1 As my soul drifted from my body and floated out of the basement, I expected to be hit by a wave of heat so intense it could melt flesh. Instead, I was greeted by a blast of cold air from the air conditioner, a chill that made my spectral form shiver. In the living room, Liam was sprawled on the sofa, clapping his hands and roaring with laughter. “This is brilliant! My ‘brother’ actually bought that whole scorching apocalypse story. He’s hopelessly stupid!” My wife, Isabelle, scoffed from beside him. “Serves him right for always lording his ‘true heir’ status over you, Liam. Now he knows who’s in charge.” My son, Charlie, was clinging to Liam’s arm, his voice a childish chime. “Don’t worry, Daddy Liam. I’ll protect you. I won’t let that bad man take your things anymore!” But the sight that truly chilled me to the bone was my sister, Victoria. The sister who I thought had perished from thirst in the imaginary heatwave. She was sitting right next to Liam, carefully peeling grapes and feeding them to him. “Don’t you worry, Liam. If he ever tries to bully you again, I’ll cut him out of my life for good.” The thermostat read a mild eighty degrees, but I felt as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake. The so-called scorching apocalypse, from beginning to end, was nothing but an elaborate hoax designed to break me. All of them, my entire family, had conspired to help this imposter get his revenge on me. I thought back to thirty days ago, when Victoria had “died” in the fictional heat. I had left the last bottle of water for my wife and son, scrawling a final note: If I die, you can live a few days longer. Then, I had sliced open my own wrist. Now, that bottle of water, that suicide note, my own death—it all felt like a colossal, cosmic joke. … I hovered in the air, a weightless observer of my own demise. I looked down at myself, a broken figure lying in a pool of my own blood. My lips were cracked and split from dehydration, my cheeks hollowed out by starvation. On my wrist, beneath the fresh, fatal wound, were several older, deeper scars. Scars from a few weeks ago, when Victoria was “dying of thirst,” and I had desperately cut my own arm, trying to get her to drink my blood. It was all fake. In the entire house, I was the only one suffering through the end of the world. Liam sipped on an ice-cold Coke, his eyes filled with mock pity as he looked at Isabelle and Charlie. “It’s so hot out. I can’t believe you two have to suffer in that basement with him. It’s torture.” “Why don’t we… stage another scene?” he suggested. “You could fake your deaths, just like Victoria did. Then you’d never have to go back.” Charlie’s face lit up, and he was about to agree. “No,” Isabelle said sharply. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought she was saying it out of concern for me. Then she frowned, her eyes filled with disgust. “Connor is too cunning. If we didn’t go back, he’d get suspicious and come looking for us. The whole thing would be ruined.” “We agreed to lock him up for a full month to teach him a lesson for what he did to you, Liam. Not a day less,” she said firmly. “It’s only one more day. We can wait.” A month. A cold dread washed over my soul, making it tremble. Liam had framed me, claiming I’d pushed him down the stairs and broken his leg. He was in the hospital for exactly one month. Victoria had slapped me across the face on the spot. To get back at Liam’s “attacker,” she shoved me down a flight of stairs herself. As I lay in a pool of my own blood with multiple fractures, it was Isabelle who rushed me to the hospital, her face etched with worry. She had sworn she didn’t care about the accusations, that she would always believe me. But in the end, she was still in on it, still punishing me for something I never did. And my son, the boy I had raised with all my love, was now cuddling up to Liam, whining. “I don’t wanna go back! I don’t want that selfish, evil man to be my daddy! I want to be with Daddy Liam forever!” His clear, childish voice was a poisoned dagger, plunging straight into my heart. Even in death, the pain was visceral, tearing me apart. A flicker of triumph crossed Liam’s face, but he feigned sympathy, stroking Charlie’s hair. “Don’t be angry, Charlie. Your aunt Victoria already posted the security footage online. Everyone is on our side now, teaching him a lesson for me!” In that instant, I felt a new kind of cold, a deep, soul-level chill. I looked at my sister in disbelief. She smiled and held up a tablet. On the screen was a video with over a million views. It was a compilation of my last month in the basement. The comment section was a flood of vitriol. “I heard this guy is the nanny’s son. Not only did he steal the real heir’s wife and kid, but he’s trying to steal his identity too!” “Thank God the sister is standing up for the real heir, locking that scum in the basement to give him what he deserves.” “Shameless bastard. He should just die and spare the world his presence.” Reading the hateful words on the screen, my heart grew colder and colder. Liam was the nanny’s son. His mother had switched us at birth. I had spent my childhood in the countryside, enduring endless abuse and neglect before my wealthy parents finally found me and brought me home. But on the way back, they were killed in a car crash. From that day on, Victoria hated me. “If you hadn’t insisted on coming back, Mom and Dad would still be alive!” she would scream. Her hatred and prejudice blinded her. No matter what happened, she always took Liam’s side. When I showed her the scars from my childhood abuse, she just sneered. “Liar! You’re just making that up to frame Liam’s mother!” When Liam deliberately tore his own suit and cried that I had done it, she didn’t even ask for my side of the story. She ripped all of my clothes to shreds and locked me in a closet for three days. With Victoria’s unwavering support, Liam’s games became more and more frequent. Over time, her patience with me wore away completely, replaced by a deep-seated loathing. “Connor,” she had spat at me once, “why wasn’t it you who died? I never should have brought you back!” She had forgotten. The only reason the nanny had the chance to switch us was because Victoria, as a child, had wandered off and left me alone. Seeing the smug smile on her face now, a knife twisted in my gut. Charlie tapped the screen, playing the most-viewed clip. It was a video of me on my hands and knees, licking condensation off a rusty pipe to save our drinking water for Isabelle and Charlie. The water was filthy, tainted with rust, but I lapped it up greedily, as if it were the finest nectar. The comments mocked me, calling me disgusting and pathetic for drinking sewer water. A lump formed in my throat. Tears I could no longer shed burned behind my eyes. We should have had enough water. But Charlie had thrown a tantrum, demanding a cold soda, and had deliberately knocked over one of our precious water bottles. By the time I noticed, the puddle had already evaporated, leaving me with no choice but to lick the rusty pipes. At the time, Isabelle and Charlie had just looked at me with annoyance. “It’s just one bottle of water. Do you have to be so dramatic?” But all I could think was: If I drink a little less, they can last a little longer. My mind was filled with love, with sacrifice. To them, it was just weakness. Pathetic. They had been lying all along. All of them. Hiding behind a screen, watching me struggle like a dying animal, watching me abandon my dignity just to survive. They recorded my suffering and broadcast it to the world, turning me into a laughingstock. I had never felt such despair. Suddenly, someone in the comments noticed something. “Is the video frozen? Why is he just lying in the corner, not moving?” Victoria and Isabelle paused, zooming in on today’s live feed. The next second, they saw me, motionless in a pool of blood. Their faces went white. “Connor!” They scrambled toward the basement, about to break down the door. But Liam, a flicker of venom in his eyes, stepped in front of them. His voice was soft, innocent. “Victoria, Isabelle, wait… I think I saw him buy some fake blood props a while back.” “He’s a clever one,” Liam continued, planting the seed of doubt. “He’s probably faking it to make you feel sorry for him, to trick you into letting him out early. If you go in there now, you’ll be playing right into his hands. He’ll use this ‘apocalypse’ prank to hold over your heads forever!” Victoria froze. Isabelle hesitated, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. Seeing his chance, Liam tugged on Charlie’s sleeve. “Charlie saw him with the fake blood that day, didn’t you, buddy?” To my utter horror, my son nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes! It’s all fake! Dad bought it from a movie prop store!” In that moment, what was left of my heart turned to dust. Victoria exploded with rage. She kicked the basement door with all her might. “You ungrateful bastard! We’ve spoiled you so rotten you’d even fake your own death to trick us?” “If you hadn’t crippled Liam, would he have been in the hospital for a month? You owe him this! You still don’t get it, do you? Get out here and apologize to Liam!” Isabelle’s face was a stony mask as she stared at the monitor. “Connor, how dare you lie to me in front of our son? What kind of father are you?” “Stop the act. Just come out, apologize to Liam, and swear you’ll never bully him again, and we can put this behind us,” she said, her voice cold. “The three of us can finally be a proper family.” I stared at her, invisible tears falling to the floor. Isabelle, there is no ‘us’ anymore. When there was still no movement from inside, their frustration curdled into fury. Victoria kicked the door again, her voice a disgusted snarl. “Connor! If you don’t want to come out, then you can stay in there forever! Rot in there for all I care!” Isabelle scooped up Charlie, took Liam’s hand, and walked away without looking back. “Liam, he’s gone too far this time.” “What do you want? I’ll buy you anything you want right now to make up for this.” As they left, Liam shot a triumphant, mocking glance back at the basement door. The house fell silent, leaving me trapped, my soul drowning in an endless, cold despair. Two weeks passed. They never came back to the basement. Because of Charlie’s lie, Isabelle remained convinced I was just throwing a tantrum. In a fit of pique, she had my clothes and belongings thrown out of the house. Victoria took down our family portraits, replacing them with photos of her and Liam. They openly moved Liam into my home, into my life. To spite me, they instructed the staff to address him as “Mr. Ashworth.” Any servant who dared to mention my name was fired on the spot. They were systematically erasing me, trying to force me out of hiding to beg for Liam’s forgiveness. But only I knew the truth. I was already dead. I was never coming out of that basement. Liam, now the master of the house, held Isabelle in his arms, his voice laced with false concern. “Connor is being so stubborn. Still holding a grudge after all this time.” “What do you think he’ll do when he finally comes out and sees how things have changed? Will he blame me?” Victoria sneered. “He’s the one who’s being childish, picking a fight with our Liam. He has no right to be angry.” Charlie squeezed Liam’s hand, raising a small fist. “Don’t be scared, Daddy Liam. I’m here. I won’t let that bad man hurt you!” Isabelle’s face was dark, her lips twisted in a contemptuous smirk. “If he dares to cause a scene, I’ll have to seriously reconsider whether he’s fit to be my Mr. Ashworth.” A calculating glint appeared in Liam’s eyes. That night, an anonymous online post went viral, outing Liam as an imposter and a homewrecker who had stolen my place. Isabelle and Victoria frantically tried to get it taken down, but it was too late. It was the top trending topic in the city. A maid rushed in, her voice shrill with panic. “Ma’am! It’s Mr. Liam! He couldn’t take the online attacks… he tried to kill himself!” They raced to his room and found him on the bed, a few shallow, superficial scratches on his wrist. They reacted as if he were dying, rushing him to the hospital. All the way there, Charlie clung to his hand, sobbing. “Daddy Liam, please be okay! Please don’t die!” The doctor quickly bandaged the minor cuts. Liam lay in the hospital bed, his eyes red-rimmed, the picture of a tragic victim. “Isabelle… Victoria… don’t blame Connor,” he whispered weakly. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who took his place. He has every right to hate me.” That was all it took. Victoria erupted. “That bastard! How dare he do this to you! He should have just rotted in that basement!” Isabelle’s face was livid, her eyes filled with a new level of hatred for me. “Don’t you worry, Liam. I’m going to drag him here right now and make him kneel at your feet and beg for forgiveness!” She called my phone dozens of times. Of course, there was no answer. Finally, in a rage, she called my assistant. His voice trembled on the other end of the line. “Mrs. Ashworth… Mr. Ashworth hasn’t been to the office in two weeks. We’ve lost several major projects…” “It was Mr. Liam,” the assistant stammered. “He told me not to tell you, he said he didn’t want you to worry…” Liam immediately started crying, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “I thought he was just being moody,” he sobbed. “I thought he’d be back in a few days. I never thought he’d actually abandon his responsibilities.” “He can hurt me all he wants,” he choked out, “but the company… that’s your life’s work! He’s gone too far! Victoria, Isabelle, you have to do something!” Isabelle’s face was grim, her disappointment hardening into pure fury. “That bastard! It wasn’t enough to ruin your reputation, now he’s trying to ruin our company? Unforgivable!” Charlie’s face was red with anger. “Bad man! He hurt Daddy Liam! He’s not my daddy anymore!” Victoria was trembling with rage. “I’m disowning him! From now on, Liam is my only brother!” I heard all of this, but I was numb. The pain was gone, replaced by a cold emptiness. I floated above them as they called a press conference. “The online posts are lies, fabricated by Connor Ashworth to frame our Liam!” Victoria declared. Isabelle held up a photo of herself and Liam. “My husband has always been Liam! Connor is the one who has been obsessively stalking me!” Victoria produced a doctored birth certificate. “Liam is my biological brother! Connor is an imposter trying to steal the life and love that rightfully belongs to him!” Charlie clung to Liam’s arm and shouted at the cameras. “My only daddy is Liam! I don’t even know that bad man, Connor!” The cameras flashed. The crowd roared its outrage. “How can someone be so shameless!” “Get out of our city, Connor Ashworth! You homewrecking piece of trash!” Listening to the symphony of hatred directed at me, a smug, triumphant smile spread across Liam’s face. Suddenly, the wail of sirens cut through the noise. The doors to the conference hall burst open. Police officers walked purposefully toward the stage. One of them held up an evidence bag containing a blood-stained dagger. “We found Mr. Ashworth’s body in the basement of your residence.” The officer’s voice was flat, professional. “We suspect you may be involved in a murder investigation. Please come with us.”

