1 The plane landed in Dubai at 8:30 PM, the sky behind me alight with gunfire. I texted my husband, Justin Vane: [I’m here. I’ve come to bring you home.] He didn’t reply. I called his assistant, Blake Miller. Blake stammered, “You actually went to the UAE?” An explosion rumbled nearby. My eyes stung. “Which district is he in?” A pause. “He never left the country.” Wind cut through my collar. Blake’s voice fell. “The business trip was a lie.” A picture came through—dated today. Justin, smiling, arm around a woman blowing out candles. Cathy Evans. The woman he swore three years ago he’d never see again. He’d also forgotten—today was my birthday. Another text: “Autumn, Justin never stopped seeing her. I didn’t dare tell you.” I looked at my phone. That message—I’ve come to bring you home—was never sent. If that was how it was, I’d stop waiting for him to come home. … “Madam, please use the evacuation route and do not linger here.” The airport announcement sounded again. I took a step, then my legs buckled, and I fell. I don’t know how many places I drifted through. Finally, the moment I boarded the plane back home. I couldn’t help but cry aloud. Back home, looking disheveled and exhausted, I headed to a law firm. In the elevator, I heard someone behind me playfully complaining on the phone. “Who stole that lace thong from my pocket? I came here commando, it’s all your fault.” “Alright, I’ll wait. Let’s see how you punish me later.” I turned around, incredulous. It was Cathy. She was still on the phone. “Do you have enough condoms in your drawer?” The elevator doors closed, reflecting two faces in the mirror. One was delicate, with exquisite makeup, and a playful sparkle in her eyes. The other was smudged and gray, with sunken eyes, chapped lips, and frizzy hair tied loosely. No wonder she didn’t recognize me. After the smoke and fires of war, I barely recognized myself either. A low chuckle came from the other end of the phone. “Depends on who it’s for. For you? Never enough.” She pouted playfully. “If your wife heard that, she’d be filing for divorce again.” “Let her. So what if we divorce again?” The elevator was ice cold, but I felt as if someone had seized my throat. My entire body trembled, but not a single word would come out. “You, you’re trying to make me jealous, aren’t you?” She lowered her voice, the end of her sentence rising in a flirtatious tone. “Be careful, I might just scream later and let everyone at your firm know that Attorney Vane is cheating again, and with me.” He laughed again. “If you dare to scream, I’ll break the news to her right away.” The elevator doors opened. Justin, impeccably dressed in a suit, stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Cathy’s waist, lowering his head to kiss her. He was as impatient as a fish starved for water, finally finding a spring. Cathy laughed, trying to shy away, but he pulled her back, deepening the kiss. She punched his chest playfully, mumbling, “There are other people here…” Only then did Justin lift his head. My hands and feet fumbled as I spun around, my eyes instantly moist. “Let her look. I’m kissing the woman I love most. What’s there to hide?” Cathy nestled into his embrace, giggling, her whole body shaking. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. “If I didn’t have urgent business back at the firm to retrieve some documents, I wouldn’t want to be apart from you for a second.” He sighed. “I’m just afraid that if I show up at the firm now, my wife will find out tomorrow.” Cathy playfully purred, “Alright, I’ll let you have your way tonight. Consider it my comfort to you.” The elevator quickly descended to the second basement level. I followed mechanically. Then, I watched them get into the luxury car whose license plate was my birthday. Soon, the car began to subtly rock. I stood rooted to the spot, a chill creeping up my spine, freezing me to the bone. No one knew. Justin and I’s first time had also been in a car. He was so nervous his palms were sweating, constantly asking if it hurt. When I said no, he would smile and say, “You’re so wonderful, Cathy.” “Cathy, don’t worry, I will never let you down.” Afterward, he wrapped me in his coat and turned the heater up full blast. I leaned on his shoulder and teased, saying that when we were rich, we’d buy the most luxurious car. He said, “Okay, and I’ll put it in your name.” Later, his career flourished, we naturally married, and lived three happy years. Until I found him in bed with his secretary, Cathy Evans. I was willing to leave with nothing just to divorce him. The day we got our divorce papers, he jumped from a third-story window. He didn’t die, but he broke a leg. Lying in the hospital bed, he confessed his wrongdoings and begged me for another chance. My heart softened. I cared for him for six months until he fully recovered. After we remarried, he was even better to me than before. He swore he would never do anything to betray me again. But now. This heart, bruised by him, had just begun to heal, only for him to brutally tear it open once more. Bleeding profusely. 2 I don’t know how I got home. Looking at the woman before him, with her messy hair, several band-aids on her face, and a gaping hole in her clothes, the security guard couldn’t believe I was Justin Vane’s wife. He hesitated, then called Justin. Hearing Justin’s voice, I instinctively snatched the phone and threw it to the ground. I turned to leave, but I was penniless. When I heard Justin might be in trouble, I spent all my savings on a ridiculously expensive return ticket. One and a half million dollars. No hesitation. My thought was simple: I wanted him back, safe and sound. Tears streamed down my cheeks. My phone rang. My mother was calling. “I just found out you went abroad to find Justin. You scared me to death! Are you both alright?” My nose stung, but I tried to sound calm. “Mom, I’m fine.” “Thank heavens! And you, you’re not even three months pregnant, going to such a dangerous place. You worried me sick. Thank goodness you’re okay.” I hung up the phone and gently touched my lower abdomen. Justin still didn’t know that after his “business trip,” I found out I was pregnant. My reckless journey abroad was, in truth, a desperate suicide mission. No matter what, my family of three would be together. A throbbing pain spread through my chest. Looking up again, a pair of arms enveloped me. The familiar scent of tobacco. It was Justin. “Where have you been? Why do you look like this?” Our eyes met. Justin’s were filled with genuine concern. It was as if the man in the elevator, who had looked at me with such indifference, wasn’t him at all. I forced a smile. “I stumbled, then I fell again trying to get up.” Just like this marriage. I believed him once, and I was deceived again. “The plane ticket back must have been expensive, right?” Justin froze for a moment, then tenderly scooped me into his arms, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. “It’s worth it. My wife was waiting for me to come home.” He spoke with such sincerity, his eyes welling up with tears. Justin knelt, and without a word, began applying antiseptic to my wounds. Seeing the cuts and bruises on my body, his handsome brows furrowed in concern. “Darling, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left you alone at home.” He was about to say more when his phone suddenly rang. After answering it, Justin apologized to me. “I have to go out for a bit. I’ll be home later.” I said nothing, just watched him put on his jacket. How many times had I sat by the door, silently waiting for him to come home? How many times had I reheated the dinner, over and over again? My eyes reddened. The tension that had held my nerves taut for days suddenly snapped. I abruptly stood up and pushed him away. “Go. And don’t come back.” Justin bent his head, intending to kiss me, but I turned away. He sighed. “Don’t be angry. I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He left in a hurry. The exhaustion of recent days pulled me into bed, only for a nightmare to jolt me awake. I dreamt of bombs falling around me. Waking, I saw the huge wedding photo on the wall. I remembered the first time I found out about Justin’s infidelity. He and Cathy had pressed four wet handprints onto our wedding portrait. I went insane and smashed everything in the house. Justin had knelt and begged me, saying that a second wedding would be the rebirth of our love, a monument to our mended relationship. Those vows still echoed in my ears. To this day, I still couldn’t understand. Why would he choose to hurt me again? Scrolling on my phone, I typed Cathy Evans’s name. After Justin fired her, her reputation in the legal world was ruined. No one dared to hire her. But surprisingly, she had become a popular social media influencer, with one of her casual videos getting tens of thousands of likes. She never showed her face, only videos of her holding a man’s hand. I clicked on each one. The man’s fingers were long and slender, tracing, kneading, intertwining with hers. Every video was like a knife. One hand rested on her waist. The little finger had a faint scar. An icy coldness spread through me. That scar. He got it when he was eighteen. A punk had cornered me, demanding I be his girlfriend. Justin had rushed over, shielding me. A beer bottle had grazed his head, splattering blood on my school uniform. He had quickly covered his head with his hand, gasping in pain, but still comforting me. “It’s okay. Even if I’m disfigured, you still have to keep me.” I found the contact number in her profile bio. I dialed it. Justin’s clear, cool voice came through the receiver: “Who is this?” 3 A cold dread settled in my heart. Justin had an exceptional memory, but he didn’t even recognize my phone number. “It’s me.” I paused. “I’m looking for Cathy.” “She’s in the shower.” He didn’t seem to recognize my voice either, his tone as flat as if he were dismissing a telemarketer. The sound of running water came through the receiver. Cathy’s voice floated over: “Honey, can you grab me a towel—?” The phone was carelessly put down. Footsteps receded, then returned. “Here.” “You dry me, won’t you…?” she cooed. “I need to get back early tonight.” “Are you… unable?” He laughed, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You really don’t know if I am?” Cathy giggled, then gasped as if she’d fallen onto the bed. I almost hung up the phone. But my finger trembled, unable to press the screen. Half an hour later, she updated her video. A large hand massaged her lower leg, his thumb tracing circles up her ankle. The Patek Philippe watch on his wrist gleamed. The comments section exploded: [Sister, please make a tutorial! How do you get such a high-quality man to serve you?] She replied: [True love comes naturally. If a man truly loves you, he’ll give you everything.] I clutched my phone tightly. That Patek Philippe watch shimmered on the screen. In the early days of his startup, money was tight. He had admired that watch for three years but couldn’t bring himself to buy it. I secretly sold the house my mother had given me, flew abroad, and bought it for him. The day I found out about his cheating, I smashed it. Justin specifically flew to Switzerland to find a craftsman to repair it, then knelt and presented it to me, saying that broken pieces could still be made whole. But the tiny crack on the watch face, it could never be completely removed. The comments section was awash with envy. Some complimented, others questioned: [Why won’t she show her face? Is she a mistress?] Soon Cathy posted a voice message. I clicked on it. Justin’s voice came through the receiver, deep, clear, every word distinct: [She’s not a mistress. She’s the woman I love most.] I clenched my lips. I turned off the video. I dialed his number. “Let’s get a divorce.” Justin paused for two seconds. “What’s wrong? I’ll be right back.” “No need. The previous agreement template will do.” His voice deepened. Through the receiver, I heard the creak of a spring being heavily pressed down and then bouncing back up. “I’m genuinely busy with something important. I’ll be back right away.” A woman’s languid moans were faintly audible in the background. I laughed, tears welling up. “You keep busy.” He seemed to be restraining something, lowering his voice. “No matter how angry you are, don’t mention divorce again. That was our agreement.” On his end, he seemed to have intensified whatever he was doing, and Cathy’s moans ceased. I hung up, my trembling hand pulling out that old written promise. The edges of the paper were curled. On it, he had written: a lifetime, growing old together, never again. He said a signature wasn’t sincere enough. He bit his finger and pressed a bloodied handprint onto the paper. He had bitten so hard that year, blood beaded up, and I watched, feeling the pain myself. He had smiled and said, “The pain will make me remember.” I found the divorce agreement and emailed it to him. His call came immediately. Justin’s voice was laced with anger. “Cathy Hayes! Half the assets are yours. Just stop this, okay?” Tears suddenly streamed down my face. I bit my lip and spoke: “The money, I want it.” “The divorce papers, I want those too.”

