When my eyes opened again, I found myself back in elementary school. It all started when Mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. To scrape together money for her treatment, I was forced to “sell” myself for three hundred thousand dollars. But just as I was about to complete the hospital admission paperwork, I discovered the money in my card had vanished. Panicked, I was on the verge of a breakdown. I pulled out my phone to call the police, but Dad suddenly rushed over and snatched it away. “Bella,” Dad said, his voice laced with a coldness I’d never heard, “I confiscated the money. No matter how short we are, you can’t demean yourself like this.” He continued, “If you ever run into trouble inheriting the family business, won’t the entire Prescott family be sold off by you?” “I’m so disappointed in you. You really couldn’t stand the test.” Finally, he spat, “From this day on, I, Arthur Prescott, disown you!” and sped away in his luxury car. The shock made me cough up blood. My body was already riddled with damage from the experimental drugs I’d taken to earn money. In that moment, I could only lie on the ground, waiting to die in despair. 1 When I opened my eyes again, Mom was calling Dad to dinner. The table was laden with delicious food, but Dad frowned, finding it hard to eat. Mom didn’t know that, at the time, Dad was already worth a few million dollars, accustomed to gourmet meals. Yet, at home, he claimed to be a mere janitor, supplementing his income by shining shoes. His monthly salary barely covered his own expenses, and because Grandma’s illness was severe, he was supposedly tens of thousands in debt each month. Growing up, I never really spent much of his money. Whether it was diapers and formula when I was little, or stationery and clothes as I got older. Ask, and he had no money. Ask, and he’d play the pauper. Mom sympathized with him, never asked him for a dime, and often worked three jobs a day just to help ease his burden. She even told me to listen to Dad. “Your father works so hard. Even if he doesn’t earn much, it’s commendable that he’s willing to work. Many people would have given up in his situation, let alone provide for his mother.” Oh, my love-struck mom. I didn’t argue, just nodded silently. Then I wrote about Dad in my essay, titled “My Janitor Dad.” I wrote that being a janitor was a noble profession. Though many might see it as insignificant, it genuinely transformed our environment, making it clean and comfortable. My dad was also a great father. Though many might see his salary as insignificant, this job truly allowed him to fulfill his self-worth and was a part of society’s backbone. My teacher was astonished, praising my writing as superior to ninety-nine percent of elementary school students. She then submitted my work to the city competition. It won first place without a doubt and was selected for publication in a magazine. My teacher was overjoyed, stating that she would definitely interview my dad at the upcoming parent-teacher conference. I asked her if my dad would be happy. She smiled and patted my head, “Of course, he’ll be so proud to have a daughter like you.” Hearing that, I smiled contentedly. Dad loves pretending to be a janitor, right? Then I’ll broadcast it far and wide, letting everyone know he’s a janitor. 2 Elementary school was a breeze for me. My only concern was when I could finally eat the lunch Mom packed. I rested my head on my desk, doodling circles in my textbook, waiting for the last bell to ring. Sarah, my deskmate, was also hungry. I watched as she dipped her head, swiftly pulling a chocolate bar from under her desk and popping it into her mouth. I could almost smell the distinct sweet scent of chocolate, my gaze involuntarily drawn to it. Sensing my attention, Sarah smirked, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Never had one, have you? My dad bought it for me, and we have tons more at home!” “Want a piece? Kneel and lick my shoes, and I’ll give you some.” I shook my head, “That stuff is disgusting.” I’d once begged Dad for chocolate, only to be scolded. Later, when Mom fell ill, I couldn’t bear to buy any myself. Not until I got the money from the drug trial. Even with my stomach already incredibly fragile, I couldn’t resist buying one bar. I planned to savor it, but once I started, I devoured it greedily. The silky, rich taste made me feel like I was going to swallow my own tongue. Yet, less than three seconds later, I was violently sick, my stomach cramping so badly I rolled on the floor. Now, the thought of chocolate immediately brought a sharp, twisting pain to my abdomen. Sarah rolled her eyes and snorted, “Such a drama queen!” That expression, it was so similar to that woman’s. And that woman, like Sarah, lived a pampered life, carrying expensive handbags, with crimson nails and lipstick, her skin glowing with a smooth radiance. When I died on the cold hospital floor, my soul floated in the air. I saw Dad pull up in his luxury car at the beauty salon. Sarah and her mother emerged, all smiles, and slipped into the back seat of the lavish vehicle. Only then did I realize that Sarah’s mother was the woman Dad had on the side. While Mom and I ate watery porridge and instant noodles to save money, Sarah and her mom were tired of Japanese, French, and Korean fine dining. While Mom and I avoided the hospital for minor injuries to save money, Sarah’s dog had a five-hundred-dollar grooming session. While I was scrambling for living expenses and medical bills, Sarah was planning a round-the-world trip. There was too much… more than I could even recount. Finally, the dismissal bell rang. I clutched my lunchbox and went to the garden outside to savor the taste of my mother’s love. After school that afternoon. Mom was bustling around the kitchen alone, the floor covered with all sorts of ingredients. Turns out Dad’s investors were coming for dinner. They specifically asked for home-cooked food. Dad, not wanting to waste money, simply bought the ingredients and had Mom cook at home. 3 “These are big shots. If they’re happy, even a small investment from them could make me rich.” Dad kept emphasizing. Then he sent me back to my room to do homework, telling me not to bother them. I nodded innocently and quietly worked on my assignments. Half an hour later, the aroma of food wafted from the kitchen. My stomach rumbled; my lunch had long since digested, and it was time for dinner. But I waited for hours until Mom came in, clutching two large steamed buns. “You must be starving. Here, have one.” I frowned, glancing outside. Dad and the investors were happily eating. “Mom, I want to eat too.” Mom sighed, “Be good. Your dad is doing something important. Maybe if they’re pleased and invest in him, he won’t have to work so hard as a janitor anymore.” I swear, my mom was such a naive airhead. She didn’t know, or chose not to believe, that even if my dad really did strike it rich, the first thing he’d think of wouldn’t be giving us a good life. Because at that point, Dad already had a fair bit of money. After this partnership succeeded, he’d truly skyrocket, transforming from an unknown small business owner into a CEO worth hundreds of millions. Yet, he would persistently pretend to be poor in front of Mom and me, constantly using the excuse of “testing” us to exploit us both. In the end, Mom and I wouldn’t get a single dime from him! I took a bite of the bun. The usually sweet bread now tasted bland and dry compared to the rich aroma of all the meat dishes. I put down the bun, and ignoring Mom’s protests, rushed straight to the dining table. “Dad, I want to eat too!” I raised my voice, yelling loudly. Everyone froze and looked at me. Dad frowned, raising a hand to send me back to my room, “Stop messing around, you’ll get food later.” I refused to go, instead putting on a drooling expression. Wiping my mouth with my hand, I then used a child’s exaggerated, booming voice: “I can put on a show for you! I can recite ancient poems!” With that, I swayed my head back and forth. “The river tide connects with the sea’s expanse, the moon on the ocean rises with the tide. Its shimmering waves travel a thousand miles, where can the spring river be without moonlight…” I recited it all in one breath, then smiled ingratiatingly, pointing at the ribs in front of me. “Can I eat now?” The investors seemed amused. “Of course, little greedy cat.” Dad chuckled, “Why don’t you thank Mr. Li?” I picked up a small bowl, scooped a few pieces, and then burst into tears. “Thank you, Mr. Li, thank you, Mr. Li!” “If you hadn’t come, Mom and I wouldn’t get to eat such delicious meat.” 4 Everyone’s expressions varied, the atmosphere becoming horribly awkward. Mr. Li’s expression instantly grew serious. “You mean you usually can’t afford meat?” Dad snapped out of his shock, frantically yelling at me to go back inside, “What nonsense are you spouting? Get back to your room!” But I refused. I clutched my small bowl, sobbing uncontrollably. “That’s right, Mr. Li, my family is super, super poor.” “Dad is a janitor, and sometimes he even shines shoes for others. Even with all that, the money he earns is never enough for himself. Mom has to work three jobs a day to help him pay off debts, and I have to save every penny.” As I spoke, I looked down. Following my gaze, my socks had two holes, perfectly revealing my big toes. Everyone’s expressions were complex, especially Mr. Li’s. After a moment, he finally understood. “Arthur Prescott, are you trying to con us?” “Didn’t you make money last time? Did you gamble it away or lose it?” At his words, the other two also looked alert. Dad panicked, quickly putting on a smile and explaining. “No, no, the kid’s just making things up!” “Making things up, you say?” Mr. Li pointed at my socks. “Those socks haven’t been torn for just a day or two, have they?” “You talk a good game about your projects, but I think we should put this collaboration on hold. Let’s talk another time.” As they spoke, they started to stand up. Dad desperately tried to dissuade them. “Kids go through socks fast!” Me: “Yes, sir, I go through a pair of socks every year!” “Kids just love to lie!” I quickly added: “Sir, my essay about Dad even won an award, and last time I got perfect scores in English, Math, and Science!” The others packed their things with increasing speed, slamming the door shut after just a few moments. Dad chased after them, almost getting his nose squashed by the door. Ignoring the pain, he stumbled after them, trying to explain. But it was no use. Mr. Li was convinced Dad was truly destitute and was desperately trying to trick them into being his financial saviors, so he naturally gave him no quarter. Dad’s hard work for half a year was ruined. He came home with a face as dark as thunderclouds. Immediately, he unleashed his fury on Mom: “Look at your well-raised daughter! How dare she publicly call me a janitor?” Mom looked bewildered. “But you are one, aren’t you?” Dad choked, as if only then realizing that being a janitor was a role he’d assigned himself. He himself was already disgusted by it. 5 Mom turned to look at me; I was already seated at the table, digging in heartily. Mom’s cooking really was exceptionally good! My stomach was healthy now, my body strong, and my appetite excellent. Seeing me eat so ravenously, Mom, who was about to scold me, suddenly got a little misty-eyed. “I think… Bella has a point too.” Dad furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?” Mom took a deep breath. “I think Bella isn’t wrong. Bella is only 11, she’s a child. What’s wrong with her wanting to eat something nice?” “Ever since I married you, I’ve always felt such dread, such scarcity. Every day I’ve been rushing around to make ends meet, but Arthur, how can you feast and indulge yourself without a single thought for your daughter?” Dad froze, his expression somewhat awkward. “Me, what are you saying? I invited them to dinner, wasn’t it for the future?” “If I make it big, won’t I be able to eat whatever I want? Why would I act like a starving ghost and eat now?” “Now look! It’s all because of her, offending my investors. After this meal, you can starve!” Mom’s brows furrowed, she seemed conflicted. As if she was wavering. Dad turned, his face menacing, and scolded me. “Because of your greed, I missed a chance to get rich!” I put down the big chicken leg. Pouting, on the verge of tears: “I’m, I’m sorry, Dad.” I couldn’t help but let out a burp. “I was too hungry. This is my fault, I couldn’t control my stomach.” “But Dad, I have good news for you. I got first place in my entire grade! Can you come to my parent-teacher conference tomorrow? Our teacher specifically asked, and she’ll praise you in front of everyone!” Dad looked displeased, waving his hand to refuse immediately. “You made me lose so much face. I’m not going.” He turned and sat on the sofa, playing on his phone. A moment later, he saw something and called my name. “Bella, what time does that parent-teacher conference start?”

