Three months into my pregnancy, Henry abandoned me on a sinking cruise ship. All because his childhood sweetheart, Lena, shrieked that she was afraid of water. I pleaded with him to save me and our baby, but he pushed me off the lifeboat. “Can’t you swim? You won’t die!” After being rescued from the sea, I needed surgery for the loss of our baby, but I couldn’t reach Henry to sign the consent form. Then, I saw Lena’s social media post: “True love revealed in hardship. Mr. Dungey, it’s an honor.” The picture showed them wrapped in the same blanket, soaked and scantily clad. After recovering, I drove straight to the Rockies. Henry, who hadn’t contacted me for a month, frantically called me. “Windy, the wedding dress is ready. Aren’t you getting married anymore?” 1. After the farewell convoy departed, I switched on my old phone. Hundreds of missed calls from Henry popped up. Answering, Henry’s voice, thick with suppressed anger, demanded, “Windy, where have you been lately?” “I couldn’t reach you on your phone, and you didn’t reply to my messages. My parents reminded you several times to try on the wedding dress, but they couldn’t find you. Do you even want to get married anymore?” I looked at the signed divorce papers in my hand. “Then let’s not bother!” “Windy, what fresh madness is this?” “You were the one who said we’d only get the marriage certificate without a ceremony, and now the invitations have been sent out, and you’re backing out again!” The sound on the other end was noisy. A sweet female voice was comforting him, and his tone softened slightly after being soothed. “Wait there, I’ll pick you up first. We’ll go try on the wedding dress.” The wedding dress was custom-made, and the most expensive part of this minimalist wedding. I had fantasized countless times about marrying him in the most beautiful dress, watched by friends and family. Now, I simply didn’t care. Henry had a new car, a striking sapphire blue, quite flashy. Sitting in the passenger seat, the sunlight was blinding. I pulled down the sun visor and saw lipstick writing on the mirror: “Mr. Dungey love Ms. Lane.” Henry suddenly explained to me, “I replaced the previous car. It was too cheap, unfitting for my status.” That car had been a birthday gift I saved up for, painstakingly. From its color to its interior, every detail was carefully chosen by me. Like me, it had been replaced by Henry. The car stopped in front of the bridal shop. I didn’t get out. “When did you change shops? I remember I chose the one by ‘A’.” Henry pulled me out of the car, casually replying, “A friend said this one was nicer.” I preferred silk wedding gowns, but this shop, from inside to out, was filled with exaggerated ballgowns. My wedding dress was already chosen, yet it was so easily changed to suit Lena’s preference. A salesperson led me to the fitting room. The dress fit well but clashed with my demeanor, much like Henry and I now. Henry looked at me, a rare hint of amazement in his eyes. But I knew it was only for the dress. He deliberately avoided looking at me, imagining Lena wearing it. “This is the one!” he decided without hesitation. I silently allowed him to pull me away. After getting into the car, he asked me, “Why the long face after trying on the wedding dress?” “Haven’t you already had your fun? Still not happy?” “How long are you going to be jealous over such a small thing?” During last month’s cruise trip, when the ship hit a reef and was about to sink, he pushed me off the lifeboat. All because Lena was afraid of water, and I had learned to swim ten years ago. I lost our baby, yet he found his true love, almost completely forgetting about it. Seeing my silence, he began to lecture me. “Of all places, why did you have to go to the mountains!” “And you were pregnant! You’re not twenty anymore; why can’t you be more responsible?” “As a mother, you need to be more steady! The baby is your responsibility now.” I said coldly, “And he wasn’t your responsibility?” “The day the cruise ship sank, when you pushed me off, did you think about the responsibility I carried in my belly?” Henry turned his face away. “Don’t try to twist my words here. I’m not falling for it.” “Go get checked, make sure the baby is alright.” Looking up, we were at the entrance of the obstetrics and gynecology department. The doctor who performed my abortion nervously asked me, “Didn’t you have an abortion last month? Are you feeling unwell?” 2. Henry, who had been lazily sitting aside, looking at his phone, froze when he heard this. “Abortion surgery?” “Windy, you had an abortion behind my back? When was this?” The waiting room was crowded, and all eyes were on us. I looked at his betrayed expression, suddenly remembering two months ago, when he had just discovered my pregnancy and was happily spinning me around in the same hospital lobby. When we first got married, we weren’t well-off. We had been legally married for years but never had a wedding ceremony. It wasn’t until after I got pregnant and our financial situation improved that I brought up the wedding again, and he was eager then. But now, his indifference tore me apart. In two months, he found true love, and my love sank to the bottom of the ocean. Someone came to mediate, and Henry frowned, pulling me into the stairwell. “June 3rd.” I looked up and saw the anger on his face solidify. That day, the cruise ship accident happened. I was abandoned in the cold sea for five hours before being pulled out. And he had already confessed his heart to Lena and gone home with her. Henry’s voice softened. “Did you get checked after your surgery? You shouldn’t hurt your body.” “You suffered so much and didn’t tell me, running off to the mountains by yourself without proper rest.” He reached out and put his arm around my shoulder. “Let me still take you for a check-up, in case there are any lingering effects. We can have children later.” A phone rang in the empty stairwell—a love song. Henry always used the default ringtone, but for Lena, he was always willing to create unique romantic gestures. Lena’s playful voice came from the other end. “Mr. Dungey, are you free today? I was thinking, the cruise ship accident was too dangerous. To protect myself, I need to learn how to swim.” “Would Mr. Dungey be my exclusive coach?” “I’ve been afraid of water since I was little, and I only trust Mr. Dungey.” Henry clearly enjoyed this kind of affection, an unconscious smile spreading across his face. After hanging up, he glanced at me, annoyance in his eyes. “If you hadn’t had the abortion, none of this would be happening.” “Let’s skip today’s check-up. Something urgent came up. I’ll ask my mom to bring you another day!” He left in a hurry, not even taking me with him. I pushed open the door, walked out into the pitying stares of the lobby, and hailed a taxi. It was already July, and the air was hot and suffocating. It felt like drowning in seawater, my heart aching with a dull pain, yet not a single tear could fall. Back home, Henry’s mother called, her voice stern. “Windy, I heard about the abortion.” “You’re just unlucky.” “I’ll take you for a check-up in a couple of days, to make sure it doesn’t affect your future fertility.” I didn’t respond, and her voice softened slightly. “Windy, you grew up without parents. Your uncle and I treat you like our own daughter.” “Don’t blame me for being blunt. A child is gone; life goes on. I’m just worried about your health. If you can have children, then your family line will continue!” Once, I genuinely considered her a mother, thinking that by marrying Henry, I would have a complete family again. But now, I saw clearly that her seemingly righteous words were only about my fertility. “Tomorrow, I’ve invited a priest to perform a ritual for the baby at home. I’ll have Henry come back to send him off too.” “The baby is gone, but your relationship still needs to last.” I placed the old phone face down on the table. If I didn’t listen, I wouldn’t hurt anymore. 3. Perhaps it was from not eating all day, but when I lay down, my stomach cramped with agonizing pain. I wanted to go downstairs and grab something, but I felt nauseous and had no appetite. This marital home, filled with his presence, made me feel utterly miserable. Breaking out in a cold sweat, stars dancing before my eyes, I opened my phone to buy some medicine. Instead, I saw Lena had updated her social media again and even specifically sent me a screenshot. After confirming I had seen it, she retracted the message. “Mr. Dungey is my private swimming coach today!” The picture showed a sparkling blue pool and a selfie of Lena in a bikini. She was sitting on Henry’s lap. Henry’s face wasn’t visible, but the tattoo on his abs was unmistakable. It was my initials, once a symbol of our love. The pain of the stomach cramps, accompanied by ringing in my ears and nausea, surged, and my phone clattered onto the bed. After an unknown amount of time, I recovered somewhat and walked to the door, hearing Henry’s movements as he came home. He was climbing the stairs, on a video call with Lena. His voice was soft and tender, full of affection. “I’m going to the city for a business trip next month. Are you coming?” Lena chuckled. “Of course. We’re going to leave traces of our love everywhere.” I leaned against the door, curled up into myself. No one wants to give up someone they love so dearly. But when silence and heartache accumulate, even if it hurts terribly, it’s time to leave. Henry and I once supported each other, from two junior interns in the company to department directors. We had seen the city at four in the morning, worked overtime for half a year straight, postponed, and then finally canceled our wedding, all for one major project. In the busiest, most exhausting, and toughest times, we would prepare lunchboxes for each other. When we finally found a moment to open them, the food had already spoiled. We comforted each other, promising that after our careers succeeded, and before our rescheduled wedding, we would go to the mountains together, to see the golden sunlight on the peaks. But in the end, only I went. I searched through the embers of our love, but could no longer find a single spark. The next night, I was awakened by the mournful sounds of instruments. Henry’s mother had indeed hired a funeral band, and even prepared a memorial tablet for the unborn child. Henry was ordered to keep vigil, his head bowed, tapping on his phone screen the whole time. Only when I got closer did I see the chat window with Lena. “My mom is making a mountain out of a molehill!” “It’s just a dead baby, without even a name, a tiny fertilized egg, why keep vigil for it!” “It’s not like Windy died.” “I promised to take you to the hot spring resort yesterday, but we’ll have to go another time.” I returned to my room, opened the company system, and submitted my resignation. I used to dislike Oceanport, but it was Henry’s home, so I stayed here for many years. I didn’t speak the local dialect, didn’t like the local cuisine; I was always an out-of-place outsider. Now, I was determined to start a new life, so I would leave! 4. Before leaving, I went to the company to handle my resignation and bumped into Lena bringing lunch to Henry. “You got fired?” Her eyes were taunting. “Serves you right!” “I told Mr. Dungey long ago that IT isn’t suitable for women. See, you stayed so long, and you still have to leave!” She patted my shoulder. “Windy, love is the same. Incompatible people, even if they get married, will eventually divorce.” “Besides, who even knows about your marriage, apart from having a certificate?” I pushed her hand away and walked straight to the door. She thought I didn’t know that these past two months, Henry and she often secretly stayed on the company’s rooftop. Lunch break ended at two, but as soon as she brought Henry his meal, he would stay on the rooftop until four before coming down to work. He was the Deputy Director of Marketing, often on business trips, so he rarely came to the office. He wasn’t at home either; he was probably enjoying himself with Lena. However, from now on, he probably wouldn’t be smiling. When I resigned, Mr. Edwards spoke to me from the heart, but his message was clear: he was going to fire Henry. Previously, as Director of R&D and a key figure in the company, our relationship made it difficult to embarrass Henry. But now, with my firm decision to leave, the Deputy Director of Marketing position could be replaced. Mr. Edwards said, “Mr. Davies’s son just graduated and returned home, and Mr. Davies intends for him to take over as director.” I said, “Then let it be so!” As I walked out the main entrance, it was almost noon, and Henry was just hurrying in to clock in for work. Seeing me with a box, he was first puzzled, then quickly understood. “Alright, the wedding is this Sunday.” “Go home and rest well. After you’re married, don’t run off anymore. That way you’ll also have an easier time.” Lena stood behind me, her tone intimate. “Is Mr. Dungey looking down on ambitious career women?” She was a makeup artist, traveling everywhere to do makeup. As far as I knew, at least four or five times, Henry told me he was on a business trip, but he was actually traveling with her. Henry and I had been married for so many years and had never traveled together, except for the cruise trip. The trip to the Rockies I always wanted was postponed again and again. But that one time, when I suggested the cruise trip, he didn’t refuse. It was only because Lena was also going. I looked up. Henry’s smile was radiant, as tender as when we were first in love. “Lena, you know you’re different.” That tenderness was already someone else’s. My colleagues in the department wanted to hold a farewell party for me. I didn’t want to make a big deal, so I quietly left. This only further convinced Henry that I was out of options in the industry, heartbroken after losing the baby, and was returning home to be a housewife. He coldly brushed past me, saying only one thing. “After the wedding, I’ll give you everything you want.” “Stop with your childish antics and schemes!” I smiled. “Alright, I won’t cause trouble anymore.” And I don’t want you anymore. “Henry, let’s get a divorce!” He scoffed. “Windy, were you fired and it upset you?” “The cost of living in Oceanport is so high. You’ve lost your job and you want a divorce from me. Wouldn’t you have to slink away from Oceanport?” He finally dropped his pretense, revealing a harsh, sneering face. I wasn’t surprised, didn’t give him a glance, and hailed a taxi to leave. Back home, the bridal shop had already delivered the ordered wedding dress. The enormous ballgown filled the wardrobe to bursting. I gazed at the magnificent skirt, but I couldn’t recall the joy I felt when we first started planning the wedding. Grabbing a pair of scissors, I cut the skirt into shreds, then tossed it into the trash along with my wedding ring. The garbage truck swallowed the white tulle, now stained, like this chaotic love.