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New Year’s Eve. A video call, unexpected, from my past self, eight years ago, in a parallel timeline. Her eyes on the screen sparkled. “Harry just confessed his feelings for me today! He said he’d plant a whole yard full of my favorite flowers, spend every New Year’s Eve with me, and spoil me rotten forever!” She chattered on, painting vivid pictures of a future brimming with joy. I listened, quietly, a small smile playing on my lips. Then, she paused, her gaze shifting to the empty room behind me. “Hey? Where’s Harry? We must be so happy eight years from now, right?” I said nothing. Instead, I slowly turned the camera, aiming it at the other end of the living room. There, Harry was pinning a stranger against the floor-to-ceiling window, kissing her with an intensity that bordered on desperation. 1 The woman was pressed against him, body arched, her hand leaving a steamy, damp print on the fogged glass. Harry let out a low growl, his hand straying, giving her backside an impertinent squeeze. She shifted, uncomfortable, then looked up. Her eyes, through the glass, found mine. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but then she melted into Harry, her body swaying against him as if boneless. “Harry, darling, is someone else home?” He seemed unfazed, even using her upward tilt to deepen their kiss. His eyes, open, met mine—cold, almost playful. “Ignore her. She won’t mind, will she?” Mind? That word had long grown stale on my tongue. From screaming fits to numb acceptance, eventually, the desire to even speak had withered away. But on the screen, my eight-year-younger self had gone utterly pale, her hand trembling as she disconnected the call. The performance by the window, however, escalated. I lowered my head, sending a New Year’s greeting to my brother, who had vanished years ago, just to distract myself. The woman laughed, a giddy sound, her hands bolder now, roaming over Harry’s body. “Where did you find a wife so…understanding?” Then, they tangled, clothes scattering—a jacket, a tie, stockings—a trail leading up the stairs. Such scenes had become a regular, sordid film in this cold, sterile villa. I couldn’t even summon the energy to lift an eyelid. As the awkward New Year’s Eve comedy special on TV threatened to lull me to sleep on the sofa, a maid roused me. She spoke, her voice laced with discomfort. “Mr. Miller wants you to go out and buy…lubricant.” New Year’s Eve. The streets were deserted, only a handful of adult stores open. I walked for over half an hour against the biting wind. When I returned, I faintly heard two maids gossiping about me. “Poor Luna. These past eight years, she’s lived worse than a servant.” “Well, she shouldn’t have resorted to such underhanded tactics to marry Mr. Miller. It’s a miracle he even gave her a title.” Memories clawed their way back. Harry had been on a trip to Silver Creek, a mountain village, when we met. We fell in love. Pure, fierce, like the winds of the peaks. I left everything behind, following him to his city. But his mother vehemently opposed it, dismissing me as a “mountain girl.” Harry, though, had held my hand tightly back then, saying, “Don’t worry. I’ll make my mom agree.” Then, my brother, who had never gambled in his life, suddenly racked up a colossal debt. Desperate, he listened to someone’s dark suggestion. If he could just get me into Harry’s bed, force the issue, the Miller family, to save face, would surely marry me, and his debts would be cleared. My brother drugged both me and Harry. After a night of chaotic confusion, Harry’s gaze, once filled with tenderness, turned icy and hateful. He married me, then threw a check at me. “Remember, this money, you owe me.” Our marriage, a dream meant to be born of mutual affection, had twisted into a nightmare. He believed it was a conspiracy, orchestrated by my brother and me. I had tried to suggest divorce more than once. Each time, he would sneer, “You want a divorce? Fine. Return that fifty million, interest included. Otherwise, I’ll find your brother and make sure he rots in a cell.” My brother had vanished without a trace. This debt, it was shackled to me. Harry flung open the bedroom door. The red marks all over his torso were a jarring sight. “What took you so long?” He snatched the box from my hand, its plastic edge scraping my cheek, a sharp sting. “She’s too tight, couldn’t wait.” My peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the naked figure on the large bed inside the room. My stomach churned. I turned to escape. But his voice, playful, followed me. “Or maybe you want to join us?” I finally broke, clutching the toilet bowl, emptying my guts until I was dizzy. I called my past self again, video on. I asked, “Do you think he still loves me?” She cried, but disbelief still clung to her words. “How could he become like this? He clearly said he’d only love me!” I knew that without having lived through these years of despair, words alone couldn’t convey the depth of it. Perhaps she would, like my past self, make excuses for him, believing it was just a temporary misunderstanding. I didn’t blame her. Instead, I invited her to keep watching. 2 New Year’s Day. When I woke, the woman from last night was gone. But she’d left a pair of panties on the sofa. Harry followed my gaze, then suddenly wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close. “What, jealous?” He leaned in to kiss me, and I instinctively recoiled. The flicker of tenderness that had briefly softened his eyes instantly morphed into mockery. “Always that same lifeless look.” “You only screamed like a real woman the night you drugged me and crawled into my bed.” His words pierced my heart, a wave of shame washing over me. But he simply pushed me away, coldly. “Alright, it’s New Year’s Day. We have to go back to the old mansion to pay respects to my mom.” Harry’s mother was the person I dreaded facing most. All these years, her eyes had always looked at me as if I were something dirty. But this time, she didn’t even glance my way. She sat on the sofa, deep in conversation with the very woman who had been in Harry’s arms last night. Turns out, she was Layla Thorne, the woman Harry was originally meant to marry. Mrs. Miller patted Layla’s hand, her eyes full of approval. “Such a good girl. If it weren’t for that awful girl, you would have been our daughter-in-law by now.” Harry walked over, a playful smirk on his face. “Mom, I’m already married. Why bring that up? If you like her so much, just have her come visit more often.” “And what role would I play? Call you brother?” Layla’s laugh was sweet and innocent. But the word “brother” had tormented me all night, whispered brokenly during their indulgent acts. Now, they smiled at each other, looking like a true family. And I, awkward and out of place, stood on the periphery, a glaring outsider. At dinner, simply because Layla mentioned, “I’d like some beef,” Mrs. Miller had the kitchen prepare a whole table of beef dishes. Our village tradition forbade eating beef; we couldn’t even touch it. Seeing me hesitate to pick up my chopsticks, Mrs. Miller finally turned her gaze to me, her eyes filled with annoyance. “What are you waiting for? Eat! Don’t be so dramatic!” “In our family, you should do as the Romans do, understand?” I looked at Harry helplessly, my last shred of hope resting on him. At least he used to understand me. Then, he picked up something that looked like a mushroom and placed it on my plate. “Mom, don’t scare her.” The tenderness in his voice offered a fleeting glimpse of the man he once was. “This isn’t beef, Luna. Try it, it’s delicious.” I ate it without suspicion. But the moment my teeth sank into it, Layla’s laughter shattered the silence. She pointed at me, her tone innocent yet cruel. “Look! She’s eating beef!” “I knew it! There’s no such thing as beliefs or taboos, it’s all just excuses, pretending to be prim and proper!” Harry had tricked me. I stumbled to the bathroom, thrusting my fingers down my throat. I wanted to vomit out that piece of meat, along with all the degradation and betrayal I had swallowed over the years. Physiological tears blurred my vision. I called my eight-year-younger self again. This time, she was silent for a very long time. Then, she began to reminisce about the clear stream in our village. He had looked at me, his eyes bright like stars. “Luna, I did my research beforehand. You folks from Silver Creek don’t eat beef, right?” “When we’re together, I’ll be with you, and I’ll never touch it either.” But now? My past self on the video call looked even more despairing than I did. “This…this isn’t what I wanted…” She sobbed hysterically, repeating, “It hurts too much.” Does it hurt? I had grown so accustomed to it, I couldn’t shed another tear. 3 Harry disappeared for several days again. One day, as I stared blankly at my phone, I unexpectedly received a message from my brother, asking to meet. This news was like a beam of light in the darkness, making me believe he was coming to pull me out of this quagmire. But in reality, my brother grabbed my hand, trembling. “Luna, I’m so sorry… I think I’ve been set up…” “They’re demanding thirty million now, or they’ll kill me…” Hope shattered instantly, replaced by an even deeper sense of helplessness. The previous fifty million had already nailed me to the pillar of shame, forcing me to sell myself for money, tormenting me day and night. How could I possibly ask Harry for more now? Just as I felt lost and overwhelmed, the two lines on the pregnancy test stick seemed to mock me with an absurd joke. I finally waited for Harry to come home. “Thirty million for a child, is it a good deal?” My voice was so calm, it sounded alien even to myself. His pupils constricted. The next second, he grabbed my neck, shoving me violently against the wall. Suffocation instantly seized me. His eyes burned with raging fury and thinly veiled hatred. “I never realized how calculating you were! You’d even put your own unborn child up for sale!” “Do you have any heart at all? Besides money, was there ever anything real between us?” Real? My entire heart had long since been ground to dust by him, in the countless nights of humiliation over these past eight years. A gust of wind, and nothing was left. I ignored his malice, merely persisting, “Is it a deal?” He was finally utterly enraged by my attitude. He threw me onto the bed, tearing at my clothes heedlessly. “Harry! I’m pregnant! Not now!” As I struggled desperately, he pulled out a card and threw it at my face. “Fine! I’ll buy this kid’s life!” He leaned over, his breath hot against my ear, his words cutting deep. “And if it’s gone, that’s on me too.” That night was a hellish nightmare. When I dragged my seemingly broken body to the hospital for a check-up, the baby, incredibly, was still there. I touched my still-flat belly, feeling a sense of connection for the first time. A few days later, when Harry returned home, I calmly told him, “I had it checked, the baby’s fine. I’m going to have him, to make good on your thirty million.” His movements stalled. He stared at my slightly bulging abdomen, lost in thought. Then, he violently smashed the ashtray beside him onto the floor. The shattering sound was deafening. “You’re ruthless!” He didn’t even glance at my feet, which were cut by the fragments, then turned and slammed the door as he left. That night, I called my eight-year-younger self again, video on. “I don’t want my future to be like this…” She shook her head, her voice broken. “I don’t want my baby to be born into a home full of nothing but humiliation… I don’t want to…” Listening to her repeated whispers, I suddenly felt that perhaps everything could still change. A few days after the thirty million was transferred, my brother called me to meet again. This time, he cried, repeatedly hitting himself. “Little sister, I’m not human! I owe another ten million… I swear, this is the last time!” I stared at him blankly, unable to think of any other reason to beg Harry. I could only wait until he returned home again, then knelt before him. “Give me another ten million, and I’ll do anything you ask!” Harry kicked me away, then suddenly laughed. “What part of you is worth ten million now?” 4 Watching his retreating back as he slammed the door, I knew he had likely reached the limits of his patience with me. But my brother sent me another video—him being beaten by several men, pinned to the ground. I had no choice but to call Harry again and again, pleading, “Please, I’ll even die if you want!” Then, I listened to him and Layla all night, and received no response. At dawn, when I found my brother again, he was lying on the ground, covered in blood. With his last ounce of strength, he grabbed me. “Little sister… I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let you be with him back then…” I froze, hearing him say, “Yesterday, I just found out it was the Millers who tricked me into gambling… They set me up…” “Every single time… it was them… even forcing the marriage, that was the Millers’ idea…” Every word, I understood. But put together, they were so brutally cruel. The Millers? Then what was all that I had endured for these eight years? Was I foolish, or did I deserve it? I didn’t even have time to process this crushing truth. The doctor informed me that my brother was in multi-organ failure, his life hanging by a thread. Deeper than despair was yet another despair. Just as I was crying, begging the doctor to save my brother, Harry, with Layla, whose back had surprisingly gotten twisted in bed last night, appeared at the hospital. “Harry!” The accumulated hatred exploded. I rushed towards him like a madwoman, grabbing his collar, hysterical. “It was you! It was your family who set up my brother! Wasn’t it?!” Harry froze for a moment, then frowned. “What on earth are you babbling about! I wouldn’t stoop to such underhanded tactics!” I pointed at my brother, who was on the brink of death on the hospital bed, my fingertips trembling. “Harry, stop pretending! What else are you capable of?!” “You’ve toyed with my brother and me, turning us upside down! Are you satisfied now?!” Harry’s face darkened, his eyes turning completely cold. “Luna, remember this: you brought this upon yourself!” He gestured to the doctor beside him. “Get every doctor in this hospital to treat Ms. Thorne’s back.” “As for some half-dead individuals, there’s no need to waste medical resources.” One by one, the doctors, ignoring my screams and pleas, removed all the tubes and instruments from my brother’s body. Soon, my brother’s body gave one last twitch, then fell silent. I collapsed to the ground, crying, watching Harry walk away, arm around Layla. “Harry, if I could do it all over again, I would never make the same mistakes.” A sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen, and warm liquid gushed out. Before I lost consciousness, I made one last call to my eight-year-younger self. “Leave him.” I spoke with a dying desperation. “We can live again.” She bit her lip, hard, then finally nodded. “Okay.” Harry, perhaps due to a lingering flicker of conscience, or maybe remembering Luna had lost her brother and then her child, came home uncharacteristically early. Pushing open the door, a strange emptiness washed over him. He hadn’t quite registered what was missing. Just then, the maid brought him a cup of coffee. He took a sip, then spat it out, his brows furrowed. “The taste is off. Have Luna brew another one.” The maid looked bewildered. “Luna? Sir, who is Luna?” Harry’s heart inexplicably tightened. He said impatiently, “My wife, Luna!” The maid looked even more confused. “Mr. Miller, when did you get married? We haven’t heard you have a wife.”

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After watching my award-winning husband’s movie—the one with the B-list starlet—I accepted an invitation to a divorce reality show. My best friend, Kate, clapped me on the shoulder, her usual boisterous self. “Another publicity stunt for Kevin’s new film? You really go all out!” Everyone assumed this was just another one of our ten-year-long, picture-perfect celebrity couple’s quirky ways, eagerly rooting for us to reconcile. Kevin, a man of few words and even fewer romantic gestures, painstakingly and clumsily prepared surprises for me. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to win me over, at the end of each episode, I chose to “proceed with divorce.” Even the audience grew impatient, claiming I didn’t deserve him. Then, in the final episode, seeing my unwavering determination, his eyes reddened. He dropped to his knees before me. “Mia, I’ve never done anything to betray you. Why can’t you give me another chance?” I smiled. “Alright, I’ll give you three more chances.” “Three questions. If you answer even one correctly, I’ll stop talking about divorce.” Everyone sighed in relief, including Kevin himself. After all, when it came to understanding me, Kevin was second to none. No one dared claim the top spot. But after I asked the first question, everyone was dumbfounded. 1 “In the third year of our marriage, my taste suddenly changed.” “That year, what was my favorite fruit?” Hearing the question, the tense audience also let out a collective sigh of relief. Kevin, too, looked relieved, even flashing me a confident smile. “Mia, that’s too easy. How about something more challenging?” I shook my head, writing my answer for the host. “Just this one.” Kevin’s pen flew across the card, finishing his answer in less than two seconds. When the answer card was flipped to reveal “apples,” everyone relaxed. The observation guest in the studio, Elara Vance, a strong contender for this year’s Best Actress award, chuckled. “It seems Ms. Evans is just having a tantrum with Kevin. Even if she picks divorce every episode, she’s still thinking of him deep down.” “You two really are something, treating us and the audience like part of your little game, aren’t you?” I ignored her ambiguous barb, simply watching the supremely confident Kevin. “Are you sure that’s your answer?” Kevin hooked his lips into a smile, leaning back slightly, all prior tension gone. “Mia, sometimes we barely had enough for food, yet you’d rather skip groceries to buy apples. What else could it be if not that you loved them?” “We even argued about it back then.” “Besides, anything about you, it’s hard for me to forget.” When his expressive, charming eyes gazed at me intently, the entire studio erupted in deafening screams. I, however, stared at those eyes I once adored, saying nothing, simply turning my gaze slowly to the host. The host, who had been engrossed in the celebrity drama, gave an embarrassed smile, quickly pulling out her cue card, ready to announce Kevin’s “victory.” But after seeing the answer on the card, her face froze, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “Mr. Gatsby, you…” “You’re wrong.” 2 In an instant, the entire studio fell so silent that every breath was audible. The smile on Kevin’s lips stiffened, but he had faced countless grand stages and quickly regained his composure. “Mia, you’re not doing this on purpose, are you?” “I remember photos of you buying apples even went viral back then. Fans even nicknamed you ‘Apple Goddess.’” “Besides, you were cutting apples every day at home, the whole house smelled of apples. How could I possibly be wrong?” In the audience, Kevin’s biggest fan interjected, “That’s right! You even said in an interview that you were really interested in fruit tree cultivation and wanted to try growing apple trees yourself. What else could that be but love?” “Ms. Evans, you’ve already made things very difficult for Kevin in previous episodes. Can you please stop pushing it?” I ignored their aggressive questioning, instead asking calmly, “Kevin, do you remember what happened that year?” Kevin sneered. “Of course, I remember.” “At the time, I had offended some people and was practically blacklisted by the film industry. If it weren’t for you, Mia, standing by me and encouraging me, I might not have had the chance to make my comeback.” “So I can’t understand why, after we’ve been through such difficult times together, you now want to go our separate ways?” His eyes were deep, revealing an unspoken sadness that Kevin’s biggest fan in the audience frantically captured with her camera. But I calmly stated, “Yes, because of some incident, you offended a major director and couldn’t get a role for half a year.” “Until a small-budget period art film found you, asking you to play a mute apple farmer who falls in love with a city girl, only to be abandoned by her.” “That film is hard to find now, but that role truly helped you make a comeback.” “It was precisely because of that niche art film’s decent reception that you were able to return to the big screen, making the movie that made you famous to this day. Do you remember all of this?” The more I spoke, my voice grew softer, the carefully hidden sadness slowly revealing itself. But Kevin remained confused. “What does this have to do with your question?” I looked up at this man who claimed to know everything about me but had forgotten so much, and gave a bitter laugh. “Did you forget that when that film first approached you, you initially didn’t want it?” “You didn’t want to stoop to playing a country bumpkin, and even wanted to flat-out reject the script.” “It was I who insisted, buying apples and saplings every day, researching how to grow trees in the yard, studying the differences between various types of apples, and writing piles of notes.” “Those notes ultimately became the nourishment for your character. It was I who suffered in the wind and sun, but in the end, it was you who achieved fame and success!” Years of deep resentment made me almost want to roar, but my reason still suppressed the pain. Yet Kevin ignored my grief and indignation, stating with abnormal calmness, “So, what was your favorite fruit?” I looked up at him, at his familiar habit of lightly dismissing my pain, and calmly said, “Green mandarins.” Hearing this answer, Kevin suddenly laughed. Even Elara, observing from the side, couldn’t help but say, “Ms. Evans, it’s well-known that you don’t like sour things.” “Even if you feel you contributed a lot to Kevin back then and now want it back, there’s no need to contradict yourself and lie, is there?” All eyes in the room fixed on me, but I felt no pressure whatsoever. I merely stated calmly, “Yes, what reason could have made me change my taste back then?” I looked at Kevin, only to notice a subtle hint of guilt in his eyes. I smiled, no longer looking at him, but suddenly turned to Elara, who had been attacking me. “Because back then, I was pregnant.” 