The new intern, Vivian, was an expert at milking the company for all it was worth. Every day, she’d serve our department colleagues meager, 100-gram portions of food while she packed up 200 of the company’s free boxed lunches to sell to the construction crew next door. When I tried to stop her, she turned the entire office against me. “Seriously, lady? I can’t believe there are people who still sympathize with the capitalists. They exploit you, and you get off on it. You’re a total corporate bootlicker, a real slave to the system!” My own boyfriend scolded me. “Vivian’s family is struggling. She’s selling the lunches to help them out. It’s for a good cause. Why do you have to be so selfish?” My colleagues complained. “You’re so petty, Phoebe. At least when Vivian sells the lunches, it helps us lose weight. All you do is order us high-calorie afternoon snacks.” They were united against me, as if I were the villain. I was so furious I washed my hands of the whole affair. Later, at the negotiation table for a billion-dollar contract, they were so famished they started dropping like flies, one by one, right onto the conference table. 1 Something strange had been happening at the office lately. The cafeteria food was vanishing at an alarming rate. By the time I ever got there, all that was left were scraps you wouldn’t even feed to a chicken. When I asked the kitchen staff, they just stammered. “Well, Phoebe… it’s a long story…” I’d been on a business trip for two weeks. Had everyone turned into a ravenous wolf pack in my absence? As I stood there puzzled, a young woman burst into the kitchen. “Hey, Mark! You got the lunches saved for me? Let’s get them over to the site, the guys are waiting!” The construction site? I peeked behind the counter and my jaw dropped. The same head chef who’d just told me they were out of food had two hundred boxed lunches stacked neatly in the back. Each one, meant to be a free employee perk, was now being sold for twenty-five dollars a pop. So this is where all the food was going. The company provided free meals for employees, but this was on another level. They were brazenly reselling company property. I frowned, my eyes landing on the woman’s ID badge. [Marketing Intern: Vivian Shaw.] She was an intern in my own department. How did someone so shamelessly opportunistic ever get past my discerning boyfriend, Matt, who did the hiring? Watching Vivian grab a stack of boxes as if she owned the place, I stepped forward and blocked her path. “Hold on. Did no one tell you that reselling company meals is against policy?” Caught off guard, Vivian’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Against policy? I’m an employee. This is my employee meal. What’s wrong with that?” “There’s nothing wrong with an employee taking their meal. But you’ve taken far more than your share.” At that, Vivian scoffed as if I’d told the world’s worst joke. She looked me up and down with contempt. “Oh my god, lady, are you for real? I can’t believe there are people who still suck up to the corporate overlords. They exploit you, and you love it. A true corporate slave.” “And sorry, but even if you are my boss, I have to be blunt. We, Gen Z, are here to fix the workplace, not kiss corporate ass!” Her logic was completely twisted. I was stating a simple fact, and she’d slapped me with the label of a bootlicker. “Fixing the workplace doesn’t mean screwing over your colleagues,” I said, my voice firm. Our department was in the final stages of a massive project. We were all working overtime, burning the midnight oil. A tiny 100-gram serving of food wasn’t nearly enough to sustain an adult through that kind of workload. “You’re right about that,” Vivian said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “But the whole company knows I’m selling the lunches. They all agreed to it. You don’t have the authority to speak for everyone, do you?” The whole company agreed? I was stunned. Had my team lost their minds from overwork? Vivian’s smirk widened. “Everyone’s on my new diet plan. I suggest you cut back a little, too. I mean, once a woman hits thirty, it’s all downhill. And if you’re old and fat… well, no one’s going to want you, right?” As it happened, I had just celebrated my thirtieth birthday. The jab was clearly intentional. I, for one, preferred my healthy, curvy figure to the skeletal look she was promoting. Our eyes met. She stuck her tongue out playfully. “Sorry, Phoebe. I just graduated, so I’m a little blunt. Please don’t take it personally.” She had an answer for everything. Arguing with her was like punching a cloud. “The company has no obligation to let you profit off its resources,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “Vivian, either you stop this immediately, or I’m reporting you to upper management.” “You—!” Seeing that her free lunch train was about to be derailed, Vivian’s face crumpled. She covered her face with her hands and ran out, sobbing. That afternoon, the entire office was in an uproar. The first person to knock on my door was my boyfriend, Matt. Before I could even smile, he launched into a tirade. “Phoebe! Vivian’s family is poor! She’s selling those lunches to help them out and do some charity on the side. How could you be so selfish as to try and get her fired?” Fired? When had I said anything about firing her? I was baffled. All I’d done was give her a verbal warning. Even stranger was Matt’s reaction. He had never been this impulsive or hot-headed. I explained what had happened and pointed out that Vivian’s diet plan was dangerously unhealthy. Matt just laughed. “We’ve all been eating just fine for the two weeks you were gone. It’s just a few lunches. It’s not like you own the company. Why are you so worked up about it?” He lowered his voice, but I still heard his next words clearly. “I guess Vivian was right. The higher you climb, the more you turn into a good little corporate dog…” Ever since I’d been chosen over him for that business trip to the States two weeks ago, Matt’s words had been laced with a subtle venom. But I had earned that trip. In the workplace, we weren’t a couple; we were competitors. We had a huge fight, right there in my office. I’d never heard someone defend such blatant freeloading as a noble act. Vivian, doing charity? How was selling free food for a profit charity? Later, in the breakroom, I ran into some colleagues. I couldn’t help but vent. “I’m not just fighting for my own meal, you know. This isn’t healthy for any of you. Forget work, you’re going to ruin your health!” They just exchanged awkward glances. Then, one of them spoke up, her tone dripping with passive aggression. “Honestly, Phoebe, you’re being a little petty. Vivian’s diet plan is helping us lose weight. All you do is order us afternoon snacks.” What? I couldn’t believe my ears. To help them through the high-stress project, I’d been regularly treating the department to high-end afternoon tea, paying for it out of my own pocket. I’d thought it was a nice gesture. I never imagined it would be used as a weapon against me. “It’s always Starbucks or some fancy pastry. My face has gotten so puffy. Are you trying to make sure I end up single like you?” “Yeah, you make thirty grand a month, so you can afford to buy us expensive snacks. Vivian only makes three thousand, but she bought us all thirty-dollar whole-wheat bread.” “Seriously, Phoebe, you’re the one being unreasonable. We’re all worried about gaining weight from stress-eating at our desks. Vivian is actually looking out for our health. You just want to sabotage us with cake…” The complaints started pouring in from all sides. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Every single time I ordered snacks, I asked for their preferences and dietary restrictions. They never had a problem then. They always ate with gusto. And now, they were turning it all back on me. Fine. No good deed goes unpunished. I never ate in the cafeteria anyway. If they wanted to live on a hundred grams of rice a day, they could knock themselves out. Vivian, emboldened by her success, declared she was on a mission to “disrupt the workplace” and “beat the capitalists at their own game.” Soon, every free perk the company offered was under attack. “I propose we clear out the breakroom snacks!” she announced one day, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. “They say it’s a free perk, but we all know they just deduct it from our salaries! We Gen Z will not be corporate pawns!” She was young and charismatic, and in just a few weeks, she had become the office darling. The other employees hung on her every word. So, under the guise of “sustainability,” she started taking home entire boxes of office supplies. When the company provided a watermelon for afternoon tea, others would take a slice; she’d take the entire platter. The freezer, once stocked with ice cream and cakes, was now perpetually empty. “These are all high-sugar foods that are bad for you!” she’d proclaim. “It’s a capitalist trap to make you sick so you have to spend your hard-earned money at the hospital. I’m just getting rid of them for your own good.” The nerve of this woman. She made freeloading sound like a public service. “And by ‘getting rid of them,’ you mean selling them to the construction crew next door?” I interjected, cutting through her charade. A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face, but she recovered quickly. “I’m just putting resources where they’re needed most, Phoebe. Giving them away for free would just create other problems.” “The workers need them, so I sell to them. I’m completely transparent about earning money, and I always use it to buy little gifts for my colleagues. I may be poor, but I have my pride. You don’t need to be so sarcastic. My conscience is clear!” At this, my colleagues’ eyes welled up with tears. “Thank you so much, Vivian! You’re saving us from ourselves! We’ll finally lose this awful desk-job weight!” “Vivian’s the only one who actually cares about us. The company just sees us as workhorses, but she’s looking out for our health.” “Phoebe, have you forgotten what it’s like to be one of us now that you’ve been promoted? The managers aren’t even here. You don’t have to suck up so hard.” She had twisted everything. I was so angry I just turned and walked away. She even started a side hustle using the office’s free printer, and soon our workspace was littered with tacky, colorful flyers that made my skin crawl. When I confronted her, she was defiant. “The rich get richer while the poor starve. It costs three dollars a page to print outside. I only charge one. Think of what they can do with those extra two dollars!” she preached. “You might not care about two dollars, but you’re so worried about the corporation’s bottom line. Honestly, Phoebe, I really look down on people like you.” She was using her “disruptor” persona to shamelessly exploit company resources for personal gain. I decided to stop engaging. There was no point in arguing with someone so delusional. I would just wait for her to self-destruct. The company’s headquarters sent a team for a quarterly review every three months. The next one was in a week. Her little empire would come crashing down then. But I underestimated her audacity. She had apparently decided that any item left in the office for more than three days was trash. My brand-new designer handbag went missing. I searched everywhere, only to find it listed on Vivian’s Poshmark account. Status: Sold. “Vivian,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “why is my handbag on your resale site?” She just gave me a sly smile. “Oh, Phoebe, you don’t have to thank me for helping you declutter.” “I got a whole $500 for that fake bag, you know. I used the money to buy gifts for the office. Yours is on your desk.” Five hundred dollars? My vision went black. It was a new-season bag from a luxury brand. It was worth five thousand. “How dare you sell my things without asking? That’s stealing!” Vivian just shrugged. “Don’t be so dramatic, Phoebe. The office has a rule: anything left on the floor for more than three days is considered trash. You should be thanking me, not accusing me.” What office rule? I’d worked here for three years and never heard of such a thing. It was just another one of her self-serving fabrications. Five thousand dollars was enough to file a police report. I was done arguing. I pulled out my phone to call the police. Vivian burst into tears. “It was just a fake bag! Is it really that big of a deal? It’s not like I can’t pay you back the five hundred. I may be poor, but I have my pride. I guess I just won’t eat for the next week!” Her outburst immediately rallied the troops. “Vivian was just trying to be helpful! It was a fake bag, just let it go. Why are you bullying her like this, Phoebe?” “Wow, some people have no shame. You accepted her expensive gift and now you’re still shaking her down for money.” Gift? I suddenly remembered the new skincare set that had appeared on my desk yesterday. I used that brand and had noticed a subtle difference in the logo. Suspecting it was a knockoff, I’d set it aside. I never imagined that was the gift she was talking about. “Taking something without asking is stealing. You can have the fake skincare back. My bag was worth five thousand dollars, and I want it back. Today.” I started to dial 911. The next thing I knew, my phone was smacked out of my hand and clattered to the floor. Matt’s voice was cold as ice. “Phoebe, have you made enough of a scene? Don’t push it.” “How much was the bag? I’ll pay you for it.” “Matt!” This wasn’t about the money. It was about basic human decency. I stared in disbelief at the man I had been with for six years. We were supposed to be getting engaged soon. But right now, all he cared about was comforting a crying Vivian. “It’s okay, Vivi. I’m here now,” he said, his voice softer than I’d heard it in years. I hadn’t seen him look at anyone with such tenderness in a long, long time. Vivian had been hired by Matt directly. They’d gone to the same university, and he was her senior. The office had been buzzing with rumors about them for weeks. I’d ignored them, but seeing them together now, a sour knot formed in my stomach. Company policy forbade office romances. My relationship with Matt had always been a secret. I never thought I’d have to stand by and watch my own boyfriend be so intimate with another woman. “Vivian is new to the corporate world,” Matt said, his brow furrowed in disapproval. “She’s sensitive and shy. How could you humiliate her in front of everyone?” “It was just a bag. When did you become so petty?” In his eyes, my defending my own property was an act of aggression. I fought back tears. “Fine. Your ‘sensitive’ Vivian is so wonderful. Why don’t you just spend the rest of your life with her?” “That’s not what I mean… She’s just my junior from school. Her family’s not well-off, so it’s only natural for me to look out for her.” Seeing my tears, Matt sighed and pulled me into a hug. “And you, Phoebe… you’ve been with me for six years. You’ve been by my side as I climbed to this position. You know I only love you…” He loved me. I knew he did. The brilliant, ambitious son of a well-to-do family, a top graduate, who, for me, was willing to agree to my family’s demanding terms for our marriage. His love had always felt certain. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my own spiraling emotions. But then, I noticed something. The small, worn elastic hair tie that he always wore on his wrist was gone. “Where’s the hair tie I gave you?” “Oh, I lost it during a client meeting. Phoebe, I hope you don’t mind…” As he spoke, he pulled a small, red agate bead bracelet from behind his back with a flourish. “Don’t be sad, baby. Just give me another one to wear. It breaks my heart to see you cry.” He was so smooth. My anger dissipated. I put on the bracelet and went back to my desk. But as I approached, I saw my colleagues gathered around Vivian, cooing over her. “Don’t cry, Vivian. Wow, that gold bracelet is gorgeous! It makes your skin look so pale and beautiful. Who’s the secret admirer?” Vivian blushed. “Don’t be silly. I don’t have any admirers.” “Oh, stop being modest! I saw you at the mall the other day. Matt picked it out for you himself! A two-thousand-dollar gold bracelet, just like that.” “Hehe, don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone. Just remember to invite us to the wedding!” They chattered excitedly. Vivian looked shyly toward Matt’s office. “Okay, okay… I was just in a bad mood that day, and Matt said gold looks pretty on a girl, so he bought it to cheer me up.” “Honestly, I told him it was too expensive, but he insisted. He said only gold was good enough for me…”

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At our engagement party, my fiancée’s godbrother produced a contract. “Lucas,” he said, his voice slick, “Sienna promised years ago that she would give me a child.” “Sign this procreation agreement. Otherwise, you’re not marrying her.” I didn’t take the papers. I turned to look at Sienna. “Did you really promise him something like that?” “It was a silly childhood joke, that’s all,” she replied, waving a dismissive hand. “Caleb’s drunk. Don’t mind him. Just sign it so he doesn’t make a scene.” Looking at her completely unfazed expression, I suddenly had to laugh. If that’s how it was going to be… Then this relationship was no longer worth saving. 1 I tore the agreement to shreds. The pieces of paper fluttered to the floor like bitter confetti. The color drained from Caleb’s face. He shot to his feet, his chair screeching against the polished floor. “Thorne, what the hell is your problem?” I ignored him, my eyes fixed only on Sienna. Her brow was furrowed in that familiar look of irritation, the one a parent gives two bickering children. Except, every single time, she expected me to be the one to back down. “Caleb’s had too much to drink, you know that,” she said, her voice rising with clear annoyance. “He’s just messing around. Do you have to take it so seriously? What’s the big deal about signing a piece of paper to humor him?” Humor him. I looked at her face, flushed with anger, and was suddenly thrown back to when we first got together. She’d had the same expression then. The first time I suggested that Caleb was perhaps a little too clingy, she’d snapped, “Lucas, he’s my godbrother. We grew up together. He’s just immature. Why are you so jealous?” So I had backed down. For five years. Caleb loved his little pranks. He’d “accidentally” lose my important contract files, “unintentionally” spill coffee on my laptop full of critical data, and secretly switch my herbal tea with laxatives. Every time I confronted him, Sienna would shield him, always with the same line: “He didn’t mean it. Don’t be so petty.” Three months ago, Caleb tampered with my car’s brakes. I nearly died on the freeway. The car was totaled, and I broke my leg in two places, spending two long months in a hospital bed. The doctor said I was lucky to be alive, that I’d danced with death and somehow been pulled back. He also said I was inches away from being permanently crippled. I remember Sienna at the hospital, shaking and crying, vowing to give Caleb the scolding of his life. But the next day, when she came to visit with a thermos of soup, her tone had already softened. “Caleb cried all night. He knows he was wrong,” she’d said. “He honestly didn’t mean any harm. It was just a stupid prank that went too far. He never thought the consequences would be so serious. Please, don’t call the police. Let’s just let this go, okay?” I had looked at her red-rimmed eyes then and couldn’t say a word. In the end, I let it go. And now, here was Caleb, standing at our engagement party, brandishing a so-called “procreation agreement” and demanding my signature as if it were his right. I had reached my limit. “Sienna,” I said, my voice tight with suppressed fury. “Tell me again. What is it you want me to do?” My tone seemed to provoke her. She stood up abruptly. “I’m just asking you to sign a paper to get Caleb to stop making a scene! Lucas, what is wrong with you today? You’re usually fine with this. It’s a joke! Can’t you just play along? Or would you rather embarrass everyone and become the laughingstock of the party?” Beside her, Caleb let out a short, sharp laugh. His chin was tilted up, his eyes gleaming with defiance and a smug sense of victory. He was certain I would yield, just like every other time. He even poured himself another glass of wine, swirling it casually, waiting for my inevitable surrender. I slowly rose to my feet and smoothed the front of my suit jacket. Then I looked directly at Caleb. “You’re not welcome here. You can either leave on your own, or I can have security escort you out.” The entire ballroom fell silent. Every guest turned to stare, their eyes darting between the three of us. The smile on Caleb’s face froze. He had clearly never imagined I would humiliate him in front of everyone. His face went from red to a sickly pale. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his wine glass. “Lucas!” Sienna seized my arm, her nails digging into my flesh. “Everyone is watching! What the hell has gotten into you? Apologize to Caleb, right now!” 2 Her eyes were filled with fury and disappointment. And a sliver of indignation, as if I were the one who had just committed an unforgivable offense. As if I were the one senselessly ruining our engagement party. Behind her, Caleb tilted his head, a perfectly crafted expression of hurt and anger on his face. He even rubbed his eyes at just the right moment, as if fighting back tears from the sheer weight of the insult. Suddenly, I felt an immense wave of exhaustion wash over me. Every concession I had made over the last five years, every act of forgiveness, every time I had told myself, “Let it go, he’s just a spoiled kid,” all of it came rushing back, now appearing not just clear, but utterly pathetic. I gently pried her hand off my arm. She froze, stunned that I would pull away from her. “Sienna, do you remember?” I looked into her eyes, speaking slowly and clearly. “Three months ago, I was lying in a hospital bed, and the doctors were telling me I might never walk properly again. That night, you told me Caleb knew he was wrong, that he was terrified.” Her pupils contracted slightly. She didn’t understand why I was bringing this up now. “Do you know,” I continued, my voice low but carrying to the nearest tables, “what I was thinking at that moment?” She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. “I was wondering, if I had become a cripple, would you still have thought it was just him being ‘immature’?” I paused, my gaze sweeping over Caleb’s paling face before settling back on hers. “Now, I finally have my answer.” The expression on Sienna’s face hardened into a mask. A second later, Caleb’s demeanor shifted with the speed of a stage actor. He put on a look of profound remorse and stumbled forward, his voice a manufactured sob. “Lucas… no, brother-in-law… it’s all my fault.” He raised a hand and wiped away non-existent tears with his sleeve. “I’m a bastard, a piece of trash! All that stuff before… I was just messing around, I was stupid…” As he spoke, he darted glances at Sienna, gauging her reaction. Seeing her brow furrowed in deep concern, his performance intensified. “I shouldn’t have made such an awful joke, and I definitely shouldn’t have… done all those horrible things that got you hurt…” His voice grew louder, drawing the attention of the entire room. “But Sienna is innocent! She didn’t know anything! If you’re going to be angry, be angry at me! Don’t take it out on her! It’s all my fault!” I watched his one-man show, my face a blank slate. I’d seen this act too many times before. It was a perfectly calibrated performance designed to prey on Sienna’s sympathies and force me to retreat. Seeing my impassive stare, a flicker of viciousness crossed Caleb’s eyes. He suddenly raised his hand and, before anyone could react, slapped himself hard across the face. Crack! The sharp sound echoed in the silent ballroom. He put all his strength into it, again and again, without mercy. His cheek immediately swelled and turned red. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Caleb!” Sienna shrieked. She lunged forward and grabbed his wrist, her voice cracking with tears. “What are you doing? Stop it! Stop!” Caleb struggled against her, acting as if he were in such agony that only self-harm could atone for his sins. Tears and snot streamed down his face. “Sienna, let me go! I’m a menace! I deserve to die! I embarrassed Lucas, I ruined your engagement party! I’m not human! I deserve to die!” He continued to fight, trying to punch himself with his free hand. Sienna threw her arms around him, her own tears flowing freely. She whipped her head around to face me, and the eyes I had once adored were now blazing with incandescent rage. “Are you happy now, Lucas?” Her voice was shrill, trembling with emotion. “What do you want? Will you be satisfied only when you’ve pushed him to his death? He’s just a kid! He already said he was sorry! What more do you want from him?” She looked at me as if I were a cold-blooded executioner, torturing an innocent victim. My heart, which had been sinking, finally hit rock bottom. The last ounce of warmth vanished. A kid? A kid who could tamper with the brakes on my car, who could produce a “procreation agreement” at my engagement party, and who could beat himself bloody to manipulate the situation? That was a kid? Caleb slumped in Sienna’s arms, as if utterly spent. “It’s not his fault… Sienna, I brought this on myself,” he gasped. “It’s all my fault, don’t blame him…” The more “noble” he acted, the more Sienna’s heart broke for him, and the more her anger toward me intensified. She clutched him tightly, like a mother hen protecting her chick, glaring at me as if I were the source of all their suffering. “Look what you’ve done to him! Just look at him!” she screamed. “Lucas, I never knew you could be so cold-blooded! I was wrong about you!” 3 Her chest heaved with ragged breaths. Then, under the stunned gazes of all our guests, she raised her hand and swung it at my face. Another slap echoed through the room. It wasn’t a light one. A sharp, stinging pain erupted on my cheek. The ballroom was dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone was shocked by the sudden turn of events. After she hit me, Sienna’s hand remained in the air. She herself seemed surprised for a second, but that surprise was quickly consumed by a fresh wave of protective fury. She pointed a finger at my nose, her voice icy and resolute, laced with a clear threat. “Lucas, apologize to Caleb. Right now. Immediately. Or… our engagement is off!” Her eyes were locked on me, filled with anger, with menace, and with a barely perceptible flicker of panic. And something else: expectation. She was expecting me to fold, just like I had countless times before. She was expecting me to choose the path of least resistance, to appease her, to forgive Caleb, and to let this whole fiasco end with their victory. Over her shoulder, in an angle she couldn’t see, Caleb’s lips twitched into a fleeting, triumphant smirk. It was the smirk of a schemer who had just won, a look of pure contempt for the position I was in. It was gone in an instant, but I saw it. The burning sensation on my cheek felt like it was sinking deeper than the skin. It was searing itself into my heart, extinguishing the last embers of affection I had left. “I will never apologize,” I said, my voice as cold as her eyes. “Fine. You chose this. The engagement is canceled!” she snapped. “Go cool off and think about what you’ve done. When you’ve come to your senses, you can come and find me.” With that, she turned her back on me and, supporting Caleb, walked out of the ballroom. As they left, Caleb, still leaning on her shoulder, glanced back at me and gave a slight, mocking arch of his eyebrow. The room was silent, the stares of the guests like needles on my skin. I turned to face the crowd, my expression unreadable. “Ladies and gentlemen, I sincerely apologize. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, the engagement party cannot continue. Thank you for coming, and I’m sorry for the inadequate hospitality.” After the room had cleared, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. The screen read: Mr. Vance. I answered. His voice, a low growl of barely contained rage, erupted from the other end. “Lucas! What in the hell do you think you’re doing? I entrusted my precious daughter to you, not so you could humiliate her like this! I had to miss the party for a business trip, and you turn it into a complete disaster?” “Mr. Vance,” I replied calmly, “at our engagement party, Caleb Reed produced a procreation agreement and demanded I sign it, stating that Sienna had promised to have his child.” The line went dead silent. All I could hear was his heavy breathing. A few seconds later, his voice returned, but the tone had changed. It was now loud and blustering, a transparent attempt to sound commanding. “And that’s it? That’s what this is about? Caleb is Sienna’s godbrother! They grew up together, they’re incredibly close! We all know he’s just a kid at heart! He was just joking, testing to see if you were truly committed to Sienna!” His words came out in a rush, as if rehearsed, but I could hear the slight tremor in his voice. “Just a test?” I repeated, my tone flat. He seemed to flinch at the word. “What else could it be?” he yelled. “Do you honestly think he’s trying to cuckold you? If that was his plan, would he announce it in public? You’re overthinking this! Sienna was right, you’re just too sensitive! Now, you go and apologize to Sienna and Caleb and clear the air. Or else I…” I didn’t want to hear the rest of his nonsense. I hung up.

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After the amnesia, I stopped controlling Caden. We coexisted like separate planets, never colliding. He devoted all his resources to paving a golden path for Marla Baldwin’s stardom. People warned me, “Stop faking amnesia, Sasha, or you’ll lose your place as Mrs. Pierce.” I’d just smile. Trying to get me killed? I finally had a life of leisure and endless money. When he crashed his car back home, I was overseas following my favorite band on tour. His best friend called, begging me to return. I faked panic: “Oh my god, is he okay? I’ll take the next flight!” By the time he was discharged, I still hadn’t come back. When I finally returned, I wore an apologetic look and lied: “My wallet was stolen right after I landed. I had nothing but my phone. I’m so sorry.” But he just stared at me, took my hand, his eyes red. “Can we stop fighting, Sasha? Please?” 1 Marla Baldwin, starring in a blockbuster fantasy series, was the number one trending topic. The comments were a sea of her fans and paid bots, all recounting the hardships she’d endured over the years. They claimed she’d finally made it. Meanwhile, I was sitting in a plush VIP hospital suite, gently touching the bandage on my head. “Oh. My. God.” Gazing around the opulent room, a grin spread across my face, my eyes gleaming. “Did I just wake up a millionaire?” Just then, a nurse walked in. I quickly pointed to my head. “Hey, miss! When can I get out of here?” She spoke softly. “We’ll probably need to observe you for another two or three days. If there are no adverse reactions, you’ll be free to go.” I waved a dismissive hand. “Perfect, then I can leave now. I feel great.” I fluttered my eyelashes at her. “Pretty please?” She blinked, momentarily stunned, before saying, “Let me get the doctor to take a look. If he says you’re okay, you can be discharged.” “Awesome, thank you!” After the nurse left, I craned my neck to grab my phone. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Holy crap. 99+ notifications. My vision is a little blurry, so I brought the screen closer. Pinned at the very top was a contact labeled: Hubby. There was one unread message: If you keep this up, we’re getting a divorce. Divorce?! The next second, I was calling my mom. As soon as she picked up, I blurted out, “Did you win the lottery or something?” “You ungrateful brat! You need to tell that Caden of yours to give your brother—” I hung up before she could finish. Next, I called my dad. Same question, same answer. By 3:33 PM, I had confirmed that I hadn’t struck it rich. The wealthy one was the “Hubby” who wanted to divorce me. I immediately checked my bank account. After counting the staggering number of zeroes, I went back to read the chat history with “Hubby.” I almost fainted. Seriously, did I have my head slammed in a car door before I woke up? I had been begging—actually begging—my cheating husband to come back home. “Unbelievable!” I pressed my fingertips to my temples dramatically. “When did I become so pathetic?” I walked into the bathroom and stared at my haggard reflection. “Sasha,” I said to the mirror, “when did you become this person? Begging for love? Have you completely lost your mind?” Once the doctor cleared me for discharge, I made a beeline for the nearest luxury mall for a complete makeover. I bought ten heavy gold bangles in one go, five for each wrist. The sales associate, seeing how extravagant I was, was smiling so hard her eyes disappeared. She showered me with an endless stream of compliments. When I left the mall, I was practically radiating the decadent scent of money. Magnificent. Next stop: an exclusive gentlemen’s club. I walked in with a briefcase full of cash. I fanned a thick stack of bills and used it to tilt one of the model’s chins up. “Do you like me?” His eyes lit up like laser beams. “Darling, I like you more than anyone,” he purred. “You’re gorgeous, you have an amazing body… who wouldn’t be obsessed with you? If someone isn’t, they must be blind.” I turned to another. “Do you love me?” He practically threw himself at my feet. “After my own mother, you are the person I love and care for most in this world.” I held out a wad of cash, smiling as I had them fan me with it. See? Love is easy. When you have money, you can have any kind of love you want. These guys were so smooth, they could sell water to a drowning man. I was so giddy I couldn’t tell which way was up. 2 Relying on a faint flicker of memory, I found my way back to an opulent, sprawling villa. My legs felt like jelly, my heart pounding in my chest. “Holy crap, is that a fountain? And a colonnade? Wow, and a garden… and a swimming pool!” The smile on my face stretched wider. This is my house. I pushed open the heavy front door. The foyer was dark. I switched on my phone’s flashlight, fumbling along the wall for a light switch. Before I could find it, a piercing scream echoed through the hall. “Ah!” My heart leaped into my throat. My knees went weak from the shock, and I leaned against the wall, peering toward the source of the sound. The next second, the lights flickered on. I squinted against the sudden brightness. When my eyes adjusted, I saw a man with a woman huddled in his arms. They were too far away for me to see clearly. The man’s voice was cold, laced with impatience. “What is it this time? Threatening to jump off the roof? Slit your wrists?” Before I could process what was happening, the woman beside him shrank back as if terrified of me, her big, watery eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I held up my hands. “Whoa, sorry to interrupt. Didn’t see a thing in the dark. I’ll just… head upstairs.” “You two carry on.” With that, I turned and bolted up the stairs as if my life depended on it. Following another hazy memory, I found a bedroom and slipped inside. Once again, I found myself marveling, “This room is huge.” After a shower, I came out to find someone else in the room. It was the man from downstairs. I guessed he must be “Hubby” from my phone—Caden Pierce. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he leaned against the wall, staring at me coldly. “What’s the new game?” Before I could speak, he sneered. “Amnesia?” I knew that even if I showed him the doctor’s official diagnosis, he wouldn’t believe me. So I just waved my hands frantically. “Nope, not at all! I’m perfectly fine!” Silence descended upon the room. I had no feelings for him, no memories of him. To me, he was just some guy standing in my room. I asked hesitantly, “Was there something else?” If not, you can leave. I highly doubted a cheating man would want to stick around anyway. He lazily lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Weren’t you the one who was begging me to come home?” “Heh, well, if you’re busy, you’re free to go.” I offered a dry laugh. He shot me an icy glare before disappearing into the bathroom. I sat on the bed, scrolling through my phone, trying to piece together my life from the endless text messages. It turned out Marla Baldwin was Caden’s childhood sweetheart. But her family went bankrupt during college. She didn’t get into the same university as him, and their youthful romance was buried by circumstance. When they met again, she was a struggling extra in Hollywood, while he was the CEO of the Pierce Corporation. It was a story straight out of a romance novel. He felt sorry for her past and wanted to give her the glittering career she deserved. I was just the villain who had thrown a wrench in their fairytale. I had publicly accused Marla of being a homewrecker. Her rivals seized the opportunity, fanning the flames of the scandal, and she was nearly driven out of the industry. I did a quick search. The whole affair ended with me issuing a public apology. The official statement claimed it was all a misunderstanding, that Marla had not interfered in our marriage. What a load of crap. How touching. How noble of him to protect her. I yawned, deciding to go to sleep before he came out of the bathroom. If I was asleep, it wouldn’t be awkward. … The next morning, I woke up alone. After breakfast, I casually asked the housekeeper, Maria, “What do I usually do around this time?” “Oh.” Maria paused, thinking for a long moment before choosing her words carefully. “Ma’am, you would typically go to Mr. Pierce’s office?” “To work?” “Ah, no.” I got the picture. For the next few weeks, Caden never came home. I, on the other hand, made friends with a few wealthy wives. They took me to exclusive clubs, high tea, and lavish spas. “It’s about time you finally saw the light,” one of them said. Her name was Clara, a stunningly beautiful woman. I shook my head internally. Men. They have a beautiful, fragrant flower at home, but they still can’t resist the temptation of trash on the street. She slowly exhaled a plume of smoke. The handsome young actor sitting beside her quickly held out an ashtray. The model next to me was just as attentive, picking up a strawberry and holding it to my lips. “Darling,” he whispered, “have a strawberry.” Then he leaned closer to my ear. “Want to play a game?” My interest was piqued. “What kind of game?” The model had soft, androgynous features and a captivating smile. I found myself staring for a moment. He leaned in, but before he could say a word, the door to our private room was kicked open with a violent crash. A man in a black suit stormed in, his face a mask of fury. He lunged forward and punched the actor square in the jaw. I gasped, covering my mouth. Clara and the other wives, however, seemed completely unfazed. The actor didn’t dare fight back. Finally, Clara, examining her manicure with an air of boredom, spoke. “Are you done? If so, get out. You’re scaring my friends.” In the dim light of the room, the sliver of yellow light from the hallway illuminated the man’s pale face. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over Clara’s shoulders, then grabbed her arm. “Come home with me.” After Clara left, I asked the remaining wives, “What was that all about?” One of them laughed bitterly. “The classic double standard. He’s allowed to play with fire, but she’s not even allowed to light a match.” As we left the club, I tilted my head at the model beside me. “Why do you work here?” He smiled, his answer simple. “I need the money.” “Are you clean?” I asked. He paused for a second, as if processing the question, then nodded. “Yes.” I smiled back. “Alright. I’ll give you ten thousand a month. Be mine.” His lips parted slightly. “Thank you,” he said. “What’s your name? Your real name.” “Leo.” 3 The day Caden and Marla Baldwin’s names exploded across the internet, Leo and I were up at 4 AM. We were chasing a sunrise. There’s a road in Northwood that’s surrounded by the ocean on three sides. He drove a scooter, and I sat beside him in the sidecar. The road was dotted with others like us, all seeking the dawn. The horizon was already set ablaze with a magnificent crimson and gold. Palm trees lined the road, swaying in the gentle breeze. At 5 AM, a crowd gathered on the beach. For nearly twenty minutes, we watched. A sun like a salted egg yolk slowly ascended from the sea, its light brilliant but not blinding. When I got back to the villa, I collapsed onto the bed and fell instantly asleep. I was jolted awake by the incessant buzzing of my phone. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. “For crying out loud!” “Aaargh! So annoying!” I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. Finally, I unlocked my phone. Messages were flooding in from people I knew and people I didn’t, all asking if Caden and I were getting divorced. The general sentiment was: “You can’t keep faking this amnesia, Sasha. If you do, your spot as Mrs. Pierce is going to be up for grabs.” I scoffed internally. Are you trying to get me killed? I finally have a life where I don’t have to work and still have money to burn. I scratched my head, took a deep breath, and opened up social media. Well, what do you know. The number one trending topic was #CadenAndMarla. Apparently, one of their old high school classmates had posted a video as part of a viral trend called ‘Seventeen-Year-Old Daydreams.’ The video transitioned to a photo of the user in their old classroom. In the background, several other students in uniforms were captured in the shot. I looked down at the photo, which fans had enlarged and digitally enhanced for clarity. You could see Marla’s face perfectly. The girl was looking up at the boy standing before her, her eyes bright with an adoring smile. The boy was leaning casually against the blackboard at the back of the room, his head slightly bowed, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. The comments section was on fire. “Is this a scene from a Netflix teen drama? I’m invested.” “So all those ‘coincidences’ weren’t coincidences at all. Caden has been her guardian angel in Hollywood this whole time.” “OMG, tell us more! This is so sweet!” “But wait, isn’t Caden married? What does that make them? Is Marla not the other woman here?” Amidst the sea of fans shipping this ‘reunited lovers’ fantasy, a rare voice of dissent emerged. But people only want to hear what they want to hear, see what they want to see. Anytime a comment didn’t fit their fairytale narrative, they would reconstruct their fantasy world with a barrage of “I heard” and “from what I understand.” “The wife isn’t nearly as pretty as Marla. And I heard she used some dirty tricks to marry into the Pierce family in the first place. A family like that would never have accepted her otherwise.” “I agree. The fact that Caden and Marla found each other again proves that even fate couldn’t stand to keep them apart.” The comments flew back and forth, but my mind was a complete blank. I couldn’t even remember how Caden and I met, let alone how we got married. I scratched my head. Why would the heir to a massive fortune marry me? Didn’t his parents object? I couldn’t find an answer, so I gave up trying. That evening, I was waiting for Leo outside the Northwood Institute of Technology. He had taken a year off from school due to family issues but had recently re-enrolled. He was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt over a white t-shirt. A sharp pain lanced through my head. A fuzzy image flickered at the edge of my vision. “Hey, have you been waiting long?” I shook my head slightly. “Not at all. Any good places to eat around here?” “Feel like some barbecue? A new place just opened up, I hear it’s really good.” “Sounds perfect.” The Institute of Technology was right next to Northwood University. As we passed by the university’s main gate, I slowed to a stop. The familiar entrance felt like a dream. Leo asked softly, “Sasha? What’s wrong?” “I think… I think I used to go to school here.” Just as we were about to leave, a warm, elderly voice called out from behind us. “Is that you, Sasha?” I turned. An old man pushing a bicycle was walking towards us, a cheerful grin on his face. “The last time you two visited was for the alumni event a few years ago! Don’t tell me you came all this way just to see this old man?” I bit my lip. The whole amnesia thing sounded ridiculous to most people. So I just smiled. “Of course, Professor. We came to see you. How have you been?” The professor waved his hand with a laugh. “I’m doing great, just great. I know Caden is a busy man. And who is this young fellow?” He gestured toward Leo. “A friend of mine,” I said. “He goes to the tech institute next door.” “A pleasure to meet you, young man.” Leo bowed his head slightly. “Professor.” “Yes, yes,” the professor nodded, his kind eyes twinkling as he looked at me. “My, how time flies. It feels like just yesterday you two were freshmen. That boy, Caden, ran all over Riverton in the middle of the night just to collect a full set of those character dolls for you, and he had a major competition the next day. Ah, to be young. And now, look at you, married for five years.” My smile froze on my face. I’m twenty-eight this year. The professor continued, lost in his memories. “I wanted him to stay on for his master’s, his Ph.D. He joined my research lab as a freshman—a true genius, one of a kind. But his parents were against it. He told me he had to go out there and build a future for you both.” Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my heart. An image flashed in my mind. A boy in a blue shirt, darting through unfamiliar streets. Then, a bright, teasing voice echoed in my ears: Hey, going for that sun-kissed look? I thought I was too pale myself, mind if I join? “Well, look at the time,” the professor said, snapping me back to the present. “I have to get to my class. You two should come by and visit this old man when you have a chance.” I smiled. “We will. Please take care of yourself.” After the professor left, Leo noticed my pale face. “Sasha, are you okay? You don’t look so well.” “I’m fine. Just… remembered some things.” The Northwood night was a dazzling spectacle, with golden lights illuminating the city’s grand, European-style architecture. Clara was drunk. I went to pick her up. A waiter led me to a private room. She was slumped on the floor, her head resting on the table, her curly hair splayed out around her. I had no idea what had happened to make her drink this much. Hearing the door, she lifted her head groggily, her voice slurred. “Sasha? Is that you?” “Yeah, it’s me. Come on, I’m taking you home.” “Home?” She blinked, staring at me with a vacant expression. Then, a bitter smile twisted her lips. “Right. My home. The one where I’m all alone.” As she laughed, something seemed to occur to her. She fumbled with her phone and held it out to me. The screen displayed an email from a university abroad. An acceptance letter. “I’m going to study overseas.” My jaw dropped. “Clara, that’s amazing! Congratulations! I’ll have to come visit you.” “You better. I’ll show you my campus.” But she didn’t look happy. I glanced at the empty bottles scattered around the room. “Isn’t this the school you’ve always dreamed of?” “Hmm? What makes you say that?” “You just don’t seem very happy about it.” She froze at my words, then threw her head back and laughed. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… surreal.” I looked at her, confused, as she began to tell me her story.

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My weddings to Seraphina always ended in disaster. The first time, my drink was spiked with rat poison. I had a seizure on the spot, becoming the laughingstock of high society. The second time, I was stabbed three times at the altar. To this day, I still have to wear a urostomy bag. The third time, an SUV plowed into the wedding venue, crushing my tibia and ending my racing career for good. … And every single one of these “accidents” was, without exception, the handiwork of Seraphina’s mentally challenged childhood friend, Mason. Whenever I showed a flicker of anger or hurt, she was always the first to scold me. “Mason was injured saving my life. He has the mind of a six-year-old. Can you please stop picking on a child?” This time, Mason simply set the chapel on fire. I threw myself over Seraphina to shield her, and my entire body was covered in horrific burns. Seraphina stayed by my side for a whole month. But as I was being discharged, I overheard her talking to a doctor friend. “Just prescribe him whatever. Don’t let him heal too quickly.” Her friend was stunned. “But he was this badly injured trying to save you.” Seraphina cut her off. “His sacrifice is nothing compared to Mason’s.” “I just can’t stand seeing him bully Mason. He caused Mason to burn his hand, so he deserves to be punished.” Her friend gasped. “And… the other times?” Seraphina answered without a second thought. “I taught Mason how to do all of it. His mind is permanently stuck at age six. I have to teach him how to fight back, how to protect himself.” My breath hitched. All this time, all my suffering… had been a gift from the woman I loved most. If that’s the case, then I’ll just leave. 1 As I turned to walk away, the woman continued, savoring her words. “Julian made Mason drink expired milk, giving him food poisoning until he was foaming at the mouth. So I taught Mason how to drug him, to humiliate him in public, too.” “He caused Mason to get a small cut that bled, so I made sure he felt that pain a thousand times over.” “He was always showing off his race cars in front of Mason, making him feel inferior. So I made sure he could never be a race car driver again.” My fists clenched, my eyes burning red. Her friend sighed. “If you don’t love him anymore, why do you keep trying to marry him?” Seraphina’s tone turned weary. “He sold his house to help me start my company, and he’s been with me for so many years. I can’t be too cruel.” “But this is the last time. Once I’ve calmed Mason down, I’ll take Julian abroad for the wedding. It’s the least I can do to give him some closure.” I don’t remember how I left. When I finally snapped out of my daze, the sky was dark. A few voice messages from Seraphina were on my phone. “Julian, you’re a grown man. Are you seriously playing the disappearing act?” “Can you stop this? I’ve been looking for you all day. Come home.” I exited the chat and saw a post from a mutual friend. It was a picture of Seraphina and Mason, clearly having spent the entire day at Disneyland. I was sitting on a bench right outside the hospital. If she had really been looking for me, how could she not have found me? A cold night wind blew past, and a deep, relentless ache throbbed in my amputated leg. I suddenly remembered the first month after the amputation. I was a wreck, completely broken. Seraphina would kiss my stump countless times, whispering tender promises. “Julian, from now on, I’ll be your crutch.” To appease my anger at Mason, she took the blame herself, carving a piece of flesh from her own leg right in front of me. I thought she loved me. How else could she cry before I did whenever I felt the searing pain of a phantom limb? She even established a dedicated research team to design my prosthetic leg. She set up a charity foundation in my name, all to help me get back on my feet. But now I know. All that sweet, tender care was laced with a thousand calculated deceptions. Just then, a notification popped up on my phone: ticket purchase successful. A small measure of calm settled over me. I looked up to see fireworks exploding in the night sky, spelling out Mason’s name in glittering sparks. The light was blindingly bright. My back, scarred and burned from the fire, began to ache with a phantom pain. I remembered then. Today was Mason’s birthday. If it weren’t for the fact that at his birthday party last year, he’d “playfully” pushed me down a flight of stairs, giving me a concussion and making me miss the most important race of my life, I wouldn’t have remembered this day so vividly. It was past midnight when I got home. Sounds of laughter and splashing came from the bathroom. The maid looked at me nervously. “Mr. Mason won’t let us touch him. The madam is helping him bathe.” I froze, struck by lightning. No wonder I would wake up in the hospital in the middle of the night to find Seraphina gone for hours. I fought down the volcanic rage threatening to erupt from my chest, forcing myself not to imagine the intimate scene unfolding behind that door. But then I heard Mason’s happy shout from inside. “I love taking a bath with my big sister!” It was followed by a muffled grunt from Seraphina, her voice strained with restraint. “Be good, Mason. This part of you is only for your sister and the maids to see. Don’t let anyone else touch you here, understand?” “And you can’t touch my… my chest, either.” Mason planted a loud, wet kiss on Seraphina’s cheek. She let out a soft laugh. The sound of running water resumed. I walked into the bedroom, and what I saw there nearly drove me insane. 2 My parents’ photos, the ones I kept hidden in the closet, were now pinned to the wall. Countless darts punctured their faces. They were the last pictures I had of them. My fingers trembled as I pulled out the darts. I clutched the mutilated photos to my chest and sobbed. Meanwhile, the two in the bathroom were still playing. I shot to my feet and stormed to the bathroom door. Just then, Seraphina emerged, helping a naked Mason out. His body was pressed tightly against hers. The moment he saw me, he clapped his hands and yelled, “The cripple’s back!” I glared at him, the air sucked from my lungs. Before I could say a word, Seraphina spoke first. “Mason has the mind of a child. I was just helping him with his bath. There’s no need to look at us like that.” She turned and gently laid Mason on the bed. With practiced ease, she dried his body and helped him into his pajamas. She attended to every detail, even applying his lotion herself. Mason looked at me with smug pride and pouted. “Sister promised she’d only ever bathe me, right?” Seraphina smiled without hesitation. “Yes, I promised.” I stood there, clutching the ruined photos, a crushing weight settling on my chest. No wonder when I fell and passed out in the hospital bathroom, she would rather call a nurse than come in and help me herself. She was keeping a promise to Mason. She cared so much about her promise to him, but she’d conveniently forgotten the one she made to me ten years ago, in that tiny, rundown apartment. She’d sworn through her tears that she would love me with her life. Standing behind them, my voice was a low murmur. “Seraphina, let’s get a divorce.” The room fell silent. After a long moment, Seraphina tucked Mason into bed. She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “There, you go to sleep now.” Then, she grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room. The force of her grip tore open the freshly scabbed wounds on my body. She shoved me against the wall in the dim hallway. “Julian, I’ve had a long day. Don’t start this now.” I met her eyes, a sarcastic smile playing on my lips. “Oh? Is that because you were looking for me all day?” Seraphina looked away, her voice a muddled attempt at placating me. “Julian, I’ve already made the wedding arrangements. We’ll go abroad this time, without Mason. There won’t be any more accidents.” “Don’t be angry, okay?” She reached for my hand but froze, her brow furrowing almost imperceptibly before she quickly pulled away. I understood instantly. She had felt my scars. She was repulsed by the hideous, worm-like ridges of burned flesh on my skin. Seeing the tears welling in my eyes, a look of pity crossed her face. She started to pull me into an embrace… But a sudden cry from Mason echoed from the bedroom. Seraphina immediately spun around and rushed back in, knocking me to the floor in her haste. She didn’t even notice. I sat there on the cold floor and started to laugh, a low, hollow sound. I pulled out my phone and called my lawyer. “Draw up the divorce papers for me. And I want you to sell all of my shares in Pierce Industries to Seraphina’s biggest rival.” A bitter, ironic laugh escaped my lips. “Roxanne Hawthorne… I think she’s going to love this little gift.” Through the crack in the door, I saw Seraphina coaxing Mason to sleep, right there on the bed with him. In the dim light, I thought I saw a flash of a triumphant, mocking smile on Mason’s face. A terrifying possibility struck me. I called for the maid and asked her to pull up the security footage. I was told the cameras were broken. My brow furrowed. “Where are my clothes and luggage?” I asked. The maid looked uneasy. “Mr. Mason… burned them.” As if afraid of my reaction, she quickly added, “The madam said to let him. For fun.” The knot of rage in my chest tightened, my fingers curling into fists. I went to the guest room and didn’t fall asleep until three in the morning. I hadn’t been asleep for long when I was jolted awake by hot milk splashing across my face. Mason lunged at me, his fists raining down on my body. “You damned cripple! This is my house! Get out!” I gasped in pain, pushing myself up and slapping him hard across the face. The next second, a searing sting exploded on my own cheek. 3 Seraphina stared at her hand, stunned. When she met my cold, resolute gaze, a flicker of panic crossed her face. “Julian, I didn’t mean to—” Mason burst into loud, theatrical sobs, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Sister, the bad man hit me! It hurts! I need kisses to make it better!” Seraphina’s expression immediately hardened. She turned, cupped Mason’s face in her hands, and gently blew on his cheek. “Shh, it’s okay, Mason. Sister will kiss it and make the pain go away.” Then, she looked at me. “Apologize.” Mason lifted his chin smugly. “Did you hear that? Seraphina told you to apologize to me!” In that moment, I saw it clearly in his eyes—the undisguised hatred and mockery. That wasn’t the look of someone with the mental capacity of a six-year-old. It was the same look of jealous resentment he used to give me back when he was pathetically trailing after Seraphina and me. Seraphina had always complained to me about Mason’s obsessive advances. But after the boating accident, after he suffered a severe brain injury while “saving” her, her attitude did a complete one-eighty. No matter what Mason did, she demanded that I endure it. But my parents had also died in that accident. They gave their life jackets to Seraphina and Mason so she could get back to me, and then they were swept away by the waves, their bodies never recovered. Mason lost his memory. I lost my parents. And now, it seemed, I was about to lose the woman I loved, too. I stared defiantly into Seraphina’s eyes. “Not happening.” Mason’s wails grew louder. “Sister, he’s mean!” Seraphina’s eyes darkened. She patiently soothed him, “It’s okay, it’s okay, Mason, don’t cry.” “How do you want to punish the bad man? Sister will help you, okay?” With that, she dropped the gentle facade, her voice laced with impatience. “Julian, I’m giving you one last chance. Apologize to Mason!” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. I lifted my pant leg, revealing the cold metal of my prosthetic. I lifted my shirt, exposing the urostomy bag. I pulled down my scarf, showing the gnarled, hideous scar on my neck. My eyes were red as I asked in a dead, flat voice, “Seraphina, is this not enough?” “Punish me? For what? What exactly did I do wrong?” A look of shock flashed across Seraphina’s face. She quickly averted her gaze, unable to meet mine. But a moment later, her eyes darted back to my face, searching for something. Finally, she said stiffly, “Mason is just a child. He was only playing.” “Do you really need to hold a grudge over it?” “Besides, it’s not like I didn’t compensate you. You were always happy to accept the company shares, weren’t you?” There it was again. Every time Mason hurt me, she told me not to pick on a “child.” Then she would throw money at me. Not as compensation, but as a handout. A dismissal. If I hadn’t overheard her confession, I might have gone on believing I was the petty one. Seeing the raw pain in my eyes, Seraphina’s breathing quickened. She sighed, about to step forward to comfort me. But Mason immediately started scrambling towards the window. “If sister won’t get revenge for me, then I don’t like sister anymore!” “I’m going to find Mommy and Daddy!” Seraphina’s face went white with terror, her voice shaking. “Mason, get down from there! Now!” Her eyes were red with panic. “Get down, and I’ll promise you anything!” Mason pointed at me. “I want to ride the doggy! And I want to hear the doggy bark!” Seraphina understood immediately. “Fine,” she agreed instantly. “I’ll make him be a doggy for you to ride. Just please, get down.” She then turned to me, her expression matter-of-fact. “What are you still standing there for? Can’t you see Mason is about to kill himself?” “Get on the floor. We need to calm him down.” The word “dog” sent an uncontrollable tremor through my body. 4 Vivid images of my childhood bullies flashed through my mind. Their voices, calling me a dog, forcing me to crawl on the ground, echoed from the depths of my memory, a battering ram against my heart. The suffocating feeling was so intense I didn’t even notice my fingernails digging into my palms, drawing blood. After ten years together, Seraphina knew better than anyone where the scars on my wrists came from. Every time she touched them, her eyes would well up with tears, and she would swear that the people who had bullied me would pay. But now, she had become one of them. When I didn’t move, she called for the bodyguards. Her voice was merciless. “Julian, I gave you a chance.” “Don’t blame me for being cruel.” At her signal, a bodyguard kicked me hard in my good knee. With a sickening thud, I collapsed to the ground. I struggled violently, but Seraphina leaned in close, her voice a cold, low whisper in my ear. “Julian, just play along. We’re just appeasing Mason.” My eyes blazed as I gritted out, “Seraphina, divorce! I want a divorce!” She grabbed my chin, her grip like steel. “Julian, I’ve been too soft on you all these years. You live in my house, eat my food. It’s time you learned your place.” “Divorce me? Don’t forget, your grandmother is in that expensive nursing home. And I’m the one who pays the bills every year.” The thought of my grandmother stopped me cold. I went limp, giving up the fight. Seraphina let out a soft chuckle, her fingers tracing my swollen cheek. “That’s better, Julian. We’re a family. Mason is my savior, which makes him your savior, too.” “You should never, ever have laid a hand on him.” “And when you do something wrong, there are always consequences.” Seraphina instructed the bodyguards to lift Mason onto my back. She even took the leash from Mason’s dog and fastened it around my neck. Mason shrieked with delight, whipping my back and yanking my hair. “Crawl!” he screamed. “Crawl!” I don’t know how long it went on. From dawn till dusk, I crawled in circles, my knees leaving bloody trails on the pristine floor. Mason, seemingly tireless, rode on my back, his laughter echoing through the grand villa. And Seraphina just sat there, watching his smile with a look of utter adoration, a foolish grin on her own face. She even took out her camera, capturing every moment of his “joy.” The prosthetic leg ground against my raw flesh, my wounds tore open again, and the urostomy bag broke, filling the air with a foul stench. Black spots danced in my vision. At the brink of exhaustion, I looked at Seraphina and begged, “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” “I apologize.” But Seraphina remained seated, a regal, distant figure, her gentle smile directed only at Mason. “Mason, are you happy with this punishment?” Mason finally slid off my back. I breathed a sigh of relief. But his next words sent a chill of pure terror through me. “Sister, I forgive the ugly monster!” “As a reward, can he go play with my pet snakes?” Seraphina pinched his cheek affectionately. “Of course. Whatever makes you happy.” My eyes widened in disbelief. “Seraphina, I’ll die.” She replied with chilling nonchalance. “They’re pet snakes. Not venomous.” I scrambled, trying to crawl away. But I was pinned to the floor. Seraphina gently stroked what little was left of my hair. “Julian, after this, we’ll go abroad for our wedding.” Mason excitedly had the bodyguards drag me to the temperature-controlled room where he kept his hundreds of snakes. As they shoved me through the door, a manic, triumphant gleam shone in Mason’s eyes. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You figured it out, didn’t you, Julian?” “Tsk. In that case, you can go die.” Instantly, the scent of my blood drew countless snakes toward me, their tongues flicking, their bodies coiling around my limbs. Through the crack in the door, I saw Seraphina’s silhouette as she led Mason away. I closed my eyes in utter despair… The next morning, Seraphina came downstairs holding two plane tickets, frowning at the empty dining table. She looked at the maid. “Didn’t the master get up to make me breakfast?” The maid trembled. “M-Ma’am… isn’t he still in the snake room?” Seraphina shot up from her chair, her voice sharp. “What? Didn’t I tell you to let him out!” A thick, cold dread began to creep into her heart. The snakes weren’t venomous, but the larger pythons… they could eat a person. Just then, her assistant hurried in, a strange look on her face. “Ma’am, Mr. Mason’s latest intelligence test results just arrived from the lab.” “And… and this is from Mr. Julian. It’s a divorce agreement…”

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I meant to ask my brother for money but texted my boss by mistake. 【Heyyy, big bro~】 Boss: 【?】 Me: 【Can you spare some cash for your sis?】 Boss: 【?】 I panicked and lied: 【My phone’s broken, can’t come to work.】 He sent $500. Me: 【A bit stingy… Going broke?】 Boss: 【?】 Then he sent $5,000. My tone changed: 【Love you! xoxo】 I kept asking him for money occasionally. A month later, I posted online thanking my brother. Then my real brother DM’d me: 【?】 【Channel, am I not your brother anymore?】 【Who’s this imposter?】 【Don’t I give you enough? Or are you leaving?】 I checked my contacts and saw two identical profile pics. Finally, I understood how the monk felt meeting the real and fake Monkey Kings… 1 Fresh out of college, I was quickly initiated into the world of paying to work. Rent, utilities, food, clothes, makeup—every single expense was a major blow to my wallet. After a month of this, I was on the verge of being too broke to even afford my job. Then, I remembered: I have a brother. My brother, Leo, isn’t exactly a looker, but he’s incredibly generous. He’s three years older than me and started his own business while he was still in college. So, by the time I was a student, he was already the owner of a small, successful company. Every month, after getting my three-thousand-dollar allowance from my dad, I’d turn right around and cry poverty to my brother. He’d always send me five thousand, no questions asked. He was more reliable than my dad, whose finances were tightly controlled by my mom. But my brother was single, so who else was he going to spoil but me? With that thought, I confidently hit him up for money again. His profile picture was a solid black square, easy to find. I located it in a second. I had accidentally factory-reset my phone a while back, wiping all my contacts and chat histories. Thankfully, I remembered that my personal ATM had a black profile picture. All our previous transaction records were gone, but no matter. It was time for a new one. 【Heyyy, big bro~】 Black Profile Pic: 【?】 【Something wrong? It’s late.】 It’s been a while since I last asked for money, he’s acting all formal. Looks like I’ll have to ask him for money more often to maintain our sibling bond. Me: 【My dearest big bro~ Spare some change for your little sis.】 Black Profile Pic: 【?】 What’s with all the question marks? He’s usually so quick with the transfers. Is he cutting me off now that I’ve graduated and started working? Not on my watch! I quickly came up with an excuse: 【Bro, my phone broke, I can’t come to work.】 Subtext: I can’t earn money anymore, you have to support me. Then, he sent me five hundred dollars. Me: 【A little stingy, don’t you think? …Are you going broke or something?】 Five hundred? Is he serious? Black Profile Pic: 【?】 The next second, another five thousand dollars came through. My tune changed instantly: 【I knew it! You were just busy and missed a zero~】 【Love you! xoxo】 I want, I get. With the money secured, I went to sleep, content. Completely oblivious to the fact that on the other side of the screen, the man with the black profile picture sat in silence for a long time before finally searching online: 【What does it mean when a new employee asks their boss for money?】 【What does it mean when an employee calls their boss “big bro”?】 【How to maintain a professional subordinate-superior relationship?】 2 Monday morning, company meeting. Our boss, Mr. Sterling, was presenting a PowerPoint, but his eyes kept darting in my direction. The other new hires and I were practically holding our breath. I scribbled in my notebook, pretending to take notes. 【Who do you think Mr. Sterling is looking at?】 New Colleague: 【No idea.】 【But it’s so creepy. His gaze is so intense.】 【None of us have done anything to tick him off, right?】 Me: 【Nope. I’m the newest one here, I haven’t even had the chance to.】 My colleagues exchanged nervous glances, all equally clueless. I thought for a moment: 【Well, bosses are usually a bit weird. It’s probably nothing.】 You have to be a little crazy to be a boss. I’ve heard my brother’s employees complain about him all the time. They call him a ruthless tyrant. For the final part of the meeting, Mr. Sterling added a whole new section to his presentation: “How to Properly Manage Superior-Subordinate Relationships.” “Since we have a batch of new employees who have recently joined us, I’d like to take this opportunity to clarify how to correctly handle the relationship between superiors and subordinates…” Because of this last-minute addition, a two-hour meeting stretched into a four-hour marathon. A colleague whispered, 【Monday meetings are the absolute worst.】 【I thought a young boss wouldn’t be this long-winded…】 Me: 【What is he even talking about? He might as well just give me twenty grand.】 The meeting finally ended with Mr. Sterling’s parting words: “Do not disturb your superiors outside of work hours.” As the painfully long meeting concluded, I stood up to leave. Then, I heard the boss say, “Who’s Channel? Stay behind.” My colleagues shot me a “good luck” look and scurried away. Soon, it was just me and the boss in the empty conference room, staring at each other. Mr. Sterling looked at me for a long time. “So, you’re Channel? I’ll remember that.” I stammered, “Mr. Sterling, is there something you needed?” He cleared his throat. “Did you take in everything I said during the meeting?” Oh, crap, I thought. Is he going to quiz me? I hadn’t heard a single word. But I remained calm, putting on a brave face. “Yes, of course. I took it all in.” I was already planning my escape route: feign dizziness or a sudden muscle spasm. But he didn’t ask me anything. He let out a breath. “Good. As long as you understood.” I seized the opportunity. “Well, if there’s nothing else, sir, I’ll get back to work.” “Mm,” he grunted. I bolted out of there. As he watched me disappear, a muscle in his cheek twitched. Runs fast now, but she wasn’t so shy when she was asking for money last night. She’d better have understood. She’d better keep her distance. I thought being singled out after the meeting was just bad luck, like starting the day off on the wrong foot. I never expected to run into him again at lunch. My luck was just abysmal today. I was in the company cafeteria, happily devouring my lunch. The seat across from me had been a revolving door of colleagues, until finally, Mr. Sterling sat down. “Your phone… looks pretty new,” he commented. I nearly choked on my food. I looked up, and the sight of my boss instantly made my lunch lose its appeal. “Mr…. Mr. Sterling. Hello.” He continued to eye my phone. “Not thinking of getting a new one?” What was that supposed to mean? It’s new, why would I replace it? What was he trying to get at with this small talk? I decided to play along. “Are you offering to buy me one, sir?” Mr. Sterling: “…” He was just trying to make a point, he thought, and now he’s trapped himself. She just keeps taking and taking. But as her boss, he couldn’t exactly say no. Otherwise, she’d start spreading rumors that the company was going under, that he was a cheapskate. After a brief internal struggle, he conceded. “…Alright.” Me: “?” Did I just hear him right? This was too bizarre! Out of all the empty seats, my boss chooses to sit opposite me and then offers to buy me a phone! During my lunch break, I frantically messaged my worldly-wise best friend. Bestie: 【So, he lectures you about professional boundaries in the morning, then asks you to lunch and offers to buy you a phone in the afternoon?】 【He’s speaking in code. His intentions are clear. The man is not giving up!】 Her words sparked a realization. 【You’re saying… he wants to… you know… with me?】 【So that whole speech about professional boundaries was just a load of hypocritical crap!】 【And I thought he was different from other bosses, being so young, handsome, and rich.】 【I can’t believe it…】 Bestie: 【Has he added you on social media? Sent you any creepy messages?】 Me: 【I don’t think he has.】 Even without him adding me, I could already picture his profile picture: some smug guy in a suit. They’re both bosses, why can’t he be more like my brother, with a discreet and mysterious black profile picture? My brother is still the best. I clicked on the black profile picture’s chat again, the transfer records warming my heart. 【Big bro, you’re my savior~】 【I’ll follow you forever!】 Black Profile Pic: 【?】 His replies may be cold. But my brother will always be my rock. 3 I hit up my rock for money every few days. My rock never said a word, just kept sending the money. A month later, my conscience finally kicked in. I posted on my timeline, thanking my brother. I even attached screenshots of all the transfers from the past month. The next second, my actual brother slid into my DMs: 【?】 【Channel, am I not your brother anymore?】 Me: 【?】 Wait a minute… 【Bro, did you change your username?】 My brother: 【I’ve always had this username. Stop changing the subject.】 【Who is this imposter brother you’ve adopted?】 【Do I not give you enough money? Or have you finally decided to fly the coop?】 【You’re asking other people for money?】 Me: 【…】 Other… people?! I frantically searched my chat history, but the chat with the black profile picture was empty. Where did all the transfer records go? Did my phone reset itself again? I exited the chat and saw them. Two identical black profile pictures, side by side in my contact list. It was in that moment that I finally understood the helplessness the monk must have felt when he encountered the real and fake Monkey Kings. I… wait… what… My hand trembling, I clicked on the second black profile picture. All the transfer records from the past month were from him. If you’re my brother, then who is this? The first black profile picture popped up with a new message. 【Channel, answer me.】 I bit my lip. 【How do I know you’re really my brother?】 My brother was so mad he could have laughed. 【…】 【My name is Leo, I’m six-foot-one, and I have a money-guzzling younger sister named Channel.】 【When you were seven, I caught you stealing money from my piggy bank. You denied it and ate the coins.】 【When you were nine, you found out I had a girlfriend and blackmailed me for two thousand dollars.】 【When you were fifteen, you sold me out to your best friend for five hundred bucks.】 Him: 【Need I go on?】 【Or should we just get a DNA test?】 Even through the screen, I could feel my brother Leo’s exasperation. This was definitely my brother. So, the other black profile picture was… Just as I was wondering, the first person to like my post, a colleague, messaged me. 【You’ve been holding out on us…】 【Is it too late to start sucking up to the future boss’s wife?】 I was completely lost. 【Boss’s… wife?】 Colleague: 【Did you forget to block me from your post?】 【I saw all those transfers from Mr. Sterling.】 【Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I just want to be on your good side! If you don’t let me, I’ll… please! Just let me be on your good side!】 I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping this was all a bad dream. I hadn’t blocked anyone from that post. I just wanted to show off my rich, generous brother. But she was saying… the black profile picture was Mr. Sterling? Speak of the devil. Mr. Sterling had also seen the post. He messaged me: 【Delete the post. I’ll give you money.】 He could have fired me, but instead, he offered me money. I quickly deleted the post, thankful that not many people had seen it. Then, a transfer from the black-profile-pictured Mr. Sterling came through. Me: “…” I didn’t delete the post for money! This was a mess I couldn’t get out of. No wonder I’d been feeling like Mr. Sterling was dropping financial hints lately. I thought he was trying to proposition me, but it turns out I was the one shamelessly hitting him up for cash. By day, I avoided him like the plague. By night, I was creatively begging him for money. Turns out, I was the real hypocrite. Now that I understood the mistaken-brother fiasco, I spent the whole night composing and deleting messages, trying to figure out how to explain this to Mr. Sterling. It had been a month. Who mistakes their own brother for a whole month? No one would believe me. And the way I’d been asking for money… he probably thought I was trying to seduce him by calling him “big bro.” He had even asked me a few times if I was “tired of trying.” And I remembered my replies were always along the lines of, 【Yes~ Please take care of me, big bro~】 Who wouldn’t misunderstand that… Forget it. What’s done is done. Might as well just go to sleep. When in doubt, sleep on it. 4 The next morning at the office, my colleague pulled me aside, whispering, “Ms. Woods, you’ll have to look out for me from now on.” She was the only one who had seen my post last night. She even handed me a cup of bubble tea. My heart sank. “If I told you it was all a misunderstanding, a big mix-up, would you believe me?” She beamed. “Of course, of course I believe you!” I’m going to cling to you like my life depends on it. Me: “…” Even an outsider who didn’t know the whole story was convinced. How was I supposed to explain to Mr. Sterling that I really, truly wasn’t trying to sleep my way to the top? I spent the next few days in a daze, consumed by this problem. But before I could come up with a solution, Mr. Sterling came to me. It had been three days, and our chat history was still stuck on the last exchange: him sending me money for deleting the post, which I hadn’t accepted. Mr. Sterling: 【Are you there?】 【Why didn’t you accept the money I sent you?】 【Was it not enough?】 I pretended to be offline. A few minutes later, another five thousand dollars came through. The bright orange of the transfer notification was testing my resolve. I quickly rejected it. Mr. Sterling: 【?】 My Bluetooth speaker was coincidentally playing a sad, romantic ballad. An idea struck me. 【Mr. Sterling, can we just pretend that none of this ever happened?】 A funeral for our love, burying all the memories of you. Burying the memory of the stupid mistakes I made last month. Me: 【I’ll pay you back all the money. From now on, you’ll be my boss, and I’ll be just another insignificant employee.】 I calculated the total amount he’d sent me over the past month. I’d already spent most of it. I quickly borrowed over thirty thousand from my actual brother. Then, I transferred it to Mr. Sterling. Mr. Sterling: 【?】 I let out a breath. That should settle things, right? If I couldn’t explain the past, I could at least clear the debt. Me: 【Don’t worry, sir. I won’t bother you for money anymore.】 【I don’t know what came over me before. Please forgive me.】 Mr. Sterling didn’t reply. I thought that was the end of it. Little did I know, after I fell asleep, my phone was flooded with messages. When I woke up the next morning and saw 99+ notifications from Mr. Sterling, I nearly fainted.

