As the Fairchild heiress, I’ve always despised the color pink. So when I returned home after three years of studying abroad, the sight that greeted me was jarring. The walls and carpets of my fiancé’s townhouse were drowning in an offensive shade of flamingo pink. Even our Russian Blue, Sterling, had a ridiculous pink bow tied around his neck. Confused, I called Nicholas. He casually explained that his sister had complained the decor was dated, so he’d had it redone last month. After hanging up, I scrolled through his sister’s Instagram. Her latest story screamed, “OMG, who even likes pink? It’s so tacky.” The lie was so clumsy, so blatant. My heart sank. My instincts screamed that Nicholas had betrayed me, but I clung to a sliver of hope that it was all a misunderstanding. That hope was obliterated when I went to the bridal boutique to pick up my million-dollar couture gown. The truth was stark, undeniable, and wearing my dress—the scholarship student Nicholas sponsored. When I confronted her, she called me the other woman and sneered that I was a desperate old hag who couldn’t keep a man. Nicholas arrived moments later, not to defend me, but to placate her. He told me to be the bigger person, that she “didn’t know any better.” As a Fairchild, I have never lacked grace. If she could have the million-dollar gown, she could have the engagement that came with it. He seemed to forget that a Fairchild engagement isn’t a hand-me-down that just anyone can claim. … 1 “Where did this trash come from? Who told you you could touch my dress!” With my wedding just around the corner, I’d come to the boutique to see my custom-made gown. I never expected that the moment I touched it, I’d be met with the sting of a slap across my face. The dress was ripped from my hands, the tiny, sharp diamonds embedded in the lace scraping against my knuckles, sending a jolt of pain up my arm. I frowned, my cheek burning. “Who are you? This is my wedding dress!” Another slap. “You bitch! You’ve ruined my dress! You’ll pay for this! Do you have any idea how expensive this is? You couldn’t afford it if you sold your entire pathetic life!” I was utterly dumbfounded. Just then, the boutique manager rushed over, bowing and scraping to the woman. “Miss Rhodes, my deepest apologies! A new employee didn’t recognize your gown and brought it out for someone else!” This “Miss Rhodes” was now sobbing into her phone, wailing “Hubby, hubby” as she tattled. “Hubby, some broke woman got her filthy hands all over my dress, what do I do?” “Hubby, this was the dress you had made just for me!” The call was on speaker, and a voice I knew all too well drifted from the phone. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. We’ll just have them remake the damaged part. Don’t ruin your pretty little face over it.” That voice… it was my fiancé, Nicholas Rhodes. I’d heard whispers that Nicholas had found someone else while I was away. I’d asked him about it, more than once, and he’d always denied it. I’d even asked his parents, and they’d dismissed it as baseless gossip, rumors started by wannabe starlets looking for a benefactor. The Fairchild and Rhodes families had arranged this union years ago. We were just waiting for my return to finalize it. My mother had even commissioned a world-renowned designer to create my gown. But the dress in front of me, the one this woman was claiming, was not my size. The moment I’d held it, I knew the dimensions were all wrong. I was in the middle of questioning the staff when this woman had attacked me. She was still crying hysterically. The manager was sweating profusely, and the poor salesgirl who brought me the dress was apologizing over and over. Fearing the wrath of “Miss Rhodes,” the manager grabbed me by the arm and gave me a sharp kick to the back of my leg. I was already unsteady in my heels. The kick sent me sprawling, and I crumpled to the floor in a heap of designer fabric and shame. “Who is this tramp? How dare you touch the dress belonging to Mr. Rhodes’ fiancée! Get on your knees and apologize, now!” “Shut your mouth,” I sneered, my voice cold. “The Fairchild-Rhodes engagement was national news. This woman is no Fairchild.” The woman, enraged, stomped forward and ground her heel into my leg. “The Fairchild heiress? That old hag could never deserve my brother! He raised me himself, and he promised he would marry me!” An old injury in my leg flared with white-hot pain. I shoved her hard, sending her tumbling to the floor, where she immediately started wailing again. Annoyed, I pulled out my phone and called Nicholas directly. He picked up quickly, but his tone was clipped and impatient. “Victoria, I’m busy. A huge project just came up at the office. You said you were going to the boutique yourself, why are you calling me?” “Nicholas, you get your ass down to this boutique right now. Why is this stray you’ve picked up daring to touch my wedding dress?!” There was a stunned silence. “What stray? Who have you been listening to now? I know you’re upset I couldn’t come with you, but this is not the time for a tantrum.” “I’m busy. I’m hanging up.” And just like that, he did. My fists clenched. Fine. If he was going to be this dismissive, then I had no interest in a tainted dress. But he owed me an explanation. I struggled to my feet, my heart aching for the beautiful gown my mother had so lovingly commissioned. Since it had been defiled, I wouldn’t have it. I walked over to where it lay on the floor, picked up a corner of the delicate tulle skirt, and with a satisfying shriek of tearing silk and lace, I ripped the hem clean off. The woman’s eyes turned red with fury. She launched herself at me. “My dress! You bitch, I’ll kill you! Do you know who my husband is? He’s the heir to the Rhodes Corporation!” “I’m calling the police! I’m calling the police!” I just scoffed and dialed 911 myself. Given the gown’s seven-figure price tag, this was a major incident. The police arrived quickly. It was from them that I learned the woman’s real name wasn’t Rhodes. It was Jenna Mills, a scholarship student the Rhodes family had sponsored through college. After graduation, she’d been working as Nicholas’s personal assistant. Everyone in their circle knew the real nature of their relationship. But with my impending return, Nicholas had started introducing her as his “adopted little sister,” which is why everyone called her Miss Rhodes. “Officer, a month ago my husband told me he ordered a custom wedding gown for me from this boutique,” Jenna sobbed to the police. “It’s been tailored to my measurements for weeks! He’s already paid the deposit! And today this crazy woman just came in and destroyed it! You have to arrest her!” The boutique manager quickly corroborated her story. “It’s true, this young lady is Mr. Rhodes’ girlfriend. He brings her in all the time. The dress has been in alterations for her for quite a while. This whole thing is a terrible misunderstanding, but the damage has nothing to do with our store! It was all her!” he said, pointing at me. An officer approached me. “Miss, you claim this gown belongs to you. Do you have any proof?” “Of course I do. This boutique is the flagship store of a world-renowned designer. This gown was his personal creation for me. To prevent counterfeiting, there’s a microchip embedded in the seam. It can be scanned to verify the owner’s identity. And the bracelet I’m wearing is the scanner.” I handed my bracelet to the officer. He found the chip easily. The scan brought up my complete profile. “Miss Mills, or should I say, Miss Rhodes,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “As you can see, this dress has a name. And that name is Fairchild. It is the private property of Victoria Fairchild.” “This gown is valued at 9.6 million dollars. You have altered it beyond recognition. You will be responsible for the full cost of the damages.” Jenna stared, dumbfounded. She’d had the dress for weeks and never noticed the chip. The manager’s face went pale, and he started frantically wiping sweat from his brow. But Jenna wasn’t ready to give up. “It’s fake! That’s fake! She’s trying to steal my dress! She must have come in here earlier and planted that chip! Otherwise, how come none of the tailors found it, but she knew exactly where it was? It’s a setup!” The manager, terrified of being implicated, quickly jumped to her defense. “Yes, that must be it! The Fairchild heiress has been abroad for years, with no word of her return. But Miss Rhodes has been here with Mr. Rhodes several times! Officer, we have security footage! It will prove that Mr. Rhodes and Miss Rhodes are a couple and that they came to see this very dress!” He eagerly offered up the CCTV recordings. I almost laughed at their stupidity. I wanted them to check the footage to prove I hadn’t tampered with anything. But the manager, in a stroke of genius, claimed that day’s camera feed was malfunctioning. Due to the high value of the item in question, we were all taken to the police station. My parents were overseas, so I called our butler to come get me. Jenna, of course, called Nicholas. But Nicholas, the coward, didn’t show his face. He sent his executive assistant, Megan, instead. Megan bowed deeply the moment she saw me. “Miss Fairchild, I am so sorry for what you’ve been through.” “Where is Nicholas?” “The president is in a critical meeting, Miss. The company has several major projects launching, and he simply couldn’t get away. He sent me to pick up Miss Mills.” I let out a cold laugh. “And you think she’s going anywhere?” Megan quickly dialed Nicholas’s number and handed me the phone. “Miss Fairchild, the president would like to speak with you.” I wanted to hear what he had to say for himself, so I took it and put it on speaker. The first words out of his mouth were drenched in condescension. “Victoria, can you stop making a scene?” “Jenna is a scholarship student our family sponsored. If word gets out that a massive corporation like ours is bullying a poor girl from an underprivileged background, how do you think that will look?” “You are about to marry into our family. Shouldn’t you be putting our family’s interests first? Come home. It’s just a dress. This is ridiculous.” “These years abroad have made you completely uncontrollable. You’re going to have to learn to control that temper once you’re married.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. I had truly been blind to this side of him. “Nicholas, do you have any idea what you’re saying?!” My sharp tone seemed to startle him into silence. If he had half a brain, he’d remember that between the two of us, I was the one who held the real power. But years of playing CEO had clearly rotted his mind. “Victoria, is that any way to speak to the man of the house? Where are your manners? It seems I’ll have to teach you a few things before the wedding.” “And don’t bother calling your butler. I’ve already had my people send him away.” My eyes widened. I couldn’t believe his audacity. The next thing I knew, Megan was escorting us out. I was driven not to my home, but to a secluded villa in the suburbs. There, I finally saw Nicholas. “Nicholas, what do you think you’re doing? This is illegal confinement. This is kidnapping. Have you thought about what you’ll tell my parents?” In just a few short years, he was no longer the timid boy who used to follow me around, begging for resources. He now radiated the smug aura of a man in power. With a slight wave of his hand, Jenna would nestle into his arms, a pretty little toy in his palm. He scoffed at my words. “What is there to explain? You’ll be part of our family soon enough. Our families have collaborated on so many projects over the years. Do you really think your parents would risk billions in joint ventures over their spoiled daughter?” “Jenna might be from a poor background, but she’s taken care of me in your absence. She’s naive and inexperienced. Can’t you just be the bigger person and let this go?” “Nicholas, you are despicable! Who gave you the nerve to say such disgusting things?!” I screamed, cutting him off. He frowned dismissively, and his men immediately forced me to my knees. “It seems your time in exile didn’t teach you any manners.” “Jenna,” he said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Let her have a taste of what she gave you.” [To see how Victoria turns the tables and unleashes the full might of the Fairchild family on Nicholas, unlock the next chapter.] Jenna smiled as she walked toward me and slapped me hard across the face. “If I ruin that pretty face of yours, you won’t be worthy of standing next to my brother, will you?” With that, she ordered his men to slap me one hundred times. Blood trickled from my ears and mouth, and my head was ringing. Still not satisfied, Jenna ordered them to strip me. I fought with all my might, but they broke two of my fingers and tore off several of my fingernails. Nicholas had brought a small army of bodyguards. I was powerless. The feeling of their invasive eyes on me was the ultimate humiliation. “Victoria, you have a few days to reflect on your behavior,” Nicholas said, his voice cold. “I’ll be back in a week. I hope by then you’ll have learned how to please a man.” Then he left me there. I tried to escape, to make it back to the city, but the sound of howling wolves in the night sent me scrambling back to the villa. There was no food, no water. After three days, I collapsed on the living room floor, exhausted. I stared at my twisted fingers, my battered body, and gritted my teeth. Then, the villa’s main door was kicked open. My butler, Arthur, rushed in with a team of our own security. When I woke up again, I was in a private room in my family’s hospital. Arthur was sitting by my bed. He was overjoyed to see me awake. “Miss, you’re finally awake! You had me so worried. If anything had happened to you, I don’t know how I would have explained it to your parents!” “My parents?” My throat felt like it had been shredded. Every word tasted of blood. “They’re on a flight back now. They’ll be here soon.” “Good. Send a message to the Rhodes family. Tell them that if Nicholas is still able to stand by tomorrow, their family will cease to exist.”

