The year my boyfriend was at his poorest, I broke up with him. Years later, he returned, powerful and successful, and used every means at his disposal to marry me. Everyone said I was the one that got away, that I was his most beloved wife. Then he started bringing different women home every night, shattering my heart and turning me into the laughingstock of our social circle. But I never cried, never threw a fit. I lived quietly in the study, never disturbing his affairs. It drove him mad. He would kiss me fiercely, his voice a low growl against my lips. “Don’t you feel anything? Aren’t you jealous?” He didn’t know I was sick. And with every day of his twisted revenge, I was silently counting down the days I had left to live. 1 In the third year of my marriage to Vicent Blackwood, he took a beautiful young college girl as his mistress. Her name was Betty. She had an innocent, lovely face—exactly Vicent’s type. He kept her for over half a year. Other than me, she was the woman who had stayed by his side the longest. My friends warned me to be careful. They said it looked like Vicent was genuinely falling for her. I met Betty for the first time on my birthday. My nose had been bleeding since morning. I went to the hospital for a check-up, and the doctor told me I would be lucky to see next spring. I nodded softly. “It’s okay,” I whispered. I wasn’t afraid of dying, just of the pain. I’d heard there was an expensive medication that could make the end more comfortable. The money in my bank account wasn’t enough, so I went to Vicent’s company to find him. It just so happened that Betty was there too. She’d just graduated and was working as his personal assistant. Vicent was in a meeting. I sat outside to wait. Betty kept staring at me, whispering to her colleagues. “That’s the boss’s wife? She looks so… washed out. Thin as a rail, like she’s half-dead.” “They all say I look like her, but where? I’m so much prettier.” My reflection shimmered on the polished glass wall. A pale face with no makeup, swallowed by a puffy winter coat. I didn’t look good. And I was, in fact, half-dead. A colleague tugged on Betty’s arm. “That’s because she’s not wearing any makeup,” she hissed. “If she got dolled up, ten of you couldn’t hold a candle to her. And don’t think you can provoke her just because the boss spoils you. You have no idea how much he loves her. If you make her unhappy, he’ll destroy you.” 2 Hearing that Vicent supposedly loved me, Betty just pouted and rolled her eyes. She brought me a cup of tea, her voice sweet and feathery. “Ava, sweetie, I can’t believe he’s making you wait this long. It’s so strange. Whenever I used to visit, no matter how busy he was, he would always drop everything to see me. He said I was the most important thing.” She smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. “I guess I just assumed he was that considerate with everyone…” She looked so much like me when I was younger. I thought about it. Vicent really was different with Betty. He’d had countless lovers, using them as tools in his bitter game against me, bringing a new one home each night to test my reaction. But he never kept them for long. A day or two, maybe a couple of weeks, and he would grow bored. Only Betty was different. He set her up in a beautiful apartment, took her to dinner, went shopping with her, saw movies with her. They were like any other ordinary, loving couple. He gave her money, but he also gave her something that looked like love. I looked at Betty and offered a gentle smile. “If you’re so important,” I asked softly, “why does he let you be the dirty little secret?” “You should convince him to divorce me and make you an honest woman.” Betty’s face fell. Humiliation twisted into anger. “The one he doesn’t love is the homewrecker!” she spat, her voice low. “You’re the one who’s redundant!” “You just got lucky because you met him a few years before I did. But look at you now. You’re old and ugly. What do you have left to fight me with?” Her colleague, probably fearing my reaction, rushed over and grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away. But it didn’t matter. I was fine. I had made a promise to myself a long time ago. I would not get angry over Vicent. I would not feel sorrow over Vicent. And I certainly would not fight another woman over him. He wasn’t worth it. 3 Yanked by her colleague, Betty lost her balance. She stumbled and fell, the teacup shattering in her hand. A shard of porcelain sliced deep into her palm, and blood pooled on the floor. Through the glass wall of the conference room, Vicent saw her. In front of everyone, he slammed his files on the table, threw the door open, and rushed to her side, scooping her into his arms. “Who the hell did this?” he roared, his voice like ice. The well-meaning colleague shrank back, her face pale with terror. A cold smile touched my lips. “I did,” I said. “And she deserved it.” Betty stared at me through her tears. “Yes, I deserved it!” she cried out. “I deserved it for falling for a man I shouldn’t have! For being called a mistress, a homewrecker!” “But, Vicent,” she sobbed, “as long as you love me, I’ll stay by your side forever. No one can ever tear us apart!” She was so lovely, even as she wept. Her absurd words sounded brave and defiant coming from her lips. Vicent actually chuckled. He gently wiped her tears away. “There, there,” he cooed. “You’ve cried your makeup all over.” He really was different with her. I lowered my eyes, too tired to watch. “I want five hundred thousand for my birthday this year,” I said to Vicent. It was laughable. We were husband and wife, but we didn’t even have each other’s phone numbers. The only time I ever sought him out was to ask for money. Before we married, we made a deal: he wanted me, and I wanted his money. Vicent had always hated me for being a gold digger. But in the past, no matter how much I asked for, he would give it to me, and then some. This time was different. He looked at me, his smile chillingly slow. “You want money? Fine.” “But first, Ava,” he said, drawing out each word, “swallow that precious pride of yours and tell Betty you’re sorry.” He was trying to buy my dignity, to buy an apology for Betty. For the first time, he was using money to humiliate me for another woman. My fists slowly clenched. A soft laugh escaped my lips. I fought back a sudden, sharp wave of pain and turned to leave. I didn’t want the money anymore. A thought crossed my mind. I wonder, Vicent. What look would be on your face if you knew this money could have bought me a little more time? If you knew how much I suffered before I died?

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My best friend and I married into the same wealthy family. Her mission: Seduce the overbearing older brother and drain his fortune. My mission: Seduce the famous younger brother and drain his… stamina. But the older brother was too rich; his fortune was endless. And the younger brother was a workaholic who was never home. I sighed. “I think I’m giving up. You?” My best friend replied, “If you give up, I give up.” So I packed our bags, and we made a run for it. The older brother called the younger one in a rage. “Can you get your wife under control? If you can’t handle her, get her a job or something. Just stop her from corrupting mine.” The younger brother was filming a live variety show. In an instant, the entire internet knew he “couldn’t handle her.” That night, he cornered me in the bathroom, beads of sweat on his forehead. “I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered. “Just promise me you’ll never run away again.” 1 We were playing ‘Truth or Dare’ with eighteen male models at a club. My best friend, Lucy, lost. Her forfeit was to have the models surround her and give her a private twerking show. She covered her face, feigning embarrassment. “What’s the big deal?” I teased from the sidelines. “Your husband is way wilder than they are.” “You know what? You’re right,” she declared, dropping all pretense of shyness. “If we’re here, let’s go all out.” She jumped into the circle and started dancing with them. Just as the party reached its peak, a line of bodyguards in black suits and sunglasses stormed in. They bowed to Lucy. “Ma’am, Mr. Blackwood requests your presence.” These were Liam Blackwood’s men. Lucy quickly dismissed the models and grabbed my arm. “Ava, what do I do? If Liam catches me, I’m dead.” “Run,” I said, calm and clear. I pushed through the crowd, heading for the back exit. It wasn’t until I was outside that I realized Lucy hadn’t followed. My phone rang. “Ava, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice small. “I’m not running. Liam’s actually… really good to me. The money is just too good. Where else am I going to find a man like him? I’ve decided to keep going with the mission.” I froze. Just last night, when I’d said I wanted to quit, Lucy had immediately agreed. “I’m with you. If you quit, I quit.” And now this? Betrayed by a girl in love. 2 To be fair, Lucy’s situation was different from mine. We had both been bound by a ‘System’ and married into the ultra-wealthy Blackwood family. Her mission was to seduce the domineering CEO, Liam Blackwood, and bankrupt him. But Liam’s fortune was so vast that even after Lucy had become fabulously wealthy herself, she had barely made a dent. My mission was to seduce the celebrity younger brother, Bobby Blackwood, and drain his physical energy. Although Bobby came from money, he was serious about his career in entertainment. He was a complete workaholic, constantly filming, appearing on shows, or shooting commercials. We had been married for almost three years, and while he deposited every penny he earned into my bank account, he never actually came home. How was I supposed to drain his energy when I never even saw him? That’s why I wanted to give up. Lucy was still on the phone. In the brief silence, I heard the sound of fabric tearing. I didn’t have to guess. Liam was pulling her into the back of his Rolls-Royce. The partition was rising. He was tilting her chin up, his voice thick with possession. “Am I not good to you? Why would you run?” Lucy’s resolve crumbled. “I’m sorry, darling,” she cooed. “I never meant to leave you. It was Ava’s idea. She put me up to it.” A smirk was audible in Liam’s voice. “So, I’ve been too lenient with you. She says a few words, and you run off with her? It seems a punishment is in order…” Ugh. Here we go again with the ‘forced love’ trope. I hung up before their little game could really get started. 3 Back at the hotel, I sat on the sofa in the presidential suite, sipping red wine alone. On the TV, Bobby’s handsome face flickered across the screen. He was starring in a hit fantasy drama, playing a seductive fox demon. The scene currently playing showed him carrying the female lead back to his den to… make little fox demon babies. The comments on the screen flew by: He looks like he has super sperm. She’s a lucky girl. Do it! Do it now! Make all the babies! Please. It was all an act. The truth was, on our wedding night, I had almost completed my mission. We were in the middle of a passionate kiss. But then he went to take a shower, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, he was already gone—back to his film set. Seriously, who leaves his new wife on their wedding night to go back to work? Muttering to myself, I changed the channel. There he was again, on a variety show promoting the drama with his co-star. Suddenly, his phone rang on live television. He answered it. Liam’s voice boomed from the speaker. “Can you get your wife under control? She took my wife to a club tonight and hired eighteen male models. If you can’t handle her, get her a job or something. Stop her from corrupting mine.” The show was live. The host’s brain practically short-circuited. The online comments exploded: What, Bobby Blackwood is married? Who is his wife? Damn, his wife is a badass. 18 models? Can she handle that? Wait, did that guy on the phone just say Bobby ‘can’t handle her’? … Bobby was calmer than I would have expected. “I’m in the middle of a taping,” he said to his brother. “We’ll talk later.” The incident was a full-blown live TV disaster. As expected, before the show even ended, Bobby’s name was trending everywhere. #BobbyBlackwoodIsMarried #BobbyBlackwoodsWifeHiresModels #BobbyBlackwoodCantHandleHer The entire world now thought he was bad in bed. I looked at the trending topics and almost burst out laughing. I couldn’t resist. Using my burner account, I commented under the most popular post: Such a waste of a pretty face. Satisfied, I tossed my phone on the sofa and fell asleep. In the middle of the night, I rolled over and was met with a crisp, woody scent. “Why didn’t you use your burner account?” a voice asked. It was Bobby. 4 My eyes snapped open. Bobby was leaning over me. What? Had I forgotten to switch accounts before I posted that comment? There was no anger in his voice, only a hint of amused indulgence. “It’s the truth,” I said defensively. “Am I not allowed to say it?” In the next moment, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me toward the bathroom. “What are you doing?” I protested. He set me down on the vanity and slowly, deliberately, kissed me. I had just been watching him act out a kissing scene. In the fox den, he had been coaxing the female lead, but just as their lips were about to meet, the camera had pulled away, showing only their intertwined hands. Now, his lips were on mine. His movements were a little clumsy but incredibly earnest. I could feel him getting aroused. He turned to run the water in the bathtub. As much as I was enjoying this, my resolve to quit the mission was firm. “Bobby,” I reminded him, “I’ve decided to divorce you.” His eyes darkened. I thought he was going to discuss the divorce, but instead, his lips found mine again, hungry and insistent. He was like a seductive fox, luring me in. I must have been drunk. I didn’t push him away. The water in the tub filled, steam clouding the room. I was pliant in his arms. He brushed my hair back from my face, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. “We’re not getting a divorce.” “I know I’ve neglected you.” “I’ll make it up to you. Just… please don’t run away again.” As he spoke, he pressed a credit card into my palm. “This is everything I made this month. It’s all yours.” So that’s what he meant by ‘making it up to me’? Giving me money? But I didn’t want his money. I wanted him. I set the card aside. He sensed my displeasure. “Not enough?” he asked, his voice gentle. “I’ll work harder, earn more. I have three new endorsement deals in the works, and the payment for my next film is coming soon.” For three years, he had worked himself to the bone, taking every job offered, with no time to come home. The balance in my bank account was already ridiculously high. But no matter how much money I had, if he wouldn’t let me touch him, I could never complete my mission. “Bobby, you’ve given me more than enough money,” I said, my fingers tracing the line of his shirt, flicking open a button. “Could you… give me something else?” There was no way he didn’t understand. He caught my wandering hand, his expression momentarily dazed. Then he regained his composure. “Ava, I’ll give you anything you want. Anything… except my body.” 5 His words were like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing every spark of passion I had. “Why?” I had to know. “Because I don’t want to lose…” he murmured, a look in his eyes I couldn’t decipher. He must have someone else. A ‘one that got away’ that he couldn’t forget. That’s why he’d left me on our wedding night—he must have been thinking of her. Our marriage was a sham because he was waiting for her, saving himself for her. When he said he didn’t want to lose, he meant he didn’t want to lose her. “The bath is ready. You should get in,” he said, lifting me off the vanity. I soaked in the tub. When I came out, he was gone. He’d just left, afraid I was going to pounce on him. My phone buzzed with a message from him: Have an early call time tomorrow. Heading back to the set. Get some rest. I called Lucy to vent. “Lucy, is he crazy? He turns me on and then just runs away. What’s his deal?” Lucy’s voice was hesitant. “Uh… I’m a little busy right now… Can we talk tomorrow?” I heard the… activity… in the background and immediately backtracked. “Oh, right. You’re busy. Never mind.” Before I could hang up, Liam’s voice came through, deep and husky. “Pay attention, darling.” It was too much. I quickly ended the call. Now I didn’t even have anyone to complain to. I opened social media and saw I was trending. #BobbyBlackwoodsWifesComment My comment had been traced back to my main account. Now, a swarm of curious fans was flooding my page. So, is it true? Is he all show and no go? Can you please clear this up? I don’t believe for a second that our Bobby is bad in bed. I hadn’t believed it either. He had rushed all the way here to ‘prove’ himself, only to run away with his tail between his legs. Now, I was more certain than ever.