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The clock read six in the morning when I got up to make Avery’s oatmeal. Her stomach was delicate, so this was a non-negotiable part of my daily routine. At nine, she slammed a set of divorce papers on the dining table. “Just sign them,” she said, her voice as cold as the marble tabletop. “There’s no point in dragging this out.” I walked over, the bowl of oatmeal still in my hand. I flipped to the third page: division of assets. The house and the car were both listed under her name. I turned to the last page. A supplementary clause, number seven, practically screamed at me: The husband voluntarily forfeits all claims to any and all marital property. “The mortgage,” I heard myself say, “there’s still seven hundred and thirty thousand left on it.” She didn’t even look up. “My dad made the down payment. The house is in my name. It has nothing to do with you.” I set the oatmeal down, picked up the pen, and signed. The moment my name was complete, the strength drained from my fingers, and the pen clattered to the floor. She gathered the papers, tucked them into her handbag, and walked out without a backward glance. At the door, she tossed one last command over her shoulder. “I want you out by today. Leave your key on the shoe cabinet.” After the door clicked shut, I looked at the electrical box in the entryway. Taped to it was a piece of A4 paper I’d put up last year, covered in my neat handwriting: a dense list of repair numbers for every appliance, filter replacement schedules, and password backups. I peeled the paper off, folded it carefully, and put it in my own bag. 1 It took me six hours to move everything I owned. “Everything” wasn’t much. Two suitcases. One box of clothes, one box of books. That was the sum of my existence in that home after four years of marriage. The rest of it—the sofa, the dining table, the curtains, the rugs—they were all part of the scenery of “home,” but none of them bore my name. On my last trip out, I stood in the doorway and took one final look around. The indicator light on the water purifier under the kitchen sink was blinking. The filter needed changing. I didn’t tell her. I left the key on the shoe cabinet. The password for the door lock—I didn’t tell her I’d changed that, either. She’d come home drunk last October and couldn’t get the door open. I was the one who got up in the middle of the night to reset it for her. The new password was a string of numbers she didn’t know. But she’d never asked what it was. Because I was always the one who opened the door. I was dragging my suitcases toward the community gate when old Mr. Zhang from the management office called out to me. “Mr. Hayes, this month’s parking fee—” “You’ll have to get it from Avery from now on.” He looked surprised, probably wanted to ask why. I didn’t explain. I just nodded at him and got into the waiting taxi. The car was quiet. The driver asked where to. “East side. 17 Peace Road.” It was a place I’d rented three months ago. Small, a one-bedroom, twenty-three hundred a month. I’d paid the deposit and first month’s rent out of my “private” money. Private money. The term was almost laughable. For four years, my monthly salary was eighty-six hundred. Forty-seven hundred for the mortgage was automatically deducted from my account. Eighteen hundred for the car payment, also from my account. Internet, gas, property management, heating, water purifier rental, parking fee—that was another twelve hundred a month. What was left, less than a thousand, was the only money that was truly mine. It took me three years to save thirty-four thousand. Thirty-four thousand. Less than what she’d spend on a single dinner with a client. The taxi pulled up to 17 Peace Road. I hauled my boxes upstairs, unlocked the door, and stepped into an empty room. The only furniture was a folding bed and a bag of bedding I’d snuck over last weekend. I dropped my luggage and sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Are you out?” “I’m out.” “Did you leave the key?” “I left it.” “Good. Did she give you any trouble?” I thought for a moment. “No. She didn’t even look to see what I was taking.” There was a pause on the other end. Then my mom said, “You should have left a long time ago.” I said, “Yeah.” After hanging up, I lay on the folding bed and stared at the ceiling. A thin crack ran from the light fixture to the corner of the room. I stared at it for a long time. It suddenly occurred to me that this little crack felt more real than anything I had experienced in that house over the past four years. Three days after the divorce, Avery called me for the first time. It was eleven at night. “Rhys, the internet’s down. Do you know the password?” I was eating a bowl of instant noodles. It was the first time I’d tried to cook for myself since the move. I’d found the fridge empty and the stove disconnected, so I’d gone downstairs and bought a cup of noodles. “Which password?” I asked. “The router. I’ve restarted it a bunch of times, but it won’t connect.” “Check the back of the router. There should be a default password.” “I did. It’s not working. Did you change it?” I had. Three times. The first time was when we moved in; the default password was too simple. The second time was after her colleague came over and hogged all the bandwidth; I changed the password and limited the speed. The third time was last year, during a big online sale; she complained the internet was slow and told me to “fix it.” Every time, I was the one who fixed it. “The password I set is in my phone’s notes,” I said. “It’s your internet. You can call customer service and have them reset it for you.” “Why can’t you just tell me?” I slurped a mouthful of noodles, saying nothing. “Rhys?” “Avery, we’re divorced.” She probably wasn’t expecting me to say that. She was quiet for a couple of seconds. “I know we’re divorced. I’m just asking for a password.” “The internet contract is in my name, signed with my ID. If you want, you can go to the service center and transfer it to your name, or just get a new one.” She hung up. I finished my noodles, washed the bowl, dried my hands, and opened a document on my phone. The title was “Home Operations Manual.” I’d started compiling it last year. One hundred and forty-seven items in total. From the mortgage payment account to the model number of the air conditioner filter, from the property manager’s phone number to the login password for our son’s kindergarten portal. One hundred and forty-seven items, each one meticulously detailed. I hadn’t sent her the list. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. She hadn’t asked. She had asked for a password. She hadn’t asked, “Just how many things in this house were you actually taking care of?” The two questions were worlds apart. On the fifth day, Avery called again. This time it was in the afternoon, around three-thirty. She sounded more frantic. “The property manager just called. The heating bill is due. If it’s not paid, they’re shutting it off next week. Did you pay it or not?” It was December. Six degrees below zero outside. Without heat, the house would be an icebox. “The heating bill is paid every October. I paid this year’s bill in October.” “Then why are they saying it’s not paid?” “You’ll have to ask them. The receipt is in the second drawer of the TV stand in the living room. Blue folder. Third document from the left.” I heard some rustling on her end. “There’s no blue folder.” “Then check somewhere else.” A few more minutes passed. She found it. “Okay, got it. The receipt is in your name. They said the homeowner information has to be updated, or you can’t be the one to pay next year. I have to sign a new contract myself.” “Right.” “So what do I need to do?” “Go to the management office. Bring the property deed, your ID, and fill out a change-of-information form.” Silence. “You did this every year?” “Yes.” “Why didn’t you ever ask me to go?” I almost laughed. Ask you? Avery, in four years of marriage, you never even knew where the management office was. “I didn’t not ask you. You never offered.” More silence. This time, it lasted longer. Then she said, “I see,” and hung up. I put my phone down and looked out the window. The heating at 17 Peace Road wasn’t great. The radiator was only lukewarm to the touch. I sat on the bed, wrapped in a blanket. I was cold. But my cold was something I could solve myself—add another blanket, turn on a space heater. Her cold required someone else to solve it. And that someone else was gone. On the seventh day, things really started to blow up. At eight in the morning, I was brushing my teeth when my phone buzzed four times in a row. All messages from Avery. The first: “Car payment is overdue.” The second: “Did you not pay it?” The third: “I just got a late notice from the bank on my phone.” The fourth: “Rhys, what the hell is going on?” I finished rinsing, wiped my face, and then picked up my phone. I typed back: “The car payment was linked to my bank account for automatic withdrawal. I made the last payment before the divorce. Starting this month, you need to set up your own payment method.” She replied instantly: “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I stared at those five words. I found them fascinating. Why didn’t you tell me sooner. As if I had some obligation to remind her which bank account her own car payment was being drawn from. That car. She made the down payment. The monthly payment was eighteen hundred. But starting from the third month, she “forgot” to transfer the money to the payment card. I reminded her twice. The first time, she said, “Just cover it for now, I’ll pay you back.” The second time, she said, “Don’t you have money in your account? Just set up an automatic payment, it’s easier.” I’ll pay you back. She never did. It’s easier. Easier for her. Eighteen hundred a month for forty-five months. Eighty-one thousand. Add to that my share of the mortgage, the internet, the property fees, the heating, the utilities, the parking spot… I’d calculated it once. In four years, I had poured nearly three hundred thousand into that home. Three hundred thousand. Enough to buy a two-bedroom apartment outright back in my hometown. I never showed her the math. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. It was that caring would have been pointless. The divorce agreement clearly stated: The husband voluntarily forfeits all claims to any and all marital property. Voluntarily. Yes, I had signed it. Because I knew a truth that Avery didn’t. That entire household, every single part of it, was running on a backend system named Rhys. And when Rhys logged out, the machine would simply grind to a halt. I didn’t need to fight for anything. The system itself would show her the truth.

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Reborn, I faced my impeccably suited biological brother again. Rubbing his temples, he tossed a black card on the table. “Five million as compensation,” he said coolly. “There’s a penthouse for you downtown. Move out today. Lisa gets so upset seeing you she ends up in the ER every time.” Lisa, the fake heiress who replaced me years ago. He hesitated briefly. “I’ll meet any reasonable demand. Just don’t come back.” In my past life, I refused the money, afraid it would cut my last blood tie. To win his love, I worked nights to buy him a birthday gift, only to be killed by a drunk driver on the way. When Preston heard, he wasn’t grieved, but relieved. “That nuisance is finally gone.” The family bond I longed for was just a burden to him. This time, I didn’t cry. I took the card calmly. “Thanks. One more condition: make it ten million, and we’re done forever.” 1 “What did you just say?” Preston stared at me, sheer disbelief etched into his features. I met his gaze calmly, my voice steady as glass. “Give me another ten million, and I will sign away my rights to this family. You will never have to look at my face again.” “That way, your precious Lisa won’t have to visit the hospital every other week because of my existence. Ten million to guarantee her perfect health. That’s a hell of a bargain, isn’t it?” Preston went dead silent. The sheer absurdity of my request seemed to short-circuit his brain for a few seconds. “A bargain?” he finally sneered. “Are you really that desperate for cash? You’d sell out your own flesh and blood for a measly ten million? You’d sever our family bond for a check?” I looked right at him and nodded. Yes. I was exactly that desperate for money. In my last life, forget ten million. Even to make a thousand bucks, a high-school grad like me had to stand on a factory assembly line for ten days straight, barely eating, barely sleeping. In this lifetime, family bonds and blood ties meant absolutely nothing. Cash was the only armor that mattered. Given a second chance at life, I just wanted to live on my own terms. “I just want the ten million.” Preston’s chest heaved with suppressed rage. He was probably disgusted. It humiliated him to share DNA with a gold-digger who only saw dollar signs. “Fine. Fifteen million total, right?” he spat. “Sign this voluntary severance agreement, and the funds will be wired to your account immediately.” I didn’t hesitate. I picked up the heavy fountain pen and signed Sloane on the dotted line. Under Preston’s complicated, burning gaze, I gripped the fifteen-million-dollar black card and walked right out the front door of the estate. “Miss Sloane, the boss instructed me to drop you off at your new residence.” The family chauffeur hurried over, pulling open the door of the Bentley. I glanced back over my shoulder. Up on the second floor, Preston’s silhouette was reflected in the massive glass windows. In my past life, he started off being just this considerate. It was those tiny, breadcrumb moments of warmth that tricked me into thinking he actually cared. It was why I threw myself into the fire trying to please him. But the truth was, it was just basic courtesy. A rich man’s pity. The only sister he held in his heart was Lisa. Snapping back to reality, I offered the driver a polite smile. “No thanks. I’m good.” I pulled out my phone and ordered an Uber. Since I had already agreed to cut all ties, I wasn’t going to ride in their luxury cars anymore. I didn’t need a single drop of his fake charity. Three days later, inside a high-end downtown café. “Miss Sloane, the paperwork is finalized. You are officially a major shareholder in Apex Innovations.” The moment I walked out of that mansion with fifteen million dollars, I knew exactly where every cent was going. Now, that money had successfully transformed into a legally binding equity contract. Fifteen percent of Apex Innovations. Victor, the CEO, practically vibrated with excitement as he shook my hand. “Thank you for believing in us. I promise you, every dollar of this capital will be used to scale the tech. You won’t regret this.” I nodded slowly. I knew damn well I wouldn’t regret it. Apex Innovations was destined to become the largest autonomous drone manufacturing empire on the planet, securing a solid spot in the Fortune 500. This fifteen-million-dollar seed investment would multiply a thousand times over in the years to come. “How about I take you out to dinner sometime this week? I’d love to walk you through our operational roadmap,” Victor offered genuinely. I shook my head. “I appreciate it, Victor, but let’s skip the dinner.” “When it comes to the business side, I trust you completely. I leave the professional work to the professionals. I don’t just invest in tech. I invest in people.” I paused, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. “Besides, I have to get to class.” Victor blinked, clearly thrown off. “Class?” “Yeah. I enrolled in an executive finance bootcamp. Teaching the grit of project valuation and ROI.” I gave a self-deprecating smile. “My foundation is a bit shaky. I need to build it from the ground up.” He studied me for a couple of seconds, his respect visibly deepening. “Alright then. You’re welcome to audit the company whenever you see fit.” Leaving the café, I headed straight for the corporate high-rise where my classes were held. The finance bootcamp was on the twelfth floor. When I pushed the glass doors open, the lecture hall was already mostly full. I scanned the tiered seating for an empty spot, but my peripheral vision caught a familiar face sitting in the front row by the window. Lisa. She was flanked by a couple of girls, laughing softly as she held court. Just like in my past life, no matter where she went, she was always the center of the universe. I didn’t give her a second glance, making a beeline for the very last row. But right as I walked past her aisle, she looked up. Our eyes locked. She froze for a fraction of a second before a sickeningly sweet smile curled her lips. Her voice was just loud enough for her little entourage to hear. “Sloane? What on earth are you doing here?” “Tuition for this cohort isn’t cheap. Are you really blowing through the payout Preston gave you already?” I ignored her. She frowned, her eyes lighting up with malicious understanding. “I guess poverty really does limit your vision. You get a little cash in your hands and suddenly you forget your place!” “Don’t tell me you actually think attending a few seminars will magically turn you into a Wall Street hotshot?” She let out a breathy laugh, not even trying to hide the heavy sarcasm. “At the end of the day, this is all just useless theory. Without family backing or real capital, memorizing textbooks is a waste of time.” “Unlike me. Preston already gave me a portfolio to manage in the real market. I’m just here to collect the certificate.” One of her lapdogs immediately chimed in. “Lisa, your brother treats you like absolute royalty.” “Of course he does.” Lisa’s eyes formed happy little crescents, but her gaze flicked over to me, sharp as glass. “I’m telling you guys, theory is dead. You need real leverage.” “Just the other day, this MIT grad, some PhD guy, came crawling to my brother begging for funding. What was his name again? Sheldon something.” “He was groveling like a stray dog. All for a measly five million. My brother practically treated him like dirt, and the guy just stood there and took it, smiling the whole time. What good is a fancy degree when you end up begging like a peasant?” My head snapped up. Five million? A PhD named Sheldon? Sheldon! It had to be him. I remembered that name. In my past life, Preston would get drunk and obsess over how badly he fumbled that deal. He regretted it until the day he died. Because that very man, the one Preston humiliated like a stray dog, went on to build a tech monopoly that made Preston look like a small-town accountant. A five-million-dollar buy-in right now. In six years, that equity would be worth fifty billion. Noticing my intense stare, Lisa assumed her insults had finally hit a nerve. She scoffed. “What? Finally realizing how the real world works? Realizing your little notebooks can’t compete with actual capital?” She snapped her designer binder shut, spinning around in her chair with a sudden burst of faux generosity. “Tell you what. Preston bought you that condo, right? It’s just sitting there collecting dust. Sell it to me. I’ll give you five million cash for it.” “With five million, you can actually try your hand at real-world investing! Think of it as a favor.” She smiled brightly, her eyes practically dripping with condescending pity. I knew her game. She just couldn’t stand the thought of me living in a property tied to Preston. She wanted me completely erased from their ecosystem. Which worked out perfectly for me. “Deal,” I smiled back. Lisa blinked, clearly thrown off by how fast I agreed. But she quickly recovered, a smug smirk taking over her face. “Great. Text me your routing number.” My phone buzzed a minute later. Five million dollars, cleared. I stared at the glowing digits, about to offer a polite thank you, when she cut me off. “Idiot.” Lisa laughed out loud. “I told you poor people have zero vision, and you just proved it.” “Did you even look at the zoning laws for that neighborhood? Do you have any idea what that property will be worth in twelve months?” “Six million!” “A guaranteed twenty percent return in one year. That is what real investing looks like!” “You had a guaranteed goldmine and you just handed it over. Give a peasant a fortune, and they’ll just burn it to the ground!” Her little group giggled, throwing mocking glances my way. I just looked at her, completely unbothered. I knew damn well the property value would spike next year. But six million was its absolute peak. In the timeline I knew, the housing bubble was going to burst spectacularly shortly after. The longer you held onto that concrete, the harder you bled cash. Sheldon’s tech, on the other hand, was the real goldmine. It would yield returns that would make the real estate market look like a lemonade stand. And my top priority right now was simple. Find Sheldon. “Settle down, everyone.” The professor walked in, a middle-aged guy with thick glasses. He spoke incredibly fast and clicked through his slides even faster. I pushed the drama out of my mind, cracked open my notebook, and laser-focused on the lecture. Honestly, a lot of the material went way over my head. Things like Internal Rate of Return and Discounted Cash Flow models sounded like an alien language. But I wrote down every single word. Whatever I didn’t understand, I circled in red ink, planning to scour the internet the second I got home. For two straight hours, I didn’t blink. By the time the lecture ended, my notebook had six pages crammed with dense ink. I stretched my stiff neck, rolling my shoulders. As I looked up toward the doorway, I froze. A man was standing there. It was Sheldon.