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1 I brought up divorce the day my wife returned from her ninth annual trip back home, where she’d gone with her ex-boyfriend, posing as a married couple. She frowned, her tone dripping with impatience. She demanded to know if the power I had at the company, the name on the marriage certificate, the luxury car I drove daily, and the mansion we lived in weren’t enough. She claimed that everyone back in her hometown looked down on me, a vocational school graduate from the mountains, and if it weren’t for Nathan defending me to her family for nine years, I would have been kicked out long ago. Watching her self-righteous attitude, my heart felt frozen. She probably forgot that nine years ago, when the Prescott family was on the verge of bankruptcy, it was Nathan who fled the country overnight, cutting all ties. It was she, Audrey Prescott, who came crying, begging me for help. But for these nine years, she challenged my boundaries again and again. She probably thought I would always indulge her unconditionally, yet she didn’t understand that even someone willing to give everything needs a taste of sweetness to persevere. And all she ever gave me was bitterness. … Seeing my perpetually cold expression, Audrey, uncharacteristically, showed a flicker of panic. “Honey, you’re not serious, are you?” She reached out to block my path, her eyes filled with a testing gaze. “Let me tell you, I, Audrey Prescott, never go back on my word. If you really divorce me, you’ll never get close to me again in this life.” “Enough already. You’re not the ‘true’ heir who just came back home nine years ago. Nathan has controlled all of the Campbell Group’s assets for years. Without me, you’re nothing but a worthless bum.” “When you first returned, the Campbell parents did feel guilty and wanted to compensate you, but now, apart from a surname, what connection do you have to the Campbell family?” “Some people may have a destiny for wealth but not the luck. It was just bad luck that you were swapped and had your life changed back then. Good thing I don’t despise you for it.” She proudly tilted her chin, her face full of haughty self-satisfaction. Audrey’s eyes and brows still held that haughty beauty, but I no longer found her captivating; instead, I felt a profound weariness. For nine years, she had always leveraged my love to speak without thinking. She knew how much I resented the painful past of being swapped at birth, suffering immensely, abandoned by my family, and scorned by the world. Yet, she always delighted in bringing it up. Nathan, seeing my grim expression, stepped forward with a sneer, advising, “Ethan Campbell, they say a man finds his footing at thirty. You’re in your mid-thirties now, barely maintaining a respectable job thanks to Audrey. If you really divorce, you’ll have nothing left.” Audrey suddenly smiled, linking her arm through mine. “Honey, Nathan’s right. Please don’t lose everything over a moment of pique. We’ve been married for nine years; you know how I feel about you.” “From major to minor company affairs, I’ve entrusted everything to you. Any document with your signature, the finance department disburses funds directly. And whenever new products are publicly launched, you’re the only one who speaks on my behalf.” “Don’t you understand how I feel about you?” She softened her tone, gently shaking my arm. “Right now, it’s just asking Ethan to pretend to be my husband to go home for the holidays. If you’re really that upset, then how about I take you home next year? I’ll tell everyone that I never married the well-matched Nathan nine years ago, but instead married Ethan, the country bumpkin from the boonies.” “Even if a million people mock me and my parents break my legs, I will never give up on you.” She made a swearing gesture, her expression exceptionally sincere. If I hadn’t heard this speech for nine years, I would almost believe it now. Unlike the previous nine years, I didn’t feel sorry for Audrey, afraid she’d be hurt. Instead, I smiled and nodded: “Alright.” Audrey froze. “What?” 2 She looked utterly shocked. “Are you really coming home with me? You don’t care that my parents might break my legs?” I gave her a fake smile. “Of course I care, but a quick end is better than prolonged suffering. We can’t stay in the shadows our whole lives, can we?” “Besides, I remember your grandfather’s eightieth birthday is the day after tomorrow. No time like the present. We’ll prepare a generous gift, say a few kind words, and I’m sure the old man won’t strike a smiling face on his big day.” At my words, Audrey’s face became incredibly ugly, and she didn’t speak for a long while. Instead, Nathan, in his role as the unofficial man of the house, reproached me. “You know the Prescotts look down on you. Are you going to ruin Little Audrey’s grandfather’s eightieth birthday just for your momentary satisfaction?” Hearing Nathan’s accusation, Audrey immediately straightened her back. “Ethan, it’s not that I don’t want to take you back, it’s just really bad timing. Grandpa has always been in poor health, and this eightieth birthday is meant to bring him good cheer. If I take you back and upset Grandpa, causing him any harm, it would be a deadly sin.” A thousand words, all just excuses to reject me. I nodded and stepped back. “Fine.” Silently turning to leave, Audrey reached out to stop me but Nathan grabbed her. “Forget it, let Ethan cool down first, lest he throws another fit.” My steps faltered as I recalled the scene from nine years ago when I first returned home. I was barely eighteen then, about to face my college entrance exams. The Campbell family suddenly appeared, holding Nathan’s hand, claiming he was my twin brother and that I had been presumed dead at birth, leading to my adoption. But I unintentionally overheard Nathan, looking incredibly guilty, kneeling before Mom and Dad: “Perhaps I should leave. Ethan is your true child. If my birth parents hadn’t deliberately swapped us, Ethan wouldn’t have a crippled left leg and be half-blind in his right eye.” I looked down at my limping leg, a cold sneer on my face as I pushed open the door: “So, you knew Nathan’s parents hurt me so badly that I became half-human, half-ghost, yet you lied to me, making me believe they were kind people who picked me up and raised me?” From childhood, I suffered endless humiliation and beatings. I couldn’t understand why my own parents could be so cruel. Not until the Campbell parents stood before me. Only then did I vaguely grasp it. Turns out I wasn’t their child, just adopted. No wonder they often treated me with disdain. If that was the case, at least they fed me, and I should be grateful to them. But just as I was coming to terms with it, the most unbearable truth was laid bare. I punched Nathan in the face, tearing through his facade of false kindness: “Why didn’t you say you’d leave when you put nails in my bed? What’s with the act now!” The Campbell parents tried desperately to stop me but it was useless. I broke Nathan’s leg, but that was far from enough to atone for the harm his parents had inflicted on me! From then on, the entire high society knew that the heir the Campbell family had found was a lunatic, a fratricidal, bloodthirsty maniac. I was sent abroad, my bones re-set, and given a new cornea. The Campbell parents said: “From now on, Nathan owes you nothing.” Memories flooded back. Audrey’s cool voice echoed from behind: “If you’re going to throw a tantrum, at least know your place. Besides, you owe Ethan nothing. If he dares to do anything to you, I’ll be the first to object!” Her words, so similar in sentiment, made me chuckle: “Owe me nothing?” 3 I turned to Audrey. “Are you saying Nathan owes me nothing, or are you saying you owe me nothing?” “Do you really want me to spell it out?” Neither Nathan, who had repeatedly usurped my place and framed me, nor Audrey, who had grown rapidly by feeding on my flesh and blood over the years, had any right to say such things. Audrey’s calm facade vanished, replaced by anger. “Ethan Campbell, did you swallow a bullet? What’s there to spell out? You’re my husband! Don’t think helping me with a few documents at work is some great accomplishment.” “Some husbands would even give their lives for their wives. All I asked was for you to do a little more work, and not bring you home for the holidays with me. Is that really something to hold onto?” Audrey’s brow was deeply furrowed, as if I were someone making trouble for no reason. I didn’t become hysterical as in the past; instead, I calmly issued a final ultimatum: “Audrey Prescott, ask yourself, do you truly see me as your husband?” “In your eyes, haven’t I always been just an employee you can summon at will?” Audrey was an only child, but she lacked business acumen from a young age. Nine years ago, a misjudgment nearly led to the Prescott family’s bankruptcy. At the time, her parents considered marrying her off for a project and adopting a nephew. Audrey came to me in tears, hugging me and saying I was the only one she wanted to marry, begging me to help her. Remembering that when I first returned to the Campbell family, only she hadn’t scorned or ridiculed me, the flicker of romance in my heart inevitably began to stir. I nodded in agreement, thus beginning over three thousand days of living a life like a year. Except for our wedding night or when the company faced problems, Audrey never shared a room with me. She claimed to be naturally frigid and told me not to think so vulgarly about “down there.” So, I respected Audrey, silently restraining myself and never overstepping. Yet, on many late nights, I watched Nathan drop Audrey off downstairs. The two held hands and embraced intimately, neither realizing I was her husband. These years of feigning deafness and blindness hadn’t earned me Audrey’s true heart; instead, it made her even more brazen. Audrey’s expression was incredibly ugly: “Ethan Campbell, wasn’t that all your choice? Did I force you? Didn’t you say you loved me? If you love me, why nitpick?” Nathan shook his head at me: “Ethan Campbell, true love expects nothing in return, no calculation. You’re calculating so precisely; you don’t deserve to say you love her!” With a few words, they painted me as a calculating, despicable person. Hearing Nathan’s words, Audrey sneered: “Ethan Campbell, nine years ago you were just a discard, about to be thrown out of the house. If I hadn’t taken you in, you’d probably still be scavenging for food somewhere. Weren’t you just betting that I could rise again? Now that you’ve succeeded, what more do you have to be dissatisfied with?” My heart was completely chilled. My mind flashed back to the scene nine years ago when I had just been found by the Campbell family. At that time, Nathan, to humiliate me, paid for photos of me from my village days, where I was forced to eat garbage and slapped around, and publicly displayed them at my parents’ business conference. Those embarrassing images burned into everyone’s eyes. I wanted to run in shame, but Audrey took my hand: “They’re the ones who should be ashamed for bullying you, not you!” She saved the photos, called the police, and had everyone who had bullied me sent to the station. She also publicly chastised Nathan for being too jealous, saying he was nothing like a true Campbell. From then on, Audrey was deeply etched in my heart. But now, she was using my most painful past as a sharp blade to pierce me. 4 I said no more, simply taking off the ring I had never removed: “Let’s part ways amicably.” Audrey’s expression froze completely. She reacted, realizing she had said the wrong thing: “Ethan Campbell!” “If you hadn’t angered me, I wouldn’t have spoken so carelessly.” She forcefully took the ring and tried to put it back on my finger: “You swore you’d never take it off. I’ll forgive you this time. If it happens again, I’ll never speak to you.” The threat, which had always worked perfectly, was now useless. I pushed Audrey away, and in front of her, took off the ring again and threw it on the ground. Audrey stood there stunned, her shock undeniable. “Ethan Campbell! You’re insane!” I scoffed, “Yes, I’m insane. I’ve been insane for nine whole years, and that’s enough.” With that, I turned and walked away. Audrey tried to follow, but Nathan grabbed her. “Audrey! He just knows how you feel about him and is deliberately playing hard to get. If you really chase after him, you’ll fall right into his trap!” Audrey suddenly seemed to realize something, nodded, and said, “Right, Ethan loves me so much he’d throw away his self-respect. How could he just leave? He hasn’t given me any divorce papers, nor has he mentioned dividing assets. He’s definitely bluffing!” Ignoring Audrey’s murmuring, I strode forward. I didn’t want the meager assets Audrey held. Divorce papers were superfluous, because I knew Audrey wouldn’t easily let go of such a convenient tool, so I had already contacted a lawyer to file for divorce. Walking onto the quiet street, I smiled with a sense of relief. I once thought leaving Audrey would be agonizing. Only now did I realize that leaving her was the most liberating moment in years. I no longer had to consider her preferences, nor sit alone at home all night waiting for her return. And I certainly didn’t have to nervously ask if she had gone out with Nathan again. Three days passed, and I suddenly received a message from Audrey: “Don’t you want your grandma’s memorial tablet anymore?” After being abducted to the countryside for eighteen years, only my grandmother truly cared for me, never scolding me, and secretly feeding me behind the backs of that cruel couple. After Grandma died, I knew that cruel couple wouldn’t honor her memorial tablet. So, at Audrey’s suggestion, I placed Grandma’s tablet in the Prescott family ancestral hall to receive incense. My heart tightened, and I immediately drove to the ancestral hall. As I reached the entrance, two bodyguards stopped me: “Hello, you’re not allowed in without an invitation.” Audrey stood by the door, arm linked with Nathan, who was wearing a custom-tailored suit. This suit was a gift from Audrey to me when we married nine years ago. Nathan’s lips curled in triumph: “Ethan Campbell, didn’t you want to cut ties with Audrey? Why are you here, looking so eager?” Audrey, as if expecting this, glanced at me with disdain: “That’s enough. I know you’re here to win me back. We can talk later. Today is my grandfather’s eightieth birthday, and Nathan and I are the loving couple in everyone’s eyes.” Nathan’s smile remained cold as he told Audrey, “You go in first and give Grandpa your gift, don’t miss the auspicious time. I’ll talk to Ethan.” Audrey looked at him with concern: “If Ethan dares to lay a hand on you, tell me, and I’ll take care of it!” With that, Audrey gave me a warning glance. I urgently stepped forward: “Audrey, I need to get something.” With so many guests coming and going, I couldn’t explicitly say I was there for Grandma’s memorial tablet. Otherwise, it would be bad luck for the Prescott patriarch, especially on his eightieth birthday. But Audrey didn’t even spare me a glance, turning directly and walking away. Nathan immediately had the bodyguards take me to the backyard, pulling out the memorial tablet. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” I roared, my eyes red, “Give it back!” Nathan chuckled, “What’s the rush for a rotten piece of wood?” I was pinned to the ground, unable to move, forced to watch Nathan throw Grandma’s memorial tablet onto the ground. He tossed a machete in front of me: “You care so much about an old woman you’re not even related to by blood, but what about your uncle?” “Your grandma’s youngest son, whom she doted on most, is lying in the hospital with kidney failure, unable to move, waiting for medical funds to save his life.” My eyes widened in fury, “What do you want to do?!” “Cut this memorial tablet, and I’ll send money to save your uncle.” “He’s the only one left in the world who’s good to you. Think carefully.” I struggled frantically: “Nathan! You beast, this is your biological grandmother’s memorial tablet! And that’s your uncle!” Nathan kicked me in the stomach: “My parents are Campbells, the heads of the Campbell Group. They have nothing to do with those peasants from the boonies!” “I’ll count to three. If you don’t cut it, he dies.” “Three—” “Two—” “I’ll cut it!” I raised the machete, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. Nathan’s lips curved into a triumphant sneer, his face filled with glee. Audrey’s voice rang out from behind: “Ethan Campbell! What are you doing?!”

