1 The young assistant my husband doted on was behind the wheel for the first time. She mowed down my daughter. The wheels crushed Lily’s tiny legs. I screamed, a raw, useless sound against the blood gushing from the holes in her flesh. When Stephen arrived, the driver, Kate, dissolved into a storm of tears and buried herself in his arms. “Stephen, your daughter just ran into the road! She was trying to scam us! This disgusting mother-daughter pair, they must be trying to break us up!” Stephen’s arms tightened around her, a fortress. “I’ve already signed a waiver. No one will touch you.” He murmured, his voice impossibly gentle. “My poor princess, you must be terrified. I’ll take you to Disneyland to clear your head.” And as I knelt on the pavement, begging the paramedics to save my child, my husband was on one knee under the Disneyland fireworks, placing a princess tiara on his assistant’s head. Later, when my daughter was nothing but a handful of ash, he finally remembered he was a father, and he wept, begging her to come back… … Outside the emergency room, I paced, each step a lifetime of anxiety. Suddenly, a courier with a small package found me. “Are you Mrs. Pierce? This is from your husband.” I looked down as a text from Stephen lit up my screen. “Lily needs to be more careful. Running into the street like that… she almost got Kate killed.” “A band-aid should be enough for that scrape. I have to fly out for an international deal. You keep an eye on her.” He added one last line. “Once she’s better, I’ll take you both to Disneyland.” Just then, Kate’s social media feed updated. Under the explosion of fireworks above the Disney castle, she and Stephen were posing for a selfie, matching Mickey Mouse ears perched on their heads. The caption read, “A dream come true at Disney! Thank you to the most handsome CEO in the world!” The man who was always so cold and severe had shed his armor, posing for a nine-photo spread of cloying, intimate selfies with her. His usually indifferent eyes were burning with a heat, a devotion, I hadn’t seen in years. Hours later, the light above the ER door finally went out. I stumbled forward, my legs giving way. The doctor just pulled off his mask and shook his head. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” A nurse next to him whispered, “That poor little girl… it breaks your heart.” They told me that in her last moments, during a final, fleeting burst of consciousness, she had been murmuring one thing over and over. “Daddy… Lily’s not a bad girl… please don’t leave me and Mommy.” So she knew. My daughter understood all along. She had seen the way Stephen’s voice turned impossibly soft whenever he spoke to Kate, a tone reserved only for her. For us, all that was left was impatient dismissal. She knew that when his phone rang with that special ringtone, he would drop everything and walk out the door, leaving us behind. We had lost his favor, his light. In a flash, the memories I tried so hard to suppress flooded back. Lily, crumpled on the asphalt, whimpering in agony as her life bled out onto the pavement. Stephen, arriving at the scene, his first instinct not to rush to his daughter, but to cradle a terrified Kate in his arms. “Don’t be afraid, Kate. When the police get here, I’ll sign the waiver. I’ll protect you.” Kate was the one who had done this, an unforgivable crime, yet my husband stood ready to be her shield, her champion. My daughter’s eyes were fixed on them, on Stephen holding Kate. The light in those bright, innocent eyes dimmed, flicker by flicker, until only a deep, bottomless despair remained. Now, clutching my daughter’s cold, still body, I knelt before the mortician, my voice a shattered whisper. “Please… please, cover the wounds. Let her go in peace… let her be whole.” On the cold steel table, Lily lay with her eyes closed, looking so peaceful, as if she’d never known a moment of pain. As if, at any second, she would rub her eyes and call out, “Mommy.” The mortician gently straightened the hem of her little dress. “Ma’am,” he said softly, “it’s time for her to go.” The pain in my chest was so immense I couldn’t breathe. I wanted nothing more than to follow her. At that exact moment, Kate posted a new video. “So this is what a suite that costs tens of thousands a night at Disney looks like! Thanks to my CEO for the eye-opening experience!” She gave a sly wink to the camera. “And a little secret for you all… the Ice King might act tough, but his lips are surprisingly soft when you kiss them.” Before the words had even faded, a hand with long, elegant fingers pushed her playfully onto the bed. A man’s deep voice, laced with dangerous charm, rumbled through the speaker. That night, they embraced in the most magical suite in the Magic Kingdom. My daughter was pushed into an incinerator. Her small body, turned to ash, inch by inch. My heart felt as though it had been carved out of my chest. Eight years ago, Stephen and I were struggling to get our company off the ground, crammed into a tiny, rundown apartment. Maybe Lily was our lucky star. The moment she was born, our fortunes turned. Contracts started pouring in like an avalanche. Once we had money, Stephen wanted to give her the world. He was so determined to make her his one and only princess that he underwent a vasectomy, a risky procedure back then. I remember him after the surgery, pale but resolute, holding our baby girl. “Lily,” he’d whispered, “Daddy promises. You will be my only child, forever.” And over the years, how many times had he promised to take her to Disneyland? In the end, he fulfilled that princess dream for another woman, placing a crown on her head before a fairy-tale castle. I buried my face in my hands, hot tears streaming through my fingers. Lily, my sweet girl, Mommy was wrong. I was so, so wrong. I forgot the oldest rule in the book. A man with money is a man with a wandering eye. I sat slumped in a chair at the crematorium, sending text after text to Stephen. [KATE KILLED OUR DAUGHTER. HOW COULD YOU SLEEP WITH HER?!] [Stephen, I will never, ever forgive you!] The screen remained dark. My storm of emotions quieted into a dead, hollow calm. I sent one last message. [Lily is gone… Come say your last goodbye.] A moment later, the phone lit up. Stephen’s reply was a shard of ice in my heart. [Are you insane? Cursing our own daughter just for attention? You disgust me.] I stared at the screen, biting my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. The man who once crawled on his knees up the stone steps of a monastery, praying for a charm to keep our daughter safe—that man was gone forever. If only, Stephen. If only I had never met you… At dawn, I went home to pack up Lily’s things. I sifted through old photos, each smiling face a dull knife twisting in my gut. Suddenly, I heard footsteps and laughter from downstairs. It was Stephen’s voice, crisp and cold, but laced with an unmistakable, uncontainable joy. “Kate, I can’t believe it… you’re pregnant!” His voice trembled. “After my surgery… to have another child… this is a miracle. A gift from heaven.” I heard him gently help her to the couch. “A little prince or a little princess, I don’t care, I’ll love them just the same. I’m going to the study to get the bank books. Don’t you worry. I’ll give you and our baby the best life imaginable.” That was our money. Money that was meant for me and Lily. How dare he use it to raise the child of the homewrecker who destroyed my family? The child of my daughter’s killer! A wave of pure rage propelled me through the door. I saw Kate lounging on the sofa, legs crossed, as if she were the queen of this house. When she saw me, a smug smirk played on her red lips. Her eyes glinted with triumph. She trailed a finger lightly over her flat stomach. “Oh, Lia. I’m so, so sorry,” she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I guess I’m just young, you know? My body is just… better. Even after Stephen’s little procedure, he hits the jackpot on the first try with me…” Her words were a bomb that detonated inside my skull, shattering what was left of my sanity. I lunged, throwing myself at her without a second thought. I was a mother beast, cornered and broken, my grief erupting in a primal scream. “You monster! Give me back my daughter! You took my life!” In the ensuing struggle, her sharp nails raked across my face, leaving bloody trails. She slapped me, hard and fast, like a sudden downpour. I hadn’t eaten in over a day, and even with all my strength, all I could manage was to tear out a few strands of her hair. Kate threw her head back and shrieked. “Stephen, help me! Save me and the baby!” Her voice was a theatrical wail. “This bitch is trying to make me bald!” Stephen rushed in at the sound of the commotion. Without hesitation, he grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk. The sight of them in his hand sent a sliver of ice through my veins. What… what was he going to do? The man who once promised to be my shield from the world now stood before me, his face a thundercloud. “I leave for two seconds, and you dare to hurt Kate? What will you do when she moves in? Try to kill her?” The cold glint of the steel flashed before my eyes. I stared, paralyzed by fear, tears streaming down my face. I summoned every ounce of strength I had left. “No, Stephen, you can’t… you can’t do this to me…” A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He sneered, his other hand grabbing a fistful of my long hair. “Who do you think you are, Lia? You think our ten years together gives you a free pass to treat Kate however you want?” As he spoke, bodyguards materialized, pinning my arms. He brought the scissors to my hair and began to hack away, each rough cut a severing of a memory. In my despair, a ghost of a gentler time surfaced… back when Stephen wasn’t the untouchable CEO of Pierce Corp. To save money, he’d learned to cut hair himself, and he’d washed mine countless times, his fingers always so gentle. Today, for his assistant, he was shearing away the hair I cherished, and with it, every last shred of the love between us. When he was finished, the reflection in the shattered mirror showed a grotesque stranger with a butchered, patchy scalp. I screamed, a sound of pure agony, and lunged forward, smashing what was left of the mirror. His voice cut through my sobs, cold and hard as stone. He knelt before Kate, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles as if she were royalty. “For every ounce of grief she causes you, I will make her repay it a hundredfold. Now, is my princess satisfied?” Kate wrapped her arms around his neck, nodding shyly. She glanced at me, and her lips curled into the triumphant smile of a victor. “Look at you,” she sneered. “A plucked chicken. You really think you can compete with me for him now? He stopped loving you years ago. This desperation is just pathetic.” A hollow, empty smile stretched across my own lips. “Stephen,” I said, my voice eerfed by flat. “Let’s get a divorce.” “The life I wanted—one man, one woman, for a lifetime—you can’t give me that anymore.” He answered with a dismissive scoff. “You’re a housewife, Lia. You wouldn’t survive a day without me. A divorce? Fine. But Lily stays. She’s a Pierce. You’re not taking her anywhere.” With that, he swept Kate into his arms and carried her up the stairs. Soon, the sound of her delighted giggles drifted down from the master bedroom. I knelt on the floor, surrounded by the shorn locks of my hair, and finally let myself break completely. You’re wrong, Stephen. You can never take her with you. I found a hat, wiped my tears, and drove to the crematorium. After signing the release form for the ashes, I looked at the attendant, my voice trembling. “Could you… could you please put them in this urn for me?” My voice was steady, but my body swayed, and I nearly collapsed. It was a ceramic urn we had made together, as a family. I remember that day. Stephen had rushed through his part, his movements bored and dismissive. Then his phone rang, and he left without a backward glance. Lily had watched him go, her little mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. My heart ached. I knew that look. It was the face she made when she was disappointed beyond words. And now, she would sleep forever inside that very urn, the one her father couldn’t be bothered to look at twice. Before heading to the airport, I did one last thing. I sent a video file to an encrypted email address. Just as the plane was about to take off, a flight attendant approached me, her expression apologetic. “Mrs. Pierce? I’m sorry, but a suspicious item was detected in your luggage. We’ll need you to come with us for an additional security check.” My face remained calm, but my heart hammered against my ribs. When I stepped off the plane, I saw him. Stephen, with his arm wrapped tightly around Kate. His features were sharp and unforgiving in the cold wind. “Lia. Who gave you permission to leave Havenport?” His gaze dropped to the object in my arms. “And where is Lily? Why isn’t she with you?” I didn’t answer. I just turned and ran, a primal instinct to flee. Suddenly, bodyguards swarmed from all directions, their hands clamping down on my arms like iron vises. Stephen frowned, his eyes fixed on the urn I clutched to my chest. “Why are you carrying that ugly pot around on a plane?” Kate sashayed over, a smug look on her face, and snatched the urn from my hands with ease. I looked up at her, my voice raw and cracking, begging. “No! Please, don’t touch her! My daughter is in there!” She popped the lid off, dipped her fingers inside, and brought a pinch of the powder to her lips. “Kate, no! You already killed her! Let her rest in peace!” Amid my frantic screams, she licked her fingertips, a slight smirk on her face. Then, her expression soured. She gagged dramatically and, with a flick of her wrist, overturned the urn, dumping its entire contents onto the cold, unforgiving concrete. “Ugh, disgusting! It’s just flour! Lia, you really are a drama queen. You almost had us going there.” Hearing this, the tension drained from Stephen’s body. The dark storm in his eyes subsided. He lifted his expensive leather shoe and ground the powder on the ground into dust. “Lia, we’ll settle this little stunt later. I’ve already been to the hospital. Lily isn’t there. Where did you hide her?!” The blood drained from my face. I forced the words from my throat. “I’m not lying. Lily… is dead.” Stephen’s eyes turned to ice. “I’ll find out where she is myself. And since you refuse to tell the truth, perhaps you should never speak again.” He gave a sharp, brutal flick of his hand. “Take her. Sew her mouth shut.” The bodyguards approached me, vile grins spreading across their faces, as if they had been waiting for this moment their whole lives. “So sorry about this, Ma’am…” the leader sneered, his yellowed teeth flashing as he grabbed me. “Remember that time you cut your finger slicing fruit? The boss docked my pay for a whole year for that. Today, I finally get to collect on that debt.” The tip of the needle pierced my lip. Pain, sharp and blinding, shot through me, and my body convulsed in a silent, tear-soaked scream. Another guard leaned in close, his breath hot and foul in my ear. “Remember me, Ma’am? You wandered off while shopping, outside the protection detail. The boss gave me a hundred lashes for that…” The needle weaved in and out of my flesh, each pull of the thread an agony that tore through me. Through a blur of tears, I saw Stephen standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching me with cold detachment. All the love, all the tender protection he had once showered upon me, had now been twisted into weapons used to destroy me, body and soul. Just as they were about to pull the final stitch tight, Stephen’s sharp eyes caught something. A glint of white in the gray dust on the ground. He bent down slowly, his movements stiff, and picked it up. It was… it was a tiny tooth, not quite consumed by the fire. He lunged at me, his hands closing around my throat, his voice a raw, desperate roar. “Lia, what is this powder on the ground?!” The man who always had the world in the palm of his hand was finally, terrifyingly, losing control. “Tell me! That’s not Lily’s ashes, is it? IS IT?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384350”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Five years. That’s how long I’d been taking care of my paralyzed boyfriend, Perry. And finally, his legs were showing signs of life. Just as we were planning our wedding, Cara—the woman who put him in that wheelchair—walked back into his life, a child in tow. He kept postponing the wedding, making excuses about needing to help her and her son. I found him with his friend, clutching the latest draft from our wedding planner, ready to ask him for a final date. But I stopped short when I heard his friend, Cole, speaking in a low voice. “If she finds out you’ve legally become Andy’s father, Chloe might actually leave you for good,” Cole warned. “You need to tell her, and soon.” Perry, the man who was supposedly paralyzed, was standing by the window, looking out at the city lights. He just shrugged. “She stuck by me all those years in a wheelchair. You think she’d leave me over a few postponed weddings?” he scoffed. “My own father walked out on my mom and me. I’m just trying to give my son the love I never had. What’s so wrong with that?” My fingers went numb. I slowly twisted the ring on my finger, the one that had never quite fit. Perry, I thought, a cold certainty settling in my chest. This time, I’m the one who’s walking out. 1 The wedding was pushed back so many times that even the event company started calling. “Ms. Davis, have you and your fiancé confirmed a new date?” the planner asked, her voice laced with professional patience. I traced the indentation the too-tight ring had left on my skin. “No,” I managed to say, my throat tight. “You can keep the deposit. We’re canceling.