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For the annual holiday bonuses, all employees received a luxury gift basket—except my wife’s new driver, Joey, who got a million-dollar Patek Philippe. That’s when I knew. I didn’t lose my temper. I just placed the signed divorce papers in front of her. “You lose everything, or he disappears. Choose.” That night, she returned crying and tore the papers apart. “It’s handled,” she whispered. Three days later, at the Autumn Charity Gala, she showed up with Joey. When our eyes met, she shuddered and clutched his arm, loudly declaring, “I can’t take your twisted appetites anymore! Joey taught me what love is.” Then, angling her arm toward the cameras, she revealed a constellation of purple bruises. Gasps filled the room. “Long Industries CEO Accused of Abuse” trended worldwide instantly. Amusing. Some are offered an easy way out but choose ruin instead. Fine. If she wants a war, I’ll give her annihilation. 1 I watched the screen of my phone, the headlines flashing across it: “Adrian Long: The Beast Behind the Billionaire,” “Seraphina Vance’s Brave Stand Against Abuser Husband.” It was patently absurd. A move so clumsy, so utterly foolish. Did she really think she could destroy me, destroy Long Industries, with such a cheap trick? That she could legitimize her sordid little affair? A daydreamer, lost in her own fantasy. I lifted my gaze. Across the room, Joey held her protectively, his arm wrapped around her as she gave a tearful interview to a swarm of reporters. “For the sake of our families’ alliance, I was prepared to endure it forever,” she sobbed. “But then Joey came into my life, and he showed me that I deserved happiness…” “All I want is a swift end to this sham of a marriage, but…” She trailed off, glancing at me. Her eyes held a flicker of fear, but it was overshadowed by a smug, confident certainty. “Ms. Vance, are you afraid of retaliation from Mr. Long?” a reporter pressed, shoving a microphone in her face. Seraphina flinched as if struck. Her eyes welled with fresh tears as she buried her face in Joey’s chest. Joey stepped forward, shielding her. He stared directly at me, his voice ringing with self-righteous fury. “I won’t let Seraphina get hurt ever again,” he announced. “Power and wealth don’t give him the right to do whatever he wants!” They never once used the word “abuse,” yet every word was a hammer blow, nailing that very accusation to my name. Their little performance worked like a charm. The whispers around me grew louder, the judgmental stares more intense. “You really can’t judge a book by its cover. I remember when every debutante in the city was desperate to marry into the Long family. Turns out it wasn’t a palace, it was a predator’s den.” “Exactly. Adrian Long is famously ruthless in business. God only knows what methods he uses at home. Looking at Ms. Vance’s bruises, I can only imagine what she’s endured these past three years.” “If you ask me, he should grant her a divorce immediately, give her a generous settlement, and let her be with her true love. Otherwise, this abuse scandal is going to drag the entire Long name through the mud…” The pack of reporters turned, advancing on me. “Mr. Long, what is your response to Ms. Vance’s allegations?” “Will you do the decent thing and release her from this marriage?” The microphones stopped a few feet away, held back by my security detail. I raised a hand, waving them off, and rose slowly to my feet. The noisy ballroom fell into a sudden, expectant hush. A cold smile touched my lips. My gaze swept calmly across the room, passing over every face until it landed on Seraphina. “If Ms. Vance wants to play,” I said, my voice low but carrying to every corner of the vast hall, “then I’m more than happy to oblige.” I turned to my assistant. “Contact the legal department. We’re filing for divorce and suing for defamation. Simultaneously.” My voice dropped, turning to ice. “Immediately pull all funding from Vance Enterprises. Sever all joint ventures. Now.” Without another glance at anyone, I turned and walked out. 2 The moment I settled into the back of the car, my assistant handed me a tablet. “Sir, the stock has taken a significant hit. Several partners are invoking contract clauses to pull out, citing damage to the brand’s reputation.” He hesitated. “Should we… kill the story?” I glanced at the plummeting stock chart, a chilling smirk playing on my lips. “No need.” This was nothing. A minor turbulence. “Mobilize the offshore hedge fund. Use five billion. Buy back every share of Long stock you can get your hands on.” “As for those partners…” I paused, my voice devoid of any emotion. “Blacklist them. All of them. We will never do business with them again.” The words had barely left my mouth when my phone rang. It was Seraphina’s father, his voice a torrent of rage. “Adrian Long, you son of a bitch! I gave you my daughter, and this is how you treat her?” “This marriage is over! But don’t think you can just walk away!” he bellowed. “My daughter gets half of Long Industries! And another five hundred million for pain and suffering!” “And you will continue to unconditionally fund all of Vance Enterprises’ projects for the next ten years!” “If you refuse, we will fight you with everything we have! We’ll make sure Seraphina gets justice!” Listening to his hysterical threats, my eyes turned to chips of ice. Three years ago, Vance Enterprises was on the brink of collapse. If he and Seraphina hadn’t knelt outside my office for an entire day in the pouring rain, begging for a bailout, would their family even exist today? I remembered Seraphina then, her face streaked with rain and tears, clinging to my leg, refusing to let go. “Mr. Long, if you save my family, I’ll give you myself!” The fire in her eyes had moved me. I’d agreed. And so, our strategic marriage was born. In the years that followed, I not only injected capital into their company but also fed them countless resources and contracts, single-handedly building the Vance name back to prominence. It seemed three years of my generosity had made them forget who they depended on for their very survival. Listening to the old man’s blustering, and thinking of his cheating, treacherous daughter… like father, like daughter. A pair of ungrateful vipers. My grip on the phone tightened, my patience worn thin. “Do your worst, Mr. Vance.” I hung up and snapped at my assistant. “Three days.” “I want Seraphina with nothing, and the Vance name erased from this city.” If she had just been honest with me three days ago, I might have granted her a shred of dignity. But now, after she chose to use the most despicable means to claw for more… she would learn what it means to be truly ruthless. 3 When I returned to the villa, I found that Seraphina had already sent people to clear out her belongings. Our wedding photos were torn to pieces, scattered across the floor like confetti at a funeral. On the table lay a new divorce agreement she’d drafted and signed, demanding an even fifty-fifty split of all assets. One clause, in particular, made me laugh out loud. The husband is required to unconditionally transfer 51% of his shares in the Long Industries subsidiary ‘Vanguard Logistics’ to a third party, Mr. Joey. I had to wonder what kind of magic this Joey possessed. In just a year, he had bewitched Seraphina so completely that she was planning his fortune even as she planned her escape. And our three years of marriage? A lukewarm affair, sustained almost entirely by my efforts. Utterly pathetic. I crumpled the document into a tight ball and, with a flick of my wrist, sank it into the trash can. Ten minutes later, news broke that the Vance Enterprises’ funding pipeline had been severed, and all their major projects had ground to a halt. Seraphina’s calls started coming, one after another. I ignored them all. Then, the texts began, flooding my inbox like spam. Adrian Long, is threatening people the only thing you know how to do? If you have a problem, take it out on me! Why are you attacking my family? Don’t think this will make me come back to you. I will NEVER be with you. The only one I love is Joey. We should end this amicably. Otherwise, we can burn everything to the ground together. If I go down, you’re coming with me! Reading just those three, I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. Even now, did she really believe I was doing all this to force her back into my arms? How pitifully, tragically stupid. I didn’t bother reading the rest. I simply blocked her number. I thought that would be the end of it, but I had severely underestimated her capacity for madness. The next morning, I had just walked into my office when my assistant burst in, his face pale. “Sir, you need to see this. Your wife… she’s live-streaming.” He handed me his phone. On the screen was Seraphina’s face, a mask of tragic beauty, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was wearing a simple white dress, her face stripped of makeup, making her look frail and vulnerable. “Hello, everyone… My name is Seraphina Vance. I am… Adrian Long’s wife, in name only.” She sniffled, her voice catching. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t how I wanted you to meet me, but I have nowhere else to turn.” “For three years,” she choked out, “he’s taken out his frustrations on me over the smallest things. I can’t take it anymore. Now that I’ve asked for a divorce, he refuses and is threatening to ruin my family… Please, someone, help me…” Then, she raised a utility knife to her own wrist and dragged it across her skin. Blood welled up instantly, dark and shocking against her pale flesh. “Maybe if I’m dead,” she whispered to the camera, “he’ll finally let me go…” The live chat exploded. “Ms. Vance, don’t! He’s not worth it! Think about Joey! We all support you! Find your happiness!” “That bastard Adrian Long is an animal! He’s driven this poor woman to this! If I ever got my hands on him…” “Don’t give up, Ms. Vance! Sue him! Take that abuser for everything he’s got! Make sure he ends up with nothing!” Just then, our housekeeper, Martha, rushed into the frame, grabbing Seraphina’s bleeding wrist, her own eyes red with tears. “Ma’am, please don’t do this! It’s not your fault! It’s all his fault!” “I’ve worked in this house for two years,” Martha declared, turning to the camera with righteous indignation. “I’ve seen how badly the Master treats you. Divorce him! I’ll be your witness!” She began to list my supposed crimes, her voice ringing with conviction. “One time, just because she forgot to bring him his slippers, he dragged her into a corner with no cameras and slammed her head against the wall! Then he forbade her from eating dinner.” “Another time, he pulled her into the bedroom, and all I could hear was the crack of a whip and the sound of her crying and begging for him to stop.” “And then there was the time…” She wove a tale so detailed, so believable, that if I weren’t the man she was describing, I might have believed it myself. She even produced a medical report detailing Seraphina’s injuries. “Again and again, Ma’am forgave him out of respect for their marriage. She made me destroy so many of these reports. If I hadn’t secretly kept this one, there’d be no way to get her justice!” Her testimony was the spark that ignited a wildfire of public outrage. My personal information and the addresses of Long Industries’ main offices were doxxed online. Threats and curses flooded our servers. Joey appeared on screen then, dabbing at Seraphina’s wound with a look of profound love and pain. “Shhh, Seraphina, don’t be afraid. You have me now. I’ll always be with you,” he murmured, before turning to the camera with a heroic glare. “Adrian Long! If you’re any kind of man, you’ll let her go! Stop hiding and torturing a woman!” His passionate defense earned him a chorus of online cheers. “Joey is such a real man! No wonder she fell for him. I think I’m falling for him too…” “Death to the abuser! Anyone who stands in the way of true love deserves to be struck by lightning!” “Ms. Vance, if you need a private investigator, contact me! I’ll help you find all the evidence you need, free of charge. We’ll ruin him!”

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To maintain my gold-digger persona, I’d always purr and ask my benefactor for some new luxury item after we were finished. And every time, he’d just smirk, a cold glint in his eyes, and pin me down all over again. He wouldn’t stop until I was sprawled on the sheets, utterly spent, my legs too weak to even stand. Only then would he casually toss a black card onto the pillow beside me. Until one day. After he left, I picked up the card and asked the System in my head, “His new intern… is she waiting for him in his office?” The System’s ice-cold voice replied:【Affirmative. They have a candlelight dinner scheduled for this evening. Host, your current objective is complete. Please proceed to the next target.】 1 “Slower—mmph…” My plea was smothered by Caleb Vance’s palm, turning it into a helpless whimper. His voice was a low rasp, laced with a cruelty he barely bothered to hide. “Didn’t you want a necklace? Let’s say… one minute for every one you want.” And with that, the soft mattress began to heave beneath us once more. I don’t know how much time passed. My vision went white, my body trembling uncontrollably. “Two minutes. You really can’t last, can you?” Caleb chuckled, his teeth nipping at my earlobe. “But I’m not finished yet.” Finally, I was left boneless on the bed, my energy completely drained. I stared blankly at the ceiling, my lashes still damp with unshed tears. Caleb, looking thoroughly satisfied, took a shower and changed. He glanced at me while adjusting his cufflinks. “What was that necklace you wanted?” My voice was a ragged whisper, but I was determined to milk him for all he was worth. “…The custom haute couture one. A million dollars a piece.” He casually tossed a black card onto the pillow next to me. “Buy ten.” I blinked. Suddenly, my back didn’t ache so much, and my legs felt a little stronger. He said nothing else after that. As he was about to leave, I called out, my voice still hoarse, “Aren’t you having dinner with me tonight?” “Something came up at the office,” he said dismissively. “If there’s a restaurant you want to go to, have my assistant make a reservation for you.” I stayed silent. Only when I heard the click of the front door did I manage to push myself up and grab the card. I asked the System, “His intern. Is she waiting for him in his office?” The System’s detached voice echoed in my mind: 【Affirmative. They have a candlelight dinner scheduled for this evening. Host, your current objective is complete. Please proceed to the next target.】 A soft breath escaped my lips, and I smiled. “You know, System, this gold-digger persona… it’s not so bad, is it? Good food, easy money.” The only downside was that no one cared. But I only wanted money, not love. The System ignored my commentary, its tone as flat as ever: 【Target number two is the heroine’s stepbrother. You are to complete this objective by the end of today.】 I froze, a flicker of a memory making me hesitate. After a moment of silence, I asked, “Ethan… where is he now?” 