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My patron took me to a gala, and I got into a fistfight with the woman everyone thought he’d marry. He dragged me out of the chaos. I glared at him, my hair a tangled mess. “You’re taking her side?” He said nothing, his jaw tight. I ripped the ring from my finger and threw it in his face. “Fine. Then I’m dumping you.” 1 I’d been Julian Archer’s canary for three years. He was handsome, wealthy, and incredible in bed. He was generous, too. His only rule? No on-screen kissing. It cost me a few roles, and plenty of people online called me a “fake prude.” I didn’t care. I’ve always been the type to keep my head down and stay out of trouble. I never caused problems for him. I just never imagined that the first time I did, it would be this spectacular. I’d just assaulted the woman who’d been his childhood sweetheart, fresh off her return from overseas. 2 It started when Julian asked me to be his date for a gala. I never fit in with his high-society crowd and wanted to say no. But I’d been on location shooting for three months, and the truth was, I desperately missed him. So, I went. And, just as I’d feared, I saw people I’d rather avoid. I tried to keep my distance, but they always seemed to find me. I slipped out to the terrace for a breath of fresh air, only for Claire and Jenna to follow me out. Claire was Julian’s childhood friend; her family had moved their business abroad years ago, and she’d only recently returned. Jenna, on the other hand, was my personal nemesis, the one who constantly fed negative stories about me to the tabloids. I hadn’t realized they knew each other. I sat on a stone bench, hoping they’d ignore me. Jenna, picking at her nails, started talking loudly, aiming her words right at me. “Isn’t this the Dalton’s engagement party? How did they let just anyone in?” Claire glanced at me, her tone flat. “You dragged me out here to say something, Jenna. Was this it?” Jenna shot her a sycophantic smile. “Don’t be like that, Claire. It was so stuffy inside. I just thought we could get some air, chat while we walk.” Claire didn’t respond, just leaned gracefully against the fountain. “So, Claire,” Jenna pressed on, “is it true you and Julian are finally getting engaged? A merger of the families?” “Yes, it’s more or less settled.” “That’s wonderful! A perfect match. A true power couple. Some people should really learn to take a hint and exit gracefully.” Claire remained silent. Jenna kept prattling on, and I’d had enough. I stood to leave, but her next words froze me in place. “Some people aren’t just trash themselves; their whole family is a train wreck. That construction project that went south… cost so many people their livelihoods. If you ask me, the man in charge getting his leg crippled was just karma.” My vision went red. I spun around, marched up to her, and slapped her twice, hard. Jenna clutched her face, her eyes wide with shock. “Elara, are you insane?” “Talking trash behind my back is one thing,” I seethed, “but saying it to my face? Did you really think I wouldn’t touch you?” Claire frowned, stepping forward. “Miss Christian, this is the Dalton’s home. Have you considered the consequences of making a scene like this?” My eyes, sharp as daggers, locked onto hers. “Miss Sterling, if someone spoke about your parents that way, I truly hope you’d have the presence of mind to consider the consequences first.” Claire was speechless, but Jenna lunged, grabbing a fistful of my hair. We tumbled into a heap of flailing limbs and torn silk. I don’t know how Claire got pulled into it, but by the time Julian and the others arrived, the three of us were a chaotic tangle on the flagstones. Julian’s face was a thundercloud as he yanked me out of the fray. I was a wreck. Across from me, Claire looked mostly unharmed. I glared at Julian. “You’re taking her side?” His brow was furrowed, but he remained silent. That silence was all the answer I needed. I ripped the diamond ring he’d given me from my finger and hurled it at his chest. “I’m dumping you!” Holding back a sob, I bolted from the party and threw myself into the first taxi I saw. The moment the door shut, the dam broke. A wave of gut-wrenching betrayal washed over me, and I wept. I’d wrapped my latest film just yesterday and had come to him, heart full of longing. We’d barely exchanged a few words, and now this? Humiliated by others, and he defends them? My phone buzzed relentlessly. It was Julian. I answered, my voice dripping with ice. “The penthouse at The Sterling is in my name. I want you out in a week.” I hung up and blocked his number, his social media, everything. That bastard. We were finished. 3 I didn’t go back to The Sterling. I found a random hotel and checked in. After a long, hot shower, as the steam cleared, so did my head. A sliver of doubt crept in. I had to be the first canary in history to kick her patron out of his own gilded cage. My boldness with Julian had grown over the years. When we first met, I was the one who was timid and meek. I met him at an industry party my agent had forced me to attend, a meat market where I was supposed to charm directors and investors. My family had been well-off once. But then my father’s construction business went under. An accident on site not only cost him a leg but also wiped out our savings to compensate the injured workers. We were drowning in debt. My parents were sick with worry. Desperate to help, I was scouted and tricked into signing a predatory contract. I got no roles, just orders to attend these parties and be decorative arm candy. I didn’t have the money to break the contract, so I dodged a few events by faking illnesses. But that night, there was no escaping it. When I entered the private room, it was filled with leering, middle-aged men. But there, in the center of it all, was Julian Archer. He was like a cool, sharp slash of marble in a room of melting wax. He was leaving just as I arrived. In a moment of sheer panic, I followed him out. “Mr. Archer,” I asked, my voice trembling, “can I… come with you?” He was a full head taller than me, and he looked down, a wry smile playing on his lips. “And why is that? Do I look like the easiest target?” He looked like the most dangerous man in the room, but I couldn’t say that. I shook my head, my voice earnest. “You’re the most handsome.” He let out a short, dismissive laugh. “I’m aware.” Sensing his impatience, I blurted out, “And you… you seem like a good person.” His smile turned sharp, tinged with irony. “Then your judgment is seriously flawed.” And with that, he left. My agent dragged me back inside. They plied me with alcohol until a fat-fingered director’s hand slithered onto my thigh. I fought, knocking over a wine glass in my struggle. He slapped me, snarling that I didn’t know what was good for me, his other hand fumbling with the zipper of my dress. In blind panic, I grabbed a shard of the broken glass and plunged it into his leg. My first thought was: I’m going to jail. Then, the door to the room swung open. Julian stood there, framed in the doorway. He scanned the scene, his gaze cold. The director, who had been screaming like a pig at slaughter, fell silent. “Weren’t you coming with me?” Julian’s voice cut through the tension. “Get over here.” I dropped the glass shard and scrambled into his arms, shaking so violently I could barely stand. He held me, then swept me up and carried me out of that nightmare. 4 Julian took me back to his penthouse at The Sterling. Hours later, I’d showered but was too terrified to leave the bathroom. I could hear him on the phone in the living room, his voice calm and authoritative as he cleaned up my mess. When the call ended, I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped out. He was lounging on the sofa, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. I walked over to him, took a deep breath, and let the towel drop to the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. He stood up, picked up the towel, and wrapped it back around me, his voice laced with amusement. “You’re young, but you’ve certainly got a flair for the dramatic.” My face burned. “I… I’ve never done this before,” I stammered. “I don’t know the… protocol.” “Look at me.” Clutching the towel, I forced myself to meet his eyes. They were calm, a playful glint dancing in their depths. He was captivating and dangerous all at once. “You trust me that easily?” he murmured. “Not afraid I’m worse than them?” A jolt of fear shot through me. I scrambled for an answer. “No. Beautiful people are always kind.” He laughed, a genuine, rich sound. He pulled me close, his body warm against mine, and then his lips were on mine. It was my first real kiss, and my head spun. His thumb traced the outline of my lips as he pulled back, his voice a low, hypnotic whisper. “Go to bed. Can you sleep alone?” I nodded, dazed. “Hmm? Is that how you show your gratitude?” The playful warning in his tone sent a shiver down my spine. I threw my arms around his neck. “No. I’m scared. I need you to hold me.” He seemed satisfied with that. He tucked me into his bed, then went back outside to make another call. Half an hour later, he returned, sliding in beside me and pulling me into the safety of his arms. For days, I scoured the news, but there was nothing. No mention of an actress assaulting a director. A week later, my predatory contract was terminated. Julian set me up with a new agency, a new agent, and the director who’d tried to assault me vanished from the industry. For the next three years, Julian hand-picked my roles, always finding projects that were perfect for me. I went from a nobody to a rising star. I paid off my family’s debts. My parents opened a small shop back home. On the surface, everything was getting better. But I knew the truth. Deep down, things were getting worse. Because I was falling hopelessly in love with Julian Archer. He was my patron, but in the quiet moments, in the safety of his arms, I let myself believe he was my love. When did it start? I can’t pinpoint the exact moment. Falling for Julian was just too damn easy. 5 The next morning, I woke up to hundreds of missed calls, most of them from Carla, my agent. Confused, I called her back. Her booming voice blasted away the last dregs of my sleep. “My God, Elara, you finally answered! Do you have any idea what’s happening? All hell has broken loose!” “What did you do last night? What is going on?” I was still reeling as I pulled up the trending topics on my phone. #ElaraChristianAttacksJenna #CancelElaraChristian #ElaraChristianIsOverParty Someone had filmed our fight. The video was cleverly edited, starting right as I lunged at Jenna, conveniently cutting out everything that led up to it. I closed my eyes and explained everything to Carla, including the part where I’d ended things with Julian. After all, I no longer had a powerful patron in my corner. Carla was silent for a long moment. “Alright,” she sighed. “Just lay low for a few days. Stay off social media. I’ll see what I can do.” After we hung up, I watched the video again. It was shot from a hidden angle, clearly premeditated. Claire had been completely cropped out, leaving only me and Jenna. The comments were a tidal wave of hate. [Look at her face. You can just tell she’s a vicious bitch. How dare she hit someone? Someone needs to put her in her place.] [I heard she has a rich sugar daddy. Explains how she got so many roles with her terrible acting.] [Insider info: she was just a stand-in for his real girlfriend. Now that the real one is back, she’s been kicked to the curb.] The “stand-in” comments had Jenna’s fingerprints all over them. But I felt strangely numb. Let them say what they want. It comes with the territory. As long as they left my family out of it, I could take it. As for being a stand-in… that was pure fiction. Early in our relationship, Julian had been so good to me it was unnerving. One night, after he picked me from a dinner, I got up the liquid courage to ask him if I looked like someone he used to know. He’d pulled me into his lap and flicked my forehead. “Are you method acting? A stand-in? I don’t do knockoffs, Elara.” Pushing my luck, I asked if there was anyone else. He scoffed. “Do I look like I have the time?” His answer had made me ridiculously happy for weeks. Maybe Julian didn’t truly love me. Maybe it was just novelty, or maybe he was just too lazy to find someone new. It didn’t matter. At least for the time we were together, there was no one else. I could live without being loved. I could even live without being his final choice. But I couldn’t live without my last shred of dignity. 6 With the storm of negative press, a variety show appearance I had scheduled was canceled. I was now holed up in my hotel room, genuinely afraid to go out. The vitriol online was terrifying. Two years ago, I played a brilliant but unhinged villain. The character was beautiful and psychotic, and I portrayed her so convincingly that people online joked I wasn’t even acting. I never imagined someone would take it so seriously. While my leg was in a cast from a minor set injury, a so-called “fan” ambushed me and threw a hornet’s nest at me, trying to disfigure me. Julian got to me just in time. He tore off his own thousand-dollar bespoke suit jacket, set it on fire, and used the smoke to drive the hornets away. I shook my head, trying to force the memory away. Why did I keep thinking about him? I checked my phone. Missed calls, texts. All of them were from friends, offering support and encouragement. Not a single one was from Julian. Then it hit me. I’d blocked him. Every possible way he could reach me. I tossed my phone aside, angry at myself. He’s Julian Archer. If he really wanted to find me, he could. He just didn’t care enough. Sitting by the window, I felt like a mess of contradictions. I knew it was impossible, but a part of me still clung to hope. I always felt like… he had to like me, at least a little. After all, he was the one who, on a night when the world was celebrating with family, had shown up on my doorstep, covered in snow, just to be with me. It was our first Christmas together. My schedule was packed, so I couldn’t go home. I was alone in the penthouse. On Christmas Eve, I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the front door open. I shot up in bed, grabbed a heavy table lamp, and crept into the hallway. Julian stood in the foyer, snowflakes still melting on his shoulders. He saw the lamp in my hand and raised an eyebrow. “Is this your idea of a warm holiday welcome?” I dropped the lamp and launched myself into his arms. I wanted to ask why he was here, but I knew he wouldn’t want to hear the question. So I changed my words. “How is it that you always appear right when I’m thinking of you?” He scooped me up and carried me toward the bedroom, his voice a low tease in my ear. “Show me exactly where you were thinking of me.” Outside, the winter wind howled. Inside, the air grew thick and warm. Later, when he came out of the shower, I was already half-asleep. Through the haze of drowsiness, I felt him slip a thick envelope under my pillow, and then his lips pressed against my forehead. “Merry Christmas, Elara.” It was the first Christmas I’d spent away from my parents, but I hadn’t been lonely at all. 7 I stayed in the hotel for three days. I was about to venture out for some supplies when another text from Carla sent me scurrying back into hiding. The news about me hitting Jenna was still raging, and now, a new story had been thrown on the fire. Mr. Finch, the director I’d stabbed, had come forward. He claimed I’d tried to seduce him for a role, but then dumped him when I’d landed a bigger fish. He didn’t dare name my new patron, but he painted a detailed picture of how his career had been systematically destroyed for years, backing it up with a mix of truths and half-lies. Carla was at her wit’s end. This was a fire she couldn’t put out on her own. “Elara, please,” she begged over the phone. “Can’t you just call Mr. Archer? Swallow your pride? This is nothing for him. He could make this disappear with a snap of his fingers.” I fell silent, a lump forming in my throat. This kind of baseless slander had surfaced before, but it was always snuffed out before it could gain traction. This time, it was an inferno. “He won’t help me anymore,” I said, my voice low. “He’s getting married. Me breaking things off is exactly what he wanted.” Carla sighed. “If we can’t get this under control, you might not work again for a very long time.” “It’s okay, Carla. I’ll post a statement in a bit. People can believe it or not. I’m done trying to prove myself.” “Thank you for everything these past few years. I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” She tried to comfort me, but I knew the situation was dire. I scrolled through the comments. They were brutal. [How has this trashy actress not been blacklisted yet? It’s disgusting.] [I knew she was sleeping her way to the top. There’s no way she got where she is with that joke of an acting ability.] [Looks like her sugar daddy got tired of her. Where is he now?] [I’m so curious who her patron is. He must be blind to have picked her.] [Didn’t they say he had an old flame he never got over? She was probably just the other woman.] [I heard her dad is some crooked contractor. Like father, like daughter.] A few lone voices tried to defend me, but they were quickly drowned in the tsunami of hate. I opened my social media app and started typing. Hello everyone, this is Elara Christian. I apologize for taking up public attention with my personal issues, but as this situation has escalated, I hope you can take a moment to understand the truth. First, regarding Director Finch, there was no seduction. There was no relationship. When I was new to this industry, I was tricked into a predatory contract. My agent at the time forced me to attend parties, and Mr. Finch attempted to assault me. I defended myself with a piece of broken glass and escaped. He didn’t give up on preying on young women; he just moved on to others. I know of at least two other girls I personally helped get away from him. I’m not saying this for praise, only so you know what kind of man he is. To the women I helped: you don’t need to speak up for me. No one should have to relive that kind of trauma. Second, please direct any and all malice toward me. Do not involve my family. They have done nothing to any of you. If you continue to spread lies, I sincerely hope every ugly word you type comes back to you. Finally, I was never a mistress. I was never a stand-in. And we are no longer together. Thank you for reading. I posted the carefully worded statement and then turned off my phone. Leaning against the cool glass of the bay window, I felt a profound exhaustion settle over me, even though I had done nothing at all.

