On the day the results for the National Physics Olympiad Selection were posted, the bulletin board at Oakwood Prep was packed. I, Logan, was at the very top. As always. Chloe was second. Also as always. The gap between our scores was always prepensely and precisely locked at exactly 0.5 points. She was the crown jewel of Oakwood Prep—the heiress to a billionaire estate, as arrogant as a peacock. I, on the other hand, was the scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks, cold and unbreakable as a block of ice. “Logan, is this the piece of trash you call study notes?” Chloe’s voice cut through the murmuring crowd. Between her manicured fingers, she was pinching the physics notebook I had stayed up all night organizing. Just yesterday, in the pouring rain, she had cornered me at the lab door with red rims around her eyes, begging to borrow it. At the time, she had sniffled, “Logan, I just want to see how the top scorer thinks. I don’t want to lose so embarrassingly next time.” But now, right in front of the school’s top academic elite, she tossed that heavily annotated notebook directly into the trash can outside the hallway as if it were a piece of used tissue. ####

With a dull thud, the notebook landed in the damp waste paper, its leather cover instantly stained with dirt. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She flipped her long, blonde hair, looking down at me with pure disdain. “I brought it home and skimmed through it. It was full of loopholes. Logan, I was just studying my opponent’s weaknesses. You didn’t actually think I needed your help, did you?” Whispers erupted around us. “The ice queen is still the ice queen, huh?” “The nerd finally tripped. I heard he never lends his notes to anyone, but he made an exception for Chloe.” I stood there, staring at her, my face completely expressionless. “Are you done?” I asked, my voice flat and devoid of any emotion. Chloe blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She probably expected me to blow up or look devastated. Clenching her jaw, she sneered, “Don’t bring this kind of garbage near me again. After all, our relationship begins and ends with being rivals.” With that, she turned on her heel like a victorious general, leading her clique of girls down the hallway. Under the watchful eyes of everyone, I walked over to the trash can, bent down, and picked up the dirty notebook. There was a deep crease on the cover. No one else knew that on the very last page of this notebook, there was a Polaroid picture of the two of us—our only photo together. It was taken at the national awards ceremony last year. The backstage area was a chaotic mess, and she had accidentally tripped and fallen right into my arms. A passing photographer caught the split-second moment. In the photo, she was clutching my collar in panic, and I was looking down at her, my eyes softer than they had ever been. At 10:00 PM, I was in the school library. I was staying late to prepare for the final round of the National Team Selection. Outside, thunder rumbled, and a sudden autumn storm slammed against the massive glass windows. My phone buzzed on the wooden table. It was an unknown number. I knew it was her because just this afternoon, Chloe had dramatically left the class Snapchat group and blocked my main account. I tapped the message, and my pupils dilated. *“The third method for that physics problem… you only wrote the beginning in your notebook. I… I can’t solve it.”* I frowned. This demanding, bratty tone could belong to absolutely no one else. But I didn’t reply. I locked my phone and went back to calculating the vector forces on my scratch paper. Ten minutes later, my phone started buzzing like crazy. *“Logan, are you dead? Would it kill you to text back?”* *“And why did you sketch my side profile in your notebook? It’s so ugly! My face is not that round!”* *“During the tournament, why did you slide your eraser to me? It totally threw me off! If it weren’t for your stupid eraser, I wouldn’t have messed up the last question. Did you want to beat me that badly?”* I watched the texts stream in, the tip of my pen digging heavily into the paper. A sketch of her profile? That was from that afternoon in the lab when she was hunched over her desk. I had drawn it unconsciously. I thought I had hidden it well enough, but she had found it. The messages kept coming, getting more ridiculous by the second. *“Logan, are you an idiot? I threw your notes in the trash! Why didn’t you yell at me? You could have at least cursed me out! You acting all calm makes me feel like I’m the only one losing my mind here!”* *“It’s pouring outside, and I don’t have an umbrella. I’m standing right outside the library. I know you’re in there.”* *“If you’re willing to explain the last problem to me, bring an umbrella and come out. If not… I’ll just stand here until sunrise. It’s just rain anyway. It won’t kill me.”* I turned my head to look out the window. Through the heavy sheets of rain, under the dim streetlamp, I could see a small, fragile figure. She was wearing her thin school uniform skirt, standing stubbornly in the storm like a drenched kitten. Another text popped up. *“Hubby…”* The moment those six letters hit my eyes, my heart skipped a beat. But within two seconds, the message was unsent. Immediately after, a long voice-to-text message appeared: *“I hate you so much. I hate how you’re always so calm. I hate how you make me feel like a complete fool! I hate how you clearly like me, but you’re too chicken to say a single word!”* ####

The last text felt like a final ultimatum: *“Counting down from three. If you don’t come out, I’m… I’m really never talking to you again. Three. Two. One…”* I slammed my textbook shut, grabbed my black umbrella, and bolted out of the reading room. By the time I pushed open the heavy double doors of the library, the spot under the streetlamp was empty. Only a pool of water remained, reflecting the cold white light. And in the middle of that puddle lay a small, pink rhinestone hair clip. I picked it up, my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach. It was Chloe’s favorite hair clip. No one was ever allowed to touch it. Now, it was abandoned in the mud. A dark SUV had just sped away from the curb, its tires splashing rainwater onto the sidewalk. A voice memo on my phone—which had automatically recorded her voice-to-text—captured a faint, deep male voice in the background: *“Miss Vanderbilt, it’s time to go. Your father has been waiting a long time.”* Then, Chloe’s tearful, desperate voice: *“I’m not going back! All he cares about is his business mergers! I told him I’m not going to that closed-off training camp!”* I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It was her family’s security detail. But right after, a wave of cold anger washed over me. If she was going to let them take her, why did she have to text me and mess with my head first? I unlocked my phone and dialed the unknown number. It rang twice before someone picked up. The background was quiet, save for Chloe’s shaky, muffled breathing. “Chloe,” I said, my voice sharp and tense. “…Logan.” Her voice was quiet, thick with tears. “Why did you come out? The three seconds were already up.” “I have your hair clip,” I said, ignoring her question. “Where are you?” “In the car. My dad is sending me to the elite prep camp upstate tonight.” Her voice suddenly cracked, filled with bitter resentment. “Logan, do you think I’m pathetic? I humiliate you in public during the day, and then I cling to you like a desperate ghost at night. Honestly, I disgust myself too.” “What are you trying to say, Chloe?” “I’m saying… I took the photo from your notebook. And I tore out the sketch. You’re free now, Logan. No one’s going to fight you for the top spot anymore. And no one’s going to use ‘academic discussions’ as an excuse to stare at you.” The heavy click of automatic car door locks echoed through the line. “Goodbye, Logan.” The call went dead. I stood in the rain, my knuckles turning white around the pink hair clip. Everyone at Oakwood Prep said Logan was just a heartless, test-taking machine. But only I knew how many calculations I had to run to perfectly maintain that 0.5-point gap right behind her, just to keep her looking back at me. I walked back into the library and opened my notification history. Even though she had unsent the message quickly, the preview on my lock screen still clearly showed those six letters. *Hubby.* It was a stupid nickname from a game of Truth or Dare back in freshman year. She had lost the dare, blushed furiously, and promised that if we both got into Oakwood Prep, she would call me that forever. But once we got in, she put her armor back on, becoming the untouchable heiress once again, acting as if that promise had never existed. I sat back down at my desk and flipped to the damp last page of my notebook. Underneath where she had torn out the sketch, there was another hidden note I had written in tiny font: *“If the final equation of physics is love, I admit defeat. I am completely, utterly helpless.”* I picked up my phone and sent her my first text of the night. “I’m only explaining the third method for that physics problem once. If you don’t show up at the National Selection next week, I’ll drag you out of the Vanderbilt mansion myself.” Three seconds later, a one-word reply came back: *“Screw you.”* Right after, she sent a picture. It was a selfie taken in the backseat of the luxury SUV. Chloe was hiding in the shadows, wiping away tears, but her hand was clutching the Polaroid photo she had stolen from my notebook. Her caption read: *“Just you wait, Logan. I’m going to crush you next week.”* *** The exam room for the National Team Selection was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I sat right in the middle of the front row. The desk to my left was empty. That was Chloe’s seat. The proctor checked his watch for the third time. Only five minutes left before the doors locked. “Um… son, please place your ID card flat on the table,” the proctor said, tapping my desk. I looked down and realized I was gripping my permit so hard my knuckles were white, the edges of the paper completely wrinkled. “Sir,” I said, my voice dry. “Is Chloe Vanderbilt not coming?” The proctor adjusted his glasses and sighed. “The administration office just got a call from the Vanderbilt family. They withdrew her from the competition. Something about… medical issues.” Medical issues? Bullshit. When she was yelling at me on the phone yesterday, she sounded like a wild cat. Just then, a commotion broke out at the entrance of the hall. A middle-aged woman in a neat maid uniform was arguing frantically with the security guard. When she saw me turn around, her eyes lit up. She broke past the guard and ran toward the window next to my row. It was Maria, the maid from Chloe’s house. Through the glass pane, her face was twisted with panic. She frantically gestured to me, mouth opening wide to silently scream two words: *HELP HER.* I stood up abruptly. “Mr. Logan! The exam is about to start. Where do you think you’re going?” the proctor barked. ####

I stood in the aisle, looking up at the clock on the wall. Two minutes until the exam started. Two hours until it ended. This selection was my only ticket to the International Olympiad, the only way a poor kid like me could secure a full-ride to MIT. It was also the “meet me at the top” promise Chloe and I had made. But now, the peak was still here, and she was gone. I sat back down and picked up my pen. “Sir, you can hand out the papers.” The proctor let out a sigh of relief. “Good choice, kid. Don’t let distractions ruin your future.” The moment the exam paper landed on my desk, I scanned the questions. They were brutal. Truly national-level difficulty. The final, high-weight question involved complex non-linear dynamics. If Chloe were here, she would probably be chewing on her pen, crying her eyes out. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and all I could see was her tear-stained face in that photo, saying *Logan, just you wait.* If I didn’t go, her life might actually be ruined by her father’s forced arrangements. If I did go and abandoned this exam, my life might be ruined too. This choice was harder than any physics problem I had ever solved. But I, Logan, don’t do single-choice questions. I put pen to paper, my hand moving at lightning speed. Because of my speed, the scratching of my pen against the paper was incredibly loud in the silent room. The students around me looked over in sheer terror. Forty-five minutes. It took me exactly forty-five minutes to finish a high-level exam designed for two hours. I wrote down the final derivation for the last question, then slammed my pen onto the table. “I’m turning in my paper, sir.” Amidst the dead silence of the room and the slack-jawed stare of the proctor, I grabbed my backpack, leaped right over the first-floor window sill, and landed in front of Maria. “Lead the way,” I said coldly. “Take me to the engagement venue.” The black sedan sped down the coastal highway. Maria was shivering in the passenger seat while I sat in the back, searching up Chloe’s supposed “fiancé” on my phone—Julian Vance. Julian Vance. The sole heir to the Vance tech empire. A prodigy who entered college at fourteen and won two international gold medals. He wasn’t just rich; he was an intellectual beast. No wonder Chloe’s dad looked down on me. To billionaires, a scholarship kid who got high scores through sheer hard work wasn’t even fit to shine Julian’s shoes. “Mr. Logan,” Maria said, her voice trembling. “The road ahead is blocked. Mr. Vanderbilt has private security guarding the estate. You can’t get in without an invitation. And… I heard Mr. Vance has a horrible temper. Last time a guy tried to talk to Miss Chloe, Julian had his legs broken.” I looked out the window. Indeed, five hundred yards ahead, a security checkpoint had been set up. Several burly men in black suits were patrolling with guard dogs. “Pull over,” I said suddenly. “What? Here?” the driver stammered. “The front entrance is suicide.” I pushed the door open, pointing toward a brick wall adjacent to the estate. “That’s the exhaust vent for the hotel’s kitchen. Based on the architectural blueprint of this estate, that vent has a structural weakness and is constantly under maintenance. There will be a gap.” Maria stared at me like I was an alien. “How… how could you possibly know that?” “Because the blueprint of this hotel was used as a structural stress analysis problem in one of our prep tests.” I ripped off my school tie and wrapped it around my knuckles. “You guys go back. I’ll take it from here.” Ten minutes later, covered in dust and soot, I dropped from the kitchen ventilation shaft onto the backstage area of the grand ballroom. The elegant sound of a violin quartet floated through the air. The master of ceremonies was speaking into a microphone with mock enthusiasm: “And now, please welcome our brilliant groom-to-be, Julian Vance!” The crowd erupted into applause. I hid behind the heavy red velvet curtains, peeking through a gap. Under the massive crystal chandelier stood Chloe. She was wearing a stunning white strapless gown, looking breathtakingly beautiful. But her face was a mask of despair, her eyes completely hollow as she stared at the floor. Beside her stood a guy in a sleek white tuxedo. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, looking like a textbook sociopath with a polished, smug grin. That was Julian Vance. “Chloe,” Julian said into his lapel mic, his voice so smooth it made my skin crawl. “I heard you had a very… passionate rival back at Oakwood Prep? On a big day like today, why didn’t you invite him to bear witness?” Chloe snapped her head up, glaring at him. “Julian, don’t push it. This is a business deal between our families. Leave innocent people out of this.” “Innocent?” Julian adjusted his glasses, his smile widening. “But I heard that just last night, in the middle of a storm, someone called him ‘hubby’ on Snapchat.” ####

The crowd gasped. Chloe’s father, Mr. Vanderbilt, looked absolutely livid. Suddenly, Julian turned his head, his eyes locking precisely onto the curtain where I was hiding. His gaze was filled with the arrogant superiority of a man who thought he owned the world. “Since you’re already here, why play the mouse, Logan? Come on out.” I had been spotted. I had to hand it to him; the gold medalist’s observation skills were indeed top-tier. Taking a deep breath, I ripped the curtain open. Amidst the gasps of the wealthy guests, I stepped onto the polished floor, wearing my dust-covered school uniform, and walked right into the spotlight. The moment Chloe saw me, tears streamed down her face. She frantically shook her head, mouthing: *Go! Get out of here!* I didn’t look at her. I kept my eyes locked on Julian. “Mr. Vance,” I said, brushing the soot off my sleeves. “You got your variables mixed up. Chloe didn’t call me that because she wanted to. It was a dumb Truth or Dare game. But for a guy with a gold medal, you seem pretty bad at distinguishing independent and dependent variables. Her emotions are controlled by me. What kind of constant do you think you are in her life?” The entire ballroom went dead silent. “What? Scared?” Julian looked down at me, casually spinning a multi-million-dollar diamond ring between his fingers. Chloe rushed forward, shielding me like a protective kitten. “Julian! You’re disgusting! Logan is just a high school senior, he hasn’t even taken college-level quantum mechanics! You’re just trying to humiliate him!” “Oh? You care about him that much?” Julian’s eyes went cold. He reached out to grab Chloe’s wrist. “Since your little boyfriend is a coward, why don’t you just put the ring on?” Before his hand could touch her, I intercepted him. My grip was iron-clad. Years of doing heavy labor at my parents’ farm had given me a level of raw strength that this spoiled rich kid couldn’t match. Julian’s face twisted in pain. “Who said I was a coward?” I shoved his hand away, pulling Chloe behind me. “Give me the test.” The guests began to murmur, and Mr. Vanderbilt looked ready to call security, but Julian raised a hand to stop them. A projector screen rolled down, and a incredibly complex quantum mechanics wave function equation appeared on the screen. “Solve the Schrödinger equation for a particle in a finite potential well under these boundary conditions,” Julian sneered. “I’ll give you ten minutes.” Chloe closed her eyes in despair. But looking at the screen, I actually smiled. How incredibly ironic. This exact advanced problem was something I had taught myself and derived in that very notebook Chloe had thrown into the trash—just to show off to her. My annotation next to that equation had been: *“I am like this particle, forever trapped in the potential well called Chloe. No matter how much my probability wave spreads, I can never escape you.”* She had thrown the notebook away, but had she read it? If she had, she would know I could solve this in my sleep. I grabbed the digital stylus and began writing on the smartboard. No hesitation. No pauses. One line. Two lines. Ten lines… As my derivation expanded, the smug smirk on Julian’s face gradually dissolved, replaced by a horrified stiffness. “This is impossible… this derivation isn’t even in the standard undergraduate syllabus…” he muttered to himself. Writing the final symbol, I tossed the stylus aside and turned to face the pale-faced billionaire heir. “Schrödinger’s cat is both dead and alive before you open the box,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “But when it comes to Chloe, there is only one wave-function collapse—she is mine.” The room erupted into chaos. Ignoring the shocked stares of the elite, I grabbed Chloe’s hand. Her fingers were ice-cold and trembling. “Let’s go,” I said. “Where… where are we going?” she asked blankly. “Back to school.” I pulled her toward the exit. As we passed Mr. Vanderbilt, I stopped. The older man was shaking with rage, pointing a finger at me. “Logan! If you dare walk out that door with her, I will have you expelled from Oakwood Prep by tonight! Your scholarship, your Ivy League recommendations—gone! I will make sure you have no future in this country!” Chloe flinched, trying to pull her hand back. “Logan, don’t… I’m not worth ruining your life over…” I tightened my grip, locking my fingers with hers. I turned to the man who held all the wealth and power, my gaze colder than the winter rain. “Mr. Vanderbilt, you have one thing wrong.” “Oakwood Prep didn’t give me a chance. Oakwood Prep needs me to keep their Ivy League admission rates up. As for my future…” I pulled out my crumpled exam permit from my pocket and flicked it in front of his face. “I finished the national selection exam in forty-five minutes. I am absolutely certain I got a perfect score. Once I make the national team and bring back a gold medal, MIT and Princeton will be begging me to join them. Do you think your influence is bigger than the academic prestige of the United States of America?” Without waiting for his response, I pulled Chloe with me and kicked open the heavy oak doors of the ballroom. Outside, the storm had cleared, and golden sunlight was piercing through the clouds. Chloe stumbled along beside me. One of her high heels had slipped off, so she simply kicked the other one off too, running barefoot on the wet asphalt. We ran until we were miles away, finally stopping under a bridge to catch our breath. She slid down against the concrete wall, burying her face in her knees, and began to sob uncontrollably. “Logan, are you an idiot?! *Sob*… You provoked the Vance family, you provoked my dad… What if you didn’t pass? What if you got that equation wrong?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443282”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

One week before the wedding, the hotel suddenly notified me that my reception booking had been canceled. I rushed to open the booking app and swiped to the order page. The status indeed read *Canceled*, and the timestamp showed it was done three days ago. For this wedding, my fiancé, Ethan, and I had stayed up for three consecutive nights. We compared prices venue by venue and tasted every single dish on the menu. How could it be canceled? The hotel must have made a mistake. I dialed the hotel’s number, and someone picked up almost immediately. “Hi, I’m the coordinator for the wedding booked for May 20th.” “I just received a notification saying the reception was canceled. Is there a glitch in your system?” The receptionist paused for a second. “Ma’am, our records show that a Mr. Ethan Carter came to the front desk in person three days ago to complete the cancellation. He signed the paperwork himself.” “Maybe you should double-check with him?” The receptionist’s voice was still echoing in my ear, and my fingers holding the phone went cold. Canceled three days ago? But three days ago, Ethan was still discussing the invitation designs with me. He was still asking if the bridesmaids’ dresses were the right shade of blush, and if we should do another makeup trial this weekend. I hung up, standing frozen in the living room, staring at the wedding itinerary spread out on the coffee table. The door lock clicked. I heard the familiar sound of Ethan kicking off his shoes at the entryway. “Maya, I got those artisan cronuts you love,” his voice called out from the hallway. “I stood in line for half an hour. Managed to snag the very last box.” I didn’t move. He walked in carrying the bag, a bright smile on his face. When he looked up and saw me, his smile faltered. “What’s wrong? Why are you just standing there?” I watched him put the bag on the coffee table. I watched him open the box, get out the forks, and hand one to me, just like he always did. “Try one. They’re still warm.” I didn’t take it. “Ethan.” “Is there something you need to tell me?” His hand froze mid-air. Then, he slowly set the fork back on the box. He looked up at me, forced that same smile back onto his face, and said, “Like what? Oh, about my mom visiting this weekend? She just texted me—” “About the hotel.” He went completely silent. The living room fell dead quiet. He stood on one side of the coffee table, and I stood on the other. Between us was a table littered with wedding pamphlets and seating charts. “The hotel coordinator called me today. She said you walked up to the front desk three days ago and canceled everything.” Ethan looked down, his eyes scanning the papers on the table. “Maya,” he started, his voice incredibly quiet. “I was actually just about to talk to you about this.” “Talk to me? About what?” “The wedding.” He finally looked up to meet my eyes. “I just feel like all of this is so unnecessary. It’s a massive waste of money. Look at this catering bill—thousands of dollars for a venue, thousands more for dinner, just for a few hours of partying.” “And the planner, the DJ, the photographer… that’s another ten grand. If we save this money, think of what we could actually do with it.” I stared at his moving lips, barely processing his words. “But we already agreed on this, Ethan.” “You were the one who said a wedding only happens once in a lifetime. You said it didn’t matter if we went a little over budget.” “You said we needed a top-tier photographer so we wouldn’t have any regrets when we looked back at the photos.” “I thought about it more, and I realized it’s just not worth it.” “Honestly, young couples don’t even do big weddings anymore. An elopement trip is so much better. It saves money and stress. We could go to Napa Valley—you’ve always wanted to go there, right?”

