The moment the sweet, girl-next-door heroine broke up with the main hero and ran to my man, sobbing, I just popped in my earplugs. “Your son is crying,” I said, my voice ice. “If you don’t comfort him, I’m throwing him out.” Without a word, he gently pushed the heroine away and scooped up our child. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s here.” But no matter what I did, my progress in winning him over was stuck at 99%. In a fit of rage, I abandoned him and our son, returning to my own world. Three years later, my System exploded in my ear. [THE VILLAIN HAS GONE INSANE! HE’S IMPRISONED THE HERO AND CLAIMED THE HEROINE FOR HIMSELF! THE ENTIRE PLOT IS IN SHAMBLES!] [You’re the only one who can fix this! You have to stop him from marrying her!] 1 The System’s frantic voice was a relentless buzz in my head, detailing how the villain, Vincent, had systematically dismantled its carefully crafted world. [Stella, I’m begging you! We’re both just cogs in the machine here, have a little sympathy! Please, just stop the wedding.] [Succeed, and that five-million-dollar reward we promised you? I’ll double it. Ten million. Cash.] My eyes lit up. “The money’s not important,” I said, with all the sincerity I could muster. “I just want to help a friend in need. Send me back.” A wave of dizziness washed over me, and the world dissolved into a blur. When I opened my eyes again, the familiar scent of rain-slicked pavement filled the air. [Your son, Ross, gets out of school any minute now,] the System chirped. [A touching mother-child reunion should be enough to soften Vincent’s heart, at least a little.] School wasn’t out just yet. I scanned the crowd of parents, and my eyes landed on him instantly. Vincent. He was leaning against a sleek black sedan, hands shoved into the pockets of his custom-tailored suit. His dark eyes were as cold and distant as I remembered, carving out a space of icy solitude around him. Three years, and he hadn’t changed a bit. Still the same walking storm cloud, daring anyone to get close. Suddenly, a tidal wave of children burst through the school gates. I searched the sea of tiny faces for Ross, my son with Vincent. But the last time I saw him, he was barely a year old. Now, trying to pick him out from a crowd of nearly identical toddlers felt like an impossible task. What am I supposed to do? Steeling myself, I scanned the crowd again. My gaze locked onto a little boy with a stubborn set to his jaw that looked vaguely familiar. He had my eyes. It had to be him. Making sure Vincent was watching, I put on my best performance. I knelt, reaching out to gently stroke the boy’s hair. “Ross,” I cooed, my voice thick with emotion. “It’s Mommy. Do you remember me?” The boy flinched, his eyes wide with alarm. Before I could react, a woman snatched him up, her voice screeching through the quiet afternoon. “KIDNAPPER! SOMEONE’S TRYING TO TAKE MY SON! HELP!” Panic seized me. I’d gotten the wrong kid. My head whipped around just in time to see Vincent, holding a small, silent boy in the crook of one arm. Ross. They were both just staring at me. Father and son. 2 Vincent’s gaze was terrifying. A chilling frost emanated from his dark eyes, a look that promised to skin me alive. Ross, on the other hand, just stared with wide, curious eyes, as if I were some strange creature at the zoo. If a hole could have opened up in the ground right then, I would have gladly jumped in. A circle of angry parents closed in around me. “She looks so normal, too. Disgusting, preying on children.” “Don’t let her get away! Somebody call the cops!” Through a gap in the crowd, I shot Vincent a desperate, pleading look. He just gave me one last, glacial stare before turning, strapping Ross into the car, and shutting the door. He was leaving me here. My heart sank. “It was a mistake!” I tried to explain to the mob. “I just recognized the wrong child! I’m not a kidnapper!” They weren’t buying it. Then, silence fell. The chattering crowd went quiet, their angry faces turning to ones of fear as they looked past me. I turned. Vincent was standing there, his expression unreadable. A path had been cleared through the crowd by two imposing men in dark suits. So, he hadn’t left. My voice was a sheepish whisper. “I was just trying to pick up Ross.” A humorless smile touched his lips. “You can’t even recognize your own son,” he said, his voice a low, cold thing laced with fury. He spun on his heel and strode back to the car. I scrambled to follow. Inside the car, the silence was suffocating. He sat beside me, while Ross was buckled into his car seat in the back. A small head popped up between our seats. “Mommy doesn’t remember Ross,” our son mumbled, his lower lip trembling. “You thought that other boy was Ross.” I was surprised he even knew who I was. “Ross, sweetie, how did you know I was your mommy?” “Daddy told me…” Vincent’s hand shot out, pulling me back against the seat. He turned to our son. “Ross, play with your toys. No more talking.” Ross’s lip jutted out. “But why can’t I talk?” “Because I said so,” Vincent snapped, his voice sharp. Ross huffed. “Bad Daddy!” “Yeah,” I muttered under my breath, “bad Daddy.” Vincent’s eyes, burning with an emotion I couldn’t decipher, flickered to me. I immediately shut my mouth. “You abandoned him without a word,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “You think you’re in any position to call someone a bad parent, Stella?” I lowered my head, the silence my only answer. 3 The ringing of Vincent’s phone shattered the tension. He answered, and a woman’s melodic voice floated through the car’s speakers. I knew that voice. It was Shailene, the heroine of this world. “Vincent, darling,” she chirped, “I’ve picked out a few wedding dresses. I’m sending you the pictures now. Tell me which one you like best.” “Okay,” Vincent’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Send them over.” A wave of bitter memories washed over me. He and Shailene were childhood sweethearts, inseparable until she chose the story’s hero, Aiden, instead. It was that rejection, that unrequited love, that twisted Vincent into the brooding, shadowy villain he became. When I was first sent here to win him over, Shailene and Aiden were already a couple. I tried everything—flirting, grand romantic gestures, you name it. He remained a block of ice. Finally, out of sheer desperation, I spiked his drink. It was the only way I managed to get through to him. After that one night, I clung to him, insisting he had to take responsibility. He did, reluctantly at first. But then… it was like he’d awakened a hunger he never knew he had. Once he got a taste, he couldn’t get enough. His stamina was unreal. But I endured it all, for the mission. And still, the progress bar stalled at 99%. It wouldn’t budge, no matter what I did. I felt like I was losing my mind, my body, everything. Just as I was about to give up, I found out I was pregnant. I cashed in all my points with the System for a painless childbirth package. A baby, I thought. A baby will surely get me that final 1%. The day Vincent found out I was pregnant, he was so ecstatic he didn’t sleep a wink. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Is the pillow comfortable? Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl? We should start buying clothes. If it’s a girl…” The relentless stream of questions, combined with a surge of pregnancy hormones, made something in me snap. I slapped him. Hard. The second my palm made contact, regret flooded me. This was the volatile, unpredictable villain of the story. No one crossed him. He’d ruined men for lesser offenses. A baby might not be enough to save me if I’d pushed him too far. As I opened my mouth to apologize, he did something I never expected. He slapped himself. “I’m sorry, Stella,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. You and the baby need to rest. I was just… so happy. Please, forgive me?” I just stared, speechless. From that day on, I took full advantage. I used the baby as a shield and a weapon, ordering him around like a king. This continued until three months after Ross was born. The progress bar was still stuck. 99%. I summoned the System. “Is this thing bugged? It hasn’t moved an inch!” [The progress bar is functioning perfectly, Host.] I’d given him a child. A whole human being. And it still wasn’t enough. The truth hit me with sickening certainty. That last 1%… it was for Shailene. It was the space in his heart he would always keep for her. Rage, pure and blinding, consumed me. “I’m done!” I screamed. “Get me out of here! Send me back to my world. Now!” 4 Ross was asleep by the time we reached the mansion. Vincent carried him upstairs, his movements gentle. I stood in the foyer, looking around. The house was exactly as I’d left it three years ago, a perfect, sterile time capsule. That’s when I heard it. A faint, muffled scream. It came from the basement. As I crept towards the door, the System popped into my head. [My poor hero is locked in there! Aiden! Vincent’s been starving him for three days. He’s going to lose his mind! If this continues, it’s game over for this whole world!] [You have to do something. The key to the basement is in Vincent’s study. Find a way to get it and let Aiden out.] I froze. Aiden, the hero of this world, was a man who could move mountains. How had he ended up imprisoned in Vincent’s basement? Footsteps echoed from the staircase. I darted back into the living room, pretending to casually admire a painting. Vincent appeared, having changed into a simple grey sweatshirt and sweatpants. He walked towards me, his familiar scent of sandalwood and old books wrapping around me. He stopped, towering over me. “Why did you come back, Stella?” I looked up into his unreadable eyes. “I missed you,” I lied. “And Ross.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips, but it never reached his eyes. “You really think I’d believe that?” His gaze was so intense it felt like a physical weight. “It’s true,” I insisted, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears. “I was wrong to leave. I regret it. I came back for you. Please… don’t marry Shailene.” Instinctively, I reached out and clutched the sleeve of his sweatshirt, looking up at him with the most pathetic expression I could manage, just like I used to. He said nothing, just continued to stare, dissecting me with his eyes. The silence was unnerving. “I… I have to use the restroom,” I stammered, pulling away and fleeing. I hid in the bathroom for what felt like an eternity. When I finally emerged, the living room was empty. Tiptoeing upstairs, I peeked into the master bedroom. The door was ajar. Vincent was lying on the bed, the collar of his sleep shirt open, revealing the hard planes of his chest. One arm was flung over his eyes, as if shielding them from the light. He seemed to be asleep. My mind flashed back to Aiden, starving in the basement. Now was my chance. I slipped into the study across the hall and began searching the desk drawers. In the bottom one, beneath a stack of old files, I found it: a single, black, ornate key. Just as I stood up, key in hand, I heard footsteps in the hall. Panicked, I dove under the massive mahogany desk. Through the gap, I saw Vincent walk in and sink into the leather armchair opposite the desk. His voice, lazy yet laced with steel, echoed in the quiet room. “Come out.” 5 My heart stopped. For a second, I was paralyzed, hidden in the shadows. “I’m not going to say it again,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. Slowly, I crawled out from under the desk. He gestured to the chair opposite him. I sat, my hand clenching the key in my pocket, trying to look as innocent as possible. His face was a handsome, emotionless mask. “What were you looking for?” he asked, his dark eyes boring into me. “I… got lost,” I said, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. “I thought this was the bathroom.” A dry, humorless laugh escaped his lips. “Do you take me for a fool, Stella? Is this some kind of game to you?” “It’s not a game! I just took a wrong turn!” I insisted, my voice a little too loud. His smile vanished. “What did you take? Give it to me now, and we can pretend this never happened.” My pulse hammered against my ribs. “Take what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t believe me, search me.” I’d already slipped the key between the sofa cushions. It was a risky move, but my only one. He rose from his chair and advanced on me, his large frame casting a long shadow over me. He leaned in, planting one hand on the back of the sofa, trapping me. With his other hand, he tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “A search, you say?” he murmured, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I don’t even have pockets,” I shot back. “Where could I possibly hide anything?” His gaze drifted downwards, his eyes darkening with a raw, undisguised hunger as they settled on the neckline of my t-shirt. I glanced down. The soft cotton dipped low, revealing the swell of my chest. I instinctively crossed my arms. “It’s not in there.” “You never know.” “You’re just looking for an excuse to touch me, you pervert!” I snapped. He raised an eyebrow. “Call it what you want. Either you take it off and let me look, or I’ll reach in and check for myself.” Shoving him back, I gave in. He’s seen it all before, anyway. I pulled the shirt over my head in one swift, angry motion. “Satisfied?” I spat, standing before him in just my bra. He paused, his eyes lingering for a beat too long. “They’ve gotten bigger.” I nearly choked on my indignation, quickly turning my back to pull my shirt back on. 6 “Stella,” Vincent’s voice was low and steady, cutting through my anger. “I don’t like being lied to. Do you have any idea how many times you’ve lied to me? How many of the things you said were actually true?” I froze, my back still to him. “Maybe one or two things were… embellished,” I mumbled, my voice thin with guilt. “But most of it was real.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Only one or two? Tell me which ones. I’m curious.” I couldn’t speak. “Can’t think of any?” he pressed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Should I help you remember? Do you recall what you told me, three years ago?” He paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the air. “You said you would never leave me and Ross.” He let out a dry, broken sound that was almost a sob. “And the stupid thing is… I actually believed you.” He stood and walked towards the door, stopping in the doorway. “I hope you’re not lying this time,” he said without turning around. “I hope you really did come back because you missed us.” I sat there, stunned, long after he was gone. [Host,] the System’s voice broke the silence. [Don’t forget about Aiden. You have to get him out tonight.] I hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Okay.” In the dead of night, I crept back to the study, retrieved the key, and made my way to the basement. The lock clicked open with a heavy thud. The air inside was thick with the smell of mildew and something metallic, like old blood. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a single chair in the center of the room. A man sat on it, his head bowed, idly turning a wedding band on his finger. Even slumped in defeat, his broad shoulders spoke of a power that was now contained. He looked lonely. Desolate. “Aiden?” I whispered into the gloom. The man chuckled softly, a low, familiar sound that made the hair on my arms stand up. It wasn’t Aiden. He lifted his head, his eyes a pair of black holes in the dim light, utterly devoid of hope. It was Vincent. His voice was a ragged, heartbroken whisper, each word a shard of glass. “You lied to me. Again.”