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Seven years. Seven years since they found me and brought me “home.” And in that time, I did everything they asked. I married a man I despised. I gave birth to a daughter, Lily, now three years old. Meanwhile, Olivia, the girl who took my place, a year my senior, was still the baby of the family, coddled and adored. The war between the real and fake heiress was long over. A distant memory. My family was supposed to be at peace. So, as my husband was beating me to the brink of death, I called them. “I’m dying,” I whispered into the phone. “Can you please, just like you brought me home all those years ago, come bring Lily home?” 1 I knew this was it. The end. That’s why I didn’t call 911. I called my family. My mother answered. She was in the middle of a manicure; her voice was clipped with annoyance. “What is it now?” I pressed a hand to my neck, trying to stem the flow of blood that seeped through my fingers. “I think… I think I’m dying. Can you come get Lily?” Lily was only three. She was upstairs, asleep, oblivious to the carnage downstairs. The floor around me was a glittering mosaic of shattered wine bottle glass. My husband, Marcus, having spent his rage, was passed out on the sofa, snoring. My blood wouldn’t stop. “Emma, for God’s sake, are you ever going to stop with this drama?” My brother, Ethan, had snatched the phone. His voice was a whip crack of fury. “You’ve been married four years! Every time you call it’s either ‘I want a divorce’ or ‘He’s going to kill me.’ Are things really that bad?” I said nothing. Maybe it was the pain, or the blood loss, but a profound weariness settled over me. Looking back, I’d been tired for a very, very long time. At five, I was stolen, forced to work like an animal in a desolate rural town, under a sky that never seemed to clear. My back ached with a fatigue no child should ever know. At fifteen, I was returned to a home that wasn’t mine, walking on eggshells around the perfect daughter they already loved. I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep, exhausted from the effort of trying to exist in the spaces she left behind. At eighteen, I was married off to a second-generation monster with a heavy hand. To avoid the beatings, I played the part of the perfect, subservient wife, my every waking moment dedicated to soothing his temper. My skin crawled with exhaustion. At twenty, depression became a suffocating blanket. Only Lily’s smile kept me from stepping off the ledge I stared over every day. The exhaustion was a constant ringing in my ears, a stabbing pain in my heart. And now, at twenty-two, a shard of glass had sliced open my carotid artery. Suddenly, I wasn’t tired anymore. Because finally, I was allowed to die. “This isn’t an act,” I told Ethan, my voice a gurgle. “I’m really dying. Please, just come quickly. I don’t want Lily to be scared.” The truth was, I hadn’t cried wolf that many times. I’d only mentioned divorce three times. Their annoyance was so palpable I never dared bring it up again. I’d only shown them my injuries four times. They didn’t believe me, so I stopped showing them. Seven years since they brought me home. Seven calls for help. Was that really so many? “Then just die,” Ethan spat. “If you’re dead, we’ll come get Lily.” 2 He hung up. I knew he wouldn’t come. Seven years. My eighth cry for help. Another failure. A sad, hollow smile touched my lips. I slumped against the wall, one side of my body burning hot. The steam was rising from my own blood. I glanced upstairs. It was quiet. Lily was still asleep. Or maybe she was awake, huddled under her covers, trembling. She always did that. The thought sent a sharp, agonizing pain through my chest. I tried to pull myself up, to crawl to her, but my strength was gone. What was I going to do? My tiny daughter, shaking in her bed, and I couldn’t do a single thing to help her. When I was gone, if no one came for her, she would be left alone with that monster. How could she possibly survive? My phone buzzed. A text message. With trembling hands, I brought it to my face, struggling to focus. It was from Olivia. [Emma, it’s my 23rd birthday. The whole family’s here celebrating with me. Nobody has time for your drama.] [I don’t get it. You’ve already lost. Why can’t you just give up?] My lips moved, the taste of iron filling my mouth. I have given up. I just can’t let go of Lily. A final, desperate surge of strength flowed through me. I held down the button to record a voice message, pleading with the one person I hated most in the world. “Olivia… I’m sorry… I was wrong… I shouldn’t have been hostile… or tried to compete with you… I’ll get on my knees, I’ll… I’ll bang my head on the floor for you. Please, just come get my daughter…” The words came out in broken gasps, punctuated by my tears and the steady drip of my blood. In that moment, every shred of pride I had clung to for years shattered, ground into the dust by my own hand. I had never, ever bowed my head to Olivia. I was the true daughter of the Ashworth family; she was just an imposter, a cuckoo in my nest. But now, I was bowing. I had lost. “What?” Olivia’s voice came back, laced with disbelief, followed by a peal of laughter. “Are you serious? You’re… this is hilarious. You’re begging me? On your knees? For real? Go on then, do it! I want to hear it!” 3 So I did. I held down the voice record button, lowered my body, and slammed my forehead against the hard floor. Thud. Thud. Thud. I sent the message. The world spun. I collapsed, panting like a dying dog on the cold tile. Olivia’s laughter echoed again. “Oh my god, you actually did it? Haha! I have to say, that feels pretty good. It took you seven years, but I finally broke you!” Yes. She had broken me. “Bring… Lily… home…” I managed to whisper into the phone, one last time. Her tone shifted instantly, turning sharp and cold. “What did you say? Emma, are you messing with me? A second ago it was ‘bring your daughter home.’ Now it’s ‘bring Emma home’? Deep down, you still want to come back, don’t you!” I blinked, my mind a thick fog. Did I say my own name? No, I meant Lily. Bring Lily home! I didn’t have a home to go back to. But Lily did! But I couldn’t form another word. I had nothing left. “Emma? Cat got your tongue? Busted.” Olivia’s voice was laced with triumph. In the background, I could hear the deep, authoritative voice of my father. “Emma, that’s enough drama,” he said, his voice carrying clearly through the phone. “I’ll be visiting the Ryan estate in a couple of weeks. I’ll see you then.” A couple of weeks. A family member was finally coming to see me. But I wouldn’t be here. I was already gone. Lily, I’m so sorry. Mommy couldn’t get you out of this hell after all. I just hope ghosts are real. So I can watch over you a little while longer. 4 When I opened my eyes again, I was floating. Floating above my own body. So, ghosts were real. Dawn was breaking, but the house was silent. Marcus had fired all the staff years ago, forcing me into the role of maid. It made it easier for him to abuse me without witnesses. Even in broad daylight, no one would come. I realized Marcus was waking up; his snores had stopped. I didn’t care about him. I drifted upstairs, through the wall, and into Lily’s bedroom. Just as I’d feared, she was curled into a tight ball under the covers, her eyes squeezed shut. The pillow was soaked with her tears. The sheets beneath her were wet, too. She’d wet the bed in her terror and hadn’t dared to move. My heart, or whatever passed for it now, ached with a phantom pain. I reached out to stroke her cheek, but my hand passed right through her. Downstairs, a strangled cry. Marcus must have found my body. As I expected, he soon began the gruesome task of taking me apart. Even as a ghost, a chill I couldn’t explain settled deep within me. The depths of human evil were on full display in Marcus Ryan. And this was the man my family had chosen for me. Originally, Olivia was supposed to marry him. The two families had already agreed to the union. The Ryan Corporation was the biggest player in the city, and Marcus himself was handsome, charismatic, with a brilliant future. Olivia had been thrilled, even going on a few dates with him. But then the scandal broke. Marcus had been implicated in the death of a girl at a club—abuse that had gone too far. The story was ugly. My parents and Ethan grew worried. They feared he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a violent sociopath. They decided Olivia shouldn’t get any closer to him. But they couldn’t afford to offend the Ryan family, so they offered a substitute. Me. “Emma is our biological daughter, after all. She and Mr. Ryan are a much better match.” “Our Emma is gentle and obedient, not like Olivia, who runs around all day and doesn’t act like a lady at all!” “Besides, Olivia doesn’t want children yet. She’s still a child herself. It’s better she doesn’t marry just yet; we wouldn’t want her to embarrass us!” That’s what they’d said. Every word was a criticism of Olivia, a justification to the Ryan family for the switch. Thinking back on it now, every one of those criticisms was drenched in love. I let out a bitter, silent laugh and drifted into the bathroom to watch Marcus at his work. 5 Marcus’s face was sheet-white. He muttered and cursed as he worked. To steel himself, he kept insulting me, his words a venomous litany. He called me a whore, said I’d been passed around by hundreds of men, that I was filth and didn’t deserve him. That I got what I deserved. I didn’t understand. Where did this come from? His own frantic whispers provided the answer. “Don’t you blame me, you slut. Olivia told me everything. She told me all about you. About how you were passed around that hick town like a party favor. That you’d even had an abortion. What right did you have to marry me? You deserved every beating I gave you! Your death is on you!” And there it was. It had been Olivia all along. No wonder. When we were first married, Marcus had been kind, respectful even. Then, one day, he just snapped. The change was sudden, absolute. The abuse began, escalating until it finally killed me. Olivia. You are truly ruthless. I had already lost everything, and still, you wouldn’t let me live. By sunset, Marcus was finished. He packed my remains into bags and stuffed them into two large freezers. Then he scrubbed the living room until it gleamed, leaving no trace of what had happened. At some point, Lily had crept out of her room. She was crouched by the second-floor railing, peering timidly at the scene below. Marcus looked up, his eyes catching hers. His voice was the growl of a demon. “Lily. What did you see?” She was too terrified to speak. “I said, tell me!” he roared. The sound shocked a response out of her. She shook her head frantically. “Nothing… I don’t know…” I was torn between rage and a heart-wrenching pity, wishing I could sink my teeth into his throat. But I couldn’t touch him. Marcus snorted and grabbed a few bags of chips and bread from the pantry, tossing them up the stairs. “You stay up there. If you come down, I’ll break your legs.” Lily nodded in terror and scrambled back into her room. Without another glance, Marcus grabbed one of the bags from the freezer and slipped out of the house under the cover of darkness. A few moments later, Lily crept out again. She watched the front door for a long time before tiptoeing down the stairs. My ethereal heart pounded. What was she doing? She walked to the freezer, the one in the corner, and with all her might, pried open the bottom door. My head was nestled among bags of frozen meat. “Mommy…” she whispered. Tears I could no longer shed streamed down my face. She had seen everything. 6 The days that followed were a blur of Marcus disposing of my body. He’d take a piece with him each day, but sometimes he’d bring it back, defeated. Getting rid of a body in a bustling metropolis wasn’t as easy as he thought. My head, at least, remained in the freezer. Lily was obedient. She only snuck downstairs to look at me when Marcus was out, her silent tears a constant companion before she’d flee back to her room. She lived entirely on the second floor, her only food the stale bread and snacks he’d thrown at her. It was a suffocating, hopeless existence even for an adult. My heart ached for her in a way I couldn’t express. Finally, I drifted out of the house, desperate to find a solution. Without thinking, I found myself floating towards my parents’ home. The villa, so familiar yet so alien, glowed with a warm, inviting light. On impulse, I passed through the walls. Olivia was on the sofa, throwing a tantrum. “But you promised we’d go on vacation tomorrow! I already planned everything!” Though a year older than me, Olivia had always acted like a spoiled child at home. My father chuckled, indulging her. “I know, honey, Daddy messed up the dates. I have to go to Ryan Corporation tomorrow to sign the new contract. I’ll stop by and see your sister while I’m there. We can go on our trip the day after.” “He’s right, sweetie,” my mother chimed in, a fond smile on her face. “The contract is important. Don’t be difficult.” Ethan, flipping through some documents nearby, looked up. “I can handle the signing. You two should go on the trip with Olivia. It’s more important.” “Yes, yes! I want to go on vacation!” Olivia stomped her foot, the picture of petulance. Honestly, I envied her. In the ten years I was gone, I had never learned how to throw a tantrum. After I came back, I never dared. Only in the foggiest of memories, from before I was five, could I recall ever being so carefree. “Well…” my father hesitated. “I really should check on Emma. It’s been years since I’ve been to her house.” At the mention of my name, Olivia’s face darkened. She crossed her arms. “Fine. Go. She is your real daughter, after all.” My father immediately backpedaled, cooing as if to a small child. “That’s not what I meant. I just feel that if we don’t visit for too long, the Ryans will think we don’t take the partnership seriously.” My mother nodded in agreement. “He’s right. The families are connected. We need to show we care. How about this: tomorrow, I’ll go with you on the trip, and your father will go sign the contract.” Olivia was finally satisfied, beaming as she popped a pastry into her mouth. The picture of a happy, harmonious family was complete. I hung silently in the air, motionless. Suddenly, my mother glanced in my direction, though of course, she saw nothing. She rubbed her chest. “That’s strange,” she murmured. “I just felt a sudden pang in my heart.” “Are you okay, Mom?” Ethan asked. My father and Olivia both looked at her. She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. I can’t explain it. Just a little… uneasy. Must be getting old.” They all laughed. Olivia quickly showered her with compliments about how young and beautiful she still looked, making my mother preen. But she kept rubbing her chest. 7 Late that night, my mother couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, waking my father. “Honey, what’s wrong?” he grumbled. “I have to be up early tomorrow.” “I don’t know. My heart is just racing. I feel so anxious.” My father considered it. “Are you worried about the contract tomorrow? We’ve been working with the Ryans for years. It’ll be fine.” “It’s not the contract,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “I can’t put my finger on it.” He frowned. “Then what is it? Emma? Did her phone call a while back get to you?” My mother froze, her hand flying to her chest again. My father laughed softly. “What’s with that look? Suddenly you’re so concerned about Emma? She’s fine. She’s living the high life married to Marcus Ryan.” My mother was quiet for a long moment before sighing heavily. “I don’t think she’s fine at all. The last time she visited, her wrists were covered in bruises.” My father fell silent. She continued, her voice low. “She kept asking for a divorce, begging us to help her. I think Marcus treats her terribly.” Silence from my father. I hovered over their bed, my dead heart giving a faint, useless flutter. You knew, Mom? You knew? Then why… why didn’t you help me? My mother provided the answer. “But what could we do? We couldn’t let Olivia marry him. Olivia’s never known a day of hardship in her life. She couldn’t have handled Marcus’s temper. Emma… she suffered for ten years. She’s much tougher. A few beatings here and there won’t break her. It’s not like it will kill her.” My father nodded in the darkness. They turned off the lights and settled into sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. My heart returned to its silent, dead stillness. I turned and drifted away.

