1 The day I caught Sylvia cheating, I took the Swiss Army knife she gifted me and permanently ruined my stepbrother’s manhood in a single, bloody slash. After I was sent to prison, my marriage to Sylvia was automatically annulled. She finally gave my stepbrother the lavish, fairy-tale wedding they always wanted. Three years later, I was released. Sylvia hired twenty bodyguards to keep me away. She set up fifty legal traps, hoping to send me right back behind bars. She even sent a hundred different mediators to tell me I could name my price, as long as I never laid a finger on her precious husband again. But she was overthinking it. Like a drop of water vanishing into the ocean, I completely disappeared from her life. The next time we met, it was at an auto repair shop in the gritty outskirts of Chicago. I blew out a puff of cheap cigarette smoke, popped the hood of her car with oil-stained fingers, and asked in a flat, even tone. “How old is this model?” Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. “Victor, this is the car you bought me for my eighteenth birthday.” … My hand froze on the wrench for a split second. “Oh. It is getting up there in years, then. Definitely due for a major overhaul.” My tone was painfully indifferent. Sylvia stiffened. She opened her mouth several times, but the words died in her throat. I tapped the wrench against the engine block, methodically checking every bolt. I treated the dazzling yellow sports car in front of me exactly like the thousands of beat-up sedans I had fixed before it. Perhaps the harsh clanking of metal on metal grated on her nerves. Sylvia’s expression shifted drastically before she finally managed a mocking, cynical smile. “If you are short on cash, Victor, you could have just called me.” “There was no need to scatter nails on the highway just to lure me to this dump and put on a show.” I chuckled, making casual small talk like I would with any random customer. “If I were that good of an actor, I would be in Hollywood by now.” “You came down Third Avenue, right? The morning news reported a hardware truck flipped over there yesterday. You have to be careful on those roads.” As I spoke, I grabbed a filthy, grease-soaked rag and casually wiped the sludge off my hands. Sylvia stared at that rag. It seemed to be the last straw. Her voice rose in pitch. “You used to be as proud as a swan, Victor.” “Claustrophobia, obsessive-compulsive disorder, an absolute germaphobe. You were the textbook definition of a billionaire heir. If a single speck of dust landed on your leather shoes, you would polish them for an hour. If there was a grease spot on the dining table, you would fire the housekeeper on the spot…” “And now look at you…” “Hey, Victor! Why didn’t you wash my car properly!” A shrill voice cut through the garage as the glass door was shoved open. A heavy-set woman stomped in, jabbing her stubby finger right at my nose. “You left a massive mud stain! Does washing my car for free hurt your pride or something?” “Come on, Brenda,” I quickly rushed over, plastering on an apologetic smile. “I was just swamped today and missed a spot. Head on home, and I will come over later to give it another wash!” I pleaded and smoothed things over for a good five minutes. Brenda finally backed down. “One more mistake, and your shop rent goes up thirty percent!” I kept smiling, bowing my head and promising it would never happen again. Times were tough. Brenda’s garage was only fifteen hundred a month, the cheapest rent in the entire district. It was only after I walked Brenda out that I remembered I still had a customer. I turned to Sylvia and offered an awkward, apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Anyway, Miss, your car is good to go. That will be twenty bucks.” “You…” Sylvia stared at me blankly. It took her a long time to force out a single word, completely drained of the energy to finish her sentence. Instead, she hurriedly pulled out her phone to scan my payment code. I looked at the notification. Five hundred dollars. I immediately waved my hands. “Miss, you paid way too much. Let me send the rest back.” I instinctively went to find her contact on my phone. Then I remembered. She had blocked me on everything the day I went to prison. I scratched my head helplessly. “Well, this is awkward. Miss, you will have to show me your Venmo code.” “Didn’t you say the car needed a major overhaul?” Sylvia’s expression was a tangled mess of emotions. “Do a full diagnostic on the other parts. Is that enough to cover it?” My face lit up. “More than enough. Please, take a seat and wait over here.” I pulled a cheap plastic stool out from under a workbench and slid it toward her. Noticing her pristine white designer dress, I thoughtfully grabbed a few paper towels and layered them over the plastic seat. Sylvia stayed silent for a long time. She sat down stiffly, keeping her knees tightly together. A second later, the squeak of the glass door startled her so badly she nearly jumped out of her seat. “Hey Victor! Still grinding through lunch hour? Business must be booming. No wonder you ordered the deluxe combo today.” “Oh wow, and you have a gorgeous customer waiting. Lucky guy.” It was the delivery driver who brought my lunch every day. I bantered with him for a moment, laughing as I took the cheap takeout bag from his hands. Sylvia, clearly offended by being called ‘gorgeous’ by a random delivery guy, let out a frustrated breath, her cheeks flushing red. But there was nothing I could do. This was how the neighborhood operated. Martha from the fruit stand next door rolled her scooter in, asking me to check her loose brake cables whenever I had a minute. A young corporate worker from the apartments upstairs dragged a suitcase down, asking if she could stash it in the corner until she got off work. A college student sprinted in, scanning the code on my counter to rent a portable charger. Their gazes ranged from blatant staring to poorly concealed glances, but every single one of them let their eyes linger on Sylvia. Finally, she shifted uncomfortably on the stool. “Victor, are you really content sinking this low? Flirting and mingling with these bottom-feeders?” 2 Her eyes looked a little red, though I might have been imagining it. After spending three years operating a sewing machine in a fluorescent prison workshop, everything looked a little red to me. “The car is in decent shape.” I straightened up, wiping my hands. “But the brake pads are worn down. You really need to get them replaced. This is just a budget shop, I don’t stock original factory parts. You will have to take it to a dealership for that.” I pointed her in the direction of the nearest luxury dealership, then eagerly tore into my cheap takeout box. Curry chicken, spicy fried chicken, and braised eggplant. All my favorites. But even as I snapped my disposable chopsticks apart, Sylvia showed zero intention of leaving. I was a bit confused. After a moment’s thought, I slid the plastic container toward her. “Are you hungry? If you don’t mind the grease, you can have a few bites to hold you over.” Sylvia’s gaze drifted. It snagged on the motor oil permanently embedded under my fingernails, then shifted to the excessively oily food in the container. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. “This is all cheap, processed garbage. It is toxic. You never used to eat this kind of food.” In her memories, I was a culinary snob. A picky eater who lived on organic greens and raw sashimi. If a dish was even slightly past its prime, I would be hugging the toilet, throwing up until I saw stars. I just smiled. “Well, the prison cafeteria doesn’t exactly offer a tasting menu. Plus, doing hard manual labor all day magically cured all my snobby habits.” “Every delivery place uses pre-packaged stuff now anyway. But their spicy chicken really kicks. You should try a piece.” “Oh nice, they threw in an extra packet of chili oil today. Score.” I happily fished the cheap plastic packet out of the bag and tossed it into a cardboard box behind me. That box was already half-full of complimentary condiment packets. Buy a plain piece of bread, squeeze some of that on it, and it made a decent meal. Sylvia abruptly shot up from the stool, her voice thick and nasal. “Enough!” I jumped, genuinely startled. The next second, she hurled a sleek, matte-black credit card at my chest. “This is a supplementary card to my account. Take it.” Her movements were so violent that she knocked over the plastic stool and nearly sent my takeout flying. Fortunately, my reflexes were still sharp. I lunged forward and barely managed to save my lunch. “Miss,” I sighed, completely exasperated. “If you are not going to eat it, I am…” “Victor!” Sylvia roared, her voice dropping into a frantic hiss. “I am serious!” “This card is linked to a platinum account. It has a five million dollar limit. Spend it however you want.” “Buy a proper storefront in a nice area. Start a legitimate business. Be your own boss. Stop renting this toxic dungeon and playing the role of a pathetic, foul-smelling grease monkey!” “You used to be an elite professional racer from one of the wealthiest families in the country. Have you completely forgotten who you are?!” Her screaming echoed in the garage, dragging me violently back into the past. It was true. My family was incredibly wealthy, one of the biggest investment tycoons in the city. I lived the life of a billionaire’s sole heir until I was seven, right around the time my mother got pregnant with twin girls. But as we eagerly awaited their arrival, my father’s infidelity shattered everything. He fell recklessly, destructively in love with a biracial adult film actress. It got to the point where his mistress marched straight into our home, demanding my mother step aside and sign the divorce papers. My mother was a fiercely proud woman. A screaming match erupted. In the chaos, I watched with my own two eyes as that woman reached out with her long, acrylic nails, locked her hands around my mother’s throat, and shoved her down the grand staircase. Three lives were extinguished in a matter of seconds. My mother died with her eyes wide open. Afterward, my father locked me in a room and beat me for a full day and night to force me to change my police statement. Because of that, the mistress walked away without a single charge. They got married. The mistress brought along a son from her previous marriage. My new stepbrother, Tristan. That was when my true nightmare began. The beatings, the verbal abuse, the psychological torture, the endless bullying. To survive, I fled to France. I put my life on the line and became a professional rally racer, shocking the motorsport world with my debut. At the time, Sylvia was in Paris studying fine arts. After catching a glimpse of me on a live broadcast, she became my most obsessive fan. Every time I crossed a finish line, she was in the stands, holding a glowing sign with my name, screaming her lungs out. When a corrupt official intentionally penalized me, she rallied hundreds of students to march through the streets of Paris demanding justice for my career. She held my hand through injuries and dragged me out of my darkest slumps. Finally, the day I secured my first major championship, I stepped out of the car and sprinted straight toward the grandstands. Beneath a sky raining confetti and the deafening roar of the crowd, I pulled her into my arms and kissed her in front of the entire world. The toxic dynamic of idol and fan evaporated. She was officially my girlfriend. But I never could have predicted what would happen that very night. While we were strolling through the romantic streets of Paris, two armed muggers cornered us. They only wanted our wallets at first. But when they saw Sylvia’s face, their intentions turned violent. Without a second thought, I threw myself at them. In the terrifying struggle, a gun went off. The bullet tore straight through my chest. It didn’t kill me, but it punctured my lung and grazed my heart. The doctors told me I could never engage in extreme sports again. My racing career was dead. But I never regretted it. Sylvia was the absolute love of my life. She meant infinitely more to me than racing ever could. I could win a hundred trophies, but I only had one Sylvia. When I lay in that hospital bed, pale and gasping for air, I held her hand and told her exactly that. She collapsed against my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Victor, let’s go back home. My family has deep roots in business and politics. Whatever you want to do with your life next, I will back you up a hundred percent!” That was who Sylvia was. She was terrible at whispering sweet nothings, but she moved mountains when it came to action. My heart overflowing with hope, I held her hand as we flew back to the States. Only to walk out of the terminal and see Tristan waiting for us in the arrivals lounge. When he locked eyes with the heiress of the powerful Sylvia family standing by my side, his pupils dilated with pure shock. A second later, he flashed a blinding, innocent smile. It reminded me of his mother. The exact same predatory smile she wore whenever she stood next to my father. My gut told me a disaster was coming. And that premonition became a brutal reality. 3 I could not pinpoint exactly when it started, but Sylvia began bringing Tristan up in casual conversation. Constantly. First, she said he was cute and obedient. Then, she mentioned how pitiful it was that he had to walk on eggshells in his own home. Eventually, it turned into, “Victor, you really need to stop being so mean to Tristan.” I intended to sit her down and have a serious conversation about it. But the anniversary of my mother and sisters’ deaths was approaching, so I had to focus on arranging the memorial service. When I returned home from the cemetery, I witnessed a scene that would be burned into my retinas for the rest of my life. Sylvia and Tristan. The two of them were completely naked, tangled together on the pristine white sheets of our bed. “Hehe, Sylvia, why didn’t you go pay your respects to your future mother-in-law today?” “What mother-in-law… Some uncultured country woman isn’t fit to be my mother-in-law… If I have to pick, your mother is a much better fit…” A deafening ring hijacked my ears. My sanity entirely snapped. I charged into the bedroom like a rabid animal, grabbed a blade, and swung. I still remember the sound of his agonizing screams. God, it felt incredible. During the trial, the judge took pity on me. Considering the extreme emotional distress and my history as a victim of a broken home, he wanted to give me a suspended sentence. But Sylvia hired the most ruthless, expensive legal team in the country. She even bribed key witnesses to commit perjury, ensuring I was slapped with a hard three-year prison sentence. Time really does fly. It had been seven years since the stabbing, and three years since I walked out of a cell. I exhaled a cloud of stale air and quietly observed the woman standing in front of me. Money really was magic. Time had not left a single flaw on this beautiful woman’s face. Yet time had cursed me with cracked, calloused hands, a slight hunch in my spine, and the stench of motor oil permanently baked into my pores. I gently pushed the black credit card back across the counter. “Keep it. There is no need, Miss. I am perfectly fine with how I live.” “I have enough to eat, clothes on my back, and total freedom. I don’t steal, I don’t rob. I make a living with my own two hands.” “I am just a regular guy now. No massive fortunes, but no massive tragedies either.” But Sylvia stubbornly kept her hand extended. “Just consider it… my way of making amends. You take the money, let go of the resentment, and from now on, we are entirely even.” I shot her a genuinely surprised look. The proud, untouchable Sylvia heiress had actually learned how to compensate people. In the past, she would never bow her head to anyone. “Then there is even less of a need. I took that bullet in Paris because you were my girlfriend. And I went to prison because I intentionally maimed a man. It is basic cause and effect.” “Neither of us owes the other a damn thing.” Sylvia clenched her fists, her eyes locked onto my face. It was as if she was desperately trying to confirm if the man standing in front of her was actually Victor. Finally, she slowly lowered her head. A faint glimmer of moisture caught in the corner of her eye. “Victor… you feel like a complete stranger to me.” I glanced up at the cheap plastic clock on the wall. “Well, it has been years. Of course we are strangers.” “Back then… I just got caught up in the heat of the moment.” She paused, her voice shaking. “For years, I have thought about it constantly. If you hadn’t committed such a violent, impulsive crime, I would have married you out of pure guilt. I would have spent the rest of my life making it up to you…” I didn’t respond. I let the relentless ticking of the clock stretch the silence into infinity. “Everyone walks their own path.” I pulled out a crumpled cigarette, lit it, then immediately crushed it out, remembering I had a customer. “When you make your bed, you lie in it. No point looking in the rearview mirror.” “You—” Sylvia choked on her words, completely derailed by my casual, working-class philosophy. After a long moment, she snapped angrily. “You haven’t changed in one regard. You are still a stubborn, insufferable rock!” I nodded cheerfully. “The neighbors say the exact same thing.” “Victor!” Sylvia tightened her fists. After holding it in for so long, my actual name finally tore from her throat. The sound of her voice made the room spin for a second. The way she said it sounded exactly like she used to. Noticing my brief hesitation, she instantly softened her tone. “If you refuse to take my money, I can act as a mediator between you and your father. You probably don’t know this, but your father was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. He is running out of time.” “If you just go beg for his forgiveness now, you can still secure a portion of the inheritance. It is enough money to last you ten lifetimes…” “Really?” I smiled brightly. “Karma finally caught up to him.” Derailled once again, Sylvia lost the last shred of her patience. She grabbed my arm, trying to physically drag me toward her car. “Victor, how long are you going to keep playing tough?!” “Take a good look in the mirror! Look at the pathetic, miserable state you are in!” “Renting a dark, filthy shack. Breaking your back doing a dirty, foul-smelling job!” “Eating literal garbage processed in a factory, and acting like a thirty-cent packet of hot sauce is a gift from God!” “Do you think this aesthetic makes you look rebellious? Do you think this edgy, starving-artist act is attractive?” “You are a mechanic! You are the absolute bottom of the barrel!” I scratched the stubble on my chin and offered a very honest rebuttal. “I am not entirely at the bottom. At least I am still a complete, fully functioning man. Unlike some people…” It was like I had stepped on a landmine. Sylvia’s face turned a violent shade of red as she exploded. “Tristan had reconstructive surgery! They reattached it perfectly! He might be infertile, but his sex life is completely normal!” “Meanwhile, you reek of toxic chemicals. The smell makes people’s eyes water. What woman could ever tolerate being near you?!” Pushed to the brink of hysterics, she started wildly hitting my chest with her designer Birkin bag, treating me like a hopeless disappointment. Right at that exact moment, the glass door creaked open again.