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I am getting married. When I said those words to Julian, he was standing in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone, looking like an abandoned statue. It was the first time I had seen him since I left the city and moved back to my hometown. Nine years ago, we fell in love. Nine years later, citing his duties as the family heir, he told me he was entering an arranged marriage with the daughter of the Covey family. “Victoria is well-mannered, understands the big picture, and makes an excellent candidate for a strategic alliance.” His expression had been cold, his voice full of casual approval for another woman. Choking back the agonizing pain in my chest, I asked him, “What about me?” A flicker of pity crossed his eyes, but he didn’t hesitate. “Jennifer, I know how proud you are. You’d never accept being the other woman, so I think it’s best we part ways.” He also told me that my position at the company would always be waiting for me, that the penthouse downtown was mine to keep. Everything, he promised, would stay exactly the same—except our relationship. But some things, once shattered, can never be pieced back together. Now, I simply shook my head and told him I was sorry. I decided to treat the past nine years like a long, inescapable dream. And now that I was awake, it was time to start living again. 1 “I met with the Covey girl. She’s impressive—well-mannered, understands the big picture. She makes an excellent candidate for a strategic alliance.” Julian said this while we were sitting in a high-end restaurant overlooking the city skyline, celebrating our nine-year anniversary. The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows were so bright they almost stung my eyes. I stared at him for three solid seconds, realizing he was dead serious. A sharp, piercing agony bloomed in my chest, radiating outward until my fingertips went numb. “What about me?” By the time I managed to force the words out, my voice was a raw whisper. I shouldn’t have asked. It made me sound pathetic. But I figured nine years of my life at least earned me the right to a straight answer. Julian set his crystal glass down. The glass clinked softly against the marble table. “Jennifer, I know how fiercely proud you are. You’d never accept being the other woman.” “Breaking up is the best option for both of us.” His tone was steady, entirely composed, and sickeningly considerate—just as he always was. “But you don’t need to worry. Your position at the firm will always be reserved for you, and I’m transferring the deed to the downtown penthouse to your name.” “You don’t have to worry about your standard of living changing.” “Aside from our relationship, everything else will remain exactly as it is.” I heard myself let out a laugh. It sounded awful, like glass breaking. “You’re very generous, Julian.” He didn’t reply, just watched me quietly. I knew that look entirely too well. It was a look of pity, of tolerance. And of love. That was what I couldn’t wrap my head around. How could the man who was holding me just yesterday, swearing he loved me, coldly tell me we were done today? “When’s the wedding?” I asked. “Next month.” “That’s fast.” “The firm needs the capital injection right now,” he said bluntly. “And the Coveys are offering a lot more than just cash.” They were offering status, elite connections, and the runway Julian needed to expand his empire over the next decade. He had told me all about it. During those late nights, he used to hold me and talk about his ambitions, the suffocating pressure he felt, and how massive he wanted his company to become. And back then, I used to say, “I’ll help you.” God, I was stupid. “Okay.” I stood up. My knees felt weak, but I forced myself to stay upright. “I agree to the breakup. But you can keep the job and the penthouse.” “I’ll formally resign, and I’ll pack my things.” Julian frowned. “Jennifer, don’t make rash decisions out of spite. How are you going to survive in this city without that safety net?” “It’s not spite,” I said, shaking my head slowly. I pulled the penthouse keys from my bag and dropped them on the table. “Julian, it’s been nine years. You should know I’m not that kind of woman.” “Besides, I highly doubt Victoria wants to see my face around the office.” I turned and walked toward the exit. “Jennifer.” He called after me. I didn’t look back. I pushed through the heavy glass doors. As the elevator plummeted down from the penthouse level, the mirrored walls reflected a deathly pale face. It took me a few seconds to realize it was my own. My phone vibrated in my purse. Julian was calling. I let it ring. When I reached the parking garage, his driver, Arthur, was waiting by the town car. Arthur looked surprised to see me alone. “Miss Jennifer… where’s Mr. Vance?” “I’m heading back on my own,” I said. “But—” “Arthur, you don’t need to drive me anymore.” I walked out to the street, flagged down a passing cab, and climbed in. I gave the driver the address to my tiny old studio apartment—the one I had before Julian moved me in. Arthur stood by the town car, looking like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. As the cab wound its way down the hillside roads, I finally broke down and looked back. The restaurant was still lit up like a beacon. Through the massive glass windows, I could vaguely make out a silhouette. I knew it was Julian. He was just standing there, unmoving. I turned forward and squeezed my eyes shut. Nine years. From eighteen to twenty-seven. I gave the absolute best years of my life to that man. I didn’t go to the office the next day. I emailed my formal resignation directly to Julian. He replied almost instantly: Jennifer, stop being stubborn. I’m not approving this. I didn’t reply. Around noon, my doorbell rang. It was Julian’s personal attorney, a man in his fifties with wire-rimmed glasses named Mr. Caldwell. “Miss Jennifer.” Caldwell handed me a thick manila envelope. “Mr. Vance asked me to deliver this.” Inside was the deed transfer for the penthouse, already signed by Julian. There was also paperwork for a twenty-million-dollar trust fund. I was listed as the sole beneficiary. “Mr. Vance said that if you are absolutely determined to resign, you must accept this trust.” “Otherwise, he will refuse to process your resignation.” Caldwell pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “He said… this is what you deserve.” I gave a dry, humorless smile. “Mr. Caldwell, please tell your boss that I don’t want the penthouse, and I don’t want his money.” “Miss Jennifer…” I shoved the envelope back into his hands. “Also, my official resignation letter will be in his inbox later today. Per my contract, I have a one-month handover period, but starting right now, I will not be stepping foot in that building. If he has work-related questions, he can contact Chloe.” Chloe was my deputy assistant. She had been with me for four years; she could handle it. Caldwell hesitated, looking like he wanted to argue, but eventually just sighed. “I understand.” He walked to the door, then paused and looked back. “Miss Jennifer, Mr. Vance… he really does care about you.” I stared at him in silence. Caldwell let himself out. I tossed the envelope onto the worn sofa and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. My hands were shaking so badly I spilled water on the counter. It’s okay, I told myself. It’s okay. On the third day, Julian showed up. When I opened the door, he was standing in the narrow hallway. He wore a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. There were faint dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping. “Jennifer,” he said, his voice a bit raspy. I blocked the doorway, refusing to let him in. “Do you need something?” “We need to talk.” “I thought we covered everything the other night.” “Jennifer.” He said my name again, using that familiar, helpless tone. “Don’t be like this.” I used to be so weak to that tone. Every time he used it, my heart would soften. Not anymore. “Julian, if this isn’t about work, I’d like to get some rest.” I grabbed the edge of the door, preparing to shut it in his face. He slammed his hand against the wood, stopping it. “Why won’t you take the trust fund?” “Because I don’t want it.” “Jennifer, it’s twenty million dollars, not pocket change. Take it, and you’ll never have to worry about surviving.” I looked up at him. “Julian, I was with you for nine years, and it wasn’t for a payout.” Julian let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “I know.” “That’s exactly why I want to give it to you,” he said softly. “Jennifer, it’s the only thing left I can do for you.” “Then do nothing,” I fired back. “Let us walk away with some dignity. Is that too much to ask?” He went dead silent. Finally, he spoke. “I approved the resignation. But payroll will process your salary and your year-end bonus as usual. And I already had Caldwell open an account in your name. The trust funds are in it. The password is your birthday.” “Julian!” “Just take it,” he said, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Take it, so I can at least sleep at night.” With that, he turned and walked down the hall. I shut the door, leaned against it, and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor. It was hilarious, really. He was the one marrying someone else, but he was begging me to ease his guilty conscience. For the next two weeks, I didn’t leave my apartment. Chloe called a few times. She told me the whole office was buzzing with the news of Julian’s wedding. The bride was the only daughter of the Covey empire. “I heard she’s gorgeous. Graduated from Oxford, plays the piano perfectly,” Chloe whispered cautiously. “Jennifer… are you holding up okay?” Chloe was one of the few people at the firm who actually knew about my relationship with the boss. “I’m fine,” I said. “I forwarded the handover files to your email. Call me if you can’t figure something out.” “Mr. Vance has been in an awful mood lately. He made the Marketing Director cry during a meeting yesterday.” I didn’t say anything. “He asked me where you were yesterday,” Chloe admitted quietly. “I told him I didn’t know.” “Good.” After hanging up, I scrolled through my phone. Julian had sent three messages. I hadn’t replied to any of them. The first was from four days ago: The penthouse deed is finalized. The keys are at the concierge desk. The second was from two days ago: The trust account is active. Remember to change the password. The third was sent at 2:00 AM last night: Jennifer, pick up the phone. I had missed a few calls from him. It wasn’t intentional. I had just been asleep. I thought about it for a minute, then typed out a final reply: Stop contacting me. Happy wedding. Send. Block. Just like that. Another week passed, and I finished packing. After nine years in the city, I barely had anything to show for it. Two large suitcases—one for clothes, one for books and random belongings. I gathered all the jewelry Julian had bought me over the years, stuffed it into a box, and originally planned to mail it back to him. But then I realized how dramatic that felt. So I shoved the box into the very bottom of my suitcase, out of sight, out of mind. I left the keys to the apartment on the coffee table. My train back to my rural hometown left at 3:00 PM. My mom had called last month to tell me they finished renovating the old house, and she’d saved the sunny south-facing bedroom for me. “When are you coming back for a visit?” she had asked. I told her I was slammed with work, maybe by the holidays. I didn’t have to wait until the holidays anymore. The station wasn’t too crowded. I dragged my luggage through the terminal, waiting in line for ticket check. The sky was overcast, looking like it was about to pour. “Jennifer!” Someone yelled my name. I turned around and saw Julian scrambling out of his car. He didn’t even bother closing the door before sprinting toward me. He rarely ever lost his composure like this. His hair was windblown, his tie completely askew. People were turning their heads to stare. “Where are you going?” he demanded, out of breath. “Home.” “To your hometown?” “Yes.” “When are you coming back?” I looked at him flatly. “I’m not.” Julian’s face went completely rigid. “Jennifer, stop acting out.” He reached out to grab my arm, but I took a step back, dodging him. “Julian. Please conduct yourself appropriately.” His hand hovered in mid-air. He stood behind me for a long moment before quietly saying, “I’ll wait for you to come back.” I ignored him. What he didn’t realize was that I was never coming back. The train lurched into motion. I sat by the window, watching the massive metropolis slowly shrink into the distance. The towering skyscrapers, the neon lights, the city I had given nine years of my life to—it all faded away until there was nothing left. My phone buzzed. An unknown number. Jennifer, call me when you get there. It was Julian. He was using a different number. I didn’t save it, and I didn’t text back. Three hours later, I arrived. After two bus transfers, it was 7:00 PM by the time I finally reached my small town. It was a quiet place near the coast. The streets were empty, lit by dim yellow streetlamps. I could hear the clatter of dishware and the hum of televisions drifting from the houses. I dragged my suitcases down the street. As I passed the local diner, the owner recognized me. “Hey! Isn’t that Jennifer? You’re back?” “Yeah, Mr. Harris.” “Long time no see! Your mom was just saying you were craving my clam chowder. I’ll save you a fresh bowl!” I smiled. “I’ll be by tomorrow.” When I reached my house, the porch light was on. I knocked. My mom opened the door, freezing when she saw me standing there with two massive suitcases. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” “I missed home, so I came back,” I said. She looked at me, then looked at the bags. She didn’t press. “Did you eat? There’s soup on the stove.” “I ate.” “Then have some tea. I brewed some chamomile this afternoon; it’ll help you sleep.” “Okay.” I hauled my bags inside. I stayed home for a week. I slept in until my body woke me up naturally. I ate my mom’s home cooking, wandered around the small town in the afternoons, and watched terrible TV shows with her at night. It was so peaceful. So overwhelmingly normal that my past nine years felt like a hallucination. Until one afternoon, two months later, my phone rang. It was a city number, but it wasn’t Julian’s. I answered it. “Miss Jennifer, this is Mr. Caldwell.” “Do you need something?” “Mr. Vance is in the hospital.” Caldwell sounded frantic. “Acute stomach hemorrhage. He was admitted last night. Right before he lost consciousness, he told me to call you. He wants to see you.”