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The day I confessed my feelings to my stepbrother, he blocked me on everything. It wasn’t until I died in a car crash that Finn, the musical prodigy, stood on stage at his sold-out concert and cried his eyes out. He announced his retirement on the spot, then sat up all night, clutching the tattered old teddy bear I’d given him. My ghost-self, ever the smartass, floated over and tilted its head. “No way. Are you actually crying?” The next second, my entire body landed solidly in his lap. Well, this is… awkward. 01 It was New Year’s Eve, and the face of the musical prodigy, Finn, was plastered on giant posters all over the city. The cab driver, who’d been stuck in the same gridlock as me for three hours, had lost his will to be angry. He followed my gaze. On the massive screen of the city’s tallest skyscraper, highlight reels from Finn’s concert played on a loop. He held the mic in one hand, brow furrowed in concentration. The stage lights around him suddenly dimmed, and the pinpricks of light from the audience’s phones began to swirl like a constellation. It was as if Finn was standing at the very center of the galaxy. I stared, lost in the moment. It was the last song from his tour last year, at the Port Blossom arena. I was on a business trip in the southwest at the time. A thunderstorm rolled in, my flight was delayed, and I missed it. When I finally landed in the middle of the night, I curled up in bed with my tablet and watched the two-and-a-half-hour recording over and over again. In the comments, fans who couldn’t get tickets lamented their bad luck. Someone tried to console them. [What’s there to be sad about? He’ll have plenty more concerts.] Finn was at the peak of his fame. I believed that was true, yet a part of me felt hollow. I had promised him when he first started out that I would never miss a single one of his shows. …And yet, I’d broken my promise. The driver, unimpressed, rested an arm on the half-open window and blew a lazy smoke ring into the evening air. “Can’t even hear a thing. What’s the point of spending all that money on this crap?” Because of the concert and the approaching holiday, Olympia City was gridlocked from one end to the other. As dusk settled, the crisscrossing streetlights cast a hazy yellow glow that stretched all the way to the deepening colors of the sunset. The driver finally gave up and killed the engine, making idle chit-chat with me. If my dad were still alive, he’d be nearing retirement age now. Maybe he would’ve driven a cab in his spare time, spinning tales about anything and everything to his passengers. When I was a kid, during the peak of summer, our neighbors would pull up little stools and sit in front of our house, fanning themselves in the heat. Dad would pull a watermelon, still cool from the well water, and slice it clean in half. But life is unpredictable. No one ever thought my dad would be diagnosed with stomach cancer in the prime of his life. The day my mom came back from the hospital, her face was a cold mask. She packed a bag and took me away without a word. The next time I saw that little rundown courtyard, the weeds were already past my knees. I listened to the driver, occasionally nodding or offering a small smile. “You heading to the concert too, miss?” He glanced over at me, his voice hesitant. I was wearing a simple white shirt and light-wash jeans, a heavy laptop bag resting on my knees. Dangling from the zipper was a small teddy bear, washed so many times its fur had gone pale. I didn’t exactly look like a young fan with time to spare for chasing celebrities. I felt the ticket in my pocket—one I’d paid a scalper a fortune for—and shook my head. Tonight was the fifth anniversary of Finn’s debut. Of the hundred thousand fans in that arena, the very last person he’d want to see… was me. 02 Finn was my stepbrother, a product of my mother’s second, short-lived marriage. When that one imploded, my mom took the family dog. Finn took me. He was only four years older than me, but he acted like a miniature adult, taking care of me for years. When I was wrongly accused of having a boyfriend in high school, he stormed into the principal’s office, face like thunder, and unleashed a verbal tirade on my supposed “secret love.” Mark, the class president, who had never seen anything like it, burst into tears on the spot. For a long time after, he refused to walk home from school with me. “Ava,” he’d said, “is that your ‘angelic’ brother? More like the damn grim reaper.” Of course, I didn’t get off easy either. Finn gave me the silent treatment for five days straight. If we passed each other, he’d look right through me. I was completely innocent, but I was stubborn too, so I dug my heels in and ignored him right back. At night, I’d be huddled on my side of our tiny room doing homework, and he wouldn’t come over to check it like he used to. He’d just sit at his own desk, head down, scribbling notes on a music sheet. The rented basement apartment was barely big enough for the two of us. We’d sit with our backs to each other, a silence stretching between us like an ocean. I stared at the same three lines of my textbook for the entire evening. That cold war lasted until the night he became an overnight sensation. He was the one who finally called. The other end of the line was a cacophony of noise, but Finn’s voice cut through it all, as clear as a drop of water in a silent cave, landing right in my ear. “Ava, we’re going to have money now.” I fiddled with the tassel on my bed curtains, the ache that had been sitting in my chest for days finally smoothing out. I tried to sound casual, but my voice still trembled when I spoke. “Yeah? So… does that mean I can get into your concerts for free from now on?” When you’ve been poor for so long, you dream of all the extravagant things you’ll do with money, but my imagination never stretched much further than that. Finn sighed on the other end, his tone softening. For a moment, it felt like my kind, considerate brother was back. “Yeah,” he said. “From now on, for every show, I’ll save you the best seat in the front row.” In the end, he broke that promise, too. See? Neither of us was very good at keeping our word. 03 The city lights outside the window flickered. The blare of car horns around me suddenly grew frantic, and everything outside seemed to rush backward. I snapped out of my memories, taking a deep breath and looking out the window in confusion. My hand tightened around the little bear. Then, my world went black. Everything seemed to lurch into slow motion. I felt the driver’s lit cigarette fall onto my forearm, pressed searingly into my skin by the inflating airbag. A deafening roar filled my ears, and my body felt like it was being pulled down into an endless abyss. The roar stretched on and on, until finally, there was nothing. In the darkness, I saw my father, sitting on our porch steps in the summer heat, holding half a watermelon and smiling at me. I saw Shadow, the little dog my mother had beaten to death the day she left, wagging his tail and baring his tiny, sharp teeth in a playful grin. And then, suddenly, I heard Finn’s voice. He was singing. … The arena was packed, and Finn stood in the center of a brilliant spotlight. The first time I ever heard him sing was the night we left home. The dark alley seemed to stretch on forever. I clutched the sleeve of his shirt, my eyes red, wanting to cry but not daring to. In the few years I had lived in their house, he had always worn a cold expression. I thought he didn’t like me. But when he chose to take me with him, without a moment’s hesitation, he seemed to glow with a golden light. A black cat shot out from the shadows, its paws scattering a rolling plastic bottle as it leaped onto a wall and let out a piercing shriek. My fingers trembled, and I shrank back, burying my face against his side. Finn squatted down, sighing in exasperation. “A cat scares you this much? You want me to sing you a song to make you brave?” After my mom married his dad, Finn had never looked at me directly, let alone spoken with such gentleness. Maybe seeing my mother abandon me so coldly had stirred his pity. Maybe my fear had softened him. “You want to hear it or not?” Finn asked, kicking at a loose pebble as he stood up. It was the first time I’d ever seen him be so patient. “Yes,” I mumbled, wiping my nose. The moon rose overhead, casting a pale light into the dark alley. My mother never really liked dogs. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have beaten Shadow to death when he clung to my pant leg, refusing to let me go. My mother just didn’t like me anymore. She had finally realized what a burden I was. She would rather take a dog she didn’t even like than take me. But Finn had taken me without a second thought. “They can’t afford to raise you. I can.” “You are not a burden, Ava. You never were…” In that instant, my world felt bright again. I gathered my courage and took his hand. “What do you want to hear?” “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” “Lame.” “It’s the only song I know. My mom never sang to me.” Even that one, I’d only learned by eavesdropping on the neighbors. Finn froze for a second, his eyes softening. Then, his clear, cool voice drifted down from above me. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” “How I wonder what you are.” “Up above the world so high,” “Like a diamond in the sky.” … 04 I drifted lightly to the front row. The seat that should have been mine was empty, untouched. Finn stood less than a hundred yards away, the familiar nursery rhyme still echoing through the stadium. He always opened his shows with this song. I guess this way, I wasn’t technically missing it. Next to me, a couple of girls were whispering to each other. “It’s such a sweet tradition. I can’t even imagine how lucky his sister must be.” I glanced down at the faint burn scar on my forearm and smiled sadly. Maybe I would have been, if I hadn’t gotten drunk and confessed my feelings to him on the night of my high school graduation. In my pocket, the screen of my cracked phone was still open to my chat history with Finn. It was, in reality, a monologue. A long stream of green message bubbles from me, ending in a sea of red exclamation points. Finn had blocked me long ago. Except for the living expenses that were wired to my bank account every month like clockwork, Finn had slowly vanished from my life. He’d said I was too young, that I couldn’t tell the difference between love and dependency. He chose the best university for me in a city far away—Port Blossom, on the opposite side of the country. The moment I stepped onto that train, dragging my suitcase behind me, I knew. I had no reason to ever go back to Olympia City again. Even Finn didn’t want me anymore. I was homeless again. It rained constantly in Port Blossom, and the local accent was completely different. I tried calling Finn many times, but he never picked up. The song ended. Finn slowly opened his eyes, the dazzling lights making him squint. His gaze swept across the crowd, as if searching for something. When I first heard he’d made this song his opening number, I had shamelessly called his manager, Kai. The explanation I got was blunt: it was all part of the act, a way to maintain his “devoted older brother” persona for the fans. I pulled my ghostly coat tighter around me and settled into my empty seat. The powerful speakers cranked the energy in the arena to a fever pitch. The beat of the drums hammered against my eardrums, and the crowd was on its feet, screaming. Finn was born for the stage. And I was born for Finn. Although… he didn’t feel the same way. He performed five songs in a row. As the platform he was on began to lower, I floated after him to the backstage area. Back when we were crammed into that tiny basement, he used to promise he’d show me what it was like backstage at a concert. But later, I couldn’t even get a chance to see him, let alone go backstage. Those empty promises had long since faded into nothing. The backstage area was a chaotic swarm of people, everyone rushing around, a whirlwind of activity with Finn at its center. It was only then that I truly understood. He really had become a star, shining and untouchable. I found an empty corner and leaned against the wall, watching him. Finn’s eyes were unfocused, lost in thought. I remembered how, to save money, he had scored 73 points above the requirement for a free teaching scholarship at a local college. When I found out, I felt so wronged on his behalf that I cried and tried to push him out the door. “Go… go change your application! I’ll drop out of school!” He had grabbed my wrist, pulled a stack of handwritten music sheets from under his bed, and soothed me. “Your brother is going to be a big star someday, Ava. It doesn’t matter what I study. This isn’t about the money.” “But you said you wanted to be a designer! Your dream is a dream, but mine isn’t?” That was how Finn always convinced me—a mix of coaxing and gentle bullying, topped with a blatant lie. Now, he’d finally achieved his dream. So why did he look so unhappy? From the crowd, someone muttered under their breath, “The police are on the line. Should we tell him…?” “Are you insane? We can’t tell him about Ava until after the show…” Finn’s distant gaze flickered, landing somewhere in the empty space for a few seconds before snapping up, meeting my eyes with a jolt. If I were still alive, my heart would have skipped a beat. I blinked. He looked straight through me, his focus shifting to the people behind me, and I came back to my senses. It was always like this. A fleeting glance from Finn felt like an eternity to me. His fingers, resting on the buttons of his shirt, trembled slightly. “What happened?” His manager, Kai, clutched his phone, too scared to hand it over. “It’s nothing. The intermission is almost over, you should…” “I asked you what happened,” Finn cut him off. His eyes were turning red, the sequins on his stage costume flashing chaotically. “It’s Ava, isn’t it?” It was the first time he had said my full name in five years. He used to call me Avie. It was amazing how much distance a few years could create. Finn rarely got angry. In his early days, he’d run three gigs in one night, his throat raw and scratchy, but he never lost his temper with Kai. Later, as he became more and more famous, his songs playing on every street corner, he had even less reason to be angry with anyone. Kai tried to hide the phone behind his back. I floated over. A news site was open, displaying the horrific scene of the multi-car pile-up on New Year’s Eve. Most of the photos were censored. But in one corner of a picture, I could still make out the mangled remains of me and the driver. The cheap bobblehead on the cab driver’s dashboard was stained with blood, nodding cheerfully along with the distant chime of the New Year’s bells. A grotesque, bloodthirsty kind of cheer. Not far from the wreckage lay the little teddy bear I always kept on my laptop bag. It was a birthday gift from Finn during my senior year of high school. When I found out he’d bought the expensive, official version with money he earned from three straight months of grueling gigs, I’d impulsively thrown it onto the street. It was spring in Olympia City, and the fluffy cottonwood seeds swirled through the air, clinging to the bear’s fur. I couldn’t bear it. In the middle of the night, I snuck out and picked it up. Finn never knew about that. Years had passed. He probably didn’t even remember the gift. The intermission music faded, replaced by a rhythmic drum beat. The fans in the stadium were cheering, their voices rising in a unified chant of his name, organized by someone in the crowd. A hundred thousand people were calling for him to return to the stage, but backstage, it was eerily, unnaturally silent. “Give it to me… Let me see…” Finn’s voice was shaking, his fingertips trembling along with it. Kai had nowhere to run. Finn snatched the phone from his hand. Finn’s eyes landed on the screen. He only needed one look to see the little bear, soaked in blood…

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1 The new intern, Willow Banks, loved one phrase: “Let’s go fifty-fifty.” On our last trip, I paid $900 for our shared hotel room. She submitted the expense report, got fully reimbursed, and kept it all. “You went back early, Jess—used the room four extra hours a day. You’re taller, so you eat more and take more Uber space. And don’t forget my booking fee,” she said. Later, I made her part of my project team. She only printed files and ordered food, yet demanded half the bonus: “We did this together—$100k each.” Colleagues urged me to be understanding—she came from nothing, they said. Then she altered a design without approval, causing a $50,000 error. Tearfully, she proposed: “You cover the cost since you earn more. I’ll apologize.” I refused. She pushed me off the 18th-floor terrace. Those same colleagues took my bonus, drank champagne in Bali, and laughed: “Jessica had no backbone. She jumped when things got tough.” I wake up back on the day she asked for the receipts. This time, everyone will learn what it really means to go fifty-fifty with Willow. “Jess, let me handle the expense report for the trip.” Willow’s sickly-sweet voice echoed in my ear. My entire body went rigid. I looked up at her, at that familiar, deceitful face, and the reality crashed down on me. I was back. I had been reborn. In my past life, I handed her the invoice for the $900 I’d paid for our hotel. The entire reimbursement went straight into her pocket. When I repeatedly asked for my share, she pulled out a calculator and spun a web of twisted “fifty-fifty” logic that left me with nothing. Later, the director assigned her to my team for a new, high-stakes project. As an intern, she had zero experience. Her daily tasks consisted of printing files and picking up packages. While I was pulling all-nighters perfecting the proposal, she was clocking out at five on the dot to go binge-watch shows in her dorm. The first phase of the project was a stunning success. The client was so impressed they expanded the scope of the work, and with it, the project bonus—to a whopping $200,000. The moment Willow heard the news, her eyes lit up. She marched straight to my desk. “Jess, we did this project together,” she announced, her voice ringing with self-righteousness. “The bonus has to be split fifty-fifty. One hundred thousand dollars each. It’s only fair.” “I contributed my labor, too,” she insisted. “And all labor is equal.” “Printing documents is a technical skill. How could your project have succeeded without the materials I printed?” I was about to shut her down, but the office do-gooders swarmed in to play peacemaker. I remembered her stories about her poor family, about coming from nothing. I told myself the money was like a donation to a charity case. So, I nodded and agreed. The result? On another project—one I had no involvement in—she made an unauthorized change to a design, causing millions in damages and landing herself with a personal liability of $50,000. She came to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Jess, it’s because you weren’t mentoring me on this one that I made a mistake.” “We should split the responsibility fifty-fifty. Your salary is higher, so you can just cover the fifty thousand.” “I’ll take the hit to my pride and go bow and scrape to the client. Doesn’t that sound fair?” I had never encountered such shamelessness. This was my career, my reputation on the line. I flatly refused. She immediately flew into a rage, physically attacking me. And the colleagues? They sided with her, scolding me for not being generous, for refusing to help a newcomer. In the chaos of the fight, Willow shoved me off the eighteenth-floor terrace. Then, she used my bonus money to bribe them. They all gave false testimony, claiming I had committed suicide because I couldn’t handle the stress of the project error. With their payout secured, they celebrated on a beach in Bali, drinking, singing, and partying for a solid week, all while mocking me for being a stupid, gullible fool who was better off dead. The memory made my jaw clench, my face darkening with rage. Willow’s fifty-fifty system wasn’t just for money and credit. It was for blame. It was even for life and death. “Jessica, what’s wrong?” My deskmate, Tracy, nudged me with her elbow, pulling me back to the present. “Willow’s just trying to be nice and help you with the expenses. Why the long face? Don’t be so high and mighty just because you’re a senior.” Laura chimed in from the other side. “Yeah, she’s just trying to help. You don’t have to look so disgusted.” There they were. The two of them. In my last life, they were the ones constantly whispering in my ear about how Willow was a poor girl from a disadvantaged background, how I needed to take care of her. I was softened by their words, not only letting the travel expenses slide but also buying Willow expensive designer gifts. Now I saw them for what they were: self-proclaimed saints, masters of being generous with other people’s money. All they had to do was move their lips, and they earned a reputation for being kind and magnanimous. I was the idiot footing the bill. A cold smile touched my lips. Too bad for them. This time, there would be no more fifty-fifty with Willow. I couldn’t wait to see if they’d still be smiling when they were forced to participate in Willow’s special brand of fairness. I turned to Willow and shook my head, my expression softening into a polite smile. “That’s okay. You’re new here, and this is a critical time for you to learn and observe. I wouldn’t want a small task like this to get in the way of your progress.” Willow’s sweet smile froze for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place. “It’s no trouble at all, Jess. It’s the least I can do.” “I insist,” I said, my tone firm but kind. “Your future is what’s important. I can handle it.” She looked like she wanted to argue, but I had already turned back to my computer, ending the conversation. Last time, I accepted her “help” and lost $900. This time, I refused, and I would file the report myself. Let’s see how she splits the money when she doesn’t have the invoice. I had a pleasant, leisurely lunch and returned to my desk in high spirits. Willow, on the other hand, was visibly on edge, picking at her food distractedly. Back at the office, I focused on my proposal, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see her fidgeting. She kept glancing my way, looking like