At my own engagement party, the wide-eyed heroine whispered to her System. “If I splash wine on the male lead, won’t he just throw me out?” The System’s voice was chipper and confident. “Relax. You’re the main character. So what if he’s engaged? Even if he were married, he’d fall so head-over-heels for you he wouldn’t know what hit him.” This was my engagement party. The man I had carefully chosen as my fiancé, Bernard Croft, was the so-called “male lead” she was talking about? That was impossible. Bernard was the heir to a dynasty, schooled for over twenty years in the art of putting profits before anything else. He would never toss aside a multi-billion dollar merger for some doe-eyed ingenue. Unless, of course, he’d completely lost his mind. It wasn’t until my family’s corporation teetered on the brink of bankruptcy that I finally understood. The plot they were weaving wasn’t about love—it was about forcing the male lead to abandon me for the sake of his bottom line. 01 My engagement to Bernard was a strategic alliance, a merger of two corporate titans destined to send both our stock prices soaring. But here, at our engagement party, I was eavesdropping on a conversation between a waitress and her invisible System. The waitress, an innocent-looking girl, was psyching herself up to “accidentally” spill her drink on Bernard to get his attention. The System’s voice echoed in my mind. “You’re the heroine! You’ll have him wrapped around your finger. Go on, be bold! Aim for the suit! Ruin his engagement party!” I glanced at Bernard beside me. He was breathtaking in a pristine, custom-tailored white suit with a seven-figure price tag. The thought of that masterpiece being ruined by cheap wine made my own wallet ache. Bernard noticed my stare and leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “What is it?” “Nothing,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Just wondering… would you ever call off our wedding for another woman?” A smirk played on his lips as he tapped his temple. “Sophia, darling, have you been reading too many romance novels? Lost your mind? Marrying you is like acquiring a billion-dollar asset. What reason would I have to throw away a billion dollars?” His logic was so sound it made me feel foolish. I wouldn’t have believed it either, if I hadn’t heard the waitress and her System with my own two ears. My eyes kept drifting back to her, following her every move. Bernard squeezed my hand, a silent warning. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “We’re about to be married and you’re already distracted? Thinking about some other guy?” I shot back, “Not another guy. But I have a feeling your past might be about to catch up with you.” He scoffed. “Hardly.” The next second, it happened. The waitress stumbled, and a cascade of crimson wine arced through the air, drenching the front of Bernard’s immaculate white suit. 02 “Are you insane?! What the hell was that?” Bernard’s voice was ice. The polite, gentlemanly mask he wore for the public cracked, revealing the fury simmering beneath. I’d known him since we were kids; I knew this was him on the verge of exploding. The waitress, this Lily, looked like a startled rabbit. “I-I’m so, so sorry…” she stammered, tears welling in her eyes as she fumbled with a napkin, trying to dab at the stain. The hotel manager rushed over, his face pale. “Lily, what is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be in the back with the catering staff! What are you doing out here?” Lily sobbed, her voice thick with manufactured innocence. “I just wanted to pour Mr. Croft a glass of wine.” It was a convincing performance, a simple, tragic mistake. Normally, I would have smoothed things over, eager to keep our engagement party running without a hitch. But tonight, I was intensely curious. How was Bernard going to handle this? His eyes were cold, his jaw tight as he deliberately looked away from Lily. “My assistant will send you the bill for the suit. You will pay for it, or I’ll sue. Consider yourself lucky I’m in a good mood today.” With that, he grabbed my hand and turned on his heel, not giving Lily a single backward glance. His movements were clipped, almost unnaturally fast. “What a disaster,” he muttered as we walked away. “Sophia, that suit was one of a kind! Ruined by some clumsy waitress… it’s completely soaked. Thank God I had the foresight to bring a backup.” He stalked towards the changing rooms, leaving the manager to tear into the still-sobbing Lily. Did she really think soiling a suit was enough to derail our engagement? How simplistic. I edged a little closer to Lily, my curiosity piqued. I needed to hear what her next move was. 03 While Bernard was changing, I tuned back into Lily’s frantic conversation with her System. “What do I do? What do I do?” she panicked. “Where am I going to get that kind of money? Three million dollars? I won’t earn that in a lifetime!” The System was unbothered. “It’s only three million. Once you marry him, you’ll have access to three hundred million. What’s the difference? You can’t pay? Fine. Go apologize again. Sooner or later, he’ll see your pure heart and inner beauty.” Lily’s voice was small. “My inner beauty? Are you sure he’s into the sweet, innocent type?” “Positive,” the System insisted. “Bernard fought his way to the top of the Croft family hierarchy. Dynasties like his are starved for genuine warmth. Someone like you is exactly what he needs to let his guard down.” “Look at him with his fiancée,” it continued. “That smile is so fake. He doesn’t love her at all.” Lily seemed to absorb this, nodding to herself. When Bernard reappeared, I found myself scrutinizing his face, searching for the fakeness the System had mentioned. He caught me staring and bent down again. “What is with you tonight?” “Are you unhappy?” I asked bluntly. “Is that smile fake?” He rubbed his own cheeks, which did look a little stiff. “You think anyone can hold a smile like this all day? My God, Sophia, you must be a saint.” I ignored his backhanded compliment and pulled him along to mingle. An engagement party like this was a networking goldmine; deals that would make us millions were being brokered over cocktails. There was no time to slack off. Still, a sense of unease lingered. Bernard had never been short of female attention, but this “heroine”… my gut told me she was different. 04 By the end of the night, Bernard and I were exhausted. As I sank into the plush leather of the back seat of my car, he was just about to get in beside me. “Mr. Croft!” A panicked voice called out. It was Lily, rushing out of the hotel. Bernard paused, his annoyance clear. “Are you here with the money?” Lily’s face flushed a deeper red. From my angle, she looked even more like a cornered animal. “No… I was just thinking… I could take the suit home and wash it. I promise I can make it look brand new… I really don’t have the money… please.” So fragile. It looked like a strong gust of wind could knock her over. Was this what Bernard secretly wanted? A woman he needed to protect? The thought sent a chill down my spine. It reminded me of my own father, who had left my mother for a woman who was just as fragile, just as seemingly helpless. Suddenly, my interest in the game waned. I said nothing, just watched Bernard, trying to read the thoughts behind his guarded expression. He let out a short, sharp laugh. “This is a bespoke designer suit. And you want to ‘take it home and wash it’?” He shook his head. “Unbelievably naive.” As the car door clicked shut, I heard Lily’s desperate whisper to her System. “He’s angry! What do I do now?” “Don’t worry,” the System soothed. “You’ve already piqued his interest. All the data I gave you was tailored to his exact preferences. Tomorrow, you’ll start as his new secretary. I’ll create an opportunity for you.” “As for Sophia,” it added dismissively, “you don’t need to worry about her at all. Her family is about to go bankrupt. When that happens, her engagement to Bernard will naturally be dissolved.” “Their relationship is built on pure business. How could that ever compete with true love?” Lily was convinced. My heart stopped. My family… bankrupt? I was completely and utterly stunned by the revelation. 05 My family, one of the city’s upper-echelon elites… bankrupt? It seemed impossible. But the System had gotten one thing right. My relationship with Bernard was a contract, a fusion of assets. If my family’s fortune vanished, he would have every reason to walk away. But would he walk away… for her? I decided to test the waters. “She seems quite pitiful,” I murmured. “There’s no way she can afford three million dollars.” Bernard leaned over, resting his head on my shoulder, his voice laced with amusement. “Darling, the stray cats and dogs on the street are pitiful too. If you feed them once, they’ll just keep coming back for more. Sometimes, it’s better not to feed them at all.” “Doesn’t a girl like that awaken your protective instincts?” I pressed, remembering the System’s certainty that Lily was his “type.” He mumbled, his voice drowsy. “I have no interest in a clinging vine that needs protecting. I told you that a long time ago. You chose me, Sophia. I have no intention of letting you down.” He sounded like a model reciting a script. I reached up and touched his face. “I hope you never forget what our partnership is built on.” Business. That was the only thing that lasted. Until this moment, I had believed that with every fiber of my being. So what if Lily had a System? If Bernard could be won over that easily, then I didn’t want him anyway. 06 Bernard was nothing if not perceptive. He cracked open an eye, his gaze sharp. “Sophia, have you been wanting to run off with some other guy for a while now? You’re acting very strange tonight.” Always turning it back on me. I massaged my temples. Tonight had been surreal. The System’s chatter had clearly gotten under my skin, making me doubt not only my family’s stability but Bernard himself. He was my carefully selected partner. Perfect in every way, except for that brutally sharp tongue. “It’s not me that’s strange,” I retorted. “It’s her. Aren’t you curious? The security at our engagement party was iron-clad. How did she manage to get close enough to drench you in wine?” The fact that I could hear her cosmic cheerleader was too bizarre to explain. Bernard’s gaze shifted from his phone to my face, intense and focused. He didn’t answer my question directly. “So you are jealous. That A-list actress was all over me last month and you didn’t bat an eye. Why are you getting worked up over a waitress? You must have a very low opinion of my taste.” I pushed his head away. “You wish.” 07 I spent the next few days poring over my family’s financials, searching for any hidden vulnerability, any sign of the impending doom Lily’s System had predicted. And then, as if her words were a curse, it began. A series of small, nagging problems started cropping up at Vanderbilt Corp. My phone buzzed constantly with calls from assistants and department heads. None of the issues were catastrophic on their own, but they were persistent, and we couldn’t trace the source. It was like death by a thousand paper cuts. The System’s words haunted me: “Her family is about to go bankrupt.” I had to see Bernard. I had to know if the System’s other prediction—that Lily would become his secretary—was true. Could this System really be powerful enough to fabricate a resume and bypass the extensive background checks of a company like Croft Industries? I drove to his office building. The receptionist knew me, of course, and waved me right through. I was escorted straight to the executive floor, to the doors of Bernard’s office. When the door opened, I froze. There she was. Lily. Standing so close to Bernard that from my angle, it looked like they were in an embrace. So the System really was that powerful. He was already taking the sweet, innocent girl into his arms. I stood there, stunned into silence. My escort, one of his senior secretaries, quickly recovered. “Mr. Croft, Ms. Vanderbilt is here.” Bernard immediately pushed Lily away. She stumbled backward, nearly falling. “I asked you to get coffee, not throw yourself at me! Get out!” he snapped. Lily looked wounded. Her eyes darted from Bernard’s furious face to mine. “But… I was just pouring the coffee.” “Pouring coffee? It looked like you were about to pour it all over me again! You already owe me millions, Ms. Evans!” As Lily was hustled out by a flustered assistant, I heard her frantic whisper. “System, are you sure your intel is right? I really don’t think he’s into me at all!” The mechanical voice replied, tinny and certain. “Impossible. The data is clear: Bernard Croft likes innocent, sweet girls with no ulterior motives. This is only your second meeting. I will create another opportunity for you soon.” “The data never lies,” it continued. “He despises people who are obsessed with money and power. The only way to win his heart is to show him that you care nothing for material things.” Lily sighed. “Alright, maybe it’s just…” I wanted to hear more, but the assistant had already shown her out and discreetly closed the heavy office door. The vast office was silent, leaving just me and Bernard. He was already rushing to explain. “I swear, Sophia, it’s like she has some kind of dark magic. I’m calling HR right now to have her fired. This day has been an absolute nightmare.” This world, I thought, was becoming a nightmare.

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I was born unwanted. When I was three, my mother left me and fled the country. When I was five, my brothers poured chili water down my throat. I smiled and told them it was delicious. My third brother, Noah, would deliberately leave me stranded outside the kindergarten. My older brothers, David and Joseph, would corner me with the other children, blocking the way to the bathroom, laughing as I was humiliated. Then one day, the little girl next door got sick. I was sick too. Without a moment’s hesitation, my father swept her into his arms and rushed her to the hospital. He told me to go die somewhere far away. But later, so much later, my father would look at me, tears streaming down his face. “Rosie,” he’d beg, his voice breaking. “Can you please… just call me ‘Dad’ one more time?” I would just clutch the hem of my shirt, my mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to make a sound. 01 The sky bled from gray to black. Rain fell in thick, heavy drops, pelting my face and stinging my eyes. It soaked through my little hooded coat, seeping into my bones until a shiver wracked my small body. A few adults hurried past, assuming I was lost, urging me to get out of the downpour. I told them I couldn’t. I promised my brother I would wait for him right here. Good children get candy. I waited until the sky turned light again, but my brother never came. Finally, our butler, Mr. Henderson, found me. He seemed to sigh, a sound lost in the morning traffic. “Miss Rosalind, your father has been looking everywhere for you.” “My brother…” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Master Joseph returned home last night. Please, come with me. Your father will be very displeased otherwise.” I was more afraid of my father’s displeasure than I was of my brothers. I let Mr. Henderson lead me to the car. Before we even stepped inside the house, I could hear their laughter. “That idiot,” Joseph was saying. “I bet she’s still waiting at the mall entrance. How can someone that stupid be our sister?” Noah, the youngest of them, was fiddling with a toy truck. “You know how she is. She believes anything we say. She’s so obedient, she’ll come crawling back to us no matter what we do.” David, the eldest, spoke with a low voice laced with contempt. “Why does she have to be my sister? Chloe from next door is so much cuter. I wish she were my sister.” Then, his voice dropped further, filled with a venom that made my skin crawl. “If it weren’t for her, Mom would have never left.” I stood dripping in the doorway, a gust of wind making me feel colder than ever. When they saw me, their dark eyes flickered away, refusing to meet mine. My father descended the grand staircase, his first words an accusation. “What happened?” I didn’t dare say it was because of my brothers. “I got lost… after we went out yesterday.” His face hardened. “Did I not tell you to stay with your brothers? To not wander off?” I twisted the fabric of my wet coat. “But… I waited in the right place.” Joseph chimed in, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “I told her to wait right there, Dad. But the driver said he didn’t see her when he came back, right?” My father believed him. Of course, he did. His voice boomed with anger. “And you still won’t admit it?” He pulled a thin, hard cane from the umbrella stand. “Hold out your hand.” I remembered the last time I’d been disobedient. He’d locked me in my room for a whole day. He was always so busy. So busy he forgot I was in there. I didn’t get to eat until I’d fainted from hunger. I didn’t want that to happen again. I obediently held out my small hand. CRACK. The sound echoed in the marble foyer as the cane struck my palm. A searing pain shot up my arm, and tears welled in my eyes. “Do not wander off. Will you remember next time?” My hand trembled. “I’ll remember.” “Louder!” He struck me again, harder this time. I flinched, pulling my hand back with a sob. “I’ll… I’ll remember!” My father had a meeting and left before lunch. The housekeeper changed my clothes and left a single slice of dry bread on the dining table for me. Joseph stood over me, making a grotesque face. “Crybaby,” he taunted. “You tried to tattle, but did you really think Dad would believe you?” I scarfed down the bread, my stomach aching. Noah approached with a glass of water. He looked almost kind. I was so thirsty. I took the glass and tilted my head back, gulping it down. 02 “Is it good?” Noah asked. I nodded, forcing a smile. “It’s good.” Anything from my brothers had to be good. Then, the fire erupted in my mouth. It burned my tongue, my throat, my stomach. The pain was so intense I dropped to the floor, writhing. Through my agony, I could hear their laughter. “I told you she’d drink it.” “She said it’s good! Of course, chili water is delicious!” “Let’s see if you dare tattle on us again.” I scrambled for water, but they blocked every sink. Desperate, I ran to the kitchen, climbed onto the counter, and twisted the faucet, drinking straight from the tap. They laughed even harder, saying I looked like a toad lapping up water. I drank and drank, the cold water doing little to quench the fire, until my stomach was a bloated, painful ball. Tears streamed down my face. I took two steps and vomited all over the pristine white carpet. The housekeeper saw the mess and scolded me under her breath. “What is wrong with you? Just like your mother, always causing trouble. If you don’t learn to behave, I’ll have to tell your father.” She lifted me, but my chest felt tight, like I couldn’t breathe. I thought of my mother. I clutched the small jade pendant around my neck, the last thing she ever gave me. Did she leave because I wasn’t a good girl? But I’m trying to be good, Mommy. When are you coming back? After the housekeeper cleaned me up, I hid under my covers. My stomach hurt. My face felt hot. My bed was huge, but no matter how I tossed and turned, I couldn’t get comfortable. Sleep wouldn’t come. Late in the night, I heard my father’s footsteps. I crept out of bed and peeked through the crack in my door. I wanted to tell him my tummy hurt. But his face was terrifying, dark and grim like the wolf in the cartoons. “Why are you still awake? Why can’t you ever learn to behave?” I stared down at my bare feet on the cold floor. Was that it? Was I still not good enough? Was that why Mom wouldn’t come back? I felt my lip tremble, the tears threatening to fall again. But then he sighed and lifted me, placing me back in bed. “No more willfulness. Understood?” “Yes, Dad.” He tucked the blankets around me. I opened my mouth to tell him about the pain, but his phone rang. He took the call and left the room. He was always busy. He never even ate with us. I said nothing more. As I drifted into a feverish sleep, I saw my mother. She had left when I was three. That day, I hadn’t listened to her. I’d told my father that she wanted to ride the carousel with me. It made him angry, very angry. “Eleonora, are you really using your own child to manipulate me? Have you no shame?” They fought. A terrible, screaming fight. But we went to the amusement park anyway. Mom said she was going to buy me ice cream and told me to wait for her. But then a beautiful butterfly fluttered by. I chased it, and when I looked back, my mother was gone. My father arrived with a swarm of men in black suits who shut down the entire park. The first look he gave me was like a monster about to devour its prey. “Where is your mother?” I burst into tears. And just like that, I didn’t have a mother anymore. My three brothers all believed it was my fault. So I tried my best to be good. To listen to my father and my brothers. If I was good enough, maybe Mom would come back. 03 The next morning, the housekeeper pulled me out of bed for school. My stomach hurt, so I went to the bathroom. What came out was a strange color, dark and streaked with red. The housekeeper’s impatient voice came through the door. “Miss Rosalind, if you dawdle any longer, your brothers will leave without you.” I closed the toilet lid, climbed on top, and flushed. At kindergarten, halfway through playtime, a sharp pain gripped my stomach again. I needed to go to the bathroom, now. Joseph and his friends blocked my path. The more I cried, the wider they smiled. The pain became a desperate, urgent pressure. I couldn’t hold it anymore. A foul smell filled the air. A warm, yellow liquid streamed down my legs, pooling around my shoes. The world exploded like a firecracker, shattering into a million pieces. “You’re so disgusting. How are you my sister?” Joseph sneered. “Rosie wet her pants!” the other children chanted. “Shame, shame, five years old and still wets her pants!” Everyone was laughing. I stood frozen in my own filth, sobbing uncontrollably. Finally, a teacher came. She cleaned me up and found me a change of clothes. She said it was okay, that I was still little and accidents happen. Everyone goes to the bathroom, she said. But I knew this was different. I saw the disgust in their eyes. No one would ever want to be my friend again. After school, the driver came to pick up my brothers. I tried to get in the car. David blocked the door with his body. “Don’t you dare. You’re filthy and you stink. A big girl who still poops her pants.” The driver’s eyes, when they met mine, held a flicker of that same disgust. It wasn’t like the teacher’s look. My cheeks burned with shame. I lowered my head and backed away. My brother slammed the door shut. “It’s not far. You can walk.” I was used to being left behind. I walked from daylight into darkness. When I finally reached home and pushed open the door, Chloe from next door was sitting on our sofa, crying. My three brothers were gathered around her, trying to comfort her. For some reason, the moment they saw me, their faces twisted with rage. “Did you steal something from Chloe?” 