My father-in-law passed away, and my husband and I went back to his hometown for the funeral. During the wake that night, I caught my husband and his brother’s wife tangled up in each other in the dark utility closet. That very same night, I got my revenge. Later, I got pregnant. My husband and his brother both thought the baby was theirs. I was woken up by the sound of rain beating against the window. Thinking of the backyard reception tent for the wake, I decided to get up, change, and bring Logan an umbrella while he kept vigil. As I passed the old utility room, I heard hushed voices whispering inside. I stopped in my tracks. The lights were off. It was pitch black inside. I was standing right by the door. Although they were speaking in quiet murmurs, their voices were crystal clear. And I knew those voices all too well. It was my husband, Logan, and his brother’s wife, Fiona! “Logan, this is wrong. We shouldn’t be doing this.” “Then don’t hold me so tight.” “Just one last time, okay?” “Fiona, that’s exactly what you said last time.” … I stood there, dazed. I remembered a science teacher once saying that rainy days bring low atmospheric pressure. Is that why I felt like I couldn’t breathe? I reached out to push the door open, but the moment my hand touched the brass knob, I froze. I turned to walk away, only to see a man standing silently at the corner of the hallway. It was Brandon, Logan’s older brother. He was holding an umbrella and a woman’s coat in his hands. When he saw me looking, he gave me a silent nod and quietly walked away. As if possessed, I followed him. In his bedroom, Brandon stood by the open window, smoking a cigarette. I walked up, pulled the cigarette from his fingers, and kissed him. He didn’t push me away, but he didn’t react either. He stood there like a statue, letting me do whatever I wanted. A wave of humiliation washed over me. Just as I was about to step back and give up, he suddenly pulled me flush against his chest and kissed me back fiercely. The cold rain drifted in through the window. I shivered, my mind suddenly snapping back to reality. I started to regret this. But in the next second, my eyes fell on the framed wedding photo of Brandon and Fiona hanging on the wall. Thinking of Fiona and Logan tangled up downstairs at this very moment, I pulled Brandon onto the bed. Brandon’s movements were rough and intense. Unaccustomed to it, I frowned and instinctively pushed his shoulder. Sensing my resistance, Brandon paused. He spoke his first and only words of the night. “Georgia, do you regret this?” he whispered. My only response was to tilt my head up and press my lips against his Adam’s apple. He let out a sharp, ragged breath, and then things got even more intense. When it was all over, Brandon and I dressed in silence. Before leaving, I took one last look at the wedding photo on the wall. Fiona was leaning into Brandon’s chest, looking shy and blissfully happy. Back in my own room, I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but I drifted off almost instantly. When I woke up the next morning, Logan was already back. He was half-asleep, pulling me into his arms. “Babe, sleep with me a little longer. I’m so exhausted.” He drifted off again. I stared at a faint red mark on his neck. I stared until my eyes burned, then closed them, sinking back into Logan’s embrace. Sleeping chest-to-chest, our breaths mingling. Anyone looking at us would think we were the perfect, loving couple. My father-in-law’s funeral was a big affair, following the traditions of their small town. A white tent was set up in the backyard, and somber acoustic music played from morning till night. On the night before the burial, the town gathered for a small memorial service. The neighbors watching muttered, “The Miller boys are so dutiful. They really did right by their father.” Fiona handed me an apple. She smiled warmly. “Around here, we like to keep things lively for a send-off. Quite different from your big-city ways, huh?” I rolled the apple in my hand. Hearing her subtle distinction between “us” and “you,” I smiled. “Yes, it really is different.” “Right?” She smiled back, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She looked so gentle. She then sweetly gave me some advice on what to expect as a daughter-in-law during the burial tomorrow. She even whispered a little tip: if I couldn’t cry, I could rub a little sliced ginger on my sleeve. “Everyone does it,” she whispered with a wink. “Just don’t use too much, or people will smell it.” She was the picture-perfect, caring sister-in-law. If I hadn’t heard her with Logan last night, I would have genuinely appreciated her kindness.

Three days after the funeral, Brandon drove Logan and me to the train station. At the station, Logan went to grab our bags from the trunk. Brandon looked at me deeply and said, “Take care of yourself.” When Logan walked over, Brandon patted his shoulder. “Call me when you get home.” The brothers shared a quick hug before we parted. After an eight-hour train ride, we finally arrived back at our apartment in New York. Logan slumped onto the couch. “Even though I grew up in Ridgeville, I guess I’ve gotten too used to city life. It’s good to be home.” Ridgeville was his hometown, a small mountain town hundreds of miles away from New York City. Back in the city, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Our routine went right back to normal. Logan and I worked during the day. At night, whoever got home first cooked dinner, and the other washed the dishes. We were perfectly in sync. When the mood struck, we had our usual intimacy—two or three times a week, regular and healthy. Logan was always gentle, always paying close attention to my needs. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how desperate he had sounded in that dark utility room with Fiona. And I couldn’t forget Brandon’s fierce, almost wild touch that night. A few weeks later, I woke up feeling extremely nauseous. On my way home from work, I stopped by a pharmacy. When I got home, Logan wasn’t back yet. I went into the bathroom. Five minutes later, I saw two clear pink lines. When Logan walked through the door, I was sitting on the couch, staring into space. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” He pressed his hand against my forehead, concerned. “Logan, I…” The words caught in my throat. He didn’t rush me. He just waited patiently, warm and attentive. I forced a perfect smile. “I’m pregnant.” I handed him the test. “Oh my god!” he gasped, his face lighting up. “I’m going to be a dad! This is amazing!” He immediately kissed me. “Are you feeling okay? Are you hungry? Let me make dinner right now.” While he was cooking, I could hear him humming a cheerful tune in the kitchen. His joy was palpable. The next day, we both took time off work to go to the clinic. The doctor smiled and congratulated us. “You’re definitely pregnant. About eight weeks along. The baby is developing perfectly. Just make sure to come in for regular prenatal visits.” Logan kept asking questions about what to do and what to avoid, to the point where the doctor looked amused. “Sorry, Doc,” Logan apologized with a sheepish grin. “It’s my first time being a dad. I’m just really excited.” Then he leaned in to ask yet another question. I gently stroked my still-flat belly, my mind drifting. Eight weeks. When exactly had I conceived? Was it during my birthday dinner right after we got back to the city? Or… was it that night in Ridgeville? After finding out about the pregnancy, Logan became even more doting. He came home straight after work. If he had extra tasks, he brought his laptop home to work beside me. Aside from cooking dinner, he started waking up an hour early every morning to prepare breakfast for me. I thought his enthusiasm would fade after a few weeks, but he kept it up for the entire pregnancy. He also insisted on rubbing cocoa butter on my belly and massaging my swollen legs every night. One evening, he made my favorite shrimp dish. He peeled every single one and placed them in my bowl, barely eating any himself. After dinner, he served a bowl of fresh fruit and yogurt. “Hey, babe,” he said in a pleading tone. “My company needs me to go on a business trip. I tried to get out of it, but I really can’t.” “Work is important,” I smiled. “Besides, I’m not a baby. I can handle a few days alone.” “Thank you, babe. You’re the best.” He hugged me tightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll get back as fast as I can.” The trip was for a week. Before leaving, he prepped meals for the next few days and cleaned the entire apartment top to bottom. “Don’t worry about a thing,” he told me as he kissed my forehead. “I’ll clean up whatever’s left when I get back. I’ll FaceTime you every day.” He kept his word. Every night at 8:00 PM, his face popped up on my screen. On the last night of his trip, he looked a bit nostalgic. “I’m actually quite close to Ridgeville right now. It’s only about an hour’s drive. I think I’m going to head back there tonight.” He sighed softly. “I want to visit my dad’s grave and tell him the good news. He’s going to be a grandfather.” “Okay,” I nodded. “Give my best to Brandon and Fiona.” Logan poured out a few more sweet, caring words before reluctantly hanging up. But the next night at 8:00 PM, my phone didn’t ring.

It was Brandon who FaceTimed me. By then, it was almost midnight. The camera was pointed at a familiar door. I recognized it instantly—it was the utility room in Logan’s old family home. The muffled audio coming through the speaker was a haunting echo of the past. “Logan, you’re hurting me… don’t do that.” “Don’t do what, Fiona? Say it.” … I listened, completely numb, until Brandon ended the call. A tear fell onto my screen. I stared at the dark glass, watching my own tear-stained reflection. Months after discovering my husband’s affair, I finally broke down and sobbed in our empty apartment. Logan called me early the next morning. He apologized profusely, claiming he had had a few drinks with his brother, got drunk, and crashed, forgetting to call. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. “I knew you went back home. I wasn’t worried.” His eyes flickered with a brief flash of guilt. “I’m so sorry, babe. I broke my promise.” Then he immediately pivoted to asking how I was sleeping, how I was feeling, and if the baby was kicking. I gave him distracted, hollow answers. At one point, when he asked what I had eaten for dinner, I told him the movie I watched was boring. He was so preoccupied he didn’t even notice the nonsensical response. He returned on the weekend. I was sitting on the couch, eating french fries and watching TV. “That’s junk food, babe. Not good for the baby. Try to eat less of that,” he said with a warm smile. “Let me peel an apple for you.” When he walked out of the kitchen with the sliced apple, I just stared at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he teased. “Missed me that much?” I pointed to his neck. “What’s that red mark?” Logan froze for a split second. He instinctively covered his neck with his hand. “Oh, this? Probably a mosquito bite. I must have scratched it. You know how bad the bugs are near the mountains in Ridgeville.” I nodded slowly. “Put some calamine lotion on it.” I didn’t call him out. It was late autumn. From that day on, Logan was even more attentive. But whenever I fell asleep, the nightmares took over. In my dreams, it was always raining. A relentless, endless downpour. And there was always that utility room door. On one side of the door, Logan and Fiona were locked in their desperate embrace. On the other side, Brandon and I were violently clinging to each other. Despite being in my third trimester, when I should have been gaining weight, I was visibly wasting away. Logan was worried sick. He cooked elaborate meals, practically glowing with relief whenever I managed to eat a few bites. On the day I went into labor, the doctor told me my husband was sobbing like a baby in the waiting room, completely ignoring the stares of strangers. The delivery nurse looked at me with envy. “If my future husband is even half as caring as yours, I’ll thank God every day.” I smiled but said nothing. His love for me was real. But his betrayal was also real. Just like my father. When my mother was recovering postpartum with me, my father had an affair with her younger sister, Aunt Sarah. After my mother found out, she packed her bags, divorced him, and left the country. We never heard from her again. My father was devastated. He spent the next few decades drowning in regret. Aunt Sarah cried, begged, and even threatened suicide, but my father refused to touch her. He said the only woman he ever loved was my mother. He never remarried, never dated, and dedicated his life entirely to raising me. Two years after I got married, he took his own life. In his suicide note, he wrote that his biggest regret was succumbing to a “moment of passion,” an impulse that cost him the love of his life forever. That was why I despised the phrase “moment of passion” more than anything. But now, I had become the very person I hated. “Babe, I think his eyes look just like mine,” Logan’s voice pulled me back from my memories. “But he has your nose and face shape. What do you think?” I looked closely at the newborn. To me, all newborns looked exactly the same. Logan chuckled. “True. We’ll see who he looks like when he grows a bit more.” My heart skipped a beat, pounding violently against my ribs. That dark, suppressed question surfaced in my mind once again.

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My adoptive sister pushed me off a balcony just because I refused to hand over my inheritance and my fiancé. I was severely injured. When I finally woke up, I found myself chained in a dark, damp cellar. A drooling, limping man named Donald rushed at me, tearing at my clothes with a sickening grin. Terrified, I gathered every ounce of strength to push him away. Instantly, an old woman standing nearby struck my head with a heavy wooden club. “A bought-and-paid-for bride dares to fight back?” Mrs. Gable shrieked. “If you’re so tough, why don’t you just drink this rat poison and die?!” From that day on, my hands and feet were bound in heavy iron shackles. Despite the endless nights of brutal beatings and verbal abuse, I forced myself to endure. I learned from the other trapped women in this godforsaken backwoods town. I played the part of a submissive, broken wife to please my limping “husband” and his wretched mother. For five long years, I bided my time. Finally, I found an opportunity to slip into their room and grab a burner phone. But just as I was about to dial my brother’s number to beg for rescue… I heard the supposedly brain-dead Donald speaking in a perfectly clear, cold voice just outside the door. “Master Austin, the five-year mark has arrived.” “Do you want me to keep training the eldest heiress, or has she learned her lesson?” Austin Gray. My twin brother. The very person I was about to beg for help. 1 My starved, sluggish brain couldn’t process it at first. Then, Austin’s voice drifted through the wooden door. “Keep her there a little longer.” “Chloe’s engagement party with Logan Miller is in three days.” “Mom and Dad will transfer her share of the trust fund to Chloe then.” “With the trust and the Miller alliance, Chloe will be secure.” “At least I won’t have to worry about Evelyn coming back to ruin her life.” Donald hesitated, his voice low. “But Master Austin, if the true heiress loses her inheritance and her fiancé, what will she do for the rest of her life?” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Austin spoke with chilling indifference. “As long as I’m alive, I’ll make sure she doesn’t starve on the streets.” “After all, she is my biological sister.” The stark contrast of his words pierced my heart like an icicle. I slid down the wall, curling into a ball on the dirty floor. Tears fell silently, but my stomach twisted with absolute disgust. His biological sister? I looked at my hands. Once delicate, they were now scarred, calloused, and withered like those of an eighty-year-old woman. I remembered when I first returned to the Gray family, feeling so insecure about my rough hands. Austin had held them, looking into my eyes with warmth. “You’ve suffered so much, Evelyn. Your big brother will make sure you get everything you deserve.” He showered me with diamonds, stood up for me in high society, and loudly scolded Chloe when she tried to sabotage me. I actually believed he loved me. I believed he felt guilty that Chloe’s biological mother had swapped us at birth, leaving me to rot in poverty for twenty years. But it was all a sick, twisted act. The moment I refused to give up my birthright, he had me kidnapped and sold to this living hell, leaving me to be treated like livestock for five years. He even wanted the trust fund my parents set aside for me. He wanted to strip me of everything. “Not starve on the streets”? Even if I weren’t the heiress of the Gray family, I had hands and a brain. I could feed myself. I didn’t need his pitiful, patronizing crumbs. Chloe’s mother ruined the first half of my life, and now my own twin brother had stolen the second. But I am no one’s puppet. The suffocating pain in my chest slowly crystallized into cold, hard rage. I gripped the phone tightly and dialed 91

“I want to report a kidnapping,” I whispered. “Austin Gray, CEO of Gray Group, kidnapped and sold his biological sister, Evelyn Gray.” I hung up immediately. Right now, I couldn’t trust a single soul, not even my parents. The only person who could get me out of this hell was myself. I knew Austin would find out about this call very soon, and he would make a move to cover his tracks. That would be my only window of opportunity to escape. I slipped the phone back into its hiding spot. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught a small paring knife on the counter. I hesitated for a second, then grabbed it and hid it in my waistband. I didn’t want to kill anyone. But if it came down to it, I’d rather spend my life in a federal prison than live like a caged dog here forever. I pushed open the creaky wooden door, instantly melting back into the role of the terrified, submissive country wife. Mrs. Gable was waiting in the yard. Seeing me, her face contorted with rage, and she whipped a wooden rod across my back. “You lazy bitch! Why isn’t dinner ready? Are you trying to starve us to death?!” “Get your ass into the kitchen, now!” 2 Sharp, burning pain flared across my arms as angry red welts rose on my skin. But I didn’t dare fight back. I kept my head low and whimpered, “I’m sorry, I’m going right now.” Seeing my submission, Mrs. Gable spat on the ground, satisfied. “Better. Let me tell you something, girl. Once you enter the Gable house, you’re ours forever.” “Stop dreaming your fancy rich girl dreams.” “Your only job is to pop out some strong boys for my son.” I had heard those words thousands of times. I used to think it was just her trying to break my spirit. Now I realized it was Austin’s script, systematically crushing my dignity. He was terrified I would take back what belonged to me, forgetting that everything Chloe had was stolen from me in the first place. Pure hatred fueled my steps as I entered the kitchen. Without hesitation, I pulled out a handful of toxic wild mushrooms I had gathered and dried weeks ago. Looking at the boiling stew on the stove, I chopped the mushrooms finely and tossed them in. As night fell, I served the stew on the table. When I didn’t leave the room immediately, Mrs. Gable kicked a cracked plastic bowl on the floor. “That’s your feeding dish,” she sneered. “A bought slave doesn’t get to sit at our table.” “Get on your knees and serve your man!” Donald walked in, dropping his “fool” act. Seeing me standing there, he kicked me hard in the shin, clapping his hands and laughing like a toddler. To make it worse, he grabbed a ladle of smelly dishwater and dumped it into my cracked bowl. “Eat!” he yelled. “Eat it up!” When I hesitated, Mrs. Gable slammed her rod heavily across my back. “Eat it, you worthless bitch! Or do you want me to shove it down your throat?!” The pain made my mind go blank for a second. Through the haze, I saw the dark, malicious gleam in Donald’s eyes. I forced down the urge to drive the knife into his throat. I knelt, lowered my head, and pretended to drink the foul liquid from the bowl. Only then did Mrs. Gable pull her son away. “See? She’s obedient now. Come on, son, let’s eat our stew.” My hands were soaked in the disgusting dishwater, and the searing pain on my back kept me hyper-focused. My other hand slowly gripped the knife under my shirt. I listened to the clatter of their spoons, my heart pounding in my chest. *Clang!* Mrs. Gable suddenly dropped her spoon, clutching her stomach as she collapsed to the floor, groaning in agony. Donald jumped up, but before he could even call out, he doubled over, vomiting blood, and crashed beside her. He glared up at me, his eyes filled with rage and sudden terror. “You…” he gasped. “What did you do?!” I stood up, kicked my plastic bowl aside, and pulled out the knife, letting out a cold laugh. “What’s wrong, Donald? Done playing the idiot?” Seeing me step closer with the knife, Donald scrambled backward in terror. “What… what are you going to do?!” Before I could strike, the phone in Donald’s pocket began to ring. I snatched it from him. The caller ID read: *Master Austin*. I pressed the blade against Donald’s throat and whispered, “If you want to live, you will say exactly what I want you to say. Otherwise, I’ll slit your throat right now and bury you both in the yard.” Donald nodded frantically, trembling. I swiped to answer the call and immediately hit the record button. Austin’s exhausted voice came through the speaker. “Donald, are you absolutely sure Evelyn is under tight control?” Holding the knife steady, I nudged Donald. He stammered, “Y-yes… she’s locked down. Did something happen?” Austin sighed, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Someone called 911 claiming I kidnapped Evelyn. My parents don’t believe it, but Chloe says Dad is hesitating about transferring the trust fund now.” “Donald, I recall you haven’t officially married yet, right?” Sensing what was coming next, I pressed the knife slightly harder, making a tiny cut on his neck. “Answer him!” I mouthed. Donald shivered. “No, Master Austin. You promised that once this was done, you’d give me enough cash to get a proper wife.” Austin didn’t hesitate. “I’ll double it. One hundred thousand dollars.” “Get her pregnant. Now.” “I’ll handle the paperwork to make your marriage legal. Once our parents find out she’s married to a hillbilly with a kid on the way, they will never hand the Gray Group inheritance over to her.” Every single word felt like a physical blow to my heart. My own twin brother was paying a disgusting creep to assault me and force me to have a child, just to keep his precious, unrelated adoptive sister in luxury. Pain and fury boiled inside me. My hand shook so violently that Donald found an opening. He slammed his elbow into my ribs, knocking me back. 3 The loud thud of our struggle echoed through the phone. “Donald?” Austin’s voice sharpened with suspicion. “What’s going on over there?” Donald scrambled for the phone. I didn’t think twice—I grabbed a heavy wooden stool next to me and slammed it down on his head with all my might. He slumped to the ground, unconscious. Gasping for breath, I wiped the sweat and blood from my forehead. I kicked his limp body, grabbed his phone, and hung up. Then, I found some heavy rope and tied both Donald and his mother securely to the support beams. Just as I finished, there was a loud knock on the front door. “Mrs. Gable? Is everything alright in there?” I hid the knife behind my back, cracked the door open slightly, and made sure my bloody forehead was visible. “Betty,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Is something wrong?” Betty looked at me, her eyes darting suspiciously. I squeezed my hands tight, realizing Austin must have sent her to check on us. The whole damn town was probably on his payroll. I forced myself to look terrified. “Donald… he drank too much. He’s throwing a fit. Mrs. Gable is trying to clean up the mess…” Donald was a notorious alcoholic who got violent when drunk, so everyone in town avoided him. Hearing this, Betty’s face paled slightly. She glanced at the blood on my forehead and took a step back. “Right… well, you handle that. I’ll be going.” As soon as she turned around, I locked the heavy wooden door. I knew this lie wouldn’t buy me much time. Austin wasn’t stupid; he’d know Donald hadn’t been drinking over the phone. My only option was to run. Now. I ran to the bedroom, found the keys, and unlocked the heavy iron shackles on my ankles and wrists. I stuffed the phone with the recording into my pocket, grabbed a few pieces of stale bread, and climbed out the back window into the pitch-black night. There was only one paved road out of this town, and it was bound to be monitored. I took a deep breath and plunged straight into the dense, wild woods. Thorns and sharp branches tore at my skin, reopening my half-healed wounds. The smell of copper and dirt filled my nose. I gritted my teeth, refusing to make a sound, even as my breathing grew ragged. The dark forest was terrifying, instantly triggering a repressed memory. When we were kids, Chloe’s mother had abandoned me in a similar forest. All because I got a perfect score on an exam and said I wanted to go to an Ivy League university in New York. She had dragged me into the woods and screamed in my face: “You were born to be trash! Accept your fate and you might live. Fight it, and you’ll die!” But I refused to accept it. I survived those woods, fought my way back, forced the local authorities to let me go to school, and eventually found my biological parents. Now, history was repeating itself. And I still refused to submit. Suddenly, the distant baying of hounds echoed through the trees. I looked back. Not far behind, dozens of flashlight beams were cutting through the dark. They were hunting me. Panicking, I ran faster, ignoring the branches whipping my face. Suddenly, my foot caught on a root. I gasped as I tumbled over the edge of a steep ravine, rolling down violently. My head slammed hard against a rock. A blinding light flashed before my eyes, and then everything went black. *** In the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in New York, Chloe, radiant in a white designer gown, held Austin’s arm as they walked toward the Miller family. “Austin, is this real?” Chloe whispered, her eyes shining. “I’m really marrying Logan? And Mom and Dad are giving me the trust fund?” Austin smiled warmly, patting her hand. “Of course, Chloe. I convinced Mom and Dad that the 911 call from a few days ago was just a sick prank.” “I promised you the Miller alliance and the inheritance. No one is going to take that away from you.” “Not even Evelyn.” Austin led Chloe to the center stage. Under the glittering chandeliers, he picked up the trust transfer documents prepared by their parents. But before he could sign, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom slammed open. High-pitched screams instantly shattered the elegant music. “Oh my god! What is that?!”

