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It was my birthday. I’d booked a table at a fancy restaurant, but my wife and father-in-law both claimed they had to work late. Though disappointed, I understood. I enjoyed the meal alone. Then my phone buzzed with a wedding livestream. There, in a suit, toasting the guests, was my father-in-law. “This first toast is to myself. I’ve endured every hardship building this business and raising my daughter. Today, I finally live for myself.” “The second toast is to surviving. For my child, I endured a stifling marriage. Now, I’ve found someone who truly cherishes me.” “The third toast is to my family. Look at this table—my daughter, my wife, and my devoted Wilson. This is our family, complete. I just pray my daughter doesn’t follow in her father’s footsteps.” Watching my wife nestled in the man’s arms, gazing at my father-in-law with emotion, cold dread spread through me. I picked up my phone and revoked their unlimited signing privileges at the hotel. I wanted to see how this “happy” family would manage to leave today. 1 The company just closed a huge deal. To celebrate, I gave all my employees the day off. Finally, I had some time free from my busy schedule. Coincidentally, it was my birthday, so I booked a table at a high-end restaurant, planning a nice weekend with my wife and her family. But my father-in-law claimed he had important matters to attend to, and my wife, looking apologetic, explained she had to work overtime at her company and couldn’t make it. I understood, regretfully heading off to enjoy the lavish meal by myself. While scrolling through my phone, however, I was pushed a live stream of a wedding. It was, unmistakably, taking place at a hotel under my company’s ownership. And my father-in-law was there, in a groom’s suit, smugly toasting the guests, with my wife smiling and sitting beside him. In the live stream, the woman clinging to my father-in-law looked familiar. She was the nurse we’d hired when my mother-in-law was gravely ill. My father-in-law had, at some point, gotten involved with her. What angered me even more was that the wine my father-in-law was toasting with was the very jar of “daughter’s red” that my mother-in-law, in her final moments, had painstakingly prepared and sealed for our future child. My mother-in-law’s blessings were still faintly visible on it. Yet, his relatives acted as if they were blind, echoing my father-in-law’s words, saying he had finally overcome his hardships. This wedding, it seemed, was being held at the expense of my mother-in-law’s and my dignity! My rage boiled. My hand trembled slightly as I picked up my phone. I quickly dialed my wife’s number. In the live stream, the moment she saw my name on her phone, her expression subtly changed. But the next second, she chose to hang up, then flipped her phone face down. Not giving up, I bombarded her with calls. After several rings, I saw my father-in-law frown, pick up my wife’s phone, and tap it a few times. When I called again, the line just kept showing “in use,” and her phone didn’t react at all. Not only that, but whether it was WhasApp or other contact methods, all showed I’d been blocked. My father-in-law’s phone was the same. I took a few deep breaths, then called my wife’s aunt. This time, it was answered quickly. But the voice on the phone was no longer as amiable as before; instead, it held a sharp, disdainful edge. “Well, well, isn’t this Ethan Gummer? What, not going to your dead-end job today? You actually have time to call me?” 2 Her words were harsh, laced with schadenfreude, but I had no time to argue with her. “Put Joyce on the phone. I need to talk to her.” “What’s with your attitude, man? Don’t think you’re still a son-in-law of the Hayes family. My brother didn’t even invite you to his wedding. If you ask me, young Wilson is much more sensible than you. You’re simply not good enough for our Joyce!” I almost laughed in anger. The Hayes family’s true colors were utterly shameless. When they thought I had value, they were all respectful. Now, believing my father-in-law was rich and seeing his displeasure with me, they were openly hostile. “Think carefully. I haven’t divorced Joyce yet. We are legally married. Hand the phone to her, now!” The aunt hesitated this time. She mumbled some unsavory words, then held the phone out. I watched Joyce in the live stream, frowning and shaking her head, and heard her voice through the earpiece, refusing to take the call. My father-in-law chimed in from the side, impatiently waving his hand at the aunt. “Why pick up? It’s my big day, and this tactless fool just has to interrupt. Don’t waste words on him!” Hearing that, the aunt scoffed dismissively and immediately hung up. I held my phone in silence, feeling as if I were watching some absurd tragicomedy unfold. My wife of ten years betrayed me, falling for another man. And my father-in-law, who had been a model husband to my mother-in-law, had apparently never liked her from the start. He’d feigned affection for years, waiting for my mother-in-law to pass, only then revealing his true self. Their proclaimed “family” never included my mother-in-law or me. It turned out love truly could be an act. And now, the curtain was about to fall on this performance. Recalling everything from the past, I felt a faint ache in my chest. I stared blankly at my phone. In the live stream, my father-in-law was proposing to his second spring, his face beaming with happiness. But the dowry he offered her made me utterly disbelieving. My father-in-law was smiling like a giddy teenager, excitedly slipping a ring onto Serena’s finger. Before, when my mother-in-law was alive, he always maintained an air of detached intellectualism, never getting emotional, much less losing his composure like this. “Your willingness to marry me truly moves me. Meeting you, I finally understood what a true soulmate is. I wish I had been with you from the very beginning.” “Serena, don’t you worry. I won’t shortchange you. This hotel and the villa at home will be transferred to your name tomorrow. Consider it a small token of my affection.” “As for Wilson, I know he’s a filial boy. He’s the son-in-law I’m truly pleased with. So, I’ll make a small sacrifice for him. Just let him tolerate that troublesome one at home. As compensation, I’ll give him that estate on the city outskirts.” Serena and her son’s eyes gleamed as they listened. My father-in-law then turned and patted Joyce’s shoulder. “Daughter, your dad has faith in you two. I just really don’t want you and Wilson to go down the same old path your dad did.” Joyce was overcome with emotion, feeling her father’s profound love for her. I was so disgusted I couldn’t speak. The hotel, the villa, and the estate—they were all my assets. On what grounds did my father-in-law think I’d willingly give them away? Truth be told, Joyce and I came from vastly different backgrounds. I was the eldest son of the Gummer family; she was from an ordinary working-class family. Our marriage only happened thanks to my mother-in-law. My mother-in-law and my birth mother had been best friends since childhood. Even after my mother-in-law’s family went bankrupt, it didn’t affect their bond. My mother passed away after giving birth to me, entrusting me to my mother-in-law on her deathbed. My father, busy with the company, was often absent, so my mother-in-law essentially raised me. In my heart, she was no different from my birth mother. So, after she married, I often visited. My decision to be with Joyce, besides genuinely liking her, was also partly influenced by wanting to stay close to my mother-in-law. Over the years, the Hayes family had largely thrived, smoothly sailing through life, relying on my mother-in-law’s and my resources. When my mother-in-law passed away, I was more heartbroken than anyone else, burying myself in work to numb the pain. 3 Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely against my father-in-law finding a new partner. My mother-in-law had even encouraged me to accept it before she passed. But this was too fast. My mother-in-law had only been gone for six months, and he was already married to another woman, who, to top it off, was the nurse who had cared for my mother-in-law. The thought of them hooking up right by my mother-in-law’s sickbed filled me with an uncontrollable hatred. Joyce’s reaction chilled me even more. My father-in-law had never lifted a finger; my mother-in-law had handled all of Joyce’s upbringing and daily needs since childhood. Yet, not only was she not angry about her father’s betrayal, she sympathized with him, claiming to have found “true love” herself. The child my mother-in-law gave birth to had become a sharp knife plunged into her. Joyce was worse than a piece of rotten meat! I watched as the crowd below cheered, and the comments section flooded with praise for my father-in-law’s generosity and his image as a good man. A fleeting comment asking if I, her rightful husband, would agree, was noticed by a relative. He rolled his eyes, then nosily asked the question aloud. My father-in-law on stage scoffed, a look of domineering authority on his face. “How dare he disagree? He eats my food, uses my things, I support him. It’s generous enough that I haven’t made my daughter divorce him. What right does he have to stop my daughter and me from pursuing true love?!” The audience applauded loudly. Watching Joyce tightly clasping Wilson’s hand, I let out a cold laugh. My past sincerity? I guess I just fed it to the dogs. My father-in-law’s words were very true. They ate my food, used my things, I supported them—but not so they could step on my mother-in-law and me to pursue “true love”! I picked up my phone and revoked their unlimited signing privileges at the hotel. I wanted to see how this “happy” family would manage to leave the hotel after I stopped being their blood bank. You see, at my father-in-law’s insistent request, this wedding banquet, from the food to the decorations, was all of the highest possible standard. After a moment’s thought, I called the hotel manager, instructing him to settle the bill immediately. After all, without an audience, I feared my father-in-law’s little show wouldn’t last. The hotel manager’s face immediately tightened upon receiving my call. When my father-in-law had made the booking, he had used my name. Now I was telling the manager I didn’t know them. Realizing the enormous cost of the event, and fearing a no-show, the manager disregarded the lively scene and hurriedly ran up to demand payment. My father-in-law, his declaration to Serena interrupted, shot an annoyed glance at the manager. “Is this your hotel’s service attitude? Coming to collect payment in the middle of a wedding banquet?” The relatives below chimed in, supporting him. “Exactly! How tactless is this guy? I’ve never been to a wedding where they demand payment halfway through!” “Old Man Hayes is your company’s boss, isn’t he? If you do this, you’ll be fired!” My father-in-law, basking in the flattery, nodded at the crowd below, proudly promising. “From now on, anyone who wants to come, just come and have fun. Just tell them my name, Garrett Hayes, when you check out. My Hayes family has plenty of money!” Serena also smiled and nodded. “That’s right, we’re all family. Once it’s under my name, everyone is welcome anytime. I’d be delighted.” But the manager remained unmoved. He had received my call and naturally knew my father-in-law’s lies. My father-in-law, seeing his persistence, gave him a cold look. “No common sense, huh? Fine, settle the bill now. Once you’re done, you can pack your things and leave. My hotel doesn’t need you!” Seeing him agree to pay, the manager nodded and presented the bill. “Your wedding venue decoration and food together total one and a half million dollars. How would you like to pay?” “Pay? I’m the owner of this hotel. I have signing authority. Bring it, I’ll sign!” The manager was quite confused, but still, upholding his professional integrity, he checked his phone. Then he looked up at my father-in-law. “I apologize, sir, you do not have authorization at this hotel… Do you have another payment method?” My father-in-law’s face turned ugly. He stared at the manager in disbelief. The relatives below also fell silent, their gazes subtly sweeping over my father-in-law. He flushed crimson, pulling Joyce forward. “I must have forgotten to activate my own authorization. Swipe her card. I remember I gave my daughter full access!” My father-in-law thought I was just trying to block him. He was convinced I wouldn’t deny my wife access, but he was destined for disappointment. “This lady also has no authorization. How would you like to proceed, sir?” This time, Joyce’s face also changed. She tried to appear calm, reassuring her father. “It’s okay, it must be a system glitch. Let’s just settle the bill directly. It’s all just transferring money from one pocket to another anyway.” She said, pulling out the black card I had given her. “Use this card to pay.”