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “Oh. Of… of course.” From March to October, Perry had used his paralysis as the perfect excuse. The date on the invitations had been scratched out and rewritten so many times they were a mess. I wasn’t waiting anymore. Just then, my phone buzzed with a wall of text from him. The block of words made my eyes ache. I automatically scrolled to the end, my fingers moving with practiced exhaustion. “Chloe, let’s push the wedding back another two months. I really want to be standing on my own two feet when I marry you.” He’d always said he didn’t want me to suffer the whispers and pitying looks, the shame of having a husband in a wheelchair. Like a fool, I’d believed he was protecting me. I’d spent days glowing with pride at his consideration. But the truth was, the endless delays had already made me a laughingstock. I used to reply to him in seconds. This time, I just closed the message. I couldn’t bring myself to type “Okay” one more time. In this relationship, the moment I stopped pushing, everything would grind to a halt. For once, he called immediately. “Chloe? Is something wrong? You’re not answering my texts.” Was he worried about me, or just annoyed that I hadn’t instantly agreed to his demand? I dug my nails into my palm, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “I’m fine, Perry. Nothing’s wrong…” He cut me off. “Let’s talk about the wedding later. I’m not coming home tonight. There’s a problem with the Crestview project, I have to go check it out.” He didn’t even wait for my response, just assumed my compliance. “I’ll bring you back your favorite perfume, okay?” I stood frozen in the hallway for a long time after he hung up. Cole came out of Perry’s office and nearly ran into me. His eyes widened. “You… you heard all that?” I nodded, my body feeling hollow. I shoved the wedding planner’s portfolio into the office shredder, the machine whirring to life and devouring our future. I turned back to Cole and put a finger to my lips. “Don’t tell him I was here,” I whispered. “Please. For old times’ sake.” That night, Perry, the man who was supposedly out of town on business, came home for dinner. His eyes fell on the simple omelet on the table. “This again? Can’t we have something else? I’m getting tired of it.” For years, whenever he came home drunk from a networking dinner, I’d make him an omelet. It helped with the hangovers. Every single time, he would smile and pull me close. “Chloe, you’re the only one who takes such good care of me.” Now, he was tired of it. I didn’t know if he meant the omelet, or the woman who’d made it for him every day for five years. Sensing my unusual silence, he tried to soften his tone. “Hey, I doubled my physical therapy session today,” he said, reaching for my hand. “I’m going to stand at our wedding, Chloe. I promise. It will be perfect.” He couldn’t even look me in the eye when he lied. I wanted to scream. Is it fun? Does it feel good to play me for a fool? But before I could say a word, a frantic knocking echoed through the apartment. “Perry! Perry, please!” It was Cara. “Perry, the landlord kicked us out! We have nowhere else to go! Can we just stay for a few days? Please?” Perry’s voice was ice as he told her to get lost, but he was already wheeling himself toward the door, faster than I’d seen him move in months. “Have you no shame?” he snarled, the calm man I knew disappearing into a storm of rage. “You think this is some kind of shelter for your mistakes? Cara, you make me sick!” He spat every venomous word he could think of. But then the door swung open, and he saw the child, Andy, shivering and soaked to the bone. The fury in his eyes flickered, replaced by a flicker of pity. His gaze darted to me. Perry was smart. He was trying to make this my decision. But I knew that if they set foot in this apartment, they would never leave. “I’m not okay with this,” I said, each word sharp and clear. Perry looked completely thrown, as if he never imagined I would say no. The little boy, Andy, suddenly clung to his leg. “Please, mister? Can we stay? Please?” Perry’s hand instinctively went to Andy’s forehead. It was burning hot. In an instant, he scooped the boy onto his lap. “Get the doctor on the phone!” he roared. He turned his anger on Cara. “What kind of mother are you? He has a fever and you let him get soaked in the rain?” But underneath the anger, his voice trembled with worry. “I didn’t know,” Cara sobbed, scrambling after him. In the chaos, I was completely forgotten, an invisible spectator in my own home. It turned out to be just a minor cold. When Perry finally noticed my red-rimmed eyes, he took my hand, his grip tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice soothing. “I’ll find them a place as soon as I can. They’ll be gone in a few days, I promise.” But I knew he had already made his choice. I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. When I came back, Cara was sitting in my chair at the dinner table. Perry was patiently spoon-feeding Andy, his face lit with a tenderness I had never seen before. It was as if his earlier rage had been a performance. Cara shot me a triumphant, mocking smile before placing a piece of okra in Perry’s bowl. It was the one vegetable he absolutely hated. For five years, I’d begged him to just try it. “Can’t you make an exception, just for me?” I’d ask. He’d always refused. “I don’t like it, Chloe. Period.” But what he did next was a silent, deliberate humiliation. He ate it without a flicker of expression. Then he turned to me. “Chloe, make sure you clean the wheelchair tonight,” he said, his tone flat. “And disinfect my training equipment in the study.” He sounded like he was giving orders to the hired help. And in that moment, something inside me finally broke. A strange sense of release washed over me. Five years. It felt like a lifetime, but my real life was just beginning. 2 As I dragged my suitcase out from the back of the closet, my phone lit up with a series of videos from an unknown number. They were all recordings of Perry, in the dead of night, rocking a small child to sleep. Andy. My hands trembled as I opened the security app for our apartment. The footage was all there. Every night, for months, he’d bring me a glass of milk laced with sleeping pills, wait for me to pass out, and then leave. His legs were perfectly fine. He could walk. He had been able to walk for a long time. A crushing weight settled on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Tonight was no different. Perry handed me the glass of milk, kissing my cheek just like he always did. “Drink up and get some sleep.” The milk with the hidden dose. My hand shook as I took the glass, but I drank every last drop in front of him. “I thought you had to go out of town,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I passed it to Cole. It’s been too long since I spent a night with you.” The words were so sincere, but I knew better now. “Andy is just a little kid,” he continued, watching me closely. “You should be gentler with him. It would help you two get closer. You’re always saying how much you love kids. Well, here’s one right here for you.” He paused, his tone shifting. “I think you were a bit cold today. You scared him.” The accusation was unmistakable. He’d forgotten. The reason I always stared so longingly at other people’s children was because I had lost one of our own for him. But I was too tired to dredge up the past, too exhausted to scream and fight. I faked a yawn and gently pushed him toward the door. “I’m tired. You should get back to your work.” He lingered in the doorway for a moment, as if he was waiting for me to beg for a goodnight kiss, to wrap myself around him like I used to, clinging to him, asking again and again if he wanted to sleep beside me. He didn’t even notice that I’d skipped his nightly physical therapy routine. Perry just assumed the sleeping pills had kicked in. The second the door clicked shut, I scrambled to the bathroom, forcing my fingers down my throat until the milky bitterness came back up. A wave of nausea washed over me, a familiar feeling lately. My period was always irregular, but it had been a while. My hand trembled as I reached for the pregnancy test I’d stashed under the sink. Two pink lines. I had moved in with Perry five years ago to take care of him after the accident. Back then, I was so naive, so certain this would one day be our home, our family. I opened the closet. My clothes took up a tiny section. As I pulled my things out, one of Perry’s jackets fell to the floor. A ticket stub fluttered out from the pocket. A souvenir from Disneyland. The date was August 11th. My birthday. I had begged him for weeks to be home, just for that one night. He’d called late, saying he was swamped with work and couldn’t get away. While I waited for him, my birthday cake melted on the counter. He wasn’t working. He was at the happiest place on earth with Cara and her son. Out of all the hours in my birthday, he had only thought of me for the five minutes it took to make that phone call. Just then, I heard a child’s voice from down the hall, followed by Perry’s soft singing. “Daddy, can you sing me to sleep like this every night?” Andy asked. There was a pause. Then, Perry’s voice, full of a warmth he never gave me anymore. “Of course. Daddy will always be here for you.” He added, his voice dropping slightly, “But remember, when Aunt Chloe is around, you have to call me Uncle.” In the hallway, I heard Cara’s cheerful whisper. “Wasn’t my performance brilliant tonight? You owe me a reward for that, Perry.” “Cara, this is the last time I’m letting you get away with this! In two days, you’re…” He thought I was asleep. He didn’t even bother to lower his voice. The lie was a performance. And I was the audience. A dull, drilling pain started in my chest, a helpless agony that came with being so thoroughly deceived. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, and I pressed my hand to my mouth to stifle the sobs, my body shaking in the silent darkness. … My friend was supposed to pick me up at ten. In the few minutes I was in the bathroom, Andy had overturned my entire suitcase, stomping on my carefully packed clothes with his dirty shoes. He made a face at me. “You’re the bad woman who stole my daddy,” he sneered. “Get out of my house!” Over the years, plenty of people had shown up claiming Perry was the father of their child, all looking for money. The paternity test wasn’t even back yet. “He might not even be Perry’s son…” I started to say. Cara rushed in, clapping her hands over Andy’s ears dramatically. “Chloe, please, I’m begging you, don’t say things like that in front of him,” she cried, her voice trembling. “Andy’s been called a bastard his whole life. If you can’t accept him being here, I’ll take him and leave right now.” The word “bastard” seemed to pierce right through Perry’s heart. He wheeled himself forward, positioning himself between me and them like a shield. His face was a cold mask. “That’s enough. Why would you say something so cruel to a child?” he demanded. “Chloe, if you have a problem, take it up with me. Don’t take it out on a little boy.” His voice dripped with disdain. “I bought you those clothes. So what if he stepped on them?” In that moment, they looked like a family, united against an intruder. I felt like a complete and utter fool. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Fine, Perry. Think whatever you want.” “It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re over.” 3 Perry’s brow furrowed in irritation. “Why do you always have to blow things out of proportion?” Just like that, I was the one being unreasonable, the one at fault. He sighed, a calculated show of patience. “Look, I overreacted. I’ll have Andy apologize to you.” Andy, who had been so defiant just moments before, instantly transformed. He burst into tears and mumbled an apology. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I was wrong.” But I was done compromising. With a final tug, I wrenched the bracelet from my wrist. It was a family heirloom his mother had given me the day I agreed to be his girlfriend. “Take it back,” I said, my voice flat. “He already said he was sorry! What more do you want?” Perry stared at me, his eyes filled with genuine confusion, as if he truly couldn’t comprehend what I was so upset about. “We’re about to get married, and you’re going to throw a tantrum and break up with me now?” “What if I asked you to send them away, right now? Can you do that, Perry?” I looked straight at him. Maybe it was the hormones, but I needed to hear his answer. One last time. If he said no, I would walk out that door and never look back. “This is my house. Who are you to tell me who can and can’t be here?” he sneered. “What’s next? Are you going to threaten me with the five years you spent taking care of me?” His voice turned venomous. “Did I beg you to do it? I don’t understand what you’re so broken up about. Chloe, you’re the one who cried and pleaded with your father to let you be with me. You were the one who chose to be this pathetic!” I flinched as if he’d struck me. Yesterday’s kisses and today’s insults, all from the same mouth. The acid of his words burned in my chest, sharp as broken glass. For a fleeting moment, I remembered how he used to look at me, his eyes full of adoration, how he’d sworn he would love me for the rest of his life. I remembered the long nights, helping him to the bathroom, and how he’d gently wipe the sweat from my brow, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again. “I’ll get back on my feet, Chloe,” he’d promised. “I will stand up and marry you.” Well, he could stand now. And the first thing he did with his recovery was weave a web of intricate lies to hide it from me. I wiped the tears from my face and forced a smile. “You’re right. I brought this on myself.” “I was a fool to waste five years of my life.” Even through the hardest days of his recovery, the endless physical therapy, the crushing financial strain, I never once cried or complained. Perry looked stunned, as if the reality of what he’d said was only just hitting him. Before he could respond, Andy started scratching frantically at his arms. “Daddy, it’s so itchy!” he cried, pointing at me with a trembling finger. “Auntie made me eat peanut brittle. I told her I didn’t want it, and she said she would hit me if I didn’t!” He threw himself into Perry’s arms. “Daddy, I’m so scared.” Cara lunged at me, shoving me hard. “If you have a problem with us, why don’t you just say it? Why do you have to resort to these disgusting little tricks? I told you last night that he’s allergic to peanuts!” Her voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “He’s just a child! How could you be so cruel?” My lower back slammed into the armrest of a chair. Pain exploded through me, and my legs gave out. I collapsed to the floor. “I didn’t,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I didn’t even know he had an allergy…” But Perry’s next action destroyed any lingering hope I had left. He slapped me, hard, across the face. “Andy is four years old! Why would he lie?” he roared. “If you didn’t want him here, you should have just told me! You didn’t have to attack a child!” Within seconds, angry red welts were breaking out all over Andy’s skin, and he began to struggle for breath. I looked up at Perry, my cheek stinging. “How can you trust her? The woman who put you in a wheelchair for five years?” His gaze was like ice, shattering the last of my pride. “That’s between her and me. When did it become your place to judge?” I thought five years of unwavering devotion would mean something. I thought it would earn me his trust, his heart. I was wrong. I was never anything more than a convenience. And I was so, so glad I had decided to leave. In his panic, Perry shot up from the wheelchair, scooping the boy into his arms and running for the door. He wasn’t even pretending to be paralyzed anymore. Cara scrambled after them, sobbing. “Perry, he’s going to be okay, right?” Even in his frantic state, he paused to reassure her. “He’ll be fine. I’ll get the best doctors in the city!” I remembered falling in the shower just two days ago. The pain in my spine had been so intense I’d burst into tears. Perry had stood in the doorway, his eyes filled with conflict, before finally yelling for the housekeeper to help me up. Even with me hurt on the floor, he wouldn’t break his cover. But a simple allergic reaction from Andy was enough to throw his entire world into chaos. I tried to push myself up, using the staircase for support, but my arms had no strength. I slumped back to the floor. That’s when I saw it. A crimson stain was spreading on the pale floorboards, a slow, dark river flowing from between my legs. My hand was steady as I pulled out my phone. “Dr. Evans,” I said, my voice empty of all emotion. “I need you to schedule me for a D&C.”