04 I was so hungry and thirsty I could barely stand. The room spun. “I didn’t steal anything.” David lunged at me and ripped the jade pendant from my neck. “Chloe says this is hers. If you didn’t steal it, what is it?” For the first time, I fought back. I grabbed his hand, trying to pry the jade from his fingers, a hot, unfamiliar anger surging through me. “That’s mine! Mom gave it to me! I didn’t steal it!” David froze for a second. Noah sneered, “Mom hates you. Why would she give you anything? If Chloe says it’s hers, then it’s hers.” Just then, my father returned. His eyes fell on the scene. “What is going on?” I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, my voice pleading. “I didn’t steal it! I really didn’t!” Chloe sobbed, clutching Joseph’s sleeve. “But I have one exactly like it… it was from my daddy.” My father’s expression changed. “You had better tell the truth.” “I didn’t steal it… Mom gave it to me.” Chloe’s grandmother came over from next door. “Our Chloe does have a jade pendant,” she said, her voice heavy with certainty. “It looks exactly like that one.” Everyone’s gaze shifted to me. It was the same look from the kids at kindergarten. Disgust. Contempt. “Liars get their tongues cut out,” David said coldly. “Give it back to her.” I couldn’t understand. Mom gave it to me. How could it be stealing? “No. It’s mine. I’m not giving it to her.” My father’s tall frame loomed over me. Then his hand came down, a sharp, stinging slap across my face. “So now you’ve learned to lie, have you?” I fell to the floor, scraping my arm. Tears poured from my eyes as I choked out the words. “Dad… even if you… kill me… I didn’t… steal it.” His hand, hanging by his side, clenched into a fist. I closed my eyes, ready for the next blow, clutching the jade tightly in my hand. He didn’t care about me. If he did, he would have known Mom had given it to me. But finally, he relented. “She seems to have a strong attachment to the object. I apologize. We will compensate you for its value.” The grandmother demurred. “Oh, it wasn’t expensive. If the child likes it, she can have it.” My father’s voice was ice. “Henderson, fetch the jadeite piece. The one from the auction the other day.” “Yes, sir.” He ended up giving Chloe a piece of jade ten times the size of my small pendant. Chloe stopped crying. My brothers loaded her up with snacks and toys to take home—snacks and toys they never shared with me. My stomach rumbled loudly. They all looked at me. Terrified, I scrambled up the stairs and hid in my room. Later, the housekeeper told me to come down for dinner. I held my aching stomach and refused to come out. I waited a long time. Finally, I heard my father’s voice drift up from downstairs. “Let her be.” In the middle of the night, I woke up. Every part of me ached. It was hard to breathe. I felt like I was dying, like the little hamster in my kindergarten class that had gone all stiff. I pushed open my door. A light was on in the living room. I stood at the top of the stairs and saw my father and Chloe’s grandmother. She was on her knees, crying. “That pendant was the last thing Chloe’s father left her,” she wept. “The shock sent her into a high fever. I’m afraid if we don’t get her to a hospital soon, it will be too late! Please, can you drive us? If anything happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do.” My teacher said if you don’t feel well, you go to the hospital. I could go to the hospital with Chloe. If I got better, I could see Mom again. She still hadn’t forgiven me, had she? My legs felt weak, and I nearly tumbled down the stairs. “Dad,” my voice was a weak croak. “My tummy hurts… everything hurts… I want to go to the hospital…” I couldn’t describe the feeling properly, and I knew they thought I was lying. The grandmother fell to her knees again, pleading. “Miss Rosalind, please don’t be like this. Any later and Chloe might not make it.” My father looked at me, his eyes filled with pure hatred. “You’re just like your manipulative mother. Disgusting.” He started for the door. I scrambled after him, the pain in my stomach twisting into a sharp knot. My body felt like it was on fire. “Dad…” I grabbed his sleeve. “I can go to the hospital with Chloe…” “Do you think faking sick for attention is amusing? Deliberately starving yourself? You think this will erase what you’ve done?” He shook me off. “If you’re going to die, die somewhere far away.” I fell to the floor, stunned into silence. I forgot how to cry. From the second-floor landing, my three brothers watched the show. “You hurt Chloe,” David said. “This is your punishment.” “How did the George family end up with a sister like you?” Noah added. “A little liar and a thief.” Joseph smiled, a bright, cruel smile. “I’ll tell you what. If you can get Mom to come back, we’ll forgive you. Okay?” I looked up at him, a flicker of childish hope in my eyes. “And you’ll be nice to me, like you are to Chloe? You’ll give me snacks and toys? And you’ll comfort me?” All three of them nodded. “Of course. You’re our sister.” They led me down to the basement and locked me inside. David tossed a phone down to me. “The first number is Mom’s. When you get her to answer, we’ll let you out. This is your punishment for stealing.” I fumbled for the phone and pressed the screen. It lit up. My father had tried calling Mom countless times, but she never picked up. It was probably hopeless. But I dialed anyway. Again and again. The screen lit up and went dark, over and over. And then, someone answered. 05 “I told you I am not coming back. Stop calling me.” The voice was so familiar. Tears instantly flooded my eyes. “Mommy,” I choked out. “Mommy, it’s Rosie, Mommy…” I kept repeating her name, terrified she would hang up. Words tumbled out of me in a rush. “Rosie should have waited for you, Mommy. I shouldn’t have chased the butterfly. I was bad.” The pain in my stomach was getting worse. The air I breathed out felt hot, making my head ache. “Mommy, my tummy hurts. Everything hurts. My brothers miss you too. Mommy, when are you coming back?” I asked, my voice small and hopeful. I heard a soft sob on the other end of the line. “I’m not coming back, sweetheart.” “Your father will take care of you. Please, don’t pretend to be sick to trick me, okay? No one likes a liar.” Her voice was so gentle. She wasn’t hanging up. I sat up straight, frantic. “I’m not lying! The boys don’t like me. Dad called me a thief. Mommy, I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t chase butterflies anymore. I’ll listen to you. Can you take me with you? Please?” Suddenly, her voice turned sharp. “I said, I am not coming back. Tell Jimmy George to stop wasting his time.” I didn’t understand. “But Mommy, I’m so hungry. My brothers won’t let me out. I’m going to be like the little hamster, and they’ll bury me in the ground.” Her voice was shrill now, angry. “I said, I don’t want you! Call your father! And another thing—it’s not because you chased a butterfly! It’s because I don’t want you! I don’t want any of you! Do you understand?!” Mommy doesn’t want me? It wasn’t that I was bad. She just didn’t want me. My hand fell limp to my side. I don’t know when the screen went dark. The little point of light vanished, and I was left in total darkness. It wasn’t because I was bad. Even if I was good… Mommy wouldn’t come back. They were all liars. They lied to me. A raw, guttural scream tore from my throat, echoing in the small, dark space. I cried until I had no strength left, my throat raw and aching. I collapsed onto the cold concrete floor and fell asleep. My mind was a chaotic storm. One moment, I saw my brothers, their faces contorted in cruel laughter as they cornered me. The next, I saw my mother, watching me chase the butterfly before turning and walking away. Then it was my father, his hand raised, his eyes cold with hate. And through it all, my mother’s voice, amplified as if through a loudspeaker, screamed in my ear. “It’s not because you were bad! It’s because we don’t want you! Do you understand?!” I woke up with a choked cry. I was still in the basement. It was so dark I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face. I was too weak and hungry to even try to stand. I reached out, but my fingers met nothing but empty air. I really was hated by everyone. A hated child. Like the ugly little black hamster at school, bullied by all the others in the cage. It ended up hiding in a corner until its body went stiff, and then the teacher dug a little hole and buried it. Something inside my small chest was beating frantically, like it wanted to leap out of my body. The last sliver of light, the last bit of life, seeped out of my eyes.

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The third time my childhood friend brought up the scholarship student, I laughed and teased him. “You think she has a crush on you?” His expression turned serious. “Merrin,” he said, his voice firm, “don’t joke like that. She’s not like us. You should never look down on someone who works hard.” I stuck my tongue out, a lump forming in my throat. In the end, the two of them went to the best music conservatory in the country together. And I? I threw away my violin, moved to another continent, and switched my major to finance. The battle between the red rose and the white one was a thing of the distant past. The day I came back, he took me to dinner and placed a piece of fish on my plate. Without thinking, I pushed it to the side. He froze, a long silence stretching between us. 01 I only told my parents I was coming back, but the Chows and the Langleys have always been close. So, when I saw Adrian Chow at the airport terminal, I wasn’t surprised. Years had passed, but he was still devastatingly handsome. His features were sharp and elegant, his posture refined. Dressed in a dark trench coat, he approached me with an unhurried grace that was all his own. The girls nearby were stealing glances at him, captivated by that unique musician’s aura. He smiled and naturally took the suitcase from my hand. “Merrin, was the flight tiring?” he asked, his voice as smooth as I remembered. “The car’s warm. Why don’t you get in first?” When I didn’t move, his smile widened. “Your dad asked me to pick you up.” I hesitated for a second before sliding into the back seat. “Aren’t you busy?” I asked, making small talk. “It’s a Monday.” “The princess has returned,” he said, his eyes deep and unreadable. “How could I possibly be too busy for that?” I waved a hand dismissively, forcing a laugh. “Don’t tease me. That nickname is so childish. It’s weird hearing it now.” He faltered, just for a moment, then recovered. “It’s been so long. We should get dinner.” It was already late. I thought about it. “Alright.” In the rearview mirror, I could feel Adrian’s gaze on me. I pretended not to notice, looking down at my phone to reply to a message. Just landed. The reply was almost instantaneous. Have some fun in the city for a bit. I’ll be there next week, as soon as I wrap things up here. I was about to type back when another message came through. Things have been crazy. I miss you. The London Stock Exchange had been volatile lately. He was probably swamped with meetings. My heart softened. “Don’t stare at your phone in the car,” Adrian said gently, noticing my silence. “You’ll get dizzy.” I paused. That familiar, caring tone—gentle and a little bit indulgent. I couldn’t help but look at him. It had been years since we’d really talked, not since our last, bitter fight. But he was acting as if nothing had ever happened. He smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. I put my phone down. “How are my parents?” Coming back was mostly for them. Seven years had passed. The old obsessions and resentments had faded. “Your mom was discharged a few days ago. The surgery was a success,” he said, his tone light. “Don’t worry. I’m here, aren’t I?” I fell silent. His uncle was one of the most renowned doctors in the city. The Chow family had clearly been a great help. I offered a polite, distant smile. “Thank you.” The words hung in the air. Adrian froze. I used to be shameless with him. I’d make him buy me milk tea. I’d complain that my hand was sore from playing the violin and make him massage it. I’d even fake-trip so he’d have to kneel down and tie my shoelaces. I would laugh and throw my arms around his neck, never once saying thank you. He would just flick my forehead, exasperated. “You’re impossible. You have to grow up sometime.” The car stopped at a red light. Adrian rested his hand on the open window. “And you?” he asked, his voice casual. “How have you been, all these years?” 02 After I’d dropped my things at my apartment, he took me to a nearby restaurant. It was a French place I used to love. As the waiter served our steaks, I answered his question nonchalantly. “Fine. London’s great.” Adrian smiled warmly. “I should visit sometime.” He stopped talking and replaced my glass of red wine with a soft drink. I sighed. “You know, I’m a grown woman. You don’t have to do that.” He was insistent. “Girls should drink less.” The restaurant had a small stage for live music. A few young women who were performing spotted Adrian, their eyes lighting up. They rushed over for an autograph. After he signed, he whispered something to them. They covered their mouths, glanced at me, and then scurried back to the stage, giddy with excitement. A moment later, a familiar melody began to play. My hand froze mid-air. It was a violin. A Norwegian dance. A complex piece with the crisp, clean scent of summer. I could still remember the summer I turned seventeen, with Adrian sitting beside me, patiently practicing it with me over and over again. In the candlelight, he smiled. “By the way, Merrin, you should come over soon. My parents are always asking about you. And we have your favorite mille-feuille. Oh, and our cat had kittens last year…” As he spoke, he casually placed a piece of salmon on my plate. I looked down and pushed it to the side. Adrian’s voice trailed off. He fell silent for a long time, then rubbed his temples, a sudden weariness in his eyes. “Merrin,” he said, his voice low. “After all this time, do you still hate me?” My fork clattered against my plate. He looked genuinely bewildered. “We grew up together. Is it all because I held her hand during a curtain call?” The violin music continued to drift through the restaurant. As the piece transitioned, the melody soured, dredging up older, uglier memories. Memories that made my stomach churn with anger and disgust. Adrian’s voice grew louder, his fingers tapping against his wine glass. “Is that why you gave up on your dream? Why you never touched the violin again? You just threw everything away and left the country by yourself?” He frowned. “All I did was not shake off her hand when she reached for me… We were on stage, Merrin. Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” Heads were turning in our direction. I stopped moving, the years-old argument rising up again, a bitter taste in my mouth. I dropped my knife and fork, the silverware clinking sharply. I tilted my head, my eyes curving into a smile. “Mr. Chow, I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. A beautiful first love in your youth? It’s a classic romance story.” I feigned confusion. “Why would I be angry?” Adrian stared at me. I picked up my purse. “You have your dreams, and I’m allowed to choose my own path,” I said coolly. “There’s no need to bring up the past.” I glanced at the musicians on stage. “And honestly,” I said, my voice clear and cutting, “I find this piece rather unpleasant.” The music stopped abruptly. As I turned to leave, Adrian grabbed my wrist. His eyes were unreadable. “So, you studied finance, something you were never good at, and just accepted your family’s arranged marriage?” he demanded, his voice low and intense. “You’re going to marry a man you don’t even know, just to get back at me?” He shook his head slowly. “Merrin Langley, you must have lost your mind.” I calmly pulled my hand away. “What’s it to you?” I asked softly. “Adrian, in what capacity are you even speaking to me right now?” His eyes were dark as ink. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I smiled. As I walked out, I paused. “Oh, by the way. I heard you and Nelly Guan were both made principal players this year. Congratulations.” 03 My head was throbbing. I stopped at a coffee shop and ordered an Americano. While I waited, a woman in a pencil skirt with a sharp, short haircut sat down across from me. Her eyes scanned the room and then landed on me. Her face lit up. “Merrin! What a coincidence!” She put down her phone and extended a hand. “It’s been so long! I was in your class in high school.” I was a bit taken aback. That part of my life, the part I had deliberately tried to erase, had become a blur. “You and Adrian helped pay my tuition once,” she continued, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. “I’ve always wanted to thank you both properly.” When I didn’t respond, she waved her hand dismissively. “It’s okay if you don’t remember. You two were so popular, you helped so many people. You’re still as gorgeous as ever! You and Adrian were always such a perfect match.” I lowered my eyes, unsure what to say. The woman, however, was just getting started. “You two are so low-key, though! Not a single word about you getting together all these years. You know, there was this crazy betting pool on the school forum back in the day. The Red Rose versus the White Moonlight. The arguments were epic.” She took a sip of her coffee, her expression indignant. “It made me so mad. How could Nelly Guan even compare to you? You were childhood sweethearts! She had nothing on that.” “Ma’am, your Americano is ready.” I stood up, a wry smile touching my lips. I remembered the forum. Seven years ago, arrogant and full of myself, I had publicly cast a vote for myself. I never imagined I’d be the one to flee in defeat. I turned back to her. “I’m sorry, I have to run.” She wasn’t offended at all. She just waved cheerfully. “Merrin, you have to invite me to your next concert! I’ll buy out the whole place!” I froze for a second before pushing the door open and stepping out into the cold night air. I didn’t have the heart to tell her, to see the disappointment in her hopeful eyes. I had abandoned that dream a long time ago. I haven’t touched a violin in seven years. The city nights were dry and cold, nothing like the soft, persistent drizzle of London. Some memories, you can’t escape. They creep back in, uninvited, and turn your world upside down. My mind drifted back. Everyone used to know I had two loves in my life: the violin, and Adrian Chow. It was simple. I’d known him forever. We’d started playing at the same time, lived in the same neighborhood, our parents were lifelong friends. We shared a natural, innate talent for music. We practiced together, competed together, learned together. We knew everything about each other. We were a perfect match. I was proud and playful; he was gentle and patient. We did everything together. Skiing in the Alps, getting into the same elite high school, riding our bikes home after class. He carried my backpack, bought me milk tea, tied my shoes. Family background, looks, talent—it all aligned. Everyone assumed I would become a world-renowned musician. And then, I would marry Adrian Chow. But in the summer of our sophomore year, someone completely different entered our lives. Her name was Nelly Guan. She was just an ordinary girl. 04 Adrian first noticed his new deskmate when he casually offered her a milk tea. The shop had gotten my order wrong, and I was, as always, picky. He shrugged, about to toss it in the trash. “Excuse me… could I have that?” A small, timid voice. It was Nelly, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. On the way home, Adrian told me about it. “I think she has low blood sugar. She doesn’t have much money for food.” It was the first time I’d ever heard him show concern for anyone else. At the time, I was at the peak of my youthful arrogance. I thought he was just being soft-hearted. In our specialized music program, Nelly was a try-hard, always at the bottom of the class. She only ever wore the standard blue-and-white school uniform. She’d get flustered and miss a beat while playing the piano, then start crying. She was a completely unremarkable girl. But then, Adrian started talking about her more and more. He’d say how talented she was, how much he admired her. “But I’m a hundred times better than her,” I’d protest. He would stop and look at me seriously. “Merrin, she’s not like us. Don’t look down on people who are ordinary and hardworking.” Sometimes, in class, a ripple of laughter would spread from the back of the room. We’d all turn to see Adrian, blushing, trying to cover Nelly’s mouth as she giggled. She would just blink innocently, her eyes meeting mine across the room. He started bringing her things when he brought them for me. He let her use our private practice room. He never said no to her. People started joking about it. Nelly was the white moonlight, and I was the red rose. One pure and simple, the other proud and vibrant. The battle of the red rose and the white moonlight became a recurring theme for the next three years. The labels stuck to me like a shadow, a constant, ghostly presence. Whenever Adrian and I were together, the comparison was inevitable. “She has such a princess attitude. Nelly is so much nicer.” “Guys always prefer the gentle type. And Nelly’s situation is so sad.” “Merrin Langley is too competitive. Though I guess she’s prettier than Nelly.” Nelly, Nelly, Nelly… I became agitated, prone to fits of temper. I couldn’t believe it. “Are you really falling for her?” I demanded. He would just flick my forehead. “Don’t say things like that. It’s not fair to her.” At the school festival, he agreed to accompany her on the piano. They were perfect together, earning thunderous applause. In the excitement of the moment, during their final bow, Nelly grabbed his hand. Flushed and radiant, the usually plain girl looked almost beautiful. Adrian hesitated for a moment, then let her hold it. A photo of them—his white shirt, her white dress—went viral online. I saw red. I threw out every single one of his white shirts. We didn’t speak for weeks. From then on, the sight of white clothes made me want to vomit. 05 The faint, ethereal sound of a violin drifted from somewhere nearby. That’s right, a slow tempo, a rising and falling melody. I was sitting in the audition room. The adjudicators were all familiar faces. The piece I’d drawn was the Norwegian dance. Outside the glass, I saw Adrian let out a quiet sigh of relief. This was our song, the soundtrack to the summer we turned seventeen. I knew it by heart. My lips were pale. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and began to play. The notes were clear and bright, but in my mind, a sickening scene was unfolding. This passage—where their hands had intertwined. This measure—where he had patiently tapped out the rhythm for her. My violin—where her hair had brushed against the strings… How could he? How could he? And why, of all the pieces in the world, did it have to be this one? A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I played faster and faster, my fingers flying across the fingerboard. A string snapped, slicing my finger open. I opened my eyes, stood up calmly, bowed to the stunned adjudicators, and walked out of the room. … “Ma’am? Can you spare some change?” I was pulled back to the present. A small boy stood on the street corner, holding a battered old violin. I knelt down. “Were you the one playing just now?” “Yeah! It’s the only song I know…” He looked downcast. “My mom broke my violin. I’m trying to save up to fix it. I saw you listening for a long time. You must like the violin too. Can you help me out?” I’d just gotten back from abroad and had no cash on me. A hand with long, elegant fingers reached past me, holding out a few large bills. “Here, kid. Get your violin fixed. And practice hard.” A cool, familiar voice. Adrian. He ruffled the boy’s hair, his eyes flicking to me. “He’s got spirit,” he said, a teasing note in his voice. “More than some people I know.” I stood up and walked away without a word. Adrian fell into step beside me. The moonlight cast long shadows on the pavement. After a while, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Giving up after one failure… that’s not the Merrin Langley I know. How does that make you any better than the Nelly Guan you always looked down on?” My eyes were chips of ice. I stopped walking. “So? What are you trying to say? You two got what you wanted. Why are you still bothering me?” He looked at me, a deep, searching gaze, and handed me a ticket. “A very famous investment banker is coming to the city next week. I’ve been scheduled to perform. The tickets are impossible to get. I want you to be there… There’s something I need to tell you.”