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I was pulling a graveyard shift for a delivery app when I unexpectedly ran into Beth. She took the pharmacy bag of condoms from my hands, pulling her silk robe tighter around herself. Her neck was pale, dotted with fresh red marks. She looked at me with casual indifference. “Is this all you do now?” I offered a polite smile. “I am broke. Don’t forget to leave a five-star review.” A man’s voice called out from inside the penthouse, urging her to hurry. Beth glanced back over her shoulder, but still paused to look at me. “I haven’t changed my number.” “If you are struggling, all it takes is a phone call.” I did not bother giving her an answer. I just turned and hurried down the hallway as the app pinged with my next order. Honestly, I was already used to not loving her anymore. 1 When I got back to the dispatch station, my phone buzzed with a bank notification. Beth had just wired one hundred thousand dollars into my old checking account. I stared at the screen for a moment. After a long hesitation, I hit the button to reverse the transfer. I was working myself to the bone to save up medical fees for my family. Truth be told, that kind of money would instantly lift the crushing weight off my shoulders. But it would also drag me right back into another abyss. An abyss named Beth. It took me three years of crawling through glass to climb out of there. Jumping back in would make me a complete fool. Beth did not send a follow-up text. But the very next night, she ordered delivery again. The algorithm assigned the route to me. When I arrived at her luxury high-rise, the elevator that worked perfectly fine yesterday was suddenly blocked off with an “Out of Service” sign. I had no choice. I climbed thirty-six flights of stairs. When I finally stood panting in front of Beth’s door, she just raised an eyebrow. “Sorry about this. We used up all the ones from yesterday.” I waved it off, catching my breath. “Sounds like you two have a very active sex life. Good for you.” I turned to leave, but Beth reached out and grabbed the back of my jacket, her grip tight. She gritted her teeth, her voice thick with a bitter resentment I could not even begin to understand. “Noah, why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?” “Would it kill you to just say one soft word to me?” I had no idea what game she was playing. I twisted my arm, broke her grip, and walked away to grab my next delivery. Three years ago, I said every possible word a man could say to Beth. I begged. I cursed. I screamed. I whispered shattered declarations of love. All I ever got in return was the deafening slam of a door and endless busy signals on my phone. What exactly did she want to hear from me now? Running into Beth again felt like a nightmare waking up from hibernation. You forget the exact details the second you open your eyes, but that heavy, suffocating dread clings to your skin all day. Or at least, I thought that was the worst of it. When I returned to the station, Beth’s sleek black sports car was parked right out front. Frank, my shift manager, rushed out to meet me. He slapped my back, looking a mix of furious and amused. “Noah, why didn’t you tell me your sister is the billionaire heiress they always talk about on the financial news?” “She is sitting right inside my office. Says she came to take you home.” “Listen to me, man. Stop fighting with your family. Go back and live your life as a rich kid.” The blood drained from my face, leaving me freezing cold. My legs gave out. I crouched down in the shadows by the curb, curling into myself. My voice was completely muffled. “She is not my sister. She is my ex-wife.” “The kind of ex-wife you have a very, very ugly divorce with.” 2 Frank’s face changed instantly. He stayed quiet for a second, then shoved me deeper into the shadows by the alley so I was completely hidden. He walked back inside to deal with Beth himself. I do not know what he said to her, but it did not take long for Beth to march out the front doors, her face dark with anger. Frank practically herded her to her car. By the time I gathered my composure and walked inside, Frank was staring at the table, looking incredibly stressed. He gave me an awkward smile when he saw me. Then he reached behind his desk and pulled out a cheap grocery store cake and two six-packs of beer. The light from a single candle flickered in his eyes. “Look at this mess. I was supposed to give you a surprise.” “Happy birthday, brother.” That was when it hit me. Today was my birthday. Seven years ago on this exact day, I was the happiest groom on the planet. Three years ago on this exact day, I pressed a paring knife against my own throat and signed the divorce papers. Today, I was just me. And I had absolutely nothing to do with Beth anymore. I wiped the moisture from the corners of my eyes, closed them, and made a wish. I wished for Frank to live a long, happy life. I wished for Lily to get well soon. And I wished that the last two days were just a bizarre glitch in the universe, and that Beth and I would never cross paths again. Frank felt bad about how the night went down, so he insisted on treating me to dinner. We found a late-night diner. After a couple of beers, something inside me broke loose, and I started telling him about Beth. Honestly, Beth calling herself my sister was not entirely a lie. When I was nine years old, the Sinclair family took me in. I became their foster son. My father died when I was a baby. My mother raised me all by herself. She was a senior director at Sinclair Enterprises. One day, the Sinclair heiress came to tour the corporate estate and accidentally fell into the massive ornamental lake. My mother used every last ounce of her strength to push Beth above the surface. But my mother never came back up. Beth owed me a life. From that day on, she was ready to lay down her own life for me at a moment’s notice. When I first transferred to her elite prep school, I fell behind on the curriculum. The rich kids mocked me and looked down on me. Beth dragged them up to the school roof. She fought them with her bare hands, sobbing the entire time. When the principal called the parents in, her eyes were still red, but she stood her ground. “They made fun of my brother! They called him a stray dog with no family! I am not dead yet! My mom and dad are not dead yet!” Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair rushed to the principal’s office. One rubbed his temples, the other offered a helpless smile. Neither of them wanted to be the one to discipline their daughter. When I first moved into the Sinclair mansion, I could not sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the nightmares came. In my dreams, my parents were lying on metal tables under white sheets, and no matter how loud I screamed, they never answered. I never made a sound in my sleep, but Beth somehow always knew. She would drag her pillows and blankets into my room, yawning, and set up camp right next to my bed. She would reach up and pat my back. “Go to sleep, Noah. Your sister is right here.” By the time we hit high school, I started getting confessions from girls. As the attention grew, Beth’s temper got worse. She stopped wanting to call me her brother. And if anyone else dared to call her my sister just to get close to me, she exploded like a powder keg. After she ruthlessly bullied the hundred-and-first girl into crying and running away, her best friend made a joke. “Beth, are you falling for your own foster brother?” “You guys do not share any blood. He has not even had his first kiss yet, and you are acting like a guard dog. It makes total sense if you are just jealous.” Beth’s face turned bright red. It was like a lightbulb finally clicked on in her head. She went home utterly speechless. That weekend, Mr. Sinclair called her into his study. They argued for hours. When she came out, there was a red handprint on her cheek. But she did not care at all. She just looked at me and smiled the sweetest smile. When we got acceptance letters to the same university, Beth confessed her feelings to me. I had absolutely no reason to say no. She was my guardian angel. For over a decade, she had stood firmly between me and my nightmares. Once she realized her own feelings, she went straight to her parents and confessed, clearing all the obstacles out of our way before I even had to ask. Without Beth, my life would instantly have a massive, gaping hole in it. A hole nothing else could ever fill. We dated through college. It was incredibly sweet. When we graduated, I proposed to her. And that was exactly when everything started going straight to hell. 3 After graduation, we both started working at Sinclair Enterprises. The corporate machine never slept, and Beth and I rarely saw each other. She was the future CEO. I was just another corporate drone. Even on our rare date nights, I was always the one getting pulled away by emergency work calls. Beth hated it. She threw tantrums, and I naturally felt terribly guilty. After working seven days straight, I finally caught a break. I wanted to surprise her at home. I thought we were on the same page. When I walked through the door, the floor was covered in rose petals. My favorite love song was playing on the speakers. The air smelled of expensive wine. My heart melted. I walked into the master bedroom. And my soul was ripped into a million tiny pieces. Beth was curled up in the arms of a strange man. He was wearing my bathrobe. They were dead asleep, exhausted from whatever they had just finished doing. My entire world collapsed. I ran out of the apartment we bought for our wedding. I blocked her number everywhere. It took her three days to track me down. The proud, radiant Sinclair heiress looked absolutely wrecked. Her face was pale, her eyes completely bloodshot. She wrapped her arms around my legs, swearing on her life that she just had too much to drink. She claimed she thought that college intern was me. “Noah, I know I messed up. I deserve to die. But I just missed you so much.” “You are never home. Everyone keeps joking that my fiancé is a ghost.” “We have been together for over a decade. Are you really going to throw me away over one stupid mistake?” I hesitated. Seeing the crack in my armor, Beth immediately fired the intern. She kicked him out of the Sinclair building in front of everyone. Watching him walk out the glass doors holding a cardboard box, looking completely humiliated, I actually felt a tiny twinge of pity. We got married exactly as planned. At the wedding, her parents cried tears of joy. Beth smiled so hard she looked like she was glowing. Caught up in the magic of the day, I made a silent promise to myself. I was going to care for her more. I was going to be a perfect husband, and one day, a perfect father. So, when she suggested I quit my job after the wedding to stay home and take care of our family, I agreed without a second thought. Time flowed by like water. A few years later, Mrs. Sinclair baked some fresh pastries and asked me to drop them off for Beth at the corporate office. As I walked past the breakroom, I heard a group of guys laughing and bragging. One voice sounded incredibly familiar. “Hey, bet you guys didn’t know this. The boss’s husband used to be a charity case. He was the Sinclair family’s foster kid.” “Talk about a parasite. Seducing his own foster sister to climb the social ladder. Who could possibly be more shameless than him?” It turned out the entire company knew. The intern never actually left Sinclair Enterprises. Beth spoiled him rotten. He felt invincible. He said whatever he wanted, and most people assumed he was slandering me under orders from the Sinclair family themselves. The executive position I emptied when I quit? It was handed to him the very next day. But Beth was the heir to the throne. I was just the outsider living off her scraps. Nobody was going to risk their career to cross her and tell me the truth. I was just a colossal idiot kept completely in the dark. When I kicked the door to Beth’s office open, she was signing contracts. She did not even look up. “Didn’t I tell you Noah is coming to see me today?” “Be a good boy and make yourself scarce. I will spend time with you tomorrow. I will buy you that sports car you wanted.” When she got no answer, she looked up, a soft, indulgent smile still painted on her face. Instead of her lover, she saw my pale, bloodless face. 4 I tore the Sinclair corporate office apart. I demanded a divorce. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair scolded Beth, then immediately pivoted to lecturing me. “Noah, Beth only has you in her heart.” “That guy is just a pet to her. Like a stray cat or a dog. It doesn’t mean anything.” “In our social circle, keeping a little toy on the side is completely normal. You need to be the bigger person. Do not lower yourself to her level, okay?” I was the foster son. I had over a decade of history with them. Before we got married, nobody even brought up a prenup. Mrs. Sinclair used to tell me I was her own flesh and blood. She promised her company shares would go straight to me, to protect me. Holding onto a shred of hope, I looked at her. “Mrs. Sinclair, if I were your biological son, would you tell me to endure this? Would you tell me to just swallow it?” She avoided my eyes. She gave a bitter smile and stopped talking. When we were kids, Beth gave me a home. Decades later, I realized I never truly had one to begin with. The second time around, Beth did not panic. She did not look wrecked. She went to work. She came home. And she kept spoiling her intern. Nosy friends asked her if she was worried I would actually file for divorce and take half the Sinclair empire. She leaned back into the intern’s chest and laughed. “Noah? Since we were kids, he has followed me around like a loyal dog. Even if I kick him, he will just whimper and crawl right back.” “Let him throw his little tantrums. He can never escape the palm of my hand.” Everyone thought I was just throwing a fit. They thought I would wake up to reality and never actually leave. So when I filed the lawsuit and requested a zero-dollar divorce—asking for absolutely nothing—nobody was prepared. The tabloids ran wild with the story of the billionaire heiress and the zero-dollar divorce. The Sinclair Group’s stock tanked overnight. Mr. Sinclair went into a blind rage and suffered a massive stroke. While Mrs. Sinclair was rushing him to the hospital, their car was hit. Everyone in the vehicle, including the driver, died on impact. When I arrived at the hospital morgue, Beth charged at me and slapped me across the face with everything she had. She screamed, her entire body shaking. “Noah, just because you are an orphan, did you have to destroy my family too?!” “How can you be so incredibly cold-blooded? I wish… I wish I had never met you!” I was already paralyzed by grief. Beth hit me with a terrifying amount of force. I stumbled, the room spinning violently. And then I just blacked out. The only thought echoing in my head as I fell was a deep, hollow regret. Beth was right. If I had never met her, my mother would still be alive. I would still have a home. I would have someone who genuinely loved me. Someone who would stand between me and danger without a second thought, and always take my side. Beth, I really wish I had never met you either. When I woke up, Beth was sitting by my hospital bed. She was resting a hand on her flat stomach. The hatred on her face flickered, morphed, and eventually vanished. She spoke softly. “Noah, I am pregnant.” “You are giving me a family again.” “For the baby’s sake, let’s just pretend none of this ever happened. Okay?” I was completely drained. My soul was hollow. In absolute despair, I nodded my head.