【The Sovereign Club.】 2 I squeezed into a short skirt and heels, my legs still feeling like jelly as I made my way to the address the System provided. Dusk was settling over the city. Inside the exclusive club, I stepped into an elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. Nothing happened. A man who had entered with me leaned against the wall, arms crossed, sizing me up with an amused expression. “Going to the penthouse, are we?” he drawled. “Which one of the guys brought you along?” I took a step back, eyeing him warily. His hair was a startling silver, and his playful eyes held a glint of mischief. Seeing me retreat, he leaned in closer. “Or… are you here to land a big fish?” His tone was condescending. I pressed my lips together and said nothing. He gave a lazy smile, reached past me, and swiped a keycard. The button for the top floor lit up. I looked at him, surprised. He let out a low whistle. “Well, if you don’t find what you’re looking for up there, you know who to call.” He looked familiar. I must have seen him with Caleb at some point. But men like them were always surrounded by a rotating cast of beautiful women; it was no surprise he didn’t remember me. The elevator doors slid open onto the penthouse floor. The space was crowded. Several people recognized the man beside me and came over to greet him, their eyes flicking to me with knowing smirks. “Look at you, Craig. A new one already?” They all laughed. Craig Croft shrugged. “Don’t start rumors. She’s not with me.” My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for my second target. My mind raced. How was I supposed to complete this mission tonight? Then I saw him. Ethan Sterling. My heart skipped a beat, and an idea sparked. I grabbed Craig’s arm, catching him off guard. “You know,” I whispered, “I’ve looked around, and I haven’t seen anyone I like. How about I try my luck with you?” He raised a surprised eyebrow. A moment later, he burst out laughing. “Alright, boys,” he announced to his friends, “looks like she’s mine now.” He led me through the crowd, handing me a glass of champagne. “A girl on her own in a place like this… you’ll get eaten alive.” He said it casually, but we both knew the truth. Women who came here alone weren’t afraid of wolves; they were afraid there wouldn’t be any. “And what about you?” I smiled sweetly. “Me?” He took a leisurely sip. “What do you think?” I didn’t have to think. There were no good men in Caleb Vance’s circle. I subtly guided him towards a more secluded corner. He sighed dramatically. “Honey, you’re a little eager, aren’t you?” Catching sight of my target out of the corner of my eye, I threw my arms around Craig’s neck and leaned in. Just as our lips were about to touch, a cool voice cut through the air. “Vivian?” I feigned shock, pushing Craig away. My eyes filled with tears as I scrambled over to Ethan, hiding behind him. My voice trembled as I spoke. “It was him… he was forcing himself on me.” I couldn’t see Ethan’s expression from where I stood. But Craig touched his lips, a slow, dawning comprehension on his face. He let out a humorless laugh. “So that’s your game, huh? You set me up.” If I had known then that he was my third target, I wouldn’t have dared to play with fire like this. But at that moment, all I knew was that I had to cling to Ethan’s sleeve and look as helpless as possible. “Please… help me.” Any normal man, seeing his first love being harassed and looking so pitiful, would have stepped in. Thank god, Ethan Sterling was a normal man. He shot Craig a cold look. “I’m taking her with me.” He paused. “And you should be more careful. Forcing yourself on women is the kind of thing that gets you arrested.” With that, he led me away. I heard a curse behind us: “Son of a bitch.” I didn’t have to look to know the expression on Craig’s face must have been priceless. 3 I cried my heart out in front of Ethan. But I carefully controlled the flow of tears, not wanting my eyes to get puffy and ruin the delicate, fragile aesthetic. Ethan handed me a tissue. I looked up at him, my vision blurry. “I’ve been… I’ve been really short on money. That man, he said he’d give me money if I came with him…” Ethan’s dark eyes were deep and unreadable. “You followed a strange man who offered you money. Did you really not know what would happen?” Tears streamed down my face. “But I really needed the money…” His voice held no judgment, only a calm detachment. “A gambling addict for a father? A sick mother? A younger brother who needs to pay for school?” …Those were the lies I’d told him back in high school. I just sniffled, looking up at him with a wounded expression, and said nothing. The small lounge was silent except for my soft sobs, but a different kind of tension began to fill the air. Then, Ethan’s long fingers reached out and hooked the collar of my dress. A cool draft whispered against my skin. He looked down, his eyes cold despite the smile on his face. “You dare to parade yourself in front of me covered in another man’s marks?” I went rigid. I followed his gaze. Caleb never left marks. What the hell happened today? My body trembled, and a fresh wave of tears burst forth. I threw myself against Ethan. “It was… it was that man from today…” That Craig guy looked like a playboy anyway. He could take the blame. Ethan’s fingers tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Vivian,” he said, his smile sharp as ice, “why did you really come looking for me today?” To complete the mission. To conquer you. You’re the heroine’s brother, after all. As the villainess, it’s my duty to take you down. “You helped me,” I whispered, lightly tugging on his sleeve. Ethan just looked down at me, his expression unreadable. I gazed back at him, feigning timidity. Ever since I’d gotten involved with him in high school, I’d never been able to figure him out. He possessed the cool arrogance of a wealthy heir, with a cutting wit to match. It had taken all my skill at playing the pitiful damsel in distress to finally earn a sliver of his attention. Ethan wasn’t moved by sympathy; he just wanted a pathetic little pet he could control. And then one day, his so-called pet had dumped him… 【Host, Target Number One and the heroine have arrived at the restaurant,】 the System announced. I flinched. The pressure on my chin increased, the pain making me gasp. “Your mind is wandering? In front of me?” Ethan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He sat down across from me, crossing his long legs and pulling out his phone. “How much do you need?” I hesitated, then said weakly, “What if that man harasses me again?” “Stop playing games with me,” he said, tapping a finger on the table. “Vivian, don’t be so confident in yourself. Did you really think you could win me back just by crying and acting cute?” Just then, my phone rang. It was the custom ringtone I’d set for Caleb. I immediately silenced the call. The air grew heavy. Ethan glanced at me but didn’t ask. The excuse I’d prepared died on my lips. … “I have a cat,” Ethan said, a lazy smile playing at the corners of his eyes, though his tone remained cool. “It’s beautiful, soft fur. But it’s ungrateful. It follows whoever feeds it.” I didn’t know if he was talking about me, but I fell silent. 【Host, please complete the mission as soon as possible,】 the System urged. That was all the push I needed. I leaned over, placed a hand on his shoulder, and aimed for his lips. His hand tangled in my hair, yanking me forward and erasing my last bit of hesitation. Our lips met in a hungry, bruising kiss. Just as I was running out of air, he pulled back. His gaze lingered on the tip of my nose and the corners of my eyes, both now flushed red. Ethan’s phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, his knuckles sharp and defined. “What is it, Elara?” My eyes widened. The heroine? Wasn’t she supposed to be having dinner with Caleb? Why was she calling Ethan? Ethan stood up, walking out of the room as he spoke to his stepsister. At that moment, Caleb called me a second time. I answered, holding the phone to my ear. “What were you doing? Why didn’t you pick up?” he demanded, his voice laced with impatience. I softened my tone. “I didn’t hear it before. What’s up?” He paused. “That bracelet you wanted… pick a different one.” It was a blue diamond bracelet, the centerpiece of tomorrow’s auction. I didn’t have to guess. He was getting it for Elara. “Okay,” I said calmly. Caleb seemed taken aback. “You’re not angry?” I frowned. I got the money, and I’d completed my mission with him. What was there to be angry about? It was over between us. I just couldn’t tell him that right now. “You don’t have to get me anything, you know,” I said vaguely. “Don’t be difficult,” he grumbled, a rare, offhand attempt at comfort, before hanging up. I rolled my eyes. Just then, Ethan returned. I quickly composed my expression. “I’ll take you home,” he said. I looked at him. “I’m not going home.” “Then where are you going?” A faint smile touched his lips, his tone neutral. “Your place.” Ethan slowly rolled up his sleeves, saying nothing. “…It’s not like I haven’t been there before,” I added, blinking up at him. After a long moment, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Fine. But not tonight.” My heart sank. “Why?” “My sister’s drunk,” he said, his expression closing off. “I have to go get her.” I was stunned. Why are you getting her? Caleb is with her! The System chimed in at the perfect moment: 【Tonight is not the scheduled confrontation between Caleb and Ethan. Host, you must delay Ethan at all costs.】 I was silent for a moment, then asked in a small voice, “Can’t you just… not go?” “Tell me if there’s anything you want to buy.” With that, he turned and left. Ever since high school, Ethan had always put Elara first. I always told myself she was his sister. Even if they weren’t related by blood, she was his stepsister, his family. So when he abandoned me with a broken bone to deliver a paintbrush to Elara, I didn’t dare complain. It wasn’t until the System appeared that I finally understood. Elara was the heroine of this world. Everyone was destined to revolve around her. And I was just the villainess—her brother’s toxic first love, her future boyfriend’s kept woman. No wonder. “System,” I said calmly. “The mission is a failure.” I had two objectives tonight. One: Keep Ethan occupied so he wouldn’t interrupt the heroine’s date with Caleb. Two: Sleep with Ethan. For the first time, the System seemed at a loss: 【…Well.】 “If the world is going to collapse, so be it,” I said, my voice flat. “Shouldn’t the main characters be the ones worrying about that? What does it have to do with a villainess like me?” 【…Agreed.】 I sat in the lounge for a while, lost in thought, before pushing the door open. And ran right into him. The man from before. He was laughing and chatting with a group of people, but his smile vanished the moment he saw me. I tried to walk past him, but he grabbed my wrist. His friends tactfully dispersed. His playful eyes bored into me. “Ethan’s gone.” I didn’t respond. “You change your tune pretty fast, don’t you, Ms. Vivian?” he sighed. “You had me investigated?” I snapped, pulling my arm away. He paused, then shrugged. “I was just curious about you.” When I remained silent, he leaned in, his voice a low, magnetic whisper. “I also know you’re sleeping with Caleb Vance.” I scoffed. “So what? I’m about to take the money he gave me and disappear to Hawaii.” Might as well enjoy it before the world ends. He was speechless for a moment. “Are you aware,” he asked, his curiosity piqued, “that Caleb has been getting very close to Ethan’s sister?” “I’m going to Hawaii,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “Why would I care about his sister?” I pulled out my phone, ready to book a flight right in front of him. That’s when I saw the string of messages from Caleb: 【Were you just with Ethan Sterling?】 【You’ve got some nerve. Still have the energy to chase after other men?】 【And here I was, actually taking the time to pick out a necklace and a bag for you.】 【Answer me, Vivian!】 I fell silent. The last message was: 【You’re something else. The Sovereign Club, right? Just you wait.】 It had been sent five minutes ago. Damn this phone! Why didn’t I get a notification for the message? I gritted my teeth, my eyes darting around for the nearest exit. The man beside me smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. “There’s no escape for you now.” I looked up at him, then followed his gaze. I saw three figures. Caleb Vance, his face a thundercloud, striding towards me. Ethan Sterling, a chilling smile in his eyes. And the long-haired, beautiful Elara. Wait… where did they have their candlelight dinner? Was it that close to the club? Right. Same commercial district. I instinctively turned away, trying to hide my face with my hair. I tried to duck behind the man beside me, to disappear from their line of sight. Security began to clear the area, ushering the gawking onlookers away. When the room was empty, Caleb’s voice was a low growl. “You’re really asking for it. Where do you think you can hide?” “You lied to me again, Vivian,” Ethan’s voice was so cold it sent a shiver down my spine. “You were with Caleb today. So who was Craig?” The man beside me, hearing his own name, froze. “What?” he said, turning to look at me. “So I was just your decoy the entire time?” Without his tall frame to shield me, I was completely exposed. I looked desperately at Elara. Come on! Do your heroine thing! Start a fight with Caleb and Ethan! Take them away! But Elara, with her innocent-looking face, simply pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She lit one, took a long drag, and slowly exhaled a plume of smoke. I was speechless. The three men, however, seemed completely unfazed. Fine. If you can’t beat them, join them. I tossed my hair back. “So what if I did?” With that, I turned and headed for the elevator. “I’ve booked a flight to Hawaii for tomorrow. I need to go pack.” A jolt of static crackled in my mind, and the System’s voice announced: 【Host. Considering the extreme difficulty of your current objectives, the stability team has revised your mission. 【You need only successfully conquer Target Number Three. Upon completion, you will be rewarded with three hundred million in cash, a lifetime of perfect health, and you will be permanently stripped of your ‘villainess’ designation.】 Caleb hadn’t even had a chance to stop me, but my feet were already rooted to the spot. My eyes lit up. I didn’t care about the last reward, but the first two— 【Who’s Target Number Three?】 I asked internally. 【The man beside you. Craig Croft.】 I was speechless. I tried to force a smile, but my face felt stiff. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Then, in one smooth motion, I spun around. I linked my arm through Craig’s, my face a perfect picture of radiant charm. “Hey handsome, you busy tonight?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384769”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The year I went undercover, I took a bullet for the city’s most feared crime lord to prove my loyalty. Then, for three years, nothing. A black void where my memory used to be. The day I woke up, I tentatively reached out my hand. The man before me knelt with practiced ease, bringing his face close to my palm. “Can you go a little easy on me today?” he murmured, his voice laced with a strange sort of grievance. “I have a meeting later.” 1 I was utterly dumbfounded. “H-h-h-honey…” The word was barely out of my mouth before Eddie gently took my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles. “There are people watching, angel. Save it for when we get home, okay?” Excuse me? Was this the same Eddie Dillon? The ruthless, decisive crime lord whose name was whispered in fear across the city? My last memory of him was the cold steel of his gun pressed against my forehead, his eyes burning with disgust as he spat, “Get away from me!” Back then, I couldn’t even look at him without getting a death glare in return, let alone touch him. But now? He wasn’t just initiating contact; he was doing it with a look of pure, docile submission. And the most insane part? Everyone else in the room acted like this was just another Tuesday. Panic clawed at my throat, and I tried to snatch my hand back. His grip tightened, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. “Ava,” he purred, his voice dropping low. “Why aren’t you hitting me?” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve fallen for that pretty boy, haven’t you? Is that it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Fine. I’ll have him shipped off to some godforsaken desert until he’s begging for a shadow.” He was being completely unreasonable. But I knew Eddie. He wasn’t a man of empty threats. Gritting my teeth, I raised my other hand and swung. The slap echoed in the silent room. He didn’t even flinch. One side of his perfect face instantly flushed a deep red. My hand trembled, a cold dread washing over me. I half-expected him to pull the gun from his waistband and end me right there. Instead, he touched his cheek, his lips moving almost imperceptibly. “That hurt.” Well, what was I supposed to do about it? You asked for it. You want me to kiss it better? The thought had barely formed when Eddie dropped to both knees, pressing his bruised cheek into my palm and nuzzling against it. “Kiss it better, Ava,” he whispered. Oh, for God’s sake. Just let the world end now. 2 Three years ago, I was sent in as a mole. It did not start well. Eddie Dillon was a ghost, a phantom. Getting close to him was like trying to catch smoke. He was always flanked by a legion of bodyguards. My only way in was to get a job at a high-end club he owned. After weeks of waiting, I finally got word he was coming. I was desperate, reckless. I decided to show off by opening a beer bottle with my bare hands. The cap shot off like a bullet and ricocheted right off Eddie’s nose. The beer foamed over, drenching his custom-tailored suit. That night, I learned what it felt like to be pinned by a gaze that could strip the soul from your bones. My punishment? Bathroom duty. For a month. Then, my chance came again. Eddie was back at the club, this time for a business meeting. My handler had intel that he was getting into some dirty dealings and I had to get eyes on it. I begged the club manager for a chance. She gave me a long, pitying look. “Honey, you’re gorgeous, you’ve got a great body, but…” She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the words out. “The boss isn’t into men.” Oh, right. I forgot. I’d kept my hair short, and when I first applied, I saw all the bombshell waitresses had long, flowing hair. On a whim, I’d lied and said I was a guy. I stamped my foot in frustration. “But what if he is? Secretly?” I pressed. “Think about it! He comes here all the time and never so much as looks at any of the girls. He’s always alone.” A flicker of understanding crossed her face. I’d gotten to her. She came back with a sheer, mesh top. I waved my hands frantically. No way. My chest was… noticeable. It would give me away in a second. I’d heard that men of his stature often had… peculiar tastes. “Get me a schoolgirl outfit,” I said. I scrubbed my face clean of all makeup, applying only a slick of strawberry-flavored lip balm. When I pushed the door open to the private room, every man inside froze, their drinks halfway to their lips. A kind-looking older man spoke up. “You lost, kid?” My eyes found Eddie. He looked bored, unimpressed. I pitched my voice high and innocent. “Big brother?” His brow furrowed. “You’ve got the wrong person.” I rushed toward him, not seeing the empty bottle on the floor. My foot landed on it, and I went down. It was a perfect slide, like a baseball player stealing home, that brought my face dangerously close to… well, his lap. Mortification burned through me. He extended a single finger and tapped my forehead. “Where do you think you’re looking?” I looked up, my hands finding his knees, giving them a hopeful squeeze. “Please, brother, take me in.” The tears came on command, hot and fast. “My dad’s a gambling addict, he lost everything. My mom’s too sick to get out of bed, and my little sister… she hasn’t eaten in days.” Eddie flicked a lighter open and closed, the flame dancing in his dark eyes. He was unmoved. “I’ve heard that story at least ten times this month.” So what? This time, I wasn’t leaving. I was going to get back everything I’d lost. One of his men entered. “Boss, Mr. Shaw is here.” My internal alarms blared. My handler had warned me about this man specifically. Eddie’s expression hardened. He stood, stepping around me. “Get out.” I wouldn’t budge. “Not until you agree to take me with you.” His eyes, black and bottomless, fixed on me. “Are you even legal?” I nodded. He glanced away, a humorless smirk on his lips. “Tough luck. I’m not into adults.” What the—? The man was a total creep. Before I could say another word, Mr. Shaw strolled in, his gaze bouncing between me and Eddie with amusement. “Well, well, Eddie. Didn’t know you were into this sort of thing. You should have said something. I’ve got plenty more where she came from.” In a flash, Eddie had a gun out, the cold barrel pressed against my forehead. His eyes were ice. “Get. Away. From. Me.” I hovered by the door, trying to listen in. Suddenly, voices were raised, erupting into a full-blown argument. I burst back into the room right behind Eddie’s men. Mr. Shaw was clutching his forehead, blood streaming between his fingers. He had his own gun leveled at Eddie. “Go to hell!” he screamed. His finger was tightening on the trigger— In that split second, I didn’t think. I just moved. Something inside me knew he couldn’t die. Not like this. I launched myself at him, a blur of motion. As I tackled him to the ground, the gunshot roared in my ears. My last wisp of consciousness was filled with Eddie’s voice, raw with fury. “You damn fool!” If I hadn’t pushed him, that bullet would have gone straight through his head. Miraculously, I survived. But a piece of me died. My memory was gone. And the Ava who woke up was… different. According to witnesses, she was: A total perv. She’d throw herself at Eddie for kisses at the drop of a hat. She once snuck into the bathroom while he was showering to “measure his dimensions.” And, most bizarrely, she refused to sleep on anything but his chiseled abs. A social cannonball. Her official title was, essentially, “Eddie’s Overlord.” She would cling to him in public, calling him “hubby” without a shred of shame, using his infatuation with her as a license to stir up trouble wherever she went. And, on top of all that, she was extremely violent. She slapped him. Often. When she was feeling particularly inventive, she used… implements. The basement of the Dillon mansion was a testament to her creativity—a private collection of tools, all for Eddie. 3 I slammed my hand on the table. “That’s a load of crap!” Barney, the bodyguard Eddie had assigned me, jumped, his body trembling. “M-m-m-ma’am… it’s all true.” His only real flaw was that debilitating stutter. The truth was, I had flashes, disjointed images of what I’d been like these past few years. But I couldn’t accept it. I was trying to convince myself it was all just a long, terrible nightmare. I leaned in, whispering to Barney. “When I hit him… Eddie… he didn’t fight back? Not even once?” Barney nervously picked at his fingers, his mind replaying the scenes. Every time his boss got slapped, he wouldn’t get angry. He’d just get this… wounded puppy look, gently taking her hand and asking if she wanted to go again. “He… he r-r-re…” Resisted? No, that couldn’t be right. All ten of my fingers were still attached. “…really didn’t seem to mind. You’d just hit him harder,” Barney finished in a rush, looking at me with terrified eyes. “The b-boss used to say that only a man with a wife gets the privilege of being hit. He said he felt s-sorry for us because we had no one to hit us.” I was speechless. Now that my memories were back, my mission was all I could think about. I had to contact my handler. When I finally got him on the line, his first message was a single question mark. You’re not dead? he texted. Me: Are you trying to curse me? I’ll file a complaint! Handler: Ooh, did the little baby get her feelings hurt? Don’t make me come over there and take away your rattle. Me: …Did I do something to you? Why are you being so vicious? The sarcasm kept flowing. Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re Eddie Dillon’s precious little treasure now. I spent months trying to find you, thought you’d been kidnapped. Then I finally spot you on the street, try to get you out of there, and what happens— And then it hit me. I remembered. I remembered everything. His texts became more frantic. You pointed at me and screamed ‘stranger danger’! You said I was an old, crusty fossil! That I wasn’t fit to lick the mud off your precious Eddie’s shoes! I was so mad I couldn’t eat for three days! Me? Crusty? I’m the prize jewel of this entire department! I was so, so sorry. I apologized profusely. Eventually, we got down to business. He filled me in. The investigation was closed. Mr. Shaw had been arrested. Eddie Dillon, for his cooperation with the police, had been given a public commendation as a model citizen. They’d dug into every corner of his life and found nothing. The reason they’d left me with him was simple: during my amnesia, Eddie had guarded me like a dragon hoarding gold. They couldn’t risk spooking him. But more importantly, I hadn’t wanted to leave. I was a clingy, possessive, royal pain in the ass, and they had no idea what to do with me. So, they let it be. But now, it was up to me to find a tactful way to disappear. Right before he signed off, my handler added one last gleeful jab. You know, for all your crazy, he seems genuinely into you. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking. If you just up and leave him… well, heh heh… What the hell was that old fossil ‘heh heh’-ing about? 4 My head was spinning. Just then, a call came in from Eddie’s assistant. “Ma’am, you haven’t done your daily check-in call yet.” “Check-in for what?” He sighed dramatically. “That explains it.” Then his voice turned pleading. “Ma’am, you have to get down here. The boss is about to burn the entire company to the ground.” On my way! I didn’t know the way, so I made Barney drive. He started whimpering. I thought he was just overwhelmed with excitement. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Barney. From now on, you’re my right-hand man. Do a good job, and you’ll be rewarded.” “That’s n-not it, ma’am,” he wailed. “It’s just… I’ve f-f-failed my driver’s test… f-five times.” Useless! I made him navigate instead. Half an hour later, I was deeply regretting that decision. We came to an intersection. “Which way, Barney?” He rolled down the window, sticking his head out so far he nearly fell. “S-s-str…” “S-s-str…” Straight? Got it. I even sped up a little. Barney’s face turned beet red. “STRAIGHT into a right turn!” …I was seriously considering just pushing him out of the car. A little while later, we came to a fork in the road. Barney pointed excitedly at a bridge. “U-u-up…” “U-u-up…” I swerved onto the bridge. His face crumpled in despair. He slapped his knees, nearly jumping out of his seat. “I’ve been this way before! We were stuck in traffic for a whole day!” For the love of God. Thanks to Barney, by the time we reached Eddie’s company, it was already dark. Eddie’s assistant, Mr. Evans, was a true professional. The security guard told me he’d been waiting by the curb for me since the afternoon. “So sorry,” I said. “The traffic was a nightmare.” He offered a cryptic smile. “Don’t worry about it. This is nothing.” He led the way, walking with a strange, stiff-legged limp. “Mr. Evans, what happened to your leg?” Barney, of course, answered for him. “It probably f-f-f-fell asleep!” Mr. Evans shot him a stern look. “Watch your language in front of Mrs. Dillon.” 5 It wasn’t until we arrived that I realized I had no idea what I was supposed to do here. Mr. Evans just smiled. “Ma’am, please. Don’t hold back. Do what you do best.” There was a hidden meaning in his words, and I understood it the moment we reached the CEO’s office. A woman was draped all over Eddie. “So she took a bullet for you, so what?” she whined. “I get it, Eddie, you’re grateful. You feel like you owe her. But you’ve done more than enough. Do you have any idea what a joke you’ve become because of her? Do you know what people are saying about you?” Eddie was slouched in his chair, chin propped on his hand, his attention fixed on the phone sitting on his desk. “What are they saying?” he asked, his tone dripping with boredom. The woman sniffed. “They’re saying you’re whipped. Spineless. That you let a woman walk all over you, that you have no dignity left.” Eavesdropping from the hallway, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back. Eddie wasn’t even listening. “Oh.” He shrugged. “They’re just jealous.” The woman was stunned. Then her eyes welled up with tears. “You treat her like she’s the center of the universe. What about me? What am I to you?” I recognized her then. Lila. The daughter of one of Eddie’s most loyal men, who had died saving Eddie’s life years ago. Eddie, burdened by that debt, had practically raised Lila like a little sister. No wonder she was getting away with this. I’d seen what happened to other women who tried to get this close to him. They ended up so terrified they’d cross the street to avoid him. Eddie didn’t even look up. “You’re thinking too much,” he said flatly. “You’re not in my universe.” Lila’s face crumpled. “If I had been there that day, I would have taken a bullet for you too! What’s so special about her?” I flicked a button from my cuff into the room. “Eek! A cockroach!” Lila shrieked and leaped behind Eddie. When she realized she’d been had, she pointed a trembling, furious finger at me. “That doesn’t count! You cheated, Ava!” “Ava.” Eddie’s eyes lit up. He stood and walked toward me. “You finally came to pick me up.” Honestly, seeing him still sent a jolt of fear through me. I instinctively took a step back. He froze, a look of wounded confusion on his face. Lila wasn’t done. She clung to his arm. “You don’t love him, Ava! You just use him as your personal punching bag. You don’t even give him a shred of dignity. Let’s be real, you’re only with him for his face or his money. You’re a horrible woman!” Damn it. She wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t even argue. Eddie’s face turned dangerously cold. “Get out.” Alright, fine. I’ll make myself scarce. This actually made things easier. I wouldn’t have to agonize over how to say goodbye. I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. “I was talking to her,” he said, his voice a low growl. Lila’s jaw dropped. Barney and Mr. Evans, ever the professionals, materialized on either side of her, efficiently escorting her out. “Hey, I was here first!” Lila protested as they dragged her away. “You can’t just cut in line!” The heavy office door clicked shut, sealing us in silence. I had no idea what to do. I was searching for something, anything, to say to break the suffocating tension. “Honey.” Hmm? Eddie moved closer, wrapping his arms around me loosely, as if afraid to hold on too tight. “It’s been too long. I missed you.” We just saw each other this morning. The left side of his face was still swollen from my handiwork. I stood perfectly still. He nuzzled the side of my neck. “Why… why didn’t you hit me today?” I didn’t answer, focusing all my energy on keeping my hands from shaking. It was strange. It was like my body had its own memory. The moment Eddie’s face got close, my hands started to itch. I forced a laugh. “After hearing what Lila said, I did some thinking. Maybe I shouldn’t be trampling all over your dignity like that. I think… I need to break this habit of hitting you.” Eddie immediately let me go. He took a deep, steadying breath and pulled out his gun. My own breath hitched. “What are you doing?” I whispered. He strode past me toward the door, his voice a furious snarl. “I’m going to kill Lila.” 6 Of course, he didn’t get the chance. In that moment of crisis, I acted. I slapped him. Hard. The force of it sent a shockwave up my arm. He wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth, a flicker of excitement in his eyes. “More,” he whispered. “Baby.” No. I couldn’t. I wasn’t a sadist. I held up my throbbing hand. “I can’t. My hand really hurts this time.” Back at the mansion, Eddie expertly located the first-aid kit. He pulled me onto his lap, his touch gentle as he treated my hand. “You can use the tools next time,” he murmured, a mixture of pain and self-reproach in his voice. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Eddie, why do you like it so much when I hit you?” He kept his eyes down, focused on dabbing antiseptic on my knuckles. A small smile played on his lips. “Because it’s you. Anything you do to me… I like it.” He was a lost cause. That was the only explanation. But I had to try. “Lila said you’re only like this because I saved you. But there are a million ways to show gratitude. You don’t have to use your body to…” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t even finish the sentence, the shame was too much. The next second, he was on his knees between my legs. The movement was so fluid, so practiced, it was clear this wasn’t his first time. “You’re acting strange today, Ava.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him my memory was back. What would he do? For now, I had to play it cool, test the waters. I came up with a random excuse. “I’m just… getting tired of it.” “Are you getting tired of me?” Eddie was tall, and even on his knees, his eyes were level with mine. They were glistening, shimmering with unshed tears. It looked like if I nodded, the floodgates would open. A wave of guilt washed over me. I felt like I was a heartless player, about to dump a devoted partner after having my fun. “No, of course not.” He didn’t believe me. “You are! You’re bored with me!” I raised my hand as if taking an oath. “I’m not! You’re handsome, you’re rich, you have an incredible body, how could I ever get tired of you?!” His voice trembled with anger. “Then why haven’t you kissed me all day?!” I fell silent. What could I possibly say to that? Eddie’s eyes, wide and teary, fixed on mine. He held out his arms, his voice catching. “Kisses. And hugs.” He was actually pouting. My God, what had I done? I had taken a stone-cold killer, a man who wouldn’t blink while ending a life, and trained him into a fragile, clingy crybaby. I could have had a career as a lion tamer. I deliberately kept my face a stony mask, refusing to give in. Just like he used to do to me. And then it happened. A single tear escaped the corner of Eddie’s eye and traced a path down his cheek, like a broken string of pearls. Poetic. Pathetic. One minute passed. Two minutes. Five minutes later, the silent stream was still flowing. I gave in.

