When the landslide hit, my twin sister and I were trapped together under the same concrete slab. The rescue workers told my mother she had to choose. They could only save one of us. In my first life, my mother chose me. And she resented me for it every day that followed. I was never allowed to eat the best food or wear nice clothes. I had to be first in my class, always. I wasn’t allowed to cry, or laugh, or speak too loudly. I was forbidden from playing with other children. Whenever I faltered, my mother would point to my sister’s portrait on the wall and say, “Your sister died for you. What more could you possibly want?” I understood her pain, so I bore it in silence. Until, at thirty years old, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer. My mother’s grief turned to a desperate, twisted rage. “If I had known you were going to die young anyway,” she screamed, “I would have let you die back then!” She never knew that her younger daughter hadn’t died at all. When I found myself back under that slab of concrete, I heard my mother’s voice again. This time, she said, “I choose my younger daughter.” In that moment, I closed my eyes, and all I felt was release. 1 After I died, my soul didn’t leave. It followed my mother and my sister to the hospital. Inside the ambulance, my mother’s face, still young, was etched with a tenderness I had never seen. She gently combed through my sister’s mud-caked bangs with her fingertips. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto my sister’s face, her eyes filled with the raw, astonished joy of having gotten something back from the dead. The wail of sirens screamed outside, but inside the rattling metal box, there was only the sound of my mother’s soft, urgent whispers, a world unto themselves. “Maya. Maya, wake up. Look at Mom. Open your eyes and look at Mom.” Her voice was laced with a gentleness I couldn’t recall ever being directed at me. Not even in my first life, when I was the one lying in this ambulance. 2 In my first life, when the landslide trapped us, the concrete slab was balanced like a seesaw. To save the one on this side, they would have to crush the one on the other. One life for another. Only one of us could survive. My mother couldn’t choose. Not until a rescuer suggested they save whichever one of us responded first. She threw herself against the rubble, screaming our names with a desperation that clawed at the edges of life and death. “Lily!” “Maya!” “Lily!” “Maya!” Over and over… I remember hearing her voice cut through the darkness. It sounded just like it did every morning when she came to wake us up. So, just as I always did from the warmth of my bed, I mumbled, “I’m here, Mom.” A wave of joyful shouts erupted from the world outside. Then came the roar of machinery, the grating sound of shifting rock, and woven through it all, a woman’s desperate sobbing. A blinding light broke through. I was lifted by a dozen hands. Through the dizzying motion, I heard their voices. “This one’s tough.” “She’s got a guardian angel watching over her.” “A shame about the other one.” “Nothing to be done. If they’d waited any longer, they would have lost them both.” I was only five years old. I was too small to understand what they meant. All I wanted was my mom. Where was my mom? I cried out for her, and the voices around me rushed to soothe me. “Your mom’s right here. She’s right beside you. It’s okay, kiddo.” “Sixteen hours under there. She’s in good shape, all things considered. A real fighter.” Through the noise, I searched for my mother’s voice. And then I saw her face—a mask of grief and confusion. Later, I would wonder why I had to be the tough one. 3 My sister and I were twins. Our father was a city bus driver. He died in an accident on the job when we were three, leaving us with a small compensation payout and a cramped apartment in an old, state-owned building. With the pillar of our family gone, my mother clutched his funeral portrait and dragged my sister and me to his boss’s office. Maya and I just stood there, stunned and silent. When we saw our mother crying, we started crying too, howling with a sorrow we didn’t understand. So, during the big layoffs of the 90s, my mother was given a job as a ticket agent. After that, my dad’s portrait was hung on the wall, watching over us, a family of three who had found a way to survive. I used to sneak glances at it, and I always thought he was smiling. Until my sister’s picture was hung up next to his. Then I didn’t dare to look anymore. Because the picture on that wall was supposed to have been me. 4 A family of four became a family of three, and then a family of two. The apartment was always quiet with just the two of us. The front door was always shut, as if to keep the wind out, and with it, the neighbors’ whispers about my mother’s tragic life. But the door to my room was always left open, a permanent invitation for my mother’s gaze to fall upon me. “What are you daydreaming for? Is your homework done?” “Even if it’s done, review it again. You’re not just studying for yourself; you’re studying for your sister, too.” “Tired already? You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You want to drive me to an early grave so you can be free.” “Crying? I’m the one who should be crying. What right do you have to cry?” …I started to dread coming home. But I had nowhere else to go. Everyone knew my dad was dead. Everyone knew my sister had died for me. “Lily, your mom has it hard. You need to be a good girl.” “Lily, what are you doing still out? Your mother is worried sick looking for you.” “Lily, you can’t be selfish.” The neighbors would lecture me whenever they saw me. Without realizing it, I started to walk with my head down, hugging the walls. When I looked up, I would see my mother’s face, a thundercloud of a scowl, the corners of her mouth pulled permanently downward. I hated home, and I hated being around people. But I couldn’t escape either of them. I was only eight years old. 5 I soon discovered that being eight wasn’t so bad. It was the year I started first grade. On the first day of school, our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, popped a piece of candy into my mouth. “First day of school, Lily,” she said, her voice kind. “You study hard now, you hear? Make something of yourself. Your mother is counting on you. As long as you do well in school, she’ll be happy.” I carved those words into my heart. I wanted my mother to be happy, the way she used to be. And it worked. The first time I brought home a report card with all A’s, the corners of my mother’s mouth turned up. So it was true. If I studied hard, my mother would be happy. I threw myself into my studies, always finishing at the top of my class. My mother’s smiles became more frequent. The day I got my acceptance letter to the best magnet middle school in the city, she took me to offer incense to my father and sister, a brilliant, proud smile on her face. I looked at their portraits on the wall, and for a moment, I thought they were smiling, too. So I smiled with them. But the happiness didn’t last. My mother held up my class ranking, her face hard. “You only beat the second-place student by ten points. You used to be twenty points ahead. Are you getting distracted? Are you doing this to spite me? You just want me to die so you can have a better life, don’t you? If it weren’t for you, I would have joined your father and sister long ago. I’m only staying alive for you!” I shook my head frantically. No, that’s not it. I tried to explain. “I don’t know what it is. I’m just hungry all the time. I wake up in the middle of the night so hungry I can’t sleep, and then I’m tired all day.” “Hungry?” she shrieked. “I work myself to the bone to provide for you, and you have the audacity to say you’re hungry? Did I not feed you? Look at your sister! Did she ever get to eat a single meal I cooked? You ungrateful child!” She broke down into racking sobs. I never dared to say I was hungry again. But hunger is a primal thing. One day in class, when my stomach rumbled for the third time, the boy sitting next to me slipped me a palm-sized cereal bar. My face burned with shame, but I ate half of it and carefully tucked the other half away in my backpack. That night, my mother beat me. “Tell me the truth! Did you steal it? You’re already a little thief. You’ll end up in jail, just you wait!” “Don’t you dare call me ‘Mom.’ I don’t have a convict for a daughter.” “Someone gave it to you? Why would they give it to you? What did you do to deserve it?” “And you ate it all yourself? You didn’t save any for your sister? You have no heart!” “Why is my life so miserable? I should have just died! I should have died!” I explained over and over, begged and pleaded. But the belt still fell, again and again. On that cold winter night, I was forced to kneel in my thin pajamas before the portraits of my father and sister until morning came. My forehead was burning as I curled up on the cold floor. Just before I lost consciousness, I saw my mother rush over and pull me into her arms, crying, “Mom was wrong, Mom was wrong.” I looked up, my gaze drifting past her to the portraits on the wall. For the first time, I wondered: why wasn’t my picture on the right? I was thirteen years old, and my body was changing. 6 Old folks say that every time a child gets a fever, they get a little wiser. I think they’re right. The next time my stomach growled, I wisely refused my classmate’s offer of a snack. When I passed a neighbor’s open door and smelled dinner cooking, I wisely refused their kindness. “I’m not hungry.” “I’ll eat at home.” “My mom is already cooking.” My schoolbag was heavy, not just with books, but with a large water bottle. Whenever I felt hungry, I would take a sip of water. The neighbors all praised me for being so sensible. But the boy who sat next to me stopped talking to me altogether. “Whatever. She’s too good for me now,” he muttered to his friends, shooting me a glare. “She eats my cereal bar, and the next day she’s out with a fever. Her mom even came to the school to talk to the teacher. Can you believe that? My mom told me to stay away from her, said she’s her mother’s whole world. If anything happened, we couldn’t afford the trouble.” The other kids snickered. I apologized, embarrassed, explaining that I’d just caught a cold. But more and more of my classmates started to avoid me. One day, the boy leaned over and whispered, “You just dress so weird.” That afternoon, in front of the bathroom mirror at school, I truly saw myself for the first time. I was wearing a shiny, deep purple winter coat. I remembered where it came from—a neighbor had been about to throw it out, and my mother had taken it. I looked at the other kids passing by in the mirror. Most of the girls wore black, but there were other colors too: white, pink, sky blue. Only I wore a shimmering, out-of-place purple. I looked down at my feet, at the clunky, old-fashioned cotton shoes. I was a snail in a purple shell, with thin legs weighed down by heavy shoes. A deep, burning shame washed over me. When I got home, I mustered all my courage and asked for a new black winter coat. Black, I thought, should be fine. But my mother’s face turned just as black. And so came the second beating. “Are you seeing a boy? Is that it? You want new clothes to show off for some boy? Tell me who he is! I’m going to his school tomorrow to set things straight!” “Are you cold? Do you not have clothes to wear? Did I send you out naked? Am I some wicked stepmother abusing you?” Finally, she pointed a trembling finger at the portraits on the wall. “You ask your sister. Ask her if she’s cold down there in the ground. Ask her if she wants a new coat.” I looked up at my sister’s face in the photograph, and tears streamed down my cheeks. Why wasn’t it me who died? I was fourteen, and puberty had hit. From that day on, I gave up on myself. I still studied like my life depended on it. In the magnet high school, the work became harder. I was no longer at the very top of my class; sometimes I even fell out of the top thirty. Each time, my mother would beat me with a hateful fury, not stopping until she was exhausted. I just endured it silently. A single thought became a prayer in my heart. Yes, that’s it. Harder. Just kill me. Kill me. Please, just kill me. 7 After my final exams, my mother filled out my college applications for me. She chose the local state college. “There’s no need to go far away,” she said with a smile. “The education program here is excellent. People fight to get into it.” I just nodded. When my acceptance letter arrived, the neighbors all congratulated her, praising me for being so filial and staying close to home. Only my high school guidance counselor sighed. “With your scores, this is a real waste.” But then, thinking of my family situation, he just shook his head. “It must be hard on you. Your mother hasn’t had it easy either.” I knew it would be this way. When the ending is already written, why struggle against the plot? It only brings more pain. After college, I got a teaching job in the local school district. Mrs. Gable, now with a full head of white hair, told my mother, “Elaine, you’ve finally made it. You can finally rest easy.” My mother cried and laughed at the same time. I looked at her through the crowd of well-wishers, just as I had looked at her on the day I was pulled from the rubble. Mom, back then, were you happy that one daughter lived, or sad that one daughter died? Mom, are you happy now? Mom, am I a good daughter now? 8 Everyone said my mother’s life was tragic. She lost her husband, then a daughter, and raised one all by herself. And just when she had finally made it, I got sick. Stomach cancer. Stage two. When I saw the diagnosis, I was surprisingly calm. Hunger had been the constant companion of my youth, and the stomach is an emotional organ. I’d felt the discomfort for a long time, but I was so used to it, I couldn’t tell the difference between pain and hunger anymore. I was used to enduring. I had no intention of getting treatment. I decided to leave all my savings to my mother for her retirement. I tried to hide it from her, but she found the doctor’s report under my mattress. She read it over and over, then let out a desperate scream, tearing at her own hair. I tried to stop her, but she shoved me away with violent force. She pointed at me, then at the portraits on the wall, her eyes wide and bulging, her face twisted into a grotesque mask. “If I had known you were going to die young anyway, I should have let you die back then!” “You debt collector! You should be the one to die!” My hands fell limply to my sides. After a long moment, I whispered, “I know.” That night, I left home. I walked to the river and let the cold wind carry me into the water. No last words. No regrets. I was an obedient daughter. Wasn’t I?