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The moment the real heiress was welcomed back to her biological family, the zombie apocalypse began. She immediately hid inside our billionaire parents’ high-security mansion, kicking me out and sending me back to my biological parents’ run-down homestead in the middle of nowhere. She thought she was securing her own survival. What she didn’t expect was that the mansion’s bodyguards would turn on our wealthy parents, murder them, and take over the estate, turning the “real heiress” into their personal plaything in the wasteland. Meanwhile, I was living like a queen, eating and drinking to my heart’s content in the high-tech doomsday bunker built by my paranoid, prepper biological parents, safely waiting out the chaos until the rescue teams arrived. On the day of the evacuation, my half-dead sister begged to tell me her “final words.” But as I leaned in, she suddenly lunged forward and ripped my throat out with her teeth. When I opened my eyes again, we had both regressed. This time, Chloe beat me to the punch. She pushed our billionaire parents away, shouting that biology meant nothing compared to the people who raised her, and warned them not to stand in her way.

My adoptive parents, Richard and Eleanor Sinclair, stared at Chloe in absolute shock. You couldn’t blame them. Just a second ago, Chloe had been sobbing about how much she had suffered living with her poor parents in the countryside. She had blamed me for stealing the luxury life that was rightfully hers. The more Richard and Eleanor listened, the more they loathed me. Their venomous glares made me feel like they wanted to tear me to pieces right then and there. But before they could announce that they were kicking me out to let Chloe take her rightful place, Chloe suddenly changed her tune. She declared she wanted to go back to the countryside, to be with the parents who had raised her from dirt. She told the Sinclairs to get lost. As she finished her dramatic speech, she shot me a smug, gloating look. That was when I knew. She had regressed too. In our past life, Chloe had discovered she was adopted during a routine blood drive and immediately posted her DNA results online to find her real family. Because she looked identical to Richard, her identity as the true Sinclair heiress was quickly confirmed. On her very first day back, she was desperate to prove her loyalty to her new billionaire parents. She cut off all contact with my biological parents—the Millers—and had me sent back to them, claiming they were mentally unstable. She told me I had enjoyed her luxury for too long, that I owed her, and that letting me live was already an act of mercy. My biological parents were extreme doomsday preppers with severe paranoia. Any harmless action from me would trigger their delusions, making them think I was trying to poison them. They would beat me raw. Chloe couldn’t wait to escape them, and she wanted me to experience that exact living hell. But she didn’t expect the zombie virus to break out just days after I arrived at the Miller homestead. Before the apocalypse, the Sinclairs were the type of people who had organic produce flown in fresh daily. Once the world went to hell, their food supply lines were cut off. They hid in their mansion, throwing money at their bodyguards to go out and raid the nearby shopping centers. But after watching their fellow guards get torn apart by the infected, the remaining security detail formed a pact. They threw Richard and Eleanor to the zombies, hijacked the mansion, and lived like kings. Only Chloe was kept alive, dragged through a living nightmare every single day. Meanwhile, the moment I had returned to the Millers’ homestead, I was ushered into a state-of-the-art underground bunker. My paranoid parents had poured their life savings into building it. I survived in perfect safety until the military rescue arrived. The day we were transferred to the survivor camp, I heard about the Sinclairs’ horrific deaths. Grieving for the people who had raised me for twenty years, I wept bitterly and vowed to take care of their only surviving daughter—Chloe. But the moment she saw me, already secretly infected, she lunged at me and tore open my carotid artery. As my blood sprayed across the room, she stood there drenched in red, laughing like a maniac. In this life, she didn’t hesitate. She pushed Eleanor and Richard away as if they were plague-bearers and rushed out of the house, eager to get to the Miller homestead. Richard and Eleanor stood frozen for a moment. Then, Richard slammed his fist on the table, cursing his ungrateful biological daughter. When he turned and saw my eyes pooling with tears, his heart finally softened. “Forget her,” Richard sighed, looking defeated. “If twenty years of separation means she’s been corrupted by those people, then we don’t need her anyway.” I nodded, offering a gentle, compliant smile. Chloe had no idea. In our past life, even though the Millers had a bunker stocked like a grocery store, I ate worse than a stray dog. Despite the shelves being packed with canned goods and rations, my biological parents were constantly terrified that the apocalypse would last forever and we would run out of food. From the moment we sealed the bunker doors, they only allowed me one packet of Oreos and half a bottle of water a day. Even if the food was literally rotting or being eaten by pests, they refused to let me touch it. Yet, the day before the military rescued us, knowing the soldiers were coming, they suddenly shoved armfuls of food down my throat, forcing me to gorge.

My stomach, shrunken to the size of a fist after six months of starvation, couldn’t handle it. I threw up violently. They told me that leaving any food behind would just benefit outsiders, and if the rescue team saw we had leftovers, it would paint a target on our backs at the survivor camp. But in this life, I had better options. Chloe was short-sighted. She didn’t understand that having one more ally is always better than having one more enemy. That was why she was so eager to ditch the Millers in her last life, and so desperate to ditch the Sinclairs in this one. I, on the other hand, seized the moment. While Richard and Eleanor were drowning in their hatred for Chloe and overwhelming guilt toward me, I asked them to build me my own high-security house. They stared at me, their mouths open in confusion. I looked around the room, mimicking the twitchy, paranoid behavior of someone terrified of invisible threats. “What if Chloe comes back?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “What if she brings a bad crowd to steal from us?” “What if my biological parents come looking for me? I can send them some money, but I don’t want them bringing trouble to your doorstep.” Richard thought it over. He assumed I had simply inherited my biological parents’ paranoia. Rather than arguing, he readily agreed and wired me the funds. With the Sinclair fortune at my disposal, I was going to live far better than I ever did in my past life. I purchased a villa in the very same gated community as the Sinclairs. I chose not to live with them because I had already seen through their cold, transactional nature. In my past life, when Chloe demanded I be sent to the Millers to suffer, they didn’t care. Later, they forced their bodyguards to risk their lives retrieving gourmet foods, complaining when things weren’t perfect, which ultimately cost several lives. Even though they chose me in this timeline and gave me enough money to secure my safety, I wouldn’t bet my life on their loyalty when a real crisis hit. Living alone was the only logical choice. My new villa faced a quiet lake in the front and a vast, open golf course in the back. The visibility was perfect. The gated community was sparsely populated, making its security top-tier. Even if the main security gates collapsed and desperate refugees tried to break in, I would spot them from a mile away. Still, that wasn’t enough. I began upgrading the house. I replaced all doors and windows with bank-vault-grade security materials and started panic-buying. Military-grade MREs, freeze-dried vegetables, medical kits, survival gear… anything that could be bought with money, I hoarded. When other wealthy neighbors questioned my massive shipments, I simply told them I was setting up a humanitarian relief initiative under our family foundation to prepare for global crises, aiming to boost my resume. They nodded in approval. Soon, they were even helping me coordinate shipments, asking only that our family company mention their names in our press releases. Wealthy people can never have too much good publicity. To me, these expenses were pocket change. Of course, I didn’t actually set up a real foundation. I had a portion of the supplies shipped directly to low-income families in nearby rural areas, counting it as a good deed to help them survive what was coming. The rest was packed tightly into my newly reinforced basement bunker. Next, I asked Richard to assign me Marcus, the head of our security detail. Marcus had been an MMA prodigy in his youth before serving in the military. He was an expert in close-quarters combat and tactical defense. In my past life, he had died trying to shield his men. He was a man of honor. He was someone I could actually trust. Richard looked at me suspiciously this time, demanding to know what I was planning. But my twitchy, paranoid act quickly made him sigh in exhaustion. He gave up trying to reason with me and signed Marcus over. The very first task I gave Marcus was to deliver a physical letter to my biological parents.

The letter warned them that a highly infectious zombie virus was about to sweep the nation. To a normal person, such a letter would be discarded as a prank. But I knew the Millers. Their paranoia was a sickness. Sure enough, the moment they read the letter, they wept tears of joy. It was as if all their years of being called crazy had finally been validated. They immediately rushed to inspect the hidden bunker they had spent decades building. They walked into their dusty old basement, cleared away the heavy junk concealing the floor, and unlocked the heavy steel door requiring a passcode, fingerprint, and retinal scan. But just as they opened it, Marcus, who had been tailing them in the shadows, struck. He knocked them both unconscious with quick, non-lethal blows, did absolutely nothing else, and left. When Arthur and Martha finally woke up, they frantically checked their bunker supplies. They found the hair-triggers they had left on the doorknobs and the meticulously aligned dust lines completely undisturbed. They fell into a tense, terrified silence. I knew exactly what was going through their minds. *Had someone bypassed their security?* *Had the food been poisoned or replaced?* *The fact that the markers were untouched—did it mean the intruder was a professional?* In the end, they stared at each other and reached one paranoid conclusion: “This bunker is compromised.” They abandoned their lifetime project without hesitation. In a panic, they hired local contractors to weld two extra layers of steel plating over their house’s main doors and rushed to grab whatever random supplies they could find. Chloe watched all of this play out with a smug smile. She genuinely believed this was the secret weapon that had kept me safe and comfortable in the previous timeline. She had no idea that the people Marcus hired to “install” the extra steel doors had already planted hidden cameras throughout the house. The Millers hadn’t even finished stocking up when the outbreak hit. Overnight, the world fell into silence. The streets were littered with the dead. Richard and Eleanor FaceTime’d me, panicked, asking where I was. They wanted me to cross the golf course to join them so we could pool our resources. I played the part of the dutiful, loving daughter. I told them I was completely safe, and that I had already stocked their kitchen with a massive supply of food the day before. I begged them to stay inside and lock their doors. This was only the beginning of the end. While I didn’t know the exact details of what happened to their mansion in the previous timeline, common sense dictated it wouldn’t fall this early. I pulled up the live camera feed of the Miller homestead. On screen, Chloe was lounging on a lawn chair, lazily licking a popsicle, while Arthur and Martha were sweat-drenched, desperately barricading the windows. “Arthur, Martha, stop stressing,” Chloe called out, trying to sound sweet. “You’re dripping sweat. Here, have a popsicle.” She was trying to play the loving daughter, to get on their good side. But the moment they heard her voice and saw her smiling with a half-eaten popsicle, they snapped. Arthur’s face turned bright red, veins bulging on his neck. He lunged forward and slapped the popsicle right out of her hand, sending it flying. “You brainless brat!” Arthur screamed, his voice cracking. “Do you have any idea what’s happening out there? All you do is eat, eat, eat! The world is ending and you’re already treating it like a vacation? Are you trying to starve us to death?!” They were already on edge after losing their main bunker, and facing the apocalypse with limited supplies had pushed their paranoia to the brink. Chloe’s carefree attitude was the spark that set off the powder keg. Chloe froze, her jaw dropping. She had always hated the Millers for raising her in poverty, and finding out she was a billionaire’s daughter had turned that resentment into pure rage. Her instinct was to strike back. But she caught herself just in time. She realized she still needed them to survive the winter. Her face contorted as she forced down her anger, muttering under her breath, “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’ll do better.” “But don’t worry too much. The apocalypse only lasts six months. We can easily make it through.”

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Before the car even cleared the bustling streets of downtown Manhattan, Ethan demanded to pull over. His precious little ward, Clara, was having another panic attack. Or a “heart flare-up,” as she liked to call it. I gripped his sleeve so hard my nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. “Ethan, today is my grandmother’s eightieth birthday. If you walk out of this car right now, we are done. I’m filing for divorce.” He pried my fingers off his arm, his eyes as cold as shards of ice. “Aria, why do you have to be so incredibly selfish? Clara is literally fighting for her life, and you’re here throwing a childish tantrum.” Without another word, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the rain, never once looking back. We had been married for three years. To the outside world, we were the ultimate power couple—the envy of everyone in our social circle. But everything changed the moment Clara, with her fragile heart condition, moved into our estate. Whenever she felt a slight flutter in her chest, he would drop everything and run to her side. On my last birthday, he promised to take me out for a sunset yacht cruise. Just as we were heading out the door, Clara texted him saying her chest felt tight. Ethan left me standing on the dock alone. I had screamed. I had cried. I had fought him over her endless drama. But his response was always the same tired line: “Clara has no one else in this world, Aria. She’s sick. Can’t you just be the bigger person for once?” The bigger person? I was his wife, not her mother. Watching his car disappear into the city traffic, I slowly let my hands drop to my sides. Forget it. This marriage was over anyway. *** 0

Two weeks later, I finally returned to New York from my family’s estate in Boston. “Ethan, you left Aria alone in Boston for half a month. Aren’t you worried she’ll be furious when she gets back?” “Aria has always been understanding, Mom. Once she’s home, I’ll buy her some of those sweets she likes, say a few nice words, and she’ll forget all about it. Besides, Clara’s health has been so fragile lately. She needed me more.” Ethan and his mother were chatting warmly in the living room. They had no idea I was already standing just outside the double doors. Looking back, I really used to be that easy to please. Every time Ethan abandoned me for Clara, he would bring back a box of my favorite lemon madeleines, whisper some sweet apologies, and my heart would melt. I always forgave him. I used to tell myself he was just loyal, just a good man looking out for an orphan. I gave a quiet nod to my assistant, Chloe. Chloe understood instantly. She raised her voice, “Ma’am, welcome back. Let me take your coat. Shall we go inside to greet Mrs. Vance?” The conversation in the living room cut off instantly. I walked in, my trench coat draped casually over my shoulders. Seeing me, Ethan’s face instantly lit up with a warm, practiced smile. He stepped forward to take my hands. “Aria! You should have called. I would have picked you up from JFK. Was the drive exhausting? I’ll have the chef make your favorite dinner tonight.” His voice was so gentle, as if our screaming match from two weeks ago had never happened. His mother waved me over warmly. “Aria, come here, let me look at you. Two weeks in Boston and you look so thin! Ethan, I have some premium wellness supplements in the pantry. Have someone bring them to Aria’s room later.” I quietly stepped aside, avoiding Ethan’s touch, and gave his mother a polite, distant nod. “Thank you, Mrs. Vance. The drive was quite long and I think I’m coming down with a cold. I wouldn’t want to pass it to you. I’ll come visit properly once I’m feeling better.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked straight toward the west wing. Behind me, I could hear their whispered voices. “Is Aria still throwing a fit?” “She’s just tired from the trip, Mom. You know Aria. She has the sweetest temper; she won’t stay mad at me. Once she feels better, I’ll have her come down and apologize to you, okay?” Sitting at my vanity, I called Chloe in. My voice was calm and steady. “Chloe, within the next three days, liquidate half of my real estate and investment portfolios. Transfer the other half directly to my sister Victoria’s name. Also, have the maids prepare the guest suite down the hall. I’ll be sleeping there from now on.” “Yes, Mrs. Vance,” Chloe replied quietly. I opened my laptop and typed out an email to my older sister, Victoria. Victoria had married into a powerful political dynasty in Washington D.C., and she held massive sway over our family’s assets. In the email, I told her about my decision to divorce Ethan and move back to Boston permanently. I didn’t want her to worry when she suddenly couldn’t reach me in New York. “Who are you emailing?” Ethan pushed the door open, his brow furrowing slightly as he caught a glimpse of the screen before I shut the laptop. “Just sorting out some family finances. Nothing you need to worry about,” I said flatly. Hearing me use such a formal, distant tone, Ethan finally seemed to realize something was off. “Aria, are you still angry about that day?” “I know I shouldn’t have left, but Clara’s heart flare-up was serious. If I hadn’t called the private doctors immediately, she could have died.” In our three years of marriage, I had always called him by his pet names when we were alone. Now, he was just “you.” “You don’t need to explain. I’m not angry.” “If you’re not angry, why are the maids moving your things to the guest suite? Are you trying to sleep in separate rooms now?” Ethan was still thoroughly convinced I was just playing hard to get. In his mind, as long as he bowed his head first, I would eventually cave. I didn’t want to waste my breath. Right then, Clara’s private nurse knocked on the door, looking for him. I offered him a serene, empty smile. “I have a cough, Ethan. I don’t want to keep you awake tonight. Since Clara needs you, you should go.” Ethan looked slightly guilty. “I don’t agree to the separate bedrooms. We’ll talk about this when I get back. Oh, and I know how much you missed the pastries from the bakery downtown while you were in Boston. I’ll bring some back for you!” He rushed out. I walked over to the window and watched his sports car roar out of the estate gates. An hour later, the housekeeper came up to my room. “Ma’am, Mr. Vance went to the bakery… but he bought a box of almond macarons. Miss Clara’s favorite.” Once, Ethan remembered that I was violently allergic to almonds. Every time he bought pastries, he would check the ingredients three times. Now, his mind was so consumed by Clara that he only remembered what she liked. I opened my drawer and pulled out the divorce papers I had drafted weeks ago. Slowly, and with a steady hand, I signed my name at the bottom. I still remembered when Ethan chased me all the way to Boston to propose. I had told him: “If there ever comes a day when your heart changes, I will leave. And you won’t try to stop me.” Ethan had sworn in front of my entire family that he would love me for the rest of his life. I believed him then. But hearts change. It took me three years to finally accept that truth. *** 0

When I woke up the next morning, the housekeeper informed me that Ethan had slept in his study last night. I didn’t care. I spent the morning going over my prenuptial asset list with Chloe, checking off every single item. I also gathered every gift, piece of jewelry, and trinket Ethan had given me over the years. Among them was a leather-bound journal he had written by hand. He had started it the year we met and kept writing into our marriage. Every page was filled with declarations of his undying love. But ever since Clara moved into the estate, not a single new page had been written. He had once promised me that on every birthday, he would personally bake me a cake and watch me blow out the candles. But for the past two years, there had been no cakes. No wishes. Today was my birthday. And he had forgotten it entirely. With stinging eyes, I packed all of his old gifts and the journal into a cardboard box. “Take this to the incinerator in the backyard,” I told the maid. “Burn it all.” “Aria, what is all this?” Ethan had just walked through the front door. His brow was knit tight as he watched the maid carry the heavy box out toward the yard. I looked up calmly. “Just some old, useless clutter. It was taking up space.” He didn’t think twice about it. Walking into the living room, he set a beautifully wrapped pastry box on the coffee table. His voice was soft. “I went out of my way to get you those lemon madeleines you love. Go on, try some.” I looked at the box, a cold, mocking smile playing at the corners of my lips. The very last spark of warmth in my heart died right then. The box didn’t contain lemon madeleines. They were almond macarons. The bakery always color-coded their ribbons. Yellow for lemon. Red for almond. The ribbon on this box was bright red. It was packed with the one ingredient that could put me in anaphylactic shock. I have been severely allergic to almonds since childhood. Even a trace of it would break me out in hives and restrict my breathing. When we first got married, I told him this. He had promised me that no almond products would ever cross the threshold of our home. And for a long time, he kept that promise. But now, three years later, a box of deadly almonds was sitting right in front of me. Handed to me by my own husband. Seeing me stare at the box without opening it, Ethan’s face darkened. He assumed I was just being stubborn. “Aria, I’ve already come home and tried to make peace. How long are you going to keep up this attitude? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg?” “I already explained to you, that night was an emergency. Clara was having a medical crisis. Did you expect me to just let her die?” I looked up, my gaze entirely hollow. “You forgot. I’m violently allergic to almonds.” Ethan froze. He lunged forward and tore open the pastry box. When he saw the rows of colorful almond macarons inside, all the color drained from his face. “I… the clerk at the bakery must have grabbed the wrong box! I swear I asked for lemon.” I didn’t bother calling him out. He was the CEO of Vance Enterprises. The staff at that high-end bakery would never make a mistake on his order. The truth was simple: he bought almond macarons for Clara so often that the staff just assumed that was what he wanted. “I see. I’m going to rest now.” I nodded politely, walked right past him, and headed upstairs. I left him standing in the middle of the living room, looking utterly lost. *** 0