“Ethan.” “Yeah?” “Look me in the eyes.” He did. “Is there another reason?” I asked. “What other reason could there be?” “Do you just not want to marry me anymore?” He frowned, looking irritated. “What are you talking about? When did I ever say I don’t want to marry you?” “Then why did you cancel the wedding behind my back? Why didn’t you tell me?” “I told you. I think it’s a waste of money.” “Ethan.” I cut him off. “We’ve been together for three years. Do you really think I don’t know you? You just got a raise last month, your annual bonus cleared, and the savings your dad set aside for our wedding hasn’t even been touched.” “Since when did you care this much about a few thousand dollars?” He shut his mouth. “If you truly thought the wedding was too much, we could have sat down and talked.” I took a step closer. “Why did you sneak around and cancel it? Why didn’t you consult me?” “Aren’t I consulting you right now?” “This is consulting?” I pointed at the papers on the coffee table. “You already canceled it, and now you’re ‘consulting’ me? This isn’t a conversation, Ethan. This is an announcement!” He took a deep breath and looked away. “I already told my mom.” “You should probably tell your parents, too. Let them know the wedding is off.” A loud buzzing sound filled my head. “You told your mother?” “Yeah.” “And what did she say?” “She said…” He hesitated. “She said it’s our decision to make.” I stared at his profile. “Ethan.” “Give me your phone.” “What?” “Your phone. Let me see it.” His hand twitched backward—just a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch. But I caught it. “See what?” he said, his voice tightening. “There’s nothing to see on my phone.” “You used to let me use it whenever I wanted.” “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you get to audit it every single day.” I walked toward him and reached out. “Give it to me.” He took a step back. “Maya, don’t do this.” “Do what?” “You’re being…” He dodged my hand. “You’re being paranoid. You don’t trust me.” I let out a dry laugh. “I don’t trust you? Ethan, you went behind my back and canceled our entire wedding! You lied to me for three days! And now you’re telling me *I* don’t trust *you*?” He didn’t say a word. His hand was shoved deep inside his pocket, and I knew he was clutching his phone. “Take it out,” I demanded. “No.” “Ethan.” “I said no!” His voice hardened. “My phone is my private property. I have a right to privacy.” “That’s not what you used to say.” “You used to say we didn’t have secrets. You said I could look at it whenever I wanted.” “That was then.” “And what about now?” Silence. I looked at him—at the man I had loved for three years. He stood on the other side of the coffee table, just a few feet away, but he felt like a stranger standing on a different continent. “Are you hiding something from me?” I asked.

“No.” “Then let me see the phone.” “No.” “Why not?” “Because I said so.” I stepped around the coffee table and lunged toward him. He backed up until his spine hit the shoe cabinet near the entryway. “Maya!” I reached for his pocket. He grabbed my wrist. His grip was so tight that a sharp pain shot up my arm, making me gasp. “Let go of me!” “Stop acting crazy!” “Ethan, let go!” His fingers clamped down like steel handcuffs. His knuckles were white. He was terrified of what I would find in that phone. And the more terrified he was, the more desperately I needed to see it. “Maya!” he roared, and shoved me away with all his strength. I stumbled back, losing my balance. My back slammed hard against the drywall, and the impact knocked the wind out of me. He stood at the entryway, his chest heaving, his hand squeezing his phone as if his life depended on it. We stared at each other. Neither of us said a word. After what felt like an eternity, he broke eye contact. “I’m going out,” he muttered, his voice dropping. “We both need to cool down.” He grabbed his jacket, opened the door, and slammed it behind him. The loud bang echoed through the empty apartment. I slid down the wall and sat on the cold floor. I sat there for a long time, until the sunlight faded and the apartment plunged into total darkness. Finally, I dragged myself up and looked for my phone. I scrolled to “Mom” and dialed. She picked up on the second ring. “Maya? Sweetie, why are you calling so late?” Hearing her warm, familiar voice, my eyes instantly stung with tears. “Mom,” I choked out, my throat tight. “The wedding is canceled.” “What? What do you mean?” “Ethan went to the hotel and canceled it. He didn’t tell me. I just found out today.” Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds. Then, my mom’s voice exploded with rage. “What does he mean he canceled it? Who does he think he is? Did you two get into a fight?” “No.” “Then why on earth did he do that?” “He said it’s a waste of money.” I leaned back against the sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling. “He said he already told his parents. He told me to tell you guys.” “That is absolute bullshit!” My mom rarely swore, but she was livid now. “A waste of money? Who was the one begging to have a big wedding in the first place? Who insisted on giving you a beautiful ceremony? And now he claims it’s a waste of money?” I couldn’t find the words to reply. “Maya, tell me the truth. Is there something else going on?” “I don’t know.” “I tried to look at his phone. He wouldn’t let me, and then… he shoved me.” “He shoved you?! That bastard! You stay right there. I’m calling your dad. We are coming over right now!” “Mom, no, you don’t have to—” “Don’t tell me what to do! You stay in that apartment and don’t go anywhere! We’re only a few miles away. We’ll be there in ten minutes.” The line went dead. I tossed my phone onto the couch, stood up, and walked into the bedroom. On the nightstand sat a framed photo of us from our trip to Savannah last year. He had his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder, and I was leaning into his chest, both of us laughing so hard our eyes were squinted shut. On the back of the photo, he had written in his messy handwriting: *Maya & Ethan, Forever.* Forever. How long exactly was “forever”? I threw open the closet, grabbed his clothes, and began ripping them off the hangers, throwing them onto the bed one by one. His t-shirts, his button-downs, his jackets. When I was done, his side of the closet was completely bare, and his clothes formed a messy mountain on the mattress. I sat down next to the pile, staring at it blankly. Then, I stood up and walked into the study. There was an iPad on the desk. It belonged to Ethan, but he usually left it at home for casual use. I knew the passcode. It was the same as his phone—the date we officially started dating. I unlocked the iPad. The screen lit up with his usual apps. His Snapchat and iMessage were synced.

I opened his chat list and started scrolling. Nothing looked suspicious at first. Just work group chats on WhatsApp, a few college friends, and some old threads from days ago. But I wasn’t convinced. I checked his photo gallery, his Safari history—still nothing. Was I wrong? Was he really just being cheap about the wedding? But then I remembered his shiftiness, his defensive body language, and the way he shoved me. I opened his Amazon app. Three orders were currently pending delivery. The shipping address was not our apartment. I stared at the address, burning it into my memory. It was an apartment complex on the other side of town. A place I had never heard of. I tapped on the order details. First order: One week ago. A designer silk dress, size Small, $350. I wore a medium. Second order: Five days ago. A high-end skincare set from Sephora, $280. Not the brand I used. Third order: Three days ago—the exact day he canceled our wedding. A bottle of luxury perfume, $150. Not my scent. I set the iPad down on the desk. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely control them. I tapped on his past order history and scrolled back further. Two months ago: A box of gourmet Swiss chocolates. One month ago: A pair of gold hoop earrings. Two weeks ago: A bouquet of red roses, delivered to that exact same address. The recipient’s name was listed on the shipping label: *Olivia Styles*. I stared at the name “Olivia” over and over, confirming I had absolutely no idea who this woman was. Next, I opened his bank statements, his Uber history, and his food delivery apps. The more I scrolled, the harder I shook. A reservation for a Michelin-star restaurant for two, last Thursday. That night, he told me he had to work late at the office. He didn’t get home until 9:30 PM, claiming he was exhausted and had grabbed a soggy sandwich from the cafeteria. Two movie tickets, two Sundays ago. He told me he had an urgent team meeting. He left in the afternoon and didn’t return until late. I had spent that entire Sunday alone, watching Netflix and waiting for him to come home for dinner. His Uber history showed trips to that apartment complex at least twice a week. The most recent ride was three days ago. I closed the iPad. My phone buzzed. It was a text from my mom: *Your dad and I are downstairs. Coming up now.* I stood up, but my knees felt like jelly. I had to lean against the wall for a moment to steady myself. I walked to the living room, unlocked the front door, and sat back down on the couch. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. My mom burst through the door first, with my dad following closely behind. The second my mom saw my face, her expression softened into deep worry. She rushed over, cupping my face in her hands. “Where did he hit you? Are you hurt?” “He didn’t hit me, Mom. He just shoved me.” “Where?” “My back. Against the wall.” My mom immediately reached to pull up my shirt to check for bruises, but I gently stopped her. “Mom, I’m fine. Really, I’m okay.” “Where is Ethan?” “He left.” “Where did he go?” “I don’t know.” My mom sat down beside me, while my dad stood by the coffee table, his face grave. “Maya,” my dad said, his voice calm but incredibly heavy. “Tell me exactly what’s going on.” I looked at my dad. I told them everything, from the hotel’s phone call to Ethan’s sudden excuses about the budget, to his refusal to show me his phone, and finally, how he shoved me out of the way and walked out. I didn’t mention the iPad yet. By the time I finished, my mom’s face was flushed with anger. “This wedding is off,” she declared. “He has the nerve to lay a hand on you before you’re even married? What happens after? Who does Ethan think he is? Our daughter is way too good for him!” “There is nothing to discuss. If he can cancel a wedding behind your back today, God knows what else he’ll do tomorrow. You cannot marry this man.”

My dad remained silent, keeping his eyes on me. “Maya,” he said softly. “What do you want to do?” What did I want to do? I thought about the Amazon orders. The apartment address. The name *Olivia*. I thought about all the times he claimed he was working late, or attending emergency meetings, or just “too tired” to talk to me. “Dad, I need to confirm one more thing.” I stood up, went into the study, and brought out the iPad. I opened the order history and handed it to my dad. As my dad scrolled through the screen, his eyebrows knitted together. My mom leaned over to look. When she saw the purchases, her eyes widened, and then they welled with tears of pure fury. “That’s not our address,” I said quietly. “And none of those things were bought for me.” The living room fell silent again. My mom wiped a tear from her cheek, while my dad stared at the screen for a long time. “How do you want to handle this?” my dad asked. I looked at him, then at my mother. “I want to wait for him to come back.” “I want to hear what he has to say for himself.” “What is there left to say?!” my mom cried, wiping her eyes. “The proof is right here! He’s a liar and a cheater!” “Mom, I need to hear him admit it to my face.” My dad placed a comforting hand on my mom’s shoulder. “Let her handle this her way, Helen.” My mom wanted to argue, but my dad gently pulled her back. He looked at me and said, “Call us the second you need anything. Doesn’t matter how late it is.” “I know, Dad.” “We’ll head out now.” “Okay.” They walked to the door, but my mom turned around at the last second and threw her arms around me. She hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe. “Maya, I can stay with you,” she whispered. “No, Mom, go home with Dad. I need some time alone.” She let go, looking at me with deep heartache, before finally sighing and leaving with my dad. The door clicked shut, and the apartment was quiet once more. Ethan didn’t come back that night. I sent him a single text: *Come home. We need to talk.* He didn’t reply. I sat on the couch all night, staring at the pile of wedding itineraries, the untouched box of cronuts, and the remnants of a life we were supposed to build together. When the sun began to rise, the door lock finally clicked. I raised my head and watched Ethan walk in. He saw me sitting on the couch and flinched slightly. Avoiding my gaze, he walked straight past me and into the bedroom. I stood up and followed him. He had dragged his suitcase out of the closet and was laying it flat on the bed. He began grabbing his t-shirts, his shirts, and his jackets—the ones I had thrown onto the mattress the night before—and started folding them. “Ethan.” He didn’t stop. “Ethan, look at me.” He kept folding. I walked over and grabbed his wrist. He violently shook me off and continued packing. “We need some space,” he said, his eyes glued to the suitcase. “I’m going to stay at a hotel for a few days. We both need to cool down.” I looked at his hands, watching how carefully he was folding his clothes. “Cool down for a few days?” I asked. “Yeah. Just a few days.” “And then what?” He finally stopped and looked up at me. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed his words. “Ethan,” I said, my voice entirely flat. “Don’t bother cooling down.” He stared at me. “We’re over. It’s finished.” His hand paused for a fraction of a second before he went back to packing. “Maya, don’t be dramatic. I just wanted to save some money because I didn’t think a massive wedding was necessary. Is that really worth throwing our relationship away?” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “To save money?” “Yes.” “To save money for whom, Ethan?” He went stiff. “To save money for Olivia Styles?” “Buying her designer dresses, Sephora skincare, and expensive perfume? Taking her to fancy dinners and movies? Is that where our wedding budget went?”

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For two consecutive months, my clients backed out at the very last second before signing. Instead, they all chose Chloe Bennett, the newly hired intern. No matter how much sweat and tears I poured into a project, she always managed to snatch it from me right at the finish line. Because of my failing KPIs, Marcus Kane, the Director of Sales, had already called me into his office twice. My colleagues sneered whenever they saw me in the breakroom. “Oh look, Vivian got rejected by another client. What a surprise.” But Chloe had never even met my clients. Why on earth did they keep choosing her? It wasn’t until the night before the annual project bidding gala that I suddenly saw translucent words floating in the air before my eyes: *[The female lead is the darling of destiny! This Exchange System is so satisfying!]* *[She’s taking all of the supporting female lead’s resources by exchanging their items. So what if the rival is a senior manager? She’s just a stepping stone for our girl Chloe!]* I stared at the floating text for three seconds. Finally, I understood. It wasn’t that I lacked ability. Chloe had a cheat system. So, I quietly swapped the luxury gift I had prepared for my client with a bag of fresh dog poop.

I prepared two gift boxes ahead of time. One was a gorgeous, Tiffany-blue box. Inside lay a fresh piece of dog poop, wrapped so exquisitely it looked like a high-end French dessert from Ladurée. The other was a plain, brown paper bag. Inside was a vintage bottle of Macallan whisky and a limited-edition Montblanc pen. I placed the Tiffany-blue box in the most conspicuous spot on my desk, wrapping it with the most expensive silk ribbon. Then, holding my coffee, I casually strolled past Chloe’s desk. I slowly slipped the gorgeous box into the outermost pocket of my briefcase. “Tonight’s dinner with Mr. Vance depends entirely on this baby,” I muttered to myself. My voice wasn’t too loud, but it was just enough for her to hear. Once the dinner at the upscale Manhattan restaurant began, I excused myself to the ladies’ room. When I returned, I subtly felt my briefcase. The gorgeous box was still there, but the weight was off. I stealthily opened it. The dog poop was gone. In its place was a cheap, synthetic silk scarf. Chloe sat across the table, her lips curving into a smug, victorious smile. Right next to her hand sat the Tiffany-blue box. She thought she had won. At the climax of the dinner, Chloe stood up. She held the gorgeous Tiffany-blue box with both hands and presented it to Mr. Vance with a sweet, doll-like smile. “Mr. Vance, this is a special gift I personally selected for you. I hope you like it.” Mr. Vance smiled, taking the box and slowly opening it under the expectant gaze of everyone at the table. The moment the lid was lifted, the air in the private dining room froze. A neat pile of dog poop lay peacefully on the black velvet lining. Mr. Vance’s face turned instantly as black as charcoal. He slammed the lid shut and threw the box heavily onto the table. “Chloe Bennett! What is the meaning of this?!” Chloe’s face drained of all color. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. In sheer panic, she shot a frantic look at me. I stood up unhurriedly, pulled the plain paper bag from beneath my seat, and presented it to Mr. Vance with both hands. “Mr. Vance, this is a small token of my appreciation. Just a little something to show my respect.” Mr. Vance took it and opened it. Seeing the vintage Macallan and the limited-edition Montblanc pen, his face finally softened. “At least Vivian knows how to conduct professional business. Some people… not only lack capability, but their character is downright trash.” Chloe slumped in the corner, her face as pale as a sheet of paper. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms they drew blood. *[Hahaha! The green tea bitch got the dog poop!]* *[Vivian is so much smarter!]* A faint, cold smile played on my lips. She probably had no idea that the gorgeous box she “exchanged” from me was a trap I had custom-made just for her.

The moment I stepped out of the restaurant, I heard a trembling, pitiful sob. “Julian… Vivian is here.” I looked up and saw Chloe throwing herself into the arms of my husband, Julian Sterling. Several of our colleagues from Apex Marketing were standing around them, their necks craned, eyes gleaming with pure gossip. Seeing me approach, Chloe raised her tear-stained face, deliberately raising her voice so everyone could hear. “Vivian, I know you hate me because my quarterly evaluations always beat yours. But you didn’t have to humiliate me with dog poop tonight!” “How am I supposed to close this deal after being embarrassed in front of the client like that?” “Even if you’re jealous of my performance, you shouldn’t ruin my career!” As soon as she finished, the crowd gasped. I saw a few colleagues pull out their phones, recording me while whispering to each other. “It’s her. The one who kept losing clients to Chloe. Turns out she’s just malicious and vindictive.” *[Oh my god, how can the supporting character be so evil? Framing the female lead with dog poop?]* *[People like her should be fired, not promoted!]* *[I feel so bad for Chloe. She’s so strong, still trying to work after being publicly humiliated.]* Julian’s face darkened instantly. He pointed a finger at my nose and roared, “How did I end up marrying such a toxic woman!” “You’re incompetent yourself, so you decide to sabotage Chloe?” I stood there, watching them stand side-by-side like a perfect couple. I, the actual wife, looked like an unwelcome intruder. The Tiffany-blue box was clearly snatched by Chloe using her system, yet she effortlessly pinned the blame on me. I hadn’t had time to record the swap during the dinner. If I tried to defend myself now, who would believe me? Just as I opened my mouth, Julian waved his hand in disgust, as if shooing away a stray dog. “Get lost. Don’t ruin our night. I’m taking Chloe to Nobu to cheer her up. She needs to be rested for tomorrow’s meeting.” Leaning against Julian’s chest, Chloe peeked over his shoulder. She shot me a quick, triumphant wink, a smug smirk plastering her face. Where was the crying, victimized girl from a second ago? They turned and walked away without looking back. The crowd, having had their fill of drama, dispersed while pointing fingers at me. I wasn’t angry. Instead, my lips curled up. The next morning at the office, Chloe deliberately strolled past my cubicle. She leaned down, her voice barely a whisper in my ear. “Loser. You’re destined to rot in this cubicle forever. The VP of Operations position is mine.” *[Hahaha, Chloe put her in her place! The rival is just a clown!]* I ignored her. The moment I booted up my laptop, I began plotting my next move. Since Chloe could exchange things from me, I was going to let her “exchange” a beautifully wrapped poison bait. I unlocked my phone, opened Snapchat, and brought up a chat with a contact named “Mr. Harrington.” I tilted my screen slightly, ensuring Chloe would catch a glimpse of the messages as she walked past. *Vivian: “Mr. Harrington, regarding the partnership we discussed last time, I see massive potential. Let’s grab coffee soon to finalize the details.”* Arthur Harrington was a well-known figure in the industry. On the surface, he was a wealthy big shot. In reality, he was a notorious sexual predator whose company was drowning in millions of dollars of debt, on the verge of bankruptcy. But Chloe didn’t know that. As she passed my desk, her eyes lingered on my screen for two seconds before she walked off, pretending nothing happened. I smiled. She had taken the bait. Over the next few days, it was the same routine. I casually dropped Mr. Harrington’s name in front of Chloe, raving about how lucrative his company was and how this contract would secure anyone a partner seat. After a few times, she finally couldn’t resist. She used her Exchange System to “steal” this connection from me. She had no idea that the golden goose she thought she stole was actually a ticking time bomb.