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On move-in day at my new university, I was buzzing with excitement. I had hauled a bunch of homemade baked goods all the way from my hometown, totally ready to win over my new roommates. But the moment I finished my awkward little introduction, the vibe shifted. Before I could even unpack, these three guys literally shoved me back out into the hallway, their faces twisted in pure disgust. They made it aggressively clear they were not sharing a room with me. The situation escalated straight to the Resident Director. Mr. Harrison looked completely stressed out by the whole ordeal, but he scrambled to find me an empty bed in another freshman dorm. Except, history repeated itself. I had barely dragged my suitcase to the new door when the guys inside blocked the entrance. They did not just refuse to let me in. They flat out declared they would rather drop out of college than breathe the same air as me. I was losing my mind trying to figure out why. Had someone been spreading rumors about me? But I had literally never crossed anyone in my life. I scoured the freshman Discord servers, the campus subreddit, and the anonymous confession pages. There was absolutely zero mention of my name. I tried chatting up other guys in my classes. At first, they would talk to me normally. But the second I casually mentioned needing a roommate, their expressions would freeze, and they would immediately find an excuse to walk away. And the worst part? Not a single person was willing to look me in the eye and tell me what I was doing wrong. 1 “Mr. Harrison, we absolutely refuse to live with him.” “Yeah, if you force us to take him, I’m literally packing my bags right now.” “Guys, come on…” Mr. Harrison sighed, realizing his attempts to mediate were completely useless. He shot me a helpless look. “Look, guys, I’m really sorry to ask, but could you just tell me why?” I reached out, gently grabbing one of the guy’s sleeves in pure desperation. “I’m super chill, I swear. I stayed in dorms during high school. I am not the type to cause drama.” He just glared at me and violently shook off my hand. “There is no ‘why.’ We just aren’t rooming with you. End of story.” I stared at my heavy suitcase, feeling a wave of exhaustion crash over me. I leaned against the doorframe, fighting back tears. I had always been a quiet, introverted guy. I did not have a massive friend group, but I never made enemies either. I just could not understand why arriving in a brand new city, at a brand new school, surrounded by total strangers, felt like a punishment. Everyone was treating me like I was radioactive. “I am so sorry, Arthur. I just can’t find a single room willing to take you right now,” Mr. Harrison said softly, giving my shoulder a sympathetic pat. “We don’t have any single dorms available. How about you stay at a cheap motel off campus for a few days? I will keep trying to shuffle some room assignments.” He offered a weak smile. “Don’t stress too much. People probably just got the wrong idea about you. Once they get to know you, it’ll all blow over.” That sparked a thought. Did someone say something about me? Mr. Harrison’s words triggered a frantic search. I pulled out my phone and scrolled endlessly through every class group chat, the campus forums, and social media pages. I scrolled until my thumb cramped. Nothing. Not a single post about me. Besides, I was the only kid from my small town high school to get accepted here. There was literally nobody on this campus who even knew my past. While I was sitting in an empty lecture hall, totally lost in my own head, someone called my name. “Arthur! No way, we have the same class?” I looked up and recognized Noah. He was the very first person I met on campus. On my way to orientation, he had suffered a severe blood sugar drop and nearly passed out on the sidewalk. I was the one who caught him, ran to a vending machine, and shoved a sports drink and a granola bar into his hands. I had to rush off to move my stuff before we could even swap numbers, so seeing him here felt like a miracle. “Noah! Man, does your room have an empty bed? Can I please be your roommate?” I grabbed his arm, clinging to him like he was a life raft. 2 I had literally just saved the guy from a medical emergency. He knew I was a decent person. Even if there were some insane rumors floating around, he wouldn’t believe them. Mr. Harrison and I had practically knocked on every door in the building except for one. I had been too heartbroken to try the last room on the list. I never expected Noah to be living in that exact room. I held my breath, waiting for him to nod and save me from this nightmare. Instead, the color completely drained from Noah’s face the second the word “roommate” left my mouth. “No. We’re full.” His friendly smile vanished, replaced by a look of absolute terror. He stepped back, putting distance between us. “My roommates would never agree to it anyway.” “Noah, why? Why does everyone hate the idea of living with me?” My voice cracked. I gripped his jacket, completely breaking down. I did not even care about moving into his room anymore. I just wanted the truth. “You know I’m a good guy. Just tell me what’s wrong with me, and I’ll fix it.” He yanked himself out of my grip, his eyes darting around nervously. “There’s no reason. We just don’t want you there.” Feeling entirely hopeless, I took to an anonymous college advice forum. I poured my heart out. We are all freshmen, we are all strangers, so why am I the only one being treated like a monster? The internet was quick to offer theories. One comment caught my eye. “Did someone start a rumor that you have a severe contagious disease?” A chill ran down my spine. It made horrible sense. Lately, there had been some privacy controversies on campus regarding students with severe bloodborne viruses. To protect their identities, the school never released names. Did someone point the finger at me? I did not waste a single second. I booked an appointment at the local hospital and requested a full panel. I tested for every communicable disease under the sun. The agonizing wait took days, but the results finally hit my inbox. Everything was negative. I was perfectly healthy. I was so relieved that I literally projected my medical records onto the smartboard before a lecture started. Just to prove I hadn’t photoshopped anything, I logged into the hospital portal live in front of thirty people and pulled up the official documents. I thought the nightmare was over. The misunderstanding was cleared up. But when I asked around the room afterward, people just looked at the floor. Still, nobody would take me in. I posted the update online, begging for more advice. “Maybe they think you’re psychologically unstable? Like, an actual psycho?” another user suggested. Back to the hospital I went. I sat through hours of rigorous psychiatric evaluations. The results were crystal clear. My mental health was perfectly stable. No disorders, no red flags. I showed these papers to everyone. I even had my childhood friends record video testimonials swearing I was the most normal, harmless guy on the planet. It didn’t change a thing. The mere mention of me moving in made guys threaten to pack their bags and leave the state. At this point, the internet turned on me. Since neither health nor sanity was the issue, the anonymous crowd decided I was the villain. The comments shifted from helpful to brutal. “Bro is definitely leaving out the part where he’s a total creep.” “You don’t get universally hated for zero reason. You’re definitely hiding something messed up.” “Engagement bait. Block this clown.” My inbox flooded with death threats and vile insults. Completely defeated, I deleted the post and locked my phone. ‘3 The bizarre legend of my rejection bled into other majors. People who didn’t even know me started whispering when I walked through the quad. Some claimed I had committed an unforgivable crime in my hometown. Others swore I was a walking biohazard. Every time I stepped into an academic building, I could feel the heavy, judgmental stares burning into my back. I had been living in a cheap motel for half a month, and the daily rates were bleeding my bank account dry. With zero options left, I had to do the one thing I dreaded most. I had to ask my parents for more money. But when I FaceTimed them, I saw them sitting on the dusty tailgate of a rusted pickup truck at their construction site, eating cold, dry sandwiches. The words died in my throat. My parents had me late in life. Terrified that they wouldn’t be able to provide enough, they decided I would be their only child. We were never rich, but they worked their fingers to the bone to give me everything. They did not have fancy degrees and couldn’t pull strings to help me in the real world, but their love was the only thing keeping me sane. “Arthur, honey, how are the dorms? Are you getting along with the boys?” my mom asked, wiping dust off her cheek. “We know you’re a bit quiet, but try to put yourself out there. Order a pizza for the room,” my dad chimed in. “Making a few solid buddies will make the workload way easier.” My mom squinted at the screen. “Are you eating enough, sweetie? You look so skinny, and it’s only been a few weeks.” Hearing the pure, unconditional love in her voice against the backdrop of my living nightmare almost broke me. Tears pricked my eyes. I made up an excuse about being late for a study group and hung up fast. Even though I didn’t ask, a notification popped up a minute later. Mom had transferred a hundred bucks with a note telling me to buy something nice for dinner. I had to get out of that motel. I begged Mr. Harrison to look outside our major. Anywhere. Any building. Finally, his relentless emailing paid off. He found a single open bed. “It’s a suite full of seniors from the engineering program,” Mr. Harrison explained, looking visibly relieved. “Most of them are off doing internships, so the place is pretty quiet. Both their RD and I talked to them. They know your situation, and they actually agreed to let you move in.” I literally cried. I thanked him over and over. Finally, someone was willing to treat me like a human being. I packed my bags with a massive smile on my face, moved into the suite, and spent three hours deep cleaning the entire place. I scrubbed the floors and wiped down the counters, hoping to give my older roommates a great impression whenever they returned. I didn’t have to wait long. I had only enjoyed two peaceful nights of normal college life when I got a text saying one of the seniors was coming back from his internship. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next day, I was a nervous wreck, terrified he would take one look at me and demand I leave. But my fears were completely unfounded. Chris, the senior, was incredibly chill. He walked in, tossed his duffel bag on the couch, and handed me a box of fancy donuts he brought from the city. When he saw the spotless kitchen, he acted like he had won the lottery, calling me the greatest freshman to ever exist. For the first time since stepping foot on this campus, I felt the warmth of actual friendship. Chris and I clicked. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place. Until Thursday. I had just finished my afternoon lab. I bought a huge pizza and a massive watermelon, excited to crush some video games with Chris like we planned. But when I turned the corner to our suite, the hallway was completely packed. Chris was standing there with his arms crossed. Next to him were Mr. Harrison, the engineering RD, and two guys I didn’t recognize. Judging by the aggressive body language, they had to be the other two seniors living in the suite. “No way. He packs his trash and leaves tonight.” 4 “We’re seniors, man. Why the hell did you dump a random freshman in our space?” one of the strangers yelled. “We will literally pay for the empty bed ourselves. We’ll split the cost three ways. Just get Arthur out of here.” I stood frozen. Chris, the guy who had been laughing and eating donuts with me yesterday, was currently glaring at the door like he wanted to physically throw my belongings out the window. My brain short-circuited. My grip slipped. The heavy watermelon crashed onto the hard linoleum floor. It shattered into pieces, the bright red juice bleeding across the tiles like my own fractured heart. “Chris… what’s going on?” I stammered, my voice trembling. “I thought we were cool. We were just hanging out.” “Why is everyone doing this to me? What did I do?” I completely snapped. I dropped the pizza box, ran over, and grabbed Chris by his hoodie, begging him to just talk to me. I was practically on my knees in the middle of the hallway. Chris just looked at me with eyes as cold as ice. He yanked his hoodie out of my hands. “Pack your stuff and leave, Arthur. Now.” He warned me that if I didn’t willingly walk out that door, they would blast music and scream until the entire dorm building called campus security. Even when Mr. Harrison threatened them with disciplinary action right before graduation, the seniors didn’t flinch. They would rather face academic penalties than sleep under the same roof as me. Not wanting to cause a scene that would get me expelled, I silently packed my bags. Mr. Harrison pulled me aside, looking completely defeated. He admitted there was literally not a single room left on campus that would accept me. He promised to expedite a full refund of my housing fees so I could rent a cheap apartment off campus. I was too numb to argue. I accepted defeat. I found a grueling part-time job at a busy campus coffee shop to cover the rent of a tiny studio apartment. Thankfully, between my fast-tracked refund and the coffee shop tips, I was able to make ends meet without begging my parents for cash. A week later, I was wiping down the espresso machine when a familiar face walked up to the register. Noah. Ever since he rejected me outside his dorm, we had avoided each other like the plague. But today, seeing me in the apron, he actually initiated a conversation. “Arthur… I just wanted to say thank you again. For that first day.” He rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to make eye contact. “If you hadn’t caught me, I probably would have cracked my skull on the pavement.” “Anyone would have done it. Don’t worry about it,” I replied, my voice completely flat. I slid his iced latte across the counter. The relentless rejections had drained every ounce of empathy out of my body. I was done trying to be the nice guy. “Look, Arthur, I…” Noah looked agonizingly guilty. Gone was the panicked, defensive guy who had backed away from me in the hallway. He paced around the pickup counter for several minutes, clearly wrestling with something massive. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Eventually, the shift manager yelled at him to clear the line, and he bolted out the door. “What was his deal?” my coworker asked, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like he owes you a thousand bucks with that sad puppy expression.” I just shook my head. Truth be told, I was noticing a really bizarre shift in the campus dynamic. The moment I moved off campus and officially gave up on the dorms, the invisible wall around me started to crack. Guys who used to sprint the other way when I walked past were suddenly nodding at me in the library. When professors assigned group projects, I wasn’t the last one picked anymore. People actually invited me to their study tables. Noah was the most obvious. He constantly hovered around me in lectures, clearly desperate to mend fences, but always choking up before he could explain himself. I couldn’t figure out the logic, but honestly? I didn’t care anymore. If playing the role of the off-campus loner got me through the next four years in peace, I would gladly take it. Once I grabbed my degree, I was leaving this weird, toxic place behind forever. I had made my peace with it. But someone else hadn’t.

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The day I went back to swipe my card, my heart pounded as I faced the familiar scene. The despair from my past life was still fresh. That twenty-thousand-dollar bill felt like a bottomless pit. No matter how many times I paid, it reappeared instantly. Back then, I had needed to use the card urgently, thinking I could repay it within the interest-free period. But after I paid and refreshed the statement, the same twenty-thousand-dollar debt stared back at me. I thought it was a system issue and called customer service. They checked and said everything was normal. They had not received my payment. With the due date approaching, I had no choice but to pay again. Yet, the bill soon reappeared, unchanged. Furious, I called the police. After investigating, they told me I had not made any payments and warned me not to waste public resources. No one believed me, no matter how I explained. It felt like a loop. Every payment I made, the bill returned. Crushed by the endless debt, I eventually chose to end my life. Until my last breath, I could not understand why I could never clear that bill. Now, I am back, reborn on the day it all began. This time, I will uncover the truth. … I flinched and quickly cancelled the credit card transaction. The horrific memories of my past death flooded back, leaving me terrified and bewildered. I’d used this credit card for over ten years without a single issue. And I was always careful with money, never linking it to any automatic payments. What was even more insane was that both the bank and the police claimed I hadn’t made any payments. But I distinctly remembered paying, and the credit card had shown “payment successful.” Why did the bill reappear moments later? If it wasn’t a system issue, and I hadn’t wronged anyone, why would someone deliberately target me? My thoughts were still a tangled mess when my mom called, saying the hospital was pressing for Dad’s medical bills. After hanging up, my face crumpled into a frown. Over the years, we’d borrowed from every friend and relative to pay for Dad’s treatment. My salary hadn’t come in yet, so the only way to get the money was to use a credit card. Recalling the endless problems with this card in my last life, I gritted my teeth. This time, I’d just switch to a reliable bank and get a new credit card. Surely, that would solve the problem, right? No sooner said than done, I immediately called my cousin, Jenny, who worked at another bank. We’d grown up together, thick as thieves. Ever since Dad got sick, she’d been a huge help to me. Sure enough, when I told her I needed a credit card for medical expenses, she immediately offered to lend me the money herself. I quickly declined. Jenny’s family wasn’t well-off, and she had a son with a disability. I couldn’t add to her burden. Seeing my determination to get a card, Jenny relented. But to be safe, I still pressed her with a few questions: “Jenny, are you sure your bank’s system is solid?” “Like, what if I pay, but a bill still mysteriously pops up?” Jenny paused, then confidently stated: “Skye, don’t you worry!” “Our bank is a national institution! It hasn’t had a single problem in decades!” “Besides, I’ll be handling your card myself. I guarantee you won’t get ripped off!” Jenny’s assurances eased my mind slightly. After getting the card, I immediately paid twenty thousand dollars for Dad’s medical bills. A couple of days later, my salary came in, and I paid the card off immediately. This time, I was extra cautious. After the “payment successful” message appeared, I immediately took a screenshot. My heart was in my throat, terrified that the bizarre events would repeat. Thankfully, after a long wait, no new bill popped up. Just as I sighed in relief, thinking everything was finally resolved, the screen suddenly refreshed. The zero balance morphed into negative twenty thousand. 