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The night before the wedding, Mike called, slurring drunk. “Chloe’s planned a surprise, you’ll definitely love it.” The music was loud, and no matter how I called, Mike didn’t reply. Then I remembered, he was at a bachelor party thrown by his “girl-bestie,” Chloe. The next day at ten, when the wedding car pulled up to the Miller estate, a dozen banners fluttered in the wind. “I’ve slept with the groom; ask me anything.” The fluttering banners slapped me hard like open hands. Whispers erupted. I rolled up the window and told the driver to turn around. If he wanted to leave those banners up, I had no choice but to call off the wedding. 1. “Claire, what is wrong with you?” Mike had his groomsmen line up in front of the car. He furiously knocked on the back window. “Get out. What are you waiting for? Don’t miss the auspicious time.” I pointed at the fluttering banners. “You have those banners removed, and the wedding continues. Otherwise, I’m returning to the Dawson estate.” As if she had expected me to say this, Chloe’s face clouded over. “See? I told you she’s so old-fashioned; she can’t handle this kind of surprise.” “Take them down, take them down. For your son’s happiness, Dad doesn’t mind.” Her words contradicted her expression, which was clearly unwilling. “Take what down? I love them.” “Claire, why are you so rigid? Chloe didn’t even rest last night to prepare these banners.” I pointed at the words on the banners, questioning him. “Do you think the fact that you two ‘slept together’ is something to be proud of? Do you really need to announce it publicly on our wedding day?” Chloe’s tone was sweet and innocent. “Claire, Mike and I have been best friends since childhood. Is there any part of him I don’t know?” “The ‘slept together’ on the banner isn’t what you think it means.” Chloe’s explanation only intensified everyone’s suspicion. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Is this woman trying to declare ownership?” “How else can ‘slept together’ mean? Everyone here is an adult. What’s with this ‘best friends’ nonsense?” “Haven’t you heard? The groom still has to spend tonight with her. They’re definitely not innocent.” The murmurs, growing louder, reached my ears, and my face burned with shame. “Mike, I’m giving you one last chance. Take down the banners, and the wedding proceeds, or I’ll turn back to the Dawson estate, and we call off the engagement.” As if to back up Chloe, he blocked the staff trying to remove the banners. “This is the Miller family’s property. Who dares to move anything without my command?” “Get out of the car, Claire. If you keep this up, you’ll not only shame Chloe but also put the Miller family in a very difficult position.” Chloe stood behind Mike, a defiant glint in her eyes. “If you won’t remove them, then I absolutely won’t get out of the car.” A throng of people poured out of the hotel. “Claire, get out of the car quickly. My mom and dad have personally come to greet you. Don’t be ungracious.” Mike’s parents stood in front of the car. Chloe naturally linked arms with Mrs. Miller. “Aunt Eleanor, it’s all my fault. I just thought I’d liven up the wedding atmosphere and put up a few banners.” Mrs. Miller followed Chloe’s gaze to the banners, the words making her pause for a few seconds. “I didn’t realize Claire wouldn’t like them. It’s my mistake; I’ll have them taken down now.” Mike pulled Chloe back. “Take what down? I said, this is the Miller family’s property. You can hang whatever banners you want.” “She hasn’t married into the Miller family yet. She doesn’t get to decide.” Mike’s words were exactly what Mrs. Miller wanted to hear. Even though my marriage to Mike was an arranged family alliance, my father wasn’t from the main Dawson lineage. I hadn’t lived in the capital since childhood, and she was very displeased with the Dawson family’s decision to marry me to Mike. She smiled sweetly, had the driver roll down the window, and took my hand. “Claire, on such a joyous day, a commotion would not look good for either the Miller or Dawson families.” “Chloe grew up with Mike; I know her character. These banners are just a joke, harmless.” “Listen to Aunt Eleanor, get out of the car quickly. Don’t miss the auspicious time.” Mrs. Miller’s attitude emboldened Chloe. She tugged hard at the car door, trying to pull me out. In that moment, I became a clown for all to see. Gazing at Mike’s indifference and Mrs. Miller’s intention to assert her dominance, I smoothed out my creased dress and opened the door. I had intended to save the Miller family face by simply calling off the wedding. But they insisted on pushing. Whatever happened next, they couldn’t blame me. 2. I shoved the car door open fiercely, and Chloe was knocked backwards. “Ah! That hurt!” Mike helped her up, cradling her in his arms. “Oops, I was just joking with Chloe and accidentally used too much force. I didn’t mean it. She doesn’t mind, does she?” Chloe, who was about to erupt, instantly fell silent. She stood up straight. “Of course not. Claire is so generous; she even accepted my banners, so naturally, I won’t be angry.” She had fallen awkwardly, and the limited-edition wedding dress she had snatched from me was now stained. Mike naturally took off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Mike, my foot hurts.” Mike, without a word, scooped Chloe up into his arms. “What are you standing around for? Follow along!” The red carpet, which he should have walked with me, was now trodden with him carrying Chloe. I followed behind alone, carrying my dress. Mrs. Miller smiled at me. “Claire, Aunt Eleanor knows you’re generous. Only with generosity can you be a good Mrs. Miller.” I smiled back at her. “Aunt Eleanor is right. Chloe is Mike’s good friend; she’s hurt, so it’s only proper.” Walking to the hotel entrance, the staff whispered behind their hands. “First time seeing a groom carrying someone else, with the bride trailing behind.” “Didn’t you see what the banner said? The groom and that woman ‘slept together’.” “This bride is such a pushover, walking into her wedding day with such a public betrayal.” Each word was like a needle piercing my heart. My chest tightened, and a surge of anger swelled within me. In the dressing room, the makeup artist wanted to change my look. “No need to bother. I’d like to rest alone for a bit.” Chloe was injured, so the wedding certainly wouldn’t proceed as scheduled. Instead of meticulously changing clothes and waiting on stage like a clown for Mike, I might as well use this opportunity to do something interesting. Chloe gave me a surprise; I should be grateful. Not only her, but Mrs. Miller also said that only with generosity could I be a good Mrs. Miller. So today, I wanted to see how generous she could truly be. I quietly slipped out. The door to Chloe’s dressing room was ajar. I didn’t need to get close to the dressing room to know what the two of them were doing. Marrying Mike was a task for me. My uncle promised me that as long as I helped the Dawson family secure this alliance, I would be admitted into the Dawson Group, and my father’s shares would legitimately be inherited by me. If not for that 25% stake, I wouldn’t even glance at someone like Mike. Since childhood, my father always told me, “Know yourself and your enemy, and you will win a hundred battles.” I had already thoroughly investigated Mike and Chloe’s backgrounds. Chloe, using the excuse of growing up with Mike, had overtly and covertly driven away five of Mike’s girlfriends. Mike enjoyed this ambiguous, unclear relationship with Chloe. After the news of my arranged marriage to him spread, Chloe hinted more than once that they were involved. Whether it was couple’s items flaunted on social media or accidental “bedside” photos, none of it angered me. But this time, she chose to humiliate me at the wedding, to shame the Dawson family. Well, I would let her know she had messed with the wrong person. 3. “So what if you’re the bride? Mike still protects me, doesn’t he?” I didn’t even need to open the app; I knew Chloe was desperately trying to provoke me. From the moment Mike and I started dating, her provocations were endless. At our engagement party, all the decorations in the hall were arranged according to her preferences. Simply because a few fewer daffodils were placed, she harshly reprimanded the florist in front of all the guests. When choosing a wedding dress, she tried on the limited-edition gown imported from Paris before me. “Mike, does this look good? I like this one.” The bridal consultant subtly reminded her that the dress was mine. Her face instantly darkened. “Claire, Chloe is a staunch single person; she doesn’t plan to get married in her life. It’s just a dress. If she likes it, why don’t you let her have it?” Before I decided to marry Mike, I never fantasized about having love with him. Therefore, I retreated again and again. It was just a wedding dress; I was willing to let her have it. But Chloe was still not satisfied. She deliberately chose the day Mike and I were taking our wedding photos. She went hiking alone on a wild trail in the wilderness. Before leaving, she posted a social media update visible only to Mike and me. The short essay was filled with talk of letting go, but the subtext hinted for Mike to go find her. At that moment, Mike, who was taking wedding photos with me, looked as if he had lost his soul. He took off his jacket, grabbed his car keys, and left without a word. He ignored me shouting after him. “Claire, I’m afraid something happened to Chloe. You can take solo wedding photos first. The rest can be composited later.” The photographer’s eyes widened at his unreasonable request. I understood Chloe’s nature; she was declaring war on me in this way. As the wedding date approached, whenever Mike squeezed in time for wedding photos, Chloe would always have various “accidents.” “Mike, I agree to the wedding photo composite, but you have to guarantee Chloe won’t cause trouble at the wedding.” When he heard my request, Mike looked at me dismissively. “Claire, I know what’s important. The wedding is a big day for you and me, for the Miller and Dawson families. Chloe will definitely behave.” But now, the wedding hadn’t even officially begun. Chloe was using a dozen banners to publicly shame me and the Dawson family. “Do you really think you’ve won? If he truly cared about you, why isn’t he marrying her?” “Chloe, no matter what stunts you pull, the only person Mike will marry is me. You will never sit in the position of Mrs. Miller.” Before, no matter what messages Chloe sent, I never replied to her. But today, I unleashed all the words I had kept bottled up. “Just you wait, I’ll let you know that Mike only loves me.” After reading Chloe’s utterly unaggressive reply, a pop-up on my phone showed that the camera had started operating. As the wedding time drew closer, I called the makeup artist in. While resting my eyes, my heart was filled with anticipation. I wondered what reaction Mike and the guests, who were waiting to see me humiliated, would have to what was about to unfold. 4. Sure enough, just as I expected. I stood alone on the stage in my wedding dress. No matter how the host called for the groom to enter, there was no sign of Mike. The groomsmen watched me like it was a show. Their expressions seemed to say: I dared to cross Chloe, so I deserved the lesson Mike was giving me. “Where is Mike? Send someone to look for him.” The guests below stirred, and Mrs. Miller told the groomsmen to scatter and search. “Claire, don’t worry, Mike will be here soon.” Mrs. Miller smiled as she comforted me. “Don’t worry, today is your wedding, he wouldn’t dare to mess around.” I pushed away Mrs. Miller’s hand, which was lightly patting mine. I said calmly, “No rush, Aunt Eleanor, I know where he is.” “If you don’t believe me, please look at the big screen.” The big screen lit up, showing a dimly lit room. Two figures were intertwined. “It sounds like someone is looking for you outside. The wedding seems to be starting.” The moment Chloe’s voice came out, the noisy guests stopped their movements. “Ignore them. If she dares to defy me in front of so many people, she deserves to be left out in the cold.” Mike’s displeasure towards me could be heard even through the screen. Mrs. Miller’s face immediately darkened. She kept dialing Mike’s number. “It’s Aunt Eleanor. Should I answer?” Chloe looked playfully at Mike, who was lying on the bed. Her white shoulder was half-exposed, covered in red marks. “Don’t answer. My mom has disliked Claire for a long time. This is a good opportunity to put her in her place.” Mrs. Miller’s face instantly changed from red to white. “Claire, don’t listen to his nonsense. Aunt Eleanor never meant that.” “Go find him quickly! Where is that beast?” Mrs. Miller was visibly furious. “Don’t worry about them. You’re being wronged today. If she dares to reject your good intentions, I’ll teach her a good lesson.” “But what if she finds out?” Chloe’s voice carried a hint of expectation. “What if she finds out? Although she’s a Dawson, the Dawson family doesn’t value her. Otherwise, if it were such a mess now, why wouldn’t anyone from the Dawson family stand up for her?” “Chloe, don’t be afraid. From now on, she’ll be Mrs. Miller, but you’re the only one I love.” Mike’s words seemed to reassure Chloe. She threw the incessantly ringing phone into a nearby humidifier. “Turn it off, quickly turn it off.” “Go find him! Make sure to control that little vixen separately.” Mrs. Miller furiously jumped onto the stage and pulled out the projector’s plug. More and more people went to look for Mike. “Mrs. Miller, young Mr. Hayes prepared a separate dressing room for Ms. Lane.” The staff I had arranged beforehand quickly stepped forward. Mrs. Miller, leading a group of people, marched towards the dressing room. Soon, the dressing room door was kicked open. Mrs. Miller stormed in furiously. Clearly, someone had tipped them off. Mike was unscrewing a bottle of pain relief oil, rubbing Chloe’s ankle, which wasn’t even swollen. “Mom, why are you here? Chloe sprained her ankle; I just went to get medicine for her.” A sharp slap rang out, and Chloe clutched her cheek in disbelief. “Aunt Eleanor, why did you hit me?” A layer of tears welled up in Chloe’s eyes. Mike protectively shielded her as if she were a treasure. “Mom, why did you hit Chloe? Claire pushed her and made her sprain her ankle, which is why I was delayed.” “You can only blame Claire.” Mrs. Miller fiercely grabbed Chloe’s hair and dragged her out. Mike tried hard to stop her. But the video that had just played had made Mrs. Miller lose face. How could she give up so easily? A sharp-eyed groomsman approached Mike and whispered in his ear. “Mike, there was a video just now. The content of the video was…” “What video? Where is it?” He became visibly flustered. The groomsman hesitantly played the recorded content. When he heard his own voice, he froze. Soon, he snatched the phone and slammed it heavily onto the ground. “Fake, this is Claire’s revenge. If you don’t believe me, look, there’s no bed in the dressing room at all.”