When I walked through the front door of our apartment carrying my briefcase, the laughter in the living room abruptly died. Julian walked out of the kitchen. Seeing me, his face instantly turned cold. “Why are you just standing there like a statue?” “We’re celebrating Chloe’s big win tonight. She just landed a massive client, and her promotion to VP of Operations is practically sealed. Don’t you dare ruin her mood.” Chloe, lounging on the couch, looked up and waved her phone at me. “Vivian, have you signed any clients lately?” “My colleagues keep asking how you’re doing. After all, you used to be the top manager before I came along.” I didn’t reply. I walked straight into my home office and shut the door, blocking out their noise. I opened Instagram. The very first post on my feed was from Chloe, posted ten minutes ago: *[Just landed the legendary Mr. Harrington! Hard work always pays off! 🥂💼]* The comment section was already flooded with dozens of comments from our colleagues kissing her feet: *[Oh my god, you are a sales queen!]* *[VP of Operations is yours! Unlike a certain someone who keeps losing clients and probably only gets base pay now. 😂]* I scrolled down to a post I made three months ago when I won the Employee of the Year bonus. The recent comments on it were filled with disgusting vitriol: *[How did you even win Employee of the Year with this level of performance? Did you steal Chloe’s work back then?]* *[Can’t steal anything now, huh? Enjoy your zero sales!]* My fingers paused. I closed the app and tossed my phone aside. A moment later, Chloe’s voice drifted in from the living room. She was on speakerphone with Marcus Kane, the Director of Sales. “Chloe, darling! I heard about you landing Harrington! Absolute genius!” “Once the quarterly evaluations are officially out, I’m putting you up for the President’s Award and writing your recommendation letter for the VP role. You are the pride of Apex Marketing!” Chloe giggled, her voice dripping with sweet vanity. After hanging up, she yelled toward my room: “Julian! Marcus is writing my recommendation letter!” Julian’s booming laughter shook the walls. I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and pulled up the real background check on Arthur Harrington. The credit report showed his company was $8 million in debt, with seven active lawsuits and two sexual harassment filings pending. I then pulled out a locked document box from the bottom of my safe—one I hadn’t touched in six months. Inside lay twenty folders containing client data, original pitch decks, and communication logs from every single quarterly evaluation over the past year. I photographed every single page to back them up. Every client I had worked hard to secure had magically ended up in Chloe’s name, but my original files were packed with deep market analysis, client pain points, and call logs that she could never replicate. I organized these proofs by date and uploaded them into a double-encrypted cloud drive. The moment the Harrington deal blew up, these would be the final nails in her coffin. Feeling thirsty, I went downstairs to grab an iced coffee. When I returned, my heart stopped. The pitch decks on my desk and the project timelines pinned to my wall had been ripped to shreds, scattered all over the floor. My body trembled with pure rage. “Oh, you’re back?” I spun around. Chloe was leaning against the doorframe of my study, chewing bubblegum. She shrugged, giving me an innocent, doll-like smile. “I came in to look for something and saw all this scrap paper taking up space. Since you’re never getting promoted anyway, these garbage plans are useless. I did you a favor and thrashed them. Don’t mention it.” *[Nice! Those trash files deserved to be ripped!]* *[Why is the rival even hoarding files?]* *[It’s useless anyway. You’re a loser, Vivian.]* On the day of the quarterly evaluation, I was still sweeping up the shredded paper in my home office. Julian banged on the door, telling me to hurry up and get to the office for the meeting. When I arrived at the main conference room, Marcus Kane and the executive board were already seated. The projector screen showed the quarterly performance ranking list. Chloe was leaning back in her chair, sending a voice note on Snapchat: “Yeah, the results are coming out. Landing Mr. Harrington guarantees my top spot. I’m taking everyone out for drinks tonight!” Seeing me walk in, she arched an eyebrow and raised her voice: “By the way, Vivian, once my rank is displayed, don’t you think you owe me an apology? You must have been so bitter being crushed by me every single time.” Julian glared at me, frowning. “What are you standing there for?” “Take notes from Chloe. If you want to keep your job, stop being a useless househusband’s burden and learn something.” Marcus Kane cleared his throat, standing up to announce, “Alright team, let’s display this quarter’s final performance rankings.” He clicked the remote. The spreadsheet appeared on the screen. From the top down… First place, second place, third place… The scroll went all the way to the very bottom. And there, sitting dead last at the absolute bottom of the list, was: *Chloe Bennett.* TheThe entire conference room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. “No… This is impossible! There must be a glitch!” Chloe’s shriek shattered the silence.

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“Don’t touch me.” He shook off my hand, his eyes cold as ice. “Just thinking about sharing a bed with a calculating woman like you for three whole years makes my skin crawl.” Three days ago, he drove through a torrential storm just to buy me my favorite lavender-lemon cake, and ended up in a horrific car crash. Now, his memory had rolled back to three years ago, right when we first got married and he absolutely despised me. Holding his first love close, he crushed the wooden hairpin I had personally carved for him under his heel. “Trash belongs in the trash can.” Today was my birthday. It was also our wedding anniversary. Outside the window, he was setting off a massive display of fireworks across the Manhattan skyline for that other woman. Over the phone, his cold, detached voice came through. “Vivian? She’s nothing but a cheap substitute.” I slid the simple wedding band off my ring finger and signed the divorce papers. Christian Blackwood, I am finally letting you go. Vivian’s POV The smell of disinfectant in the ICU was sharp and suffocating. I stood outside the glass wall, staring blankly at the man hooked up to the ventilator. Christian Blackwood. My husband. The ruthless CEO of Blackwood Enterprises. Three days ago, just to get me a cake from that boutique bakery downtown, his car collided with an out-of-control truck in the middle of a heavy storm. The doctor said he suffered a severe traumatic brain injury. Whether he would ever wake up was entirely up to fate. For three days and three nights, I hadn’t left his side. My tears had long run dry. The heart monitor suddenly spiked. The man on the bed slightly twitched his fingers. My heart leaped into my throat. I rushed into the room like a madwoman. “Christian! Are you awake? Christian!” I grabbed his trembling hand, my tears spilling over again, splashing onto his pale skin. Slowly, those deep, dark eyes opened. After a fleeting moment of confusion, his gaze locked onto my face. There was no warmth. No relief of surviving a near-death experience. Only bone-chilling coldness and pure, unfiltered disgust. He yanked his hand back as if he had touched something toxic. “Don’t touch me.” His voice was hoarse, but it cut through me like shards of glass. I froze, staring at him in disbelief. “Christian… what’s wrong? It’s me, Vivian…” “Vivian?” Christian let out a mocking laugh, his eyes dripping with contempt. “What kind of game are you playing now? My grandfather already forced me to marry you. What more do you want?” It felt like a lightning strike. My mind went completely blank. Grandpa forced him to marry me? That was three years ago! Three years ago, Arthur Blackwood used his failing health to force Christian to marry an ordinary, self-made UN simultaneous interpreter. Me. Back then, Christian’s heart belonged entirely to his high-school sweetheart, Tiffany Sterling. He hated me to the bone, believing I was a gold-digger who used his grandfather to climb into his bed. But over the last three years, I was the one who stood by him through the brutal board battles at Blackwood Enterprises. I spent three years chipping away at his icy heart. Just two weeks ago, he had pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window of our penthouse, whispering against my ear, “Vivian, once this merger is done, I’m giving you the grandest wedding. I want the whole world to know you are my wife.” But now, he was looking at me like I was his worst enemy. The doctors rushed in to run tests. Afterward, the chief neurologist called me out into the hallway. “Mrs. Blackwood, your husband suffered retrograde amnesia from the impact. His memory has reset to three years ago, right around the time of your wedding.” The doctor’s words were a blunt knife sawing at my heart. “Will he… will he ever remember?” my voice shook. “It’s hard to say. He could remember tomorrow, or… he might never remember for the rest of his life.” I don’t even remember how I walked back into the room. By then, Christian’s mother, Eleanor, had arrived. She had always despised me. Now, she was holding Christian’s hand, wiping away tears. “Oh, Christian, you scared me to death! Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll make sure that leech pack her bags and get out of our lives immediately!” Christian leaned against the pillows. Even pale and in a hospital gown, he still possessed the intimidating aura of a billionaire mogul. He looked up, his cold eyes sweeping over me as I stood at the doorway. “Now that I’m awake, this joke of a marriage ends,” he said, his tone casual but incredibly cruel. “My lawyers will draw up the divorce papers. Vivian, take the cash settlement and get out of my sight. I’m going to find Tiffany.” I dug my nails deep into my palms, swallowing the metallic taste of blood in my throat. “Christian, these past three years, we…” “Shut up!” Christian snapped, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Don’t bring up these three years. Just thinking about the fact that I was forced to share a bed with a calculating woman like you for three whole years makes my skin crawl.” My heart shattered into a million pieces. I looked at the man I had loved with every fiber of my being, and he felt like a total stranger. The Christian who used to warm my cold feet under the covers, who would massage my shoulders after a grueling day of interpreting, who drove through a storm just because I casually mentioned a cake… that Christian was dead. He died in that car crash. I took a deep breath, forcing my tears back. “Fine,” my voice was quiet, but steady. “I agree to the divorce.”

Vivian’s POV I returned to our mansion in Greenwich. This place used to be my sanctuary. The cashmere rugs I picked out, the custom couple mugs we made at a pottery class, the framed photo of us chasing the Northern Lights in Iceland… Every corner was filled with proof of his love. The next afternoon, the front doors were thrown open. Christian walked in, looking sharp in a tailored black suit. Right next to him, holding his arm, was Tiffany Sterling, wearing a delicate white dress and looking like a fragile doll. I stood at the top of the stairs, watching their locked hands. My chest tightened so hard it was difficult to breathe. “Christian, the decor here is so depressing. I really don’t like it,” Tiffany whispered, looking around the living room with a pout. Christian looked down at her, his eyes filled with the exact tenderness I used to receive. “If you don’t like it, we’ll throw it all out.” He turned to the butler, his voice instantly turning frigid. “Throw away everything that belongs to Vivian. Re-decorate the entire place exactly how Tiffany wants it.” The butler froze, looking at me awkwardly. “Mr. Blackwood, but… you personally picked out these items with Mrs. Blackwood…” “I said, throw them out!” Christian roared, his glare piercing through me. “Are you deaf? Or does she run this house now?” The maids didn’t dare hesitate. They immediately started packing. I watched my favorite cashmere rug get rolled up. I watched our custom mugs get tossed into a trash bag with a sharp clink. That was the mug Christian had held my hand to mold. “Wait.” I hurried down the stairs, snatching a small wooden box from a maid’s hands. Inside was a wooden hairpin Christian had hand-carved for me on my twenty-fifth birthday. He had told me he would love me forever. “Drop it,” Christian’s icy voice sounded behind me. I clutched the box to my chest, my knuckles turning white. “Christian, this is mine.” “Is there a single thing on your body that wasn’t bought with my money?” Christian stepped closer, looking down at me with utter contempt. “Vivian, did you really think playing the role of Mrs. Blackwood for three years made you the owner of this estate?” He snatched the wooden box from my grip and threw it onto the hardwood floor. Crack. The box splintered, and the wooden hairpin inside snapped in half. Without an ounce of hesitation, Christian stepped forward, grinding the broken hairpin into the dust with his expensive leather shoe. “Trash belongs in the trash can.” My breath caught in my throat. I stared at the broken pieces on the floor. My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear drop. Tiffany stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Christian’s, saying softly, “Christian, let it go. Vivian has lived here for three years, after all. We should leave her with some dignity. Why don’t we let her stay in the basement guest room for now?” The basement room was damp, dark, and usually reserved for temporary cleaning staff. Christian spared me a cold glance. “Since you’re taking your sweet time signing the papers, you can stay in the basement. Tiffany is staying for dinner tonight. You’ll cook. Her stomach is sensitive, and she can’t stand restaurant food.” I snapped my head up to look at him. In the past, Christian never let me cook. He said my hands were meant for professional interpreting, not kitchen grease. If I ever made a meal, he would fuss over my hands for hours. Now, he wanted me to play maid for his first love. “What? You got a problem with that?” Christian stepped into my personal space, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Vivian, learn your place. Until the divorce is finalized, you better keep your head down and keep Tiffany happy.” I looked at his familiar face, suddenly feeling a bone-deep exhaustion. “Fine. I’ll do it.” I turned and walked into the kitchen without looking back. Behind me, the sound of their laughter echoed through the house. It felt like a physical blow, leaving me bruised and bleeding inside.

Vivian’s POV I was a top-tier simultaneous interpreter. For the past three years, to support Christian’s career, I had stepped back and only took on minor translation gigs. Now that Christian had frozen all my credit cards, I had to get back to work to prepare for my departure. I contacted my former mentor and secured a spot as the lead French interpreter for a massive multinational merger. On the day of the conference, I wore a sharp, professional blazer and arrived early at the venue. However, when the acquiring party’s delegation walked through the door, my blood froze. Walking at the head of the group was Christian, looking powerful and intimidating in his bespoke suit. And right next to him was a glammed-up Tiffany. Blackwood Enterprises was the buyer. The moment Christian saw me, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “What are you doing here?” his voice dripped with disgust, as if he had run into a cockroach. My mentor quickly stepped in to explain, “Mr. Blackwood, Vivian is our agency’s most elite French interpreter. She is running the translation for today’s session…” “Replace her,” Christian cut him off ruthlessly. “I don’t want a toxic, manipulative woman near my meetings.” My mentor looked cornered. “But Mr. Blackwood, it’s too late to find a replacement, and Vivian’s professional skills are unparalleled…” Tiffany gently pulled on Christian’s sleeve, offering a sweet, magnanimous smile. “Christian, it’s fine. Since Vivian needs the job, let’s just treat it as charity. Besides, I’m here as the cultural ambassador today. I might need her to explain some complex French terms to me.” Christian scoffed, his eyes scanning my face like a blade. “Since Tiffany is begging for you, you can stay. But you’re not interpreting for the room. You are Tiffany’s personal translator. You translate exactly what she says.” The meeting began. It was a highly technical negotiation filled with complex legal and financial jargon. Tiffany didn’t know a word of French, but she insisted on pretending she was fluent. She deliberately spoke at an insanely fast pace, throwing in American slang, then looking at me mockingly. I kept my face completely expressionless. Using my years of training, I took her incoherent ramblings and translated them into flawless, elegant, and highly professional business French. The French delegates nodded in high appreciation of Tiffany’s “brilliant insights.” During the coffee break, one of the French representatives walked over and spoke to Tiffany in French: “Miss Sterling, your business acumen is truly impressive, and your French expression is incredibly elegant.” Tiffany didn’t understand a word. She turned to me. I translated the compliment perfectly. Tiffany smiled triumphantly and clung to Christian’s arm. “Christian, look! Even the French are praising me.” Christian patted her hair lovingly. “My Tiffany is always the best.” Then, he cast a freezing glare at me, whispering in a voice only the three of us could hear, “See that? That’s real talent. While you, Vivian, even in a designer blazer, are nothing but a glorified shadow speaker, a human Google Translate. You will never compare to a single finger of Tiffany’s.” I stood there, keeping my spine perfectly straight. My years of hard work, my elite education, my pride. All crushed under his boot just to elevate another woman. I didn’t argue. I just lowered my gaze, hiding the dead silence in my eyes. “You are absolutely right, Mr. Blackwood,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “I am just a speaker. Miss Sterling, would you like me to proofread your speech for the second half of the meeting?” Christian sneered at my submissive attitude, grabbed Tiffany, and walked away.

Vivian’s POV The merger was a massive success, and Blackwood Enterprises won big. That night, Christian threw a massive celebration party at a five-star hotel in Manhattan. At the same time, he officially announced his engagement to Tiffany Sterling. The news shocked the city’s high society. Everyone knew Christian had a secret wife of three years. Now that Tiffany was back, the “substitute” was finally being discarded. The next day, my agency received a high-paying project. The CEO’s office of Blackwood Enterprises had sent an email requesting us to translate Christian and Tiffany’s engagement vows and destination wedding invitations into French. And Christian had personally demanded that I do it. My boss looked at my pale face with pity. “Vivian, we can reject this. I’ll make up an excuse.” “No need,” I took a deep breath and took the papers. “I’ll take it.” I went back to my desk and opened the document titled To My One and Only. With just one glance, my tears started falling onto the keyboard. “In this chaotic world, you are my anchor. Without you, I am just a ghost ship drifting in the dark. I would trade all my success just to keep you safe and happy forever…” These were the exact words Christian had written in his journal, with red eyes and a slight slur, on the night we got our marriage certificate three years ago. Back then, he had just reclaimed Blackwood Enterprises, and the company was in a terrible state. I had stayed up with him night after night. He had told me, “Vivian, once I have total control of the company, I am going to read these vows to you in front of the whole world.” Now, he was giving those exact vows to Tiffany. Trembling, I grabbed the papers, walked out of the agency, and took a cab straight to the Blackwood headquarters. The secretary didn’t dare stop me. I pushed open the door to Christian’s office. Christian was sitting at his desk. Seeing me burst in, his face darkened. “Who gave you permission to come in? Get out.” I slammed the document onto his mahogany desk, my voice cracking from the sheer pain. “Christian, do you even have a heart? Do you have any idea who these vows were originally written for?!” Christian glanced at the papers, his eyes turning even colder. “What? Jealous because you saw what I wrote for Tiffany?” He stood up, leaning over the desk, staring at me. “Vivian, are you delusional? I wrote these vows five years ago for Tiffany. I just never got the chance to read them to her. Did you actually think I wrote them for you?” I felt like I was plunging into a freezing abyss. Five years ago? No. He wrote them three years ago. He had even drawn a little lavender flower, my favorite, at the bottom right corner of the page. But he had forgotten everything. He had taken the most sacred memories of our love and handed them to another woman. “Christian, you really… don’t remember a single thing,” I whispered, tears finally escaping my eyes. “You took my soul, my love, and gave it all to her.” “Cut the act. It’s pathetic.” He walked around the desk, grabbing my chin in a grip so tight my bones ached. “A gold-digger who climbed into my bed for money doesn’t get to talk about love. Translate those vows perfectly. If you try to mess with the translation, I will make sure your agency disappears from New York overnight!” He threw me back. I stumbled, hitting my back against the cold wall. Looking at this merciless man, I suddenly started laughing. It was a laugh of pure despair. “Fine. I’ll translate it,” I wiped my tears, pulling myself together. “Don’t worry, Mr. Blackwood. I will make sure it is flawless. I wish you both… eternal happiness.”