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My mother was once a celebrated actress, bathed in the glow of the spotlight. But when my father’s first love returned from overseas, that glow soured, and the world branded my mother a homewrecker who had schemed her way to the top. She divorced my father and abandoned the career she cherished. Everyone said it was karma, that she was finally getting what she deserved. But it wasn’t until after she died, when five videos she recorded before her death dominated the trending topics, that the truth finally began to claw its way into the light. 1 “Julie Whitlock is dead!” The exclamation ripped through the classroom chatter. The guy in front of me was staring at his phone, his face a mask of shock. I had been dozing, my head pillowed on my arms, but the sudden crescendo of noise jolted me awake. I lifted my head, blinking, and saw my classmates clustered together, their faces lit by the blue light of their screens, buzzing with excitement. Class wouldn’t start for another few minutes. I glanced at my watch, stretched languidly, and, mimicking the others, pulled out my own phone. The words blazing across the top of the screen froze the air in my lungs. “Whoa, even the class hermit is rocked by this news,” the guy in front of me said, turning around. “I guess it makes sense. Julie Whitlock was famously shameless. A homewrecker who bullied her way through every set. Who’d have thought someone like her would kill herself?” “Guilt, probably,” someone else chimed in. “Everyone knows she stole Director Marsh’s first love and basically forced her out of the country for years.” “But she retired, right? Why commit suicide now?” “I don’t know. Karma’s a bitch, I guess.” The discussion spiraled, their voices a chaotic symphony of speculation. The chirping gossip inside and the deafening drone of cicadas outside scorched my sanity. The sweltering summer air seemed to warp the world around me, bending it into a grotesque funhouse mirror. I sat frozen, silent. Beneath the desk, my hands clenched into fists so tight my nails bit deep into my palms, drawing blood. The shameless woman they were dissecting, Julie Whitlock… She was my mother. 2 My mother was the youngest actress to ever win the prestigious Golden Iris Award. She was also, by all accounts, the bravest. She was twenty-eight when she accepted the award, and on that very same night, during her acceptance speech, she announced her marriage to my father. The move was polarizing. Her fanbase hemorrhaged overnight. But it also earned her a wave of admiration. People called her genuine, spirited, a woman who lived by her own rules. As a celebrated screenwriter and an award-winning actress, their love story became the stuff of Hollywood legend. After I was born, my mother didn’t slow down. She dove back into her work with a ferocious passion, and with my father’s unwavering support, she collected awards like they were sea shells on a beach. Directors lined up, desperate to catch a ride on her rising star. Among them was the woman who would ultimately be the architect of my mother’s downfall. Lydia Marsh. Like my mother, she was a titan in her field. After studying film abroad, she made a name for herself with a unique and powerful visual language, racking up international awards while still in her youth. At the time, everyone believed a collaboration between Lydia and my mother would be a historic event, a bridge between domestic and international cinema. But then, a single piece of gossip shattered the calm. 3 Fame, reputation, the court of public opinion—they are all a double-edged sword. When you’re on top, everyone is your friend. But when you fall, they’re the ones pushing you down. During the theatrical run of their film, First Love, a rumor about my father, Graham Thorne, and the director, Lydia Marsh, began to spread like wildfire. The story was that the film’s protagonists, tragically separated by a cruel twist of fate, were based on them. And the villain of the piece, the malicious rival who spread lies, bullied the heroine, and drove her from her home? That was my mother, Julie Whitlock. The rumor was a cancer, a creeping rot that ate away at the public’s reason. Soon, the admiration for a young, brilliant actress curdled into a morbid curiosity, a collective hunger to see someone who had soared so high be torn from the sky, broken and bleeding. A flawless saint is admirable, but a twisted, fallen angel is far more entertaining. I was only five at the time, but I could feel the atmosphere in our home shift, growing heavy and cold. There was nothing I could do. I could only watch as my mother’s spirit frayed, as she wasted away, becoming a ghost of her former self. I thought, with the naivete of a child, that the storm would pass, that time would wash the scandal from public memory. But a few months later, the news of my parents’ divorce pierced my world. 4 Due to her “deteriorating mental state,” the court deemed my mother unfit to raise me. My father took me to his new home. And just like that, Lydia Marsh became my stepmother. She was much as I’d imagined. She wore rimless glasses and favored loose, bohemian-style linen shirts. At first glance, she projected an aura of gentle, intellectual warmth. But when I looked at her, all I could see was the hidden mass of an iceberg, the vast, deadly bulk of it concealed beneath a placid surface. The scandal had an unintended side effect: First Love shattered box-office records. Lydia Marsh became a household name. Meanwhile, the negative press about my mother became a relentless deluge. Bullying actors, sordid affairs, trading favors for roles, diva-like behavior on set—a torrent of accusations, some true, some fabricated, all stuck to her name like tar. In those days, you could say anything you wanted about Julie Whitlock, and the world would nod in agreement, adding their own poison to the pot. I never felt comfortable in my new home. I would wake from nightmares, crying out for my real mother. Whenever this happened, my father’s face would harden. He would grip my shoulders, forcing me to meet his cold, unwavering gaze. “Cassia,” he would say, his voice low and final. “Listen to me. From now on, Lydia is your mother.” “But she’s not—” “Quiet!” My father wasn’t a man given to smiles, but he wasn’t prone to anger either. In my memory, he was always calm, unflappable, a man of few emotional waves. The sudden, sharp command startled the protest from my lips. I never dared to speak of it again. My intuition, a child’s unerring compass, screamed at me. None of this was normal. And there was a secret buried at the heart of it all, a secret I knew I must never, ever touch. 5 After the divorce, I hardly ever saw my mother. The only glimpses I got of her were through the cruel filter of the internet. She held a press conference. She admitted to everything. On camera, her hair was neatly combed, her clothes impeccable, but the raw, bloodshot state of her eyes betrayed the hell she’d been living through. Assailed by a barrage of questions from reporters, she announced her retirement from acting. The announcement was like throwing meat to sharks. The public, seizing the opportunity, launched into one final, brutal character assassination. And then, buried under an avalanche of condemnation, the name Julie Whitlock vanished from the world. Until fifteen years later, when the news of her death dragged her back into the spotlight. “Cassia? You’re not even listening. This is huge… Hey, class is about to start. Where are you going?” Ignoring the voice calling after me, I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the classroom. On the way home, I called my father again and again, but every call went straight to voicemail. I tried Lydia, but her phone was switched off. A strange tide of unease washed over me. I tried to steady my hammering heart as I pushed open the front door to my house. “Cassia, shouldn’t you be at school—” I didn’t let Lydia finish. I brushed past her, my eyes scanning the house for my father. I pushed open the door to the conservatory, and the cloying scent of flowers hit me like a physical blow. I wrinkled my nose and stepped inside, searching. Finally, I saw him. He was resting in a wicker rocking chair, bathed in a sliver of sunlight pouring through the glass panes. “My mother is dead,” I said, my voice flat. “Your mother is outside, preparing lunch.” “You know that’s not who I mean.” I was ready to argue, but he opened his eyes. He looked me up and down, a slow, deliberate appraisal. Then he stood, and his hand shot out, clamping down on my shoulder like a vice. “Cassia Thorne,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Your mother is standing right behind you.” My body went rigid. I turned my head, a slow, mechanical movement. Lydia was there, a smile plastered on her face. The dappled shadows of leaves danced across her features, twisting her expression into something grotesque and alien. The sunlight sliced the conservatory into geometric shapes of light and dark. He stood in the light, she stood in the shadow, and I was trapped on the line between them. 6 In the age of information, waves of public interest crest and crash with bewildering speed. A week later, my mother’s death was old news, forgotten by the masses. Just as before, no matter what I tried, I couldn’t pry a single piece of information about her from my father or Lydia. Our house was an island, completely cut off from anything related to Julie Whitlock. My questions and frustrations festered with no outlet. On the night that marked a week since her death, I snuck out into the backyard. I was going to light a candle for her, a small, secret vigil. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the chime of my phone. A flood of notifications poured in, and my mother’s name once again commanded my attention. The trending topics were dominated by hashtags: #JulieWhitlockVideo, #JulieWhitlockResurrected, #JulieWhitlock, #SchoolBullying. My fingers shaking, I tapped on the first one. My mother’s official social media account, dormant for over a decade, had just posted a video. The footage was grainy, clearly old. In the video, a girl with a high ponytail was on the ground, her clothes disheveled. Two pairs of feet were visible, relentlessly kicking and stomping on her body. After a moment of brutal violence and muffled sobs, a figure in the same school uniform emerged from behind the camera. She stepped forward, gently caressed the crying girl’s cheek, and then, in a swift, vicious motion, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the floor. The sound was a sickening crack. The screen went black just before the blood could stain the lens. The mysterious video sparked a firestorm online. The shocking content, the timing of the post, the fact that it came from a dead woman’s account—any one of these elements would have been enough to fuel days of frantic speculation. But as I watched it, a chill that had nothing to do with the night air crept down my spine. Others might be confused by the blurry footage. But I wasn’t. I would know that silhouette anywhere. The figure who emerged at the end, the one who delivered that final, brutal blow… that was my mother. 7 A dead woman posting videos from beyond the grave became the internet’s new obsession. Phone in hand, I found my father and shoved the screen in his face. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who this is.” He was sitting under the small locust tree in the conservatory. He gave the screen a dismissive glance. The harsh sunlight glinted off his glasses, obscuring his eyes, but I could see his hands, tending to the plant, never once faltering. “Cassia, you should be in school.” “Then you need to tell me what’s going on. Why would Mom’s account suddenly post a video like this with no context? People aren’t stupid. It won’t take them long to figure out—” “Do you think,” he interrupted, his voice calm, “that what the person in that video did was right?” The unexpected question stopped me cold. My father stood up, his body blocking the sun. He reached past me and picked up a Blu-ray case from the table. It was Lydia’s masterpiece, First Love. The cover art was famous: it didn’t show the faces of the stars, only their backs as they stood in a swirling snowstorm, facing a warmly lit phone booth. Critics had called it a symbol of missed connections and eventual reunion. I didn’t understand why he was showing it to me now. “Of course it wasn’t right. But at a time like this, a video like this—” “Then should they have repented?” His voice was hoarse, his brow deeply furrowed. “Dad, what are you hiding from me?” My question seemed to pull him back to reality. He picked up the Blu-ray case, polished it absently with his thumb, and then pressed it into my hand. “That’s enough. Don’t overthink it. Go get some rest.” 8 I was certain my father was hiding something. But getting the truth from him right now was clearly impossible. I spent hours online, digging through archives, searching for anything related to my mother’s high school years. She was always a perfectionist. Even after deciding to pursue acting, she never let her grades slip. Her name and photo were regulars on the school’s honor roll. In the photos, she wore a crisp white shirt, her shoulder-length hair neatly styled. She looked every bit the model student. Beneath one picture was a quote she had chosen as her personal motto at seventeen. “Despair is not an option. And so, farewell.” It was a line from a Sylvia Plath poem. It felt jarringly out of place. As I scrolled through the school’s archived website, a familiar name in a small information box caught my eye. Lydia Marsh. She had founded a photography club with a few other students. One of their projects had even won a local award. And my mother… had joined the club in the second semester of her junior year. I’d already suspected that Lydia and my mother knew each other from way back, given the whole “first love” scandal, but I never imagined they were in the same club in high school. If that bullying video was real, could Lydia have been involved? Could one of the two pairs of kicking feet at the beginning have belonged to her? And did their secret have something to do with my father? Who was the girl being beaten? And did any of this have to do with my mother’s death? Staring at the list of photography club members, I was lost in a labyrinth of questions. 9 “Cassia? Were you looking for me?” Lydia stopped adjusting the lens on her camera and turned to me, a warm smile on her face. “Yeah.” I pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her. She seemed completely at ease, nodding as if she were ready to give me her full attention. My fingers tightened around the recording pen in my pocket. I took a deep breath and showed her the video on my phone. She took the phone, her expression unchanging as she watched. When it finished, her gaze shifted back to me. “That was just something I shot for fun in high school,” she said lightly. “You could say it was my first real foray into filmmaking.” “The girl in it… the main one… that was my mother, wasn’t it?” “Yes.” She admitted it so readily that it threw me off balance. Perhaps a flicker of my confusion showed on my face, because a small, knowing smile touched her lips. “Cassia, are you curious about Julie? About your mother?” The tables had turned. She was now the one in control, and I didn’t know how to respond. She stood up, walked behind me, and placed a glass of lemonade on the table before resting her hands gently on my shoulders. “We were the best of friends in high school. Inseparable. We even made a pact: I would become the world’s greatest director, and she would be the world’s greatest actress.” She let out a soft sigh. “Unfortunately, Julie… she always had a terrible temper. You saw the video. She couldn’t handle it when another girl was cast as the lead in the school play instead of her. So she took it out on her.” “The girl in the video?” Lydia’s hands squeezed my shoulders gently. “Yes. The incident got pretty big, and our little club was quietly disbanded. After that, our ideals no longer aligned. We drifted apart.” Her answers were so direct, her story so logical. I replayed it in my mind, searching for a crack, a flaw in the narrative, but found none. I must have been silent for too long, because Lydia circled around and knelt in front of me, taking my hands in hers. “I know this is hard to accept, Cassia. Your father didn’t tell you any of this for all these years because he didn’t want to hurt you.” “What happened to the girl who was bullied?” I asked, my voice flat. Lydia’s grip on my hands tightened for a fraction of a second. She lowered her head, her expression unreadable, and sighed again. “She died.”

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Anna, our housekeeper’s daughter, had a gift for taking what was mine. Anything I loved, she’d snatch away. Now she wanted my custom-designed wedding. At dinner, she put on a wounded look. “A wedding is once-in-a-lifetime,” she sniffled. “I’m not creative like Sera… I couldn’t book a ballroom…” My father turned to me: “Give Anna your designs. You can make another.” My mother added: “Your reception’s in the evening. We’ll put Anna’s in the afternoon. Your décor will be used twice.” Anna smirked. “And Sera—remove your names from everything. I’d be embarrassed if my friends saw them.” They wanted to hijack my venue and leave me with scraps. I looked at them and laughed coldly. “You’re sure?” I asked, voice calm. “Absolutely sure you want my venue?” After their smug confirmation, I dialed a number: “Deliver fifty funeral wreaths to The Grand Astoria. And two crates of votive candles and ceremonial money.” If they wanted to ruin my wedding, they could have a funeral instead. 1 “Sera, is this it? The wedding design that cost a fortune?” Anna leaned in close, her eyes fixed on the blueprints in my hands, a flicker of raw envy in their depths. I nodded curtly, moving to close the portfolio. But Anna’s hand shot out, clamping down on mine. “Can I just see them? Please?” she begged. “I’m getting married soon, too. I just want some inspiration.” I refused without a second thought. Every single detail in that design was a piece of me, meticulously planned. I wasn’t sharing it with anyone. “There are plenty of designs online. Go look for yourself.” I pulled my hand away, ignoring the pathetic, pleading look she gave me as I walked away. Anna had been stealing from me her whole life. She was just the housekeeper’s daughter, but she was a master at playing the victim in front of my parents, twisting every situation until I was the villain. They’d fall for it every time, taking pity on her and handing over whatever gift was meant for me. When I was six, she scraped her knee and cried until they gave her my favorite porcelain doll. At my debutante ball, she showed up drenched from a supposed fall into the fountain and walked away with my custom-made gown. Just last week, she claimed to be having nightmares and my parents made me swap rooms, giving her the bedroom I’d lived in for twenty years. Only one thing was truly mine: Reid, my fiancé. He was the one prize she’d spent years scheming for but could never, ever steal. Now, all my hopes were pinned on this wedding. Once I was married, I would finally be free of this suffocating house. Later, at the dinner table, the drama started right on cue. Anna sat with her head down, her eyes red-rimmed, the very picture of misery. My mother couldn’t stand it. Her anger immediately flared, aimed squarely at me. “Did you bully Anna again?” “You have everything, Seraphina! Why can’t you be a little more generous and just let her have this one thing?” My father glared at me, his disappointment a palpable force. “The older you get, the more selfish you become.” With her audience secured, Anna began to sob theatrically. “Miss Seraphina has never liked me, I know that,” she whispered. “If you’re still angry about the room, I’ll get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness, I will!” She turned her tear-streaked face to my parents. “I just wanted to look at her wedding designs. A wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime moment, and I don’t want any regrets… but I’m not clever like she is. I can’t design something beautiful myself…” Her voice trailed off into a pathetic whimper, and my parents looked like their hearts were breaking. I, however, remained unmoved, calmly picking at my food. The entire table was laden with sweet dishes Anna adored; not a single spicy entree that I loved. “Seraphina, are you deaf?” my mother snapped, pulling Anna into a protective hug. “Did you not hear what she said? Do you really need her to kneel before you’re satisfied?” My father issued his decree. “Go get your designs and give them to Anna. You’re a designer. It won’t take you any time to whip up something new.” Anna’s tears vanished instantly, replaced by a radiant smile. “Oh, thank you, Papa Sterling! I knew you and Mama Sterling were the kindest people in the world.” Listening to the three of them decide the fate of my work, I had to laugh. I set down my fork and looked directly at the two people flanking Anna like royal guards. “Tell me,” I asked, my voice eerily calm. “Am I actually your daughter?” “Why is it you always believe her, but never me? Does the one who cries the loudest always get to be right?” It was the question that had haunted me for years, a puzzle I could never solve. I remembered a time, before Anna and her mother arrived, when they had loved me. A child who has known love can never truly accept its absence. My question seemed to stun them into silence for a moment. Anna’s expression tightened with anxiety. The next second, she threw herself to the floor in front of me, grabbing my hand and slapping it against her own cheek. “I’m so sorry, Miss Seraphina! I shouldn’t have coveted your things! Please don’t be angry with your parents!” My mother was the first to react, surging forward and striking me hard across the face. “If it weren’t for your constant bullying, Anna wouldn’t be having nightmares every night! Of course you should have given her your room! What right do you have to be so angry?” My father pulled Anna to her feet, his gaze cold as ice. “You don’t get to speak that way in this house.” “You ungrateful child,” he seethed. “We’ve given you everything, and this is the thanks we get? You begrudge us one little blueprint?” I cradled my stinging cheek, a bitter, self-mocking nod my only answer. If they wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said… then I would stop talking. I swallowed down the lifetime of injustice and looked up, my expression placid. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have made a fuss. It’s just a room I didn’t want anymore anyway.” “But,” I added, my voice hardening, “she is absolutely not getting my design.” Ignoring the renewed storm of curses behind me, I walked away, retreating to the small guest room and collapsing against the wall, my body finally giving out. The next morning, Reid arrived to take me for my wedding dress fitting. As I reached for the passenger door, Anna darted past me and slid into the seat. “Reid,” she cooed, “I want to look at wedding dresses too. Can I come along?” I yanked the door open and pulled her out by the arm. “Who told you to sit here? Did I say you were invited?” As expected, Anna’s eyes immediately filled with tears. She was wearing a pale, strappy sundress and a touch of innocent-looking makeup. When she cried, she looked like a fragile flower, designed to evoke pity. My mother’s voice was sharp with fury. “It’s just a seat, Seraphina! Have we ever denied you anything? Get in the back and let Anna have the front. Stop embarrassing us!” Anna seized her moment. “I’m sorry, Miss Seraphina, I didn’t mean to take your seat. It’s just… I get carsick in the back…” She shot a helpless, pleading look past me, at Reid. I stepped aside, revealing him completely. “You tell me, Reid,” I said, my voice level. “Who sits here?” 2 Reid smoothed a stray strand of hair from my face. “You do, of course,” he said, his voice a warm caress. “My future wife.” His gaze then flicked to the red-eyed Anna. “And for the record,” he added coolly, “I have no taste for crocodile tears.” Color flooded Anna’s face. “Reid, I… I wasn’t…” she stammered, utterly humiliated. In the end, Anna still came with us. At the bridal boutique, I lounged on a plush velvet sofa, scrolling through designer gowns on a tablet. “Pick the most expensive one, darling,” Reid said, kissing my temple. “We can afford it.” I blew him a kiss back and selected the boutique’s signature couture gown. While I waited for the seamstress, Anna emerged holding the cheapest dress in the store, a pained look on her face. “You’re so lucky, Sera,” she sighed. “Having a fiancé like Reid who’s willing to spend so much.” She turned to him, her expression a mask of wide-eyed innocence. “But a wedding dress is only for one day. Do you really need to spend a fortune on it? Reid, aren’t you worried she’ll spend all your money?” The implication was clear, a venomous whisper beneath her sweet tone: A frugal, sensible woman like me would be a much better choice. I wasn’t about to let her play that game. I set the tablet aside and gave her a lazy, knowing smile. “You said it yourself, Anna. You only wear it once. Why wouldn’t you wear the absolute best?” I leaned forward, my voice dropping. “Or is it that you don’t think you’re worthy of the best?” Her face fell. Her eyes welled up again as she looked desperately at Reid, clearly expecting him to rush to her defense. But Reid didn’t even glance her way. He simply seconded my point. “My fiancée is right. And if she manages to spend all my money, it just means I’m not earning enough.” Just then, the boutique owner herself arrived, carrying the shop’s masterpiece. It was a magnificent creation of heavy silk and intricate embroidery, shimmering under the lights. It instantly made the cheap, polyester dress in Anna’s hands look like a dull, lifeless rag. “You should work on your self-worth, Anna dear,” I purred, giving her a saccharine smile before sweeping into the fitting room. When I emerged in the gown, I found Anna with her back to Reid, contorting herself awkwardly. “Oh, Reid,” she simpered, “the zipper is stuck. My arms can’t reach. Could you possibly help me?” I swept forward, the long train of my gown whispering across the floor. I grabbed her zipper and yanked it up so hard she gasped. “Put your cheap tricks away,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “If you can’t dress yourself properly, then don’t wear it at all. And stop throwing yourself at my fiancé.” The other brides in the shop heard me. Their eyes, filled with contempt, turned on Anna. “Shameless. Trying to seduce another woman’s husband.” “Seriously, what is she thinking? Look at the real couple, they’re perfect together. He’d have to be blind to even look at her.” The whispers were like daggers. Anna looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. But without my parents to defend her, she could only let out a choked sob and flee the boutique. With the pest gone, Reid and I selected three more outfits and finalized everything for the reception. On the way home, my phone rang. It was the hotel manager. “Miss Sterling, just calling to inform you that another party has booked the ballroom for a luncheon on your wedding day.” “But don’t worry,” he continued, his tone breezy. “They’re in the afternoon, you’re in the evening. The other couple doesn’t plan to decorate, so your setup can proceed as scheduled. It won’t affect you at all.” Won’t affect me? If they had a luncheon, my decorations would already have to be fully installed. I fought to keep my voice even. “If the luncheon was already booked, why wasn’t I notified sooner? And if they don’t plan to decorate, does that mean they plan to use my décor for free?” I could feel my temper rising. “Are you telling me that my unique, custom-designed wedding is going to be a backdrop for someone else first? That I’m spending all this money just to have a secondhand reception?” 3 The more I spoke, the angrier I became. The thought of all my hard work, my personal vision, being used by strangers for free made me tremble with rage. But the manager’s attitude was infuriatingly dismissive, almost condescending. “Now, Miss Sterling, that’s not the right way to look at it. Technically, they are using the venue first. You should be thanking them for allowing you to set up early.” Thanking them? I almost choked on a laugh. I was paying a premium for an exclusive venue, for a specific time and service. And now my unique creation was being turned into a freebie for someone else, and I was expected to be grateful? “I don’t think so,” I said, my voice like ice. “If they’re not decorating, they’re not using mine either. I’ll have everything covered up until my event begins.” The manager actually chuckled, a smug sound. “Of course, you’re welcome to do that. There will be an additional fee for the drapes and labor, of course.” I was stunned into silence. “Your hotel created this problem, and you expect me to pay to fix it?” I may have money, but I’m not an idiot. As I started to protest further, he cut me off impatiently and hung up. When I stormed into the hotel, the first thing I saw was my parents, laughing and chatting with the manager. For a split second, I thought they had heard about the scheduling conflict and had come to fight for me. I should have known better. The moment they saw me, the cheerful conversation died. My mother cleared her throat. “Your father and I booked the luncheon for Anna,” she announced, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “That way, your décor gets used twice, and you don’t have to go to the trouble of designing something for her.” My father nodded in agreement. “You should be thanking Anna for coming up with such a clever, efficient solution. It saves you so much work.” At that moment, Anna stepped out from behind them, a victorious smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, and Sera, it’s probably best if you don’t put your names on any of the decorations. It would be so awkward if my guests saw them.” “Yes, exactly!” my mother chimed in. “Anna is so thoughtful.” Something inside me snapped. I stared at my parents, incredulous. “You know how much this wedding means to me, how much of myself I’ve poured into it, and you’re telling me I can’t even put my own name on it? Is that fair?” “I am your daughter! Why do I have to give up everything for her? Why does my once-in-a-lifetime wedding have to be trampled on like this?!” My voice rose to a raw, ragged scream, filled with the agony of a lifetime of confusion and hurt. The wedding was only a week away. Every other decent venue was booked solid. I was trapped. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, my eyes burning. For the first time, I wondered why it was so damn hard for me to just have one beautiful day that was all my own. “Is letting Anna use it for a few hours ‘trampling’ on it?” my mother shot back, her voice dripping with scorn. “You’re being selfish! Have you ever stopped to think about all the pain you’ve caused her?” She threw Anna’s fabricated grievances in my face like daggers. “Her invitations have already gone out,” my father declared, his tone final. “You’ll do it, whether you like it or not.” He thrust a gold-embossed invitation into my hand. I looked down at it. And then, I started to laugh. Because I finally understood. I finally saw the real reason for my parents’ unwavering devotion to Anna. I looked up, my eyes sweeping over all of them, a slow, mocking smile on my face. “You’re absolutely sure you want to use my venue and my decorations? Fine. I agree.”

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For eight years, Bryan despised my best friend. “What right does she have to comment on our lives? Stay away from her.” But then, he was the one who started getting close to her. The engagement ring I’d waited eight years for became his Children’s Day gift to her. When I confronted him through my tears, he just sneered. “Isn’t she your best friend? Why are you being so hypocritical?” 1 Leaving the lab, I scrolled through my social media feed and saw that a senior from my program had gotten engaged. My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment. Finally, I liked the post and sent a screenshot to Bryan. It took him a long time to reply. When he did, it was just two words: “That’s nice.” I stopped walking. “Are you busy right now?” Another long pause. Then, another message: “Yeah.” The carelessness, the indifference—it bled through the screen, even in a single word. “Okay, I won’t bother you then.” I had been about to ask him, half-jokingly, “So, when are we getting engaged?” But staring at those two cold messages, the courage I had mustered evaporated. I couldn’t bring myself to type a single letter. This was the eighth year of our relationship. I was in my first year of a PhD program. Bryan’s company had just secured over a hundred million in funding. “When do you think he’s going to propose?” I had asked my best friend, “Is he just too buried in work to even think about it? Should I drop a hint?” “Absolutely not!” she had insisted, shaking her head. “No girl should ever have to bring that up. It’s so desperate.” “Just be patient,” she’d said, her tone sincere. “You’re still in school. Maybe he wants his career to be even more stable before he asks you.” 2 On the way home, a sudden downpour started. I didn’t have an umbrella, so I used my textbook as a flimsy shield, dashing for cover. I missed a step, my foot slipped, and I went down hard into a deep puddle. Soaked and limping, I dragged myself under an awning and tried to call Bryan. No answer. I typed out a message: I fell and hurt myself. Can you come get me? Just as I was about to hit send, my eyes drifted to the restaurant across the street. And through the large plate-glass window, I saw him. Bryan. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He was looking at the person across from him with an expression of relaxed, genuine pleasure. Sitting opposite him was my best friend, Stella Lin. She was holding a small, red velvet box. Inside, a pink diamond ring glittered under the restaurant’s soft lighting. The rain was a deafening roar, and the glass muffled all sound, but I could read her lips. “Thank you, Bryan. I love it.” I stood frozen outside the window, the cold from my soaked dress seeping into my bones. My textbook and all the papers inside were ruined. I started to shiver uncontrollably. Just as a tear was about to fall, Bryan seemed to sense something. He turned his head, and his eyes met mine through the rain-streaked glass. He shot to his feet. “…Jenna.” 3 A hostess led me inside. A cello played a mournful, elegant melody. I was a complete mess, and nearly everyone in the restaurant turned to stare. “Jenna, what are you doing here?” Stella asked, her expression perfectly normal. She linked her arm through mine as if nothing was wrong. “I was just telling Bryan that it’s Children’s Day. I told him he should wrap up this celebration dinner early so he could go home and spend it with you.” I stared at her. “Celebration dinner?” “Yes! The company landed a huge contract today, so we were supposed to have a big party. But everyone else had plans, so it was just us two, left all alone.” “What’s there to celebrate about Children’s Day?” Bryan scoffed, a slight frown on his face. “Don’t assume Jenna is as childish as you are.” Even though she was just an intern at his company, Stella wasn’t intimidated by him at all. She just rolled her eyes. “Right, right. I’m the childish one. You’re the mature, all-powerful CEO.” Their banter was so familiar, so practiced. It wasn’t hostile; it was flirtatious. I blinked away the raindrops clinging to my eyelashes, my gaze locked on Bryan’s face. “The ring.” “Why did you give her a ring?” He was silent for a moment. “It’s Children’s Day. It’s just a toy for a little girl.” I turned to look at Stella. Just for a second, I saw a flicker of a smile in her eyes. It was cold, mocking, and laced with malice. But when I looked again, it was gone, replaced by her usual innocent warmth. “Oh, this?” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s not a real diamond. It’s just a toy.” “I confessed to a guy I have a crush on the other day, and he rejected me. I was heartbroken, so Bryan bought this to cheer me up. Right, Bryan?” Something flickered in Bryan’s normally cool, unreadable eyes. But in the end, he just nodded. “Right.” There was an undercurrent between them, a shared secret I wasn’t privy to. I stood there, my lips pale, my hands twisting the hem of my ruined dress. I couldn’t stop the burning sting in my eyes. “…Is that really it?” “Of course it is. I should get going.” Stella dropped the ring into her purse. She took a few steps, then turned back, a bright smile on her face. “Happy Children’s Day, Jenna.” 4 The cello music continued to play. “Who’s the guy Stella has a crush on?” I asked. “I don’t know.” “…I want a ring like that, too.” “It’s a toy for a little girl. Are you going to whine about that, too? Can’t you be a little more mature?” Bryan sat across from me, his eyes glancing at my injured leg. “Have you eaten? Do you want me to take a look at your knee?” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “Bryan, do you remember?” “In high school, I fell during a relay race. You didn’t even ask what happened. You just ran straight to the nurse’s office and came back with disinfectant and bandages.” His expression turned cold. “Jenna, what are you trying to say?” What was I trying to say? At sixteen, Bryan had been cool and aloof, but he had been so worried when I got hurt that his face had turned pale. At twenty-six, Bryan was successful and powerful, but sitting in front of me now, he felt like a stranger, an adversary. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to speak calmly. “It’s a holiday. You’re having dinner alone with another woman, and you gave her a diamond ring. Am I not allowed to ask about it?” “Another woman?” Bryan let out a short, mocking laugh. “When I rejected her resume, who was it that begged me, going on and on about ‘my dearest Stella,’ insisting that I give her an internship?” “Today, she closed a deal, so we had a celebratory dinner. And now you’re starting a fight.” “Jenna, when did you become so hypocritical?” My eyes widened in disbelief. Tears instantly blurred my vision. We had been together for eight years, childhood friends for twenty-two. We had been through everything together. At his parents’ funeral, he had clung to me, his eyes red, unable to even cry. I had stroked his hair, crying with him, trying to find the words to comfort him. “You still have me,” I had whispered. “You still have me.” Later, when my own parents divorced and my father took all the money, leaving me with nothing for tuition, he had been the one to step up. “Jenna, you just focus on your studies. I’ll take care of the tuition,” he had said, his eyes serious. “I’m going to give you a good life.” We had navigated so many hardships together, and we had finally made it. I never thought he would ever speak to me like this. “We’ve been together for eight years, and you’ve never given me a ring. But you gave one to her.” “Am I not allowed to ask?” “Bryan, am I not allowed to ask?!” I was sobbing now, my questions raw with pain. He just looked at me, his expression flat. In the dim corner of the restaurant, under the warm yellow light, I covered my face, my breath catching in my throat. I looked up and saw him glance down at his phone. A dark emotion flickered in his eyes. He quickly turned the screen off when he saw me looking. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He suddenly stood up, towering over me. “Something came up at the office. I have to go.” “Since you’re not hungry, you can get a cab home.” 5 I limped home, the wound on my knee a sticky mess of dirt and blood. As I cleaned it, wincing in pain, tears streamed down my face. It wasn’t always like this between us. When we were kids, I was small and scrawny, an easy target for bullies. He would fight them for me, even when he was outnumbered, swinging his fists even with blood streaming down his face. They were so scared of him that they never bothered me again. In his junior year of college, he started his own company. I was right there with him, running around, meeting with clients. One night, after drinking too much at a business dinner, I ended up in the hospital with acute gastritis. That’s where I met Stella. She was an undergraduate in my department, and we bonded instantly. We became inseparable. At first, she couldn’t stand Bryan. “Jenna, you give so much to him. Does he even deserve it?” she would say. “He’s out there building his company, and his girlfriend ends up in the hospital from drinking for him. He’s useless.” Bryan hated her right back. When I was discharged from the hospital, he went straight to a lawyer and had half the company shares transferred to my name. “What right does she have to judge us?” he had said. “Stay away from her.” I was never one for confrontation, so I tried to play peacemaker, but it was no use. I remember one time, I was at a nail salon with Stella and missed a call from him. He drove all the way there in a rainstorm and stood outside the door, his voice like ice. “Jenna. Come here.” Stella, admiring her freshly painted nails, had just smirked. “What, does he need you to go get drunk for his pathetic little company again?” Back then, they were mortal enemies. Then, in Stella’s senior year, she needed an internship. By then, I was in my second year of my master’s program, and Bryan’s company was doing very well. She wanted to work for him. She clung to my arm, whining and pleading. “Bryan’s company is in an emerging industry. It’s a perfect match for my major.” “And, Jenna,” she’d added with a wink, “I can keep an eye on him for you. Make sure he’s not getting too friendly with any of his female employees.” I had just laughed and patted her hand. “That’s not going to happen. We’ve been together for five years. We’re solid.” That night, I brought it up with Bryan. He was reading a contract under the lamplight. He just chuckled mockingly. “Stella Lin?” “Tell her to send her resume to HR.” But Stella had failed a class, and her resume was immediately screened out. She sat across from me, chewing on her bubble tea straw, her eyes red. “I was going through a rough time then. Bryan knows that. Why is he being so strict?” “I’m his girlfriend’s best friend!” That night, I went home and pleaded with him. “Stella really wants to work for you, Bryan. Please? It’s just a three-month internship. Her family is well-off, she probably has other plans. She might not even stay after graduation.” He had looked at me then, a strange, dark emotion swirling in his eyes. “Are you sure?” I nodded and threw my arms around him. “Bryan, you’re the best.” But I was wrong. Stella’s performance during her internship was outstanding. After graduation, she was offered a full-time position. And she had been there ever since. 6 After cleaning my knee, I threw away the pile of bloody, dirty tissues. I hesitated, then called Bryan. He didn’t answer. An hour later, he called back. When I answered, there was only silence on the other end, punctuated by the sound of his slightly ragged breathing. “So,” I asked softly, “are we breaking up?” “Jenna, are you crazy?” His reaction was immediate, his voice sharp with accusation. “We have one little fight, and you threaten to break up with me? When did you become so unreasonable?” Tears instantly welled in my eyes. I remembered a time, a year into our relationship, when we’d had another fight. I had glared at him, my eyes red, and said, “If you’re not happy with me, we can just break up.” He had pulled me into a tight hug, his voice filled with panic. “I’m never unhappy with you.” “Jenna, we’re just fighting. You can’t say that to me.” And now… this. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I said nothing, just quietly ended the call. When I woke up, the rain had stopped. The apartment was empty. Bryan hadn’t come home. Probably from being out in the rain last night, my throat felt like it had been seared with a hot poker. My stomach was cramping violently. I forced down a couple of pills and headed to the university. We didn’t speak for three days. Then, one afternoon in the cafeteria, I got a text from Stella. “Jenna, where are you? I’ll come have lunch with you.” 7 “Did you and Bryan have a fight? Jenna, don’t be mad. He didn’t mean it.” Stella sat across from me in the crowded cafeteria. “The company lost a big contract a while back because of a leak,” she explained. “He’s been really stressed, that’s why he snapped at you.” My eyes fell to her hand, to the delicate, pale fingers adorned with the pink diamond ring. My throat felt tight. I swallowed hard and said, my voice low, “…He never told me.” Stella’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re so busy with your studies. He probably didn’t want to bother you.” But why did you know? As if she could read my mind, Stella just smiled. “Jenna, did you forget? I work at his company. Of course I know what’s going on.” She laughed, then glanced down at her phone as it lit up. “Looks like you’re done eating. Let’s go.” Just outside the cafeteria, a familiar black Porsche was parked. I froze. I watched as Bryan got out of the car, his expression neutral as he looked in our direction. His gaze flickered past Stella’s beaming face and landed on me. “Bryan, I brought Jenna out,” Stella said cheerfully. “I’ve got to run.” Bryan frowned. “Where are you going?” Stella stopped and turned back to him, her eyes crinkling into a smile. “The guy who rejected me the other day suddenly wants to talk. I’m on my way to meet him now.” With that, she walked away without a backward glance. Bryan’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable but dark. When I got into the car, I could still feel the waves of his displeasure radiating through the small space. 8 “Are you still angry?” After I asked, Bryan turned to look at me, as if snapping out of a trance. “No.” He said it flatly, then started the car. The silence in the car was heavy, strange. My eyes darted around, then stopped on something glittering in the corner of the passenger seat. It was a small, crystal-encrusted hair clip, catching the sunlight from the window. A Miu Miu hair clip. The one Stella always wore. A wave of something dark and formless surged through me, a thick, viscous liquid that seemed to suffocate my heart. I clenched my fist, the sharp edges of the clip digging into my palm. I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to keep my voice steady. “Has… has Stella been in your car?” “She said she was coming to see you,” he said, his voice clipped. “I gave her a ride.” Then why was she in the passenger seat? And under what circumstances would her hair clip fall off, and she wouldn’t even notice it was gone? My voice trembled. “Bryan.” “What now?” He glanced at me, his impatience obvious. “Do you know the guy Stella likes? Does he… does he really exist?” The light turned red. Bryan slammed on the brakes. He turned to face me. “Jenna, are you starting with the paranoia again?” he said, his voice cold. “Isn’t she your best friend? If you’re so suspicious, why don’t you just ask her?” “Can’t I ask you?” My eyes were red. “Bryan, you’re the one who gave her a ring, using her supposed rejection as an excuse. Is it wrong for me to ask you about it?” “So that’s what this is about. You just want jewelry, don’t you?” The light turned green. Bryan stepped on the gas, changing lanes and heading for the nearest shopping mall. He strode ahead, pulling me by the wrist into a high-end jewelry store. “Since you’re so jealous, why don’t you just pick one for yourself?” The bright lights of the store glinted off the gems in the display cases. The sales associates, sensing the icy tension between us, hesitated to approach. A wave of exhaustion and despair washed over me. I had dreamed of this moment, of coming to a place like this with Bryan to choose our wedding rings, countless times. I remembered when we were in college, working part-time jobs, we had walked past this very store. We had pressed our faces against the glass, staring at the price tags. In the end, we had only been able to afford a simple pair of silver rings. Bryan had squeezed my hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Jenna, when we make it, I’m going to buy you the most expensive ring in this store.” I had just smiled and squeezed his hand back. “But I don’t even like the expensive ones.” “As long as it’s from you, it’s perfect.”