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The woman my husband always loved and I were both poisoned by kidnappers. He held the only antidote. He chose her. I was the one who spent a year in a coma. When I finally woke up, his first words to me weren’t I’m so glad you’re back, or I missed you. They were, “We need a divorce. Claire’s pregnant.” I looked at this stranger, this cruel man I supposedly married, and asked the only question that came to my mind. “I’m sorry, who are you?” 1 The fact that I woke up at all was, according to the doctors, a miracle. They used that exact word: “a medical miracle.” A parade of specialists, titans in their fields, cycled through my room, running tests, peering into my eyes, and murmuring in disbelief as they confirmed my vital functions were returning. According to their charts, I should have been a ghost in a machine for the rest of my life. A permanent resident of that silent, twilight country between living and dying. In the two months of grueling physical therapy that followed, my parents visited me exactly once. There was no joy on their faces, no tearful relief. Instead, they cornered a doctor in the hallway and asked, with hushed urgency, if I could still get pregnant. When the doctor confirmed that I could, their expressions curdled into something ugly and disappointed. They never came back after that. I thought I should feel the cold sting of heartbreak, but there was nothing. A person who has already lost all hope has no room for such luxuries. My brother, Leo, came to pick me up on the day of my discharge. “Claire’s been having a rough time,” he started, his eyes fixed on the road. “Her heart’s been acting up, you know, the stress of it all. So, don’t be mad at Mom and Dad for not visiting more. You know how fragile she’s always been…” He trailed off, noticing the blankness of my expression. He mistook my apathy for a silent protest, and his voice hardened with impatience. “For God’s sake, Ava, can you just for once not be jealous of your own sister?” His volume spiked, and I flinched, genuinely confused. “What? Sorry, I was watching that dog. Look at it, crying its eyes out. It’s ridiculous.” On the sidewalk, a husky the size of a small person was howling, a crowd of laughing onlookers gathered around it. I couldn’t have cared less about what Leo was saying. He realized he’d misread the situation but offered no apology. He just plowed ahead. “Claire’s health isn’t great. She’s been under a lot of stress this past year. So when you get home, just… try not to start anything with her.” “Okay.” I cut him off before he could finish. The condescending tone in his voice was like sandpaper on my nerves, and I just wanted him to shut up. His brow furrowed again. “What are you planning now?” I met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Why would you ask me that?” He opened his mouth, then closed it, lost for words. “You know what? Maybe don’t come home just yet,” he finally said, sighing. “Claire moved back in for a bit. The Prescotts’ house has plenty of space, you should go there. You and Carter need to talk. If it’s really over between you two, just end it properly.” I just stared, a complete blank. Just then, a sharp rap on the window made me jump. It was Carter Prescott. A man I’d known practically my whole life. Leo got out of the car. I saw their mouths moving, a brief, tense exchange. Then Leo opened my door. “Good, Carter’s here for you,” he said, all false brightness. “You should go with him. Whatever is going on between you two, you need to sort it out yourselves.” Carter, however, looked like he had zero patience for a long conversation. He got straight to the point. “We need a divorce. Claire’s pregnant.” I blinked. Maybe he expected hysterics. A screaming match. Sobbing. The kind of raw, messy scene he was clearly bracing for. But I just felt… nothing. A strange detachment, as if I were listening to gossip about a stranger. The coldness in Carter’s eyes intensified. “Look, I know I owe you,” he said, his voice clipped. “Name your terms for the divorce. Anything you want, within reason, it’s yours.” “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice laced with genuine confusion, “who are you? Are you my husband? That’s impossible. I have a boyfriend. His name is Ethan.” I was starting to get angry now. This wasn’t funny. Not at all. I was in love with someone. Ethan was kind, he was gentle—he was everything this cold, arrogant stranger in front of me was not. 2 Carter’s face darkened, his jaw clenching. “Ava, don’t test me. Marrying you was a mistake from the start. It’s always been Claire. If you had any self-respect, you would have stepped aside the moment she came back. This whole mess, you getting targeted by those criminals… it all happened because you wouldn’t let go.” Crack. The sound of my hand connecting with his cheek echoed in the quiet parking lot. “Are you out of your mind?” I yelled, my voice shaking with rage. “I told you, I have a boyfriend! What the hell are you talking about? If he hears this and gets the wrong idea, I swear I will make you regret it!” Five red finger marks bloomed on Carter’s face. He stared at me, utterly stunned. Leo was just as shocked, his eyes wide with disbelief. They exchanged a look, a silent, frantic communication, and then they were both grabbing my arms, dragging me back into the hospital. After a battery of tests, the doctors found nothing physically wrong. Their best guess was that the long coma had caused some kind of selective amnesia. It was, they said, not unheard of for trauma patients to lose memories of certain people or events. But that was the strange part. I remembered everything else. My childhood, my friends, my life. Everything except being married to Carter Prescott. Back in the parking lot, I stared him down. “First of all,” I said, enunciating each word with precision, “I don’t like you. So don’t flatter yourself. Second, the courthouse is still open. Let’s go get that divorce right now. And third, get the hell out of my life.” Leo had never seen me speak to Carter with such venom. He was used to the old Ava, the one who would blush at the mere mention of Carter’s name. This was like seeing a different person entirely. He leaned in, whispering, “Don’t do this, Ava. What if you remember everything later? You’ll regret this.” I looked at my brother, my gaze flat and unwavering. “I won’t.” He tried to argue, but I cut him off. “If I divorce him, Claire gets to go from being the mistress to the new Mrs. Prescott. If you keep pushing, I might just remember everything, and then where would your precious Claire be?” Leo’s face flushed with anger. “That’s your sister! How can you talk about her like that?” “You’re the ones who told me I’m married to this man,” I shot back. “While I was in a coma, Claire got pregnant with his child. That makes her the other woman. Does basic morality mean nothing to you people?” “And another thing,” I continued, my voice rising. “I’m your sister, too. In the months I was in rehab, I didn’t see you once. Mom and Dad showed up for five minutes to ask the doctor if I was still fertile.” “I wondered why they’d ask that. But now it all makes sense. They already knew Claire was pregnant. If I couldn’t have children, they would have had the perfect excuse to pressure me into a quiet, graceful exit.” Carter’s expression shifted. The aggressive certainty was gone, replaced by a flicker of doubt. “You really don’t remember?” he asked, his voice low. “If this is some new game to get my attention…” I couldn’t help it; I rolled my eyes with theatrical disgust. “You’re not as handsome as Ethan, and you’re certainly not as kind. Why on earth would I choose you? At this point, I’m starting to doubt this whole marriage story. Has my taste really gotten so bad that I’d end up with a piece of work like you?” Fire seemed to ignite in Carter’s eyes. “You were the one who chased me across the world,” he snarled. “You bent over backwards to win over my family. I never would have married you if Claire hadn’t left the country.” I shook my head, a reflexive denial. “Impossible. I would never be that pathetic. Comparing you to Ethan is like… he was filet mignon, and you’re gas station jerky. If I was going to humiliate myself chasing after a man, it would have been him. Never you.” Seeing me repeatedly deny our past, treating him like something I’d scraped off my shoe, sent Carter into a rage. He looked like he wanted to devour me whole. “Whatever,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. “If we were really married, let’s just go get the divorce. It’s not a big deal. The clerk’s office is open for at least another two hours.” “It’s Saturday!” he bit out. So, no divorce today. Leo abandoned me, leaving me in Carter’s care before speeding off. A part of me was morbidly curious about this lost chapter of my life, so I agreed to go back with him. The moment I stepped into the Prescott villa, a wave of profound discomfort washed over me. Every cell in my body screamed in protest. I took a step back. “I think I’ll get a hotel. This place… it feels haunted.” Carter turned, glaring at me. “I told you, don’t test my patience—” Before he could finish, I was already five yards down the driveway. He caught up in three long strides, his fingers clamping around my wrist. His face was a mask of fury. “Are you incapable of understanding English?” That did it. I ripped my arm from his grasp. “You say this is my home,” I sneered, “so why doesn’t it feel like one? Why do my brain and my body both reject the very idea of setting foot inside? Are you even my husband? Or is this some sick lie you and my brother cooked up? What do you want from me?” I was genuinely suspicious now. Leo never liked me. It wasn’t a stretch to think he could have sold me to this man. For what purpose, I couldn’t imagine. Carter fell silent. His silence was all the confirmation I needed. I drove my foot into his thigh, hard. As he buckled in pain, I ran. Once I was clear of the gated community, I called my best friend, Maya. When she heard my voice, she booked the next flight. At midnight, I was huddled by a trash can, exhausted and starving, when Maya finally arrived. We just held each other and cried. The reunion was punctuated only by the loud, pathetic grumbling of my stomach. We checked into a hotel. As I devoured a club sandwich and recounted the sins of my heartless family and my supposed husband, Maya sat across from me, her jaw on the floor. “Why do you look so surprised?” I asked, mouth full. “Is Carter Prescott really my husband?” Maya nodded furiously. “You chased him for over a decade, Ava. You were his loyal shadow… you don’t remember any of it?” Faint, hazy images flickered at the edge of my mind. “But… didn’t I get together with Ethan in college? I’m not a cheater. Even if I used to have a crush on Carter, I would never have betrayed Ethan to be with him.” Maya’s mouth opened, then closed. Her eyes grew red-rimmed. “…It seems you’ve forgotten a lot.” She pulled me into a hug. “Waking up is what matters. A year ago… you and Claire were both kidnapped. Poisoned. And that psychopath Carter, knowing damn well the whole thing might have been staged by Claire, gave the only antidote to her. You became a vegetable, Ava. It’s a miracle you’re here. Your guardian angel must have been working overtime.” She tried for a joke, but her voice broke and the tears started again. “Just forgetting things… maybe it’s for the best. It can only be a good thing for you.” I nodded against her shoulder. “I’m divorcing him.” Maya stroked my hair. “Good. Do it now, before you remember anything else. That man doesn’t deserve a second of your time.” She was terrified that if my memory returned, I’d go right back to chasing him. “Even if I remember, I’m done,” I said, my voice hard. “Claire is pregnant. They had a baby while I was lying in a hospital bed. They’re disgusting.” Hearing the pure contempt in my voice, Maya let out a long, shaky breath. “If I’d known amnesia would turn you into this badass, I would’ve hired a hypnotist years ago to make you forget him.” “Was I… really that in love with him?” I asked, the idea seeming utterly alien. Maya gave a sad smile. “It wasn’t love, sweetie. It was an obsession.” She changed the subject then, clearly unwilling to dredge up painful memories that might trigger a full return. The next afternoon, I woke to the sound of shouting. Before my eyes were even open, I could hear Maya’s furious voice. “…the absolute nerve of you! You shameless bitch, sleeping with your own sister’s husband, getting pregnant… you make me sick! You’re trash!” “Oh, don’t you dare play dead with me! There are cameras in this hallway, I haven’t laid a finger on you! Don’t you try to frame me! For all we know, that baby isn’t even Carter’s…” Maya’s voice grew louder, more frantic. I scrambled out of bed. In the doorway stood Claire, draped in a white dress, looking pale and fragile. Next to her was my brother, Leo. As Maya’s insults hit their mark, Leo lunged forward and wrapped his hand around her throat. Seeing that, a primal rage erupted in me. I shot across the room and punched my brother square in the eye. He cried out in pain, stumbling back and letting go of Maya, his hands flying to his face. Maya collapsed against the doorframe, coughing and gasping for air. I pushed her behind me, turning on Leo. “What the hell are you doing here?” I screamed. “Trying to commit murder? Get out!” Suddenly, Claire sank to her knees in front of me, tears streaming down her perfect face. “Ava, why does everyone blame me?” she sobbed. “Carter has only ever loved me. You took advantage of me being overseas, you tricked him into marrying you. And a year ago, you used the kidnapping to hurt yourself, just to avoid divorcing him. You’re the one who’s wrong in all of this…” Before she could finish, a crisp slap silenced her. It was followed by two more, just as loud, catching her completely by surprise. I’d hit her three times. My palm was stinging. “Wow,” I said, shaking my hand out. “Your face is so thick it actually hurts to slap it.” Behind me, Maya started clapping enthusiastically. “Yes, baby! You’re amazing!” I shot Maya a look, a silent command. She understood immediately and ducked back into the room to get her phone. Leo, having recovered, saw Claire’s red cheek and roared, “Ava, are you trying to die? How dare you hit Claire! She’s our sister—”

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1 It was three in the morning. I sat on the sofa, listening to the sound of a key turning in the lock. Marcus pushed the door open, a rare smile on his face as he carefully placed a pink hair tie on the entryway table. When he saw me, his brow furrowed instinctively before smoothing out again. “Why are you still up? I told you not to wait for me when I’m working late.” His voice faltered when he saw my lit-up phone screen. It was a social media post from ten minutes ago. The author was his student, Nina. “Let’s get a divorce.” I never thought I would say those words to my husband on my 35th birthday. He stopped in his tracks, then sank onto the sofa, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Is this because I introduced her to my friends and I never introduced you?” “You could say that,” I replied coldly. A smirk played on his lips. “Fine by me. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Life won’t be easy for you and the baby in your belly once you’re on your own.” I let out a cold laugh. If I didn’t even want him, what made him think I’d keep his child? … As I slid the divorce papers across the table, he chuckled. “You’re serious about this? Over something so small?” I nodded. “Yes. Over this one small thing.” Marcus raised an eyebrow, his expression one of utter indifference. “Nicole, stop the act. You’ve been stuck to me like glue since you were in diapers. You really think you can live without me?” He leaned back, his voice dripping with condescension. “I get that you’re trying to get my attention, but don’t overdo it. Threatening divorce every day is a bad habit.” “I’m not kidding, Marcus. I’m serious.” His face darkened. “Fine. Have it your way. Just don’t come crying back to me later.” With that, he snatched a pen and signed his name with a flourish. Before I could say another word, his phone rang with the custom ringtone he’d set exclusively for Nina. Her sweet, gentle voice came through the speaker. “Professor Kane, our little kitten ran away. I’ve been looking for him everywhere. What if a big dog got him? I’m so scared.” “It’s okay, Nina. Don’t be afraid. Stay right where you are, and don’t wander off. I’m on my way to help you find him.” The man who was always so decisive and commanding was now speaking with a gentleness I had never heard. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. There was a time when he would at least glance my way, gauging my reaction. But my constant compromises had emboldened him. Now, he felt entitled to leave me for her without a second thought. I sat on the sofa and watched him go, not saying a word. Now that I had chosen to let go, I wouldn’t cling to him anymore. I began to pack. The few things Marcus had ever given me, I left behind. The many things I had given him, I listed on eBay. Around noon, Marcus returned with Nina and her cat. Years ago, before we were married, Marcus had forced me to give my own cat away, claiming it was dirty. Now, he was cradling the cat he and Nina had adopted together, unable to put it down. “Why haven’t you cooked?” he demanded, seeing me eating takeout by myself. “I’m your ex-wife now. Am I supposed to cook for you and your new girlfriend?” Marcus’s temper flared, but Nina gently tugged on his sleeve, and he visibly reined it in. “Nicole, please don’t misunderstand the professor and me,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s my first time in this city for college, and I often don’t know who to turn to for help. He’s just a very kind person.” She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “I really don’t want to cause any trouble between you two. He cares about you a lot.” I put down my fork and gave her a cold smile. “You don’t want to cause trouble, so you have your professor use his family privileges to get you a special apartment. You don’t want to cause trouble, so you have him abandon his wife to drive you to and from school every day. You don’t want to cause trouble, so you drank from the same glass with him at the freshman welcome party in front of everyone?” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “Nina, as Mrs. Kane, I should really thank you for being so very, very thoughtful.” My words made her burst into tears. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Marcus immediately pulled her behind him, shielding her. “Nicole, stop looking at everyone with those bitter, accusatory eyes,” he spat. “You have a dirty mind, so you see dirt everywhere.” He turned his back on me and started cooing at the sobbing Nina, not sparing me another glance. This drama had been on repeat ever since she appeared. I was just so tired of it. I grabbed my bag and walked out. I had an appointment at the hospital. 2 The moment I arrived at the clinic, my mother-in-law called. It was always like this. Whenever we fought, Marcus couldn’t be bothered to deal with me, so he’d pass me off to his mother. “Nicole, fighting with Marcus again? Honey, let me give you some advice. A woman shouldn’t be so dramatic. Men like a gentle touch.” Her words were casual, dismissive. It was clear she didn’t take me seriously. In her eyes, I was pregnant with Marcus’s child; no other man would want me if we divorced. She already knew about Marcus and Nina. In fact, Nina’s name for her had progressed from Mrs. Kane, to godmother, and now, she just called her “Mom.” And my mother-in-law was perfectly fine with it. In her mind, the fact that her son could keep two women happy was a sign of his charm and ability. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said calmly. “If he and Nina are truly in love, then I’ll step aside.” She wasn’t the least bit flustered that I knew. She was confident I was just throwing another tantrum for attention. “Nicole, dear, men have to play the part sometimes when they’re out in the world. As his wife, you should be more understanding, not add to his stress over trivial things. You’re the lady of this house. No one can take your place. Besides, you’re carrying his child. Who would want you if you left him now?” Her tone was thick with contempt. “Mrs. Kane,” I replied coldly, “this isn’t the 19th century. Are you still thinking in terms of first wives and second wives?” I hung up and was about to walk into the pre-arranged abortion clinic when I saw my mother helping my college-aged sister, Sophie, who was waiting in the same line. I rushed over. The moment they saw me, they both started to cry. “Nicole, I know things are hard for you with your in-laws, and I didn’t want to bother you, but I just don’t know what else to do,” my mother sobbed. “Mom, calm down. Tell me what happened.” “Your sister… her boss assaulted her on a business trip. Now he’s denying it, saying she was willing. She’s pregnant, and he won’t even admit it’s his, claiming she slept around. Nicole, Marcus is a brilliant lawyer. Can you please ask him to represent her?” The news hit me so hard I couldn’t speak. My mother, thinking I was hesitant, quickly backtracked. “I’m sorry, Nicole. I know Marcus is a man of principle. I shouldn’t have asked. We’ll find another way.” “No, Mom, don’t say that. I understand. I’ll figure something out.” Twenty minutes later, I was at the private law firm Marcus ran off-campus. The waiting room was packed, as usual. Marcus was a top attorney. I took a number and sat down like everyone else. It was his rule. Even as his wife, I had to follow procedure during work hours. No special treatment. As I was calculating how long the wait would be, a familiar, slender figure pushed through the crowd and walked straight to the door of Marcus’s office. “Professor Kane,” Nina called softly, knocking gently. “I have something urgent I need to ask you about. Could I possibly…?” Marcus immediately stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. He turned to the crowded waiting room and said flatly, “One moment. I have an emergency to handle.” Murmurs of complaint rippled through the room. “What the hell? She just cut the line.” “I thought the great Marcus Kane was all about principles.” “Yeah, everyone here has an emergency. That’s why we’re here!” Marcus ignored them, his face impassive as he closed the door, shutting out all the resentful stares. Even though I knew about his favoritism, seeing it in person made my heart sink. A place that was off-limits to me, his own wife, was a place a young student could enter at will. So, the rules could be broken. I just wasn’t the one worthy of breaking them for. The minutes ticked by. The door remained shut. The complaints grew louder. An hour later, the door finally opened. Nina emerged, her earlier anxiety gone, replaced by a rosy-cheeked, joyful expression. When she saw me sitting in the waiting area, a smug look flashed across her face. Marcus saw me then, too. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second before he composed himself. “Next,” he called out, his voice all business as he shut the door again. I waited until the firm closed for the day, but my number was never called. As Marcus was leaving, I ran after him. 3 Marcus, walking side-by-side with Nina, looked annoyed to see me. “What are you doing here? Regret it already? Trying to win me back?” I grabbed his arm. “Marcus, my sister was assaulted by her boss. She needs a lawyer. Can you please help? Can you represent her?” He didn’t even hesitate. “I can’t. I have too many cases. I have to be responsible for all my clients.” “Marcus, she’s my sister! Can’t you bend the rules just this once, for me?” My hysteria didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Nicole, how many times have I told you? The most important thing for a lawyer is to respect the rules. No matter how urgent, you have to follow procedure. Come back tomorrow, get a number early, and when it’s your turn, I’ll see you.” He turned to leave with Nina. In my desperation, I dropped to my knees. Ignoring the scornful looks from Nina and the remaining staff, I begged him. “Marcus, please. She’s my only sister. She’s severely depressed. If she loses this case, I don’t know what will happen.” He leaned down, a cold smirk on his face. “Weren’t you so high and mighty this morning, talking about how you didn’t want to be Mrs. Kane anymore? Why are you asking for special treatment now?” His voice dropped to a cruel whisper. “You’re not just using your sister’s situation to manipulate me, are you?” My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. “Marcus, this is the last time I will ever ask you for anything.” Seeing the desperation in my eyes, his expression softened for a fraction of a second. But then Nina wrapped her arms around his and pouted. “Professor, if you take my case and her sister’s case at the same time, won’t you be too tired? It would break my heart. Maybe… maybe I should find another lawyer for my case.” That was all it took. Marcus straightened up, his voice turning to steel. “If you can’t get an appointment, find another firm.” Watching him walk away, my last shred of hope for him died. I stumbled out of the firm and called my mother, telling her I would find another lawyer. She wasn’t surprised. Instead, she asked, “I heard you and Marcus are getting a divorce. You’ve loved him your whole life, Nicole. Can you really let him go?” Could I? That night, I lay in bed, her question echoing in my mind. Could I really let him go? I’d known Marcus since we were five. Girls were always chasing after him, but he was picky. None of them ever caught his eye. I was the only girl he ever kept by his side. Back then, I thought I was special to him. When I forgot my homework, he’d toss his at me and say gruffly, “Hurry up and copy. I’m not waiting for you if you get detention.” After his basketball games, he’d only ever take the water bottle I offered him. When another boy tried to ask me out, he’d walk right up to him and say, “Get lost. She’s my sidekick.” Our marriage was the result of an accident. 4 When Marcus was thirty-three, he was in a serious car crash. The doctors said he would likely never walk again. His mother, terrified that no woman would marry him now, saw her chance. I had foolishly waited for him, still single at thirty. And so, I became the most “suitable” choice. After the wedding, I cared for him tirelessly, and miraculously, he made a full recovery. At first, both he and his mother were grateful. He told me, “I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.” And he was. He fulfilled his duties as a husband. If I asked him to pick up a cake on his way home, he would, but it was never the flavor I wanted. If I asked for a ride to work on a rainy day, he’d give me one, but he’d always drop me off a block away, leaving me to run through the downpour without an umbrella. Even our intimacy, which happened maybe twice a year, felt like a chore he was dutifully checking off a list. When I complained to my friends, they told me that’s just how long-term couples are, that I was being overly sensitive. I believed them, until Nina appeared. Only then did I see what Marcus was like when he was truly in love. He would carry a girl on his back across campus just so she wouldn’t get her shoes wet in the rain. He would research the trendiest internet cafes just because she called him old-fashioned. And on countless nights, I saw him alone, staring at her picture. “Suitable.” That’s the word he used to describe me, time and time again after we were married. He never once said he loved me. I had drafted the divorce papers over and over, but I could never bring myself to give them to him. Not until I saw that photo on his social media: him, Nina, and all his best friends, smiling together. That’s when I finally understood. To him, I was a dirty secret. In the twenty-three years he’d known me, he had never once thought I was worthy of being introduced to his friends. But he’d known Nina for a month, and he had already shown her off to everyone in his life. If I was so insignificant to him, how could I ever expect him to fight for my family? After a long, sleepless night, I went to the clinic first thing in the morning and had the abortion. Then I accepted a work assignment that would take me abroad. As soon as the court case was over, I would take my mother and leave this city for good. But then, more bad news. Every lawyer I contacted refused to take my sister’s case. Worse, an unedited, graphic video of Sophie’s assault began to circulate online. Vicious online trolls analyzed it frame by frame, branding my sister a slut who had tried to sleep her way to a promotion and was now crying foul. Then, a picture of my divorce certificate was leaked. The public narrative shifted. I was the crazy ex-wife, harassing my former husband and his new love. Nina, meanwhile, started live-streaming, playing the victim. She gained a massive following and made a fortune from their sympathy. My sister and I were labeled the “homewrecker sisters.” Sophie’s mental state deteriorated rapidly. My mother had to watch her twenty-four hours a day to keep her from harming herself. But Nina wasn’t finished. She came to our door to gloat. “Nicole, oh, I’m sorry, I should say ex-wife. Have you learned your lesson? This is what happens when you try to take my man.” She looked my sister up and down with disgust. “A used-up piece of trash like her… how can she still stand to be alive?” Sophie, already on the brink, let out a piercing scream. The barely-healed scars on her wrists split open again. Her eyes, swollen from constant crying, were now empty of tears, filled only with despair. My mother struggled to restrain her. Shaking with rage, I grabbed a kitchen knife and lunged at Nina. At the last second, a strong hand caught my wrist. Nina shrieked and threw herself into the arms of Marcus, who had just arrived. Her arrogant demeanor vanished, replaced by hiccupping sobs. “Professor, I just came to comfort Nicole, and… and she tried to kill me! I’m so scared!” Marcus threw the knife to the floor and wrapped his arms around her, his eyes flashing with fury as he looked at me. “Nicole, I’m warning you. If you ever harm a single hair on Nina’s head, I will make you disappear without a trace.” I knew he meant it. I knew, as a lawyer, he had the power to do it. But he forgot one thing. I had already been pushed to the edge. Death was no threat to me. I stormed into the bathroom, grabbed a basin of dirty water, and threw it on the two of them. “And I’m warning you, Marcus,” I snarled. “If you two ever show your faces here again, I swear to God, I’ll take you both down with me.” After they left, I managed to find a young, unknown lawyer who was desperate to make a name for himself. He agreed to take the case. On the day of the trial, I arrived early. And I saw Nina and her brother sitting with the opposing counsel. The man who had assaulted my sister was Nina’s brother. A moment later, Marcus walked in and took his place beside Nina, not as a spectator, but as the lead defense attorney for her brother. He was standing against me. At the same time, my phone rang. It was my mother. Sophie was on the roof of the courthouse. Seeing the panic on my face, Nina smiled and sent me a video. In it, her brother was assaulting my sister a second time.

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After the divorce, my mom set me up again. He was an engineer. Good-looking, well-off, and out of the country most of the year. The only catch? He had a son who wasn’t quite… right. My mom asked if I minded being a stepmom. I just laughed. A ready-made kid is a lot easier than nine months of pregnancy. Isn’t the government encouraging people to have children anyway? I’ll take him. 1 Michael’s work was demanding, so our first meeting was at a café beneath his office building. He was dressed in a pair of light-gray work coveralls, his features sharp and handsome, his smile disarmingly warm. I was floored. I had no idea my mom had access to this caliber of blind date material. Over coffee, he gave me the rundown of his life. Thirty-five, a six-figure salary as a global support engineer for a heavy machinery company, constantly traveling for overseas assignments. When we were done, he made it clear he was more than happy with me, but then he brought up the delicate subject. “I’m not sure if your mother mentioned it, but I have a five-year-old son. He’s in kindergarten.” I nodded. I get it, teenagers can be rebellious, but I couldn’t wrap my head around how a five-year-old could be “not right.” Was Michael violent? Did he have some kind of weird fetish? My eyes scanned him again, from head to toe. His hands were clenched into tight fists, a sign of his nerves. He offered me a devastatingly earnest, almost goofy smile. He seemed harmless enough. “Can I ask why you and your ex-wife divorced?” Michael went quiet for a moment. “We didn’t divorce. I’m a widower. She died from an amniotic fluid embolism during childbirth.” I froze. That was a detail my mom had conveniently left out. “When my son was born, I was flying all over the world for work. He lived with his maternal grandparents. I brought him home to live with me when he was four, and that’s when he…” He trailed off, rubbing his hands together awkwardly as he waited for my verdict. I thought it over, then finally said, “I have a three-year-old daughter. She has to live with me. I don’t know if you’re okay with that.” 2 My daughter, Buddy, is a Golden Retriever I rescued from a back-alley breeder. I spent twelve thousand dollars on his surgeries, which led to a six-month cold war with my ex-husband, followed by our divorce. Michael stared at me, dumbfounded, for a solid three seconds. The tension in his shoulders visibly melted the moment I showed him a picture of Buddy on my phone. Aside from my commitment to Buddy, Michael knew the basics about me. Thirty, a freelance writer who basically lives like a hermit, pulling in a modest income that my ex found embarrassing. Since the divorce, I’d been living with my parents, and my mom never let me forget it. “So… can I get your number? We could, you know, keep talking.” I was satisfied with Michael. He needed a wife to take care of his son, and I needed his income to support my stay-at-home lifestyle. Plus, I’m a total sucker for a pretty face. After we exchanged numbers, I immediately sent him my half of the bill for the coffee. Michael glanced at the payment notification on his phone, his brow furrowing. “If… if you think I’m decent enough,” he began, hesitating, “maybe I could introduce you to my son sometime?” “He’s really not… off all the time. When he’s quiet, he’s actually pretty adorable.” I didn’t say anything. He took a deep breath, playing his final card. “I’m serious about you. If you’re willing, I’ll give you a fifty-thousand-dollar nest egg to start our life, and my paycheck is yours and your daughter’s every month.” “How about tomorrow, then?” I said. “I have to take Buddy to the vet for a check-up. They can meet afterward.” We set a time. I picked up my dog from the groomer’s, went home, and gave my mom the short version. I still couldn’t understand why Michael tensed up every time he mentioned his son. A five-year-old boy… even if he was a bit of a handful, how “not right” could he be? “Mom, have you ever met his son?” My mom scratched her head. “Oh, sure. He seemed like a nice boy. Looks just like his dad, sweet-faced. Just… quiet. Doesn’t really engage with anyone.” “He’s five,” she added with a shrug. “What are you so afraid of? It’s not like he can burn the house down.” 3 The next day, after Buddy’s check-up, I made a special trip to the toy store and a bakery, loading up on action figures and a box of egg tarts. Michael picked me up, and it was only then that I learned he owned a sprawling penthouse apartment in the city center. Because of his crazy work schedule, his son spent most of his time there alone. “Patrick’s grandparents aren’t in the best of health these days, so they can’t look after him anymore,” he explained. “I have a nanny who comes by regularly to cook for him.” “Patrick? That’s a nice name.” “His mother picked it.” I fell silent. Michael parked in the underground garage, took the bags from my hands, and led me toward the elevator. “Patrick’s still young. I know it might be a lot to ask, but he’ll need you to look after him.” “I came back yesterday and cleaned the whole place up…” His words died on his lips. He pushed the door open to reveal a living room that looked like a warzone. Patrick was sitting alone on the sofa, methodically stuffing a small cake into his mouth. “Patrick!” Michael’s face flushed with anger. Patrick stared blankly at Buddy for a second before scrambling off the couch and bolting into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Michael looked exhausted, apologizing profusely. The door was locked tight. No matter what Michael said, Patrick wouldn’t open it. It would take time for the nanny to come and clean up, so Michael and I sat on the sofa, making small talk. “He claims he can hear cats and dogs talking,” Michael said, his voice low. “He also said a dog found a new mommy for him.” “But don’t worry,” he added quickly. “I’ve taken him to a child psychologist. They said it’s nothing that will affect his daily life.” Since I talk to Buddy all the time, I didn’t find Patrick’s claims particularly strange. He was only five. His dad had just brought home a strange woman. Acting out to claim his territory seemed perfectly normal. Just as I was trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between us, the door to his room creaked open, just a crack. His eyes met mine for a fleeting second before darting away. The moment he saw the nanny arrive at the front door, he slammed his own door shut again. He was afraid of her. 4 I asked the nanny to just take out the trash and leave for the day. Then, I walked over to Patrick’s room and knocked softly. “The nanny’s gone. When you’re hungry, you can come out and eat.” A long moment passed. Finally, the door opened. He peeked his head out, checking to make sure she was really gone before cautiously stepping into the living room. Buddy, his tongue lolling out, wagged his tail excitedly and trotted circles around the little boy. Patrick looked uncomfortable. He tugged at his slightly-too-small t-shirt, then shyly reached out and patted Buddy’s head. He quickly snatched an egg tart from the shopping bag and stuffed it into his pocket. The nanny hadn’t prepared lunch, so we ordered from a restaurant nearby and ate together. “Is she my mom?” Patrick, sitting across from me, asked the question out of the blue. Buddy, who was lying at his feet, let out two sharp barks. Patrick looked up, his wide, hopeful eyes shifting between me and Michael. His eyelashes were long, and his cheeks were still plump with baby fat, flushed a rosy pink. He looked like a delicious little strawberry shortcake. Michael was right. Patrick was actually quite adorable. “Yes,” Michael said softly. “Would you like to live with her?” “You’re a liar, Daddy!” Patrick’s eyes filled with tears, but he spoke with a stubborn defiance. “My mommy is dead!” The mood at the table instantly soured. I smiled, peeled a shrimp, and placed it on his plate. “I’m not your mommy. You can call me Auntie Clara. Of course, if you want to, you can call me Mom.” “Like the nanny?” he shot back, a deceptively innocent, almost cruel, smile on his face. “Is that what you are?” “No. I’ll be living with you. I’ll be the one to discipline you for your dad. The nanny won’t spank you, but I will.” His eyes welled up with tears again. 5 The very next afternoon, Michael and I were at the courthouse getting our marriage license. He was in a rush, quickly helping me move my things into his apartment. A couple of weeks ago, he had received an assignment that would take him overseas for an extended period. He’d delayed his departure because he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Patrick alone for so long. “I’ll be gone for more than half a year this time. I’m counting on you to take care of Patrick. If anything comes up, just message me. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” “Patrick can be a handful at school. You might have to take some heat from the teachers for me.” “If he misbehaves and makes you angry, you have my permission to discipline him. Just don’t hurt him, okay?” “And… video call me if you miss me.” Michael recited his laundry list of instructions as he stood in the security line at the airport. I had suggested Patrick skip a day of school to see him off, but the boy had stubbornly refused. Michael’s figure grew smaller and smaller, eventually swallowed by the bustling airport crowd. On the way back, I took a detour to the supermarket. Ever since I’d noticed Patrick’s fear of the nanny, I’d had Michael let her go. With no one else to cook, the job fell to me. Day one of motherhood. To make a good first impression, I drove to pick him up from school. But when I got there, I saw him lingering by the school gates with a group of other kids. They were jumping around him, singing some kind of song. What was going on? A party at the school gate? It wasn’t his birthday. My patience wore thin. I got out of the car and plucked Patrick from the center of the circle. “Sorry, guys. Patrick’s mom wants him home for dinner, so he can’t play right now.” I buckled him into the back seat. The seatbelt was loose, completely useless. Note to self: buy a booster seat. Buddy sniffed around him, licking his hand from time to time and nudging his chin with his head. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” Silence. Right. I’d almost forgotten. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about his new stepmom. I changed the subject. “I fired the nanny.” I watched his reflection in the rearview mirror. His head shot up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then, completely out of context, he answered my first question. “I want barbecue ribs, and honey-glazed ribs, and…” A cold sweat prickled my back. I had clearly overestimated my culinary skills. In the end, we went out for dinner. 6 After dinner, I fed Buddy, and Patrick quietly washed his hands and went to his room to look at his picture books. What was so “not right” about this kid? He was perfectly normal. I happily settled in for a quiet evening, opening my laptop to write. At nine o’clock, Patrick was still engrossed in a Sudoku puzzle, with no intention of going to bed. I took the book away and told him it was time for a bath. He clung to the doorframe with all his might, shouting, “I can wash myself! I can do it!” I pried his stubborn little fingers away. “Can you really get yourself clean? You’re starting to smell a little ripe.” He let go, completely stunned. His cheeks puffed out in indignation, making him look like an angry little pufferfish. “That’s a lie! I take a bath every single day!” I ended up having to physically drag him into the bathroom. Patrick’s bathroom had a large tub with a low-set faucet, which made it easy for him to draw his own bath. I stripped him down, tossed him in, and started scrubbing him down like a potato. When I got to his arm, he cried out in pain. At first, I thought he was just being dramatic, but when I looked up, his eyes were brimming with tears. That’s when I saw it—a large, ugly bruise on his right forearm. My expression hardened. “How did you get this?” He refused to answer. I gave his bottom a light swat. “Patrick, I’m talking to you!” He burst into tears, wailing like a teakettle. “When I don’t listen, the nanny pinches me,” he sobbed. “She says I’m the kid nobody wanted.” I froze. Suddenly, his question from the restaurant—“Like the nanny?”—slammed into me. It wasn’t a challenge. It was a test. He was terrified that I would hurt him, too. Coming back to my senses, I softened my voice. I wrapped him in a towel and lifted him out of the tub. “How long has she been hurting you? Why didn’t you tell your dad?” Frustration simmered inside me as I pulled a set of pajamas over his head. “You have a mouth, don’t you? Why are you suddenly silent when your dad’s around?” “I don’t get to see Daddy very often,” he mumbled. “By the time I see him, it doesn’t hurt anymore.” I pulled the hood of his pajamas up over his head. “Doesn’t hurt? Then who was that screaming in the bathtub just now?” “From now on, if anyone ever lays a hand on you, you hit them back. Hard. You understand? I’ve got your back. I won’t tell your dad.” I tucked him into bed and turned to his closet. What was this? All his clothes were a size too small. “I don’t have any new clothes.” Patrick’s voice was muffled from under the covers, only his eyes visible. “The nanny took all the new clothes Daddy bought for me.” Damn it. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I lay awake until midnight, tossing and turning, vowing to make that woman pay. 7 I didn’t even have to go looking for trouble. It found me. The school called. Patrick had gotten into a fight. I floored it, racing to the kindergarten. When I arrived, the former nanny was splayed on the floor of the principal’s office, putting on a world-class performance of weeping and wailing. I pulled Patrick behind me, crouching down to check him from head to toe. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when I saw the only injury was a small scratch on his cheek from another kid’s fingernail. “You’re this little monster’s mother, are you? Look what he did to my grandson!” I bent down and pointed at the other boy, whose face was a mess of bruises and swelling. “Did you do this to him?” Patrick wouldn’t speak. “Patrick! Head up. Answer me!” He obediently lifted his head, his hands fidgeting nervously in front of him. “I did it,” he whispered. “He called me a stray with no mom. I got angry, so I hit him.” I ruffled his hair. “Good job. You did the right thing.” The teacher looked at me as if I’d just sprouted a second head. “Mrs. Miller, children will be children, but you’re an adult. You should know better.” The nanny shrieked, “An apology? My grandson looks like this, and you think an apology is enough? You’re going to pay for this!” “Patrick did nothing wrong,” I said, turning to face the spectacle on the floor. “And last I checked, I’m not dead. So how exactly does that make him a child with no mother?” I gave the nanny a pointed look. “You know, I was just about to come looking for you. I noticed some cash missing from a drawer at home the other day.” She flinched, but quickly puffed out her chest. “What are you talking about? That’s slander!” “It’s fine if you don’t admit it. The security cameras saw everything.” She scrambled to her feet, shooting me a venomous glare. “I don’t care about that! Your son beat up my grandson, and you’re going to pay. If you don’t, I’ll make you regret it!” A triumphant, vicious smirk spread across her face. “I know your husband isn’t home.” I clenched my fists, ready to throw down. The teacher grabbed my wrist. “Don’t be rash. Just apologize and this will all be over. His father is not someone you want to cross.” Just as she said that, a deep voice boomed from the doorway. “Who? Who’s been bullying my son?”