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My mother was a housekeeper for the wealthy Vanderbilt family. Growing up, I was nothing more than a shadow to their daughter, Andy. If she told me to kneel and buff her shoes, I couldn’t stand up. When high school ended, I thought I was finally free. Instead, she insisted on taking the entire class on a luxury safari trip to Africa to watch the Great Migration. Deep in the wilderness, we crossed paths with a lone baby elephant. Driven by pure, twisted privilege, Andy decided she wanted to taste its flesh. When my protests failed and I tried to escape, she ordered the other students to tie me to a massive tree. I was forced to watch as they roasted the poor creature alive. Andy took a single bite, spat it out in disgust, and complained about how terrible it tasted. Then, the enraged herd arrived. Andy and the others scrambled onto the tour bus and sped away, leaving me forgotten and bound. The furious giants trampled me into nothing but broken bones and torn flesh. In that moment of absolute despair, I woke up. I opened my eyes to find myself right back at the moment we first spotted the baby elephant. This time, I did not hesitate. I walked straight to the bus and punctured the fuel tank. This time, absolutely no one is getting away. 1 As the mountain-like foot of the elephant crushed my spine, my eyes were fixed solely on the dust cloud kicked up by the speeding bus. Faintly, I could still hear the class president, Sam, sounding panicked. “Tessa is still back there! Are we really leaving her?” Andy had scoffed, yanking him back into his seat. “As long as she doesn’t move, the elephants won’t bother with her. She is just a servant.” “Besides, she needs to learn her place. Who told her to keep throwing herself at you?” In that agonizing moment, my heart turned to ice. She had tied me to that tree simply because I had offered a bottle of water to Sam when he was carsick. Vision blurring, coughing up mouthfuls of blood, my fingers clawed desperately at the dirt. If I ever got a second chance, I swore I would make every last one of them pay. I blinked, and suddenly I was back at the riverbank where we first found the calf. The playful little elephant was splashing in the water, and my heart hammered violently against my ribs. I was about to shout to scare it away when Andy’s voice rang out in delighted surprise. “Look over there! A baby elephant!” The eyes of all my classmates were instantly drawn to the river. “Wow, it really is a calf. Trust Lady Andy to have the best luck.” “It is all alone. I bet the smell of our barbecue attracted it.” Andy smiled broadly, licking her lips. “You know, I have never tasted elephant before. Which one of you brave boys is going to catch it for me?” The crowd exchanged glances, falling into a tense silence. Seeing that no one moved, Andy frowned. She unstrapped the diamond-encrusted watch from her wrist. “Whoever catches that elephant and roasts it for me gets this Patek Philippe.” That watch was worth at least a hundred thousand dollars, more money than most normal people could earn in a decade. Instantly, the boys began rolling up their sleeves, eager to hunt. Not far away, the innocent calf was still drinking water, completely unaware of the danger. My mind flashed back to the agonizing screams it made as its flesh was seared open. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to speak up. “Baby elephants rarely travel alone. The herd must be close by. We shouldn’t mess with it.” Hearing my warning, a few of the boys hesitated. Andy spared me a disdainful glance and pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from her bag, tossing them onto the ground. “Stop acting like Mother Teresa, Tessa. If this isn’t enough, I will add more. Besides, even if the herd does show up, do you think we are stupid? We have the bus right there to escape.” I looked at the parked tour bus, my hands curling into tight fists. Fueled by her greed, several boys grabbed heavy nylon ropes and began stalking towards the calf. Sam, looking pale from his motion sickness, walked over to stand by us. He was handsome, and his parents were heavy hitters in both politics and business. Eight out of ten girls in our school were in love with him. I was no exception, but even though I had never acted on it, Andy was intensely jealous of any interaction I had with him. Sam frowned as he watched the boys. “Andy, don’t take this too far.” 2 I quickly took a few steps away from Sam. Andy bit her lip, still glaring at me with pure venom. “Sam, don’t listen to her nonsense. It is just a lone calf, there is no danger at all.” “Besides, didn’t we come out here for the thrill of the wild?” Andy purred, leaning close to Sam, but he subtly stepped back, avoiding her touch. Her eyes snapped back to me, filled with rage. “What are you standing there for? Go help them! Do you think I brought you on this trip to relax?” Normally, I would have obediently bowed my head and complied. But today, I simply shook my head. “I don’t feel well. I am going to the bus to rest.” Just as I turned to leave, a manicured hand with long acrylic nails clamped down hard on my arm. “Oh, please. Everyone is working on dinner and you just want to slack off? Do you actually think you are a guest here, Tessa?” I looked at the sharp nails. It was Andy’s best friend, Lexi. In my past life, she was the one who encouraged Andy to tie me up with the nylon rope. I violently shook off her hand just as a piercing, agonizing cry echoed from the riverbank. The boys had successfully ambushed the calf, tying its legs together. The little elephant had a bleeding gash on its forehead from where they had hit it with a rock. Its dark, grape-like eyes were wide with terror as it stared at us. Andy clapped her hands giddily. “Our feast is served!” I was hyperventilating, my eyes darting toward the dense, dark forest behind them. The herd definitely heard the calf’s cries of distress. I began to tremble, bending my waist in a low, desperate plea. “Please, Andy, just let the calf go. Elephant meat doesn’t even taste good.” Before Andy could even respond, Lexi used her sharp nails to poke hard at my face. “Seriously? You are trying to play the saint again? Acting all pathetic. How would you know if it tastes good or not? Even our Andy has never tried it. Have you?” Andy’s face darkened completely. She waved her hand in pure disgust. “You are just a maid’s daughter. What right do you have to tell me what to do? If you don’t want to eat, then get lost!” I didn’t hesitate for a second. I turned to walk toward the bus, but my scalp suddenly exploded in pain. Lexi grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking me backward. “Andy, she is just trying to get out of doing work. You can’t keep spoiling her.” “You don’t want to eat?” Lexi gave me a malicious grin. “Fine. Then you can just sit there and watch us eat.” Looking at the nylon rope in her hand, the terror of being trampled to death amplified in my mind. My breathing became shallow, and I weakly held my head, surrendering. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to slack off. I will go gather firewood right now!” My scalp was yanked hard again before Lexi shoved me to the ground. “See? Was that so hard? You just had to go and upset our Andy.” I looked up to see Andy giving me a look of pure disdain. “What a coward. Utterly pathetic trash.” Standing beside her, Sam said nothing, though his eyes were filled with deep disappointment. I lowered my gaze to hide the mockery in my own eyes. For years, I had endured the relentless bullying of Andy and her circle. I had been their dog, a humble, obedient shadow. But even after all that submission, I hadn’t earned a single shred of basic human respect. As for Sam, that high and mighty bystander, I both liked him and despised him. He clearly didn’t approve of eating the calf either, yet he was too cowardly to speak up himself, waiting for me to take the fall. Every single one of them was utterly revolting. Since they refused to listen to reason, they could deal with the consequences. I kept my head down, quietly moving away from the crowd to gather firewood. The moment I was out of their line of sight, I slipped underneath the tour bus. Gripping the emergency glass-breaking hammer I had stolen earlier, I smashed it violently into the fuel tank. If I was going to die out here, none of them were making it back alive either. I had finally realized that in this world, only death is truly fair to everyone. 3 By the time I returned from the bus, they had already tied the calf’s legs to a thick spit, suspending it over a roaring fire like a suckling pig. The flames licked at its skin, causing its hair to curl and burn. Andy and the others were busy filming videos for social media, completely indifferent to the calf’s agonizing, desperate screams. A few classmates looked uncomfortable, but none of them dared to speak up and challenge Andy. I hid the emergency hammer up my sleeve and walked directly in front of the crowd. “Why do you have to eat an elephant? Is the normal food not enough for you?” Andy was in the middle of recording a video. Seeing me interrupt her shot, she immediately yelled, “Who the hell do you think you are to lecture me? Get the hell out of my face!” Instead of backing down, I reached out, grabbed her phone, and slammed it onto the ground. The sudden violence shocked everyone into silence. Lexi was the first to react, screaming, “You little bitch! Are you crazy? That is the newest iPhone! Can you even afford to replace it?” It took Andy a few seconds to process that I, her lowly servant, had just smashed her phone. Her face twisted in rage as she tapped her temple. “Tessa, is there something wrong with your brain? You dared to smash my phone over a damn animal?” I stepped on the phone, grinding it into the dirt. “Yes. For this exact animal.” That calf roasting over the fire was a mirror of my past self. I was fighting for it, but mostly, I was fighting for me. Andy asked again, unable to believe what was happening. I looked her dead in the eye. “Are you deaf? Untie that elephant right now.” Andy let out a dark, mocking laugh. She grabbed my collar, pulling my face close to hers. “You think you have the right to order me around?” She used her free hand to slap me hard across the face, sending my head spinning. “If it weren’t for my family’s charity, you wouldn’t even be in this country right now, let alone on this trip!” The other classmates finally snapped out of their shock, chiming in to defend Andy. “Tessa, don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Andy pays for your elite prep school, your food, and she even brought you on this vacation. Is this how you repay her?” I lowered my eyes, using the back of my hand to wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth. Did they really think I wanted any of this? I never had a father, and my mother was the family’s live-in maid. She earned a good salary, but she refused to spend a single penny on me. The shoes I wore were always a size too small because they were Andy’s hand-me-downs. The food I ate was always cold leftovers from Andy’s plate. Everything I owned was a scrap of charity from the Vanderbilt family. But if I had the choice, I would rather have nothing. Sam finally spoke up. “Tessa, you are crossing the line.” I let out a sudden, dark laugh. “And are those the only words you know how to say, Sam?” Sam’s face went pale with embarrassment. I ignored him, pulling out a pocket knife I had hidden, determined to cut the nylon ropes binding the calf. Elephants are incredibly intelligent creatures. This calf seemed to realize I was trying to save it. It stopped crying out and just stared at me with its big, glassy eyes. The nylon rope was thick and heavy. I sawed at it furiously, but managed only a small nick. Andy was livid, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Tessa, I swear to God! I brought you into this jungle, and I can make sure you never leave!” I just kept sawing, completely ignoring her threats. The next second, a searing, white-hot pain exploded in my shoulder. I looked down to see a round bullet hole, and blood quickly began to soak through my white t-shirt. Andy stood there holding a small, silver handgun, her forehead bleeding from where I had pushed her earlier. “You really thought I came out here unprepared? Trash like you dared to put your hands on me? Tomorrow, you and your mother are both fired!” Lexi snapped back to reality, pointing at me and cursing. “What an ungrateful bitch! Andy treated you so well, and you turn on her for a stupid beast!” The other students joined in the chorus of condemnation. “Exactly! We have never tasted elephant before. Stop trying to act like a hero.” “Just stop cutting the rope. People are going to think that damn elephant is your child or something.” A wave of cruel laughter erupted around me. Sam said quietly, “Tessa, there is no need to fight everyone.” Amidst the cacophony of their mocking voices, my ears twitched. I felt a deep, heavy vibration beginning to rumble through the earth. The herd was here.

