My mom set me up on a blind date. Her selling point? “He’s got a rock-solid government job.” When I met him, he was a devastatingly handsome ice prince. He slid a photograph across the table. “Do you know him?” It was my scumbag ex-boyfriend. A jolt of electricity shot through me. “Know him?” I seethed, my teeth clenched. “Even as dust and ashes, I’d know that bastard.” A cold smirk touched his lips. “Good,” he murmured. “Then our goals are one and the same.” I thought he wanted to help me get revenge. My heart fluttered, ready to be his. Until he pulled out a pair of gleaming steel handcuffs and snapped one around my wrist. “I’m a cop…” 1. “You must be Lia.” The man across from me spoke, his voice as flat and cool as his expression. Just yesterday, my mom was screaming at me over the phone. “Lia, listen to me, you’re thirty! How much longer are you going to be this picky? This one’s a federal employee, a stable job for life! If you dare stand him up, I’ll break your legs!” So, here I was. The man in front of me was named Ethan. He was undeniably good-looking, with deep-set eyes and a sharp, high-bridged nose. The cuffs of his crisp white shirt were rolled up, revealing strong, corded forearms. But his presence was overwhelming. He sat there, perfectly still, yet I felt a nervous energy crackling in the air, making me squirm in my seat. I managed a nod. “That’s me.” He hummed in acknowledgment, and then… silence. The waitress came to take our order. He asked for a black iced coffee, then his gaze shifted to me. “I’ll have the same,” I said. As the waitress left, the awkwardness thickened. I started to question everything. Was this really a blind date? He finally spoke again. “So, Miss Reed, what do you do for fun?” I pulled myself together. “Watch movies, shop, a bit of travel.” “I see.” And… silence again. I decided to take the lead. “So, Mr. Cole, what exactly do you do? My mom just said you worked for the government.” He looked at me, his eyes so deep I couldn’t read a single emotion in them. “My work is classified.” Okay, then. This conversation was officially dead on arrival. I picked up my glass of water, planning to sit for another ten minutes before making a polite excuse to leave. But then he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a photograph. “Do you know him?” The face in the picture was one I could never forget. Alex. My ex-boyfriend. The con artist who had stolen my heart and my money before vanishing three years ago. I froze. What was my mother thinking? Was this some kind of bizarre test to see if I still had feelings for him? I slammed my glass down on the table. “Know him? Of course, I know him.” My voice was laced with venom. “Even as dust and ashes, I’d know that bastard!” Ethan leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur. “Good.” “Then our goals are one and the same.” My heart gave a violent lurch. 2. In that instant, my mind raced with a thousand a melodramatic soap opera plots. Had Alex conned Ethan, too? Or maybe one of his relatives? “You…” I asked, testing the waters. “Are you looking for him, too?” Ethan took a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee. “More than just looking.” He set the cup down, his gaze locking with mine. “I’m going to catch him.” Catch him! The words sent a thrill through my entire body. Three years ago, Alex had vanished with the fifty thousand dollars I’d saved up to start my own business. I’d filed a police report, but it was like he’d ceased to exist. His ID, his phone number—everything led to a dead end. The police told me it was a common type of case, to wait for news, and then… nothing. For three years, he had haunted my nightmares. I despised him, fantasizing about tearing him limb from limb. And now, a man so handsome it was practically a crime was telling me he was going to catch Alex. I looked at Ethan, my eyes shining. “I can help you!” I blurted out. “I know so much about him! His habits, his old friends, the places he used to go!” Ethan watched my excited outburst, and something new flickered in his eyes. “Easy,” he said, tucking the photo away. “That’s all for today.” He stood, paid the bill, and turned to me. “Give me your number. I’ll call you when I need you.” I rattled off my digits instantly. He saved the contact, gave me a curt nod, and walked away. Clean, efficient, no wasted motion. I sat there, my heart still hammering against my ribs as I watched him disappear through the cafe door. I pulled out my phone and texted my mom. “Mom, about this guy… I’m very, very satisfied.” She replied in seconds: “Really?! That’s wonderful! I told you he was a great catch!” I smiled at the screen. Oh, he was a catch, all right. Handsome, driven, and we shared a common enemy. I think… I was already starting to fall for him. 3. A week passed, and Ethan didn’t contact me. I stared at my phone constantly, refreshing my messages, terrified I’d miss his call. My mom, on the other hand, was relentless, hounding me daily for updates. “Lia, honey, you need to be more proactive! Men like it when a girl takes initiative.” “Ask him to a movie! Or dinner!” Her nagging was giving me a headache, so I just mumbled, “I know, I know.” Just as I was about to break down and call him myself, my phone rang. It was Ethan. “Are you free tonight?” His voice was as cool and crisp as ever. “Yes! I’m free!” I nearly leaped off the sofa. “Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up at this address.” He hung up. I stared at the address he’d texted—it was my own apartment building. I blinked. How did he know where I lived? Then again, for someone in his line of work, finding an address was probably child’s play. I shot into my bedroom and threw open my closet, a whirlwind of clothes and makeup. At seven o’clock sharp, a black SUV pulled up in front of my building. Ethan was behind the wheel. He saw me and gave a slight nod. I slid into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” I asked, buckling my seatbelt. “A place Alex used to frequent.” My heart sank. So, this wasn’t a date. I’d just been getting ahead of myself. He drove to an old strip of bars on the Southside, parking the car on a quiet street before killing the engine. “He used to love a bar here called The Night Owl.” I nodded. “Yeah. He always said they had the cheapest drinks.” Ethan turned to look at me. “You still remember him so clearly.” “Of course,” I sneered. “If a dog bites you, you make damn sure you remember what it looks like.” He didn’t respond, just watched me. The silence stretched for a good ten seconds, making my skin prickle. Finally, he spoke. “Besides this bar, any other places? Or any… unusual habits? Something most people wouldn’t know.” I thought for a moment. “He has a burn scar on the inside of his left wrist. From a cigarette. It’s tiny, like a single, perfect period. He told me it was an accident from when he was a kid.” Ethan’s eyes sharpened. He took out his phone, seeming to type something down. “Anything else?” “He had a gambling problem,” I said. “The fifty thousand… he told me it was for an investment. I found out later he bet it all on sports. Lost everything.” Ethan’s fingers tapped a light rhythm on the steering wheel. “Which betting site?” I shook my head. “I don’t know. He never let me near his phone.” Silence fell again, the atmosphere turning icy. I felt a wave of disappointment, like I hadn’t been helpful at all. “Um…” I said softly. “Thank you.” “For what?” “For still investigating him. For being willing to catch him.” Ethan started the car. “Don’t thank me,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s my job.” He turned the car around and headed back toward my place. As we neared my building, he asked an odd question. “Are you close with your parents?” I was taken aback. “Yeah, they’re great. My dad dotes on me.” “What does your father do?” “He’s in international trade.” “The company name?” “Unity International,” I answered. “Why?” Ethan shook his head. “No reason. Just curious.” The car stopped in front of my building. I unbuckled my seatbelt, ready to get out. “Ethan,” I said, mustering all my courage. “Yeah?” “Can we… talk about something other than Alex sometime?” He looked at me, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “Okay.” 4. That one word, “Okay,” kept me walking on air for days. I started asking him out. “I know a new sushi place that’s supposed to be amazing,” I’d say. “Okay.” “There’s a new movie out with great reviews.” “Okay.” “The weather’s going to be perfect this weekend. We could go for a hike outside the city.” “Okay.” He never said no. But somehow, our dates always morphed into case briefings. At the sushi restaurant, I’d just be lifting a piece of salmon to my lips when he’d ask, “Did Alex like raw fish?” At the movies, halfway through the film, he’d lean in and whisper in my ear, “Do you remember the last four digits of his Social Security number?” On a mountaintop, as I was admiring the breathtaking view, he’d casually drop, “Did he ever mention any countries he wanted to escape to?” I was going crazy. But I couldn’t bring myself to give up. Because every now and then, I’d see a different side of him. Once, at dinner, I choked on a fish bone. He was on his feet in a second, moving behind me and performing the Heimlich maneuver. His arms wrapped around my waist, his chest pressed against my back, his warm breath fanning against my ear. In that moment, my face was redder than it had been when I was choking. Another time, we were leaving a restaurant when it started pouring. He took off his jacket and held it over my head, shielding me from the downpour. Half of his body was soaked, rain dripping from the ends of his short, dark hair. I looked up at him, and my heart hammered in my chest. I was becoming more and more certain. I was falling for him. And I even started to think he felt something for me, too. Why else would he agree to do all these things with me that were clearly outside of “work”? Why else would he have looked so panicked when I was choking? I told my mom what I was thinking. She was ecstatic. “I knew it! A mother’s intuition is never wrong! Lia, you’ve got to lock this one down!” I decided to be even bolder. We met for dinner again. Afterward, I didn’t let him take me straight home. “Let’s go for a walk by the river,” I suggested. He glanced at me but didn’t object. The night air by the river was chilly. I’d deliberately underdressed, and now I was shivering. I thought he might offer me his jacket again, like last time. He didn’t. He just looked at me and said, “If you’re cold, we should go back.” My heart plummeted. I wasn’t ready to give up. I stopped walking and turned to face him directly. “Ethan.” “Hmm?” “What… what exactly am I to you?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “Are you just using me for this case, or… do you actually like me, even a little?” He fell silent. The river breeze whipped his jacket and tangled my hair. I waited, the silence stretching so long I thought he’d never answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, nearly carried away by the wind. “We’re getting close to a breakthrough in Alex’s case.” A flicker of hope ignited inside me. Did that mean once the case was over, we could finally… He cut through my fantasy. “When this is all over,” he said, his eyes fixed on mine, “I’ll give you an answer.” 5. When this is all over. I clung to those words like a promise. I dove headfirst into helping him, dredging up every memory I had of Alex. I dug through old chat logs, emails, photos—everything—and sent it all to him in organized folders. I even drew a map of Alex’s hometown from memory, marking all the places he might be hiding. Each time, Ethan’s reply was a simple “Received.” It was curt, but for me, it was all the encouragement I needed. I felt like we were soldiers fighting side by side. No, more than that—partners on the verge of becoming something more. One night, Ethan called me out of the blue. “We’ve got a lead on Alex.” My heart leaped into my throat. “Where?” “He’s in an abandoned factory on the west side of town. We’re moving in to apprehend him.” “That’s fantastic!” I exclaimed. “Lia,” he said my name, his tone serious. “We need your help.” “Anything! Just tell me!” “We need you to come to the site. To make a positive ID.” “Okay! I’m on my way!” I hung up the phone. I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door, not even bothering with a jacket. The abandoned factory he mentioned was in a remote area, and it took me nearly an hour of following my GPS to get there. A few unmarked cars were parked near the entrance.

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After I started high school, my mom gave me a ten-thousand-dollar monthly allowance. My desk mate, consumed by envy, tricked me into swapping our souls. She ran towards the luxury town car, ecstatic. “A rich mommy! You’re all mine now!” I quietly slung her worn-out backpack over my shoulder, got on the back of her mom’s electric scooter, and let out a silent sigh of relief. Thank God. I’m finally free of my mother. 1. Just before the last bell, Marie Jensen handed me a smoothie. “It’s my first time buying you something. I saved up for two weeks to get the most expensive one. I hope you like it.” I hesitated for a moment before taking it politely, sipping it a couple of times. It was strawberry, my favorite. “Thanks, it’s really good.” The words had barely left my lips when a flash of white light blinded me. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at myself. We had swapped bodies. “Marie, you—” “Shh,” she hissed, her eyes gleaming with triumph from inside my body. “You’re Marie now. From today on, I’m Anna Sterling. And the rich mommy? She’s all mine.” 2. Staring at the ecstatic new me, it all clicked. A few weeks ago, she’d borrowed money for a smoothie and had accidentally seen the seven-figure balance in my bank account. She’d stared, counting the zeroes over and over. “Anna, how do you have so much money?” “My mom gives me ten thousand a month. It just adds up.” “Your mom… she’s so rich. What does she do?” “She owns a few companies.” “Wow, that’s incredible! You’re so lucky!” Marie had complained between sips. “My mom’s a stay-at-home mom, and she’s so cheap. She only gives me five dollars a day for lunch. That’s why I had to borrow from you.” I listened quietly, my eyes fixed on the smoothie in her hand. The truth was, I envied her. Because after I turned ten, I never had another smoothie. And I never tasted happiness again. 3. After that day, Marie constantly told me how sick she was of her mother, how much she wished she could be my mom’s daughter. I thought it was just a passing fantasy. I never imagined she would actually use a soul-swapping trick to steal her. “Just accept it, Anna. We can never switch back.” While I was still in shock, Marie—in my body—downed the rest of the doctored smoothie and sprinted towards the black town car that picked me up every day. Watching her giddy figure disappear, I slowly shouldered her old backpack, found her mom’s electric scooter in the crowd, and felt a wave of relief wash over me. Thank God. I’m finally free of my mother. 4. “Marie, honey, you look happy today. Did something good happen?” Marie’s mom handed me a helmet. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, just an old black jacket and worn-out sandals. She looked thin and tired, but her eyes, as she looked at me, were incredibly gentle. “Yeah. A problem I couldn’t solve just… figured itself out.” I fumbled with the helmet, getting the strap tangled. Seeing me struggle, her mom immediately parked the scooter and carefully adjusted it for me. She didn’t scold me, just affectionately tapped my nose. “You’re acting like a little kid. Hop on.” I got on the scooter, a strange warmth spreading from where her fingers had touched my nose. Ever since I was ten, I had lived on my own. My mother was always busy, flying all over the world. She never picked me up from school, never allowed me to waste time with something as frivolous as affection. We hadn’t touched in years. Our interactions were like those between a CEO and a subordinate: she gave orders, and I executed them. If I performed well, she transferred money. If I didn’t, there were punishments. The memory of those punishments sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, a fear so deep it felt etched into my bones. It’s okay, I told myself. You’re Marie now, not Anna. You’re not going to die. 5. Marie’s apartment was even smaller than I’d imagined. The living room was cluttered, with children’s books and toys piled on the sofa. Right, Marie had mentioned she had a little sister, not even three years old. “Marie, are you still mad at me?” Her mom placed a shoebox on the coffee table. “Those shoes you wanted? I scraped the money together and bought them for you. See? Are these the ones?” I opened the box. Inside was a pair of knock-off Loro Piana loafers. I knew they were fake because just last week, my mother had bought me the real ones, with strict instructions to wear them to school on the fifteenth of every month. I hated them, but I had numbly followed her command. Marie had noticed them that day, looked up the price, and had been in a foul mood for the rest of the day. “Marie? Did I buy the wrong ones?” Her mom’s gentle, hesitant question pulled me back. I looked into her hopeful eyes, and a warmth bloomed in my chest. “No, it’s just… a classmate has the same pair. Could I maybe pick a different style?” “Of course, sweetie. Here’s my phone. Add what you want to the cart. I’m just going to run next door and pick up your sister.” She handed me her phone and left. So, she had to leave her younger daughter with a neighbor just so she could pick up her older one. A girl Marie’s age could easily take the bus. She didn’t have to do this every day. Was it to save the two-dollar bus fare? I looked at her phone. It was an old model, three years out of date, with two cracks across the screen. The lock screen and wallpaper were both photos of Marie and her little sister. It was clear her mom was frugal with herself but lavished love on her children. How nice, I thought. A mom this good is finally mine. 6. Because I chose a cheaper pair of shoes and patiently read stories to my new little sister, Marie’s mom made a huge platter of sweet and sour pork to reward me. That night, for the first time, I ate what I wanted. I took as much as I wanted, not following the rigid, timed, and portioned meal plans my mother enforced. The perfectly balanced nutritional and body-sculpting meals of my adolescence were cold and clinical. Shrimp flown in from Argentina held none of a mother’s warmth; it couldn’t compare to the love cooked into the food in my bowl. “Marie, what’s wrong? Don’t you feel well?” “No, it’s just… Mom, your cooking is so delicious, I don’t want to finish it.” “Silly girl. If you like it, eat up. I’ll make more for you tomorrow.” She scraped the remaining pieces from the platter into my bowl, leaving none for herself. My eyes stung. The broken pieces of myself, shattered for so long, slowly began to mend. So this is what it felt like to be loved by a mother… Like a spring breeze, a winter sun. But just as I thought I could slowly pull myself out of hell in this warm and loving home, Marie’s mom got into a terrible fight with her husband. Over me. 7. Two in the morning. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed from the living room. Marie’s mom slipped out of bed. I was a light sleeper and woke up just in time to hear a man’s angry voice from outside our door. “She’s a teenage girl! Isn’t five dollars enough for lunch? Why does she need more?” “Marie likes meat, and a single hot dish is almost five dollars now. Sometimes she needs to buy school supplies, too. It’s really not enough.” “If she’s so expensive, maybe she should just drop out and go sell herself!” Silence. My heart hammered against my ribs. Sell herself? He couldn’t mean… I couldn’t believe a father could say something so vile. “Joe, three years ago, you asked me to quit my job to have a second child. You promised five hundred a month for the household. Two years ago, you cut it to three-fifty. This year, you’re only giving me two hundred. Just give me the three-fifty, and I’ll cover the increase in her lunch money.” CRASH. The sound of something shattering. Her husband had lost it. “All you three do is ask for money! You couldn’t even give me a son! Why should I spend three-fifty a month on you? For that much, I could keep a girl on the side!” Another suffocating silence. I thought that after being humiliated like that, she would surely demand a divorce. But she said nothing. She just came back into the room, her shoulders slumped in defeat. I quickly shut my eyes. She didn’t notice I was awake as she tucked me in, then sat beside the bed, crying silently in the dark. In that moment, I finally understood why Marie had so desperately wanted a rich mother. 8. In the morning, Marie’s mom apologized, telling me the neighbor couldn’t watch my sister, so I’d have to take the bus. “I transferred twenty-two dollars to your account. Two for the bus, twenty for lunch.” “I thought it was fifteen…” Last night, her husband had refused to give more. “You’re a growing girl. You can’t skimp on food. An extra five dollars a day is nothing. I’ll cover it.” She gently stroked my face. “Marie, don’t deny yourself at school. Buy whatever you want to eat.” The calluses on her fingertips felt rough against my skin, a little itchy, a little painful. I couldn’t help but hug her. “Thank you, Mom.” She stiffened for a second, then gently patted my back. “You’re acting so different lately,” she murmured. I snapped back to reality. I hadn’t expected her to notice something was off so quickly. I practically fled the apartment, pulling out my phone once I was safely outside. A flood of messages from Marie popped up. 9. [The etiquette tutors just praised me. Said I’ve improved a lot.] [I got three ‘excellents’ in my public speaking class. You probably couldn’t even get one, right?] [My therapist is so cute, lol. She actually told me to ‘get more sunshine.’ My life is so perfect, even if it rained every day, I wouldn’t get wet.] [Guess what? The butler just told Mom I completed all my Tuesday objectives. She was so pleased, she bought me a couture dress on the spot.] A couture dress? What was so exciting about that? My closet was full of them. Those expensive, elaborate clothes were less comfortable than my school uniform. Wearing them meant I wasn’t Anna anymore; I was “Ms. Sterling’s daughter,” an accessory at some stuffy event where my expressions and emotions weren’t my own. “Marie, your mom couldn’t drive you again today?” A girl from the next class, Hailey, called out to me. Her sympathetic voice pulled me from my dark thoughts. I managed a smile. “Yeah, she has to look after my sister.” Hailey tilted her head and linked her arm through mine. “How come you’re not mad? I thought you hated your sister.” Hated her sister? Marie’s little sister was a soft, cuddly ball of fluff. When she looked at me with her big eyes and called me “sissy” in her tiny voice, my heart melted. Why would Marie hate her? Was it about money again? 10. On the bus, I scrolled through more of Marie’s messages. [Mom is coming back next week. I’m going to tell her I want to transfer to a private school and then study abroad.] [We were desk mates for three years, so I guess we have a connection. As long as you keep all my high school secrets, I can give you a nice payoff before I leave.] At midnight, she’d sent a photo of the glittering city skyline from her new bedroom window: [Jealous? Marie, this is the penthouse you’ll never reach, the life you’ll never have.] The last two messages were from five minutes ago: [The Princess has transferred you $100.] [Marie, I just saw you waiting for the bus. Did your mom ditch you for your sister again? How pathetic. Take a taxi. I’ll wait for you in class.] I accepted the money and turned off the screen. It seemed Marie was adapting to the role of “Anna Sterling” perfectly. She could stomach the bland nutritional meals, endure the stressful private tutoring sessions, and live in that empty, lifeless house. She was the perfect daughter my mother had always wanted—a robot who followed orders with precision. My mother must have been so pleased with her performance yesterday. Wait… A cold realization washed over me. I gripped my phone, my palm sweating with fear. Marie had made three fatal mistakes. 11. I made it to school just as the bell rang. As I put my bag down, Marie, who was scrolling through videos, glanced up. “You took the money. Why didn’t you get a taxi?” I frowned, snatched her—my—phone, and quickly closed the app. “Stop watching that. You’ll get in trouble.” “What trouble? It’s just a video.” She glared at me. “Give it back.” “All your social media is monitored. The house is full of cameras. She knows everything you do.” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’ve made three fatal mistakes. With her personality, we’re both screwed.” “Mistakes? My performance last night was flawless. Even the butler didn’t suspect a thing. Who are you trying to scare?” “I’m not trying to scare you! Will you just listen to me—” “No! Marie, give me back my phone right now, or I’ll make you buy me a new one.” I was speechless. Suddenly, an arm reached over. Ryan Hunter, the class heartthrob Marie used to have a huge crush on, snatched the phone from my hand and presented it to her with a charming smile. “Anna, here’s your phone.” “Oh.” Marie took it without much enthusiasm and tossed it in her desk. Ryan lingered, blushing slightly. “Anna, everyone says you’re amazing at Go. Want to play a game after lunch?” “No, I’m busy.” She rejected him flatly, opening her English book without even glancing at her former crush. Ryan retreated awkwardly. I didn’t understand her reaction either. Just a few days ago, she was engineering “accidental” run-ins with him. Noticing my stare, Marie lifted her chin smugly. “I’m going to be the CEO of Aura Corp one day. Ryan Hunter is beneath me. To me, he’s just like you now—an insignificant grain of sand that will leave no trace on my life.” 12. I realized Marie truly saw herself as “Anna” now, and she was reveling in everything I had once despised. This was exactly what I wanted. As long as she could keep my mother fooled, we could both live the lives we desired. I tried multiple times that day to warn her that Seraphina Sterling was not the benevolent mother portrayed in the news, but a cold, ruthless monster. Marie was convinced I was just jealous and trying to drive a wedge between them. Finally, I gave up. I spent the entire afternoon writing down the one hundred and twenty-one house rules in a notebook and gave it to her. She barely glanced at it before tearing the pages to shreds. “I don’t believe you. This is just your pathetic attempt to get your life back.” “And even if it’s true, I don’t need your warnings. I’m confident I can win Mom’s approval.” “Maybe she’ll notice I’m a little different, but she’ll just think I’ve realized my mistakes and changed for the better. From now on, I’m going to be the perfect, obedient daughter.” “I’ve read your text history. I don’t get why you’d want a mother who’s just… around. I’m grateful that my mother is out there conquering the world. If she were like some stay-at-home mom, chained to her house and kids, I’d be living like a beggar, unable to even afford bus fare.” She wasn’t lying. Once, during a downpour, her mom forgot to transfer her bus fare, and she had to borrow two dollars from me. Just then, a message popped up on my phone: [Sweetie, I’m cleaning the neighbor’s house. Can you take the bus home? I made your favorite pork dumplings today. If you’re hungry when you get back, you can boil some.] Even though her mom had forgotten the bus fare again, a warmth spread through my chest. She had made dumplings just for me. 13. After school, Marie saw me heading for the bus stop and blocked my path. “Did your mom ditch you for your sister again? How pathetic. Here’s another hundred. Take a taxi.” She transferred the money without waiting for a reply and strode off toward the town car. I accepted the money, but I had no intention of taking a taxi. Marie’s family was struggling. Her mom was cleaning houses to make ends meet. I would save the money and give it to her. It was rush hour, and the bus was packed. People got on and off, but it remained crowded. I didn’t notice the man in the baseball cap who stood next to me for several stops. Until the driver slammed on the brakes. The passengers lurched forward, and the man fell against me, his hand landing on my chest. It didn’t feel like an accident. “Oh, it’s you, little lady. Sorry, lost my balance.” He seemed to know Marie and greeted me casually. I pressed my lips together and turned my back to him. I thought that would be the end of it, but then his hand snaked around my waist. “Hey, let your uncle here just steady himself, okay?” The hair on my arms stood on end. I grabbed his hand, my grip like steel. The taekwondo I had been practicing since I was a child finally came in handy. And I finally understood why Marie never wanted to take the bus. She must have been harassed by this creep before. That’s why she needed her mom to drive her every day. The moment her mom couldn’t, she was in danger again. But why hadn’t she told anyone? Why hadn’t she gone to the police? Three hours later, I had my answer. 14. It was nine o’clock by the time Marie’s mom picked me up from the police station. “Marie, go home and get cleaned up. I’ll go get your sister.” “Okay.” Her eyes were red and swollen, and a wave of guilt washed over me. I hadn’t been hurt—in fact, I’d knocked out two of the pervert’s teeth—but she kept blaming herself for not being there to pick me up. She had done her best, rushing to the station in her dirty apron, trying to stay calm and handle things rationally. But when the police said this was the man’s third offense, her composure had shattered. The gentle, soft-spoken woman had transformed into a raging lioness. She had grabbed the man by the hair, dragged him to the floor, and was about to smash a chair over his head before the officers intervened. During the ordeal, she had called her husband. His only response was: “You’re a disgrace. Get your asses home now.” I wasn’t surprised by his reaction anymore. What I didn’t expect was that the moment I walked through the door, he would charge at me and slap me across the face. “You little tramp! Always trying to seduce men! I told you to go back to the countryside and get married! Twenty thousand dollars, down the drain!” “You knocked out two of his teeth! I’m not paying a dime! You can sell yourself to pay for it! I can’t believe I’m stuck with three unlucky bitches like you!” He screamed at me, then, not satisfied, he unbuckled his belt. He didn’t care what had happened to his daughter. He only cared that she had embarrassed him. “Joe, are you crazy? It’s not her fault! That pervert was the one who assaulted our daughter!” At the critical moment, Marie’s mom threw herself in front of me. Joe just swung the belt, catching her across the face. “Useless hen! It’s all your fault for letting her go to high school! What’s the point of educating a girl? She just ends up acting like a whore!” My little sister started wailing. Marie’s mom stood there, trembling, all the fight she’d shown at the station gone. “Joe, that’s enough!” she finally managed to choke out. Her weak protest only fueled his rage. “What, Linda, you want a divorce? You willing to leave your precious little chicks? Don’t forget, you don’t have a penny to your name. The court will never give you the kids.” He raised the belt again, and she instinctively flinched, burying her head, silently enduring the abuse in front of her children rather than uttering the word “divorce.” 15. My taekwondo came in handy for the second time that day. I kicked Joe until he passed out. As I was about to deliver a more permanent blow, Marie’s mom wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight. “Marie, no! You’ll go to jail! Stop, please!” My little sister clung to my pant leg, sobbing, “Sissy, hug.” I didn’t want them to keep crying. I took a deep breath and stopped. Once the house was quiet and my sister was calm, her mom started to move toward Joe. I grabbed her arm. “Mom, can you please divorce him?” “Marie, you just focus on your studies. Don’t worry about grown-up problems.” She wiped her tears and wouldn’t meet my eyes. In that moment, I felt a profound disappointment. But then, I understood the real problem.

