The siblings who took me in were the doomed side characters in a novel. The brother, Joey, was brooding and detached, destined to be captivated by the sunny, warm-hearted female lead. The sister, Jasmine, was sensitive and starved for affection, willing to sacrifice everything for the male lead. They believed they had found their saviors. They had no idea the main characters were just using them as stepping stones. To protect my new, cushy life, I decided to steal the main characters’ roles. When my brother was lost in one of his dark moods, I planted a kiss on his cheek. “Ooh, you’re soft and sweet! You’re like a little cream puff, Joey!” Even the coldest man in the world would crack a smile at that. When my sister cried herself to sleep at night, I cried right along with her. “My beautiful stars are drowning in tears! What are we going to do?” She burst into a tearful giggle and pulled me into a hug. Later, the main characters, frustrated that they couldn’t get ahold of the siblings, showed up at our door unannounced. They were greeted by the sight of the two of them working through the night to help me finish my kindergarten craft project. 1 The moment I lost consciousness while saving a drowning child, I made a wish. I wished my next life would begin with the scent of my mother’s expensive skincare, the sound of my old-money father’s hearty laugh, and the feel of my chairman-of-the-board grandfather’s warm hand. Instead, I woke up peacefully nestled in a garbage can. Seriously? I thought good deeds were supposed to be rewarded. Why was I starting on impossible mode? The lid was closed. The acrid stench of mixed garbage was suffocating. I stared at my own chubby, dimpled hands and remained silent for a long time. This was not going to work. To survive, I had only one option: cry. I have no idea how long I wailed, but eventually, someone seemed to notice the strange sound coming from the dilapidated alley. The scuff of expensive leather shoes on pavement grew closer. You have no idea the feeling of salvation that comes with seeing the light of day again. My eyes met those of a middle-aged man in a pristine suit and white gloves. My butler! My dear butler has come for me! I knew it! I was the long-lost heiress, switched at birth by a wicked nanny! I eagerly reached my little hands out to him. Hurry, take me back to my ten-thousand-square-foot mansion with the swimming pool! Mommy and Daddy must be worried sick! A few minutes later, I was in the back of a black luxury car, still having a staring contest, this time with two high schoolers in expensive-looking prep school uniforms. The butler spoke hesitantly. “Young Master, Young Miss, the slums are just over there, and there are a few vocational schools nearby. I suspect she’s an abandoned infant. Perhaps we should take her to the police station?” I felt my heart sink. This was bad. The two teenagers, whose faces were so exquisitely sculpted they hardly seemed real, gave a cool nod. A relieved smile spread across the butler’s face. “Then I’ll leave her in your care for a moment, if you don’t mind.” I was unceremoniously passed to the boy. He held me stiffly, his whole body rigid with uncertainty. But I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face. Seeing a face more stunning than any celebrity up close, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to touch his cheek. He caught the smirk on his sister’s face and his expression immediately darkened. He thrust me into her arms. “You take her. She’s a pain.” His sister instantly went just as stiff. Seeing their similar, god-tier looks, I couldn’t help but let out a happy gurgle of laughter. A smile touched her lips before she noticed her brother’s smug gaze. She immediately scowled. “Ugh, she smells like garbage. Gross.” With that, she plopped me down on the seat between them. The car was spacious, more than enough room for the three of us. But the thought of a miserable life in an orphanage was enough to make me start crying for real. I wailed. The boy, unable to stand the noise, sighed and picked me up. The moment I saw his face again, I was happy. A tearful giggle broke through. He put me down. I started crying again. The girl picked me up. I started laughing again. She put me down. I started crying again. A spark of interest lit up in their eyes. They started a game of pass-the-baby. “Hahaha—” “Waaaah—” “Hahaha—” “Waaaah—” After a few dozen rounds of this, the butler’s gentle voice floated from the front. “We’ve arrived at the police station.” I immediately let out a shriek so loud it felt like it could shatter the windows. The brother and sister exchanged a look. After a few seconds, they spoke in unison. “We’ll keep her.” 2 Mr. Davison, the butler, was incredibly efficient. The adoption papers were processed in no time. I also learned the identities of my new siblings: Joey and Jasmine Cheng, the fraternal twins of the city’s wealthiest and most powerful family. And I was now their little sister, Chloe Cheng. Don’t be jealous just yet. Because these two were the biggest, most tragic minor characters in a power fantasy novel about a pair of childhood sweethearts. The Cheng twins had the family name and the looks, but they couldn’t piece together a functioning family. Their parents had divorced shortly after they were born and had quickly run back to their old flames. In their eyes, the twins were merely a product of a business arrangement, a link they had long since disregarded. For years, they had shown them no affection whatsoever. You can’t expect children who have never been loved to grow up into paragons of virtue. To put it mildly, Joey and Jasmine were both deeply troubled, each in their own twisted way. Despite being blood-related, they couldn’t stand each other. To make matters worse, they were about to meet the novel’s protagonists, a ruthless pair of childhood sweethearts who had fought their way out of poverty. These two would deliberately orchestrate ways to get close to the twins, working together to drive a permanent wedge between them. The brother, brooding and detached, would be drawn to the female lead’s sunny warmth. The sister, sensitive and starved for affection, would become willing to sacrifice everything for the male lead. They would think they’d found salvation. In reality, they were just stepping stones on the protagonists’ path to success. In the end, after they had been squeezed dry of all their value, they would be cast aside. Readers loved the morally grey protagonists and the complex, self-serving-yet-genuine relationship between them, calling it a masterpiece of satisfying revenge fiction. Satisfying? I wasn’t feeling very satisfied right now. Even the expensive, imported formula the nanny had meticulously prepared for me had lost its appeal. That’s the thing about babies. The slightest unhappiness, and the waterworks turn on. My cries quickly brought Joey and Jasmine running. The nanny, holding me, was at her wit’s end. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Little Miss. Nothing seems to calm her down.” The moment Joey took me, I stopped crying. Everyone stared. The nanny let out a laugh. “Young Master, it seems Little Miss is very attached to you.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips before he quickly suppressed it. “You’re such a handful. One more peep and you’re going back in the trash.” Excuse me? That was just cruel. I immediately reached my arms out to Jasmine. She looked pleasantly surprised and cautiously reached for me. But Joey turned and walked away, still holding me. “She’s tired. You can hold her next time.” Jasmine gritted her teeth. “She clearly wants me to hold her! Give her to me!” “You’re clumsy. What if you drop her?” “Joey!” Listening to them bicker, I grew sleepy and closed my eyes, my little fists clenched. My brother and sister are good, kind kids. I will not let those two main characters get anywhere near them. 3 The only perk of being a baby is that you can be as demanding as you want. If I didn’t see Joey and Jasmine for more than a few hours, I’d cry. The nanny would glance at the clock, see that school was out, and expertly place the call. The line connected instantly. “How’s Chloe today?” Hearing Jasmine’s voice, I’d gurgle and reach for the phone. “Ahh! Ahh!” “Say ‘Jasmine.’” “Goo goo!” A light laugh came from the other end, and then Joey took the phone. He gave the nanny detailed instructions about my vaccination schedule, asked about my formula intake and bowel movements, and reminded her to give me regular baby massages. In a short time, he had become a total pro. The moment he got home, he’d be the one feeding me and changing my diapers. Jasmine would play with my rattle, cooing at me to help develop my language skills. They had a clear division of labor. And though they still fought over whose turn it was to hold me, the vast, empty mansion was slowly starting to feel like a home. Today, they didn’t come home on time. Mr. Davison cooed at me gently. “Your brother and sister went to the old family estate for their birthday today. They’ll be back a little later!” In the original story, their parents had, for the first time in years, promised to come home to celebrate their birthday with them. The twins pretended to be annoyed, but deep down, they were secretly looking forward to it. They waited for hours. When they finally called, they discovered their parents had completely forgotten. There was no apology, no guilt, just a dismissive wire transfer. Did they need money? No. What they needed was the love and care they had been denied their whole lives. And that’s why they were willing to throw themselves into the fire for the scraps of warmth the protagonists offered them. Sure enough, when they returned, Joey was cloaked in gloom, and Jasmine looked utterly desolate. They went straight to their rooms without even stopping by the nursery to see me. I sighed. Time to bring out the big guns. “Waaaaah—” A door slammed open, and a foul-tempered Joey appeared by my crib to check my diaper. “You’re dry. What are you crying about now?” I just kept crying. Even when he picked me up, I wouldn’t be soothed. Defeated, he went to get Jasmine. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Already in a terrible mood, she became even more irritated seeing me like this. She roughly placed me back in the bassinet. “Go to sleep!” I started batting at the mobile hanging over my head, making a concerted effort to form words. “Ha-ppy… ha-ppy… ha-ppy…” The sound of a baby’s babbling mixed with the gentle chime of the mobile. It almost sounded like a birthday song. They both froze. After a long moment, Joey covered his face with his hand and let out a choked laugh. Jasmine was infected by his mood. She turned away with a huff, but the corners of her mouth curved upward. I finally relaxed. Just as I was about to drift off, I saw Joey take out his phone and open the camera. “Do it again,” he said. “I don’t want you complaining on social media when you’re older that we never documented your childhood.” Oh, please. You just want to brag on Instagram, just say it. 4 Soon, Joey and Jasmine started their sophomore year. We had successfully avoided the plot point where they were supposed to meet the main characters. Just as I was letting my guard down, Joey disappeared. Mr. Davison sent people out to search for him all night. The next day, he finally returned, covered in bruises and scrapes. Trailing behind him was a girl in a white dress, looking equally disheveled. She had an innocent face, but as she took in the understated luxury of our home, her eyes held a flicker of shrewd calculation. Oh no. My inheritance. It’s in danger! After the family doctor had tended to their injuries, Joey explained. He’d gone hiking on a whim and had run into the female lead, Amelia. They had both accidentally slipped down a steep embankment, breaking their phones in the process. Luckily, neither was seriously injured. Right. I totally believed this had nothing to do with Amelia. When Amelia came out of the guest room, she saw Joey playing with me. She feigned surprise. “Is this your sister? She’s so adorable!” Joey was always in a good mood when people praised me. He smiled at her. “Do you want to hold her?” “I’d love to!” Get away from me, you witch! As she reached for me, I let out a wail, louder and more heartbroken than ever before. Joey froze, glancing at Amelia’s embarrassed face. “Sorry,” he said. “She can be a little shy with strangers.” Amelia quickly composed herself, being incredibly understanding. She even praised my wariness, saying it was a good way to protect myself. Her words clearly pleased Joey. His gaze softened, and he instructed Mr. Davison to personally drive her home. She really was the female lead. She had my brother wrapped around her little finger with just a few simple tricks. I closed my eyes, exhausted. Jasmine didn’t get home until evening. She kept glancing at her phone, an expectant look on her face, unable to hide the giddy smile on her lips. This look of a girl in the first throes of love set off alarm bells in my head. Joey noticed it too. He frowned. “Where were you today?” Jasmine shot him a glare. “None of your business!” “Are you seeing someone?” “You have the nerve to question me? What were you doing out in the middle of nowhere, spending the night alone with a girl and then bringing her home? You’re the one who’s seeing someone!” “We were worried sick all night, and you were out having fun.” Joey was speechless. Jasmine gave him a scornful look and went to her room. I waved my little hands in the air. It was happening. The moment the main characters appeared, the bond between the siblings began to fracture.