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A new intern started at the company. As he was introducing himself, a transparent comment feed, like a livestream chat, materialized in my vision. 【HOLY CRAP, THE REAL MALE LEAD IS FINALLY HERE! THE HEROINE IS ABOUT TO GET BACK WITH HIM, DUMP THE TOXIC EX, AND LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER!】 【THE TOXIC EX BETTER NOT CAUSE ANY TROUBLE. HE SHOULD JUST QUIETLY HELP THE MAIN COUPLE GET TOGETHER!】 【YEAH, IF THE SIDE CHARACTER OBSTRUCTS THE PLOT, HIS ENDING WILL BE HORRIFIC. HIS ONLY CHANCE OF SURVIVAL IS TO SUCK UP TO THE MALE LEAD!】 Right after his introduction, the intern, Zane, walked over to my desk and picked up a file I had prepared for my manager’s girlfriend. “I’ll take this to the manager for you.” A second after he entered her office, a furious shout echoed out: “Get out! Who do you think you are, waltzing into my office whenever you please?” 1 Everyone’s head snapped toward the office. The comment feed scrolled again. 【DON’T BE FOOLED BY HOW FIERCE THE HEROINE IS NOW. IT’S ALL AN ACT. SHE’S JUST PLAYING HARD TO GET. LATER, WHEN SHE FALLS FOR HIM, SHE’LL FEEL SO GUILTY ABOUT THIS!】 【SEE? THE TOXIC EX IS SO ANNOYING! IF HE’D JUST BROKEN UP WITH HER EARLIER, THE MALE LEAD WOULDN’T BE GETTING YELLED AT.】 I glanced into the manager’s office. Chloe sat at her desk, her face a mask of disgust as she glared at Zane. “What are you still standing there for? Is all your work done?” Zane’s face went pale, but he tried to save face. “Manager, I’m new here and I don’t know anything. Could you… maybe show me the ropes?” Chloe let out a short, sharp laugh, looking him up and down. “Show you the ropes? What’s my level, and what’s yours? Trying to cozy up to me? If you don’t have a mirror, take a look at your job description. Now get back to your desk before I call security.” Defeated, Zane slunk out of the office, his eyes red with humiliation. My coworkers started whispering among themselves. He shot me a look filled with pure resentment. I found it almost funny. I hadn’t told him to take the file, and I certainly hadn’t yelled at him. Why was he glaring at me? As Zane returned to his desk, the comment feed went wild, and I gleaned some new, disturbing information. According to the comments, I was the “toxic side character” in a novel, currently in an office romance with the “heroine.” The “male lead,” Zane, was her one true love, the one that got away. She had started dating me out of spite after a misunderstanding with him. Soon, she would come to her senses and try to break up with me, but I would refuse, clinging desperately and sabotaging their relationship at every turn. In the end, completely disgusted with me, she would expose my schemes and have me fired. With a black mark on my record, I’d be unable to find another job, get evicted, and eventually starve to death on the streets, my body undiscovered for weeks. I frowned. I was Wyatt Young, the sole heir to Young Industries. Even if I got fired, I’d just go home and take over the multi-billion-dollar family business. Starve on the streets? Ridiculous. And as for Chloe, she was the one who pursued me. As if a guy like me would be hung up on one woman. 2 At lunch, Zane returned with several bags of expensive coffee for the entire department, a gesture of goodwill from the new guy. As my colleagues accepted with polite thanks, the comments flared to life again. 【WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS SIDE CHARACTER? HE SHOULD PAY FOR THE COFFEE IMMEDIATELY.】 【SERIOUSLY, THIS IS THE PERFECT CHANCE TO GET ON THE MALE LEAD’S GOOD SIDE. DOES HE WANT TO END UP HOMELESS?】 I rolled my eyes. Zane wanted to play the generous newcomer, so why should I foot the bill? I might be rich, but I wasn’t an idiot. I ignored the stream of nonsense and kept working. Zane eventually made his way to my desk. I was about to wave him off when he tilted his hand at an impossible angle, pouring the entire cup of hot coffee all over himself. The move was so theatrical I almost stood up and applauded. I had a feeling I knew what was coming next. Sure enough, his voice, thick with fake tears, echoed through the office. “Wyatt, I know you’re mad at me for taking your task this morning, but I truly understand my mistake now.” He then made a show of starting to kneel. “If you’re still angry, I’ll get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness.” The comments reappeared. 【SIDE CHARACTER, PULL HIM UP, YOU IDIOT!】 【THE MALE LEAD JUST SPILLED IT BY ACCIDENT. HE’S LETTING YOU TAKE THE BLAME SO IT’S NOT AWKWARD. IT’S NOT A BIG DEAL, JUST ACCEPT IT.】 【HE ALREADY MISSED THE CHANCE TO PAY FOR THE COFFEE. HE CAN’T BLOW THIS ONE TOO!】 My coworkers were watching the drama unfold. I simply stared back at Zane, my face impassive, as he lowered himself to the floor with the speed of a hibernating tortoise. I was curious to see how far he would take this. Just as his knee was about to touch the ground, a sharp voice cut through the silence. “That’s enough!” The crowd parted. Chloe stormed over, yanked Zane to his feet, and glared at me. “Don’t you think you’ve taken this far enough? He apologized. Are you going to keep bullying him?” Excuse me? We’d been dating for over a year, and I was only now realizing that Chloe might be an actual moron. I hadn’t said a single word. How was I the bully? Chloe dispersed the onlookers, then whispered something to Zane. He blushed, nodded, and scurried back to his desk. Before I could speak, she grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the office and into the breakroom. She threw my hand away from her. “He’s just an intern,” she said, her voice cold. “Do you really have to target him like this?” I laughed. “Target him? Did I force him to deliver that file? Did I force him to get on his knees? Chloe, are you blind? Can’t you see he’s putting on a show?” Her face flushed with anger. “You… You! How dare you talk to me like that! Fine, Wyatt! From now on, Zane will take over your duties as my assistant. You can go back to basic data entry and work on your attitude!” I shrugged. “Works for me.” She stomped her foot and stormed off. I calmly returned to my desk. I was about to get back to work when the comments popped up again. 3 【THE SIDE CHARACTER SHOULDN’T BE WORKING SO HARD. HE’S SUPPOSED TO BE LAZY AND INCOMPETENT TO MAKE THE MALE LEAD LOOK GOOD BY COMPARISON.】 【EXACTLY! HOW ELSE IS THE HEROINE SUPPOSED TO REALIZE HOW AMAZING THE MALE LEAD IS? THIS IS ESSENTIAL FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPMENT!】 This phantom comment feed was really starting to get on my nerves. But I had no intention of following its script. I focused on my work and completed it diligently. The next day, I came into the office, ready to send my completed project proposal to Chloe, only to find the file was gone from my desktop. I searched everywhere, even in the recycle bin. It was as if it had never existed. Chloe came out of her office and tapped impatiently on my desk. “Where’s the proposal that’s due today? Why haven’t you sent it?” Before I could answer, Zane chimed in from the side, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Manager, I don’t think he’s going to be able to submit it.” I immediately knew. The missing file had Zane written all over it. Chloe looked at him, confused. Zane put on an innocent expression. “I saw Wyatt slacking off all day yesterday. He bolted the second the clock hit five. There’s no way he could have finished.” Without waiting for my explanation, Chloe turned on me. “Wyatt! You were slacking off on company time? Who do you think you are? Didn’t I tell you last week this was due today? Do my words mean nothing to you?” I let out a cold laugh and pulled a flash drive from my pocket. “Who said I couldn’t submit it? I was just about to send it.” “That’s impossible!” Zane shrieked. Chloe shot him a strange look, and he quickly backpedaled. “I mean… how could he have possibly finished the work… if he was slacking off?” “Whether I was slacking or not is on the security cameras,” I said calmly. “And while we’re at it, we can also check the footage to see who was using my computer after I left.” Zane’s face turned sheet-white, his lips trembling. “I… I must have seen wrong… Wyatt was working very hard, he wasn’t slacking at all. No need to check the cameras.” But Chloe, seemingly convinced of my guilt, wouldn’t let it go. “No! We have to check. Wyatt, even if you’re a senior employee, a poor work ethic has to be punished!” The footage was pulled up. It showed me diligently working at my desk, barely even taking a bathroom break. Then it showed Zane, leaning back in his chair, scrolling through trashy videos on his phone and munching on a bag of spicy chips. Chloe was stunned into silence. Zane hung his head in shame. 4 My other coworkers, who had seen the footage, began to complain. “Unbelievable. The document Zane gave me yesterday was full of typos. It took me an hour to fix it.” “He messed up a simple print job for me, too. I had to go do it myself.” “If he can’t even handle the simple stuff, what good is he?” Zane looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. But then Chloe slammed her hand on the table. “He made a few small mistakes! Why are you all making such a big deal out of it? Zane is still an intern. Can’t you be a little more understanding? As if none of you have ever made a mistake.” My colleagues rolled their eyes but didn’t dare argue with their manager. “And you!” Chloe turned her glare on me. “As a senior employee, why aren’t you actively mentoring him? When he makes a mistake, isn’t that your responsibility too?” If fighting wasn’t a fireable offense, I would have slapped her. When Zane accused me of slacking, it was a problem with my work ethic. When Zane was caught red-handed, it was somehow my fault. Idiot. I couldn’t be bothered to argue with someone so clearly irrational. Chloe didn’t press the issue, and we all went back to work. As I walked away, I overheard a few coworkers whispering. “Isn’t Chloe dating Wyatt? Why is she defending the new intern?” “Who knows? Maybe they had a fight.” I smirked. We hadn’t fought. It was just Chloe, acting like she was possessed. But I didn’t care anymore. Did she really expect me to treat her like a prize when she was acting like this? The first thing I did when I got back to my desk was pull out my phone, open my chat with Chloe, and type two words: 【We’re done.】 Block. Delete. Done. A wave of relief washed over me.

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It was the night of my company’s celebration dinner. Suddenly, a notification popped up in the family group chat. An unfamiliar cartoon avatar tagged my husband. “Dad, can I get some cash? I want to buy a new gaming console.” I froze. I checked again. Yes, this was my husband’s immediate family chat group. Mark and I had been married for years. We had one daughter, Eleanor. Since when did we have another child? The message was quickly deleted, but I couldn’t just pretend it never happened. Before I could do anything, my husband called me. “Hey, can you believe this? One of my distant relatives’ kids tagged the wrong dad!” His voice was light, casual. I played along, agreeing that kids could be careless. But as soon as the dinner was over, I headed for the parking garage, already on the phone with a private investigator, asking him to look into the owner of that account. 1 The city lights blurred past the car window, but my thoughts were stuck on that single, deleted message. I’ve always been a suspicious person. My motto is, “Better to be safe than sorry, and never let anything slide.” On my social media feed, Mark had just posted an update: “Quality time with my girl, helping her with homework.” It was accompanied by a photo. In the picture, the living room was brightly lit. Eleanor was staring into the camera, her expression blank. On a whim, I zoomed in on the photo. And there, reflected in the dark pools of my daughter’s eyes, was the image of a woman and a young boy. I had never seen them before in my life. Two hours later, I pulled up to my in-laws’ house. It was the weekend, and Mark always took Eleanor to visit them. When I arrived, a strange woman opened the door. The smile on her face froze solid. Her reaction told me everything. I was right. She stammered, her words tumbling over each other. “I… I’m Melissa. I’m just here to visit Mr. and Mrs. Collins.” I didn’t answer. I pushed past her and walked inside. Mark’s voice floated from the living room. “Melissa, who is it?” Melissa, of course, didn’t dare to speak. After a moment of silence, Mark came to see for himself. He saw me standing there, travel-worn and grim, and the air in the hallway instantly became thick and suffocating. I pushed past him and entered the living room. My in-laws had been gathered around a little boy. When they saw me, they both shot to their feet. My mother-in-law’s knee hit the coffee table with a loud thud, but she forced a stiff, unnatural smile onto her face. “Oh, you’re here! Mark said you were busy with work tonight.” “I finished,” I said flatly. My gaze fell on my daughter. Eleanor was sitting alone in a corner of the sofa. The moment she saw me, her eyes welled up and she ran into my arms. “Mommy, you’re finally here.” I held her close, my heart aching. Eleanor was usually such a stoic child; she rarely showed her emotions like this. What had they put her through while I was gone? Melissa had positioned herself next to Mark, looking at me with a pitiful, wronged expression. Mark patted her shoulder reassuringly, then turned to me. “Have you eaten? I can heat something up for you.” “No, thanks.” I was in no mood to eat. My mother-in-law shot a look at her husband, tugging on his sleeve. My father-in-law cleared his throat and put on his sternest face to lecture me. “Look at you, coming in here with a long face, as if we owe you something.” I suddenly laughed. My eyes landed on Melissa. She was looking at me, her hands twisting the hem of her dress. She wore light makeup, a simple, conservative dress, and a knitted cardigan—a classic “good wife” look that was the polar opposite of my style. Mark subtly moved to block my view, reaching for my purse. “Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll get you a glass of warm milk.” I didn’t move. I just looked down at my daughter, who was still clinging to my waist, refusing to let go. Her eyes were red and puffy. She whispered, “Mommy, I want to go home.” “What’s wrong? Did someone bully you?” I stroked her hair, my heart twisting with pain. “I… I don’t like Leo,” she mumbled into my side. At the mention of his name, the little boy who had been engrossed in his video game looked up. That one glance sent a chill down my spine. The resemblance was uncanny. His eyes, his brow—he looked just like Mark. “This child…” My voice was calm, as if I still knew nothing. “He looks like a strong little guy.” The boy looked to be about seven or eight. His narrow eyes stared straight at me, and then he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Daddy, who is this lady? What is she doing in our house?” 2 The color drained from Mark’s face. Melissa frantically clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth, her fingertips trembling. “Kids say the darndest things, don’t they… He’s always getting people mixed up.” “Is that so? He seemed pretty sure about that ‘Daddy’ part,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I led my daughter to the sofa and sat down. My mother-in-law immediately jumped in to smooth things over. “Oh, he’s just a child, he doesn’t know any better. The other day, Mr. Henderson from downstairs came to visit, and he called him Daddy, too.” She pressed a freshly peeled orange into my hand. “Here, have some fruit. You must be tired from your trip.” I took it and thanked her politely. Seeing that I wasn’t pressing the issue, Mark visibly relaxed. He came up behind me, ready to give me his usual shoulder rub. I shifted, and his hands met empty air. He froze for a second before forcing a laugh. “This is Melissa, a distant relative. She’s had some trouble back home, so she’s staying with us for a few days…” “A relative?” I offered a segment of the orange to Eleanor. I laughed again, a cold, humorless sound. Mark was the golden boy who had clawed his way out of a poor village. After getting into university, he had cut off all contact with his impoverished relatives. What distant relatives could he possibly have? I voiced the thought aloud. “I don’t remember you having a distant relative named Melissa. Didn’t you cut ties with all your family ages ago?” He faltered, his eyes darting away. “She’s… very distant. From my grandmother’s side.” I nodded thoughtfully. Very distant indeed. My in-laws exchanged a look, their eyes glinting with calculation. Suddenly, Melissa pulled Leo in front of me, her voice trembling on the verge of tears. “Sister-in-law, I know I shouldn’t be bothering you, but I had no other choice. Leo is sick, he needs money, and I could only turn to Mark…” “Turn to him? To borrow money?” I glanced at her. “No, not… I mean, we’ll pay it back.” She was stumbling over her words. Mark couldn’t stand seeing her so submissive and pleading. His jaw tightened. “That’s enough. Who pissed you off today?” I just smiled and stroked Eleanor’s hair. When I had hemorrhaged giving birth to her, Mark had been terrified, his face white as a sheet. He had sworn that for the rest of his life, he would only ever love the two of us. Promises, I thought. Only true in the moment they’re spoken. Mark grabbed Melissa’s arm. “Why don’t you take Leo to the guest room?” “Oh, don’t go,” I said, stopping them. My eyes were fixed on Leo’s wrist. He was wearing a small gold bracelet. It looked exactly like the one I had given Eleanor for her birthday last year. The one that had mysteriously disappeared a few months ago. Now I knew where it had gone. Melissa instinctively pulled down Leo’s sleeve to cover it, a move that screamed guilt. “That bracelet looks just like Eleanor’s. What a coincidence,” I said, my voice sharp with irony. Eleanor burrowed deeper into my side. But Leo suddenly wrenched his arm free from his mother’s grasp and pointed at me. “You’re the bad lady who stole my daddy! This bracelet is mine! Everything in this house is mine! I’m not giving you anything!” “Leo!” Melissa shrieked, trying to cover his mouth again. Beads of sweat had formed on Mark’s forehead. My father-in-law slammed his hand on the table with a loud crack. “Sophia! Stop with the passive-aggressive act! It’s just a bracelet! Why are you being so confrontational? My son has provided for you, given you a life of luxury for years. What more could you possibly want? Don’t we, as his parents, have the right to decide what to do with a single gold bracelet?” 3 I didn’t fight with them that night. I didn’t want to scare my daughter. Mark drove me home. The car was silent. He knew I wasn’t easy to fool. The second the car stopped, he started his explanation, his voice laced with a deliberate, placating tone. “Honey, I didn’t handle things well today. My parents are getting old, don’t take what they said to heart. They’re just soft-hearted, they can’t bear to see a child suffer.” “Mm-hmm,” I replied calmly. My placid reaction seemed to surprise him. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so composed. But ultimately, he was relieved. In a corner of the car I couldn’t see, he secretly texted Melissa: [Don’t worry, she won’t find out. Leo is my son, I’ll take care of him.] I saw his little maneuver later that night when I reviewed the car’s security footage. So clever. Before she went to sleep, Eleanor told me something. “Mommy, the last few times Daddy took me to Grandma and Grandpa’s, he left with them and Leo and was gone for a long time.” “Is that so?” My heart clenched. “Yes. And Leo… he just transferred to my class. He’s always bullying me.” As she talked, I learned that my daughter was being tormented at school. She said Leo told the other kids that she had stolen his dad, that she was shameless. She had tried to explain, but no one believed her. She had told Mark about it. But Mark had simply told her that Leo was a good boy and wouldn’t bully her. The bullying had made my daughter withdrawn and quiet. I traveled so much for business, I had been home very little these past few months. The time difference when I was abroad made it hard to even talk to her. I hugged my daughter tightly, overwhelmed with guilt. “I’m so sorry, baby. It won’t happen again.” I had thought that by working so hard to give her a head start in life, I was doing what was best for her. But I had completely neglected her emotional well-being. Just then, a message came in from the private investigator. “I found her. Melissa is the woman Mark married in a village ceremony ten years ago…” The more I read, the more my blood ran cold. So I was the other woman? The investigator added one last thing: “I also found that your husband has been making frequent visits to banks and real estate agencies recently. You might want to be careful.” “Okay, thank you for your hard work.” I held my daughter even tighter. In the darkness, my eyes narrowed. I can understand that people change. What I cannot accept is someone daring to plot against me and my daughter. After Eleanor was asleep, I got up and texted my lawyer. “I want to divorce Mark. And I want him to leave with nothing.” Two days later, Eleanor’s school was holding an arts festival. I got her excused for the day and took her to my parents’ house. Mark was visibly relieved. “A little break will do Eleanor good,” he said with a smile. “Oh, by the way, I have something to do later, so I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up for me.” “Okay,” I said, giving him a long, meaningful look. The moment he left, I followed him. As I suspected, he went straight to the school. A wave of hatred washed over me. He had always used the excuse of being too busy to attend any of Eleanor’s school events. But now, for Leo, he had all the time in the world. The auditorium was filled with parents. I put on a mask and found a seat. Before long, I saw Melissa and Leo sitting diagonally from me. She was staring at the stage, where Mark was speaking as a parent representative, her eyes shining with adoration. The principal smiled at Mark. “Mr. Collins, would you mind sharing some of your parenting wisdom with us? Leo has made incredible progress since he transferred here this semester. Could you tell us your secret?” I smirked. Leo’s dad, indeed. Mark smiled and raised the microphone. After a few pleasantries, he looked down at Leo in the audience, his eyes filled with pride. “It’s really not my doing. He’s a smart kid, just a little mischievous. I’m usually busy, but I try to spend as much time with him as I can…” The other parents nodded in approval. But then, a student suddenly shouted, “Whose dad are you, anyway?” 4 The auditorium fell silent. The smile on Mark’s face froze. The little boy, ignoring his parents’ attempts to shush him, stood up. “A few days ago, Eleanor showed me a picture of you and said you were her dad!” Gasps rippled through the crowd. The boy’s parents quickly covered his mouth, laughing nervously and saying he was just a child. The principal tried to smooth things over. “Are Eleanor and Leo siblings?” Mark was about to say yes, when Leo shot to his feet and yelled, “No! I’m not related to that selfish brat! Daddy is mine! She stole my daddy!” The room exploded. “What’s going on? Is Eleanor’s mom the other woman?” “That’s terrible! He’s two-timing them…” I couldn’t imagine how my daughter would feel if she heard this. Thank God she wasn’t here. Mark suddenly beckoned for Melissa and Leo to join him on stage. The three of them stood together, a perfect picture of a happy family. Mark put on a pained expression. “Teachers, parents… I’m ashamed to have to admit this. Sophia, Eleanor’s mother, and I divorced a long time ago. We’ve been living together for our daughter’s sake.” Sitting in the audience, my knuckles turned white. Mark put a protective arm around Melissa. “And Melissa… was my first love.” Their eyes met, sparks flying between them. If I wasn’t one of the parties involved, I might have actually found it romantic. Mark’s voice caught with emotion. “When I went away to college, she stayed behind to take care of my parents. I was always grateful to her. Later, I got the opportunity to study abroad, and we lost touch. I thought she had married someone else. But six months ago, I found out she had waited for me all these years… and that she had given birth to my son.” Melissa just stood there, her head bowed, silent tears streaming down her face. The murmurs in the crowd began to change. “Oh, so that’s the story. They’ve really been through a lot.” “It’s not really Mark’s fault, is it? If he was already divorced from Eleanor’s mom, there’s nothing wrong with getting back together with his first love.” Melissa chose that moment to look up, her eyes red and her voice choked with emotion. “Mark, don’t say any more. If it wasn’t for Leo getting sick, I would never have come to bother you. I’m a woman, I understand. Even though you and Sophia are divorced, she wouldn’t want me around. She must hate me…” She spoke with such noble restraint. Leo, with the uncanny intuition of a child, started shouting at Mark. “Daddy, don’t be with that bad lady anymore! The other day, she was secretly calling Mommy a gold-digging poor relative!” “Leo, stop it,” Melissa said, grabbing his arm. But her half-hearted attempt only made me look worse. Mark was overcome with protective sympathy. He promised them he would never let them be wronged again. I watched the tragic couple on stage, my stomach churning. When Mark was trying to marry me, he had never mentioned a word about Melissa. Now that he was successful, he suddenly remembered he had a long-lost love? A parent whispered, “That Eleanor’s mom always seemed so aggressive. I can’t believe she’d try to control her ex-husband’s life, too. She has no class.” “Yeah, it’s not like he cheated on her. They’re just rekindling an old flame. What business is it of hers?” Just then, I received a text from my lawyer. [It’s all taken care of. Mark’s illegal transfer of assets has been frozen, and the divorce petition has been filed…] I smiled and turned off my phone. Mark was in the middle of a huge project, planning to invest hundreds of millions. With his assets frozen, that project was dead in the water. Let the show begin. Amidst the noise, I took out the miniature megaphone I had prepared. “Since when am I divorced?”