2 I froze, unable to believe my eyes. I furiously refreshed the screen several times, but it still showed negative twenty thousand. I clicked into my payment history, and it was completely empty. The twenty thousand I’d just paid had vanished into thin air. I immediately called Jenny. After I explained everything, she quickly reassured me not to worry, saying she’d look into it. A short while later, she called back, her voice tinged with an odd note: “Skye, I just checked the system backend. There’s no record of your payment at all.” “I also contacted the tech department, and they said the system is completely normal today.” “Tell me honestly, did you even make the payment?” Now I was desperate. After a frantic explanation, I sent her the screenshot of the successful payment. There was a moment of silence before Jenny’s voice came back on the line: “Skye, I just had my colleagues re-verify, and you genuinely didn’t make the payment.” “And they also said…” Jenny hesitated, then spoke with a touch of helplessness: “That screenshot of yours… it’s definitely been Photoshopped.” I completely lost it then. I immediately told her if they suspected me of faking it, they should call the police for an investigation! Seeing how agitated I was, Jenny quickly tried to calm me down: “Skye, just hold on.” “How about this? Why don’t you come to the bank and make the payment again in person? We’ll record the whole thing.” “If you don’t want to, I’ll cover it for you this time! What do you say?” Seeing Jenny’s sincerity, I reluctantly agreed. Soon I was at the bank, and with Jenny and several colleagues watching, I began the payment process again. This time, with every step, I made sure Jenny and the others witnessed it firsthand, and everything was recorded. It wasn’t until the “payment successful” message popped up that I looked up at everyone: “You all saw it, right? The money really went through!” “Don’t let any weird bills pop up again in a little while!” Jenny nodded: “Skye, we all saw it. You definitely made the payment.” “This bill absolutely won’t pop up again, you can rest a million percent assured!” Seeing my lingering skepticism, Jenny even made a solemn promise: “Skye, even if this bill reappears later, it’ll be our bank’s responsibility, and you absolutely won’t have to bear it!” Even the other staff members chimed in with their assurances. With all the witnesses and a direct promise, I finally felt confident enough to head home. No sooner had I gotten home and was about to kick off my shoes, a text message popped up. I looked down, and my mind instantly exploded. The twenty-thousand-dollar bill was back! 3 I didn’t even have time to catch my breath before I was back in the car, speeding towards the bank. The moment I walked in, I rushed straight to Jenny’s counter, pulled up the bill, and demanded to know what was going on. Jenny stared at the bill in my hand, completely bewildered, and the other colleagues who had gathered around were also stunned. “This, how is this possible?” “Our system hasn’t had a single error in decades, how could it…” But amidst their chatter, a staff member who had been checking the backend suddenly pulled a long face. She looked up at me, her expression grim: “Everyone, I’ve found the reason.” “She set up a delayed payment. That money was only nominally deposited just now, and now she’s withdrawn it!” At this, the surrounding colleagues immediately crowded around to look, and the next second, they erupted: “I knew it! How could our system possibly have a problem!” “So, she just wants to use the money without paying it back, playing tricks and slandering us!” “This person has some nerve, lying without even a gasp to avoid paying! I almost believed her!” … I was completely stunned. When had I ever set up a delayed payment? I pulled up my salary card, found the twenty-thousand-dollar transaction, and shoved it in front of them, shouting: “Look closely, all of you! Didn’t this money already transfer out?” “How dare you say I withdrew the payment?” But a female staff member sneered at me: “Oh, please! You could Photoshop a successful payment screenshot before, who knows if this screen is faked too!” Other staff members quickly chimed in: “Exactly! Across the whole country, no one’s heard of someone paying their credit card and then having a bill just pop up out of thin air!” “What’s more, we’re a national-level system, how could we make a mistake?” “People like her are just full of lies, completely untrustworthy!” … Jenny looked at me, her eyes filled with disappointment: “Skye, we grew up together. I always thought you were an honest person.” “If you really needed money, I would have gladly given it to you. But why would you lie to me?” “You’ve truly let me down!” The accusations around me grew louder, and someone even called the police right then and there. I stood rooted to the spot, my mind buzzing. Jenny and the staff’s reactions didn’t look faked at all. If they were deliberately trying to make things difficult for me, it clearly wasn’t working. But I had clearly paid twice, and the money had indeed left my account. Why did the bill keep reappearing? 4 The cops arrived pretty quickly. After hearing what had happened, they sent some officers to check the bank’s system while I was taken to an office for questioning. “Ms. Lin, are you certain you made the payment on time?” “You need to be honest. Otherwise, you could be facing financial fraud charges, and that’s a serious offense!” I quickly explained, showing them my salary card’s transaction history. But after looking for a bit, the officer frowned: “Ms. Lin, these records only prove you made a payment!” “But the destination isn’t clear, it doesn’t prove you paid your credit card.” I was speechless. Just then, two more officers knocked and came in, immediately reporting: “We’ve checked. The bank system has no issues.” “We also found that Skye Lin did borrow twenty thousand, but she hasn’t made any payments!” The officer in front of me immediately scowled: “Skye Lin, even now, you won’t just tell the truth!” “Do you think what I just said was a joke?” I was practically exploding with frustration: “Officers, I really did pay!” “But I don’t understand why the system keeps showing I haven’t!” “If you don’t believe me, we can do an experiment right now!” The officers paused, seeing I wasn’t joking. They exchanged glances and finally agreed. So, in front of several officers, I repeated the payment process again. And as soon as the screen showed “payment successful,” I immediately told the officers to confirm the backend information. Surprisingly, this time, both my credit card and the bank system showed a payment record. And after half a day, no bill popped up. The staff present immediately started making snide remarks: “See? As soon as the police show up, she can pay successfully, no more tricks!” “It’s all an act, trying to shift the blame!” The officers also stared at me sternly: “It’s now been proven that as long as you make a normal payment, there’s no issue of bills repeatedly appearing!” “So your previous statements were all made up to avoid paying, weren’t they?” “Your actions have disrupted the bank’s normal operations and even bordered on financial fraud!” By the end, the officer’s tone had become extremely severe! I was utterly stunned. But no matter how desperately I tried to explain, no one there believed me. Seeing the officers about to take me away, I felt completely hopeless! I had honestly made the payments, but the credit card bill kept reappearing! And now, at the crucial moment of proving it, everything was suddenly back to normal! Why was this credit card always targeting me? Just then, a small detail flashed in my mind. I instantly understood why!

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1 Three years ago, to gather funds for my paralyzed tycoon father’s overseas treatment, I entered into a peculiar cross-border marriage with Cara Scheinert. Now, my father had finally recovered, and I immediately booked the earliest flight home, eager to give Cara a big surprise. However, as I stood beneath our mansion, the scene before me sent a chill down my spine—Cara, with a visibly pregnant belly, was intimately nestled in another man’s arms. Seeing my shocked, frozen face, she merely paused for a moment. Then, an indifferent smirk spread across her face. “Three years ago, I had a college student as my kept man,” she said breezily. “You know the rules in our circle, and to keep him from being bullied, I had him take your place.” Those words were like an ice pick stabbing through my heart, leaving only a buzzing in my ears. “Cara Scheinert, what the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, my voice trembling. She reached out and snatched the signet ring—symbolizing the tycoon heir’s status—from my finger, her smile growing wider. “To outsiders, he’s the tycoon’s young master I officially married.” “As for at home, well, you’re the ‘big one,’ and he’s the ‘little one.’” “You’ll always be my dearest husband. Isn’t this arrangement satisfactory enough?” she said, her tone almost provocative. … I slapped Cara across the face, incredulous. She pressed her cheek, showing no anger. She just smiled at me, her voice laced with a threat. “It’s normal to be upset. You can take it out on me.” “But if you dare lay a hand on Christian, I won’t tolerate it.” “Until the baby is born, you’ll just have to make do as a servant, taking care of Christian and me.” Seeing no reaction from me, she stood on tiptoe. A flurry of kisses rained down on my cheek. “Before, when you asked me to visit your father, I refused every time, not because I was busy with work.” “It’s because Christian is too clingy; he can’t be without me.” “Perhaps you should learn from him how to be cherished.” I felt as if plunged into an ice pit, a profound chill settling in my heart. Looking at the woman I’d been married to for three years, she felt utterly like a stranger. Years ago, she had pursued me for a long time. My father didn’t approve of her family background at all. I was the one who knelt before my father, begging for three days and three nights, before he finally agreed to our marriage. What did she say then? She said she would be willing to be my dog if it meant being with me. Everyone knew Cara Scheinert was fiercely protective of her husband; she’d get jealous if anyone even looked at me too long. After we married, even her best friends never saw my face. I never imagined it was all so someone else could take my place. The intense humiliation and betrayal burned within me. I gritted my teeth and demanded, “You let another man impersonate me. Aren’t you afraid I’ll divorce you and kick you out?” Cara chuckled, her gaze holding a pity I had never seen before. “Such a naive young master, pampered by a wealthy family.” “Who doesn’t know your father is terminally ill and doesn’t have much time left? How many people are secretly eyeing your family’s fortune?” “If you make a fuss with me now, those uncles and cousins will just seize on your scandal and kick you out. Right now, I’m the only one you can rely on.” She stroked my face, her eyes filled with a tenderness, but her tone was threatening. “If you hadn’t come back, I could have kept Christian outside, so you wouldn’t have to face any of this.” “But who told you to be so headstrong? You made Christian and me argue for ages, almost causing me to go into early labor.” “Who in this circle doesn’t have a side piece or two? Just put up with it.” “You’ll always be the husband in my heart. I still love you.” I stood frozen, staring at her shameless face. I felt utterly disheartened. “Cara Scheinert, we’re getting a divorce.” 2 Cara’s face darkened. She gripped my hand, squeezing until my bones creaked. “Timothy, don’t be ridiculous!” I yanked my hand free and slammed my briefcase hard against her head. Blood trickled down her temple. With an angry roar, Christian immediately shielded her. “Clumsy oaf! Who gave you the guts to hit my Cara?!” “Guards, grab him! Whichever hand he used to hit her, break it!” He looked at me with a defiant gaze, clearly taking on the air of the man of the house. I scowled, about to intervene. Then I realized all the servants who used to follow me had been replaced by new faces. And Cara had no intention of stopping him; instead, she hugged Christian, her face indulgent. “I’m carrying Christian’s baby, I can’t handle stress.” “Timothy, you’ll just have to suffer a bit. I’ll find you the best doctor.” “He’s the heir to the Russo family now. If you cross him, even I can’t save you.” I was pinned to the ground by the servants. A wooden club was raised high, followed by the crisp sound of bone cracking. Excruciating pain shot through my wrist, and my agonizing screams echoed through the entire hall. My vision blurred with tears, and in a daze, I was transported back years ago, to the night I was kidnapped by thugs. Cara had single-handedly stormed the kidnappers’ hideout. When one of the thugs fired a fatal shot at me, she didn’t hesitate to step in front of me. She lay in the ICU for three days and three nights, and when she woke up, she only said one thing to me: “I don’t regret it if it meant saving you.” From then on, I completely fell for her. Despite my father’s objections, I insisted on marrying Cara. On our wedding day, she knelt before my father and swore. She would spend her life protecting me forever. But her “forever” had lasted only a mere three years. My heart ached so much I could barely breathe, leaving only intense rage and hatred. My eyes red from crying, I looked up. Cara lay in Christian’s arms, her hand on her swollen belly. “If it’s a boy, that would be wonderful.” “With his looks, I’ll spoil him rotten, won’t I?” Then, as if remembering something, Cara pulled me up from the ground, gently tending to my wound. “Don’t mind Christian; he’s just too worried about me.” “See how spoiled he is? Isn’t he still cute?” I stared coldly at Cara, then, without hesitation, slapped her again. “I owed you a life back then, and I’ve repaid it with this hand.” “From now on, we owe each other nothing.” She froze, frowning as she looked at me. “Timothy, what do you mean by that? What are you trying to do?” I ignored her, raising my phone to call the police. But before the call connected, she snatched it and smashed it to the ground. “Timothy, it’s just a title, why are you so petty?” “Tonight is Christian’s birthday party. Many important people will be attending. Do you want to ruin his entire life?” “Guards, lock him in the basement!” 3 I tried to struggle but was forcefully thrown into the basement. The pitch-black darkness around me made my limbs tremble, reminding me of the half-month I was kidnapped. “Cara Scheinert, let me out! Have you forgotten I have claustrophobia?” I screamed, almost losing my mind, frantically pounding on the door. But Cara simply stood by the door, and after a long moment, she sighed helplessly. “Timothy, stop pretending.” “The doctor said your claustrophobia has long been cured.” “Stop making a fuss. After the birthday party, I’ll make it up to you properly.” As the footsteps faded away, I felt a suffocating despair. After being kidnapped, I developed claustrophobia. Many nights I couldn’t sleep, and Cara was by my side, patiently coaxing me to sleep. “It’s all my fault. If I had rescued you sooner, you wouldn’t have suffered so much.” Her eyes were red, her face full of self-blame and guilt. I couldn’t bear to see her sad, so I had the doctor tell her that my illness had been cured. I never expected that my love for her back then would now be a knife stabbing at myself. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I fainted from shock and rage. When I woke up again, I was being dragged into the center of a banquet. Four or five young socialites eyed me up and down, their faces full of disdain and contempt. “Christian, is this the kept man your family has outside?” “How rude, daring to come here and cause trouble?” Christian, surrounded by them, smirked mockingly. “Well, Cara is carrying my baby, so I won’t bother with this trash. Just teach him a lesson and kick him out.” Everyone praised Christian’s generosity and kindness. Someone, trying to curry favor with him, grabbed my hair and started dragging me out. “You lowlife, don’t you dare look at yourself in a mirror! How dare you offend Young Master Christian?” “Who in this whole circle doesn’t know Cara Scheinert is Christian’s fawning wife? What are you, anyway?” I gasped in pain, struggling to push their hands away, and held up my marriage certificate. “You’ve all been fooled by him! I’m the heir of the Russo family, Cara’s husband, and this is our marriage certificate…” Before I could finish, the marriage certificate was snatched from my hand. The young socialites glanced at it, then scoffed, tearing it to shreds and throwing it on the ground. “This marriage certificate doesn’t even have a stamp, it’s clearly fake.” “Christian takes his mother’s surname, Russo. We all went to his wedding with Cara; it was even front-page news. Who are you trying to fool?” They held up their phones, and Cara and Christian’s marriage certificate appeared on the screens. The clear official seal felt like a crisp slap to my face. My face instantly went pale, and I felt a chill right to my bones. It turned out that my three-year marriage, which I had faithfully protected, was fake from the very beginning. Tears mixed with hatred splattered on the ground. I glared fiercely at Christian. “Even if the marriage is fake, you can’t impersonate my identity!” “I am the eldest son of the Russo family! I have the signet ring that represents my status!” Saying this, I raised my hand, only to see my finger was empty. The next second, Cara’s voice echoed through the hall. “Are you looking for this?” She smiled casually, placing the signet ring on Christian’s hand. I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on me, chilling me from head to toe. That was the coming-of-age gift my father had given me, the signet ring symbolizing the heir of the Russo family! It had once accidentally fallen into the sea, and Cara had retrieved it after searching for three days and three nights. She had a high fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit, yet she found it and gently placed it on my hand. “I will protect everything that belongs to you.” And now, my identity, my love. All of it had been handed over to another man by her. I completely broke down, lunging at Christian, trying to snatch the ring from his hand. “That’s my father’s ring, the ring of authority! How could you give it to him!” But before I could even touch Christian, he suddenly fell into Cara’s arms. Cara clutched her belly, letting out a piercing scream. Blood flowed onto the floor. “My baby, my baby!” 4 Before I could react, a sharp pain shot through my back. Christian kicked me, sending me flying backward to slam hard against the wall. Blood from my temple trickled down my cheek. Cara clung to Christian’s sleeve, sobbing hysterically. “Call a doctor, quickly! Save our baby!” As she was led away by doctors, she didn’t even glance at me. She just coldly spat out a single sentence. “If anything happens to Christian’s and my baby, I’ll make you pay with your life.” Bodyguards pinned me to the ground, and people around me pointed and jeered. Some had already pulled out their phones, recording and live-streaming. “Shameless! A male home-wrecker dares to show up and impersonate the tycoon’s son.” “Offending Cara and the Russo family, the city’s wealthiest, he’s probably going to end up in pieces.” I just kept a cold face, my heart so numb I couldn’t feel any pain. It wasn’t until the next morning that Cara returned home with Christian. Her eyes bloodshot, she slapped me hard across the face. “Christian and my baby is gone. Are you happy now?” I scoffed at her. “Are you blind? He fell on you himself. What does that have to do with me?” “Don’t you have surveillance at home? Did cheating for three years make you lose your mind?” Cara’s face turned green then pale, but she still glanced at the surveillance camera hesitantly. The next second, Christian screamed hysterically, lunging at me, tearing and punching me without restraint. “You killed Cara’s and my baby! I want you to pay with blood!” Cara didn’t stop him, merely watching with cold eyes. It wasn’t until Christian was choking my neck that she pulled him away, coaxing him with red eyes. “Timothy is the man I love most in this life. I promised his father I would take care of him forever.” “Let’s choose another punishment. As long as it doesn’t harm his life, I’ll agree to anything else you want.” Christian wept heartbreakingly, his gaze at me filled with venomous hatred. “Then I want him to be a useless man for life, unable to have children, to avenge our baby!” “No!” My face went white, and I glared fiercely at Cara. “My dad has recovered! If he finds out you dared to do this to me, he won’t let you off the hook!” Cara looked at me as if she had heard a joke, her disappointment deepening, her gaze growing colder. “Timothy Russo, you would even tell such a lie to escape punishment?” “The doctor said your dad was at death’s door; no one could save him!” Seeing tears in the corner of my eye, she sighed, her voice softening. “It’s alright, Timothy. It’s just a vasectomy.” “Anyway, you’re busy with work; when would you have time to have a baby with me?” “Christian and I will have children later. They can call you ‘Dad.’ Aren’t you satisfied with that?” I looked at her incredulously, a dull ache in my chest from anger. With unknown strength, I broke free from my restraints and picked up a nearby chair, smashing it towards her. “Bang!” The chair hit the ground, and the wound on Cara’s forehead reopened, blood gushing out. Her face completely hardened, all traces of pity for me vanishing from her eyes. “Tie him up and send him to the operating room!” Bodyguards swarmed over, forcefully injecting me with a sedative. My body immobile, I could only watch helplessly as I was pushed into the operating room. A cold blade cut across my lower abdomen, finally stopping at my chest. Blood flowed, bringing sharp pains, and I heard the doctor’s chilling voice. “You’ve offended the Young Master Russo. He specifically instructed us not to let you leave here alive.” With that, he raised the scalpel high, aiming it at my heart, ready to plunge it in. I closed my eyes in despair. The next moment, the operating room door was violently kicked open, and a majestic, familiar roar rang out. “Stop! Who dares touch my son!”