Ethan must have sensed that he was losing me. Before dawn the next day, he went to a high-end jeweler on Fifth Avenue and bought a stunning array of diamond necklaces and bracelets. The butler cautiously approached him while he was sorting through the jewelry. “Mr. Vance… yesterday was Mrs. Vance’s birthday. The cake you ordered last week was delivered to her room last night. She… she asked us to throw it away.” Ethan went completely rigid. He had forgotten my birthday. Panic flared in his chest. When he saw me walking down the stairs, he rushed over, his eyes filled with desperate apology. “Aria, I am so incredibly sorry. Things at the office were chaotic yesterday, and it slipped my mind. I’ve booked the rooftop terrace at the penthouse restaurant tonight. Let me make it up to you.” Looking at the genuine guilt in his eyes, my mind flashed back to the boy who used to follow me around Boston, looking at me as if I were his entire world. Against my better judgment, my heart softened just a fraction. I gave a quiet nod. “Okay.” That evening, he took me to the exclusive rooftop restaurant overlooking the harbor. Throughout the dinner, he was incredibly attentive. He cut my steak, draped his suit jacket over my shoulders, and kept his eyes locked on me. Just like the old days. But when I took a sip of a cocktail and winced at the sourness, he instinctively reached into his pocket and pulled out a hard candy. It was a sour plum candy. Clara’s favorite. I detested sour flavors. Seeing that I didn’t reach for it, Ethan looked down at his hand, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Clara gets nauseous from her medication sometimes. I… I just keep them on me.” I nodded quietly, but my heart felt like it was encased in ice. There was a time when his pockets were only ever filled with the lemon drops I loved. His friends used to tease him about carrying candy in his bespoke suits, and he would always smile and say, “My wife likes them.” Now, the lemon drops were gone. Before the main course was finished, Clara’s private nurse burst through the restaurant doors, crying hysterically. “Mr. Vance! It’s Miss Clara! She’s coughing up blood. She says she won’t make it through the night… she’s begging to see you one last time!” Ethan’s face went white. He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. I stood up too, gesturing for the waiter to bring my coat. “Ethan, wait.” Ethan’s expression hardened, his voice sharp and defensive. “Aria, this is a matter of life and death! Don’t you dare try to stop me!” “I’m not stopping you.” I slipped my arms into my coat. “She’s sick. As your wife, I should be concerned too. I’m coming with you.” Ethan turned, surprised to see me already dressed to leave. Realizing how harsh he had just sounded, he looked slightly uncomfortable. But I didn’t look at him again. *** 0

The night was pitch black. Ethan was so panicked by the nurse’s words that he didn’t even wait for me. He ran to his car, throwing a rushed “I’ll see you there” over his shoulder, and sped off into the night. I stood under the awning of the restaurant, watching his taillights vanish into the New York traffic. The very last ember of affection I had for him died in that cold city air. Chloe pulled up in our town car, and we drove back to the estate. Clara’s wing of the mansion was lit up like a Christmas tree. The sound of crying drifted through the open windows. It sounded like a tragedy in progress. When I walked into her bedroom, the scene was utter chaos. Clara was propped up against her pillows, her face pale, damp hair clinging to her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, dramatic gasps. Ethan sat on the edge of her mattress, holding her hand tightly in both of his. His face was etched with terror, but his voice was incredibly soft. “Don’t worry, Clara. I’m right here. The specialists are on their way. You’re going to be fine.” Clara gasped for air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw me walk in. A brief, cunning glint flashed across her face before she quickly masked it. She weakly reached out, clutching Ethan’s sleeve. “Ethan… I… I don’t think I’m going to make it this time…” Ethan’s chest tightened. “Don’t talk like that. I won’t let anything happen to you. Whatever you want, just tell me. I’ll get it for you.” Tears rolled down Clara’s cheeks. Slowly, her gaze drifted to my wrist. I followed her eyes and felt a sudden chill. On my wrist was an emerald-cut diamond pendant bracelet. It was the last gift my parents had given me. Before they passed away, they had taken it to the historic Trinity Church in Boston to have the priest bless it for my protection. Since their death, I had worn it every single day. I never took it off. Clara looked at it with a mix of longing and pathetic helplessness. “Ethan… I’m so scared every night. My heart won’t stop racing. I heard that Aria’s bracelet was blessed at Trinity Church… that it brings peace to whoever wears it. Since my time is short… could I borrow it for just a few days? Just until I feel safe. I promise I’ll return it to her.” “And if… if I don’t make it… I want to be buried with it. So I won’t be scared in the dark.” The room fell dead silent. Without a shred of hesitation, Ethan turned to look at me. His voice left no room for argument. “Aria, she’s in critical condition. It’s just a bracelet. Let her have it.” I looked him dead in the eye. “No. It belonged to my parents. I’m not lending it to anyone.” Clara’s body shuddered violently, as if she had been slapped. She began to cough hysterically, clutching her chest. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked… It’s my own fault… Don’t fight because of me…” She wept, her frail frame shaking. Ethan’s temper flared. He glared at me, his voice booming through the room. “Aria, enough! She is dying! It’s a piece of jewelry! Is your stupid pride more important than her life? You’re my wife—stop being so incredibly petty!” Seeing Ethan take her side so aggressively, a smug look flashed in Clara’s eyes. While everyone’s attention was on Ethan, she suddenly lunged forward, her hand clawing directly at my wrist. Her movement was incredibly fast and aggressive—not at all like someone on the brink of death. I instinctively pulled my arm back to protect the bracelet. But she grabbed the delicate platinum chain, pulling with surprising strength. “Aria, please! Just let me have this one comfort!” she shrieked. Seeing us struggle, Ethan snapped. “Aria, let go! You’re going to hurt her!” He grabbed my arm, pinning my wrist down with brute force. I couldn’t move. Taking advantage of my restraint, Clara gave a violent yank. *Snap.* The sound of the platinum chain breaking was clear as day. The emerald-cut diamond pendant tumbled to the hardwood floor, the delicate stone chipping as it hit the ground. I stared down at the broken piece of my mother’s legacy. In that moment, something inside me broke forever. The tension in the room instantly vanished. Clara let go and fell back onto her pillows, sobbing loudly, stammering that she hadn’t meant to break it. Ethan didn’t even look at the broken jewelry on the floor. He was too busy leaning over Clara, murmuring comfort. “It’s fine, Clara. It’s just a bracelet. I’ll buy you a better one tomorrow.” I knelt down, picking up the broken chain and the chipped diamond piece by piece. A sharp edge sliced my index finger, and a drop of blood fell onto the floor. But I felt absolutely nothing. I stood up, pocketed the broken pieces, and walked out of the room without looking back. Ethan watched my cold exit, a sudden, inexplicable sense of dread washing over him. He made a move to follow me, but Clara clutched his hand. “Ethan, please don’t leave me. I’m scared.” He sighed and sat back down. He assured himself that Aria was always reasonable. She wouldn’t stay mad over a broken bracelet. I sat by the window in my room, watching the night turn to dawn. As the first light of morning broke over the estate, I sent a text to Chloe. *“Book me the earliest flight to Boston. Today.”*

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When I came home late after working overtime, I found my husband’s female friend sitting on his lap watching the World Cup. When she saw me, Chloe pointed at the TV and said with a smile: “Ethan, let’s make a bet, and if Haaland scores this goal, you divorce your wife, okay?” “Then marry me, because I want a huge wedding!” Ethan patted her on the ass, his tone indulgent: “What if he doesn’t score?” Chloe pouted and said, “If I lose, lock your wife in the bathroom!” I listened as they used my marriage as a bet on a soccer game, and my face stayed blank. In my last life, I fought for a divorce because of that sentence. Ethan threw me into the bathroom with a cold face, my head hit the bathtub, and I died from a massive brain hemorrhage. After getting a second chance, when I heard this familiar joke, I could not even find any anger in myself. Ethan turned his head and looked at me with a frown. “Chloe is just joking around, so don’t pull that face again and ruin everyone’s mood.” I looked into his eyes, which held no guilt at all, then my gaze landed on Haaland kicking the ball on the screen, and I smiled faintly: “I want in on the bet too.” 1 Ethan clicked his tongue impatiently. He pulled the arm draped over Chloe’s shoulders back half an inch, then turned his head to size me up. “Ava, you don’t even know what a striker is, so stop making trouble.” His tone was full of impatience. Chloe took the chance to lean closer to Ethan, and the butt sitting on his lap shifted and rubbed against him a few times. “Ethan, if your wife wants to bet, let her bet.” Chloe covered her mouth and laughed. “But if she loses, she better not cry and demand a divorce like last time.” Those words fell in the living room, chilling my heart like a blade. I held the glass cup, and my fingertips pressed against the warm wall of the cup before I barely managed to suppress the bone-deep chill from dying in that bathroom in my last life. I did not answer her, and I only sat down on the sofa. “If we’re going to play, let’s make it straightforward.” I raised my eyes and looked at the match timer that had just started moving on the screen. “Let’s bet on whether either team scores within the first fifteen minutes of kickoff.” Chloe froze for a moment after hearing that, then let out a mocking laugh. She speared a piece of watermelon from the fruit plate and stuffed it into her mouth. “You’re really rushing to lose this bet.” She chewed the flesh and muttered unclearly. “These two teams always take time to warm up.” “Their defense is tight.” “The chance of a goal in the first fifteen minutes is almost nothing.” Chloe spat out the seeds, then pulled out a napkin and wiped her hands. “I bet no goal.” “Don’t go back on it.” Ethan looked at me coldly, as if he was already completely fed up with me. “Do you really have to join in on this?” He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the table, took one out, and bit it between his lips. “Fine, since you want to bet, what are you putting up?” The lighter sparked a blue flame, lighting up the mockery in his eyes. I leaned back against the sofa and folded my hands on my knees. “If I lose, I’ll hand over all my bank cards, and you can spend whatever money is inside.” The living room went quiet for a moment. Ethan’s hand holding the cigarette paused slightly, and a trace of surprise flashed through his eyes. Chloe’s eyes lit up, and even her posture straightened. “How generous of you!” She rushed to respond, as if afraid I would take back my promise in the next second. I looked at her, and the corners of my lips curved gently. “Don’t celebrate too soon.” “What if you lose?” Chloe lowered her head and fiddled with her manicure, not caring at all. “Name your price, because I can afford to play.” I stared at her face and said each word clearly: “If I win, you slap yourself in the face on the spot.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the atmosphere in the living room dropped to freezing point. Ethan suddenly crushed the half-smoked cigarette in his hand into the ashtray. “Ava, don’t go too far!” He raised his voice, and his body instinctively leaned toward Chloe, shielding her in the most obvious way. “Chloe was only joking with you, so do you have to be this vicious?” I ignored Ethan’s roar and just looked quietly at Chloe. The smile on her face stiffened. She probably had not expected me to suggest that kind of stake. But her gaze soon fell back onto the paycheck card on the table. That card held all the salary I had saved over the years. A moment later, she gritted her teeth and forced out another faint smile. “Ethan, don’t be mad.” She reached out and tugged on Ethan’s sleeve. “Since Ava is in the mood for this, I’ll play with her.” “Anyway, there’s no way anyone scores within these fifteen minutes.” Ethan still wanted to say something, but Chloe had already turned her head and met my gaze. “I agree.” “Ava, get your paycheck card ready.” I said nothing more and looked back at the TV screen. Time passed. Only the commentator’s voice reporting the match was left in the living room. Ethan leaned against the sofa and glanced at me from the corner of his eye now and then, as if waiting for regret to appear on my face. Chloe was relaxed, eating watermelon and occasionally humming along with the rhythm on the field. The match reached the twelfth minute. The field was locked in a midfield battle. Chloe spat the rind into the trash can and took the chance to sneer. “Only three minutes left.” “I’ll gladly take your money.” I lifted my cup and took a sip of water, my gaze fixed on the time in the lower right corner of the screen. Thirteen minutes and forty seconds. The ball was suddenly intercepted in the front field. The commentator’s voice rose sharply. “Counterattack!” “This is an excellent counterattacking chance!” Ethan suddenly sat up straight, his eyes locked hard on the screen. The half piece of watermelon in Chloe’s hand also stopped in midair. Fourteen minutes and twelve seconds. The forward of one team dribbled into the penalty area, faced the goalkeeper’s block, and did not hesitate at all. He lifted his foot. He shot. The soccer ball slammed hard into the upper right corner of the net. “It’s in!!!” “Only fourteen minutes after kickoff!” “A lightning strike!” The commentator’s roaring voice exploded in the living room. Ethan and Chloe froze where they were. I put down my glass, turned my head, and looked coldly at Chloe. “A bet is a bet, so you can start slapping yourself now.” 2 Chloe’s face stiffened. She tugged awkwardly at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes darted away. “Oh my… that goal was way too much of a coincidence.” She gave two dry laughs, then immediately switched back into that coy tone. “You’re so lucky that you even guessed this right.” As she spoke, she raised her hand and lightly touched her own cheek. “Ouch, that really hurts.” The next second, she took the opportunity to shrink into Ethan’s arms. “I already hit myself.” “Are you satisfied now?” When Ethan saw her like that, his brows relaxed. He turned his head to look at me, his tone as if it was only natural. “Enough, Ava.” “Chloe already hit herself, so let it go.” “Don’t cling to it in the middle of the night.” I did not speak. I only stood up, quickly went around the table, and walked up to Chloe. Then I looked down at that face from above. Chloe had not reacted yet and instinctively raised her head. “Ava, why are you looking at me like…” Before she could finish speaking. I raised my hand and backhanded her hard across the left side of her face. “Slap!” The crisp sound of the slap drowned out the commentary on TV. I used all my strength for that slap. Chloe’s head was struck sharply to one side, her hair scattered, and half of her face reddened visibly. She covered her swollen cheek and widened her eyes. After a brief daze, a scream burst from her throat. “Ah!!!” Tears flooded from her eyes. Ethan’s face changed in shock, and he suddenly stood up from the sofa and shoved me away. “Ava!” “Are you insane?!” I staggered two steps, and my back hit the sofa before I barely managed to steady myself. But Ethan had already pulled Chloe into his arms, lowered his head to check the finger marks on her face, and hurled his anger at me head-on. “You are nothing but a crazy bitch!” “Who taught you to hit people?!” I looked at how he trembled with heartache and could not help but sneer. “Didn’t you say not to play if you can’t afford to lose?” I pointed at Chloe, who was sobbing in Ethan’s arms. “I was only letting her know what it means to accept the result of a bet.” Chloe grabbed Ethan’s shirt and cried until she could barely breathe. “Ethan… it hurts so much… is my face ruined…” As she cried, she lifted her eyes from Ethan’s arms to look at me. At that instant, the venom in her eyes was almost impossible to hide. Ethan grew even angrier and glared at me viciously. “Fine, fine!” “A bet is a bet, right?” “Let’s keep going, and I’ll play with you!” “Today, I have to fix that arrogant rotten temper of yours!” He gently patted Chloe’s back. “We’ll bet on which team is leading at the end of the first half!” “The stakes are the same as before.” “I bet the team that just scored keeps the lead!” I clenched my fingers, my chest rising and falling violently, and deliberately acted like I had been blinded by anger. “Fine!” “Do you think I’m scared of you?” I raised my voice, like a gambler who had lost all reason. “I bet the other team can come from behind!” This was a completely illogical choice. Against a team with strong defense, scoring twice in one half to come from behind would not be easy. But at this moment, the win or loss of one round was not important to me. You have to risk the bait to catch the wolf. When Chloe saw that I had taken the bait, pleasure appeared on her face. The match continued. For the next half hour, the field was dull. The team that was behind fought back wildly, but still could not tear through the other side’s defense. With a long whistle from the referee, the first half ended. The score was fixed at 1-0. Ethan’s bet succeeded, and he won this round. He let out a scoff. “You brought this on yourself.” “Did you really think you understood soccer now?” He picked up my paycheck card from the coffee table and casually tossed it into Chloe’s arms. “Take it.” “The password is her birthday.” Chloe pinched the card between her fingers, and her smile was especially glaring. Ethan had already taken out his phone, lowered his head, and opened a shopping app. “Didn’t you like a bag just now?” “I’ll order it for you now as compensation for that slap.” Chloe immediately leaned against him sweetly. “Thank you, Ethan.” After saying that, she shook the card in her hand again and looked at me. “Ava, then I won’t hold back.” “Thanks for sponsoring me.” I stood where I was and watched them celebrate as if no one else was there. “We’re not done yet.” 3 I pressed down the raging anger in my chest and stared hard at them. My nails dug into my palms, and the pain barely helped me keep up the appearance of being a desperate loser. “Again.” I squeezed out the words through gritted teeth. Ethan’s fingers paused on his phone, and he raised his head with a cold laugh. “What?” “Have you lost your mind?” “What else do you even have left to bet?” Chloe stuffed my paycheck card into her bag, and the smugness in her posture was almost impossible to hide. “Ava, quit while you’re ahead.” “If you keep betting, don’t lose everything you own and then blame us for bullying you.” I suddenly pulled open the drawer under the table. With a slap, I slammed a car key onto the tabletop. “Round three.” “We bet on which team gets the first yellow card within the first ten minutes of the second half.” I looked at Chloe’s still-red face, and my voice cooled. “I bet the team that is behind.” Chloe had clearly been carried away by winning the last round. In her eyes, I was nothing more than a crazy woman desperate after losing. “Fine.” She curled her lip. “Then I bet the team that’s ahead.” After saying that, her gaze circled the car key, and she gave a deliberately disdainful laugh. “But one car key is too cheap, isn’t it?” “Do you have any stakes that are actually worth something?” I took a deep breath and brought a document out from the bedroom. It was the deed to the luxury apartment downtown that my parents had left me. I pressed the property deed on top of the car key. “Is this enough?” The moment Ethan saw the property deed, a trace of greed flashed through his eyes that he could not hide. The words he had originally wanted to use to scold me were swallowed back down, and his gaze stuck hard to the document as even his breathing quickened. “Ava, you really dare to take this out and bet it?” He stood up, the corners of his mouth rising despite himself, and his tone carried both testing and excitement. “Fine, this is your own property, and if you want to bet it, no one will stop you.” I ignored him and turned to look at Chloe. “My stakes have increased, so yours have to increase too.” “If you lose, I want you on both knees, slapping yourself ten times in a row.” Ethan instantly flew into a rage and pointed at me as he cursed: “Ava, don’t go too far!” “Even killing someone is only a single clean blow, so do you really have to bully her like this?” Chloe grabbed Ethan’s arm, her eyes glued to the property deed. “Ethan, let her bet!” “I don’t believe she can keep getting lucky!” “I agree!” “Let’s bet!” The second half officially began. The scene on the TV became full of tension. The team I had bet on was behind and trying to tie the score, so their movements became bigger, and they clearly showed signs of fouling. The physical clashes became deadlocked. The corners of Chloe’s mouth began to rise, as if that luxury apartment already had her name on it. Seven minutes and twenty seconds. Near the front sideline. A defender from the losing side made a brutal sliding tackle to stop the opponent’s counterattack. As the player fell and rolled, the referee’s whistle sounded. The referee did not hesitate and pulled a yellow card from his pocket. He raised it high. The smile on Chloe’s face instantly froze. Ethan also froze where he stood, opened his mouth, and could not say a single word. The living room was frighteningly quiet, and only the sound of the TV replaying the foul remained. I stood up, walked in front of Chloe, raised my hand, and pointed at the floor. “I didn’t lose my car.” “I didn’t lose my apartment either.” “Now get down and slap yourself on your knees.” Chloe trembled all over in fear, and the throw pillow in her hands fell to the floor. She scrambled behind Ethan and refused to come out no matter what. “Ethan… save me, I don’t want to kneel… she’s targeting me on purpose!” She cried and clutched Ethan’s clothes without letting go. Ethan’s eyes turned completely cold when he looked at me. The next second, he suddenly pulled the paycheck card from Chloe’s bag and threw it hard at my face. The plastic card scraped past the corner of my eye, leaving a burning sting behind. “Here’s your card back!” He roared as if he were giving charity. “I’ll pay for those ten slaps for her, so stop this right now!” I remained unmoved and did not even look at the paycheck card on the floor. “Ethan, you said a bet is a bet.” I threw his own words back to shut him up. “What?” “Now you can’t afford to play?” “Are you even a man?” “How embarrassing.” “You!” “Or am I the only one allowed to lose, while your little bestie can’t lose?” “Whose side are you even on?” The atmosphere in the living room instantly dropped to freezing point. Chloe looked at Ethan’s expression and knew she could not avoid this. She wanted to keep acting pitiful, but she also did not want to look too ugly in front of Ethan, so in the end, she could only grit her teeth and slowly move out from behind him. “Ethan, I’m fine…” She said it with a sob, as if she had suffered some enormous grievance. Then her knees weakened, and she knelt in front of me. Under my cold gaze, Chloe raised both hands with a tremble. Humiliated, she slapped herself left and right. “Slap!” “Slap!” Ten loud slaps echoed through the living room. 4 After the final slap, Chloe collapsed onto the carpet. Both sides of her face were red and swollen, the corner of her mouth had broken skin, and her makeup was ruined from crying. “Ugh… Ethan…” She covered her face and looked at me through her swollen eyelids, and the hatred in her eyes was almost impossible to hide. Ethan’s eyes reddened with heartache. He could no longer keep pretending, and he rushed to me in a few steps, pointed at my nose, and cursed: “Ava, how can you be so vicious?!” “Fine, don’t you like betting?” “I’ll bet with you to the end tonight.” “I want to see how long you can keep acting arrogant!” He was completely enraged, and instead took the initiative to propose the fourth round. “We’ll bet on the result at the end of regular time.” After saying that, he helped Chloe up from the floor and held her tightly in his arms, as if he was afraid I would touch her again. “If we win, you leave with nothing tomorrow and get out of this house.” He stared hard at me. “Ava, do you dare to accept?” I subconsciously took half a step back, my shoulders shrank slightly, and my eyes moved back and forth between the two of them as I deliberately showed hesitation and fear. “This is my home, so why should I…” When Chloe saw me back down, her spirit immediately returned. With that red and swollen face, she sneered and mocked me: “What?” “Weren’t you so tough when you forced me to kneel just now?” “Ava, if you don’t dare to play, just say it.” “Don’t lose and then cry that we bullied you.” Ethan followed with a cold laugh. “If you don’t dare to accept, admit defeat.” “Pack your things and get out now, so you don’t embarrass yourself.” They echoed each other, as if they were certain I had been pushed into a dead end. I clenched my fingers and suddenly slapped my palm onto the coffee table. “Fine, I accept!” I raised my voice and acted like I had been cornered and had completely lost my mind. “Since you two want me gone so badly, let’s bet!” Ethan immediately pointed at the screen. At this moment, the score was 2-1, and Team F was leading. “We choose first.” He said it impatiently. “We bet Team F wins in the end.” I clenched my back teeth and stared at the screen for a few seconds. “Then I bet on Team A.” As if afraid I would go back on it, Ethan immediately found paper and a pen in the drawer and quickly wrote a betting agreement. In black and white, it stated that if he won, I would leave with nothing, and if I won, he would leave with nothing. He shoved the pen into my hand and urged me: “Sign.” I held the pen, my fingers trembling slightly, and wrote my name in the signature spot. When Ethan looked at those two words, a trace of smugness flashed through his eyes. The match continued. In the time that followed, Team A’s attacks were blocked several times, and the situation became more and more tense. Ethan sat on the sofa, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the screen without blinking. Chloe also stopped crying, covered her face, leaned beside him, and the corners of her mouth slowly lifted. Soon, the match entered the final minute. The countdown for stoppage time appeared on the big screen. Just then, Team F seized a counterattack chance. The forward broke through one-on-one and pushed the ball past the goalkeeper with one shot. The soccer ball rolled into the net. The score became 3-