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My fiancée hired a male assistant. He called himself a good luck charm. When I closed my first million-dollar deal, he said it was because he’d prayed for it. When I pulled an all-nighter to win a bid, leading my team to success, he claimed it was due to his lucky draw. When I selected a piece of land, developed it into a resort, and reaped a billion-dollar profit, he insisted it was because I wore his good luck charm. After he’d snatched credit for all my achievements, HR approached me at year-end: “All your performance metrics are attributed to Dylan Finch. Your annual bonus has been cancelled this year.” “All your performance rewards will also go to Dylan!” I immediately gave up, slacking off, playing games all day at work. The ‘good luck charm’ panicked. Without me, where would an inexperienced intern like him get credit to steal? So, at the year-end review meeting, he dramatically smashed my computer, putting on airs: “If you continue to be a deadbeat and slack off, I’ll have the boss fire you!” My fiancée chimed in from the side: “The company’s success is all thanks to him. How dare you not put in effort when you don’t even have his luck?” “If it weren’t for the good fortune he brought, the company might have gone under.” I laughed, exasperated, and said to my CEO-dad in my game: “Hear that? He thinks he can land projects just by being lucky!” “In that case, let’s see if he can secure a hundred-million-dollar order by year-end, purely with his luck!” … The company held its year-end meeting. All employees, including management, were present, except for me. I was at my desk, deep in a thrilling team battle. A colleague passed by, asking me to join them: “Stop playing games, the VP called for a meeting. We’ll be publicly criticized if we’re late.” “Not going,” I flatly refused. “Anyway, the company has Dylan Finch, the good luck charm. What’s the point of being ambitious and working hard?” My colleague choked. He knew that when I’d secured that multi-million dollar order, Dylan had snatched the credit with a single sentence: “It’s all thanks to my prayers that you could sign such a big deal.” This was the third time Dylan had stolen my credit, and I had completely given up, playing games on the company’s dime every day. “You’re not going to the meeting, just sitting here playing games?” My fiancée, Lindsay Hayes, stalked over in her heels, confronting me. “You don’t even attend meetings, just slack off all day. Do you have any ambition at all?” “Why can’t you learn from Dylan? Even if he’s a good luck charm, he arrived early and is diligently participating in the company’s planning!” I was fiercely cornering a boss in my game, not even looking up. “Sorry, I have no ambition. He does, so let him handle it.” “Besides, isn’t this meeting to praise him? Why should I go?” Lindsay frowned. “He closed a million-dollar deal, aren’t you going to congratulate a colleague?” Her words were deeply sarcastic. My blade moved faster as I took down the boss. “You know best how many days I slaved away, how many times I entertained clients, drinking until my stomach was bleeding, just to get that deal. Your intern, Dylan Finch, casually stole all my efforts with one sentence.” “And you want me to congratulate him? Congratulate a useless freeloader?” This angered Lindsay. She slammed my laptop shut and dragged me to the conference room. “You’re going today whether you like it or not!” As I entered the conference room, I heard the Vice President on stage effusively praising Dylan for bringing good fortune to the company. “One wave is truly stronger than the last! Even interns these days can close million-dollar deals! Everyone in the company should learn from Dylan; he’s our company’s lucky star!” Seeing me enter, the VP shot me a contemptuous glance. “Unlike some people, who just play games and slack off all day! They spent half a month on one deal and still couldn’t close it. An intern’s few words are more effective!” My colleagues whispered amongst themselves, their snickers occasionally reaching my ears: “That intern closed a deal with just a few words. After a year’s work, he’s less useful than Dylan’s single sentence. What a loser…” “I heard Manager Hayes is Aaron Miller’s fiancée, yet she promotes Dylan. Shows how useless Aaron is, doesn’t it?” I ignored them, sitting directly in a corner. My dad happened to call me to help him rank up in our game, so I immediately joined the team. Lost in the game, someone tapped my shoulder. I looked up to find everyone in the meeting room staring at me. That’s when I heard Dylan on stage accusing me: “A deadbeat like Aaron Miller, who contributes nothing, will only hold this company back!” “Your projects only succeeded because of my subtle guidance, otherwise you’d never achieve such high performance, would you?” “I advise you to turn off your game, or today, on behalf of the company, I will take serious action against you!” I took off my headphones, looking utterly indifferent. “What, you, an intern, think you can fire me?” “Do you even have that authority?” Everyone gasped. They hadn’t expected me to confront Dylan directly. Everyone knew Lindsay Hayes was backing him. I looked at Lindsay; her eyes, returning my gaze, were incredibly cold. “What if I gave him that authority?” “The company’s achievements are all thanks to Dylan. How dare you not work hard without his good luck?” “If it weren’t for him, the company might have already gone under.” My eyes immediately darkened. I scoffed at my dad in the game’s voice chat: “Hear that? Turns out all the company’s deals are signed thanks to an intern’s good luck.” Lindsay openly tearing into me for Dylan’s sake was something no one had expected. Dylan grew even more arrogant, looking at me provocatively. I shrugged, standing up to leave. “Fine, then process my resignation today.” My indifference clearly surprised Lindsay; Dylan’s face, in particular, turned sour. His achievements were stolen. Without me, he had no one to guarantee his position in the company. “Wait! Lindsay, firing him is too extreme.” Then Dylan went to my workstation, dragged my computer into the meeting room. “How about we teach him a lesson, make him remember!” In front of everyone, he directly threw my computer from a height, smashing it to pieces on the floor. “I warn you, no more slacking off or playing games!” The loud crash instantly silenced the meeting room. My computer was a mangled mess of scrap metal. Everyone’s faces were a picture of surprise and excitement as they stood up to watch the show. “His computer’s smashed! Aaron Miller’s life is going to be tough now!” “People are desperate to get into our company; Aaron Miller doesn’t even care about being fired. Is he playing hard to get, trying to force Manager Hayes to keep him?” “Still a low-level employee after a year, so pathetic. Manager Hayes won’t fall for that…” Computer fragments flew to my feet. This was my top-of-the-line custom-built computer, which I’d had made abroad for ten million. I stared at Dylan, who was dressed in cheap brands, and calmly said, “Smash my computer? Can you afford to pay for it?” Dylan sneered, “You’re just a regular employee, how expensive could your computer be? Go to the warehouse and get a spare one.” I turned to Lindsay. “Are you just going to let an intern be this arrogant? Not only stealing my deals but also casually smashing my computer?” Lindsay walked directly to Dylan’s side, looking down at me haughtily. “He didn’t make me fire you; letting you stay in the company to earn a living is already being more than fair.” “Dylan smashing your computer is for your own good. He wants you to be ambitious.” I shook my head, a cold smirk on my face. There was no reply from my game’s voice chat; my hot-tempered dad and grandpa, fiercely protective, were probably already chartering a private jet back. I had no desire to argue further. I crouched down to pick up the computer’s motherboard, but Dylan raised his foot and stepped directly on it. “Still want to pick it up and keep playing?” he said, grinding his foot back and forth on the motherboard. “Lindsay, you’re cutting him some slack, and he still doesn’t repent?” “You’re slacking off publicly, ruining the company’s hardworking atmosphere. You deserve only the oldest spare computer!” “Also…” He pulled out a stack of project reports. “This data you prepared earlier has such huge flaws! If I hadn’t discovered them in time, you would have caused the company massive losses!” At this, the surroundings gasped. “My god, Dylan really is our company’s good luck charm; he can even find flaws!” “Look at Aaron Miller, so thick-skinned. Without Dylan’s blessing, his project would have tanked. Now he’s even contradicting him and pulling faces!” “He’s doing it on purpose, trying to win back Manager Hayes’s heart. I wonder if he has the ability to.” I picked up the data, realizing it was a report Dylan himself had done recently, but he’d changed the name on it to mine. “This isn’t my work,” I shrugged, tossing the report onto the floor. “Even though I play games all day, my performance targets are always met. I wouldn’t make such a stupid mistake.” “Only an intern, I guess, would make such a basic error, wouldn’t they?” I looked at Dylan mockingly; his face fluctuated between green and pale. He pointed at me, angrily cursing, “Aaron Miller, you play games all day at work, how can you not make basic mistakes? Your name is on this, just admit it!” “Don’t make me bring out the evidence and embarrass you completely!” I stared at his guilty face, finding it utterly ridiculous. An intern who knew nothing back then was now a domineering ‘good luck charm’ in the company. “Evidence, huh?” I directly called a professional. “Please come over now, I need a handwriting analysis and a check of the surveillance footage.” “You want to conduct a private investigation in our company? Do you have the authority for that?” Lindsay frowned. “Don’t think we’ll believe your investigation results just because you hire some shady people from outside.” I ignored her, sat down, and continued playing my game. The Vice President’s face grew darker. “Aaron Miller, what do you mean? Wrong is wrong. Are you trying to cause a scene in the company? Security, prevent anyone unauthorized from entering the company!” “No need to trouble security, we’ve come up ourselves.” Everyone looked in the direction of the voice, and a collective gasp filled the room. Two people, seen on the news yesterday, stood at the conference room door—the Chief of the Capital City Criminal Investigation Bureau and the CEO of RonaTech Industries. The VP’s face turned white with fright at the sight of these two important figures. He quickly bent over, smiling obsequiously. “What brings you two distinguished gentlemen here? Is there something urgent?” The Chief and the CEO didn’t even glance at the VP, walking directly towards me. “Aaron, where’s the evidence?” “If anyone dares to falsely accuse you, we will definitely help clear your name!” I raised my chin, pointing to the documents on the floor. Dylan, trembling, picked up the documents in front of the two powerful figures, handing them over for immediate inspection. Lindsay, astonished that professionals were investigating for me, stared at me. “Who exactly are you? How did you manage to get them here?” I continued playing my game. “That’s none of your business, as long as someone can prove my innocence!” Dylan glared at me, his face filled with guilt, but he didn’t dare to react on the spot. He was Lindsay Hayes’s junior from university. Fresh out of graduation, Lindsay had arranged for him to join the company as her personal assistant. Dylan’s performance wasn’t great, but he always had a knack for flattery in his free time. For example, “You’re about to get a promotion!” or “You’re definitely going to succeed with this client collaboration.” Occasionally, he’d hit the mark by sheer coincidence, and Lindsay would promote him in various ways. Gradually, everyone in the company came to believe Dylan was a good luck charm, and he quickly became a company celebrity. Later, he publicly claimed my hard-earned achievements were due to his lucky aura. Lindsay knew I’d pulled all-nighters working on proposals, yet she still looked at Dylan with adoration: “I knew it was your good fortune that helped him secure the deal.” Seeing Dylan take away the bonus that should have been mine, becoming the top performer, all my efforts seemed like a joke. And now, he was publicly slandering me? Did he really think I was a pushover to be manipulated? The inspection concluded. The Chief held the report, looking at Dylan with a grim expression. “The handwriting on the error spots in this report matches yours. After checking the surveillance, I also found that you were the only one entering and leaving the office.” “The CEO also investigated the data source, and you were the only one involved from start to finish. Therefore, this erroneous data was caused solely by you!” At this, the conference hall fell silent for a moment, then erupted in heated discussion. “I can’t believe it was slander… My god, Aaron Miller is actually innocent.” “The ‘good luck charm’ is really going too far. You can’t steal someone else’s credit and then frame them, can you?” Dylan’s face turned completely white. He stammered, “That… that must have been a mistake on my part.” “Can a simple ‘mistake’ fix everything?” I leaned back in my chair, watching him leisurely. “When you make a mistake, don’t you need to apologize?” The Chief and the CEO stood behind me, staring at Dylan, putting immense pressure on him. He reluctantly lowered his head. “I… I’m sorry…” I stood up, shaking hands with the Chief and the CEO in thanks. After they left, I pulled out a bill. “Since the slander has been cleared up, let’s talk about my computer’s compensation.” Dylan reverted to his arrogant self, crossing his arms and scoffing, “I’d like to hear how much a broken computer is worth.” I held up one finger: “Ten…” “Tsk, just ten thousand?” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll scan it to you now.” I shook my head. “Ten million.”

