. “Andrew, I’m your sister. There’s no chance of us getting back together.” I never thought he’d throw those exact words back in my face. After graduation, Andrew started working at his family’s company, Hayes Corporation. I’d heard from my mom that he was getting very close to his secretary, a woman named Isabella. Maybe that was it. He had someone new, so he didn’t want my touch. Or maybe our past relationship had left a scar on him. I closed the bathroom door and turned the shower back on, cranking the heat to its maximum. But before the water could even hit my skin, it sputtered and died. Andrew had shut off the main valve. His voice came from outside, cold as ice. “From now on, one shower a day. If you try for more, I’ll turn off the water.” The craving was unbearable. That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to find a moment’s peace. Andrew’s room was right next to mine. A text from him lit up my phone: [Can you stop making so much noise? If you keep this up, you can just move out.] I stared at the message for a moment, then typed back: [Fine. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.] 3 I found a two-bedroom apartment online, a ground-floor unit with a small garden. My roommate was a twenty-five-year-old man named Caleb. We lived together peacefully for two weeks, gradually falling into a comfortable routine. He was handsome in a quiet, brooding way, but he often cooked and would invite me to eat with him. Then came tonight. I was eating a slice of tiramisu he’d made when the text appeared out of thin air. [RUN! He’s a possessive freak. He’s got a pair of shiny handcuffs under his pillow.] [He fantasizes about chaining you to his bed every single night.] [Still eating? Once you’re full, it’s your turn to feed him.] I shot a covert glance at Caleb, unable to believe what I was seeing. Had I actually stumbled upon a real-life obsessive? A devastatingly handsome one with a perfect body, at that? A thrill, sharp and intoxicating, shot through me. The real reason Andrew and I broke up was because he thought I was a pervert. I’d told him countless times, “I want you to lock me up. Can’t you just buy a pair of handcuffs?” He would just stare at me in horror. “Elara, are you sick?” Yes, I was. Once, we got stuck in an elevator together. While he was calmly trying to time the rescue, a dark thought bloomed in my mind: I want to be stuck in here with him for a little longer. If the rescuers never came, we could die together. That thought terrified him. He broke up with me soon after. I didn’t fight it; his possessive streak was far too weak for my taste. Snapping back to the present, I pushed the last bite of tiramisu into my mouth. I smiled at Caleb. “I tend to take long showers. If you’re in a hurry, you can go first.” “No need,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “I’m not in a rush. You go ahead.” “Oh, okay. Thanks.” I stood up and went to my room to grab my towel. The moment the door clicked shut, another comment flashed before my eyes. [You should peek through the crack in the door. You won’t believe what Caleb is doing right now.] My hand froze on the doorknob. Through the narrow gap I’d left, I peered back into the living room. Caleb was sitting where I’d left him. He dipped a finger into the swirl of leftover cream on the plate, brought it to his lips, and slowly licked it clean. As he looked up, his eyes—dark and intense—met mine. In their depths, I saw a flicker of raw, hidden excitement. He was like a panther, sleek and predatory. I quickly shut the door, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I couldn’t calm down. Every time Caleb made tiramisu, he’d watch me eat it without ever taking a bite himself. I never imagined he would lick the cream I’d left behind. It was so twisted. I loved it. 4 Towel and nightgown in hand, I walked out of my room. As I passed the living room, I saw Caleb in the kitchen, washing the dessert plate. His back was to me, his frame tall and lean. The handsome face, which had held such a dark intensity moments before, was now back to its usual cool indifference. It was like the man who’d licked my leftover cream was a different person entirely. I slipped into the bathroom, and as the door closed, more comments appeared. [Do you know why he always waits for you to finish showering before he goes in?] [Because he takes the clothes you leave behind and…] [You have skin hunger. He has an addiction.] [You two are a match made in heaven. Or hell.] My face burned. No way. That was too depraved. Could it get even more depraved? Another comment popped up: [His phone is filled with hundreds of your selfies, by the way.] I stopped dead. What? Where would he get my selfies? [He’s an elite hacker. Every move you make, he knows.] [He can break into your phone in seconds. He’s backed up your entire photo album.] [He knows your search history, too.] [Okay, this is getting terrifying. I think you should seriously run.] The more I read, the more excited I became. What others found terrifying, I found absolutely thrilling. I was a pervert, after all. My most frequent searches were things like: [What’s it like to date an obsessive man?] [How to relieve skin hunger?] [I keep dreaming about being tied up, what does it mean?] [How to get an obsessive man’s attention?] If Caleb could get into my phone, did that mean he knew I was into men like him? Did he know about my skin hunger? [Of course he does. Even the rental ad you found was a carefully laid trap he set just for you.] [He’s been obsessed with you for a very long time.] [Do you have any idea what he’s been through these last few years?] [He whispers your name in his sleep every single night.] Wow. I liked him even more now. In the shower, I turned the water temperature as high as I could stand it. The skin hunger was back with a vengeance, and the heat alone wasn’t cutting it. I wanted… I wanted to be close to Caleb. The thought of the handcuffs under his pillow sent another jolt of excitement through me. I wondered what it would be like, for someone with skin hunger and someone with an addiction to get together. [You two probably wouldn’t leave the house for a week.] [You’re a fish gasping for water, and he’s your ocean.] [He’ll never let you go thirsty. Whatever you want, he’ll give you more than enough.] As the steam filled the air, a soft moan escaped my lips. “Mmm…” From just outside the door, Caleb’s deep, husky voice rumbled, “Miss Collins? Do you need any help?” 5 My skin finally adjusted to the searing heat, and a sense of calm washed over me. “Could you grab a face mask for me? It’s on the vanity in my room.” “Of course,” Caleb replied, and I heard his footsteps heading toward my bedroom. The comments flared up again: [Elara deliberately left her bra hanging on the vanity chair. Caleb will see it the second he walks in.] [She’s totally teasing him.] [Caleb’s about to have a nosebleed.] Two minutes later, Caleb knocked on the bathroom door, mask in hand. I opened the door just a crack, hiding behind it as I reached out for the mask. I deliberately let my fingers brush against his. I heard the distinct sound of Caleb swallowing hard. The comments were relentless: [Tsk, what a flirt.] [He just managed to calm himself down, and you’ve gone and lit his fuse all over again.] After my shower, I went back to my room and tossed my clothes into the laundry basket, except for one thing. I purposefully left a small camisole I’d worn hanging in the bathroom. As soon as Caleb went in to take his shower, the comments started. [You’re so calculating. He loves the camisole you left for him.] [Are you going to go eavesdrop?] It was like the comments could read my mind. I was dying to listen in. But I had to resist. I managed to hold out for half an hour before I finally caved. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I pressed my ear against the door. Through the sound of running water, I could hear a faint, strained gasp. I listened, captivated, for another ten minutes. Just as I was getting completely lost in the moment, the door suddenly swung open. I stumbled forward, right into a cold, hard chest. Contact. The sensation was incredible. Caleb had been taking a cold shower. He had a towel wrapped low on his hips, his torso still slick with water droplets that traced paths down the sharp lines of his abs. I looked up, and his handsome face was so close I could feel his breath on my skin. It was intoxicating. I had no desire to pull away. I stayed pressed against him, stammering an excuse. “I… I wasn’t trying to… I just came to get my camisole.” The camisole in question was clutched tightly in his hand. He quickly tried to hide it behind his back, a flush of red coloring his ears. “It got… dirty. I’ll wash it and give it back to you.” “Oh, okay.” I still wanted to be closer. My mind raced for a reason. “Caleb, I think I’m running a fever. I feel a little dizzy.” Caleb set the camisole aside and gently placed the back of his hand on my forehead. “You’re burning up. Can you walk?” My legs felt like jelly. “I don’t think so…” The next thing I knew, he had swept me up into his arms and was carrying me toward my room. It was only a few steps, but I couldn’t stop myself from snuggling deeper into his embrace. My scorching skin against his cool flesh was pure bliss. I wanted to stay like this forever. He gently laid me down on my bed and placed a thermometer in my mouth. “I’m going to get dressed. I’ll be back in five minutes to check your temperature.” “Okay,” I murmured, knowing full well I wasn’t sick. This was my skin hunger, and only one thing could cure it. 6 That night, long after I’d fallen asleep, I felt someone kissing me. I recognized Caleb’s unique scent. I’d seen the cologne bottle in his bathroom—Shadowfall, it was called. I’d even secretly dabbed some on myself once. The top note was like icy pine from a remote glacier, cool and distant, but the base note was a primal, intoxicating blend of wilderness and sharp edges, whispering of intense possession and fatal attraction. He kissed me so carefully, so reverently. I trembled with excitement, fighting the urge to respond. Being kissed in secret like this… it was its own kind of thrill. I stayed perfectly still, letting him do as he pleased. When he paused, I deliberately mumbled in my sleep, “More…” Caleb froze for a second, then lowered his head and left a dark, possessive mark on my collarbone. The next morning, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring. My fingertips traced the love bite on my collarbone just as Caleb emerged from his room. His gaze instantly locked onto the mark, and his cool, calm eyes seemed to ignite with a hidden fire. I picked up his bottle of Shadowfall, turned, and leaned languidly against the edge of the sink. “Can I borrow your cologne?” I asked. His throat worked. “Sure.” Right in front of him, I spritzed the cologne onto my wrist, then slowly rubbed it over the mark on my collarbone. His ears turned a shade of crimson. I wondered if he was remembering last night. “I had the weirdest dream last night,” I said nonchalantly. “Felt like a ghost was pinning me down.” A comment flickered into view: [He’s waiting for you to call him out, and you’re playing dumb?] Calling him out would spoil the fun. The most skilled hunters often disguise themselves as prey. Caleb’s voice was laced with a deeper meaning. “And were you scared?” A slow smile spread across my lips. “Not at all. The ghost was actually quite handsome. I hope he comes back tonight.” 7 That night, after I was asleep, Caleb came again. He kissed every inch of my skin, soothing the relentless craving. My skin hunger was finally sated. A new comment appeared: [Well, you’re satisfied, but he’s holding back so much it’s killing him.] [An obsessive man can’t handle being teased. Every night after leaving your room, he has to take another cold shower.] For several nights in a row, he came to my room, his secret touches the only cure for my affliction. I never let on that I knew, and with each passing day, I found myself anticipating the night’s arrival more and more. But one night, he didn’t come. I was tormented by my skin hunger, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. The comments began to egg me on: [If he won’t come to you, why don’t you go to him?] [He’s fast asleep right now. You can do whatever you want.] [It’s only fair, right? A little give and take.] I couldn’t resist the temptation. I slipped out of my room and crept to Caleb’s door. It was slightly ajar. Peeking through the crack, I saw him lying in bed, fast asleep. I slowly pushed the door open and tiptoed to his bedside, studying his handsome, sleeping face. He looked so refined, so self-contained. It was hard to reconcile this image with the man who secretly kissed me in the dark. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his. He was like an exquisite dessert, and with every taste, I became more addicted. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy my craving. I wanted more. My hand slipped under the covers, my fingertips brushing against the hard planes of his abs. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I swallowed hard, the need for contact becoming an urgent, desperate ache. I was on the verge of tears from the sheer intensity of it. Suddenly, a large hand clamped down on my wrist. Caleb’s eyes snapped open. “I… I…” I tried to pull my hand back, scrambling for an explanation. But he simply pulled me down into his arms, his other hand stroking my back. His voice was a low, rough murmur in my ear. “You’re wearing my cologne again, aren’t you?” A shiver ran down my spine. “Yes,” I whispered. “It smells so good…” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You’re hurting, aren’t you? Do you want me to help?” I couldn’t hold back any longer. My eyes glistening, I looked up at him. “I do.”

