My fiancée, Chloe, gave me a pricey Armani underwear set. I was surprised to find a disgusting curly hair stuck to one of the briefs. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I grabbed a tissue and yanked it off. Then I went straight to Chloe, holding it up. “What is this? Don’t tell me it’s a mistake by the store, selling worn underwear as new?” Chloe’s eyes darted nervously, clearly at a loss for words. Just then, Leo, Chloe’s ‘male best friend’, stepped forward, jumping to her defense. “Julian, it’s not Chloe’s fault, it’s all on me! I was there when Chloe was picking out your gift, and I figured since we’re roughly the same size, I’d just try them on for you.” He said it with a smirk, like he’d just done me the biggest favor ever. Chloe’s group of friends immediately jumped in, rallying around her. “Exactly, Julian, Leo was just trying to be nice! Are you really making such a big deal over something so trivial?” “Seriously? It’s just a pair of underwear. So what if there’s a hair on it? Are you a germaphobe or something?” “Chloe’s so good to you, and you’re interrogating her in front of all of us? That’s so disrespectful, totally unmanly.” They piled on, their accusations instantly turning on me. It was like I was the unreasonable, immature one. Chloe took the cue, grabbing my arm, her face twisting into a wronged expression, her voice catching with a sob. “Julian, don’t be like this. How am I supposed to face my friends after this?” “Leo really was just trying to help, please don’t misunderstand him.” I looked at her tear-streaked face, then at the angry crowd of ‘justice warriors’ beside her. Instead of anger, a wave of profound amusement washed over me. I laughed. It wasn’t a loud laugh, but the sudden silence that followed was deafening. Everyone stared at me with startled looks, probably not expecting that reaction. I ignored them, my gaze fixed on Leo. The guy still standing there, playing the role of the noble martyr, ready to ‘take responsibility’ for his actions. “If you were trying them on for *me*, then what are you wearing right now?” My voice was soft, but it instantly shredded his flimsy disguise. His face visibly stiffened, and his eyes started to dart away. “I… I’m wearing my *own*, of course.” He tried to bluster. “Oh, really?” I picked up the glass of red wine from the table, swirled it, and started walking towards him. Just as I was a step away, my foot *slipped*, and I lurched forward. “Oops!” With a startled cry, the glass of red wine in my hand, perfectly, completely, drenched his pants. The deep red liquid instantly soaked through his light-colored casual trousers. “Ah!” “Oh my god!” “Quick, get some tissues!” The private room erupted in chaos. Chloe and her friends frantically rushed to him, grabbing tissues and trying to wipe him down. But the soaked fabric clung tightly to his thighs, clearly outlining what was underneath. A familiar silhouette. A faint, unmistakable brand logo. It was the exact same model I held in my hand, the one I hadn’t even had the chance to “give” him yet. The air solidified. All attempts at wiping ceased. Every single gaze in the room was fixed on Leo’s crotch. Leo’s face went from beet-red to ashen, fine beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He was completely panicked. I walked slowly towards him, looking down at him. “You wouldn’t mind taking them off so we can all have a look, would you?” “Just to see if even the anti-counterfeit code on the packaging is identical?”

Leo’s legs gave out, his lips trembled, unable to utter a single word. Just as I was about to push him to the brink, to utterly humiliate him on the spot… Chloe suddenly let out a piercing scream, lunging forward to shield Leo with outstretched arms. “Enough! Julian! What exactly do you want?!” Her eyes were bloodshot, her face contorted, like a cornered animal, her eyes blazing. “Fine! Yes, I bought two pairs! One for you, and one for Leo! They’re a matching set! Is that a crime?!” I looked at the frantic Chloe and slowly nodded. “So, a *matching set*, how sweet.” My tone shifted, my icy gaze sweeping past her, locking onto Leo’s face behind her. “Then I’m guessing that ‘best friend tattoo’ you said you got with your ‘girlfriend’ last week…” I paused, asking each word deliberately: “Isn’t it… in the exact same spot?” Chloe and Leo’s expressions froze instantly. Replaced by a chaotic mix of shock, fear, and panic. Seeing their ugly faces, stripped bare of all pretense, the last shred of affection in my heart evaporated. I casually tossed the box of used Armani underwear, along with its fancy gift box, into the nearby trash can. Then I walked out without a backward glance, leaving that sickening scene behind. I drove aimlessly around the city for a while, finally checking into a hotel near my office. The thought of going home and facing Chloe’s pathetic act again made my stomach churn. After a shower and a change of clothes, I threw myself onto the soft bed, trying to clear my mind. But those disgusting images, those shameless faces, replayed like a movie reel in my head. The next day, I called in sick and slept fitfully at the hotel all day. In the evening, my phone buzzed with an app notification. It was from my smart home security system. [Alert: Visitor fingerprint ‘Leo’ unlocked the door at 02:14 AM today.] My pupils constricted sharply. That fingerprint had been registered six months ago. Back then, Chloe had cried to me, saying Leo was struggling at work, under immense stress, showing signs of depression and self-harm, even threatening to end it all. She was worried about him living alone and hoped he could stay with us for a while so she could comfort him. At the time, I only saw her kindness and soft heart. Plus, Leo lived just one floor above us, so I didn’t think much of it and agreed. Now, I realized it was just an express lane straight into my home that they’d cleverly paved long ago. I immediately sprang out of bed, grabbed my car keys, and sped home. Forty minutes later, I stood at my front door. I took a deep breath and opened it with my own fingerprint. The living room was empty, but two sets of forks and knives, along with leftover takeout containers, were conspicuously sitting on the coffee table. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and Chloe’s muffled laughter drifted out. “You’re so bad, Julian would freak if he knew you were using his shower.” Then came Leo’s smug voice. “I’ve always wanted to try his high-end toiletries anyway. He’s not here, so why not?” “And I have to say, his caviar shampoo actually works wonders. My hair feels so smooth now.” All the blood rushed to my head in that instant. I slammed the bedroom door open. The scene before me was sickeningly cozy. Leo was lounging on my bed, wrapped in my bathrobe, his hair still dripping wet. And my fiancée, Chloe, was holding a hairdryer, gently drying his hair, a look of doting affection on her face. They both turned at the sound of the door. Seeing me, Leo didn’t show a hint of panic. He didn’t even budge from the bed. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at me, looking utterly entitled. “Oh, Julian’s back? My bad, my water heater broke, and Chloe felt bad for me, so she let me come over for a shower.” I stared at him, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “Is my place a public bathhouse?” Chloe immediately stood up, stepping in front of Leo like a protective mother hen. “Julian, stop being sarcastic! He lives alone, how inconvenient is it if his water heater breaks? Our place is so close, what’s wrong with him taking a shower here?” I looked at her fiercely protective stance, so furious I could only laugh. “Nothing wrong.” “But you just said your water heater broke?” Leo looked confused, but nodded anyway. “Yeah, why?” I pulled out my phone, and in front of both of them, directly called the apartment complex management, putting it on speaker.

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Five years ago, I went to the bridal boutique early, wanting to surprise my fiancé. Instead, I watched him dress my best friend in *my* wedding gown. I fled the boutique, only to be hit by a car, leaving me with paralyzed legs. Everyone praised him for his unwavering devotion, for caring for me steadfastly for five years. But only I knew— It wasn’t love. It was atonement. And I never planned to forgive him. Liam would lift me out of bed every morning, help with my physical therapy, and massage my legs before I slept. He became increasingly cautious around me, almost embarrassingly eager to please. I didn’t resist, didn’t respond. I was so stingy, I wouldn’t even grant him a glance. One day, he finally snapped: “Tell me, what more do I have to do? It’s been five years, Audrey… are we really going to live like this forever?” I slowly lowered my gaze, a cold, bitter smile twisting my lips. “Liam, don’t you get it? Between you and me, only death can end this.” Liam looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. He gripped me fiercely, his strength so immense it felt like my bones would shatter. His voice was choked with tears: “You can yell at me! Hit me! Hate me! Just stop being a doll! Can’t we start over?” Start over? I let him hold me, finding it utterly laughable. After the accident five years ago, Liam had poured everything into caring for me, never giving up. From physical therapy massages to late-night vigils. Everyone lauded his profound devotion. Even my parents, who had always doted on me, chastised me for being too harsh: “Stop tormenting him, just try to live a good life.” But they would never know the truth of that car accident. That afternoon, five years ago, I had finished work early, giddy with anticipation, rushing to the bridal boutique. I wanted him to be the first to see me in my wedding dress. Instead, outside the changing room, I heard Chloe’s syrupy voice, my best friend’s voice: “If I wasn’t her best friend, would you break up with her and be with me?” Through the crack in the door, I saw her wearing the wedding dress that was meant for me. Liam’s hand gently caressed her waist. “Yes.” He answered without a moment’s hesitation. A lingering kiss landed on the corner of her lips. In that instant, my world shattered. I stumbled out of the bridal boutique, reeling. Driving away in a daze. Then, at the next intersection, I collided with an out-of-control truck. Liam’s hot tears streamed down my neck. But all I felt was a bone-deep cold. He knew, of course. From the first moment I opened my eyes and looked at him, he understood. I knew everything. For five years, he lived with me, burdened by guilt, trapped in a repetitive existence. Everyone thought it was devotion. Only we both understood it was a mutual, unspoken punishment. “That day at the bridal boutique…” His voice was hoarse. “I saw you in the mirror.” My fingertips trembled. This was the first time in five years he’d mentioned that day. “When I chased after you, your car had already sped off.” He knelt before my wheelchair, his shoulders shaking. “Every day for these past five years, I’ve thought, what if I hadn’t been so foolish? What if I hadn’t answered her that one word out of a moment of weakness?” “But Audrey, Chloe and I were over long ago.” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “You’re the one I love.” I watched his agony, and suddenly, it felt so absurd. He thought I still cared about his betrayal with Chloe. Cared whether he still loved me. But when I witnessed that scene in the bridal boutique, my love for him ended right then. Every time he massaged my atrophied legs, all I could think of was that same hand caressing Chloe’s waist. When he pushed me to the hospital for check-ups, my mind replayed the moment he so readily agreed. If I hadn’t been paralyzed. They probably would have overcome all obstacles and been together by now. So, “only death can end this” That was my curse to him.

Liam fell into a heavy sleep on the couch after his outburst. His phone vibrated persistently on the carpet, the screen flickering on and off. On a sudden impulse, I maneuvered my wheelchair over and picked it up. The string of numbers flashing on the screen, even without a saved contact, I knew by heart—Chloe. “Liam! Why aren’t you answering your phone! Is she the only one on your mind?! Your son is dying—” Chloe’s frantic, tearful voice on the other end pierced my eardrums, almost shattering them. Son. Those two words were like a poisoned icicle, stabbing fiercely into my heart. Freezing all my blood instantly. I clutched the phone, my fingertips icy. A metallic taste flooded my throat. “Then let him die.” I heard my own venomous voice, devoid of any inflection. The line fell silent. Then, Chloe seemed to find her outlet for all her pent-up rage. My once closest friend spewed the most vile insults, cursing frantically: “Audrey! It’s you! Why are you still clinging to Liam! Why don’t you let everyone be happy! Why don’t you just die! Why didn’t you die in that car accident five years ago! You’ll get your comeuppance! You’ll burn in hell—!” Comeuppance? I listened to her curses, looking down, my other hand unconsciously covering my cold, flat, numb abdomen. I remembered the doctor’s regretful, yet brutal, announcement when I woke up five years ago: “Ms. Audrey, the car crash caused a uterine rupture and severe hemorrhage. We… did our best. You won’t be able to have children in the future.” At that time, what I lost was more than just my legs. It was also a child, newly conceived, who never got to see the world. And the right to be a mother. I smiled softly into the phone. My voice was as ethereal as smoke: “Chloe, my comeuppance already arrived.” The moment you wore my wedding dress and heard him say ‘yes.’ The moment I lost my child and was forever broken. This hell, I’m already in it. I’m not afraid to drag you all down with me.