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The A-list actor killed himself, and then the world found out he’d been in love with me for years. The hashtag #UnrequitedLoveGoesViral exploded online. Swarms of paparazzi camped outside my apartment, demanding I give him a response, even in death. When I refused to comment, an obsessive fan plunged a knife into my heart. I died in the dead of winter, taking my three-month-old unborn child with me. When my husband returned from his trip abroad, all that was left for him to see was my cold, lifeless body. 1 The day I died, the first snow of the season began to fall over the city. The little girl I had just saved from a mugging pulled a fruit knife from her bag. Before I could even react, she drove it straight into my heart. She was a horrifying mix of tears and laughter. “He’s dead! What gives you the right to be alive?” “It’s all your fault! He killed himself because of his depression, and it’s all because of you! Why wouldn’t you look at him? Why couldn’t you just love him?!” She ripped the knife out. My blood mingled with her tears until you couldn’t tell them apart. “You bitch! You took the best man in the world away from us!” Her sobbing stopped abruptly. With a desolate cry, she raised the knife and slashed again. This time, at my neck. 2 My spirit hovered in the air. The killer sat on my corpse, her eyes gleaming with a sick, triumphant joy. She pulled out her phone and opened up her social media app. A group chat was exploding with messages, scrolling by in a blur. I drifted closer, my spectral eyes catching the keywords. [MiaMustDie] [ThatBitchMia] [KillMia]… Mia. That’s me. In their minds, I was the one who drove their idol, Mike Vance, to suicide. There were viler words, too, carefully crafted to bypass the app’s filters, spat out by people hiding behind their screens. The venom bled through the display, so toxic it felt like it could suffocate even a dead woman like me. The girl’s hands were trembling as she typed. Not with guilt, not with fear, but with pure, ecstatic excitement. [SISTERS!!!! I GOT REVENGE FOR MIKE!!! I sent the bitch who killed him straight to hell! I think she was pregnant, too. She was clutching her stomach, begging me to spare her. What an actress. No wonder Mike was fooled by her.] The moment she hit send, the thousand-member group chat fell silent. She frowned, checking her signal. “Did my internet cut out? Why isn’t anyone saying anything?” she muttered. A few seconds crawled by before the first hesitant reply appeared. [What do you mean, you got revenge?] A smug grin spread across the girl’s face. She started a voice memo while snapping a photo, centering the frame on my down jacket, which she’d torn open to reveal my slightly rounded belly. “I killed her. See? Her stomach’s all swollen. Definitely pregnant. What a slut. God knows who knocked her up.” The chat went dead silent. But she didn’t seem to notice, rambling on, recounting every gruesome detail of my murder. When she finally finished her story, a user with Mike Vance’s face as their profile picture replied. [Rose, turn yourself in.] 3 Rose didn’t turn herself in. A passerby called the police. By the time the yellow tape cordoned off my body, Rose was long gone. She’d taken my ID, but she forgot one crucial thing. Thanks to Mike Vance, I’d already been doxxed a hundred times over. Traces of my personal information were scattered across the internet like snowflakes in the sky. You didn’t have to look up to find them. The hashtag #MiaAndMikeVance started trending again, climbing even higher than #MikeVanceFanStabsWomanOnStreet. An actor who takes his own life at the peak of his career is bound to be romanticized, turned into the nation’s tragic sweetheart, an icon of impossible love. [I don’t care, a double death is a HE (Happy Ending)!] [Even heaven couldn’t stand his decade of silent love. The universe itself married them off! So sweet, I’m crying.] [Mike must be so happy, watching this from above.] His fans danced on my grave. At the police station, a female officer scrolled through the unhinged comments with a weary sigh. She gently closed my eyelids, then turned to the junior officer next to her. “Any luck contacting her husband?” The young officer shook her head. “His phone’s going straight to voicemail. I sent him a text.” “Other than him, Ms. Reed is an orphan. She has no other family.” I wasn’t surprised. My soul managed a faint smile. I couldn’t see a mirror, so I had no idea if the expression was beautiful or grotesque. “Her husband’s unreachable? It’s been five hours since it happened. Five hours and still no word?” The flight from New York to Crestview City crosses the international date line; it’s a thirteen-hour journey. And my husband, Liam Hayes, has a habit of catching up on sleep during flights. When he’s resting, he’s not to be disturbed. It was normal that they couldn’t reach him. Besides… We had a child by accident. The Hayes family has a sterling reputation; they would never allow their bloodline to be abandoned. He married me out of duty. There wasn’t much love between us. Even if he got the news, he’d probably just send his assistant to handle it. I floated over to the police officer who was still tirelessly dialing his number. “You can stop calling,” I whispered to her. “I don’t have any family.” But the living and the dead are separated by an uncrossable river. She couldn’t hear me. She just kept dialing, over and over, for my sake. Her eyes welled up with frustration. “Why won’t he pick up, why won’t he pick up…” She was a complete stranger, yet she was grieving for me. There are still good people in the world, after all. I drifted to the station window and watched the day bleed into dusk. The setting sun cast a golden glow on every person walking below. Children bounced in the park, and elderly couples, their hair white as snow, held onto each other as they navigated the city streets. Only one car broke the rules of the road, speeding so fast I figured the driver was trying to lose his license in a single go. Thank God he didn’t hit anyone. The car screeched to a halt in front of the station. I stretched my spectral neck, curious to see what kind of reckless person was behind the wheel. And then I saw a figure step out—a man both familiar and foreign. The sunset stretched his shadow long and thin, but its warm light couldn’t melt the icy chill clinging to his shoulders. He strode towards the entrance, covering the distance in what felt like a single, impossible leap. Was the path from the curb to the lobby always that short? I floated slowly after him. Just in time to hear his first words. “I’m here to take my wife home.” 4 Liam knelt beside me, his head bowed in silence. He was a man who wore his emotions like a mask; I never really knew him well enough to see what was behind it. I turned my head away and looked at my own body instead. A dead woman’s pallor, a zombie’s vacant face. The fruit knife had been removed from my neck, leaving a gruesome, gaping wound. It’s truly hideous, seeing yourself from a third-person view. “Mia.” Liam’s voice was a whisper. His large, warm hand gently cupped my cold, pale cheek. He repeated the words he’d said when he first walked in, but this time, he was speaking to me. “I’m here to take you home.” Such a simple sentence. How could it steal the air from your lungs? The kind-hearted female officer’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. They spilled over, splashing onto the linoleum floor. She fumbled for a tissue to wipe them away. I instinctively reached for the corner of my own eye. My fingertips met nothing but dry, empty air. Of course. The dead can’t cry. Liam lifted me into his arms and carried me toward the door. I turned back and tried to comfort the officer. “Don’t cry, miss. He’s taking me home. This is a good thing.” Then I laughed at my own foolishness. She couldn’t hear me. No one could. A wandering soul, forever looking at the living from across the river of death. The river is too wide, the current too strong. No one can ever reach the other side. 5 Liam placed me in the back of the car. The suffocating atmosphere from the station intensified in the enclosed space. He was a man of few words, and this moment was no exception. As the last light of dusk faded, night began to cloak the earth. The city’s neon lights blinked on, one by one. He didn’t let me go. In the spacious back seat, it was just one man and one corpse, an arrangement so empty it felt absurdly tragic. I floated in front of him. The comforting words I could so easily offer a stranger were lodged in my throat. I couldn’t say a thing to him. The car drove on, through the bustling downtown, past the rivers of people. We arrived at a brightly lit villa, where he laid me down on the sofa. The living room television turned on automatically. He sat down beside me. As if I were still alive. On the screen, the guests on a comedy show were laughing. In the living room, the audience of two watched with blank faces. Suddenly, Liam complained, “Why do you like watching this stuff? It’s so boring.” “It is not boring! It’s hilarious,” I retorted. “Wait, how did you know I liked this show?” “Mia, why aren’t you answering me?” “I am answering you.” “Are you ignoring me?” “I’m not! I’m talking to you!” “If you don’t say something, I’m changing the channel.” “Don’t you dare! How can you blame me when you’re the one who can’t hear me? That’s so rude!” Liam turned his head, his gaze falling on my stiff, dead face. He froze. The glare from the LCD screen was blinding. The background noise from the TV was deafening. I almost missed the sheen of moisture that gathered in his eyes, and the single, whispered word that followed. “Sorry.” What was he apologizing for? I raised my hand, covering my eyes as my soul drowned in a flood of memories, shattering my thoughts into a million pieces. 6 Liam had never done anything to wrong me. We had known each other for three months, and in that time, we’d only met five times. The first time was when I found out I was pregnant. The second was when he came to discuss our marriage arrangements. The third was on our wedding day. After the ceremony, he gave me a slight nod, his voice gentle. “I’ll be staying in the guest room next door. You can find me if you need anything.” I breathed a sigh of relief. A marriage born from an accident wasn’t about love; it was about responsibility. He was willing to be responsible, and I agreed. That was all there was to it. As for any further… marital duties, I wasn’t ready. After the wedding, before we even had a chance to get to know each other, my company assigned me to an overseas project. I asked for Liam’s opinion. “It’s your job,” he said. “You can make your own decision.” With his blessing, I left. When I returned from my business trip, he left for his. The last time I saw him alive was three nights ago. He was leaning against the kitchen island, a glass of red wine filled to the brim. The air was thick with its intoxicating aroma. His eyes were hazy as he looked at me. “You’re back.” He slid off the barstool, swaying slightly. I wondered what he was doing, but then I saw him take a clean glass and pour me a glass of warm milk. “You can’t drink while you’re pregnant. Milk instead?” I blinked and took the glass. It was the closest I’d ever been to him. He gently placed the needle on an old record player, and the soft, scratchy notes of Mozart filled the room. The atmosphere grew thick with unspoken things. He leaned in closer. The scent of wine mingled with a sweet, citrusy fragrance. The perfume didn’t quite seem to suit him. The thought had barely formed in my mind when I heard him say, “Mia, you have no heart.” I looked up, stunned, ready to ask him why he was insulting me, when he cupped the back of my head and lowered his lips to mine. It was my first sober kiss. And my last. The next morning, he left a note saying he was going on a business trip and rushed out of the city. I chalked the kiss up to another accident, planning to ask him about his vision for our marriage when he returned. We were married, after all. Even if there was no love, we could build it. We had a baby on the way, a long, long future to live together. But I would never get to ask him my question. A kiss goodbye had become a final farewell. 7 I hugged my knees, sitting on the sofa next to my own corpse. Thankfully, the sofa was long enough for one man, one body, and one ghost. A ringing phone pulled me from my reverie. Liam answered. The vulnerability I thought I’d seen in him vanished in an instant, erased completely. His voice, usually deep and carrying a cold, imposing weight, was back to normal. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, but his hand resting on the sofa clenched into a fist. The veins under his skin pulsed, betraying his anger. “Bring her to me,” he commanded coldly. “Bring who?” I asked instinctively. But with only that one line, I couldn’t figure it out. I never liked to dwell on things I couldn’t solve, so I pushed the question aside and went back to watching my favorite show. If someone had told me before that you could still watch TV after you die, I would have thought they were insane. But here I was. Liam hadn’t changed the channel. As I was getting lost in the program, he spoke out of nowhere. “Rose.” “Huh?” I paused. Wasn’t that the name of the girl who killed me? Why would Liam suddenly say her name? But after that one word, he fell silent again. I floated around to his side and leaned over his shoulder, blowing a puff of air at him. I remembered some meme I’d seen online and whispered, “You know, there are two types of people I can’t stand in this world. The first is people who stop talking mid-sentence.” Liam didn’t move a muscle. Disappointed, I floated back to my spot. He can’t hear me, so of course he wouldn’t be curious. From the corner of my eye, I noticed his posture was ramrod straight. Such good manners, to sit so properly even while watching TV. How annoying. 8 Someone even more annoying showed up half an hour later. When Rose was dragged into the villa’s living room, I felt a strange sense of inevitability. So that’s who Liam meant. He was bringing her here. It was almost as if… he was answering my unspoken question. He really was a good person. I sat on the arm of the sofa, swinging my spectral legs. Rose was flanked by two bodyguards, forced to her knees in the center of the room, facing my direction. Facing my corpse. Her face was flushed, showing no hint of guilt or remorse. Instead, her eyes shone with a disturbing excitement. “She’s dead. She’s really dead. This is great, this is great, this is great…” she chanted under her breath. I circled her, the sound of her voice grating on me. “You’re so loud!” Apparently, Liam couldn’t stand it either. A bodyguard quickly stepped forward and clamped a hand over her mouth, turning her repetitive mantra into muffled sobs. It was a long time before she fell quiet. I crouched down beside her. Rose wasn’t old. You could tell from the blue and white uniform she was still wearing. She was just a student. The crest of Crestview High was stitched onto her chest. The moment I recognized that symbol, a flood of unwelcome memories washed over me. Rose’s shriek broke my train of thought. “This is kidnapping! It’s illegal!” The toe of Liam’s shoe appeared in my field of vision. He let out a cold laugh and grabbed her by the chin. Her young, delicate face twisted in his grip, pain replacing her earlier smugness. The chill radiating from him was as bitter as the snowstorm outside, which was only growing worse as night fell. “Illegal?” Liam chuckled softly. “So you do know the law.” He took a sanitized wipe from someone’s hand and meticulously cleaned his fingers, the ones that had touched her. Then he casually tossed the used wipe onto her face. Liam hadn’t even started to do anything, but she was already terrified. Rose’s voice trembled. “What… what’s your relationship with Mia? She was a whore! She was selling herself in high school, every guy has had a piece of her. You were just conned! I knew her, I can tell you all about her past. Please, just let me go!” I slumped to the floor, a wave of sadness washing over me. I looked at her. “Why is it always ‘whore’? Why is slut-shaming always the go-to insult for a woman? I could almost understand it from Mike, he was a guy, spreading those disgusting rumors about me. But why are you saying it too?” I poked her cheek with a spectral finger. “Oh, right. I forgot. You’re his fan. Like master, like follower. You’re all just garbage.” The smile on Liam’s face deepened. His voice dropped to a gentle, almost seductive murmur. “Her past?” Those two words validated Rose’s existence. And she began to talk, spilling everything like a broken dam—about me, about Mike. About those three years in high school. 