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From the moment I could remember, I knew my mother hated me. When I was three, she gave me sleeping pills. At five, she fed me bug killer. But I was a stubborn kid, hard to get rid of. By the age of seven, I’d somehow learned to fight back. She’d starve me, and I’d flip the dinner table, making sure no one ate. She’d beat me with a stick until I was rolling on the floor, and I’d punch her precious youngest son until he was black and blue. I battled her with a hard head until I was twelve. Then my youngest sister was born. I was clumsy, fumbling with the tiny bundle as I changed her wet diaper. That’s when my mother grabbed me, slamming me against the wall. Her eyes were a mix of disgust and fear. “What are you trying to do to my daughter?” she snarled. “You’re just like your rapist father! Why don’t you just die with him?” In that moment, I finally understood why she hated me. I clutched my bleeding head, not fighting back for the first time. And for the first time, I genuinely believed she was right. My existence was a mistake. I should die. … By the time I limped to my grandma’s house, night had fallen. Grandma didn’t bat an eye at my blood-soaked clothes. She calmly pulled out her small first-aid kit, cleaned my wounds, and then set a bowl of simple noodle soup in front of me. Usually, I’d devour the noodles, grumbling about how I’d get even tomorrow. This time, I just stared at the clear broth, quietly asking, “Grandma, I’m not my dad’s kid, am I?” Grandma said nothing, but the sudden aversion in her eyes spoke volumes. She abruptly stood, repeatedly wiping the table where the first-aid kit had sat with an old rag. I understood then – my blood was tainted. I was the rapist’s son. No wonder Mom hated me. A wave of nausea unlike anything I’d ever felt before washed over me. I stumbled out the door, clutching the courtyard wall, dry heaving. The night wind cut through me, making the gashes on my face sting. Before, when Mom hit me, I saw those wounds as debts she owed, debts I’d collect someday. Now, I felt too ashamed to even look at her. I didn’t go back to Grandma’s, and she didn’t come looking for me. I limped aimlessly through the streets, lost and unsure where to go. Then I saw a family celebrating a birthday outside a restaurant. The woman in the center, surrounded by her loved ones, had a radiant smile that made me shrink back. Last year, on Mom’s birthday, she’d worn a similar happy smile—until she saw me. The moment I walked in, her joy twisted into pure disgust. I remembered a school essay assignment called “My Mother.” I’d written about Mom as an absolute monster. My English teacher had pulled me into her office, pointing at my paper, lecturing me for an entire class period. I hadn’t really heard what she said, but one line stuck with me: “No mother in this world could ever hate her own child.” I’d believed her. I used the money I’d saved from selling scrap metal to buy Mom a birthday cake. All I wanted was for her to hug me, just once, like she hugged my brother. But her icy stare pierced me, making me feel like a clown with the cake in my hands. A flash of rage consumed me. When no one was looking, I caught a few frogs from the yard and hid them inside the cake. I still remember Mom’s scream when the frogs jumped out. Back then, a twisted satisfaction had filled me; she didn’t deserve to be a mother. She deserved it. But now, I understood. I was the one who didn’t deserve it. My very existence was a wound to her. Looking at the mother’s smile in the restaurant, I made a decision. This year, for Mom’s birthday, I’d give her a gift she’d truly love. A gift that would finally set her free. I decided to die. The moment the thought of dying surfaced, my steps became unnervingly light. I even started to plan how to die in a way that wouldn’t inconvenience anyone, how to disappear without a trace. But my plan was cut short; the patrolling police caught me and brought me home. Mom opened the door. It closed behind me, and I kept my head down, not daring to meet her eyes, only hearing her cold voice. “Why didn’t you just die out there?” My usual retort died in my throat, swallowed whole. Yet, driven by some twisted impulse, I hesitated, then asked her, my voice barely a whisper, “If… if I really… died, what would you do?” Would you be even a little sad? “Hmph. If you’ve got the guts, go die sooner. I’d be overjoyed.” She walked into my siblings’ room without looking back, closing the door. I stood in the living room. After a long while, I clumsily wiped my face and forced a laugh. I knew it. The birthday gift I’d chosen, Mom would definitely love it. Cole, the orphan kid I usually collected junk with, lived by his wits. He was street smart, always finding ways to make a buck. So, after school, I treated him to an ice cream. Crouching by the curb, I lowered my voice and asked him how to make someone disappear without a trace. Cole shot me a weird look, then shoved his half-eaten ice cream into my hand. “Stay away from me. I don’t do anything illegal.” I held up both ice creams, confused. “What are you talking about? Just tell me how someone could die by accident. You know… preferably not too painfully. That person might be a bit sensitive to pain.” Cole gasped and started to get up to run. Forgetting the ice cream, I grabbed him, holding him tight like a pig tied for slaughter. “I don’t care! You ate my stuff, so you’re with me! You have to help me!” Unable to break free, Cole just flopped onto the ground, looking miserable. “No, man, my good man, you’ve got parents, why are you so determined to throw your life away? Yeah, you get hit a lot, but they don’t starve you. Look at your arms, you’re bigger than me!” A lump formed in my throat, stuck between up and down, and I choked. I wanted to tell him that it was because they were neither wholly good nor completely bad that I felt this agonizing pain. Especially after knowing my birth story, even that profound, wronged hatred had no solid ground to stand on. I couldn’t live anymore. But saying that would only cause Mom trouble, so I rasped back at Cole, “None of your business! Just tell me if you’ll help or not!” Cole wailed, “Dude! You want to kill your mom! How can I help with that?!” I froze, looking down at Cole on the ground in disbelief. When did I say I wanted to kill Mom? But before I could argue, a loud, familiar wail pierced the air from nearby. “Waaah! The big bad guy wants to kill Mommy!” My brain short-circuited. I slowly turned my head towards the sound. It was my idiot little brother. Crying and screaming, he was running so fast he’d lost a shoe and didn’t even care. That night, the sound of slaps echoed through the house for most of the evening. Mom swung the broom at me, hitting me head-on, her eyes blazing with the same fierce hatred she reserved for an enemy. But I saw it — tears streamed from her eyes. I’d seen those tears a few times before, but then I’d dismissed them as crocodile tears, stiffening my neck and butting my head into her stomach, promising her I’d get her back when I was older, that I’d kill her. Now, I just curled up on the cold tile floor, unmoving. Finally, she tired herself out. The broom clattered to the floor. But she didn’t look at me, just stumbled back to her room. After a long silence, I slowly pushed myself up, only to hear the muffled, broken sobs from her room, choked back as if she was trying to stifle them. The sound was like a knife, twisting repeatedly in my chest. My face burned, and the body I’d just managed to prop up crashed back to the floor. I raised a hand to cover my eyes; my hand came away wet. Not with tears, but with a mixture of blood and dirt. Just like me. Filthy. “Your mother, she was crying on the floor just like that when she was nineteen.” I snapped my head up. Grandma had appeared in the doorway at some point, her cloudy eyes seeming to fix on me, yet also on someone, some moment in time. “That night, her clothes were torn, and her body… was bruised all over.” “She didn’t cry out loud, just bit her lip until it bled.” My breathing hitched. “She tried to get rid of you later, but her body wouldn’t let her.” “After you were born, I threw you away, but by morning, the police brought you back to the door.” “They said abandoning you was a crime, that she’d go to jail, and they’d follow up.” My life was so absurd it was laughable. No one welcomed my arrival, yet I clung stubbornly to life for twelve years. Grandma, as always, tended to my wounds. Her face was old, her voice rambling. “Don’t blame her. Her heart’s in pain. She never got over it.” I lowered my head and smiled. “Grandma, I don’t blame her anymore.” I no longer hated Mom, but Mom still hated me enough to want me dead. She didn’t know I was awake when she pressed the pillow over my face. I could even feel the pillow trembling with her shaking hands. I didn’t struggle. I just closed my eyes and waited. Just as my lungs began to burn, a powerful force yanked Mom off me. Grandma’s voice was hoarse and trembling. “Are you insane! You’ll throw away another lifetime for him? It’s not worth it! Once was enough…” Mom crumpled into Grandma’s arms, letting out a broken whimper. “Mom! Mom! I can’t take it anymore! Is he as evil as his father?” Grandma held Mom tightly, but her eyes flickered towards me. For a second, I thought she saw my half-open eyes. But she just murmured calmly, “Go back to sleep.” Mom’s whimpers faded into the distance. I lay there, gasping for air, then pulled the covers over my face and turned over. I don’t know how long passed, but as dawn approached, Grandma came in carrying a large enamel mug. Inside was steaming hot chicken soup. Drinking chicken soup first thing in the morning was obviously odd. But Grandma simply placed the mug on my bedside table, her voice as calm as the lines etched on her face. “Drink it.” I understood. I wanted to say how impatient they were; I could have quietly died in a few days. Now, like this, they’d be in so much trouble after I was gone. But I said nothing. I reached for the heavy mug, its sides burning hot. I tilted my head back and gulped down the entire bowl of chicken soup. The strangely bitter taste spread from my tongue to my very core. The mug was empty. I placed it back on the nightstand, then lay back down, pulling the covers over myself, quietly awaiting the end. Grandma picked up the empty mug, stood there looking at me for a few seconds, then left without a word. The poison worked fast. First, a violent stomach ache, like countless hands tearing at my insides, then an overwhelming coldness, making me shiver uncontrollably, my teeth chattering. My vision blurred, and sounds grew distant. I heard Grandma’s footsteps in and out of the room, heard her making a phone call. Later, there was the piercing wail of an ambulance, a jumble of voices, blinding lights. Under the harsh hospital lights, the stomach pump tube was roughly forced down my throat. I vomited until I thought I’d tear apart, tears and snot streaming down my face. A young doctor looked at me, then at Grandma, whose face was ashen, his brow furrowed. “What happened? This soup…” He lowered his voice, suspicion lacing his words. With my last ounce of strength, I clutched the doctor’s white coat sleeve, my voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible. “It was… I took the medicine myself…” The doctor froze, his eyes complex as he looked at me. I released my grip, slumping back onto the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. Being tough to kill, I guess, was also a curse. Even dying had become a luxury. Grandma stood by the bed, her back hunched, her white hair fluttering against her thin, wrinkled face. Before I closed my eyes, I thought I saw a single, cloudy tear fall from her dry eye, hitting the cold floor with a silent splat.

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The night Nate skipped class to meet the girl who broke me, I was trapped downstairs, forced to listen to every sound. “Does Leila do this for you?” A low grunt from him, then his sharp voice as he gripped her chin. “Stella, if Leila ever finds out, you’re dead.” Stella laughed, a sound like broken glass, before her lips met his. “Then I’ll die happy.” Through the flickering window light, I saw their tangled silhouettes. Stella had led the bullying in middle school, relentless, carving depression into my soul. Those three years were the darkest chapter of my life, ending with me framed and forced to transfer. I thought I’d escaped her, but she haunted my sleep. Then came Nate, my high school desk mate. “Leila,” he’d say with that easy smile, “your name makes me think of a future with you.” He pulled me back from the edge, time and again. Now, the woman I never wanted to see again was in my boyfriend’s bed. My body trembled as I dug nails into my palms, the sting a welcome distraction. “You bullied Leila in high school, right? Watch yourself here. If she complains to me, I’ll show you real bullying.” My heart stopped. He knew. Nate knew everything—exactly who Stella was—and chose her anyway. That night, the bitter wind carried their sounds to me, each one a blade shredding my heart. … “Enjoy the show?” Stella’s voice, laced with amusement, cut through the cold night air. She was wearing Nate’s jacket, the collar hanging open to reveal the pale skin of her neck. The scattered marks there were like a brand, searing themselves into my vision. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, saying nothing. My eyes were raw and sore, but there were no tears left to cry. Just like all those years ago, I bowed my head in silence and turned to leave. But she grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt. “God, Leila, I hate this innocent little victim act of yours. So pathetic and fake.” She yanked the fabric tight around my neck, and that familiar feeling of being choked, of not being able to breathe, washed over me. I clawed at the hood, gasping for air. A second later, she let go. “We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other,” she purred, shrugging the jacket off and tossing it at me. I stared at the jacket in my hands, taking a shaky breath to force the tears back down. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Nate. I ignored the first call. I ignored the second. The third time, I answered. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Time to rise and shine.” His voice was cheerful, oblivious. “I brought you that oatmeal you like and a hot coffee.” Every morning at six-thirty, like clockwork, Nate would call to wake me up and have me come down for breakfast. He’d clearly rushed back to keep up the pretense. “Yeah… I’ll be right down.” I fought like hell to keep the tremor out of my voice, to swallow the questions burning in my throat. He didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. I took a cab back to campus, slipped in through a back entrance, and changed into my pajamas before heading downstairs. I saw him through the glass doors of the dorm, shivering in just a thin hoodie. He waved, holding up the breakfast bag with a grin. “You came down in your pajamas again? Aren’t you freezing?” Nate reached out instinctively to warm my ears, but I flinched away. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What about you?” I asked, quickly changing the subject. “Why are you only wearing a hoodie?” His hand holding the breakfast faltered for a second before he scratched the back of his head. “Oh, uh, I was playing ball with my roommates this morning. I must’ve left my jacket at the gym.” “It’s too cold. You should head back,” he said, pressing the warm bag into my hands. “And don’t forget, the portal for elective sign-ups opens at eight.” He smiled, backing away and waving, then turned and broke into a run. I watched his back disappear into the distance. Then I turned and dropped the breakfast into the nearest trash can. Standing in the biting wind, I took a deep breath and finally made the call. “Sasha? It’s me. About that study abroad program… I’ll do it. Can you help me with the paperwork?” Her excitement was palpable. She promised to get everything sorted as quickly as possible. Then, a note of concern entered her voice. “Leila? Did something happen between you and Nate?” Our families had finally given our relationship their blessing our senior year of high school. I used to believe we would have a storybook ending. Now, he was a wound too deep to even speak of. “It’s nothing,” I lied. “I just need a change of scenery. He understands.” In the computer lab, Nate had already saved me a seat. “Okay, I’ve got it pulled up for you,” he whispered, leaning close. “The second it goes live, you click! If the server crashes, just grab the basketball elective, okay?” I nodded numbly. The clock ticked over. My cursor hovered, then landed on Yoga. This was the first step. To disappear from your world, Nate. Nate and I weren’t in the same program. After walking me to my building, he headed for his own. As he turned a corner, I saw Stella. She jumped into his arms, peppering his face with a flurry of kisses. “Thanks, babe, for getting me into the basketball class!” “I’m warning you, don’t you dare give Leila a hard time.” “I won’t, I won’t. I just wanted to be in a class with you,” she cooed, linking her arm through his. “By the way, did you get that apartment?” “All set. Paid the lease for a year. I’ll get some guys to help you move your stuff in tomorrow.” He had mentioned getting an off-campus place to me before. He’d complained about the dorms, about not being able to spend enough time with me, and had even asked his mom for the money. But I had turned him down. “We’re still young, Nate. I don’t think living together is a good idea. Let’s wait until senior year.” Now, he had a new roommate. Over the next few days, Nate was constantly at the new apartment, using a dizzying array of excuses. Meanwhile, Stella started skipping half her classes. “Leila, how come you didn’t get into the basketball elective?” Nate asked a few days later, his voice sharp with annoyance. I stirred the noodles in my bowl. “I don’t really like basketball.” “You know,” I added quietly, “you seem to be having plenty of fun with your new classmates.” I had seen them more than once, chasing each other around the court, laughing. With her, Nate’s smile was wild and carefree, nothing like the steady, serious boy I knew. He didn’t push it. Maybe with Stella there, it didn’t matter to him anymore. “Fine. Whatever you want,” he grumbled, then stood up and left, saying he had to get to class. The moment he was gone, Stella appeared. “My boyfriend,” she announced loudly to her friends at the next table, but her eyes were locked on me, “he just has such a high sex drive. I can barely get out of bed most mornings.” She smirked. “But I don’t really like class anyway, and he got me this great apartment so I can rest.” Stella talked about their sex life without a hint of a blush, her voice ringing through the cafeteria. “Oh, and look what he got me for my birthday! Five figures!” She held up a delicate necklace, her gaze a triumphant, mocking challenge. The girls around her gasped, cooing about how lucky she was, how good her boyfriend was to her. I’d seen that necklace in Nate’s online shopping cart. He told me it was a gift for his mother. Another lie. I couldn’t listen anymore. I stood abruptly, needing to get to the bathroom, to breathe. But Stella and her friends blocked my path. A second later, I was on the cold tile floor, pinned down. “I’m giving you a chance, Leila,” Stella sneered. “Break up with Nate.” The sole of her shoe ground against my cheek, the rough concrete scraping my skin raw. The dead memories clawed their way back up my throat. “Why should I listen to you?” I spat back. “Because you sleep with him for free? Stella, what do you think you’re really worth to him?” My words, sharp and laced with scorn, shattered her triumphant facade. She snapped. Her fists and feet flew, her voice a torrent of vile insults. “Leila, you’re just as pathetic as your mother,” she screamed. “My mom should have finished the job and gotten rid of you both!” One of her friends finally pulled her back. “Stella, that’s enough! If you get disciplined for this, you won’t graduate.” “Come on, let’s go.” They half-dragged a struggling Stella away. “This isn’t over, Leila!” she shrieked over her shoulder.