The next morning, after waking up, Liam reverted to his role as the perfect husband. Gentle, patient. He meticulously concealed all his pain and regret. The distraught, vulnerable man from last night had vanished, evaporated like dew in the morning sun. Over these five years, his career had soared. Our home was staffed with professional nannies and caregivers. Yet, anything concerning me, he insisted on doing himself whenever he was home. Right now, he was kneeling on one knee before my wheelchair, gently wiping my fingers with a warm towel. Every crevice, every cuticle, perfectly cared for. The sunlight outlined his downcast profile, creating an illusion of profound devotion. Breakfast was the porridge he’d personally cooked. He scooped a spoonful, naturally bringing it to my lips: “The weather’s beautiful today. Shall I take you for a stroll by the lake later?” I didn’t respond; he was long used to it. He talked to himself about the new flowers by the lake, and which tree had sprouted fresh buds. Just as he was about to push me out, his assistant rushed in, whispering that he couldn’t reach Liam on his phone, then pulled him aside for a private conversation. Liam’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, then he turned back with an apologetic expression: “Something urgent came up at the office. I need to go.” He didn’t even have time to change out of his light grey casual wear before he hurried out with his assistant. I watched him disappear. I knew exactly what was going on. It certainly wasn’t about the office. I knew very well that for these past five years, he was never short of other women. I could sometimes detect the scent of perfume, not mine, on his suits. I remembered the faint, yet unmistakable, scratch on his neck when he returned from a “business trip.” I’d also glimpsed the continuous notifications on his phone screen, quickly dismissed when he placed it face down. He believed he was hiding it perfectly, playing the role of devoted and repentant husband for me. Little did he know, I’d lost even the curiosity to expose him. How many affairs he had outside meant no more to me than the clouds drifting by or the wind blowing past the window. But a child was different. I remembered the faint sound of a child’s voice accidentally leaking from his phone. Hatred, like a venomous vine, choked me, tightening its grip until I could barely breathe. Almost instinctively, I wheeled myself to the study and logged into my social media account, untouched for five years. Chloe’s Ins account wasn’t private. With ease, I found the child. The boy in the photos looked under two years old. Chloe held him close in an amusement park. Another photo showed Liam in casual clothes, bending down to wipe sweat from the boy’s forehead. His profile showed a genuine, relaxed tenderness I hadn’t seen in a long time. Countless fragments pieced together their happy family life: parent-child restaurants, park picnics, birthday parties at home… I scrolled through them, one by one, my face devoid of expression. Only my hand, gripping the mouse, was slightly white from the excessive pressure. The fortress I’d built over five years with cold indifference, meant to keep out all pain, Was now violently ripped open, leaving a bloody gash. Why? Why was it that while I had lost my child, forever stripped of the right to be a mother, They could have a healthy, living child who cried and laughed, who called him ‘Daddy’? The thought of a child, born of his and Chloe’s blood, growing up day by day, softly calling them “Mommy” and “Daddy,” Receiving all their love and care… This image made me sick to my stomach.

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After pledging to be childfree with my best friend, I married a wealthy heir through an arranged match. My best friend rolled her eyes and sneered, “I’m not like you, selling my womb for designer bags. You pretend to hate men but still crave their validation.” While she slept with twenty-seven young men in hotels, I was securing the family inheritance by bearing three heirs. Years later, at sixty, my friend ended up in a nursing home. Surveillance footage showed aides tying her to urine-stained mattresses for abuse. Suddenly, she envied my three sons who could care for me. She blamed everything on me, screaming that I was selfish. “If you hadn’t talked me into being childfree, I wouldn’t be so pathetic in my old age! You’re the reason my life is ruined!” She splashed boiling oil on my face, leaving me disfigured. I later died from complications. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day before my arranged marriage. **1** Instead of stopping me, Chloe insisted on joining my matchmaking meeting. “We’re best friends! I need to vet your future husband. Amelia, I’m coming with you tomorrow!” Hearing Chloe’s voice again sent chills down my spine. The searing pain of hot oil felt fresh on my skin. When she grabbed my wrist excitedly, I instinctively shook her off, making her scowl. “What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to help you marry well! Ungrateful bitch, no wonder you’ll get abused by nursing aides when you’re old!” In my past life, we’d vowed to remain childfree, but I ended up in an arranged marriage. Chloe called me a gold-digger, mocking me for “craving male validation while pretending to hate men.” “They just want your womb! Why are you so proud? Do you really think you’re some noble lady?” She championed unmarried, child-free life while sleeping with different men every night. While Chloe enjoyed twenty-seven young lovers, I nearly died giving birth to my third child. At sixty, Chloe remained bitter and sharp-tongued. She cursed elderly women at her nursing home for “dressing up to seduce old men.” She falsely accused an aide of assault and posted teary videos online. Furious aides tied her to urine-stained mattresses and humiliated her on camera. Covered in filth, she came to me seeking reconciliation. She eyed my three sons, hoping they’d support her in old age. But my sons, who already abused me at home, showed her no mercy. After they threw her out bruised and beaten, she limped away screaming, “You selfish bitch!” “This is your fault! You talked me into being childfree, and now I have no one!” She blamed me for everything. When I visited her out of pity, she threw boiling oil in my face. The burns disfigured me, and I later died from complications. Reborn, I clenched my fists hearing Chloe’s push. Feigning ignorance, I said, “Why bother with matchmaking? We pledged to be childfree.” Chloe grew frantic. “Screw being childfree! I’m getting married and having six sons!” “Besides, it’s just a meeting. What if he prefers me over you?” I smirked inwardly. So that’s why she wanted to join—she had her eyes on my wealthy husband from my past life. I wondered if she’d still be smiling when that violent man chained her in the bathroom and beat her. **2** In my past life, I did marry the wealthy heir. But he was violent and needed medication to perform in bed. My parents had threatened suicide to force me into the matchmaking. The moment I arrived home, they drugged me and locked me in a room with him. I was covered in bruises, but my parents ignored them, celebrating when I got pregnant. I tried to escape and begged Chloe for help. She just rolled her eyes and accused me of “playing the noble lady.” She even replaced my wedding video with a pornographic edit, deepfaking my face onto the actress, claiming I slept around. My enraged husband kicked me in the stomach, nearly causing a miscarriage. When I confronted Chloe, she smirked. “I’m helping you see how violent men are. Stop dreaming.” After marriage, I was kept on a leash with a tracker at home. My husband had paranoid delusions, convinced I would cheat. If I spoke too long to a male doctor or nurse during checkups, he’d yank my hair and beat me. My three sons inherited his violent genes. They bullied classmates and stabbed my eye with a fork, blinding me permanently. Remembering my past life, I trembled. Watching Chloe happily pack to join my matchmaking, I couldn’t help but smile. If someone was foolish enough to suffer in my place, why stop her? The next day, my parents scowled when they saw Chloe. “Why did you bring her? Today’s matchmaking is important!” “Mr. Sinclair is a rare catch. If this fails, you’ll regret wasting our efforts!” Their “concern” made me clench my fists. For my own good? Ridiculous. They were selling me to pay their debts to Lucas Sinclair, that violent man. I’d promised to work hard to repay them, but they didn’t believe me. They tricked me, drugged me, and let Lucas torment me. When I got pregnant, they guilt-tripped me, begging on their knees not to abort. I hated my past naivety, valuing family ties even as they sold me out. Reborn, I wouldn’t fall for it again. Frustrated by my indifference, my parents fumed but could only press on with the matchmaking. Chloe’s face grew darker. Suddenly, she stood, forcing a smile. “Amelia, I’m not feeling well. Can you come to the restroom with me?” **3** Curious, I followed her. As soon as the door closed, she lunged for my throat. I slapped her away hard. Chloe cried out in pain. Too angry to care, she glared. “Amelia, if you’re committed to being childfree, don’t ruin this for me!” “Don’t think I haven’t noticed—you’ve been trying to chat up Mr. Sinclair!” I couldn’t reveal my rebirth, so I played innocent. “Chloe, we’re best friends! Why would I steal your crush?” She studied my face, finding no lies, and spat, “You’d better not, or you’ll regret it!” Chloe strutted away, tugging her neckline lower to show off her curves. At the table, she sat beside Lucas, pressing against him. Lucas loved it. He ignored me, eyeing Chloe intently. When I went to pour water, I saw a man’s hand on her thigh—undoubtedly Lucas’s. My parents grew anxious seeing me ignored. Just like before, they drugged Lucas. They used helping him rest upstairs as an excuse to urge me to “seize the opportunity.” I nearly rolled my eyes, but noticed Chloe had seen everything. She sneered, “So this is how you landed a wealthy heir—using dirty tricks!” Before I could retort, she grabbed my wrist. A strange scent wafted past my nose. Suddenly, heat surged through me. Chloe grinned maliciously. “My drugs work better than yours. One whiff, and you’ll be begging for any man.” My legs weakened, and I collapsed. Chloe placed a phone nearby, recording me. She smirked. “I told your dad you’re unwell. He’s on his way.” “Imagine if a video of you and your father goes viral. Think you can still compete with me then?” She left my room and entered Lucas’s next door. Through the thin walls, I heard grunts and moans. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. I pinched myself, fighting the haze. My father was coming. I couldn’t let Chloe’s scheme succeed! Gritting my teeth, I crawled to the window. I climbed out and jumped from the second floor. Luckily, it wasn’t high, and I wasn’t hurt. But the heat intensified, burning my breath. Someone caught me as I stumbled, his voice worried. “Amelia, what’s wrong? You’re burning up!” The familiar voice made my heart race. I gripped his arm desperately. “Please… help me…”

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Eight months pregnant, my husband, Damian, a detective, finally cleared his schedule to accompany me to my first prenatal checkup. We’d barely stepped into the hospital when his secure phone vibrated violently. A name flashed across the screen, a blur, but Damian, usually so calm, panicked instantly. “Anya, red alert, urgent! Another international fugitive has crossed the border. I… I’m so sorry…” He was frantic, his voice carrying the undeniable authority of his position. With a hurried apology, he rushed off. As I watched his SUV speed away, my fingers crumpled the ultrasound report in my hand. Hailing a taxi with my heavy belly, I quickly told the driver, “Follow that SUV.” A “red alert” for a fugitive? What a pathetic lie. My dad’s intelligence agency hadn’t received any such notice, and Damian, a regular detective who usually just assisted with cases, wouldn’t be chasing some high-priority target. I wanted to see who this “boss” was, giving him such urgent “orders.” As soon as I muttered the words “catching him,” the taxi driver floored it, catching up to Damian’s car. I had no idea who Damian was going to meet, but a terrifying gut feeling made my skin crawl. To my surprise, after several twists and turns, the car pulled up to the entrance of the police department’s private community. I let out a long breath of relief. At least it wasn’t a hotel. This was a residential area provided for high-ranking officers by the department, and Damian had been assigned a villa here too. Before my first pregnancy, I’d lived there briefly for a few months; the neighbors were always friendly. But as I spotted a fleet of luxury cars and festive decorations from afar, I felt a pang of confusion. Was today some special occasion? Just as I was about to follow him in, a security guard stopped me. “Officer’s private community. Unauthorized personnel keep out.” I blinked, then chuckled, explaining, “I just went in. I’m Detective Damian’s wife.” To my shock, the guard looked at me with open disdain. “Detective Damian’s wife is Ms. Serena Hayes. Who are you? You should check your facts before trying to impersonate someone.” My body froze, rooted to the spot. Serena Hayes… the living blood bank Damian found for me… Snapping back to reality, ignoring the guard’s protests, I pushed past him, my large belly leading the way to the villa’s entrance. Inside the grand hall, it was packed with celebrities and powerful figures, their laughter echoing through the air. My mother-in-law, Martha, who always preferred a quiet life, was unusually busy socializing. And my husband, Damian, was doing something completely out of character: cradling a baby and bottle-feeding him, smiling blissfully next to a petite woman. That woman was Serena Hayes… In that instant, my heart felt like it was seized by a giant hand, making it impossible to breathe. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. When I was pregnant with my first child, Damian had worried about complications during delivery due to my rare blood type. He’d searched the entire country to find a living blood bank for me. That person was Serena, then a struggling student. After I gave birth, he said he’d send her away. Out of sympathy, I suggested we let Serena stay and work as an administrative assistant at the precinct. I even often asked Damian to bring her supplements. But I never imagined that Damian would cheat on me with her, and even set her up here. This villa was our marital home, meticulously decorated by him after he became precinct chief. It was a bit far from the hospital, so when I got pregnant again, Damian, worried about me, bought a new house next to the city hospital and we moved out. I never thought it would become their legitimate home, where they raised a child… “Congratulations, Detective Damian! Your wife is virtuous, and now you have a newborn son. You’re truly a winner in life!” “Oh, Serena is so lucky to have found such a doting husband like Damian. I’m so jealous!” Mrs. Hayes, the Deputy Commissioner’s wife, fawned over my mother-in-law, Martha, patting her hand. Martha’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she looked at Serena, then boasted, “It’s my Damian’s good fortune to have married such a wonderful wife as Serena.” Damian didn’t shy away, leaning in to whisper intimately to Serena. I couldn’t hear what he said, but Serena blushed, then raised her glass to the guests. “I was worried it would affect Damian’s reputation at the precinct, so we kept it quiet. Please don’t mind.” She gestured around the room. “Today is our baby’s 100-day celebration. Please drink up, consider it our wedding reception.” Seeing Serena handle the situation so gracefully, everyone chuckled and offered compliments. “How could we mind, Mrs. Chief? We still owe you a ‘Happy New Marriage’!” “I say,” one of Damian’s officers chimed in, “why don’t you two pretend to be the bride and groom again tonight? How about a cross-arm toast?” Damian’s subordinates cheered, and the party’s atmosphere reached a fever pitch. Serena feigned bashful resistance, but Damian wrapped an arm around her waist, linking their arms for the toast. Just as he was about to drink, his gaze locked onto me, standing just outside the door. He shoved Serena away, making her gasp as red wine splashed all over her. “Anya…” Wiping away the torrent of tears with one hand, I rushed forward, my big belly swaying, and slapped him. Smack! The sharp crack echoed through the silent hall, freezing everyone in place. “Damian!” Serena’s eyes rolled back, and she lunged at him, screeching at me, “Anya! How dare you—” Smack! Another slap, and Serena’s cheek instantly swelled, sending her stumbling back into Damian’s arms, whimpering pitifully. I flexed my tingling palm. “Anya…” Damian started, his voice a roar. “Damian!” My voice was even louder, my head tilted, my eyes fixed on him in a cold, deadly stare. “Is this the ‘red alert fugitive’ you were so desperate to catch?!”