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I went to my ex-boyfriend’s apartment, ready to beg him to take me back. It had only been a week since we’d broken up. I pushed the door open and found him leaning down, kissing someone else. The girl was wearing my silk nightgown. And she wasn’t just anyone. It was Iris. My roommate for all four years of college. Just last night, back in our dorm room, Iris mentioned she might be moving out. She said the guy she’d been crushing on for ages had finally asked her out and wanted her to move in with him. I was such an idiot. I’d actually congratulated her, happy that her dream was coming true. I never imagined that her new boyfriend was Joss, the man who had just broken my heart. He certainly didn’t waste any time moving on. A seamless transition. I stood frozen in the doorway, the world tilting on its axis. Iris saw me first. “Ava?!” she gasped, her eyes wide. Joss looked up. The moment our gazes locked, a flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, unnerving calm. He straightened his shirt and walked toward me, his shadow falling over me as he looked down. “What do you want, Ava?” My eyes were glued to the raw, red mark on his collarbone. A knot formed in my chest, tight and suffocating, stealing the air from my lungs. The words I’d practiced, the pleas for a second chance, died on my lips. Iris came over, offering a small, apologetic smile. “I didn’t have a nightgown, so I borrowed yours. Hope you don’t mind.” My head buzzed, a low hum of white noise. She saw my silence and rushed to explain, her voice a little too bright. “Ava, don’t get the wrong idea. Joss and I only got together after you two broke up.” Watching her scramble to prove her innocence, I felt like a fool. A clown in a tragedy of my own making. It took me a moment to find my voice, to cobble together a brittle excuse for being there. “I still have some things here,” I said, my voice flat. “I came to pack.” Joss was silent for a beat, his expression unreadable. “Fine. Come in.” It was only when I stepped inside that I understood his silence. The succulent I’d potted with my own hands was gone from the windowsill. In the bathroom, our matching toothbrush holder had been replaced. The curtains, the bedsheets, the duvet cover—all of it had been swapped out for the muted grays and blues that Iris loved. Even the framed photo on the nightstand, a picture of Joss and me as kids, had been replaced with one of Iris. There was nothing for me to pack. This little apartment, the home we had built together, was no longer mine. It had been scrubbed clean of me. All in one week. One single week. Everything I owned had been crammed into a single suitcase and shoved in a corner of the balcony, gathering dust. My dog was out there, too. The hot, sticky air of the summer night wrapped around me, making it hard to breathe. I squatted on the cluttered balcony, staring at Ricky, who was slumped listlessly in his cage. We found Ricky, a stray, on the day of our first date. Joss had named him, wrapping his arms around me from behind and whispering with a wicked grin that every time I called the dog’s name, I’d remember the thrill of our first kiss. But that was all gone now. “Ricky,” I whispered. His floppy ears twitched and then shot up. When he saw it was me, he let out an excited little whine, his whole body wiggling as if he wanted to leap into my arms like he always did. Realizing he was trapped, he sat back down, his tail thumping against the cage in a frantic rhythm. A sharp sting hit the back of my nose, and the dam of emotions I’d been holding back finally broke. I stormed back into the living room. “I don’t care about the other stuff, but you know Ricky was abused! He’s terrified of being locked in a—” “I know,” Joss cut me off, his voice dangerously quiet. He glanced at Iris. “She’s scared of dogs.” The rest of my words caught in my throat. She’s scared of dogs. So that was it. A dull, heavy ache spread through my chest. The first time I sensed something was wrong between Joss and Iris was two months ago. With graduation looming, he was drowning in job offers and interviews, constantly busy. I’d send him a text at night and wouldn’t get a reply until the next morning. Our phone calls became brutally short. “He’s just stressed with graduation, Ava. Don’t overthink it,” Iris would say, trying to comfort me as I moped around the dorm. On Valentine’s Day, Iris gave me two movie tickets. Hoping to repair the growing rift between us, I asked Joss to go with me. Halfway through the film, he was clearly distracted, his eyes darting to his phone every few minutes. “Ava, I have to take a call. I’ll be right back.” He was gone before I could reply, grabbing his jacket and hurrying out of the theater. He never came back. After the movie ended, I saw him waiting for me in the crowded lobby, leaning against a wall with his head down, lost in thought. I noticed something odd—the top two buttons of his shirt, which were usually open, were fastened tightly to his throat. When he saw me, he offered a simple explanation. “Project call. Lost track of time.” “What kind of project call lasts for an entire movie?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. How did he reply? He didn’t even bother to lie convincingly. “If you’re going to be suspicious, there’s nothing I can do.” Back in our dorm, I was scrolling aimlessly through my phone, my mind a turbulent mess, when I saw Iris’s latest post. It was a picture of two half-finished coffees and a pair of ticket stubs. The caption was just a single heart emoji. The room was silent except for the soft sound of our breathing. But I felt like I was suffocating. “Was your movie in the theater next to mine?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m not really into rom-coms.” “Did you go with that guy you like?” Iris was quiet for a long time. Then, a small, knowing smile touched her lips. “I did.” Later that night, we were walking across the campus green. I walked ahead, wrapped in a cold silence. Joss sensed my mood and reached for my hand. “What’s wrong?” I said only one thing. “Iris was at the same movie theater tonight.” The air between us went still. But only for a second. He tightened his grip on my hand. “Ava, it was just a coincidence.” I looked into his eyes, saw the sincerity and apology swimming there, and I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. We had been together for so long; we were supposed to be each other’s future. I couldn’t let a few suspicions poison everything we had. Besides, I’d seen a picture of the guy Iris was supposedly obsessed with. She’d spent four years of college single for him. There was no way she’d go after Joss. Right? Maybe it was my imagination, but after that night, Joss grew even colder. With his final thesis defense approaching, he became a ghost. We hadn’t seen each other in almost a week. On his birthday, I baked his favorite cake, bought him a gift, and went to his apartment to surprise him. When I opened the door, the apartment was filled with people. And Joss was cutting a cake. With Iris. She was practically enveloped in his arms, her hand placed over his as they held the knife together. The cheerful chatter in the room died instantly. Joss’s face was a blank mask when he saw me. He didn’t move his hand. “Keep going,” he said to the group. It was Iris who pulled her hand away, her eyes darting toward me with a complicated expression. Someone quickly jumped in to explain. “It’s Iris’s birthday today too! We just thought it’d be fun for them to cut the cake together. Don’t get the wrong idea!” His clumsy lie did nothing to soothe the icy dread creeping into my heart. How could I not get the wrong idea? All the hurt, the anxiety, the suspicion from the past few weeks solidified into a painful certainty the moment I saw them together. After the party, I confronted him. Or rather, I had a complete meltdown while he stood there, watching. “I’m your girlfriend! Why didn’t you even tell me you were having a party?” “Are you that busy? You have time to cut a cake with her, but you can’t find two seconds to reply to my texts?” My voice cracked, turning into a choked sob. “Joss… do you even want to be with me anymore?” He met my desperation with that same, familiar silence. I gripped the back of a chair to steady myself, then slowly sank to the floor, burying my face in my knees as silent tears streamed down my cheeks. The Joss who told me everything, who promised to marry me right after graduation, who never let me doubt him—he was gone. There was nothing left to say. In a haze of pain and anger, I told him it was over. His only reply was a cold, flat, “Whatever you want.” Five days after we broke up, one of Joss’s friends called me, trying to play peacemaker. “We just showed up to surprise him for his birthday, Ava. He didn’t plan it. Look, he was wrong, but don’t you think you’ve been a little clingy while he’s been trying to finish his thesis? Everyone needs some space.” Even Iris sounded exasperated with me. “Ava, I have a guy I like, you’ve seen his picture! Joss is your boyfriend. Why would I ever try to steal him from you?” Their words echoed in my head. I started to wonder if I had overreacted, if I was being selfish and impulsive. I decided to talk to Joss, to try and fix things. And that’s when I walked in on them. We had been broken up for one week, and he’d already moved on with my roommate. A seamless transition, indeed. That night, I took Ricky with me. Since my dorm didn’t allow pets, I had to leave him at my parents’ house for the time being. I curled up in bed, my mind replaying the image of their kiss over and over, my imagination torturing me with scenes of what might have come next. A cold dread prickled at my scalp, and the knot in my chest tightened until I could barely breathe. Desperate for an outlet, I went online and found a public forum. I poured out all my pain and betrayal into a long, anonymous post answering a question about “seamless rebounds.” I woke up the next morning to a firestorm. My phone had exploded. 99+ notifications. “Why do you think he agreed to the breakup so fast? It’s obvious he already had someone lined up.” “I agree with the comment above. It’s not a ‘seamless rebound’ if the cheating was happening all along. He just needed an excuse to make the side piece official.” Somehow, through my descriptions of the campus and the city, users had figured out which university I attended. They put the pieces together and identified me and Iris by name. The post went viral on campus forums, with hundreds of students weighing in. “Iris always seemed so sweet and innocent. Guess she’s just another backstabbing snake.” “I know the boyfriend, he’s in the math department. Super smart, really handsome. No wonder she sank her claws into him…” “Is no one else going to talk about the part where the cheater came back from his ‘phone call’ with his shirt buttoned all the way up? He was definitely hiding something…” I stared at the flood of comments, a numb, hollow feeling spreading through me. My call log was full of missed calls, my messages overflowing. They were all from Joss. I turned off my phone and went downstairs to grab some food. He was waiting for me. As soon as I stepped outside, he strode toward me, his face a thunderous mask. “Take the post down,” he commanded, his voice cold as ice. The rage I felt, fueled by the validation from strangers online, boiled over. “When did it start between you two?” I demanded. “Was it that night at the movies? Or was it even earlier?” Joss’s face was impassive. “Ava, is there any point in discussing this now?” He didn’t answer. But he didn’t deny it, either. And in that silence, I had my answer. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, a sound of pure self-mockery. “If you didn’t love me anymore, you could have just told me. I wouldn’t have clung to you. Why did you have to—” “I’m not going to say it again,” he cut me off, a warning edge to his voice, his patience clearly gone. “Letting this blow up won’t do you any good, either. Take. The post. Down.” His words hung in the air, cold and menacing. I stared at him, a wave of dizzying disorientation washing over me. Was this really the same Joss I had known my whole life? When we were kids, my family didn’t have much money. A girl in our class, who had always disliked me, accused me of stealing her hair clip. She grabbed a handful of my hair and viciously shoved the butterfly clip she’d “found” in my backpack onto my head. “You’ve never worn anything this nice in your life, have you?” she sneered. “Stealing a ten-dollar hair clip. Just how poor are you?” Everyone called me a thief. Everyone except Joss. He stood up, his voice calm and clear, and told the teacher that he had seen the girl plant the clip in my bag herself. We became friends after that. He was the quiet, serious boy who protected me. Now, that boy was gone. In his place was a man who wouldn’t even let me finish a sentence. He was protecting someone else now. A wave of grief and bitterness so strong it almost buckled my knees washed over me. “I’m not deleting it,” I whispered, then turned and fled. That evening, when I went to pick up a food delivery, I felt eyes on me. I heard whispers, saw the strange, pitying glances. “They’re both as bad as each other, if you ask me.” “Desperate for attention, I guess.” A cold sense of dread crept up my spine. I rushed back to my room and turned on my phone. There it was: an anonymous reply to my original post, and it had already gone viral. The title read: The plot twist you didn’t see coming: She was cheating on her boyfriend with another man six months ago! (With photographic evidence!) The post was a long, scathing takedown, painting me as a master manipulator who had been cheating for months and was now playing the victim to ruin her ex-boyfriend and roommate’s reputations. And unlike my post, this one had a picture. In the photo, I was standing outside a hotel with a tall, well-built guy. My arm was linked through his, and his hand was resting possessively on my waist. The lighting was dim, but you could see him looking down at me, our bodies close. And the man was definitely not Joss. My post had generated so much traffic that this counter-post instantly blew up. The tide of public opinion turned in a flash. The same people who had been defending me were now tearing me apart, their comments even more vicious than the ones aimed at Iris. Suddenly, one comment shot to the top. “Wait, isn’t that Johnny Croft from Northwood University? The campus ice prince?” The replies came fast and furious: “No way! Why would Johnny be with her?” “I heard Johnny has a girlfriend, the prettiest girl in the literature department…” “Wow. So Ava was the other woman all along. The cheater got cheated on. Karma’s a bitch!” My hands shook with rage as I dialed Iris’s number. “Was that you?” I demanded. I could hear the smile in her voice. “What if it was?” she purred. “You started this, Ava. I’m just finishing it.” Before I could say another word, she let out a sharp gasp. “On the phone,” Iris said, her voice breathy and uneven. Then I heard Joss’s voice, lazy and indifferent. “What’s there to talk about with her?” The line went quiet, but it wasn’t dead. I could hear their breathing, heavy and close, then the distinct, faint sound of a zipper being pulled down. I slammed the phone down, ending the call. My whole body was trembling. After a moment, my fingers, clumsy and numb, typed out a message to someone in my contacts list. I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. I’ll handle it. I’m really, truly sorry. A few minutes later, a reply came back. It’s fine. Two simple words. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. The truth was, I barely knew Johnny Croft. This was a complete nightmare for him. He was a friend of my cousin’s, and six months ago, my cousin brought him to visit. I was the one who helped them book a hotel room. As we were leaving, I was looking down at my phone and almost walked into traffic. Johnny grabbed me, pulling me back onto the curb just in time. Iris was there that day. She must have been the one who took the picture. The world felt insane. Even after my cousin, Johnny, and I all posted explanations, providing the hotel booking confirmation with our names on it, the internet didn’t seem to care. Maybe they didn’t want the truth. They wanted drama. They wanted a winner and a loser. My life became a public spectacle. People would point and whisper when I walked across campus. It was then that Iris messaged me, saying we needed to talk. In person. My cousin, knowing how I tend to avoid confrontation, offered to come with me, but I told him I had to do this alone. She chose a coffee shop. When I arrived, she and Joss were already there, waiting. “There you are, Ava,” Iris said with a saccharine smile. I ignored her, walking to the table and sitting down without a word. I could feel Joss’s cold gaze on me, but I kept my eyes fixed on Iris. “What do you want to talk about?” “Talk?” Iris let out a theatrical laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, sweetie. You’re in no position to be making demands.” A humorless laugh escaped my own lips. “So that mystery guy you were supposedly in love with all these years… it was always Joss, wasn’t it? You were lying to me the entire time.” “Yes,” she admitted, without a shred of shame. “It was love at first sight.” My hand tightened into a fist under the table. “That night at the movies… did he come to your theater?” “Nope.” I stared at her, confused. “We went to the…” she said, drawing out each word with malicious glee, “…rest-room… together.” “Enough,” I snapped, unable to bear hearing another disgusting detail. Even though I had suspected it, hearing the confirmation felt like a physical blow. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened,” Iris said, though her tone held no remorse. “I can take down the post about you and Johnny.” “But,” she continued, her smile turning sharp, “you have to delete your original post. And you have to issue a public apology to me.” “Never!” I shot back, my body trembling with rage. Iris’s smile widened. She reached into her bag and slid a stack of photographs across the table. “Deleting your post is not an option. And a public apology is even more—” My words choked in my throat as my eyes fell on the photos. They were blurry, dark, and utterly vile. My blood ran cold. “How… how did you get these?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “How do you even know about…” My mind fractured. The images on the table triggered a cascade of memories I had locked away in the darkest corner of my mind. After Joss had stood up for me and exposed the girl who framed me for stealing the butterfly clip, she had targeted him for revenge. Her older brother was a local thug, the kind of person everyone was afraid of. For weeks, Joss wore long sleeves and masks, even in the heat. I found bruises on his arms and back, but he would just stand there silently while I put ointment on them, his jaw tight with pain. I would cry, my tears falling onto his bruised skin, and he would be the one to comfort me, his voice rough with pain. “I’m fine, Ava, really. Don’t cry. It doesn’t even hurt.” Then one day, I was cutting through an alley and saw them. Her brother had Joss pinned to the ground, his boot grinding Joss’s fingers into the filthy pavement. That’s when I understood the real price he had paid for defending me. I didn’t think. I just ran, shoving the guy off him, screaming at them to leave Joss alone, lying that the campus security was on their way. The brother grabbed me, his fingers digging into my jaw. He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. “Security? I don’t think so. But you know what? You do something for me, and I’ll let your little boyfriend go.” I fought, I screamed, I cried, but I was powerless. Through my tears, I could see Joss, unconscious on the ground. Later, somehow, Joss got the photos back. He held me so tight, his eyes red-rimmed, and his voice broke as he promised me, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” “If you don’t delete that post and apologize to me,” Iris’s voice sliced through my memories, “I can’t guarantee where these little pictures might end up. What will your parents think? What will the entire internet think?” How could Iris have these? How could she possibly know? “How do I know?” Iris’s voice was a low, cruel murmur, each word a needle piercing my heart. “You’ve already guessed, haven’t you?” A roar filled my ears. I slowly, mechanically, turned my head to look at Joss. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His gaze was fixed on the table, anywhere but at me. I felt my body turn to ice. A single word escaped my lips, a ghost of a sound. “Why…?” You promised. You promised you would never let anyone hurt me again.