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The system tasked me with romancing the innocent male lead. I gave Damien Blackwood my all—relentless, whispering sweet nothings by day, curling up beside him at night. Each morning, I demanded a kiss before letting him rise, his face flushed crimson. My passionate assault quickly ensnared the innocent lamb. We confessed, dated, and became engaged in a whirlwind romance. But at our engagement party, the system screamed back to life: “I said romance the innocent lead, so why seduce the psycho villain?!” “What part of him seems innocent? Every time you flirted, he bought a new ‘toy,’ saving them for tonight—for you.” “He’s about to go nuclear, and you’re humming nursery rhymes!” Panic seized me. I spun to flee, only to crash into a solid chest. Damien’s arms locked around me, his smile gentle but his grip unbreakable. “Darling,” he purred, “we missed our morning kiss. How about we spend all night making it up?” 1 “Mmm…” The first thing I registered upon waking was the sound of ragged, urgent breathing. I lifted my head. A man was slumped against the wall, his handsome face flushed, his shirt torn open to reveal a wide expanse of toned chest. He looked like the textbook definition of a male lead who’d just been drugged. My jaw dropped. My name is Nina, and I’m a ‘transmigrator.’ Just moments ago, my system had thrown me into this novel. It had only managed to spit out, “Your mission is to romance the pure, innocent male lead, Damien Blackwood…” before the connection fizzled out. But it had failed to mention that this innocent little flower was this… intense. My eyes lit up. I couldn’t stop myself from walking toward him. If the innocent lamb was in trouble, then who was I to deny him a proper rescue? But I’d barely taken two steps when a brutal force clamped down on my wrist. The world spun, and the next thing I knew, I was slammed against the wall, my arm twisted behind me. Damien’s eyes were dark and stormy. “Who are you?” he growled. “What are you trying to do to me?” The words should have been terrifying. But in his drugged state, his voice was breathy, the ends of his words trembling ever so slightly. He sounded less threatening and more… adorable. A wicked grin spread across my face. “What do you think?” I purred. “I’m here to help you with your little… problem.” Damien’s brow furrowed, his grip on my wrist tightening. “Looking for a death wish?” But before he could do anything else, another wave of the drug hit him. His strength vanished, leaving him paralyzed. He could only watch, his eyes wide with a mixture of anger and confusion, as I slung his arm over my shoulder, half-carrying, half-dragging him. With a final, decisive shove— SPLASH! A huge plume of water erupted as we both tumbled into the oversized bathtub, plunging into the icy water. 2 Damien was soaked to the bone. He broke the surface, gasping for air, his voice dripping with fury. “What. Are. You. Doing?” Each word was a dagger. He was genuinely furious. But I was too busy enjoying the moment to notice. I tilted my head back, a triumphant smile on my face. “Like I said, I’m helping you with your problem.” I gestured around us. “See? You’re not even trembling anymore. It’s working, isn’t it?” Damien froze. He seemed to realize, for the first time, that the burning heat that had been consuming him was now mostly gone, extinguished by the cold water. His mind felt clearer. A complex expression crossed his face. “…You really were just trying to help?” Well, not just. I had my own selfish reasons. Pretending to wipe water from my eyes, I secretly peeked at him. His white dress shirt was now semi-transparent, clinging to his body and outlining the sharp, defined muscles beneath. It was a subtle, tantalizing kind of temptation. My face grew warm. Nina, you’re terrible, I scolded myself. Taking advantage of a poor, innocent man like this. But Damien hadn’t noticed my leering. He was lost in thought. “Why didn’t you kill me?” he finally asked. I blinked. What? “I don’t know if you were sent by the old family or our rivals from the port,” he continued, his voice low and serious. “But either way, you should have been here for my life. Why didn’t you kill me when I was vulnerable?” Okay, what was happening? I wasn’t that terrible. And why was an innocent romance protagonist talking about assassins and rival gangs? Anyone overhearing this would think he was some kind of mafia boss, not the hero of a love story. After a moment of silent mental facepalming, I finally explained, “What are you talking about? I’m here to win you over. I don’t want your life. I want you.” Damien went completely still. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. “…What?” The system had told me that with pure, innocent guys, the key was to be bold, passionate, and direct. So, I gazed at him with all the affection I could muster and repeated myself. “I said, I’m here to pursue you. To date you. To make you fall in love with me. To—” “Enough,” he cut me off with a short, humorless laugh. “I get it. A honey trap.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a cynical smirk, his eyes turning cold and distant. “The people who sent you must be fools. I grew up surrounded by blood and death. Did they really think they could entice me with something as childish as love?” I was completely lost. What on earth was he talking about? None of this made any sense. But one sentence did stick out. “I grew up surrounded by blood and death.” His childhood must have been horrifying. Witnessing such things from a young age… what kind of brutal family had he grown up in? A wave of sympathy washed over me. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “Don’t be sad, sweetheart,” I murmured, my voice soft. “You’ve been so strong, surviving all this on your own. Let me walk with you from now on. I’ll protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” Damien’s breath caught in his throat. For a long moment, he was silent. Then, slowly, he rested his head on my shoulder. “Really?” he whispered. “Then… I’ll be in your care.” Finally! The innocent male lead was acting normal! I was so relieved that I patted his back reassuringly. I didn’t see the way his eyes, hidden from my view, darkened with a dangerous, predatory light. He stared at my neck, his lips forming silent words. “It doesn’t matter if you’re lying. Now that you’ve made your move—” “Don’t even think about running away.” 3 After Damien recovered, we drove to his home. As we pulled up, my eyes went wide. Before me stretched a sprawling estate of modern mansions, each one oozing luxury. A line of bodyguards in sharp black suits stood at attention, their presence an intimidating wall of silent power. This was the real deal. This was the life of a novel’s male lead! As I gaped at my surroundings, a man approached and bowed to Damien. “Mr. Blackwood, we’ve caught the traitor who drugged you. How would you like to deal with them?” Damien answered without a second thought. “Feed them to the sharks, of course.” I froze solid. Wait a second. Was this really the pure, innocent hero? The way he talked about “blood and death”… was he the one causing it? Damien glanced at my petrified expression and seemed to realize something. “Don’t misunderstand,” he said smoothly. “I have a pet shark. ‘The Traitor Who Drugged Me’ is just the name of its fish food.” The man who had reported to him blinked, then immediately turned to me with a strained smile. “That’s right, miss. I’m in charge of feeding the young master’s shark. To keep things organized, I give the different food pellets… creative names. Like ‘The Traitor Who Drugged Me,’ or ‘The Enemy Who Signed His Death Warrant,’ or ‘The Uncooperative Business Partner.’” He paused. “All of these people… I mean, pellets… end up as fish food.” Though he was trying his best to smile, his eyes held a chilling, untamed ferocity. You’re a very strange man, I thought. You know that, right? I met more of his staff, and they were all the same—tough, intimidating, and looking like they could snap a man in half. And the strangest part? As soon as they finished speaking with Damien, they would immediately retreat, keeping a distance of at least thirty feet. It was as if they were all deliberately… shunning him. Ostracizing him. My heart ached. “Do you work with these people every day?” I asked quietly. “They all look so mean, and they clearly don’t like you. Do they… bully you?” Damien paused. He slowly lowered his gaze, a sad, vulnerable smile gracing his lips. “They do,” he said softly. “They’re supposed to be my subordinates, but they never listen. They bully me behind my back. I feel… scared, and very lonely, every day.” My heart shattered. No wonder Damien was so pure and delicate. Not only had he suffered a tragic childhood, but now he was being bullied by this gang of thugs. A fierce protectiveness surged through me. I took his hand. “Hey, don’t be sad anymore. From now on, I’ll come to work with you every day. I’ll stand up for you. I promise, no one will dare to bully you again, okay?” I could have sworn that as I said this, the faces of several nearby guards twitched, their expressions a mixture of confusion and disbelief. But before I could get a better look, Damien’s lips curved into a breathtaking smile. The light in his eyes was like the spring sun dancing on a lake, sending ripples through my soul. “That would be wonderful,” he said, his voice warm. “With you by my side, I’ll feel so much safer.” The sudden flash of his perfect smile hit me like a physical blow. I blushed and quickly looked away, completely flustered. And so, I missed it. I missed the way Damien turned his head slightly, catching the eyes of the guards who looked like they wanted to speak. He raised a single, elegant finger to his lips. “Shhh.” In an instant, the world fell back into absolute, unnerving silence. 4 That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The room Damien had prepared for me was undeniably luxurious. The furniture, the lighting, the massive bed—everything whispered of immense wealth. But I couldn’t bring myself to like it. Everything was black. There was no warmth, no life—only a cold, oppressive atmosphere that made my chest feel tight. It didn’t feel like a place for rest. It felt like a cage. As I lay there, my thoughts drifted to Damien. If even I felt suffocated here, how could a gentle soul like him have endured it for over twenty years? And he’d said it himself: “I feel scared, and very lonely, every day…” The thought spurred me into action. I slipped out of bed and tiptoed into his room, determined to offer some comfort. The room was pitch black. I couldn’t tell if he was asleep. I moved silently toward the bed, careful not to make a sound. One step, two steps, three… Suddenly, my wrist was seized in a grip of iron. An immense force pulled me forward, and I tumbled onto the soft mattress. Before I could even process what was happening, I was pinned down. Damien loomed over me, his voice sharp and cold. “Who is it?” “Ow, that hurts!” I yelped instinctively. Hearing my voice, Damien froze. The pressure on me eased. His tone shifted, becoming low and husky. “It’s you? What are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?” I rubbed my sore wrist, pouting. “I wasn’t planning anything bad,” I mumbled. “I was just worried you’d be lonely all by yourself, so I came to… help.” The word “help” seemed to change the air in the room. Damien’s gaze intensified, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “And how… were you planning on helping me?” Under his heated gaze, I reached up, wrapped my arms around his neck, and burrowed into his broad chest. And then… I closed my eyes and promptly fell asleep. Damien waited. And waited. But nothing else happened. He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Nina,” he said, his voice tight with a mix of frustration and amusement, “are you messing with me?” I was already half-asleep after the day’s events, but I managed a sleepy shake of my head. “No… not messing with you. Just keeping you company.” My words were slurred. “You were bullied all day… sleeping all alone at night… I thought you might be lonely, so I came to stay with you…” Damien went completely still. A long silence stretched between us. I yawned, fighting to keep my eyes open. “Do you… not want me here? If you don’t, I can go…” Before I could finish, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against him—a silent answer. Listening to the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat, I finally lost the battle with sleep and drifted off. The next morning, when I opened my eyes, Damien was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed and getting dressed. The morning light sculpted the powerful lines of his back, each muscle perfectly defined. My inner flirt stirred. It was time to tease my innocent little lamb again. I reached out and threw my arms around him from behind, hugging him tight. His breath hitched. “…Don’t,” he said, his voice strained. “Let go.” But I just snuggled closer, my voice a playful whine. “Nope! The only way I’ll let you go is if…” I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear as I whispered, “you give me a good morning kiss.” The tips of his ears instantly turned bright red. Oh my god, I thought, stunned. He’s so pure! Just the mention of a kiss made him blush like that? But to my surprise, he didn’t push me away. He quickly turned and planted a soft, fleeting kiss on my cheek. “There. Can I go now?” I finally released him. The moment I did, he shot up and hurried into the bathroom, the red on his ears still visible. A moment later, I heard the sound of the shower running. I was baffled. Didn’t he shower last night? Why was he showering again this morning? Was this… the legendary germaphobia of a novel’s male lead? … In the days that followed, I stuck to Damien like glue. I whispered sweet nothings to him during the day and held him tight at night. I made him give me a good morning kiss every single day, or I wouldn’t let him get out of bed. And just as I’d planned, the innocent little lamb couldn’t resist my relentless affection. The way he looked at me slowly filled with a deep, overwhelming love. He indulged my every whim, his patience seemingly endless. Soon, we confessed our feelings. He proposed. We got engaged. Everything was moving along perfectly. On the day of our engagement party, after greeting an endless stream of distinguished guests, I was exhausted. Damien, ever the gentleman, told me to go rest while he handled the remaining pleasantries. I went back to his room alone, took a quick shower, and threw on a fluffy bathrobe before collapsing onto the bed. Honestly, I would never be this casual in anyone else’s room. But this was Damien’s room. Pure, innocent Damien. We had slept in the same bed for weeks, and all we ever did was talk. It was the very definition of chaste. I’d come to believe that Damien just wasn’t interested in that side of a relationship. Perhaps he preferred a more platonic kind of love… As I was pondering this, a shaky, electronic voice echoed in my mind. “H-Host… why are you lying on… Damien Blackwood’s bed?” It was my system, back from the dead! My spirits soared. “Because of the mission, of course!” I bragged. “See? I’ve already captured the innocent male lead’s heart. He’s completely in love with me. He even proposed!” Before I could continue, the system let out a deafening, panicked shriek. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU FOOL?!” “WHAT PART OF DAMIEN BLACKWOOD SCREAMS ‘INNOCENT’ TO YOU?!” “HE’S NOT THE MALE LEAD! HE’S THE VILLAIN! THE PSYCHOTIC, MANIPULATIVE, ARCH-VILLAIN!”

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The day Christopher screwed his assistant, I went online and posted a tweet: “Urgently seeking a new husband. Must be handsome, a sweet-talker, squeaky clean, with 10/10 loyalty. $100k/month allowance, full benefits package included. First come, first served.” That night, the internet exploded. “Award-Winning Actor Brawls with Male Models for a 401(k)!” “Famed Screenwriter and A-List Director Trade Blows for Pocket Money!” … A week later, Christopher returned from a business trip abroad. I was at home, playing cards with a few A-listers, my face covered in lipstick marks from losing a round. His eyes were bloodshot. “Clara, don’t you love me anymore?” I glanced at him, a wild smile spreading across my face. “Christopher, it’s not that I don’t love you anymore.” “It’s that the Clara who loved you is already dead.” “She died the night you and your little assistant were kissing and groping in your office, ignoring her desperate calls for help.” 1. After I got sick, I left the entertainment industry. I rarely left the house, except for appointments with my therapist. Friends slowly drifted away. Nothing held my interest anymore. But today, a sudden, sharp longing to see Christopher hit me. So, for the first time in ages, I went to his company. Standing outside his office, I saw a young woman lying on the sofa across from his desk, her face deathly pale. Christopher handed her a cup of hot ginger tea, then leaned over to tuck a blanket around her stomach. “If you feel this bad, why don’t I give you the day off? Go home and rest.” She took the cup, her voice firm despite her condition. “A good assistant doesn’t let her boss work all alone.” Christopher gestured with his chin toward his private lounge. “Then at least go lie down in there for a while.” The assistant took a sip of the tea, a playful glint in her eyes. “I can’t do that, Professor. You’re a married man now. I have to keep my distance.” Christopher let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in fond exasperation. And then, his eyes lifted and met mine. The smile on his lips froze. I stood there, momentarily stunned. I was still processing that smile—the one he’d just given his assistant. My illness had dulled my senses, but as I replayed the moment, it hit me. It had been a long, long time since he’d smiled that freely, that easily, in front of me. But the moment passed. His expression shifted back to the familiar, composed mask he always wore around me. He walked toward me. “Clara, what are you doing here?” He reached for my hand, but I flinched back, a pure reflex. Christopher’s hand hovered in the air, suspended. “Well, well, a surprise inspection from the boss’s wife,” the young assistant chirped, holding the cup Christopher had given her. She stood beside him, beaming, and extended a hand to me. “My name is Chloe. I graduated from Axton University, too. Do you remember me?” Chloe… Chloe… I studied her face. After a few seconds, it came back to me. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen her. She had been in the same department as Christopher at university, a few years behind him. She’d fallen for him the moment she saw him during her freshman orientation. She was bright and energetic, a little sunbeam, and she pursued him with a fiery passion. Back then, I was already in the industry. Christopher and I were deeply in love, but my schedule meant I couldn’t always be by his side. He, however, was meticulous about shutting down any interaction that might threaten our relationship. He told her flat-out that he had a girlfriend and completely ignored her advances. Naturally, she didn’t believe him. A girlfriend you’ve never seen is like Schrödinger’s girlfriend. She thought it was just an excuse. It wasn’t until I finished a shoot and returned to campus that she finally accepted the truth. I remember the look on her face—pure dejection, her eyes welling with tears. She gave me a pathetic glance and asked, “Can I at least get his number? For school stuff? The romance is dead, but my GPA can’t be!” Before I could answer, she turned to Christopher, pleading, “Professor, if I can’t win your heart, can you at least let me be a regular classmate? You’re a legend in our department. I’ll definitely have questions about coursework later on. You have to lend a hand!” She sounded so innocent, so open. But how did Christopher respond back then? He’d said, “Sorry.” “That’s not necessary.” “You can ask the professors if you have questions about your studies.” I won’t deny it; I was ecstatic. Standing by my side, he had given me all the security in the world. Now, all these years later, Chloe was still the same person—a sunbeam, warming everyone around her. And I… I had lost all joy for life. I was a black hole, swallowing any light that dared to come near. 2. In the end, Christopher gave Chloe a half-day off to go home and rest. I spent the entire afternoon in his office, waiting for him to finish work. He was in meetings. I just stared at the half-empty cup of ginger tea Chloe had left on the coffee table. After work, I sat in the passenger seat of his car. As he leaned over to fasten my seatbelt, my eyes landed on a small figurine on the dashboard. It was a soft, adorable little white rabbit. It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d expect a man as stoic as Christopher to have. The rabbit’s sweet, plush face seemed to smile at me, but a thick, heavy gloom settled over my heart. I stared at it for a long time before I finally spoke. “So, Chloe graduated.” “Yeah,” Christopher replied, then quickly explained, “Last year. She sent her resume to our company right after graduation. We were short-staffed, and I saw her potential, so I hired her.” He sounded like he was trying to soothe me, but the more he said, the more it felt like he was digging a hole. He eventually fell silent. The flicker of energy and interest I’d felt earlier that day had completely vanished. I didn’t have the strength to ask any more questions. I just leaned my head against the window, watching the city blur past. Maybe, for the sick person I had become, it wouldn’t have mattered. Even if he had said “that’s not necessary” today, just like he did all those years ago, even if he had given me all the security in the world, I still wouldn’t have been able to feel any happiness. 