Damian was speechless, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. The high-ranking officials and their families in the hall stared, utterly bewildered. In the stifling silence, a baby’s cry pierced the air, startling everyone. Martha rushed to take the baby and soothe him. The next second, she opened her mouth and spat at me, “Anya! You crazy hag, you’re divorced! Why are you still bothering my son? Get out of here while you still have some sense, or if you offend an important person, you’ll end up in jail!” Mrs. Hayes, the Deputy Commissioner’s wife, also snapped, “Even if you are Detective Damian’s ex-wife, you can’t assault people publicly! This is considered assaulting an officer!” As soon as my identity was revealed, the hall erupted. People clamored about throwing me in jail to teach me a lesson. But I just frowned, grabbing Damian’s collar, about to ask how I, his lawful wife, had suddenly become an ex. But Serena beat me to it, shrinking into Damian’s arms, looking at me with tear-filled eyes. “Anya… Damian has already divorced you. Why are you still harassing us…” Her tears flowed relentlessly. “It’s all my fault. I’ll give Damian back to you, okay…” At her words, Damian’s expression darkened. He glared at me, suppressing his rage. “Anya! I told you I wouldn’t get back with you! Stop bothering us!” “Get out before I lose my patience! I don’t have time for this!” With that, Damian motioned, and several officers rushed forward, intending to forcibly remove me. Struggling, I stumbled and bumped into Martha. But as I caught a glimpse of the baby in her arms, my world crashed down. The baby Martha held, supposedly Serena’s child, was my firstborn, Leo! The child I’d endured seven agonizing hours to bring into the world! But my baby had died three months ago, and Damian had personally cremated him— Damian… My breath caught, my eyes welling with intense pain. Goddammit, Damian! He faked our child’s death to trick me, just to give him to Serena to raise! “Give me back my child! He’s my Leo!” My teeth gritted, I snatched the swaddled infant, pushed Martha aside, and cradled the crying baby, my heart aching and tears streaming down my face. Serena, suddenly panicked, rushed forward, crying and trying to grab the baby. Her voice was choked and trembling. “Anya, he’s not your child!” “I know Leo died, and you’ve gone mad with grief. Even after the divorce, you kept bothering Damian, wanting another child…” She looked at the crowd. “I pitied you for your loss and tolerated so much, but you can’t steal my child!” “Please, just leave our family alone… I can divorce Damian, just please give me back my baby!” Hearing this, Damian’s face contorted in pain. He gripped Serena’s shoulders tightly, stopping her. “Serena, I forbid it!” “Don’t even think about divorce. No one can break apart our family of three.” “What about me?!” I roared, cutting him off. Watching them exchange tender words, I pointed to my heavily pregnant belly, speaking each word to Damian through gritted teeth. “Damian, I’m carrying your child in my womb! You cheat on me right in front of my face, you call me your ex-wife, aren’t you disgusted with yourself?!” His throat bobbed, and his gaze shifted, avoiding mine. Serena’s tears, however, flowed even harder, as if she were the most wronged person in the world. She turned to the guests, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, everyone. Sister Anya is Damian’s ex-wife. She went mad after losing her child during a difficult labor.” “Later, she kept badgering Damian for another child. After he refused, she… she found other men to get pregnant…” Serena’s voice broke perfectly. “Damian, out of old affection, often looked after her, but I never thought she would try to force him to accept another man’s child, and… and even threaten us into divorcing…” Her words instantly ignited the fury of everyone present. The wealthy women immediately started yelling in disgust. “A crazy slut? She wants to be both! Someone! Get this harridan out of here!” Gently soothing the baby in my arms, I let out a cold laugh. My gaze turned to Serena, eyes like ice. “Who’s the hypocrite trying to play the innocent victim, Serena? Don’t you know your place? Do I need to remind you how much you sold your blood for per milliliter?” “Weren’t you the one who took 30 million dollars from me, then knelt at my feet, begging for a stable job?” Serena’s face grew paler and paler with my words, but I didn’t stop. “What, Damian’s allowance isn’t enough to keep you? So now you’re trying to steal my entire life?” “You’re a mistress trying to act like the legitimate wife. Doesn’t your face hurt?” I wasn’t even finished speaking when a sudden shove sent my heavily pregnant body stumbling.

“You’re the mistress who ruined my son’s family!” Martha’s shrill voice screeched. My back slammed hard against the wall, and my entire abdomen convulsed with agonizing pain. The baby in my arms was snatched away and thrust into Serena’s hands. Immediately, the precinct officers were filled with righteous indignation. “Exactly! Everyone at the precinct knows Damian and Serena are a couple!” “If it wasn’t for Serena providing leads, solving so many major cases, how could Chief Damian have been promoted so quickly?” “You useless ex-wife, all you do is drag Damian down! Your face should be hurting!” Providing leads? Solving cases and getting promoted? Weren’t all those achievements mine that I helped Damian get? Not only did he steal my identity, he was now forcing all those merits onto Serena, giving her a glamorous front. Why?! “Right! Even if you’re crazy, interfering with an officer’s marriage is still a crime!” “You loose slut, stop pretending to be Mrs. Damian and polluting our eyes! It’s a good thing Chief Damian is kind-hearted, if it were me, I would have…” The malicious jeers from the crowd were relentless. In this chilling scene, I, pale-faced, looked at the man who stood by, aloof and detached. “Damian.” My voice was weak. “You tell them… how did you get your position as Chief?” Damian’s fingers curled abruptly. He turned his head, looking at me coldly, a rare flicker of hatred appearing in his usually indifferent eyes. I laughed. “You said the front lines were too dangerous, that you didn’t want to risk your life, you just wanted to stay safely in the rear. I agreed.” “After we got engaged, you said your rank was too low, that you weren’t worthy of me. I went to my dad and begged him.” “You complained that cases were too complex, too hard to solve. I worked day and night, sacrificing sleep to give you leads. And now, this is how you—” “Enough!” Damian roared suddenly. He strode forward and grabbed my throat, his eyes bloodshot with savage rage as he yelled at me, “You’re lying! Everything I have today, I earned myself! What does it have to do with a useless woman like you?!” My neck screamed in pain, the intense choking sensation making my vision go black instantly, my face swelling purple and congested with blood. But the more I insisted, the more enraged Damian became. The high-ranking officials and their wives seemed to catch onto something, murmuring amongst themselves. Seeing this, a dark glint flashed in Serena’s eyes. Cradling the baby, she dropped to her knees before me, weeping tragically. “Anya, I tolerated your mad ramblings on other days.” “But in an important setting like this, if you make up stories, you’ll truly ruin Damian’s future!” “Please, I’m begging you, Anya. I’ll even bow to you. Just stop this madness, okay…?” She crawled a few steps, grabbing my pant leg, bowing low, about to kowtow fiercely. Damian was stunned. His hand, clamped on my neck, instantly released me, and he crouched down to help her up. But the next second, Serena, still holding my leg, flung herself backward. At the same time, she shrieked, “Ah! Anya, you’ll kill me with that kick!” Before I could react, Damian’s hysterical slap came down hard. “Anya! You ungrateful bitch!” A dull ache flared on my right cheek. I tried to strike back, but Martha suddenly kicked me in the lower back. Caught off guard, I was sent flying into a display cabinet. As I stumbled and fell to the ground, an excruciating pain ripped through my belly. Bright red blood streamed down my legs. The ground beneath me was instantly soaked in crimson. I lay slumped in the pool of blood, my whole body aching as if it had been shattered. “My stomach… Damian… my stomach hurts…” Tears of blood blurred my vision. I reached out, pleading for Damian’s help. But Martha above me cruelly stomped on my hand, the pain so intense I felt my bones might shatter. “You slut! Stop pretending! My son won’t be threatened by you!” My vision swam with tears, my lips trembling. “Damian… I’m not faking… please… take me to the hospital…” But Damian didn’t even glance back at me. He only shielded Serena carefully, his voice cold and heartless. “Enough, Anya! Stop pretending and apologize to Serena!” “Always using the baby as an excuse, do you think I’ll believe you?!” With that, Damian turned back in a rage, but then he suddenly spotted the ominous blood beneath me. The disgust on his face instantly melted away, replaced by a hint of terror. Damian knew my true identity; he absolutely couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Staring fixedly at Damian’s panicked eyes, I forced back the soul-shattering pain, gritting my teeth as I spat, “Damian! If anything, anything happens to the child in my belly! You! His own father!” “You will be his murderer! My dad, my brother, they’ll make your entire family pay! Now! Take me to the hospital!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “302691”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic