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“Flight 407 to Phuket boarding now.” Ron’s voice, light and dismissive, drifted over the airport din, sounding like he was debating the day’s weather. The thrill of excitement I’d carried all morning dissolved, replaced by a cold dread. I turned to him, bewildered. “What do you mean?” He shrugged, a casual gesture that twisted my gut. “The whole family’s off on a seven-day vacation. To keep an eye on the house, we just… didn’t get you a ticket.” He even managed a chuckle, adding, “They’ve all worked so hard this year, a trip to Phuket is a reward. You, on the other hand, just stay home all day, chilling. No need to make a fuss about it.” His parents, his younger brother Liam, Ron, and even our son, Alex – all six of them simultaneously buried their faces in their phones, a silent, unified front. No one met my gaze. Staring at Ron’s self-righteous expression, a chilling realization dawned: seven years of tireless, round-the-clock homemaking, and in his eyes, it amounted to absolutely nothing. I simply nodded, agreeing to stay and watch the house. Ron actually flinched, clearly surprised by my easy acquiescence. Before they headed through security, I fixed my gaze on each of them, needing one last confirmation. Was this truly how they intended to do this? 1 I picked up the suitcase I’d packed with such hopeful anticipation last night and turned away. The boarding agent’s gentle “Enjoy your trip” became a knife twisting in my heart with every passing traveler. Ron hurried after me, grabbing my arm, his voice a low plea. “Honey, let me explain. This family trip is already costing a fortune. I just had to cut some… unnecessary expenses.” I froze. “Unnecessary?” He squared his shoulders, a hint of defiance in his tone. “Yeah, we talked about this, right? This family vacation is for everyone who’s worked hard all year, a chance to really relax in Phuket for the holidays. You don’t work, you’re home all day. Aren’t you rested enough?” I stared at him, incredulous. “What exactly do you mean by ‘rested’?” “Sleeping in until noon is rest. Waking up at five AM to make breakfast for your entire family is not rest!” “Lounging on the couch, doing nothing but scrolling on your phone, is rest. Washing dishes, scrubbing floors, driving our son to school, and even cleaning your brother-in-law’s sneakers is not rest!” “Ron, I’ve been married to you for seven years. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, tell me, when have I ever truly rested?” I yanked my arm from his grasp. “You all go enjoy your trip. Don’t worry about me.” Ron’s lips parted, as if to speak. His mom, Martha, started to fuss. “Ron, what are you waiting for? Come on, they’re boarding.” Liam, his passport in hand, chimed in. “Bro, just leave her. You know how moody she gets. Just bring her back a souvenir or something when we get back.” Our six-year-old, Alex, ran over, tugging on Ron’s shirt. “Daddy, let’s go! We don’t need Mommy; I want to see the ocean!” My knuckles, gripping the handle of my suitcase, turned white. I looked at Ron and forced a brittle smile. “Didn’t you hear him? Go on.” Ron’s eyes flickered, but he swallowed whatever he was about to say. “Take good care of the house. I’ll bring you back something from the trip.” He let go of my hand, turned his back, and strode towards the family he considered to have “worked hard all year.” I stood there, watching their backs disappear into the security line, a bitter laugh escaping me. I knew then: I still hadn’t woken the man who preferred to pretend he was asleep. But it was fine. By the time he returned, our divorce papers would be ready. 2 Settling into the taxi, I pulled out my phone and saw the family group chat was buzzing. Martha, Ron’s mom, had posted a selfie with one of those silly beauty filters, bragging to the group. [Look at my amazing son, Ron! Taking the whole family on an international vacation for the holidays! And just look at this plane, first class, no less!] Immediately, a flood of replies from aunts and uncles filled the chat. [Martha, you’re so lucky! Both your sons are so good to you.] [Is that Liam next to you? Did he graduate this year? Wow, he’s so tall now!] Liam, wearing the top-of-the-line headphones I’d gifted him last birthday, flashed a peace sign at the camera. [Aunt Carol, my brother gave me fifteen hundred for spending money! I’ll bring you back a present!] Fifteen hundred? I pulled up a flight app on my phone. A one-way economy ticket from Atlanta to Phuket? It was only $89. Eighty-nine dollars. I’d actually thought it would be some astronomical sum. The memory of Ron’s repeated “huge expenses” and “unnecessary costs” at the airport washed over me, and a wave of unprecedented despair made me laugh out loud. Ron and I had been married for seven years. I’d given up a promising career because he’d said, “My parents need someone to look after them.” For seven years, I’d ensured that our six-person household always woke up to a hot breakfast. Clothes tossed on the floor would magically reappear, clean and folded, in the wardrobe the next day. The trash cans were always empty, and the bed linens were changed weekly. When his parents got sick, when Alex had a fever, when Liam was home for summer break – Ron never had to lift a finger. He just woke up naturally, greeted his parents and son, and went to work. And the day was done. I looked at the thick calluses on my palms, a testament to years of relentless housework, and my heart grew colder with each passing moment. Finally, I couldn’t resist. I screenshotted the flight ticket price and posted it in the family chat. [A warning to anyone thinking about getting married: never be a stay-at-home spouse. Otherwise, your worth might not even be $89.] The message landed, and the previously lively family chat went silent, almost visibly freezing. After a long pause, Aunt Carol tentatively tagged Ron. [What’s going on? You all went on vacation without Hailey?] 3 Martha’s voice messages quickly flooded the chat. “This is just awful! It’s not that we didn’t want Hailey to come; it’s just that Ron thought we’d all worked so hard this year, he wanted to treat us. Hailey stays home every day, she gets plenty of rest, so we didn’t buy her a ticket.” Martha’s voice even cracked with what sounded like tears by the end. “If I’d known Hailey cared so much about that ticket, his dad and I wouldn’t have gone. Now our daughter-in-law is twisting the knife…” Liam snatched the phone, indignant. “Exactly! If Hailey wanted to come, she could’ve just bought a ticket herself. It’s not like my brother wouldn’t give her the money.” “Making a scene and upsetting Mom like this, what kind of behavior is that?” The “money” he referred to… was it the five hundred dollars Ron gave me each month for household expenses? All six of us were squeezed into the two-bedroom apartment Ron and I bought when we got married. The monthly mortgage was $300, utilities $20, and all the food, even Liam’s college living expenses, came out of that $500 Ron gave me. The money was never enough, but Ron always pretended not to notice. Every time I brought up being short on cash, he’d just scroll on his phone and casually scold me: “Not enough again? You don’t work, you don’t know how hard it is to make money these days. You’re home, so just try to save where you can. Stop being so wasteful.” But my clothes hadn’t been updated in three years. My pajamas were threadbare, and I couldn’t justify buying new ones. Skincare? Never touched it. Even my shoes were hand-me-downs from my mom, who, feeling sorry for me, would buy a size up for herself and then pass them on. And Ron’s family? His dad, George, went out with old college buddies every few days. Martha’s dance team outfits cost three to four hundred dollars each. Liam, in college, never missed a concert or a music festival. Ron wouldn’t spend $89 on a flight ticket to Phuket for me, but he willingly gave his brother $1,500 in spending money for the trip. I leaned back against the taxi seat, mentally calculating the figures, one by one. Ron, on the other end, seemed to feel a pang of guilt. [Enough already.] He finally made an appearance, only to shut down the conversation. [Hailey is clearly being unreasonable. It’s the holidays; let’s not make a spectacle of ourselves.] Seeing those words, twisting the truth so blatantly, I felt even a cold laugh would be giving them too much credit. Yet, the relatives in the chat were swayed, jumping in to “speak their minds.” [I knew it! Ron would never do something so heartless, leaving his wife at home while the whole family goes on vacation. Hailey, you really need to look at yourself.] Uncle Frank condescendingly patted my imaginary shoulder. [Exactly! Last month, when your mother-in-law was in the hospital, I saw you taking care of her, cleaning up after her, and I thought you were so devoted. But I guess I was wrong.] Aunt Judy sent a rolling-eyes emoji. Just last month, Martha had twisted her ankle doing Zumba and was hospitalized for nearly two weeks. George needed to walk his dog, Ron had work, and Liam just sat around playing video games. So, I spent my days cleaning the house, preparing meals for everyone, and then my nights at the hospital. I’d rush back before dawn to make breakfast again. When I was truly exhausted, I’d suggest to Ron, “Maybe we should hire a nurse for your mom?” Ron had looked at me, surprised, and flat-out refused. “No way! A nurse wouldn’t take care of her as well as you do, and it costs money.” All those past conversations, ones I hadn’t dwelled on then, now surged through me, threatening to suffocate me. With the last of my strength, I booked a divorce consultation at the best law firm in town. I couldn’t endure this life for another day! 4 The next few days, I was completely consumed by the divorce preparations. Moving, checking bank statements, job hunting – I was a whirlwind of activity. Ron, however, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Martha, his mom, was sharing her Phuket adventures in the family group chat eight times a day. “My son booked us a luxury suite,” her voice practically oozed with pride through the screen. “And a private beach! We can go anytime we want.” Liam, sprawled on the beach playing video games, was wearing the designer headphones I’d given him for his birthday last year. “International travel is awesome! Too bad some people just don’t have the good fortune to experience it.” Liam’s words were laced with venom; he was still nursing a grudge from our earlier argument in the chat. “You, child, what are you talking about?” Martha shot him a glance, but it sounded more like encouragement than a reprimand. Liam sat up and pulled Alex, who was playing in the sand, closer. “Alex, tell me, do you want your mom to come?” Alex, clutching his small shovel, shouted, “No, I don’t want Mommy to come! Daddy said she doesn’t work, and she’d just waste money!” The video abruptly cut off there, but the family chat remained eerily silent. No one replied. It was Ron’s cousin, Chloe, who privately messaged me later. “Hailey, don’t be upset. My parents saw the video in the group chat. We all think Aunt Martha and them are being completely out of line. I’ll talk to them when they get back.” My heart warmed for a moment, then sank deeper into a larger sense of loss. See? Even outsiders recognized how unfair this was. Yet Ron still pretended not to notice. That evening, I was editing the first draft of the divorce agreement the lawyer had sent me. Ron texted. [Honey, Phuket is actually just okay. Nothing special.] [I bought you a present. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Come pick me up at the airport.] The day after tomorrow? I clicked on the lawyer’s chat window. [Can the divorce agreement be finalized by tomorrow night?] The reply was a thumbs-up emoji. I smiled as I typed. [Yes.] The day after tomorrow. Soon. Only two days left until Ron and I were divorced. 5 The days that followed felt like they were on fast-forward. Martha continued to post endless glamorous vacation photos from Phuket in the group chat. Occasionally, a family photo would appear, everyone smiling, looking perfectly harmonious. But the family group chat grew increasingly quiet. Even when Martha tagged someone, people pretended not to see it. Meanwhile, I packed all my belongings from the past seven years. My wedding dress? Gone. Family photos? Torn up. All the small furniture items we’d accumulated over the years? I sold what I could, leaving nothing for Ron’s family. Finally, the day of their return arrived. Ron had messaged me the day before, reminding me to be on time to pick them up, saying they’d bought so many things, and his parents were too old to carry them all. He insisted I come help. Every word implied he still saw me as the same dutiful, long-suffering stay-at-home wife. I didn’t bother arguing, simply texted back a bland “Okay,” then turned off my phone and slept soundly. The next day, their plane landed. Ron’s family emerged from the airport, laden with bags. “Bro, where’s Hailey? Did she oversleep?” Liam complained, kicking a suitcase irritably. Martha tutted. “Hailey’s not that careless. Maybe… maybe she’s still mad at us?” She sighed. “Ron, you really need to talk to her when we get home. A woman with such a temper, didn’t her mother teach her how to be a good wife?” “Mommy bad!” Alex, nestled in Martha’s arms, clapped his hands and declared. Ron’s face darkened. He pulled out his phone and dialed, his voice accusatory from the start. “Where are you? Didn’t I tell you to pick us up?” “I’m right here.” At my voice, Ron’s head snapped up, his eyes scanning the crowd frantically. Finally, he spotted me standing not far away. Unlike my usual bare-faced appearance, today I’d made an effort, wearing a simple, elegant dress and subtle makeup. I looked polished and refined. Ron’s eyes lit up. He dragged his suitcase towards me. “Hailey, you look beautiful today. You even put on makeup?” He pulled a small, palm-sized box from his pocket. Inside was a seashell necklace he’d brought back from Phuket. It was cheap, probably less than twenty dollars. “Honey, this is what I specially brought for you from Phuket. It cost me so much money.” He smiled. “Put it on. Aren’t you happy?” I glanced at the cheap, sand-speckled box, then at the latest model gaming console in Liam’s hand, the brand-new watch on George’s wrist, and the unmistakably flashy gold necklace adorning Martha’s chest. I smiled. “Perfect. I have a gift for you too.” Ron’s eyes widened with surprise. “What is it? Oh, Hailey, you’re so thoughtful. I left you alone at home, and you’re still so good to me. Marrying you was the best decision…” I pulled the prepared document from my bag and opened it. “This gift is – my divorce papers.”

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1 The system demanded I win over the quiet, penniless scholarship student, but from day one, all I wanted was to – fail. In my old life, I was as ordinary as could be. My looks were average, my family background nothing special. I lived in a cramped studio, agonizing over buying even a simple latte. An orphan, I had no family, no friends, and my days were a monotonous, solitary drone. But now, everything was different. I was in the back of a luxury car, heir to a formidable fortune, with striking, captivating looks. My parents doted on me like a princess, and my bank accounts held more zeroes than I could ever spend in several lifetimes. The cold, grating mechanical voice in my head had vanished. I needed to confirm the system was truly gone, unlinked and out of my life for good. I quickly reined in my exploding joy, furrowed my brows, reddened my eyes, and began my performance. In my mind, I called out to the system, my voice trembling, my fingertips subtly shaking, playing the pitiful host who feared being stranded after failing a mission. “System… are you still there? Don’t leave me… I failed the mission. Can I go back… I don’t want to stay here…” It wasn’t until my mind was completely devoid of any mechanical sound, truly confirming it was gone and would never return, that I could hold back no longer. I clapped a hand over my mouth, laughter bubbling uncontrollably through my fingers, from quiet muffled giggles to bending over double, tears streaming down my face, my whole body shaking. Go back? Who in their right mind would want to go back there? … “Mr. Smith, first, to my usual high-end salon.” I watched the bustling cityscape outside the window, a smile uncontrollably spreading across my face. At the salon, the artistic director himself greeted me. “Miss Evelyn, what can we do for you today?” My fingertip lightly tapped the table as I gazed at my reflection, still bearing traces of a rebellious, ‘scene-kid’ look. “Dye my hair back to natural black, make it sleek and smooth, to collarbone length. For makeup, a clean, ‘no-makeup’ look, naturally shaped brows. Get rid of all the exaggerated stuff.” This outlandish appearance – rebellious, edgy – was something I’d deliberately cultivated to sabotage the mission. Who understood the feeling of going to school every day with yellow streaked hair, heavy smoky eyes, ripped crop tops, and platform combat boots, under the constant scrutiny of judgmental stares? “Understood.” The car had barely pulled up to the mall entrance when the boutique staff immediately rushed forward, bowing respectfully. “Miss Evelyn, welcome!” I offered a faint smile, my eyes sweeping over an entire wall of new arrivals. “All the latest collections that just came in – clothes, dresses, bags, shoes – anything in my size, wrap them all up.” The sales associate paused, then excitedly responded, “Yes, Miss! Preparing them for you right away!” I stepped into the VIP fitting room, trying on one outfit after another. A couture dress hugged my slender waist, exquisite leather shoes graced my feet, a new designer bag casually draped over my arm. The girl in the mirror had innocent eyes, fair skin, and the designer labels made her look dazzling and captivating. I twirled gently in front of the mirror, unable to hold back a soft laugh. I laughed until my eyes curved into crescents, until my heart swelled with pure delight. The sales assistant respectfully called out the tally beside me: “Miss, sixty-eight items in total. They’ve all been loaded into your car.” I picked up my credit card, handed it over without even glancing at the price. “Just swipe it.” Beep— The sound of a successful transaction was sweeter than any music in the world. No more faking anger, faking malice, faking being utterly detestable. But before the smile completely faded, a prickle of caution instantly shot through me. No, I couldn’t be careless. Back then, to cooperate with the system’s mission, I’d specifically transferred to the public high school the male lead attended, acting out and looking hideous right under his nose. All I wanted was for him to thoroughly detest me, to plummet his affection rating into the negative, ensuring the mission crashed and burned. The system was gone now, but what if… what if it suddenly detected an anomaly someday and came back? What if the male lead inexplicably became blind and suddenly didn’t hate my ‘bad girl’ persona anymore, and the affection rating miraculously bounced back? What if the system then forcibly dragged me back to complete the mission, or even worse, threw me back into my old, poor, ordinary world… I couldn’t even bear the thought. I absolutely could not take any risks. The male lead, he had to completely vanish from my life. The further, the better. Ideally, I’d never see him again. I immediately picked up my phone, my fingers rapidly dialing the number of my family’s private education consultant. My voice was sweet and calm, without a trace of hesitation. “Mr. Thompson, please handle my transfer paperwork. Immediately.” “Yes, transfer me out of this public high school. No reason needed, I just don’t want to be there anymore.” “You can arrange any school, as long as it’s as far away from this one as possible. A private boarding school, an international program, even a secluded academy – anything.” “Please make sure it’s done by tomorrow. I don’t want to stay there another day.” The voice on the other end readily agreed, not daring to question my decision. Here, I was a wealthy heiress who could mobilize all resources with a single word, not the ordinary person who had to pinch pennies for tuition. Hanging up the phone, I leaned back into the plush leather seat, letting out a long sigh of relief. The corners of my mouth curved upwards uncontrollably once more. Mission accomplished. Once I transferred, I could completely distance myself from that penniless male lead, severing all ties to the mission. The car smoothly entered the villa district. The ornate iron gates slowly opened, and the fountain splashed with fragmented light in the setting sun. But the moment the car pulled to a stop, the smile on my face abruptly froze. Under the streetlamp by the villa’s front door stood a slender young man in a faded school uniform. It was Harry Miller. The male lead I had meticulously, desperately tried to make detest me, the one I needed to completely fail the mission with. My mind buzzed, and I suddenly remembered something I’d almost forgotten in my wild joy— To trick the system into thinking I was diligently pursuing the mission, I had once forcibly kept him by my side under the guise of private tutoring. It was supposed to be tutoring, but in reality, I spent the entire time deliberately bothering him, deliberately trying to annoy him. I intentionally knocked over water glasses when he was explaining problems, intentionally asked incredibly stupid questions, intentionally threw temper tantrums in front of him like a spoiled brat, intentionally said cutting and mean things, intentionally made all sorts of repulsive gestures… all to make him feel a physiological discomfort just seeing me, to send his affection rating plummeting until the mission utterly failed. The system had only just left. I absolutely couldn’t afford any mistakes. If his attitude towards me softened even slightly right now, if the system suddenly came back from the dead, if his affection rating mysteriously rebounded… all my efforts, all my chances of staying in this world, would go down the drain. I couldn’t take a single risk. The chauffeur was already getting out to open my door. I immediately lowered my voice, my tone colder than my usual innocent facade. “Don’t open the door.” I sat in the shadows, coldly watching the young man outside the window. His brows were slightly furrowed, his gaze distant, clearly still radiating intense dislike for me. Good. I took a deep breath, quickly suppressing the surge of joy and caution in my eyes. I slipped back into my arrogant, annoying ‘bad girl’ persona – even though I’d just removed my smoky eye makeup and changed out of my edgy clothes, I could play the part perfectly in a second. I pushed open the car door, crossed my arms, my voice cutting and impatient. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough for him to hear clearly. “Who told you to come here? Couldn’t teach, and now you want more money?” In fairness, Harry was an excellent tutor, I just never paid attention. Now, it was a perfect excuse. “Don’t bother coming back. Just seeing you irritates me.” “Get lost, quickly. Don’t stand around my house making a nuisance of yourself.” “Or do you want to stick around like a stray dog?” Every word was sharp and unpleasant, perfectly hitting all his sensitive spots. Harry looked up, his voice faint, with a barely perceptible stiffness. “The money paid in advance, I haven’t completed those hours.” I crossed my arms, my chin slightly raised, my eyes full of disgust and impatience, my voice cold and stinging. “The hours aren’t finished, but they won’t be. The money? I don’t even care about that little bit. Consider it a tip.” “I told you, don’t bother me again. Just seeing you brings bad luck.” Harry froze, clearly unprepared for such ruthlessness, such an absolute rejection. Standing under the streetlamp, his fingertips tightened slightly, his voice softer, with a hesitation he didn’t even seem to notice. “…Was my teaching not good enough?” My chest tightened instantly. My face immediately adopted that arrogant and biting ‘bad girl’ expression from before, my eyebrow arched, my tone cold and sharp, leaving no room for politeness. “What else could it be?” Harry stood under the streetlamp, his posture ramrod straight. Though my words had clearly made him pale, he still stubbornly looked up at me, his voice carrying a nearly obstinate seriousness. “Your grades are still very weak. Only I can help you.” A cold, scornful disgust settled on my face. I stared at him as if he were an eyesore, my voice rising a few octaves, sharp and stinging. “Harry Miller, do you really think too highly of yourself?” “Who do you think you are?” I took a step forward, looking down at him, my disdain undisguised. “So what if my grades are weak? Even if I get a zero, even if I never study a day in my life, I can still easily inherit the family business, live a life of luxury, and have more money than I can spend.” “I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need your fake kindness.” “Stop bothering me, and stop being so presumptuous. Just seeing you annoys me.” He didn’t say another word, just gave me a deep, lingering look. The next second, he turned and quickly disappeared into the night. The next morning, I walked slowly to school, wearing new leather flats and an outfit of clean, gentle white – a stark contrast to the obnoxious, edgy ‘bad girl’ from yesterday. My hair was sleek, black, collarbone-length. My makeup was light and fresh. I wore a French-style dress I’d bought yesterday. I was here today to handle the transfer paperwork and completely sever all ties with the male lead. But as I reached the corner of the academic building, a burst of laughter and shoving suddenly pierced my ears. My steps faltered. I looked up, and my heart instantly jumped into my throat. A few of the guys who usually hung around me were cornering a small girl against the wall. Books were scattered everywhere, their voices arrogant and cruel. “Did you hear us?! Our boss said, you poor trash, stay away from her!” “Look at who you are! Do you even deserve to talk to our boss?” “Quickly, pick up your stuff and get out! Don’t stand there making a nuisance!” The girl trapped in the middle kept her head down, trembling, tears welling in her eyes. My mind buzzed, and I instantly understood everything. Before, to max out Harry’s dislike for me, I’d deliberately staged a “bullying scene” in a corner where he could see – pretending to pick on this girl, pretending to mock her cruelly. All I wanted was for him to see my worst, most detestable side, to send his affection rating plummeting through the earth. And now, someone was actually using my name to corner and bully someone. I stood not far away, my face instantly turning cold. The female lead, Sarah Green, was an orphan, relying on Harry for everything. She was quite pitiable. “What are you doing?” The guys saw me and immediately grinned, crowding around. “Boss! We’re helping you teach her a lesson! You said you hated her the most—” “Shut up.” I cut them off, my eyes chilling. “When did I ever tell you to lay a hand on her?” “Since when do you get to interfere in my business?” “Get out, now. Don’t cause trouble for me here.” The guys froze, probably never having seen me so serious. They muttered an assent and quickly scattered. Only I and the bullied girl remained. I didn’t look at her, nor did I offer comfort, simply stating blandly, “No one will bother you again.” “Thank you,” the girl mumbled. But then, a glance from the corner of my eye – Under the sycamore tree not far away, Harry stood silently, having seen the entire scene unfold. My heart tightened violently. Damn it. What was he doing here? What if he thought me stopping those guys was a sign of softness, a change, a sudden conscience? If his impression of me warmed even a tiny bit, and the system somehow revived, I’d be completely finished. I absolutely could not let him entertain the slightest thought of “she’s not so bad after all.” Almost instantly, I pulled my cafeteria card from my pocket, turned, and walked up to the girl who was still picking up her books. I deliberately kept my chin high, my eyes contemptuous and impatient, and shoved the card hard into her arms. My voice was just loud enough for Harry to hear clearly from a distance. “Take it.” “I’m transferring anyway; this card is useless to me. Here, you pauper can have it.” The girl froze, looking up at me. I didn’t wait for her to speak, adding another remark, cutting and hurtful. “Don’t misunderstand. I just think it’s a waste to throw it away. I’m not pitying you.” With that, I turned and walked away, not sparing her a glance, nor looking at Harry. My steps were light as I walked towards the principal’s office. The teachers’ voices, however, drifted softly into my ears. “That student, Harry Miller… it’s really a shame. His grandmother suddenly had an emergency and needs a large sum for surgery.” “Yes, his family is already struggling. The school plans to organize a fundraiser to help in any way we can…” My steps halted abruptly. Harry. Grandmother’s emergency. Needs money. A strange pang in my chest. A very faint prickle of guilt, like a fine hair, brushed across my heart. I wasn’t a good person. From beginning to end, I had used him, deliberately disgusted him, desperately tried to make him hate me, all to fail the mission, all to stay in this world of luxury. But hearing news of his desperate situation, I couldn’t remain completely unmoved. Guilt aside, I didn’t want to owe him anything. After all, he had “helped” me accomplish the most important thing in this life – staying in this world. I turned, walked around to the side door of the principal’s office, and found the teacher responsible for the fundraiser. My face was expressionless, my voice calm and even. “I want to make an anonymous donation.” The teacher paused. “Student, you…” “No need to record my name, and don’t ask who donated.” I pulled out my black card without hesitation. “Transfer two hundred thousand.” The teacher was utterly stunned, speechless for a long moment. I didn’t wait for his reaction. When signing, I simply wrote “Current Student.” After swiping the card, I turned and left, swift and clean, leaving no trace.

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Midnight had long come and gone when Evelyn finally dragged her exhausted body home. I sat alone on the living room sofa, my spirits at rock bottom. Seeing my state, she said nothing, simply thrust her phone into my hand. “You can check,” she said, her voice calm. “The password is still your birthday.” With that, she turned and walked into the bathroom, the sound of rushing water filling the silence. I stared at the phone, a bitter smile playing on my lips. What good would checking do? She only ever let me see what she wanted me to see – a perfectly clean interface. Soon, she emerged from the shower, wrapping her arms around me tightly from behind, still damp from the steam. “See? I told you there was nothing,” she murmured, a hint of playful cajolery in her voice. “You have to trust me.” I slowly raised my head, my gaze inadvertently falling on the back of her neck – there was a clear, thin scratch. An unspeakable wave of irony surged through me, yet I didn’t react with the same hysteria as before. I simply pushed her away gently, my voice calm in a way that even I found unfamiliar. “Evelyn, let’s get a divorce.” I truly couldn’t endure another day of this mutual torment. 1 Silence hung in the air for a few moments. Then, a sharp, shattering sound broke it. Evelyn had accidentally knocked over a vase nearby. That vase was the very first decorative item we’d bought together, during our first year of marriage, on a trip to IKEA. From our cozy two-bedroom apartment to a spacious loft, and now to this luxurious villa, it had been our good luck charm, witnessing all our stumbling steps along the way. Now, the vase was utterly shattered. Just like my seven-year marriage to Evelyn, beyond repair, never to return to what it once was. I pulled my gaze from the shards scattered across the floor and looked back at Evelyn. “I’ve had a lawyer draft the divorce papers. Please sign them…” Before I could finish, Evelyn cut me off. “My hand was cut by the vase, Adrian.” I paused, looking down. Only then did I notice a cut on her hand, bleeding crimson onto the floor. “Adrian, help me with this,” Evelyn’s voice was hoarse. She rarely showed vulnerability. But I knew this was her usual tactic to make amends. If I followed her lead, and gently applied medicine to her wound, we would once again be “back to normal.” But this time, I merely shifted my gaze, my voice detached. “It’s just a minor cut. A little antiseptic will do.” I paused, returning to my original topic. “After you’ve taken care of it, remember to sign the divorce papers.” Evelyn’s eyes instantly dimmed. “Adrian, I’m hurt! How long are you going to keep this up?!” Evelyn’s tone was bewildered. In her eyes, it was as if cheating wasn’t wrong. Especially since, after my hysterical outbursts, she had already routinely deleted those ambiguous chat logs, and even changed all her passwords to my birthday. So, she didn’t understand why I was still “throwing a tantrum.” I subconsciously rubbed the mottled scar on my hand, saying nothing further. Just then, her phone rang. It was that familiar ringtone, one that had often sounded in the dead of night for nearly a year. Evelyn had once explained it was an urgent company line; I hadn’t doubted her. Until her birthday, when I was at the grocery store, picking out her favorite fish, debating whether to make her braised fish or spicy fish soup, I looked up and saw her, wrapped in another man’s arms, choosing snacks. It was then that I finally, belatedly, understood. Evelyn had cheated a long time ago. And that man was her childhood friend she had mentioned once, Justin Thorne. Perhaps because the accusations and confessions were already out in the open, Evelyn didn’t bother with excuses this time. She answered the phone right in front of me: “I’ll be right there, wait for me.” After hanging up, she disregarded the injury on her hand, quickly grabbed her car keys, and left. As she reached the front door, she suddenly cast a deep look at me. Her voice was filled with disappointment: “You used to not be like this, Adrian.” What was I like before? Offering her a burning heart, only to have it wounded beyond repair? Because I cared too much, couldn’t bear to lose this ten-year relationship. Moreover, at that time, she was pregnant. So I endured the pain, chose to forgive her. She promised to keep her distance. But what was the result? The scar on my hand, wasn’t it proof of my foolishness? I rubbed the scar, and the festering wound seemed to ooze again, a pain so sharp I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, a loud bang interrupted my thoughts. Evelyn had slammed the door shut and left. I knew she was going to Justin again. I stared at the closed door, a faint curl of my lip. “Evelyn, goodbye.” 2 Half an hour later, Justin posted a status update visible only to me. “She says only I truly understand her. She asked me never to leave her.” The accompanying photo showed the back of Evelyn’s head, buried in his embrace, and their fingers tightly intertwined. Just minutes earlier, Evelyn had told me I could trust her. But her idea of trust probably referred to the pure “friendship” between her and Justin. Trusting that her repeated absences from my follow-up appointments, all for some minor issue of his, were merely out of “loyalty” to a good friend. Trusting that spending an entire night together, naked in the same bed, was simply a platonic “reunion.” Soon after, Justin, just like many times before, deleted the status update, wiping it clean. As if what I had just seen was merely a figment of my “suspicious mind.” Then, he sent me another message. “Brother-in-law, Evelyn was in a bad mood tonight and came to drink with me. Please don’t overthink it.” “It’s not worth it, letting an outsider like me affect your relationship.” Don’t overthink it? I looked at those words, a cold laugh escaping me. I remembered back then, when I, burning with fever, confronted Evelyn with a screenshot of Justin’s post, her explanation had been much the same. “Justin and I grew up together. After high school, he went abroad to study and stayed there. Now that he’s finally back, can’t I spend some extra time with my old friend?” “Adrian, you’re just bored from being home sick, that’s why you’re always overthinking things.” Seeing my feverish, increasingly pale face, Evelyn seemed to realize her slip of the tongue. She quickly pulled me into her arms, pressing her forehead against mine. “Adrian, even for the sake of our child, you should trust me, okay? Don’t overthink it.” She gently wiped away my tears, her voice helpless. “Don’t cry, Adrian. Alright, I promise you, I’ll keep my distance from him.” Seeing my tears flow even harder, Evelyn then deleted Justin’s contact information right in front of me. She even changed all her passwords to my birthday. Ten years of a relationship, seven years of marriage, and our child was about to be born. At that time, I truly couldn’t bear to let go. So I gritted my teeth, forgave her, and chose to trust her one more time. But what happened later? Less than a month later. Just when she went into premature labor, and we learned the baby had died in utero, when she most needed to rest and recover in the hospital. She left the hospital without a second thought, merely because Justin said he had a “stomachache.” I instantly broke down, frantically grabbing a fruit knife beside me, my voice hoarse as I asked her: “Evelyn, are you sure you want to choose him? If you take that step, we’re completely over!” Evelyn’s face instantly twisted in disgust, her eyes looking at me like I was a madman. “Adrian, stop making a scene. I have a family doctor there, and besides, the doctor already said he’s fine.” “Justin just returned recently. He’s alone, and his health has always been delicate. I have to go; don’t make this difficult for me.” With that, she never looked back, leaving me with only a resolute back. The moment the hospital room door closed, the knife in my hand slipped, uncontrolled, cutting my wrist and leaving that hideous scar. The vibration of my phone pulled me back from distant thoughts. It was a voice message from Evelyn, sounding as if she’d been drinking. “Adrian, please don’t be angry with me anymore. Can we have another child?” A child? I subconsciously rubbed the scar on my hand, though it was already numb with pain. Yet, hearing her mention a child again, my heart still ached in waves, threatening to drown me. After a long while, I finally composed myself, wiping away the last tear. I quietly blocked both Evelyn and Justin’s contact information. Then, I dialed a long-distance number. “Dad, three days from now, I’ll meet you at the airport.” 3 For the next few days, Evelyn didn’t come home. I stopped asking her when she’d return, and instead began packing my bags. But seven years of marriage had left too deep an imprint; many items carried Evelyn’s shadow. The white scarf Evelyn gave me on our first date. I wore it for years, unable to part with it, because she had spent months knitting it by hand. And many other “firsts” she’d given me, things Evelyn had put thought into, staying up late to make by hand. I had carefully treasured them all in a safe, unable to throw them away. Later, Evelyn’s career became more and more successful, and her gifts grew increasingly expensive. I still accepted them with joy, because they were all proof that Evelyn had once deeply loved me. But then, in our second year of living in the grand villa, Justin appeared. My vanity table slowly filled with various luxury brand watches and bracelets. My wardrobe gradually hung with the latest seasonal haute couture. These were worth hundreds of thousands, some even millions, but they were no longer given out of love. They had simply become Evelyn’s “apologies” and “compensations” for the countless nights I spent waiting alone while she was with someone else. I looked at these items, coldly bypassing them. Then I packed only those things that truly belonged solely to me. The day everything was packed, Evelyn happened to come home. Seeing the suitcase in my hand, she frowned. “Where are you going this time?” She still thought I was just throwing a tantrum. After all, in the past, I had more than once threatened to leave. I didn’t deny it, simply lowering my gaze. “To clear my head.” Evelyn didn’t notice anything amiss. Instead, she pulled me into a tight embrace. “Adrian, I’ve been waiting for your call these past few days.” Waiting for my call? But I distinctly remembered sending her messages in the past, asking her to come home. What I received in return was her dismissive impatience. She cupped my face in her hands, staring intently at me. “If you had just said something, I would’ve come back immediately. But you didn’t.” Evelyn’s tone was accusatory. As if in those past few days, the person who had been with another man wasn’t her, Evelyn. I didn’t expose her, but a faint smile touched my lips. Evelyn mistakenly thought I had calmed down and stood on tiptoe to lightly kiss my mouth. “Evelyn, I knew it. You’re not like my dad.” Not like my dad? Evelyn’s words, spoken without warning, pierced my heart, a pain so intense I could barely breathe. She knew perfectly well the immense pain my mother’s affair and domestic abuse had inflicted on my father and me. If my father hadn’t been resilient enough, brave enough, he would have been buried in a grave! He wouldn’t have fled abroad to live the life he wanted. And now, she casually dismissed everything my own father had struggled to achieve. And this knife, it was handed to her by the me who once loved Evelyn with all his heart. Meeting my swollen eyes, Evelyn awkwardly explained: “I’m sorry, Adrian. I meant that you don’t have to struggle like your dad. Just staying by my side is enough.” “Is that so?” I suddenly smiled, looking directly into her eyes. Evelyn met my gaze, a strange tightness in her chest, but she didn’t dwell on it, still thinking I meant to reconcile. She nodded repeatedly, her voice assured. “Of course, Adrian. You have to trust me, just like before.” I scoffed inwardly, but showed no outward sign. Just then, my phone rang. I looked at her, and calmly said, “My car’s here, Evelyn. You go back to work.” “Okay.” Evelyn still didn’t notice anything amiss, even kindly walking me to the door. Before getting into the car, I called her name. “Hm?” “Goodbye, Evelyn.” I said. Consider it a final farewell to Evelyn, a farewell to my past. She ruffled my hair, smiling, “Alright, go clear your head. I’ll be home working hard, earning more money to take care of you.” I still said nothing, just looked at her one last time, and gently waved my hand. As the car neared the airport, my phone vibrated frantically. It was an unknown number. I assumed it was a scam call and immediately blocked it. But as I exited the call screen, I saw an anonymous text message. “Adrian, your child isn’t dead. Evelyn lied to you.”