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My last memory was the icy river engulfing me, my mother’s candy still clutched in my fist as my six stepbrothers watched me drown. When I opened my eyes, I was tiny, wrapped in blankets—a one-month-old baby. Six boys stared at me, eyes glinting coldly. One reached out, ready to pinch the life from me. Recognizing their vile faces, I cursed them inwardly: You damn mutts. Just wait till I can talk! Suddenly, Mom rushed from the kitchen. “I asked you to watch your sister! Why did I hear ‘mutts’?” The boys exchanged looks. The eldest shrugged. “You misheard, Mom.” “We were just going to play with her,” another added. Fuming inside, I glared: You’re the worst, you traitor. At three, you tried to sell me to some creep! Mom’s hand shook. She lifted me into her arms, eyes wide with a strange light. 1 My mother, Renee, held me tight, her eyes a whirlwind of confusion and alarm. She said nothing, just hurried back to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, leaving the six little wolves staring at each other in the hallway. Inside, Mom placed me on the vast, soft bed and simply stared. Her intense gaze was starting to creep me out. I blinked my big, innocent eyes, made a little cooing sound, and blew a milk bubble. Hey, Mom, don’t look at me like that. I know I’m cute, but you don’t have to be so obsessed. Don’t worry, though. This time, I’ll protect you. I won’t let those animals win again. Renee’s expression grew even stranger. She reached out, felt my forehead, then her own. “No fever…” she murmured. I had no idea what she was talking about. Being scrutinized by my own mother was making me a little shy, so I stretched my toothless mouth into a wide grin. Mom is the most beautiful, most generous mother in the whole world! I love Mommy the most! Her body went still. Then, the tense line of her brow softened, melting into a gentle, loving smile. She leaned down and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. “Mommy loves her baby, too.” Outside the door, the six little monsters were still whispering. “What’s with Mom? She just blew up out of nowhere.” “Who knows? Maybe it’s menopause.” “She probably just can’t stand us. I mean, we’re not her real kids.” Hearing them, I felt a surge of fury. Bullshit! You’re not just ‘not her real kids,’ you’re the bastard children of his mistress! My mom is the poor, clueless saint who got stuck with you! Renee’s head snapped up. Her gaze seemed to pierce through the door, landing on the figures outside. Her eyes turned to ice. Just then, a knock sounded on the door. “Renee, what’s wrong? The boys said you were upset.” A gentle male voice drifted in. “Talk to me. Don’t frighten the children.” A tall, handsome man walked in. Behind him trailed the six boys, each with his head bowed, feigning innocence and hurt. This was my father, Landon. And he was the monster who, in my last life, was responsible for my mother’s death and the theft of my grandfather’s entire fortune. Looking at his handsome, deceitful face made my stomach turn. Hah. The king of all scumbags. You’re a worthless gold-digger who married into my mother’s family for their money, and you still had the nerve to keep a mistress on the side. You brought all six of your bastard sons home for my mom to raise. What a joke. Disgusting. This whole family is rotten to the core. Mom’s arms tightened around me, squeezing a little too hard. Her eyes, sharp and questioning, settled on Landon’s face. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, his charming smile faltering. “Renee? Why are you looking at me like that?” She didn’t answer, her voice flat and distant when she finally spoke. “It’s nothing. It’s just… you seem like a stranger to me all of a sudden.” 2 Landon’s expression flickered, but he quickly replaced it with his usual mask of devoted affection. He moved toward us, reaching to take me from my mother’s arms. I immediately buried my face in her shoulder, my tiny hands clutching her shirt. Don’t touch me, you cheating slimeball! You filthy degenerate! My mom trusted you too much. That’s why you were able to destroy her. A faint tremor ran through my mother’s body. She turned, neatly avoiding his outstretched hands. “She’s my daughter. It’s no trouble.” Landon’s face darkened. “What is your problem?” he snapped. “I come home after a long day at work to this miserable face. Anyone would think I’d done something to you.” Mom just patted my back, ignoring him. The silence in the room became thick and suffocating. Then, a shrill voice cut through the tension. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Are you fighting with my Landon again, dear?” My so-called grandmother waddled in on her tree-trunk legs, her beady little eyes scanning me with undisguised contempt. “Just a girl. Nothing to make such a fuss about.” “My Landon works himself to the bone out there every day, and he has to come home to your sour moods. You heiresses really think you’re above it all, don’t you?” She shot a smug look at her six grandsons trailing behind her. “All that money, and you couldn’t even produce a boy. Thank God my Landon had the foresight to adopt these sons. Otherwise, who would inherit this little fortune of yours?” I was so angry I could have exploded. Oh my god, this old hag is a master of twisting the truth. Adopted? These six are your son’s own flesh and blood, you old bat. Don’t play dumb. And you look down on me for being a girl? If it weren’t for my mom, your whole family would still be eating dirt in some backwater town! Every single one of you, from old to young, is a two-faced parasite! Just wait until I grow up. The first thing I’m doing is sending you to the crematorium, and then I’m sending your six little wolves to meet the devil himself! Mom held me, gently patting my back, but her eyes grew colder and colder. The atmosphere at the dinner table was thick with unspoken hostility. Landon cleared his throat. “Renee, this is the proposal for the company’s new project. Take a look.” He slid a folder across the table. “And there’s something else I wanted to discuss with you.” “I was thinking… we should transfer some of our shares into the boys’ names. What do you think?” Landon put on his best loving-father act, ruffling the eldest’s hair. “They’re getting older. We need to give them some security.” “Besides, if they start learning the business now, they’ll be able to help us manage things later. And protect their little sister.” The old hag immediately jumped in. “Exactly! A boy needs to have assets to his name. Who else would we give the family fortune to?” The eldest boy shot to his feet, his eyes shining with fake gratitude. “Thank you, Dad! Thank you, Grandma! We’ll study hard so we can protect Mom and our sister!” The other five murmured their agreement, a perfect picture of brotherly devotion. I nearly choked on my own fury. Protect my ass! You’re only getting away with this because I can’t talk yet! Your whole family is ganging up on me and my mom. The family fortune? My ass! You’re a useless parasite living off your wife. How dare you even say those words? This company belongs to my grandparents! Why should a pack of ungrateful wolves like you get any of it? Mom looked down at me, her face unreadable. She was silent for a long moment. “No.” 3 Everyone at the table froze. The color drained from Landon’s face. “Renee, what are you talking about?” Mom set down her fork, her expression a blank mask. “I’m talking about the fact that this company was built by my parents. It has nothing to do with you or your family. Not a single cent.” With that, she picked me up and walked out, leaving a room full of stunned, sputtering vipers in her wake. It was glorious. Back in the bedroom, Mom pulled a thick photo album from the closet. Inside were pictures of my grandparents in their youth, and of a younger Mom, her face radiant with happiness. I knew the story. My mother was the sole heiress to a fortune, a princess who had the world at her feet. But a single car crash had changed everything. My grandfather died, my grandmother was left in a vegetative state, and my mother’s world collapsed. Mom, don’t be sad. That car crash wasn’t an accident. That bastard Landon arranged it! He did it to wipe out your family and seize the inheritance! You’ve spent all these years as a housewife, taking care of this house and his six little monsters. He controls the company now. It’s going to be so hard for us to fight back. I watched her tears fall, spotting the glossy pages of the album, and my tiny heart ached for her. Mom closed the album and wiped her eyes. The next day, she was a different person. Dressed in a sharp, tailored power suit, she held me as she addressed Landon at the breakfast table. “I’ve grown tired of staying home. I’m going back to the office.” He nearly choked on his coffee. “Back to the office? You haven’t been involved in years. What could you possibly do there?” “That company is my parents’ legacy. I have every right to check in on it.” Landon’s face shifted through a series of emotions. He wanted to stop her but had no grounds to. “Renee, I’m running things just fine. You should stay home and take care of the baby.” Mom smiled, a cold, cutting thing. “Do I need your permission to return to my own company?” He was speechless. The old hag sneered from the sidelines. “A woman’s place is in the home, raising children. Parading around in an office… it’s shameless.” Mom didn’t even bother to look at her. At the office, her arrival caused a stir. “Mrs. Sterling… What are you doing here?” Landon’s secretary, a pretty young woman, rushed out to greet her. Well, well, if it isn’t the mistress’s niece. Planted here as Landon’s “secretary,” but she’s really just his spy. I bet the company’s books are a complete mess. God knows how much they’ve embezzled. Mom gave the girl a cool, dismissive glance and swept past her toward the chairman’s office. Along the way, several older employees saw her and rushed over, their faces alight with excitement. “Miss Renee! You’re finally back!” That’s Mr. Wallace, the CFO. One of Grandfather’s most loyal men. Landon stripped him of all his real power. And that’s Mr. Lee from Marketing, another ally. He’s been pushed to the sidelines. The one in the floral shirt is one of Landon’s lapdogs. The HR manager. He’s probably filled the company with their cronies. Mom smiled warmly, exchanging pleasantries with the loyal old guard. In the boardroom, Landon shot a subtle look to his key people. They launched into a glowing report, painting a picture of incredible success. “That can’t be right,” Mom’s voice cut through the drone, sharp as glass. She tapped a finger on the table. “If performance has been this strong for the past few quarters, why is the profit margin for Q3 so low?” “Well… uh… Ms. Sterling… that is…” The men stammered, unable to form a coherent answer. Mom turned her gaze to Landon. “You’d better have a very good explanation for this.” His face was a thundercloud, his hand gripping his pen so tightly his knuckles were white. She didn’t wait for an answer. She simply turned and walked out. Back home, the first thing Mom did was pull up the last five years of the company’s financial records. She held me in her lap, flipping through page after page. Why is Mom suddenly so invested in the company? This is totally different from how things went last time. I let out a big yawn, my baby eyelids finally giving way to sleep. When I woke up, Mom was staring at me, her eyes shining with a brilliant, knowing light. Whoa, what’s with that look? Could it be… she can hear my thoughts? Mom gave me a playful wink. A joyous explosion went off in my mind. Holy crap! She really can hear me! This is amazing! Mother-daughter power duo, united against the forces of evil! Watch out, you bastards. We’re coming for you, and we’re going to take you down. 4 From that day on, Mom was inseparable from me. She doted on me, never letting me out of her sight. As for the six little wolves, she ignored them completely. That night, I was dozing in my crib when I heard voices outside the door. It was my scumbag father and the old hag. “Mom, do you think… do you think Renee knows something?” “Impossible!” his mother snapped. “You’ve covered your tracks perfectly. What could she possibly know? She just had a baby; she’s obsessed with it. It’s a phase.” “It’ll pass.” I rolled my eyes and turned over in my crib. You two idiots. Mom knows everything. Your judgment day is coming. A little while later, Mom came back into the room. She made an announcement that shook the whole house. “The boys are old enough now. Starting this month, their allowances are cut off.” “If you want something, you’ll have to earn it yourselves.” Landon and his mother’s faces went dark. “Renee! Have you lost your mind? They’re just children!” the old hag shrieked. “Are they? The eldest is fifteen. In medieval times, he’d be old enough to go to war. This family does not support freeloaders.” Ignoring their stunned, furious faces, Mom leaned down and kissed my forehead. That’s right! That’s how you do it! They live in her house, eat her food, and they still want to harm us? Not a chance! Mom listened to my thoughts, a small smile playing on her lips as she gently patted my back. She turned to the six boys, her smile deceptively sweet. “You six need to grow up strong and protect your little sister, understand?” Landon and his mother exchanged a look. He forced a smile. “Your mother asked you a question. Answer her.” The boys mumbled a reluctant agreement. Suddenly, Landon slapped his forehead. “Oh, dear. I think I left the car door unlocked.” He scurried out of the room. Yeah, right. Like anyone believes that. He’s obviously going to call his mistress and warn her. Sure enough, he was back in less than two minutes. These ungrateful brats. They live off my mom, and they can’t even be bothered to pretend they care about me. Mom, kick them out! Kick them all out! Mom patted me and was about to say something when her phone rang. After a brief conversation, her expression changed. “Be good, baby. There’s an emergency at the office. Mommy has to go.” She placed me back in my crib and called to Landon. “I’m leaving Mina in your mother’s care, and with the boys.” The moment Mom and Landon were out the door, the six boys swarmed their grandmother. “Grandma, Renee is being a total bitch!” “Yeah! How dare she cut off our allowance!” The old hag spat on the floor. “What are you afraid of? Your father is the one who runs this house!” “Just wait until you’re a little older. Once you get your hands on that bitch’s shares, she’ll be useless!” She jerked her chin in my direction. “And then, you can do whatever you want with this little bastard.” I was so furious I kicked my legs, spitting in her general direction. The old woman’s eyes narrowed. She marched over and, through the blankets, gave my bottom a vicious pinch. Tears sprang to my eyes from the sharp pain. The six boys exchanged a dark look. The eldest spoke, his voice low and cruel. “Grandma, why wait? Let’s just… scramble her brains now.” “If she’s a vegetable, that bitch Renee will have no one to rely on but us.” The old hag slapped her thigh. “Now that’s my brilliant grandson talking!” They snickered and disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a dripping wet towel. They advanced on me, their faces twisted into menacing grins. The eldest grabbed me by my ankles, dangling me upside down. “You have your mother to thank for this, little bastard.” “She’s not here to save you now!” Staring at his ugly face, I closed my eyes, clenched my tiny fists, and squeezed with all my might. A stream of warm, yellow liquid sprayed all over the eldest wolf’s face. “Ugh! Gross! Grandma, she peed on me!” he sputtered, spitting and wiping at his face, his eyes red with fury. The cold, wet towel was coming closer, aimed right for my face. This was it. A terrified wail tore from my throat. Mom! Help me! They’re going to kill me! MOM!

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I was the long-lost heiress. I was also a sugar baby. The moment I was welcomed back into my wealthy family, I dumped both my sugar daddies. Then I walked into my new home, and guess who was there? Both of them. One was my fiancé. The other, my brother. Oh, crap. This wasn’t a homecoming. It was a trap. 1 “We’re through.” “That turquoise necklace I wanted? You won the bid and didn’t even give it to me. I’m bored.” “Honestly, you’re nothing compared to my ex. He was way more generous.” The chat window showed “Elvis – 6’2″, Grumpy, Good in Bed” was typing. Out of professional courtesy, I waited a moment. All he sent back was a single question mark. I scoffed. Still playing the cool, aloof type with me? Well, I’m done playing. Block. Delete. I picked up my other phone. I opened the chat with “Super Generous Ex (But Almost Engaged).” [I’m sorry. I’m not good enough for you. Fate just wasn’t on our side.] He replied instantly: [Run out of money? How much?] [No. Without love, what’s the point of money? My dear, by the time you read this, I’ll be on a flight to Milan.] […Why Milan?] Seriously? Does he not see the point? Block. Block. I had achieved a new personal best: dumping two sugar daddies in under an hour. Because this little bird wasn’t just hopping onto a branch—I was becoming a phoenix. 2 As fate would have it, I really was the long-lost daughter of a billionaire family. My beauty, my grace, my impeccable character and soul—they all finally found their home in this sprawling, multi-million-dollar mansion. Tonight, at a lavish gala, my biological parents, whom I hadn’t seen in years, were set to officially announce me as Lana Astor, the true heiress of the Astor family. Under the blinding-white spotlights, I gathered the hem of my gown and ascended the stage, a perfectly practiced smile on my lips. My father announced that I, Lana Astor, was the real heiress. The woman who had taken my place, Jenna Astor, would now be known as the second daughter. Jenna and I shared a stage-managed hug. As she drew close, she whispered in my ear, her voice a venomous hiss, “Don’t even think about trying to take what’s mine, sister…” Her words, however, echoed through the entire ballroom. All eyes snapped to the two of us on stage. I let out a soft gasp and covered my mouth with one hand. “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry. I forgot to take off my mic.” I reached behind my neck, unclipped the microphone, and casually tossed it aside, my smile never wavering as I looked at her. “Now, where were we? You were saying something about stealing?” Jenna’s face went pale. She turned away, refusing to say another word. My mother stepped in to smooth things over. “Lana, dear, don’t mind Jenna. She’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but her heart’s in the right place.” They’d raised Jenna for twenty years. Of course, they’d favor her. But just like that, the battle lines between Jenna and me were drawn. I was wearing a mermaid gown, and as I started down the stairs, I found I couldn’t move. I glanced back to see my train pinned under someone’s heel. Jenna smirked at me before lifting her foot. I stumbled forward, my body lurching towards the edge of the stage. Instinctively, I threw my hands up to shield my face. A public fall I could handle, but whatever happened, my gorgeous, irresistible face had to be protected. I could always pick myself up and still be beautiful. But the sharp pain I expected never came. Instead, I fell into a hard, solid chest. A hush fell over the crowd. A strong hand was steadying my waist. Jenna came clattering down the steps, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Elvis! You’re back!” Jenna’s brother? Holy hell, that meant he was my brother. Well, a little hug couldn’t hurt, right? I wrapped my arms around his waist and looked up with my most practiced, doe-eyed expression. “Brother, I’m your long-lost little sister.” And then I saw his face. Oh. My. God. My pupils dilated in shock. It was him. My “6’2″, Grumpy, Good in Bed” sugar daddy. The man’s eyes were cold as ice. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his lips as he held up his empty hands. “Are you done hugging me? Don’t you think you should let go now, my dear… sister?” This “sister,” he practically spat out the word, grinding it between his teeth. 3 It had been less than half an hour since I’d broken up with Elvis Vance. I had a sinking feeling he hadn’t quite moved on from our failed… relationship. I was so dead. The first thing that tumbled out of my mouth was, “What kind of ‘brother’ are you, anyway?” Elvis’s lips formed a thin, hard line. He coldly peeled my arms off him. His lips seemed to form the words: The ex kind of brother. My mother came over and made the formal introductions. Elvis was the son of my parents’ best friends. His parents had died in a car crash, and he’d been raised by the Astors ever since. The only difference between him and an adopted son was that he came with his own massive inheritance and had moved out on his own the moment he turned eighteen. Elvis and I shook hands politely. Jenna stood nearby, glaring at me, her eyes screaming: Don’t you dare seduce him! If only she knew that her precious brother and I had done more than just kiss. We’d practically worn out several sets of bedsheets… I was the first to pull my hand back, my fingertips brushing against his palm. I made a soft “tsk” sound and brought my hand to my forehead, casually sweeping my bangs aside. Elvis curled his hand into a fist, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. He presented me with an exquisite velvet box. “A welcome gift for my new sister.” Inside, nestled on the dark, plush fabric, lay the antique turquoise necklace. Jenna immediately whined that she wanted one too. Elvis’s reply was dripping with polite venom. “The day you find your real parents, I’ll get you one too.” That sent Jenna into a foot-stomping tantrum, her heels digging into the floor until she had to lean against a wall, hopping on one foot and whining in pain. Later, in a private lounge with the curtains drawn, I stood before a full-length mirror, about to put on the necklace. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on mine as I reached behind my neck. Elvis’s infuriatingly handsome face appeared in the mirror behind me. He leaned in, fastening the clasp for me. His cool fingertips brushed against the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I flinched forward, trying to create some space, but he just tightened his grip, turning the necklace into an elegant instrument of torture. This time, I didn’t dare move. “This is a three-million-dollar necklace. If you like to play rough, we can use a tie next time.” The man in the mirror finally met my gaze, a cool, detached smile playing on his lips. “Why are you so good at listening, yet so bad at it? I was planning a surprise for you, and you decide to break up with me?” The clasp had been fastened for a while now, but his hands remained on my shoulders. His eyes roamed over my reflection in the mirror, bold and intimate. “And what the hell was that breakup reason about?” I was genuinely confused. “It was what it was, wasn’t it?” He tossed my phone to me. “You were mad I didn’t give you the necklace.” “Besides that line?” “I also said you weren’t as gener… uh, generous as my ex. Left out the ‘ous’.” 4 Whoops. Awkward. No wonder he sent me a question mark. It was my fault. I was a newly rich person, and my hands were literally shaking with excitement as I typed. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and turned to face him, radiating an aura of pure confidence. “So, what are you going to do about it? Let me tell you something, Elvis! I can get on my knees and apologize.” My philosophy was simple: be tough with the weak and weak with the tough. Adaptability is the key to success. Elvis raised an eyebrow, his tone icy. “I have no interest in you apologizing on your knees. I want you…” His Adam’s apple bobbed as a thought crossed his mind. “I want you to continue our arrangement.” Honestly, I wasn’t interested. I was Lana Astor now. My future business interests were focused on the younger-man market. My brother was hot, but I’d had my fill. I was ready for an upgrade—or rather, a downgrade in age. I tried to provoke him. “You don’t have some kind of kink, do you? Getting off on secrets and sneaking around?” Elvis’s gaze dropped. He gripped my chin with two fingers, forcing me to look back at the mirror. A woman, trapped in a man’s embrace. He lowered his head slowly, as if he were about to bite me, but stopped just beside my ear. “If you want to go public, I’ll be happy to tell your parents everything. We could be married in six months.” What self-respecting woman gets married the second she comes into money? I still had a whole life as a rich socialite to catch up on. “No need for that, brother. I happen to love a secret, sordid affair.” Elvis chuckled softly by my ear, his lips unintentionally brushing against my cheek. The brief contact made me want to kiss him, but I held back. A woman can’t be distracted by the man right in front of her; she has to think about all the future men, too. 5 I emerged from the lounge after touching up my makeup and ran right into a wandering Jenna. “Why is your neck so red?” Elvis leaned against the doorframe, wiping his lips with his thumb, a smug grin on his face. “I did that.” This guy was unbelievable. He’d pinned me against the wall and kissed me until I was breathless before finally letting go. Then he’d grinned victoriously and whispered, “If you want to kiss me, don’t hold back.” I’d wanted to punch him. Jenna glanced from me to him, and a look of dawning comprehension spread across her face. “Lana, my brother has spoiled me rotten since we were kids. Look at how he beat you up! Hahaha.” I shot her a disgusted look. Was she acting, or was she really this stupid? My mother beckoned me over to meet my fiancé. “What the hell? I have a fiancé?” “Don’t get your hopes up. He’s here to break off the engagement. He wasn’t even interested in me, so what makes you think he’d want you?” Jenna sneered, swirling her glass of red wine. Before my mom pulled me away, she shot back at Jenna, “It’d take a miracle for anyone to be interested in you.” Jenna stomped her foot in fury. On the second floor of the ballroom. “Mr. Astor, the engagement between me and your daughter… it’s really not a good fit. In fact, I’m preparing to immigrate to Milan.” I was holding my mom’s arm, walking toward the group. The moment I heard that, I turned to leave. My mom, completely bewildered, spun me around and pushed me right into the circle of people. “Caleb, this is my Lana. Why don’t you two get acquainted?” A tall, long-legged man in a silk shirt turned around, his eyes meeting mine. I managed a resigned, “Hi.” Caleb squinted slightly, raising his wine glass for a small sip. My dad was still asking him, “You’re going to Milan?” Caleb’s eyes never left mine. “No, you must have misheard. I said I was taking a trip to Ohio.” He snapped his fingers. He plucked a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray and handed it to me. “Miss Astor, I thought you were already on a flight to Milan. Did you make an emergency landing in the middle of Ohio?” 6 I took the glass, clinked it against his, and lowered my glass slightly as a sign of respect. “Mr. Scott, you misheard. I’m going to Ohio, too.” Caleb watched me with a smile. “What a coincidence. How does that song go? ‘It’s a small world after all’…” I forced a painfully awkward smile. Don’t let Caleb’s snarky attitude fool you; he was my first love. We were together for over six months before I found out he had a fiancée. The moment I learned, I broke up with him. But Caleb was the quintessential “one that got away.” No question. Even after we broke up, whenever I was broke, he’d wire me money, no questions asked. So, I never deleted him. Until today. I deleted his contact this morning, and this afternoon, he’s my fiancé. The universe really had it out for me. Frustrated, I downed the entire glass of wine. Just then, Elvis, dressed impeccably in a suit, walked over. “So, you’re not interested in my sister. I guess that means the engagement is off?” he said, casually clinking glasses with Caleb. The “sister” he mentioned was probably Jenna. Caleb tapped the rim of his glass with a fingertip, then shot me a flirtatious wink. “On the contrary. I’m very interested in her. The engagement can stay.” Elvis followed his gaze, and when he saw Caleb was looking at me, his face went blank. He turned back to Caleb. “Which one of my sisters are you trying to hit on?” Caleb, completely oblivious, jutted his chin in my direction, his grin widening. “Elvis, you don’t know? She’s…” A piercing alarm blared in my head. Code red! He was going to out me. Elvis didn’t know I had two phones. “Ahem, cough, cough!” I grabbed Elvis’s arm and bent over, letting out a series of wracking coughs, my face turning beet red. Elvis smoothly took my empty glass and handed me his pocket square. “Caleb, you were saying.” Caleb continued, “She’s…” I coughed even louder. “Cough, cough, cough, cough!” I pressed the handkerchief to my mouth, coughing so hard I thought I’d hack up a lung. When I finally stopped, I realized they had both fallen silent. Caleb and Elvis were just staring at me. “Maybe I should go to the hospital? Could one of you give me a ride?” I said, desperate to separate them. Elvis, whose arm I was still clinging to, looked down at me. Caleb crossed his arms, studying me from every angle before suddenly speaking. “She’s my ex-girlfriend.” “Cough, cough, cough—” He said it so fast, my coughing was useless. Caleb tilted his chin up. “Tsk. You still think you need a hospital?” I patted my chest lightly. “Finally coughed that phlegm up.” Elvis coldly yanked his arm away. He grabbed the back of my neck and lifted me from my hunched-over position until I was standing straight. He stared at me, his eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerously low temperature. “So, he’s the one you said was more gener…” 7 “…ous. The more generous ex-boyfriend,” I finished quickly. I swore to myself that from now on, I would proofread every text three times before sending it. Caleb sized up Elvis, frowning thoughtfully. “More ‘generous’ than you?” “I doubt it.” As Elvis said this, his gaze flickered downward—sweeping over Caleb’s lower body. I coughed twice, discreetly elbowing him in the side. Who checks out another guy like that? Caleb had already turned away, the back of his shirt hanging loose. He rested one hand on his hip and casually selected a new drink with the other. “I didn’t realize the new Miss Astor was already telling her family all about me, on her first day back.” He turned and handed me a glass of water. “So, how about it? Is fate on our side now?” He tapped his glass against mine. “What do you say we give this ‘second chance’ thing a shot?” I clutched the water, taking an unnatural sip. Mainly because a certain gaze from my side felt like it was about to burn a hole through me. Elvis stepped in front of me, addressing Caleb. “I don’t think that’s necessary. She only said you were generous with your money.” “Well, it’s one of my better qualities,” Caleb said, swirling his wine glass, clearly pleased with himself. Elvis looked up, his expression cold. “Caleb, you two broke up. Doesn’t that mean you weren’t compatible?” “We weren’t compatible then. We are now.” Just as Elvis was about to say something else, Caleb let out a short laugh and clinked their glasses together. “Bro, stay out of our business. Just get ready for the wedding. I have a feeling I can win your sister back.” This time I was actually drinking water and choked violently. Elvis was speechless. He stood there, frozen, his knuckles white around his wine glass. Caleb brushed past me, giving me a soft, smiling wink. “I was your first love, wasn’t I?” I wished he would just shut up. Elvis looked like he was about to shatter his glass. My mind was a mess. I felt like I was moving in slow motion as I took a few steps back. “Oh, did someone call my name? I should go.” The party was, all things considered, a success. My return as the Astor heiress was a grand affair, and even my fiancé seemed pleased with me. This, of course, made Jenna stomp her feet in frustration yet again. It wasn’t until Elvis dragged me into a room, his face a thunderous mask, that she finally cheered up. “Hmph, that’s what you get for bullying me. My brother won’t let you get away with it.” One day, when I finally sort out my man-problems, I’m definitely taking Jenna to see a specialist. Elvis loosened his tie and sank onto the sofa, spreading his long legs. He hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me onto his lap. “Tell me, Lana. Do you think he can win you back?” He took my hand, idly playing with my fingers. “Your first love, huh… Was it fun?” I tried to focus on his words, but sitting on his lap was unstable. I had to secretly press my toes to the floor for balance. “I’m talking to you.” The toe of his leather shoe flicked my high heel off. I lost my balance. “Ah! What?” I gasped, instinctively throwing my arms around his neck to keep from falling. A hand tightened firmly around my waist. “I asked you, was Caleb fun?” 8 How was I supposed to answer that? Was Caleb fun? Caleb was your typical rich kid, already a big name on campus when we were in college. Any party he showed up to, even just for a minute, he’d pay the whole tab. He seemed like a social butterfly, but he had this deep-seated weariness about him. He loved to catch up on sleep in the middle of a loud party, his eyes closed, one arm resting behind me, his hand lightly on my waist. “Are you seriously reminiscing right now?” Elvis’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them. “He wasn’t fun. Pretty boring, actually,” I said, my tone utterly sincere. In our relationship, Caleb had always been too detached, maintaining a sense of distance. Even when I confronted him at the end, he didn’t say much, just wrote me a check. Holding that seven-figure check, it finally hit me like a ton of bricks. I had dated a ridiculously wealthy guy, and it had never been a real relationship. He had never introduced me to his real circle of friends—the kind of parties where he couldn’t just tune out and take a nap. It was after that, when I met Elvis, that I fully embraced the sugar baby lifestyle. Elvis’s expression softened slightly. “Caleb is a complicated guy. You should break off that engagement with him, and soon.” “Huh?” I asked, confused. Elvis reached down, lifting my calf and resting it across his lap. “I had just gotten back to the States when I heard rumors that Caleb was keeping a woman. Kept her very well hidden. They eventually broke it off completely, but he still sends her money from time to time. Isn’t that strange?” I fell silent. Was he talking about me? Oh god, he was talking about me. I looked down, fiddling with my fingers. “Is it strange? Maybe he was just deeply in love.” Elvis chuckled, tapping my forehead gently. “Love? Are you a kid? Ten to one, there’s a secret love child involved.” I met his gaze, touching my forehead and forcing a laugh. Please, God, don’t let him find out that woman was me. My stare seemed to intensify his. The light from the floor lamp cast his profile in sharp relief. He looked down at me, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed. “You need to turn him down. Quickly. Even if it’s just an engagement in name, I don’t feel like cuckolding him… for now.” His choice of words was deliberate. For now. Not that he couldn’t, but that he didn’t want to, and only for now. The message was clear: Hurry up, because my patience is wearing thin. I immediately sat up straight. “I understand. I’ll do it as soon as possible.” Like hell I will. I was going to drag this out, let both relationships wither on the vine until I was finally free. Elvis’s hand rested on my back as he studied my expression. He suddenly dropped a cryptic question. “Seriously, about that text… between me and him, who do you think is more…” My mind went completely blank. 9 Near the summit of Ember Peak was a cluster of white villas. To the unknowing eye, it looked like a neighborhood of luxury homes. In reality, it was an exclusive, top-tier private club. This was where Caleb and I were having our date. He was dressed in all white today. A white V-neck shirt, a loose white blazer, and perfectly draped trousers. Walking amidst the lush green mountain scenery, he looked like a groom from a wedding photoshoot. I had to admit, Caleb’s looks were undeniable. We sat in a glass house on the edge of a cliff, the mountain breeze rustling through. The wind tousled Caleb’s hair. “You were coughing up a storm yesterday,” he said, lazily scrolling through his phone. “What’s the big deal? Is having dated me so shameful?” I was taking pictures of the mountain view. “Who are you afraid will find out? Elvis?” Caleb propped his elbow on the table. “I can’t shake the feeling that you two are… close.” I pressed the shutter button just then. My hand trembled, and the photo came out blurry. “I don’t think so. I was just found, you know? Elvis’s just overprotective of his sisters. He treats Jenna the same way.” My phone screen was still open to my chat with Elvis. I had sent the blurry photo to him. Elvis was strict; I had to report my whereabouts whenever I went out. His reply was simple: [Beautiful. In a meeting.] The picture was a mess, and he still called it beautiful. So fake. Thinking of Elvis brought back his weird question from last night… I leaned down, pretending to sip my drink through a glass straw, my eyes involuntarily drifting to Caleb’s face. I think… I couldn’t remember his size. I really couldn’t compare. Caleb put his phone down and looked up at me. “What’s on your mind, Miss Astor?” Busted for having dirty thoughts. I was mid-sip and choked again, doubling over in a coughing fit. Dammit, I was going to cough myself to death one of these days. A hand reached out with a napkin, gently bringing it to my lips. My ex was surprisingly gentle. “Are you going to wipe it yourself, or do you want me to help?” Maybe my brain was fuzzy, but that sounded strangely suggestive. I pressed the napkin to my mouth, glancing at him guiltily. Caleb was propping his head on his hand, a roguish smile playing on his lips, one eyebrow raised. “You were the one checking me out.” “…” His comment only made me cough more violently. 10 A date with Caleb was a truly five-star experience. A gleaming, special-edition grand piano was carefully moved onto the lawn. The atmosphere was set. Caleb sat at the piano, his expression serious, his fingers dancing over the keys, the tempo shifting from slow and gentle to rapid and intense. He was playing Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C-sharp minor. “So, what did you think of my playing?” we strolled side-by-side later, our conversation casual. “It was great. Even someone who knows nothing about pianos could tell you were showing off your wealth and your skills.” Caleb shook his head with a soft laugh. “I tailor my dates to my companion’s tastes.” “Well, you’re out of luck. My taste is incredibly basic. I only appreciate luxury goods.” I laughed, looking up at him. “And checks. Things like that.” “Ah, I see. My ex-girlfriend holds a grudge.” Caleb was walking a few steps ahead of me, not looking back. I shrugged. “Just saying. Was I even your girlfriend?” The wind swept across the vast lawn, rustling the ribbons tied to the canopy above. We kept walking, the space around us growing more and more open. We arrived at a shooting range. “There aren’t many outdoor ranges like this around here. This one’s legit, with a pretty open view,” Caleb said, selecting a firearm. He turned back to me after a moment, a smile playing on his lips as he continued our previous conversation. “Perfect for you to vent some of that frustration at your ex-boyfriend.” Uh, well, I did want to try. I picked a long one that looked cool. Caleb stood behind me, helping me get my stance right. “Brace it against your shoulder. Keep a firm grip.” He told me not to get distracted, to aim carefully. I looked straight at him. “Hey, do you know how to take pictures?” Caleb was speechless. “???” I pulled out my phone, set the filter, and after a moment’s thought, took off my jacket. Underneath, I was wearing a silk camisole with a completely open back, held together by a silk tie. “This will look better in the photos.” Caleb gave me a withering look. “This is just about getting a good shot of your body, isn’t it?” I nodded. “Yep.” We took a few posed shots before we started for real. BANG! BANG! The recoil was stronger than I expected. Every time I pulled the trigger, my shoulder slammed back into Caleb’s chest. After about a dozen shots, Caleb cleared his throat and started placing a hand on my back, as if bracing for the impact. But his touch was light, and I still ended up staggering back into his arms. He instinctively wrapped an arm around my waist, his head dipping low as he let out a sharp, ragged breath. We both froze. Awkward. I stared straight ahead, pretending to be calm. “Are you going to let go now?” But I could feel his solid presence behind me, and my earlobes instantly burned hot. “Just a second.” His voice was low and hoarse, his face buried in my hair. “Just wait a second, it’ll… go down on its own.” So we waited. In a bizarrely silent standoff. With nothing else to do, I glanced down. Before I could get a clear look, a large hand covered my eyes. “Have some respect, will you?” I was silent for a moment, then chuckled. “I don’t know, this feels pretty respectful to me. Caleb, note to self: maybe don’t wear white pants on a date.” “…” The silence was shattered by the rapid-fire sound of a camera shutter. Jenna. She was standing not far away, sunglasses perched on her nose, her phone in hand, finger tapping furiously. “Hmph, Lana. I caught you seducing my fiancé. I’m sending these pictures to my brother!” It took me a second to process. Her brother? Elvis. I was going to die. Caleb let go of me, his voice calm. “Miss Astor, our engagement was never official.” But Jenna, with her selective hearing, wasn’t listening. She put her sunglasses back on, looking smug. “My brother replied! He said he’s on his way.” My phone buzzed. It was Elvis. He had forwarded the photos to me. [On a date???] 11 I typed a reply in the chat box. [You’re in a meeting, I’m on a date. Aren’t we a perfect match?] I deleted it. Elvis was a workaholic CEO. It was probably best for me, with all my free time, not to provoke him while he was on the clock. Caleb draped his jacket over my shoulders. “It’s fine. That’s just how Jenna is. There’s nothing going on between us.” “Yeah, I believe you.” Because the problem was me. I couldn’t focus on anything else. Elvis was on his way. Caleb’s date wasn’t over yet. He took me to the stables to go riding. I was helped onto a gentle, small horse, and we ambled slowly around the paddock. Caleb stood outside the fence, dutifully taking pictures for me. As luck would have it, I ran into Jenna again. She was on a large, chestnut horse, riding with confidence and skill, cantering quickly around the ring. Jenna had been taking riding lessons since she was six and had even competed in Australia. I gripped the reins, staying put, watching her. A wave of melancholy washed over me. I gestured to the instructor, ready to dismount. Just then, Jenna rode past. My little horse, perhaps spooked, suddenly reared up. I was thrown off, tumbling to the ground. Caleb rushed over in a panic. Jenna came over too, her voice a low whisper. “Are you okay?” The fall wasn’t too bad, just a sprained ankle. “I can’t walk,” I said from the ground, my voice laced with helplessness. Caleb swept me up into his arms. The mountain air was growing cool as evening approached. The parking lot was a good thirty-minute walk away. The path downhill was even trickier. “Caleb, can you really carry me all the way?” I felt the vibration in his chest as he chuckled. “Even if I can’t, I’m not just going to leave you here.” I tilted my head back to look at him. “You haven’t left me before?” He stopped walking, looked down at me, and after a long moment, said, “You’re right, I can’t carry you anymore.” And he set me down on the side of the road. “Caleb, be a decent human being.” He looked down at me, his voice light. “My arms are tired.” I stared at him for a second, then looked away. “Go away. Just go.” He slowly crouched down. “How about a piggyback ride?” The mountain road twisted and turned, lined with a string of lights. Our shadow stretched and shrank under the lamps. I had my arms around Caleb’s neck, my feet swinging freely. “You have a lot of talents, don’t you? I never knew.” He grunted in affirmation. “Plenty. For keeping a fiancée happy.” We fell silent again. Until Caleb stopped walking. The night was darkest at the halfway point of the mountain. Leaning on his shoulder, I looked ahead. A tall man in a suit leaned against a Maybach, the headlights and taillights suddenly flaring to life, cutting through the darkness. Elvis walked out of the light. He held his hands out to Caleb. “Are you done carrying her? Give her to me.” Caleb looked stunned, glancing back at me. “What’s his problem?” Elvis’s sharp gaze was fixed on me. “Why don’t you tell him what my problem is?”