This was a painful awakening bought with nine years of my youth— When marriage became a cage for three, When every compromise turned into a knife aimed at myself. Anya Sterling kept a diary, documenting the ninety-nine times Julian Thorne had abandoned her for his first love, Willow Hayes. He abandoned her in a fire, chose Willow under a falling chandelier, and even diverted her life-saving blood for Willow— Until that rainy night, when Anya lost her child and all reasons to hold on. “Julian, we’re finally even.” She vanished completely, as if she’d never loved him. But when he finally realized his mistake and searched high and low for her, he only saw her in an interview, smiling softly, leaning against another man: “That was my past life; it ended long ago.” ### Anya’s POV Julian discovered that diary on an ordinary rainy day. I walked into the study with a freshly warmed glass of milk. Julian stood by the desk, a cream-colored, hardcover notebook in his hand. The gold-embossed words “Our Story” in the bottom right corner stabbed my eyes. It was my diary, a testament to a slowly dying marriage. He had just returned from the flight simulator, his jacket sleeves still carrying the biting scent of rain. It was his signature smell, as unapproachable as the winds at high altitude. His brows were tightly furrowed, his long fingers clutching the diary. His gaze was so cold it was almost alien. His study had always been off-limits. I’d never stepped inside. Even when helping him organize documents, I waited outside the door. “You’re back.” I forced myself to be calm, placing the milk in front of him. “I prepared some warm milk for you.” He didn’t take it. He merely tossed the diary back onto the desk, his voice as cold as if it came from ice: “Don’t put your things in my study again.” My hand, gripping the glass, trembled slightly, and the milk in the cup rippled faintly. I lowered my head, hiding all emotion in my eyes, and softly said, “Okay, I understand.” I turned, intending to put the diary away. But the next second, his phone suddenly rang. He glanced at the screen, and his face instantly changed. “What did you say?!” His voice abruptly rose. “Send me the address!” After hanging up, he grabbed his jacket and rushed out. “Julian, what’s wrong?” I instinctively chased after him. He barely paused: “Willow’s villa is on fire!” Willow Hayes. The name that had haunted me for three years. I watched him sprint towards the garage, looking utterly distraught. I pulled open the passenger door and said, “I’m coming with you.” He glanced back at me, his expression clearly impatient, but he didn’t refuse. The engine roared, and the black Bentley lunged into the pouring rain. He drove fast and furiously, the wipers thrashing wildly, rain drumming against the glass. I gripped the seatbelt, watching blurred lights flying past outside the window. I knew that whenever Willow was involved, he would lose control. I had seen this loss of control too many times. In our first year of marriage, Willow divorced overseas. He abandoned me and my family’s dinner, flying overnight to be with her. In our second year, she said she was feeling down, so he canceled our anniversary trip and booked the earliest flight to see her. Each time, he became a stranger, a madman I didn’t recognize. And I could only sit silently beside him, watching. The car finally stopped in front of the villa halfway up the mountain. Thick smoke billowed, the wail of fire truck sirens echoing through the hills. He practically leaped out of the car. I followed, and the rain instantly drenched my clothes. He grabbed a firefighter, his eyes bloodshot: “Someone’s still inside! Willow is still in there!” “Sir, please calm down! The fire is too intense, we’re working on the rescue—” But he wasn’t listening. He pushed the man away, staring fixedly at the burning villa, then took a step, about to rush inside. “Julian!” A few of his friends who had just arrived grabbed him. Liam clung to him, roaring, “Are you insane? Do you have a death wish? Do you even care about your flying career anymore?” “Let go!” Julian’s voice was raspy. “I can’t let her get hurt…” At that moment, I stood not far away, icy rain lashing my face, blurring the line between water and tears. Ultimately, he broke free from everyone and plunged into the inferno. My heart nearly stopped; I was frozen in place. After what felt like an eternity, a figure burst from the flames, collapsing to the ground, a woman clutched in his arms. It was him. And it was Willow. He had protected her well. But his back was covered in burns, his arms a bloody mess. Ambulances wailed as they sped away. His friends half-dragged me into another car, and we followed them to the hospital. The red light of the emergency room glowed, casting the corridor in a stark, pale light. Willow had only inhaled some smoke, nothing serious; she sat on a bench, tears streaming down her face, looking fragile and pitiful. All his friends gathered around her. And I stood at the end of the corridor, as invisible as the air. I heard Liam’s voice, hushed yet seething with anger: “That Willow, she still has such a hold on him! It was like this three years ago, and it’s still like this now!” Owen sighed: “You know how it is. She was the one he’d always idealized since childhood. If Willow hadn’t run off to marry that older guy overseas, Anya wouldn’t even be in the picture.” “Bullshit! What’s wrong with Anya? What’s she lacking? We’ve all seen how she’s treated him these past three years. But him? Has he ever treated her like a wife? He only married Anya after Willow dumped him, just to mend his broken heart and fulfill Mr. Sterling’s dying wish!” Mr. Sterling. My father. Hearing those words, my thoughts instantly went back three years. By his hospital bed, my father weakly took my hand and placed it in Julian’s. “Julian, after I’m gone, I beg you to take care of her.” At that time, he had just been dumped by Willow, a dark cloud hanging over him, silent and brooding. He glanced at me, his eyes void of warmth, yet he still nodded. I thought that if I tried hard enough, his heart would eventually thaw. But I was wrong. On our wedding night, he was a drunken mess, muttering “Willow, don’t leave…” over and over. In that moment, I set an expiration date for our marriage. I bought that diary, telling myself— Every time he broke my heart because of Willow, I’d make an entry. When I hit the ninety-ninth entry, I’d let go. That diary was his ninety-nine chances, and my last shred of dignity. … After what felt like an eternity at the hospital, I returned home alone. The house was so empty it only echoed. I walked into the study, picked up the diary he had discarded onto the desk, and turned to a new page. The blank page seemed to glare at me. I gripped my pen and wrote down a new line: [Entry 77:] [To save Willow, he rushed into a burning building, disregarding his own life.] [It turns out, he wasn’t careless with his body as a pilot; it was just that the scales of his affection didn’t tip for me.] ###

Anya’s POV The surgery was a success. The doctor said he had been moved from the Intensive Care Unit to a VIP room, but the burns on his back and arm would require long-term care. I hadn’t slept a wink all night. When morning broke, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained overcast. I didn’t rush to the hospital. Instead, I called my lawyer first. That prenuptial agreement had been drafted by the Thorne family three years ago. Back then, I was so caught up in the joy of finally marrying the man I loved that I signed it without even glancing at it. Looking back now, perhaps that was the only right thing I did in this misguided marriage. The lawyer’s voice was polite and calm, but my heart felt hollowed out. After ending the call, I finally grabbed my car keys and headed to the hospital. The corridor was long, the air hung heavy with the scent of antiseptic. Before I even reached the door, I saw them through the small glass pane. Willow sat by the hospital bed, holding a cotton swab, clumsily dabbing the medication, carefully applying it to his wounds. Her hands trembled, her expression focused and gentle. And he, in turn, watched her, his expression tender. In that moment, I suddenly had a ridiculous illusion— As if I were the unwanted intruder in someone else’s world. I didn’t push the door open. I just stood there quietly, my fingertips resting on the doorknob. “Julian, I’m so sorry,” Willow’s voice choked. “It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be hurt.” His voice was weak and gentle: “Silly girl, it’s not your fault. I could never just watch you be in danger.” My breath caught, my chest tightened. “But your hands…” she began to cry. “You worked so hard to become a pilot. I’ve ruined your dream.” I held my breath, waiting for his answer. Perhaps I was waiting for a reason to completely give up. He chuckled softly, a tenderness and doting in his laughter that I’d never heard before. “You’ve got one thing wrong, Willow. My dream of becoming a pilot and soaring through the sky? That dream itself was for you.” “You said you loved watching the sea of clouds, loved freedom, wanted to go anywhere in the world. So I thought, if I could fly a plane, I could take you anywhere you wanted to go. My dream wasn’t flying; it was flying with you.” —Boom. In that moment, my mind felt like it had been struck by lightning. So that was it. All his efforts, his glory, his convictions, had never belonged to me. I once thought flying was the unshakeable faith of his life, I respected him, supported him, To ensure he was free from worries, I resigned from my designer job, becoming the woman behind him— Keeping the house meticulously organized, learning to take care of his diet and daily life, even carefully preparing his birthday gifts to revolve around “flying.” Turns out, I thought I was protecting his dream, But in reality, I was protecting only the shadow of another woman. Every takeoff and landing of his flight carried the weight of his deep affection for Willow. And I was just a bystander in that dream. I slowly withdrew my hand, straightening my back, and left that door. No sound, no glance back. I walked very slowly down that long corridor, Each step felt like walking on the grave of my own marriage. — After leaving the hospital, I received a call from Captain Miller. “Mrs. Thorne,” his voice was tinged with helplessness and apology. “There’s something… I think you should know.” I agreed to meet him at a coffee shop. He handed me a brown envelope. “Julian wrote this a long time ago and kept it locked in the company locker. We found it when tidying up.” I nodded and tore open the envelope. Inside was a resignation letter. It was addressed to the airline, but it read more like a love letter. He wrote that he chose to fly because of a girl’s dream from his youth. He endured the toughest training, overcoming all difficulties, just so that one day, he could personally pilot a plane and take her to see the landscapes she most wanted to see. And now, she was back— So he decided to give up flying, no longer chasing the clouds, because he wanted to stay on the ground to be with her. The date on the letter was the day after Willow returned to the country. In that moment, I suddenly understood. He hadn’t impulsively chosen her in the fire; He had decided to give up everything for her the moment she returned— His career, his marriage, even himself. I refolded the letter, put it back in the envelope, my fingertips ice-cold. Captain Miller looked at me, seeming to want to say something, but in the end, he just sighed softly: “Please take care.” “Thank you.” I smiled, my tone so calm it surprised even myself. After leaving the coffee shop, I took out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “Hello? Is this Anya?” A familiar, gentle voice came from the other end. It was Leo, my university senior. Now a partner at a top design firm. “Leo, it’s me.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “You once mentioned wanting me to join your studio… is the offer still on the table?” He paused for a moment, then, with clear surprise, said, “Of course! Always! Have you decided?” I looked out the window. City traffic flowed like a river. Car after car reflected in the post-rain sunlight, blurred yet dazzling. “Yes.” I softly replied. “I’ve decided. I’ll come once I’ve settled things here.” ###

Anya’s POV I picked Julian up from the hospital the day he was discharged. He recovered faster than I expected; he looked much better than the last time I’d seen him. When I went to handle the discharge papers, I saw Willow standing by his bed, her eyes red-rimmed as she gently reminded him of various things. They stood very close, their voices tender and familiar. In that moment, I felt they were the couple, and I—just a superfluous observer. I calmly watched for a few seconds before walking over and saying, “The paperwork’s done. We can go.” He finally shifted his gaze from her to my face. Today, I was wearing a cream-colored trench coat with a black turtleneck underneath. The reflection in the mirror showed me looking thinner, and calmer, than before. “Mm,” he responded blandly, taking the duffel bag from my hand. Willow said softly from the side, “Anya, you’ve worked hard these past few days. I’ll leave Julian in your care.” Her tone carried a subtle, almost imperceptible declaration of ownership. I didn’t reply, just turned to Julian and said, “Let’s go.” The drive home was as silent as ever. He tried to speak several times; I could see his hesitation in the rearview mirror when he looked at me, but I didn’t give him the chance. I just focused on the road ahead, my hands steady on the steering wheel. It wasn’t until the car pulled into the villa’s garage that he finally spoke: “Today is our third wedding anniversary.” My hand paused. So, today marked three years of our marriage. “Right,” I replied softly, with no extra emotion. He seemed unsettled by my coldness, frowning slightly. He pulled a velvet box from his suit’s inner pocket and held it out to me. “A gift.” I glanced down at it. It was a brand I recognized. His choices were always appropriate, but he’d never truly known me. I didn’t take it. “Julian,” I looked up at him, my voice flat, “we don’t need to keep up these pretenses between us anymore.” He froze for a few seconds, his hand stiff in mid-air. In that moment, I clearly saw the shock on his face. “What do you mean?” His voice deepened. I didn’t answer, just pushed open the car door and got out. He followed me inside, his voice edged with irritation: “Anya, what exactly is wrong with you? I know you’re upset that Willow was with me in the hospital, but she was just worried about me, nothing else.” My hand paused on my shoe, and I slowly looked up. Staring at his handsome, yet increasingly unfamiliar face, I suddenly found it a little laughable. “I’m not upset,” I said. “I just think we should both be honest with ourselves. You don’t have me in your heart, and I don’t want to keep deceiving myself anymore.” He was stunned into silence by my words, his face instantly paling. The air was silent for a long time before he finally said in a low voice, “Let’s have dinner together tonight, to celebrate our anniversary.” I was about to refuse, but then I reconsidered. It was for the best; some things needed to be settled. “Where?” I asked. “A new restaurant. The ambiance is nice.” He mentioned a name. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t recall where I’d heard it. I just nodded: “Okay.” — In the evening, Julian changed his clothes and held a bouquet of beautifully wrapped champagne roses. He handed me the flowers, his expression a bit stiff. The flowers were beautiful, their scent rich. I took them, merely saying, “Thank you,” in a flat tone. Then I got into his car. The restaurant was in the city center, brimming with lights, exquisitely decorated; clearly, the owner had excellent taste. As soon as we arrived at the entrance, the hostess enthusiastically greeted us: “Mr. Thorne, you’re here! Ms. Hayes is waiting for you inside.” In that instant, my fingers, holding the flowers, tightened slightly. I suddenly remembered that this restaurant was a venture Willow had been preparing since returning to the country; she had posted design sketches on SnapChat. I understood. His so-called anniversary dinner was just an excuse to support Willow’s opening. Julian seemed to notice my unusual behavior and explained in a low voice, “It’s Willow’s restaurant opening today. I’m here to support her, and we can celebrate our anniversary at the same time.” —At the same time. How ironic. I said nothing more, just followed behind him, holding the flowers. The restaurant was packed with guests. Willow, in a white gown, was radiant under the lights. Seeing Julian, her eyes lit up, and she hurried over, holding up her skirt. “Julian, you’re here!” She smiled brightly, her gaze lingering on Julian, then sweeping to the bouquet in my hands, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. Julian handed her a limited-edition gift box: “Happy opening.” “Thank you, Julian! I knew you were the best!” She smiled sweetly, then, as if just noticing me, said, “Oh, Anya’s here too? Please sit down.” After sitting, I realized that the bouquet of champagne roses she held—was identical to the one in my arms. I looked down at the flowers and let out a short, bitter laugh. Turns out, even my “gift” was just an afterthought. I barely ate anything during the dinner. They chatted about topics I could never join, from childhood memories to university anecdotes, their eyes filled with familiar tenderness. He remembered she didn’t eat cilantro, was allergic to seafood, and preferred certain red wines. But he never knew I didn’t drink cold beverages and hated carrots. I sat there, an unwanted spectator, watching them perform a play of rekindled romance. I looked down, sending a text to my lawyer: “Please prepare the divorce papers.” Then, I stood up and said to Julian, “I’m going to the restroom.” He didn’t even lift his head, just grunted. I walked a few steps, then heard Willow’s laughter: “Julian, do you remember? We used to love coming here to watch the stars—” I didn’t listen to the rest. The bathroom water was icy cold. I splashed it on my face, trying to calm myself. The reflection in the mirror showed a pale face, hollow eyes. I barely recognized myself. Was it really worth torturing myself like this for a man who didn’t love me? I took a deep breath, preparing to leave, but at the door, I saw her. Willow leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a clear challenge in her eyes. “Anya,” she walked closer, her voice no longer gentle, “Did you know? The design for this restaurant was my university graduation project. And Julian, to give me this place, spent his entire year’s flight bonus.” My heart tightened, but I still calmly asked, “So, you’re bragging now?” “Bragging?” She laughed, leaning closer, and whispered, “I’m just telling you a fact—you’ve occupied my place for three years. It’s time to give it back.” She paused, her gaze sharp as a knife: “Do you know why he married you? Because of your father, because he felt he owed the Sterling family. He never loved you. His heart has only ever belonged to me, from beginning to end.” I had known these words for a long time, but hearing them from her mouth, the sting was deeper. I looked at her and said coldly, “Are you done? Move.” She seemed surprised by my calmness and paused for a moment. Just then, a wave of screams suddenly erupted from the restaurant hall. Immediately after, a creaking sound came from above. Both she and I looked up simultaneously. The enormous crystal chandelier was breaking one by one— ###