9 Rose was a year below me. Her knowledge of me was pieced together from campus gossip. Crestview High was one of the best schools in the city, an alma mater to countless prominent figures, from scientists to entertainers. The former required years of dedication; the latter, just one lucky break. Mike Vance was Crestview High’s most famous student in recent memory. He shot to fame as a teenager, playing the second male lead in a fantasy epic that became a cultural phenomenon, making him the nation’s beloved tragic hero. His stellar grades made him stand out in an industry full of high school dropouts, earning him legions of fans. None of this had anything to do with me. What did have to do with me was that, in high school, Mike Vance sat behind me. The shy, respectful boy he played on screen was just an act. In private, he was a psycho. He’d play with my hair in class and snap my bra strap during breaks. When I’d whirl around to tell him to stop, he’d report me to the teacher for harassing him. He was already famous back then, so the teacher automatically assumed I was a starstruck fan. She advised me to focus on my studies and not get distracted by celebrities. There were no security cameras in classrooms back then, and my classmates, enamored with the popular star, didn’t care about my side of the story. The teacher meant well, so I couldn’t get mad at her. I just swallowed my anger and requested a seat change. The girl who switched with me was one of Mike’s biggest fans. She was so thrilled to be his new deskmate that she gave me a huge bag of snacks. Poor girl, I thought. You’re about to be harassed and you’re this happy about it. But it turned out she wasn’t the one being harassed. It was still me. When Mike couldn’t reach my hair anymore, he found other ways to torment me. He’d hide my homework, pour soda on my textbooks. Once, I found a dead rat in my desk, blood trickling from its eyes and mouth. So, the unlucky one had always been me. Furious, I poked a hole in my test paper, picked up the rat by its tail, and marched to the teacher’s office. She was horrified. After hearing my story, she thought for a moment and transferred me to the class next door. After that, I had a period of peace. The only annoyance was that Mike would always hang around the window of my new classroom during breaks, laughing and joking with his friends. Just seeing him pissed me off. If only it had ended there. We probably would both still be alive today. His secret crush would have remained a secret. He wouldn’t have fallen into a depression and killed himself, and I wouldn’t have been caught in this disaster. “If only.” It’s a magical phrase. It lets you imagine a past that never was, and dream of a future that could have been. But in the real world, there are no “if onlys.” 10 The turning point came at the end of my sophomore year. Crestview was a fairly liberal school; students having phones wasn’t a big deal. One day, my phone started vibrating uncontrollably. A storm of calls from unknown numbers, one after another. I’d hang up, and another would immediately come through. During study hall, my classmates kept looking at me. I was confused. My phone was on silent, no vibration. How could it be disturbing them? Then, my deskmate tapped my shoulder. She pointed me toward the internet. A post on the school’s online forum. The first thing I saw was my picture. The text was a self-introduction, a list of prices, and my phone number. The post had been pushed to the homepage; even students from other schools were seeing it. I stared, stunned, and then answered the next call. A middle-aged man’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Mia Reed, right? I saw your post. I’m flying into town for two days. How much, flight included?” I glanced down at my deskmate’s phone, the meaning of his words sinking in with a bizarre clarity. I couldn’t stop myself. “Fuck off, you creep!” 11 The rumor spread like wildfire. Soon, the way my classmates looked at me changed. Boys started approaching me with offers, following me, saying they could hook me up with clients. It was the first time I realized that the people around me, my peers, could be like this. That period is a blur. The human brain has a way of forgetting things it doesn’t want to remember. I only recall one day, someone broke into our apartment. My mom died protecting me. For a while after that, I was in a daze, completely lost in depression. Later, the first person to publicly defend me was my deskmate. The second… was Mike Vance. He declared that it had to be a malicious rumor, that Mia would never do something like that. My deskmate was a bookworm; she didn’t have the influence that Mike did. After he spoke up, many of the students who had been suspicious started to show me sympathy. How strange. I was trying to solve a math problem, but my mind drifted. A line from somewhere I’d read popped into my head. “The person who slanders you knows your innocence better than anyone else.” Even though Mike had helped me, I just couldn’t stand him. There was no logical reason for it. Maybe our energies just clashed. My gut feeling about him turned out to be right. At our graduation party, one of his friends got blackout drunk and let it slip that Mike was the one who posted the ad. I overheard it in the hallway. When I went back into the private room, I walked right into his public confession of love. To be fair, after that incident, Mike, probably on someone’s advice, started trying to be my friend. He was nice to me. The bullying tactics were put away, as if they’d never happened. He had a crush on me. I wasn’t an idiot. I could see it in our daily interactions. An unrequited love stays hidden not because it’s well-concealed, but because the object of affection pretends not to see. I had been playing blind for two years, but he was determined to force my eyes open. Students from both our classes were cheering, congratulating us. I just tilted my head and asked him, “You say you like me. Do you even deserve to?” At eighteen, he couldn’t handle the blow. His face went pale. He asked me why. He didn’t understand. I understood even less. “Do I look like I have some kind of victim complex? That I’d fall for the guy who bullied me and spread rumors that I was a prostitute? Mike, nobody could ever love a piece of trash like you.” He swayed on his feet, looking like he was about to collapse. I walked past him and went back to my seat. And that was the end of my high school story. To use a term that’s been run into the ground now, I suppose I was Mike’s “one that got away.” He never forgot about me, sending me messages every so often to update me on his life, asking me out to dinner. I blocked his number. Out of sight, out of mind. The last time we spoke was a few days ago, when he called me from a new number. The wind was howling on his end of the line. His calm voice was nearly swallowed by it. “Mia, if you make one mistake, does that mean you can never be forgiven?” I knew what he was talking about. “Yes,” I said. His voice grew quieter. “If I died, would you forgive me then?” I blinked. “You could always try it. Maybe I’d forgive you then.” A rush of wind screamed through the phone. I hung up. I was lying. Even if he died, I would never forgive him. 12 “…and that’s the story. Everyone in high school knew Mia was a prostitute. For the right price, even a beggar could have her. You need to see that woman for who she really is!” Rose sobbed, embellishing her story as she pleaded with Liam. “And I have proof on my phone!” she said, her voice rising with excitement. “My phone! It’s on my phone!” Liam looked down, his expression unreadable. “Oh? What kind of proof?” Sensing hesitation, Rose eagerly demanded her phone back. Once it was unlocked, she found a saved recording. “This is the last call Mike ever made to her. She’s a vicious, evil woman!” The recording was clear. It was indeed my conversation with Mike. “If I died, would you forgive me then?” “You could always try it. Maybe I’d forgive you then.” Rose was practically vibrating with righteousness. “See?! She was goading him into it! A woman like that deserved to die!” Liam’s expression turned focused, deadly serious. “Is there more?” he asked, his tone flat. Rose froze for a second, then frantically scrolled through her gallery. Finally, she found a video. The moment she pressed play, the sounds of a woman’s cries and a man’s lewd laughter filled the villa. Listening closely, both voices were sickeningly familiar. “I paid a lot of money for this,” Rose said, holding the phone up to Liam as if presenting a trophy. Liam’s face looked as if it had been swept by a Siberian blizzard, frozen so solid he couldn’t even raise his eyebrows. He held out his hand to Rose. “Give it to me.” For the first time, Rose hesitated. Liam snatched the phone from her. My heart, or whatever passed for it now, seized. I knew what video that was. Those distant memories, the ones I had deliberately buried, came rushing back. I lifted a spectral hand to my face. It felt… damp.

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My parents were away on a business trip, leaving me and my little brother, Mark, to fend for ourselves. We decided to kill time with a game of “Something You Don’t Have.” I smiled, laying my palm flat on the table. “Mom baked me a birthday cake from scratch.” Mark just shrugged, casually folding one finger down. “My name is on the deed to the house.” I froze. He pressed his advantage, a smug grin spreading across his face. “And I’m the sole beneficiary on all of their life insurance policies.” My hand hovered in mid-air, fingers stiff. My mind went completely blank, the next sentence I’d been about to say catching in my throat. What I had wanted to say was that I have cancer. And I probably don’t have much time left. 1 “What, you don’t believe me?” Mark scoffed, sauntering over to the safe. He pulled out two official-looking folders and a stack of printed contracts, laying them all out neatly in front of me. “See for yourself, genius.” My hands trembled, but I opened them. The three-bedroom house we were living in, the old cottage out in the country, and more than a dozen insurance policies. Mark Miller’s name was on every single one. And me, Abby Miller, I was nowhere to be found in that thick stack of documents. Not a ghost of a mention. “So? Looks like you lose this round, huh?” Mark crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. He was right. I had lost. I didn’t even know the combination to that safe. But he had opened it without a second thought. “Cat got your tongue? You’re not gonna play your next card?” He waved a hand in front of my face, still waiting for me to continue the game. I closed the folders and stacked the contracts one by one, my voice a dry rasp. “Fine. You win.” Before this moment, Mark and I had a lifetime of sibling rivalry under our belts, a war of attrition where he never seemed to gain any ground. Mom always had my back. “Abby’s a girl, Mark,” she’d say. “A gentleman always lets the lady have her way.” So, I always got the first pick of snacks, the first choice of games. I even had the biggest bedroom in the house. Growing up, Mark would constantly whine in my ear, “Mom and Dad are so biased. You’re the only one they really love.” All these years, I’d basked in that favoritism while secretly feeling a pang of guilt for my brother. So even when he’d tell me to drop dead, I’d just brush it off as him blowing off steam. But now, I really was dying. Just last month, I was diagnosed with late-stage cancer. The doctor told me it had already spread. Surgery was off the table; there was no chance of success. All I had left was to live out my remaining time as comfortably as possible, to manage the pain. Because I truly believed my parents “loved me most,” I couldn’t bear to tell them the truth about my illness. I’d planned to use their business trip as an opportunity, to use this silly game as a way to gently break the news to my brother—the one person I thought hated me most. But now… now I didn’t want to say a thing. Mark cleared his throat. “You don’t have to give up so fast. You’ve still got three fingers left.” I just smiled and shook my head. “I’m done. It’s getting late. We should get some sleep.” He noticed the shift in my mood, his tone turning contemptuous. “Hey, don’t tell me you’re actually going to go kill yourself over this.” “If you do, make sure you do it somewhere else. I don’t want it coming back on me.” It was his typical way of talking, something I’d grown used to. But hearing that word—kill—this time, my nose stung, and my eyes began to burn against my will. I paused, saying nothing as I walked straight to my room. Just as I reached the door, I heard his voice again. “There’s one more thing I didn’t tell you. Do you want to—” “No.” I didn’t turn around, forcing a calm smile. “I don’t want to hear it. Just go to bed, Mark.” I quietly shut the door behind me and pulled out the bucket list I’d made a few days ago. Climb a mountain to see the sunrise together. Take one last family photo. A trip to the beach… All these things I wanted to do with my family before I died. Was there even any point now? I fought back the searing sting in my eyes, stubbornly refusing to let a single tear fall. 2 At one in the morning, my body ached so intensely that sleep was impossible. Wiping the cold sweat from my forehead, I decided to look for some painkillers in Mom’s drawer. It was where she always kept her medicine, but now, tucked inside, was a diary I’d never seen before. The cover was yellowed with age, the handwriting unmistakably hers. “My sweet Mark smiled for the first time today. His eyes are like little stars, so full of love.” “Mark has a fever again. His father and I stayed up all night watching over him. Our hearts are breaking…” I flipped through page after page, but my name was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t until the very last few pages that I finally found a mention of me. “Mark is starting to fight for things, but he’s three years younger than his sister. He can’t win. Sometimes I just want to slap that girl.” “What can I do? I told Mark today that Mom and Dad will make it up to him in secret, giving him double of whatever he wants.” “It’s just some toys and snacks, what are they worth? Let her win for now. When she’s happy, she’ll feel guilty towards her brother. Trading a few small favors for our son’s long-term benefit… it’s a brilliant deal.” I placed the diary back in the drawer, my body shivering with a sudden, uncontrollable cold. So that was what she really thought. So their love for me had been nothing more than a calculated scheme. For as long as I could remember, she and Dad had always let me win in all the small, insignificant battles. A few bags of chips, some toys, a slightly bigger bedroom. In exchange, my brother got the property, the insurance policies, and their genuine, heartfelt love. The parents I had adored my entire life… they didn’t love me at all. A wave of icy nausea washed over me. I scrambled to the bathroom, violent spasms seizing my stomach and rising in my throat. Eventually, I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, gasping for breath. I don’t know when Mark came in, but he was clearly startled by the sight of me. “Did you eat something bad?” I wiped the tears from my face, my voice weak. “Stomach cramps.” “Aren’t there painkillers in Mom’s drawer?” I shook my head. “They’re all gone.” “God, you’re such a pain.” He sounded incredibly annoyed, but he still turned and started putting on his jacket by the door. “Wait here. I’ll go buy you some. But it’s a fifty-dollar delivery fee, and I want it upfront.” As the front door clicked shut, I used the wall to pull myself up and happened to see Mark’s phone, left behind on the entryway table. The screen lit up with the ping of a few new notifications. I walked over, my eyes fixing on the latest message. It was from a group chat named “Our Perfect Family.” There were three members. And me, the outsider, had never known it existed. Mom: “Honey, Dad and I just finished up here. We’ll be back in a couple of days. I managed to get you that limited-edition figure you wanted! It was the very last one, I had to pay a fortune for it.” Mom: “P.S. When you get back to campus, make sure you hide it in your dorm room. Don’t you dare tell your sister. She was going on and on about wanting one three months ago.” I let out a bitter laugh and turned off the screen. A strange calm settled over me. It didn’t matter. When you’re about to die, nothing really matters anymore. 3 The day my parents came home, a light rain was falling from a gray sky. As always, the first thing they did was show me the gifts they’d brought. “Abby, honey, that figure you told me you wanted was sold out everywhere. But don’t worry, Mom pulled some strings and got you this mini version.” Pulled some strings? I looked at the crudely made knockoff, and all I could feel was a bitter, biting irony. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it? It took a lot of effort to get, you know.” But what could I do? I couldn’t force a smile. Seeing the look on my face, my dad’s temper flared. “Abby Miller, your mother went to great lengths and spent a lot of money to bring that back for you, and you have the nerve to look so ungrateful? Have we spoiled you rotten?” “Look at your brother! He didn’t get anything, and he’s not acting like a brat!” He didn’t get anything? I’m the ungrateful one? Had they been playing this part for so long they’d started to believe their own lies? In that moment, I decided I wasn’t going to let this go. I asked, my voice cold and sharp, “Mom, are you sure you couldn’t find the limited-edition one?” The words hung in the air. Everyone froze. My mother’s eyes darted to Mark, and she muttered under her breath, “You silly boy, I told you not to tell her.” I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “You don’t have to look at him, Mom. I already know everything.” “You… what do you know?” Her confidence was gone, her words stumbling over each other. It was Mark who spoke up, his voice steady. “Mom, I told her. She was going to find out about the house and the insurance eventually. Why keep lying?” The air grew thick with a heavy silence. My parents’ faces turned ugly. Under my unwavering gaze, my mother slowly composed herself, her voice regaining its familiar tone of self-righteousness. “Fine. If you know, then there’s nothing left to hide.” “You put your hand on your heart and tell me, Abby. In every single fight between you and Mark, haven’t your father and I always taken your side?” “We gave you all the attention, and we gave Mark the assets. It’s perfectly fair.” I laughed again, the sound hollow. Fair? What a joke. A familiar, twisting pain clawed at my stomach. I clapped a hand over my mouth, doubling over as I ran for the bathroom, dry-heaving violently. My mother, dropping her aggressive posture, followed me to the door, a flicker of concern in her voice. “Wh-what’s wrong? Did you eat something that disagreed with you?” I shook my head, leaning against the wall, unable to stand up straight. Mark frowned. “Throwing up again? Do you need me to get you more painkillers?” My mom looked at me, confused. “What do you mean, again? Has this been happening a lot?” Without thinking, I wiped my mouth and asked with a bitter smile, “Mom, if I were sick… would you be worried about me?” She didn’t answer. Instead, her gaze dropped to my stomach, a complex expression clouding her face. In the next second, she lunged into the bathroom, her hand flying up and connecting with my cheek in a stinging slap. “You have the nerve to say you’re sick? Abby, you’re only twenty-one! You haven’t even graduated from college, and you let some guy knock you up?” What? How could she think that? My mother’s voice dripped with fury. “I ran into your professor the other day. She mentioned you had several boys chasing after you at school. Now I see she was trying to warn me, wasn’t she!” “Running around, throwing yourself at boys at your age! You’re a disgrace!” Hearing the commotion, my dad stormed in from the living room and grabbed me by the collar of my pajamas. “Have you no shame? Is everything I ever taught you just gone to waste?” My legs gave out from under me, and I crumpled to the floor, but he yanked me back up. “I’m not,” I argued weakly. “I’m really sick, I…” My dad wasn’t listening. He dragged me furiously towards the front door and, without a shred of mercy, shoved me outside. “Would your mother lie? Would she be wrong about something like this?” “You want to be shameless? Then get out and think about what you’ve done!” The rain was coming down harder now. I pounded on the door, my fists raw, but it was no use. Eventually, I gave up and just started walking, aimlessly, down the cold, empty street, soaked to the bone. When they threw me out, I was only in my pajamas and slippers. I hadn’t even had time to grab my phone. Cold and hunger began to set in. I had no idea where to go. As dusk settled, I stopped a passerby and borrowed their phone, swallowing my pride to call my mother. “Mom, it’s getting dark. I don’t have my phone or any money. Can you please let me come home?” “No. Your father said you can come back when you’re ready to admit you were wrong.” Tears welled in my eyes. “But what was I wrong about? I told you, I’m not pregnant. I’m just sick.” My dad snatched the phone away, his voice booming through the receiver. “Abby, are you still lying? I see you haven’t learned a thing!” “If you have nowhere to go, then go find the father of that bastard child and make him take responsibility for you!” The line went dead, leaving only the dull hum of the dial tone. I numbly handed the phone back, feeling like a stray dog left out in the storm. The rain seemed to fall even harder. I hugged myself, walking blindly into a dingy little motel. I had a few crumpled bills in my pajama pocket, just enough to afford a single night in a place like this. The room was dark and damp, with just a single, sagging bed and a shared bathroom down the hall. I drew the thin curtains, my stomach growling. I checked my pocket again. A few dollars left. I locked the door and decided to go to the small convenience store across the street to buy a cup of ramen. The narrow, poorly lit hallway was filled with the loud, foul-mouthed shouts of a few drunk men. I pulled the hood of my pajamas over my head, kept my eyes on the floor, and tried to hurry past them. Suddenly, a tall man blocked my path, his eyes raking over me in a way that made my skin crawl. “Hey, sweet thing. How much for the night?” I ignored him, my heart pounding, trying to stay calm as I walked past. My legs felt like jelly. When I got back to the motel, the men were gone. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and fumbled for my key. As I went to unlock the door, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. He dragged me into a corner of the hallway, his voice urgent and rough. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks. You in or not?” I shook my head frantically, but all that came out were muffled whimpers. The man’s patience snapped. “Don’t play hard to get. I saw you earlier. What good girl checks into a sleazy motel at night wearing pajamas? You’re here for business, right?” I struggled with all my might, but his grip only tightened, squeezing the air from my lungs. Soon, my strength failed me. He dragged me violently into his room. The world became a blur of pain as he slapped me across the face, then grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the nightstand and brought it down on my head. My head swam, and a hot bloom of pain was the last thing I felt before the world went dark.

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It was one in the morning when the call came. It was from the widow of my husband’s fallen partner, her voice trembling with fear. She thought she had an intruder. My husband, Liam, who hadn’t slept in three days from a stakeout, didn’t hesitate. He bolted out the door to be with her. He didn’t come back until dawn. “It’s not easy for Hannah, being on her own,” he explained, seeing me still sitting on the couch where he’d left me. “Especially now that Mark’s gone. Every little noise must terrify her.” When I didn’t respond, he sighed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “Hannah is the widow of a hero, Stella. As his captain, it’s my duty to look after her. But I promise, I’ll cut back. Don’t be upset, okay?” I calmly removed his hand, refusing to be the understanding wife I’d always been. “Let’s get a divorce.” 1 Liam’s cheeks were hollowed from exhaustion, his eyes a spiderweb of red veins. Even his breathing was ragged. His hands clenched into fists, then relaxed. He pressed himself against me again, putting on his best sad puppy eyes. “Honey, don’t say things you don’t mean. I’ll stop going over, okay? I’ll pass the responsibility of looking after Hannah to one of the other guys on the team.” No one would ever believe that the man who was invincible on the streets, the unshakable captain, turned into a big, gentle cat at home, purring and pleading for my affection. It was that contrast, that hidden softness, that made me marry him, even after I knew the dangers of his job could spill over into our lives. But now, I turned my head away and stood up, moving out of his reach. “I’m not angry. I’m serious. You can keep looking after Hannah.” “But we’re getting a divorce.” Liam’s brow furrowed. He shifted uncomfortably, but when he saw the hard line of my mouth, his expression softened again. He stayed on his knees and shuffled closer, resting his head against my chest like a big, overgrown dog. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how you’d feel when I took this on. I already have so little time for you, and now I’m giving it to someone else. And I know how jealous you can get.” “I made my darling wife wait up for me all night, angry and alone. I’m the worst. But I haven’t slept in four days, Stella. I’m exhausted. Let me get some rest, and I promise I’ll make it up to my jealous little firecracker tomorrow.” He couldn’t stifle a yawn, reaching for my hand to lead me to the bedroom. Anyone hearing him would have taken his side. Here was a man so tired he could barely stand, yet he was still patiently trying to soothe his unreasonable, spoiled wife. But I wasn’t having it. I yanked my hand away, my voice firm and clear. “I said, I want a divorce!” Caught off guard, Liam stumbled backward, knocking over the ceramic vase we had made together on a pottery class date. It shattered on the floor. He looked down, his eyes slowly clearing, the exhaustion momentarily burned away by shock. My repeated demands for a divorce had finally pushed him past his limit. “I apologized. I promised I’d stay away from Hannah. Why isn’t that enough for you?” “You’re the one who said ‘divorce’ is a word we should never use lightly. You’ve said it twice tonight. What the hell do you want, Stella?” He even remembered that. Something I’d said offhandedly, a drunken joke from years ago. “Liam, this isn’t about jealousy, and I don’t need you to coddle me. I want a divorce.” “I want to be completely, permanently done with you.” CRACK! His fist flew past my ear and slammed into the wall behind me. My eyelashes fluttered, but I didn’t flinch. “I’ll have a lawyer draft the papers. I won’t take a penny more than what’s mine. All you’ll have to do is sign. I’ll handle the rest.” My final words were lost as I saw his eyes glisten with tears. He raised his hand, and I instinctively shut my eyes, but he only pressed his palm against his face, his voice thick with emotion. “Honey, stop. Whatever it is you don’t like, I’ll change it. I’ll change anything. Just please… please don’t leave me.” The all-powerful man, showing a raw vulnerability he saved only for me, a sight that would make anyone forgive him anything. But I stood my ground, pushing him out of my way. “I don’t like living in constant fear. And I don’t like you running to another woman’s house every night. Can you change that?” Liam’s eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn’t comprehend that I—the woman who had stood by him even after a suspect’s knife had found its way into my side—was saying these words. His face hardened. I held his gaze and finished what I had to say. “I’ll have the papers for you to sign tomorrow.” The silence that followed was broken by a sharp intake of breath from the guest room. My in-laws, woken by the noise, came rushing out. 2 Liam’s father kicked him squarely in the back of the knee, his voice a low growl. “Apologize to Stella. Running off to another woman’s house in the middle of the night and then coming home to yell at your wife? Is this how I raised you?” His mother dabbed at her eyes, taking my hand in hers. “It’s our fault, dear. We didn’t teach Liam right. You’ve been wronged.” “But looking after a widow is his duty,” she added, her tone shifting. “He can’t just abandon that responsibility. Imagine what people would say. It would destroy his reputation.” “From now on, we’ll keep a closer eye on him, make sure he knows his boundaries.” The elderly couple looked at me with pleading eyes. Just as I was about to speak, a phone rang. Liam, still kneeling on the floor, answered it instantly. “Hannah? What’s wrong?” Hannah’s voice on the other end was a shaky mix of relief and terror. She was sobbing. “Liam… the police just caught a burglar in the complex. He… he murdered a family of three down the hall. During his confession, he said his original target was my apartment.” “If you hadn’t come over… if you hadn’t stayed with me… that would have been me last night.” Three pairs of eyes snapped towards me. Liam was still trying to comfort Hannah. Hearing the tension in his voice, she quickly asked, “Liam, did you explain everything to your wife? She’s not mad, is she?” “Last night was so dangerous. Being a hero’s widow… it makes me a target. I don’t know how I’d survive without your help.” “If she’s still upset, I’ll come over and apologize to her myself.” Liam’s expression was one of pure frustration. He soothed her in a low voice. “Stella’s a little upset, yes. But now that she knows how dangerous it was, I’m sure she won’t be angry with you anymore. Don’t worry.” The implication was clear. If I continued to be angry, I would be the unreasonable one. I snatched the phone from his hand, my voice calm and cold. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Because I’m divorcing Liam. You can save your apologies for his next wife.” I hung up, and before the three stunned faces around me could react, I walked out of the apartment. “Since we’re getting a divorce, it’s better if I move out. It will make splitting the assets easier.” “Stella!” Liam’s voice was like ice behind me, but I didn’t turn back. “I can’t keep coddling you every single time. If I hadn’t been there last night, Hannah could be dead. You have the facts right in front of you. Are you still going to fight me on this?” His words made me feel, for a fleeting moment, like a hysterical, irrational woman. But I stepped out the door and left anyway. I found an apartment to rent. As I was leaving the building, I noticed several plainclothes officers lingering downstairs. Liam’s job was dangerous, and threats against his family were common. Living with him was safe. Living alone multiplied the risk. He had said he wouldn’t coddle me, but he had still reported my move to his unit and requested a protective detail for me. He had told me once, if I ever got hurt because of him again, he would lose his mind. I looked away, my face impassive, and accepted a folder from the lawyer who was waiting for me. The divorce papers. I had been messaging Liam since morning, trying to arrange a time to sign them. He hadn’t responded. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer and dialed his number. He declined the call almost instantly. I frowned, standing frozen for a moment. Suddenly, the officers protecting me started moving, their postures tense. One of them approached me, his face grim. “Ms. Martinez,” he said, using my maiden name. “Captain Foster is in the ICU. They need a family member to sign for surgery.” His tone was laced with resentment. “The captain was in the middle of a high-risk operation. Your call gave away his position. He’s been shot. He might lose his arm.” 3 The hospital hallway was crowded with Liam’s teammates. Their eyes were red, filled with blame as they watched me approach. One of them turned and punched the wall in frustration. I walked past them without flinching and entered the room. Liam was lying on the bed, his face as white as the sheets. When he saw me, he managed a weak, reassuring smile. “Don’t be scared. I’m okay. It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine.” He reached out for my hand, but I pulled away. Beside the bed, a young officer named Ricky couldn’t hold back his anger. “Just sign the papers,” he snarled. “If he doesn’t get surgery soon, the captain could die.” I gave him a cool glance and pulled the divorce agreement from my bag. “I’m not signing the consent form. If you want to live, you’ll sign this divorce agreement. Let your parents be your next of kin.” “You—!” A vein throbbed on Ricky’s temple. He lunged at me, his face contorted with rage, looking like he wanted to tear me apart before his teammates grabbed him and held him back. My gaze swept over their shocked faces. Threatening my own husband’s life to force a divorce. They had probably never met a woman as venomous as me. Liam’s expression shifted through a dozen emotions before he finally closed his eyes, his voice raspy. “Is this all because I stayed with Hannah last night?” Under the weight of a dozen glares that felt like they could skin me alive, I answered flatly. “Yes. It’s because you stayed with Hannah.” As the words left my mouth, someone grabbed my collar from behind, yanking me off balance. Seeing who it was, Liam tried to sit up, a gasp of pain forcing him back down. “Hannah, don’t touch her.” Hannah was covered in dried blood, her limbs so thin she looked like a skeleton. She seemed unnaturally weak. “If you hate me, I can disappear from your lives forever. But Liam is hurt. He can’t wait. If he doesn’t have surgery, he’ll be crippled.” “I already owe him so much. If he becomes disabled because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.” Another officer, Jake, the most capable on the team besides Liam, helped Hannah up as she sobbed into her hands. His eyes were spitting fire at me. “Why would the captain marry a stupid, evil woman like you? He risks his life every day to protect people, and all you can think about is your petty jealousy.” “Even if the captain did cheat on you, it would be because you drove him to it!” It was only then that I learned the full story. Liam had been shot while trying to shield Hannah from the line of fire. He could have avoided it otherwise. I let out a cold laugh and turned to Liam. “You said you were passing the responsibility for Hannah to your teammates. Why were you with her today?” “Liam, you’re so protective of her. Are you two already a thing?” “Stella!” The veins on Liam’s forehead bulged. His hand whipped out, the slap echoing through the silent room. The force of it split my lip, and I calmly spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “Liam, how could you hit Stella!” My in-laws, who had just arrived, cried out, rushing to pull me behind them. Liam was panting, his chest heaving. “She can hit me, she can scream at me, but she will not insult the widow of a fallen hero.” The elderly couple looked at me in disbelief. I tilted my chin up. “Did I hit a nerve? You spend every day at her house, you even stay the night. Don’t tell me nothing is going on.” Hannah’s crying stopped for a second. Her eyes flickered away before she let out an even louder wail, crying that she wanted to die. The room felt like it was about to explode. If my in-laws weren’t shielding me, I would have been buried under a pile of fists. But I didn’t care. I held up the divorce papers and threw them in Liam’s face. “If you don’t sign these, I can spread a lot more rumors about you and Hannah. I wonder how her fragile mental state will handle that.” “I have all the time in the world. I wonder if your arm does.”