3. After seeing his smile in the office that day, I started paying more attention to him. It seemed he was always being patient with me, always accommodating me. Perhaps it was because of my illness. He used to share funny stories from his startup days, finding humor in the struggle. He used to text me during work, saying he missed the coffee I made for him, the chicken soup I cooked. He used to listen patiently as I chattered on about the bizarre drama of the entertainment world. He used to share his joys, his sorrows, his every thought. Now, the only emotion he ever showed me was a gentle, careful tenderness. It was as if, without realizing it, I had lost the desire to share anything but my unhappiness. And in doing so, I had dragged him into my black hole. We still held each other as we fell asleep. We still ate breakfast facing each other. On the surface, nothing had changed. But there was a chasm between us, unspoken and deep. The image of Christopher’s easy smile in front of Chloe haunted me. It had been so long since he’d looked that relaxed around me. I was the one making him unhappy. I had to change. Our wedding anniversary was just a few days away. Maybe a bouquet of flowers, a cake, or the coffee and chicken soup he used to crave could help pull me out of this state, help us tear down the wall between us. So, on the day of our anniversary, I called him. “Christopher,” I said, “I bought roses today, and a cake. I made chicken soup, and I brewed some fresh coffee.” So, will you come home early for dinner? Christopher was probably surprised by my sudden burst of enthusiasm. He was silent for a moment before replying, “I have an urgent project tonight, I have to work late. But I’ll be home before midnight.” “I got you a gift. Wait for me, Clara.” “Okay. I’ll wait.” I hung up and sat alone in the dim candlelight. The vibrant roses, the sweet cake, the fragrant soup on the table—none of it could bring me an ounce of joy. There was only an endless darkness, threatening to swallow me whole. Finally, I packed up the soup and the cake, grabbed the roses, and walked out the door. I’ll go to him. Maybe if I go to him, I can escape the darkness, escape the silence, escape this crushing, suffocating helplessness. By the time I drove through the night and reached the underground parking garage of his office building, I saw him rushing out of the elevator. Before I could even get out of my car, he was in his, engine roaring as he sped away. He was in a hurry. He had abandoned his “urgent project.” There was something more important. Was he coming home? Home to drink my soup, eat cake with me, and celebrate our anniversary? Or… I followed him. I told myself that if he was going home, I couldn’t let him wait too long. But five minutes later, I knew he wasn’t heading home. As the night grew darker, so did the storm clouds in my heart. Subconsciously, I already knew the truth, but a part of me was still fighting, still desperately clawing for another explanation. Maybe… maybe it’s just my illness making me paranoid. I kept my foot on the gas, tailing him. Staring at his taillights, a dark, extreme impulse surged through me. What if I just crash into him? End it all, right here, together. Then nothing I feared could ever happen. As we approached an intersection, the light turned yellow. I didn’t slow down. A large truck was approaching from the right. If I ran the red light, maybe I could push both our cars under its wheels. Then we would die. And I would never have to face the bloody reality that was waiting for me. A deafening BLARE from the truck’s horn jolted me back to my senses. I slammed on the brakes. “What the hell is wrong with you? You wanna die?! Don’t take the rest of us with you!” a driver yelled from his window. I was awake now. My heart hammered against my ribs. I slumped over the steering wheel, drenched in a cold sweat, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. I really was sick. So sick that even my desire for death had become this venomous. The light turned green. I suppressed all the horrifying thoughts and followed Christopher. He pulled up to an apartment complex and got out of his car in a flash. He ran right past me without a second glance. He was on the phone, his voice urgent as he rushed into a residential building. “I’m almost there!” I sat in my car, staring at the building for a while, before I finally followed him inside. The elevator was broken, surrounded by yellow “Under Maintenance” signs. But the voice-activated lights in the stairwell were on. Christopher must have taken the emergency stairs. I stood at the entrance, looking at the dimly lit steps that seemed to lead into the maw of some great beast, ready to devour me. But I went in anyway. One step, two steps… One floor, two floors… I followed the sound of his running footsteps, trailing in the wake of the lights his presence activated, climbing step by step, all the way to the thirteenth floor. The lights on the fourteenth floor didn’t turn on. His destination was here, on the thirteenth. I climbed a few more stairs and sat down on the landing between the thirteenth and fourteenth floors. Then, I heard frantic footsteps. Christopher’s voice was laced with panic. “Hang on, I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” I slowly peeked around the corner. I saw Christopher, carrying a moaning Chloe in his arms, rushing out of her apartment and down the stairs. He was so worried, so desperate. His entire focus was on the pale, fragile woman in his arms. He didn’t see me. The voice-activated lights flickered on one by one as he descended, and then winked out behind him, plunging the stairwell back into darkness. Only the faint green glow of the “EXIT” sign remained. I sat there, letting the darkness swallow me whole. Something had changed, long before I ever realized it. In Christopher’s heart, there was now something more important than his company, more important than me. My phone alarm went off. It was midnight. “Happy anniversary, Clara,” I whispered to myself. 4. Going down those thirteen flights of stairs felt infinitely harder than climbing them. Each step was a descent deeper into a personal hell that seemed to have no end. Below me, a dizzying sea of concrete steps. Ahead, the terrifying, gaping mouth of the darkened stairwell. A vicious, self-destructive whisper echoed in my mind. Just fall. Just throw yourself down the stairs. It would be so easy to die, to stop this lonely, arduous journey. When Christopher came back from taking his precious assistant home, he could find my body on his way out. What a shame, though, about the cake, the roses, and the chicken soup. I closed my eyes and lifted my foot. All I had to do was step into the emptiness… Ding. The sound of a notification on my phone was jarringly loud in the empty stairwell. I froze. I stood there in the dark for a long time before I finally opened my eyes and looked at my phone. It was a message from Christopher. Clara, something urgent came up. Can’t make it back. Sorry. I stared at the name—Clara—and finally, step by step, I made my way down. I found a homeless man on the street and gave him the cake, the flowers, and the soup. Then I drove home, alone. Insomnia was my constant companion. I was used to it. I lay with my eyes open until two in the morning, when Christopher finally came home. He went straight to the bathroom. When he slipped into bed and wrapped his arms around me from behind, he whispered, “I’m sorry.” Sorry for what? For not making it home before midnight? Or for finding someone more important, for abandoning me to climb thirteen flights of stairs for her? I never found the answer, not even as the first light of dawn broke through the window. I just turned to him as he got out of bed and said, “Christopher, I don’t want Chloe to be your assistant anymore. Can you let her go? Make her leave the company.” Christopher’s hands, busy with his tie, paused. After a long moment, he finally said, “Okay.” It was an unspoken understanding. I didn’t even need to give him a reason. 5. Christopher agreed, but I felt no joy. After he left for work, I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring at the sycamore tree in the yard for the entire morning. A phone alarm finally jolted me back to reality; it was already noon. I’d given last night’s soup to a stranger, but a stubborn part of me still wanted Christopher to have it, as if that simple act could somehow mend the cracks between us. So, I made a new batch and took it to his office. But he wasn’t there. The office was empty. His secretary stammered something about him stepping out for an urgent matter and being back soon. I nodded and sat down in his chair to wait. My medication was running low; it was almost time to see my therapist again. The pills weren’t doing much, anyway. My mind just felt foggier. I was lost in thought when the door opened. I looked up, and my eyes met the visitor’s. “Clara?” It took me a moment to recognize him. He was Leo, Christopher’s college roommate, his best friend, and his business partner. He was looking for Christopher. “He’s not here.” Leo nodded but didn’t leave. He sat down on the sofa across from the desk. “I know. He’s at the hospital.” “Chloe was admitted last night. Stomach hemorrhage. He went to see her.” My hand, resting on the desk, trembled slightly. It felt like another tear had been ripped into my heart. But Leo kept talking. “Our company’s grown so fast, and with more deals come more dinners, more drinking. Chloe’s had to come with us to a lot of those functions. She’s so young, and her stomach is already a wreck.” He sighed. “Man, with her in the hospital, you can really feel something’s missing. After a grueling morning, Christopher and I would have lunch with her, and it was like we were instantly recharged. Her personality… she’s so full of life. A total firecracker, a little sunbeam. I love having her around.” So that was it. That was why Christopher smiled so freely around Chloe. She was his firecracker, his sunbeam. She was his light. I thought my heart was so numb, so scarred, that it couldn’t feel pain anymore. But those words—firecracker, sunbeam—sent fresh waves of agony through me, leaving my already mangled heart a bloody mess. All I had now was a black hole of emotion. The one thing I could never be was a light. “If she left,” I heard myself whisper, as if asking Christopher himself, “if that sunbeam left the company, what would happen to you?” “People are drawn to light, Clara.” Leo looked at me, his expression complicated. “I know you and Christopher have been together for years. I’ve watched it all. You sacrificed so much for him. You worked yourself to the bone taking roles to fund his business. You lost your first child for him. You missed your father’s last moments because he couldn’t get back in time.” “But I don’t think those things should be chains, binding you both.” He spoke with such sincerity; I could tell he’d wanted to say this to me for a long time. Every word was another stab to my heart. Back then, to make more money, I took on so many acting jobs. I always got too deep into my roles, unable to shake them off. The emotions of a hundred different characters lived inside me for so long that I eventually got sick. Then came the miscarriage, my father’s death… one blow after another, and my illness worsened. I only ever knew my own pain. I never realized that, to others, he was suffering in this prison with me. “After you got sick, he had to manage the company and take care of you,” Leo continued. “I’m his friend. I’ve watched him run himself ragged between work and home. I’ve seen him grow more and more withdrawn. I know how hard this has been on him. I honestly thought he was going to collapse. And then Chloe showed up…” He looked me straight in the eye. “Do you get it? With you, you’re the one who needs to be taken care of. With Chloe, he’s the one being admired and supported. She’s a huge asset to him at work, and in life, she’s a constant source of positive energy. For a while now, the only time he genuinely smiles is when he’s around her.” “I know what you’re thinking. They’re too close, so you want Christopher to fire her. But there’s really nothing going on between them. It’s always the three of us together. I’m always there.” “If something was going to happen, it would have happened back in college when she was chasing him so hard. Why now? You know how much Christopher loves you.” “But if you take away the one positive thing in his life right now… are you trying to drive him insane? Turn him into you?” “Clara, the truth hurts. Just… think about it.” Long after Leo left, his last words echoed in my head. Are you trying to drive him insane? Turn him into you? I am a burden. I was the one making everyone miserable. Christopher had to take care of me, so all he could offer was a mask of gentle concern. I pulled the bottle of pills from my pocket and swallowed them all. So, this is all my fault? 6. In the end, Christopher never got his soup. He didn’t return to the office that afternoon. His phone went straight to voicemail. Instead, I was summoned to the old family estate by Christopher’s mother. The moment I walked in, she pointed at my thermal container. “Pour that out and fill it with the soup I made. Take it to Christopher. I made it specially for him, hoping he’d come for dinner, but he called this afternoon and said he’s catching a flight abroad for business tonight. If you hurry, he can have some before he leaves.” A heavy rain had started to fall. It had taken me two hours to get here from the office; there was no guarantee I’d make it back in time. But I knew his mother had never liked me, had always looked down on me. Staying would just mean more of her passive-aggressive torment. I didn’t argue. She rushed me out the door. As I was changing my shoes in the entryway, I heard her say to a nearby maid, her voice dripping with disdain, “Finally, she’s gone. I’ve been watching Christopher for a while now. It’s obvious he has a thing for that little assistant.” “He’s just clinging to some misplaced guilt for that jinx. The assistant ending up in the hospital is the perfect catalyst. I bet Christopher is rolling around in bed with her right now. If that little jinx walks in on them, all the better.” “I want her to know that feelings are the most unreliable thing in this world! Once the love she clings to as her only saving grace is tainted, we’ll see if she still refuses to get a divorce!” I stood frozen at the door, the container heavy in my hand. I don’t remember getting into my car or how I ended up on the highway. All I remember is being blinded by a pair of high beams. I swerved to avoid a truck, and the car tumbled, flipping over the edge of a cliff. It came to a jarring halt halfway down, stopped by a cluster of trees. A thick branch had punched through the car and straight through my shoulder. The searing pain jolted me back to my senses. Leo’s words, his mother’s words… they all came flooding back. Suddenly, I had no will to live. I was a burden. My only foundation was gone. It was better this way. Isn’t this what I’d been wanting? But a voice seemed to whisper my name. Clara. Clara. So annoying. But she sounded like she really cared. She didn’t want me to die. Clara. Clara. With a sigh, I slowly opened my eyes and dialed 911. But I’d lost too much blood. My consciousness was fading. It was pitch black, and I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t give them my location. The operator was getting impatient. Forget it. I hung up and dialed Christopher. The phone rang and rang until it automatically disconnected. No answer. My phone had three bars of battery left. In this rain, it could die any second. My vision was blurring. In a daze, I dialed his number again, but my mind suddenly drifted away, back to his office. It was empty, but I could hear sounds coming from the private lounge. I floated through the door. What I saw inside made me freeze. I had always believed that nothing and no one could ever come between Christopher and me. Not even Chloe. I had even tried to deceive myself with Leo’s words, telling myself that Christopher would never cross that final line. But there they were. Christopher and Chloe, fingers intertwined, lost in a passionate kiss. On the nightstand, an open box of Durex. His phone lay on the carpet by the bed, vibrating, the screen lit up with my name: Clara. It vibrated until the screen went black. “Haha…” I covered my face with my hands, a laugh bubbling up from my chest. It was hilarious. Utterly hilarious. My phone was dead. And in my current state, I was probably dead too. I had gambled my last breath on Christopher, the person I trusted most in the world, and I had lost. They had finally crossed the line. Just like on our anniversary, when faced with a choice between me and Chloe, he chose her. Last time, she was sick, and he chose her. This time, I was dying, and he still chose her. He chose to lose himself in bed with her, deaf to my cries for help. Now, I was dead. He was free. I was no longer his burden. But if I’m dead, why does my heart still ache like this? As if it’s being shredded by a thousand knives. A sudden gust of wind blew through the window, knocking over a lamp. The room plunged into darkness, and the sounds they were making became even more piercing. The only mercy was that I was suddenly back in my own body. I was lying alone in the wilderness as the rain poured down on me. I stared up at the oppressive, black sky and slowly closed my eyes. Maybe it was better to die like this, quietly, alone. I would no longer be a burden to anyone. “Clara?” A voice called my name again. But I had no strength left to answer. “Clara?” The voice persisted, unwilling to give up. But I could feel my soul dissipating. My last conscious thought was a question: If I had never gotten sick, if I had let Christopher go, let myself go, how would I have lived? And then, in the vast, desolate wilderness, I dissolved into the biting wind and the cold, unforgiving rain. 7. When I regained consciousness, I was in a hospital. A police officer handed me my phone. He said I had dragged my broken body from the bottom of the ravine to the side of the road and flagged down a passing car. That’s how I got here. I had no memory of it. The doctors said my wounds had healed at a miraculous rate; otherwise, I never would have made it. I couldn’t explain it either. After everyone had left, I held my shattered phone and plugged it in. It was surprisingly resilient; it turned on. But there were no missed calls from Christopher. My desperate plea for help from the night before had vanished without a trace. But this time, I felt no sadness. I could even let out a small, derisive laugh. It was as if after dying once, the illness that had haunted me for so long was just… gone. The memories with Christopher felt like they belonged to another lifetime. I was no longer a participant in our story, but an observer. There was a dull ache, a suffocation, but no heartbreak. And that ache wasn’t for our love, but for the person I used to be. I felt sorry for her. The old me, the me before the illness, the me whose parents were still alive, the me who wasn’t trapped in a cage with Christopher—that me could have lived more fiercely than anyone. I loved him, and sacrificing for him wasn’t my mistake. Getting sick wasn’t my mistake. My illness was not an excuse for Christopher and Chloe to get together. He could have divorced me to free himself. But he shouldn’t have used my sickness as a justification to let his heart wander, to end up kissing and groping her in his office before our marriage was even over. Clara, you wanted to know how you would have lived without the illness, without Christopher, didn’t you? Watch closely. Without these chains, you can be happy. You can be the sunbeam, the firecracker. You can be a black hole of emotion. But you will never, ever be anyone’s burden again. 8. I checked myself out of the hospital that night and found my old phone. After I got sick, I had cut myself off from the world, unwilling to interact with anyone. Every word of concern felt like another source of pain. So I got a new phone, a new number, and sealed away all my old friends, family, and the millions of fans on my social media accounts. I left myself with only one person: Christopher. Perhaps the old me had clung to him as my only support, my only light in the darkness. But I didn’t need that light anymore. I turned on the old phone, and the first thing I did was block and delete Christopher’s number, kicking him out of my life for good. Then I found a lawyer in my contacts and asked her to draft a divorce agreement for me. My friend, either fearing I’d change my mind or having anticipated this for a while, drew it up and sent it over in record time. “Damn, Clara! We’ve been calling you for a year, showing up at your door, and nothing. I honestly thought you were going to be stuck on Christopher for the rest of your life.” I saved the divorce agreement, forwarded it to Christopher’s email, then printed out a few copies, signed them, and replied to my friend with a smile. “How boring would that be? Why give up an entire forest for one rotten tree?” I couldn’t believe those words came out of my mouth. My friend seemed just as surprised. The chat bubble showed her typing for a long time, but no message came through. After all, the old me—even the pre-illness me—would never have said something so audacious. But who cares? I’d died once. Now, I was going to live freely. The pain, the constraints, the conventions, the love, the suffering—I was done with all of it. I placed a signed copy of the divorce agreement on the table just inside the front door, where he couldn’t miss it. There was nothing else I wanted to take. Holding my old phone, I walked out of the home Christopher and I had once shared. I logged into the social media account that had fifty million followers but had been dormant for over a year. I typed out a post and hit send. “Urgently seeking a new husband. Must be handsome, a sweet-talker, squeaky clean, with 10/10 loyalty. $100k/month allowance, full benefits package included. First come, first served.”