Anya’s POV The enormous crystal chandelier swayed violently, shards reflecting a blinding glare in the light. I instinctively wanted to step back. In that instant, a dark blur shot from not far away—it was Julian. My heart skipped a beat, completely against my will. I thought he was coming to save me. But reality always twisted the knife when a person was most vulnerable. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He swooped past me, swift and decisive, pulling Willow, who was beside me, tightly into his embrace. He shielded her with his body, his back to the danger, holding her close to his chest, moving her away from directly beneath the chandelier. The whole process took less than two seconds. And I was completely abandoned on the spot. In that moment, he didn’t even spare me a glance. It turns out that in a life-or-death moment, human instinct doesn’t lie. Whoever he chooses to save is the most important person in his heart. And I didn’t even deserve to be pulled away as an afterthought. “CRASH—” The sound of the chandelier falling was deafening. I had no time to react, only felt a massive force hit my back, and pain instantly surged through my entire body. The world spun, and the surrounding commotion faded into the distance. Before losing consciousness entirely, I thought I heard Julian’s voice. “Anya—!” But what did it matter? A belated cry couldn’t save anything. My world plunged into darkness. — When I woke up again, the pungent smell of antiseptic almost made me gag. Pungent, yet absurdly familiar. I struggled to open my eyes. The white ceiling was a blur. I tried to move my fingers, but the pain almost stole my breath. “You’re awake?” I turned my head and saw a doctor in a white coat. His voice was gentle. “What… happened to me?” My voice was dry and raspy, like sand weathered by wind. “You were hit by a heavy object, suffering multiple soft tissue contusions, a mild concussion, and a fractured left arm. But thankfully, you’re out of danger.” I managed a weak smile, my lips barely curved. Physical wounds would heal, but what about the emotional ones? My heart was already shattered. — The hospital room door opened. Julian walked in. He looked a bit disheveled, with a small scratch on his temple. He walked to the bedside, looking at me, his expression complicated. “How are you feeling?” he asked in a low voice. I didn’t look at him, just stared at the sky outside the window. “I’m not dying,” I said. He was silent for a few seconds, seemingly wanting to explain: “The situation was too urgent then, I—” “You instinctively saved her,” I finished his sentence, then turned my head to meet his gaze. “I understand. You don’t need to explain.” He stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I could tell he was flustered. But what did it matter? “Anya, I didn’t mean to,” he said with difficulty. “Willow was terrified. I had to make sure she was okay first—” “She was terrified, she needed you to comfort her,” I interrupted him. “What about me? Julian, when I was knocked unconscious, where were you?” He was speechless. The room was so quiet that only our breathing could be heard. Watching his lost and helpless expression, I suddenly felt… so pointless. I used to be able to be sad all night over a single word from him, but now, I didn’t even have the energy to be angry. “You should go,” I closed my eyes. “I just want to be alone.” He seemed about to say something else when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression changing, and immediately stepped out of the room to answer. The soundproofing wasn’t great. I could still hear his voice, trying hard to keep it down— “Don’t be scared, I’ll be right there. I’ve already booked a therapist, she’s upstairs. Just wait for me, okay?” … A few minutes later, he pushed the door open again. A hint of apology on his face: “Anya, Willow is shaken and emotionally unstable. I need to take her to see a therapist. I’ll have a caregiver look after you here.” I still kept my eyes closed, without even fluttering an eyelash. He wouldn’t know that my heart was already numb. It turned out he wasn’t here to see me specifically today. He was just accompanying Willow to the hospital to see a therapist and happened to pass my room. Perhaps he saw my name at the front desk and then remembered he had a “wife” also staying here. He “happened” to visit me. Just like he “happened” to have anniversary dinner with me, “Happened” to play the role of husband in our marriage. My life and death would always be an accessory in his world. Seeing that I didn’t speak, he must have thought I was tacitly agreeing. He stood for a moment, then finally turned and left. The sound of the door closing was exceptionally clear in my ears. I slowly opened my eyes. The white ceiling made my head ache. I raised my uninjured right hand, felt for my purse on the bedside table, and pulled out that worn diary. I turned to a new page, and with all my strength, wrote: [Entry 85:] [The chandelier fell, a moment between life and death.] [He passed me by and saved her.] [This is what abandonment felt like.] ###

Anya’s POV I stayed in the hospital for three days. In those three days, Julian didn’t show up once. My only companion each day was a diligent caregiver. She took my temperature, changed my dressings, brought me food – everything was mechanically polite. On the morning of the third day, I calmly completed the discharge procedures without notifying anyone. The cast on my arm was still on, and my back still ached faintly, but strangely, my steps felt lighter than ever before. Returning to the villa, I felt no lingering attachment. I went straight up to the second floor and began packing my things. There wasn’t much, actually. A few everyday clothes, some design tools, and several well-worn professional books. Three years of marriage, and I felt like a temporary guest here. As I dragged my suitcase, preparing to go downstairs, voices drifted up from the living room. It was Julian, along with a few of his friends. I instinctively paused, hiding in the shadows of the staircase landing. “Julian, are you even a man?” Liam’s voice smelled of alcohol, yet his words were jarringly sober. “Anya is still lying in the hospital, and here you are, spending every day with Willow at her therapist appointments! Do you think you’re being fair to Anya?” Owen chimed in from beside him: “Exactly, Julian. What you did this time was too much. When that chandelier fell, how could you leave Anya alone there? I heard she even fractured her arm!” I held my breath, my chest tightening. After a long silence, I heard Julian’s hoarse voice: “You don’t understand… Three years ago, Willow was forcefully taken away by her parents right in front of me. She cried and begged me, but I was powerless. That helplessness and regret, you can’t possibly comprehend.” He paused, his voice filled with deep anguish. “I swore I’d never let her be hurt in front of me again. So when that chandelier fell, my mind went blank… I just knew I couldn’t lose her again.” “So for your idealized first love, you’d sacrifice Anya?” Liam scoffed. “She’s your wife! For three years, what fault could you find with her? She gave up her career to take care of you. When you were sick, she stayed up all night. When you had stomach problems, she cooked all sorts of dishes for you. What the hell about you deserves her?” What about him deserved me? I wanted to know too. I thought that hearing these words, Julian would at least feel guilty. But he didn’t. “She’s good. She’s good in every way, gentle and sensible, taking care of me meticulously.” He paused, as if letting out a deep sigh. In that instant, even breathing became painful for me. It turned out all my efforts, all my goodness, weren’t worth more than a single phrase: “Just not the one I wanted.” I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle any sound. I didn’t linger. Dragging my suitcase, I slipped away silently through the villa’s back door. — I moved into a serviced apartment in the city center. The room wasn’t large, but it was clean and bright, like a fresh start. I quickly threw myself into preparing the studio. After back-to-back video conferences with Leo, we finalized the location, renovation plans, and future strategies. I didn’t sleep a wink, sketching designs for three days and three nights straight. When I sent him the final proposal, his barely concealed excitement came through the phone. “Anya, you’re a genius! This proposal is fantastic!” I smiled. It was the first genuine, heartfelt smile I’d had in a long time. It turned out that when I stopped focusing all my attention on the man who didn’t love me, the world had become so vast. I, Anya Sterling, was not anyone’s accessory. Above all, I was my own person. — The day before I left for A-City, the lawyer delivered the divorce papers. The terms were simple—I wanted nothing; I would leave with nothing. I picked up the pen and signed my name. As the pen tip glided across the paper, an odd sense of calm settled in my heart. Just then, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Hello, is this Ms. Sterling?” An anxious female voice came from the other end. “It is.” “I’m the caregiver from the nursing home where your mother used to live. We recently found a box she had always treasured while organizing her belongings. It seems to contain some important items. Would you be able to come and pick it up sometime soon?” My mother’s belongings? ###

Anya’s POV My mother—Seraphina Sterling. That name would forever be the deepest wound in my heart. Two years ago, she passed away from a sudden heart attack on my birthday. Since then, I’d never celebrated my birthday again. Tomorrow would be the anniversary of her death. I drove to the cemetery on the city outskirts, dark clouds seeming to swallow the entire sky. The wind lashed against the car windows, and my hands clenched the steering wheel. I hadn’t expected to see Julian at the cemetery entrance. He stood there, holding a bouquet of white lilies, his posture straight, his expression solemn. When he saw me, he froze for a moment, then walked over. “I figured you’d be here today,” he said in a low voice. I ignored him, just brushing past him. I didn’t want any interaction with him, not even a polite greeting. He followed me, his voice cautious: “Anya, I was drunk that night. Don’t take what I said to heart.” I stopped, turning to face him. “Julian, you don’t need to explain. I heard everything clearly, and I’ve thought everything through. Thank you—for making me completely give up.” His face instantly paled, his lips trembled slightly, but no words came out. I turned and walked to my mother’s grave. The lilies in my hand felt damp. I gently placed them before the tombstone, then took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped dust from the photo. In the picture, she was still gentle, with a pure and kind smile. “Mom, I’m here to see you,” I whispered in my heart. “I’m going to A-City now, so I might not be able to visit you often in the future. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself and start anew… living the life you hoped for me.” The wind whispered through the cemetery trees. I didn’t know if it was my imagination, but in that moment, it felt as if my mother was smiling at me. Julian stood behind me, not too far, not too close. I could feel his gaze on me. That gaze suffocated me. After the memorial, we walked back in silence. A muffled thunder rumbled in the distance. What began as a fine drizzle suddenly intensified, pouring down. Just then, his phone rang out jarringly. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. He answered the call, his expression changing drastically. “What did you say? She fell down the stairs?!” “Which hospital? I’m coming right away!” He slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt by the roadside. Rain lashed against the windshield, like a fractured curtain. He turned to me, his eyes anxious, “Anya, something happened to Willow. I have to go immediately. You—” “Let me out here,” I calmly interrupted him. He froze for a moment. “But it’s pouring outside…” “It’s fine.” I had already unbuckled my seatbelt, my voice calm, almost flat. “She needs you more.” He looked at me, seeming to hesitate, but that hesitation vanished in an instant. He nodded. “Then you’ll take a cab home. Be careful.” He said that, then started the car. I watched the car speed into the pouring rain, its headlights slowly swallowed by the darkness. I suddenly laughed. This is what it felt like for my heart to die. Not crying, not pain, but complete numbness. I opened my umbrella and turned to walk towards the roadside. In that very instant, an out-of-control truck careened around the corner, blinding headlights engulfing me. I had no time to react— “Bang!” A violent impact, my body thrown into the air, then slammed heavily onto the ground. Excruciating pain exploded from my bones, and my world instantly dissolved into darkness. … When I opened my eyes again, the pungent smell of antiseptic almost made me gag. It was that familiar hospital again. I tried to move, but a tearing pain erupted in my abdomen, making me curl up. The doctor pushed the door open, his face grim. “Ms. Sterling, you had a massive hemorrhage when you were brought in, and your condition was extremely critical.” He paused. “We found that you… were two months pregnant.” I froze. Pregnant? My mind went blank with a buzzing sound. Pregnant? With Julian’s child? The doctor continued, and then came the words that felt like a knife: “But due to severe blood loss, the baby couldn’t be saved. We urgently needed to give you a blood transfusion, but the hospital’s entire stock of Rh-negative blood had just been diverted.” I looked up, my throat so dry I couldn’t speak. “Who?” The doctor sighed, his expression complicated: “It was Mr. Thorne. He called, saying Ms. Hayes urgently needed blood, and told us to send all the stock to her room. We contacted him, saying your condition was more critical, but he refused, then turned off his phone.” I stared blankly at the ceiling, a chill spreading through my chest. He diverted my blood to save Willow. He killed our baby with his own hands. I lay on the hospital bed and suddenly laughed. Laughed until tears streamed down my face. Julian’s cruelty, it truly knew no bounds. I fumbled for the diary under my pillow, my hand trembling so much I could barely hold it. Turning to the last page, I wrote down, stroke by stroke: [Entry 99:] [He killed our child.] I put down the pen and closed the notebook. Julian, we’re done.