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My fiancé and I were a 90% genetic match. The problem was, Ramond Marsden was a rebel without a cause. At our engagement party, in front of everyone we knew, he toasted me with a smirk. “I’d marry any woman I actually desired before I’d ever chain myself to an animal who loses control and does nothing but grovel at my feet.” Later, as I was writhing on the floor, my mind shattering from another Psionic Overload, a call came through from the Central Registry. “Miss Vance? A new candidate, Mr. Ewing, has just been registered with a 100% Genetic Compatibility Index. Are you interested in transferring your match?” 1 In this enlightened age of freedom, Ramond Marsden was a genetic Luddite. He’d rather mainline Stabilizers than spend a single second near me when his own Overloads hit. A simple touch of his hand—that’s all it would take to soothe the storm in our minds. But he refused. Of course, Ramond was a Marsden. His family could afford to burn money on Stabilizers. I couldn’t. A single vial of the lowest D-Class Stabilizer cost 2,500 credits. Even with the state subsidy, it was 1,000. My salary was 10,000 a month. By the time I was twenty-three, my Overloads had escalated from once a month to three or four times. The cost was crushing me. I had no choice but to enter the Genetic Matching Program. For ordinary people like me, it was the only path. A D-Class Overload felt like someone was taking a hacksaw to the inside of your skull. The pain was unbearable. A high-compatibility partner was a godsend, a one-in-a-million lottery ticket. So when the system matched me with someone not only wealthy and handsome but also a high-index match, I thought I’d won the jackpot. It felt like a dream. It turned out to be a nightmare. Ramond despised me on sight. He made his position crystal clear at our first meeting in a sterile, overpriced cafe. His hands, gloved in soft leather, rested on the table. “If my family wasn’t so damn paranoid about my condition,” he’d said, his voice tight with irritation, “I would never have consented to this barbaric process.” His family, however, was adamant. They moved me into his penthouse apartment. To my surprise, Ramond agreed to that part. Given his initial hostility, I made myself as small as possible, a ghost in his opulent life. He was the one who crossed the line first. One night, he came home and collapsed, his body convulsing from a sudden Overload. Without a partner’s touch to regulate him, his condition had degraded. He’d jumped from a C-Class to a B-Class. 2 I came home from work to find him on the floor. The moment I knelt beside him, he lunged, pulling me down with him. “Help me,” he rasped, his voice raw with a desperation I’d never heard before. He buried his face against my neck, his skin burning against mine. The brief contact was electric, a jolt of pure, primal relief. It lasted only until his assistant arrived with a B-Class Stabilizer. I expected the proud, arrogant Ramond to be mortified by his lapse in control. Instead, he started seeking me out more. He slowly let his guard down, engaging me in conversation. He’d bring me small gifts—gourmet meals, books, things that wouldn’t make me feel indebted—and I started to see a different side of him. He developed a habit of sitting at the kitchen island while I cooked, talking about anything and everything. “Did you know,” he said one evening, his voice tinged with a strange nostalgia, “that in the Old World, people didn’t follow genetic imperatives? They just… fell in love. Emotion was enough. Genes didn’t chain them together.” Before the age of eighteen, Psionic Overloads are dormant. In that window of blissful ignorance, it’s easy to fall for anyone. A bitter smile twisted his lips. “My parents were like that. A love match. They defied everyone to be together. Then, when I was sixteen, my father found a mistress. A woman with a 74% GCI. When my mother found out, she couldn’t live with it. She ended her life.” That’s when I understood. Wealthy scions like Ramond, when matched with commoners, often kept them as something on the side. A living, breathing Stabilizer. Their real lives, their marriages, were reserved for alliances with families of equal standing. Some even had multiple matched partners. He looked so lost in that moment. I stood there, holding a tray, unsure of what to say. “No wonder you hate being near me.” His eyes met mine, and for a second, he seemed to see me, truly see me. Then the moment broke, and he flashed a brilliant smile. “Let’s not talk about that depressing stuff. What’s for dinner? It smells incredible.” From that day on, we became dinner companions. We talked for hours. To honor his beliefs, to prove our connection was more than just genetic, I never once asked him for comfort. Every time an Overload hit, I quietly excused myself and used a Stabilizer. After six months, my own condition worsened. My Overloads escalated to C-Class. Four D-Class vials couldn’t touch the pain of a C-Class event. A single C-Class Stabilizer cost twenty-five thousand credits. Even with the subsidy, it was my entire monthly salary. In my most naive, love-struck year, I took on every freelance job I could find to make ends meet. I never asked him for help. I wanted to protect his principles. 3 Perhaps he saw my sacrifice. He proposed. That night, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. He slid a diamond onto my finger. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?” “This happiness,” I sobbed, “it feels like I fought a war for it.” We didn’t even embrace, but in that moment, I felt our souls were touching. That perfect happiness lasted less than twenty-four hours. The next evening, he threw a massive party to celebrate. I slipped away to the restroom, and when I came back, he was gone. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach as I saw the predatory glances other women were giving him. I searched the entire crowded penthouse before finally finding him in the back garden, talking with his friend, Marcus Thorne. I was about to call out his name when I heard him laugh. “I told her my mother was dead. She actually bought it.” Marcus lit a cigarette, the tip glowing in the twilight. “What happens when she finds out it’s all a lie and bolts?” “Let her,” Ramond scoffed. “I never liked her anyway. She’s the one who can’t leave me now. She hasn’t had a proper soothing in months. Her savings are gone, she can’t afford C-Class Stabilizers, and she’s probably drowning in debt. After investing so much, you think she’d just walk away?” He laughed again, a cruel, cutting sound. “I never would have broken my own rule if she hadn’t come home that night. The thought of having touched her makes my skin crawl. But since she’s so pathetically devoted, I’ll keep her around. It’s not like I can’t afford it.” Marcus chuckled. “Women from the lower sectors are all the same. So desperate. They think a high GCI means we’ll fall madly in love with them.” “My mother’s plan was brilliant, though,” Ramond said, the grin returning to his voice. “I tell her my mom died, and she actually feels sorry for me.” Marcus snorted with laughter and added his own twisted advice. “While she’s broke, convince her to quit her job. Then buy her a car or a condo in her name. Just make the down payment. You dole out the monthly installments. If you cut her off, she defaults. She’ll be so terrified of losing everything, she’ll do whatever you say.” The world tilted, the manicured hedges of the garden blurring into a nauseating green smear. It was all a trap. A meticulously crafted cage. He had used himself as bait, luring me in with kindness, feeding me a philosophy he never truly believed in, all to domesticate me. To turn me into another one of his possessions. The weight of it all—the debt, the pain, the crushing betrayal—crashed down on me. My Psionic Overload didn’t just escalate. It exploded. A B-Class Overload seized my body, turning my muscles to stone. The thud of my fall caught their attention. Ramond strolled over, a vision of casual cruelty. When he saw me on the ground, he doubled over with laughter. “Oops. I guess you heard that.” The pain was a living thing, a creature of pure agony devouring me from the inside out. I curled into a ball, unable to scream. My hand, acting on pure instinct, reached for him. He crouched down, propping his chin on his hand, a smile playing on his lips. “Helen, the way you beg… you look just like a stray dog.” Through the haze of pain, I noticed his hands. They were still sheathed in those damned gloves. I had never even seen the color of his skin. When the hatred peaked, a wild thought surfaced: endure it. Survive this, and maybe you can break free from the genetic curse altogether. How ironic. The thought was a weapon he himself had given me. As the pain reached its crescendo, something inside me broke. And then, there was peace. I remembered a terrible toothache from my childhood. How did I solve it? That’s right. Terrified of the pain, I’d ripped the loose tooth out myself. And in a fit of rage, I’d pulled out the one next to it, too, even though it wasn’t ready. Ramond was my rotten tooth. But this wasn’t like losing a baby tooth. If I gave him up, the chances of finding another high-index match were slim to none. A drop from 90% wasn’t a guarantee of 89%. It could be 50%, 30%, or nothing at all. 4 After an eternity, a raw, guttural scream tore from my throat. The party guests gathered around, a circle of curious, morbid faces. Someone started taking pictures. Ramond wrapped an arm around a stunning woman in a red dress. He raised his voice for all to hear. “I’d marry any woman I actually desired before I’d ever chain myself to an animal who loses control and does nothing but grovel at my feet.” For a moment, the world went silent. The clicks of the cameras, Ramond’s mocking laughter, it all faded into a dull roar. The starlight that once seemed to hold so much promise for me dimmed to ash. Marcus nudged my hand with the toe of his expensive shoe. “Hey. They say when the love dies, the genetic pull weakens. How’s that working out for you?” A sudden downpour began, the fat drops splattering against the stone patio. The rumble of thunder drowned out my choked sobs. The spectators scattered, seeking shelter. I slammed my head against the ground, again and again, trying to knock the pain out. My wrist-comm, detecting my critical state, automatically answered an incoming call. “Miss Vance? A new candidate, Mr. Ewing, has just been registered with a 100% Genetic Compatibility Index. Are you interested in transferring your match?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. A holographic display flickered to life above my wrist-comm: CRITICAL ALERT: USER INCAPACITATED. AI ASSISTANT ‘HELEN’ WILL EXECUTE OPTIMAL DECISION. I heard my own voice, perfectly synthesized, speak from the device. “Yes. Transfer.” The AI swiftly signed the digital transfer request and dialed the new match. “Hello, is this Mr. Ewing? I am Helen Vance’s integrated AI assistant. She is experiencing a critical Psionic Overload and is incapacitated. As per the Genetic Matching Mandate, you are obligated to provide soothing assistance to your matched partner.” Unlike Ramond, this man’s voice was calm, a deep and steady baritone that seemed to absorb the chaos around me. “Miss Vance,” he said, and the words were a lifeline in the storm. “I’m on my way.” 5 Wave after wave of agony crashed over me. A strange thought surfaced, a desperate urge to expel the tormenting energy from my mind. It was a fantasy I’d had a thousand times during my Overloads, and it had never worked. But this time was different. I was floating. I looked down and saw my own body, lying still and pale on the wet stone, looking for all the world like a corpse. Above me, the sky was a bruised purple, and the rain passed right through my ethereal form. The garden lights, once blinding, were now soft and muted. Each raindrop in their glow was a thread of liquid silver. In the distance, under the eaves of the patio, the party guests whispered amongst themselves. Marcus ground out his cigarette under his heel. “You think she’s dead?” “If she is, she is,” Ramond said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Plenty of people die from Overloads. We have no legal bond. I’m not responsible for her. She should have carried her Stabilizers.” “You have a soothing obligation,” Marcus reminded him. Ramond’s smile was a flash of white in the gloom. “An obligation, yes. But her condition was severe. And I’m a shy man, Marcus. I don’t care for public displays of affection. I hesitated for a moment, and well… she died. Who’s to say otherwise?” In that instant, a venomous thought took root in my mind. I wish he could feel this. The thought was the command. In the blink of an eye, I was standing beside him. I raised my hand and slapped the back of his head. “Agh!” He cried out, clutching his skull and stumbling to his knees. Marcus stared. “Stabilizer!” he yelled at the assistant. The assistant fumbled with a B-Class vial, rushing it to Ramond’s lips. But Ramond didn’t drink. He just pitched forward, unconscious. The assistant’s face went white. “Did he… did he just escalate?” Marcus shot him a furious glare. “Impossible! It takes fifty years for a natural escalation from B-Class to A-Class!” I looked down at my hands. They shimmered with a faint, iridescent light, like mother-of-pearl. “It actually worked.” Before I could process what was happening, the wail of sirens cut through the night. An ambulance had arrived. Marcus charged into the rain, grabbing the paramedic who was heading for me. “Forget her! We have an A-Class Overload here! He’s Ramond Marsden, the heir to the Marsden fortune. Save him first!” A-Class was the threshold. Any Overload of that magnitude required hospitalization. The paramedic looked torn, glancing back at my still form. Then I saw him. A man holding a black umbrella, standing silently beside my body. He seemed to sense my gaze and looked up, directly at me. A slow, gentle smile curved his lips. “Helen,” he said, his voice carrying over the storm. “Come here.” 6 The tension that had held me together snapped. The world dissolved into blackness. When I woke, I was in an unfamiliar room. A king-sized bed with a charcoal gray duvet was pushed against a floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, a thunderstorm raged. As my senses returned, I realized I was lying on top of someone. I tried to push myself up, my hand landing on a firm, muscular arm. He shifted, his own arm wrapping around my waist to help me sit up. He pressed his cheek to my forehead, testing my temperature. “You’re awake. Are you hungry?” My head was still swimming. His calm efficiency only made me feel more disoriented. When I didn’t respond, he casually picked up a long, furry appendage and tucked it into my hands. “If you’re still tired, go back to sleep.” I squeezed the tip. It was warm. “What is this?” I mumbled. “Aren’t we in a hospital?” Why was there someone in my hospital bed? “This is my apartment. I’m your matched partner, Kaelen Ewing. The ambulance I called for you got… commandeered. I had no choice but to bring you here and soothe you myself.” As he spoke, his dark, intense eyes never left my face. It took me a moment to piece together the events before I blacked out. “Thank you,” I said, my voice hoarse. He smiled, and his handsome features became utterly devastating. “Of course. I’ll be needing your help as well, Miss Vance. I’m a recently retired Psion from the military. I sustained some injuries in the Fringe. My current Overload level is dual S-Class. I require frequent soothing from a partner.” “Dual S-Class? It’s a miracle you’re alive.” I was in awe, but also deeply curious. “Can you read minds?” “No,” he said slowly. “But I do have a very fluffy tail.” My gaze dropped to the object in my hands. It was as thick as my wrist. It was his tail. I couldn’t resist giving it another squeeze. The fur was incredibly soft, the sensation deeply comforting. I found myself stroking it, my curiosity piqued. “Are you a cat?” “Mmm… feline family, panthera genus.” His voice had dropped an octave, a low rumble in his chest. I looked up and saw him watching me, his eyes filled with an undisguised hunger. I realized then what he was doing. He was patiently, skillfully, reeling me in. Luring me into touching him, providing the physical contact that would soothe his own storm. Dual S-Class. I couldn’t even begin to imagine that kind of pain. My hand stilled. I felt his tail twitch against my palm, actively seeking my touch. “Does… does being with me help you?” He blinked, his honesty disarming. “Not enough.” Oddly enough, holding his tail was having the opposite effect on me. My anxiety was melting away, replaced by a strange, buoyant excitement. “We could… get to know each other for a while,” I suggested. “Then you can decide if you still want to marry me.” “We’re a perfect match. Why would we need to wait?” His gaze was direct, unwavering. “We can get married right now.” “Huh?” I was stunned. “Really?” Perhaps it was the 100% GCI. Being near him felt like coming home to a place I’d never been. The pain, the betrayal… it all felt like a distant, half-forgotten dream. 7 The memory of Ramond’s calculated cruelty sent a chill through me, and my mood plummeted. “But… I don’t really know you.” What if Kaelen had someone else? A woman he truly loved? What if I was just destined to be the mistress again, the high-end Stabilizer kept on the side, to be used and then put away? Kaelen’s arms tightened around me, a comforting, solid presence. “Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.” His embrace was a fortress. I felt myself sinking into it, another carefully constructed trap of kindness. The 100% GCI was a siren’s song, intoxicating and dangerous. The scars from Ramond’s betrayal screamed at me to run, but my very genes craved the safety of his arms. My tormented thoughts were interrupted by a sharp chime. My wrist-comm projected a faint holographic screen. An unknown number. Marcus Thorne’s voice, smooth and condescending, filled the quiet room. “Where are you? I’m sending a car. Ramond wants to see you.” Still treating me like a fool. A bitter laugh almost escaped me, but the memory of how I’d fallen for their lies choked it back. “What’s the matter? Worried your trained dog slipped its leash?” Marcus sighed, a theatrical sound of weary patience. “Come on, Helen, don’t talk about yourself like that. I admit, we were out of line. But you know Ramond. He’s proud. I was just going along with him. It’s not what I really think. Can’t we just talk about this face to face?” I could practically smell the hypocrisy oozing through the speaker. A hot flush of anger rose in my chest. Just as I was about to unleash a tirade, the tail in my hand twitched. I instinctively gripped it tighter, kneading the soft fur between my fingers. The anger subsided, replaced by a cold, clear calm. If Marcus was wasting his time on me, it could only mean one thing: Ramond was not doing well. “You’re asking a lot, Marcus,” I said, mimicking his insincere tone. “As you know, I had a rather severe Overload. And I was left out in the rain.” “This isn’t the time to dredge up the past, Helen,” he snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. His reaction didn’t surprise me, but I continued anyway. “If you were just kidding around, why did you leave me lying on the ground in a thunderstorm? Weren’t you afraid I might die?” “Of course not,” he said, the lie smooth as silk. “We would never have let that happen. We called an ambulance right away. And you know you can’t move someone during an Overload. It could have made things worse for you.”