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I was reborn, sent back to my teenage years alongside the boy I grew up with, the boy with autism. This time, Trey pulled his hand from mine, clumsily bought a bouquet of flowers, and gave them to the girl he saw as his sun, Stacy. All because Stacy loved to tease him with crude, flirty jokes. After being subjected to her relentless teasing, something in him clicked. He thought he was cured. In my past life, I had spent over a decade caring for him, painstakingly teaching him how to express his own likes and dislikes. I never imagined the first thing he’d learn to express so casually, so cruelly, would be directed at me: “You’re… annoying. Not as likable as she is…” I looked down from the window. On the lawn below, a girl and a boy were wrapped in an embrace. She was bold; he was shy, pulling away with a blush. Fine. This was for the best. I didn’t want to spend another lifetime tethered to a patient. 1 “Hey, are you really autistic?” Stacy tilted her head, a playful grin on her face as she poked Trey’s arm. “Because you weren’t so quiet last night… when you were in bed. What happened to the autism then?” Trey’s ears flushed a deep crimson. His usually stoic face broke into a flicker of startled surprise. “I… I didn’t…” The classroom fell silent for a beat before erupting in a flurry of whispers. “Oh my god, did you guys hear that? Trey actually spoke! Isn’t that the second time today?” “Hilarious. Guess the unconventional methods work faster. Unlike some people…” The speaker shot a pointed glance in my direction before trailing off. I kept my face impassive, my eyes fixed on the book in my lap, pretending I didn’t know they were talking about me. It was true. This was the second time Trey had spoken voluntarily today. The first was when our teacher had tried to rearrange the seating chart to put me next to him. He had, for the first time ever, voiced his own opinion. “I don’t want to.” The words were so fluid, so natural, that even the teacher was stunned into silence at her desk. After a quick call with Trey’s mother, the teacher had nodded, relieved. “Alright then, no changes.” “And Stacy, tone it down. Stop picking on Trey.” I stood up, and before I could even take a step, Trey spoke again, his voice dripping with revulsion. “I told you, I’m not taking the meds anymore.” “For every pill you try to give me, I’ll just throw one away.” For a moment, I was lost in a daze, the past and present blurring into one. Trey’s tone, the look in his eyes—it was identical to before. The whispers of my classmates wormed their way into my ears. “God, isn’t Rochelle embarrassed? Trey must be so sick of her. Who wants someone chasing them with pills after school every day?” “And have you noticed how much he talks around Stacy? He seems totally normal.” “Brooding, quiet boy and the cheerful, popular girl? I ship it!” And Stacy, the so-called cheerful girl, was now smiling as she gently pinched Trey’s pale cheek. “Really? Am I that special to you?” “Look at you, blushing again. So cute.” Trey’s eyelashes fluttered. He quickly averted his gaze, and for a split second, his eyes met mine. In that instant, they turned cold as ice, all the vibrant emotion from moments before completely gone. A thought struck me. Could he have been reborn, too? Was that why he refused to sit next to me? Heh. Even better. 2 After school, Trey slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out of the classroom ahead of me. Charles, the driver waiting at the school gates, did a double-take. “Sir? Aren’t you waiting for Miss Rochelle?” Trey’s lips were pressed into a thin line. He didn’t answer. Charles was used to it. He shot a disapproving look at me as I trailed behind. “Miss Rochelle,” he said, his voice low, “why weren’t you keeping up? If something were to happen to the young master, how would I explain it to Mrs. Montgomery?” See? He called me “Miss” out of habit, but he never truly saw me as anything more than the help. I suppose that’s what happens when your family loses everything. “Charles, let’s go.” Trey, who rarely spoke, suddenly gave a command. Charles was so surprised he forgot the lecture he was about to give me. “Young master? You… you spoke to me?” Charles grinned foolishly, so caught up in the moment that he didn’t notice a stranger approaching. “Wow, Trey, is this your family’s car?” “How much does something like this cost?” Charles frowned, about to shoo Stacy away, but then he saw Trey open the car door himself. Trey nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “If you like it… it’s yours.” Stacy’s eyes went wide. “Hahahaha! Do you even know what you’re saying?” “You’re really going to give it to me?” Trey nodded earnestly and stepped out of the car, gesturing for her to get in. A muscle in Charles’s jaw twitched. He stared at Stacy in disbelief. Anyone who knew Trey knew that he hated anyone invading his personal space. It had taken me six months just to be allowed to ride in the same car with him. But Stacy was different. For Trey, she was the exception. A first. She patted his head like he was an obedient puppy. “Oh my god, you’re so naive. Aren’t you afraid of being taken advantage of?” “Alright, I’ll stop teasing you. See you tomorrow, my sweet little desk mate.” She walked away humming, radiating pure joy. Trey seemed to catch her infectious happiness, a small smile playing on his lips. He watched until her figure disappeared completely before turning around and, right in front of me, slamming the car door shut with a loud thud. Charles had forgotten I even existed. His usual professional calm was gone, replaced by an eagerness to race home and tell Trey’s mother everything he had just witnessed. The car sped off, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I glanced at my phone. My rideshare was five minutes away. Good thing I hadn’t counted on them. 3 That night, the Montgomery mansion next door was filled with joy and laughter, while our house was suffocating in silence. “What happened? Why didn’t you come home with him?” “Can’t you even handle a simple task like looking after someone? I’ve wasted all these years raising you!” My mother cautiously handed my father a cup of tea. “Don’t yell at her. Calm down.” But he swatted the cup away. It crashed to the floor, shattering into sharp, glittering fragments. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Our villa, already sparsely furnished, felt even emptier with one less person in it. My mother sighed, her voice soft. “Rochelle, did you and Trey have a fight?” “You know how he is, honey. He’s a simple boy. You just need to be more patient and understanding. Our family’s future depends on the Montgomerys…” Back when my father hadn’t gambled away our family’s fortune, we were on equal footing with the Montgomerys. At least, we didn’t have to bend over backward to please them at the slightest suggestion from Trey’s mother. I paused in my cleanup of the broken porcelain. “Mom, I’m a senior this year. I’ll be in college soon. I can earn my own money and build my own life.” “Why do we have to pin all our hopes on the Montgomerys, and on… him?” “Your father will change! The Montgomerys lent him money. He’s going to turn things around.” Her voice grew quieter, lacking any real conviction. But Mom, don’t you know? Even if I did exactly as you wished and fawned over Trey, Dad would never have been able to kick his gambling habit. He didn’t stop until he’d mortgaged this very house—the last symbol of his pride—and then jumped from the roof. In the end, we were left with nothing, completely dependent on the Montgomerys’ charity. My hand clenched instinctively. The sharp pain of a porcelain shard digging into my palm jolted me back to the present. My mother gasped, gently disinfecting the wound. Just then, a notification lit up my phone. It was a message from Trey. [You’re disgusting. So annoying.] [Stay away from me from now on.] People with autism often seem to lack social graces. They speak bluntly, without considering the feelings of others. In my past life, I spent more than a decade with Trey, painstakingly teaching him how to express his dislikes in a constructive way. Not through hitting, breaking things, or cruel words. He was a slow learner, but he had made progress. Once, when his mother offered him a glass of warm milk to calm his nerves, he hadn’t smashed it like he used to. He had simply said, calmly, “I don’t want it.” His mother had cried with joy. I had stood by, a small smile on my face. Even though, hidden beneath my long sleeve, was a permanent scar from a burn he’d given me with a cup of hot water. I lowered my eyes and typed a reply. [Fine.] 4 The next morning, my father grabbed my arm and dragged me to the Montgomerys’ front door, a sycophantic smile plastered on his face. “Is Trey here? He hasn’t left yet, has he?” The Montgomerys’ butler gave him a cool, dismissive glance. “The young master left some time ago. Mrs. Montgomery has instructed that Miss Rochelle should get to school on her own from now on.” The butler offered a tight, apologetic smile. “You understand our young master’s condition. We can’t have him being overstimulated.” My father’s expression froze. He shot me a furious glare. I ignored him, dodging the slap he aimed at my head and walking calmly toward school. When I entered the classroom, I saw Trey and Stacy huddled together, sharing breakfast. “Jules, I don’t have an appetite. I just want a piece of you.” “Hey, how come you’re not eating your sausage…” “Oh, right. I remember. You have your own.” Trey, who had been eating with quiet refinement, turned beet red. “Don’t… don’t say things like that,” he stammered. Stacy’s friends roared with laughter. “Stacy, you’re wild! You could probably make a mute person talk, let alone someone with autism.” Stacy raised an eyebrow, triumphant. She grabbed my arm as I walked by. “Rochelle, back me up here.” “He doesn’t really have autism, does he? He’s just an introvert, right?” “I mean, he can’t only talk this much around me.” I pulled my arm away. Before I could say a word, Trey cut in. “You’re different.” “She’s like my mom,” he said, nodding toward me, “nagging and annoying.” “Not cute like you.” The other students’ faces were a mix of amusement and ridicule. They were all enjoying the show. A profound weariness washed over me. I felt tired for the old me. Before I was assigned to be Trey’s keeper, I was the envied daughter of a wealthy family. But to fulfill my duty, I humbled myself, catered to his every whim, and yielded to him in everything. Even a dog shows gratitude after a few days. In my past life, if it hadn’t been for that car accident on the way to the courthouse, I would have been shackled to him forever. And still, he was like this. He had learned how to communicate normally, how to smile at strangers. But with me, he was always sharp, cruel, completely disregarding my feelings. Was it really Stacy’s sunny disposition that had changed him, made him a little more normal? No. It was the result of my decade of tireless effort in our past life. But everyone just took it for granted, handing all the credit to Stacy. I looked Trey straight in the eye and smiled. “Well, I certainly don’t have a son as old as you.” 5 In my past life, my future had been mapped out for me by Trey’s mother. Trey was going to the Crestwood Conservatory, so I had to study music therapy, a niche and unpopular field. Using the music he loved to heal him—in his mother’s eyes, it was the perfect plan. It didn’t matter that I had no aptitude for music, or that the degree would be useless for finding a job. As long as it was useful for Trey, that was all that mattered. As a reward, the Montgomerys would provide my father with capital and business opportunities. Back then, at school, Trey was often triggered by loud noises or unexpected movements. He would have a meltdown, becoming anxious and agitated. He’d flip desks, uncontrollably digging his nails into his own skin until his hands were bloody. I would have to put down my notes and, under the complicated stares of our classmates, gently comfort him. Right. Where was his “little sun” then? Oh, she was in the crowd of onlookers, whispering with everyone else. Trey could lie to himself, but I hadn’t forgotten. On his eighteenth birthday, the Montgomerys threw a lavish party. It wasn’t just to celebrate his coming of age, but to showcase to the world his miraculous recovery. At the party, Stacy was the guest of honor. She wore a custom-made gown, a diamond necklace sparkling at her throat. Under the bright lights, she stood with her arm linked through Trey’s, greeting guests with a radiant smile. They looked like a perfect couple. I had no appetite, so I slipped out into the garden as the party was winding down. There, I stumbled upon Stacy and Trey, laughing together. She was holding a bouquet of sunflowers. “Why did you get me these?” she asked, with a playful pout. “Everyone else gives roses…” Trey’s reply was serious. “You’re warm. Like a sunflower.” “When I see you, I’m happy.” “What about Rochelle? Didn’t you two grow up together?” “What is she like?” I stood in the shadows, watching his expression clearly. He frowned, a look of cold annoyance on his face. “She’s like this.” He gestured vaguely toward the ground. At the clover. Not the lucky four-leaf kind. Just a weed. The evening air was thick and warm. The cicadas buzzed restlessly. Their chirping echoed my own frantic heartbeat, which then abruptly stopped, as if doused in ice water. I saw Stacy stand on her tiptoes and press a kiss to Trey’s cheek. The tips of Trey’s ears turned red. He shyly looked away, and that’s when he saw me in the corner. I felt a profound sense of pointlessness and turned to leave. “Rochelle!” Trey called out, jogging over to me. A faint blush still colored his cheeks. “Your mom came to see me. She still wants us to go to the same university.” “Your mom worries too much. Stacy is clearly a better match for you than I am.” Trey frowned. “But I told my mom I only want you.” I looked up, surprised. He turned his head away. “When I have an episode… I’m ugly.” So that was it. That’s why he only wanted me. He saved his best side for Stacy, leaving only his uncontrolled, volatile self to hurt me. I was to be his glorified nanny, trailing behind him, forcing him to take his medication even when he hated me for it. Managing his emotions, putting him first in everything. Things the delicate “little sun” couldn’t possibly handle. From a distance, Stacy called his name, her voice sweet. “Come on, Jules! I’ll take you to do something you love.” But he didn’t move. I knew he was waiting for my reassurance. He wasn’t blind to my efforts; he just felt entitled to them. I composed myself and gave him a bright smile. “Of course. I’ll always be with you.” He heard my answer and happily ran toward Stacy. The smile vanished from my eyes. Trey, after the SATs, you can take your sunflower and go your separate ways. I will finally leave you, and I will be the most resilient weed you’ve ever seen. I just wonder, when you have your next meltdown, will your little sun still shine so brightly? I can’t wait to see. 6 During my breaks from studying, gossip about Trey and Stacy was unavoidable. They said Stacy had convinced Trey to sneak out of school with her. Or that they had secretly taken a trip to a music festival in the next state. My mom told me that Trey’s mother had waited for them at the train station, her face grim, surrounded by a group of men. She had burst into tears the moment she saw him. She saw a Trey who was vibrant and full of life. Everyone said Stacy was Trey’s salvation, that their story was like a high school romance novel come to life. Even my mom looked at me with pity. “It’s such a shame you and Trey just weren’t meant to be.” I just kept my head down, studying, a world apart from the lively chatter around me. To help the seniors de-stress, the school organized a Christmas talent show. Surprisingly, Trey was scheduled to perform. He stood on stage in a simple white shirt and black pants, his quiet presence enough to capture the entire auditorium’s attention. “Rochelle.” I turned at the sound of my name. He was fiddling with his fingers. “I went to your house to find you. You weren’t there.” Did he really expect me to be at his beck and call? “I moved into the dorms a while ago.” He frowned, clearly trying to remember when I had moved out. He looked like he was about to say more, but I had no interest in listening. Stacy bounced over to him, doing a little twirl in her dress. “Do I look pretty today?” Trey must have nodded because I heard Stacy immediately say, “Then say it. Say ‘I like Stacy.’” I fought the urge to roll my eyes and turned to leave. But Trey’s voice carried clearly. He asked, “What is ‘like’?” Stacy, not getting the response she expected, froze. She quickly recovered, forcing a smile. “You said you’re happy when you see me, right?” “That’s what ‘like’ is.” Trey nodded thoughtfully but said nothing more. When it was his turn to perform, the applause was deafening. In everyone’s eyes, he was no longer the boy with severe autism, but a quiet, composed, and exceptionally talented musician. A cheerful melody flowed from his long, slender fingers. It was hard to believe that someone who seemed so aloof could have such a rich inner world. I clapped along with the crowd, but I knew the truth. This was the piece he had written for Stacy in our past life. Now, he was finally playing it for his sun, out in the open. When the song ended, Stacy, in her formal gown, walked onto the stage to present him with flowers. Everyone was saying they were a match made in heaven. Someone whistled loudly, and the cheers threatened to bring the roof down. I slipped out quietly and stood in the hallway, taking a deep breath.