Cheers instantly erupted in the living room. Ethan picked Chloe up in his arms, so excited that even his voice changed. “We won!” “We won!” Chloe got carried away and turned to point at me as she cursed: “Ava, look at you now!” She walked up to me, her tone sharp and delighted. “The agreement is signed, so get out tonight.” Ethan also walked over, his face full of the thrill of certain victory. “Ava, kneel down right now and apologize to Chloe.” He pulled a few hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and casually threw them at my feet. “After you apologize, take the cab money and get lost.” “Don’t let me see you again.” I quietly watched their celebration. There was no anger and no fear. I only slowly raised my hand and pointed at the TV screen behind them. “How about you turn around and look first?” Ethan and Chloe froze, then instinctively turned their heads. In the next second, both of their faces changed at the same time. “How is this possible?!” On the TV screen, the scoreboard that had originally changed to 3-1 had now strangely jumped back to 2-1.

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I used to think Theodore Foster and I were each other’s everything. Twenty years as childhood sweethearts, seven years in a marriage forged through hardship—we went from having nothing to building a fortune worth hundreds of billions together. But I never imagined that after he made it big, I would be kicked out of the game by one cold divorce certificate. My parents and my child all became sacrifices to this love. So I let everything go and left the country to start over. But Theodore Foster, why are you crying? Nancy Davis POV When I pushed open the doors of the Civil Affairs Bureau, I was still thinking that maybe I was just overreacting. The message from that unknown number was too absurd—“You still don’t know, do you? Your husband divorced you.” Theodore Foster and I had grown up together. We had been married for seven years. How could I not know what kind of person he was? And yet, that ridiculous sentence kept echoing in my heart. I stood in front of the counter and hesitated for a long time before asking the clerk to check my marital status for me. “Hello. Could you please check my marital status?” The clerk looked up at me, her gaze a little strange. Then she tapped on the keyboard and paused for a few seconds. “Ma’am, you are currently divorced. The divorce was finalized a week ago.” My eyes flew wide. My legs went weak beneath me, and I had to grip the counter to steady myself. What that unknown number said was actually true? Theodore Foster had divorced me behind my back? Unwilling to give up, I gave her his ID number and asked her to check. “Could you please check Theodore Foster’s marital status as well? His ID number is xxxxxxxxx.” The clerk glanced at me, probably finding the name familiar. After all, Theodore Foster was considered a major figure in River City. After typing a few times, the clerk gave a brief reply. “Mr. Foster is married.” “Married? To whom?” The moment I heard that, I fell apart. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you. That is a citizen’s personal privacy.” He divorced me, then married someone else. Who was it? When did it happen? I walked out of the Civil Affairs Bureau, and a cold chill ran over me. I took out my phone and sent three words to that unknown number: “Who are you?” My hands were shaking so badly that it took me several tries to send it. The other party did not reply. I called Theodore Foster again. It rang for a long time, but no one answered. For a moment, I felt completely lost, so I just kept walking down the road. Ahead was a large banyan grove, the place where, when I was young, I had dreamed countless times of holding my wedding. Without realizing it, I walked toward it. Theodore Foster and I had been married for seven years, but we had never had a wedding. Back then, we had gotten married in a hurry. We had just started our business and were dirt poor. Theodore Foster had wanted a wedding, but to save him money, I refused. Later, when we had money, Theodore Foster became so busy he could barely split himself in two, and the wedding kept getting pushed back again and again. I had drawn a wedding design, and it had always been kept in the drawer of his office desk. He had promised me he would hold it, but year after year, he never fulfilled that promise. That banyan grove was especially lively today. White and pale pink cascading flowers hung down everywhere, like smoke, like mist. Warm golden sunlight filtered through the gaps in the trees, scattering bright specks across the moss-covered ground. Crystal bead curtains swayed gently between the crowns of the trees. Everything looked dreamlike. But the scene was so familiar it made me unable to breathe. Because this wedding design was exactly the same as the one I had made for my own wedding! Who had used my design? My gaze involuntarily turned toward the guests seated among the trees. Not far away, there were indeed a few figures I recognized—they were Theodore Foster’s friends. So, one of Theodore Foster’s friends was getting married and had used my wedding design? Would Theodore Foster come today, then? But he had clearly told me that he was on a business trip to Ocean City these two days. Why did he lie to me? My heart sank lower and lower, as if I had reached some dangerous edge, and one more step forward would be a bottomless abyss. I hid behind a huge banyan tree, my eyes sweeping over the wedding venue as I searched for Theodore Foster. Very soon, I saw the groom onstage. The groom had his back to me. His suit was crisp, his posture tall and straight. The moment he turned around, all the blood in my body went cold. It was Theodore Foster. It was Theodore Foster, who was supposed to be on a business trip in Ocean City. It was my husband, Theodore Foster, whom I had known for more than twenty years and been married to for seven! Not only had Theodore Foster divorced me behind my back, he had also used my design to hold a wedding with someone else! My heart instantly sank to the very bottom of the abyss, and all the blood in my body seemed to stop flowing. I had imagined countless times what Theodore Foster would look like standing on a wedding stage in formalwear. Today, I finally saw it. But he was someone else’s groom. Tears clouded my eyes. Anger and grievance surged over me all at once. I saw the man onstage take out his phone, frown at the screen for a moment, and finally hang up the call. When I called again, the man was completely unaware. He had put his phone on silent. It was as if my world had been muted too. My thoughts drifted back to the past. Theodore Foster and I were neighbors when we were little. Theodore Foster’s father died young, and his mother was addicted to gambling. When Theodore Foster was a child, no one took care of him. It was my parents who brought him into our home, gave him clothes to wear, and made sure he had enough to eat. The two of us grew up together. In high school, we became each other’s first love and got into the same university. I still remember the day we reported to campus. He hugged me excitedly and said he would only love me for the rest of his life. After graduating from university, Theodore Foster started his business. He was so busy he neglected meals and ruined his stomach. When my parents found out, their hearts ached for him, so they often cooked meals and delivered them to his company. Once, my father got into a car accident on the way to deliver dinner to him. Before my father passed away, to put the old man’s heart at ease, Theodore Foster insisted on registering a marriage with me. Right in front of me, he knelt by my father’s hospital bed and told my father not to worry. He said that as long as he was there, I would always be the happiest person in the world. Because of that, I had always believed in Theodore Foster without question. We were lovers, family, and the people who trusted each other most. I thought Theodore Foster would love me for the rest of my life. I never imagined his promise would only be valid for seven years. The wedding officially began, and a burst of orchestral music pulled me back from my thoughts. The bride walked over slowly in a luxurious haute couture wedding dress. I knew her. She was Sophie Scott. She was also the daughter of Scott Group, Theodore Foster’s biggest business partner. I tugged at the corners of my lips, forcing out an expression that looked half like a smile and half like a sob. So it was her. Ever since Theodore Foster began working with the Scotts two years ago, he had come home later and later and taken more and more business trips. I had thought it was because of work, so I never asked. I never imagined the two of them had already gone from business partners to life partners. Not far away, the voices of Theodore Foster’s friends drifted over: “Man, Sophie Scott and Theodore Foster really are a better match.” “Exactly. One is a well-bred heiress, the other is a billionaire CEO. They’re well-matched in status. Nancy Davis is just a housewife, after all. She isn’t good enough for Mr. Foster.” “Don’t say that in front of Mr. Foster. Mr. Foster said Nancy Davis’s family did him a great kindness, and Nancy Davis will always be the person closest and dearest to him.” I almost laughed out loud, but inside, I was drowning in grief. What a wonderful “closest and dearest person.” The person closest and dearest to me turned me from his lawful wife into the shameful other woman! The wedding continued. The officiant was reading the vows. I could not listen anymore. I turned around and dragged myself away. Theodore Foster, since you betrayed me, I won’t want you anymore either.

Nancy Davis POV I didn’t go home. I took a cab straight to the immigration agency. “I want to immigrate. The sooner, the better,” I said. The immigration agent said that with expedited processing, it could be done within a month. I nodded and left my documents there. When I got home and pushed open the door, the maid immediately came up to me, her face full of worry. “Mrs. Foster, where did you go? Mr. Foster has been looking for you like crazy. He called so many times and told you to call him back right away!” I took out my phone and saw dozens of missed calls. I called back, and he picked up after one ring. “Nancy! Where did you go? Why didn’t you answer your phone?” His voice was breathless, as if he truly had been anxious. As I walked toward the walk-in closet, I answered, “I went shopping. My phone was in my bag, so I didn’t hear it.” Theodore Foster clearly let out a sigh of relief. “From now on, keep your phone in your hand when you go out. Don’t make me worry, okay?” After a pause, he said again, “I was negotiating with a client earlier. My phone was on silent, so I missed your call. What did you need me for? Did you miss me?” I gave a soft mm-hmm. Theodore Foster chuckled in satisfaction, and his tone softened too. “I still have to be away on business for another two days. I’ll definitely make it back for your mother’s birthday.” How hard it must be for him. While honeymooning with his new wife, he still had to remember to celebrate the birthday of the mother of his ex-wife. After hanging up, I walked into the walk-in closet. Haute couture gowns, limited-edition handbags, and high-end jewelry filled the room. I ran my hand over a Himalaya Birkin. He had bought it for me when his company earned its first ten million. Back then, he had held me and said he would never let me suffer again, that whatever other people had, I would have too. Beside it was a one-of-a-kind haute couture gown. He had custom ordered it for me for his company’s fifth anniversary annual gala. That day, standing onstage in front of everyone, he said, “The most important person today is my wife.” In the jewelry cabinet, there was a necklace he had bought for eighty million at auction. On the day his company went public, he personally put it around my neck and said he wanted to make me a woman everyone envied. He clasped it around my neck with his own hands. “Nancy, I will make you a woman everyone envies.” Once, I thought these expensive things represented his love. Only now did I understand they were merely apology gifts for each time he failed to show up. He had spent a lot of money, but he had long since stopped spending any thought. I called the butler over and told him to put everything away and contact an auction house. The butler froze and asked me, “Everything?” I said yes. Everything. Not one piece left. The butler did not ask anything else and turned to make the arrangements. Two days later, Theodore Foster came back. The moment he entered, he buried his face in my neck. “Nancy, I missed you so much. Business trips are exhausting. Only when I hold you do I feel like I’ve come back to life.” I couldn’t control myself as I thought of the wedding, of Theodore Foster in his groom’s suit, gazing at Sophie Scott with deep affection. I forced back my tears and instinctively took a step back. He didn’t notice. From behind his back, he took out a dark-blue gift box and handed it to me. “Open it. I bought it especially for you.” I opened it and saw a diamond bracelet. I casually set it on the entryway console. “Let’s go to bed early. Tomorrow we have to go to the hospital to see my mother.” He paused, probably sensing that my reaction was off. He looked at me a few times, but said nothing and nodded. The next morning, I was drinking coffee when he came out of the bedroom, wearing the dark-gray suit I had matched for him the night before. He walked up to me, lowered his head, and handed me his tie, asking me to tie it for him. I stood up, straightened his collar, and tied his tie. Then I asked casually, “When you’re on business trips, who ties your tie for you?” I looked at him and smiled. His smile froze for an instant, panic flashing through his eyes before he quickly returned to normal. “I can only do it myself. I can never get it right. Nancy still does it best.” I did not say anything else. On the way to the hospital, his phone rang. In the reflection of the car window, I saw two words pop up on the screen: Sophie Scott. He glanced at me nervously. Seeing that I was looking out the window, he answered the call.

Nancy Davis POV “What? Okay, I’ll be right there!” He hung up and turned to look at me, his expression anxious. “Nancy, there’s an urgent project at the company. I have to—” I reminded him, “Today is my mother’s birthday. You promised.” He frowned impatiently. “Nancy, this is urgent company business. Your mother will understand. I’ll personally apologize to her next time.” I couldn’t remember how many times he had used an excuse like this to abandon me. I was too tired to argue. “Let me out at the intersection ahead. I’ll take a cab.” He let out a breath of relief. “Apologize to your mother for me. I’ll visit her another day.” “No need. These past few years, my mother’s illness has been thanks to you too.” That was true. Ever since my mother developed severe heart disease, she had relied on imported specialty medication to get through each day. The treatment costs were enormous, and Theodore Foster had paid for all of them. His tone softened. “Without your parents, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Taking care of your mother is what I should do.” I opened the car door and got out without hesitation. I took a cab to the hospital alone. When I pushed open the ward door, my mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly moving her legs. “Mom.” My mother looked up and smiled at me. “Nancy, you’re here?” She looked behind me. When she did not see Theodore Foster, disappointment flashed in her eyes, but she said, “Theodore is busy with work, but you have to remind him to take care of his health. He may be young, but he isn’t made of iron.” My throat tightened, and I swallowed it back with effort. I sat down beside my mother’s bed and hesitated for a long time before speaking. “Mom, I’m going abroad in a while. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone in the country. Will you come with me?” My mother’s hand stilled. She looked at me for a long while, her gaze gradually sharpening. “Nancy, tell me the truth. Is Theodore treating you badly?” The one person in the world you can never hide from is your own mother. I lowered my head and said nothing. My mother was silent for a moment, then reached out and held my hand. “Nancy, you are the daughter your dad and I treasured most. We’re not going to let you suffer. Wherever you go, I’ll go. While I can still stand, I’ll go with you.” I could not hold back anymore and threw myself into my mother’s arms. The two of us held each other and cried so hard we could not speak. After leaving the ward, I wiped away my tears and immediately sent my mother’s documents to the immigration agent. Then I went to the payment office to pay my mother’s medical fees for the month. After paying, I was walking back when I passed the obstetrics and gynecology department, and my footsteps abruptly froze. Theodore Foster and Sophie Scott were walking side by side in front of me. One of Theodore Foster’s arms was around Sophie Scott’s waist, and the other was carefully protecting the area in front of her belly. So this was the urgent project he had mentioned. I lowered my head and refused to look at the perfect couple, but their conversation still reached my ears clearly. Sophie Scott smiled brightly at Theodore Foster. “It’s only a little over three months. You don’t have to be this nervous.” Theodore Foster frowned and corrected her. “This is my son, the future heir of Foster Group. How could I not be nervous?” My steps suddenly faltered. How familiar those words were. Three years ago, when I was four months pregnant, Theodore Foster had supported me like this during my prenatal checkup too. At the time, his hand had also protected my belly, and he had been extremely wary of everyone who came near me. He had said to my stomach, “This is my son, the future heir of Foster Group. No one is allowed to touch him.” But not long after he said those words, Theodore Foster’s business rival deliberately staged a car accident to get revenge on him. I was four months pregnant when the crash threw me out of the car. The baby was gone. The doctor told me my uterus had suffered severe damage, and my chances of getting pregnant again in the future were slim to none. Afterward, Theodore Foster used swift and ruthless measures to send the perpetrator to prison. He sat beside my hospital bed, his eyes red as he held my hand. “Nancy, we won’t have children anymore. Even without a child, the two of us are still a complete family.” I believed him. I never imagined that in just three years, he would have a child with someone else, and a home with someone else. So his devotion and tenderness were never reserved only for me. I looked away and quickened my pace, brushing past them from behind. Just then, the door to the obstetrics department was suddenly shoved open. A woman with disheveled hair rushed out from inside. She was gripping a fruit knife in her hand and screaming, “You killed my baby! I’ll kill you!” The woman charged straight toward Sophie Scott. Sophie Scott screamed in terror. Theodore Foster reacted extremely quickly. He grabbed Sophie Scott and pulled her back. At the same time, his other hand yanked backward hard, pulling me in front of Sophie Scott as a shield. Everything happened in an instant. Before I could react, I only felt a chill across my abdomen. Then, a burst of agony exploded through my lower belly. I looked down and saw that the knife had already sunk into my lower abdomen. Blood gushed from the wound. All the strength drained from my legs in an instant, and I collapsed to my knees. In the last moment before I lost consciousness, I saw Theodore Foster holding the fainted Sophie Scott tightly in his arms, his face filled with panic and heartache. He did not look my way even once. I was overwhelmed by resentment until I sank completely into darkness.