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I’m an NPC in a horror game. Beautiful but tragically weak, my only role is to serve as window dressing. So when a new batch of players arrived, I was eagerly waiting for them to be slaughtered by the ghouls. But then, a message scrolled across my vision. [Still smiling, you clueless cutie? These three players are absolute monsters. They wreck instances for a living and love to break sweet little NPCs like you. Hehe… They’re especially fond of a good sandwich.] A jolt of shock went through me. Only then did I register the three pairs of predatory, almost sick, gazes fixed on me. And I was already trapped between them. 1 “Time for your injection.” The clock struck midnight as I pushed my small cart into Room 401. Inside were an old man and a girl who looked to be in her early twenties. The old man’s face was vacant, his body withered and frail. I slid the needle into his skin and fed him his pills. He showed no reaction at all. After him, it was the young girl’s turn. The sight of the cold syringe in my hand drained the color from her face. A cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she fumbled for a knife, her voice trembling as she brandished it. “Get away from me! I’m not taking it!” I stared at her in silence for a moment before turning my cart and leaving the room. Fine by me. It’s not my life on the line. This new batch of players was painfully stupid. I’d be surprised if they survived three days. 2 Every room had the same setup: one NPC and one player. The players in 402 and 403 were more compliant. Despite their fear, they obediently took their injections. I was in a great mood, humming a little tune as I kicked open the door to Room 404. But the scene inside froze the smile on my face. The NPC from Room 404… He was a heap of mangled flesh on the floor, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles. He’d been cold for a while. And the one responsible, the male player from this room, was sitting calmly on the bed. His long, wicked dark eyes watched me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Time for my injection, little nurse?” a low, magnetic voice drawled, laced with amusement. A shiver ran down my spine, my vision swimming with black spots. This was a real pro. Vicious. He’d killed his NPC roommate on the very first day. What if he decided to kill me, too? The hand holding the syringe trembled. My legs felt like jelly as I inched toward the man on the bed, my eyes catching the name on his patient file. Kael—Severe Mania. Extremely Dangerous. “Sleeve up, please,” I managed, trying to sound calm. Kael arched an eyebrow, studying me for a moment before obediently rolling up the sleeve of his striped uniform. The motion revealed a well-defined forearm, veins coiling just beneath the skin. My knees nearly buckled again. He could probably snap my neck with one hand. But what choice did I have? I was a nurse in this asylum. If I refused to administer medication, the system would erase me. Steeling myself, I took out the syringe and placed one hand on his forearm. It was scorching hot. Was this a normal human temperature? Had Kael merged with some kind of mutated creature in this instance? “Something wrong, little nurse?” the man’s teasing voice floated down from above. I tried to ignore the heat radiating from him, a heat that felt like it could melt me. Swallowing hard, I said, “Nothing.” I tried to push the needle into his skin. But his arm was as hard as a rock. The needle bent, unable to pierce his flesh. Had he merged with some kind of golem? My vision went dark again. “Mr. Kael, could you please relax your arm a bit? It’s too hard, I can’t get it in!” He raised an eyebrow, his tone deliberately playful. “Hard, you say?” I nodded frantically. “Yes!” At that, Kael’s arm relaxed slightly. The needle finally broke the skin, and I completed the injection. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, nearly collapsing in relief. 3 But my relief was short-lived. A pair of long, powerful hands clamped around the nape of my neck, yanking me backward. My back slammed against Kael’s chest. His searing heat and the forceful, rapid beat of his heart pressed through my uniform, practically fusing us together. The burn made me want to scream, and my face went pale with terror. So, he was done playing games. He was going to kill me. For a player of his level, killing an NPC like me was no different from crushing an ant. A fierce will to live surged through me. Trembling, I held out a small, pink, item-class hair tie, my voice cracking. “Mr. Kael, this is for you. Please don’t kill me. I’ll tell you how to clear the instance.” [Nurse’s Hair Tie: A hair tie often used by the pretty but clueless nurse. When equipped, increases Strength by 20%.] Kael’s smile was full of meaning. “A nice little toy.” He released me, though he seemed reluctant to do so, and pocketed the hair tie. “The clue. Now.” Having escaped death, I slumped to the floor, my head bowed. “There’s an exit in the morgue,” I mumbled. 4 Hearing this, a sarcastic smile touched Kael’s lips. His sharp eyes bore into me as if they could see right through my lie. “Alright then,” he said lazily. “Lead the way, little nurse.” My heart skipped a beat. I can’t go there. The whole thing was a lie. The morgue was a death trap. I’d die if I went! I feigned composure and backed away slowly. “I can’t. I have other patients to attend to.” I kept retreating until my back hit a chest as cold and unyielding as stone. A large hand clamped around my waist, trapping me in a firm embrace. A voice, laced with a chilling warning, spoke from behind me. “Lead the way.” Oh god, I’m actually going to cry. When did someone else get in the room? I didn’t hear a thing… Kael clicked his tongue, annoyance flickering in his eyes as he looked at the man behind me. “Zane, don’t scare her.” The man behind me grunted, his grip on my waist loosening slightly. But it still hurt! I gritted my teeth, my mind racing with plans to lure both of these bastards into the morgue and let the monsters tear them apart. “Little nurse, if you’d be so kind.” Kael rose and stood before me. His tall, nearly six-foot-three frame completely overshadowed me. With Zane behind me and Kael in front, I was perfectly boxed in. Sob. It seemed I didn’t have a choice after all. 5 Kael was on my left, Zane on my right. I was wedged between two men, one radiating a feverish heat, the other an icy chill. The faint scent of blood filled my nostrils, and my body was stiff with terror. Ding. The elevator doors opened. Before us, the entire second basement level was the morgue. Under the eerie, flickering lights, countless figures lay shrouded in white sheets. I swallowed hard, my voice trembling with nerves. “Gentlemen… we’re here. The clue to leaving is inside. Can I go now?” Kael crossed his arms, looking down at me. “You sure there are no traps in there, little nurse?” My heart stuttered. I shook my head frantically. “It’s just a morgue full of bodies. There’s no danger!” The more I spoke, the less I believed it myself. This was a horror instance. How could the morgue not be dangerous? Kael’s smile widened. Zane remained silent, his dark, inscrutable eyes fixed on me, revealing nothing. Just when I thought my lie was exposed, the two men exchanged a look and, without hesitation, stepped out of the elevator and into the gloomy morgue. I slammed the “close door” button. In the final second before the doors slid shut, the bodies in the morgue shot upright, ripping off their white sheets. A chorus of bloodcurdling shrieks filled the air as they swarmed toward Kael and Zane. Kael glanced back, a cold smirk on his lips. His voice was a chilling whisper. “See you tomorrow, little nurse.” 6 Hehe. See you tomorrow? Yeah, right. See you in hell. I’d heard from other NPCs that the monsters in the morgue weren’t particularly strong, but they carried a corpse toxin. Once infected, even the most powerful players would succumb to the poison within half an hour. The thought of my sacrificed hair tie made me clench my teeth. I rubbed my bruised waist and pressed the button for the fifth floor. I’d just helped the Director get rid of two powerful players and lost a valuable item in the process. He owed me some compensation, at the very least. 7 I’d heard the Director of this asylum used to be a player himself. He’d apparently taken out the final boss in a mutual kill and somehow became the new Director. I couldn’t care less about his backstory. I reached the fifth floor and knocked on the Director’s office door. “Director, it’s Sherry.” A few seconds later, the door clicked open on its own. A small smile played on my lips as I pushed it open and walked in. The light in the office was a cold, dim white. The Director, wearing a half-mask, sat on a black leather sofa. His long legs were crossed, and his pale, slender fingers tapped a rhythmic beat on the armrest. “What is it?” His voice was raspy, and the eyes behind the mask were as cold as a snake’s. I ignored his intimidating aura and scurried over, sinking to the floor by his feet. I hugged his leg and pouted. “Director, Sherry helped you get rid of two very difficult players, and I lost my favorite hair tie doing it.” The Director’s cold gaze fell to my neck. He reached out, his pale fingertips tracing a line across my skin. “Did they touch you?” I pouted and nodded. This was practically a workplace injury! The thought of the poor NPC from Room 404, who’d been torn apart by Kael, sent a shiver down my spine. I had almost suffered the same fate. Clinging tighter to the Director’s leg, I started to wail, my voice syrupy sweet. “Director, sir! Sherry was almost killed by those players! You have to give me a raise, or at least a better item!” I was convinced my charm was irresistible. But the Director just sat there on his sofa, his narrowed eyes studying me, completely unmoved. My act deflated instantly. My brain kicked into gear, and I suddenly remembered what another NPC once told me: the Director had been a deeply devoted man in his past life. He had died trying to save his girlfriend. Oh god, how could I have forgotten? My memory was getting worse and worse. I’d forgotten my entire human life, and now I was forgetting that the Director had a girlfriend? I scrambled to my feet, letting go of his leg. “I’m so sorry, Director! I’ll go clean the wards right now!” He grunted and handed me a set of clothes. “This is your compensation.” [Pink Nurse Uniform: A new outfit from the Director! Wear it to create an empathetic link with him! Simply put, when you’re in danger, the Director will feel it too~] My eyes widened as I stared at the uniform in my hands. The description was… misleading. An empathetic link with the Director? As far as I knew, countless NPCs and players had died at his hands. I wouldn’t dare share sensations with a psycho like him, not for a million bucks. My mouth twitched. After a moment of hesitation, I held the pink uniform back out to him. “Director, I don’t think this item is very useful for me. Could I maybe swap it for something else?” He stared at me, his dark eyes unreadable. “Go change into it.” Huh? Is he serious? I looked down at the thin, pink fabric in my hands, utterly bewildered. Sensing my reluctance, the Director’s lips thinned. “It’s a new item I acquired. I need someone to test its effects.” Oh. So I was just a guinea pig. I managed a weak nod and went into the adjacent break room to change. 8 “Director, it’s a little… tight.” I stepped out of the break room, pouting as I tugged uncomfortably at the fabric straining against my chest. This damn uniform was suffocating me. The Director’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on me. The knuckles of his hand, clenched on the armrest, were white. He was probably feeling the tightness too, thanks to this stupid item. After a long moment, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Come here,” he rasped. He gestured for me to sit next to him. I tugged at my uniform again and sat down with a pout. “Director, when can I take this off? Your item is going to kill me.” He slowly opened a drawer and produced a small, thin whip. “Lie down,” he said, his voice methodical. Excuse me? What did he mean? Seeing my stunned expression, he explained, “We can only share sensations when you’re hurt.” In other words, I had to feel pain… for him to feel it too. He… he was going to hit me?! In that instant, a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. I remembered how, when he first took over, he’d slaughtered every NPC in the asylum who dared to defy him. Merciless, dark, twisted—those words were made for him. If I didn’t do as he said, he would probably kill me, too. Sigh. Fine. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to survive. With a sense of grim resignation, I draped myself over the black leather sofa. “Go ahead, Director,” I said, my voice mournful. “But please, don’t hit me too hard. If you kill me, you’ll never find another little nurse as obedient as me.” With my back to him, I didn’t see the corner of his mouth lift into a smirk. The whip landed on my rear with a sting that was more surprising than painful. Then I heard his voice, strained and hoarse with some hidden emotion. “My name is Lysander.”