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1 I was cutting through the underground parking garage when I saw it. My ex’s sedan was rocking violently on its suspension. Behind the tinted, reinforced glass, I heard a muffled, tear-choked scream from my best friend: “No… please, stop…” Any normal person would have pulled out their phone to record the affair. But me? I’m the ultimate ride-or-die bestie. A hot surge of adrenaline slammed into my brain, bypassing all logic. “You filthy animal! Forcing yourself on my girl in broad daylight? Baby, hang on, I’m coming for you!” I didn’t hesitate. I snatched the fire extinguisher from the wall and went full-on berserk, hammering the heavy canister against the windshield of his million-dollar ride. CRACK! SMASH! CRASH! Safety glass sprayed like diamonds. The screaming inside turned into a terrified shriek. Before the two naked bodies inside could even process the assault, I jammed the nozzle of the dry-chemical extinguisher through the shattered window and pulled the trigger. FOOSH! A suffocating, blinding cloud of white powder instantly filled the cabin. … The air turned into a choking, chemical nightmare. “Cough! Cough! Gag!” Hacking and retching, they finally kicked the doors open. Two pale, shivering figures—looking like deep-fried shrimp covered in flour—tumbled onto the concrete, scrambling for cover. The garage smelled of harsh chemicals and raw panic. The guy wiped the white dust from his eyes, his pupils bloodshot with pure, unadulterated rage. He locked eyes with me and his jaw dropped. “You lunatic! Have you lost your mind? I’m your—” Before he could finish, I launched a brutal kick squarely into his chest, sending him sprawling back into the wreckage. “Shut your mouth! A rapist trying to talk back? Security! Get me some rope! We’ve got a perverted freak attacking someone down here!” My voice echoed off the concrete walls like a siren. It was rush hour at the corporate plaza; the blaring car alarms and my frantic screeching drew a crowd of onlookers like moths to a flame. Phones were out, flashes popping like a paparazzi frenzy. My heart hammered against my ribs. I snatched a grimy, sweat-stained security guard’s parka and lunged forward. “Baby, stay with me! I’ve got you!” I wrapped my best friend, Elena, in the heavy, moldy jacket, cocooning her like a mummy. I pulled the collar tight—so tight it covered her nose and mouth. Elena thrashed inside the fabric, muffled sounds of “Mmph! Mmph!” erupting from the coat. I pinned her down, turned to the gathering crowd of lens-wielding vultures, and let out a sob that tore through the air: “Don’t record this! Please, show some decency! Give her some dignity!” I knelt on the floor, cradling the “mummy” in my arms, tears streaming down my face. “She’s the victim! Do you know who she is? She was just voted ‘Teacher of the Year’ in this city! She’s supposed to be teaching children tomorrow! If her students’ parents see this, how will she ever stand in front of a class again? To think she was assaulted by… this monster! God, have mercy!” The words “Teacher of the Year” hit the crowd like a shockwave. The laughter died, replaced by gasps of genuine horror. “Wait, that’s her? The one from the news?” “That’s sick. In the middle of the day?” “Is he even human? Someone break his jaw!” A few hot-headed employees were already rolling up their sleeves, ready to jump the guy. 2 Inside the parka, Elena was fighting for air, trying to push her head out to explain, but I wailed even louder, drowning out her muffled cries. “Baby, don’t be scared! I don’t care that you’re dirty! Nobody will ever know it was you! As long as I’m breathing, I won’t let that scum’s filth stain your reputation!” That was when Marcus finally cleared the dust from his lungs. He crawled halfway out of the car, his face white, his features twisted in fury. “Sarah! Are you blind?! It’s me! I’m your boyfriend!” The entire room—no, the whole garage—went dead silent. Every head swiveled between us, hungry for the drama. I stood frozen for a beat, acting like the betrayal had just shattered my soul, then I let out a scream that was even more pathetic and piercing than the last. “AAAAAH!” I lunged at Marcus and swung my arm with everything I had. SLAP! The sound was like a gunshot. The force sent a cloud of white powder flying off his face. “You have the nerve to call yourself my boyfriend?!” I was shaking, my finger inches from his nose, tears pouring down. “How could you do this to my best friend? Do you even have a soul?!” Marcus was reeling, clutching his cheek, his teeth bared. “Are you crazy? She… she was the one who seduced me!” SLAP! Another strike, even harder this time. I felt the skin break at the corner of his mouth. “You filthy liar! I won’t let you drag her name through the mud!” I turned to the crowd, sobbing. “People, judge for yourselves! My best friend loathes cheaters! She’s a woman of absolute integrity! She’s going to be my maid of honor next month, for heaven’s sake! You think she’d throw her life away for someone like him?” I locked eyes with Marcus, my gaze filled with the jagged edge of betrayal. “Marcus, you’re so desperate to save your own skin you’d destroy an innocent woman’s reputation? You’re not even a man. You’re trash.” The crowd swayed. Someone muttered, “Yeah, that’s twisted. Who hits on their best friend’s bride-to-be?” “He definitely drugged or forced her. Look at her, she’s so terrified she can’t even speak.” The sympathy in the room was palpable. Marcus was officially the villain. 3 Sirens wailed in the distance. Marcus was thrashing in the back seat, shouting at the arriving officers like he’d found salvation. “Officer! It’s a setup! It was consensual! This crazy woman assaulted me! I want to press charges!” “Still lying?” I stepped in front of Elena like a mother hen shielding her chicks. I pointed straight at the backseat of his wrecked ride. “Officers! Look! Look under the seat! That’s the evidence!” A cop peered inside with a frown, pulling out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs and a leather crop with a pair of sterile evidence tweezers. A wave of knowing titters rippled through the crowd. Even the cops looked uncomfortable, their expressions shifting from duty to disgust. I pointed at the items, my entire body trembling. “Why are you laughing? This is sick! My friend is a teacher! She doesn’t even wear skirts above her knees! She’s the most conservative person I know!” I glared at Marcus, who was being dragged out and pinned against the hood. “Marcus, you’re a deviant! You forced her to use these? Is that how you treat a woman? You’re a monster!” The crowd stopped laughing. A respectable woman wouldn’t touch that gear. He had to be the sick one. Marcus turned purple. “Those are just toys! It was consensual! That’s our business!” “Business?” I gasped, turning to the police with eyes full of tears. “Officer, who uses a whip in a healthy relationship? Please, save her! She’s been screaming for mercy!” The police officer looked at the gear, then back at the hysterical crowd. The pressure was on. “Enough! Save it for the station!” CLICK. The handcuffs went on Marcus. He was shoved into a cruiser, shouting into the void. I stood there, clutching a shivering Elena, refusing to give a statement. “Officer, can we get her to the hospital first? She inhaled so much dust and she’s in a state of severe shock! She needs medical care now!” I squeezed the cop’s hand, my voice cold as ice. “We want a full medical exam. A gynecological report. We’re going to sue this animal for every cent he has!” Elena went rigid at the word exam. The ambulance roared toward the city hospital. Once on the stretcher, Elena was finally freed from the coat. She was hacking, coughing up white dust, her face a mask of trauma. When I reached for her purse, she froze, her eyes widening in sheer terror. “Oh, baby! Don’t move! The doctor said your airways are scorched!” I gently pinned her hand down and snatched her phone. 4 Elena was crying, shaking her head, her throat raw and failing. “You want to call your parents, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll show them exactly what this monster did to you.” I swiped her phone across her face. Beep. Face ID unlocked. Elena squeezed her eyes shut, her body shuddering. A nurse hurried over. “Ma’am, stop moving! You’re on an IV!” “It’s okay, she’s just panicked, she wants her mom,” I cooed to the nurse. I turned my back to Elena and dialed the number of her uptight, image-obsessed parents. The moment they picked up, I didn’t say a word—I just started wailing. “Auntie… something happened to Elena… Marcus… that animal… I shouldn’t have let him near her…” I gave them just enough—assault, undressed, police are here—to trigger their worst nightmares. Every word was a needle to their pride. Twenty minutes later, they burst into the ER. Her father looked like he’d aged ten years, his knuckles white around his walking cane, his face a storm of rage. “Dad… Mom…” Elena shrank under the blankets. Before they could speak, I dropped to my knees. “I’m sorry! It’s my fault! I didn’t see him for the beast he was! He dragged her into the garage… the handcuffs… if I hadn’t arrived, he would have destroyed her!” Her mother started wailing, clutching her daughter. “My poor baby! What kind of karma is this? How are you supposed to get married now?!” Her father banged his cane on the floor. “Where is he? I’ll kill him! And you—why were you even with a man like that? Do you know what this does to our reputation?!” Elena looked ready to faint. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but I lunged up, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Doctor! Get in here! She’s hallucinating! She needs a sedative, now!” The staff rushed over. “What’s happening?” “She’s in shock! She’s trying to defend her attacker! He’s completely broken her mind!” In the chaos, I leaned in close to her ear, my whisper sounding like a velvet-lined threat. “Baby, take a good look at your father’s cane.” She went rigid. “Think carefully,” I breathed. “If you say it was forced, you’re the victim. Everyone will pity you. Your parents will shield you. But if you say it was consensual… knowing how much your father cares about his ‘image,’ do you think he’ll stop at just shouting? He might beat you to death right here in this room.” I paused, my voice chilling. “And tomorrow, the headlines will read: ‘Teacher of the Year caught in affair.’ You’ll be ruined. Your parents’ entire legacy will burn. So, what’s it going to be?” I felt her hot tears hit my skin. I patted her back like I was putting a child to sleep. “Choose.”

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1 Bayport called me the luckiest woman alive. They said I was a substitute who had worked my way into his bed and his home. Even after I lost our son, Nicholas kept me in luxury, holding me in the palm of his hand. For five years, I searched for my boy like a woman possessed, traveling through ninety-nine cities. I cut myself ninety-nine times when the despair grew too heavy to bear. Nicholas never blamed me. He showered me with gentle care, nursing me through every breakdown. Waking from my hundredth episode of self-harm, I saw his bloodshot, exhausted eyes and felt a wave of crushing guilt. I decided it was time to let go of my obsession and start over. I put on the long dress he had gifted me five years ago and walked to his study, ready to thank him. But through the cracked door, I heard him laughing softly into his phone. “Don’t worry, Vivienne. The boy has been with you for five years. He only knows you as his mother.” “Emma was only a substitute so I could marry you. Since your body was damaged and you couldn’t conceive, it was fair she bore a child to pay her debt.” “Once she moves past this, we can have plenty of other children.” I stood frozen in the corridor, my blood turning to ice. Two thousand nights of self-loathing and torment, his performative devotion, all a twisted lie to make his muse smile. Nicholas, being the mother of your child is too exhausting. I am done. … “Who is out there?” The study door was flung open. He was holding his phone, the tender smile on his lips freezing the moment he saw my pale face. “Emma? Why are you barefoot?” He took a step forward, reaching out to scoop me up out of habit. I recoiled, jerking backward. Nicholas’s hands hung uselessly in the air. “You heard all of that?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, since you know, there is no point in hiding it anymore.” “Nicholas, is it true? Everything you just said?” My voice shook violently, my nails biting so deep into my palms that they nearly broke the skin. “Emma, calm down.” He stepped closer, towering over me. “Vivienne destroyed her uterus saving my life years ago. She can never be a mother. You are her sister. Helping her fulfill that dream was the least you could do.” “Fulfill her dream?” I stared at him, my eyes wide with sheer disbelief. “I carried him for nine months! He is my flesh and blood!” “But you only got to marry into the family because of Vivienne.” His voice was flat, each word a cold blade plunging straight into my chest. Everyone in Bayport knew Nicholas would never tolerate anyone implying his wife was just a placeholder. Yet here he was, saying those very words himself. “All these years, I have tolerated your tantrums, stayed by your side through everything. Haven’t I been good enough to you?” I stared into his dark eyes, finding them utterly unrecognizable. Five years ago, we had a massive fight over a lipstick stain on his collar. In a fit of rage, I walked out with our one-year-old son. I bent down for just a second to tie my shoe, and when I looked up, he was gone. For thousands of nights, I knelt in chapels until my knees bled, begging God to return my boy. Every time I sliced my wrists in sheer hopelessness, he would sit by my hospital bed with red, tearful eyes, begging me to live. He told me: “Emma, even without the baby, you still have me.” It was all a lie. Even that argument had been a meticulously orchestrated trap. “What am I to you, Nicholas? A breeding machine?” I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “I am going to find my son! I am bringing him home!” I spun around to run downstairs, but a hand clamped onto my wrist. He jerked me back, trapping me against his chest. “Emma, that is enough!” He hissed, his voice dripping with irritation. “Frankie has lived with Vivienne for five years. He thinks she is his mother. If you go barging in now, you will only terrify him.” “Let me go! You liar!” I thrashed wildly, sinking my teeth deep into his shoulder. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but he did not even flinch. “Guard,” he called out coldly. “My wife is having another episode. Take her back to her room.” “And make sure she does not go anywhere near Vivienne.” He released me, letting the guards haul me away. “Get some rest, Emma. We will talk when you have cleared your head.” He walked back into his study without a backward glance. They threw me into the bedroom and locked the door. I collapsed onto the floor, looking around. The vanity held a diamond necklace he had bought at an auction just to make me smile. The closet was packed with limited-edition designer dresses he had sourced from around the globe. I scrambled to the closet and pulled out a storage bin. Inside were Frankie’s baby clothes. A faded bib sat right on top. For five years, I had slept clutching it to my chest. Tears dripped onto the worn fabric. The door opened, and Maria, the housekeeper, walked in with a warm bowl of soup. “Ma’am, please eat something.” I looked up at her like she was my last lifeline. “Maria, please help me. Let me borrow your phone. I need to call the police…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Ma’am, stop making a scene.” I froze, a chill creeping into my bones. “You… you knew too?” She continued folding clothes. “Miss Vivienne is gentle and kind. The young master is living a blessed life with her. If you really love him, you will let this go.” She walked out, locking the door behind her. I sat on the floor, numb. It turned out I was living in a real-life Truman Show, where everyone was in on the joke. My agony was nothing but cheap entertainment to them. I wiped my tears, stood up, and banged on the door. “Nicholas won’t let me look for my son,” I shouted to the guard outside. “But he never said I couldn’t visit my mother.” Ten minutes later, the door opened. Nicholas looked at the bib clutched in my hand, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. “Going to see your mother might do you some good, Emma,” he said softly. “I will have some men drive you to keep you safe.” Safe? He meant watched. The rain tapped against the car window. My reflection looked hollow, eyes dead. My mind drifted back ten years. Vivienne and Nicholas were the golden couple of their university. But Vivienne broke his heart to pursue her dreams abroad. Nicholas fell gravely ill. When he finally recovered, he saw me, a girl who looked seventy percent like his lost love. He offered to make me his substitute. My pride screamed at me to refuse, but my mother begged me. “Emma, you have loved Nicholas for years. Now is your chance. Your father’s business needs his backing. Do it for the family.” So, I agreed. During those first few years, Nicholas treated me beautifully. He made me believe I had actually crawled into his heart, that I wasn’t just a shadow. The night before our wedding, my mother wept. Nicholas knelt before her, promising, “I swear, I will never let Emma suffer a single day of unhappiness.” Even when Vivienne suddenly returned to the country on our wedding day, he did not leave me. He held my hand firmly and walked me down the aisle. Back then, I thought I was the happiest woman on earth. When the baby went missing, he never blamed me. His bloodshot eyes and the scratches on his hands from my panic attacks became the chains of my guilt. But it was all a trap. He had set the stage just to rob me of my child. “We are here, ma’am,” the driver’s voice shattered my thoughts. I pushed the door open, letting the rain soak my dress as I ran inside the house. My mother frowned when she saw me drenched. “Emma? What on earth happened to you?” I broke down, throwing myself into her arms. “Mom… Frankie isn’t dead. Nicholas gave him to Vivienne! Please, you have to help me get him back!” My mother’s body went rigid. Slowly, she pushed me away. “Emma, sit down first,” she said, her voice quiet. “The boy is safe and sound. Isn’t that the best possible outcome?” A loud buzzing filled my ears. “Mom? What are you saying?” She sighed, looking at me with forced pity. “Vivienne was alone abroad for so many years, and her health is fragile. Having a child keeps her company. Besides, she is your sister. It is only right the boy calls her mother. Would you rather he be lost in the streets, dead or alive?” Each word felt like a physical blow. “You knew,” I whispered, my voice trembling. She avoided my eyes, picking up a towel to dry my hair. “I had no choice, Emma. Nicholas promised that if I kept this from you, he would stop your father from divorcing me. You are still the wealthy Mrs. Huo. Vivienne is your sister. Why must you fight her over this?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Vivienne was my father’s daughter born out of wedlock. Years ago, my mother hated her and her mother with a passion. Yet now, she was calling her my sister. I stood up slowly. “Frankie is my life.” She sighed and walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a mug of warm milk. “Drink this and calm down, Emma. Nicholas hid it because he cares about your feelings. If you really can’t accept it, I will help you.” Believing her, I swallowed the milk. But within minutes, my eyelids grew incredibly heavy. My mother guided me toward the guest bed. “Just sleep, sweetie. Everything will be fine when you wake up.” She had drugged me. My own mother had poisoned me just to protect Vivienne’s stolen happiness. Despair washed over me. I couldn’t sleep. If I fell asleep now, I would wake up back in Nicholas’s golden cage. I pulled off the jade bracelet Nicholas had given me for our first anniversary. I smashed it against the nightstand, picked up a jagged shard, and sliced it deep into my arm. The sharp, burning pain jolted my mind awake. Bleeding, I climbed out of the low window into the rainy night. I knew where Nicholas kept his other estate. He often claimed he was working late there. Now I realized he was just keeping his two families perfectly balanced. I took a cab, stumbling through the rain toward the gates of the suburban villa. Just as I reached the corner, a luxury SUV pulled up. Vivienne stepped out. Then, a little boy hopped out after her. My son. Even after five years, I knew him instantly. He was holding a colorful card, presenting it to Vivienne like a trophy. “Mommy! Look what I made in school for Mother’s Day! The teacher said we should give the prettiest flowers to the person we love most. I love you the most, Mommy!” His bright smile pierced my chest. “Frankie…” Tears blinded me as I rushed forward. “I’m your mommy! I’m your real mommy!” I reached out to hold him, even if just for a second. “Stop her!” Vivienne shrieked. Two bodyguards shoved me backward. I fell hard onto the wet asphalt, scraping my palms. “Let me go! Let me see my son!” I sobbed, staring at the boy hiding behind Vivienne. “Frankie, look at me… I am your mother…” Frankie peeked out. Suddenly, he broke away from Vivienne and ran toward me. A spark of hope flared in my chest. I pushed myself up, opening my arms. “Frankie, come to mommy…” But he did not hug me. Instead, he swung his heavy school backpack, slamming the metal buckle directly into my forehead. A sharp pain exploded in my skull. Blood trickled into my eyes, painting my world red. “You are the bad woman who abandoned me!” Frankie yelled, his face flushed with anger and hatred. “Mommy told me everything! You hated my crying and dumped me at the mall! Vivienne is my only mommy! Go away!” A child’s words, yet they tore my soul to shreds. I had spent five years bleeding and weeping for him, only for him to believe I was a monster who threw him away. I looked up at Vivienne. She stepped forward, taking Frankie’s hand. “Be polite, Frankie. She did give birth to you, after all.” “I don’t want her! She is crazy!” Frankie buried his face in her side. I forced myself to stand. “What did you tell my son, Vivienne?” She leaned close, whispering so only I could hear. “Just the truth, little sister. You were nothing but a surrogate. Nicholas only married you because of your face. Now that you know, why don’t you just disappear? Neither of them wants you.” The agony of five years morphing into absolute fury, I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. She screamed and tumbled to the ground. “Mommy!” Frankie cried, lunging at me like a feral animal. “You hurt my mommy! I hate you!” “Emma! What do you think you’re doing?” Nicholas’s voice roared through the rain. He rushed forward, shoving me aside with such force that I crashed against the concrete edge of the flowerbed. He did not even look at me. “Vivienne, are you alright? Are you hurt?” He draped his coat over her shoulders. “I’m fine… don’t be mad at Emma. She just misses the baby…” Vivienne whimpered, looking utterly pathetic. Nicholas turned his cold, furious gaze on me. “Emma, I have tolerated enough of your madness!” Clutching my bruised ribs, I began to laugh. “Are you still playing pretend, Nicholas? You gave my child to her and taught him to hate me. You watched me tear the world apart looking for him for five years. What are you made of?” His face remained utterly emotionless. “Your depression has worsened. You are having severe hallucinations and violent episodes. Tomorrow morning, my men will take you to a private sanitarium in the mountains.” “No! I’m not crazy!” I struggled to stand. Suddenly, Vivienne screamed. “Frankie! No!” Frankie had run toward the unfenced riverbank. He slipped on the wet grass, losing his balance and tumbling into the rushing water. “Help! Mommy, help me!” “Frankie!” Without a second thought, I dived into the freezing river. I swam frantically toward his thrashing form. Then, another splash. Vivienne had somehow fallen in too, flailing close to the shore. “Nicholas… save me…” Nicholas jumped in. But he did not swim toward his son or his wife. He swam straight toward Vivienne. I used the very last of my strength to push Frankie to the muddy bank, where a guard pulled him up. Frankie looked back at me, his eyes filled with malicious spite. He kicked his foot out, striking me squarely in the chest, pushing me back into the deep current. I had no strength left to fight. The freezing water rushed into my nose and throat. As I sank, I could hear Nicholas frantically comforting Vivienne. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness pull me down. Nicholas, if there is a next life, I hope I never lay eyes on you.