she was about to burst. I pretended not to notice. Finally, around three in the afternoon, I calmly printed out the expense form, took out the invoice, and began gluing it to the paper. Willow’s eyes tracked my every move, her anxiety palpable. The moment I stood up to walk to the finance department, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She shot up and blocked my path. “Jess, um… you should give me that invoice.” I raised an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?” “I’ve been doing the math carefully. Based on our fifty-fifty agreement, the entire reimbursement amount should go to me.” I scoffed internally. All $900. The nerve. I was curious to see what new, twisted logic she’d come up with this time. I feigned surprise. “All of it? But we shared the room. Shouldn’t it be split in half? I’ll take four-fifty.” “But we agreed to go fifty-fifty,” Willow said, her energy instantly returning. I nodded. “Right. Fifty-fifty.” She cleared her throat and launched into her spectacular performance. “During the trip, you went back to the hotel to rest at seven every evening, while I had to stay out working until eleven. You used the room for four more hours a day than I did.” “Calculated by usage time, you should be responsible for two-thirds of the room cost. That’s six hundred dollars.” The classic argument. Word for word from my past life. I played along. “Alright. Minus the six hundred, that leaves three hundred. You can give me that, right?” “Nope,” Willow shook her head immediately. “That won’t work either.” “I paid for all the meals and the Ubers upfront.” “And Jess, you know you’re about four inches taller than me. You take up more space in the car.” “You eat more, too. So you should pay a larger share of those costs.” She ticked off the points on her fingers, clearly enjoying herself. “Meals and rides came to four hundred dollars total. Proportionally, you owe me two-hundred and sixty.” “Plus, we used my ride-sharing app, so you owe me a daily user fee for that.” The same old script. No originality at all. I stared at her coldly, saying nothing. Seeing my lack of reaction, she quickly added, “Normally, I’d charge a service fee for booking the rides. We took twenty rides over ten days. At ten dollars a ride, that’s two hundred dollars.” “But since you were mentoring me on the trip, I’ll give you a thirty percent discount. So, just one-forty.” She finished with a triumphant look, as if she were doing me a massive favor. “So, you don’t need to transfer me anything. The reimbursement from this trip will just about cover what you owe me.” The air was silent for a few seconds. I raised my hands and gave a few slow, deliberate claps. Willow was completely baffled, frozen in place. I let out a soft laugh. “Your math is impressive.” I picked up the expense form, tapping it with my finger. “However, you seem to have a fundamental misunderstanding of company policy, not to mention basic common sense.” “Hotel accommodation, transportation, and meal expenses are all reimbursed on a per-person basis, up to a standard limit.” “The hotel charges by the night, not the hour. You could sleep in there for twenty-four hours straight or not step foot in the room at all. It makes no difference.” “The extra four hours I was in the room wasn’t time I ‘took’ from you. It was you giving up your right to use the room by choosing to be elsewhere.” She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “We took an SUV for every ride. There was plenty of space. We could have fit three more of you in the back. If you wanted to take up more room, you could have laid down. I wouldn’t have cared.” I paused, watching the color drain from her face. “As for the food, you’re a small person with a small appetite who consistently ordered more than you could eat.” “I never touched your portion. You wasted it. You feel like you lost money? Go ask the restaurant if they give refunds on leftovers.” Willow’s face flushed red and then went pale. She clearly hadn’t expected me to dissect her logic so thoroughly. Her eyes darted around, and she immediately switched tactics, her voice turning pitiful. “Well… what about the effort I put in booking the rides? Doesn’t that count for something?” “Jess, you know my situation. I come from a poor family in a small town. I have two younger brothers I need to support through school.” “Your salary is so high. A small service fee isn’t too much to ask, is it?” And there it was. The victim card. Guilt-tripping 101. “This is the first I’ve heard of a mandatory, unsolicited service fee,” I said flatly. “You never mentioned a charge beforehand. Otherwise, I would have just used my own account.” “Besides, the hotel concierge can book a car for you. Your ‘service’ was completely unnecessary.” Her voice grew shrill with desperation. “But you still benefited from my service!” I pretended to think about it seriously. “You’re right. I did. Tell you what, I’ll pay you back in kind. From now on, I’ll book all your Ubers.” “Do you need a ride home today? I can call one for you… right now?” I made a move to grab my phone. Willow’s face went black with fury. Her lips trembled, and her eyes welled up, tears threatening to spill over. Just as expected, the office saints, Tracy and Laura, swooped in. “Jessica, that’s not appropriate,” Tracy said with a frown. “Willow’s family doesn’t have much. Why are you nickel-and-diming her like this?” “Exactly,” Laura added. “You make so much money. Why are you being so cheap? It’s not that much money. Is it really worth all this fuss?” Not that much money? It was $900. Willow’s entire monthly salary as an intern was less than that. Tracy shot me a dirty look and wrapped an arm around Willow, comforting her. “It’s okay, Willow. Next time, you and I can split things. I won’t let you get cheated like this!” I looked at these two walking, talking monuments to performative virtue and almost burst out laughing. My memories of the last life told me that Willow was no pushover. She would never be satisfied with just verbal support. I couldn’t wait to see their spectacular fifty-fifty partnership in action. I hoped their wallets were as tough as their words. Not long after, the director assigned me to lead the Sterling Project. With a decade of experience, I was the company’s undisputed top performer. As soon as the news broke, Willow came scurrying over. “Jess, you’re amazing! The company trusts you with a huge project like Sterling!” “Jess, can I join your team? I really want to learn from you.” In my past life, I thought her desire to learn was genuine. I taught her everything I knew, sharing my experience and strategies without reservation. It turned out to be a complete waste of time. She was incompetent at everything. With deadlines looming, I had no choice but to relegate her to printing and mailing documents. And yet, in the end, she thought that menial work entitled her to half of my bonus. “I have too much on my plate right now,” I replied coldly. “I don’t have time to mentor you.” She immediately put on a pitiful expression. “Jess, please. I really want to learn from you. I know I come from a small town and I’m not as worldly, but I really want to make something of myself based on my own abilities.” I didn’t even look up from my computer screen. “I’m honestly too busy. You can ask someone else.” This time, I wouldn’t give her a single opportunity to leech off me. She wouldn’t even get to touch the printer paper. With that, I ignored her and dove back into my work. As Willow turned to leave, I snuck a glance at her. The wounded expression on her face had twisted into a flicker of venomous resentment. My stomach sank. I knew it. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. I hadn’t even had half a day of peace before the director stormed over to my desk, his face dark. “Jessica, what is your problem? Has life gotten too comfortable for you?” His tone was hostile. The office fell silent, and I could feel several pairs of eyes on my back, watching the show. “An intern wants to learn from you, and you refuse? You were a rookie once, too. Where’s your empathy?” “That girl came from nothing. It’s not easy for someone like her to have ambition. Your coldness is just cruel.” “What are you afraid of? That she’ll surpass you one day? You’re being incredibly petty.” He laid on the passive-aggressive guilt trip, and I mentally rolled my eyes. Plenty of people come from humble beginnings. None of them were as skilled at being a parasite as she was. In my past life, they had successfully divided up my bonus. Besides Tracy and Laura’s false testimony, the director had also played a key role. After my rebirth, I did some digging and discovered the truth: Willow was his son’s college girlfriend. He had pulled strings to get her the internship. The company had a strict anti-nepotism policy, so his son couldn’t work here, but the spot naturally fell to his “future daughter-in-law.” No wonder he was so quick to come and lecture me. I didn’t want to engage, but I maintained a basic level of professionalism. “Director, I am genuinely too busy. I don’t have time to teach Willow properly, and I’d hate to waste her talent.” “Don’t worry about it. She’s a natural. She doesn’t need you to teach her; she can learn just by watching,” the director said, waving his hand dismissively and cutting me off. “This project is highly complex and has a steep learning curve. She should start with something more basic—” “That’s enough,” he boomed, slapping his hand on my desk to finalize the decision. “It’s settled. Willow will join your team and assist you. An extra pair of hands will get the work done faster. That’s an order.” What could I say? He was the boss. I nodded. “Understood, Director.” And just like that, the ghost of Willow was haunting my project team again. She spent her days slacking off. The tasks I assigned were done with a lazy, half-hearted effort. She couldn’t even be bothered to fix basic formatting. Sometimes I’d ask her to organize client data, and she would misspell the client’s name. Out of professional integrity, I continued to handle the Sterling Project with the utmost seriousness. Revenge was one thing, but Sterling hadn’t wronged me. I wouldn’t let my personal issues jeopardize my work. Soon, the first phase of the project was completed, with results that far exceeded expectations. Just like in my previous life, the director announced at the review meeting, his face beaming with pride. “Great news, everyone! Sterling is extremely satisfied with our proposal. They’ve not only approved the first phase but have also decided to increase the budget. The CEO has personally approved a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus for the project team!” The conference room filled with applause. Everyone was ecstatic. But for me, alarm bells were ringing. The familiar script was about to play out again. Sure enough, Willow suddenly stood up. “Director, I think we should adopt a more modern approach to the bonus allocation. A fifty-fifty system would be more equitable.” She cleared her throat, looking the very picture of righteous indignation. “Many interns contributed their labor as well and should be included in the bonus distribution. All labor is equal, after all.” The director immediately voiced his loud support. “An excellent point, Willow! We absolutely should consider the contributions of all participants.” Tracy and Laura were quick to chime in. “Exactly! We all saw how hard Willow worked, staying late every night.” “It’s two hundred thousand dollars. What’s the big deal about giving a little to the intern? You’re not going to be that stingy, are you, Jess?” I watched the four of them perform their well-rehearsed act and nearly started clapping. The same script, the same lines, all over again. In my last life, this was the exact tactic she used to walk away with half of my bonus. A full one hundred thousand dollars went into Willow’s pocket. But this time, I was ready. Under the varied gazes of everyone in the room, I didn’t get angry. Instead, I smiled. “Well said. I wholeheartedly support Willow’s proposal.” “In fact, I have a proposal of my own that will perfectly complement hers.” I stood up and connected my laptop to the projector.

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On my 18th PowerPoint revision, my boss stopped me. “Honestly, Leah, having you as a subordinate is… a bit embarrassing.” My hand slipped on the mouse. I forgot how to undo. “You work hard,” he went on, “but my core team needs to be impressive—like Peterson’s. Not just a cog in the machine.” It felt like ice water poured over my head. Seeing my face, he softened. “Don’t be sensitive. Remember that client? You froze when they asked about your college. We lost the deal because of that.” I was speechless. He blamed me for not being “elite” enough. The old me would’ve apologized. But now, I just felt exhausted. It was time to leave. I called the headhunter and accepted a rival offer—for double the pay. As I carried my box out, he was leading new interns to a celebration. They didn’t see me until I said goodbye. “You’re quitting? Over what I said?” I replied softly, “Yeah.” 1 The office buzzed with activity as my colleagues packed up, ready to head out for the celebration. The air was a mix of expensive perfume and the crisp scent of tailored suits. No one stopped to say a word to me, not even a polite farewell. My boss, Adrian Cole, sat back in his leather executive chair, twirling a Montblanc pen between his fingers, his voice light and dismissive. “Leah, Leah. You young people are just too impatient.” “I was only trying to help you, to push you to be better. Why are you throwing a tantrum?” Next to him, Amy, the fresh graduate who had been hired as his “special assistant,” giggled behind her hand. “Oh, Adrian, don’t mind her. Some people are just too sensitive. They’re not cut out for the big leagues. Where is she going to go without us?” Adrian nodded in approval. “Amy’s right. You need to see the bigger picture.” “Have you forgotten? If I hadn’t made an exception for you, a graduate from a no-name state school, you wouldn’t have even made it past the front door of this company.” “And now you’ve got your wings, you think you can just walk out because you don’t like a little criticism?” But was I the one with the small perspective? A week ago, we had the pitch for the project that would determine the company’s entire yearly target. I had been looking forward to it for months. To give our team the best possible chance, I had endured Amy’s eye-rolls and Adrian’s impatience and completely overhauled the proposal three times. Everyone knew I was in charge of the core data. That morning, they’d clapped me on the shoulder and said, “We’re counting on you.” I pulled three all-nighters, memorizing every single data point, every detail, every piece of supporting material that could possibly be questioned. I walked into the meeting hall, excited, clutching a thick binder of documents, only to be stopped by Adrian with a single gesture. “You’re a project assistant? That’s impossible, you’re not on the core presentation team. Who are you? If you don’t leave, we’re calling security.” Through the closed glass doors, I could see Adrian and Amy, dressed in impeccably matching suits, standing confidently in front of the projector screen. The data models displayed on the PowerPoint were the ones I had painstakingly built, line by line. I pushed past the security guard and grabbed Adrian’s arm before he could enter the room. “Why am I not on the final presentation list?” I demanded. “I’m the core data support for this project. I’m the only one who can answer the detailed questions.” I didn’t think there was anything wrong with what I said. But for that, they labeled me as “tactless” and “not a team player.” The door opened, and Amy stepped out, a USB drive in her hand. “Adrian, the clients are here. Let’s go in.” Adrian’s face instantly broke into a smile. He straightened his tie, his eyes full of admiration for her. “With Amy leading the charge, we’re sure to win this.” “Leah,” Amy said, looking down her nose at me. “Adrian has his reasons. You being here is just going to damage the team’s image. Why don’t you… go downstairs and get us some coffee?” Looking at her perfectly made-up face, a dull ache spread through my chest. Ever since I joined this company, I had handled all the thankless, difficult jobs. Just last month, to prepare for this very project, I paid for an advanced data analytics course out of my own pocket. It wasn’t expensive—just $500, not even a fraction of what Amy spends on a single handbag. But when Adrian saw my reimbursement request, he’d sighed and rubbed his temples. “Leah, we’re trying to cut costs right now. Let’s avoid non-essential expenses like this in the future, okay?” So that’s what it was. It wasn’t about cutting costs. It was about my professional development not being a worthy investment. 2 Amy looked surprised, then annoyed, that I was still standing there. “Oh, Leah, you’re here? Adrian said you were out sick today. I only prepared materials for the core team. Maybe you should… just go back to your desk?” Before she could finish, an intern sidled up, looking at Amy with hero-worship in his eyes. “Amy, you’re amazing! This proposal is brilliant. The clients are going to love it!” All I felt was a deep, pathetic sadness. My blood, sweat, and tears, all credited to someone else’s name. “Amy,” I said, my voice steady, “can you explain the data sources for the second section?” “Leah! Watch your tone!” Adrian barked. He walked over, his brow furrowed in displeasure. My fingers trembled. That heart of mine, already frozen solid, felt a flicker of absurd hope. Maybe… maybe Adrian was just trying to maintain a professional front… But his next words plunged me into an icy despair. “Alright, that’s enough. Don’t make a scene in front of the clients.” “Your work is done. This is Amy’s show now. She’s the face of our team. You’re making things awkward for everyone.” “It’s better if you stay out here anyway. In case we need someone to run errands.” Amy scoffed. “Some people just don’t know their place. I told you, team image is crucial. Bringing a dowdy assistant along just lowers our standards.” Another colleague, a team lead, gave me a disdainful look. “You’ve been acting very strange lately. Do you think just because the project is done, you’re some kind of hero? You’re getting a big head. Write up a formal explanation and have it on my desk by the end of the day.” A fire ignited inside me, surging through my limbs, to my brain. The next thing I knew, the scalding hot coffee in my hand was splashing across that team lead’s face. “Write this!” I screamed. I went wild, swinging my binder like a weapon, hitting the colleagues who were watching the show with amusement. I hit Amy’s panicked face. I hit the glass door of the conference room that I polished countless times a day. It didn’t stop until Adrian’s hand cracked across my face. “You’re insane!” he roared. “You’re fired!” “Get the hell out of here, now!” In that moment, I felt a strange, unprecedented sense of relief. I dropped the binder. “Fine,” I said calmly. I looked around at the chaos. A few colleagues were huddled in a corner, protectively shielding a screaming Amy. I smiled, pulled the resignation letter from my bag, and handed it to Adrian. “Sign it.” “Saves me the cost of postage.” 3 But Adrian just held the letter, refusing to sign. He rubbed his eyes, sighed wearily, and looked at me. “Can you please stop this, Leah?” His gaze fell on the red, swelling handprint on my cheek, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of… guilt? “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, that you’re overthinking things. Let’s just forget what happened today, okay?” “Sign it,” I repeated. My unyielding stance seemed to anger him. He made a frustrated sound. “Stop being dramatic. If you actually quit, where would you go? With your degree, what major company is going to hire you? Are you really sure you can find a better job than this?” He had a half-smile on his face, as if mocking my overconfidence. A chill ran down my spine. The scene was sickeningly familiar. When I graduated, my resume was rejected everywhere. It was my mother who, through a distant acquaintance, introduced me to Adrian, who was then just a junior manager. She had humbled herself, treated him to a lavish dinner, and slipped him a thick envelope of cash. “Leah, you’re just too earnest,” she had told me. “You don’t know how to sell yourself. Mr. Cole is a sharp man. Stick with him, and learn.” So I joined the company, and Adrian did “take care” of me. He gave me the toughest, most thankless tasks, calling it “training.” He took the credit for the work I did overnight, then patted my shoulder and told me, “Young people shouldn’t be so concerned with personal gain.” My naive parents thought I had found a great mentor and constantly reminded me to be grateful. If they knew I was leaving Adrian, they would call me ungrateful. They might even drag me back here to beg for my job back. I shuddered. Adrian, thinking he had me trapped, softened his voice. “Alright, that’s enough. You have no connections, no prestigious degree. How are you going to survive without me?” “It was wrong of me not to let you present. But I was just worried you’d get nervous and say the wrong thing, messing up the whole project.” “Once we land this contract, I’ll give you a big bonus, a promotion, a raise, how does that sound? Didn’t you always want to be a team lead?” Amy stepped out from behind him, adding her two cents. “That’s right, Leah, don’t overthink it. Today was a very important meeting, with very important people.” “You’re not used to that kind of pressure. What if you got nervous and embarrassed yourself? The clients would question our professionalism, and Adrian would be in a terrible position.” “He was just trying to protect you. How can you misunderstand his good intentions? You should apologize to him.” She pulled an intern in front of her like a shield. “See? You’ve scared the new staff. Don’t worry, Tom, I’ll have Leah apologize to you.” Other colleagues gathered around, fussing over Amy, checking her face and hands for any injuries. “She’s completely out of control. Adrian, you can’t let her get away with this.” “She needs to make a public apology, at the very least, and forfeit her entire bonus for the month!” Five or six people stood before me, all waiting for me to bow my head and apologize, just like I always did.

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