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The daughter of my husband’s one true love was kidnapped. Kneeling before me, Elara slammed her forehead against the floor until blood streamed down her face. “Lily is just a child! If you want to kill someone, take me instead!” Eight months pregnant, I had no idea what she was talking about. But my husband’s face darkened with a terrifying fury. “Have I been too lenient with you? How could you orchestrate something so vile?” Adrian, the man who had always cherished me, wrapped his hands around my neck. As my vision blurred and the world faded to black, I finally understood. They thought I had hired the kidnappers. When the ransom wasn’t delivered on time, the kidnappers killed their hostage. Elara, clutching the small, broken body of her daughter, was driven to the brink of suicide. My husband, his eyes bloodshot with grief, hired the world’s top geneticists. They worked around the clock for a month and finally succeeded in creating a viable clone of Lily’s cells. But Elara had suffered complications during childbirth; she could never carry a child again. And so, his gaze fell upon my pregnant belly. 1 “No…” I shook my head in terror, backing away while clutching my stomach. “Adrian, I feel for what Elara is going through, I truly do. But I didn’t kidnap Lily. You can’t do this to me.” “Talia,” he said, his voice cold as ice, “Elara’s husband died years ago. Lily was her only reason to live. Your jealousy has gone too far. You should have never touched her child.” “You owe Lily this.” He ignored my desperate pleas and forced an induction. Our son was full-term; he was big enough to cry when he was born, only to be smothered to death before my very eyes. I never even got to see his face, this child conceived in love and anticipation. Before I could even process the loss, I was being strapped to an operating table. I had just lost my baby, and now they were going to force me to carry the flesh and blood of my enemy. I fought wildly, thrashing on the table, resisting the heavy dose of anesthesia, willing myself to stay awake. Because I wouldn’t cooperate, the procedure couldn’t begin. The precious cloned cells were on the verge of losing viability. That’s when Adrian walked in, carrying the body of our son. His eyes were closed, his tiny face so peaceful, as if he were only sleeping. A pain so sharp it felt like my heart was bleeding tore through me. Adrian’s hand tightened around our baby’s neck. “If you don’t cooperate and this surgery fails,” he hissed, “don’t expect to bury your son in one piece.” “Adrian! He’s your son, too!” I shrieked, my voice raw with agony, but my body was growing heavy, leaden. “You’re a mother, Talia. How could you have been so cruel to Lily?” he asked, his voice thick with disappointment. It wasn’t me. But no one believed me. My body finally lost its battle with the anesthetic. Consumed by a grief that swallowed the world, I let my eyes fall shut. When I woke, my wrists and ankles were bound to the bed. I looked down at my now-flat stomach, and the reality crashed over me: my baby was gone. Truly gone. And the warm cradle where he had grown was now nurturing the bloodline of his murderer. The will to live evaporated. I bit down hard, aiming for my own tongue. The door flew open. Adrian saw me, saw the pristine white sheets stained with the blood pouring from my mouth. He rushed to my side, prying my jaw open. I clenched my teeth, a broken, gurgling laugh escaping my lips. His eyes were blazing red. He called in a team of doctors. For a moment, I thought he was worried about me. But after they saved me, he slapped me so hard across the face that my head snapped to the side. “I’m warning you, Talia. You won’t get to escape your guilt by killing yourself. Not until Lily is born safe and sound.” He loomed over me, a figure of pure judgment. I stared at the canine tooth that had been knocked out, lying on the floor. My heart was a barren wasteland. To prevent another suicide attempt, they fitted me with a bite guard. I’d lost part of my tongue and could no longer speak clearly, but it didn’t matter. No one listened to me anyway. After my tongue healed, I could finally eat solid food again. Adrian himself brought me a bowl of nourishing soup. He sat beside me in silence, gently removing the bite guard. I was too weak to resist, a lifeless doll in his hands. He lifted a spoonful of broth, blowing on it carefully, his movements as tender as they had been when I was first pregnant with our son. “Carrying Lily is your punishment, Talia,” he murmured. “Once she is born, Elara has agreed not to press charges.” He continued speaking, but I offered no response. “I had to take our son from you to teach you a lesson. Life is not a game. If you admit your mistake, we can have another child. We can start over.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned my head to face him, ready to scream, but my eyes froze on the contents of the bowl. It was my own placenta. 2 A violent wave of nausea hit me, and I retched. Adrian calmly wiped my mouth with a napkin. The next second, he clamped his hand over my jaw, forcing the horrid concoction down my throat. “It’s good for you, Talia. Full of nutrients. For you, and for Lily.” I tried to struggle, but my head and limbs were restrained. I could only lie there as the boiled remains of my own body slid down my esophagus. When the bowl was empty, he let me go. “Elara is still not well. I’m taking her abroad to recover. You will stay here and take care of yourself. No more trouble.” He stood to leave, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “Behave, and I’ll find a proper burial place for our son. But if anything happens to Lily, you will never see even a speck of his ashes.” “Wasn’t he your son, too?” The question escaped my lips, a broken whisper. Salty tears traced a path to my mouth, a bitterness that paled in comparison to the one in my heart. He paused at the door but didn’t turn back. “With a mother like you, he would have grown up to be a curse on this world.” The door clicked shut, and the last flicker of love I held for Adrian Vance was extinguished forever. He was gone. For nine whole months. In that time, Lily grew inside me, and I slowly ceased to be a person. She seemed to sense my hatred for her; my morning sickness was relentless, a constant torment that lasted the entire pregnancy. My body withered away, but my belly swelled to a grotesque size. Adrian called every day. Not to see me, but to gaze at my stomach, to coo at the daughter growing within. Elara would even conduct prenatal classes for Lily over the video call. To ensure I couldn’t harm the baby, my hands and feet remained shackled for all nine months. The raw wounds from my struggling had long since fused with the metal cuffs. Bedsores festered, rotting the skin on my back. But no one cared. As long as Lily was healthy, my suffering was irrelevant. In the final month, Adrian and Elara returned, their vacation over. “You’re so thin.” That was the first thing he said to me after nine months. His brow furrowed with concern. “Will Lily be malnourished?” He seemed satisfied when the doctors assured him she was perfectly healthy. “After Lily is born, I’ll get you the best care. We’ll get you healthy again.” Elara’s eyes were soft and loving as she gazed at my stomach. “Lily, my sweet girl. Mommy is finally here to see you again. I’ll never let you out of my sight. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.” She turned to Adrian. “Darling, could you give me a moment alone with Lily?” Adrian’s eyes immediately shot to me, full of suspicion. After a moment, he determined that in my emaciated, near-death state, I posed no threat. He left the room, glancing back nervously every few steps. The instant he was gone, the warmth in Elara’s eyes vanished, replaced by a chilling cold. “I was the one who arranged Lily’s kidnapping.” 3 A smile played on her lips, but it never reached her eyes. “Do you want to know why?” Elara leaned in close, her face inches from mine. She smelled of the unique, woody cologne Adrian wore—the same one I had picked out for him before I was pregnant with our son. My eyes were empty. I gave her nothing. “Five years ago,” she began, her voice turning sharp, “Adrian’s mother tried to break us up. She hired a man to pose as my husband, to trap me, and had me sent abroad. Adrian promised me he would never marry anyone else. But when I finally escaped his mother’s influence and rushed back to find him, I learned he had been married to you for over a year.” Her expression twisted into a snarl. “I suffered so much overseas, and he never once tried to contact me. I thought his mother was controlling him, but no! He had completely forgotten about me!” “He was mine first! What right did you have to steal him from me? I thought you must have been some heiress from a powerful family, someone who could match his status. But you’re just an orphan, with a background even worse than mine!” Her fury escalated, and she slapped me hard across the face. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I spat it directly in her face. She recoiled, shocked that I would dare. She wiped her cheek, the smear of blood making her face look even more demonic. “You’d sacrifice your own flesh and blood just to win back a man who doesn’t want you?” I rasped. She froze. Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across her face. “An illegitimate life isn’t worth much, is it? Since she was useless, I thought I’d gamble with her. My original plan was just to use her to get rid of you and the bastard in your belly. I had no idea Adrian cared so much. Cloning her? Bringing her back to life? Even I couldn’t have predicted he would go to such lengths for us.” Her voice dropped to a triumphant whisper. “The ‘man who doesn’t want me’ has the power to resurrect the dead. Do you still think I made a bad bet?” Her fingertips brushed against my swollen belly. “You know, if you had just been a little more cooperative, Adrian might have kept a lock of your son’s hair, or his fingernails. But he was in such a hurry… he had the entire body incinerated immediately.” At the mention of my baby boy, the fragile control I had shattered. I lunged, snarling, trying to bite her. She jumped back with a laugh, but then a theatrical, terrified scream tore from her throat. “Elara!” From outside, I heard Adrian’s frantic footsteps approaching. Without a moment’s hesitation, Elara bit down hard on her own hand. My breath hitched. My abdomen tightened in a sharp, painful contraction. Elara’s taunts had sent me into premature labor. BAM! Adrian kicked the door open and rushed in. Elara, her hand now bleeding profusely, put on a flawless performance of a terrified, tear-stricken victim. But Adrian’s worried gaze only lingered on her hand for a second before it snapped to me. 4 I didn’t need to look down to know my water had broken. Adrian wasn’t worried about me. He was worried about Lily. Even so, a look of pure venom flashed across Elara’s face. This woman was so monstrous she was jealous of her own daughter. Adrian summoned the best obstetrician in record time, but as he glanced at the wound on Elara’s hand, his voice turned to steel. “A C-section. No anesthesia. I want her wide awake to see her child born safely.” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vance,” the doctor whispered to me with pity in his eyes after Adrian had led a sobbing Elara from the room. He pulled on his gloves. “Don’t blame me. I’ll be as quick as I can. To make it easier on you.” The moment the cold scalpel sliced into my belly, a pain so absolute, so profound, shot through me that my very soul felt like it was being torn apart. I never knew a human could be butchered like a piece of meat, stripped of all dignity. I screamed until my throat bled, fainting several times. They gave me shots of adrenaline to keep me conscious. By the end, I had lost all sense of self. I forgot I was even human. Lily’s first cry was like a pardon. The moment she was lifted from my body, a female doctor on the team quickly gave me an injection. “It’s all over, Mrs. Vance. Get some sleep now.” As my eyes closed, the all-consuming pain vanished. I thought it was the painkiller taking effect. My body felt light, and I relaxed, a sense of peace washing over me. But then I realized I was floating, rising up uncontrollably. When I opened my eyes again, I was looking down at my own mutilated body on the operating table. I was dead. If I hadn’t been alone in the room, I wouldn’t have even recognized the corpse as myself. I hadn’t looked in a mirror since I lost my son. The chubby cheeks of my pregnancy were now gaunt, hollowed-out pits. The stomach I had so carefully moisturized, once smooth and perfect, was now a shriveled, blackened peel of a fruit, crisscrossed with deep, jagged ravines. My limbs were skeletal, my wrists and ankles bearing the permanent, grotesque scars where the shackles had fused with my flesh. I stared at my own broken form for a long time. The door opened. It was Adrian. Even as a ghost, my soul trembled. What was he doing here? Wasn’t my punishment complete? If he found me dead, would he feel sorrow? Or would he be angry that I had died too soon, that my penance for Lily was incomplete? He brought in a basin and a kettle of hot water. Was he going to scald me awake for daring to sleep instead of nursing Lily? He poured the steaming water into the basin, then began adding cold, testing the temperature with his hand again and again. I didn’t understand. When the water was just right, he submerged a soft towel, wrung it out, and then lifted one of my arms. Gently, meticulously, he began to wipe my skin. He was washing my body. A laugh, empty and disbelieving, escaped my spectral form. He had tortured me to death for a crime I didn’t commit, and now he was playing the part of a caring husband? I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized I was gone for good. But to my utter shock, the next second, my corpse’s eyes fluttered open.

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My wife Isabella bought me a yacht for my birthday, but her male assistant, Ryan Lane, had the audacity to name it after himself. He claimed it was to comfort his dying mother. I laughed bitterly and had his name removed from the hull. When Isabella found out, she was angry. “He was just comforting his mother!” “He could have rented a yacht or faked a photo,” I retorted. She fell silent. At my birthday party, she pushed me into the ocean, live-streaming my humiliation with a drone. A photo of me fleeing a shark in my underwear went viral. After the initial panic, a cold calm took over. I stared into the camera and said, “Had your fun? Now come get me.” 01 The moment the words left my mouth, a wave of derisive laughter rolled down from the yacht above. “Hilarious! Look at Caleb Prescott, still acting like he’s the heir to the Prescott fortune!” “That idiot cut ties with his family to marry Ms. Forte. He’s nothing but a stay-at-home husband now. How dare he look down on Ryan, a man who actually works for a living? The nerve!” “Ms. Forte is such a great boss! Punishing her spoiled husband for bullying an employee. We should all learn from her example.” “So, any bets on how long Ms. Forte’s pretty little husband can last in there?” “I give him ten minutes before he’s crying and begging for her to pull him out.” The glacial water swallowed me whole, its icy fingers clawing at my skin. My tailored suit, now a dead weight, dragged me down, tangling around my limbs and making it impossible to stay afloat. More than once, I felt my lungs burn as I sank, convinced I was about to drown. And every desperate, pathetic struggle was captured by the drone hovering above, a live feed of my misery. Isabella’s voice crackled from a second drone’s speaker, sharp and imperious. “Caleb, you want me to pull you out? Apologize to Ryan. Then, scream ‘Caleb Prescott is worthless’ three times.” “Otherwise, you can forget about getting back on this boat. You can wait for the sharks to finish you off.” Ryan’s voice, oozing with false concern, followed hers. “Ms. Forte, I’m just a humble assistant. Mr. Prescott comes from a prestigious family. Making him apologize to me… wouldn’t that be too much to ask of him?” “Prestigious? Ha! The Prescotts disowned him. If he wants to be my husband, he plays by my rules,” Isabella’s voice was a whip-crack. “If I tell him to kneel, he doesn’t dare stand!” Her words hit me like a physical blow, plunging my heart into an icy abyss. I had given up everything for her. I’d refused the arranged marriage my family wanted, severed all ties with them, all to be with Isabella. And this was my reward. Her chilling voice cut through the air again. “I warned you not to mess with Ryan. He’s a kind, gentle soul. But you wouldn’t listen, so don’t blame me for teaching you a lesson.” Kind and gentle? My mind flashed back to the day I’d visited her office. Ryan had “accidentally” spilled coffee all over himself, then run to Isabella with tears in his eyes. “It wasn’t Mr. Prescott’s fault,” he’d stammered. “I was just being clumsy.” Isabella’s face had hardened instantly. She wouldn’t listen to a word I said. She just warned me to stop causing trouble and threw me out of her building. That afternoon, Ryan posted a photo of himself in a new, expensive suit. The caption read: It feels so good to be cherished! When I confronted Isabella about it, she tore into me, accusing me of being petty and bored, telling me to get a job if I had so much time on my hands. From then on, any time Ryan looked even slightly upset, Isabella automatically assumed it was my fault. When he “tripped” and fell down a flight of stairs, she was convinced I had pushed him. She took a fruit knife and carved shallow cuts into my arm, one for each of his supposed bruises, forbidding me from treating them. She wanted me to feel what it was like to be hurt. The memory faded, and the saltwater stinging my eyes mixed with tears. I looked up at the drone, my lips moving, forming a single, silent sentence. Isabella, I’m divorcing you. Someone on the yacht must have read my lips and translated for her. Isabella froze for a second. Then I heard Ryan’s oily voice again. “Ms. Forte, maybe we should just pull him out. He’s still a Prescott, after all. What if he gets his family to come after our company?” That was all it took. Isabella’s expression turned to stone. “A disowned reject? He thinks he can threaten me with the Prescott name? Throw the bait in. Let’s see how his precious family helps him now.” 02 The moment she gave the order, crew members hauled over a massive crate of chum and dumped it into the water right where I was struggling. The sea instantly erupted. Swarms of fish descended, their frenzy creating a swirling vortex that sucked me under. I fought against the pull, kicking desperately for the surface, only to be dragged down again and again. The livestream chat was going wild, placing bets on how much longer I could hold on. Someone even claimed they had audio equipment ready, just waiting to capture the moment I screamed that I was worthless. “Sir, just apologize!” Ryan’s voice, a mockery of concern, drifted down. “You wouldn’t want to bring shame upon the Prescott family name, would you?” Isabella’s voice followed, cold and self-righteous. “Ryan, you’re just too good. He’s been bullying you for weeks, taking advantage of his position as my husband. He even scratched the word ‘worthless’ on you with a knife. This ocean needs to wash away the filth from his soul.” I wanted to scream that I’d never done any of those things. But the vortex below me and the dead weight of my suit were a constant, suffocating force. Every time I opened my mouth to shout, the bitter, salty sea rushed in. Ryan’s pathetic sobs echoed from the drone. “Ms. Forte, please don’t blame him. It’s all my fault. I’m just clumsy and I made him angry. It’s okay if he hits me or screams at me, or even forces me to drink from the toilet. I’ll do anything, as long as I can keep working by your side.” “Caleb! You vile, disgusting creature! You made him drink from a toilet?” Isabella’s roar of fury was terrifying. “I was so wrong about you.” She ordered her staff to bring cases of bottled water so Ryan could throw them at me. He feigned reluctance. “Oh, I don’t know… What if I actually hurt him?” “He deserves it,” Isabella spat. “For everything he’s done to you. Throw them. If anything happens, I’ll take full responsibility.” “Ms. Forte, can we play too?” someone shouted from the deck. “Go ahead,” she replied. “Just don’t kill him.” A sick wave of excitement swept through the crowd on the yacht. They started grabbing whatever they could find and hurling it down at me. CRACK. Something sharp hit my forehead. A warm gush of blood streamed into my eyes. A barrage of objects rained down—bottles, ice cubes, pieces of fruit. I dodged what I could, but more of them found their mark. The cuts on my head multiplied, and the water around me began to bloom with red. Through the chaos, I heard a voice speaking to Isabella. “Ms. Forte, he doesn’t look good. This might be going too far.” Isabella scoffed. “Relax. He won’t die. Caleb is the king of drama. This whole pathetic act is just to get your sympathy so I’ll pull him out. He’s a spoiled, vicious brat. If I don’t teach him a harsh lesson today, he’ll only get worse with Ryan. Besides, he’s not an idiot. If he was really in trouble, wouldn’t he be screaming for help? Have you heard him beg for his life even once?” The other voice went quiet. Their conversation, every single heartless word, reached my ears. Isabella’s indifference was a dagger, twisting deep in my chest. Just as my vision started to blur and I felt myself giving up, a fresh surge of adrenaline, born of pure rage, coursed through me. Gritting my teeth, I used the last of my strength to tear off the suffocating suit jacket and shirt.