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1 Emma Warren was the hottest A-list celebrity in Hollywood. Few knew that her manager, the man her fans relentlessly cursed as a “deadbeat,” was her first love, the one who’d been by her side every step of the way. I’d been savaged by her fans for five years; they’d Photoshopped hundreds, even thousands, of obituaries for me. To all of it, Emma had only one response: “Just bear with me a little longer. I can’t have my relationship exposed right now.” Yet, the same Emma, who preached about protecting her image, turned around and secretly agreed to a PR stunt with a new actor, a “couple” reality show, all behind my back. She offered no explanation, merely looking at me with weary eyes, asking me to understand, not to make a fuss. But she didn’t know; I wasn’t planning on making a fuss. I was busy picking out the best Photoshopped obituary from those thousands. After the show wrapped, she and her fake boyfriend walked arm-in-arm, giving interviews to the media. A reporter asked, “What are your thoughts on your former manager’s sudden passing?” … Emma Warren had severe allergies. So every time she went on a reality show. I was always the most anxious one. I sat on the carpet, my eyes scanning the checklist, making a final confirmation. “Your allergy medication is in the zippered pocket. Your usual eye drops are right next to it. It might get cold in the mountains at night, so your jacket is in the right corner. And…” Emma leaned silently on the sofa, tapping her phone screen, her brow unfurrowed. My voice had probably become irrelevant background noise. She waited for me to finish my lengthy monologue, then lazily lifted her eyelids to glance at me. “Got it. The production team will prepare these things. You don’t need to bother.” “And I’m not going on some wilderness survival show.” I fell silent, my hands, which had been neatly arranging the suitcase, suddenly stilled. Right. I’d almost forgotten. She was going on a sweet dating reality show. This show was custom-made for the hottest celebrity “couples” of the moment, with unprecedented hype. A few seconds later, I lowered my eyes, smiling faintly. I folded the densely written checklist in half, then in half again, tucking it into the side pocket of the suitcase. “Okay, I won’t say more.” Emma looked satisfied. She grabbed the baseball cap from the sofa, put it on, and was about to leave. Her assistant scurried over and took the suitcase from my hand. “Julian.” I called out to her. She turned, her brows almost imperceptibly furrowing. She probably thought I was about to nag her again about carrying an umbrella for rain, or reapplying sunscreen. Or perhaps, that question I’d asked a thousand times: When can we go public? Sunlight poured in from the open door, bathing her in a dazzling but ethereal golden glow. I felt a little dizzy watching her, my eyes stinging. “Emma, if this is my last day as your manager, what… what would you think?” She froze, her eyes beneath the brim of her cap staring at me unblinkingly for several seconds. A celebrity’s eyes can look soulful even when gazing at a dog. For a moment, I almost believed the Emma before me was the Emma from ten years ago, who only loved me. It made me want to bury my head in the crook of her neck, To tell her I was sick, that I was scared. But not until my eyelashes were truly wet with tears. Only then did Emma slowly pull the corners of her lips into a faint smile, and give me a hug. “Julian, stop being dramatic! You know I’d only be happy for you. After all, you’ve worked so hard these past few years, haven’t you?” She sounded genuinely happy, her voice significantly softer. “I’ll bring you a leaving gift. Just wait for me at home, okay?” Thump. I watched her back disappear from my sight, quietly, as I had countless times before. From sixteen to twenty-nine, I had waited obediently for her for over a decade. I truly couldn’t wait anymore. I walked to the coffee table, picked up my phone, and sent the message I had already drafted. “After amicable discussion, I am no longer serving as Emma Warren’s manager, effective immediately. Thank you for the past, and I wish you a bright future.” The moment the message went out, my phone’s notifications began to erupt. I didn’t click on the details. But even without opening them, I could imagine the frenzy below. I refreshed, and a few top comments automatically popped up. “Universal celebration!!! Today is a good day! Our girl finally broke free from that controlling old man!” “Ahhh, my darling’s career is now smooth sailing! No more pervert staring at you like a hawk!” “Heaven has eyes! This old man was always telling her what to do. Emma must have tolerated this creep for too long. Tonight, we must do a giveaway!” The screen’s light reflected on my face, highlighting my red-rimmed eyes. I silently submitted the request to deactivate my account. My decade. A stubborn and ridiculous decade. It was over. 2 I had a tumor in my brain. The day I was diagnosed, I hunched alone in the hospital corridor for a long time. Fear surged like a tide. Almost instinctively, I called Emma, my hand trembling. I wanted to tell her the doctor said I only had three months left. I wanted to say I was so scared, that I was still so young, and I didn’t want to die. But before I could even speak, Emma’s graver voice interrupted me. “I’m doing a fake relationship with Xander Knight for a reality show.” “Julian, you’ve controlled my entire career for over a decade. Don’t stop me this time, okay?” Emma’s calm insistence on the other end of the phone made my silence and despair feel utterly out of place. I opened my mouth blankly, all my words crushed between my lips. Control? I understood her ideals and ambitions, So I tried my best to protect her from potential exploitation. She used to always cling to my arm, saying she was lucky to have me. But now, all that had become “control”? Two weeks ago, Emma and I had a huge fight about her fake relationship with Xander. The public relationship I wanted, I’d waited over a decade for, because of her plea to protect her image. But in the end, I was waiting for her to fake a relationship with another male celebrity. In a fit of anger, I broke up with her. I still remember the look in Emma’s eyes that day. It was angry, scrutinizing, and tinged with a coldness. She had pushed hard against my chest, gritting her teeth and saying: “Julian, have you thrown enough tantrums? How do you think you got everything you have now? Without me, what are you?” “Do you actually see me as your girlfriend? Or just a piece of art to satisfy your vanity?” That sentence was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing all my hopes. I never knew that my desperate efforts to secure business deals and resources for her, In her eyes, had become “control” and “vanity”! And at this moment, Emma’s voice rang out again from the phone, “So, is there something you called for? If not, I’m hanging up. Xander is waiting for me to discuss the show.” What else could I say? Congratulate her on going to “date” someone else, while her boyfriend was dying? I silently hung up the phone. That day, I sat alone in the hospital corridor for a long time. Lonely and desperate. I didn’t want to spend my last days in a hospital. So I bought a plane ticket to the Alps. It was a place I’d always wanted to visit. And a place Emma had promised countless times to visit with me. Unfortunately, every time we planned a trip over the years, something always came up to disrupt it. Later, I thought this was probably fate’s way of telling me. Emma and I were never meant to be. It was pouring rain in Geneva. Perhaps I got a little wet while out exploring, because the next day I developed a high fever. I dragged my heavy body to a pharmacy to buy fever medicine. By the counter, near me, were two young girls, squealing at their phones. “Ah, Emma Warren is so beautiful! She and Xander Knight are perfect together!” “Yeah, yeah, handsome guy and beautiful girl, they must be real! Just look at the way Emma looks at him!” The sudden mention of Emma’s name made me pause. But then I instinctively pulled my cap lower, just wanting to pay and leave quickly. Perhaps my overly deliberate avoidance drew attention, because the chattering behind me paused. “…Hey, look at that guy. Doesn’t he look like…” My spine stiffened, my fingers clenching inside my sleeve. Before I could walk away quickly, two student-aged girls had circled around to face me, their eyes astonishingly bright. “It really is you!” The short-haired girl exclaimed, excited, nudging her taller friend. I took a breath, forcing a smile: “I’m no longer Emma Warren’s manager.” “We know! Our fan groups are all celebrating! Today’s a holiday!” The short-haired girl spoke quickly, her eyes glinting with an insistent gleam: “Hey, perfect! There’s a coffee shop nearby. The latest episode of ‘Seven-Day Lovers’ just aired. Emma and Xander’s interactions are super sweet! Let’s watch it together!” The invitation was full of malice and a desire to see me squirm. During my years as Emma’s manager, the biggest rumor about me was that I was overly possessive, Shamelessly treating Emma as my own girlfriend. Looking at the smug, youthful faces, determined to stir up some drama, I let out an absurd laugh. “Sure.” I also wanted to see what my girlfriend looked like when she was “dating” someone else. 3 In a corner of the coffee shop, the reality show was streaming on a tablet. The scene showed Emma taking a bite out of Xander’s half-eaten tart. Watching Xander’s helpless expression, Emma smiled brightly. Xander looked at the laughing Emma, shaking his head with an air of resignation. They exchanged glances, and it seemed like pink bubbles were floating in the air between them. “They’re a perfect match!” the tall girl shrieked, cupping her face. The short-haired girl glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, deliberately asking loudly: “Hey, what do you think? Are they super compatible? Everyone online says they’re the best couple of the year!” I saw that Xander had already taken a bite of that tart, and I saw the way Emma looked at Xander. I knew her too well, so I knew it wasn’t all acting. At least, when the two of us first started out and only had enough money for one bowl of ramen, Emma wouldn’t have eaten from the same bowl as me. At least, she could always deduce his favorite music and food from the smallest clues in Xander’s social media. And me, I was right in front of her. Yet she never noticed my increasingly pale complexion, or the frequent nosebleeds. She never noticed the painkillers scattered around the house, nor did she realize I spent night after night beside her, in too much pain to sleep. A part of my heart felt like it was pricked with a fine needle, a dense, aching soreness spreading through me. But I just froze for a few seconds, then offered a genuinely heartfelt smile: “Yes, they really are a perfect match.” My reaction clearly caught them off guard. After all, for years, tabloid headlines had always featured reports of me scowling at Emma interacting with other male celebrities. They exchanged a disgruntled glance, then the short-haired girl suddenly remembered something and leaned closer to me: “Hey, we once heard a fan account say that backstage, you slapped Emma. Is that true or false?” Her words made my body jolt, my head swimming. That was in the third year of our careers, when I was caught by paparazzi delivering a Valentine’s Day gift to Emma. This led to massive online abuse from Emma’s fans. They called me disgusting and a pervert, claiming I was obsessed with my own artist. Almost every day, I’d wake up to hundreds of Photoshopped obituaries and hateful comments flooding my DMs and comment sections. Those days, Emma was like a powder keg, but her eyes held a mix of pain and concern for me. In the dressing room, she looked at my face and seriously said she wanted to quit the industry, that she couldn’t bear to see me treated that way. Emma’s eyes were terrifyingly red. She wouldn’t listen to anything I said, stubbornly insisting she would announce her retirement. Finally, I slapped her across the face. “If you quit, then all these years of me being cursed at will have been for nothing!” “Do you remember what you told me back then, that you would fight your way to the top?” Emma’s head was turned by my slap, but she eventually burrowed fiercely into my arms. Her tears fell onto my neck, as hot and passionate as her sincerity then. “Julian, wait for me. I’ll take you to the highest place.” The girls’ insistent voices, urging me for an answer, became distant and blurred. “Hey, say something!” “Why did you do it?” Yes, why? Why do people’s feelings change so suddenly? “I…” A broken syllable squeezed from my throat, and then my world plunged into complete darkness. The smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils. I struggled to open my eyes. “He’s awake!” The short-haired girl scurried over, looking relieved. “Are you okay? The doctor said you almost burned up with fever.” I gave a weak smile, looking at their bewildered faces, wanting to say something. Just then, the TV screen in the corner of the room flickered, showing the backstage interview segment of “Seven-Day Lovers.” “So, Emma, having worked with so many excellent male co-stars, what is your ideal type like?” I turned my head to look at Emma, elegant and refined on the TV screen, and my heart skipped a beat. “Hmm… I like someone lively and cheerful, like a little sun. It’s perfectly fine if they’re a bit clingy; it’s cute. Preferably not like a nagging parent, telling me what to do all the time, not too rigid, and not too materialistic…” Every word was like a tiny hammer, gently tapping my heart. Lively, a little sun, clingy. She was describing the Julian of ten years ago, the naive Julian who scraped by with her in a basement apartment. Controlling, mature, materialistic. She hated the Julian of ten years later, the Julian who had endured multiple online attacks and finally learned to be cautious with his words and actions. I let out an absurd laugh, my eyes burning and dry, but not a single tear fell. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at the two girls by the bed, their expressions complex. My voice was hoarse as I said: “Please, don’t tell anyone that I fainted today.” The two girls were obedient; they didn’t mention my illness. But they did upload a secretly filmed video of me saying Emma and Xander were a good match to the internet. Emma called me. But her very first words caught me off guard.