Vivian’s POV I walked out of the Blackwood tower, feeling completely hollow. The sky was gray, and a cold rain was falling on my face, but I couldn’t feel the chill. “Vivian!” A warm, anxious voice called out from behind. I turned slowly to see Julian Mercer running toward me, holding a black umbrella. Julian was my colleague and a partner at the translation agency. For the past three years, he had watched me suffer in silence, knowing all the pain I had buried. “What did he do to you?” Julian placed the umbrella over my head. Seeing my ghostly pale face and bloodshot eyes, his heart broke. He quickly took off his trench coat and wrapped it around my shivering shoulders. “Julian…” my voice was barely a whisper, “He gave my vows to someone else.” Julian’s fists clenched. He didn’t say a word. He just gently pulled me into a hug, patting my back. “Let it out, Vivian. Cry. You need to leave him. The UN office in Geneva has a long-term interpreting project. I got you a spot. Come with me. Leave this place and live the life you deserve.” Leaning against Julian’s shoulder, all the pain and humiliation I had bottled up finally spilled out in quiet, shaking sobs. Suddenly, a violent grip grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of Julian’s arms. It was Christian. “Christian! What the hell are you doing?!” Julian snapped, stepping forward, but Christian’s bodyguards immediately blocked him. Christian gripped my wrist so hard it felt like it would snap. His eyes were dangerously dark. “Vivian, I’m impressed. The ink on our divorce papers isn’t even dry, and you’ve already lined up your next husband?” I winced in pain, trying to pull away. “Let go of me! Christian, you don’t have the right to control me!” “Right?” Christian sneered, pulling me flush against his chest. His warm breath hit my cold face. “As long as we aren’t officially divorced, you are still my wife. Parading around with another man in public… are you trying to humiliate me?” He glared at Julian, his voice dripping with malice. “Julian Mercer, right? It seems like your agency wants to go bankrupt.” Julian didn’t back down, locking eyes with him. “Christian, if you don’t love her, let her go. Torturing her like this… does it make you feel like a man?” “What’s mine stays mine, even if I don’t want it anymore,” Christian said coldly. He threw me into the back of his SUV and slammed the door shut. The tension inside the car was suffocating. Christian grabbed my chin again, forcing me to look at him. “You want to go to Geneva? You want to be with him?” A cruel smirk played on his lips. “In your dreams, Vivian. Until Tiffany’s wedding is over, you aren’t going anywhere. If you try to run, I promise you, Julian’s career will be over.” I looked at him, the very last spark of hope in my eyes completely dying out. “Christian, you are pathetic,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Are you keeping me here because you lost your memory, or because… you are too terrified to face who you really are?” Christian flinched as if struck. He angrily pushed me away. “Shut up! Your only purpose is to stay and watch Tiffany be happy.”

Vivian’s POV There were only three days left before Christian and Tiffany’s engagement party. Today, Christian’s assistant dragged me to the most exclusive bridal boutique in Manhattan. “Mr. Blackwood ordered that since Miss Sterling is trying on her wedding gown and the French designer only speaks French, you must be here to translate,” the assistant delivered the order coldly. I stood in the luxurious boutique, watching Christian and Tiffany sitting on a velvet sofa sipping tea. I nodded numbly. Soon, the French designer wheeled out a dress covered in a delicate garment bag. “Mr. Blackwood, this is ‘The Nebula,’ the gown you personally flew to Paris to commission six months ago for your bride. It is finally complete,” the designer introduced passionately in French. Hearing “six months ago” and “The Nebula,” the blood drained from my face. Six months ago, Christian had lied and said he was going to Paris for a business trip. When he came back, he had whispered secretly that he had prepared a massive surprise for our upcoming wedding ceremony. So, this was it. The bag was zipped open, revealing a gown covered in tens of thousands of tiny diamonds, the skirt sparkling like a starry night sky. Tiffany’s eyes lit up, and she gasped. “Oh my god, it’s gorgeous! Christian, did you really customize this for me?” Christian looked at the gown, his brows slightly furrowing. I knew he didn’t have the memory of making this dress, but he simply assumed he must have ordered it for Tiffany five years ago. “As long as you like it,” he said softly. With the help of the staff, Tiffany quickly put on the gown. But when she walked out, she looked ridiculous. The waist was suffocatingly tight, the chest was completely loose, and the hem was way too long. The designer frowned, speaking rapidly in French: “This is wrong. This gown was made strictly according to Miss Stone’s measurements. This lady has an entirely different body frame. Of course it doesn’t fit!” The designer recognized me. Because six months ago, Christian had brought my photos and exact measurements, staying in their Paris workshop for three days and nights to perfect it. I stood there, my fingernails biting into my palms, trying to stop myself from shaking. Tiffany didn’t understand French, but she could read the designer’s expression. She turned to Christian, pouting, “Christian, why does it fit so poorly?” Christian looked at me coldly. “What did he say? Translate.” I took a deep breath, looked straight into Christian’s eyes, and translated in a flat voice: “The designer said this gown was custom-made to my exact measurements.” The air in the room instantly turned to ice. Tiffany’s face twisted in ugly jealousy. Christian’s expression darkened. He looked at the ill-fitting gown on Tiffany, then at my slender frame. A wave of irritation crossed his face. “If the size is wrong, alter it,” Christian said coldly. The designer shook his head repeatedly. “Mr. Blackwood, the design of this dress is seamless. If we forcefully cut and alter it, we will destroy its soul. It is a complete waste of art.” “Translate,” Christian commanded. I translated the designer’s words word-for-word. Christian walked over to Tiffany, wrapping his arm around her waist. He looked down at the designer and me with sheer arrogance. “I paid for it. I can cut it however I want. Since it was made for Vivian, that means this dress is already dirty. Cut it. Alter it to Tiffany’s size. If you won’t do it, your shop will be closed by tomorrow.” My heart, at this very second, died completely. I watched the designer reluctantly pick up the shears. I watched the sharp blades cut through the sparkling fabric of “The Nebula.” Every snip felt like it was cutting through my heart. I watched the man who used to love me rip our memories to shreds and grind them into the dirt.

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On my daughter’s fifth birthday, my husband turned her party into a welcome-home bash for his precious ex. I stood there, clutching the birthday cake, and looked at Ethan Reed. He only frowned, his voice dripping with impatience. “We can celebrate Lily’s birthday another day, Chloe. Stop throwing a tantrum over nothing.” Just then, our five-year-old daughter, Lily, walked through the door. I opened my mouth to comfort her, but Hailey Miller beat me to it. She knelt down, grabbed Lily’s hands, and smiled sweetly. “Hey sweetie, I brought a special gift just for you. It’s in your room!” Innocent and confused, Lily followed her into the bedroom. The next second, a piercing, blood-curdling scream echoed through the house. I rushed inside. There, on Lily’s little bed, lay the cold, skeletal remains of a dog. Right next to it was its fully preserved, intact fur. It was Buddy. Lily’s beloved golden retriever. Lily’s face went dead white. Her chest heaved violently as her asthma triggered on the spot. “Ethan! Get her and her sick things out of my house right now!” I screamed, pulling my trembling daughter into my arms. But Ethan immediately stepped in front of Hailey, shielding her from me. “Hailey hates live dogs, Chloe. She did this so Buddy could stay with Lily forever. She was only trying to be nice!” I stared at him, my heart turning to ash. In that single moment, I realized this marriage was dead.

I held my wheezing daughter tightly, my voice shaking with rage. “That was Buddy! Lily’s favorite dog! What Hailey did will scar this child for life!” Ethan knitted his brows, ready to defend Hailey again. I didn’t give him the chance. With tear-filled eyes, I spat out the painful memories. “Buddy was Lily’s third birthday present. I brought him home when he was just a tiny puppy. She was so happy she couldn’t sleep all night!” “For two years, he ate with her, slept with her, and was her best friend! How could you let this psycho torture and kill him?!” Standing behind Ethan, Hailey sneered, looking completely unbothered. “It was just a cheap mutt, Chloe. Lily isn’t that fragile. She won’t be scarred.” She sighed dramatically. “I was just worried she’d be sad if we simply gave the dog away. That’s why I preserved its bones and fur. Honestly, she should be thanking me for my thoughtfulness.” Her shameless lies shattered the last of my self-control. I lost it. I grabbed the glass cup from the nightstand and hurled it straight at the disgusting pair. The glass slammed hard against Hailey’s arm. She let out a sharp cry of pain. Instantly, her eyes welled with tears, and she bit her lip pitifully. “If I knew Chloe hated me this much, I wouldn’t have come today. I was just trying to be nice, and now I’m accused of ruining Lily’s birthday…” Seeing her cry, Ethan rushed to support her, glaring at me with pure venom. “You are a literal madwoman, Chloe! Not only did you disrespect Hailey, but you also have zero respect for me!” I wanted to scream at him for being so blind, but Lily’s breathing suddenly grew incredibly shallow. Her tiny gasps felt like physical stabs to my chest. Her asthma attack was getting worse. Panicked, I tried to push past Ethan to get the emergency inhaler from the nightstand. But he grabbed my arm, blocking my path. His voice was cold and commanding. “You are not leaving this room until you apologize to Hailey.” I looked at my suffocating, trembling daughter. My heart was being shredded by a dull blade. For Lily, I had to swallow my pride and my tears. I lowered my head and whispered hoarsely to Hailey, “I’m sorry. I lost my temper.” But the moment the words left my mouth, Hailey reached out and shoved me hard. My lower back slammed violently against the sharp corner of the desk. The pain was so intense I couldn’t stand up. Hailey quickly took two steps back, gasping in mock shock. “Oh my god, Chloe, how could you be so clumsy? If you can’t even take care of yourself, how can anyone trust you with Lily?” Ethan instinctively reached down to help me. But Hailey grabbed his arm, her voice sweet and urgent. “Ethan, Lily is still struggling to breathe. We need to check on the baby first.” Ethan hesitated for a fraction of a second, then scooped Lily out of my arms and walked out of the room with Hailey. I slumped on the cold floor. Watching their retreating backs, a bitter ache swelled in my chest. My tears fell silently, mixing with the blood on my bruised hands. I forced myself up, leaning heavily against the desk, and dragged myself to the bathroom. I turned on the shower, letting the hot water wash away the suffocating smell of blood. After cleaning up, I forced my aching body out of the bedroom. The moment I stepped into the living room, a heart-wrenching cry echoed through the house.

I ran into the room. Lily was collapsed on the freezing hardwood floor. Hailey stood beside her, holding an inhaler, looking completely lost. Like a wild animal, I threw myself over my daughter, cradling her. My fingers brushed against her ice-cold cheek as I screamed at Hailey, “What did you do to her?!” Hailey quickly hid the medicine bottle behind her back, trying to look nervous. “I—I was just trying to give her the medicine. I didn’t know I grabbed the wrong one. It was an accident!” Lily’s face was turning blue, her breathing so faint it could stop at any second. I didn’t have time to fight. I ripped the emergency inhaler from Hailey’s hands and pressed it to Lily’s mouth. After a few deep puffs, Lily’s stiff body finally began to relax. Her breathing gradually slowed, and the heavy rock in my chest lifted slightly. With bloodshot eyes, I glared at Hailey. The rage inside me was begging to be let loose. “If you don’t know how to take care of a child, don’t touch her medicine! If anything happens to Lily today, I swear I will ruin you.” Frightened by the raw hatred in my eyes, Hailey shrank back. She immediately hid behind Ethan, her eyes red as she whimpered, “I’ve never taken care of kids before. It was just a mistake. I feel terrible about Lily too…” Ethan wrapped a protective arm around her and turned to me, his face filled with irritation. “If you hadn’t thrown a fit in the bedroom, Hailey wouldn’t have had to step in and watch Lily. This is entirely your fault.” I clenched my fists to shoot back, but the front door opened. Ethan’s parents walked in, carrying expensive gift boxes. The moment they saw Hailey, their faces lit up with joy. They rushed over, grabbing her hands, asking how she was doing, chatting warmly as if she were the daughter-in-law. I stood in the corner, holding my traumatized daughter. Lily and I were like ghosts, completely invisible to their warm family circle. Mrs. Reed spared me a brief, cold glance. Her voice was commanding. “What are you standing there for? I brought fresh seafood. Go to the kitchen and make dinner.” I didn’t want to fight in front of my daughter. I gently patted Lily’s back to soothe her, then walked into the kitchen alone. When dinner was served, Hailey was the star of the table, pouring wine for my in-laws. Then, she picked up a serving spoon, piled my bowl high with various crabs and shrimp, and smiled fake-sweetly. “Chloe works so hard taking care of Lily. You should eat more of this to recover.” I stared at the seafood in my bowl. Silently, I began to pick it out and push it to the side of my plate. Hailey immediately frowned, looking deeply hurt. “Your mother-in-law brought these fresh ingredients herself, Chloe. You won’t even take a bite? That’s so disrespectful.” Mrs. Reed’s face darkened instantly. She snorted in disgust. “What did you expect? She’s just a cursed orphan with no manners. No wonder her parents died early.” The cruel words stabbed deep into my chest. Years ago, it was my parents who helped the Reed family survive their financial crisis, which led to my arranged marriage with Ethan. But on my eighteenth birthday, my parents died in a horrific car crash. Since then, I was branded a “cursed child” who brought misfortune to her own family. Everyone avoided me like the plague. Only Ethan kept his promise, staying by my side and shielding me from the nasty rumors. I thought Ethan would defend me this time, just like he used to. Instead, he reached over, scooped the seafood I had set aside, and dumped it back into my bowl. His voice was firm. “My parents brought this. Hailey is just being a good guest. Eat it. Stop making a scene.” Looking at his cold profile, my memories rushed back. During our first anniversary dinner, the chef had accidentally added shellfish to my dish. I had broken out in hives and could barely breathe. Ethan had been so devastated and angry at himself that he slapped his own face, staying up all night by my hospital bed. But in just a few years, everything had changed. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and whispered, “I’m allergic to seafood, Ethan. I can’t eat this.” Ethan paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. “It’s just a minor allergy. You can handle a few bites. Don’t ruin everyone’s mood.” Looking at his heartless face, my love for him died a little more. I forced myself to take a few bites of the seafood. Within minutes, my neck and arms broke out in angry, itching red hives. The itching spread like wildfire across my skin, and my throat began to tighten. Seeing the severe reaction, Ethan finally panicked. Ignoring his parents and Hailey, he swept me up in his arms and rushed me to the hospital.

In the examination room, the doctor stared at my lab results with a deep frown. “Your allergy levels are off the charts. You have a severe seafood allergy! Why on earth did you eat so much of it?” “A little more, and your airway would have swollen shut. Do you not value your own life?” I kept my eyes down, my throat too tight to utter a single word. Ethan stood beside the bed, quietly apologizing and taking the blame upon himself. Once the doctor left, we were the only ones left in the room. He grabbed my wrist, his voice carrying a tired, defensive tone. “I didn’t mean to force you, Chloe. But today was a special occasion. You embarrassed my parents and Hailey. You were being childish.” He sighed, trying to reason with me. “Hailey isn’t a bad person. We’re going to be a family eventually, so you need to learn to tolerate her. Making a war out of this helps no one.” Hearing him protect Hailey even now, the last shred of my childhood affection for him shattered completely. After the IV drip finished, Ethan drove me back. The moment we stepped into the courtyard, my heart stopped. There, piled in a messy, dirty heap in the corner of the garden, were my parents’ belongings. The picture frames were covered in dirt, and their precious ornaments were scattered everywhere. Panic seized me. I rushed over and grabbed the housekeeper, demanding to know what was happening. Before the housekeeper could speak, Hailey strolled out of the living room. “I had them thrown out,” she said casually. “I’m going to be living here permanently now. Keeping a dead couple’s stuff around is bad luck. The Reed family already agreed to it.” Those were the only things I had left of my parents. With tears streaming down my face, I rushed forward to grab the photos. Seeing this, Hailey suddenly lost her balance and fell straight back into the artificial pond. Behind me, Ethan’s face went pale. He ran past me without a second thought, diving into the water to pull Hailey out. She was soaking wet, shivering pitifully in his arms. Ethan turned to glare at me, his eyes filled with absolute disgust and fury. “Just because of what happened at dinner, you decided to push her?!” “She threw away my parents’ things! I was just trying to stop her! She tripped on her own!” I cried out, my body shaking violently. Ethan let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Hailey is gentle. Why would she throw herself into a pond? You’re still making excuses.” He turned to the gardeners. “Burn all of it. Now.” The fire roared to life. My parents’ smiling faces in the photos twisted and blackened in the flames. It felt like my own chest was being burned alive. Desperate, I lunged forward, trying to grab whatever photos were left. My fingers instantly blistered from the roaring heat, the agonizing pain shooting up my arms. But Ethan showed no mercy. He grabbed my shoulder and threw me away. I crashed onto the hard dirt, my palm tightly clutching a half-burnt photo of my mother. My tears mixed with the soot on the damaged paper. Hailey, wrapped in Ethan’s jacket, walked over to the fire. Noticing the half-burnt photo in my hand, she snatched it away and threw it back into the flames. She leaned down, her hand gently stroking her flat stomach. Her voice was quiet, but her words were poison. “I didn’t want to be this cruel, Chloe. But I’m pregnant with Ethan’s baby.” “I can’t let my unborn child be surrounded by the bad luck of dead people. Getting rid of this trash is for the good of our new family.”

I froze, my mind going completely blank. Ethan walked over and grabbed my arm. His voice was incredibly calm, as if he were discussing the weather. “It was an accident, Chloe. Hailey is too weak to get an abortion.” “Keeping the baby will give her some security. Don’t worry. You will always be the mistress of this house.” A flash of malice crossed Hailey’s eyes, but she quickly masked it with a fragile, apologetic look. She took a step toward me. “Chloe, I’m not trying to take anything from you. I won’t cause any trouble.” “I only cleared out the old things for my baby. You’re a mother too. You should understand.” Understand? My dog was killed, my daughter was hospitalized, I nearly choked to death from an allergy, and my parents’ memories were reduced to ashes. And now, she was pregnant with my husband’s child, forcing me into a corner. Why should I understand?! The bottled-up pain and humiliation of the entire night exploded. I raised my hand and slapped Hailey hard across the face. The sharp sound echoed in the garden. Hailey froze, her eyes instantly filling with tears. Ethan shoved me away, his eyes filled with profound disappointment. “I’ve given you all the respect and dignity you deserve, Chloe. But you are just too small-minded to tolerate anyone else.” That night, Ethan stripped me of all my authority in the house. He ordered the servants to put Hailey’s needs first. For the next few days, I was treated like a maid in my own home. I had to cook Hailey’s meals and prepare her herbal teas. If she wasn’t satisfied, she would dump the hot liquid onto my hands, forcing me to start over. She would purposely smash glass cups on the floor, and I had to clean up the sharp pieces bare-handed. For Lily’s sake, I endured it all. But Lily was a sensitive child. She saw the exhaustion and sadness in my eyes. She would often grab the hem of my shirt, using her soft, tiny hands to gently rub my blistered palms, whispering, “Don’t be sad, Mommy.” Looking at her pale, sweet face, the last of my patience broke. We had to leave this toxic house. I printed out the divorce papers. While waiting for Ethan to return, Lily ran through the front door, holding a stray puppy. The puppy looked almost exactly like Buddy. Lily held it tightly, her eyes shining with pure joy. Hailey happened to come downstairs. Seeing the dog, her face darkened. She marched over to kick the puppy out. Lily clung to the dog, refusing to let go. In a fit of anger, Hailey kicked Lily’s leg hard. My heart stopped. I rushed forward to shield my daughter, but Hailey grabbed my wrist, pinning me against the staircase railing. Seeing me trapped, Lily panicked. She lunged forward, scratching Hailey’s arm to pull her away. During the struggle, Hailey gave a violent shove. Lily lost her balance. Her tiny body rolled violently down the stairs. My eyes widened in horror. I threw myself forward to catch her, but I lost my footing too. The world spun. The last thing I heard was my daughter’s terrified scream, and then, darkness. “Chloe!” a voice screamed before I faded out.