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My parents separated, and my mother developed a nearly obsessive fervor for cosmetic surgery. She would constantly tell my sister and me that a woman’s most important asset was never knowledge from books, but a beautiful face. Unfortunately, this “asset” seemed to belong only to my sister, Clara; she was born with delicate features. As for me, the dark birthmark on my right cheek became an eternal source of pain. Because of her outstanding appearance, Clara became a well-known child model, praised wherever she went. I, however, was deprived of the right to go to school by my mother, who claimed my “appearance was disgraceful,” and was forced to live in a dark, damp basement. “It’s already a bargain for you to be Clara’s nanny. Uglies should stay where they can’t be seen,” my mother’s words pierced my heart like needles. Merely because of a physical flaw, my life plunged completely into a sunless abyss. On my eighteenth birthday, clutching years of saved spare change, I walked into an unmarked private clinic. “All my money is here. Please help me fix my face, make me look like a normal person,” I mumbled, my voice trembling with a tremor I didn’t even notice myself. 1 Before leaving, I counted again the money I’d saved over the years by collecting bottles. No more, no less, exactly five thousand dollars. For someone with no allowance, this was a huge sum. But Mom always said that to be beautiful, no amount of money was too much. Every time she slapped me because of my birthmark, she would cry and scold me: “It’s all because you’re so ugly that your father divorced me! That he abandoned us!” So, if I became beautiful, Mom would be happy, right? I clutched the money in my pocket, walking towards that cosmetic clinic with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. Mom had taken Clara out for a photoshoot today, which was how I managed to sneak out. After all, Mom usually didn’t let me leave the house. She said I was too ugly, and I would scare people. So, I could only go out at night to collect bottles, never daring to let anyone see my face. It took me so long to save these five thousand dollars. But I didn’t regret it. If it could make Mom love me, I’d do anything. The streets were dark at night. I walked, hiding and sneaking, for a long time before reaching that small clinic. The light on the sign was flickering, spelling out “Everglowing Aesthetics.” I pushed open the creaking door without hesitation and stepped inside. A man in a white lab coat was sitting at the counter, playing on his phone. Hearing the noise, he looked up at me: “What procedure are you here for?” I nodded, handing him the money, already damp with sweat: “I want to get rid of the birthmark on my face, and I want to become beautiful. Is this enough money?” The man counted the stack of bills, a smile I couldn’t quite decipher on his face: “It’s enough.” He led me into a dimly lit operating room. The operating table was a bit dirty. I hesitated, then lay down, swallowing hard: “Will one surgery be enough to make me beautiful?” The man casually replied: “Of course. Just lie still; it’ll be quick.” My heart lightened, and a smile touched my lips. Mom had so many cosmetic surgeries, yet she always said she wasn’t beautiful enough. I was worried that if I also needed so many surgeries, how long would I have to save money? Good, good, five thousand dollars to become beautiful—this clinic is truly ethical! I obediently placed my hands on my chest: “That’s wonderful! Thank you, Doctor!” The man let out a laugh, a hint of mockery in his tone. Then, something pierced my arm. It hurt a lot. But Mom always said, how can becoming beautiful not hurt? To be beautiful, any amount of pain is worth it! The glaring light above me blurred, and I gradually lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, I felt incredibly light. The operating room was empty. I ran to the restroom alone, staring blankly at myself in the mirror. I was truly beautiful! The doctor hadn’t lied to me. I was no longer that ugly duckling. In the mirror, the birthmark that had made me an outcast for eighteen years was gone. Although my face was a bit pale, I was overjoyed. I immediately turned and ran out of the clinic, wanting to tell Mom the good news as soon as possible. For some reason, the walk home felt much easier than the walk there. I quickly reached our doorstep. Lights were on inside, and Mom’s voice drifted out: “Where did that brat run off to now? Didn’t even prepare dinner!” “Didn’t even clean Clara’s room like I told her to. Lazy, good-for-nothing parasite!” My steps faltered. But then I relaxed. If Mom knew I was beautiful, she definitely wouldn’t be angry anymore! Clara and I had dropped out of school a long time ago because Mom said studying was useless. “I graduated from a top university, but your father still looked down on me!” “That pretty spa worker just waved her hand, and he abandoned us three women!” “Only your face is important! If I were prettier, how could that hussy have stolen my husband?” Every time she brought this up, Mom would go crazy, smashing things. She’d grab whatever was nearby and throw it at my face, cursing as she did: “It’s all your fault! Who told you to be so ugly!” Now I was beautiful. Would Mom treat me like she treated Clara? I mustered my courage and stepped into the house, softly calling out: “Mom!” But Mom didn’t seem to hear, still shouting into the room: “Penelope Miller! Get out here!” I felt a little lost: “Mom, I’m home… Look! I’m beautiful now!” Mom kicked over the trash can: “That brat, daring to sneak out in the middle of the night! I’ll break her legs!” I quickly ran to her side, shouting louder: “Mom, my birthmark is gone! I’m beautiful now, will you please look at me?” She still ignored me. Clara, on the sofa, spoke softly: “Forget it, sis probably snuck out to collect bottles again.” “Mom, I’m tired and want to rest.” As soon as Clara spoke, Mom immediately put on a smiling face: “Alright, alright, sweetie, let’s go to bed! You have a photoshoot tomorrow. Come on, put on a face mask before you sleep!” A moment later, the living room was empty. Only I stood there, bewildered. It was like this again… ignoring me again! Before, because I was ugly, Mom couldn’t even be bothered to answer me. She often said: “Who told you to be ugly? If you were a great beauty, you’d easily attract attention no matter what you did.” “If you were as beautiful as your sister, how could anyone treat you like air?” But why, even now that I was beautiful, were they still ignoring me? I looked at the mirror on the table, which reflected my clean, beautiful face. I sat alone on the sofa, thinking for a very long time. Finally, I understood. Perhaps because I was beautiful, they didn’t recognize me! As long as I told them tomorrow that I was Penelope, they wouldn’t treat me like air anymore, right? I could also go out during the day like Clara, and go to work to earn money, right? My mom used to not be like this. She would go out to work, she smiled a lot, and she loved to hold me and tell me I was her most precious baby. Back then, the birthmark on my face wasn’t an unforgivable flaw. I was only five when my dad cheated. Before I was five, I was as happy as any ordinary child. But from the day Dad left, everything changed. After Mom gave birth to Clara, she became obsessed with plastic surgery. High cranial vault, elf ears, an A4 waist… one procedure after another. Mom poured all her savings into it, but couldn’t even afford formula for Clara. I could only cook rice porridge to feed Clara. I watched Mom become prettier each day, but also more frantic. “Why? Why won’t he come back?!” “I’m already so beautiful! Why can’t I compare to that mistress?” It wasn’t until Clara grew older, her features gradually developing. One day, Mom suddenly stared at Clara’s face for a long, long time. Then, she smiled: “Why didn’t I notice before, our Clara is so beautiful? Penelope, don’t you think?” I timidly nodded. As soon as Clara could walk, Mom took her out to be a child model. They were famous online as the “Beauty Mother-Daughter Duo,” while I was the blemish Mom desperately tried to hide. Mom’s gaze gradually stopped falling on me, but I didn’t care. As long as Mom was happy, I didn’t mind anything. But that day, an accident happened. Mom’s plastic surgery failed. Her face became distorted, her cheeks sunken, her mouth crooked, and her eyes askew. That day, she slapped Clara and me many times, our faces red and swollen. I clutched her clothes, pleading: “Mom, don’t hit her anymore! You can hit me, but don’t hit Clara!” “Clara is the prettiest! Don’t you love her the most?!” Looking at Clara’s face, Mom froze and stopped hitting. After that day, Mom quit her job and focused entirely on taking Clara to various photoshoots. Clara’s schedule was packed every day; sometimes she had two or three shoots in a single day. I was left at home, caring for their daily needs like a servant. Mom still often lost control. But when she lost her temper, she no longer hit Clara, only slapped me again and again. The most terrifying time, she came at me with scissors. She said with a smile: “Cut this ugly thing off, and everything will be better!” Clara rushed over and hugged her leg, allowing me to escape. Every time I was hit, Clara would put medicine on my wounds. She would also look into my eyes and say: “Sister, don’t listen to Mom. Appearance isn’t the most important thing.” I didn’t believe her. But she was so kind to me that I didn’t argue. I just thought, I can only say those words when I’m as beautiful as you. I sat alone on the sofa until dawn. It was strange; I wasn’t sleepy at all. Mom came out of the room, not even glancing at me on the sofa, just muttering: “She really didn’t come back…” Clara walked out, rubbing her eyes, and I noticed they were a little swollen. After glancing at the living room, she worriedly tugged at Mom’s clothes: “Mom, sis…” Mom immediately frowned: “Don’t even mention that jinx! I’ll deal with her when she gets back!” “You hurry up and get ready! We’ll be late!” They left the house, and I quickly followed. All the way, I tried to tell Mom and Clara. I was Penelope Miller, a beautiful Penelope Miller! I was no longer that ugly girl; I wouldn’t be an embarrassment to the family anymore! But they didn’t even look at me. Mom kept urgently rushing Clara: “Clara, hurry up! This ad is very important today!” But Clara suddenly stopped: “Mom, can we not shoot today? I’m so tired.” Mom froze. Then, a heavy slap landed on Clara’s face: “What did you say?!” Clara staggered from the blow and fell to the ground. I rushed forward, trying to stop Mom: “Mom! Don’t hit Clara! Hit me instead!” But Mom ignored me, slapping Clara again: “I feed you, clothe you, give you the best skincare products, and this is how you repay me?” “You won’t even shoot an ad? Are you going to fly away like your sister next?” Clara covered her face, tears streaming down: “But I’m really so tired… I’ve been shooting for seven consecutive days…” Mom’s voice was sharp and piercing: “Tired? What’s tired? Do you know how many people want to shoot but can’t? Do you know how much money you make in a day?” Clara suddenly looked up at her: “Mom, do you even love me?” Mom’s raised hand paused. “Do you love me, or do you love this face of mine?” Mom’s distorted face grew even more grotesque: “How dare you say such a thing?!” Clara sneered, continuing: “You don’t love us at all! You only love beauty. You want to be beautiful, and you want me to be beautiful.” “Sister is also your daughter, but you treated her that way just because she had a birthmark on her face!” “You don’t love anyone at all! You’re a monster!” “Shut up!” Mom covered her face in distress, screaming loudly. Clara sat on the ground, crying: “Mom, sis didn’t come back last night. Did you look for her? Were you worried about her?” Mom shrieked in rebuttal: “Of course I was worried about her! She’s also a part of me, how could I…” Just then, the large screen by the roadside suddenly switched images. “Breaking news update.” “Last night, police raided an unlicensed cosmetic black clinic, rescuing dozens of women who had undergone failed plastic surgeries.” “One fatality was found at the scene, due to respiratory arrest caused by anesthetic overdose.” “The deceased has been identified as a woman named Miller, aged eighteen…”

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I’ve been in the personal shopping business for three years. In those three years, I’ve never missed a single receipt. Every order’s declaration record, tax payment certificate, and bank statement—I organize and file them monthly. These documents are neatly stacked in fourteen file boxes. That day, I was in my twelve-square-meter warehouse, packing a bottle of SK-II Facial Treatment Essence for a client. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find eight people from Customs Investigations. Six in uniform, two with folders in hand. The lead officer surveyed my small warehouse, a frown creasing his brow. He asked if I was Jamie Hayes, stating that someone had reported me for tax evasion as a personal shopper, and requested my cooperation in an investigation. I froze, bewildered, because I had always operated legally. It took me half an hour to carry out all fourteen file boxes, one by one. The lead officer flipped through a few pages, his expression subtly changing. He looked at me, then lowered his voice, saying the informant’s report was incredibly detailed. It even specified my weekly flight numbers to the airport. A chill ran down my spine. I realized that someone who could write such a report must know me intimately. And my shopping routes, supply channels, and client list had only ever been shared with one person. That person was my best friend of ten years, Sarah Miller. 1 The investigators meticulously cataloged every item in my warehouse. Six boxes of Korean and Japanese skincare, four boxes of health supplements, two boxes of baby products. Every single item had a corresponding purchase receipt, import declaration, and tax payment certificate. I leaned against the wall, watching them, my heart pounding as if it wanted to escape my throat. But I knew my books were clean. Three years ago, when I first started, I spent a few hundred dollars on a cross-border e-commerce tax course. I still remember the first thing the instructor said: “The biggest fear for a personal shopper isn’t a lack of clients; it’s having books that can’t stand up to scrutiny.” From then on, I bought a small safe just for tax certificates. Every payment, every customs declaration—I photographed it for backup, locking the originals in the safe. Other shoppers would laugh, “You’re not running a corporation, why be so proper?” I never explained, just kept doing my thing. “What was the total declared value for this batch of goods?” the lead investigator asked. “Eight thousand three hundred and forty-two dollars. The corresponding tax documents are in the seventh file box, the stack with the blue labels.” He flipped through and cross-referenced them, saying nothing. A younger investigator beside him couldn’t help but glance at me. I read four words in his expression: much ado about nothing. But a report was a report; the process had to be followed. “Have you received any goods from an unknown source in the last month?” “No. I only do self-sourcing and selling. I don’t take on anyone else’s distribution orders.” I paused. “However…” “However what?” “Last month, my friend borrowed my business courier account to ship three batches of goods. She said her own account had hit its limit.” I opened my phone, pulled up the chat history, and handed it over. “This is our conversation when she borrowed the account. I told her to label them herself and fill out the customs information. I didn’t handle it.” The lead officer took the phone and examined it carefully. “What’s your friend’s name?” “Sarah Miller.” My throat tightened as I said her name. Ten years. High school desk mate, college roommate, then we both entered the personal shopping business after graduation. She had grown bigger than me. I stuck to legitimate channels—lower profits, fewer but stable clients. She played it fast and loose. Last month, she’d posted a photo of her new BMW X3 on social media. I never asked questions. The investigator took photos of my chat logs, then spent another half hour flipping through my file boxes. As they were leaving, the lead officer turned back to me. “Jamie, a heads-up: some details in that report aren’t things an ordinary person would know. For example, your sourcing costs, your profit margins, even the location of your safe.” “Think about it. Who would know that information?” After the door closed, I stood alone in the warehouse. The SK-II was still on the table, the shipping bags unsealed. The location of my safe. I had only brought one person into this warehouse. The day Sarah came to help me move some inventory, I personally poured her a fresh cup of coffee. I didn’t sleep that night. I tossed and turned, wondering if I had it all wrong. Maybe it was someone else? Maybe a competitor jealous of me? But flight numbers, sourcing costs, safe location—the intersection of these three pieces of information only pointed to Sarah. At 2 AM, I opened her social media. Her latest post was from six hours ago: omakase at a sushi