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Nineteen again, and I woke up next to Annie Bright. The reckless abandon of last night flooded my mind. In my past life, I married him at twenty-three, becoming the envied Mrs. Bright, the woman who had it all in New York society. When the tabloids caught him with his childhood sweetheart at a hotel, I put on a brave face, smiling and saying I trusted him. When he asked if she could bear his first child, I swallowed my pride, saying it didn’t matter, as long as the child was his. It wasn’t until I was on my deathbed that he held my hand, his voice choked with anguish, asking if I would be his wife again in the next life. All I could think was: I never want a next life. I never thought I’d actually get one. 1 I lost the game and chose “Dare.” Following the gaze of everyone in the room, I stood up, walked over to the boy sitting next to him, and dropped to one knee. “Silas, you’re a god.” Then, I pressed a light kiss to the back of his hand. “Hahahaha!” The room erupted in laughter. Silas’s face turned crimson, and he just sat there, stunned. My best friend, Faye, nudged me with her shoulder. “Did I hear that right, or did you get your wires crossed?” she whispered, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I thought you were going to use this chance to finally confess to Annie.” She was right. All our friends knew I’d been crushing on Annie Bright for ages. A dare was the perfect cover. For months, I’d been clawing my way into their elite circle, all for the singular goal of marrying into the Bright family. Tonight’s villa party was a masterpiece of my own design; I’d begged Faye to pull every string she had to get Annie here. The moment I’d arrived, she had pulled me aside, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Annie just got dumped. Get him drunk, take him home. Trust me,” she’d said, “guys are simple. Even if there are no feelings now, there will be after you sleep with him.” In my last life, I did exactly that. And to his credit, Annie was a responsible man. Our messy beginning led to six years of marriage. It wasn’t a whirlwind romance, not some epic love story, but looking back on it sent a shiver of dread down my spine. A cold, deep-seated fear that I never wanted to feel again. This time, I didn’t want to marry him. The game continued around me, a chaotic symphony of laughter and shouting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Annie’s hand, the veins popping as he gripped his glass. He tossed back his drink, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze fell on Silas beside him, a flicker of contempt so subtle it was almost invisible. The party finally wound down around one in the morning. As the crowd thinned, I pulled on my down jacket, ready to leave with my friends. “I’ll drive you,” Annie said, getting to his feet. “It’s snowing out there. It’s not safe for you girls to go alone.” I was about to refuse, but my friends were already cheering. “Wow, thanks, Annie! You’re a lifesaver!” The estate was out in the suburbs. One by one, he dropped my friends off at their apartments until it was just the two of us left in the car. We sat in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. The car finally pulled up to my building. Just as I was about to get out, he spoke, his voice laced with an unreadable emotion. “Aren’t you going to invite me up?” In my past life, I was the one who asked. I’d invited him up to my apartment, and one reckless, passion-fueled night had led to a lifetime of entanglement. This time, I shook my head. “It’s too late. It wouldn’t be right.” I opened the door and turned to say goodbye, but his hand shot out, clamping around my wrist. I looked back, my eyes meeting his intense, burning gaze. His lips, thin and sensual, curved into a look that was part question, part invitation. “Jess Collins,” he murmured, his voice low. “You’re into me, aren’t you?” It wasn’t just “into.” I had loved him. Deeply. I looked at him, the fresh-faced, nineteen-year-old Annie blurring with the cold, distant twenty-five-year-old from my memories. The past was a phantom, a half-remembered nightmare. I grew up in a single-parent home, molded by my mother from birth to be the perfect trophy wife for a wealthy family. She’d spent a fortune consulting astrologers to pick the perfect C-section date for me, and the ugly scar on her stomach was a permanent reminder of her ambition. When I first learned to speak and called her “Ma,” she corrected me instantly. No, darling. The best families in New York say ‘Mommy’. She rented a tiny apartment for us near the Upper East Side, a place where every plant was positioned according to the advice of some spiritual guru for “good energy.” She worked three jobs to send me to a prestigious prep school, all so I could blend in with the children of the elite. Then, she sent me to study abroad in the UK. “Rich boys don’t talk about Adam and Eve,” she’d said. “They talk about Adam Smith.” So, I got into the Adam Smith Business School, where Annie Bright was my classmate. I aced every course while he partied his way through the semester, never showing up for group projects. Right before finals, he’d shamelessly ask me to reteach him everything the professor had covered. When the results came out, his score was two points higher than mine. He’d grinned, throwing an arm around me. “It’s all thanks to Professor Collins. Let me buy you dinner.” I thought it would be a simple meal, but we ended up eating our way through every Chinese restaurant in Glasgow. My mother had always told me that when a man went out of his way like that, it meant he was interested. I never dared to admit that I was the one who fell first. But Annie had a girlfriend back then, an art student in London. They were childhood sweethearts, a perfect match from two powerful families. “So what?” my mother had scoffed over the phone. “Steal him. Finding a husband is a competition, a war between women. If you marry into the Bright family, I’ll become a vegetarian and pray for your soul every day to build up your good karma.” But marrying into a family like the Brights was never easy. I used every trick in the book to weave myself into his world, finally catching him on the rebound during a break with his girlfriend. During the years we dated, we fought, we broke up, and it was always me who swallowed my pride and went back to him. When his love for me was at its peak, he fought with his family elders for three days and nights, begging them just to meet me. The prim and proper image my mother had so carefully crafted for me over the years was just enough to win their reluctant approval. Our wedding was the event of the season, a staggering eight-million-dollar affair that made headlines everywhere. My mother was ecstatic, praising me for securing both love and money. At the time, I believed it too. A sleazy tabloid reporter, hungry for a headline, wrote a piece about me: Billion-Dollar Gold Digger: From Rags to Riches as a Broodmare for the Elite. Annie saw the article on his phone and immediately made a call. The man on the other end was practically groveling. Annie wrapped his arms around me, holding the phone out to me with a lazy smile. “That phrase I taught you the other day,” he prompted. “Say it again.” I flushed, mortified. “You… you son of a bitch,” I stammered. “My business… is none of your goddamn business.” The words felt alien in my mouth, so contrary to the gentle, well-mannered woman I was supposed to be. My face burned with shame as I forced the sentence out. Annie burst out laughing, clutching his stomach, while the man on the other end of the line apologized profusely. I found out later that the reporter who wrote that story vanished from the New York media scene completely. Memories flooded back, fragmented and bittersweet. In those moments, it felt like maybe, just maybe, Annie and I had really been in love. But I had underestimated the destructive power of a first love. The day Isabelle Monroe came back, I learned that the scorching passion I thought he had for me had never been mine at all. Her flight back to New York was delayed by a category three storm. The paparazzi caught Annie waiting at the airport for her. Three hours late, and he sat there for three hours, not moving an inch. He carried her bags as they checked into a hotel, looking every bit the devoted knight. They didn’t emerge until the next morning. A provocative entertainment reporter shoved a microphone in my face. “Mrs. Bright, sources say Ms. Monroe was camped out in your husband’s hotel room for eight hours. Worried your throne is a little shaky?” I kept my expression neutral, wanting so badly to spit back the words Annie had taught me: Piss off! It’s none of your damn business. He’d even sent me a meme of my favorite actor saying it. But my mother’s voice echoed in my head. A high-society wife is always graceful. No matter what happens behind closed doors, you never lose your composure in public. So I smiled sweetly and said, “I trust my husband.” But trust? That had been eroded away long ago. That New Year’s Eve, Annie brought Isabelle to the Bright family estate for the first time. He had his arm around her waist, ignoring the furious glares from the family elders. “Izzy said our view of the fireworks is the best in the city,” he announced with a careless grin. “I just had to show her.” At that moment, I was with his grandmother and mother in the family chapel, kneeling before the altar. I didn’t dare lift my head. His mother didn’t move either, her chanting just growing a little louder. After dinner, as the annual fireworks display lit up the sky over the harbor, I stepped out of the dining room. In a dark corner of the terrace, I saw Isabelle stand on her tiptoes and kiss Annie. He saw me, his eyes meeting mine over her shoulder. Then, he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and deepened the kiss. It was brazen. Shameless. I froze, my entire world tilting on its axis. When he finally looked back at me, he was still smiling. “Darling,” he said, his voice casual, “do me a favor and tell the family I had to step out for a bit.” It was a holiday. I didn’t want to ruin it for everyone by exposing his recklessness. I made up a simple excuse for the elders. Annie didn’t come home that night. He rarely came home after that. Isabelle wanted to be an actress, so he threw money and connections at her career. He took her to every social event, transforming the bankrupt socialite into a pageant queen. It was as if he couldn’t wait to prove that his hidden love and guilt had never faded. Even so, I maintained the dignity expected of me. If we happened to be at the same event, I would offer a polite nod and a quiet hello. Whenever people in our circle talked about me, it was with a tone of pity. “So what if she married up? Without a child to secure her position, she’ll be divorced sooner or later.” My in-laws, terrified of a scandal tainting the family name, forced Annie to use… certain medical means to ensure I got pregnant. The day he found out, he frowned. “Based on the due date, it’s about two weeks after Izzy’s. I won’t have time to take care of you. I’ll hire you some more nurses.” I rested a hand on my flat stomach, my back straight against the sofa cushions, and smiled. “Of course.” What I wanted to say was, Are you insane? That little tramp is having a bastard child! But I held my tongue. A calm environment was important for the baby. Besides, my position in the Bright family was already precarious. Without this child, Annie really might divorce me. My mother had told me that even if I couldn’t hold onto his heart, having his child would at least secure my status. But it seemed even fate was against me. The child didn’t make it. After the Brights publicly announced my pregnancy, Annie started putting on a “devoted husband” act and spent less time with Isabelle. I heard she threw several tantrums, and he had to shower her with jewelry to pacify her. That, combined with pressure from the Bright elders, finally made her quiet down. But every time I saw her at the private clinic for my check-ups, she’d shoot me a venomous glare before walking away. One day, the doctor confirmed I was having twin girls. Isabelle was having a boy. When she got her results, Isabelle approached me, a first for her. She told me she’d left Annie back then because her family’s problems were too much, and she didn’t want to drag him down. “I regret it,” she said, her voice soft. “I can’t forget him, Jess. I truly love him. If I hadn’t let him go, I would be the one who is Mrs. Bright right now.” “I’m sorry. I never meant to ruin your marriage.” “This is my sincere apology.” “But I can’t stop loving him. And I know he feels the same way about me.” I watched her gently stroke her swollen belly, her eyes filled with a dreamy anticipation. I wanted to slap her, to scream, You are the most shameless mistress in all of New York! But the words died in my throat. I just gave her a dismissive smile. I was Mrs. Bright. I couldn’t stoop to brawling with a mistress in public. If she had any decency, she would have stayed far away from me, not paraded her pregnancy in front of me like a trophy. Her voice was fragile, designed to evoke pity. “If I give Annie the first Bright grandson, do you think he’ll divorce you?” When I didn’t answer, she raised her voice slightly. “You just wanted to marry into a rich family. It didn’t have to be Annie, did it? You had other options.” That was it. I snapped. My hand flew out, the crack of it connecting with her cheek echoing in the quiet hallway. “You’re right,” I spat, my voice trembling with rage. “I would have been fine without Annie. So why don’t you go tell him to divorce me!” She stared at me, her hand pressed to her red cheek. I was just as stunned as she was. Then I saw him. Annie, standing right behind her. He pulled Isabelle behind him, his eyes fixed on me. “What did you just say?” His voice was low and cold, radiating the intimidating aura of a man used to being in control. I looked into his eyes, my hand still tingling, my mind a complete blank. A family like the Brights valued reputation above all else. Even if I was publicly humiliated, I was supposed to remain poised. His gaze was incredulous. “You want to divorce me?” he scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh, Jess. You were the one who schemed and clawed your way into this marriage. And now you want a divorce?” I had nothing left to lose. I found my courage again. “Yes. I want a divorce.” His expression turned to ice. “Forget it. You’re not going anywhere.” “You wanted the title of Mrs. Bright, and I gave it to you.” “Don’t play these games with me to get my attention, and don’t you dare touch Isabelle.” With that, he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind Isabelle’s ear, then wrapped an arm around her waist and led her away. Every movement was filled with a tenderness I hadn’t felt from him since she had returned. That night, I went to the Bright estate. I knelt in the chapel and bowed three times to the altar. Then, I turned to the family matriarch, Annie’s grandmother, and said with unwavering resolve, “Grandma, I want a divorce.” The old woman continued to finger her prayer beads, her lips moving in a silent chant. She gave me no answer. In the end, I died on the operating table, still married to Annie Bright. Not long after that day at the clinic, Isabelle had a miscarriage. I overheard the household staff gossiping about it. They said that Annie’s grandmother had heard about the pregnancy and sent someone to negotiate with Isabelle. The plan was for her to give birth and let me raise the child. We would tell the world I’d had triplets. Isabelle refused. So the old woman forced her to have an abortion. Annie was convinced that I was the one who had told his grandmother, that I had sicced the family on Isabelle. When he came to see me, his white shirt was stained with blood; he’d just been punished by the family elders. I felt a pang of pity and reached out to treat his wounds, but he grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “The title of Mrs. Bright will always be yours. What more could you possibly want?” he snarled, his eyes filled with a raw hatred I’d never seen before. “Was it really necessary to push her to the edge like this?” I tried to explain, over and over, that it wasn’t me. But he wouldn’t believe it. Human emotions are never fair. His hatred for me had long since eclipsed whatever shallow love he’d once felt. The Brights blacklisted Isabelle. No entertainment company in the city would touch her. Annie stayed by her side, comforting her day and night. He never came to see me again. By then, I had already made a deal with his grandmother. After the babies were born, I would divorce Annie and leave the Bright family. Someone else could have the damned title. When I told my mother, she screamed at me, a torrent of furious accusations. I stormed out of her apartment, my heart heavy with resentment. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, a figure lunged out of the shadows. It was Isabelle. Her face was a twisted mask of rage as she flew at me, her hands closing around my neck. “Jess Collins,” she shrieked, “you killed my baby, you stole my Annie, and now you’ve destroyed my career. I’ll haunt you even after I’m dead. I’ll see you in hell!” Before I could react, her grip tightened. A primal instinct for survival kicked in. I grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the wall. Blood streamed from a gash on her forehead. She screamed in pain, her disheveled hair matted with blood and plaster, making her look like a vengeful ghost. In the chaos, she kicked me hard in the stomach. I lost my balance and tumbled down the stairs. The world spun violently, and then, darkness. When I woke up, I was wearing an oxygen mask, each breath a struggle. Annie sat beside me, his face a canvas of pain, his hand gripping mine tightly. “Jess,” he choked out, “in the next life… will you be my wife again?” I didn’t answer. I just closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me. And when I opened them again, the villa party was in full swing, music pulsing and lights flashing. Outside, snowflakes drifted down from the night sky. It was the beginning, all over again.