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1 I stayed in the shadows for ten years, helping her climb from the mud to the clouds. I thought I was just a loyal dog whose time was up, a servant who finally needed to make a dignified exit. So, at three in the morning, I slipped out of the villa gates with nothing but a suitcase. Twenty minutes later, my face was on every security monitor in the city. The digital “Wanted” posters carried a four-word command: Capture alive. Return immediately. My name is Gabe Miller. I’m twenty-nine, and I’ve spent exactly a decade by Diana Harrison’s side. Ten years ago, I found her in a rain-slicked ditch on the outskirts of a dying coal town. She was covered in blood, barely breathing, a seventeen-year-old princess of the Harrison empire who had lost everything in a single, brutal night of betrayal. I carried her to a back-alley clinic and spent my last three hundred dollars to keep her heart beating. For the next decade, we lived under the radar. I was her shadow, her shield, and her ghostwriter. I helped her gather her strength, piece by piece, until we returned to the city to dismantle the uncles who had scavenged her father’s multi-billion dollar legacy. Three months ago, Diana was officially inaugurated as the CEO of Harrison Global. On that day, hundreds of people stood to applaud her. She stood at the podium in a bespoke suit, chin tilted high, her gaze sweeping over the room with the cool indifference of a queen. She looked at me last. I was sitting in the back row, and I gave her a small, quiet smile. I thought, We made it. She was back where she belonged. And that meant it was time for me to disappear. I had always known this day would come. I was the man she picked up when she was at her lowest. We walked the hardest miles together, but the road had reached its end. She was the woman on the cloud; I was the high school dropout who had spent ten years hiding in the dark. I never told her how I felt. A love like that is better left to rot in your chest. I was waiting for the right moment to leave. That moment came tonight. At eight o’clock, I went to her office to drop off some final documents. The door was ajar, and I heard her voice—light, soft, and carrying a warmth I had never once felt directed at me. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you.” I froze. Through the crack in the door, I saw Diana standing in front of a man. He was tall, thin, wearing a grey trench coat, his back to me. Diana reached out and straightened his collar. The gesture was natural, intimate, practiced. She looked up at him with a tenderness that made my chest ache. I stepped back. The corners of the folder in my hand were crumpled under the force of my grip. As I turned away, only one thought pulsed in my brain: Go. Now. I went back to the guest wing of the villa and locked my door. I took a dozen deep breaths to steady my hands, then I started to write. Draft one: “Diana, ten years together, no regrets. Goodbye. Take care of yourself. —Gabe.” I read it over. It sounded like a suicide note. I shredded it. Draft two: “Dee, stay healthy. Don’t skip meals. Don’t work past midnight. If you need anything, call Marcus, not me. I’m changing my number.” It sounded like a parole notice. Shredded. Draft three: “Ms. Harrison, thank you for the opportunity. Best of luck in your future endeavors.” Too cold. Draft four: “These ten years…” I stopped there. Everything after those words was just a variation of “I love you,” and I couldn’t write that. It wouldn’t be dignified. I was rubbing my temples, surrounded by crumpled balls of paper, when my door was kicked open. Marcus, the only “friend” I had in this gilded cage, stood there with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “The lights have been on for hours, man. What the hell are you—” He stopped. He saw the trash can overflowing with paper. He saw the half-finished letter. He saw the packed suitcase. Silence for three seconds. Then, Marcus lost his damn mind. “Holy shit.” He slammed his beer on the desk and leaned over, snatching up draft five. “‘Diana, I’m leaving, don’t look for me’—Gabe, what is this? Are you a middle-schooler running away from home?” “Put it down.” “Ten years of being a soldier, and you’re pulling a tragic hero act at 3 AM?” “I said, put it down.” Marcus didn’t listen. He started fishing the crumpled papers out of the trash like a forensic investigator. He read every single one. When he finally looked up at me, his face was a mix of shock, pity, and a desperate urge to laugh. “Gabe.” “What?” “Are you in love with Diana?” I said nothing. “For ten years?” Still nothing. “Does she know?” “No.” Marcus took a long drag of his cigarette, watching the smoke curl under the lamp. “And you’re leaving? Because of what?” “She has someone,” I said quietly. Marcus stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and paced the room twice. Then, in a voice I couldn’t quite read, he said, “Fine. Go ahead. Leave.” I blinked. I expected him to fight me on it. Marcus reached the door and looked back. “Need me to call you an Uber?” “…No.” “Alright then.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Safe travels. Send me a pin when you land so I know where to send the flowers for your funeral.” Then he left. He didn’t even take his beer. I stared at that beer for a long time. So much for brotherhood. So much for a decade of “having each other’s backs.” He didn’t even ask me to reconsider. But maybe it was better this way. It saved me from having to play out a scene. At 3:17 AM, suitcase in hand, I slipped out the side exit. I avoided the main gates because of the biometric security. I climbed over the low stone wall on the east side of the estate, twisting my ankle when I landed. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. I hailed a rideshare to the Greyhound station downtown. As the car pulled away, I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes. All I could see was Diana straightening that man’s collar. My phone buzzed. A text from Marcus: “You left draft three on the desk. Want me to slide it under her door?” I replied: “Touch it and you’re dead.” He sent back a laughing emoji. I turned the phone off. Twenty minutes later, I was at the station. It was 4 AM, empty and hollow, bathed in the sickly fluorescent light of the ticket counter. As the car pulled away, I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes. All I could see was Diana straightening that man’s collar. So practiced. So familiar. It felt as if she had done it a thousand times before. I didn’t want to admit it, but in that moment, it felt like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed. “Give me a ticket for the earliest bus out,” I told the woman behind the glass. “I don’t care where it’s going.” She looked at me like I was a runaway husband. “Earliest is 5:30 AM. Bound for Portland.” “Fine. One ticket.” I pulled out my phone to pay. Denied. Insufficient funds. I tried my credit card. Transaction failed. I tried my backup card. Your account has been frozen. Please contact your financial institution. My fingers went numb. Three cards. All of them dead. It was 4:03 AM. Who had the power to freeze my accounts at this hour? There was only one person. I reached into my pocket and found fifty bucks in crumpled bills. “Can I pay cash?” “Ticket’s sixty-eight, sugar.” “…” I tucked the fifty back into my pocket. The morning air suddenly felt like ice. My phone buzzed again. Marcus. “Card frozen, buddy?” I didn’t reply. “Diana had the CFO freeze them ten minutes ago,” he texted. “Reason listed: ‘Suspicious activity, suspected theft.’ Lol.” Then, a voice memo. I clicked it. It was Marcus, laughing so hard he was coughing. I took a deep breath. It didn’t matter. I had legs. I could walk. There was a row of rideshare bikes outside the station. I scanned one. User credit score insufficient. Service unavailable. Insufficient? My score was near perfect. I scanned another. Same message. I put my phone away and stared at the bikes. A plastic bag tumbled past me in the wind, a lonely little parade for my shattered dignity. 4:30 AM. I started walking toward the city limits. My plan was simple: get to the edge of the county where the local shuttle vans didn’t use apps. Twenty bucks would get me to the next state. I walked for forty minutes. The sky was turning a bruised grey. My ankle was throbbing, but I kept going. I stopped at a gas station to buy a bottle of water. Fifty minus three. Forty-seven dollars left. Enough. Once I was out of the city, I’d be free. I leaned against a pillar at the gas station to catch my breath. After a minute, I pushed off and kept walking. Twenty minutes later, the highway entrance sign appeared. My spirits lifted. Then I saw the digital billboard. The one that usually showed traffic alerts or local news. I stopped dead. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. There, in giant glowing letters: GABRIEL MILLER. MALE. 29. 6’0″. MISSING SINCE EARLY THIS MORNING. IF SEEN, CALL THE NUMBER BELOW. PRIVATE SEARCH—FAMILY SEEKING RETURN. And there was a photo. Me, in a suit, looking far more composed than I felt. But that wasn’t the point. “Family seeking return”? What family? I didn’t have anyone left. I stood there staring at my own face for thirty seconds. Then I turned my phone back on. Forty-seven unread messages. Thirty were from Marcus. I clicked the latest one. “Bro, you’re on the billboards. Every LED in the city. Bus stops, subways, the whole works. You’re the number one trending topic in Seattle right now.” Next one: “Diana sent your photo to every security firm in the state. She blasted it to every taxi driver, Uber driver, train station, and hotel front desk.” Next: “Note attached: ‘Subject is a key executive, suspected kidnapping. Detain and contact immediately.’ Kidnapping! Hahahahahahaha!” Then a screenshot. A group chat for local cab drivers: “Harrison Global just put out a bounty. $100k for the guy in the photo. Just bring him in alive.” “$100k? For real?” “Yeah, the CEO herself signed off on it.” “Holy shit, send the photo again. I’m gonna find this guy.” I slowly lowered my phone. The sun was coming up. A taxi was idling at the gas station pump. The driver was leaning against his car, smoking. He looked up at me. Then he looked at his phone. Then back at me. Our eyes met. His lit up like he’d hit the jackpot. I turned and ran.