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In the quiet of the ultrasound room, I heard my two babies arguing. A soft, sweet voice whimpered, [Sister, you’re squishing me.] A fierce one shot back, [Back off, this is my space!] My heart leaped. “Is it twins?” I asked the doctor, my voice trembling with excitement. But the doctor only glanced at my husband standing behind me before shaking his head. “Mrs. Sterling, you’re mistaken. There’s only one gestational sac.” My husband, Ethan, wrapped an arm around my shoulders, his voice a warm smile. “See? You’re so excited you’re seeing things.” Was I? But I had clearly heard that fierce little voice sneer, [He knows what’s good for him. If he’d spilled the beans, Dad wouldn’t have let him get away with it.] 1 Back home, I sat on the sofa, the words he knows what’s good for him echoing in my mind. Dad? Which dad? I rested a hand on my stomach, my palm cold as ice. A terrible thought began to take root in the pit of my stomach. Ethan walked over with a glass of warm milk, placing it gently beside my hand. “What’s wrong? Still thinking about twins?” he murmured. “Don’t let your imagination run away with you. The doctor said there’s just one. Let’s focus on keeping this one healthy and safe.” His smile was so tender, his eyes filled with the same adoration I’d fallen in love with. I lowered my gaze to hide the chill in my own eyes and obediently picked up the glass. [Hypocrite.] Lifting the milk, I asked with feigned casualness, “Ethan, a friend of mine is pregnant too, and she’s having twins. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had two babies?” I watched his face, refusing to miss a single flicker of emotion. For a fraction of a second, the hand holding his own glass tightened. It was almost imperceptible. “Twins are too high-risk,” he said, his voice still gentle but strained around the edges. “All I want is for you and our baby to be safe.” I looked down, a cold, invisible smile touching my lips. I see. That night, I lay in bed, pretending to be asleep. Ethan tiptoed into the room, assuming I was lost to the world. He stood by the bed for a long time, so long that my facade almost cracked. Then, I felt his cool fingers rest on my belly. It wasn’t the loving touch of a father-to-be. His fingers moved with the cold precision of an assessment, tracing my skin inch by inch, as if he were measuring, calculating. I went rigid, not daring to breathe. The soft, sweet voice whimpered again, full of tears. [Sister, I’m scared…] The fierce, masculine voice was instantly reassuring. [Don’t be. I’m here.] Then, he spoke to the other baby in my womb. [You’d better lie low, too. Don’t let him find you.] My heart plummeted. Him? Who was him? Ethan? What could he find? Just then, I heard Ethan let out the softest sigh, a sound thick with regret, before he turned and left the room. My eyes flew open. I touched the spot where his hand had been. It was cold as stone. Two days later, Ethan presented me with a new phone. “Less radiation. It’s better for the baby,” he said with a smile. I stared at the basic feature phone, capable of nothing more than calls and texts, and laughed inwardly. Less radiation, or easier to monitor? He took my old smartphone and, with practiced ease, wiped it clean. “Out with the old, in with the new.” He said it so casually, as if he were just throwing out trash. My heart sank a little deeper. A few days after that, my mother-in-law—the matriarch of the Sterling family—moved into our villa. She didn’t come alone. She brought an entire entourage: a nutritionist, a nanny, and two stone-faced bodyguards. The official reason was to take better care of me. “Ava, from this day forward, your meals will be prepared by Mrs. Davis. She is the best prenatal nutritionist in the field,” my mother-in-law announced from the sofa, her tone leaving no room for argument. I looked at the woman, Mrs. Davis, who pushed her glasses up her nose, her eyes sharp and clinical. My life was no longer my own. I couldn’t go out. I couldn’t see my friends. My world had shrunk to the walls of this house. Ethan came home every evening, showering me with affection and concern. But to my ears, his sweet words were coated in poison. 2 The fierce baby seemed to sense the escalating danger. [That old witch is up to no good.] [She’s putting something in your soup. Small doses, but she never stops.] My hand, holding the soup bowl, was steady as a rock. I even managed a placating smile for my mother-in-law. “Thank you, Mother. The soup is delicious.” As I drank, I watched her from the corner of my eye. A satisfied smile spread across her lips. I tilted my head back and finished every last drop. Then, excusing myself to the bathroom, I ran inside, jammed my fingers down my throat, and forced myself to throw it all up. I didn’t stop until my stomach was empty, heaving with nothing but bitter acid. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor. I couldn’t just wait for them to act. I had to contact the outside world. I remembered a spare phone I’d hidden in an old suitcase, tucked away in the back of my walk-in closet. During a shift change for the bodyguards, I slipped into the closet and locked the door. I found the phone. Thank God, it still had a charge. My hands trembled as I dialed my best friend, Zoe. She picked up on the first ring. “Hello? Ava?” The moment I heard her voice, tears welled in my eyes. “Zoe, I…” I only managed to get two words out before the closet door was kicked open. My mother-in-law stood in the doorway, flanked by her two bodyguards, a glacial smile on her face. “Ava. Who are you calling?” She advanced on me, the sharp click-clack of her heels on the hardwood floor echoing the frantic hammering of my heart. I instinctively tried to hide the phone behind my back. She gave me no time to react. With a single glance, a bodyguard lunged forward and brutally snatched the phone from my hand. My mother-in-law took it, her eyes falling on the name on the screen. “Zoe?” She let out a soft, contemptuous laugh. “It seems I’ve been too soft on you. You’ve forgotten your place.” Then, right in front of me, she threw the phone to the floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. Still not satisfied, she lifted her foot and ground it under the heel of her expensive, custom-made shoe. “I will eliminate anyone, and anything, that might distract you from a healthy pregnancy.” With that, she turned and walked away, as if the vicious woman from a moment ago had never existed. I stared at the mangled remains of the phone, the blood in my veins turning to ice. I was well and truly a prisoner. That evening, when Ethan came home, his mother told him everything. I thought he might say something, anything, in my defense. But he just listened in silence before walking over and crouching in front of me. “Ava, Mom just has your best interests at heart. The most important thing for you right now is to rest and focus on the baby. Don’t overthink things.” His voice was as gentle as water, but it sent a chill straight to my bones. I looked at him, my own voice low and deliberate. “Ethan, I am your wife. Not a broodmare for your family.” A crack appeared in his gentle facade. “How can you think that? I love you, Ava.” [Love? His love is locking you up and plotting to kill one of your children,] the fierce baby sneered in my mind. I closed my eyes, unable to look at his deceitful face any longer. From that day on, the surveillance tightened. The two bodyguards were stationed outside my bedroom door, day and night. I couldn’t even close the bathroom door. So I started a hunger strike. It was the only form of protest I had left. On the first day, my mother-in-law watched with cold indifference. On the second, she resorted to threats. “Ava, don’t push your luck. If you harm my grandchild, I will make your entire family pay the price.” My parents were my only weakness. My eyes turned red. “You wouldn’t dare!” “Try me.” 3 She threw a file onto the table. “That little diner your parents own… it seems they’ve had some trouble passing recent health inspections.” I trembled with rage. I had to give in. I started eating again, but every bite felt like swallowing shards of glass. I had to find a way out. I couldn’t let them win. A plan slowly began to form in my mind. That afternoon, when the nanny wasn’t looking, I quietly poured some shower gel on the bathroom floor. Then, with a carefully timed “accident,” I slipped and fell, hard. “Ah!” I let out a piercing scream, clutching my stomach. The nanny’s face went white with terror. She shrieked and ran for help. In moments, Ethan and his mother burst in. Seeing me on the floor, a faint stain of blood spreading beneath me, Ethan’s face turned ashen. “Quick! Call the family doctor!” his mother yelled. My heart sank. The family doctor. Again. I had been betting on their panic, hoping they would rush me to the nearest public hospital. I lost the bet. But my mind was already racing, trying to figure out how to use this “injury” to create my next opportunity. Dr. Evans, the family doctor, arrived quickly. He ran a series of checks, then turned to Ethan and his mother with a grave expression. “Madam, Sir, the fall was quite serious. It has stressed the pregnancy. She needs immediate bed rest. I recommend we start an IV drip with nutrients to stabilize the fetus.” I lay on the bed, my body cold with dread. I heard the fierce voice in my womb curse furiously. [You idiot! Did you really think they were fools? A stunt like this will only make them tighten their grip!] I closed my eyes in despair. The cold liquid snaked its way down the tube and into my veins. A powerful wave of drowsiness washed over me. My eyelids grew heavy. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard the soft, sweet voice cry out, [Sister, I don’t feel good… My body is so hot…] It was followed by a furious, masculine roar. [Damn it! They’re drugging us! This medicine… it’s meant for me! They’re trying to kill me!] My consciousness drifted in a black void, but my body felt like it was on fire. No, I can’t sleep. With every ounce of strength I had, I bit down hard on my tongue. The sharp pain shocked me back to a sliver of clarity. I forced my eyes open. The room was empty. On the back of my hand, the cool liquid was still flowing into my bloodstream. This was it. The thing that was trying to kill my child. With my free hand, I trembled, then ripped the needle from my skin. The pain was blinding, and a searing heat shot through my veins. I ignored it, scrambling off the bed and stumbling into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face again and again, fighting to stay awake. The drug was potent. My body grew hotter, but my limbs were turning to lead. Inside me, the fierce voice was growing weaker. [Hang on… you stupid woman… don’t fall asleep…] I slid down the cold wall to the floor, gasping for air. It wasn’t long before I heard hurried footsteps outside. “Ava! Open the door! Ava!” It was Ethan, his voice laced with panic. I didn’t make a sound. “Break it down!” his mother shrieked. With a deafening crash, the bathroom door splintered open. 4 Ethan rushed in. When he saw me slumped on the floor, the pool of blood at his feet, and the discarded IV needle on the bed, his face twisted into an ugly mask. He strode forward and grabbed my arm. “Ava! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” His grip was crushing. I looked up at his face, a canvas of feigned “concern” and “rage,” and I started to laugh. “What am I doing? Ethan, why don’t you ask yourself what you’re doing?” I pointed to the IV bag still hanging by the bed. “What’s in there? Nutrients? Do you take me for a fool?” “What is it?! Why are you trying to kill our child?!” I screamed the words. Ethan’s expression froze, the panic in his eyes swiftly replaced by a look of profound hurt. “Ava, calm down. It’s not what you think.” He tried to pull me into an embrace, but I shoved him away. “Not what I think? Then what is it? Tell me!” His mother stood in the doorway, watching our performance with cold detachment. “Ethan, why are you wasting your breath on her? If she wants to die, then let her—” “Mom!” Ethan cut her off sharply, shooting her a warning glance. Her face tightened, but she fell silent, though the venom in her eyes remained. Ethan turned back to me, his features contorting into a mask of anguish. He knelt, taking my hands in his, his voice hoarse. “Ava, I’m sorry. I’ve been hiding something from you.” “We are having twins.” My heart skipped a beat. “But…” He took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes turning red. “We ran the most advanced genetic screening… and we discovered that… the boy… he has a severe congenital heart defect.” “The doctors said he wouldn’t live past his first birthday. And his presence in the womb is putting the other, healthy baby at risk. It’s even putting you at risk.” “So… we made the decision… to only keep the healthy one.” He delivered the lines with tears in his eyes, but I could feel the smug triumph hidden deep beneath the surface.

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My girlfriend, Judy, and I had a deal: if she went from 175 pounds down to 99, we’d get married. Today was the day she made good on her promise. At the gym, the numbers on the digital scale finally ticked over from 99.1 to 99.0. Her personal trainer, Barry, was even more ecstatic than she was. He let out a whoop and swept her up into his arms. “Judy! You did it! You’re amazing!” The way they looked at each other, the air between them thick with a syrupy sweetness, it was as if the rest of the world had melted away, leaving only the two of them. Our friends were cheering, whooping, and hollering. I was the only one who felt like a ghost at the party. Calmly, I unlocked my phone. With the image of them celebrating, his lips pressing against her forehead, as my backdrop, I deleted the wedding planning checklist. Then, I raised my phone and announced, my voice cutting through the noise like ice, “Judy, the wedding is off.” 1 The cheering died instantly. The air went still. The ecstatic joy on Judy’s face froze. She signaled for Barry to put her down, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at me. “Bob? What did you just say?” Beside her, a flicker of triumph crossed Barry’s handsome, chiseled face. He took Judy’s arm, his tone a perfect blend of innocence and concern. “Bob, man, don’t be mad. Judy… she’s just really, really happy.” He said her name, Judy, with an easy, practiced intimacy that made my stomach turn. I let out a short, bitter laugh, my gaze fixed on her. “Me, mad?” “Should I be happy? Should I be thrilled that my fiancée lost all this weight for another man?” The color drained from Judy’s face, as if I’d struck a nerve. She lunged at me. “Bob! What the hell is wrong with you?!” she shrieked, grabbing my arm. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through for you these last three years? I went from one hundred and seventy-five pounds to ninety-nine! I lost seventy-six pounds! And now that I’ve done it, you’re calling it off? How dare you back out now!” “For me?” I didn’t resist, letting her grip dig into my skin. I raised my other hand and pointed to her phone. “Why don’t you show everyone your lock screen?” She froze. Her grip on my wrist loosened just a fraction. Our friends exchanged confused glances. Barry’s smile was gone, replaced by a tense line. Judy’s eyes darted away, unable to meet mine, before a fresh wave of fury washed over her face. “You went through my phone? Bob, have you no shame? You’re disgusting!” She spat the word disgusting like it was poison. Her best friend, Jessica—our maid of honor—immediately jumped to her defense. “Bob, that’s completely out of line! How can you even suspect Judy?” “Yeah, seriously, snooping through her phone is so low.” “Dude, have some confidence. Don’t be so insecure.” A wall of people formed around Judy, shielding her as if I were some kind of monster. They barraged me with accusations, condemning my mistrust, my jealousy. Not a single one of them asked me why. I watched the absurd scene unfold, watching them protect Judy like she was a precious queen. And suddenly, I just felt tired. So incredibly tired. I shook her hand off and turned to leave. Jessica’s voice, laced with a strange, triumphant tone, followed me. “Bob, if you walk out that door today, you’ll never get to see the ‘surprise’ Judy had waiting for you.” 2 I went back to the apartment Judy and I had shared for three years. I couldn’t care less about her so-called “surprise.” All I wanted was to pack my things and get out of this suffocating place. I pulled out my largest suitcase and began to pack with a numb efficiency. I opened my desk drawer to get my diploma and other important documents. Lying right on top was a large manila envelope. The words stamped on the front in gold foil made my blood run cold. “The Veridian Condominiums – Purchase Agreement” My heart plummeted. We had been planning to buy a place after the wedding, and The Veridian was our top choice. Could this be the “surprise” Jessica was talking about? Had she actually bought the condo behind my back? A complicated sliver of hope rose in my chest. With trembling hands, I opened the envelope. I flipped through the contract to the buyer information page. My eyes locked on the space next to “Buyer.” It wasn’t my name. It wasn’t Judy’s name, either. It was Barry’s. My mind went blank, a roar filling my ears. I forced my eyes to keep reading. Payment Method: Paid in full. Total Price: $283,000. Tucked into the last page of the contract was a bank receipt. The funds had been transferred from a joint account. Account Holders: Bob Sterling, Judy Hayes. The account balance, which had been over $285,000, was now just over two thousand. That money… that was every penny I had saved over seven years of working, of pinching pennies, of skipping lunches. It was the money for our wedding, for our home, for our future. And now, it was a condo in Barry’s name. The papers trembled in my hand. So, she hadn’t just cheated on me. She had stolen every last cent I had to buy a home for her lover. Click. The front door opened. Judy walked in. She saw the contract in my hand and didn’t even flinch. “You saw it.” My voice was a dry rasp. Every word was an effort. “Where is our wedding money?” Judy scoffed. “Your money? Bob, can you stop being so petty?” She crossed her arms, looking down at me. “It was our joint property. I used it for an investment. What’s the problem?” “An investment?” I repeated the word. “Buying a condo for your trainer is an ‘investment’?” “What else would it be?” she shot back. “Barry helped me lose the weight. I was grateful. I bought him a condo as a thank you. Is that so wrong? Besides, the location is great; it’s bound to go up in value. We can sell it later and the money will be ours. Can you stop being so small-minded for once?” I was too furious to speak. I just stared at her, my gaze burning. She grew impatient under my scrutiny and pulled another document from her purse, tossing it in my face. “Oh, right. You can sign this while you’re at it.” The paper fluttered to the floor. I looked down. A prenuptial agreement. 3 The next day, I dragged myself to work, exhausted. I hadn’t slept, my mind replaying the humiliating terms of the prenup. It stated, in no uncertain terms, that all of the groom’s pre-marital assets would become joint property upon marriage. However, all of the bride’s assets, including the “invested” condo in Barry’s name, would remain her sole property. If we divorced, I would walk away with nothing. Just then, the receptionist called my office. “Mr. Sterling, there’s a woman at the front desk claiming to be your mother-in-law. She says it’s urgent.” A vein throbbed in my temple. “Tell her to wait. I’ll be down in a bit,” I said. I hung up and sent Judy a text. Get your mom out of my office building. Now. Crickets. Half an hour later, my office door flew open. My assistant rushed in, frantic. “Mr. Sterling, you need to come downstairs! Your mother-in-law… she’s making a huge scene in the lobby!” My stomach dropped. I bolted out of my office. The ground floor lobby was already a circus. Judy’s mother, Brenda, was sitting on the floor, slapping her thighs and wailing at the top of her lungs. She was flanked by a group of relatives I’d never seen before. They were holding a white banner with huge, dripping red letters. “BOB STERLING, THE HEARTLESS CHEAT! USED MY DAUGHTER AND THREW HER AWAY!” Every eye in the lobby was on me. Pity, contempt, morbid curiosity. I could feel the blood rushing to my head. “Brenda! What are you doing here?!” I moved to pull her up. She slapped my hand away and cried even louder. “Don’t you call me that! I don’t have a snake like you for a son-in-law!” She pointed a finger at my nose and sobbed to the crowd of my colleagues. “Everyone, come and judge for yourselves! This man… he shamed my daughter for being overweight, forced her to go on a diet!” “For him, my baby girl starved herself for three years! She lost over seventy pounds, she nearly wasted away to nothing!” “And now that she’s beautiful and skinny, he wants to kick her to the curb and find some younger girl! He used her and threw her away! He’s a monster!” She twisted the truth, fabricating a narrative that painted me as the ultimate villain. Whispers rippled through the crowd. “Wow, I never would have guessed he was that kind of person.” “I know, right? I saw his girlfriend once. She was bigger, but she looks amazing now.” “Ugh, men. What do you expect?” My face was pale with fury, but I was speechless. Two security guards tried to intervene, but the relatives swarmed them. “They’re hitting us! The company is assaulting us!” “Big corporation bullying ordinary people!” The scene devolved into chaos. It ended, predictably, with me being summoned to the CEO’s office. “Bob,” the CEO said, his face grim. “This company has an image to maintain. I don’t care what you do in your private life, but this has become a serious problem for our reputation.” “I’m placing you on temporary leave. Don’t come back until you’ve cleaned up this mess.” I walked out of his office feeling like my world had collapsed. I returned home in a daze. The moment I opened the door, I froze. The apartment was destroyed. My collection of rare, first-edition books was torn to shreds, pages scattered like confetti. My prized collectible models were smashed to pieces. My favorite guitar, the one I’d had since college, had its strings snapped, a gaping hole punched through its body. And sitting on the sofa, with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, was Barry. He was casually toying with a shard of one of my broken models. Judy stood beside him, a golf club resting in her hand. 4 “Just cleaning out some trash,” Judy said when she saw me, not a hint of remorse on her face. Her chin was tilted in defiance, her tone dripping with contempt. “This junk should have been thrown out years ago.” Barry stood up and walked over to me. “Mr. Sterling, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Judy did this for your own good. This stuff is beneath the man you’re going to be.” I looked at him, then at Judy standing behind him. “Get. Out.” I squeezed the words through my teeth. “What did you say?” Barry’s smile vanished, his eyes turning cold. “I said, both of you, get out of my apartment.” “Your apartment?” Judy laughed, a loud, theatrical sound. “Bob, are you still dreaming? I rent this place. It has nothing to do with you.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a digital rental agreement. “Look closely. The lessee is Judy Hayes. You’re just a guest who’s overstayed his welcome. Now, I’m telling you to get out. Understand?” I stared at the contract. I remembered now. Three years ago, we’d rented this place because it was closer to her job. I thought it didn’t matter who signed the lease. I never imagined she would use it as a weapon against me. “Fine,” I nodded. “I’ll leave.” “Wait,” Barry called out. He pulled a small black object from his pocket and dangled it in front of me. It was a pinhole camera. “Mr. Sterling, you’re a smart man,” he said slowly. “Judy has a soft heart; she doesn’t want to make things ugly. Just give us the copy of that purchase agreement, post a statement online saying you two broke up amicably for personal reasons, and we can all move on.” I said nothing. I just looked at him. Judy stepped forward, her voice impatient. “Bob, don’t make this harder than it has to be. I’m holding all the cards here.” She opened her phone. On the screen was a live feed of my parents’ living room. My mother was busy in the kitchen; my father was on the sofa, watching TV. “You…” Judy’s smile was triumphant. “Your parents are getting older. Their memories aren’t what they used to be. What if they forgot to turn off the gas one day? Or what if one of them slipped in the shower…” She let the threat hang in the air. I stared at her, my body trembling with a rage so profound it felt like it would tear me apart. Just then, my phone rang. My mother’s name flashed on the screen. I answered, my hand shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. “Mom…” Her voice on the other end was panicked, choked with tears. “Bob! Come home! Quick!” “It’s your father… he… he fell down the stairs!”