Nancy Davis POV When I woke again, I was in a hospital room. A stranger sat by my bed, a caregiver in her fifties, her head lowered as she knitted a sweater. Seeing my eyes open, the caregiver put down her work and hurried out to call the doctor. The attending physician was a woman in her forties. After looking through my medical records, she spoke with anger barely held back in her voice. “Do you know how hard it was for you to conceive this baby? How could you come for a prenatal checkup alone? Well, now the child is gone, and it will be almost impossible for you to get pregnant again.” I froze. I had been pregnant? My hand moved on its own to cover my lower abdomen. My abdomen was wrapped in gauze, flat and empty. So, without my knowing, I had another child. The child we had hoped for for so many years. After that car accident, the doctors had determined that it would be nearly impossible for me to conceive again. Theodore Foster and I had grieved over it for a long time. I had even secretly gone to hospital after hospital, searching for treatment and medicine, swallowing countless bitter remedies and going through endless examinations. I thought it would be impossible in this lifetime. Perhaps heaven had taken pity on me after all, giving me this miracle when I was at my most desperate. And yet this miracle had been destroyed by the child’s own father, with his own hands, all to protect another woman. My eyes burned until they ached. Every last bit of strength I had left went into clenching my fists. My lower abdomen hurt. My heart hurt. Every inch of my body hurt. I bit down hard on my lower lip, so hard that blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. The female doctor looked at me and seemed unable to bear it. Her tone softened. “You’re still young. When you meet the wrong person, you have to cut your losses in time.” The caregiver beside her chimed in too. “That’s right. You were unconscious for a whole day, and not a single person from your family or his came by. No one even asked about you.” “Look at Mr. Foster. He’s so busy, but he still accompanied his wife for her prenatal checkup.” “Although this time, he accidentally ran into you and caused your injury, he had his assistant pay all your medical bills right away and even hired me to take care of you.” As she spoke, the caregiver took a business card from the drawer and placed it by my pillow. “His assistant told me that once you’re discharged, you should contact him to discuss compensation afterward. I heard this Mr. Foster isn’t short on money. Once you get the money, if you need to divorce, then divorce. Let go of that scumbag and start over on your own.” I stared at the ceiling without speaking. Family? What family did I have left? My father had died in a car accident while delivering food to Theodore Foster. My mother lay in a hospital room upstairs, relying on expensive medication to keep a heart that might stop at any moment beating. My husband was with his new wife. As for my mother-in-law, Fiona Foster… Back when Theodore Foster was poor, Fiona Foster praised me whenever she saw me, saying I was capable and virtuous. She was so attentive it almost felt like she was trying to curry favor, terrified that I would look down on Theodore Foster for having no money and leave him. Later, after Theodore Foster succeeded in his business, Fiona Foster’s attitude toward me changed. She remained polite, but she became much colder. After my miscarriage three years ago, when the doctor said Nancy Davis was almost impossible to get pregnant again, Fiona Foster changed her face completely. Not only did she often make things difficult for me, she also blamed me openly and in private for cutting off the Foster family line. Theodore Foster flew into a rage over it and forbade Fiona Foster from coming to our home again, completely separating me from my mother-in-law. At this moment, what relatives did I have who could come to my side? I lay alone on a hospital bed, saying goodbye to our unborn child. Meanwhile, Theodore Foster and his darling wife were looking forward to the arrival of their child. How ironic. My phone lit up. It was a photo from that unfamiliar number. In the photo, on a beach where the sea met the sky, Sophie Scott leaned in Theodore Foster’s arms. Theodore Foster held her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. The two of them smiled at the camera, sweet and perfectly in sync. A line of text followed underneath: [Your ex-husband is on his honeymoon. You can just lie in the hospital by yourself.] Right after that, a message from Theodore Foster popped up on WhatsApp: [Nancy, something urgent came up at the company. I need to go on a business trip for a week. Take good care of yourself. I’ll bring you a gift when I come back. I love you.] That was right. Newlywed bliss naturally meant a honeymoon. Now I knew who that unfamiliar number belonged to. It was Sophie Scott. I looked at the messages the two of them had sent one after the other. One showing off, one lying. It was simply the funniest joke I had ever heard in my life. I laughed and laughed, and then tears streamed down my face. Over the next few days, Sophie Scott never tired of it. Every day, she sent me photos. On the first day, it was Theodore Foster personally feeding Sophie Scott strawberries, his profile wearing a gentle smile. Back in college, Theodore Foster had fed me strawberries like that too. But in recent years, it had happened less and less. On the second day, it was a photo of the two of them on a yacht. Sophie Scott wore a bikini, and Theodore Foster held her from behind, intimate to the extreme. On the third day, it was a photo of a diamond bracelet. The caption read: [He said this is a gift for the mother of our child.] I touched my empty lower abdomen, my heart icy cold. On the fourth day, the photo Sophie Scott sent made my hands tremble violently. Messy bedsheets. A man’s bare shoulders and back. A woman’s arm draped over him. The caption read: [He said you’re like a dead fish. Boring as hell.] I flipped my phone face down on the bed and closed my eyes. Tears slid from the corners of my eyes into the pillow. Thanks to Sophie Scott, these past few days, Nancy Davis’s tears had barely stopped. I did not want to let him affect my emotions anymore. But we had more than twenty years of feelings between us. I could not control it.

Nancy Davis POV A week later, I was discharged. I took a cab home by myself. When the maid saw me come in, she hurried over. “Mrs. Foster, where have you been? Why do you look so pale?” I waved my hand and said nothing, heading straight upstairs back to the bedroom. After resting at home for another three days, my complexion slowly improved. But I did not want to stay in this house even one more day, so I called the immigration agent. “When will my paperwork be ready?” “Ms. Davis, we are already expediting the documents for you and your mother. Everything should be completed within three weeks.” “Okay, I—” “What immigration? Who’s immigrating?” Theodore Foster pushed the door open and walked in, his expression tense. My heart lurched. I quickly hung up the phone and set my phone down with a normal expression. “A friend of my mother asked me to help ask about it.” Seeing my calm expression, Theodore Foster finally relaxed his tense shoulders. He reached out and pulled me into his arms. “Let me hold you. I haven’t seen you in so many days. You’ve lost weight.” He stroked my hair with heartache. “It’s all my fault. I’m always on business trips. For the next few days, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with Nancy properly.” “Next time, let’s go to Bali island, okay? I heard there’s a restaurant on the sea cliffs there. The lobster is especially fresh, and the sunset is beautiful too.” I leaned in his arms, my whole body stiff. In the photos Sophie Scott had sent, the place where they had gone for their honeymoon was Bali island. The cliffside restaurant he mentioned was one he had just taken Sophie Scott to. Listening to his lies, my heart felt as if it were being carved up. How hard it must have been for him. After having fun honeymooning with his new wife, he still did not forget to share it with me, his ex-wife. “If you stay with me, what about your company?” What I did not ask was, what about your new wife? What about your unborn child? Theodore Foster chuckled softly. “How could the company be more important than Nancy? Nothing in the world can stop me from staying with my wife.” As he spoke, he took out a gift bag. Inside was a limited-edition Birkin. “Saw it on my business trip. It’s for you. Do you like it?” I looked at that expensive bag and forced myself to squeeze out a smile. “I like it.” The next day, Theodore Foster took me to a lakeside French restaurant for dinner. After we were seated, Theodore Foster expertly instructed the waiter, “No truffle sauce with the foie gras. Medium-well steak with black pepper sauce. Crème brûlée for dessert, no chocolate.” After the waiter noted it down and left, Theodore Foster skillfully replaced the ice water in front of me with warm water. When the steak was served, he deftly cut it into small pieces for me and arranged them on my plate. I lowered my head, not letting my tears fall. He clearly still remembered every habit of how to love me. So why could his heart drift to someone else? “Mr. Foster, what a coincidence.” A bright female voice interrupted us. Sophie Scott walked over in an haute couture dress, poised and graceful. Theodore Foster frowned, his expression displeased. “Ms. Scott. What a coincidence.” A flash of disappointment crossed Sophie Scott’s face, but she quickly hid it and smiled at me. “That’s right. The client I’m waiting for just won’t show, and I don’t want to eat alone. Mrs. Foster, would you mind sharing a table?” Before I could answer, she had already pulled out a chair on her own and sat down. Theodore Foster looked at me nervously. My expression remained calm as I lowered my head and took a sip of water. Seeing that I had no reaction, Theodore Foster did not say anything more. He waved the waiter over to add more dishes. He flipped through the menu and ordered several more. Listening to the dishes he named, Sophie Scott laughed softly. “Mr. Foster still remembers what I like to eat.” Theodore Foster’s hand paused mid-order. He immediately looked at me guiltily and explained, “Ms. Scott and I often have working meals together. After enough time, I just remembered. Nancy, don’t overthink it.” I pulled my lips into an ugly smile and lowered my head, eating now and then without interest. He remembered my dietary restrictions, and he also remembered Sophie Scott’s preferences. He remembered both of our tastes perfectly. What a deeply devoted man he was. During the meal, Theodore Foster went to the hallway to take a call. As soon as he left, the smile on Sophie Scott’s face turned cold. She put down her knife and fork, looking at me with a half-smile. “Nancy Davis, Theodore already got married to me. I didn’t expect you’d be willing to be the other woman and still refuse to leave.” I lifted my eyes and met her gaze. “Ms. Scott, you were the other woman who just managed to climb into position, and now you’re here mocking someone else as the other woman? If you could control your man, you wouldn’t have shown up here today.” Sophie Scott’s smile stiffened on her face. I gave a cold snort. “The trash I don’t want anymore, you’re welcome to pick up yourself. But why do I feel like he wasn’t very happy to see you just now?” Sophie Scott had always been proud and arrogant. These were the words she could least bear to hear. Her face flushed bright red. She abruptly stood, grabbed my arm, and yanked me up. “Today I’ll let you see exactly who he likes!” She pulled me so hard that I staggered to my feet. Before I could react, Sophie Scott had already dragged me with force and jumped into the lake outside the terrace.

Nancy Davis POV The instant I fell into the lake, all the blood in my body seemed to freeze. When I was a child, I had fallen into a river. Water had flooded my mouth and nose, and I had nearly drowned. Ever since then, I had been afraid of water. I had never learned to swim. Theodore Foster knew that. The icy lake water surged into my ears, my nasal cavity, my throat. I struggled desperately, but my limbs would not obey, as if they had been tied down. My body sank like a stone. Terror pressed down on me from every direction. Hearing the commotion, Theodore Foster rushed to the lakeside. When he saw me in the water, his face changed drastically. Without hesitation, he jumped in and swam toward me. Through the water, I vaguely saw his figure approaching. On the other side, Sophie Scott screamed, “The baby! My stomach—” Theodore Foster’s movements came to a sudden halt. I saw struggle and pain flash across his face. I saw him clench his jaw. In the end, he changed direction and swam toward Sophie Scott. He chose Sophie Scott. I watched helplessly as Theodore Foster got farther and farther away from me. My throat felt as if someone had grabbed it, and I could not make a sound. The lake water closed over my head. I gave up struggling and slowly closed my eyes. When I opened my eyes again, it was the familiar hospital room once more. Theodore Foster sat in the chair by my bed. I did not know how long he had been keeping watch. His eyes were bloodshot. Seeing me wake up, he immediately knelt in front of my bed and gripped my hands tightly in both of his. “I’m sorry, Nancy. I mistook her for you. The water was too murky at the time. I couldn’t see clearly. I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m sorry…” I closed my eyes and no longer looked at him. Even now, he was still lying. He had chosen Sophie Scott, then run to me and pretended to be hopelessly devoted. He dared to do it, but not to admit it. I did not want to hear his lies anymore. Theodore Foster kept apologizing, repeating “I’m sorry” over and over. I interrupted him. “I’m hungry.” “Okay. Okay, I’ll go buy food right now.” Theodore Foster hurriedly stood and almost ran out of the hospital room. The room was finally quiet. But it was not quiet for long before the door was pushed open again. Sophie Scott walked in holding a bouquet of lilies. Seeing that Theodore Foster was not there, her dignified bearing became haughty and condescending. The last trace of disguise vanished from her face, revealing unconcealed malice. “Nancy Davis, you saw it, didn’t you? He chose me. Why aren’t you getting lost already?” I turned my head away and did not look at her. Seeing that I had no reaction, Sophie Scott immediately became dissatisfied. She toyed with her long fingernails, her tone casual. “Let me tell you the truth. That crazy woman in the obstetrics department? I arranged it.” She stared at me viciously. “Originally, I wanted her to stab you to death. Who knew you’d be so lucky and survive? But it wasn’t a total waste. She stabbed that little bastard in your belly to death. That’s not bad either.” My mind exploded with a boom. In an instant, all the blood in my body rushed to my head, and my ears rang. I abruptly raised my hand and slapped Sophie Scott hard across the face. “Bastard!” Sophie Scott’s face was knocked to the side, and a red mark quickly rose on her cheek. But instead of getting angry, she smiled, using the gentlest tone to say the most vicious words. “Your child was the bastard. A little bastard who didn’t have the life to survive.” The string of my reason snapped. I raised my hand to slap her again. “Enough, Nancy Davis!” Theodore Foster seized my wrist hard. The takeout boxes he had just bought fell to the floor, soup splashing everywhere. He forcefully shoved me toward the head of the bed. The back of my head hit the bedrail, and pain blackened my vision. Theodore Foster did not spare me a glance. He hurriedly supported Sophie Scott, his eyes anxiously scanning her up and down. “Are you hurt? What are you doing here?” With reddened eyes, Sophie Scott shook her head, looking wronged yet magnanimous. “I only felt sorry about what happened before and wanted to come see Ms. Davis. I didn’t expect Ms. Davis to be angry because you saved me first. I’m sorry, Ms. Davis. It’s my fault.” Theodore Foster turned to me with a dark expression, his voice ice-cold. “Nancy, how could you hit someone? Do you know Sophie is still pregnant?” I leaned against the head of the bed, the back of my head still throbbing faintly, but I laughed coldly. “How do you know she’s pregnant? Is the child yours?” “You!” Theodore Foster’s face turned blue, then white. His lips moved several times, as if he had been exposed in public. Anger and guilt surged up at the same time, making his expression look utterly ugly. Through gritted teeth, he forced out a few words. “You’re completely unreasonable!” After saying that, he bent down, picked Sophie Scott up in his arms, and stormed out without looking back. The hospital room door slammed shut with a dull bang. I looked at his fleeing back, then at the mess all over the floor. Slowly, I raised my hand and touched my chest. It was already numb there. I could not feel the pain anymore. I wiped the corners of my eyes again. At last, no tears came out. That was fine too. I had given up on Theodore Foster completely. I no longer loved him.

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The day the college admission letters were released, I was the only student in our entire small town to get into an Ivy League university. The town mayor, thrilled by the news, personally came to our house to present me with a $10,000 scholarship check. But right in front of everyone, my mother snatched the check straight out of my hand. The next second, she splashed a bucket of dirty mop water right at my feet. With her hands on her hips, she sneered loudly so the whole neighborhood could hear: “What’s the point of a girl going to a fancy college anyway?” “Since you got into some top-tier Ivy, your monthly allowance will be exactly $211! The rest of the money is going to your brother, Tyler, for his wedding and a new truck!” Standing next to her, Tyler’s trashy friends chimed in with nasty smirks: “Exactly. A girl like you has no business in college. Do us a favor and go work in a warehouse instead.” I didn’t say a single word. During that entire summer, I worked three part-time jobs simultaneously. I pushed myself so hard that I ended up in the ER with a bleeding stomach ulcer, but I never went back to ask them for a single penny. Eight years later. I became the youngest Chief Attending Physician at the state’s top hospital. Meanwhile, my mother was kicked out of her home because of the massive debts Tyler had racked up. Now half-paralyzed from a stroke, she was dumped right at my clinic door in the middle of the night. Grabbing the hem of my white doctor’s coat, she wept muddy tears: “Chloe, I had a stroke… The ICU bills are too expensive. You have to pay them for me…” I smiled faintly, pulled out $211 from my desk drawer, and stuffed the crumpled bills into her trembling hand. “Mom, the ICU is way too expensive. I found a nice, cheap spot for you on the street corner.” “If I gave you a single penny more, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully.”

The half-closed door of my clinic was kicked open with a loud bang. Tyler rushed into the room, flanked by two tattooed thugs. He kicked the trash can near the entrance over, pointed a finger at my face, and screamed: “Chloe, are you even human? You’re a big-shot doctor now, making bank.” “And you throw two hundred bucks at your own mother who raised you? How can you be so heartless?!” The patients waiting in the hallway and the passing nurses were startled. A dozen people poked their heads into my clinic, whispering and gossiping among themselves. “What’s going on? Is that doctor refusing to take care of her own mother?” “The old lady looks really sick. Her daughter is dressed so professionally, but she won’t even pay her medical bills?” Hearing the commotion outside, Tyler smirked, looking even more pleased with himself. He marched up to my desk and slammed a thick stack of stamped documents right onto my keyboard. “Private VIP Suite Application!” Tyler yelled. “The doctor said Mom’s stroke is serious. She needs to stay in the best private luxury suite! As a physician at this hospital, you need to sign as her guarantor right now.” “And pay the $20,000 deposit! Otherwise, I’ll wreck this entire clinic today!” Margaret Vance, sitting in her wheelchair, took the cue. Clutching her chest, she began to wail: “How did I raise such an ungrateful monster? I worked myself to the bone to raise you, and now you won’t even care for your own mother…” I didn’t say a word. I calmly pushed the papers aside. I grabbed my mouse, clicked onto the hospital’s internal database, and pulled up her lab results from thirty minutes ago. I turned the computer monitor around so it faced the crowd gathering at the door. Then, I read the report out loud: “Margaret Vance, female, fifty-six years old. CT scans and blood work show: Mild lower back pain due to a herniated disc and slightly high cholesterol. Neurological reflexes: Completely normal. No signs of stroke or brain hemorrhage. Conclusion: No emergency or hospitalization required.” I looked up and stared directly at Tyler. “A herniated disc doesn’t even qualify for a regular ward bed, and you want a VIP private suite?” “Tyler, if you want to scam me for money, at least learn some basic medicine first.” The onlookers outside gasped, their expressions instantly turning into amusement. “Wait, so she didn’t even have a stroke?” “Is the brother crazy? Trying to scam his own sister at her workplace?” Having his lie exposed in public made Tyler’s face turn beet red. He slammed his palm on my desk and roared: “Back pain is still pain! My mom is hurting so much she can’t even walk!” “You’re giving us the money regardless! We aren’t leaving today without twenty thousand dollars!” One of the thugs behind him sneered: “Yeah, your mom worked so hard to raise you, and now you’re successful. It’s just twenty grand. Being this stingy is just cold-blooded.” I lowered my eyes, snatched the $211 back from Margaret’s hand, and slapped it onto her medical chart. “Keep it for some cheap painkillers. This is the last bit of decency I’m giving you.” With that, I pressed the security call button on my desk and leaned back in my chair.

Within minutes, three security guards arrived and dragged a screaming Tyler and his thugs out of the clinic area. Before he was pushed out, Tyler pointed a finger at me and roared: “Chloe! Just you wait! This isn’t over. I will destroy your reputation!” I thought the drama would stop for the day. But right after my lunch break, I went down to the main lobby to pick up some files. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I heard a loud, pathetic wailing. Tyler had pushed Margaret in her wheelchair right in front of the main reception desk, where the foot traffic was heaviest. Margaret was wiping tears, grabbing the clothes of random patients passing by, and crying: “Everyone, look at this! We were so poor back then, but I worked day and night to pay for her Ivy League tuition!” “Now that she’s a successful doctor, she won’t even pay a dime for my treatment. She’s throwing her own mother onto the streets!” Several young nurses frowned, turning their eyes away to avoid looking at me when I walked past. The Chief of Medicine, Dr. Reynolds, happened to be walking by. He pulled me into a quiet corner of the hallway. “Chloe, this is your promotion year, and the board thinks very highly of you.” “But having your family cause this kind of scene in the lobby is extremely bad for our image.” He had a weary, peace-keeping expression on his face as he said: “At the end of the day, she is still your mother.” “Why don’t you just pay some money and make this go away? Why make things so ugly?” I looked him in the eye and refused immediately: “Dr. Reynolds, giving in to people like them once will only make them greedier next time.” Dr. Reynolds sighed, shook his head, and walked away. A few nurses were whispering, glancing at their phones and then looking back at me. I checked my phone and realized Tyler had posted my old college admission photo in the patient-community group on Snapchat. He had added a caption full of lies: “This doctor is letting her own mother die just to protect her career.” The comments were racking up fast, with strangers calling me a monster. I didn’t run away. Instead, I walked straight toward Margaret’s wheelchair in the center of the lobby. Thinking I was finally breaking, Tyler held out his hand with a smug grin. “Thought it through? Give me the cash.” I ignored him entirely. I pulled out a few pages of old bank statements and transaction records from my bag. These were the documents I had carefully saved since that summer eight years ago. I unfolded the papers and spoke loudly, my voice echoing across the lobby: “Since everyone is so interested, let’s hear the truth about how she ‘worked day and night’ to send me to college.” “Freshman year, September 1st. Margaret Vance transferred exactly $211 into my account.” “October 1st, $211. November 1st, $211. She did this for four years straight. Not a single penny more, and not a single penny less.” The lobby fell dead silent. The whispering nurses stared in shock. That amount of money couldn’t even cover a week’s worth of basic groceries, let alone textbooks or rent. I flipped to the next page and raised my voice: “Also during my freshman year, September 10th. Margaret Vance transferred $21,000 to my brother Tyler’s account. The transaction note read: ‘For Tyler’s new motorcycle.’” “On October 15th, she transferred another $5,000. Note: ‘Tyler’s birthday present.’” I slammed the copies hard onto the armrest of Margaret’s wheelchair. “Mrs. Vance, back then you told everyone that because I was a girl, I only deserved $211 a month, and that all the money had to be saved for your precious son.” I bent down, staring straight into her shifting, guilty eyes. “I am now giving you $211 a month as an ‘appreciation fee.’ Don’t you think I’m being incredibly generous?” Nobody in the lobby said a word. The nurses who had been whispering turned red and looked down. Margaret lowered her head, trying to stammer an excuse: “But… but I worked hard for that money! The family was poor back then…” “Poor enough to spend over twenty-six thousand dollars on a motorcycle and birthday gifts for a son who flunked out of high school?” I scoffed. The crowd gasped. Seeing that no one was taking their side anymore, Tyler lost his temper. He lunged forward and shoved my shoulder hard. “Shut up! You’re just a heartless, ungrateful bitch!” I took half a step back, pointed at the security camera right above us, and said: “The cameras are rolling, Tyler. Touch me again, and I’ll have the police arrest you for assaulting hospital staff. Let’s see how you like spending a few days in a cell.” Tyler’s hand froze mid-air. He grit his teeth and slowly backed down.