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I ate a single cookie because I was starving while working late. For that, my manager docked my commission by one hundred thousand dollars. She jabbed a finger in my face, her own turning purple with rage. “Don’t get cocky just because you landed that big account, Leo!” “This is a place of business! If you want to eat, go home and do it!” she shrieked. “The company has a clear policy against snacking at your desk! You broke the rule, and you knew exactly what you were doing. That makes it worse!” “So, that hundred-thousand-dollar commission from the Pais contract? It’s gone.” I just looked at her and said, flatly, “Fine.” Then I leaned back in my chair and started doing absolutely nothing. That’s when she really lost it. 1 Miranda Thorne was livid at my nonchalant attitude. “Leo, you will write a formal apology, and you will read it aloud at the all-hands meeting!” I watched her face flush a dangerous shade of red, my own fists clenching under the desk. Then, just as calmly, I said, “Okay.” My colleagues stared at me, their faces a mixture of shock and disbelief. Miranda spun on her heel and stomped off toward the executive offices on the 23rd floor. I stayed at my desk. A few minutes later, a notification popped up in the company-wide chat. “To All Staff: Leo Vance of the Sales Department has repeatedly violated company policy. Following a review, management has decided to revoke his commission for the current month, totaling $100,000. He will also issue a public apology at the 2 p.m. all-hands meeting today as a warning to others.” My coworkers shot me looks of stunned pity. Alex, from the desk across from me, sent a private message: “Dude, Miranda’s just on a power trip. Don’t fight her on this. Just play along. It’s a hundred grand!” I smiled to myself. Playing along wouldn’t work. This wasn’t about a cookie. She wanted me out. She’d been coveting my position for a long time. When the old Chairman first recruited me, he’d made it clear: no clocking in or out, complete freedom to come and go, eat and drink whatever I wanted. The only thing that mattered was my performance. And in the sales department, I was a one-man army, pulling in half the company’s revenue. The latest deal, a renewal of our ten-billion-dollar contract with Pais Corp, took me only a week to lock down. Miranda probably thought my job was too easy. The jealousy was eating her alive. I replied to Alex: “Just wait. This afternoon isn’t just about my public shaming. They’re bringing in my replacement.” Alex’s icon showed a shocked emoji. I ignored it and calmly began organizing all my client files, printing out hard copies of everything. Then, I factory reset my company phone. Once that was done, I started writing my “apology.” Miranda came down once during that time, a smug, triumphant smirk on her face when she saw me typing away. At two o’clock, she personally escorted me to the 23rd-floor conference room. Over a hundred employees were seated, waiting. Miranda’s voice boomed through the microphone. “Let me reiterate! A company is a place of work, not your living room! We have repeatedly asked you to maintain a professional environment, but some people just don’t listen!” “And don’t think you’re special just because the Chairman himself hired you! Anyone can make a few phone calls, have a nice dinner, and sign a contract!” “Leo, get up here and deliver your apology! Let everyone see what happens when you disrespect the rules!” I stood up and walked to the front, feeling the mix of pity and morbid curiosity from the crowd. “Ms. Thorne is right. I shouldn’t have eaten a cookie at my desk. From this day forward, I will strictly adhere to all company policies and never cross the line again.” “Ms. Thorne, I’m not a man of many words. You told me not to eat, so I won’t. My job as a salesperson isn’t that important, anyway.” “It’s good that you finally understand! And given your repeated infractions, the executive team has decided to remove you from your position as Sales Director. You are now a junior sales associate.” “And this,” she announced, gesturing to a greasy-looking man beside her, “is your new Director, Felix Thorne. Felix has an MBA from a top overseas university and will lead our team to new heights!” A scattered, unenthusiastic applause trickled through the room. Miranda proudly presented Felix. I caught Alex’s eye across the room; his face said it all. As a final blow, Miranda added, “Leo, I want you to compile all of your client files and submit them for redistribution.” I agreed without hesitation, handing over the stack I’d already printed. Go ahead, I thought. See if any of you can handle them. My cooperation seemed to make Miranda suspicious. She meticulously checked the files before finally letting it go. Felix was even more arrogant. The moment we were back on our floor, he tapped his finger on my desk. “Leo, hurry up and pack your things. Move it. If you leave anything behind, you’ll be held responsible.” 2 I knew what he was doing. As Sales Director, my desk was in the open-plan office, but I had a whole row to myself—a prime spot with a clear view of the entire floor. Now, he couldn’t wait to shove me into the corner. My new assigned spot was a tiny cubicle right against the window, a space no one wanted. Even with the AC, company policy forbade closing the blinds. The afternoon sun would bake me alive, the glare making my monitor unreadable. A perfect little corporate penalty box. But I didn’t care. I silently packed my personal items and picked up my laptop to move. He stopped me, his hand on my machine. “Hold on. I need to check the contents of your computer. Can’t have you walking away with client data, can we?” “Be my guest.” I powered it on and let him search through everything. The old Chairman had recruited me himself. His words still echoed in my mind: “Leo, within this company, your word is law.” But the Chairman’s health had been failing, and he was recovering at a clinic overseas. This whole charade was laughable. I knew exactly what Miranda was thinking: get rid of the expensive top performer to cut costs. A classic, foolish move. Felix found nothing suspicious and waved me away with a dismissive flick of his wrist. A message from Alex popped up: “Don’t worry, Leo. We’re all on your side.” I sent back a smiling emoji. Their support was nice, but it didn’t matter. The fact that the 23rd floor had let Miranda do this meant they’d approved it. And if they knew, the Chairman, even oceans away, knew too. If that’s how they wanted to play it, I wasn’t going to fight them. That evening, for the first time, I clocked out. I didn’t know how things used to be, but from now on, I was following every rule to the letter. No problem there, right? Usually, my evenings were spent taking clients out for drinks or dinner, networking, and building relationships. Not anymore. I drove straight home, collapsed onto my bed, and watched the sunset paint the sky. I felt incredible. Free from the endless cycle of schmoozing, I finally had time for myself. I pulled out my phone and booked a ticket to a play I’d been wanting to see for years. The lead actor was my favorite, but I’d never had a free evening to go. Until now. Later, I was added to a new sales team group chat. The admin was Felix. “@everyone: Effective immediately, all sales staff will submit a daily work log. I want to know who you met, what you discussed, and their level of interest. Furthermore, each of you is expected to secure 5 qualified leads per month. Failure to meet this quota will result in a 20% reduction in your monthly performance review.” Alex messaged me privately again. “Can you believe this guy? He comes back from some fancy school overseas and starts pulling this old-school factory-floor crap on us?” “Has he ever even worked in sales? Qualified leads don’t just grow on trees! Five a month? The whole damn company is lucky to close one new major deal a month, and that’s usually with existing clients!” “The economy is crap, big clients are impossible to get, and there are only so many small clients in this city. He’s trying to kill us.” I read Alex’s rant and just offered some simple advice. “Take it easy. Just do what the boss says.” “How can you be so calm, man? If it were me, I’d have quit already! I can’t take this BS!” I just smiled and didn’t reply. I wasn’t in a hurry. They’d figure it out soon enough. 3 The next morning, I walked into the office and submitted a request for my annual leave. I’d worked at this company for eight years and had never taken a single vacation day. When I handed the form to Felix, he glared at me. “What is this? I just started, and you’re already taking a vacation? Are you trying to undermine me?” “Not at all, Director Thorne,” I said smoothly. “I have full confidence that you’ll lead us to great success. It’s just… I haven’t had a break in years. My body can’t take it anymore. I need to recharge.” He looked me up and down, his eyes dripping with disdain. “I guess so. Juggling all those big clients… a man over thirty can’t really keep up the pace.” The implication was clear: he thought I’d used shady methods to win my contracts. Prejudice is a hard thing to change. I didn’t bother arguing. He signed the form. “Just remember your monthly quota! If you don’t meet it, it’s coming out of your base salary!” he called after me. “And if you fail for three consecutive months, you’re out!” “Understood,” I said without looking back. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Because the ones leaving would be them. Once the paperwork was approved, I packed a bag and left. First stop: a trip out of town. The play was tonight, and I wasn’t going to miss it. Two hours later, I stepped off the high-speed train, and my phone buzzed. It was Alex. “Leo, the Pais Corp contract was officially signed. Miranda announced the commission is being credited to Felix.” “She’s going to use it to nominate him for Salesperson of the Year. It’s a political move to get herself another promotion!” “It’s shameless! Are you just going to let them do this?” “Don’t worry,” I texted back. “They can’t handle it. Just wait.” I smiled as I sent the message. Renewing the Pais contract wasn’t something you could do over a fancy dinner. I silenced my phone and took my seat in the theater. The stage was just a few feet away. I was buzzing with excitement. For two glorious hours, my world was the story unfolding on stage. I laughed, I cried, I was completely lost in it. When I walked out, I checked my phone. Over a hundred missed calls and countless messages. The most recent one was from Miranda. “Leo, Mr. Pais from Pais Corp just called. He says there’s a problem with the contract and he’s pulling out. This is a five-hundred-million-dollar loss. You can consider yourself fired!” I scoffed and typed a quick reply. “The contract was transferred to Felix. Is it my fault he couldn’t handle it?” “And Ms. Thorne, if you’re going to fire me, don’t forget my severance package.” I put my phone back in my pocket. The constant stream of messages from Alex painted a clear picture. After I left, Felix, wanting to “build relationships,” had gone to visit Pais Corp, bringing a lavish gift. Mr. Pais himself ran into him in the lobby. Upon learning Felix was the new Director, he asked a few technical questions about their operations. Felix couldn’t answer a single one. Alarmed by this lack of professionalism, Mr. Pais demanded an immediate on-site inspection of our manufacturing facility. I had walked him through that facility a dozen times. Felix had never even set foot in it. When they arrived, one of the main production machines was down. Felix called in an engineer. But it was a new, highly specialized machine. No one on-site knew how to repair it. In the past, whenever there was an issue, I was the one who made the call to get it fixed. Felix used this as an excuse, claiming I must have sabotaged the machine before I left. That was the last straw for Mr. Pais. He declared our company a fraud and voided the contract on the spot. Not only was the half-billion-dollar deal dead, but Mr. Pais had personally chewed Felix out so badly that the old Chairman had been notified overseas. Just then, Alex called me, his voice frantic. “Leo, you need to get back here, now! They’re threatening to call the cops, saying you committed corporate sabotage!”