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1 Marcel was a trust-fund kid playing poor to date me. It was all a cruel little game, something for him and his buddies to laugh about. I knew all of this. I knew the script by heart. But even knowing Marcel was a liar, even as I worked three jobs to support his lazy ass, I didn’t complain. How could I? My entire online brand was built on being the “ultimate ride-or-die girlfriend,” the girl who’d do anything for her man. And let’s be honest, with a face like Marcel’s, he was premium content. But I’m also a realist. In the world of internet fame, you have to keep things fresh if you want to stay relevant. So, when Marcel finally decided to drop the act, pulling his childhood sweetheart, Amy, into a nauseating embrace right in front of me, I was ready. I simply pulled out my phone—already live-streaming—and let the waterworks begin. “Hey fam,” I sobbed into the camera, “this is the ninety-ninth time he’s cheated on me. I think… I think I’m finally done.” “Drop some hearts in the chat if you think I should dump him for good!” … Crestwood had been drowning in rain for weeks. I stumbled home, soaked and miserable, just in time to overhear Marcel on the phone. The door to our rundown apartment was so flimsy his voice bled right through it. “Yeah, she’s out delivering food even in this downpour. Says she makes more during peak hours.” A pause. “For my birthday a few days ago? She got me a bottle of designer cologne. She must be totally broke now.” Another chuckle. “Her birthday? I gave her a plastic ring from a gumball machine. You’d think I gave her the moon, she was so touched.” He was really getting into it now. “Friends? Please. She doesn’t have any. Her entire world revolves around me.” “Honestly, though, it’s getting a little boring. She’s just… too easy.” “I’ll give it a little longer. Once I’m completely tired of her, I’ll dump her.” His voice was a lazy, self-satisfied drawl. And why wouldn’t it be? He had a complete doormat worshiping the ground he walked on, a doormat who worked herself to the bone to pay his bills and validate his ego. Instead of anger, a different kind of thrill shot through me. I waited patiently for him to hang up before turning the key in the lock. When I walked in, he flinched, quickly pocketing his phone. “You… you just get back?” he asked, a flicker of panic in his eyes. I played my part, feigning ignorance as I collapsed onto the worn-out welcome mat. “Yeah, I’m exhausted.” Then, I beamed, a perfect picture of naive devotion. “But I made an extra fifty bucks today! We can get something nice for dinner!” I threw my arms around him, and I felt the tension leave his body as he realized I hadn’t heard a thing. Later that night, as Marcel washed the dishes from our takeout spicy noodle bowls, I snuck a picture from behind him. The photo captured half of my face, smiling softly, and the sharp, beautiful line of his jaw. I crafted the perfect caption: “With you, even a cheap bowl of noodles feels like a feast. ” Marcel was used to my constant photo-ops and gushing social media posts. It was all part of the act. A girl this pathetically devoted was a rare find, and he was more than happy to play along, encouraging my obsession. I posted the photo, set my phone to silent, and curled up next to him on the lumpy sofa to watch some dumb TV show. Within the hour, the post was already gaining traction. Most of the comments, as usual, were calling me an idiot. A few defenders would pop up: “She’s just having noodles with her boyfriend… why is everyone being so mean?” And they’d be immediately shut down: “Dude, you need to check her post history. This girl is a case study in terminal desperation.” “She works three jobs to support this guy, even after catching him sexting his ‘childhood friend.’ She’s a lost cause.” Soon, the thread was a waterfall of people pitying me, disgusted by my lack of self-respect. I couldn’t have cared less. A new message had just popped up in my DMs from a potential sponsor. “Hi Mae, we love your content! Would you be interested in promoting our new couples’ app?” “Compensation is negotiable.” I snuggled deeper into Marcel’s arms, a genuine smile gracing my lips as I typed back a reply. He nudged my chin. “What are you smiling about?” I squeezed his hand, my voice full of manufactured excitement. “I just got an offer for a one-day gig tomorrow! Another fifty bucks!” I declared proudly. “Once I save up enough, I’m taking my baby out for a proper dinner!” Marcel was hiding his real life from me, and I was hiding my real job from him. Seemed fair. I’d known from the start what a nasty piece of work Marcel was. I knew this whole relationship was a game to him. But damn, that face of his was a work of art. Among the guys in my orbit back then, he was on another level. My name is Mae. The matron at the orphanage gave it to me. I was left on their doorstep in the dead of winter, right when the single, stubborn plum tree in their courtyard decided to bloom against all odds. So yes, I was genuinely poor. No trust fund, no magic wand. I grew up in the system, bounced around rural foster homes, with no family connections and no knack for academics. When I first tried to make it as a content creator, I got zero traction. So when a guy like Marcel wandered into my life, even knowing his motives, I was more than willing to play his game. After all, any video with his face in it got an insane amount of views. But I’ve been poor for too long. It makes you greedy. So, not a single penny of the money I earned online ever made its way to Marcel. If he knew, he’d find a way to make my life a living hell. He fed on my misery, like a handsome parasite. Whenever I shared good news, he’d cut me down. “That dress is hideous on you. Makes your waist look thick. Return it.” “God, can’t you just relax? It’s only a few hundred dollars! So what if I bought some new clothes? Not my problem if we can’t afford groceries now!” “You’re the one who promised to love me forever! That was the deal when we got together!” “What, are you thinking of backing out now? You want to leave me?!” Every time, without fail, he’d use my initial promises against me. And every time he saw me miserable, he’d soften, pulling me close and whispering sweet apologies. It was a sick cycle. Given the stakes, there was no way I could let him know I was secretly making bank. So, I rented a small, clean studio apartment not far from our shared dump. My “long, grueling workdays” were spent there, writing ad scripts in peace. When I got tired, I’d hop on the treadmill I’d bought, pushing myself until I was a sweaty, exhausted mess—the perfect picture of a girl run ragged. Then I’d drag myself back to our grimy little apartment. Marcel ate it up. He’d greet me at the door each night, a smug little smile playing on his lips as he took in my disheveled state. “You’re back? Tough day? How much did you make?” And I’d force a weary smile, dutifully reporting my meager earnings. These moments of fake domestic bliss were always short-lived. Inevitably, a call would come and he’d have to leave. “It’s my business partner,” he’d explain hurriedly, “we’re trying to get a startup off the ground.” I would nod obediently and watch him go. Of course, I knew exactly who was calling: his precious Amy. She loved the idea of me being played for a fool, but she couldn’t stand Marcel showing me any affection. So, she made it a habit to summon him away almost every night. Once, I followed them. I got photos and a video of them in his car. In the clip, they were tangled together, a dangerous, electric heat between them. Amy’s eyes were glistening as she bit his lip, a playful punishment. “When are you going to dump that charity case, Marcel? I hate having to sneak around like this! It’s humiliating!” He showered her with kisses and soothing words. “Soon, baby, soon. Just a little longer. Aren’t you having fun watching the show? When the time comes, I’ll make her get on her knees and beg me not to leave. She’s so obsessed with me, she’ll do anything we want. You can play with your new little toy however you like.” I clipped a piece of that audio and posted it online. It caused an uproar. Using it as an excuse, I picked a massive fight with Marcel. He wasn’t done playing his game yet, so he wasn’t ready to let me go. He recorded a video, tears in his eyes, promising me he would never, ever do it again. I immediately posted his tearful apology video with the caption: “Thank you all for your concern. He knows he was wrong. I believe everyone deserves a second chance. Please wish us luck.” As expected, I was torn to shreds online. But the hate-views sent my engagement through the roof. After that stunt, my online persona was set in stone. I was infamous. People made entire YouTube videos dissecting my toxic relationship. A whole community even popped up, calling themselves experts in “Mae-ology,” dedicated to analyzing my every love-sick move. But I knew this couldn’t last. The pathetic, devoted girlfriend shtick has a shelf life, even with Marcel’s pretty face as bait. Change is the only constant. I learned that lesson early. I just didn’t expect Marcel to be the one to force my hand. It was midnight, and he still wasn’t home. A strange anxiety fluttered in my chest. A storm was brewing; I could feel it in my bones. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang. It was him. “Marcel, where are you? Are you okay?” I asked, my voice trembling on cue. “Mae, get over here,” he slurred. “I’m drunk. Come pick me up on your moped.” He texted me an address. The background noise was a chaotic mix of laughter and loud music—some upscale VIP lounge. I looked out the window at the rain, which was now coming down in sheets. “Marcel, I only have the moped… and it’s pouring out. It’s not safe…” I hesitated. “Let me just call you an Uber…” “Tsk,” he clicked his tongue, annoyance lacing his drunken voice. “You think it’s safe for me to go home alone? If you don’t care about me that much, then maybe we should just break up.” “Wait! Don’t say that!” I cried out, my voice laced with desperation. I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay. I’ll come. I’m on my way.” He didn’t hang up. Through the phone, I could hear his friends roaring with laughter. “Told you, man. Marcel’s got that girl trained like a puppy.” “Girlfriend? Nah, she’s a doormat. A placeholder at best.” “Yeah, everyone knows Marcel’s real girl is Amy.” “Still, I can’t wait to see the look on her pathetic face when she gets here. It’s gonna be epic.” A wave of joyous laughter followed. I quietly ended the call and ordered myself a luxury black car service. If you’re going into battle, you might as well arrive in style. My hands were shaking the entire ride over. Not from fear. From pure, unadulterated excitement. Marcel, my lucky star. He gave me the content I needed to launch my channel, and now he was handing me the perfect opportunity to reinvent myself. For that, I could play the part of the heartbroken girlfriend for five more minutes. When I arrived at the lounge, my first stop was the restroom. I ran my hands under the faucet and plastered my bangs to my forehead, then splashed water over my t-shirt to complete the “drenched in the rain” look. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the heavy door to the private room. It was a huge, opulent space, filled with a crowd of glittering, beautiful people. Marcel was in a dark corner, with Amy draped over him like a silk scarf. The moment I stepped inside, every eye snapped to me. Some were hungry for the drama, others just scanned my body, their gazes lingering on my soaked, semi-transparent shirt. Marcel saw it too and let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Well, look what the rain dragged in, Mae. You look pathetic.” I froze, staring at them for a beat. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, I let out a guttural scream and lunged, trying to tear them apart. “Why… why is it always HER?” I shrieked, my voice raw. “Marcel! You promised! You promised me you wouldn’t do this again! WHY?!” My mind raced. “Is it about money? Do you need money?” I started frantically pulling crumpled bills from my worn-out canvas tote bag, shoving them into his chest. “I… I made a lot today, you can have it all! Just… just come home with me, please…” He didn’t even flinch. He just watched me with a detached amusement, like I was a fascinating, rabid animal. The people around us were loving the show, phones already out, recording everything. “ANSWER ME!” I screamed, grabbing the collar of his expensive shirt. Amy let out a delicate cry. “Marcel! She’s hurting me! Do something!” His brow furrowed in annoyance. With a casual shove, he sent me sprawling to the floor. “Stop making a scene,” he sneered. “Fine, you want the truth? Here it is. I’m Marcel Croft. My family practically owns New York. I don’t need your pathetic pocket change. Dating you was just a game, something to kill the boredom.” He crouched down, a cruel smirk on his face. “But I will admit, watching you run yourself into the ground for me was… satisfying. You really are a good little dog.” He patted my head, the gesture dripping with condescension, before Amy’s soft coo pulled him back to her. He planted a long, deliberate kiss on her cheek, his eyes locked on me the entire time, daring me to react. Their glamorous love story was the perfect, brutal contrast to my pathetic, rain-soaked failure. I sat on the cold floor, head bowed, my shoulders shaking with what everyone assumed were sobs. The trust-fund brats waited, breathless. This was the moment they’d been anticipating: the part where the poor girl finds out he’s a prince and clings to his leg, begging him not to leave her. Okay, showtime. In one swift movement, I wiped away the fake tears. From a hidden pocket in my grimy tote bag, I pulled out my brand-new smartphone. The screen was glowing. It was my livestream. And the viewer count was pushing one hundred thousand.