3 Under the shocked gazes of everyone, Kevin shifted uncomfortably. He clearly hadn’t expected me to reveal this. His voice was frantic and bewildered. “Mia, you never told me…” “Second question.” I coldly interrupted his inquiry. “What is my favorite movie?” This question was a bit more challenging. After all, in public interviews, my answer to this question was always different. But they all had one thing in common: Kevin’s “next movie.” After his successful comeback, he didn’t initially make much of a splash. It was I who, at the cost of my own public appeal, repeatedly promoted him in interviews, using every possible adjective to praise his films, reigniting public curiosity about him. Later, a fan’s camera accidentally caught him visiting me on set. Despite his distinguished background and glamorous public image, he didn’t hesitate to eat my leftovers after I handed him my bowl. After the video went viral, Kevin quickly became a well-known “good man” in the entertainment industry. Suddenly, various roles of devoted husbands came his way, including critically acclaimed works by famous directors. But he politely declined them all, with one single reason: “Mia gets jealous.” So, in the public’s mind, I became a lovesick and overly jealous wife, while he, full of talent, was forced to miss out on many great opportunities because of his love for me. Remembering everything from the past, I gave a self-mocking smile, quietly watching Kevin, wondering what his answer would be. “Roman Holiday.” Kevin was utterly confident. “Mia, I am absolutely right about this one. I read your diary.” “You wrote that you and I were like the protagonists of Roman Holiday, just in reverse.” “You also said it was your favorite movie and your least favorite ending.” “I’ve always wanted to tell you that we would never be separated like the characters in that movie. I’ve always shown you through my actions that status and wealth are illusions; our love can always overcome everything.” “But why, why won’t you just give me a chance?” He suddenly covered his face with his hands. The man who was never willing to show weakness in public now looked incredibly fragile, down to every strand of his hair. But I calmly watched him, then slowly said, “You’re right, that was indeed my favorite movie.” Kevin suddenly lifted his head, his previously mournful eyes instantly filled with joy. “But that was only in the past.” “Now, my favorite is The Chrysalis.” Upon hearing those two words, the surprise in Kevin’s eyes was instantly replaced by guilt. And in that moment, everyone’s gaze shot directly to Elara Vance, seated in the guest section. After all, it was well-known that The Chrysalis depicted my love story with Kevin. But the leading roles were played by Kevin and Elara. 4 “Ms. Evans, what do you mean?” Elara instantly rose from her seat, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “Kevin and I are just professional colleagues. There’s no need to drag me into your marital issues, is there?” “Besides, you were the one who pulled out due to health reasons, and the production team had no choice but to bring me in as a last-minute replacement.” “I’ve already faced enough controversy because of that film. If you’re still so bothered, I think you’d best keep Mr. Gatsby at home and nowhere else, otherwise, if he so much as steps out and encounters a woman, you’ll probably die of anxiety!” The audience buzzed with murmurs, and even the live stream comments overwhelmingly supported Elara. “Seriously, is Mia Evans sick? She’s even being petty towards an actress who’s just professionally collaborating with her husband?” “Poor Actor Gatsby, to fall for such an incredibly jealous woman. It’s love, otherwise he would have divorced her already.” “Why can’t good men and good women ever get together? I actually liked Kevin and Elara’s dynamic when I watched The Chrysalis, too bad Actor Gatsby got married young, sigh.” “Just get divorced already, it’s exhausting to watch. What kind of man can handle a diva like Mia Evans?” The audience was abuzz, and Elara on stage was seething. If the staff hadn’t restrained her, she would have stormed off the set. Kevin, meanwhile, looked utterly drained by my antics, yet still tried hard to maintain a gentle demeanor. “Mia, let’s not involve others in our private matters, okay?” “I don’t want to divorce you, but I’m truly exhausted. I’ve shown you my phone, and I even meticulously list every expense for you to scrutinize.” “If I’ve done all this and you still refuse to believe my innocence, I have nothing left to say.” I couldn’t be bothered to respond. “Second question, you answered incorrectly.” “So, the final question.” “Host, I request a break!” Elara angrily interrupted me, but I didn’t comply with her wish. Instead, I kept my gaze fixed on Kevin’s eyes. “What is the most memorable anniversary gift I’ve ever received?” After getting the director’s approval, the host smiled and came to pull me away, trying to lighten the mood. “Ms. Evans, filming is paused. The next question will be addressed in the second half.” “I’m sure you’re tired too. Why don’t you take this opportunity to rest properly…” “It was the fireworks display I arranged for you last year,” Kevin quickly interjected. “Yes, and no,” I promptly replied. Kevin, enraged, scoffed. “Stop tormenting me. So tell me, what’s wrong with it?” A desolate smile curved my lips, and the tears in my eyes, no longer controllable, spilled over. “Kevin, do you really not know?” I suddenly stripped off my evening gown. The moment everyone saw the full extent of my skin, a collective gasp swept through the room. 5 Seeing that everyone had a clear view, I immediately put my clothes back on, said no more, and prepared to leave for my break. I knew my objective had been achieved. Once this episode aired, no matter what, Kevin would not refuse my divorce request. But as I was about to leave, Kevin grabbed my arm. He wept, holding me tightly from behind, his voice trembling like a child who had lost a beloved toy. “No, Mia, you never told me about this.” “I always thought you were just angry with me then, that’s why you ignored me for months. I didn’t know you would…” A few years ago, hearing his humble and remorseful confession, I would have been so moved that I would have forgiven him on the spot. But now, I simply freed myself from his embrace, stating calmly, “Enough, Kevin.” “Your acting is truly excellent, but I’m not your leading lady. You don’t need to put on a show for me here.” “I’ll see you at the Registry Office in a week. If you refuse to divorce, I will explain the answers to the remaining two questions to the audience, one by one.” “You wouldn’t want your career to be ruined, would you?” Feeling the hand pulling me from behind loosen, I left the studio without looking back and entered the lounge. But no sooner had I sat down than the door was pushed open. I thought it was Kevin, relentlessly pursuing, trying to continue his pleas and gestures of goodwill. But when I turned, what I saw was Elara Vance’s face, a face that had, countless times, filled me with such loathing that I wished to destroy us both. Seeing my continued composure, she sneered, her sharp red nails seeming to dig into her flesh. I expected her to continue with threats or veiled insults. But the first words out of her mouth after entering were, surprisingly, tinged with suppressed anger. “Name your price.”

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“Ding. Target capture failed. Host will remain in this world until natural death.” Tristan pulled me close, face etched with sorrow. “Hazel, don’t let this destroy you. We can have another baby.” This was a fiction. Back in reality, my mother lay in a hospital bed, terminally ill, buried under crushing medical debt. Just as I lost hope, the System pulled me here. The deal was clear: win the heart of the tragic second lead, save him from the female lead’s torment, and keep him alive. Success meant a fortune and a ticket home—my mother could live. Failure meant being trapped here forever. This was my fourth attempt to save Tristan. Each of the three times before, he fell desperately in love with Valerie, the woman who tortured him and ruined his family. This time, fate repeated itself. He fell for her again. Rushing to her side, he left our child alone—and our son died. Hearing his empty comfort, I stared blankly at his chest. “There will never be another baby.” “Ding. Extreme emotional spike detected. Please—wait, stop! You’ve killed him three times already!” Before the mechanical voice finished, the hunting knife in my hand drove deep into his heart. If I could never go home, my mother would die. Then he would die too. 1 A few feet away stood the tiny hospital bed. Our beautiful boy lay there, eyes closed, looking as if he were simply taking a nap. I wanted to walk toward him, but my feet were nailed to the floor. It felt as though weights were shackled to my ankles. My face was drained of all color, my breath hitched in my throat, and my trembling hand reached out into the empty air. “Hazel, I am so sorry. Valerie twisted her ankle out of nowhere. She was crying, saying she needed to get to the ER right away. Finn was having so much fun in the sandbox. I had no choice. I thought it would be fine to just let him play for a few minutes.” “But… I don’t know how it happened. When I got back, the police were there. They said he chased a ball into the middle of the street and a car…” “He didn’t even make it to the hospital.” The words spilled from Tristan’s mouth. I opened my own, trying to scream, trying to wail, but the silence in my throat was absolute. “Finn… my little Finn…” I had been reborn four times. I did not love Tristan. In fact, the very sight of him made my stomach churn with hatred. But I was forced to play this twisted game of romance. Finn was a miracle we had through IVF. From the moment he took his first breath, I was his entire world. He was my only anchor, my sole emotional refuge in this bleak, artificial reality. And then, on a random Tuesday, Tristan said he wanted to take his son to the park for some bonding time. Now, my son was a corpse. I had foolishly believed a child could tether his wandering soul. What a naive, pathetic delusion. A million needles pierced my heart simultaneously, shredding the organ into bloody ribbons. This was my fourth attempt at saving Tristan, and the longest I had ever survived in a timeline. Yet, he still could not escape his pathetic obsession with the female lead. In my past lives, I had snatched him from the jaws of Valerie’s cruelty more times than I could count. When she and her goons cornered him to shatter his hands, I leaped out of the shadows and called the cops, preserving his future. When she pushed him onto the subway tracks, I tore my own muscles apart dragging him back onto the platform. When she orchestrated a hostile takeover that ruined his family and threw him behind bars, I worked myself to the bone, calling in every favor under the sun to get him out. But Tristan was a glutton for punishment. In every single lifetime, he crawled back to his abuser, kissing the hand that struck him, and discarding me like garbage in the process. Fortunately, whenever the System declared my mission a failure, I made sure to take Tristan down with me. If I couldn’t go back to my mother, he didn’t deserve to breathe. The haze in my eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened resolve. I fixed my gaze on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. I had already butchered him three times. A fourth wouldn’t hurt. 2 I trailed my fingers gently over his suit jacket, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath. Gripping his shoulder, I lowered my voice into a chilling whisper. “You left our baby alone on a park bench just because Valerie called.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Hazel, you cannot blame Valerie for this. It was my decision to go to her. She is completely innocent in this tragedy. How was I supposed to know a toddler would run into traffic?” His tone was soft, but the underlying thread of impatience was unmistakable. “If anyone is to blame, it is you. You coddled him too much. You should have taught him not to run off.” Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and stinging. He was blaming me. He was blaming a two-year-old boy for acting like a toddler. I tilted my head up, my eyes glacial. “Excuse me?” He looked away, unable to meet my stare. “Look, I know what this is about. You are just paranoid that I am going to leave you for Valerie.” “Rest assured, Valerie and I are never going to happen. I only went to her because she was injured and needed help.” “If we were meant to be together, it would have happened years ago. Stop being so irrationally jealous. Let us just arrange the funeral for Finn, take some time to heal, and try for another baby. We just need to move on.” Move on. As if my son were a spilled cup of coffee. The truth was, I could not care less who he loved. In my eyes, he could love Valerie, he could love a lamppost, he could be madly in love with a stray dog for all I cared. All I ever wanted was to complete the damn mission, get my payout, and save my dying mother. Hearing his delusional rant, I let out a heavy breath. The words “Mission Failed” were currently flashing in neon red across my vision. I was so incredibly exhausted. I had to start the cycle all over again. “It is okay,” I murmured. “It will all be over soon. Just endure it for a second.” I spoke softly, just loud enough for the words to brush against his ear. “What?” he asked, confused. I did not bother explaining. In a fraction of a second, my hand slipped into my purse and withdrew the hunting knife. It was a blade I had purchased on the very first day of this fourth timeline. I always kept it close. The moment the System announced my failure was the moment Tristan met his maker. I refused to rot in this dimension until I was old and gray. My mother was waiting for me. If the mission was busted, then Tristan had to bleed so the clock could reset. “Ding! Host, please calm down! Your heart rate is off the charts. Stop! You have stabbed him three times already! Don’t do it! Please…” The System’s robotic pleas fell on deaf ears. I drove the steel blade straight through Tristan’s ribcage. A guttural shriek tore from his throat. Crimson blood erupted from the wound, a warm mist spraying across my cheeks and eyelashes. Tristan stared down in sheer disbelief at the handle protruding from his chest. He stumbled backward, his lips parting as dark blood bubbled up from his throat. “Hazel… you…” He tried to turn and run, but I stepped right into his shadow, refusing to let him escape. I grabbed the handle and twisted, shoving the blade deeper into his flesh. A twisted smile curled on my lips. “You pathetic excuse for a man. You deserve every ounce of this. I regret ever saving you. I should have let Valerie grind your bones to dust. Go to hell, Tristan. Your parents are waiting for you down there. I am sure they would love to ask their dear son why he fell in love with their murderer.” In this lifetime, Valerie had caused the horrific multi-car pileup that left Tristan’s parents dead. Yet, Tristan had marched into the police station, signed a forgiveness waiver, and pulled every string he had to keep her out of prison. Tristan’s eyes bulged with pure terror. “No… please… don’t kill me. I…” Before he could finish begging, I put all my body weight into the knife, burying it to the hilt. I ripped it out. I plunged it back in. The pristine hospital floor was transformed into a macabre painting of spilled wine. Finally, his knees buckled. He collapsed into the growing puddle of his own blood, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the fluorescent lights. I dropped the knife, gasping for air, and slumped against the wall, utterly drained. “Why do you keep doing this?” the System sighed. “Killing him does not solve the mission. Now we have to trigger the reset.” I scoffed, wiping a smear of blood from my cheek. “If I don’t kill him, I am stuck living out the next sixty years in this hellhole without a dime to save my mom. I would rather watch him bleed.” 3 The air around me shimmered and twisted, accompanied by the System’s digitized sigh. Welcome to the fifth rebirth. Since Tristan was so thoroughly addicted to his own suffering, I decided I was done playing the savior. When I opened my eyes, the damp, familiar scent of mold hit me. I turned my head. At the mouth of a graffiti-covered alley, Valerie and a group of her grunge-clad sorority sisters were backing Tristan into a corner. Valerie had bombed her SATs and failed to get into a decent college. Tristan, on the other hand, had passed with flying colors and enrolled in an Ivy League university. Unable to stand his success, Valerie followed him to campus, bringing her reign of terror to his dorm steps. The spawn point for this rebirth was identical to the last timeline. With a blank expression, I watched Valerie kick Tristan in the stomach. He crumpled against the brick wall. She sneered, flicking her cigarette ash onto his designer shirt. “I told you, Tristan. You don’t get to walk away from me. You owe me your life.” “We grew up on the same street. Why did my family go bankrupt while the Blackwoods are still living in luxury? It makes me sick.” “My parents are gone. Our legacy is gone. I have nothing left. You owe me for the rest of your miserable existence.” They were childhood neighbors, growing up side by side. But after the Vanderbilt family lost their fortune, Valerie’s mind warped. She convinced herself that Tristan needed to suffer exactly as she had. Tristan remained silent, though he glared up at her with a look of stubborn defiance. I used to look at that rebellious glint in his eyes and think it was his bruised ego. Now, knowing what I know, I realized he was just sick in the head. He thrived on the humiliation. He enjoyed the pain she inflicted. The memory of the third timeline burned brightly in my mind. Tristan had insisted on driving Valerie to the airport during a storm. I was in the passenger seat when a truck T-boned us. I lay trapped in the crushed metal, my legs pinned, blood pouring into my eyes, screaming his name. He completely ignored me, frantically tearing at the backseat door to get to Valerie. His words still echoed in my nightmares. “Hazel, hold on! I have to get Valerie out first! She is bleeding, she might be in shock!” I had watched him carry her out of the wreckage to the safety of the sidewalk, leaving me behind as the engine sparked. Valerie stood there, watching the flames engulf my side of the car, a manic grin on her face. She mouthed the words, “Serves you right.” She hated me for constantly intervening. She wanted to break him, and I kept fixing him. My focus snapped back to the damp alleyway. Valerie gave a subtle nod to one of her lackeys, who promptly handed her a heavy aluminum baseball bat. Crack! Crack! Crack! The sickening sound of metal hitting bone echoed off the brick walls. Tristan was forced to his hands and knees, violently coughing up blood. He lifted his bruised face. “Are you done yet?” Valerie let out a cruel, melodic laugh. “Not even close. You walk around with too much swagger. I think it is time we took one of your arms out of commission.” “Everyone says my soul is crippled. Let us make your body match, shall we?” “Then we will truly be equals.” A flicker of genuine panic crossed Tristan’s eyes, but it vanished in a heartbeat. He truly did not believe she would go through with it. He refused to accept the depth of her malice. I had asked him once, in a past life, “Why do you still love her after she almost sent you to the morgue?” He had rolled his eyes, utterly annoyed. “You don’t understand our bond. Valerie would never actually cross the line. She would never kill me. Honestly, if you had not meddled, things would have worked themselves out.” “Stop acting like you are some holy savior. I never asked for your help. You forced your way into my business, so don’t expect me to bow down in gratitude.”