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He was dying. The doctor had already told me to prepare for the worst. I’d rushed to the hospital, only to find him struggling to draw up a will. I thought it was for us—for the future we were supposed to build together. Instead, the will declared in cold, black ink: all assets would go to his sister. Ten years of going Dutch. I’d never spent a dime of his money. Now, he looked at me, his gaze weak, filled with an unspoken, entitled dependence. I turned and walked away. “Don’t expect me to take care of you.” 01 The sterile stench of antiseptic clung to the air, thick and suffocating, coating the back of my throat. I stood at the door of the hospital room, my eyes fixed on the rhythmic green pulse of the heart monitor. Every beat, every jagged peak and valley, frayed my already shattered nerves. Leo lay in the bed, his face a ghastly shade of gray, his lips cracked and dry. The man I knew—warm, handsome, vibrant—was gone. In his place lay a hollowed-out shell, a husk of a man devoured by disease. The doctor had spoken to me just moments before. His words were gentle, couched in careful euphemisms, but the meaning was brutally clear: Leo was critical. Ten years. I had been tangled up with this man for a decade. From the bright-eyed optimism of our college days to the daily grind of our careers, I had believed we were each other’s bedrock, an unbreakable support system. A wave of nausea and grief churned in my stomach. I swallowed hard, forcing the tears back down. “Evie…” He spoke, his voice a dry, ragged whisper, like the wheezing of a broken accordion. I rushed to his side, my hand closing over his, which felt as cold as stone. “Leo, I’m here.” With a visible effort, he shifted his gaze past me, toward the lawyer standing silently by the wall. “The… will.” My heart plummeted. Had it really come to this? But then a second thought surfaced. Maybe this was for the best. Settling his affairs might lift a weight from his shoulders, perhaps even help him fight. I assumed the will was about our future. The apartment we rented together, the small condo in the suburbs we were saving for, the life we… The lawyer, a stone-faced man in his late forties, adjusted his glasses. He opened his briefcase and produced a document. “Mr. Coleman,” he began, his voice clear and detached, each word a frozen pebble dropping into the pit of my stomach. “As per your instructions, the contents of your last will and testament are as follows.” “I, Leo Coleman, being of sound mind, do hereby declare this to be my last will. Upon my death, all my property, including but not limited to real estate, savings, stocks, and other securities, shall be bequeathed in their entirety to my sister, Chloe Coleman, and to her alone.” The world went silent. The only sounds were the roaring in my ears and the distant, tinny beeping of the monitor. I wrenched my head around, my eyes locking onto Leo’s. He was watching me, his gaze—once so full of tenderness—now held nothing but a sick, entitled dependency. It was as if he were saying, I’m in this state. Surely you can understand? I’ve taken care of everything. All you have to do is take care of me, just like always. A soft click came from the doorway. Chloe was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a smirk of pure, undisguised triumph dancing on her lips. She looked at me as if I were the world’s biggest fool. A free caretaker who’d served her brother for ten years, only to be kicked to the curb at the finish line. Ten years of going Dutch. The phrase exploded in my mind like a cruel joke. On our first date, he’d said going fifty-fifty was a sign of respect for my independence. After that, every dinner, every movie ticket, every vacation was split down the middle, calculated to the last cent. I thought it was the modern way, a partnership built on mutual respect and financial independence. I had never taken a single penny from him. I was even proud of our so-called equality. But now, I understood. In his eyes, in his family’s eyes, my independence, my refusal to be a freeloader, was just proof that I “knew my place.” It was proof that I had no claim to any part of his life. And yet, he had felt perfectly entitled to a decade of my unwavering companionship and care, all given without expectation of return. Now, sick and dying, he was leaving everything to his precious sister, then turning to me with those weak, innocent eyes, silently demanding I stay and continue playing the role of the selfless, devoted partner. On what grounds? A tidal wave of rage and humiliation surged from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. The blood pounded in my veins, hot and furious. I felt like a clown who’d been performing a one-woman show for ten years, all for the amusement of his family. “Evie, you… you won’t leave me, right?” Leo’s voice was faint, but a flicker of panic entered his eyes as he saw my silence. He struggled to reach for my hand. That whisper, that question, was the hammer blow that shattered the last fragment of affection I held for him. I yanked my hand away. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the sickness rising in my throat. I forced myself to meet his gaze, my own eyes now stripped of all warmth. Then I turned and walked toward the door, each step deliberate, each footfall landing on the ashes of my youth. “Don’t expect me to take care of you.” My voice was quiet, but it was as cold and sharp as a blade of ice, slicing through the cloying, fraudulent sentiment in the room. Leo’s eyes widened in shock and terror. And by the door, Chloe’s triumphant expression froze, then twisted into a snarl of fury. “Evelyn! What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She lunged forward, blocking my path, her body rigid with rage. “My brother is lying there, dying! Have you no soul? You think you can just walk out? Not a chance in hell!” I looked at her face, contorted by a grotesque mix of greed and jealousy, and I almost laughed. It was pathetic. I didn’t waste my breath arguing. I just held her gaze. “Move.” 02 “Move? I’m not going anywhere!” Chloe’s voice shot up into a piercing shriek that echoed down the hallway, drawing the attention of other patients and their families. “Everyone, come and see this!” she yelled, her voice dripping with manufactured drama. “See how cruel this woman is! My brother was with her for ten years, and now that he’s on his deathbed, she’s trying to run off with his money without a second glance!” As she screamed, she fumbled for her phone, flicking on the video camera and shoving the black lens right in my face. Her plan was sickeningly obvious: use public shame and moral outrage to trap me. Paint me as a heartless, gold-digging monster so I’d have no choice but to stay and serve her selfish, manipulative brother. Watching her pathetic performance, the fire in my gut cooled into an icy calm. Wasting energy on people like this was beneath me. I sidestepped her, my voice low and cold as I passed. “We went Dutch for ten years. Every single transaction is accounted for. My conscience is clear.” “You…” Chloe sputtered, momentarily stunned. She recovered quickly, her voice rising again behind me. “You get back here! Evelyn, you absolute bitch!” I didn’t look back. I walked straight into the elevator. The metal doors slid shut, sealing off her hysterical shrieks and closing the door on ten years of my life that now felt like a complete and utter sham. When I arrived back at the apartment Leo and I “shared,” I stood at the door and keyed in the passcode I’d used for years. BEEP. Incorrect passcode. I froze. I tried again. Same result. A cold dread coiled in my stomach. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. Don’t bother. Leo said you’re not the woman of the house anymore. You have no right to be there. Beneath the text was a photo. Leo, looking frail in his hospital bed, holding Chloe’s hand. Both of them wore the smug smiles of victors. Something inside me snapped. I’d been kicked out. Kicked out of the home where I paid half the rent, bought most of the furniture, and poured ten years of my heart and soul into. Rage, humiliation, betrayal—a toxic cocktail of emotions flooded my system, obliterating all rational thought. I started pounding on the door with my fists, kicking it with my feet, the loud thuds echoing in the empty hallway. “Leo! Chloe! Get the hell out here! This is my home!” Silence. Only the cold, unyielding door, which vibrated against my bruised knuckles. I was a madwoman, abandoned by the world, screaming at my own front door until my strength gave out and I slid to the floor in a heap. My hands shaking, I pulled out my phone and called my best friend, Sarah. “Sarah… I…” The words caught in my throat, and the dam of composure I’d been holding back finally broke. I sobbed, unable to form a complete sentence. Sarah, my colleague and my rock, arrived in a whirlwind of righteous fury. She found me huddled in a corner of the hallway, hugging my knees like a stray dog. “Evie!” Her own eyes reddened the moment she saw my wrecked state. After I choked out the whole story, Sarah trembled with rage, aiming a torrent of curses at the closed door. “A pair of absolute scumbags! What kind of trash are they? Going Dutch for ten years? My ass! That Leo is nothing but a pathetic, overgrown man-child! And that sister of his is a parasite, planning to leech off her brother for the rest of her life!” “They used you up and threw you out! This is beyond disgusting!” Her anger was a spark, igniting the banked fires of my own hatred. But the worst was yet to come. Chloe moved fast. She edited the video from the hospital hallway, cutting it down to show only my cold, retreating back and her own tear-streaked, accusatory face. Then she blasted it across all her social media. The caption was pure poison: Ten years of love, destroyed by sickness. The human heart can be so cold. I just pray my brother can pull through this. She attached photos of Leo looking pale and helpless in his bed. It was like throwing a match into a tinderbox. Within minutes, my phone was blowing up with a flood of messages and comments. “I can’t believe you’re that kind of person. You’re evil.” “Leo was so good to you. How could you abandon him when he needs you most?” “Ten years… you’d have more loyalty to a dog. Is your heart made of stone?” Mutual friends, who had no idea of the real story, sent messages berating me. Strange numbers started calling, claiming to be journalists, asking invasive questions about why I’d “abandoned my dying boyfriend.” I felt like I’d been stripped naked and thrown into a public square, with an endless crowd pointing, jeering, and slinging mud at me. I was furious, heartbroken, and desperate to scream the truth to the entire world. But my voice was just a whisper against the hurricane of lies the Cole siblings had so expertly crafted. They didn’t just want me gone. They wanted me destroyed. They wanted to obliterate my reputation, poison my social circle, and leave me utterly alone. “Evie, we can’t let this continue.” Sarah snatched my phone and powered it off. “This is slander. It’s a character assassination. We need to call a lawyer, now! You can’t let them do this to you, or you’ll never be able to wash this stain off.” I stared at the black screen, at the reflection of a pale, haunted face I barely recognized. The warmth and trust that had once filled my eyes were gone, replaced by the cold, hard glint of a burning fire. She was right. This was a war. And it had just begun. You want to destroy me? Fine. Let me show you what a woman with nothing left to lose is capable of. 03 I didn’t sleep that night. Curled up on Sarah’s comfortable couch, I stared at the ceiling as the last ten years played out in my mind, a slow-motion film reel where every scene was now tainted with a sickening new light. I remembered the beginning. “Evie,” he’d said, “let’s go Dutch. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m trying to buy your affection. I respect your independence.” Back then, I’d practically melted. I thought he was a rare gem, a man who truly saw me as an equal. Soon, “going Dutch” became the ironclad rule of our relationship. From a cup of coffee to an international flight, we tracked every expense in a shared app, splitting everything with clinical precision. I thought it was the foundation of a healthy relationship. Now I saw it for what it was: a carefully constructed trap. He used “respecting my independence” as a smokescreen to hide a selfishness so profound it was etched into his very bones. He refused to open a joint bank account, claiming that “keeping finances separate prevents arguments.” He refused to buy a property with me, insisting that “the market is too high right now, let’s just wait.” He even demanded we split the cost of a new dishwasher for the apartment we lived in. And I, the fool, had actually believed he was principled and financially responsible. But I was the one bearing all the hidden costs. I was the one who packed the boxes, hired the movers, and scrubbed our new places clean every time we moved. I was the one who took time off work to deal with plumbers and electricians whenever something broke. I was the one who dragged myself to the clinic for an IV drip when I had a fever, while he would simply text, “Drink lots of water.” And him? He blissfully enjoyed the fruits of my labor—a clean home, a smoothly running life, my constant care—without ever considering the time, energy, and money it all cost. Something else surfaced from my memory. His mother had been hospitalized once, and he’d come to me, his face a mask of solemn concern. “Evie, look, with my mom in this situation, and me being so busy with work… what if you quit your design job? You could focus on taking care of her for a while.” I had been stunned into silence. Seeing my hesitation, he’d quickly added, “Of course, any expenses related to her care… we can split them, AA.” A part of me had gone cold in that moment. But I had brushed it off, making excuses about my own workload and deadlines to turn him down. Looking back, he wasn’t asking me. He was informing me. In his mind, my career, my ambitions, my entire life could be put on hold to serve his family’s needs. And his contribution? Splitting a few laughable expenses. I pulled out my phone and started digging through old photos and chat logs. Every picture, every message, was now damning evidence of his parasitic nature. “Evie, I’m a little tight this month. Can you cover my half of the rent? I’ll get you back.” “Honey, my mom saw this massage chair she loves, but my credit card is maxed out. Could you buy it for her? I’ll pay you next month, I swear.” “My project hit a snag, and I need some cash to keep it afloat. Can you lend me five thousand? I’ll pay it back as soon as I can!” … Each message was a performance of weakness, a promise of repayment that never materialized. And I, swayed by sentiment and a misguided desire to protect his fragile ego, had never once pushed him to pay me back. I found the electronic lease for our apartment. And when I saw the tenant’s name—my name, and my name alone—the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and the pain was sharp, like a rusty knife twisting in my gut. I was the one paying the rent. He was just transferring me a few hundred dollars a month, which he generously labeled “living expenses.” It finally dawned on me. This wasn’t ten years of “going Dutch.” This was ten years of calculated, methodical vampirism. He had latched onto me like a leech, draining my finances, my energy, and my love, all while refusing to shoulder an ounce of real responsibility or risk. I wasn’t his partner, the person he wanted to build a life with. I was just a convenient resource, a provider of emotional and financial support to be used and discarded. Rage, regret, humiliation, disgust… The emotions swirled into a toxic vortex inside me, hardening into a cold, lethal resolve. Leo and Chloe Coleman. You played me for a fool for a decade. Now, the game is over. I’m taking back everything that’s mine. My money, my home, and the dignity you trampled on for ten long years. 04 The next morning, with dark circles under my eyes, I walked into Mr. Davies’s law office, Sarah by my side. Mr. Davies was a man in his forties, dressed in a sharp, immaculate suit, his gaze calm and piercing. I laid everything out for him: the whole sordid story, the sickening chat logs, the mountain of transfer receipts. He listened intently, never interrupting, only occasionally adjusting his glasses as his expression grew more and more serious. “Ms. Vance,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring, “based on what you’ve told me, the actions of Mr. Coleman and his sister go far beyond a mere moral failing.” “Ms. Coleman knowingly disseminated false information online to attack your character. That constitutes slander. And Mr. Coleman, fully aware that you were the sole leaseholder, conspired with his sister to illegally evict you and change the locks. That is unlawful entry and occupation.” He paused, tapping a finger on the copy of the will. “As for this document, it is legally tenuous. First, a testator must be of completely sound mind, free from coercion or deception. Given Mr. Coleman’s critical condition, his mental capacity at the time is highly questionable. But more importantly…” Mr. Davies looked at me, his eyes sharp. “You need to prove that you were not just ‘going Dutch,’ but that you were, in fact, the primary financial contributor to this relationship. These financial records you’ve brought are invaluable. They are the most powerful weapon you have to demolish their narrative.” I looked at the thick stack of papers on his desk, a detailed history of my ten-year-long mistake. Every receipt, every transfer was a needle in my heart. But they were also the swords I would use to strike back. Just as a sliver of hope began to break through the darkness, Chloe’s assault intensified. She had sold her story to a notorious online tabloid. They twisted the narrative of the “designer girlfriend abandoning her dying boyfriend” into a modern-day tragedy, painting me as a vain, money-grubbing social climber who had bled her partner dry and left him for dead. The article went viral, catapulting the story to the top of the local news feeds. My name, my profession, even the address of my design studio were plastered all over the internet. The studio phone rang off the hook. Clients started sending cautious emails, asking veiled questions, their words laced with doubt and hesitation. Then came the first contract termination. Then a second. And a third. My business, my passion, everything I had worked so hard to build, was crumbling around me in a matter of days. A suffocating despair threatened to drown me. I had never imagined that human cruelty could sink to such depths. The final blow came when Chloe, flanked by reporters from the tabloid, ambushed me outside my studio. A barrage of cameras flashed, microphones were shoved in my face. “Ms. Vance, do you have any comment on the allegations that you abandoned your partner?” “Is it true you ran off with Mr. Coleman’s life savings?” “Have you already found a new sugar daddy?” The questions were sharp, cruel daggers aimed directly at my heart. I was trapped in my own office, a cornered animal surrounded by a pack of hyenas. Through the glass door, I could see Chloe’s triumphant, gloating face. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. My mind was a chaotic storm, and I could feel myself teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. And then, a calm, authoritative voice cut through the noise. “Members of the press, please maintain a professional distance! Your actions are a severe violation of my client’s right to privacy and a direct assault on her reputation! We will pursue legal action against any party publishing unsubstantiated and defamatory statements!” It was Mr. Davies. He and Sarah had arrived. He stood before me like a shield, calmly and professionally addressing the media frenzy, his voice firm as he warned Chloe that her actions constituted a criminal offense. Staring at his solid back, the fog in my brain began to clear. A tiny ember of hope rekindled in the ashes of my despair. I wasn’t alone. I couldn’t fall apart. I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms that the pain jolted me back to full awareness. I looked through the glass, my gaze meeting Chloe’s defiant stare. The fear and vulnerability in my eyes receded, replaced by the hard, unyielding glint of tempered steel. You drove me into a corner, Leo and Chloe. Now, get ready. Because I’m not just coming back to clear my name. I’m coming back to ruin you.

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Three in the morning. I was about to see the most challenging case of the night. A man and a woman, in the middle of a passionate encounter at a hotel, had become physically stuck together. An ambulance had rushed them to the emergency room, sirens blaring. I pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and lifted the white sheet covering them. The moment I saw the man’s face, it was as if I’d been struck by lightning. It was my husband of three years, Alex. The girl he was clutching protectively in his arms was teary-eyed. When she looked up and saw me, a defiant smirk flickered across her lips. “Done staring, Doctor? Can we get a move on? My boyfriend is… still in a lot of pain.” I said nothing. I just picked up a syringe filled with a sedative, its cold, steel tip aimed directly at his most vulnerable point. 01 “Dr. Vance, Trauma Room Three! We’ve got a case of penis captivus. It’s urgent, you need to see this now!” Lily, one of the nurses, called out, her voice tight with a mixture of urgency and barely suppressed shock. I had just finished treating a patient with alcohol poisoning. Hearing her, I peeled off my used gloves and hurried toward the trauma room. “Penis captivus.” A textbook term for an exceedingly rare clinical phenomenon. It was a condition that was far more embarrassing than it was dangerous, but if handled improperly, it could lead to tissue necrosis. The door to the trauma room was slightly ajar. I could hear the soft, muffled sobs of a young woman and a man’s pained, reassuring whispers. “Don’t cry, Gia, it’s okay. It’s just… a minor complication.” That voice… My heart seized, as if clamped by an invisible hand. Breathing became a conscious, difficult effort. I pushed the door open. Under the glare of the surgical lights, the two entangled figures on the bed looked like a grotesque and sordid piece of performance art. A white sheet was draped haphazardly over their midsections, but it couldn’t hide the disarray of the room or the thick, cloying atmosphere of sex. The man’s profile was handsome, familiar. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead. Though his face was pale with pain, he held the girl in his arms with a fierce, protective posture. The girl had a cascade of long, wavy hair and a youthful face streaked with tears, the picture of fragile innocence. They were locked together, a malformed conjoined twin. And the man was my husband of three years, Alex Friedberg. Just a week ago, he had kissed my forehead tenderly, telling me he had to attend an important architectural symposium in the next city over. He’d said he didn’t know when he’d be back. Apparently, his “symposium” was being held in another woman’s bed. Lily, seeing me frozen in the doorway, whispered, “Dr. Vance?” I snapped back to reality, ruthlessly shoving down the storm of emotions churning inside me. I was a doctor. This was my operating theater. “Prep ten milligrams of diazepam, IV push,” I ordered, my voice clipped and professional. I pulled on a fresh pair of sterile gloves and reached to lift the sheet to assess the situation. “Don’t touch her!” Alex’s voice was raw and urgent. He finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine. His pupils contracted violently. Shock, panic, shame—a dozen emotions flashed across his face before hardening into a glare of pure, indignant fury. “What are you looking at? Turn around!” he snarled at me, as if I were the intruder who had no right to be there. The girl in his arms saw me then, too. Her eyes widened for a second, and then, a look of smug, triumphant understanding bloomed in their teary depths. She burrowed deeper into Alex’s embrace, a clear gesture of ownership, and whimpered, “Alex, I’m scared…” Alex immediately looked down at her, his voice softening to a tender coo I had never heard before. “It’s okay, Gia. I’m here. She’s just a doctor. It’s just a routine procedure.” Just a doctor. A routine procedure. In that single moment, he had erased three years of our marriage, all to soothe the nerves of another woman. My heart felt like it had been dropped into a jar of formaldehyde, numb and lifeless. Lily had the syringe ready and handed it to me. I took it, expelled the air, the steel tip glinting coldly under the lights. The girl met my gaze, a victorious smile playing on her lips. “Have you had your fill, Doctor? Can we speed this up? My boyfriend is waiting.” Boyfriend. She emphasized the word, twisting the knife. I looked at her, my face a blank mask. My gaze then drifted down to my husband’s arm, to the vein exposed and pulsing with pain and tension. I held the syringe and stepped forward. Alex’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you doing?” “Giving you an injection,” I said, my tone as flat as if I were discussing the weather. “Once your muscles relax, you’ll be able to separate.” But Gia suddenly shrieked, “No! Alex, I don’t want a shot! I’m scared of needles!” She thrashed like a spoiled child, crying and wailing in his arms. And Alex—my calm, composed, always rational husband—actually indulged her. He turned on me, his voice sharp with accusation. “Isn’t there another way? She’s afraid of needles, didn’t you hear her?” I almost laughed. “Mr. Friedberg, this is an emergency room, not your bedroom. You have two choices. One, the injection. Or two, you can wait for necrosis to set in, at which point we’ll have to surgically remove the affected tissue.” Alex’s face went rigid with fury. Gia was still crying, each sob a dull blade sawing at my nerves. I ignored them both. I walked to the side of the bed, pinned Alex’s arm with one hand, and with the other, I brought the needle down, aiming it steadily at his most vulnerable point. Not his arm. His exposed inner thigh. “Ah!” A choked gasp escaped him, his body convulsing. Of course, I hadn’t actually pierced the skin. The cold tip merely pressed against him, a sensation designed to inspire absolute terror. “Shut up,” I said to Gia, my eyes like chips of ice. “Make another sound, and the next shot goes in you.” Her wailing stopped instantly. She stared at me in disbelief. Alex’s eyes burned with humiliation and rage. “Evelyn! Are you insane?” I withdrew the needle, repositioned it over the vein in his arm, and smoothly depressed the plunger. “I’m not insane,” I said, looking him dead in the eye, each word precise and cold. “I’m simply doing my job as a doctor—saving lives. And maintaining order.” 02 The sedative worked quickly. With a final, relieved sigh from Gia, they separated. I turned away, tossed the used syringe into the biohazard bin, and instructed Lily, “Run some routine checks, then admit them for 24-hour observation.” Without a backward glance, I walked out of the room. The hallway lights were a harsh, sterile white, stretching my shadow into a long, thin specter. I leaned against the cold wall, the strength draining from my limbs all at once. The calm, authoritative presence I had projected in that room was nothing more than professional instinct. Now, with the mask off, I was just a woman in ruins. Alex and I had been college sweethearts. He was the star of the architecture department; I was at the top of my class in medical school. From campus to the altar, everyone saw us as the perfect couple, a match made in heaven. He remembered all my favorite things, picked me up after every late shift, and kept our home running smoothly so I could focus on my demanding career. I thought we were soulmates. Reality had just delivered a brutal, deafening slap. All that supposed thoughtfulness and love was just an elaborate performance. It wasn’t long before a well-dressed, elegant woman swept into the hospital. It was my mother-in-law, Janet. Her face flickered with embarrassment when she saw me, but she quickly composed herself, adopting a placating tone as she took my hand. “Evelyn, dear, don’t take it to heart. Men, especially successful men like Alex, always have these young things throwing themselves at them. It’s just a bit of fun, it means nothing. You just have to be magnanimous, and this will all blow over.” Her words were like salt in an open wound. “Janet, he’s your son, not the king,” I said, pulling my hand away. My voice was glacial. Her face stiffened. Seeing she would get nowhere with me, she turned and swept into the hospital room. I didn’t follow, but I could hear their conversation clearly through the door. “Gia, my dear child, you’ve been through so much,” Janet’s voice was honey-sweet, a stark contrast to the tone she’d used with me. “Aunt Janet, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let Alex be so reckless…” Gia’s voice was thick with tears, a perfect blend of guilt and vulnerability. “Silly girl, how could this be your fault? If anyone’s to blame, it’s Evelyn. She’s always at work, running around in that white coat like a man. Not an ounce of femininity in her. Alex is a young, virile man. Of course he’s going to stray.” “Aunt Janet, don’t say that about Dr. Vance. She’s… she’s just dedicated to her work.” “You’re just too kind. Don’t worry, I know what’s what. As far as the Friedberg family is concerned, you’re the only daughter-in-law I’ll ever accept.” Standing in the hallway, I felt my blood turn to ice. So, in their minds, I, the legal wife, was the third wheel. And the mistress had already been pre-approved by my mother-in-law as the future Mrs. Friedberg. How utterly laughable. The door opened and Alex stepped out. He had changed into a fresh set of clothes and combed his hair, looking every bit the handsome, respectable man he pretended to be. He walked up to me, his expression devoid of guilt. Instead, he looked at me with a cold, judgmental air. “Evelyn, what happened today ends here,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “You will not tell my father, and you will not tell your family. Gia is young and sensitive. You scared her badly today. Don’t you dare go near her again.” I stared at him, feeling like I was seeing this man for the first time. “I scared her? Alex, let’s be clear. I saved her. If it weren’t for me, she might be on an operating table right now.” “Saved her?” Alex scoffed, his eyes dripping with undisguised contempt. “The way you held that needle to me, you looked like you wanted to kill me. Evelyn, I never realized you had such a cruel streak.” “You’re so desperate to defend her you can’t even see right from wrong anymore?” “This isn’t about right and wrong!” he snapped, his voice rising with impatience. “Gia and I are in love! Do you understand that? You, a woman who only knows scalpels and medical charts, you have no idea what passion is, what love really is!” “So, between us, there was never any love? Just responsibility?” My voice trembled. He didn’t answer. His silence was more cutting than any insult. His phone rang, shattering the suffocating tension between us. He pulled it out. The caller ID—Gia Darling—seared my eyes. He answered it without a hint of shame, his voice instantly softening. “What’s wrong?