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My best friend had recently become obsessed with online prank culture, so much so that she paid $9.99 for a so-called “Surprise Tutorial” package. That day, I rushed to what was supposed to be my own surprise proposal, only to find a scene from a horror movie. Blood splattered across the walls, and my mother lay unconscious in a crimson pool on the floor. I lunged forward, gathering her into my arms, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. Beside me, my best friend clicked her tongue in annoyance. “What a buzzkill. It’s just pig’s blood. I can’t believe it was enough to make your mom faint. The older generation really can’t take a joke.” It all clicked into place. She had doused my apartment in pig’s blood and then told my mother that I had been raped and murdered during a home invasion. The shock had triggered my mother’s weak heart, causing a massive coronary event. I snatched her phone and smashed it against the wall, then slapped her hard across the face, twice. Even with the proposal ruined and my mother’s life hanging in the balance, my boyfriend rushed to defend her. “Ashley was just trying to create an ‘unforgettable memory’ for us! Why are you overreacting like this?” I didn’t have time to argue. I scooped my mother into my arms and sprinted for the hospital. Later, the “prank video” she recorded went viral. High on the digital fame, she decided to try and scare me again, this time dressing up as a masked robber. And this time, I was ready for her with an AK-47. … My best friend, Ashley, jumped into the ambulance with us. I initially thought she was overcome with guilt, that she was there to help. But she immediately started a new live stream, pointing the camera directly at the paramedics performing CPR on my mom. “My friend’s mom is having a heart attack, and the nurses are trying to save her! It’s all because of you guys and your crazy prank ideas.” “Everyone, type ‘1’ to send good vibes! Let’s all beg the Grim Reaper to spare her, okay?” A nurse beside her shook her head in disbelief. I snatched the phone from her hand, my voice shaking with rage. “You scared my mother half to death! Do you have any conscience at all?” Ashley panicked, lunging to get the phone back. “Don’t touch my phone! Look at this engagement! We just hit number one on the city’s trending list! We’re about to go national!” Her complete lack of remorse was staggering. I grabbed her by the collar, ready to throw her out of the moving vehicle, but the nurse quickly intervened. “Don’t do anything rash! Your mother needs you!” Ashley wriggled free, muttering under her breath, “Some best friend you are. Can’t even take a joke.” My face went cold. “What did you just say?” She lifted her chin defiantly. “She’s not actually going to die, so what’s with all the yelling?” “It’s not a big deal! And you broke my phone!” That’s when I noticed the phone she was holding wasn’t hers. It was my boyfriend, Mark’s. Hers was in pieces back at the proposal site. “It was just a prank! Your mom probably didn’t even take it seriously. Besides, she’s old and has a bad heart anyway. You can’t put all the blame on me.” “And I tried to make up for it, didn’t I? I told all my followers to pray for her! You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” This wasn’t her first “prank.” Once, she stuffed a bag of flour into my purse and yelled that I was carrying drugs as I went through airport security. I was tackled to the ground by security and missed my flight. A multi-million dollar contract fell through, and I was fired. Another time, at a crowded city square, she screamed, “There’s a bomb!” We were both detained and lectured. She just shrugged it off as a joke. Her online fame grew with each stunt, her follower count soaring. Because we had been friends for so long, I had always let it slide. But now, Ashley was gambling with my mother’s life. I trembled with fury, pointing a finger at her. “Ashley, your so-called joke almost killed my mother! Are you even human?” Just then, the ambulance screeched to a halt. The doors flew open, and Mark was standing right there. Ashley immediately scrambled out and threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “I didn’t mean it! I was just trying to make a viral video to raise money for charity!” Mark held her close, then turned to scold me. “Didn’t you hear her? She had good intentions! Can’t you have a little compassion?” “Your idea of compassion is making money by joking about my mother’s death?” I shoved them both aside. “Get out of the way!” I couldn’t waste another second arguing. I helped the paramedics rush my mother’s stretcher towards the emergency room. Fortunately, we had gotten her there just in time. She was stable. Ashley stood outside the hospital room, a look of profound victimhood on her face. She had known my family for years. My dad recognized her and, seeing her apparent distress, tried to comfort her. “As long as she’s okay, that’s what matters. Just no more of this foolishness, alright?” Ashley nodded meekly. But I never could have imagined what I would see moments later. I found her in the stairwell, holding her phone up. “See, guys? The streamer has been forgiven! The show can go on!” “But my friend’s mom is still in the ICU. C’mon, everyone, let’s crowdfund her medical bills! Send some rocket gifts!” When Ashley tried to re-enter the room with her phone, I blocked the doorway. “From this day forward, we are no longer friends. Get out.” She stared at me, stunned, then pouted and walked away. I thought that would be the end of it. But the next morning, when I arrived with breakfast, my mother was gone. I raced to the nurses’ station, my voice trembling. “My mother! Where is she? She’s not in her room!” The nurse on duty looked bewildered. “I don’t know what you mean. She was there during shift change.” My head was spinning. I grabbed a doctor’s arm. “A living person just vanished from inside your hospital?” The doctor panicked and immediately sent staff to check the security footage. Out of nowhere, Ashley appeared, jabbing a finger in my face. “Oh, stop the theatrics, Mandy! Playing the victim again? We all know this is another one of your pathetic stunts!” My eyes snapped to her. “Ashley, was this you?” Her eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before she raised her voice. “Don’t you dare accuse me!” “You’re the one who probably chopped her up and sold her for parts!” The blood in my veins turned to ice. “What did you just say?” Several police officers hurried over. “What’s going on here?” Ashley immediately latched onto them. “Officer, she’s the prime suspect!” “I bet she’s hiding her mom, or maybe even killed her for the insurance money or to sell her organs!” My vision went black with rage. “Ashley! For the love of God, shut your mouth!” “Officer, she’s a prank streamer! You can’t believe a word she says!” Ashley turned her phone screen toward the police. It was black. “I’m not streaming! I’m telling the truth! Mark can vouch for me!” Mark immediately chimed in. “Yes, officer! Mandy’s been spending a ton of money on designer clothes and bags lately. She must have gotten her hands on some dirty cash!” “Check her purse! I bet you’ll find a contract in there!” He and Ashley exchanged a subtle, knowing glance. The officer looked at me. “Ma’am, would you mind if we took a look?” I handed over my bag. They searched it thoroughly. Wallet, keys, phone, and some medical records. “There’s no contract here,” the officer said. I took a deep breath, pointing at the two of them. “Officer, Mark is my boyfriend. Ashley is my former best friend.” “I believe they conspired to kidnap my mother! You should search them and their bags. They probably have tools or a plan for moving a patient!” Ashley thrust her purse forward with a sneer. “Mandy, you’re getting desperate. See? There’s nothing in my bag!” She turned it upside down and shook it. A few loose items fell out, and with them, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the ground. An officer picked it up. His expression changed instantly. It was a draft of a black-market organ sales agreement. With a sharp command, the officers tackled Ashley to the ground. As they cuffed her hands behind her back, she shrieked, her face pressed against the linoleum. “Mandy! You set me up!” Right before I left the house, I saw Mark rummaging through my purse. In the hospital restroom, I ran into Ashley. While she was distracted, I slipped the paper into her bag. I never thought she would actually use my mother’s life for clout again. Cell phone cameras from all around were now pointed directly at her. Pinned to the floor, Ashley finally started to panic. “Stop filming! It’s a joke! It’s all a script! The old lady is fine!” “She’s just sleeping next door, I swear!” I bolted into the adjacent public restroom and found my mother in the last stall. She was curled up on the floor, unconscious, her face a ghastly shade of gray. A nurse did a rapid check. “Her heart rate is erratic, and her blood pressure is dropping! We need to resuscitate, now!” I scrambled to help the nurse lift my mother, when I noticed a flashing red light on a brooch pinned to Ashley’s shirt. I ripped it off her. “You said you weren’t streaming!” The police officer, watching this circus unfold, was utterly exasperated. He first turned to Ashley, his voice stern. “This isn’t a joke, it’s a crime! You’re going to be processed accordingly!” Then he turned to Mark. “You too! You have no sense of right and wrong, just egging her on!” Mark had been looking smugly indifferent until then. His phone rang. It was his boss. After he hung up, Mark exploded, charging at Ashley. His neck was beet red as he screamed, “Couldn’t you at least have blurred my face in your stupid live stream?!” “The whole office saw it! My boss chewed me out! I lost my year-end bonus! You’ve ruined my life!” It only hurts when the knife is in your own back. Ashley’s eyes filled with tears. “It was just a joke.” “You used to say you loved my sense of humor.” Mark cut her off brutally. “That doesn’t mean you drag me into your mess! What if I lose my job?!” Ashley pouted, her eyes darting around. Suddenly, her gaze landed on me again. “Mandy, about your mom’s AIDS… is she cured yet? We wouldn’t want her to infect the nice nurses, would we?” The nurse, who was carefully trying to lift my mother, went pale. My mother was still on the floor, her life hanging in the balance. Something inside my head snapped. I lunged forward, grabbed a handful of Ashley’s hair, and yanked her head back. “You like running your mouth, huh?” I stared into her eyes, my other hand swinging hard. CRACK! “I dare you to say it again!” CRACK! “Say it!” CRACK! Ashley was stunned, her cheek swelling rapidly. The police immediately intervened, pulling me off of her. We were both taken to the station for disturbing the peace. After a severe reprimand, Ashley was detained on suspicion of unlawful confinement, spreading false rumors, and disrupting public order. Mark was also fined for his role in the chaos. As I was leaving, the officer said to me, “Protecting your family is one thing, but don’t resort to violence. Next time, just call us.” I nodded, walked out of the station, and went straight back to the hospital. A week later, my mother was moved from the ICU to a regular ward. The doctor recommended a change of scenery for her recovery. I decided to take her to stay with my aunt in the United States. Before we left, on a whim, I opened the video platform. The “prank” video Ashley had live-streamed from the hospital bathroom had gone massively viral. Millions of likes, hundreds of thousands of comments. I started scrolling through the comments, my fingers slowly going numb. The top comment read: “This old lady’s acting is phenomenal! Puts all these young stars to shame!” Thousands of replies followed: “Seriously, her micro-expressions when she fainted were perfect. She deserves an Oscar.” “The script is great, but the daughter’s acting is a bit over the top.” “Am I the only one who thinks this prank is super creative? More, please!” “The streamer is such a martyr, getting slapped like that. I feel for her. Followed.” “She must have made a killing off this. When’s the next one? Can’t wait!” “Liked, subbed, and shared! Gimme more!” Ashley had replied: “Working on part two! Stay tuned!” Mark called me, asking where I was. He said he had a surprise for me. I told him I had taken my mom to my aunt’s place in Texas to recover and sent him the full address. After hanging up, I booked two more plane tickets and sent an invitation to his parents. Ashley’s video teasing a second prank blew up. Her follower count skyrocketed, and the comments were a frenzy of anticipation. Ashley was ecstatic. In a new video, she showed off her plane ticket to the US, a realistic-looking black ski mask, and a high-quality replica toy gun. She even video-called the team that sold her the “Surprise Tutorial,” announcing an “international collaboration.” With each reveal, the comment section erupted. “The streamer is going all out!” “Can’t wait! Hurry up!” “This is gonna make her ex-best friend piss her pants, LOL!” Buoyed by the cheers, she boarded her flight to come find me. At the same time, I went to a well-known local “underground market.” Here, as long as you had the proper documentation, owning a firearm was perfectly legal. The shop owner greeted me warmly as I entered. “Ma’am, first time buyer? What are you looking for? Self-defense?” I nodded. He immediately pulled out several elegant handguns from under the counter. “This one has low recoil, perfect for a lady. This one is more compact, easy to carry.” “If I were alone, facing multiple attackers, which would be the most suitable?” The owner’s eyes lit up. “Ma’am, then you shouldn’t be looking at these little guys.” He heaved a heavy black case onto the counter. “AK-47.” He patted the steel frame. “Heavy firepower, simple to operate. Nothing better for what you’re describing.” “I’ll take it.” Mark’s parents arrived on a flight just before Ashley’s. I picked them up from the airport and drove directly to a lakeside park. On the way, Mark called to ask where I was. I told him I was on my way to the park. “Just wait for me at the park! Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be there soon, I have a massive surprise for you!” I set up a tent in an open area by the lake, the AK-47 inside. Mark’s parents sat on folding chairs, already starting to complain. “That economy class was torture. My back is killing me after all those hours. Why couldn’t you have booked us business class?” I ignored them and pulled out my phone, opening the video app. As expected, Ashley was already live-streaming. She wore a pair of ridiculously oversized sunglasses, flashing a peace sign at the camera. “Hey, everyone! Almost there! This time, I promise you’ll see my ‘ex-best friend’ absolutely lose her mind!” The chat was scrolling at lightning speed: “Here we go! Front row seat!” “So hyped for this!” “Haha, I can’t wait to see that woman scream!” “This is gonna break the internet!” “Donations are rolling in! Let’s hype up the streamer!” I adjusted the angle of the AK-47, aiming it at the park entrance.

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1 When I opened my eyes, I was back at my wedding. My maid of honor stood on stage, mic in hand, wearing a sly smirk. “I’m so happy for her,” she announced, “though just last month, she was in the OB/GYN clinic VIP ward. I honestly thought she would never marry.” The hall erupted in whispers. Everyone stared at me. She covered her mouth, pretending innocence. “Oh, I am just joking. Do not read into it.” In my past life, those words destroyed me. I had tried to explain it was only cyst removal, but she laughed it off. “Sure, and that needed a man’s signature? Just a joke. Do not be so sensitive.” My furious fiance then called off the wedding, and I later took my own life. Now, I took a deep breath, squeezed my already angry fiance’s arm, picked up a mic, and held it toward her lips. “Do not stop,” I said softly. “Go on.” I wanted to see if her jokes could save her once I revealed the truth and let everyone see her malice. The microphone was thrust right up to Lynn’s lips. She probably hadn’t expected me, usually so gentle and timid, to confront her head-on in front of hundreds of wedding guests. She recoiled, her neck pulling back, putting on a show of being a startled, fragile little thing. “Oh, Aubrey, what are you doing? You scared the living daylights out of me, shouting like that!” “I already told you, I’m just a straight shooter, no filter, just love a good laugh!” “It’s a happy day, why are you taking it so seriously?” I clutched the microphone, unyielding. “If it’s a joke, let’s see it through.” My voice cut through the air, cold and hard, hitting every guest’s ears. “Share everything you saw and heard at the OB/GYN clinic, word for word. Let’s give everyone a good chuckle.” A flicker of wild glee sparked in Lynn’s eyes; she thought I was bluffing. “Aubrey, don’t push me, everyone’s watching.” “I really didn’t mean to bring up that old guy with the big belly.” She suddenly raised her voice, clearly wanting everyone to hear. “I swear! I absolutely did not see that old man not only pay your surgery fees but also sign on the family member line!” After she finished, she clapped her hand over her mouth again, eyes wide, feigning extreme regret. “Oops, oops, oops! My big mouth.” “Joey, Mrs. Davies, please don’t believe it. That old man was definitely Aubrey’s distant relative, please don’t jump to conclusions!” The entire hall fell into a deathly silence. Three seconds later, the reception hall, filled with hundreds of people, erupted. The buzzing noise threatened to lift the roof off. “Do we even need to guess? She obviously messed around behind her fiancé’s back, got pregnant, and went for an abortion.” “She looked so pure and innocent, but turns out she’s trash. The Davies family’s reputation is completely ruined.” Joey, my fiancé, whom I’d just pushed away, now charged forward like a raging lion. “Aubrey, what the hell is going on?!” His eyes were bloodshot, fixed on me. At the head table, Mrs. Davies, always so poised, instantly turned crimson with rage. “Smack!” She slammed her hand down on the marble table, making wine glasses topple. “Aubrey! Our Davies family comes from a respectable background; we will never marry a shameless hussy!” “If you don’t explain yourself today, this wedding is off!” I watched their frantic antics, not a hint of panic in me. I turned to the furious Joey and asked, my voice utterly calm, “Joey, she, Lynn, just opened her mouth, said a few ‘jokes,’ and you believe her?” Watching Lynn’s gloating expression, I scoffed internally. The quicker he believes her now, the harder he’ll try to throttle her later. Joey froze, a flicker of struggle in his eyes. But just then, Lynn suddenly clapped her thigh and burst into unrestrained laughter. “Oh, Aubrey, you’re really good at twisting things around! If you haven’t done anything wrong, why are you forcing Joey to take a stance?” Lynn, in her heels, strutted over to me, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you dare