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My fiancé’s childhood sweetheart sabotaged my wedding three times. First, she flew back from overseas, intercepted our wedding car, and dragged Liam away before he could reach me. She claimed his mother was unwell and needed him urgently. The second time, she drunkenly knelt in front of our motorcade, blocking the road so Liam couldn’t pick me up. She sobbed that it was all her fault and begged me to hit her. The third time, she secretly rerouted the entire procession to a remote cemetery. We arrived surrounded by tombstones. Each time, Liam defended her: his mother’s health, her sacrifices, her pain. But he didn’t know—after this final failure, his wedding would become his funeral. It wasn’t until the polished town car turned onto a gravel path flanked by tilting headstones that I realized Ava had played me again. She had taken advantage of the fact that I was a stranger in his sleepy hometown, quietly altering the GPS coordinates. She’d sent us to this godforsaken boneyard. Outside, the hired drivers got out to smoke, their eyes darting towards me, filled with a cruel, mocking pity. “That’s three strikes. Pretty clear the groom doesn’t want to marry her.” “Tell me about it. I heard this is the bride’s first time in his hometown. He’s never even brought her to meet the family!” “Seriously, who gets married in a cemetery?” I sat in the back, my knuckles white, crushing the delicate stems of my bridal bouquet. The pristine white lace of my dress, once a symbol of hope, now felt like a costume for a fool. Just last night, Liam had sworn to me, promised that this time, his precious Ava wouldn’t interfere. And now, here I was, the punchline to a joke I never wanted to be a part of. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Liam, a reply to the one I’d sent thirty minutes ago. “Sorry. Ava said it was just a joke. Don’t get worked up over nothing. I’m on my way to get you now, okay?” This was the man who used to reply to my texts in seconds. Ever since Ava came back, his responses had grown slower, shorter, colder. In the passenger seat, Liam’s mother, who had been listening to the voice note, turned a terrifying shade of purple. She clutched her chest, her voice a low growl. “Clara… Liam… does he always treat you like this?” “This is… this is unforgivable.” Her health had been fragile for years; she’d been in a private care facility overseas and had missed the first two failed weddings. But she was finally well enough to be discharged, and she’d insisted on coming with me today to surprise Liam. Her face a mask of cold fury, she dialed his number. He rejected the call. She tried again. Rejected. Finally, on the third try, he picked up, his voice exploding through the speaker before she could even say a word. “Clara, I already said I’m coming! What more do you want?” he snarled. “She lost me forever, and you’re the one who gets to marry me! Can’t you be a little more gracious? Don’t you forget, she’s the one who’s been looking after my mother all this time!” And then, a different voice cut through the line, a soft, whimpering cry. It was Ava. “Liam, I can’t bear it… I really can’t live without you…” Her whimper suddenly sharpened, rising into a high, theatrical moan. A sound that anyone with a pulse knew the meaning of. The line went dead. Liam’s mother was hyperventilating, her words choked with rage. “That bastard! That absolute bastard!” The world went silent. A sharp pain bloomed in my palm. I looked down. My nails had dug so deep into my skin that blood was welling up, warm and sticky. It was the only thing that felt real. Liam and I had never— “Give this one to Wendy, too. Look at you, you’re still standing and yelling. You’re not that fragile.” “Do you really think you’re some kind of national treasure? Can’t handle a little hardship?” His arrogant, dismissive tone was more suffocating than the thin mountain air. My custom-blended oxygen, my emergency medication—all of it had become offerings for him to appease his little protégée. The other assistants on the shoot busied themselves with the camera equipment, pretending not to see the confrontation. I felt like a patient whose life support had just been unplugged, gasping for air on the edge of life and death. “Acute altitude sickness can cause pulmonary and cerebral edemas… It can kill you!” I hissed, the words scraping my throat. “Pulmonary edema? Who are you trying to scare?” Kieran rolled his eyes. Wendy played her part beautifully, shrinking behind him. “Sloan, I know you don’t like me… but Kieran said you’re experienced. I’m sure a little situation like this is nothing for you.” She even had the audacity to flash a peace sign at the GoPro clipped to her collar. The sight of her smug face sent a wave of dizziness through me. “Enough!” I lunged for my oxygen tank. Kieran shoved me back, hard. I stumbled, nearly falling into the snow. “What do you think you’re doing?! If something happens to Wendy, can you take responsibility for that?!” Wendy immediately clutched her chest, her voice turning faint. “Kieran, I… I don’t feel so good again… Maybe I shouldn’t have come… Does Sloan think I’m stealing her spotlight…?” “It’s not your fault. She’s just being selfish!” Kieran wrapped an arm around her, comforting her in a low voice. “She’s just spoiled. Thinks the whole world revolves around her.” The wind and snow seemed to pick up, blurring my vision. I watched them huddled together for warmth, a perfect couple against the stark white landscape, completely ignoring me, his supposed fiancée. A lethal cocktail of rage and the creeping, black-edged feeling of suffocation churned within me. With a surge of adrenaline, I smashed the helium canister I was holding against a nearby shard of ice. “Kieran!” I screamed, my voice raw. “We’re done! The engagement is OFF!” Kieran froze, his expression twisting from surprise to fury. He took a step toward me, his voice sharp. “Sloan! What the hell is wrong with you? You’re calling off our engagement over something this petty? Do you even hear yourself?!” “Petty?” The word was a pained gasp forced from my lungs. “Swapping out my life-saving oxygen… is petty?” Wendy immediately stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Kieran, don’t be angry… It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t be so weak…” “Sloan must just be saying that because she hates me…” she whispered, but her eyes held a flicker of triumphant glee. Marco, one of the local guides, couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Mr. Thompson,” he said, his brow furrowed with concern, “Ms. Vance really doesn’t look well. Altitude sickness is no joke. Maybe we should…” “You don’t understand, Marco!” Kieran cut him off without a hint of politeness. “She’s just out of shape and loves to play the victim! Every shoot is the same damn drama. Remember the Gobi Desert? The entire crew had to wait for her because she got a little heatstroke. Now she’s pulling the same crap here!” His words were like icicles stabbing into me. In the Gobi, I had pushed myself to capture the perfect light at dusk and nearly died from heatstroke. In his eyes, it was just me being dramatic. “Yeah,” another assistant, one of Kieran’s close friends, muttered under his breath. “Sloan, Kieran is just thinking about the big picture. Wendy’s new to this kind of high-stakes project. It’s only right to look after her. You’re the veteran. You can tough it out.” I stared at him, my vision blurring with involuntary tears. “Tough it out? How… how am I supposed to…” My lungs felt like they were filling with concrete. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. A violent throbbing started in my temples, a precursor to the deadly edemas I knew were coming. Seeing my state, Wendy’s face crumpled as if she were the one in agony. “Sloan, please don’t be like this,” she cried. “I hate seeing you two fight because of me… Here, why don’t you just take the oxygen back? I’ll… I’ll be fine…” She made a show of reaching for her mask. Kieran grabbed her hand, his voice a mixture of anger and tenderness. “Wendy, don’t be ridiculous! She’s just trying to guilt-trip you! Anyone can play the victim.” He whipped his head back to me, his eyes filled with cold disgust. “Sloan, I was so wrong about you. I can’t believe how selfish and petty you are, bullying a newcomer like this. Does everyone have to worship at your feet for you to be happy?” “Do you remember that time you got trapped in an avalanche? Who was it that moved heaven and earth to get a rescue team to you? And now, because you’re feeling a little uncomfortable, you’re willing to ruin this entire project for everyone?” He was talking about the time I risked my life to get a shot for his father’s company. Now, he was using it as a weapon against me. A blinding headache made it impossible to form a coherent response. All I could do was gasp, my mouth opening and closing like a fish on land. Wendy, hiding behind Kieran, allowed a tiny, cruel smirk to flash across her face before her expression shifted back to one of deep concern. “Kieran, her face… it looks awful. You don’t think she’s actually…” “It’s an act! All of it!” he declared. “She’s a brilliant actress! This is just another way to manipulate me, to control me. Well, I’m not falling for it.” He took out his own thermos, twisted it open, and held it to Wendy’s lips. “Here, Wendy. Have some hot water. Ignore her. She just needs to cool off.” The steam from the thermos rose in a soft cloud, a stark contrast to the glacial cold that was seeping into my bones. Despair, as unyielding as the ancient ice beneath my feet, began to freeze me from the inside out. My body slid down the side of the ice wall. My consciousness began to fray. The image of Kieran shielding Wendy, the whispered conversations of the crew—they all blurred into distorted, ghostly shapes. The bottle of high-altitude medication that could save my life was sitting right by Wendy’s feet. It was only a few yards away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. Just then, Wendy silently crouched in front of me. She pulled down her mask. Her cheeks were rosy, her breathing even. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “How does it feel to suffocate, Sloan, you great photographer?” A cruel smile stretched her lips. “Kieran’s been sick of you for ages. He says you’re rigid, boring… like an old woman. Once you have your little ‘accident,’ your fame, your work, and your fiancé… I’ll be happy to take them off your hands.” She patted my cheek, her touch like ice. “Don’t worry. Your memorial service for ‘dying in the line of duty’ will be spectacular.” Wendy’s words were the final snowflake that triggered the avalanche in my mind. I wanted to slap her, but the advanced altitude sickness had stolen all my strength. All I could do was lie there, feeling the warmth bleed out of my body. Just as my vision was about to be swallowed by darkness, Wendy decided she wasn’t done. Her eyes glinted, and she reached out, grabbing the front of my parka. “Sloan, are you too hot? Your face is so red. Let me help you cool down.” RRRRIP! The high-quality, windproof fabric tore open with a sickening sound. My neck and chest were instantly exposed to the sub-zero air. The cold was a physical thing, a thousand tiny knives sinking into my skin. “You…!” I stared at her, trying to scream, but only a choked gurgle came out. My body began to tremble violently from hypothermia. Wendy scrambled back, her face instantly transforming into a mask of panic. “Kieran! Sloan… she’s tearing her own clothes off! I tried to stop her!” Kieran spun around. He saw my exposed skin, Wendy’s frantic expression, and his face hardened into a scowl. “Sloan!” he stormed over, his voice laced with exasperation and fury. “How long are you going to keep this up?! Are you trying to kill yourself just to make a point?!” He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. He didn’t care about the truth. “It wasn’t… me… it was her…” I managed to stammer through chattering teeth. “Enough!” Kieran shouted. “It’s always someone else’s fault! You can’t control your emotions, and now you’re resorting to self-harm to threaten us? Do you think this is fun? Do you think this makes you look sympathetic? It doesn’t! It just makes you look pathetic!” His words hailed down on me, merciless and cold. He looked at my crumpled form in the snow, his eyes holding not a shred of warmth, only pure, undiluted disgust. “Fine, Sloan. You want to act?” He sneered, pulling his own storm mask tighter. “Then stay here and put on your show. We’re resting for ten more minutes, then we’re moving to the next location. If you can’t keep up, you can stay here and perform your tragedy for the mountains.” He turned his back on me without a second thought.