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My husband Declan and I were married for three years. At home, I was the perfect wife who cooked and cared for him. In public, he was the devoted husband who never strayed. To the world, we were the model couple. Then came the night of a private gala. He got drunk and called me to pick him up. I hurried to the suite, but as my hand reached for the door, I heard his friend’s teasing voice float through. “Declan, man, you’re something else. Three years with Victoria and not an ounce of real feeling. Are you sure you never felt even a little spark?” Declan’s reply was slick with careless arrogance. “My heart has only ever belonged to Sophia. Victoria was just a stepping stone to get closer to her.” And Sophia, the woman he spoke of, was my best friend of twelve years. 1 I froze, my fingers hovering over the phone screen, the words “Honey, I’m at the door” still typed out in the message box. All the warmth drained from my body. For three years, everyone said I had married for love. In their eyes, I was a promising fashion designer, and he was the brilliant, self-made tycoon. I had naively believed we were destined for each other. Last year, I had a fever of 102. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I felt someone taking care of me. When I finally opened my eyes, I saw Declan wearing my pink apron, a bowl of oatmeal in his hands. He’d even managed to cook an egg into the shape of a heart on top. “I looked it up online,” he’d said softly. “They said this is good for a fever. I simmered it for half an hour. Want to try?” Lying there in his arms, I thought, This is it. This is my forever. Four years ago, I was a nobody in the design world. Frustrated with a blank sketchpad, I posted a throwaway comment online: “Can anyone save my inspiration? One more creative block and I’m quitting to sell boba tea!” Less than ten minutes later, a private message popped up from a user named “D.” “The waistlines in your designs are too conservative. Try incorporating satin panels and an asymmetrical hem. It might break you out of the rut.” On a whim, I tried his suggestions. That design ended up winning a small award. Our conversations grew from there, weaving from design to life. He understood my passion, and I understood the grueling work he put into his start-up. When he proposed, he said, “Victoria, I want to take care of you for the rest of my life. Marry me.” Through a blur of happy tears, I had shouted, “Yes, Declan, I will.” Looking back now, all that sweetness feels like an elaborate, meticulously crafted lie. 2 I slowly pulled my hand back from the door, my back finding the cold wall of the hallway. Suddenly, a flood of details I had long ignored rushed into my mind. The time Declan asked for Sophia’s contact information, claiming he wanted to get to know my friends and hobbies better. Our first trip abroad, where the destination just so happened to be the city where Sophia was studying. And especially the time Sophia went through a bad breakup. She was sobbing uncontrollably on the phone, and as I sat there, my own tears falling in sympathy, Declan seemed even more agitated than I was. “Is Sophia okay? Should we go see her?” he kept asking. He even got her address and overnighted a huge care package of her favorite snacks across the ocean. At the time, I’d laughed and called him the perfect husband, saying he loved my friends just because he loved me. Now I understand. I wasn’t the one he loved. I was just the convenient package deal. My thoughts were shattered by a vibration from my pocket. A message from Sophia lit up the screen. “Tori, I’m coming home next week! Don’t forget to pick me up at the airport! ;)” I stared at the screen, my thumb hesitating for a moment before I typed back a simple reply. “Okay.” The moment the message sent, I deleted my entire chat history with Declan. Then I turned and walked away from the hotel without a backward glance. The sharp click of my heels on the polished floor was the only sound, each step shattering the illusion of a three-year fairy tale. 3 We never spoke of that night. It was an unspoken, mutual silence. The day Sophia returned, the weather was beautiful. As I was getting ready to drive to the airport, Declan offered to come with me. “The airport is a bit of a drive. I’d worry if you went alone. I’ll drive us,” he said, his tone perfectly normal, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Alright.” If I hadn’t known what I knew, I probably would have thought the same. A simple, kind gesture. The car was silent, the only sound our breathing. From the corner of my eye, I studied Declan. He was in a remarkably good mood, so much so that he didn’t seem to notice the oppressive quiet in the car. He drove quickly, fueled by an excitement he couldn’t hide, and we arrived at the airport in no time. Sophia was there, pushing a luggage cart, as radiant and bold as ever. She saw us and waved with a brilliant smile. “Over here!” Declan was at her side in a few long strides, handing her a bottle of her favorite brand of mineral water. He then effortlessly took her luggage cart, his voice filled with a light, easy familiarity I hadn’t heard from him in ages. “Welcome back, Sophia. Victoria has been talking about you non-stop. Was the flight okay? Have you found a place to stay yet?” Sophia tossed her long hair, her eyes flicking over to me for a second before landing back on Declan. She smiled, her voice a lazy drawl. “I’ve missed you guys too! I’m not too tired, just a little dizzy from the landing. I was in such a rush to get back, I haven’t found a place yet. I might have to crash with you two for a couple of days.” “You won’t have to crash,” Declan said instantly. “Victoria and I have a condo downtown. You can stay there. The furniture is all brand new. It’ll save you the trouble of looking.” That condo. We had bought it for our future child. A place we had planned and dreamed about together. And now, he had forgotten that promise completely. I forced a smile. “Of course.” 4 For dinner, we went to Sophia’s favorite sushi restaurant. On the way there, Declan and Sophia chatted nonstop. “So, life abroad treated you well?” Declan’s voice, full of undisguised cheer, drifted into the back seat. Sophia laughed and told him all about her experiences, the conversation flowing from life overseas to the changes back home. They were so engrossed in each other they seemed to forget I was there at all. I was the third wheel at my own best friend’s welcome home dinner. As we entered the restaurant, Declan took the menu and his first words were, “Sophia, you always loved the miso-glazed cod here. Should we get it?” She nodded, then turned to me. “Tori, what do you want?” Before I could answer, Declan cut in. “She’s easy. She’ll eat anything.” I sat beside him, feeling like a decorative accessory. When the food arrived, he served Sophia first, even pouring her a small glass of sake. They moved together with the easy grace of a long-established couple. My chopsticks barely moved. The steam rising from my miso soup blurred my vision, or maybe it was something else. As the meal wound down, Declan glanced at his phone, as if suddenly remembering my presence. “Victoria, why don’t you grab a cab home? Sophia has a lot of luggage, and I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself. We’re a team anyway, so me helping is the same as you helping.” I didn’t argue. I just nodded. “That’s fine. I’m finished anyway, and I have some work to do at the studio.” I picked up my bag and stood. At the door, some strange impulse made me look back. The warm, yellow light of the restaurant fell on Declan’s profile. He was looking down, carefully peeling a shrimp for Sophia, a gentle smile playing on his lips. It had been so long since I had seen him look that tender. 5 After that, the nights Declan didn’t come home grew more frequent. At first, he made an effort with his excuses. “A big project at the office is on a tight deadline, I have to work late.” Or, “A client changed their schedule last minute, I have to go out of town for a couple of days.” I’d see the exhaustion in his eyes when he finally came home in the dead of night, and for a fleeting moment, I’d almost believe him. But then he would take off his suit jacket, and a foreign perfume would hit me. A sweet, fruity floral scent. Identical to the one Sophia always wore. All my self-doubt would shatter. My fingers would trace over a long strand of hair on his collar that wasn’t mine. He’d notice my gaze and hastily toss the jacket into the laundry basket. “Must have been from a meeting,” he’d say, his tone a little too casual. “One of the female colleagues.” He told that lie again and again. And I never called him on it. I just quietly washed his jacket separately from mine. 6 A week later, I was at my studio working on a new design when my assistant ran in, holding out her phone with a complicated expression. The photo was crystal clear. In the dim, moody lighting of a bar, Declan was seated in a booth. Sophia was leaning against his shoulder, their cocktail glasses clinking together. The look he was giving her was so tender you could drown in it. The headline was a knife to the gut. 【VANCE ENTERPRISES CEO ON DATE WITH MYSTERY WOMAN, INTIMATE BEHAVIOR SUGGESTS NEW ROMANCE.】 The comments section was a war zone. 【That is definitely NOT Mrs. Vance.】 【Is she his mistress?】 【No, you guys are wrong. Look at the way he’s looking at her. That’s true love.】 My hand holding the phone trembled, my fingertips ice cold. I forced back the tears and handed the phone back to my assistant, my voice carefully steady, though the slight tremor at the end gave me away. “It’s probably photoshopped. It’s fake. Don’t worry about it.” I waited for Declan to call, to explain, even to lie like he used to. But the call never came. He didn’t post a single denial on social media. He acted like a complete bystander, letting the rumors fester, letting the world speculate about the state of our marriage. The night outside my window grew darker. I stared at that blinding photo on my phone and suddenly felt an immense, crushing exhaustion. 7 Sophia’s welcome-home party was on a Saturday night. She delivered the invitation to my studio herself, asking both me and Declan to come. That evening, I chose a simple, elegant cream-colored dress. I wore no makeup, just a touch of pale lipstick. As I walked to the foyer, Declan emerged from the closet. I paused. He was wearing the custom-tailored suit I had given him for his birthday last year. It fit him perfectly. His hair was impeccably styled, and he was even wearing the platinum cufflinks I had recently bought him. As far as I could remember, he only dressed this carefully for major corporate events. And tonight was just my best friend’s party. “Have you been waiting long?” he asked, stepping toward me. He reached out to adjust my collar, and I instinctively took a step back. His hand froze in mid-air, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep Sophia waiting.” The party was in full swing. Sophia was the center of attention in a stunning red slip dress, a blooming rose in a sea of people. The moment Declan walked in, his eyes were glued to her. She spotted us and gracefully made her way over. “Victoria! You’re here! I saved you guys seats!” We sat down next to her. Declan pulled a small, crimson velvet box from his pocket and handed it to her. “Welcome home, Sophia,” he said, his voice a full octave gentler than usual. “This is from both of us.” Sophia’s eyes widened. She lifted a hand to her mouth as she opened the box. Inside, a necklace set with a magnificent pigeon-blood ruby glittered under the lights. It was the diamond necklace I had fallen in love with when Declan and I were window shopping last month. The price tag, a staggering six figures, had made me hesitate. “It’s too much,” Declan had said at the time. “I’ll get it for you at the end of the year as a gift.” I thought he was being sensible, considerate. And now, he had bought it for Sophia. He watched her awestruck expression, his voice thick with an undisguised affection. “I knew you liked it. I saw you staring at it in the window for a full thirty seconds that day, so I made a mental note.” The people around them started to buzz. “Mr. Vance, you’re so thoughtful!” “That necklace must be worth a fortune!” Someone who knew of my marriage to Declan laughed and teased, “Honestly, the two of you standing together… anyone who didn’t know better would think you were the married couple!” Declan didn’t deny it. He just smiled down at Sophia, his eyes full of adoration. She leaned closer to him, and a little of her wine sloshed onto her dress. “Oops, I think I’ve had a little too much,” she said with a playful pout. Declan immediately put a steadying hand on her waist, completely ignoring me. “Be careful. You shouldn’t drink anymore. Let me take you to the lounge so you can rest.” He guided her away, and as they passed me, he didn’t even spare me a glance. I watched their retreating backs and downed my entire glass of champagne in one gulp.

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I ate, he killed. I slept, he killed. In our chats, he’d even send me gruesome photos. “Killed three today,” he’d text with a smiley face, “I’m such a busy little bee.” I’d respond with graphic descriptions of pig slaughter back on my family’s farm. I thought we were just two abstract individuals with a shared love for the macabre. Until one day, a message popped up: “Baby, after this kill, I’ll meet you in person.” The location was right outside my apartment building. 1 I didn’t take Asher Flynn’s words seriously. Waking up from a hangover, my head felt like it was splitting. But for the sake of our first meeting, I rushed to wash my hair. I casually shot back, “When I see you, I’m going to kiss you to death!” In real life, I’m pretty reserved; online, I’m a total firecracker. Just as I was testing the water temperature, a sudden clarity hit me. How did Asher know where I lived? I had never revealed any real personal information to him. When I ordered takeout or received gifts, I always had him convert it to cash and send it to me. I typed out a question. Asher replied: [You posted it in the group last night.] I quickly opened our chat group – it was a true-crime and mystery enthusiast’s forum. Asher and I had met there. At midnight last night, I’d posted a location, with the caption: [Come find me, everyone!] [Thirty floors, one hundred and eighty units, guess which one I am?] The group was lively with replies: [Forensics Fanatic 1: No way, your star killer would murder us all!] [Forensics Fanatic 8: I bet you’re a total bombshell, Asher’s a lucky guy!] [Forensics Fanatic 16: This place looks familiar, I think I’ve handled a case there.] There were seventeen people in the group, all calling themselves “Forensics Fanatics.” I was the seventeenth. I’d stumbled in one day after a random search. Everyone in the group absolutely loved true crime and mysteries. Asher replied to me: [So happy, my target is in the same building as you.] He had wanted to come find me in the middle of the night. He’d sent me a flurry of excited emojis in private messages. Half-asleep, I’d replied: [No late-night mischief, mister!] So he’d rescheduled for the morning. My toes curled with embarrassment. I’m a homebody with social anxiety. I quickly messaged him that I didn’t actually live there. I was a “haunted house” test sleeper. This apartment had seen eight deaths a year ago, it was truly cursed. My employer had paid me half a million dollars to live here for a year. Today was the last day, and I’d happily opened a bottle of wine to celebrate. I was moving out this afternoon. I hadn’t told Asher about this; I was afraid he’d judge me. I just said: [I’m moving this afternoon, it’s not convenient.] Asher was insistent, saying he could “clear the scene” in an hour. Alright, fine. I felt a mix of anticipation and a secret resolution. If he was handsome, we’d keep seeing each other. If he was ugly, I’d make a run for it. 2 I’d never seen Asher Flynn; he never shared photos. He always said mysteriously: [A killer revealing their face is the prelude to their death.] We’d known each other for a year, dated for six months. Still, we maintained a mutual wariness. Addresses, names, appearances – nothing. His sudden request to meet in person put a lot of pressure on me. Curiously, I asked him: [Aren’t you afraid of exposing your face and dying?] Asher replied: [Are you a cop?] Of course not. Then he added: [Even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. I’d be willing to be your big break.] All talk and no trousers. I realized Asher was also a serious role-playing enthusiast. He constantly fantasized about being a top-tier assassin. And the group members always played along, hyping him up. I chuckled. Who could he possibly “kill” here? This building was full of ordinary people, upper-middle class at best. He replied: [You know the rules, can’t reveal the employer or target’s identity.] [I’m going to kill a woman.] The second sentence came a minute later, he seemed to hesitate. I was amused, pressing him for how much this “job” paid. [Just pocket change, enough to buy you some game skins.] Asher didn’t seem to care about money. He often transferred tens of thousands to me. Over six months, it added up to well over a hundred thousand. I hadn’t accepted all of it; my pride got in the way, making me feel like a kept woman. I knew he was loaded, which always made me suspect he must be ugly. Opening the group chat, I asked: [Who’s helping Asher clean up this time?] Many times when Asher announced he was “going on a kill,” the group would respond. They’d volunteer to go with him, and Asher never refused, just sent them cash. They’d take photos when they arrived, usually of lavish mansions. For a while, I even suspected they were real assassins. But when I searched online, there were never any murder cases reported in those places. I figured they must be actual cleaners. Professional junk removers. Asher was probably a small business owner in that field, with a weird obsession for “cleaning.” The group replied: [Forensics Fanatic 8: We wouldn’t dare interrupt Asher and his ladylove’s sweet time!] [Forensics Fanatic 12: He can handle it alone.] They said you could tell by the location it wasn’t a big job. They were curious why Asher took it. I was curious too; I hadn’t heard of any resident needing a massive cleanup. 