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My dog destroyed his bed, so I hunted down a second hand crib on a local marketplace app. It was solid mahogany. You could tell just by looking at the rich wood grain that it was worth a small fortune. Yet, the original owner sold it to me for pennies. I had scored the deal of the century, and I spent days practically humming with joy. That was until I was scrolling through a local community forum and stumbled upon a highly discussed thread. “My six year old son was just diagnosed with a severe congenital illness. The doctors say there is no medical cure. Is there any alternative way to save him?” The comments were a sea of sympathy, offering prayers, diet changes, and specialist recommendations. It was a perfectly wholesome thread. Then my eyes caught the single comment the original poster had pinned and liked. “You just need to swap his fate with a child of the exact same age. Take the item your child has used the most, attach his full name and birthdate, and pass it on to another family’s child.” My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I was about to leave a scathing reply calling out the charlatan, but I noticed the desperate mother had already replied. “Master, my son’s absolute favorite place in the world is his little wooden crib. Would it work if I sold it to a stranger?” Attached to her reply was a picture of a solid mahogany crib. My blood ran cold. It was the exact same crib sitting in my living room. It even had the identical faint scratch on the left railing. There was just one tiny detail the seller had not accounted for. My precious baby is a golden retriever mix. 1 I stared at the pristine mahogany crib, running my fingers over the distinct scratch on the wood, and sank into deep thought. A few days ago, my rambunctious rescue dog, Buster, had completely shredded his plush dog bed. My immediate thought was that no matter how tight money got, my boy deserved the best. However, my overflowing maternal instincts hit a brick wall when I saw the outrageous prices for orthopedic pet beds online. Defeated, I turned to the local second hand app. After hours of relentless scrolling and haggling, my efforts paid off. I found the perfect, sturdy crib for an unbelievably low price. The seller had been overly accommodating. Seeing that I did not have a truck, she cheerfully offered to deliver it right to my doorstep. I had been so smug about my luck, bragging to my friends about my bargaining skills. They had warned me that deals that seemed too good to be true usually came with a catch. I had brushed them off. I never expected the catch to be a dark occult curse. But really, my child was a dog. A chaotic, hyperactive furball who had once chased three grown men and five neighborhood cats up a fence in a single afternoon. Buster was a menace, and keeping him fed and happy was already a badge of honor for me. Could a dark fate swapping ritual even cross species lines? I opened my phone and typed out an earnest reply to the delusional mother. “We live in a modern society. Who actually believes in this superstitious nonsense? Please do not get scammed by fake gurus!” “Your child’s health should be left to medical professionals. Early intervention is key.” “Besides, if you actually believe you are swapping fates, have you thought about the innocent child you are cursing?” It did not take long for my phone to ping with her response. “A parent’s love requires doing whatever it takes. While he is young, I have to cure him quickly so he does not grow up as an outcast.” “My Toby is destined to do great things. Whoever gets to swap fates with my precious boy should be counting their lucky stars. They should just accept the blessing and stop being ungrateful.” I typed out a furious retort, but a pop up informed me I had been blocked by the author. I scoffed. That was fine. If there was one thing a chronically online millennial had in abundance, it was burner accounts. 2 “Woof!” I looked down. Buster was awake. He sat at my feet, his big brown eyes staring up at me with such absolute devotion it made my heart melt into a puddle. Looking at that sweet face, I could almost forgive his daily acts of domestic terrorism. Buster was a street rescue. A few years ago, I had been laid off from a corporate job with zero severance. Frustrated and miserable, I had gone to a dive bar to drink my sorrows away. On my way home, I saw him in a dirty alleyway. He was fighting off three stray dogs twice his size over a miserable, dried up bone. The gash on his hind leg was so deep the bone practically gleamed under the streetlights, yet his tiny chest puffed out with the heart of a lion. He held his ground. He protected his prize. Something inside me broke. I thought he was the bravest thing I had ever seen. Fueled by liquid courage and ignoring the risk of rabies, I scooped him up and rushed him to the emergency vet. By the time the vet finished patching him up, I was stone cold sober. The itemized bill the receptionist handed me was longer than my final paycheck. I was silently cursing the extortionate medical system when I glanced down and saw Buster looking at me. His eyes were damp and trusting. I mentally slapped myself. How could I even hesitate over paper money when this little warrior had fought so hard just to live? I handed over my credit card without another word, completely missing the fact that the anesthesia had finally kicked in and he was snoring loudly. From that night on, Buster was officially mine. I spent the next two days monitoring the forum post. The mother finally posted an update. “The crib has been sold. What is the next step?” She attached a heavily censored screenshot of our transaction history. The comment section immediately erupted. “I would sooner believe I can shove my big toe into my ear than believe this guy can rewrite destiny.” “Is the original poster for real? People still fall for this?” “Honestly, I am morbidly curious now. Where is this Master? Tell us the next step!” “I don’t even know what to say. I understand a mother’s desperation, but how could you intentionally harm someone else’s baby?” The author was frantically deleting any comment that criticized her. She only left the ones begging the Master to reveal the next phase. I wanted to see what this charlatan would say next. Soon enough, a new comment was pinned to the top. “To successfully swap fates, both parties must exchange personal items. The target has your crib. Now, you must acquire items the target child uses daily. Attach your son’s name and birthdate to them, and keep them close for forty nine days. This completes the spiritual bridge. After that, the transfer will begin.” I could not help but roll my eyes. How could anyone be gullible enough to believe this garbage? I felt like an idiot for even keeping up with the drama. I locked my phone and grabbed Buster’s leash, ready for our evening walk. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and stared at the screen in sheer disbelief. It was a direct message from the crib seller. 3 “Hey honey! Do you need any baby clothes? I bought so many brand new outfits, but my Toby is growing like a weed and cannot fit into them anymore. I would love to bring them over for you.” “Do not even worry about the cost. It would be a waste to just throw them out.” “Are you home right now? I can drop them off.” My brain was still processing the sheer audacity, but my fingers were already typing a polite rejection. “Oh, thank you so much for the offer, but please don’t trouble yourself! Our little one is quite particular and probably wouldn’t fit into them.” To my horror, she replied instantly. “Open up, honey. We are already at your door.” I wanted to pretend I wasn’t home, but the obnoxiously loud notification chime from my phone echoed straight through the thin apartment door. Trapped, I took a deep breath and turned the deadbolt. Standing in my hallway was Martha, the seller, and clinging to her hand was her son, Toby. He was a pale, chubby kid who immediately started peering past my legs into the apartment. I still felt a pang of pity for the boy. I figured I could sit the mother down, offer her a drink, and gently suggest she seek proper medical and psychological help instead of relying on internet warlocks. I plastered on a welcoming smile and stepped aside. “Come on in. Why don’t you and Toby take a seat on the couch? I will go cut up some fresh fruit.” I had just bought a fancy bottle of organic fruit juice that kids usually loved. I figured it would be a nice icebreaker. I stood in the kitchen, mentally rehearsing how to breach the topic of modern medicine. But when I walked back into the living room holding a tray of snacks, it was completely empty. A chilling rustling sound echoed from down the hall. I dropped the tray on the coffee table and marched toward my bedroom, pushing the door open in disbelief. In the span of five minutes, my sanctuary had been destroyed. A thick smear of crimson lipstick was dragged across my pristine white walls. My expensive silk bedsheets were stamped with tiny, foundation covered handprints. Even the brass handles of my nightstands were caked with sticky beige liquid. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. The blood rushed to my ears, leaving a high pitched ringing in its wake. “What are you doing?!” Hearing my raised voice, Martha jolted up from the edge of the bed. Acting as if she had just noticed the carnage, she grabbed Toby by the arm and gave him two incredibly gentle, theatrical pats on the back. She turned to me, squeezing out a painfully fake smile. “Oh, I am so sorry, honey! I took my eyes off him for one second. You know how boys are. He is just a child, you cannot possibly hold a grudge against a little kid.” I watched her perform in absolute silence. Slowly, I pulled out my phone and pulled up my digital receipts for the ruined cosmetics. When I held the screen up to her face, the fake smile instantly evaporated. The total was not small. “Listen to me, honey,” she said, her tone suddenly shifting from apologetic to patronizing. “You are a married woman and a mother now. You should not be wasting your money on useless vanity items.” She bent down, picked up a shattered bottle of luxury serum from the floor, and brazenly wiped the remaining drops of the expensive liquid onto her own face. She rubbed it into her cheeks with a satisfied sigh. “I am older and wiser than you. If you have this kind of money, you should be buying your husband nice suits or getting educational toys for your baby! A man is the pillar of the household. If you don’t spend money on him, what kind of wife are you? Besides, this expensive stuff feels exactly like the cheap dollar store cream anyway. It is so greasy!” I stared at her, watching her scrape every last drop of my ruined serum onto her skin, and let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Ah!” Before I could say another word, Toby noticed my dark expression. The little brat actually lunged forward, shoving me hard in the stomach, spitting out a string of foul curses that no six year old should even know. Martha did not correct him. In fact, a glint of twisted pride flashed in her eyes. Suddenly, the urge to explain that my “baby” was a dog vanished completely. If they wanted to play sick games, I could play too. 4 “It is quite alright,” I said, taking a deep breath and forcing the corners of my mouth up into a serene smile. Every penny they just cost me, I was going to bleed out of them tenfold. “If Toby likes playing with them, let him have fun. I am a mother too. I understand.” I watched Martha’s tense shoulders relax as she let go of Toby’s hand. I paused for a moment before speaking again, my voice dripping with manufactured innocence. “So, what brings you by today?” Martha slapped her forehead, putting on a spectacular show of realization. “Oh, right! I saw you bought the crib and figured your baby must still be quite young. I kept all of Toby’s baby clothes in pristine condition. I brought them over so you could save a little cash for your family!” I chuckled, my smile turning a fraction colder as I quickly cut her off. “Oh, we couldn’t possibly accept. You see, we only have the one precious baby, and we are incredibly particular. We only use custom fabrics and organic cotton. I am afraid we just couldn’t use second hand clothing. Besides, those outfits hold so many memories for you. You should keep them.” Martha’s smile froze. She scrambled for an angle. “Well, that is wonderful for your baby! Actually, to tell you the truth, my daughter is due to give birth very soon. If your baby has any high end clothes or toys they have outgrown, you could always pass them down to us.” The sound of an abacus clicking in her head was practically deafening. “You know how fast babies grow,” I sighed, adopting a look of profound regret. “The clothes cost a fortune, and they barely wear them before they are too small. I actually just bundled them all up and sold them to a luxury consignment shop online. I shipped the boxes out this morning.” I glanced up, catching the greed flashing in her eyes. “I had a few premium pieces left, but someone already claimed them. If I cancel the transaction now, the platform will hit me with a massive penalty fee for breaking the contract.” She took the bait immediately. “Oh, don’t worry about that! How much is the penalty fee? I will cover it.” The moment the words left her mouth, I unlocked my phone and pulled up a recent high end purchase receipt, carefully obscuring the date with my thumb. The four digit price tag was displayed in bold black text. “I gave the buyer a fifty percent discount, and they already transferred the funds. If I cancel, I have to refund them double as compensation.” “That… well… could you negotiate with them?” she stammered, her eyes darting nervously at the total. “Just give them their money back!” Did she really think she could scam me out of my things for free? Not a chance. She was not leaving this apartment until she paid for my ruined makeup. “Absolutely not. My husband and I have a reputation to maintain. We are not desperate for cash, and I refuse to get a negative review on my profile over something so trivial. You know how the internet is. One bad interaction and people try to ruin your life!” I casually brushed some invisible dog fur off my sleeve. “The courier just picked up the boxes. If you want the clothes, I need to intercept the package right now. My private housekeeper is arriving shortly to clean the bedrooms, so I won’t keep you any longer.” When people are caught off guard and pressed for time, they rarely stop to think logically. Within two minutes, I had a hefty sum transferred directly into my bank account. Now I actually had enough money to hire a professional cleaning service. Though, the cheap pacifiers and chew toys I had ordered online would not arrive for another two days. The second Martha and Toby walked out the door, I called my mom. I had texted her the moment Martha arrived, warning her to keep Buster out on his walk until I gave the all clear. Usually, Buster had boundless energy, but when my mom finally brought him in, he collapsed on the rug, panting heavily. Turns out, the local elementary school was on break, and Buster had spent two hours running drills with a pack of hyperactive children in the park. Bless the endless stamina of grade schoolers. Ever since I read that creepy forum post, I had forbidden Buster from sleeping in the mahogany crib. I had been genuinely paranoid that some weird fungal infection or mold in the wood might make him sick. But now? I had nothing to worry about. I pulled out a little step stool and placed it right next to the crib. Buster immediately climbed the steps, curled up on the soft mattress, and fell into a deep, snoring sleep. I opened the forum post again, a new question forming in my mind. Getting the clothes was one thing, but how was Martha planning to get my child’s name and exact astrological birthdate?