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After successfully completing the mission, I returned to my original world. I woke up from a coma. My children, now grown, were gathered around my hospital bed. My husband pulled me into a tight embrace. My parents and mother-in-law were crying tears of joy. Just as I was about to dismiss the System and choose to stay in my world, a woman who looked almost identical to me pushed the door open. My son and daughter rushed to her, clinging to her affectionately and calling her “Mommy.” Everyone looked at me, their faces a mask of awkwardness. The woman shot me a triumphant smirk. I put the System on hold. “I need to reconsider whether I want to stay here.” 1 My children clutched Claire’s skirt, their eyes wary as they stared at me. It was as if I were some kind of monster. I clenched the thin hospital blanket, a sharp pain blooming in my chest. My husband, Liam, squeezed my shoulder, his grip tightening. I looked around at the others. Just moments before, they had been chattering excitedly about installing a new emergency alert system on my phone. Clearly, they hadn’t expected Claire to walk in. “Eliza,” my mother began, her voice strained with embarrassment, “Claire has been taking care of us while you were… unconscious. We were going to introduce you two properly when we got home.” My mother-in-law chimed in. “Yes, and now that you’re awake, you two should get along. Don’t cause any trouble for us, alright?” Claire smiled and walked toward my bed, her eyes glinting with a challenge. I remained silent, telling the System in my mind, “I’ll give you my answer in a couple of days.” The System sighed softly and went quiet in my head. Seeing that I was ignoring her, Claire’s eyes reddened. A tear traced a path down her cheek as she forced a pitiful smile. “I was being too impulsive. It’s only natural for my sister to hate me. I should go…” She didn’t give anyone a chance to react, turning and walking out. My mother-in-law stamped her foot in frustration and hurried after her. Liam instinctively stood up to follow, but his eyes met mine and he froze, sinking back into his chair. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. “Don’t overthink this,” he whispered, just as he always used to. “You’re the only one for me.” My daughter, Chloe, ran out after Claire. My son, Leo, shot me a look of pure hatred before slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I didn’t understand. My two adorable little babies… how had they turned into this? Seeing my silence, my parents excused themselves to handle my discharge papers. Soon, I was being wheeled out of the hospital. But as the car pulled away, I realized we weren’t heading home. “Dad,” I asked, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach. “If I remember correctly, this isn’t the way home.” My father’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He forced a laugh. “Our Eliza’s memory is as sharp as ever.” He took a long, winding route, eventually pulling up to our house. I hadn’t understood his strange detour, but the moment I stepped inside, it all became brutally clear. The large family portrait that used to hang in the entryway was gone. In its place was a new one—of them, with Claire. I stared at the photo, stunned, then rushed upstairs and threw open the door to my old bedroom. Of course. Claire had taken over my room, redecorating it completely. It was now unrecognizable. My chest heaved. Through the doorway, I could see her, sitting on my bed, reading a bedtime story to my son. A bitter, mocking laugh escaped my lips. For five years, I had worked tirelessly, completing every mission the System threw at me, all for this moment—to be reunited with my family. And now I knew the truth. There was no place for me here anymore. “You were going to take me somewhere else at first, weren’t you?” I stared at the man who had once been my doting father. He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. “I’ll get a room ready for you right now, Eliza. This will always be your home.” As he spoke, Claire’s eyes welled up with tears again. She silently stood up and started gathering her things. But Leo stopped her. When no one was looking, he launched himself at me, shoving me to the ground. He grabbed whatever he could find and started throwing it at me, screaming. “You came back and now you’re bullying my mommy! You’re a bad woman!” “Get out!” “Get out of my house!” I stared at the snarling, unfamiliar child in front of me, completely frozen. 2 Everyone was shocked by Leo’s outburst. Liam grabbed his arm, his brow furrowed in anger. “Leo! What do you think you’re doing?” But Leo just sobbed, continuing to scream at me. The commotion woke Chloe, who started crying loudly. Claire held her, tears streaming down her own face. “Stop it, everyone, please stop! It’s all my fault. I’ll leave, okay? I’ll just leave!” She made a move to walk out. That’s when my mother spoke, her voice sharp. “Everyone, be quiet!” She turned to Claire. “Claire, you’re not going anywhere. You can keep this room.” My breath hitched. I looked at my mother, who was now frowning at me. “Eliza, I’ll have the entire third floor cleared out for you tomorrow. For tonight, you can sleep in the guest room.” She sighed. “Just let’s have some peace and quiet.” Her words brought back a distant memory. I was a little girl, asking her, “Mommy, this is the master bedroom. Why don’t you and Daddy sleep here? Why is it my room?” Back then, my mother had hugged me, her smile full of warmth. “Because this room holds all our best wishes for you, my sweet girl. We want our Eliza to be happy forever.” Thinking of that, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I turned my head, quickly wiping them away before walking out of the room. My mother opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. Back in the guest room, I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow and letting out all the sobs I had suppressed. Suddenly, a warm embrace enveloped me. Liam pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, stroking my hair. “What are we going to do if your eyes are all swollen tomorrow, honey?” he murmured, sighing. I looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. He smiled softly. I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, his shirt was soaked through with my tears. Embarrassed, I rubbed my eyes. “You should go take a shower.” Liam hugged me tightly one last time before grabbing his phone and heading into the bathroom. I expected him to be quick. He usually took less than ten minutes. But this time, the sound of the water went on and on, until I drifted off to sleep. I was woken later by the soft click of the door. I opened my eyes and saw Liam’s phone, which he’d left on the pillow next to me, light up. Claire’s name flashed on the screen. “Waiting for you. 😉 ” My heart skipped a beat. I grabbed the phone, my hands trembling, but when I tried to unlock it, the password was wrong. Liam’s password had always been my birthday. Now… I tried my birthday again, then his, then the kids’. Nothing worked. Then I remembered the birthday he had saved in Claire’s contact information. I typed it in. The phone unlocked. A cold dread washed over me. I opened their chat history. In the hour that Liam had been in the bathroom, he had been on a video call with Claire. The phone slipped from my grasp. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, willing myself not to cry. After a long moment, I got up and walked to Claire’s room. The door was ajar. Through the crack, I saw Claire’s arm linked with Liam’s. She was smiling, leaning in to give him a tender kiss. And Liam… he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her back, with even more passion. 3 I stood outside the door, forcing myself to watch the scene unfold. It was a form of self-torture. I stayed there until my legs gave out and I slid to the floor. A soft noise from the kitchen drew my attention. I turned to see my seven-year-old daughter, Chloe, standing on a stool, clumsily stirring something in a pot. Worried she might get hurt, I went over to her. She was muttering to herself. “Mommy doesn’t like cilantro, no onions…” She carefully lifted the pot off the stove like a little adult, and for a moment, my heart softened. But when she turned and saw me, her expression soured. “What are you doing here, you mean woman?” Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. The “Mommy” she was talking about was Claire. My lips trembled. “Chloe, I’m your mother. How could you…” “You’re not my mother!” she screamed. She shoved me aside and carried the hot soup towards Claire’s room. I stumbled back, my spine slamming into the sharp corner of the counter. The pain was excruciating. I found myself back at Claire’s door. Chloe was carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup before offering it to Claire. Claire praised her with a smile, and Liam pulled Chloe into his lap, chuckling. “Our little Chloe knows how to take care of her mommy better than her brother does.” I stood in the hallway, an unwanted ghost watching a happy family that wasn’t mine. My eyes burned with unshed tears. I turned and walked away. The next morning, Liam woke me with his customary good-morning kiss. I turned my head, avoiding it. He paused, then took my hand and led me to the dining table. But my seat was gone. Claire was sitting in my usual spot, a smug smile on her face. Liam looked flustered for a moment before guiding me to his own chair. “Uh…” The housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, spoke up hesitantly. “I didn’t prepare a portion for Miss Claire…” Everyone froze. My mother looked confused. “Claire, didn’t you tell her?” “Oh!” Claire exclaimed, feigning surprise. “I… I slept so late last night, and I was in such a rush this morning, I completely forgot to tell Mrs. Gable… I can give my portion to Eliza…” My mother-in-law placed a hand on hers. “You sit right there.” My father agreed. “You need to eat. You’re too thin as it is.” I felt invisible, a spectator to their harmonious family dynamic. My hands, hidden at my sides, curled into tight fists. My mother sighed and asked Mrs. Gable to prepare another meal. Then she took my hand and started talking about a welcome-home party. “You’re finally awake, so we’re throwing a party for you. Liam will take you to pick out a dress later.” I gently pulled my hand away, nodding silently. I looked at my mother’s face, a question forming in my mind. Do I really want to stay here? 4 At the