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My sleep ended the day my sister Lily was diagnosed with severe clinical depression. Mom ordered me to stay by Lily’s bedside every single night. I was only allowed to close my eyes after she finally drifted off. I was getting barely five hours of sleep a night. My mind was literally on the verge of total collapse. Seven months later, Lily was officially cleared. She was fully recovered. Everyone celebrated her “rebirth.” But nobody noticed that I had spiraled into severe depression myself. When I finally gathered the courage to text my diagnosis report to my parents, all I got was a raging call from Dad: “Your sister just got her life back! Are you seriously faking an illness right now just to trigger her?” They Venmoed me $5,000—a buyout to cut ties with me. “From now on, let’s just pretend Lily is our only daughter.” That day, I threw the pills and the diagnosis report straight into the trash can and walked down to the river alone. My phone still saved the twenty-four-point list I had meticulously kept over those seven painful months: “How to Care for Lily.” But left on the riverbank was nothing but a neatly placed pair of white canvas slip-ons. I was just so tired. This time, I wanted to sleep for real.

I stood in front of the kitchen sink, dish soap bubbles dripping slowly through my fingers. Laughter drifted in from the living room. Lily was unboxing the brand-new iPhone Dad had just bought her. It was the latest model, in pastel pink. “Dad, you’re literally the best!” Lily squealed. “Anything for you, sweetie.” My own phone screen had been badly cracked for four months. Every time I tried to take a photo, a glitchy black line cut right through the middle. When I brought it up last month, Mom just shrugged. “It’s not like you post on Insta anyway. Just make do with it.” The soap bubbles washed down the drain. The dishes were done. But I just stood there, staring at my hands, not knowing where to go. The living room belonged to Lily. Her new summer dresses were hanging out on the patio. Even my old bedroom had been turned into Lily’s personal space. After her diagnosis, Mom made me move into the tiny six-by-six storage room. She said Lily needed a spacious room, otherwise, she’d feel “suffocated.” The day I moved into that tiny room, the sheets weren’t even changed. There was still a dried boba tea stain Lily had spilled a week ago. Mom had said, “Just crash there tonight. I’ll wash it tomorrow.” She never did. In this entire house, I couldn’t find a single corner where I actually belonged. Dinner was entirely made of Lily’s favorite dishes. I reached for a piece of the grilled salmon, but Mom’s fork instantly slapped mine away. “Leave the salmon for your sister. She finally has an appetite today. Find something else to eat.” Beside her, Dad was busy peeling shrimp, placing them neatly on Lily’s plate one by one. “Eat up, sweetie. You’ve lost way too much weight.” “You’re the absolute best, Dad,” Lily said, leaning her head affectionately against his shoulder. Dad smiled so hard the corners of his eyes crinkled with deep lines. I couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled at me like that. I stared down at my bowl, chewing slowly. I couldn’t swallow. I suddenly remembered when I was eight and had a raging fever of 104 degrees. Mom had made a delicious batch of slow-cooked ribs. But she gave them all to Lily. “Your sister is sick, she needs light food. Give the ribs to Lily, don’t let them go to waste.” The memory faded, and I picked up the trash bag, walking past the living room. Lily was curled up on the couch scrolling through her new phone. Mom sat next to her, peeling oranges, while Dad had his legs kicked up watching TV. A happy family of three. The picture was perfect. It didn’t need a fourth person. As I carried the trash bag to the front door, I heard Lily reading out loud from her phone. “Mom, look! I just posted on Insta.” Mom leaned in. “Read it to me, sweetie.” “‘Thank you, Mom and Dad, for walking with me through my darkest days. I wouldn’t be here without you guys.’” The post was a picture of the three of them. Lily was in the middle, flanked by Mom and Dad, all of them beaming at the camera. I was there the day that photo was taken. I was the one holding the camera. Mom’s eyes welled up with tears as she hugged Lily. “My baby girl has finally grown up.” I stood by the doorway with the trash bag, watching their backs for a long, silent moment. Then I walked out, went downstairs, and tossed the bag into the dumpster. The heavy lid fell shut with a dull, hollow thud. At 2:00 AM, I woke up. I wasn’t startled awake by any noise. My body had just memorized the time. For seven months, my internal clock woke me up at exactly 2:00 AM every single night. I pushed my door open and peeked into the living room. Lily was curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow, her body trembling slightly. The doctor had mentioned that even after recovery, there would be minor panic episodes. It didn’t mean a full relapse. But my legs moved faster than my brain. I was already at her side. I poured her a cup of warm water and knelt down, gently patting her back. One beat at a time, matching the rhythm of a slow heartbeat. Slower, and slower. Forty minutes later, her trembling finally stopped. “Clara, don’t leave,” she whispered. “I’m here. I won’t leave.” I sat down on the hardwood floor, leaning against the couch, holding her hand. Her hand was warm. Mine was ice cold. As the sky began to turn gray, she finally fell asleep. I let go of her hand, gripping the armrest of the couch to stand up. Suddenly, my vision went completely black. My body swayed, my knees buckled, and I sank right back down to the floor. I sat there, holding onto the leg of the coffee table, waiting for a long time until my vision slowly returned. Clinging to the wall, I dragged myself step by step back to my tiny room and sat on the edge of the bed. My chest felt incredibly heavy, like a block of concrete was sitting on it. I opened my mouth to cry. But no sound came out. I had forgotten how to cry. I pulled out my phone and opened the notes app where I kept her care logs. Out of habit, I added one last line to the bottom: If she wakes up in the middle of the night, never turn on the main overhead light. Only use the warm yellow nightlight. Cool white light terrifies her. After typing that, I locked the screen. The room plunged into total darkness. The blackout curtains were bought for Lily last year. Now that she was better, she had moved back to her spacious room. But no one ever bothered to change the curtains back for me. I lay down and closed my eyes. Darkness. Everything was just pure darkness.

Once Lily was fully recovered, Mom hosted a big family dinner to celebrate. “We need to celebrate!” Mom told everyone. “We finally survived the worst seven months of our lives.” I had been helping her prep and clean from 8:00 AM until 4:00 PM. When we were finally done, Mom looked me up and down with a critical eye. “Whatever, that outfit is fine. Just don’t talk too much when the guests arrive. Just keep their glasses filled.” Soon, the relatives arrived. Lily wore a lovely floral dress with light makeup. Mom held her hand at the door, greeting everyone like she was showing off a priceless, recovered treasure. “Come in, come in! Look at our Lily. Doesn’t she look so healthy now?” “She looks radiant! Like a completely different person!” Mom was beaming. “Tell me about it. We spent nearly three thousand dollars on her therapy and meds. Her dad and I cut back on everything to scrape that money together. But it was worth it. Every single penny was worth it as long as she’s okay.” At the dinner table, Mom started recounting her “battle stories” from the past seven months. “You guys have no idea. At her worst, Lily would cry in the middle of the night, saying she didn’t want to live anymore. I stayed up with her night after night, losing clumps of my hair from stress…” I slowly put down my fork. The person who had stayed up with her every single night… was me. “Lily is so lucky to have you. A mother’s love really is a lifesaver,” Chloe sighed. Mom wiped a tear from her eye. “I had to do it. She’s my baby.” Helen suddenly looked over at me. “Clara must have had a hard time too, right? I heard she was staying home to help care for Lily.” The air at the table instantly froze. “Her?” Mom didn’t even pause her fork, placing another piece of roasted chicken onto Lily’s plate. “She just lent a hand here and there. It was mostly me. Honestly, Clara couldn’t even hold a water glass steady back then.” A few relatives laughed. I gripped my fork so hard my knuckles turned white. Seven months. Two hundred and ten days. The person who knelt by Lily’s bed every single night at 2:00 AM was me. The person who absorbed every single “I don’t want to live anymore” was me. “Mom,” the word forced its way out of my throat, raw and trembling. “For the past seven months, I was the one who stayed up every single night with Lily. I was the one who held her when she cried. When she had panic attacks at 3:00 AM, I was the one who got up to get her water. When the glass shattered, you only yelled at me for the noise. You didn’t even notice my hand was bleeding.” The dining room went dead silent. “Do you know she gets relapse anxiety when the seasons change? Do you know she has to eat before taking her meds, or her stomach burns? Do you know she can’t handle overhead lights when she wakes up terrified at night?” My voice was shaking violently. “You don’t know any of it. You only know how to cry in front of our relatives to get sympathy.” Clang! Mom slammed her fork onto the table and stood up. “Unbelievable! I raised you, worked myself to the bone for you, and you humiliate me in front of the entire family?!” “I love both of my daughters! Just because I asked her to help out with her sister, she’s kept this sick grudge against me!” She turned to the relatives, tears instantly streaming down her face. Mark slammed his hand on the table. “Clara! Have some respect! Do you have any idea how much stress your mother has been under?” Chloe shook her head. “Taking care of your sister is just what family does. Are you seriously trying to score points for that?” Nobody asked why I was saying these things. From beginning to end, not a single person asked if I was okay. Lily never looked up. She quietly peeled her shrimp, acting as if my breakdown was nothing but an awkward, minor glitch at the dinner table. Dad took a slow sip of his beer. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop making a scene. Let’s wrap this up so your mother can rest.” So Mom could rest. Not me. After everyone left, a mountain of dirty plates and forks was piled high in the sink. Mom walked past the kitchen without pausing, throwing a cold sentence over her shoulder: “The embarrassment you caused today is something you can never make up for.”

After that dinner, the air in the house turned into a suffocating vacuum. Every morning, there were only three sets of plates on the table. One for Mom, one for Dad, and one for Lily. Whenever I stood near the kitchen, Mom’s gaze would slide right past me, focusing on the wall behind me. “Lily, breakfast is ready!” A couple of days later, Dad came home early on a weekday. He sat on the living room couch and patted the spot next to him. “Clara, come sit down.” His voice was calm, almost pleasant. It made a cold shiver run down my spine. “Your mom told me you’ve been in a really bad headspace lately. We talked it over, and we think it’s best if you go help out at Helen’s botanical tea shop on the north side of town. It’ll get you out of the house, help you clear your mind.” He paused, then added, “Your sister just got better. We can’t have another crisis in this house. If you’re constantly around her like this, what if you trigger a relapse?” What if I triggered her relapse. So, in this house, I was nothing but a hazard. “Are you kicking me out?” “Kicking you out? We’re doing this for your own good. Go work, earn some pocket money, get some fresh air.” He added one last thing. “Your mom has been taking care of Lily for so long. She deserves some peace.” That night, I saw a voice message Mom sent to the family group chat. “Clara hasn’t been doing well lately… We might have put too much pressure on her by asking her to help with Lily. We’re sending her out of town to clear her head. If she reaches out to complain or play the victim, please don’t engage. It’s not that we don’t care, we just don’t want her drama triggering Lily.” Mark: Totally understand. Chloe: It’s good for her to get some space. I privately messaged Mark: “Mark, it’s not what Mom said. I think I’m actually sick. I need to see a doctor.” Read. Ten minutes passed. No reply. On the day I left, I stood by the door and muttered, “Mom, I’m leaving.” She was busy painting Lily’s nails. A soft pastel pink. “Okay. Text your dad when you get there so he knows you made it.” She didn’t even look up. The nail polish brush didn’t miss a beat. Helen’s shop was on the outskirts of the town. She barely spoke to me, occasionally giving me sideways glances as if she were looking at a ticking time bomb. I knew exactly what Mom had told her. At night, I slept in the tiny utility room behind the shop. A folding cot, a plastic stool, and a harsh fluorescent bulb. It was even smaller than my six-by-six room at home. On my fifth day of work, an elderly woman walked into the shop. Her hair was completely white, and she walked with a wooden cane. She ordered a small pot of the cheapest herbal tea. She sat by the window, slowly sipping it until the pot was empty. As she was leaving, she stopped by the counter and looked at me. “Sweetheart, you carry a very heavy sadness in your eyes.” I froze. She didn’t pry. She reached into her woven bag, pulled out a fresh, bright orange, and placed it gently on the counter. “Eat this. It’s very sweet.” Then she walked out. I stared at that orange for a long time. I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. That night, I placed it right next to my pillow. Whenever I couldn’t sleep, I would lean over to smell its sweet, citrus scent. It was sweet. For seven months, she was the very first person who didn’t ask for an explanation, yet saw that I was hurting. After that, she came in every week. We didn’t talk much. She would drink her tea, and before she left, she’d leave an orange on the counter. Sometimes it was an orange; sometimes it was a couple of hard candies. She never asked why, and I never volunteered information. I peeled the oranges carefully, keeping the peels and letting them dry on my windowsill. That tiny row of dried orange peels was the only warm, comforting thing in my entire world. A few weeks later, my phone rang. It was Mom. “Did you get your paycheck yet? Lily wants to go out for sushi. Venmo me a hundred dollars.” “Okay.” She didn’t hang up. Her voice suddenly sounded lighter, chatting casually. “By the way, ever since you left, Lily has been doing so much better. She’s smiling every day, and she even went shopping with her friends.” She paused. “Honestly, I think she kept relapsing before because the house was too crowded and stressful. She actually feels lighter with you gone.” I gripped the phone, my throat completely blocked. I couldn’t make a sound. “Anyway, don’t forget to send the money. And don’t go venting about family business to Helen’s friends. It’s embarrassing.” I hung up. My hands were shaking violently. I opened my notes app and typed: It’s getting cold. Lily’s mood swings always act up when the seasons change. Don’t let her stay alone. Make sure she gets some sunlight. Just as I saved it, an Insta notification popped up. It was a post from Lily. Nine beautiful selfies of her smiling brightly. The caption read: “Finally stepped out of the dark! So incredibly grateful for everyone who stayed by my side.” There were dozens of comments below. Mom: Mommy loves you forever, baby! Dad: So proud of you, sweetheart! I scrolled all the way to the bottom. Out of forty-plus comments, my name was never mentioned once. Out of the nine photos, my face wasn’t in a single one. I locked my phone. The utility room was pitch black, save for the faint streetlights reflecting off the dried orange peels on my windowsill. I stared at them, and a wave of pure exhaustion washed over me. I was so tired. I couldn’t even find the energy to breathe.

I worked until I finally saved up enough money. I asked Helen for a half-day off and took a two-hour bus ride to the Westside Psychiatric Clinic. I waited in line for three hours. When I finally went into the doctor’s office, he looked over my assessment forms, his brow furrowing deeply. “Severe clinical depression with severe somatic symptoms. Why did you wait so long to get help? Where is your emergency contact?” “I came alone.” “Given your state, you need someone to monitor you. There is a high risk of self-harm. You cannot be left alone.” He handed me the diagnosis report. The red clinical stamp on the white paper was blindingly bright. I walked out of the clinic and sat on the concrete edge of a planter outside. Even under the blazing afternoon sun, my body wouldn’t stop shivering. I took a photo of the report. After hesitating for a long time, I texted it directly to Mom. “Mom, I’m not faking it. I was never trying to compete with Lily. I am really sick. The doctor says I shouldn’t be alone.” I stared at the screen, waiting. Hoping for a text saying, “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.” Or even just a simple, “Is it bad?” Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was Dad. “Dad…” “Are you out of your mind?!” His roar blasted through the speaker. “Why the hell would you send that to your mother? She’s out at the mall shopping with Lily right now! Lily saw the text and had a massive panic attack right there in the store. She’s sobbing, saying she ruined your life! Are you happy now?!” “I only sent it to Mom…” “What’s the difference?! You just can’t stand to see this family happy, can you?! Your sister finally got her life back, and you just have to drag her back down with a stupid piece of paper!” “Dad, it’s real. I’m really sick…” “Even if it is, you brought this on yourself!” he breathed heavily. “You helped watch your sister for a few months and suddenly you’re depressed? Are you trying to force this entire family to get on our knees and beg for your forgiveness?!” Through the line, I could hear Lily hyperventilating in the background, and Mom crying hysterically. It was total chaos. Then, Dad’s voice suddenly went quiet. Cold as ice. “I just sent you $5,000 on Venmo. That’s money your mother and I saved up.” A Venmo notification popped up on my screen. The memo simply read: Don’t reply. “Take the money and get whatever treatment you want. Don’t bother coming home for the holidays. From now on, we’re going to pretend Lily is our only daughter. This family cannot take any more of your drama.” Beep— The line went dead. Five thousand dollars. They used five thousand dollars to buy out their own daughter. I tapped “Decline and Return” on the Venmo transfer. Then, I walked over to the trash can outside the clinic and threw the entire bag of meds and my diagnosis report right into it. I guess even seeking help was pointless. In their eyes, my illness wasn’t a cry for help. It was a crime. I didn’t go back to Helen’s shop that night. I just walked. My shadow stretched longer and longer under the streetlights. I passed by a local park. The main gate was locked, but there was a gap in the fence. I slipped inside. I sat down on a park bench. At 3:00 AM, the park was completely empty. I pulled out my phone and opened my notes app. “How to Care for Lily.” From point one to point twenty-three, it was packed with detail. What time she needed to eat before her meds, which seasons made her anxious, what light color she feared, how to pat her back when she felt like dying. Line by line, these were the things I had figured out while kneeling by her bed in the dark. At the very bottom, I added point twenty-four: No one else knows these things. Now, they are all yours. I backed out of the note and created a new one. It was only one sentence: This is the last time I’ll ever lend a hand. I placed the phone on the bench, screen facing up. I stood up. Behind the park ran the local river. A section of the safety railing had collapsed during last year’s storm and had never been fixed. Whenever I used to walk here with Lily, I always made sure to walk on the side of the gap, shielding her from the edge. Now, I stood before the gap entirely alone. I wondered what it felt like beneath the dark, quiet water. I took a step forward, my toes hanging over the edge. The river was so close. I could see my own blurry reflection, shivering and dissolving with the ripples. I slid off my white canvas shoes, placing them neatly side by side right next to the gap. The lace on the right shoe had come undone. I bent down and tied it into a perfect, neat bow. The wind was howling, but suddenly, I didn’t feel cold at all.

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Only a month after my mom passed away, my billionaire father, Arthur, brought a young, beautiful mistress back to our mansion. I screamed, cried, and threw a glass cup straight at the mistress and her daughter. The woman clutched her bleeding forehead, putting on a pitiful act as she pleaded with my father. “Arthur, it’s fine. I know she can’t accept me yet. Please don’t blame her.” Arthur was furious. For the first time in my life, he screamed at me and ordered me to get out and go to my room. Fuelled by anger and pride, I packed nothing and ran away from home. My father was so angry his chest heaved, almost having a heart attack. “If you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back!” But I walked out anyway. I didn’t even take a single penny. I wanted him to regret cheating on my mom. I wanted him to feel the pain of losing both of us! But after leaving, I realized how brutal the real world actually was. I hadn’t even finished high school. I could only do manual labor, deliver food, and work part-time gigs. Making barely three thousand dollars a month, I couldn’t even afford a decent apartment. I had to share a cramped, moldy basement with strangers. Late one night, while rushing to deliver food, I ran a red light. A massive truck slammed into me, sending me flying through the air. While I lay dying in an unclaimed morgue, my father was throwing a lavish party at his villa to celebrate the one-month milestone of his newborn son. But I didn’t expect that I would wake up again. I was reborn. Back to the exact day the mistress and her daughter showed up at our house! This time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. Instead, I quietly slipped high-dose estrogen pills into my father’s daily water pitcher.