restaurant, captioned “Treating myself after a long day.” The photo showed her wearing exquisite makeup. A man sat opposite her, only his cuff visible. That navy Hugo Boss shirt. I recognized it. It belonged to her boyfriend. I scrolled down. Three days ago: “Ladies, huge clearance on Japanese luxury makeup! SK-II Facial Treatment Essence is $400 off! DM me fast!” The nine-grid photo collage was full of high-end skincare, neatly arranged on a table. I zoomed in on the fifth photo. In the bottom right corner, a small section of a cardboard box was visible. A label from my business courier account was stuck to the box. I recognized the tracking number. It was one of the batches she shipped using my account last month. I put down my phone and stared at the ceiling. My mind was a mess, but one thing suddenly became terrifyingly clear: the goods she shipped using my account, and the goods I declared myself, went through the same customs inspection channel. If there was an issue with her batch, I would be dragged down with her. This was no coincidence. At 9 AM the next morning, Sarah called. “Jamie! I heard Customs investigated you? What happened?” Her voice was filled with surprise and concern. If it weren’t for my discoveries last night, I would have believed her. “Nothing serious. Routine check.” “I knew it! How could someone as careful as you have any problems? Do you want me to ask around? I know someone at a customs clearance company—” “No, thanks.” “Hey, don’t be stubborn. Customs investigations are no joke. What if your goods get seized? What about your clients? If you need, I can help you ship some orders for now.” I gripped the phone, my nails digging into my palm. I had only told my mom about the investigation. “Sarah, how did you know I was being investigated?” Silence on the other end for two seconds. “Oh… didn’t you post about it on social media yesterday? Said your warehouse was temporarily not shipping orders—” “My social media posts are set to private. Only clients can see that one.” Another two seconds of silence. “Must have been… a client who screenshotted it for me? I don’t quite remember.” “Oh. Alright then.” I hung up. My palm was slick with sweat. She was lying. And it wasn’t the first time. I opened my laptop and pulled up all my cooperation records with her from the past three years—how many times she borrowed my account, which goods she handled, the amounts, whether there were customs declarations. It wasn’t just my books that needed checking. For the next week, I outwardly did nothing. I replied to client messages as usual, and met Sarah for coffee as usual. But every night, when I got home, I started organizing. All the goods she shipped using my account over three years, seven batches in total. The first four batches had records; the amounts were small, the largest being only about twelve hundred dollars. But the last three batches were different. These three were shipped between last October and this January, and I couldn’t find the declared customs amounts for any of them. Because she had said, “I’ll fill out the customs forms myself, no need to bother you.” At the time, I thought she was being considerate. Now, I realized she was being deliberate. Wednesday lunchtime, I met her for lunch at the mall. She was wearing a camel Max Mara coat. I recognized it—it was $2600 on the official website. She’d posted it on social media last month. “Jamie, you look so thin. The customs thing didn’t get to you, did it?” “I’m fine. My books are clean anyway.” “That’s good, that’s good.” She picked up a piece of sashimi with her chopsticks. “Oh, by the way, that client of yours, Mrs. Chen—the one who buys three sets of Sulwhasoo every month—has she stopped buying from you recently?” My heart sank. “How did you know?” “She bought from me last week. Said you were being investigated and she didn’t dare buy from you.” Sarah bit her chopstick and smiled. “Don’t worry. Once your situation clears up, I’ll give her back to you.” Give her back to me. As if my clients were her borrowed possessions. “Besides Mrs. Chen, who else has contacted you?” “Just… a few others. Some people are just scared of getting involved, you know? It’s normal.” She looked down at her phone, missing my hand, clutching the chopsticks, trembling. After getting home, I went through my client list, messaging them one by one to confirm. The results chilled me to the bone. Out of sixty-seven stable clients accumulated over three years, twenty-three had left. Nineteen of them had switched to Sarah. It wasn’t because they were scared by the investigation. Sarah had actively contacted them, saying, “Jamie probably won’t get through this. Don’t wait around, come to me. My prices are even lower.” A client named Sue screenshotted the messages for me. The last line of Sarah’s message to her was: “Trust me, she’ll never find out.” I put down my phone. No anger, just an indescribable chill, seeping from my spine all the way to the top of my head. Ten years. Ten years of friendship, apparently worth nineteen clients. No, maybe it was worth more. Perhaps from the very beginning, every step of this friendship was her getting closer to my client list. I started replaying events. Every incident I once took for granted now tasted different. In my freshman year, she said her family was struggling, so I helped her get a part-time job as a personal shopper runner. During the summer of my junior year, she said she wanted to learn the business. I gave her my meticulously organized list of Japanese pharmacies, popular product price lists, and a comparison of shipping companies—all of which had taken me half a year to compile. After graduation, I took her to Tokyo three times, introducing her to all my suppliers. The airfare for her first solo sourcing trip to Japan? I covered it. Three hundred and forty dollars. She said she’d pay me back next month, but she never did. I never pressed her for it either. Later, her business grew. She rented a proper office as a warehouse, hired two young women to help with packing and shipping, and registered a company. I was happy for her. Sometimes during our video calls at night, she’d be working late in her office, with a wall of shelves behind her, packed with goods. I’d be on my balcony at home, sticking shipping labels on six cardboard boxes. She’d say, “Jamie, why are you still playing so small? Why don’t you come work for my company? I’ll help you scale up.” Every time, I’d smile and say no need. I was used to doing things myself. My accounts were clear, and my mind was at ease. But while she said she’d “help me scale up,” what she was actually doing was poaching my clients. I compiled a timeline. Last July: I told her Mrs. Chen bought three sets of Sulwhasoo every month. Last August: Mrs. Chen placed her first order with Sarah. Last September: She borrowed my courier account to ship her first batch of goods. Last October to January this year: She intensively borrowed my account to ship three large batches of goods. This February: Someone reported me for tax evasion. The timeline was too perfectly aligned. She first poached my clients to build her base, then used my account to ship potentially problematic goods, and finally sent in a report to crush me. If Customs found issues with the goods shipped under my account, they would come after me. If my business was ruined by the investigation, my clients would have no choice but to go to her. Three birds with one stone. I sat in front of my computer, my hands resting on the keyboard, motionless for a long time. Outside, the sky was a dull gray. It looked like rain. I didn’t cry. I just felt incredibly tired. A weariness that seeped from my bones. The customs investigation continued. I was asked to provide supplementary materials at any time, but they didn’t seize my goods. Officer Frank, the lead investigator, sounded calm when he called to inform me. “Jamie, we’re verifying your documents. Initially, they look quite standard. But until the process is complete, your business courier account is temporarily frozen.” “Okay. How long will it be frozen?” “Hard to say. It depends on the situation.” A frozen courier account meant I couldn’t ship anything. My clients couldn’t wait. Within a week, another eleven clients left. Sarah’s social media grew increasingly lively. She had a new batch of limited edition Japanese face masks, priced 30% cheaper than mine. I looked at the price and did some quick math. With proper customs declaration and tax payments, that price would make no profit at all. Unless she wasn’t declaring the full value. Or not declaring at all.

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The hotel lobby exploded with noise as a group of women, banners held high proclaiming “Anti-Affair League,” stormed in, shattering the crisp morning quiet. The front desk attendant, a look of weary resignation on her face, explained they were a trending online group, famous for targeting “homewreckers.” I was just thinking how awful mistresses could be when the young woman leading the charge fixed her gaze on me and marched straight over. “You slut, you seduced someone’s husband!” She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. On her phone screen, unmistakably, was a photo of my brother and me from yesterday. It was only in the chaos that I recognized the shrew in front of me: Leah Fabian, my brother Liam’s fiancée, whom he’d mentioned countless times. Memories flooded back, twenty years in an instant. After our parents died in a car crash, I raised Liam alone. He suffered from XYY syndrome, making him prone to violent outbursts. My body was a tapestry of scars; the worst time, he bit off my pinky finger and poured boiling water on my face. That disfigurement was his turning point. He miraculously began to calm, his symptoms lessening. As an adult, he found success as an entrepreneur and insisted on sending me abroad for reconstructive surgery. The operation was a triumph, but here I was, the day after returning home, caught in this ugly spectacle. Looking at Leah’s distorted face, I suddenly understood why Liam always called her “understanding.” Turns out, in her eyes, I, his own sister, had become the home-wrecker. 1 Fresh off the plane, this scene was a bizarre novelty. I asked the front desk what was happening. “The Anti-Affair League,” the attendant explained, “they’re an organization, all social media influencers.” “Their slogan is all about fighting for women’s justice, taking down every single mistress.” “They’ve gone viral recently, their follower count is skyrocketing.” “And now, looks like some poor woman who rented a room for a secret rendezvous is about to get it.” “Once they target you, you’ll be lucky to escape with your skin intact.” I nodded, acknowledging that mistresses were indeed despicable, destroying families and deserving no sympathy. What I didn’t expect was for this mob to head straight for me as they entered the hotel lobby. Leading them was a young woman, lightly made-up, radiating an aggressive aura. I paused, wondering if the front desk attendant behind me was somehow involved. Just as I was puzzling it out, the young woman pointed a finger at my nose and spat, “You filthy whore, you have no shame, you dare touch someone else’s happiness, utterly shameless!” “Did a dog eat your conscience?” “There are so many men in the world, why do you have to steal mine?” I was completely bewildered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “When did I ever try to steal your man?” Disfigured for years, I’d grown used to a reclusive life, rarely showing my face. Not only had I never had a boyfriend, I’d barely even seen men, and I was still single. How could I possibly be stealing her man? The young woman’s face hardened. “You seductive fox, still trying to deny it?” “Look at this!” She flashed her phone, displaying a photo. I squinted. It showed a man and a woman, leaning close, together. It was the photo Liam and I had taken yesterday when I landed. Both our faces were alight with happy smiles. But to some, it was clearly a jarring sight. “Why do you have that photo?” I blurted out instinctively. Smack! A stinging slap landed heavily on my face. I saw stars, half my face going numb. “You shameless tramp, you dare ask me where I got the photo?” “Liam Murray is the love of my life. We’re getting married the day after tomorrow, and no one is taking him from me!” “Don’t think just because you’re pretty, you can steal his heart.” At those words, it all clicked into place. This young woman was Leah Fabian, Liam’s fiancée! While I was still abroad, Liam had mentioned her a few times. Each time, he praised Leah as an understanding, gentle, and virtuous girl. Their ages and temperaments were well-suited. And the Fabian family was wealthy, a perfect match in terms of social standing. He’d asked for my opinion. I’d just laughed and said, “Any woman my brother fancies must be wonderful.” I never in my wildest dreams imagined my first meeting with my future sister-in-law would be like this. … “You’ve got it all wrong, I’m not…” I hastily tried to explain. Smack! Another slap, silencing my words. My lip was bleeding. Leah’s face was ashen, dark with fury. “You pathetic slut, I wouldn’t be mistaken.” “I found this photo on his phone.” “I even had someone check it – absolutely no Photoshop!” “Tell me, did you come to this hotel today to meet my husband again?” “In broad daylight, do you even know the meaning of shame?” The women behind Leah, phones raised, clicked away, afraid to miss a single dramatic moment. One influencer, in a spaghetti-strap dress, sneered, “Leah, her skirt is so short, practically exposing her underwear. She’s clearly a tramp who often seduces men, probably even selling herself.” Another chimed in, “Exactly. Probably trying to go legit now, so she latched onto Mr. Murray.” “You used-up trash, ridden by thousands, slept with by millions! How dare you try to steal Leah’s man? You’ve got a death wish!” “Leah, don’t go easy on her. My livestream fans are 100% behind you.” “People like her deserve to be scorned, thrown into a dumpster with rats. To be human, she’s not worthy!” Fueled by their instigation, Leah’s rage intensified. She stepped forward, grabbed my hair, and hocked! Pah! A thick glob of spit landed squarely on my face. “Trying to dodge? Make her swallow it!” Two influencers stepped forward, grabbed me, forced my mouth open, and made sure the phlegm slid down. I gagged and vomited uncontrollably. Seeing this, the others burst into laughter, even more excited. “Family, thank you for your generous gifts!” “Rest assured, when the Anti-Affair League marches out, we leave no stone unturned!” “This pathetic little home-wrecker today will definitely get what’s coming to her.” “If you have any opinions or thoughts, feel free to share them in the public chat.” “Together, let’s help the victim get some serious revenge!” Just as I was retching violently, the front desk finally had enough and called security. However, the Anti-Affair League outnumbered them, and the few security guards couldn’t even get close. Many cameras were pointed at them, and an influencer sneered, “Look, family, the mistress’s helpers have arrived!” “She must rent rooms here often, already a VIP, I guess.” “I can’t even imagine how many men she’s seduced in this hotel.” The security guards backed down, retreating to the side, dare not to anger, dare not to speak. Leah snatched my purse, unzipped it, and dumped its contents onto the floor. A jade bracelet hit the ground with a sickening thud, shattering into several pieces. Seeing this, I trembled with fury. The jade bracelet was originally a pair, passed down from my grandmother. Before my mother’s car accident, she had given one to me and one to Liam. It was her last memento to us, her final memory. So I cherished it as a precious treasure, never taking it off. Leah picked up the broken pieces, her eyes growing colder. She had seen a similar bracelet on Liam before and assumed it was the same one. “You pathetic slut, I didn’t realize you had such a knack for it, managing to make my husband give you his cherished jade bracelet, a treasure for so many years?” The influencer in the spaghetti-strap dress said, “Leah, she must have stolen it!” “How could Mr. Murray have real feelings for such trash? At most, he was just playing around.” “Men are all like that, aren’t they?” Hearing this, Leah grew even angrier. “You seductive fox, not only do you seduce men, but you’re also a thief!” “Today, I’m going to deliver some divine justice and teach you a proper lesson.” The crowd cheered her on. “Yes, we absolutely can’t let her off the hook.” “This bracelet is jadeite, with good luster and color, it must be very valuable.” “Its value is one thing, but more importantly, it belongs to Leah’s husband.” “What a shame, it’s shattered.” “It’s still her fault. If she hadn’t stolen it from Mr. Murray, would it have broken?” “This kind of malicious and greedy woman, I don’t even know what words to use to describe her.” “Leah, just say the word. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.” Leah’s rage was almost overflowing. She said coldly, “Strip her clothes off! I want to see what makes a woman who can seduce my husband so special!” At her words, the influencers’ eyes turned red like hungry wolves. Rip! With a sharp sound, my collar was torn open, exposing a large expanse of pale skin. I desperately clutched my chest, ignoring the nausea and sour taste in my mouth, and screamed with all my might, “Stop!” “I’m not a mistress!” “I’m Liam Murray’s sister!” Everyone froze, their actions stopping in unison. Then came Leah’s cold laugh. “You say you’re my husband’s sister?” “Yes, I am Amelia Murray, Liam’s own sister!” “If you don’t believe me, I’ll call him right now!” I thought things might take a turn, but instead, I was met with a fierce kick from Leah. My vision went black as I was violently thrown to the ground, the excruciating pain almost making me pass out on the spot. My phone flew from my hand, only to be crushed under an influencer’s foot. “Liam’s sister was disfigured more than ten years ago, he told me himself.” “Look at that alluring, peachy face of yours, fair and tender. Where are the scars of disfigurement?” “You seductive fox, you don’t even bother to come up with a decent lie. Do you really think such a cheap trick would fool me?” I couldn’t speak, even breathing caused excruciating pain in my abdomen. Leah’s kick had been brutal. The influencers were all indignant. “Even at a time like this, she’s still trying to deceive Leah with lies.” “Hmph, she must think Leah is a three-year-old.” “Since our league was founded, we’ve never encountered such a difficult mistress.” “Lies flow from her lips. Her heart is truly venomous!” One influencer, more cautious, tentatively asked, “Leah, maybe we should call Mr. Murray and confirm with him?” Leah’s face hardened. “Confirm what? My husband is busy; he doesn’t have time for such trivial matters!” “This seductive fox deserves to die. Beat her mercilessly!” “I’ll take responsibility for whatever happens!” They swarmed me, assaulting me. Someone pulled my hair, someone slapped me, someone scratched my face, and someone tore at my dress. My anguished screams echoed through the hotel lobby. A few security guards turned away, unable to bear watching. Many guests stopped to watch. Some initially wanted to intervene, but upon seeing the Anti-Affair League banner, they immediately abandoned the idea, opting to stand by and gawk at the drama. Soon, I was covered in bruises and wounds. Most of my hair had been ripped out, revealing large patches of bleeding scalp. If not for the fear of killing me, these seemingly glamorous influencers would never have stopped. Yet Leah was still not satisfied. She placed the broken pieces of the jade bracelet into my hand. “You seductive fox, you want the jade bracelet, don’t you?” “Fine, I’ll grant your wish!” Leah’s face twisted into a cruel grin. She stomped on my hand, grinding her foot with force. The sharp fragments dug deep into my flesh. My cries were hoarse and faint, barely audible. Finally, I blacked out. But Leah didn’t stop, still pressing down with gritted teeth. My hand became a bloody mess, even bone fragments were visible. A young girl, unable to bear it any longer, shouted for them to stop. Otherwise, she would call the police. These words were like kicking a hornet’s nest. How could the influencers of the Anti-Affair League be pushovers? They aggressively surrounded the girl, launching into a barrage of verbal attacks. “Listen closely, we’re beating a mistress!” “She destroyed someone else’s family; she deserves no sympathy.” “You’re so eager to help her, are you experiencing it yourself? Are you also a mistress?” The girl was frightened by the aggression, stammering, “I… I’m not…” “Then my punishing a mistress is none of your damn business, is it?” Leah spat. “Dare to meddle again, and I’ll beat you too, believe it or not?” The girl dared not speak. Seeing this, no one else among the onlookers intervened to stop the violence. After venting her fury, Leah had me carried into a car and taken to her private villa. I was locked in the basement, my companions being rats and cockroaches. For a full day and night, Leah tortured me relentlessly. She used pliers to pull out my fingernails, knocked out all my teeth. She burned my face with cigarette butts, then poured salt on my open wounds. She even forced my head into a slop bucket, almost drowning me. Finally, unable to endure the torment any longer, I went into shock. I don’t know how much time passed, but I awoke to find myself on an operating table, my hands and feet bound by leather straps. I struggled and cried out, but the straps were too sturdy to break free. A few minutes later, the door opened. Leah entered with two doctors in white coats. Seeing the gleaming surgical instruments in their hands, a chill ran down my spine. “What… what are you going to do?” Leah grinned cruelly. “Nothing much, just want to give you, this slut, a lesson you’ll never forget.” “This is what happens when you try to steal my man.” “No, please…” A shot of tranquilizer silenced me. I could only watch, eyes wide, as the doctor put on gloves and moved the scalpel to my abdomen, making a gentle incision…

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I was looking down at the ultrasound report in my hand when Brandon suddenly spoke, his tone serious. “Honey, there’s something, something really important I have to tell you.” My heart pounded, and I instinctively placed a hand on my abdomen, filled with anticipation, thinking he was finally going to propose. However, his next words hit me like a thunderclap: “I’ve already married someone else.” I froze. The ultrasound report slipped from my hand and fluttered to the floor with a soft thud. “What did you say?” I couldn’t believe my ears. Seeing my reaction, Brandon rushed forward to embrace me, hastily explaining, “It was just a family arrangement. We’re only married in name.” He continued, “As long as you don’t make a scene, I can give you anything else, everything but that legal tie.” “Don’t worry,” he tried to reassure me, “you and the baby are my real family.” I pushed him away with all my strength, my voice eerily calm. “Brandon, we’re over.” “And this baby,” I told him, each word deliberate, “I’m having an abortion.” 1. “Are you insane?” Brandon’s voice exploded in the hospital hallway. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight my bones ached. Those eyes, which I’d looked into for eight years, now stared at me, wide with disbelief. “That’s my child! What right do you have to just decide to end it?!” I tried to shake his hand off, but couldn’t. “Your child? Brandon, you’re married. If you want a child, go have one with your wife.” “Rebecca, don’t be dramatic.” “I’m not being dramatic.” He looked at me, his eyes actually a little red. “What do you want that I can’t give you?” “Cars, houses, money, I’ll give you as much as you want. Everything but that piece of paper, I can give you anything.” I stared at him. Eight years ago, he’d cornered me outside the library, holding a crumpled bouquet of roses, telling me he’d had a crush on me for three years. Eight years later, he stood in a hospital hallway, telling me he could give me anything but a marriage certificate. “Brandon,” I heard my own voice, unnervingly calm, “I’ve never been a mistress in my life, and I don’t intend to start with you.” His face changed. “Who are you calling a mistress?” “Me.” He was speechless. “As long as I keep this child, I’m a mistress.” “In your parents’ eyes, I’m a mistress. In her parents’ eyes, I’m a mistress. And when the child asks me, ‘Mom, why aren’t you Dad’s wife?’ what am I supposed to say?” He was silent for a long time. Long enough for the nurse at the end of the hall to peek out again. Then he looked up, his gaze no longer angry or sad, but strangely distant. “Rebecca Thorne, if you abort that child, we are truly over.” “We’re already over.” “It was over the day you married someone else.” He took a step forward. I didn’t retreat. “Who do you think is propping up your dad’s project?” My heart sank a little. “What do you mean?” He didn’t answer. But I understood that look. I turned. And walked towards the consultation room. He called out behind me, “Rebecca!” I didn’t stop. “Stop right there!” I pushed open the door to the consultation room. Inside, a female doctor was writing a patient chart. She looked up at me. “Miss, can I help you?” “I’d like an abortion. Can I have it today?” She glanced behind me. Brandon stood in the doorway, not entering. His face was ashen. “Do you have an appointment?” “No appointment. I’d like to make one now.” She flipped through her book. “Today is fully booked. The earliest is three days from now.” “Three days from now, then.” She looked at me, then at the doorway, and said nothing more. She lowered her head and started writing the form. I took the form and turned. Brandon was still standing in the doorway. He stared at the paper in my hand as if it were something untouchable. “Rebecca…” I walked around him. And into the hallway. Sunlight streamed through the window, falling in squares on the floor. Three days from now. I would come back. By then, there would be nothing left. 2. For those three days, I didn’t leave the apartment. The curtains were drawn; I couldn’t tell day from night. My belly was still flat, but I knew something was growing inside. When I finally checked my phone— Missed calls: 47. Messages: 93. All from Brandon. The earliest ones were voicemails, which I didn’t open. Later, they turned into text: [Rebecca, listen to me, I’ll handle things on that end, just give me some time.] [She and I are truly just married in name. I’ll resolve it when the time is right.] [The baby is innocent, please don’t be impulsive, okay?] Later, his tone gradually changed: [Do you really have to push me like this?] [I told you I’d handle it, what more do you want from me?] The last message was sent this afternoon, just one line: [The surgery is tomorrow, right? Don’t regret it.] I stared at that line for a long time. He was waiting for me to back down. I didn’t reply. On the day of the surgery, I sat on a bench in the hospital corridor, clutching my appointment slip, my palms drenched in sweat. Ten minutes before the surgery, footsteps echoed from the end of the hall. I looked up and saw my mom. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes swollen, and she walked with a frantic pace. “Rebecca!” She rushed over, grabbing my hand. “Mom? What are you doing here—” She was breathless. “Brandon called me.” “He said you two argued, and you’re planning to abort the baby. He asked me to come talk some sense into you.” “Rebecca,” my mom pleaded earnestly, “it’s normal for young couples to argue, but don’t take it out on the baby—” “Mom, please let go of me first.” She wouldn’t release her grip. Only then did I truly see her face. Her eyes were swollen, dark circles beneath them, her lips dry and cracked. “Mom, what’s wrong? What happened?” Her eyes flickered. “Nothing, honey. Mom was just worried about you, couldn’t sleep well all night…” “No.” I stared at her. “Tell me the truth.” She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then her eyes reddened, and her voice grew softer and softer. “Your dad… your dad’s company is in trouble.” “The project fell through, investors pulled out, and the penalty fees… we might have to sell the house.” “Mom didn’t dare tell you, didn’t want you to worry…” My blood ran cold. “Mom, sit down and wait for me for a moment. I need to go to the restroom.” I walked into the stairwell at the end of the corridor. The door closed behind me, and the world instantly fell silent. I dialed Brandon’s number. “Thought it over?” Brandon’s voice came from the other end, steady, as if he’d been waiting for this call. “My dad’s company troubles, that was you.” It wasn’t a question. On the other end of the line, he let out a soft chuckle. Not a triumphant laugh, but a “you finally figured it out” kind of laugh. “I just heard your dad’s project hit a snag. I initially wanted to help, but you insisted on cutting ties with me.” His voice was gentle, as if he were discussing casual matters. But it sent a shiver down my spine. “Brandon, you’re threatening me.” His voice finally dropped, no longer feigning. “You stay, the baby stays, and I’ll support your dad’s business. “But if you insist on breaking up with me and aborting the baby, I have no reason to intervene.” “What about her?” There was a second of silence on the other end. “I’ll handle things on that end. Just give me time.” I closed my eyes. The stairwell was dark, with only the faint green glow of the emergency exit sign. “Fine. I’ll keep the baby.” On the other end of the phone, he let out a long breath. Then he said, “Rebecca, thank you. I’ll send someone over right away. Your dad’s situation will be stabilized tonight.” I didn’t speak. He continued, “I know you hate me right now. But you’ll understand someday, everything I’m doing is for us.” I hung up. Standing in the stairwell, holding my phone, I didn’t move. “For us.” I looked down at my abdomen. It was still flat, nothing visible. But I knew a life was taking root inside. A life he had forced me to keep. I smiled. As I smiled, tears fell. He said he would handle things on that end. He said to wait for him. But from beginning to end, he never once said: “I will divorce her.” My phone vibrated again. I didn’t look. I didn’t need to; I knew who it was. From now on, I would never believe his words again. 3. Brandon was true to his word. My dad’s company was back to normal operations three days later. The project resumed, investors returned, and no penalty fees were due. My phone rang. A message from Brandon: [Coming to see you tonight. What do you want to eat?] I didn’t reply. He was used to it. For the past two weeks, he’d sent messages daily, and I’d reply to one out of ten. He’d come to the apartment, and I’d let him in, but wouldn’t let him stay the night. He never got angry. Before he left, he always said the same thing: “Get some rest. Call me anytime if you need anything.” Like a thoughtful boyfriend. Like nothing had ever happened. That day, my phone blew up. First, WeChat. Countless friend requests poured in, the verification messages uniformly abusive: “Mistress, go to hell!” “Whore, still pretending!” “May you die a horrible death for seducing someone’s husband!” Then, someone tagged me on Twitter. I clicked it and found a post by a marketing account, accompanied by my photo. The headline read: [Exposed! Art curator climbs the social ladder as a mistress, uses pregnancy to usurp the legitimate wife!] The text claimed I knowingly pursued Brandon despite him being married, using my pregnancy to force him into divorce. It said the legitimate wife was so furious she was hospitalized, and that the apartment I lived in was bought by Brandon with their marital assets. The comment section was nothing but curses directed at me. My hands started to tremble. I scrolled down. My dad’s company address was dug up, with comments saying, “This company’s products are trash, anyone who cooperates with them is an idiot.” My stomach churned, and I rushed to the toilet to throw up. I knew it was Amelia Bowen’s doing. After throwing up, I sat on the cold tiles. My legs felt numb from the cold. But my mind, paradoxically, cleared. Returning to the living room, I opened my phone’s photo album. September 2017, outside the university library, Brandon had his arm around me, smiling, all eight teeth showing. That was the first day he’d won me over. April 2018, my birthday, he bought me a cake. The background was our first shared rental apartment. Summer 2019, by Lake Tahoe, he carried me on his back along the boardwalk. Chinese New Year 2020, he came to my home for dinner. 2021, he graduated, and I put his graduation cap on him. He hugged me, flashing a peace sign at the camera. 2022, we moved into our new house. He cooked noodles for me in the kitchen, and I secretly took a picture of his back. Every picture had a timestamp. Every picture proved that before 2023, we had already been together for six years. Brandon and Amelia Bowen had married in March 2022. I selected nine representative photos and posted them in a nine-grid collage. Accompanied by a single line of text: [Who’s the mistress? You decide for yourselves.] After posting, I tossed my phone onto the couch. When I picked it up again, that tweet had been retweeted over ten thousand times. The comments section had shifted. “Wait, according to this timeline, they were together for six years before he got married?” “Holy cow, so Amelia Bowen is the real homewrecker who took over?” “Pot calling the kettle black? That’s some messed-up move.” Someone dug up Amelia Bowen’s Twitter account. She had previously posted a photo showing off her wedding ring, dated April 2022. The comments section had been taken over: “You’re the mistress, aren’t you?” “You stole someone’s boyfriend and then blamed them?” “What a socialite, utterly disgusting.” Another half hour passed. The hashtag #AmeliaBowenIsTheMistress topped the trending list. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Rebecca! Mom saw it! Are you okay?” Her voice was urgent and full of concern. “I’m fine, Mom.” I held my phone, but my eyes welled up. “What is that Amelia Bowen? How dare she bully my daughter?” I paused, surprised. My mom never swore. “Mom, are you really okay?” “What could be wrong with me?” Her voice was full of vigor. “Just now, many people came to your dad’s company with flowers, saying ‘support the original partner’.” I held my phone, tears silently falling. “Rebecca, Mom almost misunderstood you. Mom thought you really…” She didn’t finish the sentence. “It’s okay, Mom.”