say you didn’t go to the OB/GYN clinic on the fifteenth of last month for surgery? If you swear you didn’t go, I, Lynn, will kowtow to you right here and now.” The gaze of everyone in the room felt like countless knives, all aimed at me. The last trace of struggle in Joey’s eyes vanished, replaced by extreme anger and humiliation. “Aubrey, answer Lynn’s question!” Joey pointed at my nose, his voice trembling. “On the fifteenth of last month, did you or did you not go to the VIP section of the City General Hospital’s OB/GYN department?!” I looked at him, my voice as calm as still water. “I did.” The entire hall erupted again. My parents, down below, were frantic. My mother, eyes red, tried to rush forward but was held back by several malicious relatives. “Aubrey went for an ovarian cyst removal, it’s not what you’re thinking!” My mother cried out in despair. Hearing that, Lynn laughed even more wildly. She clutched her stomach, shaking with laughter, tears almost streaming down her face. “Right, right, Mrs. Davies is right, it was for an ovarian cyst removal.” She turned to the guests, her face innocent yet triumphant. “But Mrs. Davies, does removing a cyst require an irrelevant old man’s signature? I get it, I get it!” Mrs. Davies rushed forward like a madwoman. “You shameless hussy, you still have the nerve to bring up an ovarian cyst!” She pointed at me, screaming profanities. “Do you really think our Davies family takes in trash?!” Joey completely lost it. He ripped off the groom’s boutonnière from his chest and violently flung it at my face. “Aubrey, you always acted so pure, but behind my back, you were messing around with an old man! You’ve disappointed me so much!” I stared coldly at the boutonnière on the ground, my last shred of hope gone. Go ahead and believe her lies, the real show is yet to come. “The evidence is clear! You even admitted you went to the OB/GYN, what more do you have to say?!” “I, Joey Davies, would rather stay single my whole life than marry a hussy like you!” “Fine.” I spat out the word decisively and pulled off my veil. “Since your Davies family values these ‘jokes’ so much, then this wedding, I’m calling it off.” Mrs. Davies immediately put her hands on her hips. “Then it’s off! Return the five hundred thousand dollars dowry to me, exactly as it was given! And the cost of today’s banquet!” I didn’t even blink. I pulled out my phone, opened my banking app, and right in front of everyone, transferred the five hundred thousand dollars back to Joey’s account. “The money’s returned. From now on, you go your way, I’ll go mine.” I turned to leave the stage. But Lynn grabbed my arm, yelling loudly, “Aubrey, how can you just leave like that? If you walk away now, it’s like admitting guilt, isn’t it?” She suddenly turned to another bridesmaid. “Mia! You were interning at the City General Hospital last month. Tell everyone, did you see it too?!” Looking for a witness, huh? I wanted to see how this rock she brought to crush me would end up crushing her own foot. Mia, suddenly called out, was startled. She was Joey’s distant cousin, interning as a nurse at the City General. Lynn dragged her out of the crowd and pushed her to the microphone. “Mia, you’re always the most honest one. Tell your cousin the truth!” Lynn’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Did you personally see Aubrey, wearing her khaki trench coat, hat, and mask, being escorted into the VIP operating room by a fat man that day?” Mia stammered, her gaze flickering. Hundreds of people stared intently at her. “I… I was indeed on duty at the reception desk that day…” Mia swallowed hard, not daring to meet my eyes. “I did see someone whose build was very similar to Aubrey’s… with a very fat man beside her…” This statement, undoubtedly, hammered the final nail into my coffin. The entire hall completely exploded. “The bridesmaid really wasn’t lying! She might have a loose tongue, but she was telling the truth!” “The bride has some nerve, why doesn’t she just scram?!” Mrs. Davies, trembling with rage, pointed at me. “What do you have to say now? Even our Mia saw it, you harlot!” Joey, shaking with fury, lunged forward, raising his hand to slap me, but ultimately brought it down with a vicious snarl. “Aubrey, I must have been blind to ever fall for you!” Lynn’s lips were practically stretched to her ears with glee. She let out a fake sigh and patted Joey’s shoulder. “Joey, don’t be too sad. I’m just a straightforward person; if I hadn’t risked offending everyone to say this today, you would have worn that cuckold’s hat for life.” She turned to me, her eyes full of mockery. “Aubrey, out of all the men you could have chosen, why go for an old, pot-bellied guy? What were you after? His age? His hygiene?” Lynn crossed her arms, deliberately clearing her throat. “Mia, what did you tell me back then? Didn’t that woman smell of that limited-edition perfume Joey bought from abroad last month?” Mia flinched, startled, and nodded frantically. “Yes… it was that scent. That perfume is very distinctive, I couldn’t have mistaken it.” Lynn slapped her thigh, shaking with laughter. “Hear that! Even the perfume scent is identical. Aubrey, you can’t say that’s a coincidence, can you?” I quietly watched Lynn in her moment of triumph. The richer the fabricated details, the harder the slap back would be. I didn’t refute her; I simply smiled faintly. “The perfume scent is indeed excellent evidence. But Lynn, is that all you have?” Lynn’s eyes darted around, and to everyone’s stunned surprise, she snatched up my bridal clutch. “I really didn’t want to be this cruel, but your audacity is just too much!” She turned around, holding the clutch high. “Don’t blame me for being nosy, everyone. I just have clumsy hands; when I was helping Aubrey put away the red envelopes earlier, I accidentally felt something hard!” She yanked open the zipper, turned the bag upside down, and shook it vigorously. “Clatter!” Lipstick, cushion compact, and tissues scattered everywhere. Along with them fell an unopened box of pills and a crumpled ultrasound report! And even, a five-star hotel room key card! Lynn quickly picked up the ultrasound report, holding it high. “Everyone, look! Early intrauterine pregnancy, seven weeks!” She then kicked the box of pills, her voice sharp and piercing, echoing through the hall. “Mifepristone tablets! These are legitimate abortion pills!” She clapped a hand over her mouth, feigning heartache. “Aubrey, you call this an ovarian cyst? This cyst seems to have grown arms and legs!” “Oh no, I spoke out of turn again! Everyone, please don’t believe it. Maybe Aubrey found this pregnancy report on the road, and these pills were bought to feed stray dogs. Just a joke, don’t take it seriously, okay!” The entire hall completely lost control, the uproar of angry shouts threatening to tear the roof off. “Disgusting! With ironclad evidence, she still dares to stand there!” “This is an utter disgrace to the Davies family!” Mrs. Davies’s eyes rolled back; she fainted backward, caught by frantic hands. “Kill her, Joey, beat this vile hussy to death!” Mrs. Davies shrieked hysterically. Joey’s eyes were bloodshot, fixated on the abortion pills and room key card on the floor. He was trembling violently. “Aubrey, you still dare to say you didn’t go? You even carry abortion pills with you!” “You slut, ridden by a thousand men!” Joey suddenly grabbed a heavy red wine bottle from the table and, like a madman, charged at me. “Go to hell!” My eyes flashed cold, and I swiftly dodged. With a loud “thud,” the wine bottle smashed heavily on the steps, glass shards flying everywhere. Lynn stood to the side, watching the scene spiral out of control, a barely concealed look of wild glee playing on her lips. Smash away, make a scene. Lynn, the heavier the hammer you drop now, the more satisfying it will be when I crush you into a pulp later. Lynn let out a fake scream and rushed to embrace Joey’s arm. “Joey, don’t be impulsive. It’s not worth killing someone over a woman like this.” She turned her head, her eyes full of triumph as she looked at me. “Aubrey, after all this, why are you still holding out?” “You made a mistake, you should admit it! If you kowtow three times to Joey and Mrs. Davies in front of everyone today, maybe they’ll soften and forgive you.” “I’m helping you get a lighter sentence!” The surrounding guests pointed at me, cursing profusely. “This woman is too cunning. If the maid of honor wasn’t so straightforward, this cuckold’s hat would have been firmly on!” I slowly walked forward. Ignoring Joey’s murderous gaze and the curses from the crowd. I walked up to Lynn and looked down at the abortion pills and room key card on the ground. “Lynn, you just said that these things fell out of my bridal clutch?” “Of course!” Lynn lifted her chin without hesitation, shamelessly. “Hundreds of eyes saw it! Did I put them in there myself? I don’t have that kind of time!” “Are you sure?” I stared into her eyes, my voice chillingly cold. “I swear on my honor, they absolutely fell out of your bag.” Lynn patted her chest confidently. “Good, very good.” I nodded, a chillingly cold smile playing on my lips. “Since you’ve sworn on your honor.” I raised my hand and snatched the spare microphone from the hand of the already terrified emcee. “Then I’ll just, coincidentally, invite everyone to see something even more interesting.” Lynn’s smile stiffened slightly. “What… what do you mean? Don’t try to be so mysterious!” I ignored her. I took out my phone and, in front of everyone, dialed a number. Lynn tried to maintain her composure, yelling loudly, “What new trick are you playing now? Do you think finding some random extra will clean up the ironclad evidence of your pregnancy and abortion?!” I sneered. “I don’t need to clean it up. Since you’ve set the stage, I might as well perform with you.” The moment my words fell. “Bang!” The heavy banquet hall doors were kicked open from the outside. The cursing abruptly ceased. Hundreds of people in the hall gasped simultaneously. And the wild grin on Lynn’s face, which she hadn’t managed to wipe away, froze into a deathly pale mask the moment she saw who was at the door.

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1 The holiday wasn’t even here yet, but our little quartet in Newhaven was already holding a vote on one crucial matter. The agenda: whether or not to let Connor join our purely platonic circle. In my gut, I was certain my childhood best friend, my good buddy, and my girlfriend would all oppose it, just like me. After all, anyone could see Connor’s intentions; not only did he subtly and openly target me time and again, but he was always cozying up to my girlfriend. But reality delivered a brutal slap to my face. My childhood best friend, Jenna, said she agreed, completely nonchalant. She even went on about how excellent Connor was in every way, then accused me of jealousy. My good buddy, Liam, chimed in, saying I was too selfish, that I shouldn’t stop everyone from making new friends. My fists clenched in anger, pinning my last hopes on my girlfriend, Janelle. But she was already sending Connor a group chat invite. She even tried to convince me that a friendship of five wasn’t so bad, telling me not to be so dramatic. It was in that moment I finally understood: the love and friendship I had always deeply believed in had, it turned out, abandoned me long ago. … My throat felt like it was clamped by a giant hand, a wave of suffocation washing over me. I’d known them for twenty years. Elementary school, middle school, high school, even college – the four of us had always been at the same school. There was nothing happier in the world than having both friendship and love by my side. I thought our world of four would never include anyone else. Now, they were ganging up on me for a guy they’d known for less than three months. I couldn’t help but feel furious. “I don’t agree. Connor isn’t one of us. Why does he have to muscle his way in here?” “Liam, you know he’s sent ambiguous messages to Janelle privately. Are you still going to help him gang up on me?” Before, if other guys coveted Janelle, he would unhesitatingly curse them out for me. Why was it different with Connor? To my surprise, his face wore an expression that implied I was being unreasonable. “Ethan, why do you think so badly of Connor? He was just discussing group assignments with Janelle.” “You’re so paranoid and suspicious. It must be exhausting for Janelle, as your girlfriend, and we, your friends, are tired of it too.” Connor asked Janelle to bring him an umbrella at the movie theater. He asked Janelle to accompany him to the infirmary when he got hurt playing basketball. He even bought heart-shaped chocolates and wanted Janelle to try some. Was all this just my paranoia? I actually started to doubt myself. Tears welled up, but I forcefully held them back, making the tip of my nose ache. Janelle’s face began to show impatience. “Ethan, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” “All three of us voted yes. Connor will join our quartet now.” “Afterward, we can discuss where to travel. You like photography, right? Connor is great at taking pictures, so he can even get some good shots of you. Isn’t that a win-win?” My heart, however, turned cold inch by inch. The notification chime pinged. Janelle and the other two had smiles playing on their lips. I took out my phone and saw that the original group chat of four had become five. Connor had joined. [Hey everyone, I’m Connor. Please take care of me from now on! I can do basketball, singing, photography, and video editing, so you can always find me. ] He even tapped each of our four profile pictures. He tapped Janelle’s first, and mine last. Liam immediately sent a bunch of cute emojis, welcoming him. Liam: [A huge welcome to Connor joining our Newhaven crew!] Jenna: [Welcome, Connor!!!] Janelle: [Let’s go for a barbecue this weekend, as a welcome party for Connor.] They chatted merrily in the group. A tear dropped onto the screen, which I haphazardly wiped away. I bravely looked at them: “If you insist on him joining, then I’m leaving.” They merely gave me a fleeting glance. “Ethan, throw your fit if you want, but it won’t be so easy to get back in later.” Then they continued their lively chat with Connor. They thought I would compromise. They didn’t expect I would say goodbye. I swiftly exited the group chat that had existed for over ten years. Then I blocked all three of them. “Fine. From now on, we go our separate ways.” I turned and left decisively. I heard Janelle whisper, “He’ll regret it in a few days, just ignore him.” I quickened my pace, refusing to let myself wallow in betrayal again. Back in my dorm, I put on my headphones and started a movie. Frame after frame flashed by, but I wasn’t really watching. I couldn’t help but wonder what they were chatting about with Connor in the group. Were they talking bad about me behind my back, or were they simply avoiding the topic of my ‘buzzkill’ presence? I hated this feeling. My roommates’ discussion suddenly caught my attention. “Connor posted again, saying he’s made three really good friends and joined their little crew.” “He also said the four of them are going abroad for the May Day holiday and he’s really looking forward to it.” “Of course, being handsome means making new friends so fast. He only transferred here less than three months ago.” I clicked on his new post, and seeing the screenshots of their chat records, a chill ran through me. For him, Janelle and the others had changed the group chat name to “Connor’s Crew.” Connor had become the pampered favorite. And since I’d left the group and blocked them, there hadn’t been a single friend request on my phone. More than sadness, it was a profound chill. I became even more resolute about leaving. I turned off my phone and started packing. All the big and small gifts Liam, Janelle, and Jenna had given me went into a box. On the windowsill sat a beautifully blooming tulip. My roommate saw me about to throw away the tulip and immediately came over. “Ethan, why are you throwing away the tulip? I remember all four of you had one, and you said you’d hold them up for a photo together at graduation. It was your unique memory.” Yes, Liam had suggested that idea. Janelle had laughed, saying she wanted to plant the same pink tulip as me. That night, when we video chatted in our dorm, she gesticulated wildly, saying hers was growing better than mine. But now, there was no need for this tulip to stay. My tone was casual: “Things from the past, when it’s time to throw them away, you should.” They exchanged glances. “Ethan, is it because Connor took your place, so you’re cutting ties with them?” “Honestly, we get it. Connor’s gaze towards your girlfriend was never innocent. As your good friends and girlfriend, they weren’t blind; they just underestimated you, ignoring your hurt.” “You should distance yourself from everyone who hurts you. You’re doing the right thing.” I dreaded being comforted. Tears, disobedient, welled up. Such a simple truth, my roommates understood me, but Liam and the others, who had grown up supporting each other for twenty years, chose to sacrifice me. That night, I stayed awake until dawn. The next day was Saturday, our usual hangout day. To vent my emotions, I decided to book a small private karaoke room, hoping to feel better after singing. I just didn’t expect Connor to push open the door and pause my song. My voice was displeased: “It’s incredibly rude and uncultured of you to arbitrarily mess with my song like that.” But he maintained his innocent demeanor. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to. Ethan, I know you have a prejudice against me, but I genuinely want to be friends with all four of you.” “You specifically chose the room next to ours, didn’t you, hoping Janelle and Liam would come looking for you? I’ve come here to invite you, come join us for cake. Janelle bought such a big welcome cake; it’d be a waste not to finish it.” From the first time I met Connor, I clearly felt that his words and actions made me uncomfortable. He transferred to this university, a fellow architecture student like Janelle. At the freshman welcome party, Janelle sang a song. Connor, holding a bouquet of flowers, stared at her with sparkling eyes. “Janelle, you sing so beautifully, and your major coursework is top of our department. If you were my girlfriend, I’d slap myself during arguments.” Such ambiguous words really ignited my temper. Janelle looked at me, at a loss. I stood beside her, my arm linked with hers, declaring my claim. “Excuse me, but this is my girlfriend, Janelle. Please don’t say things like that again.” He thrust the flowers at her: “I’m just admiring her, I’m not actually trying to steal your girlfriend.” Janelle returned the flowers to him, tightening her grip on my hand. “Ethan and I have a great relationship. Please don’t make such dull jokes, you’re a fellow student.” Rejected, Connor wasn’t annoyed, simply smiled and walked away. I believed Janelle would give me enough security. When Liam found out, he even helped me fiercely scold Connor for being a sly one. “He’s nowhere near as good as our Ethan, just trying to cozy up to Janelle, shameless.” “Don’t worry, I’ll make Jenna play fewer games and keep an eye on Janelle for you. I’ll also keep an eye on Connor in the department, not letting him get close to your Janelle.” But for some reason, they soon became lax. I often heard them, the three of them, praising Connor. Jenna said, “Connor’s piano skills are really high level, he’s won major awards.” Liam said, “Connor has such a great personality, always smiling, and takes good photos. I’ve even followed his account!” Janelle didn’t even reject his ambiguous advances. “Connor’s architectural drawings are even better than mine. The professor is right, I should learn more from him.” Both friendship and love had quietly soured. I often argued with Janelle because of Connor. Liam and Jenna gradually stopped siding with me. Until this time, the group chat had him, and it lacked me. Finally, their wish had come true. I put down the microphone, my tone blunt. “Connor, I came to this karaoke place first; there’s no ‘specifically choosing to be next to you’ involved.” “I have no interest in how Janelle and Liam want to celebrate you, nor do I care for any big cake. Please leave.” Two clear, simple sentences were enough to make him tear up in perceived grievance. He took a step forward, his voice cracking with a sob: “Ethan, please don’t think so badly of me, okay? I also don’t want to be the reason you and Janelle fight.” The moment his tears fell, Janelle walked in through the door. She first shot me an annoyed glare, then took Connor’s wrist, standing in a protective stance over him. “Ethan, Connor feels terrible, he’s been trying so hard to mend things between you two, and you just have to be aggressive and embarrass him?” Liam poked his head out, patting Connor’s shoulder in comfort. He sighed, looking at me: “Ethan, your temper is really strange. You even made someone as good-natured as Connor cry. You’re truly no fun, no manhood at all.” Everyone sided with Connor; I became the scapegoat. Years of deep feelings had dissolved into a joke. “That’s right, I have a bad temper, and you’ve all been friends with me like this for twenty years.” “But you won’t get that chance anymore.” I grabbed my bag, ready to leave, but Janelle grabbed my arm. “Ethan, take the easy way out, don’t let it come to this.” “After we finish Connor’s welcome party, we can all go back to campus together.” “I don’t care for it—” She and Liam shoved me, forcibly pushing me into their private room. On the table was a three-tiered cake with Connor’s name on it. My gaze fell on the gift bags next to Jenna. At a glance, I recognized a pair of sneakers I had coveted for a long time. Janelle had even promised me she’d buy them for my birthday in June. There were also the over-ear headphones and camera Liam and Jenna had been clamoring to get me. Connor immediately picked up the three gift bags, his face radiating happiness. “I absolutely love all the gifts you guys gave me.” “Ethan, it’s okay, I’m just happy you could make it.” I couldn’t even bother to give him a look of disdain. Jenna, usually quiet, had always been good to me. She pulled me down to sit, saying faintly, “Ethan, know when to quit. The five of us are pretty good too.” I just found it utterly absurd. “What good have I received?” Music started playing, and Connor, surrounded by them, made a wish and blew out the candles. Afterward, he approached me with a canned beer. “Ethan, let’s drink one, let bygones be bygones!” I got up, not wanting to deal with a bunch of crazy people anymore. “No—” Connor, oblivious, came closer with the beer. Its sharp edge painfully grazed my wrist, making my whole body tingle. But his scream was even louder than mine. “Ah, my hand hurts so much!” “Ethan, if you don’t want to talk to me, I can leave, but my hand still needs to draw—” His fingernail was merely broken, it would heal in a few days. My wrist, however, was already bloody and mangled, hurting so much that I lost the ability to think. Janelle’s eyes were dark and stormy; she immediately grabbed Connor’s hand to check his injury. “Don’t be scared, I won’t let you be unable to draw.” Liam and Jenna also angrily rebuked me, displeased. “Ethan, how could you be so heartless? That’s his drawing hand!” “Ethan, as a friend, I’m very disappointed in you!” Connor cried incessantly, leaning into Janelle’s embrace. “Don’t blame him… hiss, it hurts so much…” Janelle, holding him, walked out. As she passed me, her accusing gaze would have startled even a bystander. “Ethan, you went too far. You ruined a perfectly good celebration.” She ignored my continuously bleeding wound, instead defending Connor. My eyes stung, but my voice was incredibly firm: “Janelle, we’re breaking up. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other.” “Liam, Jenna, we are no longer friends either.” Janelle paused, then led Connor away. “Suit yourself.” In the vast private room, I was left alone to bear the immense pain. The candlelight abruptly extinguished, just as our years of ties and affection reset to zero at that moment. I tore off some clothing to bandage my wound, held my breath, and walked out. At the door, I ran squarely into a law student, Anya. Her expression was solemn; she immediately hailed a cab. “Your hand is quite badly hurt, you should go to the hospital.” I didn’t refuse or dither; I got in the car. “Thank you.” She stayed with me throughout the wound treatment. Finally, Anya even dropped me off at my dorm. As she left, she seemed hesitant. “Ethan, a few of us students are planning to visit a law firm during the May Day holiday for an internship. Are you interested in joining us?” I figured I’d be alone anyway. Rather than wallow in sadness in my dorm, licking my wounds alone, I might as well find something to do and prepare for my future career. So I nodded: “Yes, I’ll come along. Thank you for the invitation.” Her steps were light as she left. The long-awaited holiday arrived as planned. However, I received a friend request from Janelle. [Ethan, you’ve been dramatic long enough. Take a cab to the airport now, apologize to Connor in person, and we’ll all happily go on our trip abroad together. You have one hour to get here.] Liam and Jenna sent similar messages, all demanding that I apologize to Connor. They even offered their forgiveness as a form of charity. I scoffed, ignoring them. I focused on visiting the law firm and learning with Anya and the others. At the airport, Janelle, Liam, and Jenna looked expectantly at the security gate. The broadcast announced boarding. Janelle looked grim. “We’re not waiting for Ethan. Maybe he’s regretting it and will buy a ticket to join us tomorrow.” The group of four boarded smoothly. Before turning off her phone, Janelle irritably opened her social media. But in someone else’s video, she saw Ethan with another girl. Watching him intimately embrace another person…

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1 Four years. Four years since my daughter left, and now, finally, new life was within me again. The words Alec uttered just as I was wheeled out of the delivery room plunged me into an icy abyss. He said the heart our little Sasha had desperately waited for, he had given it to Pearl—my best friend Stella’s daughter. I simply couldn’t believe my ears; my blood felt frozen in that moment. Yet, he showed no remorse, instead defending himself by saying Pearl was his biological daughter, inheriting his brilliance, exceptionally gifted in physics since childhood. Unlike Sasha, who struggled with even simple math, as mediocre as me. In his eyes, giving the heart to Pearl was far more valuable than giving it to Sasha. He even proudly pulled out a photo, pointing to the trophy in it, saying Pearl had just won a major competition. He even thought it was an honor for my daughter to save such a “pillar of the nation.” My voice hoarsely asked him why he was only telling me now. He merely casually played with our newborn baby, saying Stella had always felt guilty and insisted he “compensate” me with another child. Now that the baby was born, he felt he no longer owed me anything. And Pearl was growing up, needing her father’s companionship. Finally, he coldly tossed me an ultimatum: either divorce, or pretend none of this ever happened. … That photo was thrown before my eyes. Alec held a spirited Pearl, his other hand entwined with Stella’s. The three of them smiled, a dazzling picture that any onlooker would mistake for a happy family. If my Sasha were still alive, she’d be that old too. Glancing at the date in the bottom right corner, it was fourteen hours ago. At that time, I was in agonizing labor in the delivery room, signing surgical consents alone, while my husband was with his illegitimate daughter at an award ceremony. And worse, the other woman was my best friend, Stella. The tearing pain beneath me. This wasn’t a dream. My eyes bloodshot, tears flowed uncontrollably. “Sasha was only five then. She loved you so much, still calling for ‘Daddy’ before she left… How could you be so cruel?” A flicker of guilt crossed Alec’s eyes, instantly masked by indifference. But she was so annoyingly dull! Anyone would choose a genius like Pearl over her. Seeing his self-righteous demeanor, a bitter taste surged in my throat, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Then why, of all times, did you choose now to tell me the truth?” He knew perfectly well I had just given birth and couldn’t handle any shock. Alec frowned, sighing as if finally relieved. “Eleanor, you don’t understand. Nine years of sneaking around, Stella and I have had enough. I couldn’t wait another moment.” “Pearl is so brilliant, so talented, yet she has to be pointed at and called a fatherless bastard.” As he said this, his eyes suddenly reddened, filled with heartache. I froze instantly, a myriad of emotions churning within me. The day Sasha died, he hadn’t shed a single tear. I had rationalized it, telling myself he simply wasn’t good at showing emotion. All those deliberately ignored red flags now slowly surfaced in my mind. At the supermarket, he bought an eight-hundred-dollar model for Pearl but lectured Sasha on frugality over an eighty-dollar picture book. Eating out, he clearly remembered Pearl’s preferences but forgot what Sasha was allergic to. Even when we went out, Sasha twisted her ankle, but his eyes were only on Pearl, who had merely scraped her knee. Whenever I asked, he always had a logical explanation. “She’s your best friend, and it’s not easy for her with a child. Shouldn’t I look out for her?” Even Stella herself had joked with me more than once. “They say love extends to everything connected to the beloved. Looks like your Alec is truly head over heels for you.” It wasn’t that he was head over heels for me; he had simply fooled me terribly. And I was blind, letting them keep me in the dark, a fool for so many years. My vision went black, and I suddenly vomited a large amount of blood, staining the bedsheets. Alec’s expression changed, and he instinctively reached out. “Slap—” Stella suddenly burst in, slapped Alec, then rushed to embrace me, her face full of fury. “Alec, I step away for a moment, and you’re bullying my Eleanor like this?!” The perfume scent clinging to my nose was the same couple’s scent Alec wore. My heart turned completely cold, and I fiercely pushed her away. For nine years, whenever Alec and I argued, Stella was always the first to step forward and protect me. Every time, he would back down, immediately capitulating to me. And I, like a fool, was immersed in the dual happiness of love and friendship, blind to Alec’s special treatment of her. In her startled gaze, I curled my lips into a sneer. “Stella, stop pretending.” “Having an illegitimate daughter with my husband behind my back, and stealing my child’s heart—doesn’t your conscience bother you?” Stella’s pupils contracted sharply, and she fell to her knees with a sob. “You, you know everything? Eleanor, I’m so sorry… If I could, I truly wish I could dig out my own heart to give to Sasha.” When Sasha first passed, I was overwhelmed with grief; Stella even handled the funeral arrangements entirely. Countless nights, I cried hysterically in her arms, and she, with reddened eyes, said she sympathized with my pain. Now, thinking back, it was truly ironic. I threw a fruit knife in front of her, my eyes bloodshot as I shrieked. “Dig it out! I just fear you could have a thousand hearts, and none could bring back my Sasha!” Stella’s body stiffened, a flicker of resentment swiftly crossing her eyes. At the hospital room door, Pearl cried out in fear. Alec’s face instantly turned dark, his voice sharp and menacing, squeezed through clenched teeth. “Enough! You’ve scared Pearl!” “Eleanor, Stella has always protected you as her best friend. Do you have to force her to her death before you’ll stop? What’s past is past, don’t keep dwelling on it like a madwoman!” He frantically helped Stella up, then turned and gently hugged Pearl tightly, comforting her. But when Sasha was alive, Alec had never shown her a kind face. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I grabbed a teacup and threw it fiercely at them. “Get out! Get out of here with your mistress and your illegitimate daughter!” Hearing this, Pearl cried even harder. Alec was utterly enraged, his voice chilling to the bone. “Eleanor, watch your mouth! Don’t keep calling her a mistress and illegitimate daughter! Pearl was born a month before Sasha. If you really want to calculate it, you were the other woman!” Like a thunderclap out of nowhere, I stared at him, stunned. Something deep inside me suddenly felt mangled and bloody. Alec stared at my bloodshot eyes and spoke expressionlessly. “We had already slept together.” “The day your mother died in that car accident.” My mother had been in that accident delivering documents for Alec. The caller to the emergency services said the truck had rolled straight over my mother; she had been covered in blood at the scene. By the time I arrived, my mother had already taken her last breath. Alec’s message to me had been just two words. “My condolences.” It wasn’t until I had handled everything that Alec and Stella rushed to my side. They explained to me that their team had gone out of town for research and study. Stella was Alec’s deputy, always volunteering to “supervise” Alec’s schedule for me. I had never doubted her words. But the truth was, while I was heartbroken over my mother’s death, the two of them were in bed, fooling around. One, my beloved husband. One, my best friend. I had poured my all into supporting their research dreams, only to enable two deceitful, ungrateful ingrates. I stared at Alec, my voice trembling, persistently wanting an answer. “Why? Alec, I’ve been with you since I was eighteen. How have I wronged you?” Alec froze, lowering his head to avoid my gaze. After a long pause, his tone was stiff. “We were never on the same path. You’re vulgar, stupid, only capable of housework. But I have ambition and talent; only Stella can truly resonate with me.” “Blame your nouveau riche parents for not making you a genius like me.” My stomach churned, and I almost vomited from disgust. Back then, Alec was just a greenhorn who couldn’t even get research funding. He was too arrogant and proud, offending many people, even my parents disliked him. When we got married, we didn’t even have a wedding. I gave up my beloved painting, worked three jobs a day, splitting every penny. At my poorest, I drank eight bottles of white wine and miscarried a child, just to secure him a grant. Later, when Alec achieved success, I retreated behind the scenes, letting him focus on his research. Now, he called me vulgar, stupid, only capable of housework. In that moment, the gentle class president who had brought notes to me, a failing student, when I was eighteen, was completely dead in the past. Tears streamed uncontrollably from my eyes. In the dead silence, I heard my own voice. “Alec, let’s get a divorce.” “You cheated on me, so you leave with nothing. The assets and the child are mine, no problem with that, right?” I lowered my eyes, my voice mechanical and calm. Stella bit her lip, grabbing my hand, pleading. “Eleanor, Alec can’t leave with nothing. Pearl’s masterclass costs two thousand a session, and she used to call you godmother. How can you bear to ruin her future?” Hearing ‘masterclass,’ my body stiffened. Back then, my parents had pulled many strings to secure a spot for Sasha in a masterclass. Alec, after hearing about it, flatly said it would be a waste of good resources for Sasha. Sasha was heartbroken in my arms for a long time, promising to make him proud. But before she could even enroll, she died from her illness. I never imagined Alec would pull a switch, sending Pearl instead. In his eyes, Sasha attending was a waste; Pearl attending was her right. It felt like being cut by a blunt knife, the pain so suffocating. Stella cried, her face streaked with tears, slapping herself repeatedly as she begged for my forgiveness. I looked at her, my vision gradually blurring. In high school, Stella and Alec were desk mates. She knew all my teenage crushes, constantly trying to set us up. The day my confession succeeded, she got drunk and begged me not to forget her once I had a boyfriend. In my first month of work, she spent all her salary to take me on a trip. On the night of my wedding, she cried as she handed over half her savings, calling it my dowry, wishing me happiness. She was the one who loved me. But she was also the one who had a daughter with my husband. The next second, Alec stopped Stella’s movements, his face full of heartache. “Why hit yourself like this?” When he looked at me, those eyes that once held deep affection now only held disgust. “Eleanor, you don’t need to be so hard on Stella. From past to present, she has never done anything to wrong you!” “The Evans family is declining day by day. After your mother’s death, your father’s mental state hasn’t been good. His attending physician is my friend; I can have him sent to a mental hospital with one word.” My heart jolted, and I abruptly looked up. Alec was as calm as if he were discussing what to have for lunch. “Give me the assets. Nurturing a genius requires a lot of money.” “Also, I need to give Pearl a legitimate name. I won’t let her be slandered and abused again. So, now you are the third party attempting to infiltrate our marriage with a bastard child.” His gaze fell on the sleeping baby beside me. I trembled violently, unable to utter a single word, watching Alec protect both Stella and Pearl as they left. Alec looked back at me deeply, his tone unusually softened. “Eleanor, tonight I’ll have someone take you to the press conference.” “Think about your father. You know what to say and what not to say, I’m sure.” That evening, Alec’s people arrived as promised. Leading them was none other than Pearl. She stood elegantly, dressed in a haute couture gown. The amulet on her wrist, however, made my pupils constrict in shock. Four years ago, when Sasha was critically ill, I had bowed and prayed at countless temples, big and small, to obtain that amulet. Alec had scoffed at my superstition, calling it primitive, yet he had secretly taken it and given it to Pearl. Pearl shed her innocent