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1 Just after giving birth, I was added to an online group for secondhand baby items. Inside, a single used baby bottle was up for auction. The starting bid was a staggering $9,900. “What’s the model? Weight?” I was baffled. Why would a used bottle sell for a fortune? The next second, a photo of my daughter, Lily, appeared in the chat. The group admin replied: “Eight pounds. Limited edition. One of a kind.” “Limited edition model, weighs eight pounds. For those in the know.” I stared at the screen, my brow furrowed in confusion. The picture was just a plain glass baby bottle, but the description was bizarre. Stranger still, someone immediately asked a follow-up question. “What type?” The admin’s reply was swift: “Type B. Purity guaranteed.” Before I could process it, the admin posted another photo. It was a baby’s calf, and on the fair skin was a pale red, heart-shaped birthmark. My breath caught in my throat. The location, the shape, even the faint, jagged edges of that birthmark… It was identical to my daughter’s. I stared at the screen, my throat tightening. Suddenly, the chat exploded with messages: “$20,000.” “$25,000. Don’t get in my way!” “$30,000. Cash. Can make the exchange tonight.” My fingers were ice-cold, my grip on the phone failing. Were they auctioning my daughter? “$50,000.” An ID named “Blackhawk” suddenly placed a bid. The chat went silent for a second. Then the admin sent a voice message. I clicked play. A man’s raspy voice chuckled. “Alright. Same rules as always. 11 PM tonight, Pier 3 warehouse. Inspect the goods, pay up. No funny business.” My head snapped up to the clock on the wall—8:30 PM. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I scrambled to my feet and ran for the bedroom. The moment I pushed the door open, my heart stopped. My husband, Ethan, was holding Lily, the keys to the stroller dangling from his hand. He looked like he was about to leave. “What are you doing?!” My voice trembled, sharper than I intended. He flinched, then frowned at me. “I was just taking her for a walk downstairs. You said she was a little fussy today and could use some fresh air.” My eyes were glued to my daughter. She was wearing her light blue bear onesie, babbling as she played with her father’s collar. The heart-shaped birthmark on her leg was faintly visible in the light. “Don’t bother!” I practically lunged at him, snatching our daughter from his arms. Ethan was startled, reaching out to steady me. “What’s wrong with you? Did something happen?” I clutched Lily tightly, my fingers digging into her swaddle. “I’ll take her for a walk. You get some rest.” He looked at me, suspicion in his eyes. “You’re pale as a ghost. And your hands are shaking.” “Probably just low blood sugar.” I forced a weak smile, backing away. “I’ll grab a snack while I’m out. You just wait here for me.” Before he could say another word, I turned and rushed out, forgetting to even grab my jacket. As the elevator doors closed, I looked down at Lily. She was staring up at me with wide, round eyes, her tiny hand gripping my collar. Tears streamed down my face. “Mommy won’t let anyone take you,” I whispered, my voice choked with sobs as I kissed her forehead. The elevator reached the ground floor. As the doors opened, a blast of cold air hit me. At the same moment, my phone chimed. I pulled it out, the screen’s cold light illuminating my ashen face. Admin: “Change of plans. Exchange moved to 11 PM tomorrow. Same location.” I stared at the message, my mind buzzing. The moment I took Lily out of the apartment, they changed the time. Thinking of Ethan’s actions, my fingers tightened. If I was only fifty percent suspicious before, I was now one hundred percent certain. The admin was Ethan. It had to be him. My daughter whimpered in my arms, uncomfortable with my tight grip. I immediately loosened my hold, leaning down to kiss her again. “It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t be afraid. Mommy’s here.” Just then, Ethan called, asking where I’d gone with the baby. He pointed out I’d forgotten my wallet. I stammered an excuse, then turned around and saw Ethan walking towards me, my purse in his hand. “Honey, you’re so forgetful. How can I not worry about you?” he said with a sigh. “Come on, I’ll go with you.” My heart hammered against my ribs, but I had no choice but to nod and walk beside him. I couldn’t afford to tip him off. That night, back home, Lily breathed peacefully in her bassinet beside our bed. But I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling, my ears straining to catch every sound, waiting for the right moment to escape. Around dawn, my husband suddenly sat up. I squeezed my eyes shut, evening out my breathing, pretending to be fast asleep. His footsteps were light, but I felt him pause beside the bassinet. My heart was about to burst from my chest. My fingers twisted the corner of the duvet into a knot. Then, I heard the rustle of fabric. “What are you doing?!” I shot up, my voice so shrill it startled even me. Ethan froze. After a long moment, he pulled his hand back, his tone weary. “I was just checking if she was hungry. I thought I heard her whimper.” In the darkness, I couldn’t see his face, but my fear didn’t subside. “I’ll do it.” I jumped out of bed, scooping Lily up before he could, my movements almost rough. Startled from her sleep, Lily let out a few confused cries. I quickly cradled her, rocking her gently. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. Mommy’s here.” Ethan didn’t move. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “What is wrong with you today? You’re so on edge.” “Nothing. Just tired,” I said, my back to him, trying to sound calm. He sighed. “Well, feed her and try to get some sleep.” As his soft snores filled the room, I sank onto the bed, cold sweat soaking through my pajamas. At 4 AM, Lily finally fell into a deep sleep in my arms. I gently placed her back in her bassinet, but I didn’t dare close my eyes, my fingers wrapped tightly around my phone. Ping. The screen lit up. Another group notification. Admin: “Apologies, exchange time is TBD.” It was followed by a series of photos labeled “Bonus Perks.” My hand trembled as I opened them. They were pictures of my daughter sleeping peacefully in her bed. There was even one of her crying during her vaccination appointment last week. Some of these photos, I had never even seen before. My gaze snapped to Ethan, sleeping beside me. My mind raced, replaying every strange thing about him lately. He had been working late constantly. The other night, I woke up and found him on the balcony on the phone. He hung up the second he saw me. “Just work stuff. Go back to sleep,” he’d said. How could I possibly sleep? As soon as the sky began to lighten, while Ethan was still sound asleep, I quietly bundled Lily up and slipped out of the apartment. I flagged down a taxi and went straight to my mother’s house. The entire way, I kept looking over my shoulder, terrified a car was following us. Lily just played with my hair, oblivious. “What are you doing here so early?” my mom asked, surprised to see me at her door in her pajamas. I didn’t have time to explain. I pushed Lily into her arms. “Mom, please watch her for a day. No, two days!” “And don’t tell anyone she’s here. Not even Ethan!” I had to save my daughter, but I couldn’t ignore the other children. I couldn’t let Ethan get away with this. My mom was stunned. “What’s happened?” “I’ll explain later.” I kissed Lily’s forehead, my voice cracking. “Don’t let her out of your sight for a second!” As I left, I took one last look at my daughter. She was giggling, tugging at her grandma’s collar. The sight made my nose sting. When I got home, Ethan had already left for work. I locked the door and immediately opened that godforsaken group chat. A new message made my blood run cold. Admin: “Pick-up location changed. Sunnyvale Gardens, Building 3, underground garage.” That was my mother’s address. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the phone. I dialed my mom’s number. “Hello?” Her voice was cheerful. “Mom, how’s Lily?” I asked, my voice tight. “She’s wonderful. Just had her milk and now she’s playing with her rattle.” “Have any strangers knocked on the door? Has anyone asked about a baby?” “No, dear. Why are you acting so strange?” I let out a breath of relief, but my heart was still pounding. “Mom, don’t leave the apartment for the next few days. I’ll have groceries delivered.” “Make sure no one is outside before you open the door.” Though confused, she agreed. I started secretly digging for more information in the group, hoping to gather enough evidence to go to the police. But the next morning, Ethan was gone before I woke up. I called his phone, my hands trembling. A cold, automated voice answered: “The number you have dialed is not available.” I was about to call again when my mother called me, her voice frantic. “Honey! You texted me to come downstairs to pick up some baby supplies, but I waited and you never showed up.” “When I realized something was wrong and rushed back, the baby was gone! Did Ethan take her?!” My world fell apart. “What?! I didn’t send you any message!” I checked my phone. No record of any sent texts. There was only one possibility. Ethan had realized I was onto him. He had sent the text, and then deleted it from my phone. “Mom, how long were you gone?!” “Barely ten minutes! He’s her father, he wouldn’t hurt her, would he?” My panicked tone was scaring her. I didn’t have time to explain. I hung up and bolted out the door. I jumped into a taxi. “Sunnyvale Gardens! And step on it!” As the car sped through the streets, I stared at my phone. A new message popped up in the group chat. Blackhawk: “Package received. Good condition.” Admin: “Pleasure doing business with you.” I clutched the phone, tears streaming down my face. There was nothing left but despair.

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1 I was in a rush to catch a flight for an international conference, but the TSA agent stopped me dead in my tracks. “Ma’am, our scanner is picking up some unidentified metal on your person. We’ll need you to step aside for a secondary screening.” A spike of anxiety hit me, but I understood the procedure. I fumbled through my pockets and finally found a stray coin I’d forgotten. But just as I was about to move on, she stopped me again. “Your shoes have rather thick soles. They’ll need to be screened separately.” Another twenty minutes evaporated as my shoes were turned over, prodded, and scanned before finally being returned. My departure time was now dangerously close. I grabbed my suitcase, ready to sprint to the gate. But the agent, her face fixed in the same plastic, corporate smile, pointed to the cast on my arm and stopped me for a third time. “Ma’am, for flight safety, we’ll need to conduct a further inspection of your cast…” … “Why didn’t you check it all at once? I’m going to miss my flight!” I finally snapped, my patience worn to a thread after being repeatedly pulled from the line. “How do you even inspect a cast? My arm is broken! This isn’t something I can just slip on and off!” But my anger was met with that same infuriatingly calm, plastic smile. “I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan, but we have to follow protocol.” “Please cooperate with airport regulations. We’re just doing our jobs. Please don’t make this difficult for us.” As she spoke, she ran a handheld scanner over my arm. Beep. Beep. Beep. The alarm blared again. “I’m sorry, but you’ll need to come with us to a private screening room for a more thorough check.” I had already glanced at her name tag. Tina. Of all the agents, she was the one giving me the hardest time, her focus on me feeling less like procedure and more like a personal vendetta. I could feel the malice radiating from her, and I refused without a second thought. “I refuse. I’ve never heard of inspecting a medical cast! You’re deliberately targeting me!” My outburst caught the attention of other passengers, and a few spoke up in my defense. “She’s right, you’ve been checking her for ages. She hardly looks like she’s smuggling contraband.” “I’m on the same flight. We’re really cutting it close! Can’t you make an exception?” “Yeah, this seems like you’re going way too far.” Tina just offered them a hollow smile. “Going too far? I’m not sure what you mean. I’m just following the rules. Can any of you personally guarantee there’s nothing hidden in Ms. Morgan’s cast? Can you take personal responsibility for her if she becomes a threat on foreign soil? If just one of you is willing to sign off on that responsibility, I will let her go right now.” The crowd immediately went silent. I gritted my teeth and tried to walk past, but two security guards materialized, blocking my path. Just then, a different sentiment rose from the other passengers on my flight, their own patience wearing thin. “Just cooperate with them so we can all get moving!” “We’ve been waiting here forever! My time is valuable too!” “If I miss my business deal because of this, are you going to pay for it?” Defeated, I let the guards lead me to the small, sterile room. I braced myself for more harassment, but I wasn’t prepared for Tina’s first command. “Alright, you can start undressing. Please cooperate with the investigation.” I froze. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with Tina and a few other female guards. What followed was a methodical, humiliating search. They made me strip down completely, not even allowing me to keep my underwear on. I had to bite back waves of fury, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. When they were finally done with my body, I presented the hospital documents for my arm, proving the cast contained surgical steel pins from the fracture. Tina scanned the doctor’s report and handed it back, her lips pulling into a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re cleared to go. Sorry for the… inconvenience, Ms. Morgan.” I was seething. I jabbed a finger at her name tag. “Tina, is it? I’ll remember you.” She just gave me that robotic smile again. “You’re welcome to. If it helps you remember the airport’s dress code next time, then by all means, remember me.” “Now, we’ll need to escort you through the main security check one more time.” I shot her a venomous glare, pulled my clothes back on, and stormed out to go through the screening process again. I thought it was just a formality, but as a series of sharp beeps pierced the air, Tina once again stepped in front of me. 2 “What now?!” Seeing her infuriating face again, I felt like I was about to lose my mind. But Tina just kept smiling. “One moment, Ms. Morgan. You dropped this.” I stared as she held out my handbag. Had I misjudged her? Was this a moment of actual helpfulness? I took the bag, a flicker of confusion cutting through my anger. But as I turned to leave, she spoke again. “I’m very sorry, but according to regulations, we still can’t let you pass.” I was so stunned by the sheer audacity that I burst out laughing. “And what is it this time? You’ve already searched every inch of me!” Tina shrugged. “The physical inspection was clear, that’s true. However, your case is… unusual. Given the multiple alarms, it’s beyond my authority to clear you. Every one of your screenings has been logged in the system, so I’ll have to report this to my supervisor. You can leave once he gives the all-clear.” I could practically hear the plane’s engines spooling up on the tarmac. I took a deep, steadying breath. “I told you, this is a business trip! A crucial one! If I miss this flight, my company could face massive losses. Are you prepared to compensate for that?” Tina’s expression remained placid, unmoved. “If you attempt to force your way through security, you’ll be breaking federal law. That’s a situation far beyond my control.” I forced myself to ask through clenched teeth, “And when is your supervisor arriving?” She held up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture and pulled out her phone, tapping the screen a few times. “I’m filing the report now. Please be patient.” But as I watched her, she just kept tapping, a blank expression on her face. My own anxiety spiked. In a flash of impulse, I snatched the phone from her hand. She was scrolling through a celebrity gossip site. She wasn’t filing any report. “What is the meaning of this? You’re doing this on purpose! You want me to miss my flight!” I pointed at the screen, my voice rising as the last of my composure finally shattered. “From the moment you saw me, you’ve been targeting me! The endless checks, and now this!” “Tina! I don’t even know you! We have no history, no reason for you to hate me! Why are you doing this to me? Are you going to tell me that scrolling through gossip is also part of your ‘protocol’? Can you stand there and take responsibility for a single word you’ve said to me?!” Her jaw tightened, her own mask of calm cracking for a second. I saw her clench and unclench her fists before she smoothed her features back into that plastic smile. “Ms. Morgan, please don’t bring your personal emotions into this. I assure you, my supervisor has been notified. As for my phone, that is my personal property. Your actions are incredibly rude.” She took a step closer, her smile fixed but her eyes burning with venom. She spoke in a low, biting whisper. “Don’t you think?” I closed my eyes, taking one last shot. “How long until your supervisor gets here?” Tina glanced at her watch, a look of mock contemplation on her face, before giving me an impossible answer. “Oh, I’d say… about three hours.” 