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I was reborn, sent back to my teenage years alongside the girl I was destined to care for—Mia Malina, my childhood friend with autism. This time, however, Mia pulled her hand from mine. She fumbled through buying a bouquet of flowers and gave them to Alex Wang, the boy she considered her sunshine. All because Alex loved to tease her with crude, flirty jokes. After enough of his provocations, something in her snapped open. She decided she was cured. In my past life, I had spent over a decade painstakingly caring for her, teaching her how to express the simplest likes and dislikes. But in the end, the most casual and cruel words she ever learned were reserved for me. “You… are annoying. Not as charming as him.” From my window, I watched them below. The boy, confident and bold, pulled the girl into an embrace. The girl, shy and flustered, tried to pull away. Fine. So be it. I had no desire to spend another lifetime tethered to a patient. 1 “Hey, are you really autistic?” Alex Wang leaned in, poking Mia Malina’s arm with a playful finger. “Because you were pretty talkative in bed yesterday. What happened to the autism then?” Mia’s ears turned a bright, burning red. Her usually blank face flickered with surprise. “I… I wasn’t…” The classroom fell silent for a beat before erupting into whispers. “Oh my god, did you hear that? Mia Malina actually spoke! That’s the second time today, right?” “Hilarious. Guess the unorthodox methods work faster. Unlike some people…” The speaker shot a pointed look in my direction before trailing off. I kept my face impassive, my eyes fixed on the book in front of me, pretending I hadn’t heard them talking about me. It was true. This was the second time Mia had spoken voluntarily today. The first was when our teacher, planning a seating change, suggested I move next to Mia. For the first time ever, she voiced her own opinion. “I don’t want to.” The words were so smooth, so natural, that even the teacher froze at the front of the room. After a quick call with Mia’s mother, she’d nodded, relieved. “Alright, no changes then.” “And Alex,” the teacher added, “try to behave yourself. Don’t bully Mia.” As the murmurs continued, I stood up. Before I could even move, Mia spoke again, her voice sharp with a familiar disgust. “I told you, I’m not taking the medication anymore.” Her eyes were cold. “For every pill you try to give me, I’ll just throw it away.” For a moment, I was lost in a dizzying overlap of past and present. Her tone, her glare—they were identical to the last life. The whispers of my classmates wormed their way into my ears. “God, isn’t this awkward? Mia must hate his guts. Who wants to be chased down with pills after school every day?” “And have you noticed? She talks a lot more around Alex. She seems pretty normal, actually.” “The brooding, silent girl and the cheerful sunshine boy? I ship it!” And the “cheerful sunshine boy” they were fawning over was now gently pinching Mia’s pale cheek. “Really? Am I that special to you?” he cooed. “Blushing again? So cute.” Mia’s eyelashes fluttered. She quickly averted her gaze, and for a split second, her eyes met mine. The warmth and emotion vanished, replaced by an icy wall. A thought struck me. Could she have been reborn, too? Is that why she refused the seating change? Heh. Even better. 2 After the final bell, Mia slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked out of the classroom ahead of me. Carl, the chauffeur waiting at the school gate, did a double-take. “Aren’t you waiting for Mr. Vance?” he asked, surprised. Mia pressed her lips together, saying nothing. Carl was used to her silence. He shot a resentful look at me as I caught up. “Leo,” he said, his voice low and chiding, “why weren’t you keeping up with her? If something happened to Miss Malina, how would I explain it to her mother?” See? He called me ‘Mr. Vance,’ but he’d never seen me as anything more than a glorified babysitter. It was the price of my family’s fall from grace. “Carl, let’s go.” Mia spoke again, her voice clear. Carl was so stunned he forgot the rest of his lecture. “Miss Malina, you… you spoke to me?” he stammered, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He was so caught up in the moment that he didn’t even notice a stranger approaching. “Whoa, Mia, is this your car?” Alex whistled, circling the black sedan. “This thing must have cost a fortune.” Carl’s brow furrowed. He was about to step in when Mia herself opened the car door. She tugged nervously at the hem of her uniform. “If you like it, you can have it.” Alex’s eyes went wide. “Hahahaha! Do you even know what you’re saying? You’d really just give it to me?” Mia nodded earnestly and even got out of the car, gesturing for him to get in. A muscle in Carl’s jaw twitched. Anyone who knew Mia knew how fiercely she guarded her personal space. It had taken me six months just to be allowed to ride in the same car with her. But Alex was different. Alex was an exception. A first. He ruffled her hair as if she were a well-behaved puppy. “Wow, you’re so naive. Aren’t you afraid someone will take advantage of you? Okay, okay, I’m just kidding. See you tomorrow, my cute little deskmate.” He walked away, humming a cheerful tune. Mia seemed to catch his infectious joy, a small smile playing on her lips. She watched him until he was completely out of sight before turning and slamming the car door shut right in my face. Carl, having completely forgotten I existed, looked like he couldn’t wait to race home and tell Mia’s mother the miraculous news. The car sped off, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I glanced at my phone. My ride-share was five minutes away. Good thing I hadn’t counted on them. 3 That night, the Malina mansion next door was filled with laughter. My house was deathly quiet. “What happened? Why didn’t you come home with her?” my father roared. “Can’t you even do a simple thing like wait on someone? I swear, I’ve wasted years raising you!” My mother timidly offered him a cup of tea. “Don’t yell at the boy. Calm down.” He slapped the cup from her hand. It shattered on the floor. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The villa, already sparsely furnished, felt even emptier. My mother sighed, her voice soft. “Leo, did you and Mia have a fight? You know how she is. Just be patient with her. Our family is counting on the Malinas…” Back when my father hadn’t gambled away our family fortune, we were their equals. We never had to grovel for their favor. I paused in my cleanup of the broken porcelain. “Mom, I’m a senior this year. I’ll be in college soon. I can work and support myself. Why do we have to pin all our hopes on the Malinas, and on… him?” “Your father will change!” she insisted, her voice losing its conviction. “The Malinas gave him a loan. He can turn things around.” But Mom, don’t you know? Even if I appease Mia exactly as you wish, he’ll never stop gambling. He won’t stop until he’s mortgaged this very house, the last symbol of our family’s pride, and then thrown himself from the roof. We would still end up completely dependent on the Malinas’ charity. I clenched my fist, a shard of ceramic digging into my palm. The sharp pain pulled me back from the memory. My mother cried out, rushing to disinfect the cut. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from Mia. [You’re disgusting. So annoying.] [Stay away from me from now on.] People with autism often lack a filter. They can be brutally honest, oblivious to the feelings of others. In my past life, it took me over a decade to teach Mia to express her dislikes kindly, instead of through screaming, throwing things, or spitting venom. She was a slow learner, but she had made progress. I remembered the time her mother brought her a glass of warm milk to help her sleep. Instead of her usual tantrum of smashing the glass, she had simply said, “I don’t want it.” Her mother had wept with joy. I had smiled, too, hiding the angry, permanent scar on my forearm where she’d once thrown a cup of scalding tea at me. I looked down at my phone and typed a single word. [Okay.] 4 The next morning, my father dragged me to the Malinas’ front gate, his face plastered with a sycophantic grin. “Is Leo ready? He hasn’t left yet, has he?” The Malinas’ butler gave him a cool, dismissive glance. “Miss Malina has already left for school. Mrs. Malina has given instructions that Leo will be going on his own from now on.” The butler offered a thin, apologetic smile. “You know how our Mia is. We can’t risk any emotional triggers.” My father’s face froze. He shot me a look of pure fury. I ignored him, dodging the slap he aimed at my head and walking calmly towards school. When I entered the classroom, Mia and Alex were already there, huddled close together, sharing breakfast. “Mia, I’ve lost my appetite,” Alex said with a theatrical sigh. “The only thing I want to eat is you.” Mia, who had been eating with quiet delicacy, flushed crimson. “Don’t… don’t say things like that,” she stammered. A friend of Alex’s laughed loudly. “Damn, Alex, you’ve got guts. Forget autism, you could probably make a mute person talk with lines like that.” Alex raised an eyebrow, triumphant. He grabbed my arm as I passed. “Leo, back me up here. Mia isn’t really autistic, is she? She’s just shy. It can’t be that she only talks this much around me.” I pulled my arm away. Before I could speak, Mia cut in, her eyes fixed on Alex. “You’re different.” Then, her gaze shifted to me, cold and flat. “He’s like my mother. Nagging and annoying. Not cute like you.” The other students’ faces were a mixture of amusement and pity. They were enjoying the show. A wave of profound exhaustion washed over me—not for myself now, but for the boy I used to be. Before I was assigned to be Mia’s shadow, I was the envied son of a wealthy family. But to fulfill my duty, I had debased myself, catered to her every whim, accommodated her every mood. You could train a dog to be grateful in less time. If it weren’t for that car crash on the way to the courthouse in our past life, I would have been legally bound to her forever. And still, she was like this. She had learned to interact with people, even smile at strangers. But with me, she was always sharp, always cruel, never once considering my feelings. Was it really Alex, her “sunshine,” who had brought her out of her shell? No. It was the result of more than a decade of my tireless effort. But of course, everyone gave the credit to him. I looked Mia straight in the eye and smiled. “Sorry, but I don’t have a daughter your age.” 5 In my past life, my entire future had been mapped out by Mia’s mother. Mia was going to a conservatory for music, so I had to study the niche field of music therapy. Using the music Mia loved to heal her—it was the perfect plan in Mrs. Malina’s eyes. It didn’t matter that I had no talent for music. It didn’t matter that the degree was useless for finding a job. All that mattered was that it was useful to Mia. In return, the Malinas would provide my father with capital and business connections. Back then, Mia was prone to sensory overload. A loud noise or an unexpected touch could trigger a complete meltdown. She would flip desks, claw at her own hands until they bled. And I would have to be the one to drop everything and calmly talk her down, all under the complicated stares of our classmates. Right. Where was her sunshine boy back then? Oh, he was in the crowd, whispering with everyone else. Mia was living in denial, but I hadn’t forgotten. On her eighteenth birthday, the Malinas threw a lavish party. It wasn’t just a celebration of her coming of age; it was a public declaration that Mia was miraculously “cured.” At the party, Alex was the guest of honor. He wore a custom-tailored suit, a diamond glittering in his ear. Under the bright chandeliers, he stood with his arm around Mia, greeting guests with a dazzling smile. They looked like a fairytale couple. I had no appetite. As the party wound down, I slipped out into the garden for some air. I stumbled upon them there, Alex laughing with Mia. He was holding a bouquet of sunflowers. “Why sunflowers?” he asked, a playful pout on his lips. “Everyone else gives roses…” Mia’s reply was utterly serious. “You are warm. Like a sunflower. Seeing you makes me happy.” “And what about Leo? He grew up with you. What is he like?” From my hiding place in the shadows, I saw the expression on Mia’s face. Her brow furrowed with a familiar look of impatience and disgust. “He’s like this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the ground. At the clover patch. Not the lucky four-leaf kind. Just a common weed. The warm night air was filled with the frantic chirping of cicadas. It sounded just like my own racing heart, which suddenly fell silent, drenched in ice water. I watched as Alex smiled, stood on his toes, and planted a soft kiss on Mia’s cheek. Her ears turned pink. She shyly looked away—and saw me. The whole thing felt so pointless. I turned to leave. “Leo!” Mia’s voice stopped me. She ran over, her face still flushed. “My mom talked to me. She still wants me to go to the same university as you.” “She worries too much,” I said, my voice flat. “Alex is clearly a better fit for you.” Mia frowned. “But I told my mother I only want you.” I looked up, surprised. She turned her head away. “My episodes… they’re ugly.” So that was it. Of course. She saved her best self for Alex, and left the uncontrolled, violent, ugly parts for me to clean up. I was the full-time nanny, the one who had to force her to take her medication, manage her moods, and put her first in everything. The charming sunshine boy could never be bothered with that. From a distance, Alex called her name sweetly. “Come on, Mia, I’ll take you somewhere fun.” But she didn’t move. She was waiting for my promise. She knew my value; she just took it for granted. I smoothed my expression into a bright smile. “Of course. I’ll always be with you.” Satisfied, she beamed and ran back to Alex. The smile vanished from my eyes. Mia Malina, after the college entrance exams, you and your sunflower can go your separate ways. And I will finally leave you, content to be the resilient clover. I just wonder… when your next episode hits, will your sunshine boy still be so warm? I couldn’t wait to find out.

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The day I was diagnosed with cancer, my boyfriend asked for a breakup. Again. I smiled and told him to wait a little longer. He flew into a rage, smashing everything in the room. “Why couldn’t it have been you?” he screamed. Three months ago, his first love died in a car crash. He blamed me, said my jealousy stopped him from driving her home. I lowered my eyes, my voice a soft echo of itself. “Just wait a little longer.” Just wait. Soon enough, it will be. 1 Leo was drunk again, that deep, sloppy kind of drunk that saturated the air with the stale stench of whiskey and smoke. I wrestled him into bed, cleaned up the mess, and only then, in the suffocating quiet, did I let myself look at the diagnosis report again. His slurred whispers drifted from the bedroom, his ex-girlfriend’s name a ghost on his lips. A laugh, brittle and humorless, escaped me. I could recite every word on that paper, but the brutal truth of it still felt like a language I couldn’t comprehend. The living room light flickered on, jolting me from my trance. I crumpled the report into a tight ball and shoved it deep into my pocket. It didn’t matter. Leo wasn’t even looking at me. He scrubbed at his temples and walked straight to the mantelpiece. To her picture. He lit a candle, his movements reverent, his head bowed in worship. After Cassie died, Leo had insisted on displaying her portrait—a large, smiling photo from their college days—in the middle of our living room. “I want you to look at her every day,” he’d said, his voice cold. “And repent.” Repent for what? The night of the accident, at a college reunion, Cassie had gotten wasted. She’d thrown her arms around my boyfriend, sobbing about how she’d never gotten over him. She ignored me, the actual girlfriend, with a blatant, drunken disregard that made everyone else uncomfortable. I finally snapped. I pulled her off Leo and shoved her away. When he insisted on taking her home, I’d sneered, “Look around, Leo. There’s a dozen people here. Why does it have to be you?” The standoff ended when one of Cassie’s admirers offered her a ride. It was supposed to de-escalate things. Instead, they crashed. Neither of them survived. And Leo laid all the blame, all the guilt, all the crushing weight of it, right at my feet. It was absurd. Did he wish he’d been in that car, too? 2 After his silent vigil, Leo turned to me, his shadow falling over me as he stood there, looking down his nose. “Your turn,” he commanded. I let out a soft, tired laugh. “How long are you going to keep playing this game?” His brow furrowed, a storm gathering in his eyes. He kicked the small table in front of me, sending it crashing against the wall. “You don’t want to? Then let’s break up. But you wouldn’t dare, would you? Not when I’m your precious cash cow.” That was his favorite threat. His new addiction. We’d been together for four years. Our online persona as the perfect influencer couple had netted us over six hundred thousand followers. They all said we were meant to be. They said the way Leo looked at me was proof of true love. He used to say it, too. “The way I look at Elena will never change, not even when we’re old. Actually, at eighty, my eyes will probably be so bad I won’t be able to see my little old lady clearly anymore.” But people change. Especially as the years pass, as the initial fire cools into embers. It’s then that other thoughts, other possibilities, start to creep in. I never realized how much he still thought about his ex until that reunion. The ghost of a first love, the one that got away—it’s a powerful thing. His ghost had never forgotten him, and suddenly, he remembered all the reasons he’d loved her. And me? I was just the familiar face, the one who’d grown older alongside him. Less exciting. Maybe, after I’m gone, he’ll talk about me with this much tortured passion to his next girlfriend. At first, I played along with his bizarre mourning ritual out of pity. He was being eaten alive by guilt and regret, and I thought if he could displace that onto me, maybe he could breathe again. I just never expected him to get so lost in the role. 3 “Just wait a little longer,” I said with a smile, getting up to head for the shower. He took my dismissal as a final insult. The rage was instantaneous. He started breaking things. Not random objects, but our things. The furniture we’d picked out together, the little trinkets we’d bought on trips, each one a vessel for a shared memory, a private joke. He raged, a storm of flailing limbs and guttural roars, his voice tearing through the chaos, “Why couldn’t it have been you?” Looking at the wreckage, a strange, unnerving calm settled over me. My smile felt genuine. “Just you wait.” Really. Just a little longer. Liver cancer. They gave me three to six months. Leo didn’t understand the meaning behind my words. He lunged, grabbing my shoulders, shaking me so hard my teeth rattled. “If you don’t want to break up, then you’ll pay your respects to her. Do it!” In the end, I did. Because his screaming was giving me a headache. And when a child throws a tantrum, you learn it’s easier to just give in. 4 That night, sleep was a stranger. I gave up trying and sat up, watching Leo’s back. He always slept facing away from me now, a chasm of cold sheets between us. I had to prop myself up on an elbow, leaning precariously over the gap just to see his face. He slept fitfully, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. The boyish face I loved was etched with a premature weariness. His lashes, long enough to be a sin, cast spidery shadows on his cheeks. His perfect nose was a sharp line in the dim light, and a fine, dark stubble was already shadowing his jaw. I drank in the sight of him, my mind drifting back to the day we met. He was eighteen, a freshman overflowing with boundless energy, sweat glistening on his skin as he dominated the university basketball court, a chorus of adoring girls screaming his name. I was twenty-three, back on campus for an alumni event, and I’d wandered over to the courts, drawn by the noise and the sea of fresh faces. When he sank the winning three-pointer, I screamed with the rest of them, a jolt of pure, youthful excitement shooting through me. He spotted me in the crowd, his eyes locking with mine, a proud, cocky grin spreading across his face. I gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He tucked the basketball under his arm and jogged right over. “Hey,” he said, slightly breathless. “Are you one of the professors?” Under the bright afternoon sun, his skin was almost translucent, his amber eyes clear as a stream. He was so close I could smell the clean, boyish scent of his sweat and the grass. “Professors don’t get called ‘hey,’” I teased, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. I held it, watching a faint blush creep up his neck and tint the tips of his ears, before I let him go. Back then, our intentions were perfectly clear. I wanted to flirt with him. He was interested in me. Neither of us expected it to detonate into real love, a chaotic, beautiful four-year journey. Because I was the older one, I naturally indulged his moods, his immaturity. In return, he gave me the fierce, untainted romance that only a young man can offer. But lately, his tantrums had gone too far. And he’d forgotten to give anything back. 5 I didn’t sleep at all. When I finally drifted off, it was already dark again when I woke. Moonlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, painting a ghostly stripe across the floor. Habit took over. I grabbed my phone, checking the backend of our social media accounts. The team had posted the scheduled content, and the affiliate sales numbers were stable. I’d started this influencer agency with Leo. I put up the money, and I ran the business. All he had to do was show up, look handsome, and follow the script. I often thought he was born in the right era. A man who could genuinely make a living off his face. A very, very good living. But early success, easy money—it’s rarely a good thing. It had warped me, and now I saw it had warped him, too. I called his name a few times. Silence. I got up to go to the bathroom and flinched as Cassie’s smiling face caught me by surprise again. I grabbed a few tissues and draped them over the photo before continuing on. A harsh voice cut through the silence from behind me. “What are you doing?” I froze, then turned. I hadn’t even noticed Leo on the balcony, a cigarette glowing in the dark. The cherry-red tip flared as he inhaled, smoke momentarily obscuring his face. He was clearly furious about my disrespect to Cassie’s portrait. “Thought she might be cold,” I mumbled, stepping into the bathroom. He stormed to the doorway, his eyes bloodshot. “She’s dead. Why do you still have to humiliate her?” A real laugh escaped me this time. “Humiliate her? Oh, sweetheart. If I wanted to really humiliate her, I would have stood up at her funeral and told everyone she was pregnant with your child.” I’d spent the whole night thinking. It was time to lay the cards on the table. In my condition, there was no point in playing dumb anymore. I’d found out two days ago. Leo had been blackout drunk, spilling his guts, and had no memory of it the next morning. No memory of me slapping him twice, stripping him naked, and leaving him on the balcony to freeze for half the night. That’s when it all clicked. The depth of his guilt, the desperate need to make me the villain so he could keep living. My original plan had been to methodically untangle our business finances, minimize my losses, and then break up with him. But a cancer diagnosis tends to change one’s plans. Time for a new game. I might be a sugar mama, but I wasn’t a pushover.