With a loud crash, the glass cup shattered right against Melanie’s head. Clutching her bleeding forehead, she collapsed weakly against my father’s chest. My father roared in anger, “Chloe! Have you lost your mind? Is this how I raised you to behave?” I froze for a second, then realization washed over me. I was reborn. Melanie grabbed my father’s arm and whispered gently, “Arthur, don’t be mad at her. She just lost her mother. It’s only natural she’s upset.” Heartbroken for her, my father held Melanie close and pointed a finger at me. “Apologize to Melanie. Right now!” With tears in her eyes, Melanie quickly waved her hands. “No, no, it’s fine. I know Chloe looks down on someone like me. Please don’t fight because of me. I’ll just leave.” As she spoke, she turned around to drag her suitcase toward the front door. But her daughter, Tiffany, suddenly burst into tears. “Mom, didn’t you already cancel our apartment lease? Do we not have a home again?” The hesitation in my father’s eyes instantly vanished. He pointed to the master bedroom. “Don’t leave. From now on, Melanie, you are the mistress of this house!” Then he glared at me. “Chloe, go to your room and think about what you’ve done!” Melanie and Tiffany bowed their heads, sobbing, but I saw the smug, victorious gleams in their eyes. What a pair of absolute snakes. Melanie was the one who shamelessly ruined my parents’ marriage. She couldn’t even wait for my mom’s grave to settle before moving in, yet here she was, playing the ultimate victim. I instinctively clenched my fists, wanting to smash another cup. But as I looked up, I saw my father’s face was already red with rage. In my past life, my high pride couldn’t handle my father yelling at me. I had stormed out with nothing, leaving all my expensive jewelry and designer bags to Tiffany. In the end, I was crushed to death by a truck all for a three-dollar delivery fee. This time, I would never repeat that mistake! I loosened my fists, pinched my thigh hard, and forced tears to well up in my eyes. “Dad… do you not want me anymore?” My father, who had been furious a second ago, froze. His voice softened slightly. “What nonsense are you talking about? You’re my only daughter! How could I not want you?” I pouted, pointing at Tiffany. “Then what about her? Is she here to replace me? Is she taking over our home?” My father said instinctively, “She’s Melanie’s daughter. If you don’t like it, she can just call me ‘Arthur’.” Seeing their dream of the luxury villa slipping away, Melanie and Tiffany’s faces stiffened. Tiffany put on a miserable face. “Arthur, does Chloe hate me?” Melanie immediately chimed in. “Arthur, are we making things hard for you? If Chloe really doesn’t like us, I won’t force it.” “As long as I can be with you, anywhere is home.” My father was instantly touched by this dramatic confession. He took a deep breath. “Chloe, Melanie is your stepmother now! Tiffany is your sister. You need to treat them well.” My nails dug deep into my palms, the pain keeping me sharp. My biological mother’s funeral service was barely a month ago. They were high school sweethearts. How could this Melanie be so impatient to take her place? “Dad, Mom’s funeral was just a month ago. You always said she was the love of your life. Is Melanie really in that much of a rush?” Hearing my mom mentioned, a flash of guilt crossed my father’s eyes. He finally backed down. “Maybe I didn’t think this through. Melanie, why don’t you and Tiffany stay at the downtown apartment for a couple of days first?” Melanie stared at me, a flash of pure malice crossing her eyes. She clutched her injured forehead, looking faint. “Arthur, you know I’ll do whatever you want…” Before she could finish her sentence, she fainted right into his arms. Tiffany screamed, almost crying. “Mom! What’s wrong? Don’t scare me! Your health is already so fragile!” My father immediately went into hero mode, scooping her up. “Where is the family doctor?! Get him here now!” I sat on the sofa, watching the drama with a cold smirk. Go ahead, use your cheap tricks to stay. I had plenty of ways to kick you out.

“The doctor said Melanie has a concussion because of you. Go upstairs and apologize to her!” Melanie was propped up in bed, her head wrapped in gauze, still playing the peacemaker. “Arthur, don’t blame Chloe. I’m sure she didn’t mean to do it, right?” She shot me a warm but highly provocative look. In my past life, I would have exploded. But now? I could play the victim better than she could. I looked at my father with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I was just upset and threw the cup. I had no idea Melanie would walk right into its path!” My father was almost amused by my sass, his anger draining away. He patted my head. “I’ve spoiled this girl too much. Melanie, don’t take it to heart.” Melanie’s face turned visibly stiff, but she forced a fake smile and said it was fine. As long as they could stay in this house, they believed they could easily wrap my father around their fingers. When it came to choosing rooms that evening, Tiffany immediately set her eyes on my second-floor bedroom. My room was huge, got the best sunlight, and had a massive walk-in closet and a private bathroom. Melanie quickly played polite. “Tiffany, that’s Chloe’s room. How could you live there?” “Arthur, a big room like that will make Tiffany uncomfortable anyway. She can just take the guest room on the first floor. We don’t want to be a bother.” Tiffany’s eyes filled with tears on cue. My father looked like he was about to soften up again. I cut in immediately. “Dad, I think Melanie is right. What if Tiffany gets nightmares in a room that’s too big?” “The guest room is lovely. Once we clean it up, I’m sure she’ll feel right at home.” My father’s worried brow smoothed out. “You’re right, Chloe. That’s very considerate. Since she’s not used to big rooms, she can stay in the guest room for now.” The fake smile on Melanie’s face shattered completely. But the smile didn’t disappear—it just transferred to my face. Back in my room, I opened the security feed app on my phone. I had already hidden a camera in the first-floor guest room. On screen, Tiffany was throwing a tantrum, crying about having to stay in the guest room instead of my master bedroom. “Mom! You said I was going to be a rich heiress! Why do I still have to live under Chloe’s shadow?” Melanie’s face was dark. “What do you know? This is called playing the long game. She’s just a brat. She can’t compete with me.” “Arthur doesn’t have a son. Once I get pregnant with his boy, we’ll see how arrogant Chloe can be!” With that, Melanie walked out of the room to brew some tea for my father, who was working in his study. And I had already slipped the high-dose estrogen pills into the water pitcher in the kitchen.

To my absolute shock, three months later, Melanie actually announced she was pregnant! When I heard the news, I was stunned. I immediately messaged the guy who sold me the pills online. He replied in a voice message, sounding incredibly defensive. “That’s literally impossible. Those aren’t regular pills. If a man takes that dosage, he becomes completely sterile…” His words made me laugh. It confirmed one thing. My father definitely did not have the ability to get anyone pregnant anymore. So, whose baby was in Melanie’s stomach? Believing he was getting a miracle baby at his age, my father was ecstatic. He not only hired decorators to completely remodel the master bedroom according to Melanie’s cheap taste, but he also demanded that Tiffany move into my room. “Melanie said Tiffany gets scared sleeping alone. She should stay in your room to keep you company.” Melanie stroked her still-flat belly, throwing a smug, mocking smirk my way. “Chloe, you don’t mind, do you?” I smiled back sweetly. “Of course not. Once Melanie gives birth to my little brother, we’ll be one big happy family.” Seeing how “harmonious” we were, my father was grinning from ear to ear. He insisted we all go out for a celebratory dinner that night. When I went back to my room to grab my purse, Tiffany was standing in front of my full-length mirror, trying on a pair of my favorite dark-red designer heels. Seeing me walk in, she giggled. “Such pretty shoes. You don’t mind if I borrow them, right, Chloe?” Those shoes were my sweet sixteen gift from my mom. It was the last gift she ever gave me. I hadn’t even worn them myself. I couldn’t hold back my anger anymore. “Take them off. Now.” Tiffany sneered, dropping her sweet act. “Oh, so we’re not putting on a show now that your father isn’t here?” With that, she violently kicked her foot toward the glass vanity mirror. The delicate heel of my shoe snapped instantly, and the vanity glass shattered with a deafening crash. Before I could react, rushed footsteps echoed from the hallway. Melanie, holding my father’s arm, rushed into the room. She gasped, her eyes turning red instantly. “Tiffany! Why is there blood on your leg? Does it hurt?” She clutched her daughter’s scratched leg, crying to me, “Chloe, I’m so sorry! Tiffany shouldn’t have tried on your shoes. Please don’t hate us for this!” The broken red heel lay on the floor, making it look like I had violently thrown the shoe at them in a fit of rage. My father frowned, looking at me with pure disappointment. “Chloe, I really thought you had grown up. I didn’t expect you to be so two-faced!” I tried to defend myself. “She did it on purpose—” But my father roared, “Shut up! You always have an excuse! You just hate seeing this family happy!” I went silent. My father pulled out his phone, made a quick call, and pointed at my closet. “Pack your things. You’re an adult now anyway. Move out.” “I’ve arranged an apartment for you. Don’t come back unless you have a good reason. Melanie needs peace for her pregnancy. She can’t be stressed.” I nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll leave. But I’m only taking one thing with me.”

I walked over, pushed Tiffany aside, and snatched my broken designer shoe back. Tiffany scraped her hand against the shattered glass on the floor and let out a sharp cry, glaring at me. I didn’t even look at her. I just wiped the dust off the red leather with my sleeve. “You wanted me out. Congratulations, you two won.” My father wanted to lecture me more, but I looked at him, my voice cracking slightly. “This was the last gift Mom gave me. I’m not leaving it here for them to ruin.” My father froze. I walked right past them and went downstairs. The driver was already waiting at the entrance. I got into the car and closed my eyes to rest. I had already sold or replaced all the valuables in my room with high-quality fakes months ago. After my past life, I knew one thing for certain: cash was the only thing that mattered. As for Melanie and her daughter? We had plenty of time to play. The apartment my father arranged for me was right next to my private high school—a school where rich kids went just by paying high tuition. The next day, I arrived at school only to find Tiffany was there too. She was wearing my old designer clothes, carrying one of the fake luxury bags I had left behind, surrounded by a crowd of sycophants. “Oh, look, isn’t that our former heiress? Kicked out of her own house, and she still has the nerve to show her face here?” The crowd burst into giggles. Tiffany walked up to me, acting sweet. “Chloe, don’t listen to them. Even after my little brother is born, you’ll always be a part of the family.” I coldly pulled my hand away from her grip. “Our family? Is your last name even the same as mine?” Tiffany’s face stiffened. She looked hurt. “Chloe, do you still hate me? It wasn’t my fault Arthur made you leave.” Some of the social-climbing classmates immediately took her side. “Tiffany, don’t apologize to her. She’s just acting bitter!” “Exactly. Let’s see if she’s still this arrogant when she gets written out of the will.” I didn’t say a word. I just kept my head down, reading my textbook. I had experienced the cold reality of life in my past existence. The petty insults of these teenagers meant absolutely nothing to me. Tiffany smiled warmly, soaking in the attention. She announced loudly, “When my baby brother has his one-month celebration party, you’re all invited!” I gripped my pen tightly, smiling coldly in my mind. Oh, I couldn’t wait for everyone to show up at that party. Ten months flew by, and the baby’s one-month milestone party finally arrived. My father actually called me himself, demanding I attend. “Stop throwing a tantrum, Chloe. He is your blood brother. If you don’t show up, what will our business partners think?” I agreed instantly. I grabbed a thick file from my desk and slipped it into my bag. When I arrived at the luxury hotel venue wearing my plain school uniform, my father, who was greeting guests, frowned. “Chloe, look at you. Do you even look like my daughter? You couldn’t even put on a decent dress?” I looked past him to Tiffany, who was dressed in a designer gown. I tilted my chin. “Well, all my expensive clothes are currently being worn by the new ‘heiress,’ aren’t they?” My father went quiet. He waved over his assistant to take me to a VIP suite to change. But Melanie walked over, holding the baby. “Chloe! You’re back. Do you want to hold your little brother?” Before I could even react, she thrust the baby toward my arms. By the time I reached out to catch him, it was already too late. The baby slipped right through and fell onto the hard marble floor. The infant burst into loud, agonizing cries that echoed through the grand hall. I stared at Melanie in absolute shock. This woman was terrifyingly ruthless—she actually used her own baby as a pawn! Instantly, all eyes in the room locked onto us. Melanie fell to her knees, crying hysterically. “Chloe! Even if you hate me, how could you drop a helpless baby?!” My father’s face went completely black. Without waiting for any explanation, he slapped me across the face. Slap! My face whipped to the side, burning with pain. I stood there, stunned. My father had hit me. In my entire life, he had never laid a hand on me. A wave of intense anger and bitterness swelled in my chest. My father clutched his chest, shouting in pure disappointment, “I can’t believe you’re my daughter! You heartless monster, you actually tried to hurt a newborn baby!” Melanie sobbed, clutching the baby. “He’s so small! Why can’t you tolerate him? Are you really that terrified of him taking your inheritance?” The whispers from the crowd started immediately. The looks of pity, disgust, and amusement locked onto me. “The oldest daughter is downright evil. How could she do that to a one-month-old baby?” My father was shaking with rage. “Do you think I’m too old to teach you a lesson? I’m telling you right now, you won’t get a single penny of my estate!” The crowd gasped. Melanie and Tiffany couldn’t hide the pure joy in their eyes. This meant the entire family fortune would belong to them. I touched my bruised cheek and let out a cold, mocking laugh. But I didn’t break down or beg for forgiveness like they expected. I slowly opened my bag and pulled out a DNA test report. “Dad, why don’t you look at this little gift before you make your decision?”

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The Thorne Pack has a sacred rule passed down for over a century: The direct heirs must conceal their identities and leave the pack to face trials on their own. Only the descendant who first gives birth to a pureblood Alpha heir is qualified to return and inherit the pack’s centuries-old empire. And I was the first of my generation to get pregnant. Clutching the bloodline pregnancy report from the doctor, I ran all the way home without even putting on a coat. With this child, I finally didn’t have to hide my identity from Kael anymore. We didn’t have to live this penny-pinching life. He wouldn’t have to stay up all night, worrying about next month’s rent for the borderland trading post he had struggled to keep afloat for three years. But the moment I pushed the door open, I saw my husband, Kael, the Alpha of the Marlow Pack, holding an Omega on the sofa, kissing her passionately. The woman, with her clothes half-undone, looked up at me. A triumphant smirk curled on her lips. Kael let go of her, his tone as casual as if he were talking about the weather. “Elara, let’s end our marriage contract.” I quietly stuffed the pregnancy report back into my inner pocket. He would never know that his Omega wife, the one who had suffered with him at the border and whom everyone looked down upon, Had the most powerful, unreachable peak pack standing right behind her. Fine. Ditch the deadbeat father, keep my pup. See you never. 0

“The divorce papers are on the table. The pen is right next to them.” Kael leaned back against the sofa, his voice dripping with blatant impatience. The Omega named Lila slowly fixed her collar, her neck covered in flush-red hickeys. She sat comfortably in the single armchair I usually sat in, giving me a sideways glance without saying a word, acting as if she were already the mistress of the house. I walked over and picked up the agreement. Three pages of parchment, packed with words. The borderland villa went to Kael. All shares of the trading post went to Kael. The savings in the pack account went to Kael. Even the five-year-old off-road pickup truck went to Kael. I got absolutely nothing. “I’m leaving empty-handed?” Kael finally looked up at me, his tone carrying a patronizing generosity. “I wrote a settlement fee in the contract. Three thousand dollars. It’s not a small amount.” Three thousand. I had been with this man for three years. One thousand dollars a year. Lila put down her porcelain cup and spoke in a sweet, soft voice. “Elara, three thousand dollars is enough for you to rent a decent single room near the market.” I stared at her. “When did you get back from Europe?” “Yesterday,” she tilted her head. “Kael picked me up at the borderland airport. The flight was delayed for four hours, and he stood in the freezing wind for four hours just waiting for me.” Yesterday. Yesterday, Kael told me he was going to a neighboring pack to negotiate an important mineral deal and had to stay overnight. Lila stood up, naturally wrapping her arm around Kael’s. “Kael told me you are very gentle. He said you wouldn’t make things hard for me.” Kael didn’t pull away. In my inner pocket, the pregnancy report pressed against my ribs, sending a sharp ache through my chest. I had run home, wanting to burst through the door and tell him, Kael, we’re having a baby. You don’t have to beg those high-ranking pack managers anymore. You don’t have to drink until your stomach bleeds just to get an order. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around the main pack’s Alphas. I thought today would be the turning point of our lives. “Where is the pen?” Kael pointed to the coffee table. I squatted down to grab it. From this angle, I could see Lila’s hand resting gently on Kael’s waist. As I uncapped the pen, the pregnancy report almost slipped from my pocket. I quickly pressed it down. “Sign on the last page. Put today’s date,” Kael’s voice drifted down from above. I signed my fake name: Elara Reed. I put the pen down and stood up. “The divorce agreement needs to be notarized by the Pack Council Elders to take effect.” “Tomorrow morning at nine. I’ll wait for you at the entrance of the Council,” Kael said. He pulled out his phone, unlocked it right in front of me, And changed my contact name from “Mate” to “Elara Reed.” Then he slid his phone back into his pocket. Lila leaned her head on his shoulder. “Kael, I want to eat your tomato beef stew.” “Sure, I’ll make it right now.” Kael actually turned and walked into the kitchen. For three years, he had never cooked a single meal for me. I had asked him before if he knew how to cook. He said Alphas were born to fight for their careers, and that he would burn even a piece of toast. But now, the way he tied the apron was smoother than the way he tied his neckties. Lila shrugged at me. “Elara, don’t just stand there. Pack your things and go. I’m having this place renovated tomorrow. I saw your old clothes—they’re pretty ragged. Don’t bother taking them. They’re too rough to even use as cleaning rags.” I went to the bedroom, grabbed my ID, and packed a small cloth bag containing a few old things I had brought with me from my family—nothing related to Kael. As I passed the kitchen on my way out, Kael was chopping tomatoes, the knife thudding against the cutting board. He didn’t look up. As I was changing into my boots at the door, Lila followed and leaned against the doorframe. “Elara, I don’t know if I should say this.” 0