… Don’t be scared, I’m right outside. I’ll be right in… Okay, I’ll peel an apple for you. Be good.” He hung up and, without another glance at me, tossed a final, cold command over his shoulder. “You can go home by yourself tonight. Gia needs me.” He turned and disappeared back into the room. I stared at the closed door, which now felt like a portal between two different worlds. Inside was his true love, his soulmate. Outside was me, the discarded, inconvenient “man in a white coat.” 03 I don’t know how I managed to drive home. I felt like I was moving through a thick fog. When I opened the door, his slippers were still by the entrance where he’d left them. On the coffee table was the latest issue of an architecture magazine I’d bought for him. The plants we’d potted together on the balcony were thriving. This home, so full of his presence, now felt like a monument to a massive, cruel joke. I sat on the sofa all night. At dawn, Alex came home. He was carrying breakfast from my favorite café, his face etched with fatigue, but he forced a smile. “Evelyn, you must be hungry. Come, eat.” He set out the coffee and bagels on the table, acting as if the previous night had been nothing but a bad dream, one from which we had now awoken, back to being the loving couple we always were. I didn’t move. I just watched him with cold, empty eyes. “We need to talk,” he sighed, sitting down across from me. “Evelyn, I know I was wrong,” he began his performance. “What happened with Gia… it was an accident. You know I’ve been under a lot of pressure, bidding for the Westgate Arts Center project. I was completely blocked, no inspiration. Gia… she inspires me. She’s like my muse.” “So you and your muse got inspired… right into bed?” I cut him off, my voice sharp. He flinched, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but he pressed on. “We both had a little too much to drink that night. It was a moment of weakness… Evelyn, it didn’t mean anything. In my heart, you’ll always be my wife. My relationship with her is purely artistic, a meeting of minds. Nothing more.” “A meeting of minds that got you physically stuck together?” “Evelyn!” He finally dropped the act, slamming his hand on the table as he shot to his feet. “Do you have to be so crude? Must you insist on humiliating me like this?” “I’m humiliating you?” I rose to meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “Alex, who is humiliating whom? You were cheating on me, I caught you red-handed, and now you’re trying to pass it off as an ‘accident’? Do you take me for a fool?” “No!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I already apologized! I’m trying to make it right! What more do you want? Do you have any idea how mortified I was at the hospital last night? The least you could do is show a little understanding!” He was so self-righteous, as if he were the real victim. This was the man I had loved for years. Selfish, deceitful, and always, always putting himself first. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and when I opened them again, they were filled with an icy calm. “Alex, let’s get a divorce.” He stared at me, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “What did you say?” “I said, I want a divorce.” “Absolutely not!” he refused without a second thought. “I don’t agree. Evelyn, stop this nonsense. I know you’re angry, but divorce isn’t a joke.” “I’m not joking,” I said, my gaze unwavering. “Being in this house for one more second makes me sick to my stomach.” “You…” His face flushed with anger. He was about to retort when his phone rang again. It was Gia. He glanced at the screen, hesitated, then retreated to the balcony to take the call. Through the glass door, I couldn’t hear his words, but I saw the tension in his jaw melt away the moment he heard her voice. He spoke patiently, a small smile even playing on his lips. He ended the call, came back inside, and grabbed his jacket. “Gia was frightened last night. She’s all alone at the hospital. I have to go check on her.” He delivered this not as a request, but as a statement of fact. “And forget about the divorce. You just need to cool down. We’ll talk again when I get back tonight.” With that, he walked out. The door slammed shut, and with it, the last glimmer of hope I had for us died. I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Hello, Mr. Davis? This is Evelyn Vance. I’d like to schedule a consultation regarding divorce and the division of assets.” 04 Alex didn’t come home for the next few days. I was grateful for the peace. I worked at the hospital during the day and spent my evenings gathering evidence of his infidelity. His computer wasn’t password-protected. I easily found a hidden folder filled with photos of Gia. Photos from every angle, in revealing clothes, some even taken in bed. The folder was named “My Muse.” I also discovered that over the past year, he had transferred over two hundred thousand dollars from our joint account to her. For handbags, for jewelry, for the rent on her expensive art studio. The last gift I had received from my husband was a bouquet of flowers his assistant had sent on my birthday last year. So, he wasn’t unromantic. His romance was just reserved for someone else. One day, after finishing a long emergency surgery, I was heading to the break room, completely exhausted, when I saw an unexpected visitor in the hallway. Gia. She had been discharged. She wore a beautiful white dress, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, her face adorned with delicate, innocent-looking makeup. She seemed to be waiting for me. When she saw me, she smiled and walked over. “Dr. Vance, what a coincidence.” I ignored her and tried to walk past. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Don’t be in such a hurry, Dr. Vance. Let’s talk.” “I have nothing to talk to you about.” “But I do,” she said, her smile both sweet and venomous. “I wanted to thank you, Doctor. If you hadn’t acted so quickly that day, who knows how long Alex and I would have been… stuck together.” She drew out the last two words, her eyes gleaming with unconcealed triumph. I stared at her coldly. “Are you finished? If so, move.” “Oh, sis, why are you so cold?” she pouted, her voice suddenly soft and wounded. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t force love. Alex loves me. There’s no point in you clinging to the title of Mrs. Friedberg. You’re just making all three of us miserable.” “Oh? And what do you suggest I do?” I crossed my arms, watching her performance with a detached curiosity. “You should let us be happy,” she declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Alex told me there’s no love left between you two, just family obligation and responsibility. He’s afraid to ask for a divorce because he doesn’t want to hurt you. Sis, you’re an educated woman. You should understand the saying, ‘The one who isn’t loved is the third wheel.’ The sooner you let go, the better for everyone.” I looked at her youthful, unlined face and felt a wave of absurdity wash over me. “So, I, the legally wedded wife, have become the obstacle to your great and true love?” “You could say that,” she nodded. Then, as if remembering something, she pulled a small gift box from her purse and held it out to me. “By the way, this is for you. It’s a little something from Alex to say he’s sorry. He was afraid you wouldn’t accept it from him, so he asked me to give it to you. He said that even though the love is gone, he still wants you to be happy.” I recognized the logo. It was a jewelry brand I liked. I didn’t take it. Gia didn’t seem to mind. She opened the box herself. Inside was a simple, elegant necklace. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She dangled it in front of me. “Alex said you usually dress so plainly, this would be perfect for you.” Then, she pulled down the collar of her dress, revealing her own delicate collarbone. Around her neck was the exact same necklace. No, not exactly the same. Hers had a halo of tiny, glittering diamonds around the pendant. Under the light, it sparkled a hundred times more brightly than the one in the box. “Mine was custom-made,” she said, stroking her own necklace, a smug, cat-that-got-the-cream smile on her face. “Alex said I’m his one-of-a-kind treasure, and I deserve the best. Yours is just the standard model. But it’s the thought that counts, right, sis?” It was a blatant, undisguised act of humiliation. She was showing me, in the most tangible way possible, that in Alex’s eyes, I was an obligation to be placated with a generic trinket, while she was the treasure to be adorned with the “best.” I stared at the necklace on her throat, and a wave of nausea roiled in my stomach. It had been happening a lot lately—certain smells, or a spike in my emotions, would make me feel sick. I pressed a hand to my mouth and turned to run to the restroom. Gia, assuming I was fleeing in defeat, laughed triumphantly behind me. “Don’t run off, sis. Alex said he’s coming home tonight to lay all his cards on the table. You should probably prepare yourself.”

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After my family’s company collapsed, my parents entrusted me to their sworn brother, then leaped from the Veridian Bridge before my eyes. From that day on, severe depression left me unable to sleep unless in the arms of the man I now called uncle. Years later, the woman he loved jumped from a rooftop because of me. He cast me out, screaming I should be dead. But when the flash flood came, he shielded me without hesitation, creating an air pocket that saved me. As he lay dying, he wiped a tear from my eye. “I’m the one who spoiled you,” he whispered. “If only I’d never brought you home.” His parents called me a monster who destroyed their son. I regretted everything. I knelt before a silent deity for what felt like eternity—praying for over thirty thousand days. I offered my soul, cursed myself to never reincarnate, all for one chance to do it over. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day he discovered my secret. This time, I would bury my forbidden desires and ask only for his happiness. As for me… I had no complaints about life or death. 1 “Willow, you’re disgusting.” The voice, one I hadn’t heard in an eternity, pierced through the fog of my consciousness before my heart could even catch up. It hammered against my ribs, a wild, frantic drumbeat. I stared, transfixed, at the sight of him—Tom Croft, vibrant and alive, standing right before me. My eyes burned with tears. “Answer me!” He threw a white dress shirt at me, the fabric hitting my chest with a soft thud. His handsome face was flushed with a deep, angry red. At his feet, a wooden box lay open, its contents scattered: a collection of his personal effects that I had secretly hoarded. The evidence was undeniable. My feelings for him had long since crossed the line of a normal niece-uncle relationship. But in that moment, I felt no shame. Only a wave of relief so profound it brought me to my knees. I began to weep, deep, shuddering sobs that shook my entire body. From gray hair back to my youthful black, the thirty thousand days I spent in penance had finally been answered. I was reborn on the very day Tom first discovered my secret, forbidden love. The trembling was uncontrollable, the tears a flood I couldn’t stop. My reaction clearly threw him off. The fire in his eyes died down, replaced by a flicker of concern. He pointed a shaky finger at the box. “This… burn it all.” In my past life, those words had sent me into a hysterical frenzy. I had grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him. Tom had been utterly stunned. He had fled, and from that day on, a chasm of distance grew between us. But for me, that single, forbidden kiss had shattered all my restraints. My obsession intensified. My hatred for Serena, the woman who had captured his heart, festered into a poison that would eventually lead to tragedy for us all. So this time, I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. I gathered the scattered items—a tie he’d worn, a pen he’d used, a single leather glove—and placed them back in the box one by one. I picked it up and walked toward the back garden. “Okay,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll burn it.” At seventeen, my world had shattered. My family’s company went bankrupt. Hunted by creditors, my father took my mother and me to the Veridian Bridge. I remember the river churning violently below. He sat me on the railing, his usually kind eyes now bloodshot and wild. “Willow,” he pleaded, his voice breaking, “don’t blame your father.” I closed my eyes obediently, waiting for the hands that would push me into whatever came next. But in that final moment, he tore the jade pendant from his neck and pressed it into my hand. Then, he and my mother jumped. I sat there on the bridge for hours, a hollowed-out doll. Until Tom found me. He was only five years older than me, but he carried himself with a maturity far beyond his years. He was steady, capable, and he handled everything. He helped me liquidate the assets, settled the debts, and dealt with the legalities. After my parents’ funeral, I moved in with his family, but sleep became a stranger. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my parents falling. Tom took me to therapists. He tried everything to coax a smile from me. He would stay up with me every night, a silent guardian watching over me until the sun rose. One stormy night, my depression consumed me. I tried to choke myself. Tom held me, his arms a vise, stroking my back and whispering reassurances even as I bit his arm, drawing blood. That night, I finally broke down, crying until I had nothing left. And that night, held safely in his arms, I slept. I was a teenager, lost and broken. I stood no chance against a man so brilliant, so gentle, so devoted to my well-being. I began to collect little pieces of him, treasures that made my heart race and my mind spin with impossible dreams. I willed myself to grow up faster, just so I could finally tell him how I felt. But I never got the chance. Before I could, the woman he loved, Serena, fell to her death. And I was the one to blame. Tom’s hatred was a physical force. He screamed at me to get out, his voice raw with grief. “Why wasn’t it you?” he had roared. “Why are you the one still alive?” But when the flash flood came, he still didn’t hesitate. He threw himself in front of me. My uncle was perfect in every way. The only problem was his love for me was that of family. Mine was a guilty, desperate thing. In my last life, when Tom’s mother heard of his death, her grief was an endless, desolate wail. His father had pointed a trembling finger at me, his face a mask of rage. “You’re a monster, Willow! A curse! Are you not satisfied until everyone who cares about you is dead?” I remembered Tom’s last words to me. “I’m the one who spoiled you.” “If only… if I’d never brought you home…” He regretted it. And so did I. Clutching the jade pendant my father had given me, I remembered him saying that if one prayed with a true heart, the shrine on Mount Crestfall would answer. I wanted to pray that in the next life, Tom would never meet me. But my sins were too great. I knelt before the deity for what felt like an eternity. My hair turned from black to white. As I drew my last breath, the jade pendant on my chest began to glow with a soft, warm light. I saw a divine presence. It spoke. “What has happened cannot be undone, but a new beginning is not impossible.” “You are the calamity in his fate. Unless you resolve it, all your efforts will be in vain.” “Whether you repeat the past or forge a new path, the choice lies in a single thought.” When I awoke, the jade pendant on my chest, now webbed with fine cracks, told me it wasn’t a dream. This time, I would not make the same mistakes. I would pay any price, as long as my uncle could live a long, happy life. The next morning, neither of us mentioned what had happened. The car ride to his company was filled with a suffocating silence. It wasn’t until we got out that Tom finally spoke. “You slapped Serena a few days ago. Go and apologize to her today.” His tone was stiff, as if he was bracing himself for another one of my tantrums. But I just nodded. “Okay.” Tom looked at me, a flash of surprise in his eyes, but he said nothing more. At the office, I went to find Serena as promised. I found her in the break room with Tom. Amid the rich aroma of coffee, they shared a look, a silent, sweet understanding passing between them. The next second, her eyes flickered toward me. She quickly hid her smile, using her hair to cover the still-faintly swollen side of her face. Tom instinctively moved to shield her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice cool and distant, having already forgotten his morning command. It wasn’t his fault for being wary. I really was a monster. My possessiveness over him was pathological. He was handsome and kind, and he had no shortage of admirers. I had driven every single one of them away. Because he never stopped me, I had deluded myself into thinking it was because he had feelings for me, too. In my past life, I had… I had forced a moment between us, a violation of the trust he had in me. He fought it, yet in the haze of a moment I orchestrated, I deluded myself into thinking his body’s betrayal was a sign of his heart’s desire. I ignored the truth: it was nothing more than an uncontrollable physiological reaction. Serena was different. She was special to him. Even ten years after her death, Tom still hadn’t forgiven me. I swallowed the acidic jealousy rising in my throat and took a deep breath. I walked over to Serena and bowed deeply. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you the other day. I shouldn’t have humiliated you in public. Can you… can you forgive me?” Serena glanced nervously at Tom. When he remained silent, she finally answered, “It’s… it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I forgive you.” I straightened up, and my eyes met Tom’s. They were swirling with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. In my past life, there was another reason I hated Serena. I had seen her more than once with Caden Pierce, Tom’s business arch-nemesis. Caden was a spoiled, arrogant playboy who loved nothing more than to sabotage Tom. I was convinced Serena was a corporate spy sent to break his heart, which was why I had targeted her so relentlessly. This time, whatever the truth was, I had to find out. I had to get the two people whose lives I’d ruined back on the right track. So I started following Serena around, telling her how guilty I felt, saying I wanted to be her friend. She was wary at first, but when she saw I was sincere, she slowly let her guard down. I started probing. “So… what do you think of my uncle?” A blush crept up her neck. “Mr. Croft… he’s very kind. He never loses his temper with his staff. He’s a good person.” It was true then. They were in love. Serena was a good match for him. She came from a poor background but had fought her way to the top, graduating from a prestigious university. She was the classic hardworking, resilient heroine. And Tom was handsome, successful, and kind—the perfect leading man. Anyone could see they were meant for each other. Even knowing this, my heart ached with a bitter jealousy. That night, for the first time in a long while, Tom knocked on my bedroom door. He didn’t come in. The last time he’d burst into my room was when he’d found my box of secrets. I spoke first. “I’m just looking at the company’s branch reports. There’s nothing else…” Since my rebirth, I could feel him pulling away. Even without the kiss, he couldn’t accept that the little girl he’d raised was in love with him. And even without the kiss, I couldn’t let him go. He cleared his throat. “Why haven’t you been coming home with me after work lately?” I was surprised he’d even noticed. Because I need to learn how to live without you. I quickly closed the application form for an overseas work transfer I’d been filling out and lied. “Serena and I have been getting along really well, so we’ve been leaving together. It gives us a chance to chat.” The lie felt flimsy even to me. Tom stared at me, his gaze so intense it made my skin crawl. “Am I interrupting something between you two?” I asked, my voice tight. He frowned and flicked my forehead. “What nonsense are you thinking? Of course not.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking agitated. “Forget it. It’s… it’s good for you to have friends.” One day, I was leaving work with Serena as usual. She had started to open up to me, and I felt I was getting closer to understanding the real reason she had jumped in our past life. Everyone, including Tom, thought I had pushed her. My track record didn’t help. But I hadn’t. I hadn’t even touched her. She had just cried and jumped. I suspected something was wrong at home. “Serena, if you’re ever in trouble, you have to tell me. Whatever it is, I can help you.” She froze, and her eyes welled up. She was in trouble. She was about to speak when a group of thugs appeared from a nearby alley. They were carrying steel pipes. I’d learned some self-defense as a kid and managed to hold my own. But Serena wasn’t so lucky. I saw a pipe swinging toward her head. Without thinking, I pushed her out of the way and took the blow myself. Then, everything went black. When I came to, my head and back were throbbing with a fiery pain. I was covered in dirt. But the scene before me made me forget everything. Serena was lying beside me, her clothes torn, her body exposed. “Serena? What happened?” My voice trembled. I scrambled for my phone, my only thought to call Tom. But the screen was shattered. It was dead. Suddenly, a bright light blinded me. I flinched, shielding my eyes. The sound of police sirens mixed with Tom’s enraged voice. A force shoved me backward, and my head cracked against a concrete step. “Willow, I really thought you had changed. But you were just waiting for the right moment to strike, weren’t you!” Tom’s eyes were blazing. I stared at him, my mind reeling. He had misunderstood. “Uncle, no, it wasn’t me—” He swept Serena up in his arms. “You’re holding a phone, and you’re still denying it? Delete those pictures right now! We’ll deal with this when we get home!” I watched his retreating back, tears blurring my vision. “It really… wasn’t me…” My strength gave out, and the world faded to black once more. I dreamt of my past life, of another time Tom had been this angry with me. The day Serena died. When the police took me in for questioning, he had slapped me. It was the first and only time. The sound had echoed in the sterile interrogation room. “How could you do something like this?” he had whispered, his voice hollow. “I’m so disappointed in you. I wish I had never taken you in.” His eyes had held a grief so profound it had become a terrifying calm. I couldn’t blame him. On the rooftop that day, it had been just me and Serena. No one would believe that a brilliant young woman with a bright future would just jump for no reason. But even then, even when he believed the worst of me, he hired the best lawyers. There were no cameras on the roof, no direct evidence I had pushed her. My fingerprints weren’t on her. But the possibility that I had goaded her into it remained. In the end, her death was ruled an accident. Tom paid her mother a huge settlement. But she still came to the company every day, screaming and crying. So he closed the company. He donated every last penny to charity as an act of penance and moved us back to our old hometown in the south. I had truly ruined him. Without me, his life would have been so brilliant. For Tom, the girl he had brought home, the niece he had raised, had killed the woman he loved. From that day on, nothing could ever be the same. I woke with a start. I was in my familiar bedroom. Tom was sitting by my bed, his face gaunt, dark circles under his eyes. When he saw I was awake, a light flickered in his eyes. He pulled me into a fierce hug. It turned out Serena had woken up before me. She had told him everything. I had saved her. The thugs had taken pictures of her and run off. Tom was trembling. He held me tight, his voice a choked whisper of apologies. “I’m sorry, Willow. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I misjudged you. I should have taken better care of you. I accused you without even knowing the facts. You should hit me…” His body shuddered against mine, his warmth seeping through my clothes. My own eyes began to burn. The dam of my pent-up grief and fear finally broke. I buried my face in his chest, my tears and snot soaking his shirt. “Uncle, it’s all my fault! If I hadn’t been so crazy in the past, you would have believed me!” I shook my head, desperate for him to understand. “I was wrong. I’ll never cause you trouble again! I won’t have those thoughts about you anymore. I’ll just be your niece. I’ll be good, I promise. We’ll always be family!” I felt his body go rigid. Then, his hand began to gently pat my back. We stayed like that for a long time, the chasm between us seeming to disappear. He finally pulled away and handed me a bowl of porridge from the bedside table. “Eat something.” He tied my hair back for me and handed me a jacket. “I’m going to go out and buy you your favorite strawberry cake to make it up to you. When I get back, I have something important to tell you.” I watched him go, a strange feeling settling over me. Something about him had changed. It was as if he had made a decision. But I waited for a long time, and he didn’t come back. Instead, I got a text from Serena. [Willow, please, I’m begging you. Meet me on the hotel rooftop.] [You have to come alone.] [Please…] I ran out of the house, my heart pounding with dread. Why was this happening again? The deity’s words echoed in my mind. What has happened cannot be undone. Could I really not change anything? Then what was the point of my rebirth? But this was different. The text she sent in my past life had been a taunt, luring me to a hotel where she claimed to be with Tom. This one was a plea. I felt the truth was within my grasp. On the rooftop, Serena was just as I remembered from my past life, her face streaked with tears. “Serena, what the hell are you doing?” Did she have to jump from this specific building? She looked at me and fell to her knees. “Willow, I can’t escape. The men who attacked us work for Caden Pierce. They took… so many photos and videos of me. There’s no way out.” Rage surged through me. “You knew who it was? Why didn’t you tell the police? You’re the victim!” “It’s no use, Willow!” she screamed, on the verge of a complete breakdown. “I tried to fight back! It’s no use! They’re threatening my mother, my brother, my little niece! Caden’s family is too powerful. He’s a monster. He’s been toying with us all along. He wants to destroy Tom, and he decided to use me to get to you!” “I’m so sorry. You and Mr. Croft were so good to me…” “Don’t come any closer. If you don’t touch me, they won’t find any evidence on my body. Tom cares about you so much. He’ll protect you. But if I don’t do what Caden says, my family will be killed. If I die… maybe it will bring enough attention to the situation.” “I’m just asking… after I’m gone… please look after my family. For the sake of our short friendship…” I didn’t let her finish. I lunged forward, grabbed her by the collar, and dragged her back from the ledge. My own voice was a roar I didn’t recognize. “Do you have any idea what your death will do to him? He’ll mourn you for the rest of his life!” I realized then that I was crying, my own face a mess of tears. Serena stared at me, stunned. At that moment, the jade pendant tucked inside my shirt slipped from its chain. It hit the concrete with a sharp crack and shattered into a dozen pieces. I stared at the fragments on the ground. And then, I understood. You are the calamity in his fate. If I was gone… he would be happy. So that was what it meant. I finally understood. “So, all that matters is that this causes a scene, right?” I turned and ran toward the edge of the roof. First, a weightless drift. Then, a violent plummet. I had chosen the abyss. And so, into the abyss I fell. A sickening thud, followed by a piercing scream, shattered the quiet of the evening. At the same time, a block away, Tom almost dropped the box he was holding. It was the last slice of strawberry cake. The bakery he’d planned to go to was closed. He’d had to search all over before finding this new one near the office. A commotion was growing on the street. “Someone’s dead!” “A woman jumped!” Tom turned toward the gathering crowd. He remembered the sudden, sharp pain that had lanced through his heart just moments before.