party, my father was busy introducing Claire to all his business partners and old friends. I started to walk over, but my mother stopped me. “Your father is introducing Claire as his successor,” she whispered, giving me a pointed look. “It’s better if you don’t go over there. We’ll give you shares in the company later, you can live off the dividends.” I froze. “But you always said I would…” “That was before,” she interrupted, her grip on my hand tightening as if to prevent me from causing a scene. “Just be good, Eliza.” She led me to a quiet corner, leaving me there in a daze. My attention was suddenly caught by a familiar figure across the room. It was Liam. The same Liam who had promised me he would never drink again was now smiling, downing glass after glass of champagne as he intercepted drinks meant for Claire. He had a bad stomach. I remembered the time he was rushed to the hospital with severe cramps, and I had cried myself sick with worry. He promised me then that he would quit drinking. His friends even teased him for being so whipped. I watched him drink, one glass after another. Soon, his face grew pale, and he clutched his stomach. Forgetting everything else, I rushed to his side and grabbed his arm. “Have you forgotten everything you promised me?” He looked at my worried face, a flicker of guilt and gratitude in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Eliza, I…” “Don’t talk.” I took a deep breath, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone as I helped him out of the venue. By the time we reached the hospital, he had passed out. The doctor put him on an IV drip. I was about to go pay the bill when Liam grabbed my wrist. “Don’t go…” he mumbled. I couldn’t help but smile. I leaned down to soothe him, but then he whispered a name that wasn’t mine. “Don’t go, Claire.” In that instant, it felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I stood there, paralyzed, a crushing weight squeezing my heart. I pried his fingers from my wrist, paid the bill, and drove straight home. “Claire is pregnant now. We can’t let her get an abortion!” My hand was on the doorknob when I heard my mother-in-law’s voice from inside. “Maybe Liam should just divorce Eliza and marry Claire.” She was seeking my parents’ approval. My mother sighed. “I suppose… If Eliza gets divorced, she’ll still have us. But Claire is all alone. It might be for the best if she marries Liam.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Inside that room, they were deciding my fate in a few casual sentences. I stood there, frozen, until a soft laugh came from behind me. “Eliza, what was the point of you waking up?” I turned to see Claire, a taunting look in her eyes. “In the end, I still replaced you, didn’t I?” I forced myself to stand tall. “A replacement is always just a replacement. How long do you think this stolen happiness of yours will last?” My words seemed to strike a nerve. Her face changed. “We’ll see whose happiness it is in the end!” she spat back. With that, she grabbed my hand, and with a sudden, violent shove, she threw herself backward. A scream echoed through the hall as she tumbled down the stairs. Blood began to pool between her legs. The conversation inside stopped. The door flew open, and the three of them rushed out to see Claire lying at the bottom of the stairs in a bloody mess. SLAP. My father’s hand connected with my cheek, the force of the blow sending me staggering. My mother-in-law shoved me, and I fell to the ground. “What have you done?!” my father roared, pointing a trembling finger at me. I opened my mouth to explain, but they didn’t give me the chance. My mother’s voice was cold and sharp. “If anything happens to Claire, you don’t have to bother coming back to this house ever again!” Tears streamed down my face. I watched my father scoop Claire into his arms and rush her to the car. My mother and mother-in-law followed without giving me a second glance. Something inside me snapped. I don’t know how long I sat there as the wind and rain began to whip around me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “System,” I said, my voice hollow. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. I want to go back to the mission world.” Of course. Here is the remainder of the translation, continuing directly from where the previous part ended.

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After the divorce, Adrian Grint and I were supposed to be done with each other. A clean break. He got engaged to his childhood sweetheart, and our son, Leo, finally got the new mother he’d always wanted. I moved out, ready to start a new life. Then, one day, my best friend sent me a viral video. A family of three, skiing in the Swiss Alps, caught in an avalanche. The mother bolted, leaving the father and son to be swallowed by a tidal wave of snow. When the blizzard of white settled, the two figures left behind, their faces as dark as thunderclouds, were none other than my ex-husband and my son. My friend’s laughter crackled through the phone. “So that’s Adrian’s one true love? I could die laughing.” 1 “Everyone thought she was the one, but she just couldn’t stick the landing. One step away from marrying into a fortune, and now Maggie’s future is looking… precarious.” Emma was on a video call while I was in the kitchen, carefully crafting a mousse cake for Ivy. The rich, tempting aroma of chocolate filled the living room, a sweet scent that always lifted my spirits. Through the phone, Emma’s voice dripped with undisguised schadenfreude. My divorce from Adrian had been messy. The whole city of Aurelia knew he’d left me to be with his decade-long flame, the supposed love of his life—Maggie. “And your little traitor of a son, landing a stepmom like that? Well, his future just got a whole lot more interesting,” she added. Ever since the divorce, Emma had taken to calling Leo “your little traitor.” Honestly, I didn’t care much about what happened to them anymore. To me, they were just strangers. 2 After finishing the cake, I tapped on the video. It was eerily similar to a scene from a disaster movie. An outdoor restaurant nestled at the foot of a snow-capped mountain. Tourists were leisurely enjoying their breakfast when, in the distance, a wall of white began to tumble down. Chaos erupted. One second, Maggie was tenderly cutting a steak for Adrian and Leo, the perfect picture of a loving mother. The next, her face went pale, a terrified shriek escaping her lips as she flung her fork down and ran for her life. The fork even ricocheted off Adrian’s face, poking him near the eye. He cried out, clutching his face, unable to move. Leo, trapped behind him at the table, was stuck. As the avalanche thundered closer, a torrent of white death, pure, unadulterated terror washed over his small, pale face. His voice, thick with tears, screamed in Maggie’s direction. “Mommy, save me!” But the only answer he received was the cacophony of panicked screams that filled the air. As it turned out, it was a false alarm. The avalanche stopped short of the restaurant. When the snow dust settled, the camera zoomed in on the father and son, their faces a mask of stunned fury, blacker than the bottom of a burnt pot. 3 The video was everywhere, and the comment section was on fire. [LOL, so art really does imitate life. And life is way more messed up.] [When disaster strikes, the mother ditches her husband and kid to save herself. Classy.] [Can we get a camera on the son’s face? I need to see the therapy bills racking up in real-time.] [I give this marriage six months, tops.] [UPDATE: Sleuths in another thread figured it out. She’s the fiancée, and the kid is his stepson.] [Ohhhhh, that makes a twisted kind of sense.] [I knew it! No real mom would ever do that. I mean, maybe the husband isn’t your blood, but your own son?!] [Wait, she still ditched her future stepson at the first sign of trouble. What kind of person does that?] 4 “And that, my friend, is the difference between a real mom and a stepmom,” Emma said, her voice softening with memory. “Remember that time we were at that mountain lodge? When you shielded Leo from that dog and almost got your arm ripped off, but you never let go.” She was right. Two years ago, her little princess, Sophie, had wanted to see the great outdoors, and Leo had begged to go along. So, a few of us moms packed up the kids for a spontaneous trip to the Rockies. While we were hiking near a remote cabin, a massive, snarling dog—some kind of Caucasian Shepherd—broke loose and charged our group. The beast, as tall as a man when it reared up, was on Leo in a heartbeat. My own heart stopped. There was no time to think. I launched myself forward, wrapping my body around my son. The dog’s teeth sank into my arm. The other adults screamed, their faces white with horror, and the children were wailing. Thankfully, the owner heard the commotion and came running. It was winter, and my thick coat had saved me from the worst of it, but my arm was still a bloody mess. When I took off the jacket, I saw the deep, gruesome puncture wounds. They eventually healed, but the scars remained. I remember once, I rolled up my sleeves, and Leo saw them. The look of disgust on his face is burned into my memory. “Mom, your arm is so ugly,” he’d said. “Maggie’s arms are perfect and smooth. No wonder Daddy loves her.” I knew. It wasn’t just his dad who loved her. He did, too. Back then, Leo’s greatest wish was to trade me in for a new mom, for the beautiful, perfect Maggie to be his mother instead. In the end, he got his wish. And it was around then that I stopped expecting anything from either of them. 5 The long weekend ended. On Monday, I drove Ivy to school. At the school gates, I handed her the lunchbox I’d prepared, filled with a fresh fruit platter and a slice of the mousse cake. “I packed a lot, so remember to share with your new friends at lunch,” I reminded her gently. Ivy had just started first grade at this prestigious prep school and was still settling in. She stood on her tiptoes and planted a sweet kiss on my cheek. “I will, Aunt Stella. I’ll share!” “Bye, Aunt Stella!” I kissed her forehead. “Bye, sweetie.” I watched her small figure disappear into the school building before turning to leave. “I heard you’re working as a nanny now.” A voice laced with scorn cut through the air. “Figures. Without my dad, you’re nothing.” I turned. Leo was getting out of a black Rolls-Royce, a sneer plastered on his face. I’d almost forgotten he went to the same school. He was my son, yes, but at that moment, he felt no different to me than any of the strangers brushing past me on the sidewalk. I didn’t even want to waste my breath on a reply. I simply started to walk away. “You’re living so close to us,” he called after me. “Don’t tell me you’re still hoping to get back with my dad.” Leo always knew how to twist the knife. He was only eight, but he’d long since mastered the art of psychological warfare. I stopped and turned to face the small boy. The boy I had poured my youth, my love, my entire being into raising. Now, we stood on opposite sides of a chasm, ice and fire, looking at each other with mutual disdain. “Relax,” I said, my voice calm. “I have zero interest in your father. By the way, I heard you all went skiing in the Alps. How was it? Fun?” I knew exactly which buttons to push. A flash of angry humiliation crossed his face. I gave him a cool, placid smile and walked away. 6 “Was that your son?” The voice, cool and sharp, came from the back seat as soon as I got in the car. I straightened up instantly, clicking my seatbelt into place. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of Ethan Holt. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, his handsome face set in a frown, his brow furrowed. His gaze met mine in the mirror, waiting for an answer. Under that weight, I could only manage a quiet, “Yes.” A short, sharp sigh escaped his nose. “Stella Song, your life is a tragedy. A husband and a son cut from the same treacherous cloth.” He was my employer now. I couldn’t argue. Besides, he wasn’t wrong. Then, as if remembering a crucial detail, I added weakly, “Ex-husband.” 7 I had lived with the Holts for three years when I was younger, so Ethan and I knew each other well. Ivy was the daughter of his sister, Eliza. And Eliza had been my dearest friend. Six months ago, Eliza was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer and insisted on returning home from abroad. Ethan brought her back, along with a world-class medical team, but it wasn’t enough to save her. In her final moments, Eliza gripped my hand, entrusting her daughter, Ivy, to me. She made me promise to raise Ivy as my own, to be there for her as she grew up. We met when we were twelve, were separated at eighteen, and at twenty-nine, she was gone. After that day, I moved into the Holt residence to take care of Ivy. The house was fully staffed, with nannies and housekeepers, so they didn’t really need me for the chores. I knew what Eliza was really doing. She must have heard about the state of my marriage. After all, Adrian was parading Maggie all over the city; it was impossible not to know. Eliza had given me an excuse, a way out of the hell my marriage had become. After divorcing Adrian, it felt like a heavy shroud had been lifted from my soul. I finally understood what it meant to find freedom by letting go. Before that, I had been prepared to fight Adrian for a lifetime, to drag him and Maggie down with me, refusing to grant him a divorce unless he gave me full custody of Leo. But as it turned out, all my righteous determination had been utterly worthless. 8 Every day, I would take Ivy to school and pick her up in the afternoon. Having just moved back to the country, she was fascinated by everything. We’d often ditch the driver and wander hand-in-hand through bustling streets and quiet alleyways, marveling at the strange and wonderful trinkets sold at street stalls. We’d sample all kinds of snacks—candied apples, churros, warm pretzels. I made a rule: one new treat a day, and only a small portion, so she’d still have an appetite for dinner. She was a wonderfully behaved little girl and never pushed for more. Her small hand, soft and warm in mine, was a constant comfort. She would look up at me with her big, innocent eyes. “Aunt Stella, can I try this one?” “Wow, this is so yummy! You have to try it, Aunt Stella!” Her sweet, melodic voice could melt the coldest heart. I hadn’t felt this kind of peace and tranquility in a very long time. It felt like a dream. After Eliza passed, Ivy was lost in grief for weeks. She’d wake up from nightmares, sobbing uncontrollably, crying out for her mother. To distract her, I’d tell her stories about what Eliza was like as a little girl. One night, I told her about a boy Eliza and I both had a crush on. That got her attention. She stopped crying, her curiosity piqued. “What happened? Who did he choose?” she asked, her eyes wide. I stroked her hair. “To save our friendship, your mom and I both decided to let him go. He ended up with someone else.” I sighed dramatically. “Such a shame, he was so handsome. Looking back, I totally should have fought for him.” Ivy blinked her big, round eyes. “Was he really handsome? More handsome than my Uncle Ethan?” I considered it for a moment. “Just as handsome as your uncle.” … Night after night, I stayed by her side, and slowly, Ivy’s emotional storm began to calm. The nightmares faded, and she started sleeping through the night. But in their place grew a new kind of attachment. She became my little shadow during the day, and at night, she wouldn’t fall asleep unless I was sitting by her bed. It was a strange, new experience for me. Why strange? Because by the time Leo was four, he had already declared he didn’t want to sleep with his mommy anymore. By five, he wouldn’t let me hold his hand or kiss his cheek. I used to think it was just boys being boys, naturally more reserved and less affectionate. Then I found the videos on Adrian’s backup phone. Videos of him and Leo celebrating Maggie’s birthday. In the videos, my son was clinging to Maggie, showering her with kisses, making her giggle with delight. The same son who was so cold and distant with me was a fountain of sweet affection for her. “Happy birthday, Aunt Maggie! Hope you stay eighteen forever!” he chirped, his voice dripping with honey. “You’re not just Daddy’s one and only, you’re my one and only, too!” That was when I learned the truth. Every summer, Adrian would take Leo abroad for a month, claiming it was for an international summer camp. In reality, he was taking my son on vacation with his mistress. For years, they had traveled across Europe, North America, Asia. One year, they even went on a trip right under my nose, to a resort just a few hours away. Staring at the phone, at the endless photos and videos of their perfect little family, a black wave of fury washed over me. I wanted to tear Adrian limb from limb. I wanted to burn his entire world to the ground. How dare he? How dare he take the son I had endured a day and a night of agony to bring into this world, the son who was my very life, and use him as a prop to win over his mistress? And to keep me in the dark, year after year, like a fool? That night, I lost control. I threw the phone at Adrian’s head with all my might. When he woke up, dazed and angry, and realized I knew, his reaction was chillingly calm. “Since you know, let’s get a divorce.” His casual tone, his complete lack of remorse, told me everything. He had been waiting for this. Maybe he’d even left the phone on the nightstand on purpose. In that instant, my rage peaked. I launched myself at him, scratching and biting like a cornered animal. The commotion brought others running. Soon, my mother-in-law, Margaret, and Leo were at our bedroom door. Seeing me attacking her precious son, Margaret’s face twisted in disgust. She ordered two maids to pull me off and throw me to the floor. When she found out why we were fighting, she sneered. “Is that all? What man doesn’t have a little fun on the side? It’s your own fault for not keeping him interested. Don’t be a sore loser and wake up the whole house.” Looking at this mother and son, with their completely warped sense of morality, a cold, hard resolve formed in my heart. Four words escaped my lips. “I want a divorce.” “Fine,” she shot back. “Leave Leo here and you can go wherever you want.” They wanted me to leave my son behind. In their dreams. One was a completely hands-off grandmother, the other a perpetually absent father. For eight years, I had raised Leo almost entirely on my own. Aside from that one month a year with his father, I was the one who managed every single aspect of his life. I would fight Adrian to the bitter end. I would never, ever leave Leo with him. From that day on, Adrian and I were locked in a cold war. He dropped all pretense, flying Maggie back to the country and flaunting her around Aurelia City. One day, the private investigator I hired sent me photos. Adrian had taken Leo to see Maggie again, behind my back. I exploded. But before I could even scream at Adrian, Leo spoke, his voice chillingly calm. “That’s enough, Mom. Stop shouting. I knew Aunt Maggie was back, and I wanted to see her. Just look at yourself, acting like a crazy person. What man could stand you? If I were Dad, I’d divorce you and be with Aunt Maggie too.” He paused, his gaze cold and steady. “You don’t have to keep fighting. I won’t choose you. I choose to be with Dad, Maggie, and Grandma.” In that moment, it felt as if the world stopped. I froze, staring at my own son as if he were a complete stranger. Leo’s eyes were cold. Adrian’s eyes were cold. The looks of disgust and revulsion on their faces were identical. They looked at me as if I were a clown, a lunatic. But I hadn’t done anything wrong. Why? Why were they the ones looking down on me? It was on that day, I think, that my heart turned to ash. I began to see my marriage for what it truly was. 9 Emma was throwing a housewarming party. I baked an apple pie and brought Ivy with me. I wasn’t expecting to see a beautifully dressed Maggie there. She wore a simple yet elegant white dress, standing among a circle of socialites, laughing and nodding along to their conversation. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I didn’t invite her,” Emma whispered in my ear. “Your darling son brought her along.” Emma and I were close, which meant our kids were too. Her daughter, Sophie, was the same age as Leo; they were practically childhood friends. Emma’s husband, Julian, had become a major player in the city’s business scene, his influence reaching every corner of Aurelia’s high society. For Maggie, getting close to Emma was a direct pipeline to the city’s elite circle of wives. Her presence here wasn’t surprising at all. “We’re not children. What is there to misunderstand?” I smiled at Emma. She seemed to relax, squeezing my hand gratefully. “Good. Just so you know, I’m always on your side.” “Aunt Stella!” a bright voice called out. It was Emma’s little princess, Sophie. I knelt down, a wide smile on my face. “Sophie! It’s been so long. How have you been?” She nodded happily. “I’m great! Aunt Stella, did you make my favorite apple pie today? I can smell it already!” “Are you part puppy? Your nose is amazing,” I teased, gently pinching her nose. “Hey, Sophie, I want you to meet a new friend today. Ivy, come over here.” The two little girls hit it off immediately, holding hands as they ran off to play in the Frozen-themed castle in the backyard, with Sophie carefully carrying her beloved apple pie. Emma watched them go, sighing. “See? Little girls are so much better behaved. Now that you have your own little princess, you’re not going to forget about my Sophie, are you? She was just saying the other day that Aunt Stella makes the best mousse cake, the best apple pie, the best banana crepes… And that princess dress you made for her school play? She said it was prettier than any dress in a fairy tale movie and refused to take it off, even for bed. She’s always saying, ‘I wish Aunt Stella was my mommy.’ Can you believe the nerve?” I shot her a look. “Just spit it out. Stop with the theatrics.” Emma dramatically threw her arms around me. “You know me too well! The school play is coming up again. Please, would you grace us with your divine talent and make another dress for my Sophie?” I chuckled. “It’s just a dress. You don’t have to lay it on so thick. You’re so dramatic.” “Hey, a custom piece from the great Stella Song is a rare treasure! I was afraid you’d say no!” I studied fashion design in college. I had a knack for it and a passion that drove me to constantly refine my skills. The clothes I made always had a unique flair, a design sensibility that rivaled international brands. And since they were custom, there was no risk of showing up in the same outfit as someone else. Over time, the socialite circle in Aurelia learned of my talent, and the requests started pouring in. But it was a hobby, not a profession, so I only took on a couple of projects a month, usually as favors for friends. As Emma and I were discussing designs, an elegant woman in a black Chanel-style suit approached us. “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Grint?” she asked me. Though I didn’t recognize her, I replied politely, “I am, but we’ve divorced. You can call me Ms. Song.” A look of embarrassment crossed her face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” “It’s alright. Can I help you with something?” She explained, “Well, I have a friend, Mrs. Sterling. Last year, her son got married, and my family and I attended the wedding. My daughter absolutely fell in love with the bride’s wedding gown. She said she’d never seen anything so ethereal and beautifully designed, even more stunning than the gowns she’d seen on runways in Europe. She found out you were the one who designed and made it, and she’s been begging me to find you ever since. Ms. Song, I know this is a long shot, but I was hoping you might consider designing a one-of-a-kind wedding dress for my daughter.” Mrs. Sterling? I remembered her. The wife of the Sterling Corp. chairman. Early last year, Adrian’s company was trying to land a major project with Sterling Corp. To help seal the deal, I had agreed to design a wedding dress for her daughter-in-law. It was an incredibly intricate piece that took me nearly four months to complete. “I’m very sorry,” I said regretfully. “For personal reasons, I’m not taking on any new projects at the moment. I don’t have the time or energy. I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.” Her face fell. She opened her mouth to say something more, but seemed to remember my earlier words about my divorce. Her good breeding kicked in, and she simply offered a polite, strained smile. “I understand. It was presumptuous of me to ask.” 10 After the woman left, I asked Emma who she was. “No idea,” Emma said with a shrug. “I think she came with Julia, I don’t know her.” We chatted for a bit longer, and then I went to the backyard to check on the girls. What I saw made my heart leap into my throat. Leo was holding Ivy’s hand, standing at the very edge of a fifteen-foot-tall inflatable castle. They seemed to be arguing. There were no safety mats on the ground below them. They were in a dangerously precarious position. My heart skipped a beat. “Ivy!” I yelled, my voice sharp with panic. They both turned to look at me. And in that split second, disaster struck. My brain hadn’t even processed it, but my body was already moving, instincts taking over. I lunged forward. I caught Ivy in a sliding tackle, my knees scraping against the ground. Safe. She was safe. Then I heard another sickening thud. I whipped my head around. Leo was lying on the hard ground, his body twisted at an odd angle. He was staring at me, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He couldn’t seem to comprehend that I had caught someone else, and not him. The shock quickly gave way to agony. He clutched his knee, his face contorting in pain. A guttural scream tore from his throat, followed by a torrent of loud, desperate sobs. 11 At the hospital, I saw Adrian for the first time in three months. He hadn’t changed. Still tall, still handsome. For a man in his early thirties, he had it all: looks, money, a successful career. It was no wonder Maggie was so desperate to lock him down. Right now, though, his face was a dark, thunderous storm. “Stella, how did our son get hurt?” he demanded. “He fell,” I said, keeping it simple. “Why didn’t you catch him? Leo said you could have…” “I only have two hands.” “So?” “So I caught Ivy.” Adrian stared at me, his expression a mixture of shock and utter disbelief. “Are you insane? Leo is your son!” “Let me correct you,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “From the day we divorced, he stopped being my son. He’s your son. And Maggie’s.” We were standing in the hospital room. Maggie was right behind him, her face a carefully constructed mask of sorrow. But anyone could see it was fake. The avalanche incident was still a sore spot for her, and now this. In a way, it leveled the playing field between the “real mom” and the “stepmom.” Neither of us looked good. Leo lay in the bed, his leg in a cast. At my words, his lips trembled, and his eyes, red-rimmed, fixed on me. Adrian was speechless, his face frozen. “It’s getting late. I should go,” I said, turning to leave. “Don’t contact me unless it’s an emergency.” A hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. “How much?” I turned back. “Stella, how much are they paying you to be a nanny? I’ll double it!” Adrian’s voice was a low growl, his grip crushing. “Can’t you even look at your own son? Do you have any idea what could have happened if he’d hit his head?” His voice rose to a roar. “Stella, are you even human? How can you call yourself a mother?” His question was so absurd, I laughed. A cold, bitter laugh. “You’re right, I’m not fit to be a mother. But you are? A perfect husband and a model father?” I met his furious gaze. “We were married for eight years, and you cheated for eight years, taking my son on yearly vacations with your mistress. When we divorced, you left me with nothing, even framing me for cheating. Adrian, your shamelessness knows no bounds.” I turned my attention to the bed. “And as for your precious son, Leo, what was it he said? That I was a crazy person no man could stand? That if he were you, he would have divorced me for Maggie too? And let’s not forget how he told me not to bother fighting anymore, because he wouldn’t choose me. He chose you, Maggie, and his grandmother.” I locked eyes with the boy in the bed. “Leo, those were your words, weren’t they? Have you forgotten so soon? Just because you’re a child doesn’t mean your words have no consequences. Our time as mother and son is over. It’s time to accept it.” Leo’s composure finally shattered. His eyes filled with tears that spilled down his cheeks. Adrian looked as though I’d struck him. “How can you say something so cruel to him? Do you know the damage you’re causing? He’s just a child, abandoned by his own mother! How is he supposed to heal from that?” Heal? I could barely heal myself. Who was I to worry about anyone else? “And what about you two?” I shot back. “The things you said, the knives you twisted in my heart, what were they? It’s okay for you to burn down my world, but I’m not allowed to light a single match? Don’t be a hypocrite, Adrian.” With that, I didn’t spare another glance for anyone in the room. I turned and walked out. Behind me, I could hear Leo’s broken sobs. I didn’t slow down. 12 I met Adrian by pure chance. After college graduation, a classmate mentioned her sister was making a fortune in sales at Grint Corporation—we’re talking tens of thousands a month. At the time, my mother was sick, and I was desperate for money. My degree was in fashion design, but a junior designer role would only pay a fraction of that. So, I applied for a sales position at Grint Corp. What happened next was completely unexpected. I was a natural. For five straight months, I was the top salesperson. One day, I found myself in the elevator with the company chairman. He was surprisingly kind and chatted with me for a few moments. Then he asked if I had a boyfriend. I was flattered and stunned, and I shyly shook my head. He then announced he wanted to set me up with someone. That someone was Adrian Grint. His son. It sounds like something out of a fantasy, but it really happened. Adrian was young and impossibly handsome, with deep, striking features. I fell for him at first sight, though I was keenly aware of the gulf between our worlds. We had a simple dinner, exchanged numbers, and that was it. Or so I thought. But Adrian actually started pursuing me. Every week, he’d text, asking me to dinner or a movie. Slowly, I fell head over heels in love. Soon, we were officially a couple. Three months later, his father was hospitalized. The diagnosis was terminal stomach cancer. Adrian took me to see him. In the hospital room, the old chairman told me many things. He wanted us to marry quickly. He hoped I would support Adrian after he was gone, and he confided in me about the struggles the company was facing. Finally, he told me that Adrian could be stubborn and headstrong, and he asked me to be patient and understanding with him. At the time, lost in the haze of new love, I didn’t fully grasp the weight of his words. I just nodded and agreed to everything. Adrian and I were married. That winter, his father passed away. The following year, my own mother died.