“Spit it out.” “When Kael was with me, he never sighed. But during these three years with you, I heard him sigh so many times over the phone,” she looked down, her voice soft. “Maybe you two just weren’t meant to be.” I looked at her. Kael sighed because his trading post’s cash flow was blocked, his business partners broke their contracts, and creditors almost cornered him at the territory’s border. Every single crisis was quietly settled by me behind his back. After he finished sighing and went to sleep, the problem would be resolved the next morning. He always smiled and said he was just lucky. “You’re right,” I bent down to tighten my boot laces. “We weren’t meant to be.” The moment the door shut, Lila’s voice drifted out from inside. “Kael, let’s change the door passcode. I want to set it to our anniversary.” I moved into a small, three-hundred-dollar-a-month single room near the market. It was next to a barbecue shop. The smell of grease and cheap tobacco smoke drifted in through the window cracks. I sat on the hard wooden bed and stared at the pregnancy report for a long time. Two clear bloodline runes on the paper indicated a healthy Alpha pup. My phone rang. It was Kael. “Elara, you haven’t cancelled your access to my secondary card yet.” “I’ll do it tomorrow when we go to the Pack Council.” “Fine.” Just as I was about to hang up, Lila’s voice came from his end. “Kael, does she still have the keys to the villa? I saw them in her bag last time.” Kael paused. “Bring the keys, too.” “Anything else?” “That’s all for now.” The call disconnected. My screen was still lit, showing three years of chat history between Kael and me. The very first message he sent was: Elara, thank you for helping me out today. That day, he was negotiating with a mine owner who suddenly raised the price, leaving Kael sweating with anxiety. I happened to be there. I casually pointed out a flaw in the ore’s grade, and the owner signed the contract on the spot. Kael didn’t know that the mine owner was actually a subordinate merchant under the Thorne Pack. He only knew that his Omega wife worked as a cashier at a grocery store in the market, making thirty-five hundred dollars a month, barely getting by. For three years of marriage, I had maintained this persona. The next morning, Kael’s mother called. “Elara, have you packed your trash yet?” “I’m in the middle of it.” “Don’t bother bringing those cheap clothes of yours. Oh, by the way, Lila said that cured venison jerky you made before tasted pretty good. She wants the recipe.” I had made cured venison jerky for three years, and Kael took it to work every day. His mother had never praised it once. “No.” “Why are you being so difficult?” my former mother-in-law’s voice instantly sharpened. “You two are already divorced, and you’re still being so petty? Do you know who Lila is? Asking for your recipe is doing you a favor.” “Who is she then?” “Her parents run a cross-continental trading business in Europe. Do you think everyone is like you, working as a cashier in a market?” She lowered her voice. “To be honest, I wasn’t happy when Kael married you. You were hardworking these past three years, but people climb higher. Kael’s business is taking off now. You can’t keep up with him.” “Lila and Kael were classmates at a European business school. They belong together. Now that she’s back, stop blocking her path.” Last year, Kael almost went bankrupt because of a bad debt and couldn’t even pay his workers’ wages. It was me who used my family’s channels to recover that debt. Kael thought the other party had found their conscience and paid it back voluntarily. He came back, held me tight, and happily said we were so lucky. “I’m not giving her the recipe. Anything else?” 0

Kael’s mother hung up in a rage. Half an hour later, Kael sent a message: My mom said you had a terrible attitude. We’re already over, don’t make it look so ugly. I didn’t reply. I placed my phone face down on the bed and gently pressed my hand against my lower belly. In three months, I would start showing. By then, I would return to the Thorne Pack as the sole heir who had conceived a child, taking over everything. Kael’s hard-earned trading post was valued at three million dollars. In the territory of the Thorne Pack, that wasn’t even worth a fraction of a single mining division. In the afternoon, I went to a clinic to register my pregnancy. While waiting in line, my phone rang again. It was Lila, calling from Kael’s phone. “Elara, sorry to bother you. I found a bottle of fertility herbs in our old bedroom. I wanted to ask if they’re yours or if they were left by the previous owner?” Fertility herbs. The ones I used when we were trying to conceive. I clenched my phone tightly. “Throw them away. They’re expired.” “Okay. Oh, Kael wanted me to ask when you’re going to cancel the secondary card.” “Tomorrow.” “Great. Bye!” After hanging up, my hands were shaking. Not out of anger, but from a sudden, unexplainable wave of panic. Lila had found the herbs. Could she have guessed something? The day my pregnancy report came out, I sat on the clinic hallway bench, lost in thought. The doctor said everything was perfect. The pup’s bloodline was incredibly pure—a strong Alpha pup. He told me to get plenty of rest and nutrition. The words the baby is very healthy repeated in my mind. “Elara?” I looked up. Lila was standing at the end of the hallway, holding a bag of fruit. She smiled and walked over. “What a coincidence. You come to this clinic too?” “What are you doing here?” “Visiting a friend.” She sat next to me, her eyes casually scanning my hands. I immediately flipped the pregnancy report over, but her eyes had already caught something. “OB-GYN?” Lila’s tone instantly changed, losing its sweet warmth. She stared straight into my face. “Elara, you aren’t… pregnant, are you?” I stood up. “Lila, that’s none of your business.” “Of course it’s my business,” she stood up too. “If it’s Kael’s child, then it’s my business.” There were pack members walking back and forth in the hallway. She lowered her voice and leaned close to me. “Are you planning to hide the pregnancy and give birth in secret? And then what? Use the pup to blackmail Kael and force him back to you?” “I don’t need to blackmail anyone.” “But Kael won’t want this child,” Lila said with absolute certainty. “He told me his children should only be born into a complete family. And in that family, there is no room for you.” “Did he tell you that?” “He tells me everything.” Lila pulled out her phone and played a voice note. Kael’s voice came out of the speaker: Lila, once this busy season is over, we’ll have our wedding. We’ll figure out the rest later. Just settle in and don’t worry. “Hear that? He’s already planning our wedding. Running around pregnant now will only make everyone think you’re desperately clinging to him.” I took a deep breath. Looking at my reaction, Lila seemed to confirm her suspicions. “Elara, I have a suggestion. Get an abortion and go your own way. I won’t tell Kael, and I won’t tell anyone else.” “And if I don’t?” “Then I’ll tell him myself. What do you think he’ll do once he knows?” She pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it to me. “What’s this?” “Open it and see.” Inside the envelope was a pregnancy report. Lila’s name was written at the top, dated two weeks ago. It clearly stated: Intrauterine pregnancy, 7 weeks, stable bloodline. “I’m pregnant too.” Lila lost her smile and looked at me seriously. “Kael already knows. He’s thrilled. He bought a ton of pregnancy supplies.” “So, do you get it now? His firstborn can only be mine.” 0

I stared at the pregnancy report. Seven weeks. Lila had just returned to North America yesterday. Seven weeks ago, she was still in Europe. Yet, this report was stamped by a local clinic in our city, dated two weeks ago. The timeline made absolutely no sense. But I didn’t expose her on the spot. Now wasn’t the time. “Think about it,” Lila patted my shoulder. “Before things get ugly.” She turned and walked away. I clenched the fake pregnancy report, my fingertips turning cold. Lila, what game are you playing? At ten the next morning, Kael showed up at the door of my rented room. “I know.” He stood outside, his face showing a complex mix of emotions—not anger, but more of a patronizing pity. “Know what?” “Your pregnancy. Lila told me.” She really didn’t keep her word. Kael walked in, scanned the tiny room that was barely a hundred square feet, and frowned. “Elara, what are you going to do about the baby?” “I’m keeping it.” “And then what?” His voice rose a bit. “With your thirty-five hundred dollar salary, you can barely feed yourself.” “You don’t need to worry about my life.” “I’m worrying about my own.” Kael sat on the only plastic chair in the room, clasping his hands. “Lila is pregnant too, you know. She’s further along than you—seven weeks.” “She showed me the report.” “Right,” Kael nodded. “My stance is clear. My firstborn should be with Lila. This child of yours… it’s not a good idea.” “Kael, are you sure you want me to kill your child?” “We’ve already ended our marriage contract. Even if this child is born, growing up in a single-parent home isn’t good for anyone.” He stood up. “Get rid of it. I’ll pay for the surgery and the recovery. Is five thousand dollars enough?” The door was suddenly pushed open from the outside. It was Kael’s mother. She walked in carrying a paper bag, looking around the room with pure disgust. “You’re living in a dump like this?” She threw the bag onto the table. “There’s two thousand dollars in there for the procedure. Plus the three thousand from Kael, that’s five thousand. It’s enough for you to start over.” “I said, I’m keeping the baby.” My former mother-in-law’s face instantly darkened. “Elara, don’t be ungrateful. You know Lila’s background. She is Kael’s rightful mate. You, carrying a bastard child…” “This isn’t a bastard. It’s Kael’s child.” “If my son doesn’t acknowledge it, it isn’t,” Kael’s mother yelled. “You think you can leech off our family just because you’re pregnant?” Kael didn’t stop his mother. He leaned against the wall, looking down at his phone. “Elara, I’m saying this for the last time,” Kael said without looking up. “Get the abortion, and we’ll part ways peacefully. If you don’t, I will petition the Pack Council for a bloodline test and fight for custody. I have a house and a trading post. You have nothing. The Elders will grant custody to me.” “And then, I’ll let Lila raise the child.” Let Lila raise my child. Those words were like an ice-tipped dagger plunging straight into my heart. Kael’s mother shoved me. “Did you hear that? Don’t think a pregnancy is leverage. You’re nothing to us.” Kael’s phone screen lit up. A Snapchat message from Lila popped up. I caught a glimpse of it: Kael, is it handled? I bought your favorite cheesecake. Kael quickly typed a reply, locked his phone, and looked up at me, waiting for my answer. His mother stood beside him with her arms crossed, looking like a warden. I reached down and touched my belly. This child was the sole heir of the Thorne Pack’s current generation, a bloodline the entire clan had waited over a decade for. Kael wanted to fight for custody? He had no idea what kind of existence he was challenging. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in three years. It connected after just one ring. “Dad, come pick me up. I’m pregnant.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443275”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Every night during FaceTime calls with my long-distance boyfriend, I noticed traces of another woman in his apartment. A pair of pink thongs on the sofa, a used condom on the hardwood floor… But every single time, someone had an excuse ready for him. His sister, Victoria, said, “Oh, I left those panties there. Don’t overthink it, sweetie.” His best friend, Tyler, said, “That condom was mine. Ethan threw a party last week, and I brought my girl over.” On Ethan’s birthday, I decided to fly back to Los Angeles without telling him, wanting to give him a surprise. Instead, I walked straight into his backyard wedding. A massive floral arch read: “Congratulations to Ethan and Chloe. Together Forever.” And there was Ethan, standing on the stage, passionately kissing another girl. I bit my lip so hard it bled. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to our mutual SnapChat group: “Who is Chloe? I just received her wedding invitation today.” The group went dead silent. A moment later, my best friend, Serena, broke the silence: “Chloe is my friend. I helped her mail the invitations, and I accidentally put in the wrong address. Sorry, Natalie.” My heart froze. It turned out that for the past three years, it wasn’t just my boyfriend who betrayed me. It was every single one of them.

The moment I pushed open the doors, pink roses flooded my vision, and blue dolphin balloons floated in the air. It was exactly the wedding I had fantasized about a thousand times. The bride was surrounded by a crowd. The gorgeous mermaid bridal gown she wore was a carbon copy of the design draft I had kept on my computer for three years. A design draft I had only ever shown to Serena. A wave of dizziness hit me as the sheer absurdity of the situation rushed to my head. Just then, a lady at the reception desk stopped me. “Hi, honey, are you a guest of the bride or the groom?” Everyone turned to look. The moment they saw my face, a collective gasp echoed through the room. The bride looked at Ethan, confused. “Who is she?” “Just a colleague from the New York branch. It was a last-minute invite, so she didn’t get a formal card,” Ethan replied smoothly. His voice was calm, as if he hadn’t just told me how much he missed me on FaceTime last night. Serena squeezed through the crowd, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me out. She whispered harshly, “All the family and friends are here, Natalie. Don’t do anything crazy. We can talk about this tomorrow.” I stared at her in silence. Serena dragged me into the emergency exit stairwell before letting go. “Chloe spent three months planning this wedding. She lost almost ten pounds from the stress. We just want today to be perfect for her.” Her very first words were about her pity for Chloe. “What about me?” my voice cracked as I stared into her eyes. “I’ve spent three years in New York, working day and night, too afraid to even take a sick day. I saved every single hour of my paid time off just to fly back and see him.” Tears fell uncontrollably. I remembered how she would always see me off at the airport, hugging me and promising, “Don’t worry, Natalie. I’ll keep an eye on Ethan for you. No basic bitch is going to steal my bestie’s man.” It turned out I was the only fool who took that promise seriously. “Natalie, Chloe is different from you.” “How is she different?” “You’re strong. You can survive without Ethan. But Chloe has a congenital heart condition. Ethan has been the only one taking care of her.” “And when she graduated, Ethan was the one who asked the Chairman to transfer you to New York. He did it because he didn’t want you to find out about her and make things difficult.” It felt like a lightning bolt struck my brain. I froze. When I first got the transfer notice, I wanted to decline it. I had just bought a house in LA and wanted to bring my sick mother over to get better medical treatment. But Ethan practically begged me. He said, “Natalie, my promotion to the Board of Directors depends entirely on this New York project. You’re the only one I trust to handle it.” “Just three months, I promise. I’ll bring you back, and then we’ll get married.” So I agreed. But three months turned into another three, and the distance between Los Angeles and New York never shrunk. My throat burned with dry pain. “So, the transfer requests I sent to return to LA over the last three years…” Before I could finish, Serena’s eyes filled with pity. “Ethan blocked every single one of them.” I stumbled back a step. I missed my mother’s kidney transplant surgery. I missed the moments she needed me most in her hospital bed. I even missed… her last breath. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Ethan. [Go home first. I’ll explain everything to you tonight.] I stared at the words, my fingers gripping the phone until my knuckles turned white. Then, I turned around and walked right back into the ballroom.

But this time, the family was prepared. Before I could even reach the ballroom doors, Ethan’s sister, Victoria, caught up to me in her high heels. “Natalie, I know you’re hurting, but Ethan has sacrificed a lot for you over the years, too. Don’t make a scene today.” Just last month, she was teasing us about when we would get married, promising a massive wedding gift. Beside her, Ethan’s best friend, Tyler, blocked the door. “Natalie… look, Ethan is a total jerk for this, but all the guests are watching. Do you really want to ruin his entire life?” Last month, when his mother was sick and he was short on cash, I lent him ten thousand dollars. He had literally cried, telling me that if Ethan ever treated me wrong, he would be the first to stand up for me. Now, more and more people blocked my path. Former friends, subordinates I had promoted, colleagues I used to grab lunch with… I tried to push through them, screaming and crying like a wounded animal. “Enough!” A sharp voice cut through the chaos, and the crowd parted. Ethan stood three paces away, looking dashing as ever in his tailored suit. Meanwhile, my hair was a mess, my collar torn, and my dress covered in dirty footprints from the scuffle. He stared at me in silence for a few seconds. His throat bobbed, and his voice sounded raw. “Natalie, you can ruin me however you want later. But Chloe has a weak heart. She can’t handle stress. Please, I’m begging you, don’t do this in front of her.” It was the first time I had ever seen Ethan bow his head. Once, when a client tried to humiliate him by forcing him to drink a table full of hard liquor, he drank until his stomach bled rather than apologize. But now, for another woman, he was begging me. The pain in my chest was suffocating. With tears streaming down my face, I choked out the words: “Ethan, you are a disgusting piece of trash!” I grabbed his collar and slapped him across the face three times. The sharp cracks echoed down the hallway. Ethan’s face was whipped to the side, swelling instantly. He wiped a trace of blood from his lip. “Are you done? If not, you can keep going.” His tone was almost indulgent, like he was comforting a throwing-a-tantrum child. Looking at his confident face and the calm, enabling crowd behind him, those three slaps suddenly felt like they hit nothing. They were absolutely sure I still loved him. They were sure I wouldn’t actually ruin him, and that once I threw my tantrum, I would quietly leave. My heart grew colder by the second. I let go of his collar and stepped back. A flash of surprise crossed Ethan’s eyes, his brow furrowing. “Natalie…” “Ethan, these five years, I’ll just pretend I…” Before I could finish, the ballroom doors swung open, and a soft, fragile voice called out, “What… what’s going on here?” Chloe stood at the doorway, looking like a fragile porcelain doll. The coldness in Ethan’s eyes melted instantly, his voice softening. “Why did you come out? It’s cold out here. You shouldn’t catch a chill.” Seeing the bruises on his face, Chloe gasped, covering her mouth. “What happened? Ethan, who did this to you?” Ethan quickly turned his face away. “Nothing, I just bumped into something. I’ll have the makeup artist touch it up.” Chloe clenched her fists, her eyes darkening for a split second before she suddenly grabbed my arm. “Natalie, right? Since you’re here, why don’t you come in and have a drink with us?” She dragged me into the ballroom before I could resist. At that moment, the giant projector screen was playing a slideshow of their love story. On March 21st, when I worked three consecutive all-nighters just to fly back for our anniversary and ended up hospitalized from exhaustion… They were watching the sunrise on a beach, kissing in the warm morning light. On June 7th, when a massive storm hit New York and my flight faced such severe turbulence that I wrote Ethan a final love letter in terror… They were stargazing on a mountain peak, making vows under a shooting star. On August 19th, on Valentine’s Day, when I was eating instant ramen and spending my last dollar to buy him an apology gift because I couldn’t be there… Ethan was holding 999 roses, proposing to Chloe surrounded by cheering friends and family. Each picture felt like a burning dagger, slicing my heart to pieces. I bit my lip so hard I could taste copper, refusing to let them see me cry. “Natalie, now you know what it looks like when Ethan actually loves someone,” Chloe whispered. I looked at her in shock. A sinister, smug smile played on her lips. The next second, the ballroom speakers suddenly blasted a loud, embarrassing moan. On the giant screen, my face appeared—flushed, looking at the camera, doing something private while calling out Ethan’s name.

My brain short-circuited. I whipped my head to look at Ethan. He rushed onto the stage, grabbed a chair, and smashed the screen to pieces. That video was taken on his birthday last year. He had begged me to record it for him. He had sworn on his life that no one else would ever see it. Yet here it was, broadcasted in front of hundreds of guests. Chloe burst into tears, stumbling back a few steps right next to the microphone. She pointed at me, her shaking voice echoing through the speakers: “So you’re the one… you’re the mistress who’s been sending him explicit videos to seduce him!” Every eye in the room turned on me like daggers. “I didn’t… mmph!” A hand suddenly clamped tightly over my mouth from behind, dragging me backward. Serena stepped up to the stage, bowing and apologizing to Chloe in front of everyone: “I am so sorry, Chloe. I had no idea Natalie would be this psychotic. I can’t believe she would play this kind of video at your wedding.” “As her friend, I apologize for her disgusting behavior and her cheap attempt to ruin your special day.” With that, she gave Chloe a deep bow. That bow sealed my fate as the malicious mistress. The whispers and curses of the guests flooded my ears like a tidal wave. “So she’s just a homewrecker making a scene. How disgusting.” “How shameless do you have to be to play that trash at a wedding?” “Chloe has a heart condition! What if she has a heart attack? This woman is pure evil!” I don’t know who started it, but someone threw a plate of leftover food at me. Someone else kicked me in the legs during the chaos… I was practically dragged out of the venue. Serena ran out after me. She sighed, pulling some tissues from her bag to wipe the stains off my dress. “Natalie, it is what it is. Stop being so stubborn.” “Chloe isn’t just anyone. Her family is the reason Ethan is getting on the board. You made a scene today, and with one phone call, the her family can make sure you never get a job in LA again.” “Everything I just did was for your own good.” “For my own good?” my voice was hoarse and broken. “You guys lied to me for three years, framed me as a mistress in public, and you call that ‘for my own good’?” Serena looked away, unable to meet my eyes. I shook Tyler’s hand off me, hailed a taxi, and got in. When I arrived at my hotel, a crowd was already gathered near the entrance, pointing and whispering. My face had been printed and pasted all over the hotel doors, alongside massive words painted in dripping red paint: [HOMEWRECKER GO TO HELL] Within an hour, someone had uploaded the wedding video to TikTok. My real name, job, and address were leaked online. The comment section was filled with venom. My boss sent me a WhatsApp message: [Natalie, due to the recent public controversy regarding your personal life, the company has decided to suspend you pending further investigation.] I clenched my teeth, apologized to the hotel staff, and grabbed a rag to scrub the paint off the door. The paint was stubborn, refusing to come off. I scrubbed until my fingernails cracked and bled against the metal doorframe. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. After a long time, exhausted from crying, I slumped against the wall and drifted into a restless sleep. My dreams were chaotic. Countless faces flashed by, finally stopping on the wedding stage. Ethan was looking down at me as I was dragged out, his eyes completely indifferent. I gasped, waking up from the nightmare. I stared at the lock screen photo of Ethan and me for a long time. Then, I stood up and opened my laptop. Why? Why should my five years of devotion be reduced to the word “homewrecker”? Why should the liars live happily ever after while I was pinned to a pillar of shame, cursed by the world? I did nothing wrong. I wasn’t going to take the blame. I compiled all my chat logs, flight tickets, and bank transfers with Ethan over the past five years and posted them online. Then, I booked the earliest flight back to New York, wanting to leave this cursed city. But just as I packed my bags and got into a Uber, a voice whispered from the shadows like a demon: “Natalie, why can’t you just learn to be good?”