facade, revealing her mischievous true nature. “Sorry, Godmother, Daddy and Mommy are busy, so I’ve come to get you.” Before I could react, several bodyguards forcibly seized me and shoved me into a car. But my baby and Pearl were still in the hospital room! I was frantic, struggling with all my might to break free and rush back to the room. At the end of the corridor, Pearl held my motionless baby, grinning at me with a sinister smile. I screamed in despair, pushing her away and snatching my baby back. My baby’s face was ashen, breathing faintly. I cried hysterically, begging the doctors to save him like a madwoman. But everyone avoided me. This was all at Alec’s instruction. The baby in my arms gradually grew cold. The immense grief caused my freshly-sutured post-delivery incision to rip open. Blood gushed onto the floor. I frantically squeezed Pearl’s neck, my eyes bloodshot, shrieking. “Why?! Why did you kill my child?! Pearl, I was so good to you! How could you be so vicious!” The next second, a powerful, wind-whipped slap landed heavily on my face. Alec, furious, shielded Pearl behind him. Behind him, reporters’ long lenses and flashes aggressively flickered at me. “Eleanor, you’re insane! Pearl is just a child! You killed your own child and now you want to frame Pearl and take it out on her?!” Stella, kneeling before me, was in tears. “Eleanor, we’re best friends! I don’t know how I offended you, that you would treat Pearl like this. Pearl has always looked up to you as her most respected person!” The reporters swarmed, verbally assaulting me. “Eleanor, not only did you interfere in your best friend’s marriage, but you also assaulted a child. Do you know that what you’re doing is illegal?” “Who knows which random guy you got pregnant with, and you dare to slander Professor Davies? You evil woman, how dare you lay hands on an innocent child!” I was exhausted from the pain, my neck stiff as I stubbornly argued. “My child isn’t a bastard! He’s Alec Davies’s child! Stella is the mistress who broke us apart!” “If you don’t believe me, we can do a paternity test!” Alec’s eyes were dark and somber. Moments later, he pulled out a paternity test report. But it showed that the baby had no blood relation to him. “He’s not my child at all. Are you going to keep harassing us with a bastard child? Stella, out of consideration for your friendship, has been endlessly tolerant of you, but it turns out she welcomed a wolf into her home!” The moment his words fell, he pulled out his marriage certificate with Stella and violently threw it in my face. “Everyone saw it, Stella is my legal wife! Pearl is my only daughter!” Alec picked up the injured Pearl, and before leaving, didn’t forget to warn me. “If anything happens to Pearl, I will never let you off the hook.” He left me alone, facing the swarm of reporters and their abusive curses. I desperately hugged my baby’s cold body, struggling to hide in the stairwell corner. Seeing the purplish marks on my baby’s neck, my heart felt as if it had been torn to shreds, the pain so suffocating. Just then, I suddenly received a phone call. “Ms. Evans, your father, Mr. Robert Evans, has committed suicide by jumping from a building due to severe mental distress. Please accept our condolences.” My phone instantly crashed to the floor. It turned out that everything that just happened had been live-streamed. I failed to protect my child and caused my kind father to die so humiliatingly. Watching the reporters about to break through the door, I slowly rose, step by step, climbing to the highest floor. Outside the clinic, Alec had a vague, uneasy premonition. Pearl, like him, had a hereditary heart condition. Her body hadn’t been well since the heart transplant. He and Stella had protected her like delicate porcelain. But Eleanor dared to frame and bully her like that! Stella cried, falling into Alec’s arms, saying Pearl’s condition was bad and she needed a blood transfusion. She secretly curled her lips, urgently tugging at his collar. “Eleanor has O-negative blood, she can do it!” But Alec suddenly remembered the puddles of blood beneath Eleanor… In her physical state, if she were to donate blood, she would surely die. As he hesitated, a figure rapidly fell from the window, like a butterfly. Alec’s eyes met hers, his pupils suddenly constricted, and he rushed to the window.

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When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in my first year of grad school. Before me, Eddie was standing in the stairwell, his eyes red-rimmed, clutching the overdue tuition notice that made him so distraught. He was crouched in the corner of the landing, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, the notice crumpled and smoothed out repeatedly in his hand. I stood before him, two hundred dollars in cash fresh from the bank in my pocket, as memories from my previous life flooded back. Back then, I’d shoved the money into his hand without a second thought. But he later stole my experimental data, published a paper identical to my own research with himself as the primary author, and even married my advisor. When I confronted him, he, holding my advisor’s hand, claimed I was suffering from paranoid delusions. That’s how I ended up dragged into a psychiatric hospital, injected with tranquilizers for three years, and eventually died in a hospital bed. The white ceiling, the myriad needle marks on my arm, and the internal numbness when the tranquilizers were administered still send shivers down my spine. Eddie looked up at me, tears clinging to his face, his lips trembling slightly: “Ethan, I really don’t have any money left. My dad’s sick, and my family truly can’t afford this…” “If I can’t pay my tuition, I’ll have to drop out,” he added, his voice choked. I squatted down, pulled fifty dollars from my pocket, and placed it on his knee. Eddie clearly froze for a moment, looking at me with disbelief. “Take this for now,” I said. “I’ll ask the department about the remaining shortfall. There should be work-study positions available; you can apply for one. That way, you won’t have to pay me back so much all at once.” Eddie looked down at the fifty dollars, unmoving for a long time. After a while, he quietly asked, “Is that… all?” 1 Fifty dollars is a good amount. I only make a hundred and fifty from tutoring each month. I rummaged through my backpack for a piece of paper and handed him a pen. “Write a loan agreement. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just a habit.” Eddie took the pen, his fingers hesitating. He smiled, a smile I knew all too well – lips curved upward, eyes devoid of warmth. “Alright, that’s fair.” He finished writing and handed me the note. I folded it neatly and tucked it into a hidden compartment inside my backpack. On the way back to the dorm, Eddie followed behind me, his voice still tearful. “Ethan, thank you, really. I’ll remember your kindness for the rest of my life.” I hummed, not responding. You said the same thing last time. Then you sent me to a mental institution. I didn’t sleep that night. Once Eddie’s breathing became even, I got up, opened my laptop, and exported all the experimental data from my hard drive. One copy to Google Drive. One copy to Dropbox. One encrypted and compressed, sent to my personal email. After sending that, I sent another to a different email address, titled “Grad School Experiment Progress Backup – Oct 17.” Three locations, three different passwords. I stared at the “sent successfully” notification on the screen, then closed my laptop. The hallway light was broken, flickering erratically. Eddie turned over, mumbled something, and fell back asleep. The next day at the lab meeting, Professor Thorne called on everyone to report their progress. Professor Thorne was forty-one, unmarried, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and exuded a gentle, intellectual aura. In my previous life, I thought she was a good advisor. Now I knew she was a fool easily sweet-talked by a pretty boy. When it was Eddie’s turn to report, he stood up, his voice soft, stumbled over a couple of sentences, and then his eyes reddened. “I’m sorry, Professor, something came up with my family recently, and my progress has been slow…” Professor Thorne pushed up her glasses, her tone gentle. “It’s alright. If you have difficulties, tell me. Don’t carry it alone.” Eddie nodded, secretly wiping away tears as he sat down. Several senior students in the lab looked at him, their eyes full of sympathy. Then it was my turn. I turned my presentation to the third slide and began to present the data I had run that week. Professor Thorne interrupted me halfway through. “What is the basis for setting this variable? Which paper did you reference?” “Dr. Peterson’s 2019 paper, and the one from the MIT group last year—” “Are you sure? I recall the conclusion of that article was inconsistent with your direction.” I recited the literature ID, and Professor Thorne scrolled through her computer, then said nothing. “…Alright, keep running your experiments.” After the meeting, Eddie approached, quietly saying, “Ethan, that experimental design you just presented was pretty good. Could you send me the PPT? I’d like to study it.” I unplugged my USB drive and slipped it into my pants pocket. “I’ll send it to you after I organize it.” I didn’t send it. A week later, he asked again. I said I forgot. He didn’t ask a third time. But that night in the dorm, he lay on the top bunk and suddenly said, “Ethan, do you have a problem with me lately?” “No, why?” “It’s just… I feel like you’re not quite the same as before.” I pulled my blanket up to my chin. “Maybe I’ve just been too busy with experiments lately. Don’t overthink it.” A few seconds of silence. “Oh, alright then. Goodnight.” “Goodnight.” I closed my eyes, hearing him toss and turn in the bunk above. Different? Of course, different. The Ethan from my past life was dead, dead on the 1087th day in the mental institution. This Ethan, he was a different beast entirely. Days passed quickly. I was immersed in the lab daily, backing up my data as soon as it came out. Every week, I sent myself an email, logging the week’s experimental progress. My lab notebook was never out of my sight; I even carried it in my backpack to the cafeteria. Eddie began to get close to the other people in the lab. He would bring coffee, one for each person, but never for me. It wasn’t that he forgot—he would count heads right in front of me. “One, two, three… enough.” Then he’d turn and walk away. Liam, a senior lab member, brought me a coffee and whispered, “Ethan, did you and Eddie have a falling out?” “No.” “Then why is he—” “Maybe he forgot.” Liam looked at me, said no more. In mid-November, I was washing my hands in the restroom when I heard someone talking in the adjacent stall. It was Eddie’s voice. “…Ethan is just like that, extremely suspicious. He locks everything up, carries his lab notebook everywhere. I mean, what normal person does that?” Another voice, a junior lab member named Dave, responded, “Huh? Really? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?” “I live in the same dorm as him, why would I lie? Last time, he wouldn’t even show me his PPT, and I just asked once, and he gave me that attitude.” “That’s a bit extreme…” “Sigh, I don’t want to badmouth him, but I just feel that, in academia, it’s good for everyone to communicate. For him to act like he’s guarding against thieves, it’s pretty hurtful.” The sound of running water from the faucet masked my footsteps. I turned off the water, dried my hands, and pushed the door open. Dave was just coming out of the stall; seeing me, his face flushed. “Et-Ethan…” “The paper in the restroom is finished. You should tell Facilities.” I walked away. From then on, the atmosphere in the lab changed. When I spoke at group meetings, no one responded. At noon, when everyone went to the cafeteria together, they didn’t call me. Once, I walked past the pantry, and a few people were chatting. When they saw me come in, the conversation suddenly stopped. Dave walked out with his cup, whispering to another junior student, “See, he’s got his notebook with him. Carries it everywhere. Isn’t that a bit much?” I filled my water bottle and walked away. In early December, Professor Thorne called me in for a private talk. When the office door closed, she sat behind her desk, fingers intertwined on the table. “Ethan, some students have expressed that your teamwork spirit in the lab isn’t very good lately.” “What exactly do you mean?” “For example, data sharing, literature discussion—you don’t seem to participate much.” “My data is in a critical phase. I can share it with everyone after the paper is published.” Professor Thorne pushed up her glasses. “To do academia, you need an open mind. Working in isolation won’t lead to good results.” “Professor Thorne, you’ve seen my project’s progress; the data trend is very good right now—” “I know,” she interrupted. “But good project progress doesn’t mean you’re faultless as a person. The lab is a team, do you understand?” I gripped the lab notebook on my lap, saying nothing. “Alright, you can go back. Think carefully.” I stood up and walked to the door. Outside, Eddie was walking towards the office with a cup of coffee. He saw me coming out of the office, froze for a moment, then smiled at me. “Ethan, did the professor call you in?” I ignored him and left. Behind me, I heard Eddie knocking on the door. “Professor Thorne, I bought you an Americano. I saw your office light was still on and figured you must be working late again.” Professor Thorne’s voice leaked through the door crack, ten times softer than when she’d spoken to me. “You’re too kind, dear. Come in and sit.” I quickened my pace. Back in the dorm, I sat at my desk and opened my laptop. My inbox held thirty-two backup emails, each with a clear timestamp. I opened the most recent one; the attachment contained the data I had run last week. Three control experiments, perfect results. This project would be finalized in another six months. In my previous life, when the results were published, the primary author was Eddie. Not this time. I closed my inbox and opened a new document. Title: Eddie’s Loan Record and Repayment Status. He hadn’t paid back a single penny to this day. I saved the document, synchronized it to three cloud drives. Then I turned off the light and lay in bed. Eddie’s voice came from the top bunk. “Ethan.” “Yeah.” “What do you think of Professor Thorne?” “What do you mean, ‘what do I think’?” “Like… do you think she’s easy to get along with?” “She’s an advisor. What does being easy to get along with have to do with anything?” Eddie chuckled. “True. Goodnight.” I didn’t say goodnight. Staring at the ceiling, I counted to three hundred until Eddie’s breathing evened out. I turned over, tucking my lab notebook under my pillow. After spring arrived, Eddie’s attentiveness to Professor Thorne visibly escalated. Mondays, he’d help her organize her desk. Wednesdays, he’d pick up her packages. Fridays, he’d deliver documents to the administrative building for her. On weekends—he started going to Professor Thorne’s house to “help clean.” Everyone in the lab saw it, but no one said anything. Only Liam once said to me in the pantry, “Eddie seems a bit… much lately?” I shook my head. “It’s got nothing to do with me.” “But he—” “Liam, just focus on your own project.” Liam looked at me for a few seconds, sighed, and left. In late March, I submitted my experimental funding application. I waited two weeks, no news. Waited another two weeks, still no news. I went to ask Professor Thorne. “Professor Thorne, my funding application was submitted almost a month ago—” “I’m still considering the direction of your project, no rush.” “But the experimental reagents will soon be—” “I said, no rush.” She didn’t even look up. When I walked out of the office, I happened to see Eddie’s funding approval form pinned to the notice board. Submission date: March twenty-eighth. Approval date: March thirty-first. Three days. My application had been sitting in her drawer for a month; Eddie’s was approved in three days. I stood in front of the notice board, staring at that form for a long time. A junior student walked past, muttering, “Senior Ethan, you’re still looking at that? Eddie’s project direction is indeed very promising.” I turned and left. In April, my funding finally came through. It was one-third less than what I requested. I didn’t argue with Professor Thorne, just paid the remaining two hundred dollars myself to cover the shortfall. The experiment couldn’t stop. In May, my core data started showing results. All three experiments ran perfectly, yielding surprisingly beautiful data. I immediately synchronized it to three cloud drives, and sent myself two emails. One with an attachment, one only with the experimental results and date. Then I opened my lab notebook and neatly copied all the data. After writing, I hesitated. I flipped to the last few pages and, using a pencil, copied a new set of data. This data was almost identical to the original, with just one difference—the p-value for the third control experiment, I changed 0.003 to 0.03. A difference of an order of magnitude. This error wasn’t obvious; it was barely noticeable without careful inspection. But anyone who had done research in this field knew that a p-value of 0.03 meant the results weren’t significant enough, and the conclusion wouldn’t hold. I placed these pages in the latter half of the notebook, inserting a sticky note labeled “To be verified.” Then I closed the notebook and left it on the table. Before, I carried it everywhere. Today, I left it on my lab desk. Before heading to the cafeteria, I adjusted the angle of the desk lamp. A strand of hair was pressed beneath the lamp base. My hair. After dinner, I returned. The lamp’s angle was off by two centimeters. The strand of hair was gone. The position of the lab notebook hadn’t changed, but the sticky note inside had shifted a page. I sat down, said nothing, and opened my laptop to start writing my paper. Late that night, as I left the lab, I passed the surveillance room. The security guard at the door was looking at his phone. “Excuse me, sir, I think I left my campus ID in the lab building last time. Could you check if anyone found it tonight?” “Which floor?” “Third floor.” “Let me check the footage for you.” He opened the surveillance playback. 18:32, I left the lab for the cafeteria. 18:41, Eddie pushed open the lab door and walked in. He stood at my desk, looked left and right, then opened my lab notebook. He flipped to the latter half—the pages where I’d placed the bait data. He pulled out his phone and took photos, page by page. He took four photos, closed the notebook, and put it back in its original place. Then he left. The entire process took less than three minutes. The security guard looked up at me. “Did you find your campus ID?” “Oh, no, maybe it’s not on this floor. Thanks, sir.” “No problem.” I walked out of the surveillance room and stood in the stairwell for a while. The corridor light was sound-activated; if I didn’t move, it wouldn’t light up. In the darkness, I put my hands in my pockets. Alright, Eddie. The fish has taken the bait.