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My abusive husband jumped off the balcony. Just thirty minutes ago, he was standing over me with a hammer, ready to smash my skull in. Now, he was lying in a broken heap three stories below. My mother-in-law shrieked that I was a curse, a plague on their family. If only her son had divorced me and married some rich heiress. But only I knew the truth. After my rebirth, I was bound to a system called “Empty Promises Come True.” It punishes anyone who makes a promise they don’t intend to keep. 1 My mother-in-law, clutching a bundle of green onions, walked in just in time to see her son plummet from the balcony. “Oh, dear God, my son!” THUD. A sickening crack, followed by a spray of crimson. She collapsed to the floor, shaking like a leaf. Meanwhile, I was leaning against the balcony railing, sipping a cup of Earl Grey. It tasted a bit stale. An hour and a half ago, my short-tempered, abusive husband, Damian, had been threatening to cave my head in with a hammer. Now, he was a broken doll splayed on the concrete below. I owed it all to the “Empty Promises Come True” system I’d acquired upon my rebirth. Anyone who made me a false promise would be forced to live out its consequences. When my mother-in-law finally managed to lift her head, she saw me smiling and waving. She pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at me and started screaming to the gathering crowd. “It was her! She pushed my son!” A moment later, the apartment door was kicked open. My mother-in-law, gasping for breath, her beady eyes burning with hatred, lunged for my throat. I sidestepped, and she stumbled, falling in a comical heap on the floor. “Are you alright, Mom?” I asked sweetly. “I know we haven’t had steak in a while, but you don’t have to be so dramatic.” Clutching her back, she practically spat her words at me. “You vicious, evil woman! You pushed my son off the balcony! I’m calling the police!” I crouched down and showed her the photos on my phone—a gallery of my injuries, evidence from the county medical examiner. In the pictures, my eye was swollen shut, a grotesque shade of purple. One side of my face was a bloated, discolored mess from subcutaneous bleeding. “God is my witness, Damian jumped of his own accord,” I said, my voice calm. “Besides, if the police see these photos, your son is the one who will be going to prison, don’t you think?” I pointed to the security camera on the corner of the building. “It’s all on tape.” I remembered the last time Damian had beaten me. He’d knelt before me, begging for forgiveness, his voice thick with fake remorse. He’d sworn on his life it would never happen again. If he ever laid a hand on me again, he’d said, he would jump off the balcony. Well, he said it, not me. 2 My mother-in-law’s eyes were practically shooting sparks, but she was powerless. In the end, she scurried off to the hospital, defeated. Damian had landed a big contract today and had been celebrating. He was in a good mood when he got home. The trouble started when I discovered the private online group he’d created: “300 Ways to Tame Your Wife.” In my past life, when he’d come home that day, I’d seen the exhaustion on his face and handed him a warm cup of herbal tea. “You must be exhausted, honey. Here, drink this.” He’d snatched it, downed it in one gulp, and then looked me up and down with disdain. “My boss’s secretary is a hell of a lot prettier than you. Look at you, all washed up.” He took a shower, leaving his phone on the table. As I was setting dinner on the table, the screen lit up. A message from the group popped up, addressing him by name: Hey Damian, you gotta tell us more about how you beat your wife into submission. Share the wisdom, bro. The hand I was using to wipe sweat from my brow froze. I had a sick feeling I knew who they were talking about. I glanced toward the bedroom. Damian was fast asleep, snoring loudly. Quietly, I picked up his phone. What I saw made the blood drain from my face. In this group of over 500 men, there were dozens of pictures of me sleeping. Most of them had been taken right after he’d beaten me, while I was unconscious. There were even a few where my nightgown was hiked up to my thighs, my body exposed. 3 He was a mentor in this disgusting group, a guru of domestic abuse, sharing his “wisdom” with pride. Damian: Dudes, when you’re picking a wife, find one with no family, who’s ugly and weak-willed. Otherwise, it’s nothing but trouble. SunnyBoy: I feel you, man. I slapped my old lady once, and her parents came and raised hell at my office for a month. Damian: Also, you gotta soothe them right after. Make a lot of empty promises. You don’t want to scare them off, then you’ve got no one to play with. 😉 Big_Z: Bro, I gotta thank you. Your method works like a charm. For the first time yesterday, I felt like a real man. Hahahaha. Damian: Don’t worry, more tips to come. A well-trained wife makes for a happy life. (smirk/smirk) SunnyBoy: <3 <3 whistles The further I scrolled, the sicker I felt. The chat logs were filled with vile, degrading comments. I was being paraded like an object, judged and scrutinized by a pack of wolves. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto a chair, staring into space. I didn't even hear Damian come out of the bedroom. When he saw me with his phone, his face contorted with rage. He slapped me so hard my head snapped back. "Who the hell said you could look at my phone?!" It started with fists and feet. I was powerless, curled into a ball on the floor, begging him to stop. After ten minutes, he spat on me, loosened his tie, and walked to the utility closet. He came back with a rusty hammer. Tears of blood streamed down my face as I scrambled backward, pleading. "No more, please, no more…" He held up his phone, turned on the camera, and gave me a sinister smile. "You asked for this." CRACK. CRACK. I heard the sound of my own skull fracturing. Chunks of my scalp, matted with blood and hair, were flung against the wall with the swing of the hammer. 4 After that day, I was diagnosed with a grade-three disability. The blunt force trauma had caused irreversible intestinal damage. I had to wear a colostomy bag for the rest of my life. I also developed a severe, treatment-resistant psychological disorder. After the incident, not a single one of Damian’s family members came to visit me in the hospital. The only time I saw them was on the day of my discharge, when his sister and mother came to handle the paperwork, their faces etched with impatience. They walked in just as the nurse was changing my colostomy bag and immediately covered their noses. His sister, Wendy, gagged dramatically. "Mom, I'm not going in there. It's disgusting." My mother-in-law dragged her in anyway. Wendy kept her nose covered, her face a mask of disgust. "Honestly, what were you thinking, starting a fight with my son?" my mother-in-law snapped, dropping her purse heavily on the nightstand. "Now the whole neighborhood is gossiping. Have you no consideration for your husband's reputation?" The nurse couldn't hold back. "Ma'am, your daughter-in-law was nearly beaten to death. How can you say that?" Her face soured. "I'm the one who should be angry. I just asked the doctor. She can't even have children anymore." The nurse, intimidated, quickly left. The venom in her words was a physical pain in my chest. "Mom, don't be so harsh. She might sue us," Wendy whispered, tugging at her mother's sleeve. Her eyes darted around, and her tone softened. "I'm just trying to think of what's best for everyone. Can't we all just get along?" Under the covers, my hands clenched into fists. I had tried to call the police, but because we were married, they just told us to handle it internally. When Damian found out I’d dared to call them, the beatings only got worse. After I was discharged, she never let me forget that I couldn't have children. She placated me to keep me from making a scene, all while secretly looking for a new wife for her son. One day, my colostomy bag leaked in public. The stench was overwhelming. Passersby stared, their faces a mixture of pity and disgust, and hurried away. That night, I went home and killed myself. A month after my suicide, Damian married a woman he'd been having an affair with at his company. Six months after the wedding, she gave birth to a son. 5 After my rebirth, I returned to the day Damian beat me into a permanent disability. But this time, he was the one who was severely injured. The ambulance took my husband away. I sat at my vanity, meticulously applied my makeup, slipped on a pair of four-inch stilettos, and sashayed to the hospital. Our apartment was only on the third floor. He wouldn't die. A small crowd had gathered outside the operating room. When they saw me, their eyes followed me, each with their own thoughts. "Don't worry, everyone," I announced cheerfully. "He just broke his legs and has some internal damage. It's not a big deal." My sister-in-law, Wendy, screeched, "Not a big deal? How can you be so nonchalant?" I pointed to her brand-new, limited-edition Chanel bag. "If your brother and I hadn't given you the money for that bag, you probably wouldn't have even remembered we exist." "Whatever. Your money is my brother's money," she huffed, plopping down in a chair and burying her face in her phone. Wendy was the type to be all over you when she needed something and disappear when she didn't. In my past life, her sob stories had tricked me out of thousands for her luxury shopping sprees. When her brother was beating me, she would just hide in her room, ignoring my pleas for help, and then emerge later as if nothing had happened. My mother-in-law, her face a mask of anxiety, glared at my glamorous attire. "Your husband is in surgery, and you're dressed like you're going to a club? Go home and change!" I just smiled, touching up my bright red lipstick. "Relax, Mom. Even if he's crippled, at least he's alive. Even animals know it's better to be alive than dead." I pulled out my phone and put on some upbeat music. My mother-in-law’s face turned an even darker shade of purple. 6 The operating room doors opened. My mother-in-law rushed to the surgeon. "Doctor, how's my son? Is it serious?" "Please calm down, ma'am. A three-story fall is significant. It will take time for him to recover fully." "But nothing is certain. Try not to worry too much." She collapsed to the floor, wailing. "My beautiful boy, now he's half-dead! This is killing me!" I pulled her aside, reminding her not to cause a scene in the hospital. She shoved me away, tears streaming down her face. "I don't need your fake sympathy." Damian was moved to a regular room. It was two days before he fully regained consciousness. When he saw me by his bedside, he let out a terrified scream. "Mom!" My mother-in-law rushed to his side, shooting me a sideways glance. "I'm here, sweetie. Tell me, did Sarah push you?" "I don't know what happened… I just suddenly had the urge to jump." He conveniently left out the part where he was about to smash my head in with a hammer. I rolled my eyes and pried his hand off mine. The mere touch of him made my skin crawl. It was no wonder my mother-in-law suspected me. He was a successful manager at his company, well-respected, with a decent salary. A man like that wouldn't just jump off a balcony for no reason. As they were having their tearful reunion, a woman in sunglasses walked into the room. My intuition told me she was connected to Damian. 7 Sure enough, when she saw me and my mother-in-law, she pretended she'd walked into the wrong room. "Amber, over here!" Damian called out. My mother-in-law sized up the woman, with her designer clothes and expensive jewelry, a calculating glint in her eye. Amber, however, maintained a cool, polite distance, as if she were just a colleague paying a visit. I played along, greeting her warmly. Halfway through the conversation, when Damian's guard was down, I snatched his phone. His carefully constructed facade of a charming, witty boss crumbled. "Honey, what are you doing?" he hissed, his face contorting with rage. "Darling, this is a serious matter. I think your colleagues should know." He forced a smile, his jaw clenched. "Know what? I didn't want to worry them." He was terrified of his subordinates finding out about his humiliating suicide attempt. He'd been telling everyone he'd just had an accidental fall. I summoned my best acting skills, my eyes welling with unshed tears. "Honey, I know how loyal your team is to you. I'm sure they'd want to visit." With that, I opened his camera and took a picture of his bruised, broken body. As he stared at me, dumbfounded, I hit send. The veins in his arms bulged, but with Amber there, he didn't dare touch me. Not that a cripple could do much damage anyway. Amber looked at her phone. "Damian, there's nothing in the group chat." He visibly relaxed, sinking back into his pillows with a sigh of relief. He didn't know that I hadn't sent the picture to his work chat. I’d sent it to the "300 Ways to Tame Your Wife" group. The group immediately exploded.

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Sprawled on the carpet, trying to catch my breath, a voice, high and childish like spilled milk, suddenly echoed in my mind. 【I’ve sacrificed way too much for Mommy to look pretty. Does anyone ever consider my feelings, being held by such a slob every day?】 I shot up, my eyes darting to my son, who was lying beside me, happily sucking on his fist. Just as I was about to dismiss it as a hallucination brought on by sheer exhaustion, the voice came again. 【What are you looking at? So annoying! If you weren’t halfway decent at taking care of me, I would’ve had Daddy kick you out ages ago!】 1. I pinched my arm, hard. The sharp sting of pain was proof: that voice was real. As I was trying to process what those words meant, the doorbell rang. A second later, my best friend, Serena, let herself in. Seeing her loaded down with shopping bags filled with baby supplies, I couldn’t help but sigh. “I told you we have everything, Serena. Stop wasting your money!” Serena dropped the bags and, with the ease of a frequent visitor, headed for the bathroom. “What’s wrong with spoiling my godson a little? Don’t get jealous, I got you some dessert, too!” The distraction was enough to temporarily push the strange incident to the back of my mind. I fished a slice of Black Forest cake from one of the bags. But as I settled onto the sofa, the voice returned. 【Mommy, come hold me! I miss your sweet smell!】 My hands froze over the dessert packaging. I watched as Serena emerged from the bathroom and walked briskly over to my son, scooping him into her arms. “Well, hello! Is my little Leo being a good boy today? Let your godmother get some cuddles!” After Serena nuzzled his little cheek, Leo giggled uncontrollably. And at the same time, I heard a contented sigh in my head. 【Mommy’s skin is so smooth! Ugh, if it wasn’t so much work for her, I’d want to be with her all day long!】 I didn’t understand why I was suddenly hearing these things. But the repeated cries of “Mommy,” clearly not directed at me, sparked a storm of questions. With this new context, I watched Serena and Leo together, and suddenly, things started to click into place in a way that made me feel sick. It seemed that every time Serena was here, Leo, who was usually a nightmare to soothe, would become an angel, all smiles and gurgles. Was it a coincidence? Or was my son, who couldn’t even control his own bladder yet, doing it on purpose? “You know, Serena,” I said, forcing a light, joking tone, “anyone who didn’t know better would think Leo was your son. He’s an absolute angel whenever you visit. If he were always this easy, I wouldn’t be such a wreck.” My eyes were locked on her, and I didn’t miss the flicker of pride that flashed in her eyes before she masked it. “Mia, don’t say that! I know raising a baby is hard, but think of all the joy and fulfillment Leo brings you, right?” The childish voice immediately chimed in with its own commentary. 【You’re the nanny my real mommy and daddy picked out! Know your place. It’s an honor for you to take care of me!】 Serena was too busy cooing at Leo to notice my face darken as I sank into a vortex of thought. I’d worked relentlessly through my pregnancy, and it had taken a toll. Leo was born premature and was a high-needs baby in every sense of the word. When he was uncomfortable, he had to be held constantly. The second you put him down, he’d start whimpering. A wet diaper had to be changed instantly; a moment’s delay and he’d launch into a full-blown meltdown, sometimes screaming himself into breath-holding fits that terrified me. Leo’s condition was so demanding that in my first three months postpartum, I’d bled through three different maternity nurses. Everyone told me it was my fault, that I hadn’t been careful enough during my pregnancy, causing him to suffer so much. I was drowning in guilt, and after his three-month milestone, I made a life-altering decision. I threw my career plans out the window, resigned from my job, and became a full-time mom. Leo was eight months old now. Even with a nanny to help, I was physically and mentally drained. In less than half a year of motherhood, I felt like I’d aged a decade. I had no energy to lose the baby weight, no motivation to put on makeup or fix my hair. Philip, my husband, saw it too. Other than perfunctory questions about Leo, he barely spoke to me anymore. I was resentful and hurt, but I was too exhausted to even start a fight. Five months of all-consuming childcare had pushed my marriage to the brink and my body to its breaking point. And now, I was hearing that Leo might not even be my son? If he wasn’t… then where was my baby? What was all this suffering, all this sacrifice, for? 2. My fingers traced the crinkly plastic of the cake box, a storm of emotions churning inside me. Twenty minutes ago, Serena was the person I was most grateful for in my lonely postpartum world. If it weren’t for her visits every few days, helping with the baby and listening to my endless complaints, I probably would have shattered long ago. But the child I was pouring my life into was calling her Mommy? It was too absurd. I let out a brittle laugh. “What’s so funny? Share the joke!” Serena looked up, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Our gazes met. This time, armed with suspicion, I really looked at her, and I froze. I’d always known Serena was attractive, but now… now she had a certain glow. A ripeness. I remembered her telling me she was away at a training seminar for most of my pregnancy. I remembered that when she finally reappeared after Leo was three months old, she was fuller, softer than I’d ever seen her. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, the answer was screaming at me. For a moment, the world tilted, and I felt like I couldn’t stay upright. “Hey, you okay? Spacing out again? Don’t tell me the baby brain is permanent.” Serena casually placed Leo on the playmat on the floor. My eyes followed him, and I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable screaming to start. Instead, Leo started playing by himself, content. It was a universe away from his usual behavior, where being put down meant at least ten minutes of solid wailing. A wave of helplessness washed over me. The difference in his treatment of us was so blatant. How had I never seen it before? “Mia? What’s wrong? I’ve been talking to you for ages.” I couldn’t let her know I was onto her. Not yet. I had too many questions. I mumbled an excuse about being sleep-deprived and changed the subject, asking Serena if she was free tomorrow. “Anything you need help with, you know you can just ask!” she said, feigning a pout. I forced a grateful, apologetic smile. “It’s just… my heart’s been feeling a little weird lately. I want to get it checked out. If you have time, could you watch Leo for me? I don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone with the nanny.” I was eighty percent sure, but I needed absolute proof before I decided what to do next. Until then, I couldn’t completely let go of Leo. So if I was going out, I needed a babysitter. My parents were out of town on vacation. My in-laws, who subtly blamed me for Leo’s health issues, were a source of constant friction. We avoided each other unless Philip was around. If Serena really was Leo’s mother, then she was, ironically, the best person for the job. Thankfully, she agreed without a second thought. I’d read online about what was needed for a DNA test. As we chatted, my mind raced, trying to figure out how to get a sample from her. Suddenly, I remembered a pair of diamond hair clips she’d admired several times. Serena watched, confused, as I got up and went to my closet. When I returned with a small hand mirror, she raised an eyebrow. “What are you up to?” Without a word, I clipped one of the sparkling pins into her hair. Then I held up the mirror. “You always said you loved these. My hair’s falling out so much, I doubt I’ll ever get to wear them again. It’d be a waste for them to just sit in a box.” In the mirror, Serena’s face lit up. She touched the clip, a wide smile spreading across her face, though her words were modest. “Your hair will grow back! These are so expensive, Mia, I can’t take them.” “Oh, let me fix it, it’s not sitting right,” I said, and with a calculated tug, I pulled the clip out. “Ouch!” Serena yelped. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I said, feigning horror. “Look at me, I’ve developed super-strength from carrying the baby all day! I think I pulled out a few strands. Don’t be mad!” I quickly plucked the hairs tangled in the clip’s teeth and tossed them into the nearby wastebasket. Serena just laughed, rubbing the sore spot on her head. “Why would I be mad? It’s just the price of beauty!” 3. Not long after Serena left, giddy with her five-figure hair clip, an exhausted Leo finally fell asleep. While the nanny was busy in the other room, I retrieved the hairs from the trash can. My tug must have been forceful enough; nearly every strand had a follicle attached. I sealed them in a small labeled bag. I then pulled out a few of my own hairs and put them in a separate bag. Leo’s hair was too fine to see the follicles clearly, so I decided to wait until he woke up. I’d clip his nails and put them in a bag along with a few strands of his hair. When Philip got home from work, I told him I needed to go to the hospital for a check-up. For the first time in months, he showed a sliver of concern. “If you’re really that tired, we can hire another nanny, or have our moms take turns helping. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.” I took a sip of water to hide the bitter taste that rose in my chest. If I hadn’t spent my pre-motherhood years forging a will of iron at my old job, the last few months would have completely broken me. If it weren’t for the bizarre events of today, his sudden kindness might have moved me to tears. But now, all I could think about was Leo calling him “Daddy” and Serena “Mommy.” My heart felt like a block of ice. We’d been sleeping in separate rooms ever since Leo was born, so my sleepless nights wouldn’t disturb Philip’s rest and affect his work the next day. But because I’d mentioned my heart, he volunteered, for the first time ever, to have Leo sleep with him for the night. The next morning, a refreshed-looking Philip placed Leo in my arms. “This kid really knows how to behave. I told him he couldn’t be fussy last night, otherwise Daddy would be too tired for work, and he actually slept through the whole night!” I managed a weak smile and looked down at Leo, whose big eyes stared back at me. And then, the voice. 【Of course I’m gonna be good for my real dad. But you? The nanny? I’m going to make your life hell! It’s all your fault Mommy can’t live with us!】 Before the nanny could clean the guest room, I searched every inch of the bed Philip had slept in, finding what I needed. Serena arrived early. After giving her a few instructions, I walked out of the apartment alone. Breathing in the fresh air, I felt a wave of dizziness. I was almost in a trance. How long had it been since I’d really looked at the sky? How long since I’d felt the sun on my skin? All I did was have a baby. How did I lose control of my entire life? I had a friend who worked at a DNA testing lab. I paid extra for a rush job. He’d probably seen situations like mine a thousand times, because he didn’t ask a single question, just took the samples and personally oversaw the process. He told me the earliest I could get the results was tomorrow. With that, I went to the hospital. My heart really was giving me trouble. For months, the longest stretch of sleep I’d gotten was less than three hours. I was a wreck of anxiety and exhaustion, my hair falling out in clumps. My days started with a baby’s cry, and my dreams were filled with his incessant wails. I couldn’t even imagine what state I’d be in if I didn’t have a nanny to handle the housework and lend a hand when I was overwhelmed. “Your cardiac ischemia is quite severe,” the doctor said, his expression grave. “You need to fix your sleep schedule immediately. If you let this continue, you’re at high risk for sudden cardiac arrest.” When I got home, Serena was on the couch, holding Leo as they watched TV. When I repeated the doctor’s warning, she fell silent for a long time. “Mia, you have to hire more help. I’ll come over more often, too. You can’t keep going on like this.” 4. When Philip came home, he stared at my diagnosis report for a long time. Before bed, I overheard him making a call to his mother. The next morning, my in-laws were at the door with suitcases. Philip, who hadn’t left for work yet, spent a while explaining things to them. After he left, my mother-in-law, for once, didn’t give me the cold shoulder. “Mia, why don’t you go get some more sleep? Your father and I have it handled for the month. If you think we’re doing okay, we can keep helping. If not, we can trade off with your parents. We’ll all learn together. We won’t let you carry this all by yourself again.” That morning, just as he did with Serena, Leo put on his best behavior for his grandparents. While I caught up on sleep, he only cried once. A world of difference from when I was alone with him. On my way to the bathroom, I overheard my in-laws talking in the study. “Our grandson isn’t nearly as difficult as Mia makes him out to be,” my mother-in-law whispered. “Do you think maybe she’s just not good at this? That she’s run herself ragged for no reason?” My father-in-law shushed her, telling her to just focus on helping. But she wasn’t done. “And that doctor’s report… is it even real? You don’t think she’s fooling our son, do you? It’s one thing for Mia to be ambitious, but if she’s pulling a stunt like this just to get back to work, I won’t let her get away with it!” I slipped back into my room and picked up my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen, about to ask my friend for an update. Just then, a message from him popped up with a link. 【Mia, the baby isn’t yours. But he is biologically related to the other two samples.】 The phone felt like a block of ice in my hand. The heart that had been suspended in anxiety for the past twenty-four hours plummeted into a black abyss. My hands trembled as I clicked the link. I read the conclusions of the three reports over and over and over again. The names on the sample bags were in my own handwriting. And my friend was meticulous; with him watching over the process, there was zero chance of a mix-up. So it was true. The man I had loved for years and the woman I had grown up with, my best friend, had betrayed me in the most intimate way possible. And I, like an idiot, had given up my promising career, sacrificed my health, and poured every ounce of my being into raising their child. Then where was my baby? During the months I spent in a sleep-deprived haze caring for Leo, was my child warm? Was my child fed? My child. Was she even alive? When you’re hit with the purest form of sorrow, you can’t even make a sound. I pounded on my chest, trying to force air into my lungs, as tears fell, hot and silent, onto my shirt. After nearly half an hour of suffocating grief, I started making calls. First to a few of my most trusted friends. Then, I called the police. When I finally emerged from my room, my eyes were swollen and red. My mother-in-law started to say something but stopped when she saw my face. She shot a look at my father-in-law, then sat next to me, bouncing Leo on her knee. “Mia, look how good Leo’s been all morning. Here, you hold him.” The moment my eyes met Leo’s, his smug little voice filled my head. 【You hold me, I dare you. I’ll scream my head off. I love watching you panic!】 I ignored him, staring blankly into the middle distance as if I hadn’t heard a thing. My friends arrived quickly. My in-laws, though confused by the sudden crowd, bustled around, offering everyone water. But their hospitality vanished when the next person to walk through the door was Philip, who should have been at the office. My mother-in-law’s face soured. “Mia, what is so important that you had to drag Philip out of work?” As she was complaining, the doorbell rang again. This time, it was the police. My friends remained calm, but my in-laws and Philip all wore varying expressions of shock and alarm. “First you call all your friends, and now the police? What the hell are you doing, Mia?” Philip’s voice was low and furious. I finally looked at him, and my own voice came out, each word a shard of ice. “Where is my child? The baby I gave birth to. What did you do with her?”

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I got together with Adrian when I was eighteen. At twenty-two, I moved to the bustling city for him. But all I got in return was him saying, “I never planned on marrying her, you guys are just messing around.” After eight years with no commitment, I gave up. I was gone for three years. The day I returned, a friend asked me, “It’s been three years. You two must have made up by now, right?” They all thought I was back to beg for him back. But what they didn’t know was, I was back to get married. 1 “You’re getting married?” I was sorting through the guest list. “Yeah,” I replied. “The wedding is next week.” My friend was silent on the other end of the line for a moment, then asked, “What about Adrian?” Hearing his name after three years felt strange, like a ghost from a past life. But he and I had ended things three years ago. I was the one who broke up with him. It was his birthday. I had come back early from a business trip to surprise him, but instead, I overheard him talking to his friends. One of them asked, “You’re twenty-six, man. When are you gonna pop the question to Clara?” Adrian leaned back, a lazy, half-mocking smile on his face. “I never planned on marrying her. Don’t start that.” His friend was stunned. “You’ve been together for years. If you’re not marrying her, who are you gonna marry?” “Like you said,” Adrian replied, “we’ve been together for years. Where’s the excitement in that?” Honestly, in that moment, I couldn’t believe my ears. We had just been on the phone half an hour earlier. He had been so sweet, whispering and coaxing me to come back and celebrate a belated birthday with him. But now, I couldn’t even picture that tenderness. The thought of breaking up hit me right then. That night, I didn’t push open the door to confront him. I turned around, went home, and calmly packed my bags. Adrian came home at two in the morning. He walked in and stopped short, seeing me with my suitcase. He was only stunned for a second before he rushed forward, pulling me into his arms and nuzzling my neck affectionately. “Surprise? I love it.” I pushed him away. “Adrian.” “Hmm?” “Let’s break up.” We had threatened to break up before, but it was always me who caved first. Our mutual friends used to say, “Adrian is an insecure guy. He needs a partner who will never leave him. If you really want to be with him long-term, you have to be more patient with him.” Back then, I really did love him. So I was willing to soothe him, to put his feelings first. From eighteen to twenty-six, I loved him fiercely and without reservation. And all I got in return was, “I’m not going to marry her.” 2 “What are you talking about? You’re breaking up with me just because I didn’t spend my birthday with you?” Adrian’s voice pulled me back to the present. He wrapped his arms around me again. “Come on, I’m not mad. We’re not breaking up.” My friends were wrong. Adrian wasn’t a difficult partner. On the contrary, when he wanted to, he could be incredibly charming. On the surface, our breakups were always his doing, and our reconciliations were always mine. But no one knew that in the dead of night, he would use a mix of tenderness and pressure to win me back. He knew exactly how to find my softest spots, making me forgive him willingly. And now, he was trying the same trick again. As he leaned in to kiss me, I shoved him away with all my strength. Caught off guard, he stumbled back a few steps. Before he could regain his balance, I said, “I’m serious. I’m not joking.” In an instant, his expression turned icy, his eyes dark and menacing. “Say that again.” I couldn’t blame him for being angry. In eight years, this was the first time I had initiated a breakup. Everyone, including Adrian himself, thought I would never leave him. But this time, I was truly tired. My gaze lingered on his handsome profile for a few seconds, then I looked away without hesitation and started to wheel my suitcase towards the door. I had only taken a few steps when the suitcase stopped moving. Adrian was holding onto it, his eyes locked on me. “Why?” He had beautiful eyes. Deep and intense, they had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world. I avoided his gaze. “If we don’t break up, will you marry me?” In eight years, he had been rational, ambitious, and had meticulously planned his future. But I was never a part of that plan. The silence in the room was deafening. After what felt like an eternity, he finally asked, “Do we have to get married? Can’t we just keep dating?” I met his gaze. His eyes were like black holes, pulling you in. Even though I was reluctant to let go of our eight years together, a relationship with no future felt pointless. Looking into those bottomless eyes, I managed a small smile. “It gets a little old after a while.” The veins on his hand, gripping the suitcase handle, bulged. He practically spat the words out. “You’re tired of it?” “Yes.” He said “Fine” three times, his eyes turning red by the end. I didn’t dare look at him anymore, afraid I would break down first. I turned and continued to walk away. The only sound in the quiet night was the dull rumble of the suitcase wheels on the floor. As I reached the entryway, his cold voice came from behind me. “If you walk out that door today, don’t ever come back!” I paused, my throat dry. After a moment, I said, “Fine,” and left without a backward glance. 3 We saw each other one more time after that. It was the night before I left the city. I had realized I’d left an important document in his study. I called him before I went over. The living room was empty, so I headed straight for the study. As I passed the master bedroom, I heard voices. I glanced inside and saw Adrian lying on the bed, a woman gently wiping his face. I recognized her. Sophia. The daughter of his father’s close friend. The woman his family had arranged for him to marry. When she saw me, Sophia blushed and explained, “Clara, don’t get the wrong idea. Adrian drank too much, we… nothing happened.” I nodded, not wanting to chat, and went to the study. When I came back, the bedroom door was closed. But even so, I could clearly hear Adrian’s voice, soft and intimate, cooing, “Babe~” Even though we were broken up, a wave of bitterness washed over me. I couldn’t bear to listen, so I quickened my pace. As I reached the door, Adrian called out to me. “Don’t come over anymore. Sophia will mind.” He was leaning against the bedroom door, looking lazy. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a lipstick mark on his collarbone. My eyes lingered there for a few seconds before I nodded. “Okay.” The moment I stepped outside, I heard the sound of a vase shattering, followed by Sophia’s alarmed cry, “You’re bleeding!” I didn’t turn back. I walked away as fast as I could. That was the last time we saw each other. For three years, we had no contact. So, he had no idea I was getting married. 4 When the news of my wedding got out, the first person to call me was Liam. A mutual friend of Adrian and me. “Clara, I heard you’re getting married?” “The wedding is next week,” I told him honestly. “I won’t be sending you guys invitations.” My fiancé had already sent them invitations; it would be inappropriate for me to send another set. As soon as I said that, I heard laughter and jeers from the other end of the line. “See? I told you. If she was really getting married, she’d invite you. It’s obviously just an excuse to come back to the city.” “What else can she do? Adrian’s engagement is at the end of the month. She has to make a last-ditch effort, right?” “Exactly! They were together for eight years. How could she just watch him marry someone else?” I was taken aback for a moment, then I realized all of Adrian’s friends were there. They were waiting to see how I would try to win him back. It was their usual game. Every time Adrian and I fought, they would place bets on how long it would take for me to come crawling back. They were certain I couldn’t let him go. Not just because of his family’s wealth, but because of our eight-year history. No one could just walk away from that. This time was probably no different. Just as I had that thought, someone shouted, “Adrian, if she begs you to take her back, are you gonna do it?” After a long pause, Adrian’s voice, cool and unconcerned, came through. “I’m getting engaged. Why are we even talking about this?” Someone laughed. “You think Adrian is stupid? He’s not gonna pass up the daughter of the Song family for some girl with no background. Would you?” Amid the laughter, I remembered something. When I first moved to the city, Adrian’s friends were all very polite to me. I thought they had accepted me. Then, at Liam’s birthday party, Sophia lost a priceless necklace. Her friends surrounded me, demanding I give it back. By the time Adrian arrived, I was a disheveled mess. Sophia said to him, “Adrian, don’t be mad. They were just trying to help me find my necklace, that’s why they were a little rough…” “Once we find it, I’ll apologize to Clara, okay?” Adrian smiled, walked over to me, and patted my head affectionately. “It’s not a big deal.” I clutched his shirt, all the hurt and humiliation bubbling up inside me. I was about to tell him what had happened when he said, “If you wanted it, you could have just asked me. Why did you have to do this?” My mind went blank. I looked at him in disbelief. “You don’t believe me?” He didn’t say a word, but the mockery in his eyes said it all. I started to tremble, my hands and feet turning to ice. We had been together for so long; I thought he knew me. But he hadn’t even asked a single question before taking their side. Everyone was looking at me. With contempt, with ridicule, with indifference. No one believed me. For some reason, I thought of what my grandfather had said to me before I left: “My dear, I won’t stop you from pursuing your dreams. But remember, social classes are not so easily crossed. Even if he loves you, will his family and friends truly accept you?” I had confidently promised him, “Don’t worry, Grandpa. Adrian won’t disappoint you or me.” I was young and naive then, I didn’t understand the invisible chasm that lay between us. It was only when I was cornered and alone that I truly understood. 5 The laughter on the other end of the line continued for a long time. Someone shouted, “Liam, ask her where the wedding is. We’re friends, after all. We should at least send a gift.” After a moment, Liam’s voice came through. “Clara, which church are you getting married in?” “The one on the island.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, someone else piped up. “See? I told you she was delusional. The Rogen family’s wedding is next week, also on the island. Is she going to claim she’s marrying Caleb Rogen next?” The group erupted in laughter. Even Liam couldn’t help but whisper a warning, “Clara, you remember Caleb, right? His wedding is also next week…” “Liam,” I interrupted. “It’s my wedding to Caleb.” The line went dead silent. Then, an explosion of laughter. “Has she lost her mind? Now she’s dragging Caleb Rogen into it.” “She’s really desperate to make Adrian jealous.” “Adrian, just take pity on her and meet with her. She’s clearly not well after the breakup…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I hung up the phone. A text from an unknown number immediately followed. 