I froze, the hairs on my arms standing up. Ethan slid into the seat next to me, his fingers gently brushing my cheek. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I really am. But baby, you shouldn’t have made that post.” I violently slapped his hand away. Tears fell onto my hands. He flinched slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but ultimately said nothing. The car didn’t go to the airport. It drove straight to the hospital. “Chloe saw your post and had a panic attack. She’s in the ICU now. You have to give her family an explanation today.” He dragged me out of the car, and I stumbled as he forced me into the VIP wing of the hospital. The private room was packed. Victoria, Tyler, Serena, and several members of Chloe’s wealthy family… The moment they saw me, their eyes turned into daggers. Ethan threw me onto the floor right in front of Chloe’s bed. “Apologize.” Chloe lay on the bed, her face pale, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Natalie, I have no grudge against you. Ruining my wedding wasn’t enough? Now you’re lying online saying Ethan cheated on you? What do you want from us?!” I stared at her, and suddenly, I laughed. “Do you honestly believe I was the one who seduced him?” “I was with Ethan for five years. We were long-distance for three. I don’t believe for a second you didn’t notice any clues.” The room fell dead silent. Victoria’s face paled, and she quickly stepped in. “Natalie, shut your mouth! Chloe is sick, don’t trigger her…” “Victoria,” Chloe interrupted, her voice weak but firm. “I want to speak with Natalie alone.” She forced a weak smile. “I’m sure she’s a reasonable person.” Ethan frowned, throwing me a warning glance before they all filed out. The moment the door clicked shut, the fragile look on Chloe’s face vanished completely. “Five years… of course I knew he had someone else. I’m not stupid.” “But so what? If I, Chloe, want something, I get it.” “I just didn’t expect Ethan to be so greedy. He wanted my family’s money, but he couldn’t let go of you either. He dragged it out for three years because he was too much of a coward to break up with you.” “I got tired of waiting.” She looked at me, her eyes icy and malicious. “So, I sent your mother a copy of our wedding invitation and the video of us. I told her that her precious daughter was a shameless mistress begging my fiancé for attention.” Her words felt like a bomb exploding in my head. I shook violently, staring at her in sheer disbelief. “What did you say?” Chloe’s smile grew wider and more twisted. “I wanted your mother to confront you herself, to teach her cheap daughter a lesson.” “Who knew she was so fragile? Before you could even book a flight back… her heart just gave out. She died right there.” “But you’re really stupid, aren’t you? Ethan told you she died of kidney failure, and you actually believed him. You didn’t even check the medical records.” “So, I had to push you a little harder.” “I was the one who leaked that video at the wedding. I was the one who leaked your personal info online.” She pointed at her hospital gown. “And right now, I’m faking this panic attack just to torture you. This is the price you pay for taking five years of Ethan’s life.” Every word she spoke felt like a rusty nail driven straight into my heart. Losing my mind, I lunged forward and wrapped my hands tightly around her neck. “You killed my mother! You monster!” Chloe choked, her face turning purple, but she was still laughing. She reached out, violently knocking a heavy glass vase off the nightstand. Shattering glass echoed through the room, and the door was kicked open instantly. “Chloe!” Ethan’s eyes widened in horror. He rushed in and kicked me hard in the chest. I flew backward like a broken doll, slamming heavily into the wall. “Natalie! Are you insane?!” Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed me by my hair, dragging me off the floor. “Get on your knees and apologize to Chloe!” With the last ounce of my strength, I pushed him away. I stumbled back until my spine hit the windowsill. We were on the 23rd floor. The window was slightly cracked, and the howling wind blew my tangled hair across my face. Ethan froze, stepping forward cautiously. “Stay back!” I screamed, leaning half of my body out of the open window. Just then… “Mr. Miller! We have a problem!” Ethan’s assistant burst into the room, panting and terrified. “The… the conversation in this room just now… it was live-streamed to your Snapchat account!” At the same time, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. Two police officers walked into the room, their badges shining under the fluorescent lights. “We received a report of harassment, blackmail, and wrongful death. Which one of you is Chloe?”

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On our tenth anniversary, I received a notification that David had died in a plane crash. The Jonathan family blamed me for his death, calling me a curse. That very night, they kicked me out of the house. To survive, I dragged my pregnant body through the wind and rain, working odd jobs and selling crafts at flea markets just to make ends meet. There were countless times I wanted to give up on life, until my best friend, Chloe, sent me a message. “Is this your husband?” I tapped on the photo. David’s face was slightly blurry. My mind went completely blank, and I frantically hit the FaceTime button. “Angle the camera closer! Please!” The moment the screen cleared, I froze, unable to utter a single word. David was wearing a tailored suit, down on one knee, holding a diamond ring that sparkled painfully bright. The woman in front of him had a flushed face, too shy to speak. The crowd around them was cheering. “Marry him! Marry him!” “Vivian, you have no idea how long David has been waiting for this day!” The woman was Vivian, David’s first love who was supposed to be living across the ocean. The attic in our house—a place his family never allowed me to enter—was filled with her photos. I glanced at my Snapchat chat history with David. Over the past two weeks, I had sent him more than 1,800 messages. All my breakdowns, my helplessness, my longing. None of them had ever received a reply. It turned out the man I had been mourning day and night was busy building a perfect family for another woman in a different city. Since that was the case, I would let him go.

Boom— Thunder rumbled, and a torrential downpour began outside. “Hey, Alice, are you still there?” Chloe’s voice came through the phone. I asked for the address, my hands shaking as I hung up. The Uber sped through the rain, and cold water dripped down my collar as I got out. On the way there, I had prayed a thousand times that this was just a sick joke. But then I arrived at the private restaurant and looked through the glass. Inside, Vivian accepted the proposal, and an ecstatic David pulled her into a tight embrace. The crowd erupted in cheers as confetti rained down on the happy couple. “You gotta kiss her!” someone shouted. “Stop teasing me,” Vivian blushed, burying her face in David’s chest. David smiled gently, protectively shielding her behind his back. “Vivian is shy. If you guys scare her off, I won’t let you off easy.” A few friends nearby continued to joke. “David, this move was brilliant. You got rid of that old hag and brought home the beauty!” “Aren’t you afraid that crazy wife of yours will find out and make a scene?” “Let her. David has been nice enough to her. Flying back and forth between countries all the time was exhausting anyway!” An old hag? I reached up and touched my pale, hollow cheeks. For the past ten years, I had given up my career to dedicate myself entirely to taking care of David. At only twenty-eight, I looked like I was forty. Meanwhile, the woman in David’s arms had flawless, glowing skin. She looked like an eighteen-year-old girl. It seemed she had been well-protected all these years. David casually pinched Vivian’s earlobe and spoke in a dismissive tone. “She’ll find out sooner or later. I only did this to avoid unnecessary drama.” “If she wants to make a scene, let her. If she wants to quietly remain Mrs. Jonathan, she has to accept Vivian.” The restaurant’s heater was blasting warm air, blowing over my drenched body. But I couldn’t stop shivering. My chest felt as if it were being violently crushed. The pain was so intense that I collapsed onto the cold ground. When the proposal ended, David dismissed the guests and led Vivian toward the penthouse suite. Numbly, I followed them up. Before they even reached the room, David seemed unable to control himself any longer. He pressed Vivian against the wall, kissing her passionately. His voice was deep and breathless. “You look so beautiful tonight.” “I’ve been holding back the urge to kiss you for so long.” The sound of their heavy breathing filled the hallway. Vivian’s jacket slipped to the floor. She giggled softly. “You made too much noise last night. Danny asked me this morning if we were fighting.” Clatter— My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor. The motion-sensor lights in the hallway immediately flared to life. Only then did they realize someone was standing at the end of the corridor. “Oh my gosh… Let’s go inside, this is so embarrassing!” Vivian whined, pushing David toward the door. David gave me a cold, detached look and dialed a number on his phone. “Come up and clear out this intruder. Vivian is getting uncomfortable.” Then, he leaned back down to kiss Vivian’s lips, smiling playfully. “Since when are you so shy? You weren’t like this last night.” “Your face is as red as an apple.” The keycard beeped, the door clicked open, and the moment it shut, the hallway fell back into silence. A few burly security guards dragged me out like trash and threw me onto the wet pavement outside. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I curled into a ball and sobbed hysterically. Ten years. I had loved David with every fiber of my being for ten whole years. I still remembered our wedding night. David had drunk a lot of alcohol, his eyes incredibly red. He had knelt before me, holding my hands tightly, and sworn an oath. “Alice, now that I’ve married you, you’re the only one for me for the rest of my life.” He had held me and talked for hours. I had been so tired back then, and because I missed responding to a few of his words, he had actually pouted. “Do you not love me anymore?” I had laughed all night because of that one childish question. That night, we held each other and talked until dawn. It was so beautiful it felt like a dream. But in our fifth year of marriage, David received a letter from abroad. He began going on irregular business trips, sometimes disappearing for months. It was during one of those trips that I miscarried our first child. The doctor said the miscarriage had severely damaged my body, making it hard for me to conceive again. I cried hysterically on the phone, questioning David. But he, far away in another country, remained silent for a long time before saying coldly, “I’m busy with work. We don’t need to rush the baby thing.” I told him I would wait. Finally, another five years passed. When I unexpectedly got pregnant again, I was so excited. I wanted to wait until he returned from his trip on our anniversary to give him a surprise. Instead, I received news of his plane crash. Thinking back to Vivian’s words now, I cried until I choked. His busy work was all a lie. He just didn’t want to have a child with me. My lower abdomen began to throb painfully, and my heart felt as if it were being torn open. I completely blacked out.

When I woke up again, I was in a hospital. The pungent smell of disinfectant filled my nose. My messy hair was splayed across my face. The ward was crowded, with four beds crammed together. Every other patient had family members accompanying them. I was the only one left alone, looking like a beggar. I never could have imagined that I, a graduate from an Ivy League university, would end up this pathetic. For David, I had rejected prestigious job offers arranged by my mentor. I had thrown everything away just to run to him. Even when I heard he had died in a crash, my first instinct had been to follow him to the grave. Because I loved him. Looking at my pale reflection in the small mirror on the wall, tears streamed down my face. A kind nurse, pitied my state, brought me a cup of warm water. “Ma’am, your fetal heart rate is highly unstable. You are in serious danger of miscarrying. Should I call your family for you?” Family? Other than David, whose name was on our marriage certificate, I had no one else. Suddenly, my phone screen lit up. The video of David and Vivian’s engagement was going viral on YouTube. The news headlines were everywhere: “Heir to the Jonathan Group Survived the Crash, Returning to Marry His True Love.” In the video, David had his arm around Vivian, smiling as he accepted congratulations from the media. I gripped the bedsheets so hard my knuckles turned white. The nurse took my phone, intending to call my pinned contact. In a panic, I snatched it back, my voice trembling. “No… no need. I want to be discharged.” I fled the hospital, dragging my frail, broken body out into the street. I was terrified of anyone seeing how pathetic I had become. I ran aimlessly until I bumped into a solid chest. A familiar, cold scent of expensive cologne filled my senses. I snapped my head up. David was holding a little boy with his left hand and Vivian with his right. My ears began to ring. He patted Vivian’s head and murmured something to her. The woman gave me a disdainful glare before leading the child over to a nearby bench. Like a marionette, I was dragged by David into an empty hallway. “I assume you know everything by now. I won’t beat around the bush.” He looked at my sickly, pale face, a flash of something dark and unreadable crossing his eyes. “I have already announced to the public that Vivian is my wife,” he said, suddenly pulling me into his arms with what looked like genuine pain. “Just stay quietly by my side. Whatever you want, I will give it to you.” His hand was gently stroking my back, and the tenderness in his eyes didn’t look fake. But the words coming out of his mouth were ice-cold. In that instant, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. I looked up to meet his gaze and laughed. “So that was your excuse? Faking your death on a business trip?” “David, what have I been to you for the past ten years?” “Just a clown you could discard and play with whenever you wanted?” I tried to choke back my sobs, but the tears spilled over anyway. My cold tears fell onto David’s palm, making him freeze for a second. “No,” he said, suddenly gripping the back of my neck, showering my face with frantic, desperate kisses. “I just couldn’t let Vivian go. I lied to you because I didn’t want to hurt you.” Feeling my body trembling, he frowned and grabbed my cold hands. “Why are you so cold? Are you sick?” “I’ll take you to see a doctor.” He tried to pull me along. Just then, Vivian’s whimpering voice echoed from behind us. “David! Danny’s fever is getting worse! Why are you still over there?” David’s footsteps halted abruptly. A look of guilt crossed his face as he called his secretary over. “I’m sorry, Alice. I’ll have John take you.” I watched his retreating back, suddenly realizing that I didn’t even know when it had started—but David left me with the view of his back far more often than his face. I thought of every lonely midnight, of the nights I couldn’t sleep because of severe morning sickness. At this moment, all my sanity crumbled. I covered my ears, crouched down, and screamed at the top of my lungs. “David! What am I to you?! A substitute for Vivian? Your plaything?!” “Do I look like an idiot to you?!” My tears flowed freely, but no matter how hard I cried, David did not stop. He merely turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose with an impatient sigh. “Stop throwing a tantrum, Alice. You know I prefer you when you’re quiet and obedient.” “I’ll come see you after I’m done.” His hurried footsteps faded away. The secretary gave me a sympathetic look, trying to help me up to go to a ward. I brushed her hand away and walked out of the hospital on my own. Along the way, people pointed at me and whispered. “That’s the mistress. She tried to seduce Mr. Jonathan. Poor Mrs. Jonathan was crying so hard earlier…” “How shameless.” I felt like a criminal paraded through the streets. Accusations and slander rained down on me, triggering dark memories I had buried long ago.

Years ago, my mother had been driven to jump from a building because of my father’s infidelity. No one wanted to adopt me. It was David who had appeared like an angel, pulling me out of the darkness. He told me he would protect me forever, and I believed him. When his family forced him to break up with Vivian, I stayed by his side year after year. I had always believed we were each other’s salvation. Eventually, David fell in love with me. I thought he was my savior, but now, he was the one dragging me back into the dark. I ran back to the Jonathan estate like a madwoman. Ignoring everyone who tried to stop me, I tore up our marriage certificate and smashed our bedroom to pieces. Shards of glass cut into the soles of my feet, but I just kept crying like a lunatic who couldn’t find an answer. I didn’t understand. How could someone who loved me so much change so completely? Walking barefoot and numb along the sidewalk, I looked up at a giant digital billboard broadcasting a live interview. David and Vivian were holding hands, their son running circles around them happily. The host handed the microphone to Vivian. “Mrs. Jonathan, we heard that you two were each other’s first loves.” “After going through so much, you’ve finally ended up together. Mr. Jonathan must love you very much.” Vivian blushed, looking at David. David gave her a doting smile, gently took the microphone, and spoke. “My wife is a bit shy, so let me answer that.” He looked deeply into Vivian’s eyes and said clearly, “My wife is precious to me. I love her with all my heart.” The crowd below cheered. But my eyes were fixed on the mermaid-shaped necklace around Vivian’s neck. I remembered the years when I was plagued by nightmares of my past. David had stayed awake with me night after night. Later, because he hated seeing me suffer, he spent a fortune bidding at an auction for three days and nights just to win that mermaid necklace for me. Back then, he had held me close and whispered gently, “I want you to be like a mermaid—free and unbound.” “Don’t let the past lock you in. Just be yourself.” But that necklace had gone missing a year ago, and no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find it. It turned out he had given it to Vivian. I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall. Wiping them away, I listened to the wind howling in my ears as I dialed David’s number. “David, congratulations on your wedding.” “We are already divorced. I’m keeping the house and the car.” “Plus, half of your assets.” When the Jonathan family kicked me out, they had already finalized the paperwork under the pre-signed draft David’s mother had forced upon me. David probably didn’t even know yet. The interview had just ended, and the background was noisy. David didn’t hear me clearly. “What did you say?” “I’m busy right now. We’ll talk when I get back.” The corners of my mouth curled up into a soft, firm smile. “No need. It’s nothing important.” Without waiting for his reply, I hung up and called my lawyer to draft the asset division agreement. Before I could lock my phone, a notification popped up—a Snapchat video from Vivian’s public story. A child’s innocent voice could be heard in the background. “Daddy, it’s your turn to read me a bedtime story tonight.” “Alright, but tomorrow night you have to give Mommy back to me. You can’t keep hogging her.” “I need my wife, too.” The happy laughter of the three of them echoed from the speaker. I laughed until tears came out, then sent David a message. [This is the asset division agreement. If you have no objections, sign it.] Ten minutes later, David called me back. He sounded like he was driving. “What is this nonsense? We aren’t divorced, why are we dividing assets?” “Are you still throwing a tantrum?” “I promise you, I’ll come home early tonight to be with you.” I let out a soft laugh. “David, go back and be with them.” “I stopped begging for your company a long time ago.” I hung up and booked a one-way flight for that afternoon.

On the way to the airport, the Uber collided with a large truck. The vehicles were smoking, and the scene was absolute chaos. I lay on the cold asphalt, feeling the warm blood slowly pooling beneath me. Through my fading vision, the wail of sirens echoed in the distance. I was lifted onto a stretcher, and the ambulance sped away. The paramedic put an oxygen mask over my face. “The patient is pregnant and showing signs of a severe miscarriage! Call her emergency contact immediately!” They grabbed my phone and found the contact labeled “Husband.” But no matter how many times they dialed, only the cold, automated voicemail answered. The paramedic was sweating profusely. After countless attempts, the call was finally picked up. “Hello? Alice?” It was Vivian’s voice. The paramedic hadn’t expected a woman to answer. Quickly, he explained my life-threatening condition. A soft chuckle came from the other end. “I’m sorry, but my husband is in the shower right now. He doesn’t have time for strangers.” In the background, the sound of running water stopped. “If you go to her tonight, don’t bother coming back,” Vivian’s voice was playful but firm. Then, David’s voice came through, stabbing directly into my heart. “She’s not important compared to you.” “My wife is angry, why would I care about anyone else?” The call went dead. The paramedic looked at me with a complicated, sorrowful expression. I closed my eyes, and the last shred of lingering attachment in my heart vanished. “Do the surgery,” I whispered. “Save me. Terminate the pregnancy. I’ll sign the papers myself.” The surgery was completed quickly. I booked another flight for the next day. That night, David sent me several apology texts. [I had work last night. I’ll make time to be with you today.] [I rented out your favorite amusement park to make it up to you.] I didn’t reply to a single one. The next day, right before boarding, David sent me a video. In the video, he was standing inside the empty amusement park we used to visit. “I’ll have the driver pick you up soon. Wait for me.” “I set up a surprise for you here. You’re going to love it.” I watched the video expressionlessly, then blocked his number. I threw my SIM card into a trash can and boarded the plane.

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