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After pulling an all-nighter to finish my thesis, I picked up my phone. The screen reflected the dark circles under my eyes and my weary gaze. “White moonlight, my foot,” I grumbled to myself, “how could the male lead be so utterly smitten with her?” Then I caught sight of the frantic comments scrolling past. “The female lead is pregnant, and the white moonlight has to come back now. The male lead is definitely going to force her to abort the baby!” “What’s the point of staying by his side for so many years? The moment the white moonlight returns, the female lead has to step aside!” Reading this, I almost burst out laughing—could I finally graduate and leave this mess? I secretly calculated: if it really played out as the comments predicted, getting my degree and moving far away for two years would be my way of thanking these “online relatives.” However, the next day, the professor’s rejection of my graduation application slapped me hard in the face. “Damn it!” I was so angry I almost threw the application. “I’m not doing this anymore! I’m going back home right now, and I’ll mess up that stupid plot so badly that those comments and I can all be heartbroken together!” 1. Comments “Three years studying in Germany will be the most unforgettable seven years of your five-year study abroad experience.” Anyone else feel me? I used to scoff at that sentence. But now, I just want to throttle my ignorant and fearless past self. Studying abroad in Germany, well, those who know, know. It’s been two years since I first saw those comments. The first time, I thought I was hallucinating from overwork. Woke up, and the comments were still there. From them, I learned that I was apparently the male lead’s “white moonlight” in a novel. The male lead, Brian Price, fell for me at first sight during a summer camp, but before he could even get close, the camp ended. From then on, I became his unforgettable white moonlight. And the female lead, Andrea Miller, was kept by Brian because her profile bore a slight resemblance to mine. According to the plot, two years ago, I would return home after completing my studies, coincidentally meeting Brian at the airport. Brian would abandon Andrea at the airport, chasing after me for my contact information. From then on, to leave a good impression on me, Brian would terminate his arrangement with Andrea. And Andrea, through Brian’s repeated rejections, would finally realize she was just a substitute. Finally, heartbroken, she would “run away with the baby.” Only then would Brian realize Andrea was his true love, and I was merely a childhood obsession he couldn’t attain. Then, to win Andrea back, he would blacklist me, making it impossible for me to find work in Portside. Eventually, I’d be forced to leave town under a cloud of scandal, moving far away. Me, seeing my own ending: What the heck?! At first, seeing the comments, besides a mouthful of complaints, there was a hint of schadenfreude. Graduating was incredibly tough, even for an ace student like me, nearly making me bald. Finally, I saw a glimmer of hope for graduation in those comments. Who knew? The professor mercilessly shot down my thesis and rejected my graduation application. My world came crashing down. Damn those comments, giving me hope only to plunge me into despair! From then on, I was half-skeptical about what the comments said. And of course, the comments uniformly blamed me for being “too weak” to even get my diploma, calling me a fraud and saying the author played favorites with me! From then on, the comments became polarized. Those who initially begged me not to return home were now begging me to come back because the plot had stagnated. The male and female leads were still awkwardly testing each other, neither willing to take the first step. Another group believed in some unknown deity, claiming this deity was protecting the male and female leads, preventing me, the white moonlight, from returning home and interfering with them. They just wanted to see the push-and-pull of the “ambiguous phase.” Heh, human joy and sorrow are not interconnected, and neither are their brains. I found it hard to understand the comments’ thought process. 2. Airport Two years later, with the comments increasingly in agreement, begging me to return home to propel the plot forward, I successfully graduated. My first stop back in the country was Southport. Heh heh, I specifically avoided Portside Airport. They called me a fraud, but I refuse to believe that changing my location would still lead me to the male and female leads. “Huh, why is the secondary female lead in Southport? Shouldn’t she be going to Portside?” “If the secondary female lead doesn’t go to Portside, how will she meet the male and female leads?” “Sometimes I wonder if she can see us talking about her.” “Yeah, me too. Once, I cursed her for being too weak, and she suddenly looked up at me. Her glare almost flew through the screen. I nearly peed myself!” Heh, why don’t you just drop dead? “Don’t worry, the secondary female lead doesn’t know the power of the plot. As long as she returns home, she’ll inevitably meet the female lead. And then, the white moonlight will be nothing but a speck of dust!” Just as I caught a glimpse of what the comments were saying as I exited the station, my eyelid twitched, and a bad feeling surged through me. “Ah—” Focused on the comments, I didn’t see someone in front of me and accidentally bumped into them. I quickly apologized, “I’m so sorry, are you okay?” The girl clutched her chest, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes, her mouth pouting. Oh no, she’s about to cry. I panicked, “You, don’t cry. Where does it hurt? Should I rub it for you?” The moment the words left my mouth, the girl’s hand dropped as if she’d heard something scandalous, and her face flushed crimson as she stared at me. I looked down. Oops, I was too casual. Living abroad, I’d gotten used to the openness of foreign women; my words hadn’t gone through my brain. I glanced at the undulating curves on the girl’s chest, then looked down at myself. Hmm, that curve certainly makes for an easy collision. Just as I looked down, the comments in front of me started scrolling again. “Female lead, sweetie!” “Sure enough, the plot god is irreversible.” “Is the secondary female lead doing this on purpose? Such a big airport, and she just had to bump into the female lead.” “Look at the secondary female lead’s eyes. As expected, the female lead and secondary female lead are natural adversaries. She doesn’t even know the female lead’s identity yet, and she’s already jealous of her.” Heaven knows, that wasn’t jealousy; it was pure, unadulterated envy from a flat-chested person for someone with a fuller bust. Goodness knows, missing the best growth period, how hard it is to get bigger later. “Male lead has arrived, the plot has begun.” “High drama ahead! The male lead is about to abandon our girl for the white moonlight for the first time.” Seeing the spoiler comments, I looked up. A man in a suit was scanning the crowd, searching for something. Realizing I was about to be entangled in this bizarre plot, I quickly tried to find a way to escape. Slipping on my sunglasses, I apologized to the female lead in front of me, “I’m sorry, I have to go.” Before she could say anything, I quickly grabbed my luggage, ready to bolt. “Andrea Miller!” The female lead’s body trembled. Reflexively, she grabbed my luggage. I pulled. It wouldn’t budge? “Please let go, I’m in a hurry.” Andrea awkwardly released my luggage and explained, “I wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t intentional.” Saying that, her eyes reddened again. What’s with this? A tear-incontinence condition? I waved my hand. “It’s fine.” Unfortunately, before I could escape the battlefield, the male lead had already arrived in front of us. “Andrea Miller, you’ve got some nerve, running away from home!” Andrea flinched, not speaking. The man was about to explode when he noticed me, the sneaky one trying to escape. “Lupe?” I pretended not to hear, solely focused on fleeing this battlefield. But Brian grabbed my suitcase. What’s wrong with these people? They all like to grab people’s suitcases. “Why are you running? It’s me, Brian Price.” Taking a deep breath, I turned, took off my sunglasses, and forced a fake smile. “Brian Price? I’m sorry, I just got back to the country. I don’t quite remember you.” Did you hear that? I don’t remember you, so don’t get familiar! Brian’s face seemed to twist, but he quickly smiled. “Don’t remember? That’s okay, let’s reintroduce ourselves. I’m Brian Price. We attended the same summer camp years ago.” “Here it comes, the love triangle.” “Male lead, look back! The female lead is about to cry.” “Sure enough, the white moonlight’s destructive power in the early stages is too great. Where the white moonlight is, the male lead can’t even see the female lead.” It was the comments that reminded me of Andrea. Sure enough, just as the comments predicted, Andrea stood behind Brian, her eyes red, looking at us as if about to burst into tears. My head throbbed. This cursed plot, there was no escaping it. “Alright, alright, I remember now. I have things to do, and you should too. Let’s part ways here.” With that, I grabbed my suitcase, ready to leave. Brian once again grabbed my suitcase. “Old classmate, don’t be in such a hurry to leave. I’m free now. Can I give you a ride?” Me: … 3. Numb I’m really tired. I tried to leave three times and failed. Numb, I was enthusiastically pulled into the car by Brian. The female lead was also inside. “What’s going on? I missed one part, how did the plot change so much?” “Seriously, I was shocked when the female lead got in the car. The male lead didn’t actually abandon her.” “Just get used to it. The plot wasn’t warped in a day.” The comments were dense, mirroring my current mood. Goodness gracious! The male lead drove upfront, and the female lead and I stared blankly at each other in the back. The car was silent. Luckily, Brian was a natural at socializing and spoke first, “Lupe, what a coincidence. You just got back today, and we ran into each other. You left summer camp so suddenly back then. Although we weren’t close, we were classmates for a while. Why did you suddenly leave?” I don’t know if it was my imagination, but when Brian said “not close,” his voice was particularly heavy, and he glanced meaningfully at the back. “Heh heh, family matters, of course I had to go back.” Logically, I should have started another topic to ease the awkward atmosphere, but right now, I just wanted to play dead. Andrea, who had been silent the whole way, finally spoke, “Are you two feeling distant because of me? It’s okay, you can pretend I’m not here.” “??” My eyes snapped open. Andrea’s tone… is the female lead like this? Distant? We’re not even close, okay? Why is this plot so off? I looked at the comments again. Sure enough, if even I, a character in the story, felt something was off, the comments would be even more sensitive. “Something’s off. Is the female lead being sarcastic? She must be.” “The person upstairs isn’t alone. How did the female lead’s character change? Wasn’t she supposed to be the strong, innocent type? Now she’s a bit, hiss—” “Something’s wrong. Let’s keep watching.” The comments were a blur, no useful information at all. Pfft, a bunch of useless things. Brian, on the other hand, was used to it. He drove with a normal expression. “Yes, everything you said is right.” Andrea looked like she’d heard something unacceptable, and tears streamed down her face. “What kind of attitude is that? Annoyed? Let’s break up!” I was dumbfounded. Brian slammed on the brakes. I lurched forward, hitting the seat in front of me. “Wait, maybe I should get out first, and you two can continue?” These crazy people, I don’t know where this plot is going, but it seems like if I don’t get out now, my life is going to hit a dead end. Andrea was unmoving, pressing down on my hand. “I was just joking, don’t leave.” Well, I’ll be. In the blink of an eye, Andrea’s tears were gone, and her eyes weren’t even red anymore. I pulled my hand back, forcing a dry laugh. “You two are so humorous.” A flicker of amusement crossed Andrea’s eyes. I thought I’d seen wrong and stared at her for a while. She suddenly struck up a conversation with me, “Miss Thorne, why did you land in Southport? Brian is from Portside, and since you’re classmates, I assume you’re from Portside too.” “Uh, yes, that’s right. I had some business this time, transferring from Southport.” Don’t ask what business, just assume it’s avoiding you two. Andrea pursued, “Is Miss Thorne’s business finished? How about coming back to Portside with us?” I shook my head. “No, no, I’ll be staying for two more days.” Andrea seemed to suddenly remember something. “Brian, actually, I want to stay in Southport for two days too. Let’s not rush off just yet.” Brian: “You forgot, there’s still…” “No, I want to play here for two days. If you don’t keep me company, I’ll find someone else to.” A vein throbbed on Brian’s forehead, but he eventually gave in to Andrea, agreeing through gritted teeth. I watched, utterly bewildered. The comments were just as confused, a screen full of question marks. Luckily, we soon arrived at the hotel. I quickly got out of the car, not daring to waste a second. “Alright, thanks for the ride. Hope to see you again sometime.” Preferably never. This time, no one grabbed my luggage. I dragged it and ran, afraid of being a step too slow. Behind me, Andrea watched my hurried retreating figure, her mouth pouting. Brian glared at her, annoyed. “What are you looking at? You’ve become best friends in this short time? Why don’t you two become sworn sisters? Save me the trouble of you going out and finding ‘brothers’ for me.” “And get into the front seat already! Do you really think I’m your chauffeur?” Andrea ignored him, slumping across the back seat, closing her eyes to rest. Brian didn’t push it and drove off.