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Barry was the boyfriend I conned into loving me. He was deaf. My favorite thing was to take off his hearing aid when we were tangled in the sheets and whisper wicked things in his ear. Then I found out he was Barry Seret, heir to the Seret empire. So the night we broke up, things got ugly. With eyes rimmed in red, Barry told me to get out. So I did. I didn’t dare set foot in New York again until three years later, when the news of his engagement broke. I thought I could slip in unnoticed. But Barry, with a face as calm and cold as a frozen lake, turned around and tied me up with his belt. “Where do you think you’re running this time?” he murmured. “My… fiancée.” 1 I kept my head down, pretending to adjust my camera, but my palm was slick with sweat. I never thought I’d run into Barry this soon. “Mr. Seret, don’t let her age fool you. Linda here has been raking in international photography awards for years,” Rebecca, my editor, said, patting my shoulder with a playful grin. “I had to pay a small fortune to poach her from L.A.” “I guarantee you won’t regret giving us the exclusive for your first cover shoot.” Barry’s gaze swept over me, as placid and undisturbed as still water. “Is that so?” “Well then, I’m in your hands, Ms. Shen.” It was the most formal, impersonal pleasantry. I lowered my voice, trying to make it sound deeper, less like the girl I used to be. “Of course, Mr. Seret.” He gave a slight nod, his eyes holding no flicker of recognition, before looking away. I let my eyelids fall, my lashes trembling. He didn’t recognize me. Then again, I had changed my last name. With a mask covering half my face and my current style, no one would ever connect me to the vibrant, wild Linda Reed of the past. The entire shoot, Barry was a professional. With the slightest direction, he gave me the perfect angle. Whispers erupted from the crew behind me. “God, Mr. Seret’s body is insane. I am looking respectfully.” “Okay, I see why Rebecca paid top dollar for this Linda girl. Her understanding of the human form is incredible. The angles, the poses… I can feel the raw power under his shirt just from looking at the monitor.” My mind drifted. I remembered a boy, his neck flushed red, completely naked. Even though I’d drawn him countless times, he was still impossibly shy. Well, for the first half, at least. Somehow, our life drawing sessions always ended up migrating to a different location. The bedroom, the sofa, the bathtub, the floor-to-ceiling windows. I’d always end up more exhausted than if I’d sketched ten different models. “Barry, it’s always like this!” I’d kick at him, exasperated. “I’m never drawing you again! I’m going to find a new model! One with an eight-pack!” He’d catch my ankle, his grip firm but gentle, saying nothing. After a long moment, he would lean down and kiss the corner of my mouth. “Linda, I’m sorry.” I’d pause. Was he actually admitting fault? Was he going to change his ways? The next second, he’d take off his hearing aid. Four boxes of condoms, assorted flavors. I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed for a week. Damn him. And he had the nerve to apologize. So polite. But in the end, we still broke up. That night was a catastrophe. The corners of his eyes were a faint, painful red, his voice ice. “Linda, this is the last time. I don’t do second chances.” I hung my head, my “okay” barely a whisper. He clenched his jaw, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Fine. Get out.” “And don’t ever let me see you again.” “Or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” 2 During a break, I slipped back to the equipment room to grab a portrait lens I’d forgotten. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. A familiar, woody cologne filled the air, wrapping around me. My body went rigid. I turned, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “Is something wrong, Mr. Seret?” He looked down at me, his gaze the same as it had always been. I held my breath, my fingernails digging into my palms. Don’t lose your cool. “Nothing,” he said, his voice smooth. “Just looking around.” His eyes were dark pools, a faint smile playing on his lips. “But you, Ms. Shen. What are you so nervous about?” I hid my trembling right hand. “The camera is heavy. My hand starts to shake after holding it for so long.” “Is that so?” I lowered my head. “If there’s nothing else, Mr. Seret, I should get back to the set.” I didn’t wait for a reply, just turned to leave. “Ms. Shen,” he called out, stopping me in my tracks. “If someone who betrayed you showed up in your life again, what would you do?” 3 Our breakup had been a disaster, but I wouldn’t call it a betrayal. And knowing Barry, if he had recognized me, he would have exposed me on the spot. He wasn’t capable of this cool, detached act. I took a deep breath and turned slightly, my voice laced with a professional, smiling tone. “Mr. Seret, while I don’t know the history between you and this person, I believe one should always look forward. There’s no need to get bogged down in the minor details of the past.” “Minor details? You’re quite magnanimous, Ms. Shen.” He smirked. “But what if I’m the type to hold a grudge?” “That’s a personal matter, Mr. Seret. I’m just a photographer. I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” He stared at me, silent. My carefully constructed composure felt like it was about to shatter. After a long moment, he finally smiled. “You’re right. Just a photographer, after all.” 4 The rest of the shoot went smoothly, and we wrapped an hour ahead of schedule. After sending Barry off, I started packing up my gear. My assistant, Chloe, ran over and grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the door. “Linda, come on! It’s an emergency!” “What? What’s going—” The words died in my throat. The platform outside the studio was blanketed in roses. In the center, candles spelled out my name. It was… incredibly cheesy. I had already turned Ryan down three times. I couldn’t believe he was still trying, and this time, he’d opted for a public spectacle of cringe. No one knew that under my mask, my face was breaking out in an angry rash. I have a severe pollen allergy. Thank God for the mask. I tried to turn and leave, but Ryan blocked my path, holding a massive bouquet. “Linda, I really, really like you.” “I’ll be so good to you.” “Please, just say yes.” For a second, I was lost in a memory. I had said those exact words to Barry. 5 My thing for Barry was pure, unadulterated lust. Of all the men I had ever seen, he was the only one who was perfectly, flawlessly my type. He worked as a model at a high-end lounge, but he had this untouchable, almost severe air about him. The hearing aid only amplified his cool, fragile beauty. Later, I found out the Seret family owned that lounge. I was obsessed. I pulled out all the stops. I chased him, lied to him, scammed, conned, and clawed my way into his bed. That night, I leaned close to his ear and whispered a torrent of sweet nothings. “Barry, I like you so, so much.” “Barry, I’ll be so good to you, the best you’ve ever had.” “Barry, please, be with me.” He lifted his head from the crook of my neck, his dark eyes burning into mine. “You really… like me that much?” I was too far gone to analyze the storm of emotions in his eyes. “Yes, really.” His voice was a raw whisper. “Promise me you’ll only ever want me, for the rest of your life, and I’m yours.” At the time, I didn’t think twice about what “the rest of your life” meant. I just tilted my head up and bit his lip. “Okay. Only you.” It was only after we were together that I discovered his cool, restrained act was just that—an act. He was greedier than anyone I’d ever known. I loved to take off his hearing aid when we were lost in each other, whispering filthy things in his ear, screaming his name without abandon, just to watch the rigid control on his face crack, even though he supposedly couldn’t hear me. I was spoiled, with a notoriously short temper. But Barry was endlessly patient. He catered to my every whim, let me get away with everything. He made me believe that “forever” was a real thing. Until, one day, I saw a photo of him with his father. It was a lazy summer afternoon. Barry’s fingers were gently combing through my hair, the warm hum of the hairdryer a comforting buzz. And it hit me. Barry Seret. The Seret family. My world plunged into an icy abyss. 6 The sound of cheering pulled me back to the present. Sometime during my reverie, Ryan had dropped to one knee. “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!” A crowd was gathering. The chanting grew louder. More and more people were pulling out their phones to record. My skin was crawling with secondhand embarrassment. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my temper in check. “Ryan, I—” A hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. The grip was so tight it hurt. I looked up. His eyes, dark as spilled ink, were a net, ready to swallow me whole. Barry’s voice was sharp, cold. “Linda. We’re going home.” 7 “What’s wrong? Afraid I poisoned it?” Every dish on the table, even the soup, was loaded with chili peppers. I was the one who loved spicy food; Barry’s palate was famously bland. I was stunned, unable to figure out what he was doing. And this apartment—the one we used to share—he’d actually bought it. I stood up. “Thank you for helping me out of that situation today, Mr. Seret. It’s getting late, I should be going.” He looked up at me, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Mr. Seret? You’re quick to draw the line, aren’t you, Linda?” “Now that you’re back, aren’t you going to stay and catch up?” I looked down. “There’s nothing for us to catch up on.” “Nothing?” His jaw tightened, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. After all, you could watch me die right in front of you and not even blink.” He stared at me, his face a mask of cold fury, but a vein pulsed in his neck. I met his gaze. “Barry,” I said softly, “we’re adults. Why are you still clinging to the past—” “The past? To you, I’m just the past?” he cut me off, his voice savage. “Linda, you never fucking loved me, did you?” “If you didn’t love me, why did you even bother coming after me in the first place?” He grabbed my wrist, his eyes dark and cold. “Linda, I told you.” “If I ever saw you again, I would kill you.” “You wouldn’t, Barry,” I said, looking up at him. “I know you.” “You know me? What do you know?” he sneered. “That I’m obedient? Innocent? That I’d do whatever you say, that I’m some kind of saint?” He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “That was all an act, Linda.” “I was just pretending, trying to please you.” “Ruthless, selfish, vengeful—that’s the real me.” I took a deep breath. “Barry, it was my mistake to show up and disturb you,” I said, my voice low. “I’ll resign from the magazine tomorrow. I promise you’ll never—” “Linda.” His face was grim, his words ground out between clenched teeth. “I really want to cut you open and see if you even have a heart.” The pressure on my wrist tightened. He pulled me closer, his breath hot on my skin. His eyes were churning with a raw, desperate desire. I struggled against him. “Barry, let me go!” Everything was a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. The next second, his pupils contracted. He abruptly threw my hand away from him, his eyes a storm of emotions. After a long moment, a smirk twisted his lips, a look of pure self-loathing. “Fine. Good for you, Linda.”

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My sister ran a red light, and our car was T-boned by a cement mixer. My right leg, in the passenger seat, was crushed into a pulp. My sister, Jessica, emerged without a scratch. She left me trapped in the wreckage, scrambled out of the car, and immediately started posting on social media. In a car crash. My sister is seriously hurt. What do I do? Why am I so stupid? I wish I could take all her pain. Goodbye, cruel world. In the comments, my parents rushed to console her. Dad: What kind of sister is Vivian? Useless. Don’t be scared, sweetie. Dad is on his way. Mom: Jessie, baby, answer your phone! Don’t worry mommy! This is Vivian’s fate, it has nothing to do with my precious girl. Blood pooled around me, my heart growing as cold as my body. Just before I passed out, my fiancé, Ethan, called. His voice was terrifyingly grim. “Where is Jessica?” 1 “Jessie… help me…” I was pinned inside the mangled car, unable to move. I weakly reached a hand toward my sister, begging for help. But Jessica was standing in a safe spot a few feet away, her face a mask of remorse as she frantically typed on her phone. With every pint of blood I lost, I could feel my life slipping away. A heavy exhaustion washed over me, the crushing pain in my leg dulling into a distant throb. A phone rang from under the seat, jolting me back to consciousness. It was Ethan’s custom ringtone. A spark of hope ignited in my chest. Fighting the urge to sleep, I fumbled around until my fingers closed around my phone. “Ethan, help me… my leg…” “Tell me where you are!” he demanded, his voice strained with panic. I was touched by his urgency. But before I could answer, a wave of metallic-tasting blood surged up my throat. I didn’t want him to worry, so I covered the mouthpiece, forcing the blood back down. As I was about to speak, his voice came through again, laced with venom. “Vivian, now is not the time for your princess tantrums! If something happens to Jessie, I will make you pay with your life!” I froze. He wasn’t worried about me. He was worried about Jessica. I looked at my sister, unharmed and crying for her social media audience. Then I looked down at my own mangled, bloody leg. A bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips. The pain in my heart was worse than any physical agony. “Southbridge intersection,” I managed to say. On the other end, I heard the squeal of tires. “Vivian,” he threatened, just before hanging up, “you better pray Jessica doesn’t do something stupid.” Tears I didn’t know I had left streamed down my face, soaking my blood-stained clothes. The blood was hot, but my heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water, leaving me shivering. I heard the shouts of passersby. “There’s still someone in the car! Help her! Call 911!” Ethan was the first to arrive. He shoved aside the well-meaning people trying to pry open the crushed door. His eyes landed on my face, which was so caked in blood I was unrecognizable. He frantically pushed the matted hair from my eyes, his voice desperate. “Jessie, it’s okay, I’m here to save you.” I had never seen such raw fear and concern on his face before. I managed a weak, mocking smile as he finally recognized me. “Ethan, it’s just me. Disappointed?” Shock and embarrassment flashed across his face. He frowned, his eyes quickly scanning my broken body. “Vivian, are you okay?” I held back the lump in my throat and laughed. “I’m fine. Just dying.” His expression was complicated. “Don’t talk nonsense. I’ll get you out.” But before he could move, my sister ran over and threw herself into his arms. “Ethan! I was so scared! I almost died!” she wailed. He instantly forgot about me, his face softening with overwhelming concern for Jessica. He stroked her back, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “Shh, Jessie, it’s okay. I’m here now. I won’t let anything hurt you.” 2 Jessica, still sobbing, pulled a small, folded yellow paper charm from her pocket. “It was the protective charm you gave me, Ethan! It saved me! You’re my hero!” She pressed the charm into his hand. “You should keep it. Let it protect you forever.” Ethan smiled, his expression full of adoration. He tapped her nose playfully. “It’s just a worthless piece of junk. You have a good heart, Jessie. That’s why fate wouldn’t let you get hurt.” He casually tossed the charm to the ground. It landed in a puddle of my blood, the ink on the paper smudging and blurring instantly. I stared at that charm. The charm I had gotten for him by making a pilgrimage to a remote mountain monastery, my forehead bruised and raw from kowtowing every few steps, my legs black and blue. I remembered giving it to him, how he’d held me tight and sworn he would cherish it forever, that he would never betray me. But that was before my parents came back from their trip two months ago, bringing Jessica with them. After that, Ethan changed. The vows were forgotten. The charm became a “worthless piece of junk.” He wasn’t disgusted by the charm. He was disgusted by the genuine love I had offered him. Watching the two of them, completely lost in their own world, felt like my heart was being physically ripped in two. One was the sister I had always cherished. The other was the man I had just gotten engaged to. When had they gotten together behind my back? I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to know anymore. 3 “If you’re not going to help, then get out of the way! This isn’t the time or place for a soap opera!” A burly man shoved Ethan aside and started rallying others to help pull at the jammed car door. But they weren’t professionals, and they were afraid of hurting me further. They could only stand by, making frantic calls. Jessica finally seemed to remember me. She bit her lip, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. “Ethan, my sister’s hurt. It’s all my fault. Seeing her like this… my heart is breaking.” Ethan wrapped his arm around her shoulder, murmuring comforts. Even over the shouts of the crowd, I heard his words with perfect clarity. “Jessie, the only thing that matters is that you’re safe. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. As for Vivian… she brought this on herself. If it makes you feel better, I’ll save her. Then we can call it even.” “I’m so scared, Ethan,” Jessica sobbed, burying her face in his chest. He held her tighter, completely consumed with comforting her. “It’s over now, Jessie. Don’t dwell on it. Just be happy.” My heart, which I thought was already numb, gave a violent, agonizing twist that left me breathless. I couldn’t cry anymore. All my tears had turned to blood, pouring out of me. In the distance, my parents came running, shouting, “Baby! Our baby, Mom and Dad are here!” My vision was blurring, but seeing them gave me a flicker of warmth. At least I still had my parents. I tried to lift a trembling hand towards them, my voice a broken whisper. “Dad, Mom… it hurts so much…” 4 But their eyes scanned the scene and locked onto Ethan and Jessica. They immediately changed direction. “Jessie! You scared Mommy to death! Are you hurt anywhere?” my mother cried, frantically checking Jessica from head to toe. My father, seeing Jessica was unharmed, let his worry morph into rage. “Where is that useless Vivian? I want to know how she dares call herself a sister when she can’t even protect her own flesh and blood!” Jessica’s eyes welled up. “Dad, it wasn’t her fault, it was me…” “Stop covering for her, Jessie! You’ve been doing it your whole life. Every time she messes up, you’re the one apologizing for her. This time she almost got you killed! She has the heart of a snake!” my mother spat, her voice dripping with venom when she spoke of me. My father snorted. “I’m calling a press conference. That thing doesn’t deserve to be my daughter. I’m disowning her. From now on, the Jiang family has only one daughter, and her name is Jessica.” He clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “Ethan, you’re a good kid. Vivian doesn’t deserve you. I’ll make a statement clarifying that your engagement to her was a misunderstanding. Your real fiancée is my darling Jessie.” Ethan hesitated, glancing in my direction, as if about to speak up for me. A flash of triumph appeared in Jessica’s eyes before she hid it behind a mask of anguish. She cut Ethan off, grabbing my father’s sleeve. “Dad, sister is still in the car! I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault!” My father’s gaze finally shifted to the wrecked car. He strode over, his face livid. “Vivian! We have a crisis here and you’re just sitting in the car waiting to die? Get the hell out here!” His words died in his throat when he saw my bloody, swollen face. My mother stared, frozen in shock. I had no strength left to speak. I could only look at them, hoping for a single word of comfort. Jessica rushed over, and after a quick, triumphant glance at me, burst into tears for our parents. “Dad, Mom, her leg is trapped! I’m sorry, it was my careless driving that did this to her! I’m so useless! It should have been me!” My mother, whose face had softened for a moment, immediately wrapped her arms around Jessica. “Don’t you dare say that, Jessie! This is Vivian’s fate! If anything happened to you, Mommy couldn’t live anymore!” “She’s right,” my father added. “You’ve taken the blame for your sister for years. This is karma. I know you’re upset, Jessie, but don’t say such things again.” Jessica just sobbed hysterically. The three of them panicked, trying to console her. My father shot me a dismissive look. “Jessie didn’t do it on purpose. You’re the older sister, you should be more forgiving. Don’t hold a grudge.”