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Today was our tenth anniversary, and our third wedding anniversary. To the outside world, Patrick and I were the perfect couple. But a string of disasters had cast a shadow over our life. It started with Patrick’s friend Dylan. He’d borrowed two hundred thousand dollars from us, then gambled it all away. Patrick was devastated, apologizing repeatedly. I swallowed my own anxiety and comforted him, telling him we’d figure it out. Two weeks later, Patrick had a minor car accident. The elderly other driver demanded compensation; we eventually paid ten thousand to settle it. A month later, Patrick’s father was diagnosed with kidney failure. An urgent transplant would cost around fifty thousand dollars. I remembered ten years ago, when a boulder nearly hit us on a hike. Patrick shielded me with his body, landing him in the ICU. When he woke, he transferred all his assets to my name, saying it was to ensure my safety. But now, three years into our marriage, he was secretly moving those same assets. I once overheard the delicate girl in his arms call me a washed-up hag, asking when I’d die. Patrick soothed her, saying, “Just wait a little longer.” I kept asking: what is love? Then I saw a forum post: “How do you know if he truly loves you?” The top comment read: “Love is fluid. It answers to no one.” In that moment, something settled inside me. A decade, leading here. But I wouldn’t accept this as my ending. … It was one thing after another, a crushing weight that left us breathless. Patrick held me, his tears dampening my neck. “I’m so sorry, Anna,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry for dragging you through all this.” “This is nothing,” I murmured, stroking his back as I transferred the money to his parents’ account. “We’ve been through worse.” And we had. After grad school, Patrick caught the tech wave, co-founding Serenity Tech with a classmate to develop stress-relief mobile games. In the early days, they were short-staffed and had no money for employees. After a sleepless night, I quit my stable government job and became Serenity Tech’s fourth employee. My bachelor’s was in accounting and my master’s was in finance, so I took on everything: administration, finance, sales, even cleaning. At our poorest, we were crammed into a sixty-dollar-a-month basement, living on instant ramen. I remember joking through a mouthful of noodles, “Patrick, when can I upgrade to the cup noodles?” His eyes had turned red, his voice thick. “Anna,” he’d sworn, “one day, I’ll make sure you have beef soup for breakfast, pork ribs for lunch, and Italian steak for dinner.” Back then, the good life was just a meal with meat. Now, six years later, Serenity Tech was on the verge of going public, thanks to a few hit games. We’d moved from that basement to a sprawling penthouse downtown. The recent expenses were a drop in the bucket, but old habits die hard, and every large withdrawal still felt like a punch to the gut. After sending the money, I let out a long sigh. “Patrick, I feel like we’ve had a run of bad luck. I’m going to go to the Sanctuary of Hope tomorrow and get a charm for you.” I was a staunch atheist, but four years ago, that had changed. We were on a road trip, driving through the mountains, when a massive rock dislodged and came hurtling down, slamming directly onto the hood of our car. Before I could even process what was happening, Patrick had thrown his entire body over me in the passenger seat. I was untouched. He was left unconscious with a severe head injury and rushed to the ICU. That night, the doctor told me, “He took a direct hit to the head. There’s bleeding in his brain. If he wakes up within 24 hours, he should be fine. If not, we’ll have to perform surgery. And even then, there are no guarantees.” I collapsed, my legs giving out from under me, begging the doctor to save him. He must have taken pity on me. “Miss,” he’d said gently, “there’s a small chapel near the north entrance. Maybe you should go there. He’s down, but you need to be strong.” I knelt in that chapel for two solid hours, praying to any god that would listen to let Patrick wake up. I offered ten years of my life for his safety. If ten wasn’t enough, I’d give twenty. The next morning, as the first rays of dawn streamed through the hospital window, Patrick’s eyes fluttered open. The tears I’d held back while he was unconscious came flooding out, and I cried until I couldn’t breathe. Once he was stable, he squeezed my hand. “Anna,” he said, his voice firm, “I’ve made up my mind. When I get out of here, I’m putting all my assets in your name.” I didn’t understand. He brushed a stray piece of hair from my forehead. “Anna, when I was in the coma… I could hear you. All I could think was, if I really died, what would you do? We’re not even married. My relatives would have swarmed in to fight over my inheritance, and you would have been all alone. So I’m giving everything to you. That way, if something happens, I can rest in peace knowing you’ll be taken care of.” “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare leave before I do,” I’d choked out, tapping his chest with a weak fist. He’d cried out, “Oww, that hurts!” As I leaned in, worried I’d actually hurt him, he produced a diamond ring from under his pillow. “Anna Scott,” he’d whispered, “will you marry Patrick Leigh?” There was no hesitation. This man had saved my life with his own. If it wasn’t for him, I would have been the one lying in that hospital bed. I slipped my finger through the ring. It was a perfect fit. He pulled me into a hug, his body still trembling with the aftershock. “Babe, I was going to propose on this trip. I guess fate had other plans. But they say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. From now on, I’m going to treat you like a princess.” From that day on, I started to believe. I would stop at every church, every chapel, not for myself, but to pray for Patrick’s safety. … So the next morning, I drove to the Sanctuary of Hope, the most visited spiritual place in the city. I knelt before the altar for two hours straight. With the blessed charm in hand, I was about to leave when I heard a small cry from the entrance. “Ma’am, I twisted my ankle. Can you help me?” The girl who called out was in her early twenties, dressed in a simple white dress, her makeup minimal. A high ponytail swung as she moved, and her fair face had a touch of stubbornness to it, reminding me of myself right after college. I felt an instant sense of connection and rushed over to help her up. She thanked me profusely. “Oh, thank you so much! A lot of people just walked past, but you were the only one who stopped. You know,” she gushed, “when I saw you, I felt this instant connection, like we were meant to be sisters.” Her enthusiasm was a little overwhelming. “It’s no problem,” I said, trying to gently disengage. “Let me get security to help you.” But she suddenly gripped my hand. “Oh, by the way, my German tutor taught me a word the other day, Seelenverwandt. I can’t for the life of me remember what it means. Do you know?” The change in topic was abrupt, and my guard went up instantly. She was smiling at me, but her eyes held a new glint of condescending amusement. I’d never formally studied German, but Patrick had minored in it. The very first word he ever taught me was Seelenverwandt. A spiritual twin. A soulmate. Patrick used to call me his Seelenverwandt. He said our love was symbiotic, a bond that would last until death. For years, it was our secret code, the word we’d whisper before we kissed. My pinned social media post was still the nine-photo collage from the day we got our marriage license, the caption reading: Congratulations to my Seelenverwandt, Mr. Leigh. You’ve just won the chance to spend the rest of your life with me. And now, a complete stranger was asking me what Seelenverwandt meant. My mind went to the one place I didn’t want it to go. Patrick was cheating on me. I struggled to keep my voice steady. “Do you know Patrick?” The girl blinked innocently. “Nope, never heard of him. Oh! I just remembered I have German homework to finish. I should get going. Can we exchange numbers, though? If you don’t mind.” She continued, her words a rapid-fire assault. “By the way, my name is Piper. My German tutor loves calling me ‘Anna.’ He says Piper is peaceful, and so is Anna. Isn’t he cute? Oh, I have no filter, you’ll have to forgive me. I’ll call you later to thank you properly.” Normally, I would have politely declined. But Piper had planted a seed of doubt, and I couldn’t stand uncertainty. Some things had to be brought into the light. By the time I got home, it was evening. Patrick had said he had a business dinner and would be home around nine. Our housekeeper, Maria, brought me a bowl of soup. “Ma’am, the mister specifically asked me to make this for you. He said your period is coming, and you always get bad cramps, so you need to eat well and stay warm.” I sat at the table, lost in thought. On one hand, there was a decade of Patrick’s unwavering care and affection. On the other, a stranger’s vague, provocative words. Shouldn’t I give the man I shared my bed with more credit? Maria kept chattering. “He’s so good to you, ma’am. You’ve been married all this time with no children, and he never pressures you. Whenever anyone asks, he just jokes that it’s his fault. If you ask me, you should hurry up and have a baby. Otherwise, all those other women out there will be lining up to have one for him…” I slammed my bowl down on the table. “Maria, if you’re tired, perhaps it’s time for you to go home and retire!” She shut her mouth, looking chastened. But her words had tightened the knot of anxiety in my chest. We had been together ten years, married for three, and were still childless. At first, it was because of the startup. Then, last year, I’d had a chemical pregnancy, a loss that happened before we even knew to be excited. So, at the beginning of this year, I had stepped down from my role as CFO at the company to focus on getting pregnant. And now, I was faced with the possibility that my entire marriage was a lie. I immediately contacted the best private investigator in the city. Whatever the outcome, I needed the truth. Once that was done, I tried to clear my head and idly scrolled through my phone. The first thing I saw was a new post from Piper. Got in trouble with my German tutor again. I forgot the meaning of Seelenverwandt today, so my punishment is to whisper it in his ear a thousand times. And if my pronunciation is off, I get a little swat. Can someone report a teacher for corporal punishment? The accompanying photo was taken in a massive floor-length mirror. A girl in a tight, black lace dress was kneeling. Behind her stood a man in a suit, holding a leather riding crop. The photo was artfully blurred, but the man’s build was unmistakably Patrick’s. Half an hour later, another post from Piper. Class is finally over. I’m exhausted. The picture was just the riding crop, lying on a plush surface, the leather gleaming under the light. I couldn’t breathe. A war raged in my head. You’ve been together for ten years. You’ve been through hell and back. You know him better than anyone. How can you doubt him? He took a rock for you! He has a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card with you! Love is fickle. Do you really think it can withstand any temptation? Piper is younger, prettier, has a better body. If I were a man, I’d choose her too. “Enough!” I slammed my hand on the table, my control finally snapping. The soup bowl tipped over, red broth spilling across the wood and dripping onto the floor. A complete mess. “Babe, what’s wrong?” It was Patrick. He was home. The timing was perfect. Piper’s “class” had just ended, and here he was. The suspicion was so thick I couldn’t even pretend to be happy to see him. I fantasized, for a moment, about him confessing, and me destroying everything he had ever built. Patrick glanced at my phone screen and let out a long, heavy sigh. “Babe, I knew this day would come. Let me explain.”