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For the ninth time, the tabloids caught my wife nestled in the arms of another man. Furious over the intimate photos plastered all over the internet, she directed her rage at me, landing a stinging slap across my cheek. “I told you Jace and I were discussing a script in that hotel room,” she spat, her eyes blazing. “I explicitly told you to keep watch outside and look out for paparazzi. How can you be so utterly useless?” She pointed a manicured finger at my chest. “You better fix this mess immediately. Jace is the top idol our agency just debuted. He cannot afford a single scandal.” I slowly raised a hand to my burning, swollen cheek. My voice came out startlingly calm. “Let us get a divorce.” “Once we are divorced, you two won’t have to sneak around anymore. And he won’t be branded with the ugly reputation of seducing a married woman.” Natalie let out a sharp, mocking laugh. A look of pure contempt twisted her beautiful features. “Arthur, have I been too lenient with you?” “You think you have grown some backbone, daring to demand a divorce from me?” “You eat my food. You spend my money. If it weren’t for me, you would still be a pathetic security guard rotting at a front gate!” “Have you gotten so comfortable in your life of luxury that you forgot who you really are?” She crossed her arms, glaring down at me. “Fine. You want a divorce? I will grant it. But you leave with absolutely nothing. You will not get a single cent of my fortune!” 1 Inside our sprawling home, Natalie threw the printed divorce papers right at my face. She had just printed them out. Her expression was dripping with disdain. “You are the one who asked for this. I am not forcing you!” “Did you really think a cheap stunt like this would threaten me, Arthur?” “Have I treated you so well lately that you actually believed you had the upper hand?” “If you have any guts at all, sign it. Do not dawdle and make me look down on you even more.” She looked so incredibly certain of herself, her face radiating arrogant mockery. I looked back at her. She felt like a total stranger. The Natalie standing before me was a completely different person from the woman I had fallen in love with all those years ago. The only constant in this world is the fickleness of the human heart. At this very moment, the true weight of that phrase finally crushed me. I picked up a pen and signed the papers. I kept one copy and handed the other back to her. Natalie froze. A fleeting flicker of panic crossed her eyes. She clearly had not anticipated that I would actually put my name on the dotted line. I kept my voice perfectly steady. “The papers are signed. There is a mandatory thirty day waiting period. Once the month is over, we will go to the courthouse and make it official.” “I am moving out today. I will pack my things and be out of your hair.” “If you want to bring Jace here, that is your business now. Just be careful not to get caught by the cameras again.” “Endure it for one more month and you will be completely free. Even if you want to marry him after that, nobody will have a right to judge you.” Natalie took a few ragged breaths. My calm demeanor seemed to infuriate her even more. She let out a cold, sarcastic sneer. “I do not believe for a second you actually want to leave me!” “Everything you possess right now is because of me.” “The moment you walk out that door, you are nothing.” “It is easy to go from rags to riches, but impossible to go back to the gutter. I highly doubt you can so easily throw away this life of wealth and privilege.” “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.” “I will give you one month. I expect you to come crawling back, begging on your knees for my forgiveness!” Without waiting for my reply, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the house. I stared at the divorce papers on the table. My eyes stung. My nose felt incredibly raw. I wanted to cry. But I had no tears left to shed. Natalie used to be my guiding light during my darkest days. Her presence alone gave me the courage to face life again. Back then, we were inseparable. I honestly believed God was finally smiling down on me. Yet, a few years into our marriage, her patience with me began to erode. Countless times, I caught her in the arms of other men, drinking and laughing the night away. I used to confront her, fighting with her out of pure heartbreak and anger. Every single time, she would roll her eyes in sheer annoyance. “Arthur, do you not understand how networking functions?” “I am a top tier producer in the entertainment industry. If I actually wanted to mess around, I could have any man I desire. Why would I have bothered marrying you?” “I told you from the start. We are married, but you do not get to restrict my freedom or interfere with my career.” “Can you please grow up? Stop being so suffocating and petty.” Time and time again, she trampled all over my boundaries. In her eyes, I was so hopelessly dependent on her that I would never leave. That was why she felt so emboldened to flaunt her intimate affairs in public. Did she really not understand that love is never a one sided sacrifice? She definitely understood. She simply did not care. I was exhausted. I refused to drag out a toxic relationship that left me bruised and bleeding. Even if leaving her meant losing everything I had, I could not stomach another day as her pathetic shadow. Natalie, I am setting you free. And I am finally freeing myself. 2 I was an orphan. I never knew my biological parents or if they were even alive. My foster parents were poor but incredibly kind to me. When I graduated middle school, they perished in a tragic accident. Their greedy relatives immediately swooped in and seized the meager estate, tossing me out onto the streets. I drifted. I worked in sweatshops and delivered takeout in the pouring rain, doing whatever it took to keep myself fed. But fate seemed to hold a personal grudge against me. A severe illness struck me down. I spent half a month confined to a hospital bed. Not only did it drain every penny of my savings, but it also buried me under a mountain of medical debt. Discharged and utterly devoid of hope, I stumbled upon a hiring notice for security guards at Crescent Hill Estates. Blessed with a decent build and a clean face, I landed the job easily. And then, I met Natalie. She was three years older than me, a wealthy resident of the estate who drove a flashy sports car. My younger colleagues and I used to sit around the guardhouse, daydreaming. “Man, if a gorgeous rich woman like her took a liking to me, I would gladly shave twenty years off my lifespan!” “I heard a story about a handsome guard who got picked up by a millionaire. She gave him a massive allowance, a luxury car, and a mansion. Dude hit the jackpot just by having a nice face.” “Yeah, but I also heard that woman was pushing fifty. When her crazy son found out, he hired thugs to break the guy’s legs and ruin his face.” “Playing with the rich is a gamble. You might just lose your life.” Young men always harbor unrealistic fantasies about an easy life. I never expected my idle daydream to morph into reality. Late one night, walking back to my cramped rental after a grueling shift, I found Natalie completely intoxicated. She was hunched beside her sports car, violently throwing up. When she tried to stand, her legs buckled. A group of shady men was circling her like vultures. She slurred curses at them, but they grabbed her arms, whispering aggressively. Seeing this, I did not hesitate. I sprinted forward. With a few precise punches and kicks, I sent the thugs crashing to the pavement. I initially thought they were trying to take advantage of a drunk woman in the dark. It turned out they were sleazy paparazzi trying to extort celebrity secrets from her in her vulnerable state. Once the paparazzi scattered, Natalie slumped against the car door, dead to the world. I had no idea how much she had consumed. No matter how much I shook her or called her name, she remained unresponsive. I could not leave her alone on a dangerous street corner. I fished her keys out of her designer purse, unlocked the doors, and gently settled her into the backseat. I slid into the driver’s seat and navigated the roaring sports car back to Crescent Hill Estates. The other guards’ jaws practically hit the floor when they saw me rolling through the gates with the incapacitated heiress. I carried her inside. The sheer opulence of her mansion left me breathless. But I only admired it from afar. I harbored no ulterior motives. Having lived over two decades feeling cursed by the heavens, I never craved immense wealth. I only wanted a warm meal and a roof over my head. I tucked the sleeping Natalie into her plush bed and quietly slipped out into the night. The moment I returned to my tiny apartment, the loan sharks cornered me at my door. Several burly men glared at me, cracking their knuckles. Their leader, a blonde punk with a scarred brow, spoke with icy precision. “Arthur, your payment is three months overdue.” “I know times are tough, but business is business. You owe fifty thousand dollars. With the pathetic wage you make as a guard, when exactly are you going to clear this debt?” “Take my advice. Drop this ridiculous pride of yours. In this world, people laugh at the poor, not the escorts. A lack of cash can break the strongest of men.” “Brenda made an offer. Keep her company for a month, and she wipes your debt clean.” “Opportunities like this do not come twice.” “Cash in on your youth. Spend a few years pleasing rich women, and you will never have to worry about rent again.” Brenda was a notoriously wealthy, bad tempered woman in her fifties. She had a reputation for keeping young companions, and an even darker reputation for how terribly they ended up. Because I couldn’t afford my hospital bills, I had taken out a high interest loan. Just as they pointed out, my meager salary would never cover the ballooning interest. Was I really going to sink this low? Was I going to sell my dignity, my own body, just to satisfy the sickening desires of a wealthy predator? I did not sleep a wink that night. When dawn broke, I dragged my exhausted body to work, fully intending to hand in my resignation. But when I arrived at the guardhouse, Natalie was already there, waiting for me. She looked at me with a peculiar expression. She asked if I wanted to be her personal bodyguard and driver. When she found out about the crippling medical debt weighing me down, she generously wrote a check and cleared it instantly. From that day forward, I became the ultimate legend in the guards’ group chat. Over time, Natalie and I grew closer. Our relationship naturally blossomed, leading us to the altar. People whispered that I was the luckiest bastard alive. Their eyes burned with envy and spite. I never cared. I saw Natalie as the singular light of my existence, treating her with an almost religious reverence. My love for her was saturated with deep gratitude and total humility. Without her, I would have been swallowed whole by the abyss. I truly believed the heavens had finally shown me mercy. Only after a few years of marriage did I realize the happiness I clung to was just a cruel, elaborate joke. 3 I packed my clothes and dragged my suitcase out the front door. I planned to stay at a hotel for the time being. But when I handed my card to the receptionist, she gave me an awkward, pitying look. “Sir, it appears your card has been frozen.” I froze, but the realization hit me instantly. Natalie had cut me off. The premium card was a supplementary one she had issued to me. I had used it for all my daily expenses over the years. I checked my digital wallet on my phone. My personal balance hovered around a pathetic fifty dollars. If I paid for this room, I would be broke by tomorrow morning. Under the receptionist’s uncomfortable gaze, I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked back out into the street. I eventually found a cheap youth hostel. For a few dollars a night, I secured a bunk in a crowded dormitory. Since Natalie had frozen my accounts, I figured my position at her company was also history. Right on cue, my phone rang. The HR director’s voice was devoid of any professional courtesy. “Arthur, come to the office. Pack your garbage and get out.” Before I could even formulate a reply, the line went dead. Even though I fully expected to be fired, hearing the sheer contempt in his voice made a heavy sigh escape my lips. For years, I stood loyally by Natalie’s side, managing countless crises for her entertainment agency. I never took a single paycheck from the company. It belonged to my wife, so I gave my blood, sweat, and tears willingly, without keeping score. But the moment I was so casually discarded, I realized how incredibly foolish my devotion had been. I remembered the early days, sitting with ruthless entertainment investors. They demanded Natalie drink two full bottles of hard liquor before they would even glance at her proposal. I stepped up, risking alcohol poisoning, and downed every last drop to protect her. It was exactly because of sacrifices like that that her company gained a solid foothold in the industry and expanded into an empire. I held the title of Vice President. Though the employees treated me with surface level respect, they snickered behind my back, claiming I slept my way to the top. I used to ignore their toxic whispers. But now, I no longer had a place in that building. I had no desire to linger and be the subject of their cruel gossip. When I stepped into the lobby, the employees stared at me with bizarre expressions, whispering openly. “Natalie posted those sweet photos hugging Jace yesterday, and Arthur is actually just taking it!” “He is just a gold digger. Word is he used to be a dirty security guard. He got lucky marrying the boss.” “Calling it a marriage is generous. He is basically a stray dog Natalie took in.” “The boss has been linked to half a dozen young idols over the years. This loser is probably used to the humiliation by now.” “Look at all those green hats he is wearing. I cannot believe he hasn’t snapped!”

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Ever since my husband replaced the framed wedding photo above our bed with an oil painting done by his former college mentor, a sudden, heavy exhaustion washed over me. When I slid the signed divorce papers across the table to him, his face turned to ice. “I don’t even have the right to change a single painting in my own home?” he snapped. “You want a divorce over this? You’re just going to abandon the son you coddle so much?” I nodded slowly. I didn’t want any of it anymore. After all, my precious little boy was exactly like his father. They both put another woman first. 1 Arthur sat across from me, his face expressionless as he flipped through the divorce agreement I had just handed him. He didn’t read it carefully, merely skimming the pages before slapping the folder shut. “Just because I swapped out a piece of art? You’re throwing a tantrum and demanding a divorce over something this trivial?” He looked at me as if I were a toddler throwing a fit. “Think this through. I don’t have the time to play these games with you. Are you seriously giving up custody of Oliver? The son you hold in the palm of your hand?” I glanced toward the living room. Oliver was sitting on the sofa, eyes glued to the television, even though it was well past his bedtime. “I’m giving it up,” I answered. Arthur scoffed, pulled a pen from his pocket, and carelessly scribbled his name on the dotted line. Earlier this afternoon, I had cooked dinner just like any other day. Braised short ribs. It was the absolute favorite of the two men in my house. I watched the hands of the wall clock tick by, hour after hour, but the front door remained shut. I called Arthur. It rang twice before the line went dead. He had deliberately rejected my call. Finally, just past ten o’clock, the father and son returned. They were carefully carrying a heavily wrapped canvas. I had reheated the food three times. Yet, moving in perfect unison, they completely ignored the dining table and rushed straight to the master bedroom. I followed them to the doorway and watched Arthur take down the wedding portrait that had hung above our headboard for years. “Why are you taking that down all of a sudden?” I asked quietly. Arthur didn’t pause his movements. He didn’t even look back. “Do I not even have the right to change a painting?” Oliver was standing right beside him, standing on his tiptoes to help his father steady the new frame. The little boy’s eyes crinkled into a sweet, bright smile. “Dad, when can we go eat burgers with Aunt Valerie again?” Arthur immediately clamped a hand over Oliver’s mouth, shooting a nervous, sidelong glance at me. “I didn’t tell you we saw her because I didn’t want you to misunderstand.” Valerie was Arthur’s former college mentor. She was also mine. Recently, due to a corporate transfer, she had been assigned to the exact same research facility where Arthur worked. I lowered my eyes, looking back toward the dining room where the food was growing cold once again. “Just don’t take Oliver for fast food next time,” I said softly. “You know he has a sensitive stomach.” “Alright, I get it,” Arthur brushed me off, lifting the new painting onto the wall. He adjusted it slightly, stepped back with a satisfied smile, and pulled out his phone to snap a picture. “Dad, Aunt Valerie is so amazing. I didn’t know she could paint, too,” Oliver said, staring up at the wall with pure admiration. I finally looked at the canvas. It was a lush, romantic oil painting. So, Valerie painted it. Arthur didn’t answer our son. He was too busy smiling warmly at his phone screen, his thumbs typing away at lightning speed. Oliver scrambled up onto the mattress, craning his little neck to peek at Arthur’s screen. “Dad, what are you texting Aunt Valerie? I want to talk to her, too!” After Arthur signed the divorce papers, I decided to leave that very night. But as I looked around the house I had painstakingly maintained for nearly eight years, I didn’t even know where to begin packing. “It’s too late tonight. You can just leave tomorrow,” Arthur said, watching me from the hallway. I shook my head. “No. Tonight is fine.” I packed only my absolute essentials. I took off my wedding ring and left it on the nightstand. I didn’t take a single thing that belonged to the life we built together. As I dragged my suitcase to the front door and bent down to change my shoes, Oliver walked over. He stood there silently, staring at me with wide, timid eyes. Looking at the tiny human I had raised with every ounce of my being for six years, a sharp, uncontrollable ache pierced my chest. “I’m divorcing your father,” I told him, keeping my voice steady. “You need to listen to him from now on. Eat less junk food. And remember you are allergic to seafood. Don’t let him feed you crab.” Oliver blinked, then rolled his eyes with a look of pure indifference. “Hmph. Dad said you’ll be back in a few days anyway. You don’t even have any friends in this city. You only have me and Dad.” Then, he stepped closer, stood on his tiptoes, and whispered directly into my ear. “Mom, you should just stay away forever. I don’t like you. I like Aunt Valerie. If you never come back, Aunt Valerie can be my new mom.” Those words obliterated the last remaining soft spot in my heart. People say children speak the innocent truth. And it is exactly because he was a child that he didn’t sugarcoat his true feelings. The son I had held in the palm of my hand, the boy I had given up everything to nurture, had never actually liked me. I didn’t say another word. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, opened the door, and walked out into the night. 2 Oliver was not entirely wrong. I truly had no friends in this city. Years ago, Arthur and I were in a long-distance relationship. Terrified of losing him and desperate to build a future together, I packed my bags, left my hometown, and resigned from a career I genuinely loved. I was fueled by blind, passionate love, fully believing that the right man would be waiting for me at the finish line. For a while, we were deeply in love. And then we had our beautiful son, Oliver. A baby required constant care, and Arthur refused to step back from his demanding career path. “Someone always has to make a sacrifice in a marriage, right?” he had hinted. I understood what he meant. The job I had found in this new city wasn’t nearly as prestigious or high-paying as his. So, convinced that our family’s happiness was all that mattered, I willingly stepped into the role of the devoted housewife. I managed our lives. I raised our son. That was until Valerie transferred to Arthur’s lab. From that moment on, I watched our relationship decay day by day. The warmth faded into coldness. The cracks splintered into shattering breaks. Even Oliver changed. More than once, he had casually mentioned that he wished Valerie was his mother. I stood on the desolate street corner in the early hours of the morning, waiting for a cab. The midnight wind cutting through my coat was bitter, but my heart felt even colder. I rented a small, cozy apartment. It had large windows that welcomed the morning sun. Back when I was a housewife, I used my sparse free time to write independent research papers and compile data analysis. Just today, I received an email confirming I had won a mid-tier industry award for one of my submissions. The prize money wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to cover my living expenses for at least half a year. When I woke up the next morning, a rare, profound sense of peace washed over me. I didn’t have to jolt out of bed the second the alarm blared, nor did I have to scramble to make breakfast and pack Oliver’s school bag. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. I took my time applying a light, fresh layer of makeup. I styled my hair properly. Looking at my reflection, the exhausted, hollow ghost of the housewife was gone. I looked alive again. I even signed up for a membership at a local fitness studio. When I lived with Arthur, keeping up with a hyperactive child and managing an entire household was physically draining, but it wasn’t the kind of movement that made me feel strong. Society loves to gossip about stay-at-home mothers, branding them as lazy or useless. I never cared about the whispers. I knew the truth. If we had relied solely on Arthur’s paycheck, Oliver would never have been able to live the pampered, spoiled life he enjoyed. My endless unpaid labor was what kept that house afloat. I shook the thoughts from my head and sat down at my laptop to polish my resume. I wanted to go back. I wanted to stand in a real laboratory again, not just sit at a makeshift desk in a laundry room. That afternoon, I treated myself to my absolute favorite cuisine. A blistering, tongue-numbing Szechuan hot pot. Because Arthur and Oliver preferred mild, sweet flavors, I had practically banished chili peppers from my kitchen for years. Taking that first bite of spicy, boiling broth, the heat rushed to my head. It was a sharp, painful reminder of how completely I had erased my own identity to accommodate theirs. That evening, Arthur called. His tone was perfectly casual, as if nothing had changed. “I’m just calling to ask about a sealed box of your things in the closet. I didn’t open it. Give me your new address, and I’ll mail it to you.” I paused for a moment, then replied smoothly. “You can open it. It’s just a bunch of useless junk from the past. I don’t need it anymore. Throw it all in the trash.” Arthur hesitated on the other end, his breathing faltering. “Oh, and by the way,” I added. “If you find anything else that belongs to me, just throw it out. Save yourself the trouble of calling me.” I ended the call. That box contained every single keepsake from the early days of our relationship. Movie tickets, handwritten notes, little gifts he had bought me when we had nothing. I had clung to them for years, unable to let them go. Now, they were just garbage. After a few rounds of interviews, I successfully landed a position at a private biotech firm. They were impressed by my independent research and offered me my own lab space to lead a small project. Leaving work that evening, I stopped by the supermarket. In the past, my grocery cart was always filled with ingredients tailored exclusively to my husband and son’s cravings. Today, I was going to spoil my own appetite. Just as I was pushing my cart down the produce aisle, my phone rang. It was Oliver’s kindergarten teacher. “Oliver’s Mom, I just wanted to check if you forgot the time today? All the other children have been picked up. Oliver is the only one left waiting here.” 3 I checked my watch. It had been over an hour since the kindergarten dismissed its students. I didn’t stop walking. I kept pushing my cart toward the fresh seafood section, absolutely refusing to alter my plans. “I’m sorry, Teacher,” I said calmly. “Oliver’s father and I are divorced. His father has full custody now. Please contact him from now on. Let me give you his number.” “Oh! I had no idea,” the teacher stammered, clearly embarrassed. “Because you’ve always been the one to pick him up, and Oliver insisted I call you. I’m so sorry to bother you.” I was about to tell her it was fine and hang up, but I suddenly heard Oliver snatch the phone from his teacher. “Mom, you are being so petty!” his shrill voice barked through the speaker. “Dad is super busy at work! You don’t even do anything all day, why can’t you just come pick me up?” “Hmph. If it were Aunt Valerie, she would definitely come get me.” Hearing those words, my heart didn’t even skip a beat. “Oliver,” I said, my voice cold and flat. “Your father and I are divorced. I am never coming to pick you up again. If no one comes to get you, tell your teacher to call your father. Or, if you prefer, you can tell her to call your precious Aunt Valerie.” I hung up and slipped the phone into my pocket. I truly didn’t remember raising him to be this entitled. When he was little, Arthur was always working late, and I would constantly tell Oliver how hard his father worked and how we needed to be understanding. But children are incredibly adaptable. Give them endless devotion, and they will soon view your sacrifice as their birthright. I massaged my temples. Whatever. He wasn’t my problem anymore. But my phone refused to stay quiet. Later that night, as I was finishing my dinner, Arthur called. “Eleanor, what am I supposed to do? Oliver’s stomach is acting up again. I tore the whole house apart and I can’t find his medication. Where did you hide it?” I swallowed the rising irritation and spoke evenly. “Bottom drawer of the cabinet beneath the television.” “Oh. Found it.” A brief silence hung on the line. “Uh, also… Oliver’s teacher called you today, right? I got tied up at the lab and ran late. Did they bother you?” I had no idea what Arthur was playing at. He sounded like he was awkwardly grasping for small talk. “Yes, it bothered me. So please, do not call my number ever again.” For years, my calls to him had been sent straight to voicemail. He had never once initiated a call just to check on me. Yet, in the few days since I left, my phone hadn’t stopped ringing. The next day, I went to the carrier and changed my phone number. Finally, the calls from Arthur ceased. I threw myself entirely into the laboratory. I often stayed from dawn until dusk, losing track of time among the equipment. Here, in the sterile white room, I felt the original spark of my ambition reignite. It felt like stepping back into my college days. I remembered who I was—a brilliant student fiercely passionate about scientific discovery. I just couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment I had allowed life to drain that passion out of me, volunteering to bury my own dreams for his. One afternoon, the department director knocked on the glass of my lab. He told me a partnering research team was here for a project handover. I peeled off my latex gloves and walked toward the reception room. Through the glass wall, I spotted a painfully familiar silhouette. Arthur. And sitting right beside him was Oliver. Arthur was awkwardly trying to explain to the bewildered director why he had brought a six-year-old child to a corporate facility. I pushed the door open. Arthur looked up, his brows furrowing slightly as if my presence offended him. “Mom…” Oliver mumbled, clutching the fabric of Arthur’s shirt, his voice small and timid. “Ah, let me introduce you. This is the lead researcher for our side of the project. She will handle the handover,” the director said, gesturing toward me. I offered a polite smile. “No introduction necessary, Director. This is my ex-husband. I’ll take it from here. You can get back to your work.” The director’s eyes widened. He offered an incredibly awkward chuckle and practically sprinted out of the room. I sat down across from them, flipped open the project file, and didn’t miss a beat. “According to the roster, your team should have one more representative present.” Just as the words left my mouth, the door clicked open. Valerie walked in. “My apologies. Traffic was terrible,” she said smoothly.

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The moment I found out Pierce Holdings was our new investor, I knew I had already lost to Stella. She was his first love. The one that got away. Just as I expected, when the pitch meeting ended, Rowan chose Stella’s design over mine. Stella found me in the hallway shortly after. A sickly sweet smile played on her lips. “You might be his wife, but in his heart, I will always come first.” “Everything you fought so desperately to get, I can have without lifting a finger.” She and I had been bitter rivals since high school. It all started when her mother stole my father. And now, she had effortlessly stolen Rowan’s heart, too. I cast a weary glance at the tall, impeccably dressed man standing at the end of the corridor. A sudden, bone-deep exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t want to fight Stella anymore. This time, I was letting him go. Between Rowan and my career, I chose my career. 1. The arrival of our new corporate backer had the whole office buzzing. He was outrageously handsome, came from ruthless old money, and possessed a ruthless business acumen that demanded respect. The investor was Rowan Pierce. My husband. When I saw his name on the brief, a cold knot twisted in my stomach. I knew my silent war with Stella was already over. In the breakroom, the gossip was flying thick and fast. “I can’t believe the CEO of Pierce Holdings is personally overseeing this. Rowan Pierce himself.” “If our team secures this bid, we are set for the entire fiscal year. We’ll be swimming in commissions.” “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s practically guaranteed to go to Stella’s team. Haven’t you heard? Rowan’s college sweetheart works right here in our design department. It’s Stella.” “They were the golden couple back at Boston University. Everyone knows he only invested in Aura Design just to get closer to her.” Every word felt like a needle sliding into my ribs. I walked back to my office like a ghost. The news of Rowan’s arrival was officially announced by noon. Manager Gibson called Stella and me into his glass-walled office. “Sienna, Stella.” He steepled his fingers, looking between us. “Pierce Holdings is funding our next major launch. Rowan Pierce wants both of your teams to draft competing proposals. You have one month.” Gibson offered Stella a meaningful, almost sycophantic look. He clearly knew the rumors. He knew exactly why Rowan had chosen our firm. I hadn’t even stepped out of the office before the realization hit me. My team was going to bust our asses for nothing. Going up against Stella meant I was nothing but a prop in her romantic reunion. In the hallway, Stella stopped. We stood face to face. I met her gaze, and her lips curved into a triumphant, radiant smirk. “May the best woman win, Sienna.” She sounded entirely too confident. She knew the game was rigged. Given the choice between her and me, Rowan would pick her every single time. I watched her walk away, the click of her heels echoing down the floor. Her department erupted into cheers the second she returned. If my team lost this bid, I would be demoted to working under Stella. I would have to swallow my pride and take orders from the woman who ruined my life. I refused to let that happen. Right before clocking out, half the floor gathered around Stella’s desk, drowning her in compliments. “You are incredible, Stella. We’re so lucky to have you.” I caught her eye through the crowd. She was the center of the universe, bathed in warm light and adoration. In stark contrast, my corner of the office was dead quiet. I stood completely alone. She offered me a pitying little smile. I looked away, grabbed my trench coat, and walked out into the cold New York evening. 2. Rowan got home late. His expression was the same as always. Cold, detached, undeniably beautiful. I couldn’t hold the question back any longer. “Rowan, did you invest in my firm?” He paused, shrugging off his tailored suit jacket. He met my eyes with a flat, indifferent stare and gave a single, soft hum of confirmation. “Why did you choose Aura Design?” I forced a light, teasing tone into my voice. “Are you going to show your wife some favoritism?” His dark eyebrows drew together. There was absolutely zero warmth in his deep-set eyes. He stayed quiet for a moment before answering. “It was a board decision. I don’t make these calls alone.” The unspoken message was loud and clear. Being his wife meant nothing. It bought me no privileges. I didn’t push it. He was always like this. Frosty and principled, operating by his own rigid set of rules. He never bent them for me. And like a fool, I always ended up humiliating myself by hoping I could be his exception. Rowan turned on his heel and walked into his study. He left the heavy oak door slightly ajar. I could hear the low murmur of his voice on the phone. Then, the unmistakable sound of Stella’s bright laughter drifting through the speaker. Rowan chuckled softly in response. A sound I rarely ever heard. When the call ended, he stepped back out into the foyer. He grabbed a heavy wool overcoat from the rack, slipping his arms into the sleeves and adjusting his leather oxfords. He stood tall, not quite looking at me. “I have a business dinner. Don’t wait up.” I simply nodded. Rowan was breathtakingly handsome. Sharp jawline, straight nose, and thin, expressive lips. The dark coat made his broad shoulders look even more imposing. The door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t come home until the early hours of the morning. Any questions I had left died in my throat when I opened Instagram in bed. Stella had posted a new picture. It was a group selfie of four people at an upscale lounge. Stella, Rowan, and two of their old college friends. Staring at the screen, I realized I already knew the answer. Would he favor Stella over me? Yes. Without hesitation. I used to leave the hallway light on for him whenever he had late nights. Tonight, I switched it off and let the darkness swallow the apartment. I slept surprisingly well. The next morning, we left for work at different times, avoiding each other completely. The atmosphere at the office was suffocating. Everyone was treating Stella like royalty. It was an unspoken fact. Rowan wouldn’t have looked twice at our firm if she wasn’t here. My hatred for Stella was my own private burden. The rest of the staff only cared about their annual bonuses and keeping the VIP client happy. Rowan visited the office that afternoon to review our preliminary timelines. Gibson called Stella into the boardroom to meet him. When she finally emerged, every eye in the bullpen locked onto her. “Spill it, Stella. Is the big boss as terrifying as he looks?” A coy, ambiguous smile touched her lips. “I’ve known Rowan for a long time. He’s actually quite sweet.” She paused for dramatic effect. “You guys have nothing to worry about.” A few junior designers exchanged knowing glances and giggled. I already knew the legendary romance of Stella and Rowan. I had read the digital footprint of it a hundred times over. If I wasn’t his wife, I might have even thought it was a beautiful story of young love. But reading the archived posts compiled by their nosy classmates only made my chest ache. Stella still kept her old college blog public. It was a digital diary of everything they shared. I had tortured myself by reading every single entry. The more I read, the more I realized how fiercely Rowan had loved her. He used to read every trivial thing she posted, leaving long, thoughtful comments under each picture. He was the one who chased her first. Meanwhile, it took me a grueling, humiliating year of practically begging for his attention before he finally agreed to date me. When I first discovered his ex was Stella, a twisted, vicious thrill shot through me. I thought I had finally won. I thought I had taken something precious from her. But the reality was a brutal wake-up call. Rowan was still harboring feelings for his ex. Being married to a man who loved my worst enemy was the ultimate humiliation. It just gave Stella another way to crush me. 3. Stella and I had been at each other’s throats since middle school. We were oil and water. Her mother marched into our home, destroyed my parents’ marriage, and drove my mother to a severe mental breakdown that landed her in the psychiatric ward. I almost lost my mom forever. By high school, Stella and I ended up at the same prestigious prep academy. She missed the entrance cutoff by a single point. My father, Arthur, pulled strings and threw money at the board to get her in. That same year, my mother packed her bags and moved to London. I was left behind in Arthur’s sprawling, empty mansion. I was a naive teenager. I thought if I acted out, if I made their lives a living hell, the mistress and her daughter would pack up and leave. My tactics were juvenile. I spiked their morning water glasses with black drawing ink. I was too scared to actually poison them, so I just wanted to scare them. I wanted to mark my territory. Instead, Stella ran crying to Arthur. His face turned a dangerous shade of purple as he screamed at me, his disappointment suffocating. I hated them, but I didn’t have the stomach for true cruelty. Every stunt I pulled only made Arthur feel more guilty for the “hardships” he put his new family through. I thought graduation would be the end of it. But during my freshman year of college, Arthur dragged Stella to a high-society charity gala. He didn’t correct anyone who assumed she was his biological daughter. He even drafted paperwork to legally change her last name to Cross. I stood in his study, trembling with rage, and told him that if he gave her my family name, I would drop it and take my mother’s maiden name instead. His eyes burned with fury. He raised his hand, fully intending to strike me across the face. But a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped in front of me, catching my father’s wrist mid-air. It was Rowan. Years later, after graduating, our paths crossed again in the city. I spent twelve exhausting months chasing him. I was always there, always available, always trying to break through his icy exterior. Just as I was about to give up and walk away, he finally said yes. It wasn’t until after we exchanged vows that I found out Stella was his great college romance. Worse, I found out Rowan used to visit my father’s estate as Stella’s boyfriend. When Arthur received the news that I had married Rowan Pierce, his face went ashen. He clutched his chest, struggling to breathe. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he had gasped out. “You knew he was Stella’s boy. You married him just to spite her?” I had stood there, frozen in shock. During our first holiday season as a married couple, I refused to visit my father. Rowan insisted. He practically dragged me to the Cross estate. Within an hour of arriving, Stella and I got into a screaming match on the patio. We both slipped on the icy marble steps. Rowan moved with lightning speed. He lunged forward and wrapped his arms securely around Stella, breaking her fall. I hit the hard stone, scraping my knees bloody. Later, sitting in the urgent care clinic with tears stinging my eyes, I asked him why he didn’t reach for me. He didn’t even look up from his phone. His voice was completely void of emotion. “I didn’t see you fall.” When Rowan stepped out to take a call, Stella strolled into the exam room. She looked down at me on the hospital bed, a victorious gleam in her eyes. She spent the next ten minutes recounting every sweet, intimate moment she and Rowan shared in college. She described a version of my husband I had never met. A man who was tender, passionate, and hopelessly devoted. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise. After I recovered, the universe played its final cruel joke. Stella and I were hired at the same design firm. The rat race started all over again. She flaunted her status as Arthur Cross’s beloved daughter, forcing management to treat her with kid gloves. Now, she had the added armor of being the billionaire investor’s former flame. The entire office worshipped the ground she walked on. I knew my proposal was doomed. But my pride wouldn’t let me quit. I dragged my team through sleepless nights and endless coffee runs, determined to go down fighting. 4. A month later, I walked into the glass boardroom with a perfectly bound portfolio. Everyone was seated. The only empty chairs belonged to Stella and Rowan. They walked in together. The morning sunlight caught them perfectly, illuminating the way Rowan tilted his head down to catch whatever Stella was whispering. His jawline was sharp, his posture relaxed. His dark eyes held a faint, genuine warmth. I caught his gaze for a split second. I searched his face, desperate to find even a flicker of guilt or reassurance. There was nothing. Just that familiar, freezing indifference. We drew straws for the presentation order. I was up first. I kept my composure, connecting my laptop and bringing the slides to life on the massive screen. I poured my soul into the pitch, breaking down every structural detail and creative inspiration. When I finished, the applause was painfully thin. The only person cheering genuinely was Brie, a bright-eyed junior designer who had been with me since her internship. Rowan sat like a statue. His face was an impenetrable mask. Manager Gibson kept shooting nervous glances at him, trying to read his mind. Then it was Stella’s turn. She walked to the front, locking eyes with Rowan effortlessly. They shared a private, lingering smile. The other executives at the table noticed. They exchanged knowing, amused looks. Brie leaned over to me, her voice barely a whisper. “Sienna… are we going to lose this?” I forced the corners of my mouth up into a brittle smile. When Stella concluded her presentation, the room erupted. The applause was deafening compared to mine. Gibson practically gave her a standing ovation. A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of Rowan’s mouth. We took a thirty-minute recess before the final verdict. Lately, the constant barrage of rumors about Rowan and Stella had been suffocating me. The way he looked at me—like I was a stranger taking up space—made it hard to breathe. Thanks to the relentless office gossip, I had learned even more about their past. How Rowan would stand outside her dorm in the freezing rain just to walk her to class. How he brought her breakfast in bed. Every Boston alumni in our circle knew that Rowan Pierce had worshipped the ground Stella walked on. I sat in my leather chair, paralyzed. I watched them walk out of the boardroom side by side. My throat burned. The man I had moved mountains to marry was carrying the heart of the woman I despised most in this world. Soon, the room emptied out until it was just Brie and me. She reached under the table and squeezed my hand. Half an hour later, the executives returned. Rowan and his corporate entourage had already left the building. Gibson stood at the head of the table, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “The board has cast three votes,” he announced. “All three votes go to Stella’s team.” My eyes burned. A hot rush of unshed tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I dug my nails into my palms and swallowed the pain down. Gibson nodded at Stella, a look of profound respect on his face. Her team immediately swarmed her. “You killed it, Stella! We’re celebrating tonight!” I gathered my files and slipped out the back door, slipping away like a shadow. But Stella followed me. “Sienna.” I stopped in the middle of the hallway. Her eyes were crinkled in absolute delight. “You might share his bed, but I will always own his heart.” “You fought tooth and nail for a life that falls right into my lap.” She was right. When we were fourteen, she effortlessly stole my father’s love. Now, she commanded my husband’s devotion without even trying. Down the hall, I saw Gibson ushering Rowan toward the VIP elevator. Rowan looked relaxed, hands in his pockets, completely at ease. A crushing wave of fatigue hit me. I was done. I was done fighting Stella. And I was done with Rowan Pierce. The elevator doors were held open. Gibson, ever the opportunist, enthusiastically waved both Stella and me over to join them for the ride down to the lobby. The car descended in heavy silence. Gibson couldn’t resist kissing up. “Mr. Pierce, I must say, you and our Director Davis make quite the striking pair.” “A match made in heaven, really.” A few other executives chimed in immediately. “Absolutely. We actually heard a rumor you two tied the knot! Mr. Pierce is truly a romantic, choosing our firm just to support his wife’s career.” I stood in the corner, entirely numb. My heart didn’t even skip a beat at the horrific irony. Suddenly, I felt a heavy, burning stare fixed on the side of my face. I slowly turned my head. Rowan’s jaw was clenched tight, his face drained of color. Gibson nudged my elbow, practically demanding I join the praise chorus. “Isn’t that right, Sienna? Don’t they make the perfect couple?” The stainless steel doors glided open to the lobby. I looked Rowan dead in the eyes. My voice was eerily calm. “They really are a perfect match.” Panic flared in the depths of his dark eyes. His lips parted as if he wanted to scream something.