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1 After my death, Rachel, the serial killer who had terrorized the entire country, was finally captured. But she was cunning beyond belief. Every year, she would confess to a new, unsolved murder just to delay her execution. Because each confession turned out to be chillingly true, her case was constantly re-examined, driving the public’s fury to an absolute boiling point. Until the eighth year. Just when everyone believed Rachel had finally run out of secrets, she dropped another bombshell. “For years, you have all been begging me to reveal where Lucas is. Well, I can tell you now: he is dead. I killed him.” “Absurd!” My sister, the lead prosecutor on the case, immediately fired back. “Lucas was jealous of his adopted brother. He hired you to kill him, and when the hit failed and you were caught, he fled the country with millions in family assets. He is still a fugitive. How could he possibly be dead?” Rachel looked up, her single good eye glinting as she let out a mocking laugh. “Someone did hire me back then, but it wasn’t him. And the target? It was him.” “Don’t believe me? The criminal profiler who helped catch me, wasn’t she his fiancée? Bring her here. Let’s see if she can drag the truth out of me so you can finally close this file.” … A collective gasp echoed through the courtroom, every eye locking onto my sister, Abigail. I was hovering just behind the prosecution bench, barely half a foot away from her. I could feel the sudden, suffocating catch in her throat. When my breath left me eight years ago, my consciousness did not fade. Instead, a strange, invisible force anchored me to the people I had once loved most. I had watched Evelyn write countless psychological analyses of me on her whiteboard after I vanished, ultimately concluding that I had a strong motive and the capability to commit the crime. I had watched Abigail build the prosecution’s case, declaring that my jealousy of Thomas had driven me to pay an assassin to put an end to him. Our parents could not survive the devastating blow. They collapsed, hospitalized with strokes, and never woke up again. After their joint funeral, Abigail wiped my name from the family records, erasing my existence like a stain. From that day on, Thomas became the only son, the only brother left in the family. Two years later, carrying the legacy and wealth that should have been mine, he married Evelyn in a lavish wedding. Every single milestone of their lives tore through my spectral soul. In the courtroom, Abigail’s hand trembled, her pen pausing over the legal pad. She stared at Rachel for a long, quiet moment. “The evidence in this case is ironclad, and over seven appeals, the courts have consistently ruled that Lucas fled the country after orchestrating a murder-for-hire plot.” “Your fabrications are nothing but a desperate attempt to delay your execution. The prosecution requests a recess.” The judge slammed the gavel. Abigail packed her files and walked out without looking back. I followed her out of the courthouse, drifting all the way to the cemetery. Standing before our parents’ headstone were Evelyn and Thomas, their fingers tightly intertwined. Hearing footsteps, Evelyn turned around, her voice raspy. “Did she talk? Did she say where Lucas is hiding?” Abigail shook her head, her face grim. “She claims… Lucas died eight years ago. She says she killed him.” “That’s impossible! It’s ridiculous!” Thomas interrupted, his voice cracking with defensive anger. “If Lucas is dead, who hired her to kill me? Who emptied our family’s bank accounts?” “If he hadn’t committed those atrocities, Mom and Dad wouldn’t have suffered those fatal strokes. They died within a month because of him!” “They loved him so much, yet he didn’t even show up to their funerals. He took the money and hid like a coward. Eight years, and not a single word!” He grew increasingly hysterical, clutching his chest as if the grief were too much to bear. Evelyn wrapped her arms around him, soothing him with gentle whispers. “Don’t cry, Thomas. Abigail and I would never believe her lies. Lucas committed those crimes. Even if he and Rachel collaborated on this story, the truth cannot be rewritten.” I floated right in front of her, watching the utter hatred burning in the eyes of the woman who had once promised to love me forever. My soul felt drenched in ice. During our happiest years, Evelyn had held my hand, swearing she would always stand by me. Yet she was the one who drew up the criminal profile that branded me a monster. I wanted to scream that I was innocent, but no sound came. Abigail looked down at the gravestone, her expression conflicted. “I also believe Rachel is lying. She uses these confessions to buy time. But this time, she specifically asked to see the profiler who drafted Lucas’s profile. She wants you to judge if she’s telling the truth.” Evelyn’s eyes flickered, but she remained silent. Thomas reached out, gently supporting her slightly protruding pregnant belly. “Evelyn, don’t go. Your third trimester has been so difficult, and you haven’t been sleeping. Let me look after you. Don’t waste your energy on a lunatic.” Evelyn looked at him, torn, but ultimately shook her head. “No, I have to see her. For eight years, we’ve lived in this shadow. Whether Lucas is alive or dead, I need to know where he is.” That evening, in the high-security visitation room. The moment she saw Evelyn, Rachel’s lips curled into a sickening grin. “Well, if it isn’t the brilliant profiler. I’ve heard so much about you.” Evelyn sat down, her gaze icy. “Lies won’t save you. Tell me where Lucas is.” Rachel leaned back, chuckling. “What’s the rush? We have plenty of time. That profile you wrote for Lucas… it was a masterpiece. Even I believed he was the killer when I read it.” She paused, her tone turning mocking. “But it’s a pity. A top-tier profiler like you couldn’t even see through the man you claimed to love. The monster you described cried like a baby before he died. He lost all his dignity, kneeling in the dirt, begging me to spare his life.” Rachel seemed to lose herself in the memory, mimicking my terror with dramatic gestures. “Please don’t kill me! I have a family who loves me, and a fiancée I’m supposed to marry! She’s three months pregnant with our baby! Please, I’ll give you everything, just let me live!” Hearing her mimic my dying pleas in that high-pitched, mocking voice, my spectral form convulsed with agonizing pain. The memories of that dark basement and the smell of my own blood rushed back. I screamed in silence, hiding my face. Evelyn flinched, suddenly looking toward the empty space where my spirit hovered, as if she had felt a sudden chill. The next second, she slammed her hand onto the table. “Enough! Shut up!” “Why should I?” Rachel laughed harder. “Don’t you want to know how he died? I stabbed him forty-three times, carefully avoiding his vital organs. I wanted him to bleed out slowly, to feel his life draining away.” “The boy who loved you so much crawled on the floor, clutching his stomach, begging for a savior who never came. In the end, he just stared at the ceiling, weeping until his eyes ran dry of blood, and then he stopped breathing…” “I told you to shut up!” Evelyn roared, her voice cracking. “You can’t manipulate me with these sick fantasies! Lucas is alive. And as for my pregnancy back then, it was a false alarm. You can’t shake my resolve!” Rachel’s eyes turned mocking. “Are you trying to convince me, or are you just trying to quiet the guilt in your own heart?” She dragged a piece of paper and a pen toward herself, scribbling rapidly. Then, she slid the paper across the table and closed her eyes. “I’ve said my piece. Let’s see if the brilliant profiler can crack this puzzle.” Evelyn looked at the paper. It was covered in strange, twisted lines that resembled neither letters nor symbols. Before she could demand an explanation, the guards entered and led Rachel away. Evelyn sat frozen, staring at the paper until Abigail and Thomas walked into the room. “Evelyn, are you okay? What did she say?” Thomas hurried to her side, looking at the paper. “What is this? It’s just scribbles. We shouldn’t let a lunatic waste our time and ruin the department’s credibility!” Before anyone could stop him, he snatched the paper and tore it into shreds. The officers in the room gasped. “Thomas! That was potential evidence! We could have analyzed or reconstructed it!” Thomas ignored them, turning to Abigail with tears in his eyes. “Abigail, please don’t dig into this. Rachel is a psychopath. If she keeps spouting these lies, it’s only going to hurt us, the real victims!” “Eight years ago, to save me, you took three stab wounds from Rachel. You were in the hospital for three months, and the doctors said you almost didn’t make it. I don’t want you to suffer anymore. Lucas already destroyed our family once. Are we going to let him do it again through her?” Looking at his tearful, protective face, Abigail’s resolve crumbled. “Thomas is right.” “Rachel is just playing games to stall her execution. Maintain the original verdict. No further investigations will be opened. Anyone who pries into this privately will face disciplinary action.” The officers nodded and filed out. My heart sank into an abyss of cold despair. My own sister had just closed the door on the truth. But then, Evelyn spoke up. “I have some paperwork to finish at the office. Abigail, please take Thomas home first.” As she spoke, she adjusted her glasses, a tiny habit she only did when she was hiding something. Only I noticed. I followed her back to her private office. She locked the door, rushed to the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet, and pulled out the old dusty file on my case. She grabbed a fresh sheet of paper, closed her eyes, and with a few precise strokes, recreated Rachel’s sketch perfectly from memory. Her spatial memory was flawless. She compared the sketch with the old street maps of the city. Just as she was on the verge of making a breakthrough, her phone rang. It was Abigail. “Evelyn, Thomas is in terrible shape. The stress of today’s events has triggered his panic attacks, and it’s putting your pregnancy at risk. He is hyperventilating and losing consciousness. I’m driving him to the hospital right now. Get here quickly!” Evelyn rushed out, leaving the files scattered on her desk. I followed her to the hospital. In the private room, Thomas looked pale and fragile. The moment he saw Evelyn, he threw his arms around her. “Evelyn, you’re finally here!” “I dreamed of Rachel… she was chasing me with a knife! I ran, but there was nowhere to hide. I’m so scared. For eight years, I haven’t had a single peaceful night. As long as she’s alive, the nightmare will never end! I feel like I’m losing my mind!” Evelyn held him, whispering comforts, but he kept sobbing. Abigail stood by the window, her expression grim. “The doctor says your pregnancy is highly unstable due to the sheer stress Thomas’s episodes are causing you. If this keeps up, you and the baby will both be in danger.” She gritted her teeth. “Lucas, you are truly heartless. Even after eight years, you won’t let Thomas go. You’re using Rachel to destroy him!” She stormed out of the room. “Where are you going?” Evelyn called out. “To the courthouse. I will demand the immediate authorization of Rachel’s death penalty. She won’t have another day to terrorize this family!” Thomas gradually calmed down. But then, Evelyn’s phone rang. It was her colleague. “Evelyn, your office just caught fire! We put it out quickly, but many files were destroyed. You should come check.” The files of my case were ancient and unique; there were no digital backups. Before Evelyn could leave, Thomas clutched her sleeve, begging her to stay. And once again, she prioritized him. I watched her sit by his bed until he fell asleep. My ghostly heart, which I thought could no longer feel, broke all over again. By the time she left the hospital, it was dawn. Abigail called her. “Under my pressure, Rachel’s execution has been fast-tracked. It will take place at ten this morning.” Evelyn was stunned. “So soon?” “For Thomas’s sake, she cannot live another day.” Evelyn was silent, then hung up. But right before she did, Abigail added: “Evelyn, I dreamed of Lucas last night. He was just a small, timid boy, the way he was when we first brought him home from the orphanage. He would save a piece of candy in his pocket for weeks, but for my birthday, he spent all his savings to buy me those high-heeled shoes I had only mentioned once. I keep wondering… how did such a sweet boy become a monster?” She hung up. Evelyn stood frozen at the green light until the cars behind her honked. When she reached her office, the desk where my files had been was reduced to ashes. She collapsed to her knees. “Am I too late?” Then, she remembered the pattern. She dipped her finger in the soot and drew it on the floor. She pulled out her phone and opened the old geographical maps of the city from eight years ago, overlaying the twisted lines onto the old grid. The intersection matched a massive, abandoned construction site that had been derelict for a decade. She drove there immediately. The concrete structure was decaying, steel rods rusting in the open air. Evelyn searched the dark basement with a flashlight, room by room, until she found a hidden chamber. Inside was a dusty crate. She opened it to find rows of videotapes, each labeled with a date. She recognized the dates; they were the active dates of Rachel’s victims. Her hands shook as she found the tape with my disappearance date. She started the old generator, popped the tape into the dusty player, and the screen flickered to life. Before the image even cleared, a desperate, sobbing voice echoed through the concrete room. “Please, please don’t kill me. I have people I love… I haven’t even said goodbye to her… I don’t want to die here…” It was my voice. Evelyn’s face turned white as a sheet.