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For the new dating reality show, my agent, Dana, told me to play the part of the pretty airhead. So when I showed up hauling a chef’s case as tall as my hip, the live chat crucified me for being a diva. “Who brings a butcher’s block to a desert island?” But when a freak storm cut off our supplies, the A-list actor was so hungry he was chewing on tree bark. That’s when I set up my little charcoal stove and started simmering a fish soup. The award-winning actor, Bob Vance, squatted by my pot, practically begging for a second bowl, while the pop idol, Leo Nash, tried to snatch a fish right out of the broth. It wasn’t until a Michelin-starred chef crashed the livestream, dropping a fortune in virtual rockets, that everything changed. [That knife work, the kind needed for a perfect micro-brunoise… in the entire world, only a disciple of the great August Thorne could pull that off!] The chat exploded. [Thorne? As in, THE August Thorne? The grandfather of modern gastronomy?] The director, trembling, held up the heavy case I’d left behind. “Ms. Thorne,” he stammered, “The name ‘August Thorne’ is carved into the bottom of this case. Who is he to you?” I wiped my hands on my jeans. “My grandpa. He said the case was old and told me to just do whatever I wanted with it.” 1 The day the show’s promotional posters dropped on Instagram, I was staring down the behemoth in the corner of my tiny apartment. It was an ebony wood case that came up to my hip, bound with brass corners and heavy enough to be filled with lead. Dana’s voice memos blew up my phone like a string of firecrackers. “Scarlett! Are you out of your goddamn mind? I get you a spot on a dating show so you can look pretty, act a little dumb, and win over some fans for a comeback, and you’re planning to show up with a coffin? Are you moving in?!” My phone screen was still lit, showing the promo shot of me with a sweet, vacant smile—a perfect porcelain doll. The top comment, liked into oblivion, read: [Who is this girl? Some nepo baby? Get the bimbo off the show!] A long chain of “+1”s followed. I scrolled past it, feeling nothing. I was used to it. In this industry, being irrelevant is the original sin, especially for a former rising star like me who’d fizzled out and was now, years later, still a nobody. Dana was right. This was my last shot. A reality show about hot people falling in love on a deserted island. All I had to do was be beautiful, be stupid, and be good background scenery. After all, a pretty vase makes the best foil for Bob Vance’s icy charisma, Leo Nash’s sunshine-boy charm, and that sweet new ingénue Lily Winters’ delicate innocence, right? Easy enough. Less work for me. “Dana,” I said, kicking the heavy case with the toe of my boot. It answered with a dull thud. “It was my grandpa’s,” I lied smoothly. “His pride and joy. Told me I had to keep it with me always. For luck.” I let my voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll nail the ‘dumb but beautiful’ role. I’ll be the damsel in distress, the one holding everyone back. I won’t steal anyone’s spotlight.” Dana’s voice was a shriek. “Scarlett! It’s a desert island! A survival-themed show! You’re taking an antique chest to a desert island?! Do you want the internet to tear you to shreds?!” I hung up and dragged the case to the door. It was so heavy it screeched against the floorboards. On the lid, a single, ornate ‘T’ was carved into the wood, its edges worn smooth by time. My grandfather’s voice, old and stubborn, echoed in my memory. “Scarlett, a chef’s tools are their courage. You never leave them behind, no matter where you go.” I sighed. Fine. Grandpa’s courage, my burden. 2 Azure water, white sand, swaying palms—the island filming location was straight off a postcard. The moment the helicopter’s rotors slowed, a wave of hot, salty air slapped me in the face. The cameras were already rolling, the livestream broadcasting across every major platform. The chat instantly flooded the screen: [OMG BOB!!! I’M WEAK!] [LEO BABY, MOMMY’S HERE FOR YOU ~~~] [Lily is a literal angel on earth today!!!] I was the last one off the helicopter. When two crew members, grunting and straining, hauled my massive ebony case off the aircraft and dropped it onto the sand with a heavy thump, the air seemed to freeze for a second. The next second, the chat went nuclear. [Wait, what the hell did she just bring with her?] [HOLY SH*T?? Is that her suitcase? What’s in there, a whole cow?] [LMAO, bringing a trunk that big to a survival show? Is that where she keeps her giant ego?] [Certified Diva! We knew it!] [RIP to the crew members who had to carry that…] [Did this bimbo bring her brain? Is this a dating show or a moving company?] The camera cleverly caught the expression on the face of the ingénue, Lily Winters. Dressed in a flowing white sundress, her makeup was flawless and ethereal. She glanced at my case, then at her own chic, 24-inch hot pink suitcase. Her lips pursed for a fraction of a second before she plastered on a perfect, sweet smile and playfully stuck her tongue out at the camera. “Wow, Scarlett, you really came prepared! Unlike me, I just brought a few changes of clothes.” The chat immediately erupted with praise: [Lily is such a sweet angel.] [See, that’s how a normal person packs.] [I feel so bad for Lily, having to film with a diva.] Leo Nash, the pop idol famous for his sunny disposition, bounced over, his bleached-blond hair catching the light. He gave my case a curious pat. “Scarlett, what’s in the treasure chest? A pop-up tent? An inflatable raft? Don’t tell me you brought a mini-fridge.” His tone was light, playing it up for the cameras, but his eyes held a hint of condescending curiosity. Bob Vance stood a little further away, his sunglasses hiding most of his face, leaving only a glimpse of his sharp, sculpted jawline. He stood with his arms crossed, an effortless portrait of cool detachment, as if the chaos around him was nothing more than background noise. Did his gaze, hidden behind those dark lenses, flicker over to my case? I couldn’t tell. He was like a perfect marble statue, radiating an unapproachable aura. A bunch of phonies, and he’s the phoniest of them all, I thought to myself. Braving the storm of judgmental stares, I turned to the main camera and offered up a perfect, innocent, and sufficiently stupid smile. My voice was a soft, slow drawl. “Oh, this? It’s just… some things for cooking. The director said we had to make our own food, right?” I fluttered my eyelashes, trying to look as clueless as possible. The chat was instantly flooded with “LMAO” and “???”: [Cooking?? Is she for real?] [Cooking on a desert island? I’d believe a frying pan, but a chest this big? Did she pack the entire kitchen from a Michelin restaurant?] [There’s a limit to how much you can fake it for the camera! I’m gonna be sick!] [I predict this woman will single-handedly drag down the quality of the entire show…] [Just a casual viewer here, but I’m already feeling second-hand embarrassment for the other contestants…] Just off-camera, the director’s face twitched. He forced a smile and tried to smooth things over. “Haha… well, Scarlett is certainly… creative. Alright everyone, welcome to Heartbreak Island! For the next seven days, this beautiful island will be your home!” He paused, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Of course, you’ll have to work together to find your own food, water, and shelter! Now, please open your luggage. Other than clothing and basic toiletries, any unnecessary items will be confiscated by the production team!” Lily and Leo obediently opened their suitcases, revealing neatly folded clothes, sunscreen, and small bottles of skincare products. The chat immediately filled with compliments like [So organized!] and [She gets it!]. Then it was my turn. Every camera, every pair of eyes, zeroed in on my ebony case. I slowly crouched down, undid the brass latches, and lifted the heavy lid. Inside, packed tightly and gleaming with a cold, metallic sheen, was an arsenal of… knives. Knives of every conceivable shape and size. Long slicers, short paring knives, heavy cleavers, serrated blades… There were also strange, nameless metal tools, a few cast-iron pans of varying thickness, and a full set of wooden-handled spatulas and ladles. Tucked in a corner was a small, hand-cranked stone grinder and several oil-paper packets filled with mysterious powders. The sunlight hit the blades, reflecting a blinding glare. Silence. A dead, absolute silence. Even the ever-present live chat went blank for several seconds, as if the sight of my murderous collection had crashed the servers. A few seconds later, the screen was completely submerged in a tidal wave of comments: [WHAT THE F*CK?!!!] [KNIVES? A WHOLE CHEST OF THEM???] [This girl isn’t here for a date, she’s here to dismember someone!] [DEAR GOD! Someone call the police! There’s a psycho on set!] [Bringing a case of knives to a survival show, what kind of performance art is this?!] [DIVA! She’s the queen of all divas! Kick her off the show!] [The other contestants need to run! Get away from the crazy person!] The director’s smile was frozen solid on his face, his lips twitching uncontrollably. He pointed a trembling finger at the case, his voice cracking. “Scar… Scarlett! Th-these… you can’t have these! It’s too dangerous! This is… this is insane!” He was nearly incoherent. I put on my most innocent expression and pointed to the oil-paper packets in the corner, my voice a meek whisper. “Director, those are just spices. Some ground peppercorns, star anise, and this is a special powder I made from dried bark for flavor. That’s not against the rules, is it?” My voice grew quieter and quieter, perfectly playing the part of a clueless idiot. “AGAINST THE RULES! ALL OF IT! CONFISCATE IT! IT ALL HAS TO GO!” the director roared, waving his crew forward. They scrambled to slam the lid shut and carted my armory away as if it were a ticking bomb. The chat cheered: [FINALLY!] [Good job, director!] I watched my case disappear with a hint of regret, then shrugged and sighed. Alright, Grandpa. It’s not that I didn’t want to bring my courage, but the enemy’s firepower was just too strong. I subtly patted the inner pocket of my jacket, feeling the outline of the small, ebony-handled knife, carefully wrapped in thick leather. It was no longer than my palm. The blade was razor-thin, and as I traced its shape through the fabric, I felt a whisper of its cold, sharp edge. Heh. Good thing I had a backup. We were on a desert island, after all. You can’t do everything by hand. 3 The show’s version of “island survival,” of course, wasn’t designed to actually starve the contestants. The initial supply pack contained protein bars, crackers, a few bottles of water, and a basic fishing kit. The shelter consisted of several pre-pitched, sturdy-looking tents. The real challenge was for the contestants to source and cook their own food, creating entertaining, primitive-living content for the cameras. The first two days were a chaotic mess. Leo volunteered to go fishing. After striking a series of cool poses on the rocks, he returned with a handful of tiny fish, barely enough for a single bite. Lily, in all her delicate grace, attempted to start a fire. She ended up choking on smoke, tears streaming down her face, creating a viral meme of her looking like a cute, soot-covered kitten. Bob, the A-list actor, was the most composed. Using the simple tools provided, he sharpened a stick into a spear and tried to catch fish in the shallows. His movements were clean and efficient, but his success rate was just as dismal as everyone else’s. For the most part, we subsisted on the initial supply of crackers, and everyone’s faces started to take on a pale, hungry look. And me? I perfectly followed Dana’s instructions: the clumsy, useless beauty. They asked me to gather firewood? Sure. I returned with a bundle of damp, rotting branches that successfully extinguished the tiny flame Lily had worked so hard to create. The billowing smoke sent everyone into a fit of coughing and crying. The chat went wild: [Hahaha, what a useless bimbo.] [Just as I thought. Nothing but a pretty face.] [Can someone please just tell her to sit down and not touch anything?] They asked me to help clean the few tiny fish Leo had caught? I held one of the fish, fumbling awkwardly. I barely managed to scrape off a few scales before I nearly sliced my own finger off. The chat was merciless: [Is she trying to descale the fish or perform surgery on herself?] [Production needs to get her some extra insurance, stat!] [Did she learn her knife skills from a bear?] Lily timed her entrance perfectly, holding out a cracker, her voice dripping with gentle concern. “Scarlett, honey, just stop, you’re going to hurt yourself. Here, have a cracker. It’s not much, but it’s better than losing a finger, right?” Her eyes were filled with pity, but I caught the fleeting glint of superiority in them. I took the cracker and gave the camera a grateful, slightly wounded, simpleton smile. “Thanks, Lily. You’re so sweet.” Inside, I was rolling my eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. If my grandfather saw me butchering a fish like this, he’d probably rise from his grave just to call me a disgrace. Occasionally, Bob would look my way. Across the flickering firelight, with his sunglasses now off, his deep-set eyes were as unreadable as the night sea. But when his gaze swept over my sand-covered fingers clutching the cracker, it seemed to linger for a split second. Was it curiosity? Or was he just annoyed by the sight? I couldn’t tell. An A-lister’s thoughts were probably as complex and layered as my grandpa’s signature bone broth. The internet’s animosity towards me continued to build: [Daily question: Has Scarlett been kicked off the show yet?] [I can’t even watch her eat. She’s such a burden!] [Did the producers bring her on just to make everyone else look good by comparison?] [Is it just me, or does her stupidity seem… intentional? Like she’s acting…] [Get real. You think she’s smart enough to act this dumb?] Yep. The pretty airhead persona was holding strong. Dana would be thrilled. 4 Everything changed on the evening of the third day. The island weather turned on a dime. The sky went from clear to a bruised purple in minutes. A violent wind ripped through the camp, followed by a torrent of rain that hammered down on us. “Typhoon! It’s a typhoon! Get back to the tents! Get the equipment inside!” The director’s panicked shouts were barely audible over the storm. We scrambled back to our tents just in time to hear a series of loud cracks and the desperate cries of the crew outside. The mooring lines for the small supply boat tethered to the makeshift dock had snapped under the force of the waves. The boat, along with the backup generator and the next batch of supplies, vanished into the churning, black ocean. Inside the tent, there was a dead silence, broken only by the howling wind and raging storm outside. The faint glow of the emergency light illuminated several pale, frightened faces. Lily hugged her knees and began to sob quietly. “What are we going to do? The boat is gone… the food is gone… Are we going to starve to death?” Leo ran a hand through his soaking wet blond hair, trying to maintain his sunny persona, but his voice trembled. “D-don’t be scared, Lily! The crackers… we still have some, right? We just have to hold on until the storm passes!” He rummaged through the supply pack, and his face fell even further. After two days, only a few crackers were left—barely enough to last one more day. Bob leaned against a tent pole, his eyes closed. Rainwater trickled down the sharp line of his jaw. He didn’t say a word, but the tight set of his lips and the shallow rise and fall of his chest betrayed his inner turmoil. The production crew was in chaos. Their walkie-talkies crackled with static and broken calls for help. It was clear their communications were down. A palpable sense of despair seeped through the screen, reaching every viewer watching the livestream. The chat was in a frenzy: [HOLY CRAP! This is real?!] [The boat is gone?! The supplies are gone?! This just got serious!] [Oh my god, this is terrifying! What are the contestants going to do?] [Production needs to do something! Safety first!] [Praying they all stay safe!] [Where’s that diva Scarlett? I bet she’s not acting up now. Probably scared silent.] I huddled in a corner of the tent, wrapped in a thin blanket provided by the show. My wet hair was plastered to my face, and I looked even more shaken than Lily. No one noticed that, under the blanket, my fingers were gently tracing the ebony handle of the small knife in my inner pocket. Its cool, solid feel was strangely calming. My grandfather’s voice echoed in my head again, his tone calm and knowing. “What are you panicking for? The heavens won’t starve a stray sparrow. You live off the land, you live off the sea. As long as you have a blade in your hand and a plan in your head, a true craftsman will never go hungry.” Somehow, the storm outside didn’t seem so terrifying anymore. 5 The typhoon raged for a full night and the following day before finally moving on. The rain stopped and the wind died down, but the island was a wasteland. Broken branches, uprooted bushes, and scattered coconuts littered the beach, along with a mess of debris washed ashore by the waves. Our tents were still standing, but they were soaked through, cold, and smelled of mildew. The most critical problem was the complete lack of food. The last of the crackers had been divided up during the panic of the previous night. Leo, sporting a pair of dark circles under his eyes, paced around the campsite like a starved golden retriever. He rummaged through the fallen bushes, his eyes glowing as he stared at some strange-looking wild berries and mushrooms. “This red one looks edible, right?” he mumbled to himself. “It’s so… vibrant.” Just as he reached for it, a hand shot out and yanked him back. It was Bob. The actor’s face was pale, but his eyes were sharp and steady. “Don’t touch it unless you want to die,” he said, his voice hoarse. He pointed to the brightly colored berries. “First rule of survival: if you don’t recognize it, you don’t eat it.” Lily was curled up on a relatively dry rock. Her face was sallow, her lips cracked and peeling. She didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore, just weakly whispering, “Hungry… so hungry…” The director and his crew were in a similar state of despair. Communication was still spotty, and a rescue boat wouldn’t arrive until the next day at the earliest. The livestream faithfully captured every moment of their misery. The chat was filled with worry: [They haven’t eaten in over 24 hours… this is hard to watch.] [Bob’s right! Don’t eat wild berries!] [Leo, don’t do it! Wait for rescue!] [Lily looks so weak, my heart breaks for her…] [Where’s that diva Scarlett? Still playing dead?] I slowly rose from my corner. The blanket slid off, revealing a face that was just as tired as everyone else’s, but calm. Ignoring the others, I walked to the edge of the camp, toward a pile of wrecked, rain-soaked bushes. The camera followed me. The viewers watched as I knelt and started picking through the muddy, worthless-looking leaves and branches. I pulled off a few specific leaves. Chat: [What is she doing? Making mud pies?] I dug around a rotten root and pulled off a few pieces of bark. Chat: [???? Is she so hungry she’s going to eat bark?] I pushed aside a fallen bush and carefully dug up a few dirt-caked tubers that looked like small, lumpy potatoes. Chat: [WTF! What are those things! You can eat that???] I carried my meager haul back to a dry patch of ground in the center of the camp. In the middle of the soggy ashes of our old fire, I reached into my own suitcase—the one everyone had mocked as a symbol of my vanity. From inside, I pulled out a small, folded piece of sheet metal. With a few quick snaps, a simple charcoal stove, no taller than two bricks, stood steady on the damp ground. The chat stuttered for a half-second before erupting in a tidal wave of question marks: [???] [A STOVE? She had a stove in her suitcase this whole time?] [I AM LITERALLY DEAD! Is her suitcase a Mary Poppins bag?!] [Wait! Those leaves and bits of bark she just gathered… you don’t think…] Before the chat could process it, I continued, my movements fluid and practiced. Like a magician, I produced a thin iron pan from a hidden compartment in my luggage. Chat: [A PAN???] I opened the oil-paper packets, revealing my secret stash: the umami bark powder, coarse sea salt, wild peppercorns, and a small, solidified block of rendered seabird fat. Finally, my