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Three years after we broke up. Dante and I met again in the glittering lobby of a five-star hotel. I was working the front desk. He was checking into the presidential suite with a woman on his arm. That night, I received three calls from his room. The first time, he said, “The sheets need changing.” I had housekeeping handle it. Two hours later, he called again, demanding another change of sheets. I complied. At two in the morning, his third call came through. I cut him off before he could speak, my voice a mask of polite refusal. “I’m sorry, sir, but housekeeping has gone home for the night.” A low chuckle came through the line, lazy and careless. “Then you come change them.” 1 I didn’t grace him with a response. I just hung up. My job was at the front desk, not cleaning rooms. My colleague sidled over, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Was that the guy in the presidential suite again?” When I nodded, she smothered a giggle behind her hand. “Making housekeeping change the sheets three times in one night… that man has some serious stamina.” She leaned closer. “So what did he say when you told him they were off duty?” “He told me to go up and do it,” I said flatly. Her eyes widened for a second, then she let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Does he think renting the presidential suite makes him king of the world? So disrespectful. It’s not like he owns the place, treating us like his 24/7 personal maids…” Her rant was cut short by the trill of her desk phone. She cleared her throat and answered it professionally. A moment later, her voice was laced with deference. “Yes, Mr. Henderson.” I couldn’t hear what the manager said on the other end, but my colleague’s eyes shot to me, wide with disbelief. “You want Ava to go to the presidential suite… to change the sheets? Right now?” 2 Fifteen minutes later, I stood outside the presidential suite, steeling myself before pressing the doorbell. The door opened to reveal Dante, clad in nothing but a plush hotel bathrobe. His eyes met mine, and he stepped aside, a silent invitation to enter. From the bathroom, I could hear the faint sound of a running shower. He led me into the bedroom and then sank onto a nearby sofa. He casually plucked a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it, the picture of cool indifference. I moved to the bed in silence and pulled back the duvet. The damp stain on the sheets hit me like a physical blow. A dull, heavy ache bloomed in my chest. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his voice a lazy drawl, tinged with the weariness of a man utterly satisfied. “Sorry for the trouble. My girlfriend gets a little… carried away. Can’t sleep on them like this.” He gestured with his cigarette. “Be quick about it, would you? She’s exhausted.” “It will only take five minutes,” I managed, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart. My hands moved with practiced efficiency, stripping the soiled linens and replacing them with fresh, crisp ones. I gathered the dirty sheets into a bundle and turned to leave. But he was suddenly there, blocking my path, closing the distance until my back was pressed against the edge of the bed. He leaned in, and I stumbled backward, falling onto the mattress. In the next second, he was over me, his weight pinning me down, his body an unmovable force. The shower was still running. My hands clenched, pushing against the mattress as I tried to sit up, but it was useless. He was too strong. I pushed against his chest, my voice a frantic whisper. “Your girlfriend will see. Get off me.” His eyes were cold, his breath a sharp mix of alcohol and something else, something dangerous, as he leaned close to my ear. “All these years, Ava,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “I’ve never understood.” “Why him? Of all people, why did you have to cheat on me with him?” 3 The sound of the shower cut off abruptly. But he didn’t move. Panic clawed at my throat, and I did the only thing I could think of. I bit down hard on his forearm. He let out a muffled grunt, his brow furrowed in pain, and his grip loosened just enough. I shoved him away, scrambling off the bed and grabbing the bundle of linens. I fled like my life depended on it. Just as the heavy door clicked shut behind me, I heard a woman’s soft, cloying voice drift from the room. “Honey, if you make them change the sheets again, I’ll be too embarrassed to show my face tomorrow.” His reply was lost to me as I hurried down the silent, carpeted hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. The wild thumping only began to slow as the distance between us grew. It’s not like I hadn’t wondered what it would be like to see him again. But I had never, not in my darkest imaginings, pictured this. Three years, and his hatred for me was still this raw. It would have been better if our paths had never crossed again. 4 Back at the front desk, my colleague was buzzing, ready to gossip. “Do you have any idea who that guy in the presidential suite is?” It was late, and I was exhausted, in no mood for chatter. But she was too wound up to notice. “I just looked him up. He’s Dante Jennings! The heir to the Crestview Jennings fortune.” “It’s against policy to look up guest information,” I said, my voice tired. “I was curious! No wonder our manager jumped when he called at two in the morning.” She leaned in, her voice dropping. “I did a quick search, and it’s all over the internet—that multi-billion-dollar inheritance war their family had three years ago. Apparently, Dante got seriously ill at the worst possible time and almost lost his claim as the heir.” She rattled on, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. “He had a girlfriend back then, his first love, they said. She was a real piece of work. The second she saw he was on his way out, she cheated on him. While he was lying in the ICU, she just up and left him for another man. It almost killed him! But he pulled through, thank God.” “People online still trash her. They call her the worst kind of gold-digger. She must be kicking herself now, throwing away her chance to be Mrs. Jennings.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Oh, but you haven’t heard the craziest part. Do you know who she cheated on him with?” Her voice was a relentless buzz in my ears. “Yes,” I said quietly. “I know.” She raised her voice slightly. “You know? You’ve read the stories too?” I slowly turned to face her, my expression calm as I met her wide, curious eyes. “I don’t need to read the stories.” My voice was even, devoid of emotion. “I’m that girlfriend. The one who cheated on him.” Her face froze, the gossipy smile wiped clean, leaving only stunned silence. 5 Meeting Dante was the most beautiful accident of my life. It started when I saw a man harassing a girl on the street. I didn’t think; I just acted, kicking the creep right where it counts. I dragged him to the police station, and Dante, amused, followed me the whole way. He was leaning against the entrance when I came out and asked for my number. One thing led to another, and soon enough, we were inseparable. The day he told me he loved me, I asked him why. He just smiled, a playful glint in his eye. After a long moment, he took my hand. “I think I fell for you the second I saw you kick that guy in the balls.” He was such a tease, always messing with me. We were together for a long time. He bought an apartment near campus, and we fell into the easy, sweet rhythm of any normal couple in love. My parents divorced when I was young, and I was raised by my grandmother. One day, while we were video-chatting, she mentioned she was having trouble eating because she’d lost some teeth. The very next day, Dante took her to the best dentist in the city and paid for a full set of dental implants. Later, I hesitantly brought up the cost. It was tens of thousands of dollars. He’d signed the check without blinking, but I had no idea how I could ever repay him. He saw the worry on my face. “Don’t worry about the money, Ava. It’s on me.” I looked at him, my voice small. “What if… what if we break up someday? You won’t make my grandma give them back, will you?” He burst out laughing. Back then, I knew he was wealthy, but I had no idea of the scale. Not until I was complaining about my university scholarship being delayed. The very next day, the entire process for the Jennings Corporation scholarship was streamlined. The announcements were made, and the funds were distributed that same afternoon. That was when I learned he was that Jennings. The one from Crestview. 6 Then his father passed away. The battle for the Jennings fortune was the story of the year. It turned out Dante wasn’t the only son. His father had a handful of illegitimate children scattered around. Right when the fight was at its most vicious, Dante was hospitalized. Acute kidney failure. He spent more than ten days in the ICU. Two rounds of dialysis did nothing. His kidney function was gone. The doctors, left with no other choice, recommended a transplant. But we waited and waited, and no suitable donor could be found. I went to his half-siblings, one by one, and begged them to get tested. But none of them would. Why would they? With Dante out of the picture, their slice of the inheritance pie would be that much bigger. They were hoping he would die; they certainly weren’t going to lift a finger to save him. I was lost in a fog of despair, with no way out. Dante must have sensed it. He had his lawyer transfer all his personal assets to me. He lay in that hospital bed, his hand, pale and weak, stroking my face, patiently wiping away my endless tears. He told me that meeting me was the one thing in his life he didn’t regret. But then, in a move that shocked everyone… One day I accepted his fortune. The next, I was in the arms of another man. I didn’t stay by his side. I didn’t comfort him through his final days. I betrayed him, jumping ship to a man who had a better chance of winning. And that man was his father’s favorite illegitimate son. 7 The rumors spread like wildfire. Everyone pointed their fingers at me. Dante’s friends cursed me out on sight. “What did you expect? Girls like her don’t have a loyal bone in their body.” “She saw Dante was dying, that he was going to lose the inheritance, and she immediately latched onto the next best thing. Noah Jennings. Damn, she’s a cold-hearted strategist. I really underestimated her.” “Bitches have no loyalty. My dad was right. Play with them, sure, but marry a girl from your own world.” The gossip was everywhere. Dante, hearing it, begged to see me. His friends, despite hating me, came and pleaded with me to go. When I saw him again, he looked even more fragile than before. He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, and his voice trembled. “They’re saying you’re with him. I don’t believe it. I need to hear it from you.” He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “It’s a misunderstanding, right? I know you wouldn’t do this to me.” I pulled my hand from his grasp, my gaze cold and distant. “Dante, I don’t love you anymore.” He flinched as if I’d struck him. His eyes instantly turned red. The proud, untouchable man I knew seemed to crumble right before my eyes, all his arrogance stripped away. To this day, I can still see his face, wet with tears. He clung to my hand, his voice breaking as he begged me not to go. He cried, promising he would fight for the inheritance, for me. He would win it all if I just stayed. But I just stood there, watching him fall apart. Finally, one of his friends couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled Dante away and shoved me out of the room. “Get out! Go run back to your new boy toy and get the hell out of here!” he roared. “Don’t you ever show your face again! If Dante doesn’t make it through this, we will come for you! I swear on my life!” 8 I finally got off my night shift at 8 a.m. I’d been asleep for less than four hours when my phone rang. It was my colleague, telling me to get back to the hotel immediately. The guest in the presidential suite had reported a valuable item missing. All sleepiness vanished. I threw on my clothes and rushed back. When I walked into the hotel’s meeting room, the first person I saw was Dante, lounging on the sofa. His girlfriend was nestled against him. My manager stood off to the side, a strained, apologetic smile on his face. Dante’s girlfriend had discovered this morning that a pair of diamond earrings, valued at half a million dollars, were missing from her room. The only people who had been inside their suite last night were me and the housekeeper. The housekeeper had already been questioned and searched, with nothing found. The woman pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me, her voice dripping with disdain. “Strip. Let’s see what you’re hiding.” 9 My eyes instinctively flickered to Dante. He had watched my every move last night. How could I have possibly stolen anything right under his nose? But he showed no intention of defending me. He just sat there, one leg crossed over the other, a cold, detached observer to my humiliation. My manager scurried over, whispering, “We can’t afford to offend him, Ava. Just… play along. It’s just for show.” I clutched my shoulder bag tighter, lifting my chin in defiance. “If you suspect me of theft, then call the police. You have no right to search me yourselves.” At that, the woman shot to her feet, her tone becoming sharp and aggressive. “My boyfriend is a very busy man. We don’t have time to waste at a police station. Those earrings are worth over half a million dollars. They were a birthday present from him.” She glared at me. “I knew there was something off about you last night. I step out of the shower and you’re practically sprinting out the door. If you weren’t guilty, why were you in such a hurry to run away?” Before I could react, she lunged forward and snatched my bag. I held on tight, refusing to let go, but she was surprisingly strong. With a final, vicious tug, she ripped it from my grasp. The zipper screeched open as she turned the bag upside down, shaking its contents onto the floor. A small, crystal moon hit the polished wood and shattered into a dozen pieces. Dante’s gaze fell on the broken shards. For the first time, a crack appeared in his stoic facade. He swallowed hard, his voice low and gravelly. “That’s enough. Stop it.” He turned to his girlfriend. “I’ll buy you a new pair tomorrow. Pick whatever you want.”