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The third year Alan and I were crammed into that tiny apartment was the year the floodwaters took our home. I buried my face in his shoulder, miserable and shivering. He told me it broke his heart to see me this way. Then he turned around and donated a hundred million dollars to the city’s relief fund without batting an eye. On the news, he was Alan Hayes: heir to a dynasty, a philanthropist whose casual generosity was legendary. He was a stranger to me. I heard the laughter of his friends, the gilded youth of Manhattan’s elite, through the half-open door of the private room. “All those heiresses throwing themselves at you, and you’re still messing with some broke girl?” Alan’s handsome eyes, the color of warm whiskey, crinkled at the corners. He let out a low chuckle. “My girl worked three jobs a day just to save up for a ring for me. Can they do that?” Someone else piped up, their voice sharp. “But what if she actually proposes? Aren’t you getting engaged to Diana Donovan next week?” “It’s just a game,” Alan scoffed. “You don’t seriously think I’d marry her, do you?” After a pause, his voice dripped with absolute certainty. “Besides, Willow will never find out.” He didn’t know I was standing right outside the door. 1 I had raced through a torrential downpour to find him. My lab coat, soaked through, clung to me like a second skin of ice, the chill sinking into my bones. But it was nothing compared to the cold shard of his words driving straight through my heart, a pain so sharp it made my whole body recoil. Inside the opulent room, the conversation flowed on. “Damn right. She’d lose her mind if she knew.” “The pretty boy she’s been keeping for three years makes a hundred-million-dollar donation on a whim. You can’t even write this stuff in a movie, hahaha.” “So, Alan, you’re just gonna shut her down when the time comes?” Alan gestured for the waiter to open another bottle of champagne, his voice a casual drawl. “Shut her down? Why would I do that? I’m not done playing with her.” He stroked his chin, a thoughtful look on his face. Then, a wicked, playful smile spread across his lips, making the small mole near the corner of his eye seem even more vibrant. “You know, I was thinking… maybe I’ll break up with her first. Just to scare her a little. After all,” he said, his voice mock-serious, “a guy making three grand a month can’t hold her back, right?” “You’re playing with fire, man. What if she actually leaves?” “You don’t know Willow,” another voice chimed in, smug. “He’s tried breaking up with her how many times? And every single time, she’s the one crying, begging him to take her back.” Alan clearly savored that, lazily raising his glass in a toast to the speaker, who puffed up with pride. Then, someone else clicked their tongue. “That’s just pathetic. Like some stray dog nobody wants, just begging to get screwed over for free…” Outside, I couldn’t listen anymore. I dragged my leaden feet away, my heart a hollow drum. My hand went to my pocket, and when my fingers brushed against the small, velvet ring box, I snatched it back as if I’d been burned. Behind me, the boisterous room fell silent. Alan, one arm draped over the back of his chair, swirled the champagne in his glass. His face was a blank mask as he leveled a cold, sideways glance at the man who had just spoken. Everyone watched him, the air thick with tension. They were all part of the city’s elite, but there were levels to this game. The Hayes family was practically New York royalty, with influence stretching from Wall Street to Washington. And Alan, groomed by the old patriarch himself, was the heir apparent. No one dared to cross him. “Alan, man, I’m sorry. I was drunk, I shouldn’t have said that about your girl,” the guy, Rick, stammered, slapping his own face in a clumsy show of remorse. Others jumped in to smooth things over. “You idiot, don’t you know she’s a researcher at Columbia? A bona fide genius. You’re not worthy of even speaking her name.” Only when a red welt began to form on Rick’s cheek did Alan speak, his voice soft but edged with steel. “That’s enough.” He leaned forward. “You’re from the King family, right? Pharmaceuticals?” Rick nodded vigorously. Alan leaned back, propping his cheek on one hand while casually gesturing with his glass. “Columbia’s been doing some interesting research lately…” “I get it, Alan, I get it!” Rick cut in, tripping over his words. “Thank you for the opportunity to… uh… show my respect. For Willow.” 2 I stumbled home in a daze, their words echoing in my mind. “That girl is a real fool. She kind of deserves to be played.” “Remember three years ago? Alan lost a dare and had to pretend to be a host at that karaoke bar on K-Town.” “A few women went in before her, they all got the joke. But her? She actually believed it.” I was a fool. A complete and utter fool. I didn’t recognize that the strategically distressed sweater he wore was fresh off a Paris runway. I didn’t know the simple silver watch on his wrist was a Richard Mille that cost more than a brownstone. I heard his sob story—a gambling father, a sick mother—and in him, I saw a reflection of my own painful past. I looked at that beautiful face, like something out of a Japanese drama, and my heart melted. I never imagined he was sizing me up, thinking, God, what an idiot. How could anyone fall for such a ridiculous lie? I moved heaven and earth to get him out of that life. I helped him find a “real” job. I had just started as a research assistant myself, barely making a few thousand a month. But I didn’t hesitate to spend two thousand on a decent suit for him, so he could look the part. Meanwhile, I wore the same trench coat for three years. And him? He would always narrow those captivating eyes into a lazy, charming smile. “My beautiful girl, you’re too good to me. I’ll have to find a way to repay you properly.” Then he would pull me into his arms, and we’d become a tangle of limbs. He was twenty, a young man with an endless, raw energy that he poured into me, over and over again. The walls of our old apartment were paper-thin. The more I bit my lip to stay quiet, the more determined he was to draw a sound from me. Every time, he’d push me to the edge until I was whispering pleas for him to stop, again and again, before he would finally relent. He was beautiful. He loved to be coddled. He loved to cook for me. I truly believed we would be tangled up like that forever. I was even planning to propose, taking on two extra freelance gigs to save up for the perfect ring. 3 On my way home, I passed the subway station Alan usually used. A crowd had gathered at the entrance: firefighters, paramedics, shell-shocked survivors wrapped in foil blankets. I stopped, my feet rooted to the spot. A message buzzed on my phone. [Hey, baby. My phone fell in the water, just got it fixed.] [Brought you a little cake. Almost home~] It was followed by a sticker of a cartoon puppy holding up a heart. The caption read: [Puppy loves you most!] For a moment, the world tilted. After a long time, I typed back with trembling fingers: [I’m at the subway station. The Broadway exit at 116th.] It didn’t take long for him to appear around the corner. The young man was tall and lean, his skin so pale it seemed to glow under the streetlights. A simple white t-shirt, a gray hoodie, and dark blue jeans—on him, it looked like a high-fashion ensemble. He turned heads; people were stealing glances at him. “I thought I told you to stay home and rest,” he chided, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over my shoulders. “You know how easily you get sick, and you still run out in the rain.” The familiar scent of pine and clean earth enveloped me, and a sharp, sudden ache filled my sinuses. “I thought you were dead,” I said, pointing a shaking finger toward the station entrance. I expected to be hysterical, to scream and cry, but my throat felt like a broken pipe—raw, hoarse, and utterly exhausted. “You texted that you were just getting on the train, and then… nothing. The news said the station was flooded. I was terrified. I ran for miles in this storm to get here. They wouldn’t let me go down. I told them I had to, that my boyfriend was in there, and if he was going to die, we were going to die together.” “Alan—” I looked up, my eyes red-rimmed, staring directly into his. “While I was so worried about you I was ready to die, where were you?” He lowered his long, dark lashes, hiding those perpetually smiling eyes, concealing the storm that was surely brewing within them. Maybe the game had gone further than he’d intended. Or maybe he was laughing inside, thinking, This stupid woman, she’d actually do something like that. He just turned his face away and offered a light, breezy smile. “On my way to buy you a cake, of course.” No, you weren’t. You were with your trust-fund friends, drinking and laughing. You were taking my heart and grinding it into the dirt with the heel of your expensive shoe. Before I could press him further, he turned and crouched down in front of me. “Get on. Let’s get you home before you really get sick.” And just like that, Alan carried me on his back, wading through the muddy, waist-deep water. My voice was a hollow whisper next to his ear. “What home? Alan, we don’t have a home anymore.” 4 Our apartment was on the ground floor of an old, pre-war building. A relic from the nineties with a drainage system to match. When we pushed the door open, we were met with utter devastation. Three feet of murky water filled the space, and floating in the grim soup were the matching couple’s mugs Alan had bought, the his-and-hers slippers, the carefully curated photo wall… In those pictures, we were laughing, smearing birthday cake on each other’s faces. We were drawing hearts in the air with sparklers on New Year’s Eve. So many perfect moments, now warped and blurred by the flood. “It’s all ruined. You can’t even see them anymore,” Alan murmured, his brow furrowing deeper as he fished out one sodden photo after another, setting me down on top of the shoe cabinet. I opened my mouth, wanting so badly to ask, Is it really worth feeling sad over these moments when it was all just a game? But all I said was, “They’re gone, so they’re gone. It’s not like they were important.” “Not important?” He stared at me, a wounded look in his eyes. “If this isn’t important, then what is?” Is it because they’re trophies from the three years you successfully conned a woman out of her love? Is that why they’re so important? I squeezed my hands into fists, my lips pressed into a thin line. I didn’t ask. 5 The apartment was uninhabitable. Every hotel nearby was either fully booked or charging astronomical prices. One place quoted us four thousand dollars for a single night. We ended up huddled in the crowded lobby, leaning against a corner wall, trying to figure out what to do next. A couple of young women next to us were chatting. “God, I wish some random trust-fund baby would just fall madly in love with me and drop a million dollars in my lap.” “Forget that, did you see the top trending story? I’m so jealous of Diana Donovan. Being a famous actress and a Manhattan socialite isn’t enough, her fiancé just casually donates a hundred million dollars. It’s insane.” “And get this—he made the donation in both of their names. Talk about being head-over-heels in love.” Behind me, I felt Alan’s muscles tighten. He leaned in, his voice a sweet, cloying whisper in my ear. “Baby, let’s just pay the four thousand. Please? Let’s just get a room.” The warmth from his body radiated against my back, but I could feel a slight tremor running through him. It was late autumn, and he’d given me his hoodie, leaving himself in just a t-shirt. Before, my heart would have ached for him. I would have gladly spent a third of my salary just to keep him comfortable. But now, I pinched his thigh, hard. My voice was flat. “You made your bed, now lie in it. You deserve this.” I paused, then added in a casual, mocking tone, “If you were like her fiancé, throwing around a hundred million like it was pocket change, do you think I’d be living this miserable life?” As soon as the words were out, a violent coughing fit seized me. Alan gently patted my back. When I finally caught my breath, he lowered his head and nibbled on my earlobe, his voice a soft, manufactured whine. “I get it. You think I’m poor now. It’s my fault. I can’t give you a mansion… I let you get sick, shivering in the cold with nowhere to go. It’s all my fault…” I thought I was done crying. But hearing him spin that same, tired, oh-so-sincere script about not being able to give me a better life, a fresh wave of bitterness stung my eyes. For a thousand days, he had watched me struggle, watched me sacrifice for him, and then soothed it all with a few empty, beautiful words. He probably got a sick thrill out of it. “Yes,” I said, cutting him off. “It is all your fault.” He froze, his litany of self-pity dying on his lips. His face went blank. Of course. In the past, I would have immediately comforted him. Don’t you dare blame yourself. It hurts me to hear you say that, you know? But this time, I turned to face him, locking my eyes on his, and spoke each word with chilling clarity. “Who else would it be? You make three thousand dollars a month. You can’t even afford a bathroom in this city. You think I want you holding me back for the rest of my life? You didn’t actually believe I wanted to spend forever with you in that tiny, rundown apartment, did you?” Alan just stared, stunned. It took him a long moment to force a stiff, awkward smile and raise his hands in surrender. “I… I can work overtime—” I couldn’t listen to another lie. I pushed him away. “I’m just kidding,” I said lightly. In my peripheral vision, I saw his tense shoulders finally slump in relief.

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The day before the wedding. The one that got away, the girl who’d left Grant when he had nothing, was back. I asked him, a playful barb meant to hide a tremor of unease, “Should we postpone?” He feigned a scowl, pulling me close. “Only if the world ends. I’m marrying you tomorrow, Leigh.” The next day, the world must have ended. I waited in my wedding dress from 6 a.m. until noon. His phone went straight to voicemail. It wasn’t until after the wedding was officially cancelled that he finally rushed in. He was a wreck, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “Serena’s ex-husband was trying to blackmail her,” he explained, his voice ragged. “She called my firm, asked for me specifically. We were at the station all morning giving her statement. As her counsel, I had to be there.” He looked me straight in the eye. “It was just work, Leigh. No personal feelings involved.” A cold, brittle thing that might have been a laugh caught in my throat. Looking at his earnest, professional face, I realized Serena Croft wasn’t just the one who got away. She was the one he’d let the sky fall for. 1 By the time Grant finally arrived, the deconstruction of our wedding was already well underway. The grand floral arch was half-dismantled. Our smiling engagement portrait, printed on a large welcome sign, had been knocked over, its frame splintered on the marble floor of the hotel lobby. He stood in the center of the chaos, his face a mask of guilt, and absorbed the fury of my family. To his credit, he took it all, offering no excuses, just quiet, repeated apologies to my parents. Half an hour later, he broke through the perimeter and found me. I was sitting numbly at the vanity in the bridal suite, staring at my own reflection. He stood behind me, his reflection gaunt in the mirror. He chose his words carefully. “I’m sorry, Leigh.” “This was… a truly exceptional circumstance.” He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. On any other morning, if he’d pulled an all-nighter for a case, I would have cupped his face in my hands and fussed over him. But this was our wedding day. And his “exceptional circumstance” wasn’t a natural disaster or a death in the family. It was spending the day at a police station with her. I met his gaze in the mirror. The remorse in his eyes was thick, a potent brew that had always worked on me. In the past, I would have melted. Now, it just felt like a bitter irony. He couldn’t seem to let go of either of us. A slow, cool smile spread across my lips. My voice was calm when I spoke. “It’s fine.” “It’s not a big deal.” It’s fine. Because, thank God, we hadn’t signed the marriage license yet. It’s not a big deal. It’s just the day I finally saw the man I was supposed to marry for who he really was. My placid reaction seemed to throw him. Grant stood frozen, his mouth half-open. He had clearly rehearsed a whole speech, prepared for a barrage of tears and accusations. My quiet composure left him completely disarmed. There was nothing left to say. I stood, intending to walk past him and out of the room, out of this life. He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. His voice was soft, pleading. “Leigh, where are you going?” “Tonight, we still have to…” I turned my head, cutting him off. “I cancelled the flights to the Maldives. I don’t think we’re in any condition for a honeymoon, do you?” My voice was flat. “After all… there was no wedding.” I shrugged, gesturing vaguely at the half-packed boxes and wilting flowers around us. The beautiful, dreamlike setting that was meant to witness our happiest moment now just served as the backdrop to a cruel farce. Grant wouldn’t let go. He started apologizing again, a low, urgent murmur. As we stood there, locked in a silent standoff, another figure appeared in the doorway. I felt the hand on my wrist tighten reflexively. I had never seen a picture of Serena Croft. But as she moved toward us with a kind of liquid grace, I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that it was her. 2 As Serena approached, she arranged her face into an expression of profound regret. She hesitated for a moment before stopping at Grant’s side, turning to him. “Grant, I had no idea today was your wedding,” she said, her voice a soft melody of self-reproach. “You should have told me yesterday. I never would have asked you to be my lawyer. I feel absolutely terrible that my little problem ruined your big day.” I had been about to leave. Her words stopped me cold. Serena Croft. From the moment I met Grant, her name had been a ghost in our house, a whisper in our lives that never quite faded. His friends all told the same story. Grant had been in love with Serena for seven years. She was the brilliant, unattainable girl he’d chased all through high school and college. The one that got away. Then, for one year, she wasn’t. They were the golden couple, until they graduated and everything fell apart. Grant’s mother was diagnosed with a severe illness. His father’s small construction company lost its biggest contract, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy and crushing debt. And then Serena, the love of his life, left him. It was the final straw. He drove to the coast and drank himself into a stupor on the beach as the tide rolled in. I was the one who noticed something was wrong, who called for help, who got him dragged out of the surf. He was just so damn beautiful. And I was a hopeless romantic. From that day on, I attached myself to him. I didn’t care about some ghost of a girl he used to know. What good was a distant, shining moon when you had the warmth of a real person right beside you? When Grant’s mother got sick, I found the best oncologist at Johns Hopkins and arranged the consultation for a new treatment plan. When Grant’s father’s company was struggling, I had my family’s venture capital firm make a quiet, anonymous investment to see them through. I did it all from the shadows, worried about wounding his pride. I just stayed by his side, day after day. The day his father’s company finally stabilized was the same day his mother completed her final, successful surgery. That night, he took me back to the same beach. I’d never seen a man in his early twenties cry with such raw, desperate relief. He cried until he was empty, then lay back on the sand and laughed, a wild, unburdened sound. The deep furrow that had been etched between his brows for so long finally smoothed away. In the moonlight, his eyes were impossibly bright. He held me and said it over and over again. He thought his life was over, that he’d hit rock bottom. But then he met me, and miraculously, everything had turned around. He called me his lucky star. That was the night we truly opened our hearts to each other, the night we really began. 3 Serena was beautiful, with an air of effortless sophistication. She could just stand there and command a room’s attention. And now, standing across from them, I felt like a complete outsider. The golden couple, reunited. I had to admit it, a bitter pill to swallow. They looked good together. No wonder he’d been so obsessed with her for seven years. No wonder her return had sent him into a tailspin. Her apology, I noted, had been directed entirely at Grant. Me, the actual bride of the aborted wedding, she hadn’t so much as glanced at. My heart sank. This wasn’t an apology. This was a declaration. Grant seemed surprised that she had followed him here. After a brief moment of stunned silence, his expression hardened. He took a half-step away from her, creating a deliberate distance. “Ms. Croft, you’re overstepping,” he said, his tone clipped and professional. “Our relationship is that of attorney and client. I believe our work for the day concluded at the station. This is a private matter between my fiancée and me. Please leave.” Being frozen out by Grant didn’t seem to bother Serena in the slightest. She smiled, a perfectly calibrated expression of polite contrition. “You’re right. My apologies.” She finally turned, her gaze floating over me. It wasn’t challenging or appraising. It was the look you give a piece of furniture, something irrelevant. “I’ve heard about you, Leigh,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of Grant after I left all those years ago. And I am truly sorry about today. Grant has always been a man who feels things so deeply; he hasn’t changed a bit. He’s a good man. You’re lucky to have him.” Her words, layered with hidden meaning, felt like a slap across my face. When did our relationship become something she, an ex-girlfriend from nearly a decade ago, had the right to comment on? A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. Grant sensed the shift in my mood and tried to pull me away. “Leigh, don’t listen to her. Let’s go home and talk.” I yanked my arm from his grasp. “Home? Go home where, Grant?” “You don’t seriously think that after this disaster, I’m going to just reschedule, do you? That I’m going to plan a second wedding with you?” “I’m twenty-nine, not twenty-two. And this was our seventh year together…” The words caught in my throat as a hot surge of tears welled in my eyes. I tilted my head back, forcing them down, refusing to cry in front of her. When the wave of emotion subsided, I ignored Grant completely. My gaze locked onto the woman in front of me. She returned it without flinching, her expression a mask of serene confidence. But I knew better. If she were truly as calm as she appeared, she wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t have sought me out. “Ms. Croft, is it? A pleasure.” My voice was ice. “We’re both women here, so let’s drop the act. Grant and I sent out invitations a month ago. To our friends, our families, and to his entire law firm. Don’t stand there and tell me you ‘didn’t know.’ Your one-word apology doesn’t undo the six months of planning our families poured into this day. It doesn’t stop this from being a humiliating joke.” I took a step closer. “So why are you really here? To offer a sincere apology, or to admire your handiwork? To see if you’ve still got it? Let me tell you, you do. You won. You’ve proven that after seven years, all you have to do is snap your fingers and Grant will come running.” “But you know what? It’s a cheap, pathetic way to do it. If you wanted the man back, you could have just tried to steal him. You didn’t have to humiliate everyone in the process.” My family is in business. How big, Grant never asked, and I never specified. He was proud of his own career. But the legal field had become brutally competitive in recent years, and his firm was struggling to land new top-tier clients. He had no idea how many CEOs and partners from the city’s leading corporations my family had invited today. Many of them were the very same high-value clients his firm had been courting for months. If the wedding had gone on as planned, Grant, with his talent and reputation, would have networked and likely secured them. But now, thanks to a wedding with a missing groom, both our families were the talk of the town, and not in a good way. And no serious company would entrust its legal affairs to a man who bolts on his own wedding day. My verbal assault finally wiped the placid look from Serena’s face. Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, and she said nothing, turning her gaze back to the man caught between us. Grant rubbed his temples, a gesture of pure exhaustion. He turned to me, his voice low. “Leigh, it’s not what you think.” “Serena, she…” The casual, intimate use of her first name burned through me. I dodged his attempt to take my hand again. I picked up the half-full glass of water from the vanity and threw it in his face. “Shut up, Grant,” I seethed. “You’re even worse than she is. You make me sick.” “And don’t worry about making a choice. I’ll make it for you. We’re done.” The commotion brought my parents rushing back into the room just in time to hear me end it. They had never been thrilled with Grant, but they tolerated him because they saw how much I loved him. Now, seeing him not only absent from his own wedding but with another woman in tow… it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. My father’s face went purple with rage, and he lunged forward, his fist raised. I stepped between them and stopped him. A man like that wasn’t worth the trouble. 