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The video call on New Year’s Eve came without warning. On the screen was my eight-years-younger self, excitedly sharing the news of Amelia Vance’s confession. His eyes shone, and he spoke effusively about a beautiful future, saying Amelia would plant all his favorite flowers, spend every New Year’s Eve with him, and forever pamper him like a prince. I listened quietly, a faint smile playing on my lips, not interrupting his dreams. Suddenly, he stopped, his gaze sweeping over the empty room behind me, and he asked curiously, “Where’s Amelia? We must be incredibly happy eight years from now, right?” I didn’t answer, simply slowly rotated the phone camera, aiming it at the other end of the living room. There, Amelia Vance was pressed tightly against the floor-to-ceiling window by a stranger, kissing him passionately. Amelia’s body was pushed slightly forward, one hand leaving a damp print on the fogged glass. She gasped softly, even naughtily pinching the man’s butt. The man seemed somewhat uncomfortable, lifting his head. Only then did he see me through the glass, clearly startled. Immediately after, he clung to Amelia again, as if boneless, rubbing against her playfully. “Amelia, is there someone else in your house?” Amelia was unconcerned, even deepening the kiss, matching the man’s posture. In the midst of the kiss, she opened her eyes and looked at me, her gaze filled with coldness and amusement. “Don’t mind him,” she said casually. “He won’t care, will he?” 1 Care? I’d grown tired of saying that years ago. From hysterical crying to numb acceptance, and finally, no longer even having the will to speak. However, the eight-years-younger me on the screen had turned ashen, his hand trembling as he ended the call first. But the performance by the window was escalating. I simply lowered my head and sent a New Year’s greeting to my sister, who had long since vanished, to distract myself. The man now laughed excitedly, his hands bolder as they roamed over Amelia. “Where did you find a husband so… understanding?” Then, they intertwined, coats, ties, shirts… scattered all the way up the stairs. Facing such a scene had become a regular feature, a colorful movie playing in this cold villa. I couldn’t even bothered to lift an eyelid. As the awkward holiday comedy on TV grew drowsy, and I was on the verge of falling asleep on the sofa, the housemaid woke me. He spoke with difficulty. “Ms. Vance asked you to go buy a box of… lubricant…” On New Year’s Eve, the streets were deserted, with only a few novelty shops open. I walked against the cold wind for over half an hour. When I returned, I vaguely heard two maids inside discussing me. “Mr. Thompson is truly pitiful. These past eight years, he’s lived worse than a servant.” “Well, whose fault is it that he married Ms. Vance through such underhanded means? For Ms. Vance to even give him a title is already being more than generous.” Memories violently pulled me back to the past. Amelia had gone traveling to a rural village, and we met, fell in love. Our love was pure and fervent, like the mountain wind. I followed her, risking everything, to the city where she lived. But her father vehemently opposed it, despising me as a country bumpkin. Yet, Amelia had tightly clasped my hand and said, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll make my dad agree to us.” Later, my sister, who lived in that rural village and had never gambled, suddenly incurred a massive gambling debt. Desperate, she listened to someone’s suggestion. If she could just get me into Amelia’s bed, making it a fait accompli, the Vance family, to save face, would surely let Amelia marry me, and the debt could be repaid. My sister drugged both Amelia and me. After a chaotic night, Amelia’s gaze at me, once full of tender affection, turned cold and disgusted. She married me, and she also threw a check at me. “Remember, this money, you owe me.” Marriage, from what should have been a mutually loving dream, had turned into what she perceived as a conspiracy engineered by my sister and me to trap her. It wasn’t that I hadn’t brought up divorce later. Each time I did, she would sneer, “You want a divorce? Fine. Pay back that fifty million, principal and interest. Otherwise, I’ll find your sister and make sure she rots in jail.” My sister was long gone, whereabouts unknown. This debt was cemented onto me. Amelia opened the bedroom door, her upper body covered in bright red marks, glaringly obvious. “What took you so long?” She snatched the box from my hand. Its plastic edge brushed my cheek, a stinging sensation. “He’s just too big; he couldn’t wait.” My peripheral vision caught the naked figure on the large bed in the room. My stomach churned. I turned to flee. But she asked me from behind, with amusement, “Why don’t you stay and join us?” I finally couldn’t stand it anymore. I stumbled to the toilet and vomited violently. I video-called my eight-years-younger self again. I asked, “Do you think she still loves me?” He cried, still disbelieving. “How could she become like this? She clearly said she only loved me!” I knew that without having personally experienced these years of despair, words alone couldn’t convey the depth of it. Perhaps, he would still, like I once did, make excuses for her, believing it was just a temporary misunderstanding. I didn’t blame him, but invited him to keep watching. On New Year’s Day, when I woke up, the man from last night was already gone. But he had left a pair of underwear on the sofa. Amelia followed my gaze, then suddenly wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me closer. “What, are you jealous?” She looked up, intending to kiss me, but I instinctively recoiled. This made the rare hint of tenderness in her eyes quickly turn to mockery. “Always this miserable, half-dead look.” “You only ever sound like a human being the night you drugged me and climbed into my bed.” Her words stabbed at my heart, a wave of shame spreading through me. But she just pushed me away coldly. “Alright, it’s New Year’s Day. We have to go back to the family estate to greet my dad.” Amelia’s father was the person I least wanted to face. All these years, his gaze at me had always been like I was some kind of filth. But to my surprise, this time, he didn’t even glance at me. He was on the sofa, chatting happily with the same man who had been embracing Amelia last night. It turned out he was Leo Thorne, Amelia’s original arranged fiancé. Mr. Vance patted Leo’s hand, his eyes full of satisfaction. “Good boy. If it hadn’t been for that wretched boy, you would be our son-in-law by now.” Amelia also walked over, smiling playfully. “Dad, I’m already married. Why bring all this up? If you like him, just have him come over more often to keep you company.” “Then what capacity would I come in? Should I call you ‘sister’?” Leo chuckled. But the term “sister” had tormented me all last night as they had indulged themselves, punctuated by its repeated use. At this moment, they exchanged smiles, looking like a true family. And I stood awkwardly at the periphery, like an abrupt outsider. At dinner, simply because Leo said, “I’d like some beef,” Mr. Vance had the kitchen prepare an entire table of beef dishes. Our ethnic group had a tradition of not eating beef; we couldn’t even touch it. Seeing me hesitate to pick up my chopsticks, Mr. Vance finally turned his gaze to me, his face full of annoyance. “What are you standing around for? Eat! Don’t be so delicate!” “In the Vance family, you should do as the locals do, understand?!” I looked at Amelia helplessly, placing my last hope in her. At least she used to understand me. Then, she picked up something that looked like a mushroom and placed it on my plate. “Dad, don’t scare him.” The thoughtfulness in her tone made me momentarily see the Amelia of the past. “This isn’t beef, Adrian. Try it, it tastes good.” I ate it without suspicion, but the moment my teeth closed around it, Leo’s laughter broke the silence. He pointed at me, his voice innocent yet cruel. “Look! He ate the beef!” “I told you, there’s no such thing as beliefs or taboos. It’s all just an excuse, putting on airs!” Amelia had lied to me. I stumbled to the restroom, sticking my fingers down my throat. I wanted to vomit out that piece of meat, along with all the humiliations and betrayals I had swallowed these past years. Physiological tears blurred my vision. I video-called my eight-years-younger self again. This time, he was silent for a very, very long time. Then, he began to recall, by the clear stream in our village. She looked at me, her eyes bright like stars: “Adrian, I did my research beforehand. Your people don’t eat beef, right?” “When we’re together, I’ll be with you, and I’ll never touch it either.” But now? The me on the other end of the video was even more despairing than I was. “This isn’t… not what I wanted…” He cried, his voice raw, repeating over and over: “It hurts too much.” Does it hurt? But I had grown used to it, unable to shed another tear. Amelia disappeared for several days again. As I spent my days staring blankly at my phone, I unexpectedly received a message from my sister, asking to meet. The message was like a ray of light in the darkness, making me believe she had come to pull me out of this mire. But in reality, my sister grasped my hand, trembling. “Adrian, I’m so sorry… I think I’ve been set up…” “They’re demanding thirty million from me now, or they’ll take my life…” Hope shattered in an instant, replaced by a deeper helplessness. The previous fifty million had already nailed me to the pillar of shame, forcing me to sell myself for money, tormented day and night. How could I now ask Amelia for more? As I stood bewildered, the positive result on my pregnancy test seemed like a cruel joke—Amelia was pregnant with my child. I finally waited for Amelia to come home. “Thirty million for this child, is it a fair trade?” My voice was so calm, it felt unfamiliar even to myself. Her pupils constricted. The next second, she grabbed my throat, shoving me violently against the wall. A suffocating sensation instantly overwhelmed me. Her eyes surged with fury and undisguised hatred. “How did I not realize before that you were such a schemer? You can even put a price tag on the child in my womb!” “Do you even have a heart, damn it? Aside from money, is there no genuine feeling between us?” Genuine feeling? All my genuine feelings had long ago, through countless nights of humiliation over these eight years, been ground into dust by her own hands. A gust of wind, and nothing was left. I ignored her malice, stubbornly asking her, “A trade?” She was finally completely enraged by my attitude, threw me onto the bed, and recklessly tore at my clothes. “Amelia Vance! You’re pregnant with my child! Not now!” As I struggled desperately, she pulled out a card and threw it at my face. “Fine! I’ll buy this child’s life!” She leaned close, her breath hot on my ear, every word a stab to my heart. “If it’s gone, that’s on me too.” That night was a living hell. I took her to the hospital to confirm. The child was still there. I touched her still-flat belly, feeling a bond for the first time. A few days later, Amelia returned home. “I’ll stay with you until he’s born, to be worth your thirty million.” She paused, lost in thought as she looked at her slightly swollen abdomen. Then, she violently slammed the ash tray next to her onto the floor. A jarring crash. “You win!” She didn’t even glance at my feet, cut by the shards, but turned and slammed the door shut again. That night, I once again video-called my eight-years-younger self. “I don’t want my future days to be like this…” He shook his head, his voice broken. “I don’t want my baby to be born into a home filled only with humiliation… I don’t…” Listening to his repeated whispers, I suddenly felt that perhaps everything could still change. A few days after the thirty million was transferred, my sister asked to meet me again. This time, she cried, repeatedly hitting herself. “Little brother, I’m not human! I owe another ten million… I swear, this is the last time!” I stared at her blankly, unable to think of any other reason to beg Amelia. I could only wait for her to come home again, then kneel before her. “Give me another ten million. I’ll do anything you want!” Amelia kicked me away, then suddenly laughed. “What part of you is still worth ten million?” Watching her retreating figure as she slammed the door again, I knew she had probably shown me all the leniency she had. But my sister then sent me a video of her being beaten on the ground by several people. I had no choice but to call Amelia over and over, pleading: “Please, I’ll even die for you!” Then, I listened all night to her and Leo’s activities, without receiving a single reply. At dawn, when I found my sister again, she was already lying on the ground, covered in blood. She used her last strength to grasp me: “Little brother… I’m so sorry for what I did to you, for not stopping you from being with her…” I froze, hearing. “Yesterday I found out, it was the Vance family who tricked me into gambling… a setup…” “Every time… it was… even the forced marriage was their idea…” Every word, I understood, but combined they were so cruel. The Vance family? Then what was all I endured these eight years? Was I foolish, or did I deserve it? I didn’t even have time to digest the crushing truth. The doctor informed me that my sister had multiple organ failure and was in critical condition. Deeper than despair was another despair. Just as I was crying, begging the doctor to save my sister, Amelia appeared at the hospital, embracing Leo, who had twisted his back in bed last night. “Amelia Vance!” The hatred, accumulated for too long, exploded. I rushed forward like a madman, grabbing her collar, becoming hysterical. “It was you! It was your family who set up my sister! Wasn’t it?!” Amelia froze, then frowned. “What nonsense are you talking about! I wouldn’t stoop to such underhanded tactics!” I pointed at my sister, teetering between life and death on the hospital bed, my fingertips trembling. “Amelia Vance, stop pretending! What is it you can’t do?!” “You played us, my sister and me, like puppets. Are you satisfied now?!” Amelia’s face darkened, her eyes turning completely cold. “Adrian, remember, this is all your own doing!” She gestured to the doctor beside her. “Get all the doctors in the hospital over here, treat Mr. Thorne’s back.” “As for certain half-dead people, no need to waste medical resources.” One by one, the doctors, ignoring my screams and pleas, removed all the tubes and equipment from my sister. Soon, my sister’s body convulsed one last time, then fell silent. I collapsed to the ground, crying, watching Amelia leave, embraced by Leo. “Amelia Vance, if I could do it all over again, I would never repeat the same mistakes.” A sharp pain suddenly shot through her lower abdomen. Warm liquid gushed out, spreading down her pants. Before losing consciousness, I made one last call to my eight-years-younger self. “Leave her.” I spoke with a dying despair. “We can live again.” He bit his lip hard, and finally nodded. “Okay.” Perhaps out of a last shred of conscience, or perhaps remembering Adrian had lost both his sister and his child, Amelia uncharacteristically returned home early. Pushing open the door, a strange emptiness washed over her. She hadn’t yet pinpointed what was missing. Just then, the maid brought her a cup of coffee. She took a sip, then spat it out, frowning deeply. “The taste is off. Have Adrian make it again.” The maid looked bewildered. “Adrian? Sir, which Adrian?” Amelia’s heart inexplicably tightened. Impatiently, she said, “My husband, Adrian!” The maid looked even more confused. “Ms. Vance, when did you get married? We haven’t heard you have a husband.”