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On my daughter’s sixth birthday, just as I was about to cut the cake, an emergency call from my department head shattered the moment. I had to get back to the ER, immediately. He said the patient was the son of a Manhattan heiress, in shock from an acute asthma attack. He insisted I handle it personally, that there could be no mistakes. I pulled on my gloves, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. The Manhattan heiress… wasn’t that my wife of eight years, Seraphina Croft? But we only had one child, an eight-year-old daughter. Where did a three-year-old son come from? After three hours of intensive work, the boy’s breathing finally stabilized. Before I could even remove my mask, the doors to the trauma bay were violently kicked open. Several bodyguards stormed in and sent me sprawling to the floor with a single, brutal kick. A woman’s voice, as cold as ice, cut through the air from above. “Why are there defibrillator burns on my son? Which hand did it? I want it broken.” Clutching my dislocated arm, I looked up. Through the glass doors of the adjoining room, I met the venomous glare of Seraphina. And the man whose arm she was holding… was her ex-boyfriend, the one she had supposedly forced out of the country years ago. 1 Crack. The sharp sound of bone breaking echoed in the silent hallway, unnervingly loud. A tidal wave of pain crashed over me, threatening to pull my consciousness under. I collapsed onto the cold tile, my right arm twisted at a grotesque angle, hanging limp and useless at my side. That was my right hand. My scalpel hand. And now, it was ruined. Behind the glass door, Seraphina was gently holding onto Nathaniel. The raw anguish and concern on her face was an expression I hadn’t seen in our eight years of marriage. Nathaniel’s eyes were red, his voice thick with self-blame. “Sera, Liam is so little… How could that doctor burn him with the defibrillator? If I had known, I would have stayed in there with him myself.” Seraphina stroked his back, her voice a soft, soothing balm. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’ve already had that doctor’s hand taken care of. Consider it an apology to Liam.” I lay curled in the shadows, my mind replaying a desperate night eight years ago. Seraphina, her eyes bloodshot, had knelt before me, clutching my legs, begging for forgiveness. “Lucian, I swear! I will never have anything to do with him again!” “I’ll force him out of the country immediately! He will never appear before you again as long as I live!” “If I ever see him again, may God strike me down where I stand!” She had even blocked and deleted all of Nathaniel’s contact information right in front of me and signed a prenuptial agreement stating she would leave with nothing if she was ever unfaithful. And I had believed her. I thought she had truly severed all ties to her past for me. Reality was a slap in the face. “Forced out of the country” was nothing but a performance for my benefit. And that little boy, Liam, had Seraphina’s eyes, her mouth. All this time, she had been playing the part of a devoted wife to me while secretly building a “perfect family” with her ex. The bodyguards’ fists and feet rained down on me for what felt like an hour. They were professionals, avoiding my face and focusing on areas that wouldn’t show, especially my right hand, which they stomped on and ground into the floor repeatedly. By the time I dragged my bloodied body to its feet, leaning against the wall for support, the hallway was empty. Seraphina and Nathaniel had left with their precious son. Clearly, the surgical mask I wore had been the perfect disguise. She had no idea the doctor whose hand she’d just ordered destroyed was her legal husband of eight years. My department head burst in, his face purple with rage, jabbing a finger at me. “Lucian! Do you have any idea whose son that was?” “That was the Croft family scion! The heir!” “I specifically told you to be careful, and what do you do? You burn him with the defibrillator!” “How could you be so careless? Do you even want this job anymore?” “You’re suspended! Go home and think about what you’ve done!” His spittle hit my face. How could I not know who it was? I had been with her for eight years. I knew what a frown on her face meant. No one knew Seraphina Croft better than I did. “Sir, the boy was in shock from an asthma attack. Defibrillation is standard procedure. The redness is minor and will fade in two days…” I tried to argue, to explain that Seraphina was overreacting. But the words died in my throat. What was the point? To the Manhattan heiress, my career was nothing more than a sacrificial offering to appease her ex-boyfriend. Besides, I had my daughter to think about. The image of Rosie waiting at home for me to come cut her birthday cake flashed in my mind. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my throat, gritting my teeth against the searing pain in my arm. My legs felt like they were filled with lead as I dragged myself out of the hospital. It was three in the morning when I got home. When I pushed open the door, the warm glow of the living room floor lamp was still on. Six-year-old Rosie was curled up on the sofa, the uneaten birthday cake clutched in her arms. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Daddy! You’re finally home!” She leaped off the sofa and ran towards me. “Hiss—” She bumped into my right arm. The pain was so intense my vision went black, and I nearly collapsed. “Daddy, what’s wrong? Why is your hand bleeding? Did someone hurt you?” Rosie’s eyes filled with tears, her voice trembling. Her small hands hovered, afraid to touch me. I used my uninjured left hand to gently pat her back, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Daddy’s okay. I just slipped and fell on my way home.” “It’s okay, Rosie, it doesn’t hurt. It’s late, you should go to sleep.” I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace and managed to coax her into bed. After closing her bedroom door, I collapsed onto the edge of our bed in the master bedroom. My mind was a chaotic whirlwind of all the years of Seraphina’s coldness. She was always “too busy with work,” sometimes not coming home for months. She “didn’t like how noisy children were,” so she rarely held Rosie. But today, the way she held that other boy was so practiced, the look she gave Nathaniel so tender. I had been a fool, guarding this cold, empty house, clinging to a promise that was a lie from the start. I was the biggest joke of all. Despair consumed me like a black hole. I didn’t close my eyes until the sky began to lighten with the dawn. I hadn’t been asleep long when I heard the front door open. It was Seraphina. She stopped short when she saw me lying on the bed, my face pale, my right arm in a makeshift splint. Then she rushed over, her face a mask of concern. “Lucian? What happened? How did you get hurt so badly?” She reached out to touch my face, and I flinched away. Her hand froze in mid-air, and her brow furrowed. Her tone shifted instantly to one of anger. “Who did this? Tell me who hurt you.” Watching her righteous fury, I felt a surge of bitter irony. The perpetrator was standing right in front of me, vowing to get revenge on my behalf. “Lucian, talk to me! Who was it?” she demanded, her voice rising as if she was ready to go to war for me. I lowered my gaze to hide the mockery in my eyes, my voice as cold as ice. “No one. I fell down the stairs last night. Hit the railing. It’s broken.” Seraphina let out a breath of relief, which was quickly followed by a mix of scolding and concern. “How could you be so careless? You’re a surgeon; don’t you know how to protect yourself? Does it hurt? Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital right now. We’ll get the best specialist to look at it.” The hospital? Which one? The one you just had me suspended from? “No need. It’s been taken care of.” I pushed her hand away and struggled to sit up, a wave of nausea washing over me. “Where’s Rosie?” Seraphina paused for a second before answering gently. “I came home early this morning and saw you were asleep, so I didn’t wake you. I already dropped her off at school.” She paused again, her eyes fixed on my injuries. “Where were you last night? What happened? There’s no way you got these injuries from a fall. Don’t lie to me.” She didn’t believe me. I pulled at the corner of my mouth, my gaze locking with hers. “Yesterday was Rosie’s sixth birthday.” “Seraphina, where were you last night?” Her expression faltered for a fraction of a second. Her eyes darted away in a panic. “I…” She stammered, struggling to find her voice. “There was an emergency project at work. I was swamped. I couldn’t get away.” “I feel terrible about it. That’s why I rushed back as soon as I could. I’ll pick Rosie up from school later, and we’ll have a proper birthday celebration for her, okay?” She moved to embrace me, her touch as delicate as if I were a piece of fine art. Just then, her phone vibrated violently in her pocket. The screen lit up with the caller ID: “Important Client.” Seraphina’s expression changed. She glanced at me, then quickly silenced the phone. “It’s work, they’re pushing for an answer. I have to take this.” She walked out to the balcony. Though she lowered her voice, the gentle tone still drifted back to me. “Hello? Is Liam awake? Okay, I’ll be right there.” She hung up and turned back, her face once again a mask of deep affection and guilt. “Lucian, something urgent came up at the office. I have to go. You rest up. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I’m done with this.” Watching her lie so effortlessly, I couldn’t help but let out a small, humorless laugh. In eight years of marriage, Seraphina had never lied to me about anything else. But the moment Nathaniel was involved, she transformed into an Oscar-winning actress. I didn’t scream or demand answers. I simply leaned back against the sofa, my voice flat. “Go on. Business is business.” Hearing my easy compliance, her tense shoulders visibly relaxed. “Lucian,” she said, relief washing over her face, “I knew you’d understand. Thank you for being so patient with me.” Her eyes filled with emotion as she leaned in to kiss me. As she got closer, the scent of a woody, aggressive cologne filled my senses. It was Nathaniel’s favorite. The entire hospital corridor had reeked of it last night. A violent wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I shoved her away. Seraphina stared at me, a flicker of confusion and anger in her eyes. I lowered my gaze to hide my disgust. “Isn’t your ‘client’ waiting?” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “You shouldn’t keep them waiting.” At the word “client,” her expression became strained. She wrung her hands, her eyes darting around nervously. The guilt on her face was perfectly calibrated. “I’ll go then. You get some rest. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” She grabbed her keys and rushed out the door as if afraid I’d change my mind. The door slammed shut, and the apartment was plunged back into silence. I slumped onto the floor, the pain in my right arm radiating through my entire body. I bit down hard, using my good hand to pull a pen and paper from the coffee table drawer. I opened my laptop and created a new document. Divorce Agreement. I typed the words with a clean, final click. I didn’t want a single cent of her money. What I had earned on my own was more than enough to support my daughter and me. All I wanted was full custody of Rosie. I hit the final enter key, printed two copies, and signed my name without a moment’s hesitation. Then I opened a travel app and booked two one-way tickets to Florida for that afternoon. I couldn’t stand another second in this suffocating city. I was taking my daughter, and we were going to disappear from Seraphina Croft’s life forever. This time, we were the ones leaving her. Around noon, I gritted my teeth against the pain and pulled a suitcase from the back of the closet. I started throwing in some clothes and our important documents. I had just managed to stuff a few things inside when I heard the lock on the front door turn again. Seraphina, the workaholic who had once let me go to the hospital alone with a 104-degree fever because she was in a meeting, was back, carrying bags of groceries. On a weekday. In the middle of the day. She saw my stunned expression and explained softly as she took off her shoes. “Your hand is so badly injured, you can’t do much. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being here alone, so I took some time off to take care of you.” If I hadn’t heard her order my hand to be broken, if I didn’t know about her secret family, I would have nominated her for a “Wife of the Year” award. She slipped off her expensive designer blazer, draped it over a chair, and rolled up the sleeves of her white silk blouse before heading into the kitchen. She washed vegetables, chopped meat, and simmered soup with the practiced ease of a full-time homemaker. A short while later, a steaming bowl of seafood chowder was placed in front of me. She sat down, blew on a spoonful, and carefully brought it to my lips. She had put on a record, and a soft French ballad filled the room. A box of expensive, beautifully packaged macarons sat on the coffee table. In the past, a gesture like this would have brought tears to my eyes, making me feel like we were back in the sweet, early days of our love. But now, all I felt was a bone-deep chill. The matcha-flavored macarons. That obscure, sentimental French song. They were all Nathaniel’s favorites. She had just come from his side and hadn’t even bothered to switch gears. She was just recycling the same routine she used on him, on me. A true master of time management. A cold dread crept up my spine. I turned my head away from the spoon. Just then, her eyes landed on the half-open suitcase. Her expression hardened instantly. “What are you packing for?” she demanded, her tone sharp with suspicion. “Where are you going?”