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After signing the divorce papers, I went back to Ethan’s to pack. He leaned in the doorway, smirking, as I boxed every pot and pan I’d ever bought. “For someone getting divorced, you look more like you’re looting the place,” he sneered. “What’s next? The toilet?” He always spoke with such venom. I used to shout back, but not anymore. We were done. My silence seemed to infuriate him. He turned and yelled into the house, “Rick! Get your piggy bank—your mother bought that too.” Soon, little footsteps approached, and a boy ran out holding a ceramic pig. He held it out to me. “Mom,” he said flatly, “I know you’re broke. Take this for bus fare. But promise you won’t come back. Don’t bother me, Dad, or Aunt Beth.” Hearing my son mention his father’s mistress used to feel like a knife to the gut. But now, I just smiled, knelt, and ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “Even if you came back begging on your knees, I would never return.” 1 After I spoke, I took the piggy bank from Rick’s hands. Then, I simply let it slip from my fingers. The ceramic shattered on the hardwood floor, a perfect metaphor for the five years of love I’d poured into my son. He came from my own body, yet our bond had rotted to the core. Rick stared at me, his eyes wide with shock. I just offered him a cold, mocking smile. Grabbing my suitcase in one hand and the heavy box in the other, I walked out of that house for the last time. As soon as I reached the street, I hailed a cab and headed for the train station. On the way, the kid-friendly smartwatch I’d bought him started calling me, over and over. I had no idea what he wanted. It used to be that no matter what I was doing—in a meeting, in the bathroom, fast asleep—I would always answer his call. This time, I blocked his number. What was there to talk about? I remembered his fifth birthday like it was yesterday. His face was aglow with excitement as he made his wish. “Mommy,” he’d said, “you know how you read in that picture book that you’d make any wish of mine come true? Is that right?” “So for my wish,” he’d continued, his eyes sparkling with innocent cruelty, “I want a new mom. I don’t want you anymore. I want Aunt Beth to be my mom. Can you do that?” The color drained from my face. Beside him, Ethan let out a derisive laugh. “See, Amy? You’re just so unlikable, even your own son wants to trade you in.” He’d grinned. “You should be grateful I stuck with you for seven years without doing the same.” His words had felt like stones in my throat, and I’d fought back the tears that threatened to spill. Then Rick, my own son, had twisted the knife. “Dad, why are you even talking to her? A nagging woman like her doesn’t deserve to be loved by anyone.” So, a child like that? Why would I ever want him back? Besides, at the end of the long journey ahead of me, Rick was gone. And another child, one who also called me “Mommy,” was waiting. 2 The journey was grueling. An eight-hour train ride, a four-hour bus journey, and the last thirty minutes on the back of a sputtering motorbike. I finally arrived at my destination. But just as I was about to push open the gate to find the little girl, my phone rang. It was Ethan. My first instinct was to hang up. But he was relentless. I’d decline the call, and he’d immediately call back. Finally, I snapped and answered. His angry voice shot through the receiver. “Amy, what the hell are you doing? Why did it take you so long to answer? Rick has a fever!” Hearing those words—Rick has a fever—my heart clenched instinctively. A mother’s reflex, buried deep. I remembered when I was pregnant with him. Ethan’s business had just collapsed, and he’d sunk into a deep depression. I spent my days fending off his creditors and my nights trying to manage his dark moods, my own body flooded with anxiety. As a result, Rick arrived early, at thirty-five weeks. My water broke first. I was frantic, pounding on Ethan’s bedroom door, but he was lost in his illness, refusing to answer or open up. So I had to grab the hospital bag myself, stumble down the stairs with amniotic fluid soaking my legs, and hail my own cab, all while enduring the rhythmic agony of contractions. But I was too late. Rick nearly suffocated inside me. The doctors performed an emergency C-section and saved him, but he still spent a month in an incubator. Even after he came home, his premature birth left him fragile. He was constantly sick, his tiny hands, feet, and head a roadmap of needle pricks from IVs. Every time he cried in pain, I felt a wave of guilt so profound I wished it were me lying there instead. Over the years, worrying about him, hurting for him—it had become part of my very bones. So even though I wanted to scream back at Ethan—We’re divorced, remember? You have full custody. You’re the one who added that clause to the papers saying I couldn’t see him unless it was an emergency, so his fever is your problem!—the words got tangled up with that deep-seated maternal instinct. What came out instead was a sigh. “Ethan, take his temperature. If it’s over 101.5, give him the children’s ibuprofen.” My voice was automatic, tired. “It’s in the living room cabinet, third shelf. The dosage is on the bottle, follow it exactly.” “If it’s not that high, there are cooling patches on the same shelf. Stick one on his forehead and wipe him down with a lukewarm cloth.” “After that, give him 10ml of the cold medicine from the orange box. No more than 10ml.” “And if his fever spikes to 103 tonight, you have to take him to the hospital.” I was meticulous, first because Rick’s weak constitution meant a small mistake could make things much worse, and second, because I hoped that if I taught Ethan how to do it this one time, he would never have to call me again. But my careful explanation only fueled his anger. “You think I’m a damn doctor? You think I can just follow a list of instructions?” he roared. “And what kind of mother are you, giving orders over the phone instead of getting your ass back here to take care of your son?” His shouting was so familiar. I squeezed the phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure. This wasn’t the first time. It was an old, ugly pattern. After his business failed and depression took hold three years ago, he’d refused to work, refused to earn a single dollar. To keep us afloat and care for a baby, I started running food deliveries by day and ghostwriting academic papers by night. I even timed my deliveries so I could race home every two hours to breastfeed. But even in those two-hour windows, Ethan wouldn’t watch Rick. I’d come home to his bitter reproaches and a baby wailing in a diaper heavy with his own filth, his little hands red from chewing them in hunger. After eight months of this hell, I finally broke. One day, I came home to find Rick screaming, a terrible rash blooming from a soiled diaper Ethan hadn’t bothered to change. In a blind rage, I slapped him. Hard. “You have depression, Ethan, you’re not a paraplegic!” I’d shrieked, my voice raw and hysterical. “Your son is starving to death! Can’t you at least stir some formula or change a damn diaper?” He never forgave me for that slap. He stormed out and didn’t come back for a week. When he did, he started looking for work, eventually starting another business that succeeded. But from that day on, he hated me. Every word he spoke to me was either a criticism or a thinly veiled insult, as if forcing a man with depression to provide for his family was the most unforgivable sin in the world. For years, I put up with it, all for Rick, for the idea of a complete family. But we were divorced now. And still, he felt entitled to berate me. I was about to unleash years of pent-up fury, to finally tell him where he could go. But before I could get a word out, another voice cut through the line—a soft, gentle one. “Ethan, I’m here,” it said. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. Rick will be fine.” The sound of that voice sent a familiar shard of ice through my heart. It was Beth. Ethan’s therapist during his depression. His affair partner. The woman my son wished was his mother. I was the one who found her for him, scouring listings and reviews for the best psychologist. Each session cost a thousand dollars, money I scraped together from the very bottom of our savings. But did Ethan appreciate my sacrifice? No. He saved all his gratitude for Beth, the woman who had “extended a hand of friendship and pulled him from the depths of his despair.” After his business took off again, he showered her with gifts: limited-edition handbags, expensive jewelry. A single phone call from her, and he would drop everything and run. Even when I caught them together in a five-star hotel room, he had dressed himself with infuriating calm. “Amy, what’s the big deal?” he’d said, buttoning his shirt. “When I was at my lowest, you were pushing me to go out and work. If it wasn’t for Beth, I’d probably be dead. Now get out. Beth and I have dinner reservations.” And Rick… Rick was just the same. He was a naturally mischievous kid, so I was strict with him. When he did something wrong, no amount of crying or tantrums would stop me from disciplining him. But Ethan couldn’t stand it. “All you ever do is lecture him,” he’d grumble. “Come on, Rick, ignore your mother. Dad will take you to see Aunt Beth.” And off they’d go, father and son, leaving my half-finished lecture hanging in the air. They’d go to Beth’s, and the three of them would act like a perfect little family, eating McDonald’s and KFC and doing all the things I’d forbidden. Because of that, Rick decided I was the bad mom. Only Beth was worthy of the title. The memory of it all was suffocating. As Beth’s voice soothed Ethan, I heard Rick in the background. “Mommy Beth, you’re here! I missed you so much!” Then, the line went dead. I listened to the dial tone, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. My fault, I thought. For daring to care. Just as that familiar, needle-like ache for Ethan and Rick began to prick at my heart again, a small, timid voice drifted from the dilapidated country house in front of me. “Hello? Who are you looking for? What are you doing outside our house?”

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On my wedding day, my fiancée—who had been missing for over a month—crashed the ceremony on the arm of my gardener’s son to demand I call the whole thing off. I had to hide a smile. My bride isn’t even you, so how can you call it off? She was still completely in the dark, clueless that she wasn’t the real Hamilton heiress at all. My intended bride had already been quietly switched to the family’s true-born daughter, Nancy, who had only recently returned to the fold. 1 It was the day of my wedding. The church was packed, the air buzzing with excitement. Suddenly, the grand doors burst open. Standing in the doorway was my fiancée of two weeks ago, Ava Hamilton, who had vanished without a trace. She was clinging to the arm of Aaron, my gardener’s son, who was, inexplicably, also wearing a tuxedo. A hush fell over the entire congregation. Every head turned to stare at the intruders. Ava’s expression was one of grim determination, like a martyr marching to her execution. She raised her voice, addressing the stunned guests. “Everyone, Aaron and I are in love. I cannot go through with this wedding to Bob.” Her gaze then locked onto mine. “Bob, I’m so sorry,” she declared. “My heart belongs to Aaron. Please, agree to break our engagement and let him be the groom today.” Aaron, for his part, adopted the look of a tragic hero fighting against a cruel world. “Mr. Sinclair, please don’t blame Ava,” he pleaded. “If you must blame someone, blame me.” Ava squared her shoulders. “Love isn’t a crime. We’ve done nothing wrong.” I couldn’t help but laugh, cutting them off. “Are you two done with your little performance? My bride was never you to begin with, so how can you call this off?” Ava froze. “What does that mean?” Nancy glided to my side, her elegance effortless. “What Bob means,” she said, her voice calm and cool, “is that this is our wedding. All irrelevant parties should leave immediately.” “And who are you?” Ava stammered. I wrapped an arm around Nancy’s shoulders. “She is my bride. The real Hamilton heiress. You can stop being the center of attention now.” Aaron’s voice, soft and wounded, piped up. “What Hamilton heiress? Isn’t Ava the only daughter of the Hamilton family?” Ava looked to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton for confirmation. “Dad? Mom?” Mrs. Hamilton waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, dear, did we forget to tell you? You’re not our biological daughter. There was a mix-up at the hospital all those years ago.” Mr. Hamilton’s face was a mask of annoyance. “The two of you need to leave now. Don’t ruin Bob and Nancy’s big day.” It was true. Just two weeks ago, Ava had been my fiancée. And it was just two weeks ago that the Hamiltons made the shocking discovery that Ava wasn’t theirs—that they had been raising another family’s child all this time. At the time of the discovery, Ava was off shacked up with Aaron, having completely ghosted everyone. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, already at their wits’ end with her behavior, decided to let their wayward, fake daughter fend for herself. And just like that, my betrothed was quietly switched. To their real daughter, Nancy, who had returned to the Hamilton family. She had kept her original surname because it was her mother’s maiden name. As the heir to the Sinclair Corporation, my marriage to the Hamilton family was a long-standing agreement. Marrying a counterfeit heiress was, of course, out of the question. We had all assumed Ava would stay hidden until the wedding was over. 2 But here she was, showing up on my wedding day with the audacity to think she was still the Hamilton heiress, the bride of the day. She even planned to have Aaron, dressed in a cheap tux, replace me at the altar. It was utterly absurd. Ava was so stunned she seemed to have gone deaf to the world around her. She looked around in a daze, her eyes finally landing on the welcome board at the entrance. It featured a photo of Nancy and me. We looked like a perfect pair, a match made in heaven. There was no trace of Ava anywhere. “What a shameless couple. Crashing a wedding after it’s already started.” “And look at that guy, all dressed up like he thinks he’s going to marry into money. What a joke.” The whispers of the guests grew into a low murmur. Aaron clutched the hem of his jacket, his head bowed. His face was ashen, as if he’d swallowed poison. Nancy shot them a single, cold glance and signaled the security guards. “Please escort these two uninvited guests out.” This was the most important day of my life. My stage. I wouldn’t let anyone else ruin it. Head held high, I proceeded with the ceremony. At the altar, Nancy and I exchanged rings. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ava and Aaron whispering furiously in the distance. A smirk touched my lips. A wave of relief washed over me. I had finally gotten the right fiancée. Though Nancy and I had been fierce rivals on the university debate circuit, I had to admit she outshone Ava in every conceivable way—poise, intelligence, and ambition. To have cast aside an incompetent fiancée who was cheating with a conniving flirt, only to marry a brilliant and stunning woman of true class… How lucky could I be? But then I saw it. The way Aaron looked at Nancy. There was something unnervingly familiar in his eyes. That look, brimming with a hunger and ambition that threatened to spill over. I remembered when his father, our head gardener Mr. Evans, first brought him to our house. He had put on an act of being obedient and sweet, sticking to my side like glue, desperate to be my best friend. I hadn’t minded having another friend around, so I let him come and go as he pleased. Ava lived next door and was always over at my house. Somehow, Aaron got to know her. He was always fawning over her, calling her name, and she absolutely lapped it up. He knew she was a terrible student, but he’d still bring his homework over when she was around, feigning confusion. “Ava, I don’t quite get this problem. Could you help me?” Then, when we were sixteen. Aaron took advantage of me being out of the house. He sweet-talked Mr. Evans into giving him the key to my room, snuck into my walk-in closet, and started trying on my clothes. I had forgotten something and came back early, catching him in the act. He immediately burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Bob! We’re so poor, I’ve only ever worn my cousin’s hand-me-downs. I’ve never even touched clothes this nice. I just lost my head for a moment.” 3 “Cut the crocodile tears. Does being poor give you the right to do whatever you want? Does being sheltered give you a free pass to steal other people’s things?” I inspected the clothes he had worn. Every piece reeked of the cloying scent of cheap cologne. One shirt even had a suspicious, disgusting yellow stain on it. I have never been a particularly forgiving person. “This clearly isn’t the first time you’ve done this. Now, you and your father can get out of my house. And you will pay me back for every single piece of clothing you’ve ruined.” Ava, hearing this, flew into a rage and stood protectively in front of Aaron. “Bob, that’s too far! Look at him, you’ve scared him so much he can’t even speak.” I found the whole situation ridiculous. “He’s crying because he got caught, not because he’s sorry. Do a few tears absolve him of his crime? Does it give him the right to wear my clothes and leave them in a mess?” “It’s my fault,” Aaron sobbed. “I was foolish to think you saw me as a brother.” “Don’t be afraid,” Ava soothed him, then turned to me, her brow furrowed. “You rich boys are all the same, looking down on everyone. Not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Aaron is already so pitiful, what’s the big deal if he tried on one of your shirts?” The look of disdain and confusion she gave me that day is still burned into my memory. It was as if I was the tyrannical villain in their little drama. Pathetic. Mr. Evans begged for my forgiveness and gave Aaron a harsh scolding. My father, out of respect for our long history, let the matter of compensation drop. When Mrs. Hamilton heard about it, she was disgusted by Aaron’s actions and warned Ava to stay away from him. But I saw them together on campus, closer than ever, multiple times. Before that incident, I had always seen Ava as the girl next door, my childhood friend. I even had a bit of a crush on her. After that, I wanted nothing to do with her. Even if she had been willing to go through with our marriage, I would have been a runaway groom. Fortunately for me, I didn’t have to be. Thanks to Aaron and his expert manipulation of that useless heiress. The wedding ended, and the guests began to disperse. Nancy held out her hand to me, the diamond on her finger sparkling. “It’s time to go, Mr. Sinclair.” I took her hand. Once upon a time, we were rivals on the debate stage, representing our different universities. She beat me every single time. I used to despise her so much I’d argue with her in my dreams. Who would have thought we’d end up married? Life is truly unpredictable. My new in-laws were beaming behind us. “Mom, wait! What about my wedding with Aaron?” Ava cried, rushing after them. Mrs. Hamilton looked at her as if just remembering she existed. 