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When a gentle new sister appeared in our home, I saw my brother smile for the first time in ages. He said she would live with us and take care of me like he did. I grabbed a greeting card and ran over, asking if she knew my brother’s New Year’s wish. She knelt, patted my head, and smiled. “His biggest wish is for you to disappear from this world.” Suddenly, memories rushed back—my parents lying in blood, my brother’s broken vow at their grave, the dishes I’d smashed, his endless tears. After the tragedy, I became the “idiot” everyone whispered about. Our money drained fast because of my illness. Brother studied by day, worked at night. He’d come home exhausted to a house I’d trashed. I’d throw filth at him, screaming that he wanted to hurt me. He never got angry, just held me with red eyes, repeating, “I’m your brother.” Later, my illness grew worse. He had to take me everywhere. One day, I ruined yet another job he’d finally found. He crouched on the floor, back to me, shoulders shaking. “Celeste, why don’t you just die?” His voice broke. “Please… stop tormenting me.” That sentence unlocked my memory. I walked over, wiped his face with my sleeve, and whispered, “Brother, don’t cry.” He turned and hugged me tight, sobbing apologies. But now I see—those moments of clarity, his occasional tenderness, were just the calm before the storm. Some wishes were never just words. 1 I stared blankly at my sister, and it took a long time for a sentence to tumble out of my mouth: “Die, what is ‘die’?” My sister scoffed, saying mockingly, “You really are an idiot, you don’t even know what dying is.” She knelt down and patiently explained to me, “‘Die’ is like your mom and dad, gone, no longer existing.” I backed away three steps in terror, shaking my head. “Brother says, don’t want Celeste to die.” My sister stood up, looking down at me. “Your brother has changed his mind. He told me his wish is for you to disappear.” “So, Celeste, go die quickly. It’s good for your brother and good for me.” I stood rooted to the spot, clutching the greeting card in my hands, trying hard to understand what my sister said. When I came to, I saw the sliced fruit scattered all over the table, and the trash from the bin had spilled out. No, the house is so messy, Brother will be angry. So, I knelt down, wanting to put the trash back in the bin. There was a noise outside. The front door opened. Brother was home. I flashed him a smile, about to say that Celeste was very good today, when I saw my sister run crying to him, throwing herself into his embrace. She pointed at the trash on the floor and said, “I really can’t handle your sister anymore. I fed her fruit, and not only did she refuse to eat it, but she also threw things everywhere!” A hint of an apologetic smile appeared on Brother’s face. He stroked my sister’s head and said, “You’ve worked hard, Honey. Sigh… The doctor said my sister’s condition was improving, and I didn’t expect her to start again after just a few days.” My mouth slightly agape, I instinctively wanted to refute, but my mind couldn’t form a complete sentence. I could only stammer, “Celeste, didn’t…” My sister glanced at me, then complained to Brother again, “She’s even lying now.” Brother sighed, knelt down, and said to me, “Celeste, lying is wrong.” “And, didn’t Brother tell you to listen to your sister at home? Why didn’t you listen?” I was bewildered. But… sister told me to die. Brother, do I really have to listen to my sister? My already damaged CPU was overheating. My head swam, and I collapsed softly into Brother’s arms. My sister leaned over and asked, “Can your sister really recover?” Brother held me tighter, stating with certainty, “Yes, even if there’s only a one in ten thousand chance, I will cure my sister!” Brother didn’t notice the dark shadow that flickered in my sister’s eyes. But soon, she said softly, “Mmm, you go to work. I’ll help you take care of your sister.” Brother’s eyes welled up with emotion, and my nightmare truly began. One day, she sat on the sofa watching TV, calling me over to massage her legs. I clumsily massaged her, but she kicked me away. “Are you an idiot? You can’t even massage legs?” I was kicked several feet away, crying out in pain. My sister, however, complained to my brother when he returned, saying I wasn’t listening again. Brother could only repeatedly tell me to listen to my sister. I choked back sobs, reaching out to hug him like he used to, but Brother slapped my hand away, saying firmly: “Celeste, say it, ‘I will listen to my sister.’” I cried, trembling, mumbling indistinctly, “Brother says, I have to, listen to my sister…” At this, my sister hugged me tenderly and told my brother, “Vincent, your sister is still a child. Don’t be so harsh. It’s fine if I suffer a little.” Brother was so touched that he didn’t notice my lips were white with fear in my sister’s embrace. My sister saw that my brother fully believed her. From then on, whenever my brother wasn’t around, my sister became a different person. She would secretly pinch the inside of my arm. I instinctively wanted to pull my hand back, but then I heard my sister say, “Celeste, your brother told you to listen to your sister, didn’t he?” “Hold out your hand!” So, I cried while extending my arm to my sister. She seemed to hate me terribly, pinching with all her might each time. I was almost crying myself unconscious when my brother arrived. My sister quickly pulled down my sleeve and turned to throw herself into my brother’s arms. She transformed herself into a victim in just one second. “Vincent, your sister is truly impossible. She won’t listen at all!” One day, a spark ignited in my mind. I rolled up my sleeve and showed my bruises to my brother. He paused. My sister quickly said apologetically, “It’s my fault for not watching Celeste properly.” “You know, this child still can’t walk steadily. She bumps herself and gets bruises everywhere in no time.” Brother remembered that almost every time he opened the door, he would see me sitting on the ground, crying in pain. The next day, Brother wrapped all the furniture in the house with foam padding. My sister gritted her teeth and said to me, “Celeste, your brother is truly good to you.” I nodded and said, “Brother, is good to Celeste, doesn’t want Celeste to die.” My sister let out three cold laughs, then casually picked up a hanger and swung it at me, hitting me on the head. I cried out in pain, calling for Brother. But my sister said, “Your brother’s away on a business trip. He won’t be back for half a month.” “You little brat, you even want to tattle on me to your brother!” She pinched my chin with her left hand and slapped me hard with her right, leaving my face swollen. I trembled uncontrollably, crying, but she became more and more excited with each blow, until someone knocked on the door. She frantically gagged me and shoved me under the covers, then went to open the door. It was the neighbor, Mrs. Davies. She asked, “What’s going on? Celeste is crying so hard.” My sister forced a weak smile and said, “She’s having another episode. She keeps saying I’m the murderer of her parents, and I can’t calm her down.” Mrs. Davies looked a little sympathetic, took out some small cookies, and said, “These siblings have it tough. I made some cookies, go try to comfort Celeste.” Mrs. Davies made to enter. My sister immediately blocked her, saying, “No need, Mrs. Davies. I’ll take care of Celeste.” Taking the cookies from Mrs. Davies, my sister closed and locked the door. She sat on the sofa, legs crossed, eating the cookies Mrs. Davies had given me, saying as she ate, “You’d better be good these next few days and not cause me any trouble.” After that, she took a rope, tied me up at home, and left. I wanted to go to the bathroom, but I couldn’t reach it. The rope chafed my neck; it hurt so much. I couldn’t hold it anymore and made a mess on the floor. When she came back, she kicked me twice. Then she took a picture of the mess and sent it to my brother, crying, “What am I going to do, Vincent? I can’t take it anymore. I looked away for a second, and she made a mess all over the floor. Is your sister deliberately trying to get at me…?” Brother immediately replied, “How could this happen? Sweetheart, I’ll send you money to hire a cleaner. You’ve really had it tough.” Brother sent many apologetic emojis. After the cleaner finished and left, my sister walked over with a dark expression and slapped me. “Useless thing! Can’t even control your own waste!” After venting, she looked at me lying on the floor like a dead fish and said coldly, “If you dare to tattle on me to your brother again, I’ll keep hitting you!” “To be honest with you, all your brother’s previous girlfriends left him because of you.” “Only I am willing to accept you.” “How much money has your brother spent to cure your illness?” “Don’t you think you’re a burden?” “Celeste, if you truly love your brother, you should be sensible and stop hindering your brother’s bright future.” I took my sister’s words to heart. I really was a burden. When Brother returned from his business trip, he brought my sister a gold necklace. My sister beamed, “Gold is so expensive now, you really bought it for me…” Brother said it wasn’t easy for my sister to take care of me, and he would buy her gold jewelry every month from now on. My sister smiled even more happily. But suddenly, my sister’s smile froze. Because Brother took a gold bracelet out of his bag. It was more expensive than my sister’s gold necklace. When Brother put the bracelet on my wrist, he said, “Celeste, Happy New Year. Brother wishes you peace and happiness for life.” My sister said somewhat stiffly, “Vincent, aren’t you afraid of the idiot, no, your sister, losing the bracelet?” I got a little angry, and for the first time, I talked back to my sister: “No, Celeste won’t be that careless.” Hearing my words, Brother happily grabbed my sister’s hand and said, “Did you hear that? Celeste said such a long sentence for the first time!” “She’s definitely going to recover.” Brother embraced me in surprise, then noticed the still unhealed injury on my neck, asking confusedly, “Celeste, how did you get hurt?” I wanted to tell Brother that my sister bullied me. But before I could speak, Brother’s attention was drawn to the cut on my sister’s finger. “It’s all your sister’s fault for wanting an apple, causing me to accidentally cut my hand.” She was lying… She clearly hurt her hand when she was out playing. I opened my mouth and said, “It wasn’t… it wasn’t because of me.” But no one heard what I said. Thankfully, Brother would have many days off after this business trip. I could finally avoid being beaten by my sister, and not have to eat food off the floor like a dog, or be videotaped and laughed at by my sister. But I also knew Brother wouldn’t stay with me forever. Suddenly, I remembered what Mom used to tell me: “Celeste, if anyone bullies you, you must, must tell your family.” Yes, I should listen to Mom and tell Brother that my sister bullied me. But when my sister was around, I never had a chance to talk to Brother. The moment I appeared, my sister would stare chillingly at my gold bracelet, her expression terrifying. I could only cover my bracelet, hide in my room, and secretly listen to the sounds outside. Finally, one day, my sister received Brother’s transfer and left. Hearing the front door close, I quickly ran out and pulled on Brother’s sleeve, saying, “Sister, bad, bully me.” Brother, of course, didn’t believe me. After all, I used to say Brother was a bad guy. Brother knelt down and told me, “Celeste, if you wrongly accuse someone like this, your sister will be sad.” I shook my head, very earnestly saying, “Not wrong.” I ran to the utility room, found the rope my sister used to tie me up, put it around my own neck. Then I placed the rope by the table leg, lay on the floor, and looked up at Brother, saying, “Sister made me eat like this.” “She tied me, here.” “I need to go to the bathroom, can’t walk there, my neck hurts.” I pointed to the wound on my neck, explaining haltingly. Brother’s eyes grew increasingly serious. He rolled up my sleeve and saw that even with all the furniture padded, I had more bruises than last time. “Sister hit you?” he asked. I nodded. Brother said, “I see.” That day, I hid in my room. I heard Brother and my sister arguing for the first time outside. “You believe what an idiot says?” My sister’s voice was even louder than Brother’s. She shrieked hysterically, “Your sister never liked me, she thinks I stole your love, and you actually believe her?” “I must have been blind to choose you. My parents both said I wouldn’t be happy with you, yet I broke ties with them, came here to help you take care of your sister, and now you suspect me…” My sister cried so heartbreakingly that I felt a bit confused looking at my own wounds. Could it be that I really just bumped myself?