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The first thing I did after learning my wife died in a plane crash? I frantically offloaded all our assets at rock-bottom prices and bolted overnight. Why? Because in my past life, after my wife “died,” she left behind thirty million in debt. To pay it off, I had to give our son to my mother-in-law. I worked three jobs, around the clock, while also looking after my wife’s entire extended family. I pushed myself until I was completely broken. Ten years later, riding the internet boom, I finally paid off the debt and grew my company into a powerhouse, only to be diagnosed with stomach cancer. In my final moments, I saw my supposedly dead wife appear with a strange man, holding our son, Liam, and another little girl. “Thank you, Alex, for all your hard work these past years. Now, the four of us can live comfortably off your money. Oh, and neither of these children are yours.” I was so enraged I died on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my wife faked her death.

“Sir, my condolences.” “Alex, try to stay strong.” My phone vibrated endlessly in my pocket, buzzing with sympathy texts from relatives and friends. On TV, the anchor solemnly reported the news of Atlantic Airways Flight 730’s disappearance, confirming all onboard were presumed dead. And my wife, Chloe, was on that plane. In my previous life, when I saw that news, I fainted on the spot. When I woke up, a collection notice from the bank greeted me—thirty million dollars. Chloe had used our marital home and my company as collateral to take out a thirty-million-dollar loan. My life, from that day on, plunged into absolute darkness. But now, looking at Chloe’s photo on the TV, my heart felt nothing. In fact, I wanted to laugh. Perfect. If you want to play games, Chloe, let’s play a big one. I dialed my real estate agent, Mr. Henderson. “Alex? Calling so late? Is everything alright?” “Mr. Henderson, I need a favor. My villa, the two apartments downtown, and the office building my company owns—I need you to list them all. Urgent sale.” There was a few seconds of silence on Mr. Henderson’s end. He was clearly stunned. “Alex, you… what are you saying? The market’s terrible right now, an urgent sale will mean a huge loss. You’ll lose at least…” “Sell them no matter the loss.” I cut him off. “One condition: all funds must be in my account within three days.” After hanging up, I didn’t pause for a moment. I dialed another number. “I need you to track someone down. Chloe. And a man she’s been in close contact with recently, Daniel Hayes.” The person on the other end was a buddy I’d helped out years ago. He was a private investigator now, with some seriously shady connections. “Alex, track down Chloe? What’s going on?” “She’s not dead.” I said calmly, “She’s with that man, Daniel Hayes. Find their current location for me, the sooner the better.” After arranging everything, I finally had time to glance at my phone. Dozens of missed calls, all from my mother-in-law, Martha Peterson, and my wife’s useless brother, Kevin Peterson. I swiped away all notifications. Just as I was about to silence my phone, Martha’s call came in again. The moment I answered, a deafening wail erupted. “Alex! My Chloe! My daughter is gone just like that! How can you call yourself a husband?! Why didn’t you stop her from going to that Maldives trip?! You give me back my daughter!” Her shrill voice pierced my ears. In my previous life, I was terrorized by that crying for ten years, treating her whole family like royalty. And what did I get? A bunch of ungrateful leeches. I held the phone away from my ear, waiting for her wailing to subside a bit, then spoke coldly. “Done crying?” Martha’s sobbing instantly stopped.

“Alex, you… what kind of attitude is that! Chloe just died, and you…” “First, ‘just died’ isn’t quite right. A plane falling into the ocean? She’s likely dead for good.” “Second, for her funeral, you’re her family. It’s your responsibility to handle it. My company has some issues right now, I’m slammed, I can’t leave.” “You!” Martha was so furious she couldn’t speak. I didn’t give her a chance, continuing: “That’s it. Don’t call me unless it’s important.” With that, I hung up and immediately blocked her number. The next morning, Mr. Henderson brought several buyers to the villa. To offload the properties as quickly as possible, I was selling them at seventy percent of market value. “Alex, please reconsider. This price is a massive loss.” Mr. Henderson was still conscientiously trying to persuade me. “No need to consider. Whoever can pay in full the fastest gets it.” My attitude was firm. The buyers looked at me like I was a lunatic, but faced with such huge profits, their greed was impossible to hide. In less than half a day, the villa and the two apartments were under contract. The company building was a little more complicated, but at such a low price, it sold quickly. Mr. Henderson patted his chest, guaranteeing it would be done within three days. I was signing contracts with a buyer when the doorbell to the villa began ringing like crazy. I didn’t even need to look to know who it was. Opening the door, Martha Peterson’s tear-streaked, puffy face and Kevin Peterson’s indignant, sneering expression appeared before me. Martha’s eyes were red and swollen, as if she’d cried all night. Kevin, meanwhile, looked furious and contemptuous. “Alex! You heartless monster! My sister’s barely gone, and you’re already selling the house!” Kevin stormed in, pointing a finger at my nose, practically spitting in my face. Martha followed, wailing hysterically: “Oh, Chloe, you died such a terrible death! Look at the man you married! The moment you’re gone, he’s selling off the entire house!” The buyers and Mr. Henderson inside the house exchanged awkward, disdainful glances. I watched their performance with cold eyes. Once they were done with their scene, I slowly spoke. “Done with your tantrum?” Kevin paused, then grew even more enraged: “Alex, what’s that supposed to mean?! Are we wrong?! My sister was so good to you, and this is how you treat her?” “Good to me?” I scoffed as if I’d heard the funniest joke in the world. “Good to me? You mean by using my house and company as collateral for a thirty-million-dollar loan, then faking her death and running off?” My words exploded like a bomb in the living room. Martha and Kevin’s expressions froze instantly. The buyers and Mr. Henderson looked shocked, glancing at each other, clearly having stumbled upon some juicy high society drama. “You… you’re talking nonsense!” Martha was the first to react, her voice sharp as she retorted, “My Chloe would never take out a thirty-million-dollar loan! This is slander! You’re just making excuses to sell the house!” “Exactly!” Kevin chimed in, “My sister’s a stay-at-home mom! Where would she get a thirty-million-dollar loan? Alex, I think you’ve lost your mind!” I sneered, pulled several documents from my briefcase, and tossed them onto the coffee table in front of them. “Open your eyes and look closely. This is the loan agreement signed by Chloe. These are the bank’s collateral documents. It clearly states that if the loan isn’t repaid within three months, the bank will seize this villa and the ownership of my company.” These documents, of course, I had forged overnight. But the signature on them? That was Chloe’s genuine handwriting. In my previous life, when I was sorting through her belongings, I found many of her practice drafts. She not only imitated my signature, but also the bank manager’s. And her own signature? I could write it with my eyes closed. Martha and Kevin were clearly intimidated. They picked up the documents, scrutinizing them, the color draining from their faces bit by bit. “Impossible… this is absolutely impossible…” Martha murmured, her eyes beginning to dart around. Chloe’s plan? Her own mother couldn’t possibly have been completely in the dark. “Nothing’s impossible.” I folded my arms, watching them coldly. “Right now, the bank has issued its final notice. I’m selling everything to cover this hole. Otherwise, we’ll all end up homeless.” I deliberately emphasized “we.” Kevin’s face was grim. He probably realized he wouldn’t be able to spend my money anymore, and angrily yelled: “That’s your joint debt as a couple! Why should we be responsible for it?!” “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is that right? Well, good. I was just worried I wouldn’t have enough money. Since you’re her family, shouldn’t you contribute to this debt?” The moment I finished speaking, several rough bangs on the door came from outside. “Open up! Alex! Pay your debts, it’s your obligation!” Several burly guys in black tank tops with sleeves of tattoos stormed in. The bald man leading them looked fierce. Martha and Kevin had never seen such a scene before. Their knees buckled on the spot. Martha immediately hid behind Kevin, who was pale and shaking like a leaf. This was the second act I’d arranged. In my previous life, it was these same guys who came to my door every other day, harassing me relentlessly. They even caused trouble at the restaurant where I worked, costing me my job. This time, I’d brought them in early. The bald man walked up to me, his expression menacing. “Alex, thirty million. When are you paying it back?” I feigned panic, stepping back, and pointed at the trembling Martha and Kevin. I spoke in a frantic, loud voice: “Gentlemen, you’re looking for the wrong person! The one who borrowed the money is Chloe, and they’re Chloe’s mother and brother! Look, the loan agreement clearly states that this money was all taken by Chloe to buy her brother a house and car, and her mother luxury items!” I also handed over the forged fund flow statement. The bald man took it, glanced at it, then turned his fierce gaze to Martha and Kevin. “Oh? So *you* were the ones spending the money?”

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My boyfriend secretly changed my songs into soulless commercial tracks to chase a solo deal. Our bandmate Sam confronted him for me, but he coldly replied, “Her songs are meant for me to sing. Without me, she’s nothing. Once I’m famous, I’ll just throw her some money.” In that sweltering rehearsal room, he demanded I rewrite the lyrics again, so I calmly took back all my sheet music. On the day of the music festival, he was sued for breach of contract, while my song “Nameless Bird” was performed by another rising star — it blew up overnight and won Song of the Year. “Change punk to pop? Add a rap bridge? Jax, are you insane?! Kira pulled three all-nighters writing this. Did you even ask her?” Jax and Alex, our bassist, were fighting, their voices cutting through the cheap door of the rehearsal room. Silence fell inside for a few seconds, then Jax’s dismissive chuckle rang out. “Ask her? The songs she writes, aren’t they for me to sing?” “Alex, get this straight. The only reason Tidal Wave Records even noticed our band is because of my looks and my voice, not her so-called ‘artistic integrity’! Without my vocals, all her stuff is worthless!” Alex was still fuming for me: “What about Kira? Do you have any idea how much she’s poured into this band? When we were dead broke, she worked three jobs a day, came home exhausted, eating cheap ramen, and still wrote songs for you!” “Enough.” Jax’s voice was edged with impatience. “Once I’m famous, a big star, I’ll just give her a lump sum to buy out the copyright, right? Why does a girl need so many grand dreams? Wouldn’t a stable life be better? Anyway, she’s dependent on me; I’ll always take care of her.” “Besides, she’s head-over-heels in love with me; she’ll definitely agree to this.” I stood frozen in the hallway, clutching a bag of cold beers and some street tacos I’d just bought, listening to the conversation from inside the room. We promised to stand on the music festival stage together, singing our own songs. This was the pact we made the very first day we formed the band in college. For this dream, we crammed into a rundown, cheap rental. Whenever it rained, the roof leaked, flooding our room, and we had to sleep in water. To save money for a decent used guitar, we ate instant ramen for an entire month. At our poorest, I put down my pen and waited tables at a restaurant, handed out flyers on the street. I had no choice. Music didn’t pay, so I had to earn money to support the music, to keep the band alive. Working all day, then staying up night after night, writing lyric after lyric, note after note. But now, all my hard work, in Jax’s eyes, was just a tool for his success. Our rough beginnings, our struggling past, had become my personal joke. I bit my lip, my eyes lowering, wanting to laugh, but no sound came out. Jax wanting to be famous, that was normal. But this was *my* song, and he was going to casually change it without telling me. He was also going to casually trample on my talent and my dreams! I wanted to push open the door and confront him, only to find my whole body trembling. I took half a step forward, but my hand froze in mid-air, hovering over the doorknob. After a long moment, I silently turned and walked away, pretending I knew nothing. I just tossed that bag of still-warm tacos, along with that burning period of my youth, into the trash can in the hallway. I did love Jax, but I loved my music more. He could abandon his principles for a smooth path to stardom, but I had a sanctuary of music I wanted to protect. I returned alone to our tiny, shared apartment, the one we jokingly called “the birdcage.” The room was small, with our band’s first poster stuck on the wall. The young man in the poster smiled wildly, radiating passion. Back then, Jax would sit on the rug, guitar in hand, singing the melodies I wrote, over and over. “Kira, your lyrics and music have light in them, and I want to sing that light to the whole world!” We busked in subway stations together, argued until dawn over a single chord progression. Then we’d look at each other and laugh, thinking how freaking awesome it was to fight for a dream. “The Unnamed Bird” – I wrote that song for him, and for our shared dream. The bird in the song, breaking free from its cage and soaring into the storm, was a reflection of us.