【Add me back.】 The familiar tone, the familiar attitude. I knew instantly it was Adrian. I deleted the message without a change in expression, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. The next morning, I had a video from Liam. It was from after I’d hung up. Adrian was sitting on a sofa, a cigarette glowing in the dark, illuminating his cold, handsome features. He let out a low chuckle. “Plenty of people have broken up with me. Am I supposed to meet with every single one of them?” “That’s our Adrian! But if you don’t meet with Clara, are you just going to let her leave empty-handed?” Someone else retorted, “She’s the one who broke up with him! Now she regrets it and wants him back after three years? She’s got some nerve!” “Exactly. Look at her, making up stories about marrying Caleb Rogen. Adrian was too good to her.” Adrian didn’t speak, just played with his phone, lost in thought. Then, Liam spoke up. “Clara’s not a liar. Maybe she’s telling the truth.” “What’s with you, Liam? Are you getting paid to defend her? Or do you have a thing for her?” Liam gave the speaker a long, hard look. “Have you all forgotten about the necklace incident? She suffered so much because of your prejudice.” The room was silent for a moment. Then someone said, “It’s easy to find out if she’s lying. You all got invitations to the Rogen wedding, right? I’ll call home and have someone send me a picture of the invitation.” After about a minute, the person laughed. “See? I told you. There’s no way Caleb Rogen is marrying Clara. The bride’s last name is also Kane, but her first name is Claire.” “Don’t worry, Adrian. She’s definitely back to get you back.” … The video ended there. They were right. Caleb’s bride’s name was Claire Kane. What they didn’t know was that Claire was me. Three years ago, my grandfather had a fortune teller read my chart. He said I was in for a bout of bad luck, and changing my name could ward off evil spirits. So, he gave me a new name: Claire. 6 I knew I would run into Adrian eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon. The day of my wedding dress fitting, Caleb had a last-minute emergency and said he’d be late. When I arrived at the bridal shop, Adrian was sitting in the VIP area. Our eyes met. I gave a polite nod and followed the consultant to the dressing room. While I was waiting for the stylist, Adrian walked in and locked the door behind him. Before I could react, he was standing behind me. The dressing table mirror reflected his handsome face. “Why did you block me?” he asked, his tone as familiar as if we had never been apart. He was actually the one who had blocked and deleted me first. The day I left the city three years ago. How did I know? I didn’t, not at first. Liam let it slip. He had called me to ask for a photo of Adrian. I told him I would send it to Adrian directly. “You can’t,” Liam had said. “He blocked you. Just send it to me.” I was stunned. Adrian and I had an unspoken rule: no matter how bad the fight, we would never block or delete each other. That was the first time the rule had been broken. And he was the one who broke it. After I sent the photo to Liam, I opened my own phone, deleted every picture, every memory of Adrian, and blocked all of his contact information. And now, the one who started it all was questioning me. I warily put some distance between us. “Adrian, we’ve broken up. And we’re both about to get married. There’s no need for us to be in contact.” A slow, meaningful smile spread across his face. “There’s no one else here. You can drop the act.” I frowned. “What act?” “You’re only saying you’re getting married to get my attention, to make me come back to you.” Honestly, I was shocked that even after three years, he was still so certain I would come back. And I finally understood that my endless patience and tolerance over the past eight years had given him this unwavering confidence. “Adrian,” I said, “no matter what you think, I’m back to get married. As soon as the wedding is over, I’m leaving. If I’ve done anything to give you the impression that I want to get back together, I apologize.” He was silent, studying me. After a long moment, he asked, “Is it because of my arranged marriage?” “It has nothing to do with that, Adrian. I’m getting married…” He cut me off. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re still mad.” He ignored the last part of my sentence and softened his tone. “It’s been three years. Are you still not over it?” He raised his hand, as if to pat my head like he used to. I moved away, avoiding his touch. “Can’t you understand English? I’m here to marry Caleb. It has nothing to do with you.” His hand froze in mid-air. His eyes grew cold, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Clara, if you wanted to find someone to make me jealous, why did you have to pick Caleb? The Rogens are out of your league.” Just like before, he didn’t believe me. The prejudice was ingrained in him. He was convinced I could never reach someone like Caleb, could never marry into a family like the Rogens. For some reason, I started to laugh. “In your eyes, am I really that worthless?” His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” He sighed. “Fine. If you want to come back, then come back.” “Come back to where? Your new home? And what role am I supposed to play?” His expression darkened. “Clara, I’m already backing down. What more do you want?” “I don’t need anything from you.” I didn’t want to get into another pointless argument with him. I tried to walk past him. As I turned, he grabbed my wrist. His voice was low. “If you really want to get married that badly, I can marry you.” I turned back, a sarcastic smile on my face. “Marry me? I thought you never planned on marrying me.” His face went pale. “Who… who told you that?” “You did,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “That day. I was right outside the door.” His expression shifted from confusion to shock, then to understanding. “So you broke up with me because you heard that?” “Yes!” If I hadn’t decided on a whim to go back and surprise him for his birthday, I would still be in the dark, desperately holding onto a relationship that was never going to go anywhere. The atmosphere in the small room became tense. His lips were pressed into a thin, cold line. “Why didn’t you ask me?” he asked, his voice strained. “Would it have made a difference?” He was about to say something else when a knock on the door interrupted him. It was the consultant. “Miss Kane, do you need any help?” “No, I’m coming out now.” I took advantage of his distraction, pulled my hand free, and walked out. But I stopped short when I saw who was standing outside the door. 7 Sophia was standing outside the dressing room in a wedding dress. I didn’t know how long she had been there, or how much she had heard. “Clara,” she said. “Long time no see.” I gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?” “No, I’m busy.” I turned to the consultant. “Could you please find me another dressing room?” “Of course. This way, please.” “Wait.” Sophia walked over, holding up her dress. “I heard you’re getting married. Congratulations.” “Thank you.” “Adrian and I are having our engagement party at the end of the month. Can you come? I think Adrian would be very happy to have your blessing.” Sophia was pretty in a delicate, quiet way. Anyone would think she was a sweet, innocent girl. But I just found her annoying. After the necklace incident, she never apologized to me. Instead, she said to Adrian, “It’s all my fault. I should have checked my bag more carefully, then things wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand.” Adrian had laughed. “Everyone knows you’re a little scatterbrained. We’re used to it.” Then she had turned to Liam. “I’m so sorry. I almost ruined your birthday party.” They were all laughing and talking, but no one thought to apologize to me. I was the victim, but they were all comforting the perpetrator. “Don’t come to our engagement party.” Adrian’s voice pulled me back to the present. He had walked out of the dressing room as if he owned the place. The moment he appeared, Sophia’s face went pale. But she quickly forced a smile and said sweetly, “Adrian, I was just looking for you. I didn’t realize you were catching up with Clara.” She walked over and linked her arm through his. “I wasn’t thinking. I forgot Clara has her own wedding to prepare for. Do you have time tomorrow? I’m planning a birthday celebration for Adrian. You haven’t been back in a while, it would be a good chance to catch up with old friends.” I shook my head. “I have plans tomorrow night.” Caleb was taking me to meet his friends. And even if I were free, I wouldn’t go to their party. But I never expected that we would run into each other anyway. 8 During a break at the dinner party, I went to the restroom. On my way back, I ran into Adrian coming out of the private room next to ours. The moment our eyes met, I saw a flicker of mockery in his. “I thought you said you were busy.”

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My husband suddenly announced, “From now on, we’re splitting everything, 50/50. I’m only responsible for myself.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just looked at him calmly and said, “Okay.” The next morning, he got dressed in his tailored suit and frowned. “Where’s breakfast?” A cold smile touched my lips. “We’re 50/50, remember? You’re on your own.” He froze. I smiled. This was just the beginning… 01 The candlelight from our third-anniversary dinner cast a glacial glow on the laptop screen Matt had pushed in front of me. He had meticulously crafted an Excel spreadsheet. The title, in a cold, sans-serif font, read: Proposal for the Optimization of Marital Finances. Optimization. What an insult. “Sophie, we need to talk.” His voice was devoid of warmth, as if he were leading a trivial weekly meeting with his department. He explained that with his seven-figure salary and my status as a full-time homemaker, our financial model was “unhealthy.” For the long-term health of our home, he proposed that starting tomorrow, all living expenses would be split, 50/50. He never once mentioned our seven years together, the three years we’d been married. He didn’t mention how I’d abandoned a promising career as a CPA to become the “unhealthy” stay-at-home wife he now looked down upon. The entire conversation was about money, efficiency, return on investment. Disdain. It pricked my skin like a thousand invisible needles. I looked at him—the man I had loved for seven years, the man I had married—and saw a stranger. A fist clenched around my heart, so tight I could barely breathe. But I didn’t weep or question him. I just gave a slight nod. “Okay.” Just like that, he had quantified our marriage into a cold, sterile financial report. Fine. He shouldn’t be surprised when I decide to settle the accounts using the very methods he so admired. He seemed taken aback by my calm acceptance, but his surprise was quickly overshadowed by a wave of palpable relief. He closed the laptop. “Get some rest,” he said, the words as robotic as a pre-programmed response. We lay in bed with our backs to each other, a chasm wider than the Grand Canyon separating us. The next morning, my internal clock woke me at the usual time. But instead of heading to the kitchen to prepare his three-minute soft-boiled eggs and pour-over coffee, I sat at my vanity, methodically applying my skincare and makeup. Matt emerged from the walk-in closet, wrestling with his tie, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Where’s my blue striped shirt? Why wasn’t it ironed?” I met his gaze in the mirror. “It’s in the closet. You can find it yourself,” I said, my voice light. “The iron is in the storage room. You can get that yourself, too.” He froze, his hands hovering over his tie. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I swiveled on my stool to face him, a faint smile playing on my lips as I met his questioning stare. “It means exactly what you think it means. 50/50.” He still didn’t seem to grasp it. He strode into the dining room, his irritation boiling over as he stared at the empty table. “Breakfast?” “50/50, remember, Mr. Director?” I stood up and walked toward him, enunciating each word with chilling clarity. “From the moment you made your little announcement last night, I became responsible for my own breakfast. As for yours… you’re on your own.” He stood there, completely rigid, his face a mask of disbelief. “Sophie, are you serious? You’re going to act like this over a little thing?” “This isn’t a little thing, Matt. These are the new rules of our marriage. You made them.” I grabbed my purse, my heels clicking decisively on the hardwood floor as I walked past him. The front door slammed shut behind him with a resounding bang—the sound of his wounded pride. Standing alone in the cavernous living room, I listened to the echo, the smile on my face growing colder. I went into the study and opened the laptop I hadn’t touched in three years. The familiar operating system flickered to life. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I created a new Excel spreadsheet. I named it: Marriage Liquidation. I listed our condo, purchased after we were married, and calculated its current market rental value: $6,000 a month. I owed my half, $3,000. Utilities, gas, internet, HOA fees—all split down the middle. That evening, Matt came home reeking of whiskey. He instinctively reached for the light switch in the study, flicking it several times, but the room remained shrouded in darkness. “What the hell is wrong with the study light?” he grumbled, stumbling back into the living room. I was sitting on the sofa, bathed in the soft glow of a single floor lamp on my side. The light and shadow drew a stark line between us. “Nothing’s wrong with it,” I said, looking up. “I just unscrewed the bulb.” “Are you insane, Sophie?” “Not at all. According to our call log, you called me twice today for a total of one minute and thirty seconds. You never expressed a shared need for the study’s electrical circuit. Therefore, I assumed you had relinquished your right to use it.” He stormed across the room and tried the main switch for the living room chandelier. Nothing. “What the hell are you trying to do?” he roared, pointing an accusatory finger at me. I picked up a freshly printed sheet of A4 paper from the coffee table and slapped it down in front of him. Bold, black letters spelled out the title: Household Resource Usage Agreement. “This is an execution framework based on the 50/50 principle you proposed. It clearly delineates the shared and private zones of our home. The sofa is half yours, half mine. However, the electricity account for the main lights is under my name. So is the internet for the study. For your designated areas and associated utilities, please open your own accounts.” He snatched the agreement, his hands trembling with rage. For the first time, he saw the unfamiliar coldness, the sharp edge of steel, in his once-docile wife’s eyes. Just as he was about to rip the paper to shreds, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID, and the fury on his face instantly melted into a tenderness I had never seen before. He walked out to the balcony, deliberately lowering his voice, but fragments of his conversation drifted back to me. “Erin… don’t cry… of course I believe you… It’s my fault…” Erin. His college sweetheart. The one that got away. The name was a poisoned blade, plunging straight into the barely scabbed-over wound in my heart. So, this whole “financial optimization” was just a smokescreen. A prelude to clearing the stage for another woman. I watched his silhouette on the balcony, his voice a low, patient murmur as he soothed her. Then I looked back at the cold, sterile agreement he’d tossed on the sofa. I laughed. Excellent, Matt. The liquidation has now officially begun. 02 Saturday morning, I was jolted awake by the deafening roar of the vacuum cleaner. Matt, his face a thundercloud, was cleaning only his half of the living room. Our 1,500-square-foot condo now had a bizarre “demilitarized zone” of filth running down the middle—my side was spotless, his was a landscape of dust bunnies. He stared at the half-clean, half-dirty room, a vein throbbing in his temple, but he couldn’t say a word. The agreement was clear: Household sanitation is the responsibility of the individual. His dirty laundry piled up in the guest room, forming a small mountain. I walked past it every day without a second glance. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he shoved the entire load into the washing machine. Half an hour later, a strangled cry echoed from the laundry room. I found him holding my cream-colored silk blouse, now grotesquely tie-dyed with splotches of blue from his jeans, shrunken into a wrinkled mess. “Sophie! Why didn’t you take your clothes out?” he bellowed, brandishing the ruined shirt. I leaned against the doorframe, my expression impassive. “Mr. Director, the washing machine is a shared appliance. According to the agreement, the user must ensure it is empty prior to operation. You failed to perform your due diligence, resulting in damage to my personal property.” I returned to my room, pulled up my tablet, and displayed the digital receipt for the blouse. “Here it is. I bought it last month. Three hundred and fifty dollars. Per Article 3 of the Household Property Damage Compensation Clause, the party at fault is responsible for full reimbursement.” I sent him a payment request via text. He stared at his phone, trembling with rage, and spat out a single word: “Schemer.” “Exactly,” I admitted calmly. “The 50/50 rule taught me well. It’s best to keep a clear ledger, lest I take advantage of you.” He didn’t transfer the money immediately, just glared at me as if I were his mortal enemy. That night, he had an important industry gala to attend. He was tearing through the closet, growing more and more agitated. “Where’s my tie? The Hermès one, the midnight blue with the star pattern, where is it?” I was on the sofa, reading a book, and didn’t bother to look up. “I put it away.” “Where did you put it? Get it for me now!” he yelled, storming out of the bedroom. I slowly turned a page. “Matt, according to our prenuptial agreement, all my jewelry, clothing, and accessories are my personal property. I bought that tie. Therefore, it’s mine.” I finally looked up at him. “If you wish to use it, you can ‘rent’ it. Based on current market rates, that will be thirty dollars for the evening, with a five-hundred-dollar security deposit.” “Are you out of your mind, Sophie?” He had completely lost it. “You’re going to charge me for a tie?” “You were the one who charged me for a piece of toast,” I said, closing my book and meeting his furious gaze. “You made the rules, Matt. I’m just enforcing them.” He slammed the door on his way out, speeding off to the mall to buy a new one. Two hours later, he returned in a sharp suit, but the new tie he’d bought was a disastrous mismatch, making him look like a clown who’d just won the lottery. I later heard from a friend’s wife that he’d been subtly mocked all evening for his sudden and catastrophic decline in taste. His phone buzzed. I caught a glimpse of a message from Erin on the screen: “Matt, don’t be mad. Sophie probably just doesn’t get these things. I mean, she’s been at home for so long, it’s normal her sense of style hasn’t kept up with yours. Don’t blame her. In my eyes, you’ll always be the most stylish man in the world.” What a “thoughtful” message. Put me down while lifting him up, reinforcing his belief that I was a petty, unsophisticated woman. Matt’s mood visibly improved, a smug little smile even gracing his lips. At 11 p.m., I emailed him a complete Invoice for Last Week’s Domestic Services, CC’ing his personal phone. The items were as follows: [Culinary Services (Kitchen Coordination & Occupancy Fee during preparation of Sophie’s meals only): Market rate $25/hr x 3 hours = $75.00] [Common Area Janitorial Services (Proxy-cleaning fee for Matt’s neglected areas – living room corridor): Market rate $40/hr x 2 hours = $80.00] [Silk Garment Restoration Service (Emergency treatment and repair attempt for contaminated blouse): Professional rate = $50.00] [Fashion & Luxury Goods Consultation (Verbal consulting regarding ‘midnight blue tie’): Senior Stylist rate $250/hr, billed per incident = $80.00] [Household Financial Modeling & Legal Agreement Drafting (Pro-bono rate for drafting Household Resource Usage Agreement): Paralegal rate $150/hr, discounted rate = $120.00] Subtotal: $405.00 Below, I attached the reimbursement request for the ruined blouse: $350.00. Total Due: $755.00 A minute later, a notification popped up on my phone. He had sent a transfer. Not for $755, but for a round $800. The attached message read: You make me sick. Staring at the venomous words, my heart no longer felt pain. It was just a numb, barren wasteland. I calmly accepted the transfer and typed four words in reply. Thank you for your business. Then, I opened another browser tab. Using the exact sum he had sent me, I renewed my long-neglected online courses for my CPA certification. The words “Payment Successful” flashed on the screen. I stared at them and felt a forgotten sensation surge through me: the thrill of being in control of my own life. What you intended as a humiliation, Matt, has just become the first brick in the foundation of my new self. 03 Tuesday afternoon, the doorbell rang insistently. I peered through the peephole and saw Matt’s mother, my mother-in-law. She never called ahead, preferring surprise attacks she charmingly referred to as “checking in on you kids.” I opened the door. The moment she saw the “demilitarized zone” of our living room, her face soured. She pointed a manicured finger at a smudge on the floor. “Sophie! What kind of wife are you? This place is a pigsty! My Matt works himself to the bone to provide for this family, and he can’t even come home to a clean house? How dare you?” Matt trailed in behind her, silent, projecting an air of innocent detachment. It was his classic move: play the good guy and let someone else be the executioner. For three years, I had swallowed my anger and endured it. But not today. Instead of bowing my head in apology, I retrieved a copy of the Household Resource Usage Agreement from the media console and handed it to her. “Mom, please have a look at this.” She took it, her expression puzzled. “What’s this?” “This is Matt’s new, ‘progressive lifestyle choice.’ It’s called 50/50. This house, one half his, one half mine. All chores, split the same way.” I pointed to the filthy area on the floor, my voice steady but sharp. “The zone you are currently observing falls under Mr. Matt’s purview. According to our agreement, I have no jurisdiction there.” My mother-in-law was speechless. She looked from the paper to her son and back again. “Matt, is this true?” Matt’s face flushed, a mottled patchwork of red and white. He stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. I didn’t give him the chance. “Mom, you see a dirty floor. What you don’t see is that last week, Matt did his own laundry and threw my silk blouse in with his jeans, ruining a three-hundred-dollar garment. You don’t see that he nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to cook, and ended up ordering takeout. The containers are still festering in the trash can he’s responsible for, and it’s been three days.” “It’s not that I’m not a good wife,” I concluded, my voice ringing with false sincerity. “I’m simply respecting your son’s decision. He is the head of this household, after all. I have to listen to him.” Every word was a slap across Matt’s face. My mother-in-law’s expression shifted from confusion to embarrassment, and finally, to a steely fury directed entirely at her son. Feeling utterly humiliated in front of his mother, Matt grabbed my arm, dragged me into the bedroom, and slammed the door. “Sophie! Did you have to make a scene? Did you have to humiliate me in front of my own mother?” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. I wrenched my arm free. “It wasn’t your mother who humiliated me, Matt. It was you. You’re the one who turned our marriage into a joke, and now you’re angry that I told someone the punchline?” “You’re impossible!” He paced the room like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair in frustration. In his agitation, his phone, which he’d tossed on the bed, lit up with a new message notification. The screen wasn’t locked. The sender was “Erin.” The message read: “Matt, have you gotten the funds for that overseas green energy project? Next month is the final deadline. Once we get that money, we’ll be free.” We’ll be free. Free. The word was a sledgehammer, crashing down and obliterating the last, fragile sliver of hope I had been clinging to. This 50/50 scheme wasn’t just about pushing me out. It was a calculated strategy to legally divert our marital assets before the divorce. He wasn’t optimizing our finances; he was gutting our home to bankroll another woman’s venture, to buy his “freedom” with her. I stood there, feeling the blood freeze in my veins. A chilling cold seeped up from the floor, consuming me. I saw it. I saw everything. But I simply lowered my gaze and said nothing. Matt, still fuming from our argument, was oblivious to my sudden stillness, oblivious to the damning message on his phone. He had no idea that in that single, silent moment, his wife had become a predator. And he had just become the prey.

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My roommate, Megan, was the star of the campus gossip page, wearing my dress. It was the dress I’d bought specifically for next week’s Hosting Competition. The tags were still on. I screenshotted the photo and sent it to her with a simple question: “Where is my dress?” She replied instantly with a voice note, her tone light and teasing. “Omg, Celia, you saw! Don’t I look amazing in it? I just had to borrow it. We’re roommates, what’s mine is yours, right?” A moment later, another picture came through. A huge splash of red wine stained the front of my brand-new white dress. The caption read: “Oops, I spilled something on it. You’re rich, just buy another one?” 1 Staring at the garish red stain on my phone screen, my fingers went cold, but my heart was strangely calm. I didn’t feel the white-hot rage of betrayal that had consumed me in my past life. Having been reborn, all I felt was a grim sense of amusement. In my last life, her casual entitlement had driven me insane. I’d screamed at her over the phone, but she played the victim, running back to the dorm in tears. She told our roommates I was overreacting, that I was a snob who looked down on her just because my family had money. Our other two roommates, Leah and Chloe, sided with her. One tried to play peacemaker, the other thought I was being petty. In the end, I was the one who was ostracized. Without a suitable dress and my confidence shattered, I bombed the Hosting Competition. Megan, meanwhile, sat in the audience wearing another beautiful dress she had “borrowed” from someone else, laughing with the guy she was trying to impress. After that, I was completely isolated in the dorm. Megan’s attacks escalated. She spread rumors that I cheated to get my scholarships, that I was sleeping with professors to get into exclusive programs. Eventually, the gossip broke me. I was diagnosed with severe depression and had to take a leave of absence, my college career in ruins. And Megan? She thrived. Under the guise of a “hardworking student from a poor background,” she won the national scholarship that should have been mine, secured a spot in a top graduate program, and lived a life of celebrated success. It wasn’t until after I jumped from the roof of a high-rise that I overheard people talking. From the moment I’d arrived at university, she had been consumed by jealousy, meticulously planning my destruction. Living a second time, I wouldn’t make the same mistakes. With people like Megan, arguing is useless. I didn’t reply to her text. Instead, I got up and headed back to the dorm. When I pushed open the door, Megan was lying on her bed with a face mask on, casually scrolling through her phone as if she hadn’t just destroyed something precious to someone else. Our other two roommates, Leah and Chloe, were there as well. Seeing me, Megan lazily took off her headphones, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Celia, you’re back! Don’t be mad about the dress, okay? I’ll wash it for you tomorrow.” I walked to my closet and opened it. It was empty. She hadn’t even bothered to bring the dress back. I turned, my gaze calm and steady. “Where is it?” My stare made her uncomfortable. She sat up. “Oh, it’s hanging up to dry outside. You have to treat a wine stain right away, you know. Don’t worry, I used the most expensive stain remover. It’ll be good as new.” She was deflecting, completely avoiding the topic of compensation. “Megan,” I said, my voice even and cold. “I bought that dress for the Hosting Competition. I need it next week. Tell me, right now, how you plan to fix this.” The atmosphere in the room froze. Leah and Chloe stopped what they were doing, looking at me with surprise. In their eyes, I had always been the quiet, gentle, even weak one. Megan’s smile faltered. “Celia, what’s your problem? It’s just a dress. I already said I’d wash it for you. What more do you want? Do you have to be so aggressive?” “Yes,” I said, the single word hanging in the air like ice. “First, you took my new dress without my permission. That’s called stealing.” “Second, you ruined my property and show no remorse, even suggesting I should be the one to replace it. That’s called being shameless.” “And third,” I said, looking her straight in the eye, “my things, even if I were to throw them in the trash, are too good for someone like you to touch.” My words struck her like a slap. Her face mask nearly slid off as she shot up from her bed, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Celia! What did you just say? Who’s a thief? We’re roommates! What’s the big deal if I wear your clothes? You have no right to talk to me like that!” “Roommates?” I let out a cold laugh. “Does being roommates mean you can take whatever you want without asking? If I recall, Megan, this isn’t the first time. My face wash, my masks, my snacks… what haven’t you ‘borrowed’?” “I let it slide before because I couldn’t be bothered to argue. That doesn’t mean I’m a doormat. Today, you will answer for this dress.” Megan was shaking with fury. She never expected me, the easy-going one, to be so confrontational. Her eyes reddened, and her voice immediately took on a tearful quaver as she turned to our roommates. “Leah, Chloe, do you hear her? I just thought the dress was pretty and wanted to take a picture in it. I never meant to stain it… It was an accident. How can she say such horrible things to me?” It was a well-rehearsed performance. In my last life, everyone fell for her damsel-in-distress act. Even I had questioned if I was being a bully and backed down. Predictably, Leah wavered. She stood up to mediate. “Come on, Celia. Megan didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t be so angry. We all have to live together, let’s not ruin the friendship over a dress.” Megan quickly chimed in, “Yeah, Celia, I know I was wrong. I’m sorry, okay? Please don’t be like this…” “If ‘sorry’ was enough, we wouldn’t need police,” I cut her off flatly. “I don’t want your apology. I want compensation.” I took out my phone, pulled up my order history, and turned the screen toward them. “French puff-sleeve dress, white, size medium. Price: $200. Megan, you can either transfer me the money, or you can buy me an identical one. You have twenty-four hours to decide.” “$200?!” Megan’s crying stopped abruptly, her eyes wide with shock. “Are you crazy? A stupid dress costs that much? Celia, you’re trying to extort me!” “Didn’t you see the price tag when you stole it?” I shot back. Of course she had. In my past life, after ruining the dress, she’d specifically cut the tag off to feign ignorance about its value. “I—I wasn’t paying attention!” she stammered, her neck stiff with defiance. “How was I supposed to know you’d buy such an expensive dress? You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” “You know perfectly well whether it was on purpose or not,” I said, putting my phone away. My tone left no room for argument. “If I don’t see the money or a new dress by the end of the day, we’ll take this to the student advisor.” With that, I pulled out a chair, sat down at my desk, put on my headphones, and opened my laptop, making it clear that the matter was not closed. I knew that with someone like Megan, backing down was the worst possible move. The more you retreat, the more she advances. The only way to deal with her was to escalate, to make her understand that I was serious. Only then would she feel fear. 2 Seeing that her usual tactics weren’t working, Megan dropped the act entirely. She started throwing a full-blown tantrum, screaming and crying, her words turning vile. “You bitch, Celia! Who do you think you are, pretending to be so high and mighty? You’re only acting this way because your family has a little money! Don’t you dare play the princess with me!” “It’s just a dress! Do you have to be like this? Are you just waiting to see me humiliated? To see me unable to pay so you can run to the advisor and get me in trouble?” “Well, I’m telling you, I don’t have any money! Not a single cent! Go on, report me! Let’s see who the advisor believes—a spoiled rich girl like you, or a hardworking scholarship student like me!” Her insults grew uglier. Even Chloe, standing to the side, couldn’t take it anymore. “Megan, that’s enough,” she said with a frown. “You were the one in the wrong here.” “How was I wrong?” Megan immediately turned on her. “You think she’s right just because she has money? Is that it? Do you all look down on me?” The dorm descended into chaos. Through it all, I sat there quietly, my fingers tapping away on my keyboard. There was no music playing in my headphones. My phone was on my desk, the recording app open. Every single word she said was being captured. This was a gift, Megan. Evidence you delivered yourself. 3 After ranting for half an hour and getting no reaction from me, Megan seemed to lose steam. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Silence finally returned to the room. Leah gave me an awkward glance, wanting to say something but holding back. Chloe shot me an apologetic look; Megan had screamed at her too for trying to defend me. I shook my head slightly to let her know it was fine. I knew this war was just beginning. Sure enough, that night, a new post blew up on the university’s anonymous forum. The title was: Exposing my ‘Rich Bitch’ Roommate Who Gets a $2k Allowance but is Driving Her Poor Roommate to Suicide Over a Dress. In the post, the author wrote in a deeply wounded, pitiful tone about how she had “accidentally” stained her roommate’s “expensive” dress. She described how she had humbly apologized, only to be brutally humiliated and forced to pay a sum she could never afford. The poster claimed, through what felt like digital tears, that this “rich bitch” roommate constantly flaunted her luxury goods and looked down on students from normal families. This time, she was just using the dress as an excuse to push her over the edge. No names were mentioned, but every detail pointed directly at me: the Hosting Competition, the white dress, the wealthy background. The comment section exploded. “Wtf, people like this actually exist at our university? Unbelievable.” “What’s wrong with being poor? Does that mean you deserve to be bullied? I can’t stand rich people who think they’re better than everyone!” “To the OP, don’t cry, we support you! Drop the rich bitch’s name and major, let’s make her famous!” “A $2k monthly allowance and she’s still living in a dorm? Is this some kind of poverty tourism? Disgusting.” The comments were a cesspool of vitriol and speculation, painting me as a cruel, abusive monster. Megan’s methods were identical to my last life. But this time, I wasn’t going to be the flustered girl trying to post feeble explanations, only to be torn apart by the mob. I read through the lies, saved the audio file from the afternoon, and then calmly composed an email to my student advisor, Mr. Wallace. Dear Mr. Wallace, My name is Celia Stone, from the School of Journalism and Communication, class of ’25. I apologize for bothering you this late. I would like to clarify the situation regarding a conflict between myself and my roommate, Megan, as well as a recent post on the university forum. Attached is an audio recording of the events, along with the proof of purchase for the item in question. I am available to discuss this in person at your office tomorrow morning. After sending the email, I silenced my phone, climbed into bed, and went to sleep. Let the storm rage outside. This time, I was the eye of it. The next morning, the atmosphere in the dorm was strange. Megan, who usually slept in, was already awake and putting on makeup, her eyes red and puffy as if she’d been crying all night. Leah was sitting on her bed, comforting her in a low voice, occasionally shooting me a disapproving glare. Chloe looked conflicted. They had all seen the post. When Megan saw I was awake, she looked at me with a timid, yet hateful, expression, as if I were the villain in this story. I ignored her, went about my morning routine, and got dressed. Just as I was about to leave, Mr. Wallace called. “Celia, can you come to my office now? I’ve already notified Megan to come as well,” he said, his voice stern. “Of course, Mr. Wallace. I’m on my way.” After hanging up, I looked at Megan, who was still perfecting her fragile act. “The advisor wants to see you in his office.” Megan flinched, but then a flicker of triumph crossed her face. She clearly thought the advisor had seen the post and was about to deliver justice for the “victim.” She followed me out of the dorm. On the way, I could feel the stares and hear the whispers. “Look, that’s her. The rich girl who’s bullying her poor roommate.” “She looks so put-together, how can she be so cruel?” “I heard her roommate is on the verge of a breakdown because of her…” I kept my head held high and walked straight to the administration building. Megan deliberately lagged a few steps behind, her head bowed, occasionally dabbing at the corner of her eye, milking her victim persona for all it was worth. She thought public opinion was her ultimate weapon. She had no idea that in the face of hard evidence, her performance was nothing more than a pathetic joke. The mood in Mr. Wallace’s office was tense. He was a man in his thirties with a scholarly air, but his brow was deeply furrowed. Megan and I walked in. The moment she saw him, tears started streaming down her face like a broken faucet. “Mr. Wallace…” she choked out, unable to say more, as if she were the most wronged person in the world. Mr. Wallace gestured for us to sit. He glanced at me, then turned his full attention to Megan. “Megan, please, try to calm down. Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” Megan began her story, a tearful retelling of the forum post. She painted herself as an innocent girl who had made a simple mistake and was now being relentlessly persecuted by her cruel roommate. “I really didn’t mean to, Mr. Wallace. I felt so bad about the dress, I wanted to wash it for her. But Celia… she demanded I pay her $200. I’m a scholarship student. I live on a tiny budget. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?” “She insulted me, she called me a thief, she said I was shameless, that I was too dirty to even touch her things…” She grew more agitated, the tears flowing faster. “Last night, she threatened me. She said if I didn’t give her the money today, she’d report me to you and have you discipline me… Mr. Wallace, she’s driving me crazy…” Her performance was flawless, complete with terrified glances in my direction, as if I were a monster poised to devour her. If I hadn’t been there myself, I might have believed her. Mr. Wallace listened patiently. When she was finished, he turned to me. “Celia, do you have anything to say in response to Megan’s claims?” I had been silent the entire time. Now, I spoke, my voice calm and clear. “Mr. Wallace, I have two questions for Megan.”