The afternoon was packed with surgeries and consultations. Margaret and Tyler remained camped out on the benches in the hospital lobby. Right before my shift ended, I received a call from the mayor of my hometown. “Chloe, did your mother go to the city to find you?” Mayor Davis lowered his voice over the phone. “I’m only telling you this because you always send free medical supplies and charity checkups to the elderly back in our town. Don’t let them trick you. Your mother didn’t go to the city because she’s broke.” I tightened my grip on the phone. “Mayor Davis, please tell me.” “Two months ago, the city bought our old neighborhood for redevelopment. Your family’s old house was bought out by the developers.” “The first buyout check of $600,000 was wired to your mother’s account weeks ago!” Mayor Davis let out a long sigh. “But your brother is a gambling addict. He got mixed up with some dangerous loan sharks and owed them a fortune. They threatened his life right at their doorstep.” “Tyler forced your mother to hand over the entire $600,000 to clear his debts. Once the money was gone, he complained that her back pain was too much of a burden. So, he drove her to the city overnight and dumped her on you to get rid of her!” I hung up, and everything clicked. They had squandered $600,000. Now that the old woman was broke and sick, they wanted to dump her on me. How convenient. As I was changing out of my scrubs, the door to the break room was pushed open. Tyler walked in, accompanied by a heavy-set, middle-aged man. It was my Uncle Richard, a distant relative from our hometown. Richard immediately assumed the role of the family patriarch, pointing a finger at me and lecturing: “Chloe! What was that stunt you pulled in the lobby today? Airing your family’s dirty laundry like that? Where is your respect for your mother?” I looked at him coldly. “Richard, family drama is dirty laundry. But publicly defaming me to extort money is a crime.” “How dare you talk back to me!” Richard slammed his fist on a table, spitting out his toxic, backward logic. “In our town, the family property goes to the son, and the daughter is solely responsible for the parents’ medical bills and funeral! That is how things are done!” “You’re successful now. You must carry the family load!” Tyler, feeling empowered by Richard’s presence, drew a “Support Responsibility Agreement” from his pocket and slapped it onto the table. “Look closely!” Tyler sneered, tapping the paper. “This legal document states that from now on, Chloe Vance will fully cover all of Margaret Vance’s living expenses, medical bills, and nursing home fees!” I glanced at the paper. My eyes locked onto a line written in tiny font near the bottom. The clause required me to pay Tyler an additional $5,000 per month as a “caregiving fee.” “Do you honestly think that if you print something on a piece of paper, robbery suddenly becomes legal?” I asked. Margaret was wheeled into the room, sobbing: “Chloe, I’m dying… Your brother needs to get married, and he’s under so much pressure. You make so much money, why can’t you just help him?” Tyler stepped closer, leaning over my desk threateningly. “Chloe, I’m telling you. If you don’t sign this today, I will hire ten elderly people to book your appointments every single day starting tomorrow!” “They will occupy every slot, scream, and make a scene in your clinic. Let’s see how you get your promotion then. I will ruin your career!” Richard pushed a pen toward me. “Sign it and put your thumbprint down! Don’t be ungrateful!” I looked at the three of them. I didn’t touch the pen, and I didn’t lose my temper. I stepped back as my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a text notification from the Land Registry Bureau. Looking at the confirmation message, I let out a quiet sigh of relief and put my phone away. My trap was set.

The next morning, Tyler took Margaret’s medical chart straight to the Patient Relations Department to file a formal complaint, accusing me of professional misconduct. Dr. Reynolds immediately called us all into a conference room for mediation. Margaret was parked in her wheelchair in the corner, her eyes closed as she pretended to be semi-conscious. Two social workers, Mrs. Gable and Mr. Miller, were also invited as neutral witnesses. Dr. Reynolds took a sip of his coffee and tapped the table. “Dr. Vance, you are one of our top talents. But medical ethics are closely tied to personal integrity. This family dispute is harming the hospital’s reputation.” “You need to look at the bigger picture.” Tyler sat with his legs crossed, looking incredibly smug. He pushed the agreement and a premium nursing home quote to the center of the table. “Dr. Reynolds, we’re reasonable people,” Tyler said grandly. “As long as she signs these documents, guaranteeing she will cover all of Mom’s future expenses,” “And pays us a $50,000 deposit today, I will take Mom and leave immediately. No more trouble for the hospital.” Uncle Richard chimed in from the side: “Exactly. This is the best way to protect your career. Spend a little money to buy peace, Chloe. Don’t be petty with your own blood.” Margaret wept quietly: “Chloe, please sign… save your mother. Your brother doesn’t have a real job. He’s struggling…” Dr. Reynolds, believing that paying them off was the easiest way to make the problem go away, picked up the pen and offered it to me. The two social workers whispered to each other. “She makes good money as a doctor. Spending fifty grand to buy peace is worth it.” “Her own mother is begging her. Staying stubborn just makes her look heartless.” Everyone in the room looked at me, expecting me to break under the pressure and write the check. Tyler leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with greed. I stood at the end of the long table, looking at the papers. My expression was completely blank. I reached out and picked up the stack of documents. Dr. Reynolds sighed in relief, and a massive grin spread across Tyler’s face. But I didn’t take the pen. I flipped through the papers until my fingers rested on the very last pagea document that definitely did not belong to the nursing home agreement. I paused, a cold smile forming on my lips. I took that document, which bore a bright red legal seal, and slammed it face-down on the table.

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On the night the Vance family held their grand homecoming banquet, I, their biological son, was not even allowed to walk through the front door. My biological mother, Victoria, threw a maid’s uniform through the iron gate, her face twisted in disgust. “Put this on and come through the back door. Keep your head down. Do not let anyone see your face and embarrass our family.” Inside the grand ballroom, Christian—the adopted son they had raised for eighteen years—stood at the center of attention. He was dressed in a bespoke designer tuxedo, surrounded by my biological parents, looking like the true sole heir to the Vance empire. Seeing me, he immediately walked over with a warm, welcoming smile, calling me his “brother.” The guests fawned over him, praising how kind and generous he was to the newcomer. But I could hear his inner voice loud and clear: Look at this trailer trash trying to steal my life. I will kick you back to the gutter where you belong sooner or later. My biological sister, Olivia, also leaned in to hiss a warning: “Behave yourself, Ethan. Do not even dream about touching the Vance family fortune.” I did not say a word. I just lowered my head and smirked. What they did not know was that I could not just hear people’s inner thoughts—I could broadcast them directly to the entire house’s smart speaker system. I reached into my pocket, tapped my phone, and gently pressed the “Broadcast” button. In the next second, Christian’s malicious, venomous voice echoed through every single speaker in the Vance mansion.

The driveway of the Vance estate in Long Island was packed with luxury sports cars. Tonight was the twentieth birthday party for the Vance family’s adopted son, Christian. Every high-society figure in the city had shown up. Meanwhile, I, Ethan Reed—the biological son who had been lost for twenty years—stood awkwardly in the golden-lit foyer wearing a pair of faded jeans and a pilling T-shirt. The crystal chandeliers were blindingly bright, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and sweet champagne. My biological mother, Victoria Vance, was staring at me as if I were a pile of steaming garbage. “What on earth are you wearing?” she whispered harshly, her voice dripping with disgust. “Tonight is Christian’s big night. Are you trying to make our family the laughingstock of the elite?” My biological father, Arthur Vance, frowned and impatiently tugged at his tie. “Alright, stop wasting your breath on him. Have someone take him to the servants’ quarters in the back house. He is not to come out until the party is over.” Standing there, the last shred of hope I had for this “family” shattered into dust. These were the biological parents I had traveled ten hours to meet. Just then, a young man and a young woman came down the grand spiral staircase. The boy wore a custom tuxedo studded with micro-diamonds, looking like a handsome prince. The girl was in a high-fashion evening gown, looking cold and regal. They were Christian and my so-called older sister, Olivia. Christian saw me, his lips curving into a polite but distant smile. “Is this… the brother we finally found?” He stood on the stairs, looking down at me, a flash of contempt crossing his eyes. Victoria immediately pulled him to her side, her voice softening. “Christian, sweetie, you do not need to come down. He is just here to stay for a few days.” Olivia, on the other hand, glared at me coldly. “Ethan, right? Let me make this clear. Now that you are back at the Vance estate, you better stay in your lane. Christian is sweet and innocent. If you try any dirty tricks or attempt to steal what belongs to him, I will make your life a living hell.” The four of them stood together, a united front, treating me like some evil intruder. I looked at Christian’s innocent face. Just as I was about to speak, a sharp, sudden pain shot through my brain. Then, a screeching, nasty voice exploded in my mind. This trailer trash looks so disgusting. He actually thinks he can come back and play the rich young master? In his dreams. Once tonight is over, I will find a random excuse to kick him out of this house forever. My eyes widened as I stared at Christian. His lips had not moved. He was still wearing that polite, saintly smile. Was I hallucinating? No. I focused my mind, lock-targeting his face. What are you staring at, hillbilly? Everything in the Vance family belongs to me. Mom, Dad, Olivia—they are mine. You are just a pathetic stray nobody wants. I took a deep breath. I could hear his thoughts. And I could feel that, as long as I willed it, I could transmit this voice to anyone in the room. This was an ability that had awakened after I hit my head in a minor car accident on my way here. I thought it was just tinnitus, but it turned out to be a gift from fate. I looked at my “dear sister” who was glaring at me, and a cold smile crept onto my face. Since you love your precious little brother so much, let me show you how “sweet” his mind really is. I focused my mind on Olivia and tapped the virtual “Broadcast” button in my head.

The air seemed to freeze. Olivia, who had been glaring at me coldly, suddenly stiffened. Her pupils dilated in sheer shock. Olivia is such a brainless btch. As long as I play the sweet little brother, she barks at whoever I want like a loyal guard dog. What a useful tool. Christian’s voice echoed with crystal-clear precision inside Olivia’s mind. Olivia turned her head slowly, staring at Christian in complete disbelief. “Christian… what did you… what did you just say?” her voice trembled. Christian looked completely bewildered, blinking his innocent eyes. “I did not say anything, Olivia. I was just saying that Ethan must have had a hard life…” What is wrong with this crazy btch? Why is she looking at me like that? Did she find out that I was the one who broke her boyfriend’s designer watch and blamed it on the new chauffeur? The second thought exploded in Olivia’s mind. Olivia’s face drained of all color. She took a step back, her eyes filled with absolute horror and shock as she looked at Christian. “Olivia, what is wrong? Why do you look so pale?” Victoria noticed her daughter’s distress and asked quickly. Olivia pointed at Christian, her lips trembling, but she could not squeeze out a single word. What could she say? That she heard her brother calling her a brainless dog in her head? Who would believe her? I chose that exact moment to look down, playing the part of the humble, mistreated son. “Olivia, is it because I am standing here? Am I ruining the mood? I will go to the servants’ quarters right now. I do not want to ruin Christian’s birthday.” My quiet, submissive behavior made Christian’s secret thoughts sound even more monstrous. Olivia looked at me with a whirlwind of emotions—shock, doubt, and a trace of guilt. “No need,” Olivia said, taking a deep breath to suppress the chaos in her heart. Her voice was raspy. “You are a biological Vance. You are not sleeping in the servants’ quarters. Mother, have someone get him a suit. He is joining the party.” “Olivia. Are you crazy?” Arthur glared at her. “Do you want him to walk out there like a hobo and make us a laughingstock?” Old man, you have already lost all your face anyway. Once I get my hands on the family shares, you are the first one I am kicking off the board of directors. This time, I switched the broadcast channel to Arthur. Arthur’s shouting stopped instantly. He looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He whipped his head toward Christian, his eyes bulging. “Father? What is wrong?” Christian was terrified by the murderous look in Arthur’s eyes. He shrank back toward Victoria. Arthur panted heavily, his chest rising and falling violently. He pointed a shaking finger at Christian. It took him a long moment before he spat out through clenched teeth: “Fine. Perfect. Get him changed. He is joining the party.” Victoria had no idea what was going on, but seeing her husband and daughter acting like they had seen a ghost, she did not dare argue. She reluctantly called a maid to take me upstairs. I followed the maid up the grand spiral staircase. At the landing, I stopped and looked down at the pale father and daughter, and the completely confused Christian. The show was just getting started.

The maid took me to a guest room at the end of the second floor. There was a suit laid out on the bed, clearly prepared in a hurry. It was a tight-fitting, neon-green suit made of cheap, shiny fabric. The style was so tacky and outdated that it looked like something a clown would wear to a cheap kid’s party. “Young Master Ethan, Master Christian personally picked this out for you. He said this color would make you stand out,” the maid said, keeping her head low, a hint of pity in her voice. Looking at the eyesore of a suit, I let out a cold laugh. Christian really went all out. If I were the old, insecure Ethan, walking into a room full of billionaires in this clown suit would have broken me. But I was not him anymore. Without hesitation, I put on the neon-green suit. If we were going to embarrass ourselves, let us make it a grand disaster for everyone. The moment I pushed open the doors of the grand ballroom, the chatter died down instantly. Every eye in the room locked onto me. Shock, disgust, mockery, amusement—a thousand different looks converged on me as if I were a circus animal. Victoria’s face turned almost as green as my suit. She looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. Arthur was shaking with rage, refusing to even look in my direction. Christian, wearing his dazzling custom tuxedo, walked toward me like a proud peacock. “Ethan, that is a very… unique look,” he said loudly, making sure the surrounding guests could hear. “Everyone, I want to introduce you to my brother who was lost for so many years, Ethan.” The crowd burst into whispers. “Is that the real son? Why is he dressed like a clown?” “Jeez, you cannot take the trash out of the gutter. He has none of Christian’s elegance.” “The Vance family must be mortified. If I were Arthur, I would pretend I did not know him.” Listening to the whispers, a smug, venomous grin flashed in Christian’s eyes. Laugh. Keep laughing, you hillbilly. This is what you get for trying to take my place. I will make sure you can never show your face in this city again. Looking at his fake smile, I patted his shoulder warmly, smiling even brighter than him. “Thanks for the compliment, Christian. After all, you picked this suit out for me yourself. You said it matched my personality perfectly.” The moment I said that, the mocking whispers paused. Several business rivals of the Vance family in the crowd suddenly looked very amused. Christian’s smile froze. “Ethan… I just thought the color was vibrant…” How dare this loser say that out loud. Just wait, I will destroy you later. I ignored his panic. My eyes swept over the guests who had been laughing at me. There was Mr. Richard Miller, a notorious new-money billionaire who was laughing the loudest. And Mr. Harold Cooper, a man who had married into a wealthy family and lived off his wife, looking down his nose at me. I smiled, targeted them, and turned on the “Group Broadcast” mode. Richard Miller is laughing so hard, but does he know his wife spent last night at her young boy toy’s apartment again? Apparently, the boy toy is threatening to expose everything to the tabloids. And Harold Cooper, the ultimate gold-digger. His precious son lost ten million dollars in underground gambling last month and embezzled company funds to cover the debt. The audit is coming next week, and he is going straight to prison. These were all secrets Christian had gathered. He loved digging up dirt on high society to use as leverage. And now, I was broadcasting all these secrets to the entire room using Christian’s own voice.

A bizarre, suffocating silence fell over the ballroom. Mr. Miller, who was laughing a second ago, froze. He whipped his head toward Christian, his eyes burning with pure, murderous rage. Mr. Cooper went completely ballistic. The champagne glass in his hand slipped and shattered on the marble floor. “Christian. What the hell did you just say?” Mr. Miller roared, lunging forward and grabbing Christian by his designer collar. Christian was paralyzed with fear. “Mr. Miller, what are you doing? I did not say anything.” “You are still lying. I heard you loud and clear. You said my wife has a boy toy. You little piece of sht, you have been spying on me.” Mr. Miller was out of his mind with embarrassment. He raised his hand and delivered a roaring slap right across Christian’s face. Slap. The sound echoed through the silent ballroom. “Ah.” Christian screamed, clutching his swollen cheek, stumbling backward. Before he could even recover, Mr. Cooper rushed him, grabbing his tuxedo jacket. “You venomous little brat. You dare accuse my son of embezzlement. I will teach you a lesson you will never forget.” The two distinguished, billionaire businessmen were now acting like rabid street fighters, shoving and hitting Christian. Christian’s expensive tuxedo was torn to shreds, his styled hair was ruined, and he screamed in terror as he was beaten. “Help. Mother. Olivia. Save me.” Victoria finally snapped out of her shock, screaming as she threw herself into the fray to break it up. Arthur and Olivia also rushed in to pull the angry men off. The ballroom descended into utter chaos. Screams, curses, and shattered glasses created a beautiful symphony. I stood on the edge of the crowd, watching the drama unfold with a cold smirk. I picked up a glass of champagne from a passing tray and took a slow, satisfying sip. Ah, top-shelf. Delicious. The grand birthday party the Vance family had spent months planning was now the biggest joke in New York high society. Eventually, security escorted the raging Mr. Miller and Mr. Cooper out, and the other guests quickly made excuses to leave. Within thirty minutes, the lively ballroom was completely empty, leaving behind a ruined, messy hall. Christian slumped in a chair, his hair disheveled, his face bruised and swollen, crying hysterically. Victoria held him, her eyes red from crying. Arthur’s face was black with rage. He whipped around and glared at me. “Did you do this?” he roared. “The moment you came back, everything went to hell. What did you do?” I set my glass down, looking completely innocent. “Father, what are you talking about? I was standing here the whole time, and I did not say a single word. Everyone saw it. Christian brought up those secrets and pissed off Mr. Miller and Mr. Cooper. What does that have to do with me?” “You ungrateful brat.” Arthur raised his hand to strike me. I did not flinch. I just stared at him coldly. Just before his hand hit my face, Olivia suddenly grabbed his wrist. “Father, stop,” Olivia said, her voice sounding incredibly exhausted. She looked at Christian, and for the first time, there was no affection in her eyes—only deep suspicion and disgust. “Something is very wrong today. But either way, the party is ruined. Let Christian go clean up.” Arthur gave me one last furious glare, then stormed off. As Victoria helped Christian walk upstairs, Christian shot me a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. Ethan, you bastard. I will make you pay for this humiliation a thousand times over. I met his gaze, my lips curving into a mocking smile. Anytime, little brother.