4 “Oh, just do whatever you want. It has nothing to do with us anymore,” Mr. Hamilton said, waving her away with contempt. Tears welled in Aaron’s eyes. “Thank you, sir, for your blessing,” he choked out. Ava let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t call him sir,” she said brightly. “You’re going to be my husband. You should start calling him Dad, Aaron.” Aaron started to speak. “Hold on,” Mr. Hamilton cut in, his smile vanishing. “I wouldn’t be so quick to accept that honor. Ava is no longer part of this family, so whatever the two of you do is your own business. Don’t go claiming relatives you don’t have.” He then turned, took my hand, and looked at me meaningfully. “Besides, Bob is the only son-in-law I have. Don’t get any ideas.” Aaron’s face soured, as if he’d just swallowed a fly. Ava shielded Aaron, glaring at my father-in-law with defiance. “Since you’ve found your real daughter, the least you can do is tell me where my birth parents are.” “Don’t worry,” Mr. Hamilton said coolly. “They’ll be here shortly.” Hope flickered in Ava and Aaron’s eyes. Aaron squeezed Ava’s hand, his face alight with excitement. “See, Ava? I’ll be right here with you until they arrive.” How pathetic. He was clearly convinced her real parents were some other wealthy, powerful family. He looked like a giddy fool. Nancy turned to me. “Mr. Sinclair, are we staying for the rest of this farce, or shall we go home?” “Let’s wait a little longer. The best part is yet to come.” Just then, two vehicles pulled up. One was a sleek, black Rolls-Royce. The other was a battered, rusty van. “They’re here!” Ava cried, pulling Aaron toward the Rolls-Royce. The chauffeur, who was actually our family’s head of staff, got out. She walked right past them without a second glance and came directly to my parents. “Sir, Madam, the car is ready.” She treated them like they were invisible. I almost felt embarrassed for them. My father-in-law pointed to the van. “Ava, your parents are over there.” A middle-aged couple, dressed in worn, simple clothes, got out of the van. They were weathered and stooped. A skinny little girl, who bore a striking resemblance to Ava, followed them. The three of them rushed toward Ava and Aaron. “My darling daughter! Mom and Dad have missed you so much!” They threw their arms around Ava, sobbing dramatically. “You must have missed us too! Why didn’t we find out about the switch sooner?” 5 Ava stood frozen in their embrace, as stiff as a board. Aaron asked in disbelief, “Excuse me, are you really Ava’s birth parents?” Ava’s mother grabbed Aaron’s hand excitedly. “Yes, young man! You must be my daughter’s boyfriend.” Aaron forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am.” She then shoved a blue cloth bag into his arms. “What’s this?” he asked. “Fresh vegetables from our garden. A little welcoming gift for you.” “What? Vegetables?” Aaron looked bewildered. “Oh, no, you don’t have to, ma’am.” “Just take them. We’re all family now. I know you city folk can’t get produce this fresh, so I brought some just for you.” The scene should have been touching. Instead, it was just comical. I glanced at Nancy and saw a frosty expression on her face. She clearly had no memory of these people. Sensing my gaze, her expression softened instantly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Seen enough? It’s time to go.” “You’re right. This kind of drama gets old fast.” Mr. Hamilton said to Ava, “Go with your parents. We’ve packed up all your things and will have them sent over in a few days. That’s all.” Her mother was still chattering away at Aaron. “So, when are you two planning to get married? I can start arranging things as soon as we get back.” “We haven’t decided yet,” Aaron said, his brow furrowed. “By the way, where do you live?” “Back home in the country, of course.” Aaron’s voice cracked. “The country?” Nancy and I went to our new home. The day’s events had put me in a fantastic mood. I was humming as I walked into the bedroom. The modern, minimalist room was filled with a festive atmosphere. I heard the door click shut behind me. Nancy was taking off her jacket, revealing a form-fitting evening gown that perfectly accentuated her figure. “Tired?” “Not at all. Actually, I’m pretty excited.” She let out a soft laugh, her slender fingers toying with an earring. “Oh, really? I’m quite excited, too.” There was something incredibly alluring about the way she looked at me. I swallowed hard. I had a feeling we weren’t talking about the same thing. This being my first marriage, I was at a bit of a loss. I scrambled for something to talk about. Suddenly, an arm wrapped around my waist from behind. Nancy was hugging me. “Bob, you’ve given enough of your attention to irrelevant people today. Don’t you think it’s my turn?” Her warm breath tickled my ear, and my heart hammered in my chest. I was about to speak, but her soft lips silenced me. 6 Our lips met in a long, lingering kiss. She whispered against my mouth. “Care for something a little more… exciting?” “Sure,” I said, trying to act cool. I went to the closet for my pajamas, but ran right into Nancy at the bathroom door. It was a little awkward. “You can go first.” Before I could finish, she grabbed my wrist. The bathroom door clicked shut, and her lips were on mine again. She looked up at me. “Bob. From this day forward, we are husband and wife.” I could still vividly picture her on the debate stage. Sharp, eloquent, and exuding an air of cool, untouchable elegance. Had that all been an act, or had she truly changed? That question was soon drowned out by a night of passionate lovemaking. The next day. Nancy was dressed and ready for work while I was still dead to the world. We’d been up until the small hours of the morning, and my eyes felt glued shut. “Honey, I’m off to the office.” I mumbled a response and vaguely felt her press a kiss to my forehead. I slept until noon. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was a news report about Ava’s family reunion. Ava’s expression was as stiff as a plank of wood. But the reporter was narrating, “From Miss Hamilton’s emotional expression, we can feel how deeply she is moved by this journey to find her roots.” What a joke. The spoiled princess had probably never set foot in such a humble place in her life. She was likely still in shock. Her birth parents’ home was a rundown, two-story house in the countryside, surrounded by squat, one-story buildings. Chickens clucked and scratched in the yard. Ava, in her expensive designer clothes, looked ridiculously out of place. She scowled at the camera. “Stop filming.” Her father chimed in, “Don’t be silly, girl. Being on TV can make you money.” The camera panned to Aaron, who was standing beside them. The smile on his face was more painful than a grimace. Ava’s mother grabbed his hand. “This is my daughter’s boyfriend! Isn’t he handsome? And he doesn’t even mind that we’re poor. Such a good boy.” Ava immediately jumped in. “Aaron doesn’t care about material things. But I am more than capable of giving him the best life. I won’t let him suffer for a second.” At this, Aaron’s expression relaxed slightly. “I love Ava for who she is, not for her family background.” The narrator’s voice came on, describing Ava as “a successful young woman” and Aaron as “a rare, pure-hearted young man in this materialistic world.” Hearing this, both my father-in-law, who was watching with me, and I burst out laughing. Ava’s luxury cars, mansion, and credit cards all belonged to the Hamiltons. 7 She still thought she was the heiress born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She had no idea that my in-laws had already reclaimed the properties, vehicles, and bank cards in her name, as well as the subsidiary company she had been “managing.” The only thing left was the Porsche she was currently driving, which they hadn’t gotten around to repossessing yet. My father-in-law looked relieved. “Thank God she’s not our real daughter. Otherwise, I’d have to disown her myself. All those years of investment and effort, and this is what we get? A spoiled brat who only knows how to waste money.” After my wedding to Nancy, the Hamiltons gifted us a luxurious villa in the city center. It was in a quiet, yet convenient location. As Nancy and I pulled up to the gate, we saw two familiar figures standing there. It was none other than the self-important Ava and her little boyfriend. I got out of the car, and Nancy and I walked over. “Can we help you?” Aaron hid behind Ava, looking like a frightened rabbit. Seeing this, Ava’s protective instincts flared. “This villa was a gift from my mother. What are you two doing here?” Just then, the villa’s butler came out to greet us. “Sir, Miss, welcome home.” Before I could say anything, Ava tried to push past him, pulling Aaron along. The butler immediately blocked their path. “Miss, please do not enter a private residence uninvited.” “Lee, have you lost your mind? This is my villa! I was just here a few days ago! Are you trying to get fired?” “Miss Ava,” Lee said, his voice firm, “this property has changed ownership, and the locks have been changed. If you insist on entering, it will be considered trespassing. Furthermore, you no longer have the authority to determine my employment.” “Well said,” Nancy interjected coolly, then said to the butler, “I’ll see to it you get a raise.” Ava had been spoiled her whole life. Everyone had always catered to her, which led her to believe she was someone truly special. Being publicly humiliated like this left her speechless. Aaron peeked out from behind her, his eyes wide and pitiful as he looked at Nancy. “Miss Hamilton, Mr. Sinclair, we are so sorry. We didn’t mean to intrude, we just…” Nancy cut him off. “If you know you’re intruding, then leave.” I didn’t even have to lift a finger. Nancy had the situation completely under control. I smiled, took her arm, and led her into the front yard. Ava could only watch as the iron gates closed, leaving her outside. There was a beautiful swing set in the garden. The sun was shining, and the weather was perfect. A little while later, my in-laws arrived. We had planned to have lunch together at the new house. Seeing them, Ava’s face lit up as if she’d seen her saviors. “Dad! Mom! You’re here!”

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To get my claws into Ron Rockefeller, the city’s crown prince, I did the unthinkable. After the fire, I had my face reconstructed to be the spitting image of his long-lost love. For three years, I was his devoted lapdog. But he just laughed, pulling some new starlet close and flicking a black card at my face. “I’m over Lillian Shaw,” he sneered. “Go get yourself a new face.” Pure joy surged through me. I immediately texted his mother: [Mrs. Rockefeller, your son’s obsession is finally broken. He’s over Lillian.] She was ecstatic. A hundred million dollars hit my account almost instantly. Without a second thought, I walked out of that VIP lounge, booked the first flight out, and hopped into a cab bound for the airport. 1 “Well, that’s a new one. Mia Shen finally stopped chasing him!” “Right? She used to follow Ron around like a lost puppy, ready to do anything he asked.” Ron’s sycophantic friends buzzed with disbelief. “She didn’t even take the black card. Is she trying to play hard to get?” Ron, probably feeling the sting of public rejection, shoved his new arm candy aside. He blew up my phone with dozens of calls, but each one went straight to my blocked list. His face darkened into a thunderous scowl. His friends quickly changed their tune. “Come on, she’s a gold digger. There’s no way she’d give up before sealing the deal.” “It’s not just her. Her parents are just as desperate to climb the social ladder. They even got surgery to look like Lillian’s parents. She’ll be back, tail between her legs.” Ron’s expression softened slightly, a contemptuous snort escaping his lips. “No matter how much she begs this time, she can forget about making things official for the next three months. Unless…” His friends eagerly chimed in, brainstorming a new list of humiliating, bizarre tasks for me to perform. I was blissfully unaware of their plotting. Phone in hand, I was already arranging for my parents to pack their bags and meet me at the airport. Once everything back home was settled, I let out a long, shuddering breath. Three years. My life as a doormat was finally over. My family used to run a small business, but we were ruined when a client defaulted on a massive payment, shattering our supply chain. Debt collectors descended on us like vultures, ransacking our home. One night, their harassment escalated to arson. The fire left my parents and me horribly burned and unrecognizable. My Ph.D. studies came to an abrupt, painful halt. It was during a visit to one of her foundation’s hospitals that I met Mrs. Rockefeller. She told me about her son, Ron, who was spiraling into a deep depression after the disappearance of his first love, Lillian. Her proposal was simple. Since I needed reconstructive surgery and skin grafts anyway, why not take on Lillian’s face? I could help Ron heal, pull him out of the darkness. In return, she would cover all my family’s medical expenses and clear our crippling debt. I agreed. For three long years, I weathered Ron’s darkest moods and endured the endless mockery from his so-called friends. And finally, it worked. He had grown so utterly sick of looking at Lillian’s face that the spell was broken. When Mrs. Rockefeller got the news, she was overjoyed and immediately transferred the promised sum. This was a business transaction, and I had no intention of leaving loose ends. I booked the earliest flight possible. The cab sped through the city, and soon I was at the airport, wrapped in a tearful, triumphant embrace with my parents. The plane took off on time, leaving all our hardship and humiliation behind on the ground below. A day and a night later, after we’d settled into a comfortable hotel suite, a message from an unknown number buzzed on my phone. [Mia, don’t get cute. You dare to block me?] [You were with me for three years. We did everything. What man is going to want you now? Stop this act and come back.] [If you don’t come back, you won’t like what happens next.] He still thought this was like all the other times, that I would swallow his insults and come crying back, begging him not to leave me. I just smiled and blocked the number. Soon, Ron’s friends started coming out of the woodwork, trying to contact me through various channels. [Mia, you should know when to quit. If you really piss Ron off, he might actually dump you for good.] [Just apologize and come back. He’s not happy without you waiting on him hand and foot.] [Where else can you go without Ron? You’ll just end up crawling back, begging him to take you in!] I scoffed, adding each of them to my blocklist. For the next six years, I poured every ounce of my being into my education and career. My talent for mathematics hadn’t faded, and despite the delay, my old university welcomed me back to complete my doctorate. My performance was stellar, and I graduated in just two years. Upon graduation, I was recruited by Granite Capital, a massive multinational financial institution. I worked relentlessly, dedicating myself to the firm and spearheading numerous successful investment projects. Year after year, I was among the top three performers. After four years of relentless grind, I was promoted to Managing Director. This trip back was for work—to scout the domestic market for expansion. I had just finished a meeting with an investor. As we parted ways, a hesitant voice called out from behind me. “Mia… is that you?” 2 I turned, a flicker of surprise in my eyes. I vaguely recognized him. One of Ron’s cronies, Chad, I think. His eyes were wide with disbelief, scanning me from head to toe. The woman standing before him was a world away from the girl he remembered. Dressed in a high-end power suit, I carried myself with an aura of quiet confidence—a far cry from the desperate girl who used to worship the ground Ron Rockefeller walked on. “Mia, you’ve changed! I almost didn’t recognize you!” I was more surprised that he recognized me. I had invested a good portion of my earnings into seeing the world’s top plastic surgeons, who had painstakingly restored my original features. Today, I looked nothing like Ron’s precious Lillian Shaw. Chad must have seen the question in my eyes. “After you left,” he explained, “Ron dug up everything about you. He knows what you used to look like.” He must have been disappointed, then. My original face was nothing like Lillian’s. Not that I cared anymore. “I have to run,” I said, offering a polite but dismissive smile. “We can catch up some other time.” “Wait,” he said, grabbing my arm. “After you vanished, Ron was a mess for a long time.” “It’s been six years, Chad,” I replied coolly. “His emotional state is no longer my problem.” I wasn’t in the business of after-care. His face flushed with anger. “Think you’re hot stuff now that you’re not with Ron? No matter how much you make, you’ll never touch his level of wealth. Ron’s taken over the whole Rockefeller empire now. He’s throwing a party at the Elysian Club tonight. You should come. Maybe he’ll even find a little job for you…” The sheer arrogance of it was astounding. I simply pulled my arm free, slipped into my Pagani, and left him standing in my exhaust. After a long afternoon of company meetings and a cocktail party, it was already late. As I stepped out of the venue, I ran right into Chad and his entourage. It turned out my event and their party were in the same high-end club. “Well, well, look who it is,” Chad sneered. “Said you weren’t coming. Who are you all dressed up for?” Before I could protest, he was steering me toward their private room. The door swung open to a scene of loud music and drunken revelry. Someone spotted Chad and whistled. “There you are, man! Took you long enough. Not gonna introduce us to the beautiful lady?” My gaze swept across the room. I recognized a few faces from Ron’s old crew, but most were new. They were all clustered around one man, who sat like a king on his throne. It was Ron. The years had chiseled away his boyish arrogance, replacing it with the polished steel of a man in power. But it wasn’t him that made my breath catch. It was the woman beside him. Her face was a perfect, mature echo of the one I used to wear. Lillian Shaw. The real Lillian Shaw. My fingers flew across my phone’s screen, snapping a quick picture and sending it to my boss. His reply was instant: [Keep her there. I’m on it.] Just then, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Mia? Ron, isn’t that your old lapdog?” The entire room fell silent. You could hear a pin drop. Ron’s head snapped up. His eyes locked on me, and the wine glass in his hand shattered, red wine and glass shards spilling onto the plush carpet. His lazy amusement morphed into shock, then into an unreadable, complex storm. The whispers started, laced with mockery and pity. “That’s Mia. During the years Lillian was gone, she tried to slide into her place. Even got surgery to look just like her. She was obsessed with Ron.” “Obsessed? Please, she was a gold digger. Every woman in this city wants a piece of Ron Rockefeller. He never actually cared about her.” “But he threw a huge fit when she left.” “And even though Lillian’s been back for a while, Ron keeps saying they’re just ‘friends’…” “No way. Remember how devastated he was when he thought Lillian died? She’s the one he actually loves.” “So this impostor is back now? You think she’s trying to compete with the real thing?” A shadow of malice crossed Lillian’s face before she masked it with a brilliant smile. She glided toward me. “Mia, is it? Thank you for taking care of Ron for three years, using my face.” 3 My expression remained placid. I plucked a Manhattan from a passing waiter’s tray and took a delicate sip. “No thanks necessary,” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “I was well paid for my services.” A hundred million for three years’ work. It was a deal I’d take again in a heartbeat. She looked taken aback, clearly not expecting me to admit my motives so brazenly. A girl nearby piped up, her tone dripping with disdain. “Mia, some things never change. You’re still as shameless as ever. If you hadn’t gotten that surgery, Ron wouldn’t have even looked at you. Did you leave six years ago because you’d finally milked him for enough cash?” Ron sat frozen, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. Lillian smiled sweetly. “Don’t be too hard on her. It’s my fault, really. If it weren’t for my… accident, Ron wouldn’t have needed to find a replacement.” I said nothing, letting her words hang in the air. A guy pushed his way through the crowd. “Mia, I heard Ron dumped you, so you ran off overseas in a huff. What do you do for work now? Chad said he saw you with some old guy earlier today. You’re not… you know…” He winked, the implication hanging filthily in the air. Smirks spread across the faces around me. I smiled back. “I’m in investments. Mr. Lin is one of my clients.” “Don’t bullshit us,” he scoffed. “We all know what you’re capable of.