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1 It was my tenth year hosting a late-night radio show, and I was on air for the final episode before the program was canceled. That night, the call came from a university student, her voice laced with pain. “Professor Fillion,” she began, “I’ve fallen in love with my university professor. He’s married, but he always gives me special attention.” She went on to say that when she was sick, he’d personally make her sick food. When she was sad, he’d stay up late talking to her, even taking her on trips to clear her head. After she finished, I sighed softly and began to console her. “It’s normal to develop feelings for someone admirable, but right now, finishing your studies is the most important thing.” I told her that I, too, had a crush on an intern teacher in high school, and it wasn’t until I met my husband that I understood what mature love was. “I hope you’ll also meet the person who truly belongs to you someday,” I sincerely wished her. A knowing chuckle came from the other end of the line. She said, “I really envy you, Mrs. Fillion.” … My mind buzzed. I looked up sharply at David, who was waiting outside the studio for me to finish work. No wonder the girl’s voice sounded familiar; I’d heard it on his phone. The director sprang to his feet, urging me through my earpiece to keep talking. David’s eyes darkened. He turned and walked away, holding his phone. I took a deep breath, forcing a smile. I held my composure, finishing the commentary just as the five minutes ran out. A period had been put on my ten-year late-night show. The song cut in, and my nerves instantly relaxed. My whole body was drenched in cold sweat. I gave a self-deprecating, helpless laugh. It really felt like my first time hosting. My colleagues looked at me with subtle expressions: shock, gossip, pity. “Professor Fillion…” I took my phone. The show and my name were already trending. [OMG! This is explosive! Didn’t expect a huge scandal to drop even as it goes off air.] [To the person above: basically, a female student said she fell for her professor. The host advised her, and then the student suddenly called the host ‘Mrs. Fillion,’ and they immediately cut the call.] [The female host’s husband is David Fillion, a law professor at A University.] [How ironic. This woman just finished talking about how good and happy her relationship with her husband was. Next second: ‘The clown is me, eating my own melon.’] … It was probably the highest trending moment for the show. Leaving the office, my stomachache worsened. I forced myself to the garage. David was in the car, flowers and gifts he’d bought for me sitting in the back seat. “The young lady was willful and thoughtless. I apologize to you on her behalf.” His tone was light, as if he were discussing an insignificant trifle. “Not many people listen to your show anyway, so it won’t have any impact.” That was it, just two sentences. Then he reached over to buckle my seatbelt, ready to drive. I laughed, gritting my teeth. “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation for what happened between you and her?” His brow furrowed, his voice almost cold. “What explanation do you want? I cheated. I fell for my student. When I said I was working late at school, half the time I was with her. I’ve barely touched you these past six months because she minded.” “If you want a divorce, I have no objections.” My heart felt crushed by a giant hand, my voice trembling. “Why…” “Why else does someone cheat? It faded, I got bored, I got tired, I sought new thrills.” He was silent for a moment, twirling his wedding ring, then slowly took it off. “I know what I did was unethical, but my heart led me there. I couldn’t help it. She makes me feel intensely alive.” “I’m sorry, Amelia, I really didn’t want to hurt you.” My eyes were blurred with tears, his face distorted. “Amelia, with me by your side, no one can hurt you.” He proposed to me at the hospital. That New Year’s Eve, I went home to spend the holidays with my mom. To my dismay, she had gotten back together with my gambling, abusive father and had agreed to give me to a big boss to settle debts. Driven to desperation, I had no choice but to jump from the second-floor window. David rushed over when he found out, intimidating and bribing my parents until they signed a document severing our parental ties. I looked at the document, crying and laughing. He took out a ring. “When I got your call, I was going through my mom’s belongings. In a hurry, I just stuffed it into my pocket and only found it after I got off the plane.” “Amelia, marry me. Let me be your family.” I nodded repeatedly, wanting to say “yes,” but my throat was choked with tears, unable to utter a sound. After my bones healed, we immediately got married. From loving to unloving, it only took ten years. The promise of a lifetime, once so firm, had become like brittle plastic, seemingly intact, but crumbling at a touch. My phone ringing pulled me back to reality. David glanced at me, probably thinking there was no need to hide it from me anymore, and answered the call right in the car. On the other end, the girl seemed to be sobbing. David gently consoled her, “It’s alright. Just wait at home. I’ll bring her over.” The car started immediately. I grabbed his arm, asking him where we were going. “Luna wants to apologize to you.” I gave a sarcastic laugh, curled up in my seat with stomach pain, unable to utter a single word. David pulled a bottle of antacids from the glove compartment and offered it to me. I refused it, and he tossed it back, his face cold. When we arrived at Luna’s place, he dragged me out of the car. “You should know what to say. If you can calm her down, you can ask for anything.” Inside the door, Luna, her eyes red and swollen, bowed to me. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fillion. I really didn’t mean to. I was too nervous, and it just slipped out.” “I shouldn’t have been so willful and silly. Mrs. Fillion, if you’re angry, just scold me. I’ll listen.” David prompted me with a look to speak. I gritted my teeth. “It’s fine. I don’t blame you.” “If you really feel sorry for me and want to make amends, then post a clarification. Say you had a one-sided crush on David, and because he rejected you, you deliberately sought revenge on us. And that you and David have no inappropriate relationship.” “Whatever you do in private is fine, but it cannot affect my career.” “Amelia Fillion, you’re too selfish. You’ve had dirt thrown on you yourself, how can you say something like that?” David questioned me furiously. When I first joined the radio station after college, I was harassed by my boss and even beaten by his wife, who mistook me for a mistress. I comforted David, saying it was a blessing in disguise; I wouldn’t have to work with that boss anymore. David was angry and heartbroken, asking why I hadn’t told him. His eyes red, he promised me, “Wife, I will work hard so you have the confidence and freedom to quit whenever you want.” And he truly delivered. We bought a house, had a car, and our lives kept getting better. He was concerned about my irregular working hours and urged me to quit many times. But I had an emotional attachment to the show. Substitute hosts came and went, and in the end, it was always just me. Three months ago, the station decided to cancel the show. With my mentor Professor Evans’s recommendation, I passed three rounds of interviews and received an offer to be a news anchor at a TV station, starting next month. This was my dream job. Public opinion could be a huge factor, and one wrong move could ruin my career. I’m selfish? I’m slandering people? Aren’t they the ones dumping their garbage on my head? Luna, clutching David, nodded tearfully, saying she could do it. She turned to grab her phone. But I couldn’t hold on anymore. My vision went black, and I collapsed. When I came to, it was already dusk. I was lying in a hospital bed. David stood by the window in a white t-shirt, his back to me. For a moment, I was disoriented, as if he were still the boy from ten years ago. We would nap in our cramped rental apartment until evening, sleeping through a heavy rain. He would turn around, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Amelia, come quick, there’s a double rainbow!” The real David turned around, his face grim and tired. He handed me divorce papers. “You can tell everyone we’re already divorced, that you’re single. Then my and Luna’s business won’t affect you.” I didn’t hesitate, reaching for the pen to sign. But he suddenly pulled the papers back. “Are you that eager?” I looked at him, bewildered, and asked with a laugh. “What else? What kind of reaction do you expect from me? Reluctance? To continue hysterically asking you why you don’t love me anymore? Why you betrayed our decade-long relationship? What’s the point?” He let out a short, cold laugh. “None. Sign it.” After signing, I looked for my phone. He had a hesitant expression but eventually handed it over. A bad feeling surged in my heart. My phone was flooded with messages. My name appeared alone on the trending list—radio host Amelia Fillion had an abortion in high school. Around three in the morning, an account claiming to be my high school classmate broke the news that I had seduced an intern teacher in high school, had an affair with him in the classroom, and caused him to be expelled from his teacher training college. It claimed I took half a month off because I was in the hospital for surgery. Below, they posted a class graduation photo, and a picture of me in my school uniform, sitting outside an obstetrics and gynecology clinic. I laughed, looking up at David. “What good does it do you to ruin me?” “She didn’t do it.” David’s voice was firm. “She couldn’t possibly know your high school classmates, and she couldn’t possibly have gotten those photos.” “It’s because you insisted on bringing up your high school crush on an intern teacher on the show. You should think hard about who you might have offended in the past, who you had conflicts with, or if you’ve done anything with a guilty conscience.” “I’ve already contacted that account and had the original post deleted. I’ll handle this.” I was stunned, utterly disbelieving. A sharp bitterness instantly filled my nasal cavity. “What do you mean? You think it’s true? You don’t believe me, you think I lied to you?” I pulled out the IV needle, and my legs felt weak as I got out of bed, my head spinning. He supported me, pressing me back onto the bed. “What are you doing? Can’t you feel you have a fever?” “Is arguing about this meaningful now? The past is the past. True or false, I don’t care at all.” Then he added, “But the fact that you can’t get pregnant is true.” My heart clenched painfully. Three years ago, we started trying to conceive. But both times I miscarried before three months. I wanted to try again, but David, out of concern for me, absolutely refused to let me go through it again, saying it was too damaging to my body. “I don’t really like children anyway. Let’s not have any. Isn’t it better with just the two of us, no third wheel?” I gasped for air, still feeling suffocated. He destroyed my trust in him, then questioned my character. A decade of understanding and affection meant nothing compared to a few lines of malicious rumors and a misleading photo. At this moment, my heart completely froze over. My phone rang. It was Professor Evans. “Amelia, the onboarding might need to be delayed. You should rest up for a while.” I swallowed my pain and apologized to my mentor. Hanging up, I grabbed the divorce papers from the bedside table. And tore them up with a laugh. “No need. If I don’t divorce him, she’ll always be his hidden mistress. Professor Fillion, your future will also be ruined by her own hands. I hope someday, when you’re tired of her too, you won’t regret this.” He was silent for a few seconds. “I resigned. Vance offered me a partnership at his law firm, and I accepted.” I paused, then burst into laughter, tears slowly welling up in my eyes. No wonder Luna was so brazen, calling me “Mrs. Fillion” on the show, essentially exposing David’s identity. David hadn’t seemed to care or get angry at all. “What about her?” “She graduated early.” I couldn’t help but clap twice. Turns out I was the only clown. David, enraged and humiliated, his face grew even darker. “I admit, this incident was Luna’s fault. She’s young and prone to jealousy. Yesterday was her birthday, and she resented that I couldn’t be with her, so she threw a tantrum, and that’s how this prank happened.” So it was my fault again. I shouldn’t have let him come with me to record the last episode. Otherwise, none of this would have happened. “She’s already apologized to you. Why are you so relentless?” He took a deep breath to suppress his anger and offered a solution: “Didn’t you want to go abroad for further studies? Go study for a few years. When you come back, no one will remember this mess, and you can host or do anything you want.” Words always flowed so easily from his lips. He looked at me with a sigh, bent down to pick up the paper scraps from the floor, and left. Sweet words that turn sour are just lies. After they left, my low-grade fever lingered. I forced myself to stay awake and drafted a thousand-word clarification. Just as I was about to post it, I suddenly received a message from Luna. She sent a blood test report. She was pregnant. [Mrs. Fillion, I can do without a title, but the baby cannot. Please, complete us.] I stared intensely at my phone screen, a bitter, metallic taste rising in my throat. I replied with two words: [Congratulations.] I added that screenshot and hit publish. Five minutes later, the tweet was reported and deleted for spreading false information, rumor, and defamation. Immediately after, David’s call came through, his voice laced with suppressed anger. “Amelia Fillion, stop causing trouble.” I retorted, “Can’t I even clarify things myself? Which sentence wasn’t true? Where did I spread rumors?” He scoffed. “You’re using your own blood test report to falsely claim Luna is pregnant. Are you really so determined to throw this dirty water on her? If you keep making a scene, I’ll pursue legal action against you.” I froze, magnifying the report. No name was visible. I rushed out to find a nurse. “Am I pregnant?” Upon receiving a positive answer, I stood there stunned, then burst into tears and laughter. Why now, of all times? The nurse helped me back to my room, cautioning me not to get too emotional. I picked up my phone and saw a post from David. He claimed all of this was a stunt I orchestrated to gain popularity, that I paid someone to pretend to call in, and that he didn’t even know the student on the show. [Ms. Fillion and I have an estranged relationship and are in the process of divorce. Her actions have severely infringed upon my reputation, and I reserve the right to pursue legal action.] Public opinion immediately shifted. The comments section was filled with curses, accusing me of being ruthless for fame. Someone Photoshopped my picture, with “dirty bitch” written across my face. David sent a voice recording via message. My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside was my father’s voice. He testified that I was promiscuous, that I lived with men and didn’t come home as a teenager, and had been pregnant and had abortions more than once. [As former spouses, I don’t want to see you truly disgraced. Let me know when you’ve considered the divorce.] [Oh, and about the child, whether you want to abort or keep it is up to you. If you give birth, I’ll pay child support.] David, who had once helped me resolve these issues, was now using them against me for another woman. Threatening me with such things. A bitter taste rose in my throat. I put down my phone, too despairing to speak. I don’t know how long I lay there before the door was pushed open. It was Luna, carrying a meal container. “Mrs. Fillion, Professor Fillion said you like pumpkin millet porridge. I cooked some, and I also brought some pickles my mom sent.” She lowered her head, on the verge of apologizing again, her voice laced with tears. “Mrs. Fillion, I’m truly sorry. I never thought things would turn out like this…” Her affected voice disgusted me, and a shiver ran through my body. My stomach churned; I felt like throwing up. In my haste, I accidentally knocked over the bowl of pumpkin millet porridge. Luna suddenly rushed over, knelt by the bed, and tried to catch it with her hands. Just then, David burst in, his face shocked and pained. “Luna…” He immediately took off his t-shirt to wipe Luna. There were several claw marks on his back. He disregarded everything else, took her to the restroom, and shot me a disgusted glance. Ten minutes later, he returned, put on his jacket. “Luna has mysophobia. Her hands are already raw from washing them with disinfectant. She’s shown you enough respect. If you have any grievances, direct them at me.” I gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Oh, then you two are perfectly matched.” David also had mysophobia. If he had even a slight skin contact with someone, he would immediately wipe it with a disinfectant wipe. But he would tolerate his mysophobia to cook for me and clean up the blood after my miscarriage. “You’re not ‘someone else.’ My mysophobia system only grants you personal access.” I bit my lip in anger. Just then, the door to the hospital room was suddenly thrown open. A woman walked in. “Are you Amelia Fillion?” Before I could answer, she walked over and slapped me, grabbed my hair, and slammed my belly into the corner of the table. She held up a photo in her hand; the man on the screen was the one my father had initially intended to give me to. “Let you seduce other women’s husbands? I’ll beat you to death, you mistress!” I cast a pleading glance at David, but he didn’t even see me. He grabbed Luna’s bag and rushed out of the room. Of course, he probably called her himself. “I heard you’re pregnant! A mistress’s child is a bastard. Do you still want to give birth and ruin another family?” I felt suffocated, my heart even more despairing. I couldn’t protect my baby. The woman’s grip was strong. She yanked my hair and slammed my head against the wall. The intense pain blurred my consciousness until blood flowed from my lower body. Only then did the woman release me. The hallway outside the room was crowded with onlookers. Hearing I was a mistress, not a single person offered help. I slowly collapsed into the pool of blood. Just then, several people, calling themselves entertainment reporters, rushed in, holding phones and cameras. “Professor Fillion, is it true your husband cheated with a student? Are the online rumors about you true? Did you really have an abortion?” “We contacted your classmate, who said you started dating and living with delinquent individuals in junior high. Is that true?” “Do you have anything to say about your husband’s response? Please comment!” “What’s this woman saying about you seducing her husband? Is Attorney Fillion divorcing you because you cheated during your marriage?” … The cameras were shoved in my face. My ears buzzed, and my head felt like it was about to explode. “Get out!” A man, looking travel-worn, rushed in, pushed them aside, and lifted me from the floor.

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