I sat on the cold floor, looking around the cramped space that was filled with so many memories. Past scenes flashed through my mind. Five years of my youth, all wasted. Just last week, when we got our first signing bonus, Jax had spun me around in the street late at night, screaming with excitement: “Kira! We did it! Soon, we’ll be on the music festival stage, letting everyone hear our songs!” In that moment, the light in his eyes was brighter than the stars. I thought we’d be each other’s strongest support, moving from obscurity to success together. I was wrong. I was too naive, thinking people’s hearts would never change. Jax was no longer the boy with light in his eyes. That winter, the boy who played guitar in the heavy snow, singing his first love song to me, that genuine, heart-pounding feeling despite the cold. It had long since vanished with time. The glitter of fame and fortune had blinded his eyes and corrupted his heart. He was no longer walking the same path as me. What he wanted was a fancy birdcage and carefully prepared feed. And all I wanted was for my bird to fly freely in the sky where it belonged. My phone screen lit up. A message from Jax: “Babe, rehearsal might end early tonight. Wait for me to get back. Love you.” Followed by a kiss emoji. I looked at that “Love you” and felt an immense irony. I didn’t reply. I just calmly retrieved the song’s demo from deep within my computer, backed it up, and encrypted it. This was my heart and soul, my baby. No one would ever distort it into something I didn’t recognize. Soon, Jax pushed open the door. He pulled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt, tossed it casually on the couch, and came over to hug me from behind. “Kira, why didn’t you come to the rehearsal room to find me? I bought you your favorite bubble tea.” His chin rubbed against my neck, his tone playful, as if the cold, ruthless person in the rehearsal room just now wasn’t him. I didn’t move or respond. “What’s wrong?” He sensed my stiffness and turned me around to face him. “Are you still mad about me yelling at you last time? I already apologized, didn’t I? I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, Kira, don’t be so petty.” “Last time,” he referred to, was when I found out he was getting very close to an award-winning producer named Scarlett. I just asked a couple of questions, and he flew into a rage. Now, I realized Scarlett must have been the one Tidal Wave Records sent to recruit him. “Jax,” I looked into his eyes, asking calmly, “Is there something you need to tell me about ‘The Unnamed Bird’?” His eyes flickered for a second, then he chuckled calmly: “Oh, you mean that. You know Scarlett from Tidal Wave, she’s a top producer. She said our song has massive hit potential but needs a few tweaks to make it more market-friendly.” He stroked my face, his voice casual: “She’s right, too niche songs don’t easily blow up. Haven’t you always said you wanted a bigger place? Once this song hits big, we’ll have the money.” I asked, word for word: “So, you’re going to turn our heart and soul into a piece of trash?” Jax’s patience seemed to run out. He let go of me, frustration clouding his face. “Trash song? Kira, can you stop being so naive? Making music isn’t a game; it’s about making money to live! Scarlett is right, we can’t always live in our own little world; we need to learn to play by the market’s rules!” “Besides, I’m not doing this just for myself; I’m doing it for the future of our entire band! Do you think Alex and Finn don’t want to make money? You’re just so arrogant!”

He spun all his betrayal into “doing what’s best for us.” I laughed, a bitter laugh, stood up, walked to the table, picked up the bubble tea he’d bought, and poured it straight down the kitchen sink. The liquid swirled and disappeared down the drain, like our vanished love. “My song, not a single word is changing! If you want to sell out, find someone else to write your tracks.” “And, we’re over.” After saying that, I walked into the bedroom and started packing my things. Jax was stunned. He hadn’t expected me to react so intensely. “Kira, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? You always do this, is it fun? What else can you do besides write a few songs? You’re nothing without me!” My hands stopped packing, tears streaming uncontrollably. For all these years we were together, everyone thought I was just Jax’s accessory, the lead singer’s girlfriend and his songwriting tool. Even Jax himself implicitly believed my talent had to be dependent on him. But no one knew that my original intention for writing songs was simply to heal myself. During the darkest period of my life after my father’s passing, music pulled me out of the abyss. My dream was for my work to be heard, to be loved. Who sang it wasn’t the most important thing. That’s why I willingly handled everything for him, why I compromised unconditionally. And that’s what gave Jax the chance to hurt me. I wiped away my tears and continued packing. All my sheet music, manuscripts, and that old guitar that had accompanied me through countless nights, I carefully placed them into my suitcase, one by one. Finally, I took off the necklace he had made for me from a guitar pick, the one around my neck. It was a gift he gave me when we first started dating. I placed it on the table and pushed it towards him. “Your stuff, I’m returning it to you.” He blocked my path, his eyes red-rimmed. “Kira, do you really have to do this? All for one song?” I looked at him and suddenly felt like he was a complete stranger. “It’s not for one song,” I said calmly, “It’s for myself.” Then, I pulled my suitcase and walked out without looking back. After leaving home, I moved in with my friend, Lena. Lena heard my story and was so furious she almost stormed over to Jax’s place to beat him up. “I told you Jax was no good! He treated you like a maid, and now he wants to treat you like a tool! You should’ve left him ages ago!” I gave a bitter smile, my heart feeling utterly lost. Over the next few days, Jax called and messaged me frantically. At first, it was accusations and threats. [Kira, how dare you leave? Without my voice, your pathetic sheet music is just trash. Who do you think will want it?] [If you’re talking about breaking up, I’ll just assume you’re throwing a tantrum. I order you to get back here right now!] I ignored all of them and blocked his number. When he saw I wasn’t responding, his tone softened, and he started to beg. [Kira, I was wrong, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Please come back? I can’t live without you.] [Have you forgotten all those days we ate ramen together? Forgotten our promise to stand on the music festival stage?] Reading those messages, I only felt irony. Who was it, really, who had forgotten all that? A week later, Finn, our drummer, came to find me. He was the only one besides Alex in the band who stood by me. “Kira, Jax really changed ‘The Unnamed Bird.’ Tidal Wave found a new lyricist, and it’s absolutely disgusting, unlistenable.”

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Julian and I had been together for over five years. That day, I came home with the freshly printed wedding invitations, planning to surprise him. The kitchen glowed with warm light, and he was laughing with the new housekeeper. She scooped some soup from his bowl, tasted it, then lightly punched his chest. “You’re such a liar, it’s not salty at all.” My fingers tightened, crushing the wedding invitations into a ball. I walked straight to the trash can. “Looks like my fiancé is getting a new girlfriend.” Seraphina had only started this month. She was Mrs. Jenkins’ cousin. A few days earlier, Julian had gone skiing and accidentally broke his leg. The doctor ordered him to rest at home for two months. Coincidentally, Mrs. Jenkins had an urgent family matter back home and left in a hurry, so her cousin had to step in temporarily. I was away on a business trip when Seraphina moved in. Since Julian couldn’t travel, I, as VP, took over supervising the company’s out-of-state projects. During that time, he mentioned her several times on SnapChat: “Seraphina is really efficient, and her cooking is great.” I assumed she was around Mrs. Jenkins’ age, so I naturally categorized her as a “dependable, older woman.” But when I got home, the person who opened the door was only a few years older than us: her hair was neatly tied back, her apron was spotless, and her expression was calm. I set my bag down, smiling. “Seraphina, I specifically picked out this silk scarf at the mall. Thank you for taking care of Julian these past weeks.” I pulled the gift box from my bag. I had originally bought it for Mrs. Jenkins. I always brought her a small gift when I returned from a business trip. Firstly, it was a reward, and secondly, she’d been with us for four or five years, and we considered her family. Seraphina looked at the gift box, but her hand didn’t reach out. The atmosphere paused. I added: “Please don’t feel obligated, Seraphina. This is just a little extra something, not part of your salary.” She looked up. “Ms. Caldwell, this is my job. You don’t need to give me gifts. I’ll do what I’m supposed to do.” Our voices startled Julian in the bedroom. He came out in his wheelchair and rolled to the doorway. I instinctively moved to push him, but before he even stopped, Seraphina had already grabbed the handles. My outstretched hand hovered, then I pulled it back, assuming she was just quick and efficient. “What’s wrong?” Julian looked up at me. I smiled. “Nothing, I just wanted to give Seraphina the gift I bought at the mall.” Then I handed him the scarf. He looked at it in his hand, nodding. “Jocelyn’s taste is always excellent. This scarf really suits Seraphina.” As he spoke, he directly handed the gift box to Seraphina. This time, Seraphina didn’t refuse like before. She took it naturally. “Thank you, Mr. Caldwell…” She paused, then nodded to me. “And thank you, Ms. Caldwell.” I hummed in response, carried my change of clothes back to the bedroom, and made a mental note of it. The gift eventually reached her, but who handed it over made a different kind of statement to some people. “Jocelyn, you’re in for a treat today. Seraphina’s cooking is amazing, her food is delicious.” In the bedroom, Julian sat in his wheelchair, chatting with me. I could vaguely hear the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen. “So, did you tell her I don’t eat cilantro?” I reminded him. “Of course! How could I forget something so small?” He said, then playfully tapped my nose, his tone as natural as ever. His gesture made me laugh, and I pushed aside the earlier unpleasantness. A little while later, the door clicked open. “Sir, dinner’s ready.” Seraphina’s voice followed her in. I had just showered, and the bathroom steam hadn’t fully dissipated. My hair was dripping wet, and I was about to change into clean clothes. She walked in without knocking. I quickly pulled my bath towel tighter, my face immediately darkening. “Why didn’t you knock?” Before, it was just Julian, Mrs. Jenkins, and me at home. Mrs. Jenkins was always respectful; she’d knock twice even when bringing a glass of water. Because of that, I’d gotten used to not locking my door at home. Seraphina froze for a moment, looking a bit awkward. “We’re all women, it’s no big deal.” A lump formed in my throat, but considering I wasn’t fully dressed, I forced myself to suppress my anger. “Please wait outside.” Seeing my expression, Julian quickly tried to smooth things over. “Seraphina didn’t mean it. We’ll wait for you outside.” With that, he gestured for Seraphina to push his wheelchair out. The door closed, and I heard the receding sound of wheels in the hallway. I took a deep breath, grabbed my prepped loungewear from the chair, quickly dried my hair, and got dressed. In the mirror, my expression was still tense. It wasn’t about such a small incident, but the feeling of boundaries being so easily crossed.

When I reached the living room, Julian had already started eating. Seraphina was also sitting at the dining table, head bowed, eating. The food on the table was still steaming, but my spot was empty. My fork and knife weren’t even set. “When Mrs. Jenkins handed over, didn’t she tell you not to sit at the table without permission when eating at an employer’s house?” I asked, suppressing my displeasure. It wasn’t that I was being unreasonable. I had invited Mrs. Jenkins to join us before, but she always insisted on following protocol, saying it was a professional boundary not to cross. Seraphina, however, was nonchalant. “I’ve been eating like this the whole time. Mr. Caldwell allowed it.” Julian interjected. “Yeah, it’s no big deal. Jocelyn, come sit down and eat.” I didn’t move, standing there, watching them both. In the silence, the sound of forks clinking against bowls was jarring. Julian sensed my mood was off. He wheeled over, looking up at me. “Jocelyn, don’t be mad. Come sit and eat.” “Tell her to get up.” I stated. “Jocelyn…” He tried to argue. “Tell her to get up.” I left no room for compromise. After a moment of stalemate, he finally lowered his head. “Seraphina, could you please eat in the kitchen?” Seraphina’s face tightened. She picked up her bowl, the chair scraping a small mark on the floor. She seemed accustomed to her way of interacting with Julian, and my return had become the disruption. The emotion in her eyes flashed, then she suppressed it, preparing to stand up. “Wait.” I called out to her, then turned to Julian. “Didn’t you tell her I don’t eat cilantro?” He finally reacted, looking down to see cilantro sprinkled on almost every dish. “This…” He was speechless. “Ms. Caldwell, this isn’t Mr. Caldwell’s fault.” Seraphina quickly spoke up. “I forgot when I was cooking and just put it in automatically.” “Then remake it.” My tone was flat. “Jocelyn, let it go. Just eat it today, Seraphina will remember next time.” Julian tried to mediate. I didn’t say anything else. I walked to the table, picked up the closest dish, and dumped it directly into the trash can. The sound of the liquid hitting the bottom was clear. “Then no one eats.” Julian’s brow furrowed. “Jocelyn, you—” The words died on his lips, as it was indeed Seraphina’s oversight. I didn’t look at either of them. I grabbed my car keys and small bag from the entryway, changed my shoes, and left. I didn’t go back after dinner. Instead, I stayed at my small apartment near the office for a few days. I’d bought this place specifically for project crunch times; the furniture was simple, and it was a five-minute walk from the office, perfect for quick breaks. These past few days, Julian kept messaging me, asking when I’d finish work, if I’d eaten, and when I’d be home. Knowing him, he usually would have driven and parked outside by now. But with his leg injury, he couldn’t leave the house freely, so he resorted to relentless messaging on his phone. I didn’t block him, nor did I reply much, occasionally just a “busy.” Around the sixth day, he sent me a longer message, asking me to come back for the weekend to look at wedding venues together. He said he’d contacted several companies, clarified their availability, budgets, and venue effects, and hoped I’d pick one I liked. His message was sincere. I didn’t want to prolong the awkwardness, so I took the olive branch and went back.