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1 To marry Connor, I severed all ties with my family. My father struck my name off the family records right in front of my eyes. My mother slapped me across the face, declaring that from that day on, she no longer had a daughter. I didn’t regret it. Our engagement dinner was set for the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel. Two hundred invitations had been sent out. Dressed in a rented gown that pinched my waist, I waited for three hours. He never showed up. My calls went straight to voicemail, and my messages were left unread. I forced a smile and told the remaining guests that he had been called away for an urgent business trip. When the venue emptied, I was left to clean up the wreckage alone. My phone buzzed with a social media notification, a trending local post. Connor, heir to the Holden family empire, marries his childhood sweetheart. The attached photo showed him in a tailored suit, holding Fiona’s hand outside the courthouse, a red marriage certificate proudly in hand. The registration date was three days ago. I carefully folded the rented gown, packed it back into its garment bag, and dialed a number I hadn’t called in three years. “Mom, can I come home?” … “You still have the nerve to call this home?” My mother’s voice cracked through the receiver, so raspy and hollow that I barely recognized it. I opened my mouth, but the words withered in my throat. “Your father had heart bypass surgery last month. He spent twenty days in the ICU.” A loud ringing filled my ears. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” “Tell you? You were the one who said you were marrying that Connor fellow, no matter what. You told us you were done with this family.” “Mom, I—” “Don’t call me Mom. You haven’t used that word in three years, don’t start now.” The line went dead. I redialed immediately, but the phone was already switched off. Huddled on the curb outside the ballroom, I stared at the trending post. The comments section was already in the tens of thousands. Someone had screenshotted the status I had posted three hours ago, captioned: “Finally, the wait is over.” The top comment below it read: “Too bad he wasn’t the one waiting for you.” The banquet manager walked out, a clipboard in his hand. “Miss Shen, the remaining balance is thirty-six hundred dollars. If we don’t settle this tonight, there will be a late fee.” “Can I do a wire transfer?” “Yes, that works.” I opened my mobile banking app. My balance was exactly thirty-six hundred and two dollars. It was the sum of three years of quiet, painstaking savings. Once the transfer cleared, my balance was exactly two dollars. The manager gave me a fleeting look, perhaps searching for some words of comfort, but ultimately nodded and walked away. At the bridal boutique, the assistant quietly took the garment bag from my hands. “Did it get stained, Jane?” “No, it’s clean.” “Here is your deposit refund.” “Thank you.” I took a cab back to our apartment. When I pressed my thumb against the smart lock, the screen flashed with two words: “Access Denied.” I tried three times, but the result was the same. I messaged Connor: “I can’t get in.” It marked as read. Eight minutes later, he replied with a six-digit passcode. No greeting, no explanation. I punched in the numbers and pushed the door open. The first thing I saw in the foyer was a pair of plush pink slippers. They were not my size. On the entryway table sat a massive bouquet of baby’s breath with a card: “Fiona, welcome to your new home. Love, Connor.” I had lived here for three years, and he had never once bought a single flower for me, not even on the day we moved in. On the coffee table was a pink mug painted with the words “Mrs. Holden.” A lavender cardigan was draped over the sofa. It wasn’t mine. The bedsheets in the master bedroom had been replaced with purple silk. The cotton sheets I had bought were stuffed into the absolute bottom of the linen closet. My clothes had been shoved into a tight corner of the wardrobe to make room for a row of new dresses. The price tags were still attached, the cheapest one costing four hundred dollars. In three years, I had never spent more than thirty dollars on a single piece of clothing. On the back of the bedroom door, there was a sticky note in Connor’s handwriting. Jane, sleep in the guest room for a few days. Fiona just moved in and is still adjusting. Just a temporary arrangement. I stared at those words, then slowly peeled the note off the wood. My phone rang. I called Connor back, and this time, he answered. The background was loud, filled with clinking glasses and chatter, like a busy restaurant. “Jane, this isn’t a good time.” “Did you marry Fiona?” A heavy silence lasted for two seconds. “I’ll explain later.” “Then why was my fingerprint deleted from the door?” “Fiona wanted to reset the security settings. I’ll add yours back tomorrow.” His voice was flat, as if he were discussing the weather. “Two hundred people watched me wait for three hours today, and you couldn’t even manage a single phone call?” “Don’t get hysterical, Jane. It’s not what you think—” Suddenly, a soft, whiny voice drifted through the line. “Connor, the soup is getting cold. Come back to the table.” He lowered his voice. “I have to go. We’ll talk later.” Later. For three years, every promise he made was pushed to some vague “later.” I clutched my phone, sitting on the edge of the guest bed. Five minutes later, an unknown number popped up. “Jane? It’s Fiona.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “Connor wanted me to let you know he won’t be coming home tonight. He said you shouldn’t wait up and should get some rest.” I said nothing. She paused for a beat, then added: “Jane, Connor always says you’re the most understanding person he knows. He knew you wouldn’t get upset over something so minor. He said you never mind.” “Jane? Could you open the door? I’m here to grab some things.” Fiona was standing outside the door at noon the next day. She wore a cream-colored knit dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders, holding two cups of iced boba tea. I unlocked the door, and she slipped on those pink slippers, walking in as if she owned the place. Her movements were entirely natural; she didn’t even have to look for the light switch. The switch was hidden behind a decorative wooden panel in the corner, a detail that had taken me a week to find when we first moved in. She curled onto the sofa, placing the cups on the table. “I got you one. Low sugar. Connor said you don’t like sweet things.” I didn’t touch it. “What are you here for?” “Just a few changes of clothes. It’s a bit inconvenient for Connor and me to keep staying at the hotel.” She smiled, walking into the master bedroom to open the closet. As she passed the nightstand, she casually picked up the photo frame. It was the only picture I had with Connor. I had begged him for hours before he finally agreed to take it, his face entirely expressionless the entire time. Fiona stared at it for a moment, then flipped it face-down on the table. “We probably don’t need this anymore, right?” I walked over and flipped the frame back up. She tilted her head, her tone carrying a mock gentleness. “Jane, do you really not know?” “Know what?” “Connor said your engagement was just for show. His grandmother’s health is failing, and she was pressuring him to settle down, so he just went along with it to keep her happy.” Just to keep her happy. Three years ago, when I cut ties with my family to be with him, he had held me and said: “Jane, you have me now.” He had convinced me to turn down a prestigious corporate management track position in Seattle so I could move to New York and help him launch his startup. An offer with a six-figure salary, crumpled and thrown into the trash. He told me we were building our future together, that everything we made would be ours. And I had said yes. He told me things were tight and asked me to cover the company’s operating costs with my savings. And I had said yes. All those sacrifices, reduced to “just for show.” Fiona pulled a stack of clothes from the wardrobe, spotting my faded floral dress tucked at the very bottom. “This dress looks so old, Jane. You still keep it?” “I bought it in college.” “Ah, that explains it.” She packed her things and headed for the door, stopping near the guest room. “By the way, Jane, you might want to start packing your things. Connor said we’re officially moving back in next week.” I looked at her. She quickly waved her hands. “Oh, I don’t mean to kick you out! I just don’t want our things getting mixed up. Connor said you’re incredibly reasonable, so I knew you wouldn’t take it the wrong way.” As she bent down to change her shoes, I noticed a silver bracelet on her wrist. It was the bracelet that belonged in my jewelry box, the one my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday. “Where did you get that bracelet?” She looked down, her tone dripping with innocence. “Connor gave it to me. He said he found it at a local vintage market. Pretty, isn’t it?” He had taken my mother’s gift and handed it to another woman, calling it a market find. I stood frozen. Fiona opened the door and smiled back. “Oh, one last thing. Connor is going to cancel the supplementary credit card you have. An account can only have one secondary card, and he needs to set up a new one for me.” I was the one paying off the monthly balance on that card. “Really? Well, thank you so much, Jane.” She took a few steps, then turned around again. “Connor told me to tell you that he appreciates everything you’ve done during this transition, and he’ll make it up to you later. But you’ll have to wait a little bit. We haven’t paid the deposit for our honeymoon hotel yet.” “Jane, don’t go online today.” Sarah’s message had been sent at two in the morning. I didn’t see it until seven. “What happened?” “Someone leaked photos of you from yesterday.” I opened social media. The top trending local post read: The Engagement Dinner Farce: Bride-to-Be Left Waiting in an Empty Ballroom for Three Hours. The attached photos had been taken covertly by one of the guests. The rented dress, the empty head table, and me sitting there alone, forcing a smile as I raised a glass to toast the remaining crowd. The comments were merciless. Renting a gown for an engagement? How pathetic. Why try so hard to climb into a family like that? This is hilarious. Stood up in front of two hundred people, and she still tried to cover for him by saying he was on a business trip. Winner of the most pathetic partner of the year. I turned off my phone. Two minutes later, it rang again. It wasn’t Connor; it was his mother. “Jane, dear, I wanted to discuss something with you.” Her tone was far more polite than usual, the kind of forced politeness that makes your skin crawl. “Don’t worry about those online posts. I’m trying to get them taken down.” “They won’t go away, Mrs. Holden.” “Well, then we’ll handle this another way.” She paused. “To be honest, Jane, when Fiona returned from abroad last year, she was hesitating about committing to Connor. So Connor had to find a way to nudge her.” “What way?” “By setting up an engagement with someone else, just to give her that final push.” My ears rang. “So the engagement was a lie?” “Not a lie, exactly… just a gesture. A temporary arrangement.” I looked down at the simple silver band on my finger. It had cost thirty dollars at a small artisan alley. I had picked it out, buying a matching pair. He had worn his for two days before taking it off. I had worn mine for three years. “Mrs. Holden, I was the one who printed those two hundred invitations. I was the one who paid the deposit for the ballroom.” “Connor will pay you back.” “When?” “Once things settle down for him financially. By the way, Jane, about the twenty thousand dollars you lent his company—” “What about it?” “Things are really tight with the business right now. Do you think you could…” I hung up before she could finish the sentence. I checked our joint savings account on my banking app. Balance: zero. The last transaction was three days ago, the day he registered his marriage with Fiona. He had withdrawn twelve thousand dollars. The transaction note read: Honeymoon Fund. That money was what I had earned from working freelance over the last six months. He had told me a joint account would make things easier once we married, that it would be our shared asset. And I had believed him. My phone buzzed. It was Sarah. “Jane, I can’t keep this from you anymore.” She sent a screenshot of a group chat named Connor’s Campaign Crew. Connor had sent a message the night before the engagement dinner: Once tomorrow’s performance is over, we’re done. Keep your mouths shut around Jane. The replies were lined up. Copy that. Brilliant, man. Can’t believe she actually fell for it. The last message was from Connor: a laughing emoji. Sarah added: I’m so sorry. I only found out yesterday that you were actually left waiting there. He told everyone you were just helping him run the event as a favor. If you have nowhere to stay, come to my place. I stared at that screenshot for a long time. The laughing emoji. At nine that night, Connor finally called. “Jane, don’t take what my mother said to heart. She doesn’t know how to phrase things properly.” “What about the group chat screenshot?” A three-second silence. “Who showed you that? It was just my friends fooling around.” “The laughing emoji was also just fooling around?” He let out a heavy sigh, his tone sharp with irritation. “Jane, can you please stop obsessing over such minor things? I told you I’d explain everything when I get back.” “You always say that.” “Then what do you want me to do?” I held the phone, silent. He waited, his tone softening slightly. “Just calm down, alright? It’s not what you think. Let’s talk in person.” Connor didn’t show up until three days later. Fiona was right behind him as he pushed the door open. She slipped into her slippers and curled up on the sofa as if she had never left. I stood by the guest room door, watching them. He glanced at the packed suitcase in the room. “Looks like you’ve made up your mind. I found a small studio apartment for you, fully furnished. I’ll cover the deposit and the first three months of rent.” “I put eight thousand dollars toward the down payment of this place.” “I’ll pay you back later.” “What about the twelve thousand from our joint account?” “Fiona needed to book the flights and hotels. Consider it a loan.” “And the twenty thousand I lent your company?” “The business is strapped right now. You’ll have to wait.” I looked at him, realizing his eyes didn’t even flinch as he said those words. He believed he was being perfectly reasonable. My gaze drifted to Fiona’s neck. She was wearing a delicate silver necklace with a tiny star pendant. I had saved up for two months to buy him that necklace for his birthday. He had told me the style was too feminine and refused to wear it. Now it was around her neck. “I bought that necklace.” Fiona touched the pendant, looking at Connor. “Connor, didn’t you say you bought this for me?” He frowned. “It’s just a necklace, Jane. Let’s focus on the important things.” I didn’t sit down. He sighed. “I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me and the company over the last three years, and I appreciate it. But we can’t force feelings. Once Fiona came back, I realized I couldn’t let her go.” “So you married her three days before our engagement dinner.” “She finally agreed to settle down, and the timing was tight. I couldn’t delay it.” “But you could let me wait for three hours without a single phone call?” He looked away, his voice quiet. “That was my mistake.” Fiona gently tugged at his sleeve. “Connor…” He patted her hand comfortingly. I knew that gesture too well. He used to pat my hand the exact same way, telling me everything would be fine. I let out a quiet laugh. “Fine. I’ll take my things. You can keep the rest.” He seemed startled. “You… aren’t going to demand an explanation?” “You just gave me one.” I turned, walked into the guest room, and shut the door. Through the wood, I could hear their muffled voices. Fiona chuckled softly. “See, Connor? I told you she wouldn’t make things difficult for us.” He replied quietly: “That’s just how she is. She won’t make a scene. Don’t worry.” That’s just how she is. She won’t make a scene. I turned off my phone, knelt down, and pulled my suitcase from under the bed. It had been with me for three years, its corners scuffed and the zipper temperamental. I packed my clothes, placing the faded floral dress on top. I didn’t have much to carry anyway. Within thirty minutes, everything was packed. I took off my house keys and set them on the entryway table. I unclasped the silver band from my finger and left it beside them. Fiona was wearing my mother’s silver bracelet. I didn’t ask for it back. Perhaps that was the last trace of my existence in this apartment. I didn’t look back as the door closed. I walked down and hailed a cab. Before turning my phone off, I sent one final message: The keys are on the table. Don’t contact me again. Then I went to the carrier store, canceled the number, and got a new SIM card. When Connor returned to the apartment that evening, he saw the keys and the ring. He pushed open the guest room door, finding nothing but an empty bed. He frowned and dialed my number. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”

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1 It was the New Year’s holiday weekend, and I had been invited to the city’s annual Comic-Con. The transit bus was packed to the gills. I had just squeezed my way on when a sharp, hysterical shriek pierced the air right next to me. The girl beside me was sobbing, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “What do you think you’re doing? You pervert! Get your hands off me!” The words acted like a match to a powder keg. The surrounding passengers swarmed us instantly. Before I could even process what was happening, several heavy hands grabbed my shoulders and slammed me hard against the cold glass of the window. “Scumbag! Doing that in broad daylight!” I struggled against their grip, my chest tight with a mix of panic and fury. “What are you talking about? I didn’t touch you! You’re making things up!” “Yes, you did!” she wept, her voice trembling with theatrical distress. “You reached right under my clothes! Why else would my zipper be down?” That was all the crowd needed to hear. “Shameless creep!” “Disgusting trash! Someone take a video of his face!” Amid the sea of curses and aggressive shoves, I managed to slip a hand into my pocket, desperately trying to pull out my phone to dial 911. This was completely insane. The “victim” crying her eyes out was a guy. And I? I am a girl. Who was assaulting whom, exactly? “He did it,” the college girl sobbed, pointing a finger at me. “The second I got on, I felt someone groping my back. I turned around, and he was pressed right against me! Who else could it have been?” The air in the bus seemed to freeze. Every eye in the carriage locked onto me, heavy with judgment. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” An older woman in a heavy winter coat pushed through the crowd, handing the girl a tissue before turning a venomous glare in my direction. “Broad daylight, and you’re pulling this crap on a public bus? Do you think the rest of us are dead?” “Exactly! Don’t let him get away with it!” someone shouted from the back. “Don’t worry, honey, we’ll all testify for you!” Being the target of all that collective rage made my skin crawl, but the sheer absurdity of the situation almost made me want to laugh. “Everyone shut up!” I roared, my voice cutting through the noise. I pointed directly at the weeping student. “Are you all blind? Look at her! Does that look like a woman to you? Why would I even want to touch her?” The bus went quiet for a split second. People instinctively looked closer at the girl’s face. Behind the smeared makeup, her skin was thick and coarse, and her shoulders were broader than the older woman standing next to her. Her face flushed a deep, angry crimson. “What is that supposed to mean?” Her voice pitched into a screech that nearly split my eardrums. “Just because I’m on the heavier side, I’m not a woman? First you grope me, and now you insult me? You absolute bastard!” Before the last word even left her mouth, she lunged at me. Terrified, I ducked quickly, slipping behind an elderly man standing nearby. Smack! A loud, wet slap echoed through the bus, landing squarely on the old man’s cheek. He let out a sharp cry of pain. His reading glasses flew off, clattering onto the floor as he stumbled backward. “My tooth! Oh, my tooth!” The old man collapsed onto the floor, clutching his jaw and groaning in agony. The girl froze, quickly pulling her hand back. She knelt down in a panic to help him. “Sir! Oh my god, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you! Are you okay? Let me help you up.” Still shaking from the adrenaline, I peeked out from behind the seat. “You all saw that, right? She’s the one who threw the punch! That has nothing to do with me!” “Bullshit!” She stood back up, tears streaming down her face again. “If you hadn’t coward out and hid behind him, would I have hit him? Everyone, look at this guy! He gropes me, insults me, gets an innocent old man hurt, and now he’s trying to wash his hands of the whole thing! Is he even human?” Her words reignited the crowd’s anger like gasoline on an open flame. “You’re full of crap!” I snapped, my head pounding with frustration. “You’re not even a wo—” “Shut your mouth!” The bus driver, who had been silent until now, slammed on the brakes and glared at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes cold. “You assaulted the girl, the evidence is clear, and you’re still trying to lie your way out of it? I’m not stopping at the next station. I’m taking this bus straight to the local precinct! Let the cops deal with you!” “Good!” “Thank you, driver!” “Send the creep to jail!” The passengers erupted in cheers, punctuated by more curses directed at me. I stood there, utterly speechless, a heavy lump of frustration settling in my chest. Today was New Year’s Day. I was supposed to be at Comic-Con, dressed up as my favorite male character. The button-up shirt, the cargo pants, and the short, styled wig were all carefully chosen to bring him to life. But under all of this, I was undeniably, biologically, a girl. 2 “Sir, wait,” the college girl said softly, wiping away tears that weren’t actually there. “Thank you for standing up for me, but maybe we shouldn’t go to the police? I just wanted an apology. If he gets a criminal record, I’m terrified he’ll hunt me down and retaliate.” She sounded incredibly fragile and sweet, but I caught the quick, calculating look she shot me. I wanted to scream in sheer frustration. If I hadn’t seen her on the platform before we boarded, frantically stuffing two heavy silicone inserts down her dress and gluing on thick, crooked false eyelashes in the shadow of the station, I probably would have believed her Oscar-worthy performance too. “Hold on,” I interrupted, raising my voice. “You keep claiming I groped you. But where’s the proof? This bus is packed, yet did anyone actually see my hands on you? Or does a simple accusation make me guilty?” The question made a few passengers pause. It was true. No one else had actually stepped forward to say they saw me touch her. Seeing the shift in the room, the girl’s tears flowed even faster. “How can you keep lying like this?” She clutched her skirt tightly. “It was you! The moment you got on, you squeezed in right behind me. You started by rubbing my back, and then you reached lower. The bus was crowded, and the more I tried to pull away, the closer you pressed, until I finally screamed!” “That’s enough!” The older woman in the winter coat stood up, her face flushed with rage. “You shameless pig! You do something that disgusting, and then you force this poor girl to relive it in front of everyone? Have you no shame?” Her outburst rallied the crowd once more. “Scumbag!” “Degenerate!” “Driver, step on it! Don’t let this trash slip away!” The girl collapsed back into the older woman’s arms, sobbing so hard she looked like she might faint. The anger inside me finally boiled over. “Where is the proof?” I shouted, my voice cutting through the noise. “Which hand did I use? Left or right? How long did I touch you? Aside from your words, who can back you up? This bus has security cameras. When we get to the police, I’m demanding they pull the footage! We’ll see who’s lying then!” “You’re still denying it!” She looked around wildly, as if driven to the brink of despair. “Fine! You want me dead? I’ll show you!” Without warning, she bolted toward the closed doors of the moving bus, looking as if she was actually going to throw herself out. “Oh my god! Stop her!” “Grab her!” The bus fell into complete chaos. Several passengers rushed forward, grabbing her arms and pulling her back from the doors. The older woman wrapped her arms around the girl, her voice trembling. “Sweetheart, don’t do this! A piece of trash like him isn’t worth your life! He’s the criminal, not you! Don’t do anything foolish!” This dramatic display wiped out any remaining doubts the passengers had. A wave of collective fury directed itself entirely at me. “Look at what you’ve done!” “You monster!” “This is basically attempted rape!” “Do you have to kill her to be satisfied?” “Driver, drive faster! Get him locked up!” The insults rained down on me. The girl was led to a seat, her shoulders still shaking with heavy, dramatic sobs. I didn’t understand why she was so intent on destroying me. But if she was going to drag me down, I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. I took a deep breath, staring directly at her tear-streaked face. “You keep saying I assaulted you. Fine! Let’s say I did. But that’s assuming you’re actually a woman in the first place!” 3 I stepped closer to her, ignoring the cheap foundation and smeared mascara running down her face. “Are you absolutely sure you’re a woman?” The entire bus fell dead silent. Everyone’s gaze bounced back and forth between us, confused by the sudden turn of events. “What are you saying? Of course I’m a woman! Do you want me to strip naked right here to prove it? How can you be so incredibly cruel?” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “Oh, my poor girl!” The older woman held her tighter, glaring at me. “You sick kid! Your heart is black! You should be put away for life!” I ignored her. My eyes remained locked on the pale, sweating face of the accuser. “There’s no need to take off any clothes. It’s simple. Just take off that scarf. Men have an Adam’s apple. Let’s see yours, and we’ll settle this right now.” “You shameless creep!” a young woman with a ponytail yelled, pointing at me. “Exactly! How is this any different from assaulting her all over again?” “Can’t you see her chest? Are you blind?” “Her chest?” My eyes drifted down to her front. The two massive curves were sitting unevenly, one significantly higher than the other. It was a bizarre, unnatural shape, but the crowd was too blinded by anger to notice. Seeing that she was clutching the scarf tightly and refusing to move, I took a step forward and reached out. Before my hand could get close, she grabbed her own collar and ripped it open. The buttons flew off, exposing a pale, ample chest to the open air. A few sharp gasps echoed through the bus, and some of the men instinctively looked away. “Fine! You wanted to look? Look!” Her voice shook, and huge tears rolled down her cheeks. “See for yourself! I am a girl! I am not a man! Stop making up excuses, you disgusting pig!” The sight of her seemingly humiliated and vulnerable pushed the crowd’s anger past the boiling point. “Worse than a beast!” “Sue him, sweetie! We’ll all stand up for you in court!” “Call the police now! Let him rot in jail!” The passengers were practically foaming at the mouth, looking at me as if I were a hardened criminal. I stared at the pale skin exposed by the ripped fabric. Up close, the edge of the silicone prosthetic was visible. “Still looking?” The older woman stepped between us, raising her hand and swinging it down hard. Slap! A stinging heat bloomed across my cheek. “You animal! Where are you looking?” Her hands shook with rage, her finger nearly poking my eye out. “People like you make me sick! You’re going straight to hell! Just wait, the police are almost here. Let’s see how tough you are then!” The sharp pain on my face cleared away any remaining patience I had left. I pushed her hand aside. “Get out of the way! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” “Help!” Seeing me push forward, the girl let out a terrifying scream. “He’s going to kill me! He’s trying to choke me!” In an instant, half a dozen hands grabbed me from every direction. Before I could even register who was touching me, I was slammed face-first onto the cold, grimy floor of the bus. “Hold him down! Don’t let him move!” “Unbelievable! He’s still trying to fight!” “Don’t worry, honey! We’ve got him!” My arms were pinned painfully behind my back, and a heavy knee pressed into my spine, making it hard to breathe. 4 I struggled desperately. “Let me go! Let me go, you idiots!” “Don’t listen to him! Keep him down!” The girl’s trembling voice rose above the din. “His eyes… they were so scary. He really wanted to kill me!” “Hear that? Shut up and stay down!” “Don’t even try to move!” More people pressed in, forming a human wall to protect the “victim.” “You’re safe now, sweetheart. He won’t touch a hair on your head.” “We’ve got you covered.” Lying face-down on the floor, I could only see the legs of the passengers surrounding her. The older woman and a few others were fussing over her, offering water and whispering comfort. The fury inside me burned hotter than ever. “Let me up!” I yelled, straining my neck, the muscles in my throat tight with exertion. “Still talking? Quiet!” The hand on the back of my neck shoved my face harder against the floor, sending a flash of pain through my jaw. Just then, the wail of a siren grew louder in the distance. “The police are here!” “The driver must have called them!” “Thank god! Put this trash where he belongs!” The bus finally pulled over and came to a halt. “What’s going on here? Who called?” a firm voice called out as the doors hissed open. “Officer! Over here! We called!” The older woman’s voice was tight with excitement. “You have to arrest this pervert! He assaulted this poor girl, and when we stopped him, he tried to fight us and choke her!” “Yes! We all saw it!” “The evidence is right here!” A flood of accusations washed over the officers as they stepped on board. The police pulled me up off the floor. I stumbled, barely finding my footing. Two younger officers flanked me immediately, their hands resting near their belts, their eyes full of suspicion. The lead officer, a seasoned man with a stern face, looked around the chaotic bus before his gaze settled on the weeping, disheveled victim. He gestured for the crowd to quiet down, then turned to the girl. “Miss, are you saying this person assaulted you?” “Yes,” she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “He groped me the moment I got on the bus, and when I called him out, he tried to attack me.” She shrank back behind the older woman, revealing several red scratches on her collarbone. My eyes narrowed. Those marks weren’t there before. She must have scratched herself during the struggle. “Look, Officer! There’s the proof!” the older woman yelled. “He did that to her! If we hadn’t stepped in, who knows what he would have done!” The lead officer’s face darkened. He stepped closer to the girl, his tone softening. “Don’t worry. Tell me exactly what happened. Are those scratches from him?” Through her tears, she spun a vivid, terrifying tale of being followed, groped, and then assaulted when she tried to defend herself. The surrounding passengers chimed in, eager to confirm every detail as eye-witnesses. The officer listened, gesturing for his partner to take notes, before turning his attention to me. His eyes were cold, filled with deep distrust. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked. I licked my dry, split lip, forced a calm smile, and held out my hands. “Officer, I confess. I’m the one who groped this girl.”

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1 “Good morning, everyone. Please stop what you are doing. We are from the State Revenue Department, and we are here to audit your accounts.” Our reunion was entirely corporate. I was standing in his family’s high-rise, not as the girl who once begged for his attention, but as the senior tax auditor about to bring his empire down. Soon, he would be facing a prison cell. The Knight family patriarch, Thomas Knight, stepped forward, attempting to offer a warm, familiar smile to soften the tension. I stepped back, avoiding his approach with quiet professionalism. “Serena…” Austin Knight muttered, staring at me as if he were seeing a ghost. “Mr. Knight, in a professional setting, please address me by my title. I am Director Ward.” The sheer bewilderment on his face was almost comical. He was still stuck in the past, operating under the assumption that the moment he called my name, I would come running to lick his boots like a loyal dog. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Knight. We will await the audit results,” I said, offering a polite, empty smile. With that, I turned and led my team out of the Knight Group headquarters. I didn’t expect him to run after me, his heavy footsteps echoing down the marble hallway. “Serena! Wait! You… you’ve changed so much.” I paused, raising a hand to signal my team to head to the cars first. Once they were out of earshot, I turned to face him. “What is it, Austin? Did you expect me to still be that desperate, shameless girl you could summon and dismiss with a snap of your fingers?” I gave him a dry, humorless smile. His eyes rimmed with red. He looked utterly helpless, his lips parting to offer an explanation, but my patience had run out years ago. “I am not your wife anymore, Austin. I am not your cure. Go find someone else to save you.” I turned my back on him and walked away, but the cold wind outside immediately dragged my mind back to the past. Before marrying Austin, my life had been a series of closed doors. I couldn’t afford college tuition, we barely had enough to eat, and my mother was constantly battling chronic illness. I wasn’t blessed with some genius intellect either; my grades were mediocre at best. I scraped through a local vocational school and immediately went to work. So when Thomas Knight first approached me, I thought it was a cruel joke. He promised to pay off all my mother’s medical bills and give me a substantial sum of money. The catch? I would get none of the Knight family fortune, and I had to dedicate my life to caring for his autistic grandson, Austin. At the time, Austin was only sixteen. The first time I met him, he had tripped and fallen on the gravel path. His teeth had cut deep into his lip, leaving a trail of dark blood on the stones. Yet, he seemed entirely numb to it, pushing himself up to keep watering the roses. His face was deathly pale from the shock of the pain, but he didn’t make a sound. My heart ached for him. I immediately called the family doctor. Thomas watched me from the veranda. He made a proposal: one million dollars upon marriage, and another two million once a child was born. He would cover all other living expenses. To save my mother’s life, I accepted. When my former classmates heard the news, their reactions were filled with venom. “So you’re basically a legal escort? For a girl from a vocational school, you sure hit the jackpot!” “I hear that Austin kid is sickly and completely unstable. He’s not even normal.” Some of it was mockery, but most of it was pure jealousy. My impoverished life improved overnight. Looking at that silent, lonely boy, a profound sense of responsibility took root in my chest. He was always quiet, so I spent my days finding small ways to make him smile. Slowly, I learned his language. The first time I tried to touch his shoulder, he flinched like a wild animal, pushing me away with a low, defensive growl. Later, I learned that was a sensory trigger. But I didn’t give up. I prepared three meals a day for him. At first, he would dump the plates in the trash without a glance, so I began sitting beside him, waiting. If the food got cold, I warmed it up, repeating the cycle until he finally took a bite. Eventually, I could read him perfectly. A slight reach of his hand meant he wanted water. A twitch of his brow meant he wanted his sketchpad. In time, he stopped pushing me away. Once, when he had a high fever, I sat by his bed, placing a cool damp cloth on his forehead. He opened his glassy, dark eyes, staring at me for a long time before closing them again. “Thank you,” he whispered. We were married when we turned twenty. Austin stood at the altar with a blank, unreadable face, refusing to say a word. The minister looked incredibly uncomfortable, but the ceremony finished nonetheless. That evening, Thomas gave me a meaningful look. I swallowed my pride, put on a lace nightgown, and slipped into Austin’s bedroom. But that night, he threw a pitcher of ice-cold water directly into my face. 2 I had no idea he would react so violently. His teeth were clenched, his voice dripping with venom. “Have you no shame?” I was young, and the sudden rejection burned my face hot with embarrassment. A deep, suffocating wave of humiliation washed over me. He didn’t stop there. His words sliced through me like small knives. “Get out! You disgust me! They give you some money and you act like a whore!” “You think you’re worthy of being my wife? Get out of my sight, and don’t ever come back!” I fled the room in tears. From that night on, Austin stopped speaking to me entirely. I became a ghost in his house, completely ignored. Thomas told me to take things slow and not to rush him, warning me that giving up would mean breaching our contract. My mother called me too, her voice sharp with desperation. “Can’t you just slip something in his drink? You think they want you? They want a child!” “Do you want to see your mother die in this hospital bed before you actually try?” I placed a hand over my flat stomach. My mother had congenital heart disease, and her surgery was incredibly expensive. For her sake, I had to keep trying. Over the following months, I made myself indispensable. No one knew how to anticipate his needs better than I did. Perhaps his memory of the incident faded, or perhaps my quiet presence wore down his defenses, but his outbursts grew less frequent. Sometimes, when I did something right, he would offer a faint, awkward smile. Sometimes he would softly call me Serena. Once, when I burned my hand while making him an omelet, he silently brought over the first-aid kit and dabbed ointment onto my skin, his movements clumsy but gentle. Eventually, we developed a routine. If I didn’t turn on the living room lamps at exactly nine o’clock, he would pace the floor, his breathing shallow and anxious. The moment the warm light filled the room, he would freeze, slowly calming down. One morning, I caught a bad cold. Fearing I would pass it to him, I wore a mask and tried to slip out of his study as soon as I set down his breakfast. Austin, who usually kept his head buried in his art books, suddenly looked up. For the first time, his eyes locked onto mine, holding my gaze for several long seconds. Those empty, distant eyes seemed to carry a faint flicker of confusion, as if asking: Why are you different today? My heart skipped a beat. But the real shift happened on a stormy night. The thunder was deafening, shaking the glass panes of the villa. I was in my own room when I heard a low, whimpering sound coming from next door, like a wounded animal. I rushed in to find him curled into a tight ball at the corner of his bed, his head buried under a heavy duvet, his entire body shaking. I called his name softly, keeping my distance so I wouldn’t startle him. The shaking only intensified. After a moment of hesitation, I left the main lights off. I sat down on the carpet a few feet away from the bed and began to hum a soft lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was small. I hummed for a long time, until my throat felt dry and raspy. Slowly, the thunder rolled away into the distance. A small gap appeared at the edge of the duvet. In the darkness, I could feel his eyes watching me. He didn’t tell me to leave. The next morning, everything returned to normal. He didn’t even look at me. But when I went into his room later, I noticed he had placed a soft, velvet throw pillow on the exact spot on the carpet where I had sat the night before. It was his silent invitation. Small gestures began to build between us. When I swept the floors, he would quietly slide his books to the side of the sofa to give me space. He would eat the meals I experimented with, even when they were so salty they were barely edible. He still rarely spoke, limiting his vocabulary to “yes” or “no.” But we developed our own silent code. A finger pointed at his throat meant the tea was too hot. Sliding an empty cup toward me meant he wanted more. And I always understood. When Thomas came to visit, he was astonished by how stable Austin had become. My mother’s calls grew less frantic, filled with a desperate hope. “He’s warming up to you, isn’t he? There’s light at the end of the tunnel. Keep pushing, Serena. Get pregnant soon.” During those quiet, ordinary moments, my heart began to soften, like ice melting in warm water. I even began to allow myself a foolish thought: perhaps this quiet, gentle life was enough for us. 3 I began to view him as a wounded creature, and myself as the only person allowed close enough to bring him peace. I almost believed that this isolated island of ours was finally growing green. We spent five years in this comfortable rhythm, becoming silent partners who understood each other’s every move. But Thomas was growing impatient for an heir. Terrified that Austin would retreat into his shell if I pushed him, I kept delaying. Finally, losing his patience, Thomas took matters into his own hands and drugged both of our drinks one evening. That night was a blur of confusion and sharp pain. Austin was clumsy, rough, and entirely out of control. I felt as though my body were being torn apart, the metallic smell of blood hanging heavy in the dark room. When I woke up the next afternoon, the room was in ruins. Austin had smashed everything in sight. He shattered the clay figures we had sculpted together, broke my phone, and in his blind rage, grabbed me by the shoulders, shoving me violently until my head slammed against the wall. He didn’t speak a word, but his eyes were filled with a wild, terrifying fury. Only when I lay dizzy and bruised on the floor did he finally let go. He threw a single word at me before storming out. “Divorce.” He didn’t return that night. A torrential rainstorm hit the city, but despite my aching body, I went out into the cold night to look for him. I searched the streets of New Haven until dawn, my clothes soaked through, but there was no sign of him. Exhausted and running on empty, I finally dragged myself back to the villa, only to find Austin sitting on the sofa. He was holding a girl named Brooke Davenport. She was lovely, with the effortless grace and poise of a girl born into high society. Brooke was whispering in his ear. “You’ve changed so much since we were kids. You actually have expressions now. I was so surprised when you showed up at my house.” The rain had splattered her hemline, and Austin was gently, clumsily dabbing at it with his handkerchief. Brooke smiled, accepting his touch naturally. That was when I realized he had run to Brooke the moment he left. Their families were old friends; they had been childhood sweethearts. Whenever he felt overwhelmed or unsafe, he would go to her garden and wait for her. They talked about art, music, childhood memories, and mutual investments. Even when Brooke spoke quickly, Austin exerted all his energy to form sentences, trying desperately to keep up with her pace. He even poured her water without being asked, remembering that she took her tea with a single slice of lemon and no sugar. The very