hand went to the inner pocket of my jacket. The leather-wrapped, ebony-handled knife slid free. The blade was no longer than my palm, thin as a dragonfly’s wing. It caught the sun and flashed with a cold, sharp light. The chat completely lost its mind: [A KNIFE!!! SHE STILL HAS A KNIFE!!!] [WTFWTFWTF! She hid a weapon! Isn’t that illegal?!] [Production, do something!!!] [Wait… what is she going to do with it?] The camera zoomed in, focusing tightly on my hands. I walked to the water’s edge, where the tide was receding from the murky, post-typhoon shore. I waded into a shallow tide pool and, with movements almost too fast for the camera to follow, snatched two dull, grey-scaled fish that were thrashing in the shallow water. Each was about the length of my hand. I also grabbed a few small, feisty crabs. Back at the stove, I pinned one of the fish to a flat rock. My left thumb held it firmly behind the gills. With my right hand, I brought the thin blade to its belly and, with a delicate flick of the wrist, made a single, swift cut. Zip. A hairline incision appeared on the fish’s underside. My wrist moved in a blur, the knife a flash of silver. There was no hacking, no bloody mess—just clean, efficient motion. In seconds, it was over. The fish lay still. The scales were gone, the rock beneath it clean except for a few drops of water. The gills and guts had been removed in one clean piece and discarded. What remained were two perfect, snow-white fillets of fish, trembling slightly in the sunlight, completely deboned and free of any blood. The entire process was silent, precise, and carried an air of cold, detached grace that was a world away from the clumsy idiot who’d nearly chopped her own finger off. A dead silence fell over the camp, broken only by the rustle of the wind through the trees. Lily had stopped crying, her mouth hanging open in a perfect ‘O’. Leo’s eyes were wide enough to fall out of his head. Even Bob, who had been resting with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them. His dark pupils contracted sharply, his gaze locking onto my hand, the knife, and the two flawless fillets. From the direction of the production crew, there was a collective gasp and the clatter of a walkie-talkie hitting the ground. After a moment of stunned silence, the live chat exploded again: [!!!!!!!!!!!] [WHO AM I, WHERE AM I, WHAT DID I JUST SEE???] [That knife work?? Is this f*cking magic!] [That’s better than any Michelin chef I’ve ever seen, holy sh*t!] [What just happened? Did I blink and miss it?] [Did… did the fish just fillet itself?] [SOMEONE PINCH ME! I think I’m hallucinating from hunger!] [Is this the same bimbo who couldn’t even hold a fish properly?] [The whiplash… my brain is broken…] [It’s scripted! It has to be! The producers set this up!] [Set what up, you idiot? You couldn’t create that with CGI!] I ignored the shocked stares and the mental image of the exploding chat. In my world, there was only the food in front of me and the small, struggling flame in my stove. I heated the pan, slicked it with the seabird fat, and an intoxicating, savory aroma filled the air. I sprinkled in the greyish bark powder. With a sizzle, a complex fragrance—a mix of earthy wood and subtle spice—cut through the camp’s damp, musty smell. Lily unconsciously sniffed the air. Leo’s stomach let out a loud, pathetic gurgle. The fish fillets went into the pan. The thin slices of fish hit the hot oil and instantly curled at the edges, turning a beautiful, opaque white. With a flick of my wrist, the fillets danced in the air. I tossed in a few crushed wild peppercorns, and their sharp, tingling scent exploded from the pan. Finally, I crumbled in a small piece of the last cracker to act as a thickener and poured in half a bottle of mineral water. My movements were seamless, imbued with a strange, natural rhythm, as if I weren’t cooking on a makeshift stove but conducting a symphony I knew by heart. Steam billowed from the pan, carrying with it a rich, impossibly delicious aroma that settled over the entire camp. It was a fusion of the fish’s sweetness, the bark’s unique fragrance, the peppercorns’ tingle, the richness of the fat, and the subtle, toasted flavor from the cracker. “Gulp…” The sound of someone swallowing hard came from the direction of the production crew. Leo’s eyes were glued to the small pan of bubbling, milky-white soup, his Adam’s apple bobbing uncontrollably. His pop-idol image, his sunny persona—all of it crumbled in the face of pure, primal hunger. He took a few involuntary steps forward, inhaling deeply as if the scent alone could sustain him. Lily watched, her eyes wide, unconsciously licking her cracked lips. And Bob Vance, the stoic mountain of a man, finally moved. He was suddenly at my side, his intense gaze fixed on the pan. The broth was simmering, its creamy white liquid coating the tender, curled pieces of fish. I picked up a clean half-coconut shell to use as a makeshift bowl, filled it with the steaming soup and a few pieces of fish, and handed it to the person closest to me: Bob. He was clearly taken aback. He probably expected me to serve the crying Lily, or the starving Leo, or even the director. A flicker of surprise crossed his dark eyes, but it was gone in an instant. He didn’t refuse, nor did he say thank you. He simply reached out with those long, elegant hands—the same hands praised as works of art in countless cinematic close-ups—and took the simple coconut bowl from me. Our fingers brushed, his cool to the touch. He looked down at the creamy soup in his hands, the steam blurring the sharp lines of his face. He stood there for a moment, then lowered his head, blew gently on the surface, and took a large sip directly from the edge of the bowl. The camera caught the movement of his throat as he swallowed. And then, time seemed to stop. Bob froze, his head still bowed over the bowl. After a few long seconds, he slowly, very slowly, raised his head. He had forgotten to manage his expression. Unconsciously, his tongue darted out to lick a stray drop of soup from the corner of his lips. It was an instinctive, almost boyish gesture. Then, the god-like A-lister leaned in, bringing that face, insured for millions and worshipped by fans worldwide, close to mine—the face of the girl the entire internet had labeled a useless diva. His voice was still low and deep, but now it held a new, barely concealed urgency. He looked at me, his gaze terrifyingly focused. “This soup…” He paused, as if searching for the right words, but in the end, all the complexity boiled down to a single, direct question. “Can I have another?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384392”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When my father heard his first love had died, he was shattered. He immediately donated his million-dollar fortune and renounced the world to join a secluded monastery. He left my mother to raise two children on the streets. We nearly starved. Later, my mother clawed our way back. She collected cans, started a small food cart, and not only fed my brother and me but eventually opened a restaurant and bought a house. The day we moved into our new home, the father who had been gone for ten years came back. He had cancer. He wanted us to pay for his treatment. 1 I was at work when my aunt Brenda called. “Mia, honey, I have the most wonderful news! Your father is back. Aren’t you just thrilled?” Her cheerful voice made me freeze. That man. The one who, ten years ago, abandoned his wife and children for a dead woman and disappeared from our lives. Why was he back now? My throat tightened. “Where is he?” “Oh, he’s almost at your front door! You must have missed him so much all these years!” she chirped. “Don’t you worry, he’s back for good this time. Your family can finally be whole again! You should come home right now, Mia!” I hung up, my heart pounding. Did Mom know? She was the kindest, most soft-hearted person I knew. It took her years to recover after he left. Our lives were finally stable. I couldn’t bear to see her hurt again. I immediately called her. On the other end, I could hear her haggling cheerfully at the market. “Mia? Honey, I’m in the middle of stocking up. What’s up?” Her voice calmed me a little. It seemed she didn’t know he was back. There was still time. I had to get rid of that man before she came home. “Mom,” I said, forcing my voice to sound casual, “I’m craving shrimp for dinner tonight. After you’re done, could you pick up a couple of pounds? The big ones.” “Oh, shrimp! They’re not easy to find this time of year, but don’t you worry, sweetie. I’ll see what I can do after I’m finished here.” “Great. No rush, take your time.” I hung up, asked my boss for a half-day off, and grabbed a cab home. 2 A man and a woman were standing in front of our townhouse. I had no idea how they’d gotten into our gated community. The middle-aged man was dressed in simple linen clothes and a beanie. He was staring at the house with an impatient frown. “Didn’t you call her? Why isn’t she back yet? This is ridiculous.” He had aged. The face that was once handsome was now sallow and puffy, but his air of self-importance was the same as ever. He still thought the world revolved around him. Looking at him, a bitter feeling rose in my chest. Back then, he’d been a literature grad with a superiority complex, constantly looking down on my mother and belittling her for being an uneducated housewife. He openly carried a photo of his first love, Eleanor, writing poems and painting portraits of her. When he heard she had died, he stood on the balcony and smoked all night. I was little, but I remember him clutching her picture, tears streaming down his face, whispering, “Eleanor, I’m coming to join you.” The next day, he sold our house, donated every penny of his million-dollar fortune, and left to join a monastery. While the media ran stories about their tragic, epic love, my mother and I were being evicted, homeless on the streets. No one gave a damn how we would survive. I truly had no idea how he had the gall to show his face again. “Mia! You’re back!” Aunt Brenda saw me and waved excitedly. “Come over here, sweetie! What’s wrong? Are you just too happy to see your father to move?” My father followed her gaze. He blinked, and his face soured. “What took you so long? Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting?” I ignored him and asked coldly, “What are you doing here?” My lack of enthusiasm clearly annoyed him. “What are we doing here? Who do you think we are? Has it been so long you’ve forgotten how to greet your own father? You have no manners. What has that idiot Helena been teaching you?” Hearing him insult my mother sent a hot wave of fury through me. Did he still think he was the king of this family? Who was going to put up with that now? “Who’s the idiot calling someone an idiot?” I snapped back. “I’m calling your mother an… you little brat! How dare you speak to me like that!” He realized what I’d said and, sputtering with rage, raised his hand to strike me. Brenda quickly grabbed his arm. “No, no! Don’t! You two have just been reunited, why are you fighting already?” She held him back, giving him a sharp look, then turned to me with a strained smile. “Mia, don’t be like that. I know you’ve missed your father terribly all these years, and you’re hurt. But he’s missed you too. He came back to make things right…” “Make things right?” I said, my voice sharp as glass. “When he donated every cent we had and left us homeless, did he ever think about what would happen to Mom? To my brother and me? And now he wants to ‘make things right’? Who needs it!” My father stared at me, genuinely shocked. “What do you mean, I left you homeless? That was my money. I earned it all. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own property?” He puffed out his chest. “Besides, I was grieving! As my daughter, why couldn’t you have a little compassion for what I was going through? Is money more important to you than love?” I had thought, hoped, he might feel a shred of guilt. But he was so brazenly self-righteous. I almost laughed. There was no point in arguing. “I’m not getting into this with you. Please leave. You’re not welcome here.” Sensing things were escalating, Brenda quickly intervened. “Mia, your dad didn’t mean it like that. Why don’t we all go inside and talk? Let’s calm down. We don’t want to make a scene for the neighbors.” “You are not setting foot in this house today. If you have any shame, you’ll leave now. Don’t make me call security.” “How dare you talk to me like that! I’m your father!” he roared, lunging for me again. Brenda held him back, frantically signaling him with her eyes. He took a breath and lowered his hand, a cold smirk on his face. “Fine. Just fine. I see you’ve grown into a heartless, ungrateful monster. I won’t waste my breath on you. I’ll wait for your mother. Let’s see if she dares to lock me out.” I clenched my fists. His confidence wasn’t baseless. Years ago, my mother had been the one to admire and pursue him. He only reluctantly agreed to marry her. Throughout their marriage, she had been submissive, catering to his every whim. She forgave his affairs and never once blamed him. If she saw him now, she might just soften and forgive him all over again. I couldn’t let that happen. “I said you’re not welcome! Get out of here! Security! Security! There are intruders! Help!” I shrieked, grabbing a nearby garden broom and swinging it wildly, like I was chasing off a stray dog. If they wouldn’t leave, I would drive them away. “Mia, are you crazy?!” my father yelled, dodging my swings, his face streaked with dirt. “How dare you treat your own father like this! You’ll be struck by lightning for this!” “My name is Thorne! After my mother!” I screamed, then noticed a small pile of dog mess near the curb. I jabbed the broom into it and lunged at them. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” In the middle of the chaotic scene, I heard a familiar voice. “Mia?” I froze. At the end of the street, holding grocery bags, stood my mother. She was staring at us, her expression one of utter shock. Why was she back so early? 3 I tried to block her view of my father, but it was too late. Her eyes landed on him. He froze, too. The woman before him wore an elegant silk dress, her makeup subtle, her posture graceful. She was a world away from the dowdy, overweight housewife he remembered. He looked flustered. Wiping the grime from his face, he forced an awkward smile. “Helena. I’m back. And this time, I’m not leaving.” I looked at my mother anxiously, terrified she was about to have her heart broken all over again. But she just smiled faintly. “Oh, it’s you, Arthur.” Her calm smile confused me. I rushed to her side. “Mom, let’s call security and have them removed!” But she gently chided me. “Mia! What are you saying? That’s so rude. He is your father, after all.” Hearing my mother defend him, my father visibly relaxed. He’d clearly been worried she would be resentful, that he’d have to work to win her over. Now, it seemed his worries were for nothing. The woman was probably just thrilled to have him back. A smug expression crept onto his face, and he slipped back into his old, condescending demeanor. He pointed at me. “You see the kind of daughter you’ve raised? She’s a real handful.” My mother glanced at me and shook her head with a smile. “That’s just Mia’s way. Don’t mind her.” Not wanting to look petty, my father forced a laugh. “Why would I mind?” He reached for her hand. “Helena, these past few years…” But she smoothly sidestepped his touch and smiled at me. “Mia, open the door. Let your father in.” “Mom! Why should we let him in?” “Open the door. Are you going to disobey your mother?” I bit my lip and reluctantly took out my keys. My father watched her walk towards the house. He was slightly annoyed she’d avoided his touch, but he figured she was entitled to a little tantrum after all this time. It wasn’t worth arguing about. His good mood returned, and without waiting for an invitation, he strode into the house. 4 Our new home had been professionally designed. It was minimalist and spacious, and it always impressed visitors. My father looked around, a satisfied expression on his face. “Not bad, not bad. It’s big and bright. It’ll be a good place for me to read. The décor is a bit tacky, of course. You women have no taste. But that’s fine, I can change it later…” My mother said nothing. She carried the groceries to the kitchen. “It’s almost six. The realtor said our first meal in a new house should be eaten by seven. We’re running late. Mia, come help me peel the garlic.” “Mom…” I whispered, glaring at my father and aunt. Why were they here? Why was she cooking for them? “Mia,” she said in a warning tone. “Don’t make me angry.” “Coming,” I grumbled. I stomped into the kitchen and sat on a small stool, furiously peeling garlic. My mom was just too nice, too accommodating. That’s why people always took advantage of her. In the living room, my father and aunt made themselves at home on the sofa. “This house is amazing,” Brenda whispered to my father, clutching his arm. “Just amazing.” “It is. Spacious, good location, plenty of rooms.” My father spread his legs, already acting like the man of the house. “We don’t even need all these rooms. You and your son can move in with us. No more renting for you. We can all live together as one big, happy family.” “Oh, yes! Yes!” Brenda beamed, looking around as if the house were already hers. She glanced nervously toward the kitchen. “You were right, Arthur. Helena really doesn’t hold a grudge.” My father scoffed. “Of course she doesn’t. You think I don’t know her?” He grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds from a bowl on the coffee table and started cracking them, whispering with Brenda. When they ran out of things to say, he glanced at his watch and called out to the kitchen, “Helena, where’s our son? Did you tell him I was coming?” My mother was busy with the shrimp. Without turning around, she replied, “He’ll be home soon. Leo has class until late.” My father nodded proudly. “That boy, Leo… he’s a good kid. Got into a top university, even got accepted into a master’s program. Didn’t waste my good genes. Thank god he’s not like you. If he were, he probably wouldn’t even be able to do basic math.” He grew more pleased with himself as he spoke, having completely forgotten that my mother was no longer the dependent housewife she once was. I was about to snap back when the front door opened. “Son!” My father jumped up from the sofa and rushed to embrace him. “My boy! You look just like me!” he said, overjoyed, holding my brother at arm’s length to get a better look. My brother, Leo, stiffened, taking a hesitant step back. “Dad?” “Yes, son, it’s me! I’m back for good. Aren’t you happy?” Leo stared at him, his expression a mixture of confusion and shock. “What are you doing here?” He looked from me to my mother. “Mom? Mia? What’s going on?” My father turned to my mother, annoyed. “Helena, why didn’t you tell him I was coming? You should have given him a chance to prepare. Look at him, he’s speechless with joy.” My mother didn’t turn around. “It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing to talk about.” “Not a big deal? My return isn’t a big deal? Fine…” He turned back to Leo. “Just got out of class? You’re a senior, why do you still have so many classes?” “Lab work,” Leo said flatly. After a long, tense silence, he walked into the kitchen. “Mom, let me help. The fumes are strong, I don’t want you to breathe it all in.” “It’s alright, honey, everything’s done. You and Mia go sit at the table. It’s time to eat. Here, take this.” She handed him a dish and patted my shoulder, telling us to go wait in the dining room. When the food was on the table, my father sat down immediately. “Not bad, Helena. You may not have much else going for you, but you can certainly cook.” Aunt Brenda hesitated, but my father waved her over. “This is your home. Don’t be a stranger.” He sat with his legs spread, waiting to be served. Then, my mother came out with the rice. Three bowls. Three sets of cutlery. There was nothing in front of my father or Aunt Brenda. My father blinked, then laughed awkwardly. “Oh, right. Appetizers first, then the main course. You still remember my habits, Helena.” His eyes landed on the platter of shrimp, and he reached for one. “It was sweet of you to remember I love shrimp…” “Don’t touch that.” My mother, who had been so quiet, extended her chopsticks and slapped his hand away. She sat down, her voice calm. “Those are for Mia. I had to call three different friends to find shrimp this big. If you eat them, what will she have?”

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