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1 My father once said that when a person dies, they leave their most prized possession to the one they love the most. When he passed away, my younger sister inherited three houses and two million dollars in cash. My mother, her eyes red from crying, shoved a thick photo album into my arms. Her voice choked with sobs. “Your father loved you the most, Shavon.” I opened the album. On the back of every single photograph was my father’s handwritten signature. The photos were all of me, crouching by the front door of my grandmother’s house. They documented, from countless angles, the six years I spent as a “left-behind child,” waiting for my parents to come back for me. I looked up, only to see my mother and sister turning their faces away, deliberately avoiding my gaze. So, in my father’s heart, this album filled with years of agonizing waiting was what he considered his “most prized possession.” … The room was so quiet I could hear my own breathing. The album stopped at the days right before they finally brought me home. A tiny version of me, wearing patched-up clothes, stumbling eagerly into my parents’ arms. They sandwiched me between them, hugging me incredibly tight. “Are you going to go far away again?” I had looked at them timidly, tilting my small head up, trying desperately not to let my tears fall. They both kissed my cheeks, squishing my face. My dad’s voice was firm and resolute. “Never. Our family will never be apart again.” That was the most sincere lie he ever told me. And it was the only time his words would come back to slap him in the face so viciously. Because the very next year after bringing me home, they had my little sister, Mia. They said it was so I would have a companion. So that when they grew old, I would have someone to “discuss things with.” Thinking back on it now, what exactly was there to discuss? Discussing who would pull his oxygen tube? No, I didn’t think so. Because the daughter he claimed was “least favored”—my sister—didn’t visit him a single time while he was paralyzed from his stroke. She didn’t even show up to see him take his last breath. It seemed the only person I had to “discuss” things with was myself. The album turned to the second page. A small figure standing under a decaying red wooden door. My “companion” didn’t keep me company. Using my schooling as an excuse, my parents took Mia and moved away for work… “Shavon.” “Hey, Sis.” Their voices broke my train of thought, pulling me back from six years of childhood isolation. My sister and mother awkwardly looked away. It was my mother who finally braced herself to look at me. “Are you okay?” I pressed my lips together and offered a light, dismissive smile. What could possibly be wrong? I was my father’s “most beloved” daughter. That was all. My mother’s eyes were filled with complex emotions. Her hand hovered in the air, wanting to comfort me, but it never landed. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t force out a single word. Mia forced a smile, looking incredibly unnatural. “Sis, don’t take it to heart.” “Dad really did love you more. He gave you his most precious possession.” I turned to look at her. She was rubbing her nose, her eyes darting everywhere but at me. “Is that so? How about I give you this ‘love,’ and we trade?” She glared at me. Before she could snap back, my mother reached around from behind and covered her mouth. “Your sister is young. Don’t stoop to her level.” Right. A six-year age gap. I was forty. She was thirty-six. We were both mothers now, yet in my mother’s eyes, she was still just a child. I waved the photo album and smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I’m just messing with her. Dad loved me the most; how could I ever bear to trade?” Ignoring my mother’s distrustful gaze, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a second, and pasted on a fake smile. “I’m really fine.” “The burial is done, the estate is divided. Since there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.” My mother watched me leave with a tight smile, offering a hollow platitude. “Stay a little longer.” “You’ll miss home when you leave.” Yet her feet remained firmly glued to the floor. I waved them off. “No need.” “Home,” according to my father’s will, had already been transferred to Mia. Every trace of my existence had long been scrubbed from that small two-bedroom apartment. The other two properties were permanently rented out. I had nowhere to sit, let alone sleep. I took one last look at Mia, hiding safely behind my mother, staring at me with pure resentment. I looked at the house I had lived in for less than five years. There was nothing of me here. Only a younger sister draped in designer brands, protected by our mother. I closed the door. The heavy stares disappeared. The air out in the hallway tasted slightly sweet. A sudden, inexplicable lightness washed over my entire body. Even the photo album in my hands looked a bit more tolerable. I just didn’t understand why my chest felt so hollow, why my throat was tightening. Even my tears betrayed me, blurring the makeup I had spent an hour applying. Maybe it was because I finally accepted reality. In his heart, Mia was worth three houses and two million dollars. And I was worth a photo album. Dad’s “most precious love”… it turned out I was the only one stupid enough to take it seriously. 2 I couldn’t help but find it hilarious. I wiped away my tears and practically fled the building, clutching the album to my chest. Even after sitting in my own bedroom for an hour, my mind was entirely blank. My husband, David, reached out and gently touched my forehead. “If you need to cry, my shoulder is right here.” Was I sad? Honestly, no. Just a dry throat and stinging eyes. Nothing more. David gently took the album from my hands. “You as a kid? You were pretty cute.” As he slowly flipped through the pages, my brain felt like a tangled ball of yarn. The night my father passed, we had actually argued about this very issue. “We had to leave you at your grandmother’s house back then. We had no choice. But later, we brought you back,” he had said, his trembling hand grabbing mine. “No one in this family ever played favorites. You’re just too calculative.” “When you have kids of your own, you’ll understand my intentions.” I had mercilessly pried his fingers off mine, meticulously wiping my skin where he had touched me. “I can stop calculating. But while you were paralyzed, why did you only call for me, and never for her?” The father and daughter had fallen into a suffocating silence. My dad, who usually loved to complain about how clumsy and useless Mia was, didn’t utter a single word in her defense. This deeply skewed, biased love had always been our family’s poison. It was the knot I could never untie. He didn’t say anything. His mouth hung open, but the words never came, and then, he took his last breath. Six years of being a left-behind child felt like a cosmic joke. In a trance, I remembered my grandmother wiping away my tears over and over again. “Your dad went to get medical treatment. When he’s better, he’ll come pick you up.” Yeah. He got better, and I went home. But arriving with them was Mia, born the year after they left. My dad had patted my head, speaking with heavy significance. “Mia is your companion. When we’re old, you’ll have someone to discuss things with.” “She’s too young; she needs constant care. So we have to take her with us.” “You have school tomorrow. We’re just going away for two months. We’ll be back soon.” I remember frowning, throwing a tantrum on the floor. “Liars! You can’t take me because of your medical treatment, so why are you taking Mia?!” A little girl’s tears didn’t buy any sympathy from my parents. Early the next morning, they left. The space next to my bed was empty and freezing cold. And so began my next cycle of living under someone else’s roof. Because of school districts, I was moved from my loving grandmother’s house to my step-grandmother’s house. She was my grandfather’s second wife, a harsh woman who absolutely despised me. Annoyed at having an extra mouth to feed, she constantly scowled. “Why do girls eat like pigs?” “When you’re done stuffing your face, go wash the dishes.” “You’re so lazy. No one will ever marry you. No wonder your own parents don’t even like you.” Her vicious words hit me right in the chest. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. My shoulders shook violently as I let my tears fall silently onto the freshly washed bowls. The brutal truth of the world is: it doesn’t matter if you make mistakes. As long as you are the favored one, you win by simply existing. 3 Love doesn’t care about timing or logic. As long as it’s her, she wins. It took me half my life to finally understand that sentence. David continued turning the pages until he reached the very end. It wasn’t a family portrait. It wasn’t a photo of me and my dad. It was a photo of David and me. My dad took it himself during a family trip, right before I married David and moved to a different city. Scrawled at the bottom in crooked handwriting were the words: My daughter has truly grown up. Is it time I let go and let her be a free bird? As I rubbed my thumb over the ink, I quickly felt a raised texture on the back of the photo. Written on the back were two words: I’m sorry. When my eyes locked onto those letters, it felt like a thousand needles plunged straight into my heart. It hurt so much I stopped breathing; it hurt so much I couldn’t even cry. Back then, he had sneered, “A married daughter is like spilled water.” “If you marry someone far away, you think it’ll be easy to come home?” “You think the world is so simple. You’ll definitely never come back. Maybe not for a year, maybe not for ten…” Young and full of pride, I refused to accept it. I believed that as long as I had money, distance meant absolutely nothing. And I was right. I was incredibly driven. I grabbed every single opportunity to climb the ladder. I worked a corporate job during the day and wrote web novels at night. My career skyrocketed, and my first novel became a massive hit. Aside from the first two years of our marriage when money was incredibly tight, I flew home twice a year, every year, staying for two months at a time. Just like summer and winter breaks in school. Arrive on time, leave on time. Until one trip, I found the locks on the front door had been changed. “Don’t come home so often,” my dad’s booming voice came through the phone receiver, stabbing my heart. My voice trembled. “Why?” “Stop asking why. The house belongs to your sister now. If you need something, wait until I come visit you.” It turned out Mia had her eye on a guy from another city. My parents were worried about her, so they rode the train with her to meet his family. As for the house? Because the guy was broke and couldn’t afford a down payment, my dad proudly declared, “You married someone else and moved away. If I don’t give it to your sister, who do I give it to?” “If I give it to her, she’ll stay close and take care of me. The house is her leverage.” “Once she has the house, she’ll settle down here with us.” So, the real reason they had forced me to buy a house in my husband’s city years ago was so they could give their own house to Mia. I had glared at them, pointing a shaking finger. “If you wanted to give her the house, fine. But why did you force me to buy one near you guys in the first place?” My dad grew impatient and practically shoved me out the door. “Stop asking so many damn questions!” “Your wings are fully grown now! If you don’t want to be here, then get the hell out!” “It’s my damn house! I’ll give it to whoever I want!” Right. Three houses. They lived in one, gave one to Mia, and rented the third one out. And under his strict demands, I had to buy a house in my new city using the money that was supposed to be my dowry. They provided absolutely zero financial support for my wedding. They just said they wouldn’t ask for a bride price from David, and that the house we bought would serve as “their” leverage for me. The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the sound of laughter inside. Returning to the apartment I bought myself, I couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Come visit often. A promise nobody else in that house gave a damn about, but I was the only idiot who took it seriously. My phone ringing shattered my memories. It was Mia. “Sis, I’ll give you one of the houses. Can we talk?”

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The moment I opened my eyes in this new life, I made one, critical decision. The first thing I did was grab the sponsorship list, filled with names, and shove it deep into the trash. In my past life, my name was Jade. I died of stomach cancer at thirty-seven. Of the 101 children I had sponsored, not a single one came to see me off. This time, I took the money I’d set aside for donations and, without a second thought, bought ten houses before the market boomed. Not long after, familiar faces began appearing on my television screen. The same boys and girls who had once knelt before me, swearing they would repay my kindness, were now wiping away tears as they gave interviews. “Mama Jade promised she would support me through university, but now she’s vanished. I heard she bought ten houses.” “We have no choice but to drop out and find work.” “I don’t hate her, it just… it hurts so much.” “We just want to ask one thing: Mama Jade, we called you our mother. How could you be so cruel?” 1 I switched off the TV, my face a blank mask. The instant I unlocked my phone, a flood of messages crashed in. The first: “Ms. Jade, this is a reporter from Cityline. Could you comment on why you’ve suddenly ceased funding for 101 underprivileged students? Would you be available for an interview?” The second: “Mama Jade! It’s Faye! Why aren’t you answering your phone? You promised you’d see me through university!” The third: “Ms. Jade, as a well-known philanthropist, you suddenly have ten properties to your name while children are forced to drop out of school. Can you live with yourself?” The fourth, the fifth, the sixth… My phone vibrated ceaselessly, as if it were about to explode. At the same time, I heard a clamor of footsteps outside my apartment. From the sound of it, dozens of people were gathered at my door. Their voices seeped through the wood, impatient and demanding. “Ms. Jade! Come out and say something!” “Why did you stop the funding?” “Do you know the children are kneeling in front of the TV station?” I closed my eyes. In my past life, I was a good person—selfless, altruistic, always putting others first. My husband, Mark, and I ran a small building supply store. We worked from dawn till dusk, pinching every penny. Most of the money we earned went to charity. Over ten years, we donated more than a million dollars, sponsoring 101 children from the poor, rural parts of the region. We started supporting many of them when they were in elementary school. I promised them they could focus on their studies, that I would support them all the way through university. They wrote us letters, calling us “Mama Jade” and “Papa Mark,” promising they would repay our kindness one day. We kept every letter, pulling them out on sleepless nights. Reading them always brought tears of joy to our eyes. Mark and I had no children of our own. We didn’t want repayment; we just wanted to ensure poverty wouldn’t define their lives. Then, Mark died. His delivery truck overturned. His last words were, “Make sure you take care of the kids.” And then he was gone. I was shattered. Before I could even begin to process my grief, I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer. For over a year, I lay in a hospital bed, waiting for those children to visit me. Not one came. I told myself they were busy with school, that the travel was expensive. I didn’t blame them. Then, my medical funds ran out, and I had no choice but to stop the sponsorship payments. The phone started ringing. “Auntie Jade, where’s this month’s living stipend?” “Auntie Jade, you said you’d support me through university. I’m only a freshman in high school. Are you backing out now? You’re ruining my life!” “Ms. Jade, this is Kevin’s father. You made a promise. How can you just cut us off? What’s our son supposed to do?” The last call came from a girl named Lily. When I had first selected her for sponsorship, she had knelt before me, tears streaming down her face as she called me “Mama.” Now, on the phone, she said, “Mama Jade, how long will your treatment take? You need to get better and get back to work soon. There are a lot of us kids waiting for you.” I hung up and burned all the letters I had kept under my pillow. Later, a reporter dug up my story and went to interview the children. Reporter: “Jade is very sick. Aren’t you going to visit her?” Child A: “She promised to support me through university. Now she’s in a hospital bed with no money. What good would it do if I went?” Child B: “She’s so rich. It’s just an illness. Besides, how much is our tuition, really?” Child C, who was Lily, smiled innocently at the camera. “Everyone does things for a reason. As for what her reason was… I don’t have to say it. You can probably guess, can’t you?” I turned off the television. With my last bit of money gone, I left the hospital and went home. I lay on the bed Mark used to sleep in, wasting away day by day. I died on New Year’s Eve, as fireworks lit up the night sky outside my window. Staring at the ceiling, I whispered, “God, if I get another chance—” “I will love myself first.” And He listened. I was reborn. Reborn at thirty-three. Mark was still alive, and we were still relatively well-off. Changing my fate wasn’t easy. That afternoon, I barely made it out of my apartment building. Down below, a sea of kneeling figures. Over a hundred children in their school uniforms, holding banners. “MAMA JADE, WE NEED YOU.” “MAMA JADE, DON’T ABANDON US.” Kneeling at the very front was Lily. She held a megaphone, her voice cracking with emotion as she cried out: “Mama Jade, you promised you’d see me through university! Have you forgotten?” Reporters swarmed the area, their cameras all pointed at the entrance to my building. The moment I stepped outside, a wail pierced the air. “Mama Jade!” Lily crawled forward on her knees, scuttling until she reached me and wrapped her arms around my legs. “Mama Jade, please don’t abandon us! You said we were your children! You promised you’d always support us!” Her tears soaked into my pants, cold and damp. Behind her, the other 100 children began to cry in unison, their sobs echoing through the courtyard. Security guards tried to intervene but were blocked by the reporters. I was surrounded by cameras, microphones, and cell phones. Someone was live-streaming. People in the crowd were dabbing their eyes. I heard someone mutter, “How pitiful. How can that woman be so heartless?” I looked down at Lily. Her face was exactly as I remembered it from my past life. She had knelt before me just like this, crying and promising to care for me in my old age. Then, when I was on my deathbed, she had told a camera, “Everyone does things for a reason.” I reached down and, one by one, pried her fingers from my leg. “Mama Jade!” she clung on tighter. I pried the last one off. Then I crouched down, meeting her gaze. “Lily, how old are you this year?” She hesitated. “Seven… seventeen.” “Seventeen,” I nodded. “That’s not so little anymore.” I paused, then enunciated each word clearly. “Everyone does things for a reason. As for what your reason is right now… you don’t have to say it. I can guess.” Her face went rigid. I stood up, stepped around her, and walked away. Behind me, Lily let out a gut-wrenching sob. “Mama Jade! You can’t do this! You promised us! You can’t go back on your word!” The other children joined in, their cries even louder than before. A chant began: “Mama Jade, come back! Mama Jade, come back!” The cameras followed me, their live-stream comments a dense, scrolling blur. “What kind of person is she? All those kids are on their knees and she won’t even look back?” “So cold-blooded. And I used to ‘like’ her posts.” “Ten houses, and she won’t donate a single one. I knew her charity was fake!” “Jade, how do you sleep at night?” The reporters’ microphones were practically in my face, their questions a barrage of “why.” Seeing no escape, I stopped and faced them with a calm smile. “Yes, it’s true. I have decided to stop the donations.” “As for the reason, that’s my private business, and I won’t be discussing it here.” “However, I believe there are more good people in this world than bad. People like you, for instance. You are all more than welcome to take over sponsoring these children.” “With so much kindness in this world, I’m sure that even without me, they will be able to finish their education. Am I right?” I smiled as I scanned the faces of these righteous, well-meaning people. At my words, the reporters fell silent, no longer pressing me. I seized the opportunity, pushed through the crowd, and hurried to the complex gate. A car was parked by the curb. The window rolled down. It was Mark. His eyes were red. “Honey, I saw everything.” His voice was thick. “Those kids… they’re so pitiful. We’ve always helped them, haven’t we? Why the sudden…” I opened the car door and got in. Mark turned to me. “We always said we didn’t want their gratitude, we just wanted them to have a good life…” “I changed the password to our savings accounts,” I said. He froze. “What?” “The passwords to our two accounts. I changed them.” I stared straight ahead. “If you want to withdraw any money, you’ll have to ask me.” “Honey, what are you—” I sighed. “Mark, I had a dream. It was so real that I believe it’s destined to happen.” “In the dream, you died. I got cancer. I was in the hospital for over a year, and not a single one of those 101 children came to see me. When I stopped the funding, they called to hound me, telling me to hurry up, get better, and go back to work to earn money for them. They went on television and said I had ulterior motives. In the end, I died alone at home on New Year’s Eve, while fireworks were going off outside.” He was speechless. “Mark,” I said, my voice weary. “In this life, let’s love ourselves first.” He stared at me, his mouth agape, completely bewildered. Outside the window, a massive screen on a building was playing the news. “Renowned philanthropist Jade abandons 101 underprivileged children, who kneel in the street begging her to return…” People on the street were looking up at the screen. Someone shouted: “Jade, I hope you rot in hell!” A chorus of agreement followed. I let out a cold laugh. A handful of rice creates gratitude; a sackful creates an enemy. The old proverbs were never wrong. The online backlash spread like wildfire. For days, a crowd surrounded my building. “Jade! Get out here!” “Heartless monster!” “What a fake. She’s nothing but a fraud!” Someone threw an egg at my window, the yolk sliding down the glass. Someone else spray-painted my building’s entrance in red: “FAKE CHARITY, REAL VAMPIRE.” Another group held up a banner: “PUNISH THE UNSCRUPULOUS BUSINESSWOMAN! JUSTICE FOR THE CHILDREN!” I peeked through a crack in the curtains and saw Lily, still at the front of the crowd, giving a tearful interview. “We never wanted her money. We just wanted to know why she suddenly abandoned us.” A boy next to her was sobbing hysterically. “She bought ten houses but made us drop out of school! My sister is only in middle school, and now she has to work in a factory!” The crowd erupted. “Call the police! Arrest her!” “People like her deserve to be canceled!” “Let’s trash her place!” Suddenly, a rock shattered my window, sending shards of glass flying perilously close to my eyes. Mark threw himself in front of me, the color drained from his face. “Honey, we should call the police.” I shook my head. What good would that do? They were just a group of “poor,” “helpless,” “betrayed” children. The next day, things got worse. Someone had posted my home address online, along with the location of Mark’s building supply store. By the time I got there, I heard someone in the crowd yell, “Trash it!” Before the words had even faded, a baseball bat shattered the glass door. The crowd surged in like a tidal wave. Shelves were toppled, tiles were smashed, and the cash register was overturned. Someone lit the sign out front on fire, sending plumes of black smoke into the air. My honest, good-natured Mark, his eyes red with fury, rushed in to stop them, only to be thrown to the ground. Someone spat on him. Someone else kicked him. In that moment, a rush of blood went to my head. But I didn’t charge in. Instead, I took a step back, to the edge of the crowd, and opened my phone’s live-stream. I aimed the camera at the fire, at the ransacked store, at Mark being trampled underfoot. The comment section scrolled frantically. “What’s going on?” “Holy shit, this is a riot!” “Did anyone call the cops?” “That’s that Jade woman’s store!” “Good! Serves her right! Hope that fake philanthropist goes bankrupt!” I stared at the screen, my voice calm but with a tremor I couldn’t hide. “Hello everyone, I’m Jade. What you are watching right now is my husband being attacked.” “For the past three days, my home has been vandalized, my store has been besieged, and my husband has been beaten. And all of this is because I stopped sponsoring 101 children.” “To date, I have supported them for three years, donating approximately $300,000. I have records for every single transfer.” “As for why I suddenly stopped… I didn’t want to talk about this today.” I pulled a few folded papers from my pocket and held them up to the camera.