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “You’re in your thirties now, right? How long can a career like that last? These men might say they love you, but it’s all an act. Take my advice: find a real job. Before you know it, you’ll be dealing with lower-class johns, and then…” Another woman chimed in. “Didn’t Mia’s family home burn down years ago? She probably has PTSD. I bet she still lives in hotels.” She shot me a smug look. “My family’s in real estate. I could set you up with a free apartment, totally safe. I could even help you find a job nearby. We go way back, after all. It’s the least I can do.” The guy snorted. “Don’t be so nice. What if she starts turning tricks in your apartment? Think of the property values…” The woman gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh, she wouldn’t do that, would she?” A glass crashed to the floor near Ron’s feet. Whether it was intentional or not, I couldn’t say. His face, half-hidden in the dim light, seemed to be waiting, expecting me to crumble and beg for his help, just like old times. Then he would play the valiant hero, shielding me from their barbs. I didn’t even glance his way. Lillian chose that moment to interject. “Oh, stop teasing her. Ms. Shen, I’m not one to forget a favor. Ron and I co-own a company that’s about to enter another round of financing. Our operations department is swamped. You have experience with… personal care. The department head has a paralyzed mother who needs looking after. And since you know a thing or two about investments, you could even chat with her about financial reports in your spare time…” “That won’t be necessary. I have a job.” I smiled, taking another sip of my cocktail, savoring the sweet, bitter notes. Lillian’s brow furrowed. “This is a rare opportunity for someone like you. Ever heard of Granite Capital? They’re the biggest name in global finance. I’ve already emailed their Managing Director to set up a meeting. When we discuss the investment, you could tag along as the department head’s assistant and see how the real world works. This woman is a genius, you know. Rose from obscurity to MD in just a few years. For the sake of my future with Ron, I had to pull a lot of strings just to get in touch with her.” She cast a loving, proprietary gaze at Ron, her pride on full display. 4 The crowd erupted in fawning praise. “Lillian, you’re amazing! You actually managed to connect with Granite Capital!” “I’ve heard of that MD! She has a Ph.D. in mathematics from a top university. Granite recruited her before she even graduated. She’s a prodigy!” “You have no idea how hard Lillian worked for this. She pulled all-nighters studying their portfolio. I guess she and Ron are more than just ‘friends’ after all!” Lillian sauntered over to Ron, downed his drink in one gulp, and theatrically fell into his lap. The crowd roared, chanting for them to kiss. Lillian even tilted her perfectly made-up face up to his. But Ron didn’t move. He held her with one arm, his gaze fixed on me, a strange, defiant look in his eyes. I found the whole situation amusing. “That investor… her name is Susan Shen, if I remember correctly.” “Yeah, that’s her. I heard she’s originally from around here.” “Shen?” someone mused, a playful smirk on his face as he gestured toward me. “Don’t tell me it’s our Mia Shen.” I nodded. “Yes. That’s me.” A beat of silence hung in the air. Then, the room exploded with laughter. “Mia, have you completely lost your mind? Comparing yourself to a powerhouse like Susan Shen? You’re not even in the same league.” “Some women are born to be queens. You were born to be trampled on.” The insults flew, each one a testament to their blind worship of the mythical “Susan Shen” and their disdain for me. It didn’t bother me in the slightest. If my boss hadn’t asked me to stall, I would have been long gone. I finished my drink and signaled the bartender for another. Just then, a young woman in a sharp business suit rushed into the room, clutching a stack of files. “Excuse me, Ms. Shaw. Granite just replied. They’ve agreed to a meeting. But it’s urgent—it’s in half an hour. I brought all the necessary documents.” “Half an hour?!” Lillian was stunned. “Why so sudden? Was the email from Susan Shen herself?” The assistant nodded frantically. “Yes, it was.” “Don’t worry, Ms. Shaw. I’ve double-checked everything. The files are all in order.” Lillian’s face lit up with triumph. As the room filled with congratulations, she threw her arms around Ron and planted a hard kiss on his lips. He turned his head away, his expression unreadable. With only thirty minutes to spare, a frantic flurry of activity erupted as the women surrounded Lillian, fussing over her hair and makeup. I was the only one still sitting calmly, nursing my drink. Lillian shot me an irritated look. “I’m still offering you that assistant job, for Ron’s sake. The department head is on her way here, and her mother is home alone. Mia, I’m sending you the address. You should go now.” I was genuinely confused. “I believe I already told you I don’t need a job. Please don’t make arrangements on my behalf, Ms. Shaw.” The onlookers watched, hungry for drama. The assistant just smiled awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Lillian’s face flushed with embarrassment. She looked to Ron for support. He frowned, his expression darkening as he opened his mouth to speak. But before he could utter a word, his assistant let out a piercing shriek. “The address! The meeting location! Susan Shen hasn’t told us where to meet!” Livid, Lillian slapped her assistant across the face. “It’s too late to wait for another email!” She snatched her phone and dialed the number from the email signature. “I’ll call her directly.” At that exact moment, my phone began to ring.

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To change my boyfriend’s fate, to stop him from dying so young, I was reborn seven times. But every single time, he died saving me. Just as I was sinking into despair, the text appeared on my screen. A live feed of comments, scrolling across my vision. [This Player is on another level, lmao. Needs cash, so he runs the Nora route, fakes his death as soon as he wins, and cashes out. He’s just using her as a farming spot.] [Nora is the most tragic NPC ever. She probably has no idea Asher Vance is about to get married in the real world. She’s sitting here thinking she got him killed.] [This run was too smooth, though. The payout was only a tenth of the usual. That’s not gonna last him long. He’ll probably start a new run soon…] The next second, the world bled to gray, and a profound silence fell. When I opened my eyes again, an eighteen-year-old Asher Vance was smiling down at me, his eyes curved into crescents. “Excuse me? Can I get your number?” 1 “Hey, miss?” When I didn’t respond, a blush crept up his neck. “Can I… get your number?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t mean any harm, I just… I’d like to be your friend.” I stared at him, my mind a complete blank. It wasn’t until he shyly averted his gaze that reality crashed back in. It was real. I was back. Again. Reborn on the exact day I first met Asher Vance. And right now, in the space before my eyes, translucent text was scrolling, refreshing with new comments. [Seriously? Not this opening again. It’s so old.] [Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Nora falls for it every single time. This move is gold!] [Seven times with the same opening line. I’m bored even if the NPC isn’t. Can’t Asher try a different strategy for once? Stop recycling the same playthrough.] [You don’t get it. Asher’s only here for the money. The faster he completes the mission, the better.] My fingers clenched, my mind reeling. I stared at the word that kept appearing over and over again. Strategy. Route. Playthrough. In an instant, my memories came rushing back. 2 This was my seventh rebirth. Each time, I returned with all my memories from the previous life. And with a single, desperate mission. My first love, Asher, had died saving me. I was reborn to avert that tragedy, to prevent his death, to marry him and grow old with him. But every single time, I failed. The first time, he shoved me out of the raging surf and onto the beach, only to be swept away by a rogue wave. The second time, he carried my unconscious body from a burning building. He went back for the engagement ring he’d planned to give me and died of smoke inhalation. The third time, he held me up with the last of his strength from beneath a collapsed ruin, bleeding out before the rescue team could arrive. The fourth time, the fifth, the sixth… The accidents were always different. The outcome was always the same. I was helpless, broken, consumed by a rage against a cruel fate that always tore us apart. But now… These lines of text scrolling before my eyes told a different story. The love I thought was eternal, the life-and-death stakes that shattered my heart, the endless cycle of losing Asher… It was all just a game. Asher was the Player, following a script. And I… I was just an NPC, waiting to be conquered. 3 It was too absurd. I couldn’t accept it. It was impossible. Asher and I had fallen in love seven times. He gave everything for me. He loved me more than he loved himself, more than life itself. How could he be a Player? I blinked hard, trying to will the ridiculous text away, but it was no use. The feed kept scrolling, faster than before. [What’s with Nora this time? She’s not biting. Asher’s getting antsy.] [See? Even the classics need an update. Even a sweet, naive NPC like Nora can glitch out sometimes.] [Okay, place your bets. If Nora doesn’t give him her number, what’s Asher’s next move?] [Is that even a question? In this situation, he’ll obviously play the victim.] [“I’m sorry, I was being too forward today.”] [“This is the first time I’ve ever worked up the courage to ask for a girl’s number…”] After those comments, a wave of “LMAO” and “HAHAHAHA” flooded the screen. It took a while for a new discussion to appear. [I guess everyone remembers the first NPC Asher ever conquered?] [She was nothing like Nora. Not nearly as sweet or easy to fool. Asher had to pull out all the stops to win her over. So when he found an easy target like Nora, he latched on. It’s like farming a boss. He’s just run the same route over and over.] [This is the seventh time, right?] 4 The seventh time. A cold sweat prickled my back. The seed of doubt had been planted, and it was beginning to sprout. How could they know these details? “Nora…” Asher’s eyes were red-rimmed as he looked at me, his expression wounded. He took a step forward, reaching for my sleeve, but I flinched away. “We don’t know each other. Don’t touch me.” He froze for a second, then gave a bitter, wounded smile. “I’m sorry. I was being too forward today. I just… I wanted to be your friend. I’ve always been pretty shy, not very popular with girls. This is the first time I’ve ever felt this way about someone, the first time I’ve ever worked up the courage to ask for a number…” “I’m sorry if I bothered you.” He turned away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Just before he left, he glanced back at me, a single, crystalline tear tracing a path down his cheek. Honestly, one look at Asher’s face was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat. The first time we met, I was completely mesmerized. Every time our eyes met after that, my cheeks would flush and my pulse would race. But now… Looking at him, I felt none of that girlish flutter. He was playing the victim, just as the comments had predicted. Every word out of his mouth was an exact match to the text on my screen. They not only knew the intimate details of our past lives but could also predict his every move with chilling accuracy. I had no choice but to believe it. Maybe everything the comments were saying… was true. 5 Back in my dorm room, I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted. I replayed my seven lives with Asher, the memories flickering through my mind like an old film. Only now did I realize that the signs had been there all along. The meeting, the confession, the first kiss, the proposal, the accident. Five distinct points in a timeline I had repeated with Asher six times. The same opening line. The same surprise proposal. The only thing that changed was the duration. Each cycle grew shorter. From three years the first time, down to just six months the last. I’d had a fleeting thought once that our relationship felt like a game, with Asher as the player, speeding through the same story faster each time. But I had dismissed it, attributing it to our deepening connection. Because we had loved before, falling in love again would naturally be faster. So, even though each rebirth cost me a portion of my own lifespan, even though our time together might be shorter each time… I would have done anything for even the slimmest chance of keeping him alive. It was only after Asher died for the sixth time that the on-screen text appeared, and the truth was laid bare. The pain was so sharp it was hard to breathe. A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. The next second, the comments returned. [What’s going on? Why is Nora crying?] [This isn’t part of the script. Nora’s character profile is ‘sweet and naive.’ She’s not supposed to reject Asher.] [It’s about time something changed. The first playthrough in a parallel world doesn’t affect the NPC, but Asher has no scruples. The rewards he gets from conquering Nora are literally converted from her own life force. That’s why her health is getting worse, her grades are slipping from a top-tier university to a state college, her family situation is deteriorating, and she’s already lost thirty years off her lifespan…] [Asher is probably raging right now, lmao!] [TBH, I wonder what would happen if Nora saw Asher when he’s throwing a tantrum?] 6 For some reason, after that last comment, a new window opened in my vision. It was a live feed of Asher. He was in an empty room, pacing and muttering to himself. “Fucking bitch. Thinks I don’t know her type? All I have to do is crook my finger and she comes crawling. Who the hell is she trying to fool with this act?” “Look at her. If it wasn’t for the mission, you think I’d even glance her way?” “System! When this run is over, I want triple the rewards! You hear me?” “Of course I know it’ll drain her life force and lifespan! But there are countless trash NPCs like her. Who cares if one of them dies? Being my target is an honor, you got it?” … A bone-deep chill washed over me. I shot up in bed, my body trembling uncontrollably. So this was the real Asher. All that tenderness, all that affection… it was all a carefully constructed lie. The real him was cruel, vile, and utterly despicable. In the feed, Asher was still cursing. I listened to his filth, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. My heart felt like a stone, plummeting into a bottomless abyss. Then, his expression suddenly changed to one of panic. “System! System! Why did Nora’s Love Meter for me just drop by ten points?!” With that, the feed vanished. In its place, the comments started scrolling frantically. [Whoa, whoa, whoa, what was that?] [If I remember correctly, Nora’s Love Meter for Asher starts at 60%, right? A ten-point drop right off the bat?] [Asher was so confident about this run. He set the mission timer for only one month! The mods told him to change it, but he said a naive girl like Nora would be a one-week job, max. A month was overkill. And now he’s down ten points on day one. LOL. Serves him right.] [LMAOOOOOOO!] [But they changed the rules a few days ago! If a Player fails their conquest, they have to swap lives with the NPC! The Player becomes the NPC, and the NPC enters the real world and inherits all of the Player’s assets…] [Swap lives? Now that’s interesting. Asher’s bought a mansion and a fleet of luxury cars with his winnings over the years. But Nora is just a poor student right now. I wonder how he’ll handle that kind of life.] Those last few comments flashed by quickly, unnoticed by the others. I grabbed a notebook from my nightstand and wrote down that single, crucial sentence. Staring at the words “swap lives,” I fell deep into thought.

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