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I had been in love with Samuel for years. Then one day, I suddenly asked him to leave, and he simply gave a quiet nod. For many years after, we never saw each other again. Not until I was diagnosed with terminal cancer, my death sentence signed and sealed. I decided to hire a hospice care specialist to help me arrange my final affairs. The man who knocked on my door was holding a beautifully polished wooden urn. It was Samuel. He stood in the doorway, and his eyes met mine. 1. His eyes were as calm and distant as I remembered. A young, fresh-faced boy stood just behind him. Samuel glanced at me with a look of professional compassion, the kind reserved for strangers. “Good morning,” he said, his voice gentle. “My name is Samuel Thorne, from the palliative care agency.” He didn’t recognize me. Not at all. Before the shock could even register, I found myself moving aside stiffly. “Please, come in.” He sat down and placed the wooden box gently on the coffee table, opening the lid. Inside lay several urns of different materials, each one looking exquisitely expensive. “These are our samples. You can choose based on your preference,” he explained, his tone detached. “The materials vary, as do the price and symbolism.” I curled into the sofa, digging my nails into my palms. The tiny flares of pain were the only thing keeping me grounded. He pulled out a tablet and brought up a form. “Next, we’ll need to confirm some of your specific wishes regarding the scale of the funeral service…” I listened, a dull roar filling my head. His voice was still so beautiful, but now, every syllable was a tick of the clock, counting down the last moments of my life. Finally, he asked, “And lastly, is there anything you’d like to have inscribed on your headstone?” A wave of regret washed over me. “Can I request someone else?” The words hung in the air, and the living room fell into a dead silence. Samuel’s thin lips parted as if to speak, but the sound caught in his throat. The young boy beside him looked at me, bewildered and indignant. “My mentor is the most respected hospice specialist in the entire city! You’re lucky you got him. This is his last case before he goes on leave.” “After this,” the boy added, “he’s going back to his hometown to get married.” Hometown… to get married? My heart dropped like a stone, a sudden, sickening plunge into nothingness. A cold, metallic tang of rust and sorrow flooded the back of my throat. Ah. So that was it. He had moved on. He had a better life now. My ridiculous, hopeful little test just moments ago now seemed utterly pathetic. I turned my head, unable to meet Samuel’s gaze. “Is that so…” I forced a smile that felt more painful than crying. “Well… then… congratulations. That’s wonderful.” Samuel remained silent, his eyes fixed on me. The profound grief in his gaze was so heavy it threatened to drown me. “Ms. Quinn.” A cold sweat broke out on my skin. “How do you know my name?” He looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “The information you provided to our agency last month only included your name. Clara Quinn, correct?” It hit me then. I had changed my name shortly after breaking up with him. It seemed the illness was stealing my memory along with everything else. 2. In the end, I agreed to let him be my caregiver. He had a home to return to, and I had a grave to prepare for. After a round of chemo, I was leaving the hospital when I ran into him in the hallway. “Ms. Quinn,” he began, his voice deeper and huskier than usual. “It would be better if you called me for future treatments.” He paused, as if needing to justify the sudden offer. “It’s part of my professional duties.” Those words, “professional duties,” were tiny needles against my already numb nerves. I managed a weak smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary. This was my second-to-last treatment.” “After the next one…” After the next one, it would be the end. “I won’t be coming back to the hospital.” The sentence hung in the air, light and final. I felt the arm that had been supporting me suddenly tighten, the grip so strong it was almost painful. “I thought you’d try to comfort me,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Aren’t you hospice specialists supposed to be experts at managing the emotions of the dying?” Samuel let out a slow breath. “Your emotional state appears to be stable at the moment.” He was right. Death was my foregone conclusion. I had no choice but to face it. My physical condition began to deteriorate rapidly, my body withering into someone even I barely recognized. But the fact that he didn’t recognize me… that was a small mercy. It became the single point of solace in my landscape of pain. Looking at him, a huge, almost frantic wave of longing crashed over me. My throat was painfully dry. “Mr. Thorne… could I ask you to… to stay here for a while?” “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, dropping my gaze. “But I can’t even lift a glass of water on my own anymore.” The silence stretched, thick and heavy. After a long moment, I heard him release a sigh, so quiet and so profound it seemed to carry the weight of the world. “…Alright.” 3. Samuel moved into the guest room next to my bedroom. His presence was like a quiet shadow, filling the vast, empty house that had previously only echoed with the sound of my own coughing. Every morning, I would wake to a fresh wave of pain. And every morning, he would appear at my side just in time, his arm sliding steadily under mine to help me sit up, arranging the pillows behind my back. He moved with a practiced ease that felt anything but new, as if he had done this a thousand times before. On sunny afternoons, Samuel would help me to the lounge chair on the balcony, tucking a warm blanket snugly around me. He would tidy up nearby or simply sit with a book, a silent companion. Sometimes, in the hazy twilight between consciousness and the drug-induced stupor, I would secretly open my eyes to watch him. The profile of his face was still so sharp and handsome, the sunlight gilding his features with a soft, golden halo. His fingers, long and clean, turned the pages of his book. Once, those same hands had wiped away my tears. The memories, like reefs exposed by a receding tide, emerged with painful clarity. I remembered a rough patch early in our relationship. I had convinced myself that I had forced him into it, that he didn’t truly love me. He was always so reserved, so calm in everything he did for me. I felt unbearably wronged, yet I knew I had no right to be. One night, I ran out of our apartment in tears. He was the one who found me. He didn’t say a word. He just took off his jacket, draped it over my shoulders, and then crouched down with his back to me. “Get on,” he said, his voice muffled. I stubbornly refused. He sighed and looked back at me. “It’s late. We can argue at home.” In that instant, all my anger and hurt simply evaporated. I climbed onto his broad back, my cheek pressed against his sweat-dampened shirt. He carried me all the way home, step by steady step, without another word. And yet, that was the closest I ever felt to him. Just like now. He was still a man of few words, quietly taking care of everything. He would gently wipe the sweat from my neck, massage my swollen calves, and bring me warm water and painkillers when the pain made me curl into a ball. In those moments, a dangerous illusion would sometimes take hold. It was easy to pretend that he was just a young husband who didn’t know how to express his love, and that I was not a woman on the verge of death. The warm light from the window fell on his downcast lashes. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to be enveloped by this treacherous fantasy. Just for a little while. Let me steal just this one moment. 4. The day of my final chemotherapy session arrived. Samuel placed the pills in my hand. I swallowed them, avoiding his gaze. “Today… I can go by myself.” The air grew still. His calm eyes rested on my face, as if he had expected me to say this. The final treatment always brought the most violent reactions. Vomiting, fainting, a complete loss of control… I didn’t want him to see me like that. I wanted to hold onto that last shred of dignity I had managed to maintain. He was silent for a long time before giving a barely audible reply. “Alright.” At the hospital, the sterile, suffocating scent of antiseptic was more overwhelming than ever. As my consciousness began to blur, I bit down hard on my lip, fighting the rising nausea. Suddenly, I felt a hand close around mine. My eyes flew open. Samuel was standing by my bed. He wasn’t looking at me; his gaze was fixed on the IV bag dripping fluid into my arm. In his silent presence, all my weakness, all my frailty, was laid bare. On the way back, I was so exhausted I could barely move. I leaned back in the seat with my eyes closed, too weak to even speak. He, too, was silent for the entire ride. When the car finally stopped in front of the house, he got out, came around to my side, and gently lifted me into his arms. The dining table was covered with food. They were all my old favorites. I froze, gripping the doorframe, and stared at him as he took off his coat. He turned and met my incredulous gaze without a hint of surprise. “Sit down and have a little. It’s okay to break the rules just this once.” How… how could he know? My heart leaped, and a powerful sense of dread washed over me. He saw the shock and confusion in my eyes and didn’t look away. Then, he finally met my gaze directly, his voice low and clear, each word deliberate. “You haven’t changed a bit.” “Clara Rhodes,” he said, my old name a tremor on his lips, heavy with exhaustion. 5. The sound of my name, spoken from his lips. In that instant, the carefully constructed facade I had maintained for so long shattered into a million pieces. He knew. He had known all along. A wave of profound shame washed over me, corrosive and sickening. It was followed by a surge of furious grief, the feeling of being watched in my most vulnerable state. How could he? How dare he, now, when I was at my absolute worst? I summoned every last ounce of my remaining strength, my right hand trembling as I lifted it and swung it toward his face. The sound was little more than a soft pat. The sensation of my palm against his cheek was barely a sting. His head didn’t even turn, and no red mark appeared. “Get…” The word was squeezed through my clenched teeth. “Out.” I don’t know why I reacted so violently. Perhaps it was because the memory of our past was so beautiful that it made my present reality all the more unbearable. Samuel just stood there, stunned. He looked into my eyes, his jawline tight. He didn’t argue, didn’t move. He just watched me. After a few seconds of dead silence, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Alright.” I sagged against the doorframe, gasping for breath as black spots danced in my vision. By the time the storm of emotion subsided, the house was empty. He was gone. A colossal wave of panic crashed over me. What have I done? Acting on pure impulse, I forced my weak body to move, making my way to his agency. In the director’s office, I heard my own voice, shrill and sharp. “I want to file a complaint against Samuel Thorne… His service was completely unprofessional! I demand a new specialist immediately!” The director tried to placate me, but I was adamant. Soon, there was a knock, and Samuel walked in. His face was a calm mask, but his eyes were bloodshot. The director looked uneasily between us, about to mediate, when the office door was pushed open from the outside. An elegantly dressed woman burst in. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on me. “Ms. Quinn?” she asked, her tone overly familiar and urgent. She turned to Samuel. “Let me talk to her!” She hurried over to me, trying to take my hand. “Samuel is just too dedicated to his work. I’m sure we can communicate any needs you have…” Her words faded into a dull buzz in my ears. Samuel’s brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said in a low voice. His fiancée. It had to be her. I looked at this vibrant, healthy woman, then at my own reflection in the window—a gaunt, skeletal figure. An unprecedented wave of humiliation washed over me, and the world went dark. 6. When I came to, the first thing I heard was the sound of hushed voices outside the door. “…Sam, don’t worry too much. The doctor said it was just a temporary faint caused by emotional distress, and the fact that she’s so weak…” It was a woman’s voice, soft and soothing. “…I know.” Samuel’s voice was low and hoarse, laced with a bone-deep weariness he was trying to suppress. “But you shouldn’t have come. It only made things worse for her.” Their voices dropped lower, and I couldn’t make out the rest. I struggled to open my eyes, my blurry vision slowly coming into focus. “You’re awake?” I turned my head. It was Samuel’s young apprentice, Leo, peeling an apple. He looked uncomfortable when he saw me looking at him and awkwardly offered me the fruit. He avoided my eyes, his tone filled with a mixture of reluctance and resentment. “…I really don’t know why you’d say those things about my mentor. For this one last case, he stayed up so many nights doing research for you. He’s even delayed his own personal matters… his fiancée came all this way today to see him…” Leo was still mumbling his complaints, but my gaze drifted back to the doorway. Samuel had his head turned slightly, listening to what the woman was saying. She reached up and, with a natural, familiar gesture, straightened his tie, which hadn’t even been crooked. It was an intimate, possessive gesture. Just as I felt the last bit of thin air in my lungs about to give out, the door opened gently. The woman walked in, an apologetic look on her face. She gave Leo a pointed glance, and the boy immediately fell silent and scurried out of the room. Then, she turned to me, her voice so soft it was almost false. “Ms. Quinn, you’re awake. Are you feeling better? You gave us all quite a scare.” She paused, her eyes shifting subtly between me and Samuel’s silhouette in the doorway. “Sam and I have talked. I reminded him that no matter how important his work is, he can’t neglect his client’s feelings. If you really don’t want to see him, I can take over for the remainder of the time. It’s all the same.” She took a step closer, leaning in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “After all… you don’t have much time left. This is your final journey. You should be as comfortable as possible. Why cause yourself any more stress? Don’t you agree?” You don’t have much time left. A chill ran through me, but in the next second, the flicker of anger was smothered by a deeper exhaustion. What had I been hoping for? When I first heard he had a fiancée, a part of me refused to believe it. But now, with her standing right here in front of me… Wake up, Clara. What are you still hoping for? You should have understood the moment you got sick. You would only ever be a burden to him. He had finally escaped your shadow, built a normal life, a respectable career, and was about to marry a healthy, proper woman. You are a sinking ship. Are you really going to try and drag him down with you right before you go under? I looked into her eyes, and then past her, to the blurred figure in the doorway. A strange sense of calm settled over me. I closed my eyes very slowly. “Okay.”

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