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1 To settle a bet, I went undercover as an intern at my husband Vincent’s company. On the first day, a woman waved a marriage certificate at the front desk, sneering, “I’m the real Mrs. Aronsohn! Why are you slouching? Keep your head down till Vincent gets here!” She even insulted the cafeteria food and threatened to replace it with a Michelin chef. A scared colleague pulled me back. “That’s Isabelle Ferrari—Vincent’s idol. He proposed 99 times before she said yes. Cross her, and you’ll disappear.” I almost laughed. I called my brother: “Bring Vincent down here with divorce papers. In five minutes, I want him on his knees begging me.” It was my first day as an intern. I was standing by the reception desk, about to head to HR to report for duty, when a woman in a designer power suit stormed in. She slammed a crimson document folder onto the marble countertop. “New intern? No wonder you have no manners!” she snapped, her eyes locking onto me. “Are you trying to hide your face behind that stack of files, or do you just find me offensive to look at? Put them down! Stand up straight, hands by your sides!” Following the intern handbook to the letter, I lowered my head slightly. “Good morning. How may I help you?” I asked, my voice flat. That simple greeting was like a spark to a fuse. She stalked over to me, her voice shrilling. “What is wrong with this place? Does HR hire blind people now?” She tapped my intern ID badge. “Look at this certificate. Now look at your pathetic little badge. What part of that equation makes you think you have the right to speak to me? Address me as Mrs. Aronsohn!” The girl interning with me went pale. She tugged frantically at my sleeve and rushed to bow her head. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Aronsohn! She’s new, she doesn’t know the rules. Please, don’t be angry!” Isabelle let out a contemptuous snort, rolled her eyes, and strode directly into Vincent’s private office. The other intern hurried to my side, whispering, “Her name is Isabelle Ferrari. She’s Vincent’s old flame, the one he cherishes most. Don’t ever cross her. All she has to do is whisper in his ear at night, and we won’t even make it past our probation period.” I was taken aback. There was only one copy of Vincent Aronsohn’s marriage certificate. And it was supposed to be resting quietly in the safe in our apartment. Why would he allow this woman, this Isabelle, to parade a fake certificate around his company and act like she owned the place? I pushed the question down. For now, my priority was to complete my internship and observe Vincent’s management skills. This was also the perfect opportunity to see just how far he would let this self-proclaimed Mrs. Aronsohn go. The moment the lunch break began, Isabelle buzzed the administrative department’s internal line. I picked it up. Her piercing voice crackled through the receiver. “I need a hand-ground coffee. Jamaican Blue Mountain. Water at exactly 185 degrees. Bring it to my office. Now.” I went to the break room immediately, but hand-grinding the company’s premium beans took time. I was delayed by five minutes. Just five minutes. It was enough for her to fly into a rage. When I rushed to her with the coffee, she swatted it out of my hand. “Is everyone in your department dead? Look at the clock! You are five minutes past the optimal drinking window! Do you have any idea how much the flavor profile degrades with that temperature drop?” The hot liquid splashed across the back of my hand, a searing wave of heat. “If my mood is ruined because of this, can you bear the responsibility?” she shrieked. Every head in the administrative office turned to stare at me. Isabelle might have been dressed impeccably, her makeup flawless, but her vicious, cutting tone made everyone in the room flinch. I struggled to maintain my composure. “Ms. Ferrari, I apologize. Hand-grinding coffee takes time.” She snatched the cup from my other hand and, without a flicker of hesitation, flung the rest of the scorching coffee at me. “With your clumsy, fumbling hands, I have no idea how you even got a job at the Aronsohn Corporation,” she spat. “I bet you pulled some rather unsavory favors, didn’t you?” Her voice dripped with venom. “You disgusting thing. Pack your bags. You’re fired.” My nails dug into my palms, the sting of the burn mixing with a surge of white-hot anger. Just as I was about to retaliate, the department head rushed over, physically shielding me. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Ferrari! She’s new, I apologize on her behalf! Please, don’t upset yourself. It’s not worth risking your health over such a trivial matter!” As she spoke, she gripped my arm, her voice a desperate hiss in my ear. “Bite your tongue! Don’t do anything rash! Think about who she is! Our entire department’s year-end bonuses will be gone! She’s not worth it! Let me handle this!” Seeing the supervisor grovel, Isabelle’s twisted features finally relaxed into a smug satisfaction. She languidly pulled a wet wipe from her purse to clean her fingers. “Hmph. At least the supervisor has some sense.” Her tone was dripping with arrogance. “Come on. I’m taking you all to inspect the cafeteria.” Inspect the cafeteria? What right did an outsider have to inspect the company’s internal facilities? “Ms. Ferrari, the company has strict regulations for the cafeteria. Non-employees are not permitted entry…” I began, unable to stop myself. Before I could finish, my supervisor yanked my arm again. “Don’t you get it? She’s the apple of his eye,” she whispered fiercely. “You can cross Mr. Aronsohn and maybe survive, but if you cross her, you won’t even know what hit you.” “He spoils her rotten! The rumor around the company is that she is the true mistress of the Aronsohn Corporation! Our jobs are in her hands. You’re still an intern, don’t throw your career away!” The mistress of the Aronsohn Corporation? As the actual wife, this was news to me. Seeing me frozen in place, Isabelle assumed I was terrified and let out a derisive laugh. “Oh? What’s this? You hear Mr. Aronsohn’s name and you’re too scared to move?” “Let me tell you something. A man like Vincent Aronsohn is completely out of your league. You’re a bottom-feeder intern. One word from him, and you’ll be blacklisted from this entire industry. Understand?” In the brief moment of my silence, Isabelle had already swaggered into the employee cafeteria. “My God, what is this garbage you people eat?” she exclaimed, pinching a piece of braised pork from a tray with two fingers before dropping it in disgust. Then, she pulled a thermal lunch box from her Hermès bag and slammed it on the serving counter. “Seeing as you poor things have probably never eaten anything decent, I’ll be generous. Today’s my treat. A taste of a world-class truffle and lobster bisque to spice up your lunch!” She opened the container and was about to pour its contents into the communal food vat. “Ms. Ferrari! Absolutely not!” The cafeteria manager, finally having seen enough, rushed to block the vat. “Ma’am, we have strict food safety protocols. No outside food can be mixed with employee meals. This is for everyone’s health and safety! Please cooperate!” “Protocols? Safety?” Isabelle laughed as if it were the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “You think my food is less safe than this swill you cook in recycled grease? Do you know this container of bisque costs more than your entire year’s salary?” “Now get out of my way!” The manager stood his ground. “Ms. Ferrari, this is a matter of principle! If there’s any kind of food safety incident, we can’t bear that responsibility! Please don’t make this difficult for us!” Seeing the manager dare to defy her again, Isabelle’s face clouded over with fury. She whipped out her phone and started a video call. “Vincent, you have to see this! Your employees are out of control! I just wanted to do something nice for everyone, and they’re shouting at me!” From the other end of the line, Vincent’s gentle voice emerged. “Isabelle, sweetheart, don’t be angry. Pass the phone to the cafeteria manager.” Isabelle smugly shoved the phone screen in the manager’s face. Vincent’s voice instantly turned to ice. “Everyone involved is to apologize to Ms. Ferrari immediately. Otherwise, every single one of you will be disciplined for gross misconduct. I’m docking this month’s pay and bonuses for all of you! And I mean it!” The manager’s lips trembled. The supervisor and a few other colleagues went pale, exchanging helpless glances. Vincent seemed displeased with the silence. His voice grew colder. “What? Do I need to repeat myself?” The video feed jostled. Isabelle had turned the camera to show Vincent’s surroundings, wanting us to see exactly where he was. He was in the private room of an exclusive club, surrounded by several older men. It was clearly a critical business dinner. Vincent was at the head of the table. Seeing Isabelle’s pouting face, he shook his head with a resigned fondness, not a trace of annoyance at being interrupted, only indulgent affection. “Vincent…” Isabelle whined, completely ignoring the fact that he was in a meeting, and began to cry for the camera. “Look at them, they’re all ganging up on me. I was just trying to be kind, and they were so rude. They’ve trampled all over my good intentions! Vincent, you have to stand up for me!” She squeezed out a few crocodile tears, a complete transformation from the arrogant tyrant of a moment ago. Vincent’s expression hardened instantly. He didn’t even bother to ask for context; his entire focus was on Isabelle. “There, there, don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup. It’s such a small thing, is it worth getting so upset? Hmm? I’m here. No one gets to bully you.” He soothed her gently before his eyes lifted to look at us, his tone dropping to absolute zero. “Are you all deaf?” “I am ordering you to do as Isabelle says! Apologize! Now!” “If I don’t see you complying in three seconds…” Before he could finish his threat, I walked directly in front of the phone. My face, along with the red, scalded skin on the back of my hand, appeared sharp and clear on the screen. “Vincent Aronsohn,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Are you sure you want me to be the one to apologize?”

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I was saving a patient’s life when I cut through her bra with a pair of trauma shears. My fiancée, Monica, posted a video of me performing chest compressions online. “I know you’re saving a life,” she wrote, “but doesn’t the patient’s privacy matter? And your hands were all over her… As your fiancée, that makes me really uncomfortable.” The story blew up online. The hospital, wanting to avoid a PR nightmare, chose the path of least resistance. I was demoted, my entire annual bonus was docked, and a formal reprimand was placed in my file. After years of dedicating my life to saving people, I was being branded a pervert. So I gave up. I wouldn’t save another soul. And that’s when the whole hospital started to panic. 1 “George, this is a lesson for you,” Monica said, her arms crossed. “We’re getting married soon. Even if you’re a doctor, you need to show some respect for our relationship!” I just stared at her, at this woman I was about to marry. “Are you done?” Monica froze. “What kind of attitude is that? You still don’t think you did anything wrong?” “Whatever you say.” As the words left my mouth, I felt something essential between us shatter into a million pieces. Her face flushed crimson, as if I’d just slapped her. “Fine! ‘Whatever I say’? George, we’re through! This wedding is off!” She snatched her phone from the table, spun around, and stormed out. Dr. Matthews, the department head, scowled and tapped his pen on the desk. “Look at this mess you’ve made! Do you see how upset Monica is?” He slid a piece of paper toward me. “To contain the fallout, you’ll write a formal, detailed apology. You will read it aloud at the next hospital-wide assembly and admit to your inappropriate conduct.” I looked at him, saying nothing. His eyes darted away for a second before he regained his authoritative glare. “That’s an order, George. And it’s your only chance.” The next day, a notice of my disciplinary action was posted on the hospital’s internal network and on every bulletin board. The wording was severe. “Improper medical procedure.” “Lack of sufficient humanistic care for the patient.” “Dr. George Cole is hereby demoted, with forfeiture of his full annual performance bonus. This is to serve as a warning to all staff.” Every word felt like a public execution. Kevin, one of the interns, sent me a discreet text. “George, we all have your back. We know you were just trying to save her. But… you should probably lay low for a while. Dr. Matthews is on the warpath.” I switched off my phone. I could have guessed. Dr. Matthews’ nephew, Ryan, had just returned with a fancy fellowship degree from overseas and started at the hospital last week. The old man had been itching to promote him, to give him my position as an attending physician. Monica’s little drama had handed him the perfect excuse. I walked back to my desk and silently booted up my computer. I meticulously organized, printed, and compiled all the case files, surgical records, and post-op follow-up plans for every critical patient under my care. Then, I formatted the personal drive on my work computer, erasing years of my research data and draft papers. A week later, at the hospital-wide assembly, Dr. Matthews stood at the podium, his voice booming. “…and in light of Dr. Cole’s unprofessional conduct, the board has decided to revoke his status as an attending physician.” The auditorium was dead silent. “Now, please join me in giving a warm welcome to the newest member of our cardiothoracic surgery team, a brilliant mind joining us from his fellowship abroad, Dr. Ryan Matthews!” A young man in a crisp new lab coat, his hair slicked back with gel, stood up and gave the crowd a condescending nod. Dr. Matthews beamed at him. “Effective today, Dr. Ryan Matthews will be officially taking over all of Dr. Cole’s former duties.” I sat in the back corner, my face a mask of stone. Ryan sauntered over to my desk and rapped his knuckles on it. “Hey. Time to clear out your stuff.” His chin was tilted up, his expression a perfect blend of arrogance and disdain. “Your new spot is over there in the corner. Where the residents belong.” He leaned in. “Also, your work computer stays. I need to inspect it to make sure you’re not taking any sensitive department data with you.” I glanced up at him, didn’t say a word, and began packing the few personal items I kept at my desk. That didn’t seem to be enough for him. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added. “From now on, let’s try to maintain a certain level of professionalism in this department. A little less… back-alley medic, you know?” I paused and looked him straight in the eye. “In that case, perhaps you can enlighten me. What are the diagnostic criteria and differential points for Takotsubo cardiomyopathy?” Ryan’s smug expression faltered. He sputtered, “Well, that’s… obviously based on the specific EKG and echocardiogram findings… it’s a type of…” I’d already turned away. Realizing he’d made a fool of himself, he scoffed and stalked off. I thought back to three years ago, when the old hospital director had personally come to recruit me from the ICU at St. Jude’s Regional. He had gripped my hand and said, “George, come work with us. I’ll give you full autonomy. Your world-class CPR skills could save so many more lives here.” What a joke it all seemed now. As a resident, my workload was significantly lighter. I no longer participated in any emergency surgeries. I followed the resident’s protocol to the letter: rounds, charts, orders. I handed off my cases on time and clocked out the second my shift was over. Yesterday, a critical patient from a car wreck was brought in. A nurse, out of habit, yelled for me. I took one look at the monitor and told her calmly, “Find Dr. Ryan. He’s the attending on call.” “Dr. Ryan is in his office!” she said, her voice frantic. “He said he’s compiling important academic data!” I didn’t reply. I just walked out of the room. I no longer spent an extra minute on any critical patient. After work, for the first time in years, I didn’t go to the hospital library to review medical journals. I went to a fencing club. I suited up in the heavy protective gear, pulled on the helmet, and gripped the cold steel of the épée. I channeled all my rage and suffocating frustration into the sharp, clean lines of the duel. The next day, a file appeared in the department’s group chat, posted by Ryan. The title was: A Trial Initiative for the Optimization of Departmental Charting Standards in Alignment with Advanced International Medical Documentation Systems. It was a dozen-page PDF filled with convoluted charts and jargon, outlining a brand-new template for patient notes. It demanded that all medical terms be written out in their full, official names—no common abbreviations allowed—and added numerous new sections for data analysis and literature citations. The group chat went silent. A few seconds later, my phone exploded with private messages. “George, what the hell is this guy’s problem? He wants us to write a Ph.D. thesis for every patient chart?” “Is he insane? We’re treating people in America, not writing for some European journal. What’s with all this pretentious crap?” “During rounds today, he insisted a nurse say ‘cardiac pulsation frequency’ instead of ‘heart rate.’ It’s just making things more complicated for no reason!” “This isn’t about international standards; it’s about creating pointless busy work! By the time we finish one of his charts, the patient in the ER will be long dead!” “He’s a textbook doctor. All theory, no practice.” I saw Ryan’s condescending announcement in the chat and said nothing. An older colleague messaged me, asking what a few of the “standardized terminologies” even meant. I quietly explained them to him. Then I shut off my phone. My complete detachment and Ryan’s clueless micromanagement created a stark contrast in the department. I used to be the anchor. No matter how chaotic the emergency, everyone felt grounded when I was there. Now, every time a critical case came in, the ward devolved into panic and confusion. Ryan would just stand on the sidelines, barking orders using his new “standardized terms,” never getting his own hands dirty. The resentment among my colleagues was growing thicker by the day. People started whispering about how much they missed my efficiency and decisiveness. I knew what they were waiting for. They were waiting for a real crisis to erupt. I submitted my request for annual leave to Dr. Matthews. Thirty days. The full amount of vacation time I’d accrued over the past five years. His face darkened the moment he saw the form. “George, what is the meaning of this?” He crumpled the paper and threw it at me. “The department is short-staffed as it is. Are you taking this much time off just to spite me?” He lowered his voice, his tone laced with menace. “Don’t think you’re untouchable just because you’re a resident now. You have a long career ahead of you. Piss me off, and I have plenty of ways to make sure you never practice in this state again. You think a demotion is bad? Believe me, I can have you fired.” I said nothing. I just reached into my pocket, pulled out the report from my recent physical, and placed it on his desk. “Dr. Matthews, I’ve been experiencing cardiac arrhythmias. My doctor has advised complete rest.” My voice was calm, almost serene. “Long-term, high-stress work isn’t good for the heart. As a senior physician, you understand that better than anyone.” He snatched the report, his face shifting from red to pale as he scanned it. He couldn’t find a single thing to argue against. “Hmph!” he grunted, grabbing a pen and angrily scrawling his signature on my leave request. As I turned to leave, Monica appeared, clinging to Ryan’s arm. “Well, well, if it isn’t Dr. Cole,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Couldn’t handle a little setback, so you’re running away?” Ryan puffed out his chest. “Some people just don’t have the mental fortitude. Back where I trained, people like him would have washed out on day one.” “Don’t think the department can’t function without you,” Monica added, her eyes flashing. “Ryan is ten times the doctor you’ll ever be. He’s a true professional.” I didn’t even bother to look at them as I walked out of the office. Sarah, the head nurse, caught me at the end of the hall. “George.” She pressed an apple into my hand. “You remember that woman you saved the other day? The one from the video?” I nodded. “She’s the only daughter of the CEO of Orion Corporation. He sent someone to ask about you. He wanted to thank you personally.” Sarah sighed. “But Dr. Matthews intercepted them. He said it was a departmental success, all thanks to Dr. Ryan’s brilliant leadership.” She shook her head. “You’re just too damn honest, George. You never fight for yourself.” I just nodded, thinking, You have no idea what kind of trouble you’ve invited. I settled into my seat on the train back to my hometown. Just as it pulled out of the station, my phone rang. It was Kevin, the intern, and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “George! It’s bad! Something terrible has happened!” “The CEO of Orion Corporation—he had a massive heart attack! He’s here, in our ICU!” My stomach dropped. “Ryan’s the attending. He saw the EKG, knows it’s a major MI, but the CEO has a rare drug allergy, and Ryan’s too scared to use the standard thrombolytics!” “He’s just been staring at his tablet, looking up research papers, mumbling about ‘evidence-based medicine,’ but he won’t make a decision! He’s afraid to risk an emergency angioplasty, so now he’s trying to get the family to sign transfer papers!” Kevin’s voice cracked. “George, it’s a STEMI! Every minute counts! How can he even think about transferring him?” Before I could answer, another call came in. Dr. Matthews. I hung up on Kevin and answered. Matthews’ voice was a raw, unfiltered roar. “George! You get your ass back here right now! If anything happens to the CEO of Orion, I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life!” I held the phone away from my ear until he was done screaming. Then, I replied calmly. “Dr. Matthews, first, I am currently on approved medical leave. Second, I am only a resident. I have neither the qualifications nor the authority to handle a patient of this magnitude. Isn’t your esteemed, foreign-trained Dr. Ryan the expert you have on hand for precisely these kinds of complex cases?” Then I hung up. A new text from Kevin popped up, laced with pure panic. “George, the CEO’s condition worsened in the ambulance! His heart stopped for a minute! The family is losing their minds. They called the hospital president directly, threatening to sue us into oblivion!” “The whole hospital is in lockdown! The president, the VPs, they’re all down in our department!” Another message followed. “Dr. Matthews is spreading a rumor that you intentionally hid the CEO’s allergy records to make Ryan look bad. He’s telling everyone you knew about the special case and kept it secret to sabotage him!” I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. The man was a master of shifting blame. As if that wasn’t enough, things got worse. Another critical patient in the ICU, one who’d just had bypass surgery, suddenly went into ventricular fibrillation. The monitors shrieked. Kevin’s live commentary continued via text. “Ryan is fumbling with the defibrillator! He’s shocked the patient multiple times, but there’s no response! He even set the energy levels wrong! A nurse tried to correct him, and he screamed at her!” “Sarah is saying they need to put the patient on ECMO immediately! It’s the last hope!” ECMO. Extracorporeal membrane oxygenation. The multi-million dollar, state-of-the-art machine our department imported from Germany. The ultimate lifeline. “Ryan is trying to start the ECMO, but it’s failing! The alarm keeps going off!” Sarah was shouting, “The startup sequence and calibration parameters for this machine are specific! Only Dr. Cole knows them inside and out! He’s the only one who ever operates it! Don’t touch it!” Ryan shoved her aside. “I’ve used these machines all over Europe! The principles are the same! What does a nurse know?” “The previous parameters must have been set wrong! They don’t meet the latest international standards!” He forced a system reboot and tried to directly modify the core operating parameters. “George, oh my God! The ECMO is smoking!” Following Ryan’s ham-fisted attempt, the main console let out a piercing screech. The screen flashed violently and went black. A foul smell of burnt plastic filled the ICU. The multi-million dollar lifeline was dead. Two critical patients: one’s golden hour for treatment squandered, leaving him knocking on death’s door. The other’s last chance for survival gone, his EKG about to flatline. The sounds of families crying and screaming, mixed with the piercing wail of the monitors, turned the entire cardiothoracic unit into a scene from a nightmare. The hospital president’s face went white. He looked like he was about to faint. With a trembling hand, he called the ECMO manufacturer’s technical support line in Germany. The German engineer on the other end, in heavily accented English, regretfully informed him that their nearest technician was in Europe. It would take at least two days for them to fly over. A suffocating despair settled over the room. Just as the president was about to hang up, the engineer added one more thing. “Perhaps you could contact the team of Professor Langdon, who helped us with the initial on-site calibration. I recall he had a brilliant protégé… a young doctor with the last name Cole. I believe he works at your hospital.” The president’s hand froze in mid-air. He whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto Dr. Matthews. The color drained from Matthews’ face, leaving it a ghastly, corpselike white. He knew better than anyone. The brilliant protégé of Dr. Langdon, the nation’s foremost authority in cardiopulmonary medicine… That doctor named Cole… Was me. The man he had personally destroyed, now sitting on a train, on vacation.

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Now that I’m older, I’ve left the company in my son’s hands. But today, I decided to pay a surprise visit, disguised as a member of the janitorial staff. I hadn’t been there an hour before a young intern spilled coffee all over me. Before I could even speak, she rolled her eyes. “Hey, janitor! Are you blind or just old? How could you not see me and walk right into me?” I frowned but held my tongue. She was the one who had bumped into me, but for the sake of my undercover inspection, I didn’t want to blow my cover. I offered a polite apology and turned to leave, but she grabbed my arm, her voice sharp with anger. “Hey! Old man! You’d better clean this coffee off the floor, right now!” “And if you can’t get it spotless, you can just clear out. I’ll have you fired in a heartbeat!” I had to smile at that. She was going to fire me, the Chairman of the board? 1 I kept my temper in check. “Young lady, you were the one staring at your phone while you walked. You ran into me. Why are you the one threatening to have me fired?” A flicker of surprise crossed the intern’s face, as if she couldn’t believe a janitor would dare to talk back. She scowled, her voice rising. “So what if I wasn’t looking? Couldn’t you have looked where you were going? If you had just gotten out of my way, I wouldn’t have spilled my coffee!” “Besides,” she added with a sneer, “you’re a janitor. Cleaning up coffee is your job. What’s the problem?” “Whatever, I can’t be bothered arguing with you. Just clean it up, or you can start packing your things!” Her words made me frown. I glanced at the intern badge clipped to her blazer and felt a pang of confusion. How could a mere intern speak with such authority, threatening to fire people on a whim? She noticed my hesitation and let out a cold laugh. “Oh, what’s that? You think because I’m just an intern, I can’t get you canned?” “My father is a senior executive here. Getting rid of a bottom-feeder like you? It would take him one phone call.” So that was it. She wasn’t just arrogant; she had connections. The company had a program that offered internship spots to the families of certain high-level employees, intended as a perk to attract top talent. It seemed someone was abusing that privilege, letting their child run wild through the halls. Seeing that I was silent, a smug smirk played on her lips. “Scared now, aren’t you? So what are you waiting for? Get on your knees and wipe this floor clean!” “And another thing,” she added, her tone turning vicious. “You dared to talk back to me! You can forget about this month’s paycheck. I’ll have the finance department transfer your salary to my account as compensation for my trouble.” My jaw nearly hit the floor. Maliciously docking an employee’s wages and pocketing the cash herself? What kind of operation was this? I frowned. “The payroll is automated. How could they just divert someone’s salary to your account?” The intern laughed again. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. My mother works in the finance department. It’s none of your business!” I had only been away from the company for a year. I never imagined so many parasites could infest it in such a short time. “What are your parents’ names?” I asked, my voice cold. She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “What? Thinking of reporting them? Don’t waste your time. My parents have powerful people watching their backs. Anyone who dares to take a complaint from you will be packing their own desk by the end of the day!” I was stunned. The rot within the company was far deeper than I had imagined. Just as the intern was preening, a middle-aged man rushed over, his forehead beaded with sweat. The intern’s expression immediately crumpled into a mask of pitiful victimhood. “Dad! This man knocked my coffee over, and now he’s refusing to clean it up! You have to do something!” I recognized the man: Scott Miller, the head of the tech department. I smiled to myself. I was very interested to see how this was going to play out. 2 Scott Miller barely glanced at me. I remembered then that I rarely made public appearances at the company; only the old guard, the veteran executives, would recognize my face. It was for the best. Anonymity would give me a clearer view of the company’s true state. Ignoring me, Scott took his daughter’s hand. “Jessica, it’s a special situation today. You need to come with me now.” Jessica yanked her hand away, looking baffled. “Dad! This old creep bullied me! Aren’t you going to stand up for me?” I was about to speak up and set the record straight before she could twist the story any further. But to my astonishment, Scott fixed me with a cold glare. “I don’t care what you did. Apologize to my daughter. Now.” I was dumbfounded. He didn’t even know what had happened, and he was demanding an apology? When I didn’t respond, Scott sneered. “On any other day, I’d have had you fired on the spot. But it’s your lucky day. Get on your knees, apologize to my daughter, and I’ll let this go.” A humorless laugh escaped my lips. I looked at him calmly. “That’s quite the power trip. Does everyone at Lee Corp throw their weight around like you?” Scott’s face darkened. “A janitor has no right to question me. Let me tell you something: in this company, I call the shots. Even the Chairman himself would have to show me some respect!” I nearly laughed out loud. Who did he think he was? Just a department head, and he was talking like this? Show him respect? The audacity was staggering. But I still didn’t want to reveal my identity. “That’s some big talk,” I said with a cold smile. “Aren’t you afraid of biting your tongue? Your daughter was the one who ran into me. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s her.” Fury flashed in Scott’s eyes. He opened his mouth to curse at me, but his phone rang. His arrogant demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by a fawning obsequiousness. “Yes, I understand.” So, that must be his backer on the other end of the line. I was curious to see who would support this kind of behavior. Scott hung up and shot me a triumphant sneer. “Today’s your lucky day, old man. The Chairman is doing a surprise inspection today. I’ll deal with you tomorrow!” My brow furrowed. I hadn’t told a soul I was coming. How did the person on the phone know? Ignoring me, Scott grabbed his daughter’s arm to lead her away. Jessica wasn’t having it. Her eyes welled up with tears. “Dad! He hasn’t apologized yet! And I want his salary transferred to my account! There’s a new handbag I want to buy this month!” Scott sighed heavily. “Sweetheart, today is different. We’ll deal with it tomorrow. The Chairman is definitely here, undercover. He could be watching us from any corner right now!” I couldn’t help but smile. No corner at all. The Chairman was standing right in front of them. Jessica glared at me. “What are you smiling at? Hmph! I’ll let you off the hook for today! If it wasn’t for that idiot Chairman showing up, I’d have you on your knees begging!” “Aren’t you worried,” I said softly, “that I might be that Chairman?” Jessica and Scott both froze. For a moment, I regretted letting my identity slip. But then, they both burst out laughing. Jessica looked me up and down with utter contempt. “Old man, have you been watching too many of those silly web dramas? You, a janitor, the Chairman? Let me guess, now you’re imagining how I’ll cry and beg for your forgiveness when I find out who you are?” “Hahaha, that’s hilarious! If you’re the Chairman, I’ll personally get on my knees and kowtow to you a hundred times!” I was taken aback. A hundred times? Her forehead would be mush. Scott pulled his daughter away. “Jessica, ignore this lunatic. We need to be careful while the Chairman’s here. If he sees us making a scene, we’ll be in big trouble.” I smiled to myself. Trouble? Oh, it was going to be much more than just trouble. 3 After Scott and his daughter left, I took a walk around the building. I wanted to check in on a few promising young employees I had personally mentored. But after searching for a while, I didn’t see a single familiar face. I asked around and learned they had all been laid off. I was stunned. I knew the company’s growth had slowed since I handed the reins to my son, but these were talented individuals I had handpicked for development. There was no way they should have been on any layoff list. An engineer I spoke to sighed. “After they were let go, our manager hired a whole new batch of people out of nowhere.” “This new group doesn’t know the first thing about the work,” he continued, his voice heavy with frustration. “All the pressure has fallen on us senior employees. If this keeps up, I’m afraid I’ll have to quit too.” The picture became crystal clear. Someone was using their authority to push out competent staff and fill the vacancies with their own friends and family, who were collecting paychecks for doing nothing. They were parasites, bleeding the company dry. What in God’s name had my good-for-nothing son been doing this past year? How could he let his people treat loyal, hardworking employees this way? Didn’t he care about morale at all? I pulled out my phone, my face grim, and dialed my son’s number. I was going to find out just what the hell he thought he was doing. The phone had barely started ringing when a hand snatched it away from me. I looked up. It was Jessica again. She threw my phone to the ground, stomped on it a few times for good measure, and glared at me. “Are you trying to cause trouble? You know the Chairman is here for an inspection, and you’re making personal calls on company time?” Swallowing my rage, I picked up my shattered phone. “What company rule says you can’t make a phone call during work hours?” Jessica crossed her arms and sneered. “Our Chairman said so! Anyone caught using their phone during work gets docked a day’s pay!” I saw red. When had I ever made such a ridiculous rule? Seeing my fury, Jessica’s smugness grew. “Oh? You have a problem with that? Take it up with the Chairman!” “And by the way,” she added, “you’ve already lost this month’s salary, so you’ll have to pay that fine out of your own pocket. Give me the cash now, and I’ll take it to finance for you.” Take it to finance? More like take it to her own wallet. I let out a cold laugh. “There’s also a rule against drinking coffee on the job. You were just doing that, weren’t you? You should be docked a day’s pay too!” She was still just a kid, and my taunt hit its mark. She exploded. “You old liar! Who said you can’t drink coffee at work?!” Mimicking her earlier tone, I replied, “Our Chairman said so. If you don’t like it, take it up with him.” “You—!” Before I could enjoy my small victory, Jessica lunged at me. “Don’t you mock me, you disgusting old man!” She shoved me hard. At my age, a fall is no small thing. A sharp pain shot through my back, and I couldn’t get up. Jessica stood over me, snarling. “Just die, old man!” “Just wait until the Chairman leaves. I don’t care who you are! You’re finished!” I gritted my teeth as I looked up at her. Finished? We’ll see about that. 4 I tried to push myself up, but a searing pain in my lower back stopped me. I was stuck until a young woman passed by and helped me to my feet. “Sir, are you alright?” I managed to stand and nodded, about to thank her. But then I heard Jessica’s mocking laugh from the side. “Well, well, if it isn’t little Miss Innocent, Chloe from the countryside. Can’t get any of the guys in the office to fall for your act, so now you’re hitting on the janitors?” Chloe immediately lowered her head, not daring to say a word. I frowned. “We’re all colleagues here. How can you speak to someone like that?” Jessica rolled her eyes at me again. “Do you own this company? What business is it of yours?” I nodded calmly. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Is that a problem?” My answer clearly infuriated her. She sneered. “Fine. If we can’t speak to colleagues that way, I’ll handle this differently.” A cruel smile touched her lips as she turned to Chloe. “Chloe, I’m officially informing you that you’ve failed your probationary period. You can pack your things and go home now.” Chloe’s head snapped up, her eyes instantly filling with tears. “Jessica, I…” Jessica cut her off impatiently. “Save it. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for getting friendly with the janitor! It’s bad for the company’s image!” Chloe was openly crying now. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees. “Jessica, please, I’m begging you, don’t make me leave. If I don’t pass my probation…” Jessica crossed her arms, looking down at her imperiously. “You’ll have to go back to your village and get married, right?” Chloe froze. Jessica’s eyes narrowed in a wicked grin. “That’s exactly why I have to get rid of you. All the men in the office are always buzzing around you. Now I’m just helping you along. You get to go get married right away. Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” Chloe’s face was ashen, her eyes filled with utter despair. I snorted and helped her to her feet. “Don’t be afraid, Chloe.” “She’s just an intern. She has absolutely no authority to fire you.” Hearing my words, a little color returned to Chloe’s cheeks. Jessica, however, was livid. She pointed a finger at me, her voice shrill. “You’re just a damn janitor! Why do you keep getting in my way? I have connections! I can fire whoever I want!” “Who the hell do you think you are? The Chairman? What I, Jessica Miller, decide to do is none of your damn business!” I stared at her, my voice level and calm. “I’m nobody special. Just the Chairman of Lee Corporation.” “That’s it!” Jessica shrieked, losing control, and lunged at me again.