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Sorting through my husband’s suit pockets, two identical receipts for designer cologne slipped out. It was from the bespoke brand I frequented, and for a moment, I thought it was a surprise he’d planned for me. Then his new assistant walked past, and the sharp scent of fir instantly jolted my memory. “Mr. Brown actually gifted you such an expensive cologne?” I asked, feigning casualness, watching her blush and deny buying it herself. But on her earlobe dangled a pearl stud identical to mine, and the silver bracelet on her wrist was an exact match. Even the trench coat she wore was a limited edition I’d just bought last month. My gaze drifted to the floor under her desk, where a men’s underwear package was half-hidden. I smiled, patting her shoulder with a light, admiring tone. “Your taste is really something.” “You even know my husband’s favorite brand of underwear?” I lowered my voice on the last part, making it a whisper. 1 Elara’s face went white. She instinctively kicked the paper bag further under her desk. I smoothed my cuff, then took out the receipt I’d kept in my bag and gently laid it on her workstation. “Two identical receipts. One is mine. Where’s the other one?” Her lips trembled. She started to speak, then swallowed the words. The office door swung open. Aidan Brown walked in, carrying the crisp chill of the outside. He glanced at me, his eyes softening almost imperceptibly, a familiar gesture. But when his gaze shifted to Elara, it held a flicker of apprehension. Elara’s tears came quickly, perfectly timed. Her voice wavered as she curtsied to Aidan. “Mr. Brown, Professor Grey might be mistaken. I honestly didn’t know I was using the same cologne as her.” With one sentence, she absolved herself completely, and in the same breath, painted me as irrational. I looked at Aidan, waiting for his response. He stepped past me, slamming a file onto the desk. “Molly, stop this. She’s just a kid fresh out of college. Why are you making a fuss over her?” My head buzzed. For five years, he had never once publicly embarrassed me. Today, for an assistant, he told me to “stop making a fuss.” I stared into his eyes for three seconds. I knew those eyes so well. They had sparkled goofily on our first date, turned red as a rabbit’s on our wedding day. Now, they were empty, a blank slate. I placed the receipt in front of him. “Two identical colognes. One is on my vanity, one is on her. Explain.” Aidan didn’t even spare it a glance. “The company is testing client scent sensitivity. I had her buy it as a sample. What are you imagining?” He took a step forward, his hand moving to my waist out of habit. I shifted half a step to the side. His hand met empty air. From an angle he couldn’t see, Elara raised her hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The pearl stud was revealed. It was a design I had drawn myself, custom-made. There was only one pair in the world. She wore an identical one. She looked at me, a faint, fleeting curve to her lips. Then it was gone. My stomach churned. Not because of her, but because I remembered. That winter, during my junior year of college, it was ten degrees below freezing. Aidan had stood in the snow for three hours to find a fresh fir branch for my bookmark. His lips were purple with cold, but he smiled as he handed it to me. “My Molly, you deserve the purest scent.” Now that scent clung to a human copy machine, complete with matching earrings, bracelet, and trench coat. I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked to the door. Aidan called out my name. “Molly.” I stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Aidan, you always touch your watch with your left hand when you lie. Your tells, you can’t get rid of them.” Behind me, the silence was deafening. As I stepped into the elevator, the metal doors slowly closed. In that final shrinking sliver of a gap, I saw Aidan grab Elara by the back of her neck. There was no tenderness, no affection. Only a brutal, almost crushing malice. And Elara didn’t struggle; she instinctively shielded her head and face, as if accustomed to it. Was he feeling guilty? But what about the cologne, the receipts? The elevator doors shut. I stood inside alone, my mind a swirling mess. Back home, I knelt in the entryway to change my shoes. On the bottom shelf of the shoe rack, a pair of silk slippers, pale pink, size 6, caught my eye. I wore a size 8. I stared at them for a long time, until my knees ached, then stood up. I picked them up and examined the soles—faintly worn. They’d been used. Aidan returned late that night, reeking of alcohol. He was a different man from the daytime. He wrapped his arms tightly around my waist from behind, burying his face in my neck. “Molly, never look at me like that again.” When he kissed me, I smelled alcohol mixed with the cloying sweetness of hand lotion. My stomach convulsed violently. I shoved him away and rushed to the bathroom, dry-heaving over the toilet. Nothing came up but bitter bile. A loud crash echoed from outside the door. He’d kicked and shattered the floor vase in the hallway. Shards of porcelain cut his ankle, blood flowing onto the floor. He stood in the bathroom doorway, his eyes shifting from adoration to a kind of savage fury I’d never seen. But he didn’t come in. He just stared at my back for half a minute, then turned and walked away. The next day, after teaching my university class, I went to the underground parking garage to get my car. Aidan’s Mercedes was in my parking spot, the driver’s door open. Stepping out was Elara, wearing a camel knit sweater identical to mine. She showed no panic at seeing me. She pulled a car key from her bag, her voice soft and timid. “Professor Grey, Mr. Brown said you don’t like driving this car and it was a shame for it to collect dust, so he lent it to me.” My car, my cologne, my earrings, my clothes. Was he going to move my husband out next? I said nothing, walked to the passenger side, and took out my key. From the front of the car to the back, I scratched a deep, white line. Elara’s face turned ashen. “Professor Grey…” “I don’t care about my trash. It shouldn’t bother you if it’s scratched, right?” The facade on her face cracked, a glint of malice flashing in her eyes. Her phone rang. She answered, instantly switching to a tearful voice. “Mr. Brown, Professor Grey seems very upset…” The call was on speaker. Aidan’s voice came through, utterly devoid of warmth. “Let her smash the car if she wants. What right do you have to upset her? Get back to the office.” I listened, feeling no triumph. Because I remembered a time, years ago, when I’d accidentally scraped this car, too scared to say anything. Aidan had flown back overnight from out of town. His eyes were bloodshot as he held me, checking me from head to toe. “Are you okay?” That kind of favoritism was pure. What was it now? A scoff came from my left. Dr. Ashton Hayes leaned against a pillar nearby, twirling his car keys, having watched the entire scene unfold. He walked over, handing me a wet wipe. “Wipe your hands.” I took it, cleaning the car paint residue from my fingers. “Dr. Hayes, you’re unusually quiet today.” “Because you wouldn’t like what I have to say.” He pulled out his phone, showing me a screenshot. A bank transfer record. Aidan had discreetly deposited three million dollars into Elara’s family account in multiple transfers. My hand holding the phone was steady. My heart rate was calm. Only the numbers on the screen blurred for a moment. Ashton offered no comfort. “Does this hurt already? Molly Grey, your supposedly brilliant mind is completely useless when it comes to judging men.” That evening, I returned home with the transfer record. Aidan had just gotten out of the shower, his hand, wiping his hair with a towel, paused. Then he tossed the towel onto the sofa. “What did you dig up now?” I turned the phone screen towards him. “Three million. Elara.” He didn’t even lift an eyelid. “Business operation. Some accounts can’t go through the company’s official channels. She’s just a proxy. Is it interesting to investigate so thoroughly?” “A proxy?” I laughed. “What kind of proxy needs to wear my clothes, use my cologne, mimic my hairstyle?” “Aidan, do you think I’m so dumb from studying that I can’t see through your pathetic little ‘training’ game?” His expression changed. He lunged, closing the distance between us, and gripped my jaw with one hand. The bloodshot veins in his eyes were terrifyingly dense. “Do you think I want to see her wear your things?” “Molly, don’t push me. Don’t look into this anymore.” I pried his fingers off, leaving a red mark on my jaw. “When you choked me, and when you choked the back of her neck, was it the same hand?” His hand froze in mid-air, unable to retreat for a long moment. Three days later. Our fifth wedding anniversary. I booked a table at the French restaurant where we first met, and wore the white dress he loved. I was seated at eight, and waited until midnight. The waiter refilled my water five times, his expression shifting from eager to sympathetic. He never called. On the way home, my stomach problem flared up. The pain was so intense I couldn’t straighten up. I hailed a cab and went to the nearest emergency room. Pushing the IV pole, I shuffled to the end of the corridor, where the VIP room door was ajar. The blinds weren’t fully closed. Aidan stood by the bed, Elara propped against the headboard, her face pale. His back was to me, and he was spoon-feeding her hot soup, blowing on each spoonful to cool it before bringing it to her lips. “Eat. If you don’t, I’ll force it down.” Elara seemed terrified of displeasing him, swallowing the scalding soup with effort. What truly broke me was Elara’s hair. She’d just had it cut, the length and curve an exact match to mine. By the pillow on the bed lay a rare poetry collection by Neruda. I’d taught from it in class last week; it was a version sold by only one online retailer. Through the crack in the blinds, she saw me. She didn’t hide. Instead, she grabbed Aidan’s sleeve, her voice dripping with sickly sweetness. “Aidan, Professor Grey has a sensitive stomach. If you stay with me tonight, will she be upset?” Aidan’s back stiffened for a second. He put down the soup bowl, his voice cold and irritable. “Don’t mention her. She’s too aloof. She’d rather suffer in silence than make a fuss, unlike you who knows how to charm.” Too aloof. She’d rather suffer in silence. He knew I was in pain. He just thought my pain didn’t require his attention. Because I was the one who wouldn’t trouble him. My stomach spasmed violently, cold sweat trickling down my forehead. I slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor. Only then did I notice the white dress was stained by the wheels of the IV pole. His favorite white dress, the one I’d worn specially for our anniversary. I couldn’t smile. Suddenly, a pair of hands scooped me up from the ground. Ashton, on his night shift, carried me in his arms and rushed towards the emergency room. As we passed the VIP room. He gritted his teeth, uttering only two words. “Bastard.” There was a commotion in the room, and Aidan snapped his head around. But Elara was quicker. She ripped the IV needle from the back of her hand, blood splattering the sheets, and wrapped her legs around his, sobbing hysterically. “Aidan, don’t go! What will I do if you leave?” His feet froze. He looked across the hallway at me, his eyes filled with a struggle, and pain. But he didn’t take that step. The emergency room door closed. I thought I heard him call my name, but it might have been a hallucination. It didn’t matter anymore. When I woke up. Zero missed calls, zero messages on my phone. Ashton pushed the door open. He held a few photocopied sheets. “Molly Grey, your husband is seriously ill.” He pulled a chair to my bedside and sat down. I leaned against the headboard, silent. He placed the photocopies on the table. “I had a contact look at Elara’s scans.” “Cracked ribs and old fractures. These are all signs of being beaten.” “Last night, by the emergency room door, her instinctive reaction to flinch and pull back her neck. Only someone who has been repeatedly hit develops that kind of muscle memory.” My mind reeled. “He doesn’t love Elara?” “Love? No way. He just uses her as an outlet. This is paranoid control, a twisted psychology with object transference.” “He feared his inherent brutality would destroy you, so he found a substitute. He vents his twisted desires on someone else, then cleans himself up to come back to you.” I stared at the scans, a chill creeping up my spine. “But he not only gave her money, he bought her so much jewelry.” “Even a dog needs to be fed, Molly. For five years, you were pampered and never wronged, all because someone else took the hits for you.” “Are you really going to keep accepting this kind of love, stained with someone else’s blood?” I looked at the words on the report, a wave of nausea washing over me. Three days later, Aidan arrived. He was taking me to a business dinner. Impeccably suited, he put his arm around my waist. Less than half an hour later, Elara appeared, as the companion of a business partner. When she smiled, she tilted her head slightly, lightly touching her earlobe with her right hand. My habitual gesture, perfectly mimicked. The wives around us started whispering. “Did you see that?” “That young lady isn’t an exact replica of Mrs. Brown, but she’s at least seventy percent similar.” “Mr. Brown must adore his wife, even his mistress is cut from the same cloth.” My hand, holding the wine glass, trembled slightly. That feeling of being stripped bare in public was a thousand times more disgusting than being betrayed. A tipsy businessman stumbled over, his hand reaching for Elara’s waist. Aidan’s face changed in a split second. He kicked over a chair, grabbed a bottle of red wine, and smashed it on the table. Glass shards flew everywhere. A piece of shrapnel flew up and grazed my cheek, blood trickling down my chin. Aidan didn’t look at me. His eyes were entirely on Elara, who was cowering behind him, trembling. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice was filled with frantic concern. I stood in the center of the mess, blood on my face, being gawked at by everyone. Elara, buried in his chest, looked over his shoulder at me. She smiled, a fleeting, almost imperceptible curve of the lips. Molly Grey, university lecturer, the biggest joke at this dinner party. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and slowly wiped the blood from my face. Then I picked up a glass of ice water from the table and walked towards them. Aidan finally snapped back to reality. His gaze fell on my face, his pupils constricting. “Molly, your face…” He panicked, reaching out to touch me. I swung my arm, splashing the entire glass of ice water in his face. Droplets ran down his brow and nose. The whole room fell silent. I heard my own voice, chillingly calm. “Aidan, you utterly disgust me.” “Tomorrow morning at ten, meet me at the courthouse for the divorce. Don’t be late.”

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