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During the break, I messaged my internet boyfriend: *Honey, miss you! * The whole class suddenly shrieked. I looked up and saw a message pop up on the professor’s screen, displaying his contact info. Holy crap! The content was exactly what I’d just sent! And his contact name was “Baby”? The professor smiled, a look of pure indulgence on his face. “My apologies, everyone. You saw that. Keep it our little secret, okay?” I stared at the professor, who was standing at the podium, looking seriously at his phone. I was utterly stunned. While I was still reeling, my phone buzzed with a new message: “Miss you too.” No way. I was just lonely, so I casually started an online relationship with a gaming buddy. How could he turn out to be the new professor? I steadied my breathing and sent another message: “What are you up to?” The professor closed his laptop, then looked down at his phone again. Soon after, a message arrived on my phone: “Just working.” It really was him! I shyly glanced at the new professor on the podium. I heard he’d just returned from studying abroad, having earned a Ph.D. from a top-tier international university. He was so young to already be an assistant professor. His academic background alone was impressive enough, but he also looked exactly like a movie star – tall and incredibly handsome. The moment he joined the faculty, he caused a stir among all the students and staff. If Mia hadn’t dragged me to stay up all night to snag a spot in his class, I probably wouldn’t have even had the chance to see him. But for such an amazing person to be my internet boyfriend? My head was spinning. Thinking about all the embarrassing things I’d whispered to him every night, I felt incredibly awkward. I couldn’t even sit still. “Buzz, buzz,” My phone vibrated again. I opened it. “Baby, I’m busy right now, but I’ll send you pics of my new abs tonight.” “Chloe, why is your face so red? Do you have a fever?” Mia asked. I quickly turned off my phone. “I’m fine, just a little hot.” Mia picked up a book and fanned herself. “Hmm, it does feel a bit warm.” “Such a handsome professor actually has a girlfriend. Ugh, what a shame.” “Anyway, there’s no harm in looking at handsome guys. Having a girlfriend doesn’t stop us from appreciating him.” People around me were still chattering, completely unaware that the mysterious girlfriend they were talking about was me, sitting right there among them. The class bell rang again. Julian switched to his lecture slides, looking earnestly at the students below. “Before we start the next topic, I want to ask you all a question.” “Why do we dream?” The students below began discussing amongst themselves, while I still held my phone, staring at our chat. The sheer contrast of it all made my insides burn even hotter. I’d never been in a relationship before, how was I supposed to handle this? Thinking about the photos he’d send me tonight, my throat suddenly felt dry. Just as I was lost in my own world, the professor’s face became clearer and clearer right in front of me. I unconsciously reached out and squeezed it. So soft, hahahaha. “Chloe, I asked you to share a dream, not to squeeze my face.” The class erupted in laughter. I suddenly realized this was reality and my face flushed crimson with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Professor.” Julian smiled gently. “Have you had any interesting dreams lately?” I couldn’t even look him in the eye. “I dreamed…” For a moment, I couldn’t remember any dreams. A male student nearby snickered. “Did you dream about a guy and now you’re too shy to say it?!” “Hahahahaha…” Hearing that, everyone burst out laughing. I replied decisively. “Yes, I did dream about a guy!” Professor Julian raised an eyebrow, about to say something, but I cut him off. “I dreamed my deceased grandpa missed me. Is that funny?” Silence instantly fell over the room. I pointed at the male student who’d snickered. “I don’t mind introducing you to my grandpa.” Professor Julian gave me a deep look. He hadn’t expected this seemingly delicate girl to have such a fierce personality. After class, I quickly fled the classroom. “Can I drop this class?” Mia looked bewildered. “Chloe, are you crazy? We stayed up all night to get into this class, and now you want to drop it?” Yes, before snagging it, I was only focused on the handsome professor. I never imagined it would involve *me*. If I had to face Julian every week, I was afraid I’d have a mental breakdown. “I asked around. If you want to switch classes, you need a signed waiver from the professor himself.” Thinking it over, facing him directly to ask for a waiver seemed worse than just being a regular student in his class. That night, after I’d showered and gotten into bed, my phone buzzed with multiple messages. I opened them and almost screamed. He’d sent several photos of his abs. Though I couldn’t see his face, the outline was definitely Professor Julian. “Baby, what do you think?” If I didn’t know who he was, it would be fine. But now that I knew, everything I said felt so constrained. “Looks good.” “Baby’s so cold. Didn’t you used to beg to see them?” Yes, if I didn’t know you were my elective professor, I’d be screaming and cheering right now. I sighed helplessly. “You’re so hot, babe.” “Baby, you’re being really perfunctory today.” Who would have thought? The professor who lectured us so seriously in the morning was sending messages like this in private. “I’m a bit tired today, just want to sleep.” Silence from his end. After a long time, a message came: “Good night, baby.”

These past few days, I’d tried my best to act normal and chat with him, but pretending I knew nothing was impossible. During his class, whether it was my imagination or not, I felt like his mood was low, as if he was suppressing some anger. Some girls in class would rush to give him coffee and desserts after class, asking about his day. Seeing him surrounded, I felt a pang of sadness. But who was I, anyway? I wasn’t even his friend, just an online girlfriend to confide in. I sent him a message: “Do you have a lot of people chasing you?” He looked down at his phone, the corner of his mouth curving into a beautiful smile. “Missing me, baby?” The girls around him started asking, “Professor, do you really have a girlfriend?” He nodded, still playing with his phone. “Is the professor’s girlfriend pretty?” “Duh, the professor’s so handsome, his girlfriend must be gorgeous.” I snorted quietly. *Your professor doesn’t even know what his internet girlfriend looks like.* “I’d love her no matter what she looked like.” “Wow, how enviable.” I casually sent a message: “Aren’t you afraid I’m ugly?” I looked up to see Julian still smiling at his phone. A message came through: “Then aren’t you afraid I’m ugly?” In the six months Julian and I had been chatting, he had never asked me for photos, and naturally, I hadn’t asked for his either. But I wasn’t a kid anymore. These were just adult games, who really took them seriously? Not knowing each other’s true identities was probably for the best. Julian and I always had great chemistry, whether we were chatting or gaming. I’d even imagined what it would be like to sit across from him and talk. I just never expected to “meet” him this way. I replied, “Not at all.” He replied, “Me neither.” “Chloe, quick, check the academic system! The list of thesis advisors is out!” I checked meticulously several times. After confirming that Professor Julian was my thesis advisor, I completely broke down. Mia was green with envy, but I would have gladly swapped with her. The advisor created a WhatsApp group and added us, his students. “Submit your outline to my office by Monday of next week.” Help! Pretending nothing happened was going to be incredibly difficult. After all, we’d both witnessed how open we were in private. And now we were supposed to meet as professor and student, in such a pure, innocent relationship? The thought filled me with dread. Even though we’d barely FaceTimed in six months, I couldn’t be 100% sure he wouldn’t recognize my voice. I knocked on his office door, deliberately speaking in a high-pitched voice. “Professor, this is my thesis outline.” He looked up at me. “Didn’t you answer a question in class?” “Yes, Professor.” “Then speak normally.” Being called out directly made me even more embarrassed. “Okay, Professor.” His hands were distinctly jointed, long, and especially beautiful. And his face was beyond perfect. His hooded eyes gave him a sharp look. A high nose bridge, and when he wore a coat, he just had an inherent cool vibe. His physique? Thinking of the pictures he’d sent me, my face involuntarily grew hot. His body was simply flawless. “Chloe, what are you thinking about?” How could I be thinking those things right in front of him? “Sorry, Professor, what did you just say?” “The overall framework of your thesis is fine, but the innovative point isn’t very clear yet. Go back and refine it.” “Thank you, Professor.” Just as I was about to leave, he unexpectedly asked, “Is there a student named ‘Lee Ann’ in this school?” Oh my god! I had thought, *since it’s just an online boyfriend, no need for my real name,* and made up “Lee Ann” for myself. I had hinted to him that I was a senior in college, but never mentioned which school. Since the game matched nearby players, there were only a few universities in the area. Did he recognize me and ask on purpose? No, could he have been looking for me all this time? “I don’t know anyone by that name,” I said, feigning calm. “Professor, do you need me to ask around for you?” “No need. Just revise your outline well and head back.” The moment I stepped out of his office, I sprinted back to my dorm. *No, this can’t go on. I’ll be discovered eventually.*

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The day I got my stage four cancer diagnosis, photos of my husband Asher Maddox and his mistress blew up the internet. Asher, heir to the Maddox Group, has been caught in an affair, triggering a nosedive in the company’s stock overnight. Shareholders demanded damage control. Reporters swarmed for a statement. Same old story. Then Asher called,his voice dripping with that familiar, casual arrogance. “I’m taking Luna to the theater, so don’t bother me. You know how this works. Handle it.” “And if you so much as cross her, I won’t just bankrupt your family. I’ll ruin them.” But this time, I didn’t scream. Didn’t fight. My eyes fell on the two funeral urns across my desk. “Understood,” I said, my voice quiet.  I called the PR department to prepare a press conference. Then I tore their meticulously prepared script to shreds. They say when you’re dying, you make a bucket list. Mine had just one thing on it. Divorce Asher Maddox. The moment the press conference ended, Asher’s furious call came through. “I told you to clarify the trending topic! Who gave you permission to mention divorce?!” “How is this any different from publicly announcing Luna is your mistress?!” I paused, a wave of absurdity washing over me. How could I have been mistaken, even for a second, thinking he was nervous about the end of our marriage? I pressed a hand to my aching stomach and spoke softly. “I just thought, since you love her so much, she deserves a proper title, doesn’t she?” “After all, this position was never truly mine. I’m just returning it to its rightful owner.” The other end was silent for a moment, then came a dismissive scoff. “Do you think Luna is as selfish as you? She’s always cared about me, not some title.” “Skylar Collins, don’t tell me you actually believe playing the good guy will make me soft enough to sign the papers? It’s not that easy!” “Since you stole her place, you can cry as you sit in it. You won’t get rid of me until I’m tired of playing, otherwise, forget about being free.” The call was mercilessly cut. Perhaps Asher was disappointed I hadn’t shown the usual expression of humiliation and endurance. The video of me announcing our divorce at the press conference was completely scrubbed from the internet. It didn’t matter. I no longer had time to play his game of vengeance, disguised as a marriage. In fact, I didn’t even need his signature. I drove to the family estate, where Grandpa Robert was waiting for me in his study. Hearing about my divorce, he frowned slightly and tried to dissuade me. “Skylar, I know you’ve suffered these past few years.” “Asher is just misguided. Marriage isn’t a game. You can’t divorce out of spite. Besides, your parents…” Before he could finish, I gently shook my head. “Grandpa, my parents are gone.” “Their last wish, and mine… is for me to divorce him.” Seeing the two urns before him, along with the terminal cancer diagnosis report, Grandpa Robert was shocked into silence for a long time. “Before I die, I just want a few peaceful days. Please, help me.” Asher was now the CEO of the Maddox Group. But I knew Grandpa Robert could still help me with this. After a long silence, he finally sighed. “Go, my dear, go. The Maddox family has truly wronged you. That boy… he utterly failed you.” The old man had watched Asher and me grow up. He had also witnessed how I slowly withered and faded away in this marriage. As I left, he called out to me, his eyes filled with heartache. “Skylar, no matter where you go, promise you’ll tell me. If that day truly comes, let me be there to see you on your way.” My nose stung. I wiped my eyes, managing a weak smile and a nod. After burying Mom and Dad, I packed up all my belongings at home, intending to donate them to charity. My marriage certificate slipped to the floor. In the photo, Asher held me close, his eyes curved with tenderness. Five years had passed. Now, that same face held nothing but disgust when he looked at me. It never made sense to me. I was smart enough. So how did I get it so wrong? All it would have taken was one more question. One more question to change everything. But in the end, I was just greedy for a happy ending.

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