3 Asher said: [A friend was caught in a tax evasion scandal; I loaned him money to cover it.] He claimed he was broke, a truly plain and unexciting reason. I suspected this “friend” was himself. And a criminal at that. My enthusiasm started to wane. I’m a law-abiding citizen, after all. I opened another chat group, for our building residents. I asked: [Who hired a deep-cleaning service today?] It took a while for someone to respond, a resident on the eighteenth floor. They asked what I wanted in a rather surly tone. I wanted them to take a picture of the cleaner. If he was ugly, I’d know for sure and bolt immediately. The guy wasn’t happy, calling me crazy. Asher messaged me saying he was heading up. I gritted my teeth, got dressed carefully, and headed out to the elevator. I went straight down to the eighteenth floor. In the elevator, I ran into my next-door neighbor. She was a single woman, beautiful with a melancholic air. “Are you my neighbor?” she asked, initiating the conversation. I answered warily. She was surprisingly friendly, pointing to my bracelet and saying they were identical. Mine was red; this was my zodiac year. It was quite a coincidence—we were the same age and had the same bracelet. But I wasn’t interested in chatting further. We parted ways on the eighteenth floor. As I stepped out, a wave of pungent odor almost made me gag. One apartment door was wide open, trash spilling into the hallway. Greasy liquids oozed and pooled, sticky and disgusting. I cautiously peered through the doorway. A short, overweight man in a hazmat suit was cleaning up the mess. I called out softly, and he turned around. His round face was obscured, a messy beard hiding most of his features. My heart sank immediately. I pulled out my phone. Running away, I typed furiously: [Let’s break up. We’re not a good fit.] 4 Asher blew up. He started a barrage of messages: [Why? I still have money, don’t leave me!] [Come out and meet me, I’m super handsome.] [Please, or I’ll kill you!] I rolled my eyes. I’d meant to tell him he was ugly, in a subtle way. But then I thought, a self-absorbed guy getting upset might actually retaliate. I replied: [You’re too amateur. A top assassin like you, and you didn’t even know I was tracking you.] My persona in the group was also a mysterious assassin. I usually read a lot of crime novels, and someone in my family was a lawyer. I often shared case analyses with them. They were quite impressed with me. Asher had actively added me, drawn by my mystique. He went silent. I ignored him, focusing on packing my bags. My head felt fuzzy, so I rested for a bit. Checking my phone again, the group chat had also exploded. [Forensics Fanatic 1: Please, ladylove, don’t leave Asher. I’m kneeling in the street!] [Forensics Fanatic 2: Please, ladylove, don’t leave Asher. I’m kneeling at home!] [Forensics Fanatic 3: Please, ladylove, don’t leave Asher. I’m kneeling in a restaurant!] Sixteen messages in total. Asher was the first to “kneel,” sending a photo of himself kneeling in a hallway. His legs were long and slender. The others also sent photos of themselves kneeling, in all sorts of places. My social anxiety was reaching critical levels. I asked Asher in the group how he’d been tormenting them. [Forensics Fanatic 8: No threats, absolutely sincere!] I was willing to bet Asher had threatened to kill them. Whenever they teased Asher in the group, he’d just send one message: [I’ll kill you.] The group would instantly fall silent. They were all law-abiding citizens, and Asher, the “small boss,” was just bullying them! My inner worker bee awakened. I challenged Asher: [If you’re so tough, come find me. If you can’t, we’re over!] It would take him at least half a day to go through the entire building, knocking on every door. Asher agreed. Rubbing my throbbing head, I suddenly realized that ugly, overweight man wasn’t him. And it didn’t matter anymore. Just then, the delivery guy called. He said he couldn’t get into our complex. “Go through the back entrance, by that broken iron gate!” He just replied that he couldn’t find it, and I couldn’t even complain about him since I couldn’t find him. I had to go down myself. I’d ordered seafood and spicy noodle soup. It was easy to attract stray cats and dogs. I didn’t want any trouble on my last day here. As I was getting into the elevator with my food, I ran into my neighbor again. 5 The beautiful neighbor had also gone to pick up food. She was carrying several dishes. I hadn’t expected someone so petite to have such a huge appetite. “You live alone too, don’t you? Want to share a meal?” she asked, smiling warmly. We’d seen each other a few times before. She was always receiving packages. She didn’t seem to go out much, and faint sounds often came from her apartment. She was probably a streamer or content creator. I almost agreed, ready to contribute traffic and money to her. I don’t have much resistance to attractive people. But I managed to restrain myself. When we parted, we exchanged names. She was called Evelyn Shaw. As soon as I got home, my phone started buzzing non-stop. Asher excitedly sent me several messages: [I found you!] It had only been about fifteen minutes since I challenged him to find me. Only a fool would believe he’d actually found me. He sounded wronged: [I got into the surveillance room. I can see everyone.] The surveillance room could only see the elevators and the ground floor. I really wanted to complain to building management; anyone could access the cameras? Curiously, I asked Asher which one he thought was me. He said: [A girl in her twenties, not too tall.] That was too vague; I could guess that too. Then he added: [You went downstairs to get takeout.] That wasn’t unusual; near noon, many people went down for takeout. The security here didn’t allow delivery drivers inside. And the back gate was a tight squeeze. I sent him a disgusted emoji. He immediately replied: [You’re the one with the red gemstone bracelet, right? You’re so cute.] My scalp instantly prickled. How did he pinpoint me so accurately among so many people? He said with a smile: [Being an assassin, you’ve got to have that kind of observational skill.] I freaked out, cautiously asking: [Baby, you still love me, right?]

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On a reality TV show, A popular young actress subtly hinted at countless romantic details with the “Crown Prince” of the city. The host asked about her relationship status, and she covered her mouth, smiling demurely. “My man prefers I keep quiet about it.” The entire audience gasped. Only I, an unknown actress, glanced at the marriage certificate with the “Crown Prince” in my bag, and muttered to myself, “Are there two Crown Princes now?” 1 It was my third year drifting in Hollywood, waiting for my career to die a slow death. My agent, unable to watch any longer, shoved me into a wildly popular pet reality show overnight. Both I and the trending actress, Brooke Sterling, were invited guests for this season. Our debut immediately garnered immense attention from netizens. Why? The glaring disparity in our pets. She had a championship-pedigree, double-coated Golden Retriever by her side, gleaming like gold. Beside me was an unknown mixed-breed mutt, all dusty grey. [Hahahahaha, I’m dying. Does anyone still own a mutt these days?] [Where I’m from, mutts are practically dinner.] [Truly, like owner, like dog. Brooke’s Golden Retriever is so handsome!] [No way, same hair color as the Crown Prince, hahahaha.] [Same hair color? What’s that about?] Seeing the comments flood the screen, the host feigned curiosity and asked about it: “Brooke, you posted on social media before the show. What’s this about ‘father and son’ matching hair colors?” Brooke giggled shyly. “It’s really nothing. Just someone insisting on dyeing his hair the same color as Little Gem.” The host knelt down and stroked the dog’s head. “I know this is Little Gem. So who’s ‘someone’?” She looked bashful: “Oh… I can’t say.” But even if Brooke didn’t say, the comments had already guessed. The production team even put up a huge screen showing a late-night post from Rhys Vance, the “Crown Prince” of New York’s elite. Rhys Vance V: [So bored, getting the wife a new husband.] The accompanying picture showed his platinum blonde hair. A notoriously difficult hair color, yet paired with Rhys Vance’s devastatingly handsome face, it didn’t look out of place at all. Instead, it added a touch of rebellious charm. The comments section instantly exploded. [OMG! What a handsome face!] [So much hotter than any celebrity idol. Is the Crown Prince not considering a career in entertainment?] [It really is Little Gem’s matching hair color!] [The Crown Prince is so totally in love! He even dyed his hair to match Little Gem!] [Hahahahaha, I can’t imagine how much the Crown Prince spoils Brooke in private!] The host playfully asked: “Is ‘someone’… Mr. Rhys Vance?” Before Brooke could answer, my dog barked excitedly, wagging its tail furiously. I soothingly patted its head. At the same time, my forehead creased with annoyance. It was all my fault for always calling him “Rhys Vance, Rhys Vance” at home, making the dog now go wild whenever it heard his name. [What kind of dog is that? Still barking?] [They’re on a show, can’t they train it better before bringing it out? I hate dogs that bark randomly!] [Why does this dog react to Rhys Vance’s name?] [Stella probably taught it. She’s definitely trying to cling to the Crown Prince’s fame.] [Ugh, seriously. Instead of improving her acting, she’s always pulling these cheap stunts!] The host also looked over: “What’s wrong with your dog?” “Nothing.” Actually, my dog had quieted down under my calming strokes, but the comments kept fixating on that random bark. Brooke laughed lightly: “Did your dog not go to training school when it was little? My Little Gem spent a few months in a training camp, and now his manners are excellent. He never barks or howls unnecessarily.” “Mine doesn’t bark randomly either,” I clarified, adding, “That was an accident.” “What kind of accident?” “…” I bit back the words, “The kind of accident where it thought its daddy arrived.” 2 Rhys Vance was the “Crown Prince” of New York society, as the netizens called him, and I was an unknown actress in Hollywood. Worlds apart. But we were childhood sweethearts and had already tied the knot. It was my idea to keep our marriage a secret. Mainly because I found Rhys embarrassing. Take the hair dyeing incident, for example. His initial reason for dyeing his hair was because my current celebrity crush had that hair color. He wouldn’t let me look at other men, so he dyed his hair the same color, constantly parading in front of me to compete for attention, even calling it “getting me a new husband.” Just thinking about his recent boundless energy gave me a headache. Even more headache-inducing was that such things had happened many times before. Ultimately, he’d always end up tormenting me in bed… With such a childish and jealous husband, I kept him hidden, terrified of anyone finding out. Who would have thought someone would be so eager to claim a connection to him? The production team started playing a short video. It was a segment we’d been asked to send before the show aired, featuring cute moments of our dogs at home, so the audience could quickly get to know and love them. My video had been handled by my agent. While everyone’s attention was focused on Brooke’s video, I quietly messaged my agent: [You didn’t expose Rhys, did you?] My agent gave me an “OK” sign: [Don’t worry.] Only then did I feel comfortable watching Brooke’s video. Undoubtedly, Little Gem was a very well-behaved and intelligent dog, but Brooke’s video was laden with too much subtle manipulation. The camera casually panned over a matching wristwatch left casually on a coffee table. Then over the dining table, where a matching designer plate, which Rhys had once posted on social media, was visible. Not to mention the throw pillows on the sofa, the double pillows on the bed, and finally, Little Gem retrieving a tie that matched Rhys’s in the video. It was all implied, all suggestive. The comments section was already swooning. [OMG! It’s all the Crown Prince’s stuff! Every item looks so familiar!] [Little Gem is rubbing against what looks like the Crown Prince’s suit pants, right?] [Aaaaaah, our Brooke is going to marry into royalty!] [They’re all common items, you can buy them if you have money. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the Crown Prince’s, right?] [Father and son matching hair colors, sweetie.] In the midst of the joyful atmosphere, the production team started playing the video of my dog. After only two seconds, I had a bad feeling. The video truly didn’t expose Rhys. In fact, many clips were ones I’d sent to my agent when I usually posted about my dog. But… it was too similar to Brooke’s video! Coal, my dog, wagged its head around the living room with a toy, and the camera panned over Rhys’s leather shoes. Coal bounced onto the sofa, running around, and the camera showed a painting on the wall that Rhys had once posted. Even when Coal was sleeping soundly in my arms, Rhys’s wrist, with his watch, was visible in the frame. His voice echoed at the very end of the video. “Good boy, don’t bother Mommy. Come to Daddy.” The video finished playing. The comments section was silent for a moment, then erupted in a barrage of ridicule. [I’m not saying anything, but Stella is really trying too hard to cling to fame, isn’t she?] [This is hilarious! Stella really thinks if she edits a video like this, we’ll believe she’s involved with the Crown Prince, right?] [Hahahahahaha, so absurd!] [If Brooke’s video hadn’t come first, maybe I would’ve actually believed it.] [Just quietly saying, that male voice at the end sounds pretty similar…] [Yes! Only you!] [Some people are such killjoys, can’t stand to see anyone else doing well, huh?] [Stella’s fans, stop struggling. You’ll be quiet once the Crown Prince publicly shuts you down.] Brooke chuckled amidst the ridicule: “Stella’s video is quite interesting.” I frowned slightly: “What do you mean?” “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she said innocently. “You just want everyone to misunderstand that you’re involved with Mr. Vance, right?” I never imagined she would accuse me first! She was the one clinging to fame! She was the one playing games, and here I was, keeping things hidden, and I became the one being pretentious! Blood rushed to my head. I didn’t care about anything else. Didn’t care about our secret marriage, didn’t care about Rhys being embarrassing… I looked directly at her: “Isn’t your video the one implying that?” “But I’m already with Mr. Vance…” She paused slightly, then lowered her head bashfully. “My relationship with him, I don’t think I need to explain it to you, do I?” I took a deep breath, maintaining my composure as I said to her: “I think you should explain, considering I’m Rhys Vance’s wife in the eyes of the law.” The comments section instantly exploded! 3 The atmosphere in the live stream reached its peak. [OMG! Did I just hear that wrong? What did Stella say she was to Rhys Vance?] [Wife?? Wife!!] [I don’t believe it. If she really was his wife, why didn’t Stella say anything before?] [This woman really just says whatever she wants!] [But her expression doesn’t look like she’s lying…] [Use your brain, there’s no way! The top elite of New York society, how could he marry an unknown actress?] [Brooke is also an actress!] [Our Brooke is gentle, generous, cute, and kind. Who wouldn’t want to marry her?] Amidst the chaotic comments, Brooke let out a light laugh. “Lying comes with a price, you know.” I calmly looked at her: “That warning applies to you too.” She smiled: “You say you’re Mr. Rhys’s wife. Do you have proof?” Suddenly, all eyes in the room were on me. I calmly pulled out my phone and went to my photo album. But it was my own fault for being too cautious; there wasn’t a single photo of Rhys and me in my regular album. I could only open my hidden album. It was full of photos of Rhys and me. Some were even risqué, taken in moments of passion, the kind that would get the live stream shut down… My face flushed slightly. I found a few intimate photos that weren’t too explicit but clearly proved our relationship, and handed them over to the production team to display. The moment the photos appeared on the big screen, the comments section erupted again. [OMG! It really is Stella! And it’s really Rhys Vance!] [Stella, you eat well, girl!] [If Stella really is the Crown Prince’s wife, then was Brooke lying all this time?] [And the “Crown Prince’s matching hair color,” don’t make me laugh!] [The “clinger” always says others are clinging to fame.] [Side note… Rhys looks so satisfied in these photos. Did something happen when they were taken?] [Maybe it’s photoshopped? Photoshop is so advanced these days, they can even make videos!] [Stella looks like a Rhys Vance fangirl, so creepy!] [Same goes for Brooke’s fans!] [Don’t judge without knowing the full story. I unconditionally believe Brooke.] Brooke calmly pulled out her phone amidst the dispute. She lowered her head, typed something, then looked up at me, a hint of challenge in her eyes: “But… I have photos like this too.”