4 After the cancelled wedding, I cut off all contact with Grant. As for the expenses, we had initially agreed to split the costs fifty-fifty. For my family, the money was negligible. But the public humiliation was not. My goodwill had evaporated. I had my assistant compile every single invoice and sent them to Grant’s parents. It wasn’t an astronomical sum, just over a couple hundred thousand dollars. They could afford it, but it would sting. All that money for a wedding that never happened. Grant’s parents came to our house to apologize. Seeing my resolute silence, my parents didn’t even open the door. After a few failed attempts, Grant’s mother started texting me, making excuses for him. Out of respect for our past relationship, I replied politely but firmly. Once she understood I was serious about not getting back together with him, she sent me a novel-length text at two in the morning. She detailed all the ways they had been good to me over the years and waxed poetic about how brilliant her son was. Then came the final blow. She declared they would only be paying for their half of the expenses, as originally agreed. She pointed out that our guests accounted for 80 of the tables, and that the designer dress, the couture tux, and the specific wedding planner were all my choices and therefore should be my family’s responsibility. She never once mentioned her son’s role in the fiasco. I stared at the wall of text on my phone and laughed. I remembered all the years she was sick, when Grant was buried in work. I was the one who coordinated her appointments, who sat with her during chemo infusions. Back then, leaning weakly against her hospital pillows, she’d said that having me as a daughter-in-law was the greatest blessing her family could ask for. Now that she was healthy, she was lecturing me. “A man in his thirties is in his prime. Grant is so exceptional that of course other women will notice him.” “He missed the wedding, he didn’t cheat on you. A woman needs to be more gentle and forgiving.” I couldn’t read any further. I screenshotted the entire conversation and forwarded it to Grant. Then I blocked his number, and the numbers of his entire family. Maybe their lives had become too comfortable these last few years. Maybe they’d forgotten what it was like to struggle. Sometimes, people need to fall flat on their face to remember who they really are. 5 The next day, a call came through from an unknown number. It was Grant. He sounded sick, his voice thick with congestion. “Leigh, I’ve taken care of all the bills. I didn’t know anything about my mom’s text. I’m so sorry for what she said.” He paused, taking a ragged breath. “I’m out of town for a hearing for the next two days. When I get back, we really need to talk.” To be honest, if it weren’t for the wedding, Grant had been a good boyfriend. He was handsome, emotionally steady, and intelligent. Even when people whispered about his lingering feelings for his first love, I never paid them any mind. How could a seven-year relationship built on shared reality ever lose to a ghost? After all, I was the one who stood by him when he had nothing. But on that day, as I sat alone in my wedding dress, listening to the endlessly repeating, robotic voice on his voicemail, I realized just how foolish I’d been. You only get a few truly monumental days in your life. On one of mine, my groom vanished. While I was sick with worry, imagining the worst, he was running around town solving problems for his old flame. How little must a man care for his fiancée to so casually humiliate her? Remembering the shock and the cold dread that washed over me when I learned the truth, I gripped my phone tighter. “Grant, let’s end this cleanly, while I still have the decency to do so.” My voice was quiet, but final. “Let’s just say I wasted seven years on a bad investment.” 5 In the VIP lounge of a downtown club, my best friend Quinn had ordered eight male dancers for me. A line of handsome young men, all smiles and sculpted abs, was an effective, if temporary, balm for the gloom that had settled over me. “To our beautiful, brilliant, and ridiculously rich Leigh,” Quinn shouted over the music, popping a bottle of champagne. “Welcome back to the single life!” Amid the spray of champagne and the whoops of the dancers, the door to our private room was thrown open. Grant stood there, his face a thundercloud. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he was completely out of place in the decadent, neon-lit room. He kicked an empty bottle out of his path and threw a thick stack of cash on the table. “All of you, out.” The dancers exchanged confused glances. The young man sitting next to me subtly shifted away. “Ma’am,” he whispered, “is this…?” “Ignore him,” I said, taking the glass from the dancer’s hand and taking a sip. “Continue.” The liquor burned. Grant’s face darkened. He threw two more stacks of money on the table. “If you’re not out of here in ten seconds, I’m calling the cops.” Quinn leaped to her feet. “Are you out of your damn mind, Grant? What is your problem with exes? You can’t seem to stay away from them!” she yelled. “This is a perfectly legal establishment. What are you going to report, that we’re having too much fun without you?” Grant glared at her. “I didn’t agree to a breakup.” “Legal is for me to decide, not you,” he said coldly. Quinn laughed, a sharp, incredulous sound. “Oh, so you’re just going to be a psycho about this? The guy who ditches his own bride to go play hero for his high school girlfriend doesn’t get a vote. The fact that Leigh is letting you off with a peaceful breakup is a testament to her kindness. If it were me, I’d have plastered your faces all over the internet and let the entire city drag you both.” Quinn had a fiery temper and rarely lost an argument. Seeing the situation escalate, the eight dancers wisely scooped up the cash from the table and made a hasty exit. Quinn muttered under her breath. “So much for professional dancers.” Grant shot her a withering look. “So all that dirt on your ex-husband that’s been popping up online… that was you, wasn’t it? I hear he’s looking for a lawyer to file a defamation suit.” That stopped Quinn short. Her face flushed a guilty red. She opened her mouth to argue, but I stood up, grabbing my coat from the back of the sofa, and walked towards the door. Quinn moved to stop me, but I gave her a look that said, let me handle this. Grant had been trying to find me for days. It was time to settle this, once and for all. 6 The autumn air had a sharp bite to it. I walked ahead, clutching my coat, with Grant following a few steps behind. We passed the park where we used to take our evening walks. I stopped. Turning to face him, my patience wore thin. “Whatever you have to say, Grant, say it now. Let’s get this over with.” He seemed genuinely thrown by my cold tone. He frowned, looking as if he were the wronged party. For seven years, I had been nothing but gentle with him. Even when we argued, I never shut him out like this. Perhaps it was my unconditional acceptance that gave him the audacity to leave me at the altar. He probably thought I was still just angry, putting on a show. He sighed, a long-suffering sound, and took off his suit jacket, draping it over my shoulders. His expression was serious. “Leigh, you can’t just write me off like this. You can’t pronounce a death sentence on us.” “I admit, part of the reason I went that night was because of our history. And her situation was something I have experience with, legally. I didn’t think it through, I just went to see what was going on.” “The other half was just a massive miscalculation on my part. I honestly thought it would take an hour, tops. It wouldn’t have affected the wedding at all. But I didn’t expect her ex to get violent. That changed everything, it made it a serious offense, and it tied up the whole day.” He looked at me earnestly. “I’ve already transferred her case to a colleague. I won’t have any more contact with her. Ever.” His explanation was logical. Plausible. I nodded slowly. “But Grant,” I said, my voice quiet. “What does any of that have to do with me?” “I only care about the result.” Every decision he made could be justified, but they were still decisions. He wasn’t the only competent lawyer in the city. He had a choice. He understood the finality in my words. The color drained from his face. I looked down, a bitter smile on my lips. “Grant, is it really so hard to admit you still care about her?” “Leigh, I don’t.” The denial was instant, reflexive. Just then, a phone vibrated in the pocket of the jacket he’d put on my shoulders. He didn’t move. I reached in, pulled out his phone, and looked at the screen. Serena Croft. A humorless laugh escaped me. So much for no more contact. I held the phone out to him. He clenched his fists at his sides, refusing to take it. The screen went dark. A moment later, it lit up again with another call. It rang, shrill and insistent. On the third ring, I answered it and put it on speaker. “Grant? Where are you? I think I have a fever. I don’t know any doctors here, I’m not familiar with the hospitals… can you take me to see someone?” Her voice was weak and breathy. I raised an eyebrow at Grant. As if to prove a point to me, he took a deep breath, his jaw tight. “Serena, you need to stop,” he said, each word a low, forced growl. There was a pause on the other end, followed by a soft, wounded whisper. “Grant, I know you’re still angry that I left without a word back then, but I had my reasons. It was complicated.” “And later, when I heard your mother was sick and your father’s business was in trouble, I did everything I could to help. I called in favors, I made connections. How do you think your family managed to pull through so smoothly back then?” “I made a mistake leaving, yes. But you can’t erase what we had, or pretend I didn’t care. Even as an old friend, is it too much to ask for a little help now?” Serena’s words hit me with the force of a physical blow. My eyes widened. I stared at Grant, who looked completely bewildered. I hung up the phone. My lips trembled as I asked, “What did she mean by that? What does she have to do with what happened to your parents?” Grant closed his eyes, a deep, internal struggle playing out across his face. When he opened them, his shoulders had slumped in defeat. “Leigh, let me take you home first.” “No. Answer my question.” My insistence seemed to wear him down. He spoke in a weary, resigned voice. “It’s true. My family owes her. After everything she did for us back then… I can’t just turn my back on her now when she’s in trouble.” A thread of understanding, cold and sharp, stitched everything together in my mind. I looked up at him, my voice barely a whisper. “So, you’re doing all of this because you think she’s the one who saved your family?” Distracted and wanting this conversation to be over, Grant gave a curt, thoughtless nod. His phone rang again. He was ready to leave. I grabbed the hem of his sleeve. Even though we were over, he deserved to know the truth. “Grant, what happened to your family back then had nothing to do with Serena Croft.” “Think about it for one second. She chose to leave you at your absolute lowest point, then immediately moved overseas and married a wealthy businessman. If she didn’t care enough about you to stay, why would she suddenly care about your parents?” “Besides, the investment in your father’s company has increased every year since. If Serena really had that kind of power and influence, why would she have ever needed to leave you in the first place?” “Don’t you think her timing is a little too perfect? Returning now, with this exact story?” Grant’s body went rigid. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing, his voice turning cold. “Leigh, Serena isn’t the kind of person you’re describing.” “Yes, she left me. But that doesn’t mean she’s a bad person with no character. She just didn’t love me anymore. That’s all.” He shook his head, a look of grim certainty on his face. “There was no one else back then who would have cared enough to help my family like that. It had to be her.” “Stop making these wild accusations about her.” I stood before him, feeling as though I’d been struck by lightning.

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