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I’m the designated “poor kid” in my class. That part’s true. But I’m on federal student loans, and I have a work-study job. Not only do I have enough to cover my expenses, but I can even put a little aside each month. Jessica, my roommate, had just been elected class president when she proposed a class-wide fundraiser for me. “Daniella is the only student in our class facing financial hardship. It’s our duty to extend a helping hand!” Her announcement left our classmates stunned. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Just as I was about to refuse, a few strange lines of text flickered in front of my eyes: [Classic plot point incoming! The kind-hearted female lead tries to help, only to be misunderstood by the insecure side character. A big fight is about to break out!] [Once it blows up, the gentle heroine will be all teary-eyed and heartbroken, and that’s the cue for the hot, domineering male lead to swoop in and save the day!] [I am so ready for the romance to start! C’mon, side character, have your meltdown already!] 1 I blinked, completely baffled. What kind of brain-dead garbage was this? If I didn’t want it, I’d just say no. There was no need for a dramatic scene. But the moment the word “No” left my lips, Jessica cut me off. “Daniella, I know you have your pride! But you can’t let it get in the way of your life. You’re coming back right at curfew every single night. You’re spending less than fifteen dollars a day on food. Your underwear is washed so thin it’s practically see-through, and your pajamas have holes in them… You can’t go on like this. It’s bound to affect your studies, and that will drag down the entire class’s average. So, for everyone’s sake, from now on, we’re covering your living expenses.” As she spoke, she pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill and shoved it into my hand. “Take it. You don’t have to pay it back! Just focus on your studies!” But even after stuffing the money into my palm, she didn’t let go. She held me in that awkward position, her eyes wide with expectation. The other students started sizing me up, their whispers turning into gasps. “Coming back so late every night… is that even a legit part-time job?” “Seriously? Fifteen bucks wouldn’t even cover my lunch. She must be scamming the cafeteria or something.” “People still wear clothes with holes in them? You don’t think she’s doing it for attention, do you?” I almost laughed out of sheer anger. We’d known each other for a few weeks, and she was already airing all my private business to the entire class. And for what? A measly twenty bucks? She was seriously holding onto my hand, expecting me to burst into grateful tears for her little performance? And what was wrong with these other students? Were they stupid or just blind? Just as a string of curses was about to erupt from my mouth, the comments popped up again. [The heroine has done so much! Why isn’t the side character flipping out yet? If she doesn’t make a scene, when will the male lead make his grand entrance?] [What’s wrong with her? Someone gives you money and you can’t even say thank you? No wonder she gets ostracized by everyone later, becomes depressed, and jumps off a building.] [Serves her right! If she wasn’t so ungrateful, the heroine wouldn’t have been so hurt. But hey, it gives the male lead a chance to comfort her. At least she’s useful for heating up their romance!] The insults I was about to hurl died on my tongue. As crazy as those comments sounded, I was only eighteen. My life was just beginning, and I had no intention of dying. So, I took a deep breath, yanked my hand free from Jessica’s grip, and pushed the twenty-dollar bill back at her. “Thanks, Jessica. But I don’t need it.” Her face fell instantly. “I told you, you don’t have to pay it back! This is easier money than whatever you’re doing. Stop penny-pinching and walking around in rags. It’s embarrassing for us to even be seen with you!” Someone else chimed in. “Yeah, seriously. Don’t make us all look bad. Here, I’ll chip in fifteen to cover your meals for a day!” “I’ve got five! We can crowdfund you some new underwear!” A few crumpled bills fluttered through the air, landing at my feet. The comments went wild. The screen was flooded with a single demand: [FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!] But in the midst of the chaos, a strange calm washed over me. After all, arguing with idiots only hurts yourself. So, I called for backup. 2 The classroom was buzzing with chaos when our academic advisor, Mr. Glazer, burst in, slightly out of breath. “What is going on in here?” The room fell silent. Students exchanged nervous glances, but no one spoke. That’s when Jessica stepped forward, her face beaming as if expecting a reward. “Mr. Glazer, I was just organizing a fundraiser for Daniella!” Mr. Glazer pointed at the money scattered on the floor. “This is how you fundraise?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. I seized the opportunity. “Mr. Glazer, I told her I didn’t need it, but the class president insisted. She also exposed my personal information to everyone.” I then pointed out every student who had made a comment. “And they joined in, slandering me in front of the whole class.” To top it off, I presented the video I had been recording on my phone. Mr. Glazer’s face hardened as he watched it. He turned to the group, his disappointment palpable. “Is this how you help a fellow student? All of you, apologize to Daniella right now!” But Jessica’s expression turned even uglier. “Sir, Daniella is a scholarship student who is so focused on saving and making money that she’s neglecting her studies. I was doing this for her own good—for the good of the entire class! I did nothing wrong!” The other students she’d incited just stood there, stubbornly refusing to back down. Seeing this, I decided to lay it all out. “I work in the cafeteria during breakfast and dinner, so my meals are covered. The only meal I pay for is lunch, and fifteen dollars is more than enough. I have a work-study job at the library in the evenings. It closes at ten, and I’m back in my dorm by ten-thirty. As for money, you really don’t need to worry about me. From Monday to Friday, I work my campus job, eight hours total, at fifteen dollars an hour. On weekends, I tutor for eight hours at fifty dollars an hour. It’s enough to live on. And as for my studies… I had the highest entrance exam scores in our year. What, exactly, made you think I was dragging the class down?” The moment I finished, a student gasped. “Holy crap, that’s over five hundred a week! That’s triple my allowance!” A hush fell over the classroom. A few students shuffled their feet, mumbling apologies as they sheepishly picked their money up off the floor. Only Jessica remained, clutching her twenty-dollar bill, her face a mask of wounded pride. Tears welled in her eyes as she yelled at me, “If you’re not broke, why did you apply for financial aid and pretend to be poor? You made me think you needed help! You just wanted to humiliate all of us for trying to be kind! Fine! It’s all my fault! Are you happy now?” Her outburst brought the floating comments back. But this time, they seemed to echo my own confusion. […] [Wait, what kind of plot twist is this? Wasn’t the side character supposed to have a breakdown and get kicked out of class?] [Well… it’s not a total loss. I guess you could call this a scene, and the heroine is definitely upset, right?] [That side character is so manipulative! She pretended to be poor just to mess with the heroine! Ugh, I wish she would just die already!] [Exactly! How dare she bully our girl like this! Where is the male lead? I can’t take this anymore!] The rest of the comments were a torrent of curses directed at me. Then, a few students started speaking up in Jessica’s defense. “Sir, you can’t blame Jessica for this. She was just trying to be nice!” “Yeah, if anyone’s at fault, it’s Daniella! She should have been upfront about her situation instead of causing this whole misunderstanding. How is she the one acting all high and mighty?” “He’s right! If she doesn’t need the money, why is she on financial aid? Sir, I think you should revoke her scholarship status!” 3 Jessica said nothing more, maintaining her tear-streaked, victimized expression as she looked between me and Mr. Glazer. Mr. Glazer hesitated. He lowered his voice, trying to placate me. “Let’s not let this escalate between classmates. How about we just drop it for today? I’ll talk to everyone individually later.” But I wasn’t having it. Why should I be the one to back down just because she was crying? Did having more people on your side automatically make you right? Not a chance. I walked straight to the front of the classroom, stood at the lectern, and switched on the microphone. “Real kindness is about what the other person actually needs and wants, not about making yourself feel good. Jessica didn’t know my real situation. She just spied on my daily life and jumped to her own conclusions. She didn’t consult me, and she didn’t respect my wishes. She organized this so-called fundraiser, which was nothing more than a public humiliation. If any of you think what she did was okay, then go ahead. Pick up the money on the floor, and go thank her one by one. If even one of you can do that, I’ll apologize to all of you.” No one moved. Many of them hung their heads in shame. I pressed on. “Being a student on financial aid just means I started from a different place. It doesn’t make me less than anyone else. As long as we’re willing to work, we can manage just fine. And for the record, I’m on a student loan—money that I have to pay back—not a grant. I suggest we reconsider Jessica’s position as class president. And a word of advice for everyone else: spend more time with your books and less time caught up in drama with idiots.” After I finished, Mr. Glazer spoke up, his voice firm. “Daniella is right. You all need to focus more on your studies. If you have a problem, talk to a teacher. To have this kind of incident on the very first day of choosing a class president… we definitely need to hold a new election.” At his words, the faces of the other students fell. Jessica let out a loud sob and ran out of the classroom. Mr. Glazer sighed, made the few remaining students apologize again, and said he would talk to Jessica privately. I didn’t push it further. My shift was about to start. Arguing with them wasn’t nearly as important as earning a living. But when I got to the library, someone blocked my path in the main hall. He was handsome enough, but the moment he opened his mouth, he sounded like some cringey YA protagonist. “A student has filed a complaint that you falsified your financial aid information to take a work-study position. You need to go explain yourself to the library director. You’re not welcome here anymore.” Just then, the comments flickered back to life. [Aaaah! The hot male lead is here! The heroine sheds a few tears, and he immediately kicks the side character to the curb!] [The side character was so proud of earning her own money. Let’s see how cocky she is now!] [Wait… isn’t he being a little unreasonable? He’s the Student Council President, not the campus police, right?] [Get out of here with that logic! We’re here for the swoon-worthy romance, not a courtroom drama!] [Exactly! I live for seeing the male lead go crazy for the heroine and burn the world down for her!] Right. Now I knew what I was dealing with. I couldn’t help but think to myself: If these two are the main characters, this world is probably screwed. But this wasn’t the time to worry about the fate of the world. His loud declaration had drawn the attention of several people nearby. They were keeping their voices down, as required in a library, but they were whispering furiously and tapping away on their phones. They were spreading rumors, no doubt. To stop my reputation from being completely shredded, I decided to face him head-on. 4 “And you are?” “Blake Crawford, Student Council President.” He puffed out his chest, his face glowing with pride. I scoffed. What a big shot, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. “First, the Student Council has no authority over the work-study program. Second, my application was approved by the university administration. What evidence do you have that I falsified anything? If you don’t have any, then you’re slandering me in a public place.” Blake sidestepped the question. “It is every student’s duty to uphold the integrity of our campus! A complaint has been made, and it needs to be investigated. You should be confessing and cooperating, not causing a scene here!” Seeing that logic was useless with him, I stopped arguing and made a beeline for the library director’s office. “Daniella, you faked your records to steal a spot from someone who needs it! I’m telling you to leave, why are you going to my superiors? Get back here! Stop disturbing the other students!” he yelled, chasing after me. His shouting made everyone in the library turn and stare. I didn’t stop. I burst into the director’s office and said, “Director, this student is causing a major disturbance in the library and is trying to have me fired from my job!” The director looked startled, his gaze shifting from me to the young man who had followed me in. “Blake, is this true?” Blake quickly tried to explain himself. “A student filed a complaint. I was worried about the potential scandal, so I thought it would be best for Daniella to go home until the investigation is complete.” “Do you have any actual evidence?” the director asked, echoing my question. “Well… it was an anonymous, verbal complaint.” “Hah!” I let out a sharp laugh. “According to university regulations, anonymous complaints without concrete evidence are not considered valid. Blake, I have reason to believe you are deliberately targeting me.” “We don’t even know each other. Why would I target you? I’m acting in the best interests of the university!” he denied, but his shifty eyes gave him away. The director, pretending not to notice, tried to smooth things over. “Blake was probably just misled. It was all for the good of the university! Daniella, you can go back to your work now.” But I wasn’t letting it go.

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