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The silent war for the inheritance had begun. My parents had handed me and the “impostor son” each a startup, setting a three-year deadline. Whoever turned the biggest profit would take over the family empire. I drove myself into the ground to prove my worth. It wasn’t just about the fortune; I was desperate for a single, approving glance from my parents. I slammed back glass after glass of hard liquor at business dinners until a bleeding ulcer landed me in the ER. Countless nights bled into dawn as I hunched over proposals, my office becoming my only home. The pride I once had? I swallowed it, learning to suck up, to read the room, to play the game and kiss the right asses. Just as my company’s profits were skyrocketing and victory was within my grasp, the woman who swore she loved me casually handed a game-changing contract to the impostor. He won without lifting a finger. If they were all going to play this dirty, then so was I. The gloves were coming off. 1 They threw a victory party for him on my birthday. Because I didn’t show, my parents took turns calling to tear me apart. “Asher beat you, and now you can’t even show your face at his party? What will people think of us? If you were such a sore loser, you should never have agreed to the bet in the first place. You’re a disgrace.” “You have thirty minutes. If you’re not here, don’t ever bother coming back. We’ll consider ourselves son-less.” To legitimize Asher Blackwood’s claim to the family fortune, my parents had invited every big name in town to witness his coronation. The three-year wager between the real and fake Blackwood heirs was common knowledge in our circle. Some had even placed private bets on who would come out on top. For three years, they’d watched me grind, they’d seen my results. They bet on me to win. So when the news of my loss broke, they were stunned. Just a week before, my company’s profits had dwarfed Asher’s. Who could have guessed that my own girlfriend would hand him the win on a silver platter? When I first took over the startup, I knew nothing. My girlfriend, Genevieve, was already running her family’s corporation. I’d asked her for a little guidance. “You need to do this on your own, Noah,” she’d said. “Stop looking for shortcuts.” With that one sentence, she’d shut down any hope of help from her. And yet, the same person who told me not to take shortcuts had just opened the floodgates for someone else at the most critical moment. I could handle losing. But I couldn’t stomach the betrayal. Faced with my parents’ fury, I answered calmly, “It’s my birthday. Some friends and I are out on the boat. I can’t make it back.” Silence on the other end of the line. Clearly, they’d forgotten. Then, Asher’s voice, thick with feigned tears, drifted through the phone. “Does Noah still not want to come? Does he hate me for winning the bet? If I’d known, I would have just lost. I don’t want our family to fight.” Whatever guilt my parents might have felt vanished in an instant. My mother’s voice turned sharp with irritation. “You knew today was the day Asher inherited the company, and you chose to go screwing around with your good-for-nothing friends. You’re doing this on purpose. Fine. Stay out for all we care.” She hung up. The old me would have dropped everything, rushed to their side, and desperately tried to explain. But now? I felt nothing. The only thing on my mind was catching more squid. My best friend loved fresh-caught calamari, and I intended to deliver. The day was a success. My friend and I feasted on our catch, even saw a pod of dolphins break the surface. We didn’t head home until nine, spirits high. But a few unwelcome guests were waiting for me at my door. My father was the first to charge, his hand raised to strike me. My friend, Rick, was quicker. He yanked me back. I dodged the slap but lost my footing, tumbling to the ground. Rick winced, offering a hand to pull me up. My father, trembling with rage, roared, “If you had a problem, you could have come to me! Why did you have to call your grandmother and tattle on us? She’s been ill, recovering overseas for years. We never trouble her with anything! But today, she called, screamed at all of us, and now she wants to kick Asher out of the family. What did you say to her to make her that furious?” Asher collapsed to his knees before me, sobbing. “I don’t want the inheritance anymore! You can have it. Just say I lost the bet. Please, just don’t make them send me away. I only want to be with Mom and Dad. They’re all I have left…” I took a step back, my face a cold mask. “Don’t try that crap with me. I didn’t do anything.” My father couldn’t stand the sight of Asher kneeling. He rushed to help him up, his fury at me deepening. “You do it and then deny it? Don’t think your grandmother’s support means you can break our deal. We agreed, whoever wins, inherits. You lost because you weren’t good enough. What right do you have to steal this from Asher?” In that moment, I finally understood what it felt like to be truly unloved. I said nothing. Instead, I pulled out my phone and played a recording. The voices were clear. “I never knew Miss Devereaux had such feelings for Asher. It’s a good thing she stepped in. Otherwise, I would have had to arrange something behind the scenes. That boy, Asher, is too simple-minded. Three years, and he still couldn’t get that company off the ground. Not like him. He’s got a calculating mind. If he took over, I doubt our retirement would be very peaceful.” It was my father’s voice. My mother paused, then said, “I didn’t tell you, dear. When Miss Devereaux visited last time, I let it slip that if Asher didn’t win, we’d have to marry him off to secure his future. I was just giving her a little push. I didn’t expect her to act so decisively. It seems her feelings for Asher are quite serious.” “Well, Miss Devereaux is a brilliant woman. Asher would do well with her. I just worry that Noah will throw a fit.” “Let him. As long as it doesn’t affect Asher’s happiness, he can do whatever he wants.” The recording ended. The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. I looked at them, my mind flashing back a month ago. My company’s profits were soaring, victory a sure thing. Then an employee burst in, telling me Asher’s company had just landed a massive partnership. The partner was Genevieve Devereaux. Blood roared in my ears. I called her immediately. She didn’t answer. Our bet had a clause: neither Asher nor I could receive any help or resources from the Blackwood family. But Asher, knowing Genevieve’s influence, had insisted on an addendum: Genevieve was also forbidden from helping me. My parents, in the name of “fairness,” had agreed without even asking me. The game had been rigged from the start. Asher had grown up in the Blackwood mansion, receiving the best education, groomed to manage a corporation. I had learned nothing. But to prove myself, I gritted my teeth and accepted. I had poured ten times the effort into it, only to lose to a backroom deal. The injustice was a bitter pill. I had driven to the family home that day, demanding an explanation. I found them in the garden, discussing this very thing. I stopped and listened, and the more I heard, the colder I grew. They never intended for me to be the heir. Even without Genevieve, they would have found another way to ensure Asher won. I didn’t storm in and confront them. I just recorded their conversation. Driving away from the house, tears streamed down my face, my heart constricting until I could barely breathe. Later, Genevieve called. She claimed the partnership was a decision made by her marketing department after extensive research. It wasn’t a personal favor, she said. I shouldn’t overthink it. I didn’t cry or scream. I just said, “Okay, I understand,” and hung up. Some truths don’t need to be spoken aloud. “When… when did you record that? You were spying on us? You’re a monster.” My father’s eyes darted away, but he didn’t miss the chance to shift the blame. My mother joined in, her voice dripping with condemnation. “So you sent this to your grandmother? No wonder your father said you were cunning. You’re terrifying, stabbing us in the back like this. How could we ever trust you with the family business?” Seeing no remorse, not an ounce of regret, I forwarded the recording to my grandmother’s assistant. “I don’t have her number,” I said flatly. “You made sure of that from the beginning, telling me she was too ill to be bothered with matters here. A family friend gave me this contact, said it was a way to reach her. This is the first time I’ve ever sent a message.” Since returning to the Blackwood family, I had only seen my grandmother once, on a video call. I had no idea how she even found out about this ridiculous bet. My father’s tone suddenly softened. “Well, if you didn’t tell her, there’s no need to. This is a family matter, we’ll handle it ourselves. Your grandmother put a stop to the party tonight, so we’ll just… we’ll reconsider who is the most suitable heir.” Hearing his phony, placating words, I felt a wave of revulsion so strong it made me sick. My eyes, cold as ice, locked onto his. “You are… disgusting.” He looked utterly shocked. “What did you just say?”

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It’s been three years since I left this world. My ex-girlfriend, Cara, now an A-list actress, was in the middle of a paranormal investigation livestream. Her camera accidentally swept across my tombstone. Engraved on it was a QR code next to the words, “A Final Farewell.” When Cara saw it, her face twisted in disgust. She turned to the camera with a cold sneer. “Blake, you were the one who insisted on breaking up. What is this? Another pathetic stunt to get my attention?” she said. She then told her audience that she had moved on, that she was in love with her co-star, Owen. In the live chat, comments flooded in, calling me the obsessive, clingy ex who couldn’t let go. Then, one comment caught everyone’s eye: “Has anyone scanned the QR code? I think… I think he might actually be gone.” 1 Seeing that comment, Cara’s famously cool and collected expression hardened with even more annoyance. “He’ll do anything to get under my skin, won’t he?” The chat lit up with jokes: [The only person who can crack Cara’s ice-queen facade is her crazy ex.] [Seriously. He’s the one who dumped her. Now that she’s famous, he crawls out of the woodwork every chance he gets.] [Yeah, I heard he sent her letters and gifts just last week. No way he’s dead.] Amid the audience’s skepticism, a member of the production crew scanned the code, and a pre-recorded video began to play on the main feed. The first shot was of me, holding a medical report confirming a cancer diagnosis. I let out a forced, easygoing sigh. “Hey. Today is day one of my diagnosis. It’s also day one of our breakup. Happy breakup day, Cara!” “Forgive me for being so abrupt about it. The last thing I want is to drag you down with me.” I was wearing a crisp shirt, trying to look sharp and handsome, but it couldn’t hide the deathly pallor of my skin. “Let me guess, you’re heartbroken, right? Career in a slump and getting dumped at the same time… that’s gotta suck.” “But hey, you’ll bounce back. I know you will.” As the video played, my predictions were proven true. Someone in the chat had dug up Cara’s old social media posts. In the days following our breakup, she had posted a string of bleak, melancholic updates. The discovery that the industry’s resident ice queen had once been so vulnerable and deeply in love sent her trending for days. Back then, Cara had quickly hidden those old posts, leaving only one public statement: [I have someone better by my side now.] At the time, her historical drama had just become a massive hit. Her co-star was the industry’s rising heartthrob, Owen. He had even liked that post. Cara did seem to move on quickly, much to her fans’ relief. “But don’t worry,” my video-self continued. “I have no intention of bothering you. I just wanted to leave something behind.” “I’ve never asked you for anything, ever. But just this once… let me be selfish.” As I said those words, my voice caught, a choked sob breaking through. The confident, charming man from the start of the video dissolved, replaced by a fragile, lost little boy. Perhaps not wanting anyone to see me so exposed, I abruptly cut the video. [Date: April 9, 2019. Weather: Overcast. Hate lasts longer than love.] “Day two. It’s an overcast day. Perfect for feeling miserable, right?” I was in my pajamas, holding my phone up to show Cara’s sad posts while I brushed my teeth. “Looks like she’s really hurting. But I’m sure she’ll get over it soon!” My tone was light, a gentle smile fixed on my face. The live chat erupted in defense of Cara: [Cara was heartbroken over him for so long, and all he can say is she’ll ‘get over it’? You’d have more feelings for a dog you’d had for seven years. What a monster!] [Exactly. He doesn’t even look sick. This is all a publicity stunt. I hope he gets what’s coming to him.] [Dude, just die already and stop torturing our girl!] In the video, I fell silent after that comment. The camera panned down to my phone screen, showing a message I’d sent to Cara from an alt account: [Even when you’re sad, please remember to eat and rest. A fan who will always support you!] Her reply came almost instantly: [There was only ever one person who paid that much attention to me. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you just because you used a burner account?] [So, Blake. What are you trying to prove with this pathetic act? Are you here to laugh at me?] I stared at her words, frozen. A long moment passed before I slowly typed back: [Yeah. It’s exactly what you think.] No reply came. When I refreshed the page, I saw that she had blocked me. The chat cheered: [YES! Our queen knows her worth. She deserves so much better!] [This must be when she developed her killer instinct and cool-headedness. We should thank this asshole for that.] [I’m so curious about what the old Cara was like, though.] [Don’t be. That must have been the darkest time of her life.] The angry comments scrolling across the screen obscured the corner of the frame, where the boy clutched his phone, his eyes rimmed with red. [Date: May 2, 2019. Weather: Sunny. I want you to be happy more than anyone.] “Today… cough… I came to see you in secret.” The moment the boy in the video appeared, the stream of hateful comments came to a sudden halt. “Surprised to see me like this? To be honest, I’m not used to it either. It took a lot of courage to even turn the camera on.” The boy was wearing an awkward wig, and his cheeks were terrifyingly thin, but the same gentle smile was on his face. The camera showed the set of Cara’s breakout TV series, the one where she played the second female lead opposite Owen, who was also a supporting actor at the time. Amid a crowd of fans cheering for the main actress, I stood in a quiet corner, holding a small sign with Cara’s name on it, watching her act. She was more mature, her features sharper, her presence more commanding. The cheers for the lead actress grew louder. In the chaotic roar, on some strange impulse, I called out Cara’s name. The next second, as if she’d heard me through the noise, she looked up. Our eyes met. I ducked my head instantly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn’t even wait for the scene to end before I turned and fled. “Phew… I don’t think she saw me.” I was hiding in an alley, catching my breath, glad I’d gotten away. Suddenly, a firm hand clamped down on my wrist. “We broke up. Is it fun for you to stalk me now, Blake?” Cara was panting, her brow furrowed in anger. But as she took in my face, her expression faltered. “You… haven’t you been sleeping?” I quickly composed myself, turning my head away. “That’s right,” I said, my voice cold. “I have a new girlfriend. She keeps me up all night. A lot more exciting than you ever were.” Rage flared in Cara’s eyes. “Blake! You son of a—” She cut herself off. Owen’s voice came from behind her. “Cara? Why’d you run off mid-scene? The director is furious. Are you okay?” Cara let out a long, heavy breath and released my wrist. “You’re the one who said anyone who betrays a true heart deserves a thousand cuts.” “Forget it. Just don’t come back here again.” I kept my head down, silent. She turned to leave. Owen was still asking, “Who was that? A friend of yours?” Cara’s voice was clear and chillingly indifferent: “Just someone unimportant.” A bitter tide rose in my chest. When I looked up again, my vision was blurred with tears. “See? I told you. You were always going to be great.” “You were right. I’m the one who betrayed us. So let all the bad karma come to me. All I want… is for you to be happy…” [Date: June 3, 2019. Weather: Sunny. Not a hard decision.] A sophisticated man sat across from me at a café table. He took an elegant sip of his coffee. “You want to hire me as Cara’s agent? You know my rates aren’t cheap.” Someone in the chat recognized him. It was Marcus Vance, the legendary agent. With him in her corner, Cara’s career had skyrocketed. She had thanked him publicly more than once, but his only response was always a cryptic: “It was a business arrangement.” In the studio, watching the livestream, the real Marcus Vance looked up, his eyes slowly turning red. In the video, I nodded firmly and pushed a bank card across the table. “Marcus, there’s ninety-seven thousand, six hundred and thirty-six dollars in there. It’s every penny I have.” Marcus’s eyes flickered to the card, his voice unchanged. “I’m a businessman, you know that. This isn’t nearly enough for me to tie my career to some unknown actress.” I bit my lip. Then, I reached up and took off my wig, revealing my emaciated, sickly face underneath. It was the first time I had shown myself on camera without any disguise since I got sick. The live chat fell into a stunned silence. “Marcus, I’ll be honest with you. I have stomach cancer. I don’t have much time left.” “She’s the only thing I can’t let go of. I believe in her. I know she can make it big.” “I know this money isn’t enough to persuade you. But I’ll give you the rights to this entire video series I’m making. After I’m gone, whatever it earns can be my payment. What do you say?” I looked at him, my voice pleading. Marcus stared at me for a long time, then finally spoke. “And what about you? You’ve planned everything for her. Are you just going to fade away and die?” “If you used this money for treatment, you might live longer…” He trailed off. I just shook my head, a faint smile on my lips. “I can’t be a burden to her. We’ve already been through enough.” “It’s okay. I’m not afraid of dying. I’m just afraid of her crying if she sees me like this.” My face was calm, but the tremor in my voice betrayed me. A heavy silence filled the café. Marcus looked up, blinking hard, and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

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I fought my way up from nothing, clawing a name for myself in my field before most people my age had even started. To the world, I am a man of integrity, a respected figure. But no one values the reputation I’ve bled for more than I do. Which is why it’s so damning that I’ve developed… feelings for one of my students. When she stands before me, earnestly reporting on her project’s progress, her lips parting with each word, a single, forbidden thought seizes my mind: What would it feel like to kiss her? But a secret of this magnitude could never stay hidden from my wife. She noticed the change in me. And then, with an unnerving calm, she asked, “Do you want to sleep with her?” Before I could even process the question, she delivered a second blow, one that left me reeling. “I can help you.” Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through me. I didn’t have the courage to act on this twisted infatuation. 1 I stared at her, utterly stunned. My wife, Audrey, simply adjusted her glasses, her expression as placid and scholarly as ever. “Don’t look at me like that, Julian. Scientific studies have shown that romantic love only has a shelf life of about seven years.” “Lifelong monogamy is, by its very nature, anti-human.” “Besides, for a man of your stature, having a… confidante… is perfectly normal.” “What’s the catch?” I asked, my eyes fixed on her. She never did anything without a price. Audrey slid a bank card across the table. “Tomorrow, deposit one million dollars into this account. I have a use for it.” I didn’t hesitate for long. A million dollars was nothing to me now. The next day, Audrey invited the student to our home. Her name was Anna. She had wide, doe-like eyes that sparkled with an innocent light. Anna greeted us both with a respectful deference, then her eyes began to wander around the room. A blush crept up her cheeks. “Is… is Finn not home?” she asked, her voice soft. The girl’s crush was written all over her face. And Finn… Finn was my son. A hot spike of anger shot through me. The woman I wanted was in love with my own son. Just then, Audrey returned with a fruit platter. “Finn went to see the Northern Lights with some friends,” she explained to Anna, her voice warm and motherly. “But with the holidays coming up, the house feels so empty. We were hoping you could keep us old folks company. You don’t mind, do you?” Anna quickly assured her she didn’t. Audrey was an exceptional cook. The table was laden with an extravagant feast. Throughout the meal, she kept pouring wine for Anna, who was too polite to refuse. Eventually, the girl couldn’t drink anymore. “I think I’ve had a bit too much,” she said, her words slightly slurred. “I don’t think I can make it back to the dorm.” Audrey, ever the expert on a young girl’s heart, said, “Oh, don’t you worry about that. You can stay the night here.” “Finn will be back tomorrow. He can give you a ride.” Anna’s face flushed a deep crimson. She didn’t object. In fact, she seemed to be deliberately trying to get drunk. The knot in my stomach tightened. She was still just a naive young girl. It didn’t take long before she was slumped over the table, fast asleep. I glared at my wife. “You knew she was in love with Finn.” Audrey didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted the hem of Anna’s skirt, revealing a pale, slender calf. Her hand stroked the smooth skin. “So young,” she said with a cold sneer. “Like a flower bud, ready to bloom.” “So tender you could practically squeeze water from her skin. No wonder my husband and my son are so bewitched.” I stared at her, my voice low. “So the million dollars was only part of it.” “The real reason is you want to keep her away from Finn.” Audrey took a sip of her wine. “Julian, you and I both crawled our way out of the gutter. No one knows the struggle better than we do. Our son will stand on our shoulders and climb higher, reach for things we never could.” “He will not marry some country girl who survives on financial aid, a girl who can’t even afford to go home for the holidays.” “Marriage is a tool for consolidating class, and I will not be careless with it.” Finally, her plan became clear. Helping me get Anna was one thing. More importantly, she wanted to destroy any chance of a future between her and our son. As she spoke, she gestured for me to help her carry Anna to a bedroom. The moment my hands touched Anna’s arm, her delicate, youthful scent washed over me, intoxicating. I intended to take her to the guest room. But Audrey walked straight toward our master bedroom. She shot me a sharp look. “Has lust addled your brain? If we put her in our room, we can say she was drunk and stumbled in by mistake. How would you explain her being in the guest room?” Her accusation stung, but my mind was already consumed by Anna. Her flawless skin, her intoxicating fragrance… it was all I could think about. I didn’t have the energy to argue. When we got to the bedroom, I expected Audrey to leave. Instead, she stayed. And then, one by one, she began to unbutton Anna’s blouse. I grabbed her hand, shocked. “What are you doing?” Audrey looked at me with derision. “Have you been on your pedestal for so long you’ve forgotten the laws of the jungle?” “If you sleep with her tonight, do you really think you can rely on her morals to keep her quiet forever? Don’t be a fool.” She stared at me, her voice a low, sharp whisper. “Never forget, Julian. Blackmail is a far more effective silencer than morality.” With that, she ripped the remaining clothes from Anna’s body. In an instant, Anna was completely bare before me. I swallowed hard. Audrey pulled out her phone and began to meticulously photograph every part of Anna’s body. When she was finished, she looked at me with satisfaction. “Before I decided to help you, I did a thorough background check. Her family is dirt poor. They’ve sacrificed everything to send her to university, hoping she’ll be their ticket out.” “They love her, of course. But they love their reputation more. The phrase ‘pride comes before a fall’ exists for a reason.” “If she makes a scene, we can threaten to print these photos and plaster them all over her hometown.” I stared at my wife, a chill running down my spine. Yes. After years of success, we had both softened, tamed our baser instincts. I had almost forgotten that at our core, we were both predators. As we stood there, a video call came in from Finn. Audrey and I exchanged a look and walked out to the living room. She glanced in the mirror, composed her face into a warm smile, and answered the call. On the screen, Finn was grinning under the aurora borealis. He showed us the vast, beautiful landscape, promising to take us with him next year. Just before he hung up, he said, “Everyone here is so jealous that I have you guys as parents. Mom, Dad, I love you. You’ll always be my heroes.” After the call, Audrey began to organize the photos, already drafting a statement. As a professor with degrees in both law and literature, she was a master of words, particularly skilled at this kind of damage control. I, on the other hand, couldn’t wait any longer. I went back to the bedroom. Looking at Anna’s peaceful, sleeping face, I leaned in without a moment’s hesitation. Anna was a delicate flower, and tonight, she would bloom for me. With that thought, I threw back the covers. My hand began to wander downwards. Halfway through, Anna stirred, her eyes fluttering open. I held my breath, quickly turning off the lights. In the dim moonlight, I saw her blink a few times. I expected her to scream, to fight. But instead, her arms wrapped around my neck. “Finn,” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.” Seeing the shy, adoring look on her face, my own gaze darkened. It was true. I looked a lot like my son. And years of a comfortable life had kept me well-preserved. In the dark, it would be easy to mistake us. But to have her in my bed, whispering another man’s name… it infuriated me. Even if that man was my son. My tenderness vanished. And then… With a small, sharp cry from Anna, I took her completely. Afterwards, I looked at the stain of blood on the sheets. I pressed a light kiss to her forehead. Such a pure, clean girl. Not like my wife, a sullied, used thing. When Anna woke up the next morning, she was huddled in a corner of the bed, clutching the sheets to her chest. Her eyes were wide with disbelief and brimming with tears. “Why?” she choked out. “Why did this happen?” I was trying to think of an explanation when Audrey pushed the door open. Her expression was grave, a mask of righteous indignation that could turn black into white. She looked at Anna. “Anna, this happened last night while I was in the shower. By the time I came out, it was too late. I sat in the living room all night, thinking.” “Why would a student of mine, a brilliant young woman I considered a future daughter-in-law, climb into my husband’s bed?”

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