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My boyfriend told his friend in French that the twelve-carat diamond ring was for the woman he had never been able to forget. As for me, he said he’d keep me by his side with no real commitment. But Shawn Foster didn’t know I grew up in Paris, and French was my native language. He knew even less that the girl he called “from a modest family” and “unable to live without him” was the daughter of the richest man in the world—and the mysterious designer Lune he had been desperately searching for. Chapter 1 Wendy Wells POV My name is Wendy Wells. That afternoon, while I was ironing a shirt for my boyfriend, Shawn Foster, I found a ring box. The moment I opened it, my heart started pounding so fast it felt like I was having a heart attack. A twelve-carat pear-cut diamond refracted a blinding fire under the fluorescent light. We had been together for seven years. For the past two, every time I tentatively brought up going home to meet my parents or getting married, he would smile and tell me to wait a little longer. He said we should wait until the company was more stable. He said he didn’t want me to settle for less. I had thought his feelings for me had faded. So it turned out he had been secretly preparing this all along. My fingers trembled a little as I carefully slid the ring onto my ring finger. It got stuck. The ring stopped at my second knuckle and would not go any farther, squeezing so tightly that the base of my finger turned red. It was too small. I froze for a moment, then shook my head with an amused little smile and took it off, putting it back into the box. Seven years ago, my fingers had been slender and fair, untouched by any household work. All these years, I had taken care of his food, clothes, and daily life. I had stayed up with him late into the night revising proposals. In winter, I had personally washed the bespoke shirts he refused to let the housekeeper touch. My fingers had grown at least one size thicker. A designer’s hands had slowly become a housewife’s hands, the knuckles swelling by a full circle. And he had actually bought it according to my size from back then. That careless idiot. I carefully slipped the ring off and put it back in the box exactly as it had been. I couldn’t let him find out. I had to let him follow his own plan. As for the size, I would just hint at it tonight. When he proposed, I would pretend to be surprised. But no matter what, I couldn’t press down the corners of my mouth. My mind was full of thoughts. How would he propose? What would he say to me? I was in a good mood the entire afternoon. That night, as usual, I personally stewed his favorite seafood soup and pushed open the door to his study. Shawn Foster was leaning back in his chair, on a phone call. His long legs were crossed, his figure tall and sharp, his posture effortlessly refined. When he saw me come in, he lifted his eyes and smiled at me. Then he hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me onto his lap. The man on the other end spoke fluent French with a Parisian accent, his tone full of teasing. It was his childhood friend, Luke Bennett. “The ring arrived? You’re really going to propose?” Shawn Foster casually stroked my wrist, his voice lazy as he answered in French as well. “Yeah. I had someone get it from an auction in Antwerp. Twelve carats, specially customized to fit her size.” Leaning against his chest, I secretly curved my lips and fed him a spoonful of soup. “Not bad. That’s a pretty big move.” Luke Bennett whistled. “Is Fiona Quinn worth you spending that kind of money?” My whole body went stiff. The ring wasn’t for me! “Of course she is. Back then, I wasn’t good enough for her.” Shawn Foster lowered his head and kissed the tip of my ear. “Now that I have the ability, I owe her an answer.” “Damn. I never thought I’d see the day Shawn Foster got tied down. Then what about Wendy Wells? What are you planning to tell her?” Shawn Foster leaned back in his chair, his tone carrying that familiar indifference I knew too well. “The wedding won’t be big. Just a few people we know well. I can keep the news under control. It won’t reach Wendy’s ears.” “You mean you’re going to hide it from her? For how long?” Shawn Foster was silent for a moment, then glanced at me. “As long as I can.” “Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out and leave?” Shawn Foster rubbed his brow, his tone turning serious. “Wendy won’t leave. She loves me that much, and her family doesn’t have any real background. Her social circle all these years exists because she followed me into it. Her parents are probably dying for me to marry her. Tell me, if she leaves me, where can she go?” The man on the other end laughed suggestively. “Shawn, that’s pretty ruthless. She’s been your girlfriend for seven years, and now she’s turning into your mistress?” Shawn Foster’s face darkened. He rubbed my hair. “Don’t talk nonsense. I do have feelings for Wendy. It’s been seven years. How could I not? She treats me well and worries about everything for me. I know all of that.” He paused, as if choosing his words. “But Fiona is different. You know how devastated I was when she left back then. Now that she’s come back, I don’t want to miss my chance again.” I lowered my head and looked at my own hand. That afternoon, when I had tried on the ring, it had left a faint indentation on my knuckle. So it wasn’t that he had carelessly remembered my size wrong. That ring had never been meant for me from the very beginning. Seven years. I never knew the person he truly wanted to marry had never been me. Just like he didn’t know that the person in his arms had never been some little girl without any powerful family background. Just like he didn’t know that the mysterious designer Lune, whom the whole world was desperately searching for, was right now in his arms. Seven years ago, Dad asked me to come home for an arranged marriage alliance. I had a huge fight with him and sat by the river crying. Shawn Foster thought I was upset over something and stayed with me the whole night. He talked to me about his dreams. He said he wanted to build his own fashion group and make everyone who looked down on him regret it. The fire in his eyes drew me in. It made me willing to wager everything on him. We naturally ended up together. I took off the Wells family name, moved out of a luxury apartment in the city center and into his two-hundred-square-foot rental, and told him I was from an ordinary family too. I accompanied him as he founded AVEUN, secretly sending him money and resources. The three earliest rounds of financing for AVEUN were quietly injected by me under the name of an investment company owned by Wells Group. Later, AVEUN needed a designer who could hold up its image. Shawn Foster searched everywhere, but he was never satisfied. One late night, while Shawn Foster was asleep, I submitted my designs to AVEUN’s official email under the name Lune. That collection later became AVEUN’s most classic series, and it was also the foundation that turned Shawn Foster into a legend in the industry. Simon Foster said signing Lune was the best bargain he had ever made in his life. But to this day, no one knew who Lune was. Not even Shawn Foster himself. All he knew was that Lune refused all interviews, never attended any events, communicated only through email, and was a genius but eccentric person. He didn’t know that genius slept beside him every night, making him coffee and ironing his shirts every day. From the days when he couldn’t afford to rent an office and could only sketch in a rental apartment, to now, when his AVEUN Group had become the hottest fashion group in the country, I had always been there. But he had never once brought up marriage. At first, I understood. Back then, he had nothing. The one-bedroom apartment he rented did not even have a decent bed. He said, “When I’m worthy of you.” I smiled and said okay. Later, the company secured its first round of financing. Then it signed several major celebrity endorsements. Then AVEUN’s annual revenue broke two billion. His reason became, “Wait a little longer. This year is too busy.” After that, it became, “What’s the rush? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” In the past two years, he had already become unwilling to even hear me mention it. “All right, let’s stop talking. My Wendy should be getting sleepy.” He hung up the phone, lowered his head, kissed my forehead, and asked gently in Chinese, “What are you thinking about?” “I was thinking about what you two were talking about.” I lowered my head, hiding my emotions. “Just work. What’s there to think about?” Shawn Foster laughed softly, picked up the bowl, and took a sip of soup, his features relaxing. “I’m going to shower. Let’s sleep early tonight.” The sound of running water came from the bathroom. My phone vibrated. It was the monthly email from Paris, from the family legal team. [Miss Wells: Your father asked me to pass on a message. The family is ready to welcome you back at any time.] I glanced in the direction of the bathroom and calmly replied with four words: [Arrange the return trip.] Since you think I can’t live without you. Then I’ll take everything I gave you and leave you forever. Chapter 2 Wendy Wells POV The next morning, I woke up to my biological clock. The other half of the bed was empty, and the blankets had already gone cold. In the past, I had always been the first to get up every morning, make breakfast, and then wake him, just so he could stay in bed for ten more minutes. His work was busy. I felt bad for him. Yet today, he had actually gotten up earlier than me. Wrapped in my sleepwear, I walked out of the bedroom and saw Shawn Foster standing in front of the full-length mirror in the walk-in closet. A brand-new bespoke suit, newly changed cuff links, and his hair freshly styled. He looked even more meticulous than he did for a brand launch. He changed three ties in front of the mirror. When he saw me in the mirror, he turned his head and smiled. His brows carried an undisguisable good mood. “Why are you awake? Sleep a little longer.” “Why are you up so early today?” “There’s an important meeting at the company. I have to get there early.” As he spoke, he was still adjusting his cuffs, a smile hanging at the corners of his mouth. I leaned against the doorframe and watched him. Shawn Foster worked in fashion, so his taste in clothing had never been bad. But he also never dressed this carefully on an ordinary workday. Unless the person he was seeing today was worth him getting up at six and fussing in front of the mirror. I drew in a breath and decided to give this seven-year relationship one last chance. I tried to make my tone sound as casual as possible. “Shawn, come home with me next week. My parents want to meet you.” His hands paused on the buttons, but he did not turn around. “There’s a major project going on lately. I can’t get away. Next time.” In seven years, I had heard “next time” far too many times. I didn’t say anything else. Forget it. After fastening his cuff links, he walked over, bent down, and kissed the top of my head, his voice gentle. “I have to work overtime tonight. I might be home very late. Eat dinner by yourself. Don’t wait for me.” With that, he headed out, his steps so light he looked as if he were going to some long-awaited appointment. The door closed, and the living room fell quiet. His phone was lying quietly on the shoe cabinet in the living room. He had left in such a hurry that he forgot to take it. The screen lit up automatically, and an unread message popped up. Contact name: Fiona. [Shawn, it’s been seven years. I missed you so much. See you at the airport in a bit.] Getting up at six, changing three ties, smiling so brightly his eyes nearly flew off his face—so he was going to pick her up at the airport. The front door was suddenly pushed open. Shawn Foster had come back, his footsteps hurried. He strode to the entryway and picked up his phone. The instant his fingertip lit the screen, his movements stiffened for a split second. He looked up at me, a trace of nervousness in his gaze. “Wendy, did you look at my phone just now?” Curled up on the sofa and holding a cup of water, I lifted my head at his words, my expression innocent. “No. Why?” He looked at me for two seconds, searching my face. Then his shoulders relaxed, and his brow smoothed out. He came over, wrapped an arm around my waist, lowered his head, and kissed the corner of my mouth, his voice soft. “Nothing. Love you.” The door closed for the second time, and the sound of the car engine gradually faded. “Love you.” He said those two words several times a day. Before, I had believed every single one. I knew who Fiona was. Fiona Quinn, one of the film industry’s most famous actresses. She had been working overseas these past few years, and this year she had just received a Cannes Best Actress nomination. Her red-carpet looks had swept the headlines of every major fashion media outlet. Seven years ago, she had only been Shawn Foster’s college girlfriend. They had dated for four years, from freshman year until graduation. The year they graduated, Shawn Foster took his business plan everywhere and hit wall after wall. Fiona Quinn disliked that he was poor and had no future. She left him with the words, “You can’t give me the life I want,” then turned around and entered the entertainment industry. When Shawn Foster met me, it had been less than a month since he was dumped. He had told me about Fiona Quinn. Back then, he held me and spoke very seriously. “Fiona Quinn is my ex. She’s in the past. Wendy, you’re my true love.” I believed him for seven whole years. But all it took was for his ex to buy a plane ticket back, and he rushed right up to her. My phone rang. It was a video call from my brother, William Wells. “Wendy, Dad said you’re coming back? Did Shawn Foster bully you?” “No. I just miss you guys.” “Don’t try that with me. Say the word, and I’ll fly over tomorrow and take his legs off—” The phone was snatched away. Dad’s voice was much gentler, carrying a cautious tentativeness. “Wendy, if you miss home, then come back. You’ve been out there for seven years. It must have been hard, right? I won’t push you into an arranged marriage alliance anymore. Come back, and you can do whatever you want.” I clenched my phone, my eyes burning. I had been stupid. I had rejected the family who genuinely loved me and trusted Shawn Foster with my whole heart. My dad loved me so much. How could the marriage partner he chose for me possibly be bad? “Dad, I’m willing to come back for the arranged marriage alliance.” The other end of the call went quiet. After a long while, Dad laughed, but halfway through, his voice caught. “Good. Good! Next week, I’ll have William take the private jet to pick you up!” He paused, then his tone softened. “Oh, right, sweetheart. Today is your birthday. Happy birthday, my good girl.” Tears splashed onto my phone screen. “Thank you, Dad.” Chapter 3 Wendy Wells POV All day today, my phone never stopped. My college classmates’ group chat filled two whole screens with birthday wishes. My best friend sent several sixty-second voice messages in a row, screaming as she asked what gift I wanted. The design team in Paris sent over a huge bouquet of white roses by international air freight. On the card was a line printed in French: Joyeux anniversaire, Lune. Everyone remembered what day it was. Shawn Foster used to remember too. When we were poor, he brought home the cheapest bouquet of carnations from a roadside flower shop and put them in a washed paper cup in the rental apartment. The cake was a discounted little cake from the supermarket, only big enough for one thin candle. He held me and said, “When I have money, I’ll definitely give you the grandest birthday.” Later, he really did. A reserved cruise ship, tens of millions in jewelry, fireworks blooming over the sea all night, and LED screens across the city scrolling the words “Happy Birthday, Wendy Wells.” In seven years, he had never missed my birthday. This year was different. Fiona Quinn had come back, and he had forgotten my birthday. Over the course of the day, I packed up all my things. In the walk-in closet, the things he had given me over the years filled an entire wall. Limited-edition bags, haute couture gowns, jewelry sets bought at auctions—each piece was worth a fortune. The cabinet beside it held the things I had given him. A Patek Philippe annual calendar, Hermes platinum cuff links, and a vintage leather blazer he’d been hunting for years. I had someone search the vintage shops in Tokyo for three months before finally finding it. I called the housekeeper over. “Auntie Lily, pack all of these up. Contact a charity and have them donated by the end of today.” Auntie Lily froze. “Miss Wells, all of this together must be worth over a hundred million…” “Yes. So donating it can help a lot of people.” Auntie Lily didn’t dare ask any more questions. She called people over to pack and move everything. By evening, more than half of the walk-in closet was empty, and the house looked as if it had gone through a move. I barely ate a few bites at dinner. My stomach felt awful, and I wanted to throw up. At first, I thought it was because I had barely eaten all day and was overly hungry. Until the third time I dry-heaved, I supported myself against the sink and suddenly remembered something. My period had not come this month. Half an hour later, I sat on the edge of the bathtub with a pregnancy test in my hand, staring at the two red lines, my mind completely blank. My phone screen lit up. It was a push notification for an entertainment news article. [Famous actress Fiona Quinn quietly returns to the country, escorted the entire way through the airport by mystery gentleman in full VIP treatment] In the attached photo, Fiona Quinn was wearing sunglasses while a man’s hand protected her waist as she passed through the crowd. The photo did not capture the man’s face. But I recognized the watch on that wrist. A Patek Philippe 5270P, perpetual calendar chronograph, limited worldwide release. It was the thirtieth birthday gift I had given Shawn Foster. My phone vibrated again. Shawn Foster sent me a WeChat message. Wendy, I have to work late at the office tonight, so I won’t be coming home. Go to sleep first. Love you. I looked at the pregnancy test, then at the message. The irony felt like a play whose script had already been written. We used to lie in bed and talk countless times about having children someday. He said their eyes should look like mine, their nose like his. He said if it was a daughter, we would name her Nina Foster; if it was a boy, Grant Foster. He said once the company was a little more stable, we would have one. The child had come, but his heart was already gone. I didn’t even know if anything he said back then had been sincere. I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him kissing me while saying he needed to give Fiona Quinn an answer. I saw the hand in the airport photo, shielding Fiona. I held back for a long time, but in the end, I still couldn’t stop myself from calling him. It rang for a long time. No one answered. After a while, I called again. His phone was off. Clutching my phone, I curled up on the sofa and finally couldn’t hold it together anymore. I cried the entire night. Seven years of feelings couldn’t be cut off just because I said so. Especially not when there was another life inside me. The next morning, I got up with my eyes so swollen I could barely open them. The person in the mirror looked haggard beyond recognition. I decided to go to the hospital first and get checked, just to confirm it. When the car passed through an intersection, a truck running a red light slammed into us from the side. After the deafening crash, a sharp pain shot through my leg, and something warm trickled down my calf. I was still conscious enough to dial Shawn Foster’s number. The number you have dialed is powered off. Chapter 4 Wendy Wells POV In the end, a passerby called an ambulance for me. When I arrived at the hospital, a nurse pushed me into the emergency room. As we rounded the corner by the outpatient hall, I turned my head and saw Shawn Foster. He was standing in front of the registration desk, slightly bent over, filling out a form for the woman beside him. Fiona Quinn was leaning against his shoulder, looking as if she wasn’t feeling well. As Shawn filled out the form, he turned his head to speak to her, his tone gentle and patient, like he was coaxing a sick child. My injuries weren’t too serious. My leg needed seven stitches. But the doctor’s expression was a little grave. “Ms. Wells, the external wound on your leg has been treated. But your abdomen suffered an impact, and judging from the examination results…” She glanced at the report in her hand. “You were about six weeks pregnant. Unfortunately, due to the force of the car accident, the fetus could not be saved.” I stared at the ceiling and said nothing. Last night, I had cried all night over those two red lines, asking myself over and over whether I wanted this child. Now I didn’t have to ask anymore. The doctor was still explaining the post-op precautions when the door to the ward was suddenly pushed open. Shawn Foster rushed in. “Wendy? It really is you.” He strode to the bedside, his gaze sweeping over the gauze and stitches on my leg. His expression changed. “How did you get hurt? What happened? Why didn’t you call me?” The doctor was still standing beside us and took over. “Hello, sir. The patient was in a car accident this morning. Her leg required seven stitches, and in addition, because her abdomen suffered an impact, it caused a miscar—” “I did call.” I cut the doctor off and looked at Shawn Foster. “Your phone was off.” Shawn froze. Almost instinctively, he took out his phone and glanced at it. The screen was lit, with full signal. I watched the changes in his expression. First confusion, then a flash of guilt. He lowered his head and quickly swiped on his phone a few times before hiding the screen again. “Sorry. I was too busy working overtime yesterday. My phone ran out of battery and shut off by itself. I didn’t know you called.” He was lying. I knew what he was doing. He was taking my number off the blacklist. And he wasn’t the one who had blocked me. Fiona Quinn was. “Shawn…” a weak female voice came from the doorway. Fiona Quinn stood there, holding onto the doorframe. Over her hospital gown, she had draped Shawn Foster’s suit jacket, and her face was even paler than when I had seen her in the hall. Shawn immediately turned and went to her, one hand supporting her waist, the other holding her arm. His voice was full of tension and reproach. “Why did you get out of bed? The doctor told you to stay in bed and rest.” Fiona leaned weakly into his arms, her gaze passing over his shoulder to look at me on the hospital bed. “I saw you rush out in such a hurry. I was worried, so I came to take a look.” She sized me up, her tone innocent and naive. “And this is?” Shawn Foster had his back to me. He didn’t turn around. “A friend. I saw she was hospitalized, so I came to check on her.” So I was his friend. He crouched down and gently lifted her into his arms. Fiona’s arms naturally looped around his neck. Holding her, Shawn Foster walked out, tossing one sentence back at me. “Rest well. I’ll take her back to her ward first.” Shawn Foster carried Fiona Quinn to the end of the hallway and disappeared. He never came back. The doctor told me to go for another examination, so I could only hold onto the wall and limp there by myself. When I passed a VIP ward at the corner of the hallway, the door was left slightly ajar. Shawn Foster was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Fiona Quinn’s hand as she received an IV. Fiona turned her head to look at him. Her voice didn’t sound weak at all. “That woman just now. What exactly is your relationship with her?” “Don’t overthink it. She’s just a friend.” “Don’t try to fool me. What kind of friend calls you so many times in the middle of the night? Shawn Foster, do you think I’m blind?” Shawn Foster was silent for a moment. “She was a substitute I found when you weren’t around. We’ve already broken up.” “Then do you still love her?” “I only love you. Do you even need to ask?” “Words are cheap.” Fiona pulled her hand back and turned her head away from him. “Prove it to me.” Shawn Foster took a box from the inner pocket of his suit. Dark green velvet, with a hidden gold clasp. I recognized that box. The night before last, I had secretly opened it and tried on the ring inside. It had gotten stuck at my knuckle. He got down on one knee. “I originally wanted to find a more formal occasion, but I can’t wait anymore.” He opened the box. The twelve-carat pear-cut diamond refracted a blinding light. “Fiona Quinn, seven years ago, I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t make you stay. For the past seven years, I’ve fought with everything I had to climb higher, all so that one day I could stand in front of you and be worthy of you. Marry me.” Tears fell from Fiona’s eyes, and she held out her left hand. The ring slid onto her ring finger, fitting perfectly. I stood outside the door. The wound on my leg was still seeping blood, staining the gauze dark red. So that was how he defined me. Just a substitute. I turned around and limped away from that door. The hallway was long, so long it felt like I would never reach the end. My phone rang. It was my assistant calling. “Ms. Wells, the design collaboration license between Lune and AVEUN expires next month. Should I renew the contract as usual?” For seven years, every time the contract expired, I told her to renew it. “No.” My assistant was clearly stunned. “You said… no?” “Yes. Once it expires, notify Legal to start the termination process.” Chapter 5 Wendy Wells POV Not long after I hung up, Shawn Foster’s message came through. Wendy, that was Fiona Quinn just now. She just came back to the country and doesn’t have many friends here. Last night, she ate something bad and got acute gastroenteritis, so she came to the hospital this morning. She’s a public figure, so it’s inconvenient for her to show her face. I just helped run an errand for her. Don’t overthink it. I didn’t reply. Over the next few days, Shawn Foster never came to my ward. He sent messages saying the company suddenly had a project to follow up on and he had gone out of town on a business trip. He had hired the best caregiver to take care of me and told me to focus on recovering. The caregiver was indeed diligent, asking after me, serving tea and water, taking care of every detail. But he chose to personally stay with Fiona Quinn, and he lied to me. On the third night, an unknown number sent me a message. It was a video. The background was the messy bed in a hotel suite. Fiona Quinn had her arms around Shawn Foster’s neck, her voice soft and coy. “Who do you love?” “You. I only love you.” I didn’t need to guess who had sent it from that number. On the day I was discharged, I called a car and went home by myself. When I pushed open the door, the lights in the living room were on. Shawn Foster was back. The moment he saw me come in, he immediately got up and walked over to take the things from my hands. “You’re back? How’s your leg? Does it hurt?” As he spoke, he handed me a gift box. “I left for that business trip in such a hurry that I didn’t get a chance to visit you. I bought you a gift as an apology.” I opened the box. It was a diamond bracelet. I wasn’t surprised at all. Because ten minutes earlier, that unknown number had sent another photo. In the photo, a diamond necklace from the same series rested against Fiona Quinn’s collarbone. It was more than ten times more expensive than this bracelet. You got the bracelet, right? It was a free gift that came with the necklace. I didn’t want it, so I rewarded you with it. A necklace for his lover, a freebie to brush me off. In the past, whenever I received a gift from him, even if it was just ice cream bought from a roadside stand, I could be happy for days. I glanced at the bracelet and casually set it on the table. Shawn Foster’s expression shifted. He frowned slightly, as if sensing something was wrong. Then he reached out, wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me into his embrace. “Are you angry? It was my fault for not visiting you these past few days. It won’t happen again.” He lowered his head to kiss me. I turned my head slightly, just about to find an excuse to avoid him. His phone rang. Shawn Foster ignored it and kept leaning in. The phone kept ringing. I pushed lightly against his shoulder. “Answer it. It’s been ringing for so long. Maybe it’s urgent.” “Nothing is more important than you.” He pinched my cheek and smiled. The phone rang for the third time. He finally glanced at the screen in irritation, and his smile froze. He let go of me, picked up his phone, and quickly walked to the balcony. Through the glass door, I saw him answer the call, his brows tightly furrowed, his tone urgent but quiet. I faintly heard things like “Don’t worry” and “I’ll be right there.” He pushed open the glass door and returned to the living room, heading straight for his coat. “There’s an emergency at the company. I have to go out for a bit.” He bent down and quickly kissed my forehead. “Don’t let the wound on your leg touch water. Sleep early.” I sat on the sofa and looked at the bracelet I had casually left on the table. The diamonds sparkled beautifully under the light, cold and icy, just like this home. That night, the unknown number sent another photo. In the photo, Shawn Foster was asleep with his arms around Fiona Quinn. Their bare shoulders were exposed above the covers. All it takes is one call from me, and I can make him leave your side. So what if you were his substitute for seven years? The real one is back. Why are you still clinging to him? Before I make him kick you out, be sensible and get lost on your own. I pressed the X hard to close the chat, then sent a message to another number: Find out everything Fiona Quinn has been doing overseas these past few years. The more detailed, the better. The other party replied instantly: Understood, Miss Wells. Chapter 6 Wendy Wells POV The next afternoon, I decided to go out and watch a movie. A classic old film I really liked was being re-released. I had wanted to see it the year it first came out, but back then, I was helping Shawn Foster start his business and was too busy. I never got to watch it. Over the years, whenever I mentioned to Shawn Foster that I wanted to go to a movie, he always said he had been busy lately and we would go another day. Another day turned into nothing. After a while, I stopped bringing it up. This time, I wasn’t waiting anymore. Just as I was about to leave, I ran into Shawn Foster. He was carrying a bag of things. When he saw me, he froze slightly. “Where are you going?” I didn’t look at him. I lowered my head and organized my bag. “To see a movie.” He frowned, his tone a little urgent. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I’ll go with you.” “Do you have time?” My tone was calm as I looked up at him. Shawn Foster choked on his words, his voice turning a little unnatural. “I do. Let’s go. I’ll drive.” On the way there, he talked a lot, much warmer than usual. He asked if my leg still hurt, asked what I wanted to eat, and even took the initiative to say he would take me to a Japanese restaurant I had mentioned once a long time ago. He was making it up to me. Making up for the way he had been stuck to Fiona Quinn these past few days and neglected me. When we arrived at the screening room, we sat in the middle row. Before the lights dimmed, someone sat down in the seat beside us. A low-brim baseball cap, a black mask, half her face covered. But I recognized her. Shawn Foster recognized her too. It was Fiona Quinn. Fiona Quinn sat on Shawn Foster’s right. I sat on his left. The lights went out, and the screen lit up. Barely ten minutes into the movie, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shawn Foster’s right hand slide off the armrest. Fiona Quinn’s left hand also dangled beside her seat. In the darkness, their hands quietly clasped together. The light from the screen flickered between bright and dim. Shawn Foster’s right hand went from holding hers to resting on Fiona Quinn’s knee, then slowly slipped under the hem of her skirt. I turned back to look at the screen. The theater was too dark. Not a single frame on the screen registered in my mind. When the movie ended, people surged through the lobby. Fiona Quinn took off her mask to fix her hair and was recognized by a few girls passing by. “Oh my God, it’s Fiona Quinn! It’s really Fiona Quinn herself!” The screams triggered a chain reaction, and the crowd began to rush this way. Shawn Foster reacted unbelievably fast. He wrapped an arm around Fiona Quinn’s shoulders, using his body to block the crowd, lowering his head to shield her as he hurried toward the side exit. Fiona leaned into his arms smoothly, their movements flawless together. I stood where I was, pushed around by the crowd leaving the theater. Someone kicked the wound on my leg, and the pain drilled straight into my bones. He had left too quickly. He had forgotten that he had come to the movie with me. I walked out of the theater alone and took a cab home. That night, a set of photos climbed onto the trending searches. Fiona Quinn Mobbed by Fans During Movie Outing, Mystery Male Companion Protected Her the Entire Time The photos had been taken by a passerby on a phone, and the angle only captured Shawn Foster’s back. The lines of his suit were sharp, his figure tall and upright. The comment section was frantically guessing his identity, all of them saying, “He looks so handsome just from the back.” I scrolled through two screens of comments, then turned off my phone. That evening, Shawn Foster came home. When he entered, his expression was a little uneasy, and he took the initiative to explain. “What happened this afternoon—Fiona Quinn is a famous actress. It would’ve been dangerous if she was recognized. The situation was too chaotic at the time, and I—” “I understand.” I took over his words. “You don’t need to explain.” Shawn Foster’s words caught in his throat, his half-finished explanation hanging awkwardly in the air. He looked at me, as if waiting for me to continue, waiting for me to ask questions or get angry. “You… really don’t mind?” “I don’t. What’s there to mind?” He was silent for a while, then said dully, “That’s good.” After a moment, he changed the subject. “There’s a charity gala tomorrow night. Come with me.” All these years, I had always accompanied him to public events. Everyone in the circle knew I was his girlfriend. “Okay.” The next day, after Shawn Foster went to work, my assistant called. “Ms. Wells, Mr. Foster’s side said they want to borrow First Snow.” My hand, holding the cup, froze. First Snow was Lune’s most famous work. The outside world called it the pinnacle into which the designer had poured her entire heart and soul. No one knew that gown was designed by me for myself. Every stitch, every thread, every hand-sewn crystal carried the same wish: One day, I would wear it to marry Shawn Foster. It was displayed in the glass display case on the first floor of AVEUN Group’s headquarters. Countless people stopped to admire it every day, but no one had ever worn it. Because the authorization contract I signed with AVEUN stated it clearly: First Snow may only be used as a work of art for static exhibition. Without Lune’s own written authorization, no one is permitted to borrow it, try it on, or use it for commercial exposure. “Mr. Foster said it was to lend to Ms. Quinn for tonight’s charity gala.” The assistant continued, “He said AVEUN will be collaborating with Ms. Quinn later on, and Ms. Quinn’s personal aura suits this gown perfectly. First Snow has never been worn by anyone before. It has enough buzz, and it would also be excellent exposure for the brand.” A grand, righteous-sounding excuse. The gown I designed with my own hands—he wanted to drape it over another woman. “No.” “Understood. I’ll reply to Mr. Foster.”