attentiveness I had spent five years trying to foster in him was on full display. But it was directed entirely at her. It was like a dozen small needles driving straight into my heart. He wasn’t incapable of caring for someone. He simply had never chosen to care for me. In front of Brooke, he wasn’t a helpless patient who needed constant care. He was a man. And I was just the uneducated girl who couldn’t understand a word of their sophisticated conversation. Eventually, Austin noticed me standing in the doorway, his eyes instantly turning cold and dismissive. Brooke blinked, looking at me. “Is this the girl from the news? Your wife, Serena?” Austin gave a tight, reluctant nod. Then he added, his voice dripping with disgust. “I don’t like her. Grandpa forced her on me.” “She’s desperate. She crawled into my bed to trap me.” “We’re getting a divorce.” I stood frozen in the hallway, the humiliation burning through my veins, leaving me completely hollow. Brooke offered a polite, strained smile, refusing to comment. She quickly checked her phone, made an excuse about a call, and stood up to leave. “Let’s catch up again soon, Austin. Bye.” She didn’t look at me once as she walked past. Her complete dismissal of my existence was the most humiliating part of all. 4 After that day, Austin began leaving early and returning late, treating me like an absolute stranger. On his birthday, I spent nearly one hundred thousand dollars, using almost all the savings I had, to buy him a rare sketch by a renowned master artist. I handed it to him, offering a small, hopeful smile. “Can we try to start over?” Austin’s face remained dark. He pulled out his lighter and set the edge of the sketch on fire, watching it burn to ash in the fireplace. “Divorce,” he repeated, his voice cold. “I don’t want cheap trash.” “Isn’t three million dollars enough for you to leave?” My mouth opened, but no words came out. My mother’s surgery had cost seventy thousand, and she had taken the rest to secure her own life, leaving me with barely ten thousand. But I didn’t say a word. His phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a message from Brooke: Thank you for the beautiful necklace, Austin. I love it. I saw his fingers, and my eyes fell on his hand. He was already wearing a custom platinum band. The matching one, no doubt, was on Brooke’s finger. I realized then that what we had wasn’t love. It was just a routine he had grown used to. Austin ordered me to stay out of his bedroom. But the very next day, Thomas demanded that I install a hidden security camera in Austin’s room. The old man had realized I was losing my grip on his grandson and wanted to monitor him directly. “He told me to stay out,” I pleaded with the butler. “Can’t you have one of the maids do it? I don’t want him to hate me any more than he already does.” But Thomas’s instructions were absolute: if I didn’t do it, it would be considered a breach of contract. I was quietly installing the device when I heard the door click. Austin had returned early to retrieve some files. Seeing me in his room, his face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. “Disgusting,” he spat, turning to the maid standing in the hallway. “Sanitize the room. Throw away anything she touched.” I clutched my burning cheek, staring at him. For nine years, I had been treated like a puppet. Thomas controlled me, my mother used me, and Austin despised me. What had I been fighting for? “Why is Brooke allowed to come and go as she pleases?” I whispered, the question slipping out before I could stop it. He looked at me as if the question itself were absurd. Yet, a small, foolish part of me still hoped for a different answer. Austin’s expression remained icy. “I love Brooke. It’s that simple.” Nine years of devotion, summarized in a single sentence. I stepped back, my heel catching on the edge of the velvet throw pillow he had placed on the carpet for me. He grabbed my arm and shoved me away roughly, my hands scraping against the sharp corner of the desk. “Get out, you leech.” “Why are you so stupid? Do you not understand plain English?” “None of this belongs to you.” Every word felt like a physical blow. My classmates and my teachers had always looked down on my poverty. I wasn’t some brilliant student. My father had died when I was young, and I had spent my entire life craving financial security, craving a real family. I thought that if I had a child with Austin, our baby would at least have two parents who stayed. But fortune had never been on my side. I hadn’t gotten pregnant that night. Seeing me stand there in a daze, Austin’s frustration turned into disgust. “What will it take for you to sign the papers?” “I don’t love you, and this isn’t your home.” Yet, as I turned to leave, he looked at the maid and muttered, “She looks pale. Call the family doctor.” It was always the same. A cruel blow, followed by a small, confusing act of concern. I wiped the dust from my hands, looking into his cold eyes. Nine years of companionship, reduced to nothing. I nodded slowly. “Fine. I agree to the divorce.”

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1 Ever since I was a little girl, I had a sneaking suspicion that I looked absolutely nothing like my parents. When I was ten, I read a web novel about a switched-at-birth scandal, and a lightbulb went off in my head. I was convinced. I had to be the fake heiress, living a stolen life. From that day on, I channeled every penny of my allowance into buying soap operas and switched-at-birth paperbacks, studying them late into the night. My parents went from finding it amusing to genuinely worrying about my mental health. Eventually, they gave in and lovingly rehearsed the “dramatic identity reveal” script with me hundreds of times. Then, on my eighteenth birthday, a sharp knock echoed through our front door. A man in a tailored suit stood on the threshold, delivering the exact line I had rehearsed for nearly a decade. “The truth is, you are not the biological daughter of this family.” I took a deep, dramatic breath, bracing myself for the tragic, exiled fate of the fake heiress. But the man’s eyes welled with emotional tears. “Miss, we have been searching for you for over a decade. You are the sole biological heiress of the Sinclair empire.” I stood there, completely frozen. This was bad. The script was completely wrong. I was the real heiress. Before I could even mourn the useless library of fake-heiress manuals I had accumulated, a terrifying realization struck me. If what this man said was true, it meant I was the biological daughter of the billionaire Sinclair family, but the adoptive, non-biological daughter of my beloved Mercer family. In other words, I was now in a quantum superposition of being both the real and the fake heiress at the exact same time. I looked at the DNA report in the butler’s hand, then turned slowly to look at my parents. My father was suddenly very interested in the ceiling molding, while my mother was intently studying the pattern on the floor tiles. A heavy sense of betrayal settled in my stomach. Pointing a trembling finger at the document, I asked, “Dad, Mom, how long have you known about this?” There was no running away from it now. My father finally tore his gaze away from the ceiling, letting out a heavy, incredibly guilty sigh. “Well, Valerie, the truth is, we adopted you from an orphanage when you were a toddler.” I nearly lost my mind. “Do you have any idea how much sleep I lost? The sheer amount of capital I invested in those books? The hours we spent rehearsing?” I practically vibrated with indignation. “You made me look like an absolute idiot!” Under my furious glare, my father offered a sheepish, placating smile. “At first, we just didn’t want you to feel insecure about being adopted. We didn’t want you to be sad.” “But then you seemed so incredibly passionate about the whole ‘switched-at-birth’ thing,” my mother chimed in, nodding eagerly to help clear the air. “You were having so much fun, and we figured, hey, it’s great family bonding! Honestly, Valerie, you were so invested in directing us. My acting skills improved so much that my friends stopped calling me a drama queen!” After a brief, tense standoff, the three of us finally sat down to listen to the Sinclair family butler finish his explanation. Apparently, I had been lost during a crowded festival when I was very small. The Sinclairs had spared no expense, mobilizing resources across the country for fifteen years, never giving up hope. The butler, whose name was Higgins, pulled out a few photographs. The couple in the pictures carried an undeniable elegance. The woman had the exact same delicate brow and sharp eyes as me; anyone with half a brain could see the biological connection. My mother peeked over my shoulder, murmuring with a hint of strange pride, “See? I told you. Out of all the kids at the orphanage, I picked you. You’ve got great genes, sweetie.” Looking at the beautiful strangers who shared my blood, my chest tightened. I was a Sinclair by blood, yes, but the Mercers were the ones who had loved and raised me for eighteen years. I was their only child. If I left, what would they do? Could a simple piece of paper really erase a lifetime of love? I opened my mouth, preparing to refuse. Sensing my hesitation, Higgins immediately grew anxious. “Miss, you don’t know how deeply your mother has grieved for you. She sits with your baby photos every night, crying herself to sleep.” “Your father has been beside himself. Before I left, he instructed me to do whatever it takes to bring you home safely.” 2 My parents exchanged a quiet look, silent for a long moment. My mother was the first to speak. She took my hand, patting it gently. “Valerie, as much as we hate to let you go, those are your biological parents. If we lost you, we would have gone completely insane too.” “Go see them. If you don’t like it there, or if they don’t treat you right, you come right back. This will always be your home.” And so, with a gentle push from the only parents I had ever known, I found myself in the back of a luxury town car, heading toward the Sinclair estate. The moment I stepped through the grand double doors of the mansion, I spotted a girl standing at the top of the sweeping marble staircase, watching me coldly. “You must be the biological daughter,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I’m Sienna. You can call me your older sister.” I froze. Sister? I thought I was an only child. If she wasn’t biological, that meant she was the fake heiress. In that split second, the muscle memory from my years of reading switched-at-birth novels kicked into high gear. Dozens of classic, dramatic confrontation scenes flashed through my mind. I hesitated. As the newly returned, rightfully blood-related daughter, shouldn’t I stand tall, chin up, and deliver the classic line with a perfect mix of arrogance and disdain? “I am the only real daughter of this family. What are you supposed to be?” The moment the words began to form in my mind, Sienna’s eyes lit up, and she instantly fell into a posture of practiced, fragile victimhood. “I didn’t mean to—” Hearing that familiar, dramatic setup, a loud alarm bell went off in my head. Wait, I don’t want to play the arrogant villainess! My brain scrambled to stop the momentum, but my years of intense training had created a physical reflex that bypassed my common sense entirely. My mouth betrayed my intellect, automatically reciting the classic, submissive response of the self-sacrificing heroine, speaking in perfect, eerie unison with her. “—steal your place! I know you’re the real daughter of this family, and I shouldn’t be here.” As our voices fell silent at the exact same millisecond, Sienna froze, her fragile expression hardening into utter bewilderment. Before I could even process the absolute embarrassment of speaking her lines with her, a sharp female voice echoed from the foyer. “Why is everyone standing around in the hall?” We both turned to see Eleanor Sinclair, my biological mother, walking in from her office. She looked at us standing there in a bizarre, frozen state, her brow furrowing with mild annoyance. “Valerie, Sienna is also my daughter. From now on, you two are sisters. Learn to get along.” With that, she turned and walked into the living room. I quickly grabbed my small suitcase, scurrying after her like a lost puppy. Sienna bit her lower lip, following closely behind. Noticing me glancing curiously at the grand hallways, Sienna’s eyes flickered, and she took the initiative to speak. “Since you just got back, you must be—” Hearing that setup, my scalp went numb. Another involuntary reflex seized my vocal cords, and once again, I spoke in perfect, simultaneous harmony with her. “—completely unfamiliar with the house. My room has the best light and the most space, so I’ll happily move to the guest room to make you comfortable!” The moment our voices ceased in perfect unison, Sienna’s face went completely blank, her polite smile cracking down the middle. Eleanor stopped, turning back to look at us with a massive headache written across her face. “Enough with the dramatic gestures. Valerie’s room has already been prepared by the staff. Sienna, stay in your own room. There is no need for anyone to move.” Sienna stared at me, her eyes filled with absolute confusion. I offered a sheepish, apologetic look, quickly turning my eyes away. I’m so sorry, sister. I didn’t mean to steal your lines. But this double performance confirmed one thing. Sienna and I had clearly bought our materials from the exact same trope-writer. That absolute scammer of an online seller! They swore up and down that it was a customized, one-of-a-kind guidebook exclusive to me! Now, not only did someone else know the exact same scripts, but she was trying to play the tragic main character while I accidentally kept stealing her dialogue. I wanted a refund. I dragged my suitcase into my new room, staying inside until dinner was called. When I finally emerged, Sienna was just stepping out of her room across the hall. We walked toward the staircase together. But the moment we reached the top landing, my foot slipped on the polished wood, and I felt a sudden, terrifying weightlessness. I screamed as I tumbled head-first down the stairs. 3 I lay sprawled on the thick Persian rug at the bottom of the stairs, my head spinning and stars dancing in my eyes. As my vision cleared, the first thing I saw was Sienna standing at the top of the landing, her face pale with horror, her hands still outstretched in a panic. Charles Sinclair, my biological father, had rushed out of the study at the sound of my scream. Seeing the scene, he immediately pointed an angry, accusing finger at Sienna. “Sienna! Have you lost your mind? Valerie is our biological daughter! How dare you push her down the stairs? How can you be so vicious!” Sienna stood frozen under the accusation, her face turning paper-white as tears welled in her eyes, glaring down at me in desperate frustration. Eleanor rushed in right behind him. Seeing Sienna’s devastated expression, she immediately frowned, her voice sharp with disapproval as she turned on her husband. “I raised Sienna myself. I know her character better than anyone. How can you throw such wild accusations around without any proof?” Seeing the parents on the verge of a massive shouting match over her, Sienna took a deep, shuddering breath, looking as though she were about to deliver her big, defensive speech. “I didn’t push her! The stairs are—” “—equipped with security cameras! If you don’t believe me, check the tapes! The innocent will be cleared, and the guilty will be exposed. I will not take the blame for something I didn’t do, even if she is your biological daughter!” In a display of sheer theatrical dedication, I had pushed myself up from my near-death state on the floor, pointing a trembling, dramatic finger toward the corner of the ceiling to finish the sentence with her in perfect, flawless unison. The entire grand foyer fell into a suffocating, bizarre silence. Every single eye in the room slowly locked onto me. Charles’s righteous fury froze on his face; Eleanor’s defensive argument died in her throat; the butler and the maids stood with their mouths hanging open. And at the top of the stairs, Sienna’s eyes were so wide they looked like they might pop out of her head. The confusion in her gaze was practically physical. Ignoring the silent judgment of the room, I groaned, rubbing my bruised backside as I climbed to my feet. “Seriously, who waxes stairs this much? It’s like a skating rink up there. Thank god I’m young and bounce well.” “Dad, Mom, you really need to address this safety hazard before someone actually breaks a bone!” With the dramatic tension completely ruined, Charles let out an awkward, dry cough. “Right… yes. I was just worried, that’s all. It took us so long to find you, Valerie. I reacted too quickly. As long as you’re okay, that’s what matters.” Eleanor shot him a cold, warning look before immediately calling for Higgins, instructing him to fire whoever was responsible for the hazardous floor wax. Sienna still looked deeply hurt, quietly staying close to Eleanor, who spent the next ten minutes murmuring soft comforts to her. Over the next few weeks, Sienna didn’t give up on her rehearsed dramatic routines, but unfortunately for her, we had trained under the same school of thought. I blocked every single one of her moves with practiced ease. As time went on, she grew increasingly anxious and paranoid. She couldn’t comprehend how I was able to predict her every move like a mind-reading parasite. She even started watching me closely, as if trying to determine if I had actual telepathic powers. The dynamics of the house became clearly divided. Sienna remained close with Eleanor, while Charles clearly favored me, frequently offering me private reassurances. “Valerie, don’t mind your mother. She raised Sienna for fifteen years; it’s natural she’s still attached to her.” “But make no mistake, you are the true blood of the Sinclair family. In time, your mother will realize where her loyalty belongs, and we’ll send Sienna packing.” I remained entirely neutral toward his promises. To be fair, Sienna had never actually done anything to harm me, and being adopted into the family wasn’t her fault. I had hoped that this awkward but peaceful arrangement would slowly settle over time. But I didn’t expect my biological parents to suddenly tear each other apart. 4 Eleanor organized a formal family dinner, and for once, the atmosphere at the table was relatively relaxed. As the meal drew to a close, Eleanor set down her fork, her voice entirely flat as she brought up the topic of the family estate. Charles paused, his fork hovering in mid-air, though he quickly forced a smooth smile. “Yes, it’s wise to plan ahead. It saves the children any unnecessary trouble later on.” Eleanor nodded, her expression remaining cool and professional. “That was my thought as well. I intend for us to keep twenty percent of the company shares for our retirement, and the remaining eighty percent will be split equally between Valerie and Sienna.” Split equally? Before I could even blink, Charles slammed his hand on the table. “Eleanor! Have you lost your mind? Is Sienna our biological child? You want to give her the same inheritance as Valerie?” “We spent fifteen years searching for our daughter! Now that she’s finally home, shouldn’t we compensate her with the best of everything? We’ve clothed Sienna, educated her, and given her a life of luxury. Isn’t that more than enough?” Eleanor’s expression went completely cold, her voice dropping into a dangerous register. “Let’s get one thing straight, Charles. I founded the Sinclair Group. My shares are mine to distribute, and I don’t need anyone’s permission to do so.” “Valerie is my blood, yes, but I raised Sienna. She has been by my side for fifteen years, and in my heart, she is my daughter. A fifty-fifty split is entirely fair.” Charles let out a harsh, bitter laugh, rising from his chair. “Fair? You think Valerie thinks that’s fair? She is our flesh and blood! If she hadn’t been lost because of your carelessness in the first place—” Seeing the argument rapidly spiraling out of control, Sienna grew frantic. Desperate to stop them, she began to recite her next dramatic line. “Mom, Dad, please stop fighting! This inheritance belongs to—” “—my sister,” I chimed in smoothly, completing the sentence with her. The timing was awful, but that stupid muscle memory was unavoidable. “I never cared about the company shares. I just want our family to be happy and at peace.” Sienna glared at me, furious at having her dramatic moment hijacked once again, but she quickly turned back to Eleanor, grabbing her hand. “Mom, don’t be angry! I mean it! As long as you still let me be your daughter, I don’t care about anything else!” I blinked, slightly impressed. That line wasn’t in the standard guidebook. She was actually beginning to improvise! The dinner ended in a complete disaster. Charles was furious, and Eleanor refused to back down from her decision. Sienna and I were caught in the crossfire of their cold war, and the fragile peace we had built over the past weeks vanished instantly. Following the argument, my biological parents seemed entirely unwilling to look at each other, both conveniently scheduling extended business trips and leaving Sienna and me alone in the massive house. Without an audience, Sienna lost all motivation to perform her scripts. We fell into a pattern of polite avoidance, treating each other like familiar strangers. Eleanor genuinely loved Sienna; she called me once a week for a brief, awkward chat, but she spoke to Sienna on the phone every single day. I didn’t feel any jealousy, mostly because I spent at least two hours on the phone with my adoptive mother every night, gossiping about everything. As the holidays drew to a close, I was just starting to figure out how to tell them I wanted to return to the Mercers when Higgins ushered a new girl through the front door. She walked in, her chin held high, looking at us with a perfect mix of arrogance and disdain as she delivered a painfully familiar line. “I am the only real daughter of this family. What are you two supposed to be?”