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The year Wil lost his memory, I told him a lie. I told him I was his girlfriend. Later, against all odds, I got pregnant. He was ecstatic. He got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. But just as I thought my secret, lifelong crush was finally about to have a happy ending, his memory came rushing back. He accused me of being a manipulative liar, swore he would never acknowledge the child, and had me dragged to a clinic to terminate the pregnancy. I died on that table, taking our child with me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that same hospital room. 1 Wil was still lying on the hospital bed, his eyes shut tight. The air in the room was thick with a suffocating tension. I remembered the doctor’s words: if he didn’t wake up today, he would likely remain in a vegetative state. Wil’s mother, Catherine, was weeping softly while my own mom tried to comfort her. “There’s still time,” my mom murmured. “He’ll wake up. I know he will.” The specific details of Wil’s awakening were a blur in my memory, but my mom was right. He was going to wake up. My mother turned and saw me standing there, lost in a daze. She waved me over. “Nora, honey, come talk to Wil for a bit. Let Catherine have a rest.” At the sound of my name, Catherine looked over, her eyes red and swollen. These two women had doted on me my entire life. Even later, after Wil’s memory returned and he turned on me, they had both stood firmly by my side. But this time… I wanted to refuse, but I couldn’t. Not now. Just as I reached the bedside, Wil’s eyelids fluttered. He opened his eyes, and we stared at each other. I never thought I would see him look at me with such calm neutrality again. In my last life, after his memory returned, his gaze was always filled with a chilling malice. We never again shared a proper meal, or even a single civil conversation. He called me a scheming bitch and swore the baby in my belly wasn’t his. I knew I was in the wrong, so I accepted his anger. But why did he have to go back on his word? Why did he have to destroy my child? Our child. A storm of emotion raged inside me, making it impossible to stay calm. I looked away, taking an involuntary step back. Catherine rushed forward, her voice choked with relief. Soon after, Wil’s father and my own dad arrived. Wil was awake. It was a miracle. But he had amnesia. After her tears subsided, Catherine began to reintroduce him to his life. “Wil, this is your Uncle David and Aunt Helen. Our families have been friends for generations.” “And this,” she said, her gaze falling on me, “is Nora, David’s daughter… and she’s your—” My name snapped me back to reality. The words burst out of me before I could stop them. “His sister!” 2 It was a reflex. I hadn’t forgotten. In the last life, Catherine had sealed my fate with a single sentence. At this exact moment, she had introduced me to the memory-wiped Wil as his girlfriend. The truth was, Wil already had a girlfriend. Seraphina Vance. But in Catherine’s eyes, Seraphina was largely to blame for the accident. A few days before the crash, she had demanded they get engaged. Wil refused. In a fit of anger, Seraphina broke up with him and booked a flight out of the country. The accident happened while Wil was racing to the airport to stop her. Catherine had never liked Seraphina, and this incident only solidified her prejudice. She had told me to use Wil’s amnesia as an opportunity for us to build a real relationship. Sometimes I wondered—if both our parents could see how much I loved Wil, could he really have been oblivious? No. He knew. He just dismissed it as a childhood crush, the affection of a little sister for her older brother. In my past life, Catherine’s suggestion had made my heart pound with a dangerous hope. And what made me fall completely was how easily Wil accepted it. For the rest of his recovery, he wanted only me by his side. Our relationship began with a lie and ended when the truth returned. He was convinced I was a pathological liar, that even our child was part of some elaborate scheme. No matter how I tried to explain that night was an accident, he refused to believe me. I had no credibility left in his eyes. You were cruel to me, Wil. But you were just as cruel to your own child. I pressed a hand to my flat stomach, a phantom ache twisting inside me like a knife. That baby… it never even had a chance to grow. It was my fault. So how could I possibly let myself make the same mistake all over again? Catherine, after a moment of surprise, quickly went along with my new story. “That’s right! You two grew up together, you’re closer than real siblings!” The adults launched into nostalgic stories from our childhood, their laughter filling the room. Only Wil was silent, his deep, dark eyes fixed on me. 3 The doctors rushed in to run a full examination. I used the commotion as an excuse to slip away. As I walked out of the hospital’s main entrance, the whole world felt like a dream. I couldn’t tell which was the dream: this second chance, or the twisted love and hate I’d shared with Wil. My head was about to explode when my phone rang. I stared at the caller ID for a long time before answering. Ethan Cole’s voice was urgent. “Nora? Where are you?” “I… Ethan? Why… why are you calling me right now?” Ethan was my desk-mate in high school. He’d also once pretended to be my boyfriend. After I found out about Seraphina, I’d stubbornly told Wil that I was seeing someone too. Wil had frozen for a second, then laughed, ruffling my hair with a little too much force. “Look at you, little girl. All grown up.” His tone was so condescending, as if he were decades older, not just a few years. A couple of days later, he’d insisted on meeting my new boyfriend for dinner. I couldn’t think of anyone else, so I begged Ethan to help. At dinner, Ethan was perfect—attentive, charming, everything a good boyfriend should be. Wil had even remarked, with a self-deprecating smirk, “He’s better at taking care of you than I am.” But after dinner, he’d pulled me aside. “I can see that he likes you,” he’d said, his eyes serious. “But I can’t see that you like him.” His words had left a sour, bitter taste in my mouth. Because he was right. I didn’t like Ethan that way. Not long after, Ethan confessed his feelings for me. I turned him down, but he insisted we stay friends. It wasn’t until after Wil’s memory returned, after he had cast me aside, that Ethan confessed his love for me again. By then, I was pregnant, exhausted, and utterly broken. I had no space in my life for anything else. And then… I died. “Don’t ask so many questions,” Ethan’s voice crackled through the phone, pulling me from my thoughts. “I need to see you. Right now. Tell me where you are.” My brain sputtered. At this point in time, Ethan should have just been rejected by me. He was supposed to be on a business trip out of state. 4 After I hung up, an incredible thought took root in my mind. If I could be reborn, why couldn’t Ethan? After all, only the Ethan from the future called me ‘Nora’ with that kind of warmth. Before, it was always just ‘Hayes’. My suspicion was confirmed moments later. A car screeched to a halt, and Ethan jumped out, running towards me. He pulled me into a fierce, desperate hug. The chaotic mix of joy and terror on his face was something only I could understand. “Sorry, I’m just… I had this horrible dream,” he stammered, his voice muffled in my hair. “You were… there was so much blood…” Trapped in his arms, I slowly lowered my eyes. We were both back. But I didn’t want to relive any of it. “It was just a dream,” I said, forcing a light, easy laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic.” He held me at arm’s length, studying my face for a long moment before his own features relaxed into a smile. The light in his eyes was steady and determined, a stark contrast to the dejected look he’d worn after I rejected him in our first life. “You’re right,” he said. “But that dream made me realize something. I need to be with you, to make sure you’re safe.” He took a deep breath. “Nora, I’m not going to rush you. So please, don’t rush to reject me again, okay?” The heat in his gaze was searing. I instinctively tried to pull away, unsure of what to say. Just then, a familiar, cool voice sliced through the air from behind us. “Not okay.” …It was Wil. Leaning on his assistant, he walked towards us, his eyes locked on me. His expression was a complex tapestry of emotions I couldn’t unravel: unfamiliarity, dependence, a strange tenderness, and… was that hurt? What did he have to be hurt about? “Wil, you—” Ethan started, his shock quickly turning to wariness. But Wil ignored him completely. What he said next left me speechless. “I may have lost my memory for now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t come back.” His gaze softened, and his voice dropped to an almost pleading tone. “I didn’t believe what my mother told me at first. But seeing you with him just now… I believe her.” He took a shaky breath. “Nora, I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry I forgot how much I love you. But until I remember, please… don’t consider anyone else, okay?” 5 I had no idea what kind of madness had possessed Wil. As he and Ethan squared off in a tense standoff, I turned and fled. Two days later, my mom showed up at my apartment. “After you left that day,” she explained, “Catherine told Wil that you’re the girl he’s in love with, that he was in the middle of chasing you when the accident happened. She told him you’re just mad at him because his amnesia is a convenient excuse.” She sighed. “You’ve been ignoring him for two days. That’s long enough. Come with me to the hospital.” …If I weren’t the subject of the lie, I would have applauded Catherine’s storytelling skills. No wonder Wil had acted so bizarrely. But why was he so easily fooled by a different lie this time around? Two days had been enough for me to process this new reality. I didn’t believe Wil ever intended for me to die. It was my own fault for chasing a love that wasn’t meant for me. He simply didn’t love me. I couldn’t change our families’ intertwined history, and I couldn’t change other people. I could only change myself. I tried to use work at my art studio as an excuse. My mom gave me a puzzled look. “When Wil first had his accident, you were worried sick. Now you can’t even be bothered to visit him? Did you two have a fight?” I almost didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Mom, the man doesn’t remember anything. What could we possibly fight about? I’m just really busy, and besides, he’s fine now, isn’t he?” Some truths were destined to be mine alone. My mom knew me better than anyone, but she would never guess that I had been reborn. But while my mom was easy to put off, Ethan was not. Luckily, I had no intention of keeping him in the dark. In our first life, by the time Ethan returned from his business trip, Wil and I were already a couple. He’d been furious, trying to shake some sense into me, telling me to stop deluding myself. But the amnesiac Wil had eyes only for me, and I was already drowning in the fantasy. With our parents’ full support, I was willing to gamble. I just happened to lose. 6 I wasn’t surprised when Ethan showed up at my studio. After a few days of watching this new, unfamiliar timeline unfold, even the densest person would have figured it out. “Nora, you’re… you are, aren’t you?” I met his complicated gaze, poured him a cup of tea, and gave a slight nod. He shot to his feet, his face a mask of shock. His lips trembled as if he had a thousand things to say, but in the end, all he asked was, “Do you… still love him?” Wil? I lowered my eyes, a bitter smile on my lips. “I love my own life.” You only understand what’s most important after you’ve lost it. I couldn’t even save myself, let alone my child. At the thought of the baby, the question I’d been holding back finally escaped. “Did I really… die on that table?” I whispered. “Did Wil… did he ever show up? My parents…” If they knew Wil was the one who sent me to that clinic, the one responsible for my death, the pain would destroy them. Maybe I never should have tried to fight for him after his memory came back. I was too selfish. I squeezed my eyes shut, missing the flash of pale horror on Ethan’s face. “I… I don’t know the details,” he said, his voice strained. “I had this awful feeling that day. By the time I found you, it was already too late. Then, I just… closed my eyes, and I was back.” He stared at me, his tone urgent. “Nora, this time, please, stay away from him! If you do, there won’t be a baby. You’ll just be you. He’s going to get his memory back eventually, his girlfriend will return, and then—” “I know,” I interrupted softly. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. But the memories came flooding back anyway. That day, Wil already looked furious, but I was still lost in fantasies of our wedding. I’d excitedly presented him with a stack of bridal magazines. He swiped them from my hands, sending them scattering across the floor. He told me I made him sick. The next day, he flew across the ocean and brought Seraphina back. I covered my face with my hands, willing the images away. Long after Ethan left, I remained seated, the pot of tea growing cold. And then, Wil arrived.