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On the day I went to pick up my wedding dress, I found out the rose lace gown had been replaced. In its place sat a dress covered in heavy tulip embroidery. I asked my fiancé about it. He didn’t even look up from his phone, busy replying to Chloe on Snapchat. He said carelessly, “Chloe likes tulips. She helped me change it.” “Besides, you look the same in everything.” But that rose lace was hand-stitched by my late mother before she passed away. I stared at the unrecognizable dress, unable to speak for a long time. Ethan thought I was about to cry again, and his voice turned impatient. “Don’t make a big deal out of a dress.” “Chloe was just trying to help you. She has better taste than you anyway.” It was only later that I realized it wasn’t just the dress. The entire wedding venue had been redesigned into a pink tulip theme—Chloe’s favorite. I used to think this was our wedding. But it turned out I was just a stand-in, meant to stand under the spotlight to complete a wedding that Chloe never got to have. Roses wither, and I didn’t want to love him anymore.

After leaving the bridal boutique, we went to our new house, which was still under renovation. The moment I pushed the door open, I was greeted by a sea of tulips. Ethan assumed I was going to throw a tantrum again. “It’s just decor. As long as it’s livable, it’s fine.” I picked up a small, tulip-shaped nightlight and whispered, “But you promised me we would use a rose theme. My favorite…” Ethan reached out and grabbed my wrist. His fingers were cold against my skin. His tone was still patronizing, like he was pacifying a spoiled child. “Hazel, the renovation is almost done. If you throw a fit now, the workers will have to redo everything. It’s not worth the hassle.” I looked at the massive oil painting of tulips hanging in the living room. “I didn’t ask them to redo it.” Ethan relaxed his grip slightly, looking satisfied with my obedience. “Good. Chloe actually came by today to check on things. She said this painting would make the living room look brighter.” I smiled faintly. “She really put a lot of effort into this.” “She knows about these things,” Ethan said, pulling out his phone to text. His thumbs flew across the screen. “Not like you, always clinging to old things.” Old things. My mother’s legacy had become a disposable “old thing” in his eyes. The interior designer standing nearby looked uncomfortable. He held up his tablet and asked in a low voice, “Mr. Miller, should we still go with the champagne sheets Hazel chose for the master bedroom?” Ethan didn’t look up. “No, change it to white. Chloe has trouble sleeping. Don’t use heavy colors.” The designer froze and glanced at me quickly. Ethan realized what he had just said. His brow furrowed, but he quickly recovered his composure. “I mean, Chloe helped test the lighting in here. Her advice is professional. Don’t overthink it.” I nodded. “I won’t.” He seemed choked by my calm response. He stared at me. “Why are you acting so weird today?” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked into the walk-in closet. The shelves had been lowered. The hanging section had been adjusted to the height of the long dresses Chloe usually wore. I had told Ethan before that I had a lot of long winter coats and needed a tall closet. At the time, Ethan told me our house wasn’t a warehouse, telling me not to make it look like a cheap rental. But with one word from Chloe about her dresses, the closet was rebuilt to fit her. I pulled open a drawer and found a small, cream-colored ceramic deer. It wasn’t mine. Ethan walked in. Seeing the deer, he paused, then picked it up and set it aside. “Chloe must have left it here. I’ll have her take it back later.” I asked, “How many times has she been here?” “It’s a renovation. Of course she had to come,” Ethan said, his voice cold. “You’re always busy with work. I asked her to supervise to save you the trouble.” “Does she have a key?” Ethan locked his phone screen and let out a dry laugh. “Hazel, do you have to make everything sound so ugly? She came here to help, not to rob us.” I looked at him. “I just asked if she had a key.” Just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock came from the front door. Chloe walked in carrying a bakery bag. Her movements were as natural as if she were coming home. “Ethan, I bought your favorite chestnut cake. I brought one for Hazel too.” She saw me, her smile unchanging. “Am I interrupting?” Ethan naturally took the bag from her hand. “No. She was just saying how much she appreciates your help.” Chloe smiled. “Don’t be so polite, Hazel! Your future home is so important. Of course I want to help you guys make it perfect.” I looked down at the soft slippers she was wearing. There was only one pair of guest slippers in the shoe rack. They were light yellow, one size smaller than mine. Ethan followed my gaze. His patience finally snapped. “They’re just slippers. She comes over a lot, so we left a pair here so she doesn’t have to keep taking her shoes off.” Chloe bit her lip gently. “Maybe I should take them back. Hazel might mind.” “No need,” Ethan decided for her. “She’s not that petty.” I reached into my bag, pulled out my copy of the house key, and placed it on the console table. “Then leave this key here too.” Ethan looked at the key, his face darkening. “What is that supposed to mean?” I said, “You two clearly need it more.” He stared at me for a few seconds, trying to figure out if I was truly angry or just trying to make him apologize. Chloe spoke first. “Hazel, please don’t misunderstand. Ethan and I grew up together. We have habits we can’t change, but we are really just friends.” Ethan chimed in quickly. “You heard her. Stop acting like this, or she won’t even dare to help us anymore.” I picked up my bag. “Okay.” Ethan grabbed my wrist again, harder this time. “I’ll have the driver take you home. I have a business dinner tonight. Don’t call my mom and complain about this nonsense.” I looked up at him. “What are you afraid I’ll say?” “I’m afraid you’ll blow things out of proportion,” he whispered. “The wedding is in three months. Don’t make both of our families look bad.” Three months. We had been engaged for two years. The day we finally set the date, I had circled it on my calendar three times in pure excitement. Now, that house was filled with Chloe’s presence. The designer packed up his things to leave. As he passed me, his tablet screen lit up. I saw the project name written at the top of the file.

“Recreation of Chloe’s Old Apartment.” I stood in the elevator, the words on the screen burning into my mind. Ethan ran out just as the elevator doors were closing. He blocked the door with his hand, his voice thick with anger. “Hazel, are you seriously throwing a tantrum over a project name?” I looked at his cufflinks. “You saw it?” “So what if I did?” He stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. “Chloe’s old place had great aesthetics. It’s normal for the designer to use it as inspiration.” I asked, “Why are we recreating her old apartment for our future home?” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have to be this dramatic? I bought the house, and I paid for the renovation. Is it a crime for me to choose a style I find comfortable?” The reflective metal walls of the elevator showed my pale face. I said, “No, it’s not.” Ethan actually looked angrier. “Hazel, this silent treatment is more annoying than yelling.” The elevator doors opened on the first floor. Chloe’s voice echoed from behind us. “Ethan, don’t yell at her. It’s all my fault.” She held out the ceramic deer to me. “Take this as an apology. I used to love it, and Ethan said it would look great on your master bedroom windowsill.” Ethan looked at the deer, his eyes softening for a split second. I suddenly remembered my birthday three years ago. He had given me a rose brooch. He said it reminded him of me—quiet, elegant, and peaceful. Later, when Chloe returned to the country, that brooch disappeared, and I never saw it again. I didn’t take the deer. “Since you like it so much, keep it.” Chloe’s hand froze in midair. Ethan snatched the deer and said coldly, “She’s offering it to you. Just take it. Don’t embarrass her.” I looked him in the eye. “I don’t want someone else’s leftovers.” Chloe turned pale. Ethan’s expression changed instantly. “Hazel, apologize.” Workers were moving in and out of the lobby, and the designer was still nearby. Several pairs of eyes quietly drifted over to us. I asked, “Why?” “You’re being hurtful,” Ethan said, gripping my shoulder. His grip wasn’t painful, but it kept me from pulling away. “Chloe is just trying to be nice. Why are you being so passive-aggressive?” Chloe whispered, “It’s fine, Ethan. I don’t want to make Hazel uncomfortable.” Ethan didn’t let go of me. “I’ve spoiled her too much. She doesn’t even have basic manners anymore.” I looked at the ceramic deer. One of its ears was chipped and carefully glued back together, leaving a faint line on the glaze. Chloe suddenly said, “Actually, Ethan originally gave this deer to me. I just thought it would fit nicely in your new home.” Ethan frowned. “Chloe.” She acted as if she had let a secret slip and quickly looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” I laughed. So, it wasn’t her old belongings she wanted to give me. It was a keepsake Ethan had given her, and they wanted to display it in my house. Afraid I would ask more questions, Ethan shoved the deer into my hands. “Just take it. It’s just a decoration. Stop making a scene.” The sharp edges of the broken ceramic pressed into my palm. My hands trembled, and I dropped it. The deer shattered in two on the concrete floor. Chloe gasped. Ethan’s face went completely dark. “Hazel!” I knelt down to pick up the pieces. A sharp edge sliced my finger, and a bead of blood welled up. Ethan saw it. His hand twitched, but he chose to shield Chloe first. “Don’t look, Chloe. Be careful not to get cut.” Chloe hid behind him. “Hazel, I know you don’t like me, but you didn’t have to do that.” I gathered the shards in my hand. “How much was it? I’ll pay you back.” Ethan stared at my bleeding hand, his voice dropping. “This isn’t about money.” I asked, “Then what is it about?” He didn’t answer. The designer carefully handed me a tissue. “Hazel, you should wrap your finger first.” Ethan took the tissue and was about to hand it to me when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and answered immediately. “Hi, Aunt Beverly. Yes, Chloe is with me. Don’t worry.” Chloe leaned in close to listen, her face instantly softening. The voice on the other end was loud and clear. “Ethan, how is your new house with Chloe coming along? I’m coming back to town soon, and I want to be the first to see it!” I squeezed the shards in my hand and looked up at Ethan. He was silent for a second, then quickly replied, “It’s almost done. I’ll bring her over then.” Ah. So it was their house all along.

I didn’t ask Ethan who Aunt Beverly was. And he didn’t offer to explain. The next day, Ethan’s mother, Eleanor, invited me to try on dresses for the after-party. When I arrived at the boutique, Chloe was already sitting on the sofa, a designer shawl draped over her shoulders. Eleanor smiled and waved. “Hazel, you’re here! Come look. Chloe has great taste; she picked out a few dresses for you.” I looked at the rack of dresses. They were all high-waisted with short trains and very narrow shoulder lines. I said, “These don’t really suit my style.” Eleanor’s smile faded slightly. “You’re getting married, Hazel. It’s always best to listen to your elders and those with experience. Chloe has been to many high-society weddings; she knows better than you.” Chloe stood up and pulled a dress off the rack. “This one is beautiful. Ethan would love it.” I asked, “It’s my wedding. Why does everything have to be about what he likes?” Eleanor paused with her teacup halfway to her lips. “Hazel, don’t be so petty. Ethan is busy. You should be more supportive of him.” Chloe added softly, “Ethan likes clean, simple looks. If you wear something too flashy, he won’t be used to it.” The assistant took the dresses to the fitting room, but I stood still. Eleanor finally frowned. “What is wrong with you lately? You’ve been so stubborn. The house design, the decoration, and now the dresses—nothing seems to please you.” I looked at her. “Did you know my wedding dress was replaced?” Eleanor paused. “Chloe mentioned it to me. The old dress was a bit outdated and didn’t fit the theme.” I nodded. “My mother made that dress before she died.” The room went dead silent. Chloe’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Hazel, I really didn’t know. If I had known, I never would have suggested changing it…” Eleanor softened her tone. “That was indeed a misunderstanding. But Ethan just wanted the wedding to look perfect. Don’t hold a grudge over this.” Suddenly, I felt a deep sense of exhaustion. They all knew I was wronged. But they were more afraid of Chloe feeling uncomfortable. When Ethan pushed the door open and walked in, Eleanor looked at him like he was a savior. “Ethan, thank God you’re here. Hazel keeps saying these dresses don’t suit her.” Ethan glanced at the rack. “Chloe picked them?” Chloe nodded. “I was just making suggestions.” “Then pick one of these,” Ethan said, walking over to me. He gently smoothed a strand of hair over my shoulder. “Hazel, don’t make everyone waste their day here.” I raised my eyes to meet his. “What if I don’t want to wear any of them?” His hand froze. His voice was low and warning. “The wedding isn’t just about you.” I laughed. “The house isn’t mine, the wedding dress isn’t mine, and I can’t even choose my own party dress. Whose wedding is this anyway?” Ethan stared at me, his eyes flashing with a clear warning. “There are people around. Stop talking nonsense.” Chloe pleaded softly, “Hazel, don’t misunderstand. Ethan just wants everything to go smoothly.” I turned and walked into the fitting room without another word. As the assistant helped me zip up the dress, my phone buzzed. It was a message from the designer. “Hazel, I asked around about the rose dress you mentioned. Mr. Miller said not to keep it. Chloe said she didn’t like it either, so they had it sent to the warehouse.” Below was a photo. In a dusty corner of a warehouse lay the rose dress my mother had made for me. It was torn, and the hem was covered in dirt. I stared at the photo, a cold numbness spreading through my chest. The assistant asked, “Hazel, is the zipper too tight?” I replied, “A little.” When I walked out, Ethan looked up. He seemed satisfied. His tone softened. “This one looks decent.” Chloe, however, froze. Her fingers tightened around her shawl. Eleanor smiled. “If Chloe had had her wedding back then, she probably would have looked just like this.” Ethan’s face tightened. “Mom.” Eleanor realized her slip of the tongue and took a sip of her tea to cover it up. “I was just talking.” I looked at the mirror. The girl in the reflection was wearing a dress handpicked by Chloe, standing next to Ethan. She looked like an old, faded photograph where someone had pasted my face over Chloe’s. Through the crack of the fitting room door, I saw a folder lying on the table. I bent down to pick it up. On the cover, it read: Wedding Ceremony Timeline & Preferences.

Under Bride’s Style Preferences, the name listed was: Chloe. I put the folder back down, my fingers lingering on the cover. Ethan walked over. “What are you looking at?” I looked up. “Why does the wedding plan list Chloe’s preferences?” He glanced at it, his expression unchanged. “The planning company was lazy. They used her old event template. I’ll have them change it.” Chloe spoke up immediately. “I sent them some inspiration files earlier. They must have gotten confused. Hazel, please don’t be mad.” I looked at Ethan. “Is it really just a misunderstanding?” His patience was entirely gone. “What else would it be? Hazel, are you going to act like the whole world owes you just because you see Chloe’s name?” I didn’t ask further. That afternoon, I went to the warehouse alone. The manager searched for a long time before bringing out the rose dress. “Mr. Miller’s assistant said to throw it away, but we didn’t dare, so we kept it here.” The skirt was creased and covered in dust. I used a tissue to wipe it clean, bit by bit. My phone rang. It was a text from Ethan. “Aunt Beverly is coming over to the new house for dinner tonight. Be there. And don’t pull a face.” I texted back: “Okay.” The dinner was held at the new house. When I arrived, the dining table was set right under the tulip painting. Chloe was holding an old lady’s arm, smiling sweetly. Seeing Ethan, Aunt Beverly’s eyes lit up. “Ethan, Chloe, this new house is beautiful! It looks just as cozy as Chloe’s old apartment.” Ethan didn’t correct her. I stood at the door, my hands freezing as I took off my coat. Chloe saw me first, her smile faltering slightly. “Hazel, you’re here.” Aunt Beverly blinked. “And who is this?” Ethan finally spoke. “Aunt Beverly, this is Hazel.” He didn’t introduce me as his fiancée. Aunt Beverly looked between the three of us, then nodded with a smile. “Oh, a friend! Come in, sit down.” Ethan whispered to me in a low, cold voice, “She has a heart condition. She can’t handle stress. Don’t say anything stupid.” I asked, “What do you mean by stupid?” He stared at me. “Don’t mention the wedding, and don’t mention our relationship. I’ll explain everything to you after dinner.” I smiled softly. “Ethan, you invited me here to play the role of a guest in my own home?” He lowered his voice. “It’s just one dinner.” Chloe walked over, looking apologetic, but her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “Hazel, Aunt Beverly took care of Ethan and me when we were younger. She always thought we would end up together. I just don’t want to break her heart.” I said, “So I should be understanding.” Ethan cut in quickly. “It’s best if you can.” At the dinner table, Aunt Beverly kept putting food on Chloe’s plate. “Chloe loved this dish when she was a kid. You remember, don’t you, Ethan?” Ethan deboned a piece of fish and placed it in Chloe’s bowl. “I remember.” Aunt Beverly clapped happily. “Ethan always knows how to take care of you. Seeing you two together makes me so happy.” Chloe glanced at me, her face flushed. “Aunt Beverly, stop it.” Ethan drank his water, offering no correction. I sat at the very edge of the table. The light from the tulip lamp above was dim, making the food look gray and unappetizing. Aunt Beverly suddenly looked at me. “My dear, do you have a boyfriend?” The table went dead silent. Ethan looked up, his eyes filled with a clear warning. I put my fork down. “I used to.” Ethan’s brow furrowed. Aunt Beverly didn’t catch the tension. “What about now?” I said, “Not for much longer.”

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