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1 After graduating from college, I took a job at a prominent architectural design firm. In my first six months, I brought in over two million dollars in revenue for the company. Yet, when the year-end bonuses were distributed, my hard-earned payout was snatched by a seasonal winter intern. When I went to the director’s office to demand an explanation, he scoffed at me. “How can you even think to compare yourself to Nadia? Do you have any idea who she is, and who you are?” “Let me be completely honest with you, Paige. After factoring in your basic salary, health insurance, and overhead costs, you actually owe the company a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” Furious, I decided to take the matter to the general manager. But the general manager simply shrugged and gave me an ultimatum: either pay back the debt immediately, or secure a five-million-dollar corporate sponsorship for the firm; otherwise, they would see me in court. I was so incredibly angry that I stepped out and dialed my father’s number that very night. “Dad, I thought you ran an architectural firm. Since when did you become a mob boss?” “I owe the company a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?” I was utterly dumbfounded. My monthly salary was barely three thousand dollars, and I had no earthly idea how I could have accumulated such a massive debt in just six months. When I first heard the number, my jaw nearly hit the floor. But Director Riggs looked completely unfazed. “Caring for you fresh college graduates is an incredibly expensive endeavor. Office rent, utilities, software licenses, travel reimbursements; those are all heavy costs for the firm.” “But my salary is what I earned by working!” I argued, my voice rising. “And the travel reimbursements? I paid for those trips out of my own pocket first!” Director Riggs slammed the stack of folders onto his desk. “Did HR not explain our system to you? Our base salary is a draw. Do you not understand what a draw is?” Seeing my blank stare, he let out a heavy, patronizing sigh. “A draw is an advance. If the revenue you generate doesn’t cover the company’s overhead, we claw it back.” “Look at you. Sure, you brought in some revenue, but it doesn’t even cover the resources we invested in you. The company has to turn a profit, Paige. If every employee operated at your level of overhead, we’d go bankrupt in a week.” I stared at him, genuinely wondering if there was something wrong with my hearing. For starters, my father had explicitly mentioned at dinner last week that our subsidiary was performing exceptionally well this fiscal year. Furthermore, the team I worked with had generated over ten million dollars in revenue. There was absolutely no risk of bankruptcy. Besides, even if the firm were struggling, that was a management issue. How on earth was that a debt to be paid by an entry-level employee? “But—” “Alright, that’s enough,” Director Riggs interrupted, cutting me off and physically ushering me toward the door. “Times are tough, Paige. You can’t just keep pointing fingers at the company. You need to ask yourself if you’ve truly been working hard enough. If you were, why aren’t you making any money?” My head was spinning as I walked back to my desk. The logic felt incredibly twisted, but my thoughts were too jumbled to find the right words to counter it. I slumped into my chair. My colleague, Hailey, immediately leaned over from her cubicle, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Paige! Did you seriously just ask Director Riggs about the year-end bonuses? You are so brave! What did he say?” I repeated the director’s explanation word for word. Hailey let out a long, knowing sigh. “You’re a top-tier graduate, and you’re still this naive? He’s practically selling you out, and you’re helping him count the cash.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “It’s not your fault, honestly. Those old executives are incredibly cunning. You cannot let them trap you in their twisted logic.” Seeing my confusion, she broke it down for me. “Actually, a bunch of interns before you left because of the exact same bonus issue. They weren’t stupid. Who would pay their own employer to work there? It’s a joke.” “What happened to them?” “They paid the settlement fees and left. Apparently, Riggs threatened to sue them and ruin their professional files. They were young and terrified of ruining their careers, so they just paid to make it go away.” “But the annual report shows our branch made a massive profit this year!” Hailey quickly grabbed my sleeve, shushing me. “Keep your voice down! Yes, the branch made money, but that revenue wasn’t credited to your name.” “Look at Nadia. She’s just a seasonal winter intern, but she walked away with a fifty-thousand-dollar year-end bonus!” I followed Hailey’s gaze. Nadia was standing comfortably by Director Riggs’s desk, chatting happily. Riggs, usually so arrogant, was nodding eagerly, his posture almost subservient. “But my dad said seasonal interns don’t get year-end bonuses?” I muttered. Hailey tapped my forehead with the end of her pencil. “Silly girl. Is your dad the boss, or is Nadia’s dad the boss? If Director Riggs says she gets it, she gets it!” 2 I refused to believe my father’s company could be this incredibly corrupt. Armed with my revenue confirmation sheet, I marched back into Director Riggs’s office. Seeing me back so quickly, his hand froze mid-pour as he made tea for Nadia. “Paige Carter. What is it now?” “Director Riggs, the revenue confirmation sheet from last week clearly shows that I personally generated over two million dollars. Since you claim I owe the company money, I would like to see a detailed, itemized breakdown of my expenses.” Riggs’s face instantly twisted in anger. “Paige! I just explained this to you! Why are you still making trouble? You fresh graduates do barely any real work, but you certainly know how to question your superiors! Always causing drama!” “And who told you that preliminary revenue sheet was the final result? Do you not know that management has the right to redistribute revenue based on performance?” Nadia, hearing the commotion, sauntered over with a sweet, patronizing smile. “Paige, you shouldn’t make things difficult for Director Riggs. He works so hard to keep this branch running.” I ignored her, looking past her shoulder to point directly at the director. “If I owe the company a hundred and fifty thousand, what about her? What did she do to deserve a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus?” Riggs slammed his teacup onto the glass desk. The sharp clatter made several colleagues outside turn their heads to peer through the blinds. “Who gave you the right to pry into other employees’ salaries? Do you not know what salary confidentiality is? The company can sue you for this!” He took a deep breath, forcing his voice to calm down. “Paige, I’ll let it slide this time. Go back to your desk.” “But Director Riggs, this is an issue that affects everyone in this office. We deserve a transparent answer.” “And as far as I know, the law requires employers to provide clear, individual revenue statements to their employees. The company cannot just ignore the law!” Riggs’s hand slammed onto the desk with a deafening bang. “You want to compare? You want to use the law to threaten me? Fine! Let’s talk about status! Let’s talk about who she is and who you are, and why on earth the company should pay you a single cent!” Seeing that I still refused to back down, Riggs grabbed me by the sleeve of my cardigan and dragged me out of the office. Every eye in the open-concept workspace locked onto us. In that humiliating moment, I finally understood why my father had insisted I start from the very bottom of the ladder. “Everyone, listen up!” Riggs cleared his throat, raising his voice. “I hear some of you are very curious about your year-end bonuses. Fine. Anyone who wants to see their final revenue statement can come to my office to collect it.” The office erupted into hushed, anxious whispers. Usually, individual revenue was kept strictly confidential, allowing the management to pay whatever they felt like at the end of the year. “However,” Riggs paused, letting his gaze sweep over the room. “As you know, market conditions have been incredibly poor. After factoring in overhead costs, many of you are actually operating at a net loss. In other words, the company has been losing money just to keep you employed.” “Anyone whose statement shows a negative balance will need to transfer the owed amount to my account immediately so I can consolidate and return it to corporate.” The room went dead silent. After a long, agonizing pause, an older colleague spoke up hesitantly. “Director Riggs… if we don’t collect our statements… can we just…?” “Absolutely not!” Riggs shot a meaningful, icy glare in my direction. “You can all thank Paige Carter for this. She’s the one who insisted that withholding statements is illegal, forcing us to make everything public. I wanted to protect you all and handle this quietly, but… well, my hands are tied.” Once again, every eye in the room turned to me, but this time, the look in their eyes was filled with pure resentment. 3 The moment Director Riggs stepped back into his office, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room. “Are you kidding me? What an absolute idiot, dragging the rest of us down with her.” A senior colleague nearby spat, his face red with anger. “But this is our basic right,” I argued. “Who asked you?” another colleague snapped, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “You think you’re the only one who went to college?” “Now we might actually have to pay the company back! Are you happy now?” I stepped forward to explain, but Hailey quickly grabbed my arm, pulling me away. “Are you crazy? You want to get beat up?” She dragged me back to my cubicle, whispering fiercely, “Most of these people have mortgages, car payments, and kids to feed! Because of your little crusade, they might not get a bonus at all; they might actually end up in debt! You’re literally threatening their livelihoods!” “But the company’s policy is completely illegal! If we don’t stop it, it’s only going to get worse!” “That is a management problem! Small fry like us can’t change anything!” Hailey let out a long sigh. “Honestly, this place is a sinking ship anyway. You’re young and single, Paige. Just hand in your resignation and find another job.” I shook my head. “I can’t. I made a bet with my dad.” My father had received several anonymous whistleblower letters detailing the complete lack of transparency regarding revenue and employee benefits at this subsidiary. But every time he sent corporate auditors down, they found absolutely nothing. Someone was stealing the employees’ benefits and successfully covering their tracks. “Why not just fire the management?” I had asked him at the time. “It’s not that simple,” my father had replied with a sigh. “We don’t know exactly who is involved yet. More importantly, the employees have been exploited for so long that they’ve become completely numb to it. They need to learn to stand up for themselves.” “I want you to intern there, Paige. It will be an opportunity for you, the company, and the employees to grow.” Hailey watched my determined expression, shaking her head in disbelief. “If you had a wealthy father like Nadia, maybe you could pull this off. But… well, good luck.” While she was talking, I had already found the corporate whistleblower hotline on my phone and dialed it. “What are you doing?!” Hailey looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Reporting the lack of financial transparency,” I replied honestly. She stared at me, horrified. “Just… try to stay alive, okay?” She immediately scurried back to her desk, pretending she didn’t know me. The hotline connected quickly, and the operator promised to address the issue immediately. Within ten minutes, I received a message: the general manager wanted to see me in his office. When I arrived, Director Riggs was already standing there, looking incredibly smug. “Paige Carter! How long are you going to keep causing trouble?” Riggs snapped the moment I walked in. “Manager Briggs,” I said, ignoring Riggs entirely. “I just want to know why, after six months of hard work, I suddenly owe the company a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” Manager Briggs offered a warm, grandfatherly smile, though his eyes were as sharp as needles. “Riggs, what is the meaning of this?” Riggs froze, stammering, unable to find his words. “Useless idiot!” Briggs slammed his pen holder onto the desk, glaring at Riggs. “How do you manage your team? You can’t even handle a simple administrative issue! What does the company pay you for?” He ordered Riggs to fetch my physical statement. The office fell silent. “Paige,” Manager Briggs said, his tone softening into a warm, paternal purr. “I’m about the same age as your parents, so I understand how hard it is for young people starting out. It’s not easy… by the way, what do your parents do for a living?” “They’re just ordinary company employees,” I lied, keeping my expression neutral. “They’re retired now.” “Ah, retired,” Briggs murmured, his smile fading slightly as he fell silent. The silence was broken by Riggs returning, clutching a few pages of paper. Briggs took the document, flipping through the pages before throwing them onto the desk. 4 “You foolish girl!” Director Riggs let out a sigh of relief as Briggs turned his anger toward me. Riggs immediately stepped forward, adopting the posture of a loyal lapdog. “Exactly, Manager Briggs! I kept telling her that the preliminary revenue statement wasn’t final, but she insisted on making a scene and disrupting company order!” “But even if the statement is final, there is no logical way I owe a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Where is the evidence?” “Oh?” Briggs looked at Riggs. Riggs leaned down, whispering something in the general manager’s ear. Briggs nodded slowly, turning back to me. “Your director just informed me that you frequently stay late at the office, wasting company electricity. Furthermore, you consume a massive amount of bottled water. A significant portion of our utility overhead is due to your wastefulness!” “By law, the company has every right to demand immediate repayment, or we will take legal action. However, considering your parents are retired and likely under financial strain, the company is willing to offer you a concession.” Just when I thought the conversation couldn’t possibly get any more absurd, Briggs continued. “We are willing to offer you a second option. If you can secure a five-million-dollar corporate sponsorship for our branch, we will waive your debt and forgo legal action. Otherwise, we cannot keep an unproductive employee.” I stared at them, completely speechless. But Briggs and Riggs looked at me as if they had just offered me a massive act of charity. My hands clenched into tight fists at my sides. It took every ounce of my self-control not to throw a punch. “I don’t have that kind of money. If I could secure five million dollars, I wouldn’t be working here,” I said, my voice cold. “If you don’t have the money, you can always borrow it,” Director Riggs offered, a greasy smile stretching across his face. “I know some online platforms that cater specifically to young women like you. You know, those adult modeling loans?” Seeing my silence, Riggs winked at me, his eyes filled with a disgusting, suggestive light. “Don’t play innocent. Those platforms pay out incredibly fast, and girls like you love using them when you’re short on cash.” He and Briggs exchanged a vile, knowing chuckle. That was the final straw. I lunged forward, delivering a solid left hook to Riggs’s jaw, followed by a vicious right cross. Before Briggs could even react, I had Riggs on the floor, pinning him down and raining punches on his face until he was whimpering like a dog. By the time Hailey and several colleagues managed to pull me off him, the office was swarming with police officers. “It’s her! Officer, arrest her! She didn’t get her bonus, so she went completely insane and attacked me!” Riggs screamed, shrinking behind an officer, his face bruised and swollen. Manager Briggs immediately chimed in. “This employee is clearly unstable. She refused to settle her debt and violently assaulted her superior! Officer, lock her up!” Sitting in the police station, I clutched my phone, my face burning with embarrassment as I wondered how to explain this to my father. But I didn’t have much time to think. The call went through almost instantly. The moment I heard his voice, tears of frustration finally spilled over. “Dad… I thought you ran an architectural firm. Since when did you become a mob boss?”

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