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I majored in pig farming in college. Somehow, I got hired by a top fashion magazine. The live comments on my life’s story went wild: [Did the male lead really hire a pig farmer just to spite the female lead?] [This girl is so lucky! People would kill for a job at this magazine. The salary is insane, the benefits package is stacked, you get a month of paid vacation every year, they give you the latest Apple tech when you start, and company retreats are in places like Bali! Plus, you get to meet tons of gorgeous celebrities! AHHH!] [Damn, what I wouldn’t give to be her. If she’s thinking of turning down that offer because she’s scared she can’t do the job, can I please take her place?!] Holy cow. I had to go. Only an idiot would turn this down. 1 My resume being chosen was a complete fluke. According to the live comments, the male lead—the CEO—was arguing with the female lead—the Editor-in-Chief—about the theme for the next issue. In the heat of the moment, he blurted out: “I could hire a pig farmer off the street, and they’d come up with a better concept than you!” Naturally, the female lead was furious. “Fine! Go hire a pig farmer, then! I’d love to see it.” At that exact moment, I was on the verge of a complete breakdown from post-graduation unemployment anxiety. I was spamming my resume to every job posting I could find, and I hadn’t even noticed one of them was a high-fashion company. And so, my resume, with “Animal Science” listed as my major, was plucked from the pile by the CEO. The comments said he was impulsive, that he acted on whims. But if his whims created jobs and saved a recent grad from drowning in unemployment, then he wasn’t just a CEO. He was a hero of the people! Who cares if he’s impulsive? He’s a great boss! I was so excited I barely slept. The next morning, I arrived at the office, buzzing with energy. As soon as I found my desk, someone sidled up, their curiosity palpable. “You’re the new intern?” she asked. “What school did you go to?” I answered with complete honesty. “Hi, I’m Holly. I graduated from the State Agricultural University. My major was Animal Science.” The woman froze. “I’ve never heard of that major. What exactly do you do?” My face lit up with pride. “Oh, it covers so much! We learn how to breed livestock like chickens, ducks, pigs, and cows, how to create the most scientific feed ratios, what to do when an animal gets sick, where the best place to build a farm is… it’s all very complex. With our degree, you can raise the healthiest animals imaginable!” 2 Her lips twitched. “Ah. So… pig farming?” I beamed and nodded. “Yep! Pig farming is a major focus in our program.” She forced a laugh and slowly backed away. I was confused, but then I noticed she was covering her nose with her hand, giving me a strange look. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is your nose bothering you? Why are you covering it?” She blinked, startled, then dropped her hand with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “No, I was just going to tell you… tucking your shirt all the way into your pants like that is a little… dated.” She added with a smirk, “But I guess it’s a very ‘farm girl’ look.” I looked down at my simple white shirt and black pants. “A farm girl look? Oh, I love that!” I then looked at her outfit. “Wow, what style is that? My grandma has a jacket just like that! It makes me feel right at home.” Her face turned beet red. “What did you just say?” she snapped. “You clueless hick, this is vintage! You wouldn’t understand.” She stammered, trying to think of a comeback, but nothing came out. “Ugh, what’s the point of talking to you? You wouldn’t get it anyway.” She shot me a glare and stormed off. I was genuinely confused. I’d said something similar to what she said to me. Why did she get so angry? New colleagues are weird. 3 There were two group chats for the interns: one with the managers, and one without. After being added to both, I realized the girl I’d just met, Lana, was also an intern. She was very active in the no-managers chat. Lana: [Everyone, a new princess has arrived in the magazine department. Let’s give her a warm welcome.] Chad: [? Another one? Isn’t having a rich kid like Karl around enough trouble for one intern class?] Karl: [Shut up.] Lana: [Oh, this one is even more special than Karl. Her clothes aren’t Miu Miu, they’re MinMin. Her shoes aren’t Gucci, they’re Guchi. Impressive, right?] Karl: [Lana, do you have anything better to do than obsess over what other people are wearing and then gossip about it?] Lana: [What, am I wrong? Working at a fashion magazine and wearing obvious knockoffs? People will think we’re all a bunch of pig farmers.] Lana: [@New Intern, where do you get your fakes? Share the link!] I saw the message and immediately sent a link from a cheap wholesale site. Me: [Here you go.] Me: [If you do a group buy with someone else, you can get an even better price.] Lana went silent. Karl: [Hahahaha, Lana, go on, place an order. I’ll lose all respect for you if you don’t.] Lana ignored him and turned her fire back on me. Lana: [Do you really think you’re some kind of princess? Parading around in knockoffs and acting so proud?] Me: [I’m not a princess. I’m a pig farmer.] The chat went dead silent. The live comments, however, were hysterical. [LMAO, the mean girl just met her match: weaponized cluelessness.] [Turns out the best defense against passive-aggression is being aggressively literal.] [This girl’s mentality is amazing. She can even joke about it. If that were me, I would have imploded from anxiety the second Lana covered her nose.] 4 I scratched my head, reading the comments. I wasn’t joking. My family really used to own a pig farm. That’s why I majored in Animal Science. But during my freshman year, our farm went bankrupt. We were saddled with a mountain of debt. My greatest wish now is to earn a ton of money here, save up a huge sum, and go back home to reopen the farm. I want to be a pig farmer again! I was lost in a happy daydream about raising pigs when my phone buzzed. A friend request. It was from the guy in the chat, Karl. He added me, and without even a “hello,” he transferred me $1,000. My phone nearly slipped out of my hands. He really was a rich kid. His message was short and to the point. Karl: [Satisfying.] My fingers trembled as I typed back. Me: [You send people money when you’re satisfied?] Karl: [I’m paying for the emotional value. The look on Lana’s face? Priceless. I can’t stand people who try so hard to act superior.] I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. Me: [Wow, thank you. But isn’t this a little too much?] He didn’t reply. Instead, he silently appeared at my desk, plucked the phone from my hands, and hit “Accept.” “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he said, handing it back. “If you really feel bad, just consider it my treat for bubble tea.” He winked. “Keep it up, newbie. Piss Lana off again, and there’s a bigger bonus where that came from.” He tossed my phone back and sauntered off. I just sat there, stunned. So… this is what they mean when they say the streets of the big city are paved with gold. 5 During my lunch break, I used Karl’s “bubble tea money” to order afternoon tea for everyone in our department. If he said it was for tea, then everyone should get a share. Share the good fortune, and more good fortune will come your way. I transferred the rest of the money to my mom. Seeing the odd, specific amount, she immediately video-called me in a panic. “Honey, don’t do anything reckless!” she said, her face etched with worry. In the video, she was wearing a hard hat, her face smudged with dust. “I’ve saved up a couple thousand. I’ll send it to you. Why don’t you take a trip, clear your head?” Ever since a disease wiped out our farm, my dad’s health had failed, and he passed away not long after. My mom had to move away to find work, turning herself into a superhero in a world I couldn’t see. She was paying off debts, covering her own living expenses, and paying for my tuition, all on one salary. I still don’t know how she did it. But I didn’t want her to have to be a superhero anymore. I sniffled, forcing a smile. “Mom, I’m not doing anything crazy. This is from my new job.” I paused. “Though I’m not entirely sure how I earned it. But my colleagues are really generous and friendly! I can make a lot of money here.” “So don’t worry,” I said. “Keep the money and buy yourself something nice to eat. I can take care of you now!” It took a lot of convincing, but she finally believed me. “Working at a fashion company… do people look down on you if you’re not dressed well?” Lana’s words from this morning flashed through my mind, but I shook my head firmly. “No, they love my clothes. They even asked me for the link to buy them.” Well… that was technically true. It wasn’t a lie, right? 6 After I hung up, the live comments erupted. [AHHH, there she is! Our queen!] [It’s been one chapter, but I’ve missed her so much.] Confused, I looked up and saw someone walking through the main entrance. I’m not exaggerating when I say she was so beautiful it took my breath away. Once my eyes locked on her, I couldn’t look away. I watched her walk step by step toward me, stopping right in front of my desk. “You’re the new intern who started today?” My mind went completely blank. I shook her outstretched hand purely on instinct. “H-hi, yes, I’m Holly.” Her smile was like a warm spring breeze. “Welcome. I’m the Editor-in-Chief, Serena.” Oh. My. God. No wonder she was the female lead. She was on a completely different level from the rest of us. My soul left my body for a few seconds. Serena waved a hand in front of my face. “Holly? Are you alright? There’s something I need to discuss with you.” I snapped back to reality. Oh no. This is it. She’s going to tell me my hiring was a joke and that I can leave now. I was mentally preparing to sob and cling to her leg when she handed me a thick, heavy notebook. “I know your major isn’t in this field,” she said softly, “but as long as you’re willing to learn, you can do anything. When I first started, I was completely clueless. I filled up this entire notebook. Take it, have a look. It should help you get your bearings.” As she spoke, my mind could only form one thought. This wasn’t the female lead. This was an angel. “Ma’am… I don’t know anything. Why are you being so nice to me?” She paused, then smiled. “I’m primarily responsible for you being hired. It’s quite rude to pull someone into a completely unfamiliar field so suddenly, so I want to help you as much as I can, as a way of making it up to you.” “And besides,” she added, “it’s not true that you don’t know anything. If you hadn’t graduated from a top-tier university, your resume would never have been in our system to begin with. And most importantly,” she leaned in slightly, “sometimes, luck is a superpower, too.” I looked down at the notebook in my hands. Is this the power of the female lead? Because I think I’m in love with her. 7 My new goddess told me there was a monthly meeting at the end of the month to discuss column pitches. The magazine reserved a small section for interns. Whoever had the best pitch would get to lead the section, which would heavily influence who got hired full-time. I started devouring the notebook, coming in the earliest and leaving the latest every day. But I just couldn’t wrap my head around a column concept. One morning, I was the first one in again. I flipped on the lights and nearly jumped out of my skin. “What the hell is that?” There was a person lying ramrod straight on the floor, like a soldier at attention, but horizontal. I cautiously crept over and poked him. “Hello? Are you alive?” He made an annoyed sound and shifted into a more relaxed pose. When he turned his head, I saw it was Karl. Okay. Good. He’s alive. I walked around him, sat at my desk, and got ready to take the first, glorious bite of my egg pancake wrap stuffed with crispy fried pork. Just as I opened my mouth, Karl launched himself off the floor. His eyes were still closed, but he followed his nose directly to my desk, opened his eyes, and asked, “What is that?” “A plastic bag I found in the trash,” I deadpanned. He gave me a withering look, clearly intending to make a cool exit, but his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. Defeated by the pancake wrap, he grumbled, “Give me half.” I shook my head. “Some things in life cannot be shared. For example, this egg pancake wrap with crispy pork, scallions, cilantro, pickled radish, and a layer of spicy shredded potatoes at the bottom.” As I listed the ingredients, his Adam’s apple bobbed. He held up one finger. “A thousand dollars.” I immediately pulled a plate out of my desk drawer, placed the pancake wrap on it, and presented it with both hands. “Your breakfast is served, my lord.” 8 The moment Karl took a bite, his eyes widened with delight. I swallowed my own saliva, watching my warm breakfast transform into cold, hard numbers in my bank account. To distract myself from my hunger, I asked him, “Why were you sleeping here?” “I was drinking nearby last night,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food. “Don’t really know how I ended up here. You’re here early. The cleaning crew hasn’t even come in yet.” I sighed and pulled out Serena’s notebook. “The early bird gets the worm. I don’t know anything, so I have to work harder.” Karl devoured the wrap in seconds and, to my surprise, sat down next to me. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. How did an Animal Science major get hired here?” I was hungry and tired, and the truth slipped out. “Because Mr. Grant said he could hire a pig farmer and they’d do a better job.” The words were out before I could stop them. But Karl didn’t look surprised at all. He just nodded. “Julian? Yeah, he’s a little crazy. That sounds exactly like something he’d say.” He yawned, stood up, and headed back to his own desk to catch up on sleep. Just as he slumped over, my phone buzzed twice. The first was a notification for a $10,000 transfer. The second was a message from Karl. [Bring me breakfast every morning from now on. No cilantro. It’s disgusting.] 9 Karl and I became breakfast buddies. I brought him everything from my neighborhood: egg pancake wraps, soup dumplings, beef noodle soup… I started paying the vendors extra each time, telling them it was from my generous colleague. Karl had never set foot in my neighborhood, but he was already a local legend: the rich guy with more money than sense. As the end of the month approached, I’d scrapped every one of my pitch ideas. I was so anxious I felt like I was losing my hair. Karl, on the other hand, was the picture of relaxation. He’d stroll in late and leave early. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Have you finished your pitch?” I asked. He lazily opened his eyes. “Nope.” I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god. I thought I was the only one who wasn’t done.” He grinned. “That’s because I have no intention of staying here.” My smile vanished. “If you don’t want to stay, then why are you even working here?” “For your breakfast, of course,” he said, completely serious. We stared at each other, the atmosphere suddenly awkward. He let out a dry laugh. “Just kidding. Okay, fine. The truth is, my brother is Julian Grant. He’s forcing me to work here.” He held up a hand. “And before you ask, one of us took Mom’s last name, the other took Dad’s. Yes, we’re full brothers.” I said nothing. I just silently wheeled my chair back to my desk. In this world, being last in the class isn’t the scariest thing. Not finishing your homework isn’t the scariest thing. The scariest thing is when the person you thought was failing with you turns out to be guaranteed an A because his dad is the teacher. Jerk. 10 I was at my desk, practically tearing my hair out, when a package arrived for me. It was from my mom. Inside were several new fall jackets. On top was a handwritten note. Heard from a friend at work that these are big brands. You’ve got this, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid of anyone looking down on you. You’ll always have me in your corner. Fall and winter clothes are always so much more expensive. A whole box of them… I couldn’t imagine how long it took my mom to save up for this. It turns out, you can’t lie to your mother. I was staring at the note when Lana appeared at my side. She peered into the box, and when she saw the logos on the clothes, she burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Holly. Did you just buy another box of fakes?” She grabbed a jacket and tore open the plastic. “Hahahaha! This is supposed to be a Ralph Lauren knockoff, right? Except the real one has a man on a horse. This one… is a man on a cow.” She dumped the entire contents of the box onto my desk, judging each piece. They were all, without exception, cheap imitations of famous designs. “Holly, if you’re going to be a poser, at least learn something about fashion,” she sneered, her voice growing shrill with excitement as she attracted the attention of our coworkers. “How have you been at a magazine this long and still reek of the pigpen?” Finally, she spotted the note in my hand. My mom’s handwriting was large and easy to read. Lana snatched it and read it aloud in a mocking, singsong voice. “You’ll always have me in your corner! Awww,” she cooed. “Hahahaha, Holly, your ‘corner’ doesn’t seem very strong. I was wondering how a pig farmer managed to get a job here. I thought you must have some powerful background. But now I see…” She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a malicious whisper. “You’re a pig farmer… so your mom must be one too, right?”

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