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Growing up in the sticks, there was one person I envied more than anyone: the daughter of the richest man in the state. It all started when an orange, fallen from one of our town’s trees, happened to soil her impossibly expensive heels. With a single phone call, she had men come and tear down every single orange grove in our town. The very trees that were our lifeblood. But then, one day, the tycoon himself showed up at my door. It turned out I was his real daughter. I packed my bags that night, grabbed my little golden mutt, Buddy, and said my heartfelt goodbyes to all the folks in town. With tears in their eyes, they all waved me off. “Willow, you go live that good life now. Don’t you ever come back to this hardship.” I just shook my head. No way. The Sterling estate wasn’t even as big as one of the hills back home. There was barely enough room for me and Buddy to get a good run in. I was just going to collect what they owed us. And if they wouldn’t give it to me… well, they were about to see me lose my mind. 1 On the drive to his mansion, Richard Sterling, my billionaire father, laid down three rules for me: First, I was not to reveal my true identity to anyone. Second, I was not to drive away Sophia, the girl who had been raised in my place. Third, I was not to compete with Sophia for his affection. So, when I stepped into the grand living room and saw Sophia crying a river of pearlescent tears, I immediately turned, Buddy at my heels, and headed for the garden. “Oh, Sophia, don’t cry. You will always be my only daughter.” Right. That was Eleanor Sterling, my birth mother. “That’s right. You’re my only sister. That girl from the sticks doesn’t even deserve to call me her brother.” I raised an eyebrow. That must be my brilliant older brother, Julian. I couldn’t be bothered to listen to the rest of their little drama. I just took Buddy for a couple of laps around the garden. He panted, his tongue lolling out in what looked like sheer disdain. I had to agree. The Sterling family’s garden was smaller than a single hill back home. No wonder Buddy was unimpressed. Figuring Sophia’s performance had to be wrapping up, I led Buddy back into the living room and plopped myself down on a lone armchair. Buddy settled obediently at my feet. The moment I sat down, Richard Sterling—the same man who had been all smiles and kindness in the car—shot me a look as cold as ice. “Have you already forgotten everything I just told you?” My dear brother Julian glared at me as if I were something filthy that had crawled in from the street. I held up my hand and pointed a finger toward Sophia. “One, I haven’t told a soul who I am. Two, I haven’t tried to kick her out. And three, I haven’t tried to steal her spotlight.” Richard choked, the words catching in his throat. “Sister… do you not like me?” Sophia asked, her face a mask of wounded innocence, her eyes instantly welling up. Eleanor immediately rushed to her side, patting her hand comfortingly before turning her venom on me. Her voice was sharp, dripping with acid. “Willow, now that you’re back in the Sterling household, you need to learn our ways. Don’t bring your crude, country manners in here.” She sniffed disdainfully. “And that dog of yours is filthy. How could you bring it into the living room? I’ll have someone get rid of it tomorrow.” I slowly stroked Buddy’s head, then finally met her gaze. “When he came to get me, he promised I could bring Buddy.” I leaned on the word “he,” my eyes shifting to the silent Richard Sterling. “As for the rules, I’ve followed the three he gave me. And my rule is that people should keep their promises.” Richard’s face flushed with a hint of embarrassment. He cleared his throat. Julian, who had been silent until now, let out a cold snort. “Dad was just trying to be nice. But a family’s image is important.” He looked me up and down. “You need to adapt to high society, not drag the whole village in here with you.” He paused, the contempt in his eyes deepening. “After all, your name is Sterling now.” “My name is Willow,” I corrected him calmly. “As in the tree.” My words hung in the air, freezing the entire room. Sophia’s tears finally spilled over. “Julian, don’t say that to her. It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, sister wouldn’t have suffered so much out there.” Her voice trembled. “Sister, you have every right to blame me. You can hit me, you can scream at me, whatever it takes for you to feel better. It doesn’t matter if you kick me out of this house, I just…” I watched this perfectly orchestrated performance. One played the villain, one the victim, one the mediator, and one the judge, all working in flawless harmony. They were trying to put me in my place, to make me understand my lowly status, to make me grateful for their charity and guilty about Sophia. Too bad they had it all wrong from the very beginning. I wasn’t here for a family reunion. I was here to collect a debt. I reached into my worn canvas tote bag and pulled out a thick stack of papers, neatly bound with a staple, and placed it right in the center of the coffee table. “Now then,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “Let’s talk about the compensation.” For a moment, everyone just stared, utterly speechless. 2 Julian let out a sharp bark of laughter, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. He snatched the papers off the table. He only got two pages in before the smirk on his face curdled into a mask of rage. “Assessment of damage to orange groves… based on a five-year average yield per acre… projecting total production loss over the next ten years… including labor costs, land maintenance, brand value depreciation… for a total of one hundred thirty-two million, seven hundred and forty thousand dollars?” His voice trembled as he read the final number. He slammed the stack down on the table, sending pages scattering across the floor. “Are you insane? This is extortion!” Eleanor grabbed a few of the scattered sheets, her eyes widening in disbelief before she erupted in a shriek. “You ungrateful brat! We take you into our home, offer you the best of everything, and instead of being thankful, you try to squeeze money out of us? Over a hundred million? Why don’t you just rob a bank!” I ignored their hysterics, my gaze fixed on Sophia. Her performance was, as always, right on cue. Tears streamed down her face like broken pearls. She staggered to her feet, her body swaying as if she might faint, her voice choked with endless grief and self-blame. “Sister… I know it’s all my fault. I was thoughtless, I ruined the town’s groves…” Her voice was a pathetic whisper. “But I didn’t mean to…” “Blame me, please, just blame me. You can hit me, you can yell at me, anything… why would you use money to hurt Mom and Dad’s feelings? We’re a family…” She took a step toward me, making as if she was about to drop to her knees. “I’ll apologize, I’ll beg for your forgiveness, please, just don’t do this…” Julian and Eleanor lunged forward to catch her. The three of them clung to each other, a united front glaring at me as if I were the wicked villain tearing their happy family apart. “Willow! Look what you’ve done to Sophia!” Richard Sterling finally roared, slamming his fist on the table. He pointed a trembling finger at my face, his own contorted with disappointment and rage. “This family owes you nothing! Taking you in was a kindness, not an obligation! If you’re going to keep making trouble, then you can get the hell out!” I waited until their storm of outrage had passed. Then, I began to speak. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the tension, clear and sharp. “First, this isn’t extortion. It’s restitution.” “What Sophia destroyed was the livelihood of over a hundred families for the next decade. That data,” I said, nodding toward the scattered papers, “was compiled from the logbooks my grandfather kept for decades. Every harvest from every single tree is accounted for.” I paused, letting my gaze sweep over each of their faces. “Second, as I’ve already told you, my name is Willow. I didn’t come back to find a family, and I certainly didn’t come back to be anyone’s ‘sister’.” I rose to my feet, looking down on this ridiculous, self-pitying quartet. I spoke each word with deliberate, chilling calm. “I’m here to collect a debt. And debts must be paid.” “As for your family’s affection?” I let a small, cold smile touch my lips. “It’s worthless. And I’m not interested.” 3 In the end, Richard Sterling took my hundred-and-thirty-two-million-dollar compensation claim. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no. Instead, he studied me for a long time with a new, complex expression in his eyes before making a decision: he was sending me to school. The same school as Sophia: the prestigious Blackwood Preparatory Academy. Eleanor was thrilled with the idea. The look she gave me was filled with malicious glee. “Good. Maybe you’ll finally learn some manners. Stop acting so uncultured and embarrassing the Sterling name.” Julian added with a sneer, “Sophia’s friends are all from the best families. It will be a real eye-opener for you. Maybe you’ll stop being so obsessed with your pathetic orange money and see the bigger picture.” I knew exactly what they were doing. They were throwing me into an environment where pedigree and wealth were everything, a world where I didn’t belong. They wanted me to feel small, to see the vast, unbridgeable chasm between myself and Sophia. They hoped I would be so intimidated that I’d give up my “extortion” attempt and become their obedient little puppet. It was a decent plan. Too bad it wouldn’t work on me. On my first day at Blackwood Prep, I became an instant celebrity. Not because I was the long-lost Sterling heir, but because I showed up in a pair of faded canvas sneakers, carrying a worn tote bag, with a wagging, golden-haired mutt trailing behind me. Buddy, of course, couldn’t come inside. I had him wait by the security booth at the main gate. The guard was a nice guy; he even gave him a bowl of water. Sophia’s friends were buzzing around like flies, led by a girl named Tiffany. They would “accidentally” spill milk on my homework. They would loudly mock my “thrift-store” clothes behind my back. They even started stuffing trash into my desk. Through it all, Sophia maintained her facade of sweet innocence, occasionally offering a fake, half-hearted defense. “Tiffany, please don’t be so mean to my sister. She’s just not used to things here.” This, of course, only made Tiffany and her friends worse, claiming they were just “standing up” for poor, victimized Sophia. I couldn’t be bothered to engage. Arguing with a pack of spoiled, overgrown toddlers was a waste of time. I wasn’t here to make friends or fit in. I was just waiting for my payment of one hundred thirty-two million, seven hundred and forty thousand dollars to clear. Soon, the school announced a mandatory placement exam for all students. This became the new source of amusement for Tiffany’s crew. They spread rumors that the “illiterate girl from the sticks” probably didn’t even know how to fill in a bubble sheet. They crowed that I was destined to rank dead last, bringing shame to Sophia’s class. On the day of the exam, I finished all the sections with half an hour to spare. I then put my head down on the desk and slept until the final bell rang. This only solidified my image as a hopeless case in their eyes. Even Sophia shot me a look tinged with what looked like pity. The day the results were posted, the bulletin board was mobbed. The crowd was three deep, a chaotic buzz of voices. I had no interest in joining the spectacle and was about to take a detour when a sudden, collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a dead, stunned silence. Then, as one, every head turned. Every pair of eyes locked onto me like a row of searchlights. Confused, I felt someone grab my arm and pull me toward the front. The crowd parted for me like the Red Sea. I looked up at the red paper posted at the very top of the board, reserved for the top scores. At the number one spot, two words were printed in stark black ink: Willow Reed. 4 Beneath my name was a string of figures: English Lit 145, Calculus 150, Chemistry 148, Physics 305. Total: 748. It was a commanding, almost terrifying score. The student in second place, the perennial top student of the year, had a total of 695. As for Sophia, I scanned down the list and found her name in seventh place, with a score of 681. The hallway was utterly silent. Tiffany’s mouth hung open, her expression one of someone who had just seen a ghost. Further down the hall, Sophia stood frozen, her face ashen, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. That night, the atmosphere at the Sterling dinner table was heavier than ever before. Richard, Eleanor, and Julian all held copies of my report card, staring at them as if trying to decipher some ancient, impossible text. For the first time, they didn’t dare treat me like some simple girl from the country they could easily manipulate. After the exam results, a tense quiet fell over the Sterling household. At dinner, Eleanor no longer made her usual sarcastic remarks, and Julian stopped trying to belittle me with his theories on high-society etiquette. They ate in silence, watching me with a new, probing curiosity, their gazes tinged with suspicion and even a hint of alarm. This quiet was more unsettling than their previous hostility. I knew it was just the calm before the storm. Having failed in their first attempt to break me, they would simply find a new, more insidious way. Especially Sophia. The way she looked at me had changed completely. Gone was the cat-and-mouse amusement and condescending pity. In its place was a cold, simmering hatred, a toxic brew of jealousy and malice. She still tried to play the part of the gentle, harmless victim whenever I was around, but her acting had grown sloppy. Sometimes, the raw hatred would leak out from behind her eyes, sharp and cold as a poisoned needle. She didn’t have to wait long for what she thought was her next opportunity. 5 The school was holding its annual Chemistry Competition. The winners not only got a significant boost for their college applications but also a prestigious line item on their resumes, coveted by Ivy League schools. As a consistent top student, Sophia was determined to win. The competition required teams of two. To everyone’s surprise, Sophia publicly invited me to be her partner. She stood before my desk, her smile as warm and gentle as ever. “Sister, let’s team up. Your theoretical knowledge is incredible, and I’m better with the practical experiments. Together, we’ll definitely take first place.” I put down my pen and looked up at her. Then, I nodded calmly. “Okay.” I knew it was a trap. But I also knew you can’t spend your whole life watching for thieves. Better to let them make their move. I had come to the Sterling house to collect a debt, after all. A flicker of triumph flashed in Sophia’s eyes, so fast it was almost invisible. From that day on, a little gadget I’d ordered online came in handy—a miniature recording device, perfectly disguised as an ordinary fountain pen. During the preparation phase, everything seemed normal. The afternoon before the competition, we were in the lab running our final data simulations. Halfway through, Sophia suddenly complained of feeling unwell and said she needed to go to the nurse’s office. She asked Tiffany to stay behind and “help” me. I nodded and went back to the reagents I was measuring. After Sophia left, Tiffany sidled up to me. “Hey, Willow, doesn’t the calibration on that beaker look a little off? Let me check it for you.” As she leaned over, pretending to inspect the equipment and drawing my attention, I heard the faintest sound behind me—the whisper of a zipper, and then the tiny, distinct click of a memory card being ejected from the data logger. I didn’t turn around. By the time I looked back, Tiffany was standing where she had been before, though her face was a little pale. And the card slot on the data logger I had left on the lab bench was empty. “Where’s my data card?” I asked. 6 Tiffany’s eyes darted around nervously. “I… I don’t know. Wasn’t it just there a second ago?” Right on cue, Sophia returned, her face a mask of concern. “What’s wrong?” I looked at her. She met my gaze, her eyes wide with pure, unblemished innocence. “My experiment data card is missing.” “What? How could that be?” Sophia exclaimed, feigning shock. Then, as if a thought had just struck her, she whirled on Tiffany. “Tiffany, was it you? Were you jealous that sister and I were working together, so you hid it?” Tiffany, stunned by the accusation, burst into tears. “Sophia, how could you say that! I didn’t do it! I was with her the whole time, I didn’t touch anything!” Soon, the supervising teacher arrived, drawn by the commotion. Sophia explained the situation through her tears, every word seemingly defending me, yet subtly implying that, as someone from the country, I probably didn’t understand the importance of the competition and might have carelessly lost the card myself. I remained silent through the entire spectacle, watching their pathetic little show. The outcome was predictable. With the key data missing, our team was disqualified. Sophia, for her “graciousness under pressure” and “willingness to protect her sister,” earned the sympathy of everyone involved. And I became the “idiot sister,” the clumsy liability who couldn’t even keep track of her own work and had dragged down the brilliant Sophia. That night, I went back to my room and locked the door. I took the “fountain pen” from my pocket and pressed the playback button. After a brief crackle of static, the hushed voices of two girls filled the room. Tiffany: “Sophia, are we really doing this? What if we get caught?” Sophia: “What is there to be afraid of? She’s a country bumpkin. No one will believe her. I’m going to teach her that Blackwood Prep is no place for people like her. First place was supposed to be mine! Just do what I said, get her data card, and leave the rest to me.” Tiffany: “So… what happens to the card after I take it?” Sophia: “I’ll hide it for now. When the teacher shows up, I’ll suggest she lost it herself and then tried to blame you. By the end of it, everyone will think she’s not just stupid, but a liar too. I’m going to ruin her reputation.” … I turned off the recording and carefully put the pen away. I didn’t expose them on the spot. I knew that a minor chemistry competition was nowhere near a fitting price for what Sophia had done. I was here for a full reckoning, with interest. And this recording was excellent collateral, to be cashed in when it would yield the highest possible return. 7 The fallout from the chemistry competition at the Sterling mansion was both smaller and larger than I had anticipated. Smaller, because in their eyes, it was perfectly normal for the “wild girl from the country” to screw something important up. Eleanor’s gaze reverted to one of pure contempt, now mixed with a smug “I told you so” satisfaction. Julian simply treated me as if I were invisible, not even bothering to waste a glance on me. Larger, because the incident cemented Sophia’s image as the “perfect victim.” Not only did she not blame me, but she went out of her way to make excuses for me, her magnanimity earning even more praise from Richard Sterling. This situation actually worked in my favor. A hunter has the easiest time when the prey feels completely safe. A new opportunity presented itself soon enough. At dinner one evening, Richard, who usually ate in silence, made a rare announcement. The Sterling Group was preparing a bid for a massive, government-backed environmental project. It was a cornerstone of the company’s ten-year strategic plan, and its importance could not be overstated. After laying out the context, his gaze swept over both me and Sophia before finally settling on her, his eyes filled with undisguised pride and expectation. “To be fair, and to give you young people a chance,” he began, clearing his throat in a pompous tone, “I’ve decided to let both Sophia and Willow prepare a proposal for this project.” “Whichever proposal is more creative and feasible will earn its creator a leading role on the project team.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Eleanor laughed, her tone dripping with condescension. “Is there even a competition? Our Sophia has been learning the business at her father’s side since she was a little girl. How could some people possibly compare?” Julian put down his fork and frowned at his father. “Dad, this project is too important to be treated like a game. Don’t let unprofessional people waste everyone’s time.” They were a perfect tag team, writing me off completely. Sophia, ever the humble one, quickly waved her hands. “Mom, Julian, don’t say that. Sister’s grades are so good, her theoretical knowledge is definitely stronger than mine. I’m grateful Dad is giving us this chance, and I’ll work my hardest. I hope sister will bring her best effort too, so we can have a fair competition.” Her words were flawless, showcasing her own generosity while simultaneously painting me as someone who was only good on paper. I ignored their family drama and simply said one word to Richard: “Okay.” To them, my calm acceptance must have looked like the height of foolish arrogance. For the next few days, I locked myself in my room. I didn’t research complex business cases or study financial models. I just took out a blank sheet of paper. My mind filled with images of the ruined orange groves back home, of the old village chief’s calloused hands, of the decades of harvest notes he had kept. My proposal was fundamentally different from anything Sophia could conceive. She was thinking about how to please her father, how to package a slick and impressive-looking business plan. I was thinking about how to bring a piece of land back to life. I combined the old chief’s wisdom with modern ecological farming principles I’d studied, creating a blueprint for an “agricultural eco-cycle system” based on my hometown’s environment. The system wouldn’t just solve the project’s environmental requirements; it would create far more economic value than anticipated and revitalize an entire region. It was a love letter to the orange groves, and it was the most important debt I planned to collect. Knowing the value of what I was creating, I was extremely careful. My computer was protected with a complex password, and the file itself was encrypted. But I had still underestimated Sophia’s greed and shamelessness.

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