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Until traces of my girlfriend’s brother’s fingerprints were found on my sister’s body. Stella and I completely lost it. I broke her brother, destroying his life bit by bit; She, on the day of my sister’s funeral, rented out every billboard in the city center, broadcasting my sister’s most intimate secrets. We saw red, consumed by a hatred so furious, so incandescent. The warmth we once shared transformed into the sharpest blades, tearing at each other until we bled profusely. Eventually, the military stepped in, sending one of us to a distant post and keeping the other stateside. When we met again, Stella was a decorated Major General, renowned for her valor. And I was terminally ill, with less than three months left to live. … After picking up my medication from the hospital, I returned to the flower shop I owned, directly across from the military base. The moment I stepped inside, the electronic screen opposite was broadcasting news of Stella’s return to the capital. The former “Rose of the Northern Command,” now the youngest female Major General in the Army, was back from her overseas deployment. Naturally, it was a major story, eagerly covered by all media outlets. I averted my gaze and placed the freshly delivered white daisies before my sister’s framed portrait. The door suddenly burst open, and a young man in military uniform rushed in, clutching a large bouquet of dazzling red roses. He looked fresh-faced, but his voice was crisp and clear. Pointing to the imported ‘Snow Mountain’ roses in the refrigerated display, he declared, “These, I want all of them!” Trailing behind him was Stella’s adjutant, Captain Sarah Chen. Seeing me, her steps halted abruptly, her expression becoming extremely awkward: “Liam, maybe we should try another shop?” The young man immediately refused: “No way!” “I sent Stella a preserved flower box from this shop before, and she said it was very special. Tonight is her promotion ceremony, and I absolutely have to make it grand.” He blinked his clear eyes at me: “Sir, my fiancée just got promoted to Major General, and she absolutely loves the flowers from your shop. Could I borrow your space to hold a small celebration for her?” I couldn’t refuse, only nodding. “Sir, could you add more Eustomas?” he softly added. I acknowledged him, my hands trembling as I arranged the bouquet. It wasn’t fear, nor nostalgia. It was my illness, flaring up again. The kind that had no cure. “Sarah, quickly help me! Stella will be here any minute, and I want her to be happy.” Sarah stood rooted to the spot. She knew better than anyone that Stella was never happy to see me. In the news footage, Stella smiled appropriately for the camera, but there was no warmth in her eyes. “He must be watching the news too, right?” The camera zoomed in, making the scar above her eyebrow particularly clear. “I’m really looking forward to… this reunion.” That was a mark I’d left with my combat knife. No particular reason, just a bad mood, and I lashed out at her. And the hideous bullet hole below my collarbone was a gift from her, a deliberate raising of her aim during target practice. No reason for that either. We always believed in an eye for an eye, relishing the sight of each other bleeding, half-dead. On TV, the reporter chuckled and pressed on: “Major General Shen, will you be stationed in the capital long-term after this return? And seeing you with roses, are you going to meet someone important?” She paused briefly, her voice low: “My fiancé.” The young man in the shop was meticulously adjusting the placement of the roses and lilies. He looked back at the screen, hearing her words. “Sarah, I heard Stella had a first love in the capital she was entangled with for many years. Do you know about that?” I lowered my head, trimming flower stems. In my peripheral vision, Sarah’s gaze fell upon me. “Stella!” The young man’s light cry broke the stagnant air in the flower shop. He exuberantly ran out, even forgetting his jacket. “Liam.” Outside the door, Stella smiled and stroked his head, draping her military jacket over his shoulders. The boy lowered his head and pressed a rain-kissed kiss on her forehead. Stella seemed to subtly tilt her head, avoiding it slightly. Our gazes, separated by the misted glass window, abruptly met. The young man was about to turn around but was pulled into a deep kiss by her. I averted my eyes, snipping the last ribbon in my hand. Sarah had already walked up to me. She hesitated for a moment, lowering her voice: “Julian, please… she’s being honored today. At least today, don’t embarrass her.” She paused, then added: “This boy just turned twenty. He’s a new recruit, a sniper. His smile… reminds me a little of you when you were young.” I nodded, my fingertips numb with cold. “He’s quite similar. He’s more cheerful than I ever was.” The door was pushed open again, and Stella walked in, holding a folded black long-handled umbrella. “Talking about my fiancé?” Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes were like frozen blades, fixed on me. Sarah held her breath, staring at me. She was waiting, waiting to see if I would lose control like before. But I merely handed over the prepared bouquet: “Your custom-made ‘Wish’ bouquet, please check it.” Liam propped his chin in his hands, gazing at Stella with adoration: “Stella, smell it. Isn’t it your favorite champagne rose?” Stella’s fingertips brushed over the petals, her thumb stroking the ribbon, as she leaned in to sniff gently. “Too fragrant, cloyingly sweet. Not really my style.” Her voice rose at the end, her eyes curving as she teased Liam. Liam suspiciously lowered his head and sniffed: “It’s clearly very elegant! You’re just teasing me again!” He didn’t see that the moment he lowered his head, Stella’s gaze remained fixed on me. The next second, the flower shop’s glass door was violently pushed open. “Major General Shen! Congratulations on your promotion!” Several officers in dress uniforms rushed in, smiling, but their smiles froze the moment they saw me. Their gazes followed me, wary and scrutinizing, all turning to Sarah Chen. I carried the prepared tea cups over, and the officers all simultaneously took half a step back—as if they feared I was carrying explosives. In those years, Stella and I had brutalized each other during drills, and I’d certainly “taken care” of them too. But those were just regular confrontations. I hadn’t expected them to have such profound muscle memory. Someone subtly nudged Sarah’s elbow, lowering their voice: “Captain Chen, what’s going on here?” Sarah shrugged, not answering. “Please, have some tea.” I turned to leave. But Liam grabbed my wrist: “Sir, can you take a photo for us?” “No.” I gently brushed his hand away, refusing without hesitation. I had barely turned halfway when a shadow fell over me. I looked up to see a cold-faced Stella, her expression indifferent: “I know, you run a business, everything’s conditional. Name your price. How much will it cost to buy you…” She paused, her tone nasty, as if waiting for my rebuttal. Seeing no reaction from me, she coldly finished her sentence: “…buy you to take our photo.” I looked her up and down, said nothing, and tried to walk around her. The old scar on my forearm was suddenly pressed hard, and I stumbled, falling to my knees. A black card slapped against my face, its edge leaving a bloody scratch. “The money on this card is enough to buy your life.” I forced myself to stand, my eyes fixed on Stella. Liam, smiling, stepped between us, trying to smooth things over: “Stella, don’t be like that…” “I’m sorry, sir. My fiancée must be tired after her drill.” But her epaulets were perfectly aligned, her breathing steady. She was simply looking for trouble with me, just as she had for over a decade. This time, I truly believed that she had been utterly free-spirited these past few years overseas, completely forgetting what kind of person I was—one who always demanded an eye for an eye. I crouched down, picked up the black card, and stood firm before Stella. Those around us let out a scoff. “Major General Shen, this person really hasn’t changed a bit. Stops dead in his tracks at the sight of money!” She confidently offered her phone, seemingly pleased with my sudden “compliance.” I wrapped a rose stem around the black card, then gripped her wrist, pressing it hard into her palm. Until I smelled blood, then I stopped. I casually picked up two cups of tea from the table and splashed them onto her face. “Your mouth stinks. I don’t mind helping you wash it.” As I raised my hand, I also slapped the person who had just spoken: “You pathetic cur, if you can’t use your mouth right, shut it!” It all happened too fast; no one reacted. Only the sound of rain hitting the glass remained. Sarah leaned against the corner, tilting her head back to gulp down a large cup of tea, sighing, “Why did you provoke him?” Liam snapped back to reality, craning his neck to argue with me: “Sir! We were in the wrong first, but what you’re doing is too much!” His face flushed with anger, and he raised his hand as if to strike. “Ah!” The moment he made a move, I grabbed his wrist and swiftly delivered a backhanded slap. Only Liam’s cries of pain echoed in the confined space. Stella wiped the water from her face, her smile chillingly cold, “Hitting me is one thing, but touching my fiancé is where you crossed the line.” She shielded Liam, who was covering his face, behind her: “Shall I have this shop smashed to vent your anger?” Liam bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes, and nodded. Several military personnel instantly flooded in from outside. Flower stands toppled, glass shattered, crystal vases exploded. Cold rain mixed with wind poured in, drenching my white shirt. Stella grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up. “You’re not wrong, but I have to give him an explanation. Think about what compensation you want, write it down, and send it over. I’ll accept it all.” Her gaze was heavy, like she was scrutinizing a prisoner of war. I shook her off, then suddenly coughed, frantically searching through the wreckage. A small pill bottle rolled out, and my eyes lit up. She bent down faster than me, picked up the rolling pill bottle, and stared at it intently. “Six painkiller pills at once? You really have no fear of death.” With that, she casually tossed it into a puddle, then took Liam’s hand and turned to leave. And I knelt by the puddle, retrieving the pill bottle, and swallowed two more. Besides pain relief, this medicine also had a sedative effect. From half a pill initially, to now, eight pills couldn’t suppress it. The medicine was almost gone, and my life was nearly at its end. In three years, my parents had passed away. My illness kept relapsing and never improved, so I retired from the military, using all my savings to buy this flower shop. Now it was destroyed, and I didn’t know where to go next. Perhaps the pain once again swept through my limbs and bones; I no longer had the strength to even move. So I simply sat amidst the chaos, letting the night rain drench me. Overnight, news spread through the military compound: “Major General Shen smashed her ex-lover’s flower shop for her new flame.” As the morning light dawned, I prepared to leave. Before I did, facing the widespread wreckage, I slowly bowed three times. Stella appeared behind me without me noticing, pulling me around abruptly. “Just a broken flower shop. Is it worth all this?” I pulled free from her hand, stood steady, then raised my hand and delivered three sharp slaps across her face. “My parents’ military honors were kept in the shop. They’re gone now.” My voice was calm. She curled her red lips into a sneer. “Is that so? Three slaps for your parents’ medals of valor. That sounds like a good deal for me.” I ignored her, simply staring at the wreckage. She was behind me, saying things designed to wound me. “Julian, I’m talking to you.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard, walking straight out. She caught up in a few strides, blocking my path. “Don’t pretend to be calm with me! Look at yourself now. Your face is as white as paper. What are you trying to prove?” “Just an old injury flaring up, looking a bit tired, that’s all.” I looked up, forcing a cold smile. “Stella, do you really think you’re something that can affect me?” But I knew perfectly well. Her return this time was specifically to make trouble for me. If my body were still as strong as before, I wouldn’t mind tangling with her again, letting her taste a bullet through the chest. But now, just standing already drained all my strength. In the military hospital, the smell of disinfectant was overpoweringly acrid. Several military doctors exchanged worried glances over my test results, their expressions grim. “How much of that special medicine I prescribed you last time do you have left?” “It’s all gone.” “All gone?!” Dr. Lee’s voice shot up. “That was a quarter’s supply! It’s only been a week!” Dr. Lee had been in charge of my injuries for a long time. His hesitant demeanor instantly made me realize my time was probably truly limited. “Do you… have anyone else in your family?” she asked tentatively. “Old Lee, have you forgotten?” My voice was calm. “My dad died in the line of duty, my mom is gone, my sister…” “Anyway, I’m just a useless life.” He took off his glasses, rubbing his temples forcefully. “It was quite stable for the past three years, wasn’t it? How did it get this bad in just one week…” I looked at the news automatically pushed to my phone screen. A photo of Stella, arm in arm with Liam, attending her promotion ceremony, stood out. The person I thought I no longer cared about could still wound me the deepest. Stella was the most accurate bullet in my life, killing without spilling blood. “Your condition is very grim. After stopping medication, seven days, one month, three months… all are critical periods.” “Take this bottle of medicine,” he handed me a small pill bottle. “Take three pills when it hurts. Remember, no more than three…” He didn’t finish his sentence. I had already twisted open the cap, poured a handful into my mouth, and dry-swallowed them. The number didn’t matter, as long as it suppressed this bone-gnawing pain. Seven days or three months, to me, made no difference. After taking the medicine, I squatted in a corner of the hospital corridor, my back pressed against the cold tiles. This was a method I’d figured out myself: freezing myself to hypothermia could also alleviate the pain. Cold sweat drenched my clothes. For ten minutes, I listened to the prayers and cries from outside the operating room next door. Those most fervent wishes, all hinged on the razor’s edge of life and death. “Mommy, isn’t that the big brother who was in the bed next to ours? Should we go say goodbye to him?” “His illness… it won’t get better. Let’s not disturb him. Oh, what a poor child. Both his parents died in service, and he’s so severely injured himself. I’m afraid in the end… there won’t even be anyone to claim his body.” The little girl looked up innocently: “But there must be someone in this world who cares about Big Brother, right?” I blinked hard, my blurry eyes focusing on my phone screen. It was a text from Stella.

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