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My husband was dying of cancer. To set me free, he decided to become a monster. He started cheating, openly and frequently. He’d humiliate me with cruel words, then freeze me out with cold silence. I finally broke and agreed to a divorce. That’s when his friends, perched on their moral high ground, told me the “truth”—about his noble intentions, about the cancer. My world shattered. I threw myself from a rooftop, a final, desperate act of love. But after I died, Julian was saved. A medical miracle, they called it. He found the strength to weep at my grave, and then, with his friends’ encouragement, he pulled himself together and married Lana, the girl who had always been waiting in the wings. …But now, I’m back at that party. The night it all began. Julian is laughing, a playful glint in his eye. “Let’s get a divorce,” he says. I don’t get angry. I just look at him calmly and say, “Okay.” 1 After I spoke, a strange, heavy silence fell over the room. In the sprawling, opulent VIP lounge, I was the only one who seemed oblivious, my head bowed as my spoon traced patterns in a crystal bowl of some lavish dessert. The hand Julian had been holding—Lana’s hand—slowly slipped from his grasp. His handsome face, which had just been joking about falling for someone else, about wanting a divorce, was twisting into a rigid, ugly mask. He clearly never expected me to say that. He knew. He knew the depths of my love for him, knew that even a joke like this should have sent me into a spiral of tears and accusations. He expected a scene. How could I possibly have said “Okay” with such unnerving calm? Around us, his friends—all of them with their own hidden agendas—exchanged uneasy glances. The little drama they had orchestrated, the one where they got to watch me break down in a storm of angry, pathetic tears, had just crumbled to dust. The script had been thrown completely off the rails, leaving them all scrambling. But I felt no triumph. My gaze drifted slowly across their faces, one by one. Finally, it settled on Lana’s striking, vividly beautiful face. In my last life, I considered her my best friend. I’d forgotten that she and Julian had grown up together. They were practically family. The fiercer she was in my defense, the more loyal she seemed, the deeper and more agonizing was the knife she eventually twisted in my back. My stare made her visibly uncomfortable. She glanced instinctively at Julian, only to find him glaring at me, his face a thundercloud, his jaw clenched tight. A shadow passed over her eyes for a split second. Then, just as quickly, she plastered on a bright, breezy smile and came over to grab my arm. “Hey, don’t be mad, don’t be mad! It was Zack’s stupid idea. We were just messing with you.” I took a step back, letting her hand fall into empty space. My expression remained flat, my eyes fixed on Julian. “But I’m not messing with you,” I said. “I’m serious, Jules. Let’s get a divorce.” 2 Lana stood frozen between us, her head darting back and forth from me to Julian, the very picture of helpless confusion. She was always a brilliant actress. If I hadn’t died once, if my wandering soul hadn’t witnessed her kicking over my headstone with a look of pure disgust, I never would have known what a twisted, jealous heart beat beneath that cool, confident facade. This look of genuine shock on her face was a rare sight. It wasn’t my doing, but because of her, the entire room was now turning against me. Zack shoved his chair back with a loud scrape and stormed over. “Monica, don’t take it too far!” he snarled, his voice rough with impatience. “We already said it was a joke! Do you have to make everything so damn awkward? What, you can’t take a joke?!” How ironic. They were the ones who made the “joke,” I was the victim, and now I was the one being blamed for not playing along. Zack had always had a sharp tongue, his words dripping with sarcasm. I used to think that was just his personality, that he was like that with everyone, so I learned to ignore it. Only later did I realize he was only ever like that with me. As Julian’s wife, I had never truly been accepted by his friends. Not once. I ignored Zack’s barking as if he were just a dog in the distance. My eyes remained locked on Julian. Seeing my unyielding expression, Julian finally understood that I was, for the most part, serious. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, cold and mocking. He reached out, grabbed Lana’s arm, and yanked her into his embrace. Staring daggers at me, he spat out, “Fine. You said it. Don’t you dare regret it.” “Pack your things. We’ll be at City Hall tomorrow to sign the papers.” Then, in front of everyone, he lowered his head and crushed his lips against Lana’s. It was a possessive, punishing kiss, fueled by anger. It started with the press of lips and deepened until the intimate sounds of their mouths tangling together filled the air. The soft, ambient light from above cast them in a dramatic glow, like a scene from a movie—the woman’s pliant waist arching back, the man’s large, long-fingered hand cupping the back of her slender neck. I saw Lana push against his chest in a half-hearted protest, a classic show of feigned resistance. When she couldn’t move him, her hands slid upwards, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. I heard someone suck in a sharp breath, followed by the excited clicks of phones being raised to capture the moment. I was the closest to them, a front-row spectator to every unspeakable detail. My lips, pale and trembling, parted as if to say something, but no words came out. What was there to say? A soft place deep inside me had been struck a fatal blow. It felt as if something precious, something I had hidden in the deepest part of my heart, had just… quietly, silently shattered. I squeezed my eyes shut, my face a numb mask, and turned to walk away. 3 A light, drizzly rain had started to fall outside. The world was a wash of gray, the streetlights casting a sickly yellow haze. Along the road, the dark, skeletal branches of trees clawed at the air in the cold wind. A couple stood beside me, whispering for a moment. Then the boy took off his jacket, draped it over the girl, and they huddled together, making a dash for the rain-soaked street. I watched them disappear into a car parked by the curb, a strange fog settling over my mind. I felt like I’d forgotten something important, but I couldn’t grasp what it was. It wasn’t until I got home and started packing my things that I found it. At the very bottom of a storage box was an old umbrella. The moment I saw it, the dam of my composure broke, and tears streamed down my face. It was a clear, foldable umbrella. The inside was covered in black marker doodles of my favorite cartoon characters. One day after school, the sky had opened up in a downpour. I was supposed to walk home with a friend, but then I saw him—my desk-mate, Julian. He was standing under the eaves, staring at the bruised-gray sky with a look of distant loneliness. He must have forgotten his umbrella. And at home, there was no one left to bring one for him. A wave of sympathy washed over me. After a moment of hesitation, I shoved my umbrella into his hands. “You don’t have to give it back! Just think of it as a thank you for helping me with my homework!” I said, my feigned nonchalance a thin veil for my fluttering teenage heart. I didn’t even dare to look at his reaction before I turned and ran, huddling under my friend’s umbrella and urging her to hurry. My friend teased me about my beet-red cheeks. I playfully swatted at her, but my eyes couldn’t help but dart back through the curtain of rain. He was still there. A tall, slender figure in his blue and white school uniform, standing out from the crowd. He was holding my umbrella tightly in his hand. The world was a cascade of falling rain, but the only thing I could hear was the frantic, deafening roar of my own heartbeat. The next day, the rain continued. I don’t remember exactly what I was feeling when I saw him again, but I remember every single detail of him walking through the back door of the classroom. My clear cartoon umbrella wasn’t propped up with the other colorful, forgotten ones in the hallway corner. It was clutched in his long, pale fingers. He carefully wiped the raindrops from its surface with a soft handkerchief, smoothed out its creases, folded it neatly, and placed it reverently inside his desk, right next to his textbooks. Eighteen-year-old Julian looked up then and met my gaze before I had a chance to look away. He smiled, his eyes curving into crescents. He said he would treasure it for a lifetime. We hadn’t confessed our feelings for each other yet, not in words. But in the silent, thunderous space between our two young, restrained hearts, we both knew. He was saying he would treasure me for a lifetime. The rain has stopped. I wiped my tears, forcing my emotions back into their cage. I picked up the umbrella, long forgotten by its owner. Its plastic skin was yellowed and old, the cartoon drawings faded and blurred. Its frame was rusted and rotten, reeking of decay. I stared at it, sitting by my bed as night fell, and didn’t sleep a wink. I don’t know how much time passed before the darkness began to recede. A sliver of dawn broke through the clouds, splitting my silhouette into stark black and white. My limbs were cold and stiff as I moved, standing up to take the old umbrella and toss it into the trash can. Then, I dialed Julian’s number. That summer rain from our youth… It was time for it to end. 4 The phone rang and rang before someone finally picked up. But the voice that drifted into my ear was a woman’s, lazy and thick with sleep. “…Hello? Who is this?” She followed it with a yawn that sounded a little too deliberate in the face of my dead silence. After a moment, Lana’s voice came again, now laced with a hint of apology and embarrassment. “Oh, sorry, I grabbed the wrong phone. Hold on, I’ll wake Jules up…” “Don’t bother,” I cut her off. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Just do me a favor and tell him I have all the paperwork ready. Three o’clock this afternoon. City Hall.” I hung up before she could respond. I hadn’t eaten since last night, but a wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. I felt like I was going to be sick. I love you. My love is unwavering. What a joke. He could say those words and then immediately fall into bed with someone else. A cheater is a cheater, no matter what excuse they hide behind. I remembered my last life, when I “accidentally” walked in on them. The pain was so sharp I almost fainted. I lost all reason, screaming and demanding answers like a madwoman. Lana, with an apologetic look on her face, insisted it was all a misunderstanding, an accident, and begged me not to blame Julian. And Julian? He didn’t say a word in his own defense. He just stood there silently, letting me scream and cry and rave, letting me throw his past promises back in his face. He looked like he was harboring some terrible secret, burdened by a sorrow he couldn’t speak. By the end of it all, everyone had taken his side. They said he had his reasons, that he didn’t mean for it to happen, that I shouldn’t be so hard on him. They were the ones who had done it. And somehow, I was the one who was wrong. His chilling calm made me look like a lunatic. I started to doubt myself. Was I overreacting? Was I the one who had pushed him away with my suspicions, tarnishing his “pure friendship” with Lana and driving him to make their ambiguous relationship a reality out of spite? Lost in a fog of confusion, I finally agreed to the divorce. But after Julian handed me the papers, his condition took a turn for the worse. Zack and the others, unable to watch it happen any longer, cornered me. They blamed me, screamed that I had pushed him over the edge. Did I have any idea, Zack demanded, that Julian had done all of this—the cheating, the cruelty—as a twisted act of love, to push me away so he wouldn’t be a burden? We were high school sweethearts. We’d gone from sharing a desk to sharing a life. Julian’s parents were gone; I was his only family. He knew I would never, ever leave him, no matter what. So he chose the most extreme method to force me away. I had just started to accept the reality that he had cheated and no longer loved me. And now they were telling me he did it because he loved me too much. They told me he should have had two more years, but because of my hysterics, his condition had suddenly worsened. It was all my fault. It was my one voice against all of theirs. In the end, my mind simply broke. After one last look at Julian, lying unconscious in the ICU, I ran to the hospital rooftop and jumped. Thinking back on it now, I was such a fool. This time, I chose to let myself go, to let go of everything. But I waited at City Hall for hours. The staff was already packing up to leave for the day when Julian finally arrived. 5 “I wasn’t feeling well. I only woke up half an hour ago,” Julian explained before I could even open my mouth. He was breathing heavily, his long trench coat open to reveal a slightly rumpled shirt collar. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He glanced at the closed doors of the municipal office and let out a breath. I couldn’t tell if it was a sigh of frustration or relief. He turned to me, his voice cool. “We’ll have to reschedule.” There was nothing else to be done. I told him to contact me when he was free and turned to leave, not wanting to exchange another word. But Julian’s voice stopped me. “When you called this morning, Lana answered. What did she say to you?” His probing tone sparked a fire in my chest. The resentment that had been simmering for so long suddenly boiled over. I spun around, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Weren’t you two in the same bed? Don’t you know what she said?” Julian paused. To my surprise, the tension in his face melted away, replaced by a soft, gentle expression. It was as if my words had confirmed something for him. He breathed a genuine sigh of relief. For the first time, his tone was mild as he explained, “You misunderstood. I drank too much last night, and she brought me home. I started feeling sick, so she stayed to look after me. That’s all.” Putting aside how utterly absurd his explanation sounded, I couldn’t understand why he felt the need to explain anything to me at all, given our current situation. But I quickly understood. Right in front of me, Julian coughed, and the color instantly drained from his face. He pressed a hand to his chest, his handsome brows knitting together in apparent pain as he coughed again, more violently this time. I couldn’t tell if he was acting or if it was real. Either way, it had nothing to do with me. I turned and walked away. I heard hurried footsteps behind me, and then Julian’s hand clamped down on my arm. His face was pale and drawn, his jaw tight. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I told you I’m sick. Don’t you care at all?” I knew he was sick. Gravely ill, in fact. So what? I tried to pull my arm free. “Let go,” I said, frowning. He didn’t let go. His grip tightened, his expression darkening. He was the one who wanted the divorce. Now that I’d agreed so readily, he was the one who was unhappy. His eyes burned into mine for a long moment before he abruptly shoved my arm away. He let out another wracking cough, his voice heavy. “…Fine. I’ll let you go.” He was suppressing a volcano of anger, his voice thick with a strange, unspoken heartache. I didn’t hesitate. I turned on my heel and left. Suddenly, a loud thud echoed from behind me. Julian had collapsed. I frantically called for an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital. After a moment’s hesitation, I called Lana. After we divorced, Julian would be marrying her sooner or later anyway. It wasn’t my place as the soon-to-be-ex-wife to stand vigil. When Lana heard the news, she didn’t say a word and raced to the hospital. Zack was with her. I stood up from the bench in the hallway, about to tell them Julian had been taken into the emergency room. But Lana stormed up to me, her face a cold mask. She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. I stood there, stunned, as Lana’s voice, colder and sharper than I had ever heard it, cut through the air. “You’re a walking disaster! Are you happy now? Are you going to be satisfied when you’ve finally killed him?!”

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