3 “Are you kidding me? My flight is boarding right now! You’re doing this deliberately, aren’t you?!” I roared, but Tina just gave me a helpless-looking smile. “I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan, but my hands are tied. My supervisor is currently at a training conference overseas. With the time difference, he probably hasn’t even seen my message. You’ll just have to wait.” Her calm, indifferent tone was designed to drive me insane. I felt a wave of despair wash over me. I had no idea what cosmic bad luck I’d stumbled into lately, but nothing was going right. Two nights ago, I was walking home late from work when I saw a group of thugs harassing a young woman. I intervened. I’m not a fighter, but I managed to create enough of a scene to save her. In the process, I ended up with a broken arm. Then, before I was even discharged from the hospital, my boss forced this international conference on me, making me sign a do-or-die contract: land the deal, or pay the company a fortune in damages. And now this. My one chance to get there, sabotaged by a rogue TSA agent. How did this happen? I was the one who did the right thing, who saved someone. Why was I the one being punished? My mind raced, connecting the dots. Something felt deeply wrong about all this. I looked Tina dead in the eye. “I demand to speak to your supervisor’s superior. I don’t care who it is. I have to be on that flight today, no matter what.” Tina just shook her head. “Ms. Morgan, you’re just a passenger. You don’t have the right to speak directly with our upper management. The only solution is to wait for my supervisor’s approval. Otherwise, none of us can take that responsibility.” I lunged forward and grabbed her by the collar of her uniform. “When is this going to end?! What did I ever do to you to deserve this? Let me through, now!” Her eyes met mine, and a real, triumphant smile finally broke through the plastic facade. “Ms. Morgan, please calm down! Violence won’t solve anything.” Her words made me pause. I realized the security guards had closed in, forming a tight circle around me. My actions, my words… I was becoming unhinged. I was about to let her go, but she suddenly clamped her hand around my wrist, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. “Stella, that’s right, I am targeting you. Your little brain has probably figured that much out by now, hasn’t it?” “And I’m telling you, as long as I’m standing here, you won’t be getting on any flight today.” I stared into her vicious eyes, realizing she was deliberately pushing my buttons, trying to make me snap. “…What did you say?” Just then, the final boarding call for my flight echoed through the terminal. On pure instinct, I tried to shove her away. But she anticipated it, grabbing my arm and shouting for everyone to hear. “What are you doing? Are you trying to breach security?!” She clung to me like a leech. “Let me go!” I yelled, my voice frantic. “You’re doing this on purpose! None of you can be trusted!” I finally ripped my arm free, my blood boiling. I turned, fully intending to make a run for it, but I caught a flicker of pure anticipation in Tina’s eyes. I stopped in my tracks. It hit me like a physical blow. She wants me to lose it. In front of everyone. My outburst had drawn a huge crowd. They were whispering, filming me with their phones. Some were even live-streaming. “Look, someone’s causing trouble! Trying to force her way through security with contraband!” “Hey everyone, I’m live at the scene! You can see the standoff happening right now!” “Rumor is she has a bomb! Can’t confirm, but it’s what everyone’s saying!” In the few moments I’d been silent, the narrative had completely twisted. I was no longer the victim; I was the threat. “So that’s your game,” I hissed, glaring at Tina. This woman was dangerously manipulative. “You want me to make a scene, to get violent, so you have an excuse to detain me!” Tina put on a perfect mask of confusion. “Ms. Morgan, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I would advise you not to escalate this situation.” She and the guards formed a wall in front of me. She smiled gently. “Because if this gets any bigger, the police will get involved. And then it will be out of the airport’s hands entirely. You understand, don’t you?” I looked at the growing crowd, at the sea of phones all pointed at me, and I finally understood. This wasn’t just a random act of malice. This was an ambush. 4 My mind flashed back to the rescue. As the thugs ran off, their leader had shouted a threat over his shoulder. “You bitch! You have no idea who you just crossed! She belongs to the Young Master! You stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, and he will make you pay!” I hadn’t thought anything of his “Young Master” comment at the time. But now, it was clear. This was his revenge. And whoever this “Young Master” was, he had enough power to orchestrate this entire nightmare. I took a step back, a knot of real fear tightening in my stomach. This wasn’t some street punk. This was someone with connections, with power. This entire business trip was probably part of their trap. Seeing me hesitate, Tina’s eyes flashed with impatience. She decided to needle me again. “It’s a real shame this has happened. And according to the message my supervisor just sent, it looks like his arrival might be delayed even further.” She put on a show of sympathy, as if she were on my side. “Why don’t you just let us open up the cast? We can take a look, and then everyone can be on their way.” Before I could respond, a message from my boss lit up my phone. “What the hell is going on, Stella? Why haven’t you boarded yet?! I’m telling you, if you blow this deal, you’ll be paying us back according to the contract!” I hung up, feeling like the whole world was closing in on me. But the more they pushed, the more certain I was that this was a setup. I ignored the flood of angry texts from my boss and abandoned any hope of making my flight. To everyone’s surprise, I walked over to a nearby bench and sat down. Tina was stunned for a second, then her voice rang out. “Ms. Morgan! Just because you refuse to cooperate with our inspection doesn’t mean you can throw a tantrum and stage a sit-in!” I couldn’t believe she was twisting it again. Before I could even react, the security guards, who had clearly been waiting for their cue, swarmed me, pinning me to the ground. “What are you doing?! Let me go!” I screamed, struggling against them. One of the guards deliberately kicked my casted arm. An explosion of white-hot pain silenced me. As Tina shouted that I was assaulting her security personnel, fists rained down on me. “You… you monsters!” I choked out. The commotion drew an even larger crowd of onlookers, all of them fed the same false story. “That’s the woman who was carrying explosives! Now she’s attacking the guards!” “It’s true! I saw her grab the female agent’s uniform earlier!” “This is terrifying! Who is she? What was she planning to do on the plane?!” I spat out a mouthful of blood as the tide of public opinion turned completely against me. They dragged me back into that little black room, a gauntlet of pointing fingers and flashing cameras all the way. Thud. The door slammed shut. I gasped for breath, and as my vision cleared, I saw a man sitting in a chair, watching me. He was dressed in expensive, flashy clothes, his hair a shock of bleached blond. “…Who are you?” I managed. He smirked. “Your name is Stella Morgan, right? You know, you really should have learned to mind your own business.” “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Adrian Zhao. You ruined my plans, so now you get to deal with the Zhao family’s payback.” Seeing the deep-seated resentment in his eyes, I knew instantly. He was the one behind the thugs. This entire, elaborate trap—from the airport fiasco to the public humiliation—was all his design. He wanted me to suffer physically and be saddled with a crippling debt from my company. All because I saved that girl. “Pah!” I spat defiantly, glaring at him. “So you’re the kind of coward who hides behind cheap tricks. Who do you think you are? Even if you’re powerful, I don’t believe for a second you’d dare to kill me.” My defiance seemed to amuse him. He let out a short laugh, stood up, and walked over, grinding his shoe onto my cast. “Who am I? I’m the heir to the Zhao Corporation fortune! A worthless little insect like you? I could crush you without a second thought.” He punctuated his sentence with a sharp kick to my stomach. A wave of nausea rolled through me, and I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat. Tina scurried forward and knelt to wipe a speck of dust from his shoe with a tissue, which she then tossed onto my chest. “Our company is 70% owned by the Zhao Corporation, Stella. You picked a fight with the wrong people. Isn’t it time you learned some remorse?” Before she even finished speaking, the guards closed in, cracking their knuckles. My eyes widened in terror. I scrambled backward. “Stay away from me!” At that exact moment, the door was kicked off its hinges, and a furious voice roared through the room. “Stop!”

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1 My best friend called his fiancée, only to have her hang up on him. The text she sent back was cold and dismissive. “Lewis has a cold. I don’t have time.” My friend then called his own girlfriend, a superstar with connections everywhere. The reply he got was just as chilling. “Lewis’s sick. This is when he needs me the most.” After a night spent fighting for my life in the emergency room, we found ourselves in the same hospital ward, looking at each other. We spoke the words at the exact same time. “I don’t want to get married anymore.” We never expected that when the women who had abandoned us received the news, they would both lose their minds. … After a week of complete silence, my fiancée, Grace, finally called. I answered, and was immediately met with a barrage of accusations. “Liam, what the hell is wrong with you? Both our families have already agreed on the time and place for the wedding, and you just call it off? What are you trying to pull?” I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off with a torrent of self-righteous anger. “I’ve told you a million times, Lewis’s health is fragile! A simple cold can turn into a life-threatening crisis. I have to be by his side to make sure he’s safe. How can you be so petty and jealous? Don’t you have any regard for human life?!” Human life… A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Last night, I was on my way home after finalizing our wedding arrangements when a speeding truck slammed into my car. In the moments before I lost consciousness, I used every last ounce of strength to call Grace. The line went dead. She’d rejected the call. I tried again. Rejected. As my vision faded to black, my blood-smeared phone screen lit up with a notification. An impatient message from Grace. [What? Spit it out!] When I didn’t reply instantly, another one followed. [Are you sick in the head? Do you have any idea how much Lewis needs me right now? His emotional state is fragile! A breakdown could kill him!] And now, after all that, all she could do was berate me. Suddenly, my best friend, Brian, who had just walked in, snatched the phone from my hand. “Are you out of your mind, Grace?! Liam was in a car wreck last night! The driver hit him and then maliciously ran him over a second time! If they hadn’t gotten him to the hospital when they did, he’d be dead right now! Can you not tell the difference between a fucking cold and a car crash?!” A cold, dismissive laugh came from the other end. “You’re trying to pull that kind of lie on a doctor, Brian? You two really overestimate your own intelligence.” With that, she hung up. Brian stared at the phone, the veins in his hand popping as he gripped it. Almost immediately, his own phone rang. It was his fiancée, Bella—Grace’s childhood friend. “Brian, what is this game you two are playing? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Because of your childish jealousy and lies, Lewis got so agitated he nearly had a full-blown relapse!” “If Grace and I hadn’t been here, what would have happened to him? Are you blind to a living, breathing human being in crisis?! The Vance family will not let someone as vicious and cruel as you through its doors. I don’t give a damn if we get married or not!” Brian was about to unleash a string of curses, but she had already blocked his number. “I swear to God, those…” I reached out a weak hand and grabbed his arm. “Don’t, Brian. They’re not worth it.” He looked at the mess of tubes and monitors connected to me, his voice filled with concern. “Liam, does it still hurt?” I smiled and shook my head. Not anymore. The real pain had stopped the moment Grace hung up on me while I was bleeding out. To distract us, Brian put on some reality TV show. We sat there, picking at a bag of chips, making snarky comments. “Look at that guy. He’s got the face of a B-list comedian.” “This whole segment is so fake. You can practically see the script.” But soon, the laughter died in our throats. On the screen, in a haze of soft lighting and dramatic music, was Bella. The A-list celebrity. The love of Brian’s life. Brian’s face darkened. “Nope, bad juju,” he muttered, fumbling for the remote. “Changing this right now.” But Bella’s voice, thick with emotion, stopped him. It was one of those sappy, heartfelt confessionals the shows loved. She looked directly into the camera, her famous eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “My biggest regret,” she said, her voice trembling, “is not telling a certain boy how I felt all those years ago…” The other guests on the show hooted and pressed for details. Brian’s hand, holding the remote, clenched into a white-knuckled fist. I put a comforting hand on his arm, my own heart aching for him. Bella and Brian were engaged, but she refused to make it public. She claimed it would hurt her brand, affect her “relatability” with her fans. This, despite the fact that her family was so wealthy that her acting career was little more than a hobby. Whenever Brian brought it up, she would fly into a rage, accusing him of not understanding her, of not supporting her dreams. But she never saw it. She never saw how Brian would pull all-nighters for damage control whenever a negative story about her broke. She never saw how he would mobilize his own network to promote her new shows and movies. Brian once told me he knew being a star was her dream. So he was willing to use all his resources, all his strength, to lift her to the very top. But in her eyes, everything he did was just a desperate attempt to keep her, a tool in his jealous game. She was convinced that the only person in the world who truly understood her was their shared childhood friend, Lewis. Seeing the worry in my eyes, Brian forced a smile. “It’s okay, Liam. We already decided, right? We’re calling it off.” “All that’s left is to tell our parents. Then it’s over. We’ll be free.” I nodded, a heavy silence settling between us. But that night, my phone rang again. It was Grace. “Liam, why are you being so unreasonable?” she said, her voice laced with annoyance. “Lewis was sick. I was helping him as a doctor! Why do you have to twist everything into something so ugly?! And because of this petty little tantrum, you’re not even coming to the engagement dinner!” “Both our families are here. We’re all waiting for you! Liam, I’m warning you, be sensible. Don’t make me come and get you.” In the past, her cold, scolding tone would have crushed me. But now, faced with her fury, I just felt… nothing. “Grace,” I said calmly, “since I’m breaking off the engagement, there’s no reason for me to be at that dinner.” The words “breaking off” reignited her rage. “Do you have any idea how pathetic you sound right now? Is this some kind of stupid pissing contest? Liam, I never knew you could be this manipulative and childish! I’m the one calling you, giving you an out. Is it that hard to just back down?!” “Everyone is waiting! How long are you going to keep this up?! You have to be here today! Tell me where you are, I’m coming to get you right now!” I looked down at the hospital-issue blanket covering me, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. “I’m at Mercy General Hospital. Come and get me.” There were two seconds of silence, then a cold, derisive laugh. “Wow, Liam. You don’t even bother with believable lies anymore. You’d say anything just to make me grovel and beg for your forgiveness, wouldn’t you?” I closed my eyes, a bitter smile on my face. I knew it would end like this. I knew that no matter what happened to me, it would never be as important as a single hair on Lewis’s head. I knew all of this, and yet, some foolish part of me still held onto a sliver of hope. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach, and I leaned over the side of the bed, vomiting into a basin. Grace, oblivious, continued her tirade, her tone as arrogant as ever. “And don’t you dare drag Brian into your little drama! He was supposed to be meeting Bella’s parents tonight to set a wedding date, and now he’s nowhere to be found! You can’t handle your own relationship, so you have to poison someone else’s? And now you’re stooping to faking a life-threatening injury? Liam, have you ever considered how truly toxic you are?! What’s next? If I give in this time, will you start self-harming to force my hand?” Yes. No matter what, she would always assume the worst. That I was the master manipulator, orchestrating everything just to prey on her non-existent sympathy. It was just like last year, at a party, when Lewis deliberately fed me something I was severely allergic to. I spiked a fever immediately, my throat closing up. I almost died. Her reaction then? She looked down at me, her face a mask of cold disdain. “Liam, the way you use these lies to get attention is absolutely disgusting. You just want to marry into my family, don’t you? You already tricked my parents into this engagement. What’s the point of this pathetic act?” In her mind, that’s all I was. A vicious, scheming man, using self-inflicted wounds to drive a wedge between her and her precious Lewis. Before, I would have argued, I would have desperately tried to explain. But now, I was just tired. So tired, I couldn’t be bothered to say another word to save us. “Grace, I’m breaking the engagement,” I said, my voice flat. “When I’m out of the hospital, I’ll explain everything to your parents myself. I’m not coming to the dinner tonight.” I hung up. I never thought she would actually show up. When she stormed into my hospital room and saw me lying in the bed, she froze, a deep frown creasing her forehead. But before she could speak, Lewis appeared behind her. He habitually looped his arm through hers, pressing his entire body against her side in a blatant act of ownership. He looked at me, his face a caricature of pity. “What’s all this? Liam, what happened to you?” “I’m so sorry, Liam. I really wasn’t feeling well that day, that’s the only reason Grace came to see me. You shouldn’t be so upset with her. Both our families are waiting for you at the hotel! You’re making things so awkward for them!” Before he could continue his cloying, manipulative speech, Grace cut him off. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a pained tenderness that she had never once shown me. “Lewis, you don’t have to say any of this to him! Liam! You are getting more and more out of line! Did you really think staging this little drama would make me submit to you? You need to apologize to Lewis right now! And you need to apologize to our parents!” “This is your last chance! Otherwise, you can forget about this wedding!” A cold laugh escaped me. “Grace, we’re done. Please take your boyfriend and get the hell out of my room.” The mention of her beloved Lewis sent her into a rage. Her hand flew up, and the sharp crack of a slap echoed in the quiet room.

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