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I’m a clinger. I was doing it again, wrapping myself around my boyfriend, Alex, begging for one more goodnight kiss. That’s when the comments popped into my vision, floating in the air like ghostly text messages. [Can the side character get a clue? He’s obviously trying to pull away.] [He’s got an avoidant attachment style, duh. He hates physical contact, and she’s walking right into the line of fire.] [FYI, what he needs is a partner who can guide him, like the main female lead.] [Don’t worry, the female lead is about to show up. This clingy, useless girl is gonna get dumped hard!] I froze for a second, then slowly unwound my arms from around his neck. A moment later, Alex’s head shot up. A flicker of annoyance darkened his eyes, and his voice was a low rasp. “Why’d you stop?” 1 My heart stuttered. My gaze darted away, suddenly unable to meet his. Under that sharp, intense stare, I secretly clutched the bedsheets and mumbled, “I’m just tired.” Alex stared at me for two silent seconds. He must not have seen anything unusual in my expression. A moment later, he rolled over, his voice flat. “Then sleep.” I looked at the cold, rigid line of his back, a bitter taste filling my mouth. I got up, switched off the lights, and climbed back into bed. The comments echoed in my mind, so I huddled at the very edge of the mattress, putting as much space between us as possible. I wouldn’t bother him by pressing against him anymore. Maybe then… he’d hate me a little less. Lying in the dark, listening to the sound of his deep, steady breathing, my thoughts began to drift. Deep down, I think I always knew. Alex didn’t really love me. Since we started dating, he’d always been lukewarm, keeping me at arm’s length and resisting any real intimacy. But I’m a clinger. I wanted to be with him every second of every day. He never said anything, but the slight furrow of his brow, the tension in his jaw—it was all there, screaming his reluctance. I just never let myself see it. I even lied to him, telling him I was scared to live alone, just so I could wear him down and move into his place. Then I pushed it further, ending up in his bed, in his room. Every night, I’d cling to him like an octopus, my limbs tangled with his. He allowed it, but now that I think about it, his first instinct was always to refuse. I just wanted to be near him so badly that I ignored all the signs. So the comments I saw… they were probably right. A heavy weight settled in my chest. The more I thought about it, the more it hurt, and it was long past midnight before I finally fell asleep. 2 When I woke up, I was back in Alex’s arms, my right hand wrapped tightly around his waist. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. After a moment of disorientation, a wave of frustration washed over me. I’d gotten so used to sleeping like this, I must have reached for him in my sleep. If Alex woke up and saw this, he’d be so annoyed. Slowly, carefully, I began to retract my arm, trying to slip away without him noticing. I was almost free. But then, his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. I looked up, my eyes meeting his. They were dark and deep. He must have just woken up, too. His voice was still rough with sleep. “What are you doing?” I yanked my hand back in a panic, bracing my arms against his chest to push him away. “It’s—it’s getting late,” I stammered. “We have to get to work.” Alex didn’t say anything, just stared at me with a blank expression. But even without looking at him, I could feel a low-pressure storm gathering around him. [He’s definitely in a bad mood because she was cuddling him again.] [Seriously, who likes being held while they sleep? It’s so uncomfortable.] [Right? She’s a grown woman. Can’t she have a little self-awareness?] [I wouldn’t be able to stand a clinger like that either. No wonder he’s pissed.] I looked down, my eyelashes fluttering. The comments made my cheeks burn with shame. As I stood there, frozen with uncertainty, Alex’s deep, magnetic voice came from above me again, impossible to read. “About that goodnight kiss from last night… want to make up for it now?” Before, whenever Alex went on a business trip and missed our good morning or goodnight kisses, I’d make him pay them back. I was like a loan shark about affection—if he missed one, he owed me ten. The first time I’d told him that, he’d almost laughed in disbelief. “Sophie, don’t you think that’s a little much?” I’d just blinked, completely oblivious, and cupped his face in my hands, planting kiss after kiss on him until I was satisfied. I guess it happened so often that he just got used to it and stopped showing his resistance so openly. But remembering how he’d subtly dodged me last night, I knew he didn’t really want to. So I waved my hands frantically. “No, it’s okay!” I said, then looked down at the floor, adding in a small, unconfident voice, “We don’t have to do the good morning and goodnight kisses anymore.” Alex watched me, his gaze hardening. After a long moment, he said flatly, with what sounded like a hint of defiance, “Whatever you want.” I quietly let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. But at the same time, a familiar ache spread through my chest. He really did see it as a burden. 3 After a quick shower, I found Alex had already made breakfast. He was always faster than me. By the time I sat down, he was already finished, his eyes fixed on me as I ate. I started eating faster. “No rush,” he said, his brow furrowed. I nodded, my cheeks full. Ten minutes later, Alex was ready to drive me to work, just like always. But we were running late. The comments flared to life again, practically buzzing with excitement. [If I remember right, today’s the day he meets the female lead, isn’t it?] [Yep! She starts at his company today. She’s super competent, great with people, and most importantly, she has a sense of personal space.] [See? That’s why he won’t feel pressured around her.] [Once he gets a taste of what a real partner is like, he’ll dump this clinger in a heartbeat.] My vision blurred. So today was the day he’d meet her. My heart felt heavy, and the air around me suddenly seemed thin. Seeing me just standing there, Alex prompted, “Get in the car.” I didn’t move. “You can go ahead. I’ll get to the office myself.” He got out of the car, his long legs closing the distance between us in a few strides. His gaze was sharp, analytical. “You’re angry,” he stated, not a question. “It’s because I dodged your kiss last night, isn’t it?” I looked up at him, bewildered. “No, of course not.” How could I be angry? The comments just made me realize what a clingy person I was. I was just trying to fix it. Alex obviously didn’t believe me. He stepped closer. “Then why won’t you let me drive you?” My eyes flickered away. I couldn’t tell him the real reason. “I just think… we should give each other a little more personal space,” I said, my voice laced with guilt. He paused, clearly not expecting that. He didn’t press any further. “…Fine. I’ll pick you up after work.” He didn’t wait for my answer, just left me with those words, got back in his car, and sped off. I was distracted all day. The comments said Alex was going to drive the female lead home, that he wouldn’t be coming for me. They mocked me for being delusional. When I stepped out of my office building, my heart pounding with nervous anticipation, his car wasn’t there. Normally, he’d be here ten minutes early. I stared at the empty spot on the curb for a while, lost in thought. Suddenly, a bright voice called out from behind me. “Sophie? What are you doing just standing here? Can’t get a ride?” I turned around. It was a young guy with a stylish flair, a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. He’d just started a few days ago and was full of energy. “It’s rush hour,” he continued. “Don’t even try the subway. I can give you a lift on my bike.” My first instinct was to say no, but the sky was already growing dark. I nodded. “Thanks.” Jax was a good head taller than me and easily slipped the helmet over my head. “No problem.” But in the next second, a long, insistent car horn blared behind us. Before I could react, Alex was out of his car. He walked right up to me, laced his fingers through mine, and lifted the helmet off my head. He handed it back to Jax with a casual air. “Hey,” he said, his voice deceptively light. “I’m Sophie’s boyfriend. Alex.” Jax blinked, then a mischievous grin spread across his face. “You’re not doing a very good job as a boyfriend, are you? We’ve been off work for a while now.” 4 Alex’s eyes narrowed dangerously. The air grew thick with tension. I gently squeezed his hand, trying to break the stalemate. “Alex, let’s go home.” Then I waved to Jax. “We’re gonna head out. See you tomorrow! Ride safe!” On the way to the car, Alex’s mood was dark. He walked so fast, his long legs eating up the pavement, that I had to jog to keep up. Once we were inside, I looked at his cold, chiseled profile, about to explain. But the words died in my throat. My eyes had drifted to the dashboard, and there, nestled behind the windshield, was a cute little cat plushie. Alex hated cats. And that plushie wasn’t there yesterday. [Hehe, that adorable little thing? Obviously a gift from the female lead.] [Look at the side character’s face. She totally knows what’s up.] [Just break up with him already. Save yourself the humiliation.] [And she probably thinks he was being jealous back there. As if. No guy wants to look like his girlfriend is cheating on him, that’s all.] I blinked slowly, forcing down the stinging sensation in my nose. The comments were right. He really did drive the new girl home. And he even let her put that cat plushie—a reminder of something he disliked—right in his line of sight. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before Alex asked me to leave. I sniffled, quietly scooting a little farther away from him. 5 If we were going to break up, I didn’t want it to be a complete mess. So that evening, after eating the dinner Alex had cooked, I waited until he was busy in his study. Then, I secretly started moving my things from his bedroom into the guest room. I didn’t bother him while he worked, didn’t pester him to come to bed early to keep me company like I used to. After my shower, I climbed into the guest bed alone and pulled the covers up over my head. My feet were cold. Maybe from now on, there would be no one to warm them for me. As my mind wandered, there was a knock on the door. I shot up, startled. Opening the door, I hid my body behind it, poking just my head out. “Alex? Do you need something?” He blocked the door with his foot, his gaze unreadable and intense. He did not look happy. “Why did you move in here?” I avoided his eyes and mumbled, “I wanted to sleep by myself.” Alex’s brow lowered, his stare pinning me to the spot. The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop a few degrees. “Why?” he asked, his voice cool. I knew moving rooms so suddenly was strange. Staring at the floor, I recited the excuse I’d prepared. “Well… you said before that I’m a restless sleeper. I was afraid I was bothering you, so I thought I’d move out for a bit and try to fix the habit.” “We’ll sleep together,” he said instantly. “I’ll help you fix it.” His words made the tips of my ears burn. It was such a simple sentence, but coming from his deep, clear voice, it felt incredibly intimate. My mind flashed back to all those nights we’d spent tangled together. He never wore a shirt to bed, and I loved the heat of his bare chest against my back as he held me. But I was the one who forced him to do that. I was always the one demanding he hold me from behind as we slept. He probably hated it. A wave of guilt washed over me. But before I could answer, he reached out and took my hand. I flinched back as if I’d been shocked, pulling my hand away. His expression darkened. I steadied myself, my lips pressed into a nervous line, and quietly refused. “No, it’s okay. I think I’m fine sleeping alone. I… I just want some personal space.” Alex watched me for a long moment, then nodded. “…Fine. As long as you don’t regret it.” 6 It was the weekend, so both Alex and I were home. He did something he never did: he invited me to the media room to watch a movie. A thriller. I hesitated. If I was in the same room with him, I knew my fear and old habits would kick in. I’d end up trying to burrow into his arms. But Alex hated that kind of physical contact. Whenever we watched movies before, I always had to beg and plead for ages before he’d finally let me curl up against him. And even then, he’d sit ramrod straight. If there was a kissing scene, he’d gently push me away. “It’s… getting a little warm in here,” he’d murmur. Once, I reached up to touch his face, and he flinched away like he’d been burned. Before I could ask what was wrong, he was making an excuse to go to the bathroom, desperate to get away from me. Love is in the details. So is the lack of it. Remembering all that, I shook my head, my heart aching as I turned him down. “Maybe not…” Just then, the doorbell rang. I seized the opportunity to escape, scrambling to answer it. Standing on the doorstep was a girl I’d never seen before. Her hands were behind her back, and she gave me a bright, sunny smile. “Hi! I’m looking for Alex.” I blinked. [Aaaah, it’s our female lead!] [She’s so pretty when she smiles! She has so much life in her. Her and Alex are a perfect match.] [She came all the way here to put the side character in her place, right?] Reading the comments, I instinctively took a step back and called into the house, my voice a little shaky. “A-Alex, someone’s here for you.” A moment later, Alex appeared at the door, dressed in lounge clothes. The girl, Grace, brought her hands forward, revealing a soft, fluffy white pillow. A pair of adorable dimples appeared in her cheeks as she spoke, her voice gentle. “I heard you weren’t sleeping well, so I picked out one that’s supposed to help with sleep.” Alex took it, his face unreadable. “Thanks.” They chatted for another minute. I just stood there, my legs feeling like they were filled with lead. [Does anyone else get the subtle genius of her gift? A pillow is intimate, but not too forward, and it hits his exact problem!] [Our girl is so thoughtful and knows her boundaries.] [If I remember correctly, the pillow he’s using now is one the side character bought him, right? It’s about to be replaced.] [That’s how it’s done! First, you replace her things, then you replace her.] I lowered my eyes, about to slip away unnoticed. But then, Grace called out to me, her eyes curving into a smile. “You must be Alex’s girlfriend, right? You’re so beautiful. By the way, my name is Grace. I love cats, too.” I was confused. Before I could say anything, Alex was already ushering her out the door. He disappeared into the bedroom and came back out holding another pillow—the one I had bought him. He handed it to me, his expression neutral. “You don’t have a pillow in your room, do you? Use this one.” He paused, then added, “This one’s more comfortable.” I stared at it for a moment before my hand moved to take it. A bitter taste filled my mouth as I forced the word out. “…Okay.” The comments were right again. He’d chosen the pillow Grace gave him and returned mine. He even came up with a ready-made excuse, probably afraid I’d make a scene. I knew this was just the beginning. I practically fled back to my room. 7 I stayed in my room all day. Alex knocked a few times, asking what was wrong, but I just brushed him off with excuses. Later, the doorbell rang again. It was Jax, dropping off a contract for me from our boss. But when the door opened, he was met with Alex’s thunderous expression. Alex was in the middle of making dinner, his sleeves rolled up. “Sophie’s busy. You can give it to me.” Then he added dismissively, “You can go now if you’re done. I’m a busy man. After all, not every guy knows his way around a kitchen like I do.” Jax scratched his head, peering past Alex into the house. “You need cooking skills to heat up takeout?” Alex’s face got even darker. He was practically shoving Jax out the door. “Sophie and I have some… private things to take care of.” In reality, the “private thing” he was talking about was just him rubbing my stomach because I’d eaten too much. After dinner, I don’t remember when I fell asleep. When I woke up again, I knew what I had to do. I found Alex in the laundry room, washing my underwear. A pink scrap of lace was being gently kneaded between his fingers. My face instantly flushed crimson. Pushing down the flutter in my chest, I walked over to him and spoke slowly. “Alex, I want to move out.” His hands stopped. He was silent for a long moment. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like he started scrubbing with more force. “Weren’t you scared of living alone?” “Is it because of…” He didn’t lift his head, his voice low and raspy. He never finished the sentence. I couldn’t admit I’d lied to him before. “I can learn to get over it,” I mumbled. He kept his focus on washing my things, saying nothing. I followed him as he moved to hang them up, a nervous knot in my stomach. I couldn’t tell what I wanted more—for him to agree, or for him to say no. So I asked again. “Can I?” After hanging the last piece, Alex finally turned to look at me. His dark eyes were like bottomless pits. He ground his teeth, and his voice was cold. “If you’re already planning to leave, what do you need a boyfriend for? We might as well just break up.” I froze on the spot. The comments, however, exploded with joy. [This is what he’s really been thinking, isn’t it? He’s wanted to break up with her for ages.] [About time she got the hint.] [Go, go, go! Make room for our female lead!]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “581059”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel