Under the ancient covenant, sisters of the Crescent Clan must be mated on the same full moon. Our veils stay on until we cross into our new Alpha’s land. For three years, I’ve waited for Kain. My body was wasting away from the silver blight. Today, his ceremonial convoy finally arrived. I was about to step outside, my heart pounding with hope. Then I heard his voice through the thin wooden wall. He was giving orders to his Beta. “Take Sara to my car first. She’s too delicate for the Shadow Mountains. That place would kill her before the first frost.” His Beta sounded troubled. “But Alpha… Lady Lyra was poisoned saving your life. To swap mates now breaks the sacred covenant. The Elders will demand a reckoning.” “I’ve already paid off the ceremony priestess. And I’ll handle my mother.” His voice was cold, decisive. “I am the strongest warrior in our clan. They won’t cast me out over this… inconvenience. Lyra can go to the Shadow Mountains. I have ways to get her medicine, to keep her alive. But Sara? She wouldn’t last a day. Lyra will have to take the hit.” Behind the wall, I swallowed back a wave of nausea. Thick, dark blood dripped from my lips. He knew exactly how sick I was. But in his clever little calculation, I was the one who could be sacrificed. I didn’t scream or cry. I just calmly stepped back into my stone house. They probably expected me to find out and go insane. To tear apart the entire convoy in a fit of rage. Instead, I just let my attendants guide me. I stepped into the black off-road vehicle heading for the Shadow Mountains. Ready to become the mate of a monstrous, brutal Alpha. “Lyra, don’t make a scene. Sara wouldn’t survive a single day in the Shadow Mountains. You go, and I’ll have medicine smuggled to you. In a few days, I’ll find an excuse and bring you back.” Kain’s voice came through the window, crystal clear. He was on his strong war wolf, riding right beside us. His tone was gentle, filled with that usual, arrogant certainty. He spoke as if I wasn’t his mate of three years, the one being shipped off to a monster. I sat perfectly still inside the transport. My hands were folded neatly in my lap. No tears. No shouting. I didn’t even open the window to confront him. There was a moment of silence outside. Kain was pleased with my silence. His voice softened even more. “I know you feel wronged. But Sara is so timid. She was crying the whole time she got into the car. That moonstone charm my mother left for you? I gave it to Sara to calm her down. Her body is always so cold. She needs it more than you do. You’ve always been the understanding one. You wouldn’t hold this against your sister, would you?” My fingers, resting on my knees, went rigid.

That moonstone charm was the last piece of my mother I had. It was the only thing that could keep the silver poison from taking over. I remember a blood moon night, three years ago. I dropped the charm into a frozen lake. Kain dove into the piercing water without a second thought. He searched for three hours, his lips turning purple from the cold. When he finally climbed out, he pressed the charm back into my hand. “What’s yours, Lyra, I would die to protect.” Back then, he only loved me. But now, with a single, casual sentence, he gave it all away. The one thing I cherished was gone. The metallic taste of blood rose in my throat again. I pulled a handkerchief from my sleeve, covering my mouth to stifle a cough. Blood blossomed across the silk. It looked just like the blood I’d shed for him. The day I took a silver-poisoned bolt meant for his heart. “Are you coughing?” Kain asked from outside. “Is it too drafty inside? You were always one of our strongest fighters, Lyra. Don’t start acting fragile just because you’re sick. The Shadow Mountains are a different world. You’ll need to curb that temper of yours. Don’t provoke Draven.” He still mistook my quiet pain for defiance. I folded the blood-stained fabric and hid it away. “Alpha Kain,” my voice was perfectly calm. “It’s getting late. You shouldn’t miss the ceremony.” A sigh of relief escaped him, loud enough for me to hear. “I knew you’d do the sensible thing. Wait for me, Lyra.” The scrape of wolf claws on stone faded into the distance. He went to meet his precious new bride. And I was on my way to the Shadow Mountains.

The car jolted over the rugged mountain pass. With every bump, the silver poison burned through my veins. I closed my eyes, curling deeper into my ceremonial gown. I didn’t know how much time passed before we lurched to a halt. Outside, there were no celebratory howls. No cheering clan. Just a chilling silence. The door was wrenched open. Icy mountain wind blasted in, and a violent shiver wracked my body. A large, calloused hand appeared before me. “My Luna, watch your step.” His voice was deep, not savage like the rumors claimed. It was calming. Without hesitating, I placed my ice-cold hand in his. The man tensed the moment our skin touched. But he didn’t pull away. His grip tightened, enveloping my hand completely. Heat poured from his palm, carrying the steady force of an Alpha. He led me past a raging bonfire and up a long flight of stone steps. The warmth only retreated when he settled me onto a bed of soft furs. My veil was lifted with the tip of an obsidian staff. I looked up into eyes as deep and dark as a frozen lake. Draven. The Alpha of the Shadow Mountains. He was dressed in black ceremonial leathers. His gaze was fixed on my deathly pale face. Then, from his sleeve, he produced a clean linen cloth. “Wipe the blood from your mouth.”

I blinked, taken aback. I took the clean linen cloth from his hand and gently wiped my lips. More blood. Draven took a half-step back, giving me a comfortable space. “No one here ever thought to set up proper heat for a Luna. I had the fires in the main den stoked for you. Just hold on.” He didn’t ask why I was here. He didn’t question the bride swap. I lowered my eyes and said softly, “Thank you, Alpha.” The silver poison flared, a thousand icy needles digging into my bones. I clenched my jaw, refusing to make a sound. A habit I learned over three long years. Because Kain once told me he hated hearing women cry out in pain. Three years ago, I blocked that silver poison arrow for him. The poison nearly destroyed my wolf core. A blizzard had sealed the mountains that night. He carried me through the deep snow, desperate to find a healer. My blood stained his back red. Tears streamed down his face as he made a vow. “Lyra, I swear I’ll never let you suffer again.” But then, Sara returned to the clan. She merely twisted her ankle in the garden, letting out a soft whimper. Kain abandoned me while I was writhing in agony and sprinted to her side. He scooped her into his arms. “Sara is so fragile. How could you leave her alone out here?” That was the first time he ever blamed me. After that, I learned to suffer in silence. “Alpha.” A voice came from the door. “The Crescent Clan sent something for the Luna.” Draven glanced at me. “Bring it in.” It was Finn, one of Kain’s most trusted enforcers. He stood with his head bowed, holding out a rough wooden box. “Luna, our Alpha sent this for you. He’s sorry for tonight’s hardships. Alpha went to three markets to find this frostbite salve for you. He knows the Shadow Mountains are harsh. This should help you endure.” I just stared at that wooden box. And I almost laughed.

I recognized that frostbite salve. Kain had bought it for Sara a few days ago. She’d complained about the harsh smell and tossed it on a table. Kain soothingly coaxed her. “My mistake. Tomorrow, I’ll get you the Elven jade cream instead.” And now, Sara’s trash was his “merciful gift” to me. He actually thought I’d be grateful. He thought I’d still swallow any poison for a drop of his sweetness. “Just leave it there.” But Finn didn’t move. His eyes darted toward me. “Our Alpha also wanted to know…” “Know what?” “He asked why you aren’t wearing the moon-laurel crown he sent. He said he designed it himself, and he was sure you would love it.” I closed my eyes, hiding the bitter irony. That crown was loaded with tacky, colored crystals. It wasn’t my style at all. It was what Sara wanted. She’d casually remarked. “Something that flashy would suit your sister.” He took her words as gospel and forced it on me. “Go back and tell your Alpha,” I said, my eyes snapping open. “I threw it away on the road here.” Finn’s head shot up, his face a mask of disbelief. “Threw… threw it away?” “Off a cliff. I enjoyed the sound it made.” Finn scrambled out of the room like he’d seen a ghost. Silence fell once more. Draven was just watching me. “You didn’t actually throw it away.” I stiffened but didn’t deny it. “So why lie to him?” “Because I don’t want to owe him anything. That crown, and everything else he ever gave me… I had it all sent back to the Crescent Clan’s storerooms.” Draven didn’t press further. He tossed a heavy, black wolf-pelt cloak over my shoulders. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, you return to your clan for the homecoming rites.”

The fire burned warmly, and for once, I slept soundly. No rustling in the night as Kain rushed off to soothe Sara’s nightmares. No maids whispering that Sara’s heart was aching again. The silence of the Shadow Mountains felt peaceful. After washing up, I sat at the table, sipping a warm soup. Draven had sent a healing herbal soup, free of the bitter thistle I despise. I slowly picked out the red berries, eating deliberately. Then, I heard faint footsteps outside the door. It was Grey, one of Kain’s personal guards. I set down my spoon and wiped my mouth. Kain had some nerve. Sending his most elite guard into Draven’s nest just to pass a message. “Lady Lyra.” Grey dropped to one knee, his voice low. “My Alpha sent me with a message for you.” “Speak.” He swallowed hard, as if the words were poison on his tongue. “The Alpha says Lady Sara was frightened last night. She can’t stop shivering. The fires in the Crescent Clan aren’t warm enough. She’s been coughing all night. The Alpha asks you…” He paused, unable to meet my eyes. “To strip off the Spirit Wolf Pelt and send it to Sara.” My hand stilled on the soup bowl. The soup rippled. The Spirit Wolf Pelt. The ancient relic I nearly died to win. After being worn for three years, the armor had completely fused with my flesh. Tearing it off now would be like being flayed alive. Kain knew this. He had fastened the pelt on me himself, his eyes red with tears. “Lyra, wear this day and night. I will never let you feel that pain again.” But now, he wants me to rip my own skin off. All to keep his Sara warm. “What else did your Alpha say?” My voice was flat. Grey ducked his head lower. “He said… he said your secret medicines will keep you alive. You just have to endure it. Lady Sara is too delicate. Without the pelt, she might not survive the winter. Once she recovers, he will find a way to make it up to you.” Kain actually thought some herbs could numb the pain of being skinned alive. “Lady,” Grey urged. “The Alpha is waiting for my report. Lady Sara cannot wait any longer.”

I set the bowl down. Then I walked into the shadows of the stone wall. And ripped the armor from my own flesh. Flesh tore free with a wet, sickening sound. Blood instantly soaked my underclothes. The pain made my teeth chatter, but all I saw was his face… Gently placing this pelt on me in the snow. I balled up the dripping armor, fought back the tremors, and stepped out of the shadows—throwing it right at Grey’s feet. “Take it away.” Grey just stared at the blood-soaked mess, completely frozen. He never thought I’d actually do it. He definitely didn’t expect this bloody, mangled ruin. “Tell Kain,” I said, my eyes locked on his. “The Spirit Wolf Pelt is a gift. For Sara.” Grey snatched the pelt and vaulted out the open window. A blast of cold air hit me. My strength finally gave out. My legs buckled, and I crumpled to the ground. I started coughing up mouthfuls of black blood. I collapsed on the floor, coughing so hard I could barely breathe. And my vision blurred at the edges. Before everything went dark, a pair of black boots stopped in front of me. A heavy cloak was thrown over me, wrapping me in its weight. Draven’s strong arms lifted me from the floor. “Do you really care that little whether you live or die?” His voice was shaking, thick with suppressed rage.

I woke three days later. A brazier burned by the bed, its herbal scent filling the room. I moved a finger. The silver poison in me was calmed by a gentle Alpha’s power. “You’re awake?” Draven sat at a nearby desk, holding an ancient scroll of hide. He looked at my pale face, his expression unreadable. “Three years ago, I was on the cliffs. I saw you take that silver arrow for him.” My whole body went rigid. I stared at him, stunned. He let out a bitter laugh. “I watched you nearly die for him, and get a wound that would never heal. I thought he would cherish you. Instead, he threw you away like you were nothing.” He set down the scroll and slowly walked toward me. “From now on, I will protect you.” My gaze fell. A lump formed in my throat, but I couldn’t speak. “Today is the Homecoming Ceremony,” he said, changing the subject. “If you’re unwell, I can send word to the Crescent Clan. You don’t have to go.” I pushed myself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Thank you, Alpha. I’m fine. I have to go back.” I must. If I don’t, Kain will think I was tortured here, too broken to face anyone. An hour later, I was ready. I was dressed in the formal attire of the Shadow Mountains’ Luna. Black silk wrapped around me, my hair held up by an obsidian pin from Draven. He and I were in the same car, heading for the Crescent Clan’s territory. Our car stopped at the entrance just as Kain’s procession arrived. He was helping Sara down from her car. She was wearing my ceremonial dress. The Spirit Wolf Pelt on her chest shimmered in the sunlight. Kain looked up and saw me. His eyes widened in absolute shock. He expected me to be wasted away, a wreck. Not regal. Not serene. “Lyra,” Sara cooed, her voice dripping with venomou sweetness. “There you are. Kain’s been worried sick.”

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At my final bridal fitting, I stepped out of the dressing room to find my sister, Daphne, straightening my fiancé Nolan’s bow tie. Nolan Hayes—the mafia Don feared throughout Boston’s underworld. I had just opened my mouth to say, “I’ll do it,” when the makeup artist smiled and walked toward Daphne. “Right this way, bride.” I stopped short. Nolan did not correct her. The black-suited guards stationed outside the door kept their eyes forward. Daphne only smiled shyly and leaned against him. Meanwhile, Miles—my childhood friend—raised his camera and began taking pictures of them. I stood frozen, like an outsider. Nearly every photo on Miles’s camera was of Daphne and my fiancé. There wasn’t a single shot of me—the actual bride. Daphne spoke as naturally as though she were the one getting married. “Fiona, bring me that bouquet.” When Nolan noticed I had not moved, he came over and gently took the flowers from my hands. Those eyes of his, eyes that had terrified countless men across negotiating tables, held a rare trace of warmth. “Fiona, what are you staring at? Go choose the invitation design. I’ll come over when we’re done with the photos.” Miles lowered the camera just enough for one eye to appear above the viewfinder. “Fiona, move a couple of steps to the side. You’re blocking the light.” I moved without a word and stood in the corner. At that moment, I finally understood how unnecessary I was. If this wedding had no need for me, then I wouldn’t be there. … I quietly picked up my bag from the bench and pushed open the door. The bell above it chimed once. No one called after me. I looked back. Daphne was twirling in front of the mirror while Nolan stood behind her, adjusting the bow at her waist. Miles held up his camera. “Yes, yes. That’s the angle.” The shutter clicked five or six times in quick succession. I turned away and walked out of the boutique. As I got into my car, the two black sedans assigned to protect me fell in behind me without a sound. My phone lit up with a message from the wedding planner. Miss Bennett, the wedding is coming up. Have you chosen the invitation design? Before I could answer, another message arrived. Or you could let your sister choose. She has excellent taste. The car was so quiet that I could hear every breath I took. One after another, as though I were counting something. What was I counting? How many times I had been forgotten in this relationship? I typed three words. Let her decide. I meant it. Let Daphne decide. Nolan would listen to her in the end anyway. The reply came almost instantly. Got it. I stared at those words and imagined the planner breathing a sigh of relief. Every decision the bride made was always changed afterward. They were probably tired of revising the plans over and over. It was easier to let my sister make the decisions from the start. Before I could put my phone down, notifications began pouring in. Miles was uploading photos to the group chat one by one. I opened one. His composition was excellent. The light fell perfectly across their faces. Nolan stood in a sharply tailored black suit, and the two of them looked like the stars of a bridal campaign announcing the future wife of the Hayes Don. I had poured everything into this wedding, as though doing so could prove that I was not always the one who got forgotten. I never imagined that, in the end, I would still be pushed out of the frame. My phone lit up, went dark, then lit up again. Messages kept filling the group chat. I did not respond. No one noticed. I dismissed my escort detail and drove alone to the apartment I had been renting. A note was stuck to the refrigerator. Seven days until the wedding. I peeled it off, crushed it into a ball, and dropped it into the trash.

The next morning, I checked my phone. The wedding-planning group chat showed 99+ unread messages. Daphne had tagged me only once, in a voice message. I tapped it. “Fiona, I changed the wedding song. The song you picked was too gloomy. The wedding should feel lighter.” Nolan replied immediately beneath it. Agreed. The original song doesn’t suit the occasion. Half the family will be there. Choose something lighter. The original song did not suit the occasion? I had spent an entire month choosing it. It was the song my parents had played at their wedding. Hearing it always made my eyes burn. They had died far too young, and I had wanted them to be present in some small way. Nolan knew that. So did Daphne. Yet they still thought it was too gloomy. Daphne continued in the chat. “Fiona never likes making decisions. We can just choose these things for her.” Nolan replied with one word. Agreed. I stared at it without moving. Messages streamed past one after another. No one noticed that Fiona was in the group chat. No one noticed that Fiona was silent. I had no role in my own wedding. I opened my private conversation with Nolan. The last exchange was still from yesterday’s bridal shoot. I had written, I’m a little nervous. He had replied with a head-pat emoji. After that, nothing. He had not even messaged me privately after I left early to ask what was wrong. The only thing he had done was tag me in the group the night before. What happened? Did you get so nervous you left early? No one answered. No one cared. Daphne posted a photo with the caption, Fiona, today’s shoot went perfectly. The dress is officially confirmed! And just like that, the matter was forgotten. Then they went back to discussing flowers, invitations, and the ceremony backdrop. Suddenly, I realized I was not merely unnecessary. Being unnecessary would at least mean I had once existed. I felt as though I had never been there at all. While I was packing, Daphne suddenly video-called me. When I answered, someone was applying her makeup. “Fiona, you’re moving way too slowly. The makeup team still isn’t confirmed, so I booked one myself. I’m testing them out for you first.” I looked at Daphne in front of the mirror and wanted to say something, but I no longer knew what. Two weeks earlier, I had told her my friend would personally do my bridal makeup. But it was as though my wishes never reached her. She simply made every decision for me. Had I never confronted them? Had I never been unhappy? Had I never stood my ground? I had. It always ended with the same line. “Fiona, you’re more mature than she is. Don’t make a big deal out of this.” Miles had known me longer than anyone, yet he always took her side. Then Nolan entered my life and pursued me relentlessly. The man known throughout the underworld for his ruthlessness and decisiveness would personally drive me home late at night and tell me my quiet, absentminded ways were adorable. I thought he liked me that way. But after he met Daphne, his preferences seemed to change. Without realizing it, he began saying that women should be lively and decisive. One day, I finally said, “Can you stop being so close to Daphne? You need better boundaries with her.” I thought he would understand. Instead, he laughed, ruffled my hair, and dismissed it. “Boundaries? Once you marry me, Daphne will be part of the Hayes family too. Do you expect me to treat her like a stranger?” I fell silent. Of course I didn’t want them at each other’s throats. But the words, You’re more mature, so you should be more understanding, had weighed on me for years. For the first time, those words felt heavy enough to suffocate me. They had forgotten that I was only two years older than she was. I wanted gifts too. I wanted someone to ask me, Do you like this? But no one ever cared.

I called my landlord and told him I was moving out that day. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve lived there more than four years.” Four years. When Nolan and I first started dating, he had wanted me to move into the Hayes estate—a heavily guarded compound where his most trusted family members lived. Daphne said I should keep some private space before marriage and suggested I live alone. So I rented this apartment near the family’s downtown headquarters, hoping I would see Nolan more often. He agreed, and every now and then, he would slip away from his security detail and spend the night. These rooms had witnessed the sweetness of our early love, then the arguments, the silences, and the countless times he left in a hurry because of family business. But now I had finally reached the end of my patience. “Yes,” I said. “I’m moving today.” The landlord sighed and told me to leave the keys in the mailbox. Not long after I hung up, the door opened from the outside. Nolan and Daphne walked in, laughing together. Daphne glanced back at him with a smile. “You promised that when my lease ends, I can stay at your estate for a few weeks after the wedding. I want the room with the bay window in the east wing, and I want the curtains changed to pink.” I stood in the middle of the living room, convinced I had heard her wrong. She spoke so naturally, as though she had every right to decide how long she would stay and how our future home would be decorated. Nolan did not object. He smiled indulgently. “As long as Fiona doesn’t mind.” “Fiona always takes care of me. Of course she won’t mind.” Something loosened inside my throat. “What if I do mind?” The room went silent for two seconds. Daphne stared at me. Perhaps it was the first time I had ever truly refused her. Before she could say anything, her eyes were already turning red. Nolan’s tone sharpened with reproach. “What’s wrong with you, Fiona? You’ve always given her whatever she wanted. Now you’re going to make an issue out of one room?” “I’m not making an issue out of it.” “Then what are you saying?” He frowned. “Her lease is ending. She’d only be staying a few weeks. She’s your sister, not some outsider we need to guard against. The estate is enormous. What difference would one extra person make for a few weeks?” “That is supposed to be our home after the wedding. The home of the future lady of the Hayes family.” I looked at him. “Which one of us is marrying you?” That shut Nolan up. Daphne spoke softly, eyes red. “Fiona, I only wanted to be close to you. If you don’t want me there, forget it. I won’t move in.” Nolan turned to me with reproach. “Look what you’ve done. One sentence, and you’ve hurt her this badly. She’s your sister. Can’t you think about her feelings?” “And who thinks about mine?” I lifted my head. “You personally brought her into a company owned by the Hayes family and approved a salary far above everyone else at her level. She has almost nothing to worry about. What about me? All I have is—” “Enough.” Nolan’s expression changed. “Be reasonable. She’s your sister. I only take special care of her because of you. Do you really have to be this petty?” Petty. That word again. I smiled and stopped speaking. Daphne tugged at his sleeve. “Nolan, stop. Fiona is probably just in a bad mood.” He patted her hand, then softened his voice toward me. “Fiona, I’ve already made the decision. It will be good for Daphne to stay with us. You two can keep living close to each other.” I nodded. Agreed. It was their home, after all. I would never live there. Nolan relaxed. Daphne dabbed at the corners of her dry eyes and smiled again. I turned back to my packing. Behind me, Daphne asked, “So I really can change the curtains to pale pink?” Nolan laughed softly. “Whatever you like.”

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On the day I tried on my wedding dress, I caught my fiancé flirting with my little sister. Sasha is standing in front of him, giggling, and his fingers are at her throat, tying the ribbon of a sample veil she pulled off the rack. The stylist breezes past me like I’m a coat stand and heads straight for my sister. “Bride, this way please.” Sasha doesn’t correct her. Neither does Julian. Cole, my childhood best friend and our wedding photographer, brushes past my shoulder without a glance. His shutter clicks. Click. Click. Click. I look at the monitor. Ninety-nine shots. I scroll through every single one. Sasha laughing. Julian laughing. Sasha twirling. Julian’s hand on her waist, steadying her. Not one frame of me. Something cold drops through my chest, slow and final, like a coin sinking in water. I should be used to this. I have been used to this my whole life. “You’re the older sister, Elena. Just let her have it.” “Be the bigger person. She doesn’t know any better.” “A good big sister doesn’t keep score.” That was Aunt Nora. Uncle Robert. Every aunt, every uncle, every neighbor at every Thanksgiving since I was four years old. Let her have the bigger slice. Let her pick first. Let her, let her, let her. I learned to swallow before I learned to speak. So when Julian started looking at Sasha a beat too long at family dinners, I told myself I was imagining it. When he stopped calling my quiet “cute” and started saying women should be “lively, with opinions,” I told myself I was being insecure. When I finally worked up the nerve to ask, “Could you not be so close with Sasha?” he just ruffled my hair like I was a child. “She’s your sister, babe. You want me to be enemies with my future sister-in-law?” I went quiet. I always go quiet. “Elena, sweetie.” Julian finally notices me. He walks over, gently lifts the bouquet out of my hands, my bouquet, and carries it back to Sasha. “Why don’t you go pick the invitation samples? I’ll be there in a minute.” Cole peeks out from behind his viewfinder. “Hey, Elena, scoot a couple steps? You’re blocking my light.” I step back. And back. Until I’m against the wall. I pick up my purse off the bench. The little bell over the door chimes when I push it open. Nobody calls my name. I turn around once. Sasha is twirling in front of the mirror. Julian is behind her, tying a bow at her waist. Cole’s shutter is going off like applause. In the car, my phone lights up. The wedding planner. Hi Elena! Have you decided on the invitation style? A second message, three seconds later: Or your sister can pick! She has such great taste. 😊 I sit there in the silence, listening to myself breathe. Counting. I don’t even know what I’m counting anymore. Maybe how many times I’ve been erased this week. This month. This life. I type three words back. Let her choose. She will anyway. Julian will agree with whatever Sasha picks. He always does. Got it! the planner replies in two seconds flat. Relieved. Of course she’s relieved. No more pestering the indecisive bride. The group chat blows up. Cole is uploading the photos in real time. Sasha glowing in white. Julian’s hand on the small of her back. They look like a Vera Wang ad. I laugh. It comes out broken. When I was a little girl, I used to play wedding in the backyard with Cole and Sasha. They were always the bride and groom. I was the flower girl. I scattered the petals. And after they ran inside for snacks, I was the one left in the grass, picking every petal back up alone. Nobody ever asked if I was tired. I drive back to my apartment. There’s a Post-it on the fridge in my own handwriting: Wedding, 7 days. I peel it off, crumple it into a tiny ball, and drop it in the trash.

I call the landlord first thing in the morning and tell him I’m moving out today. “You sure, Elena? You’ve been here, what, four years?” Four years. When Julian and I first started dating, he wanted me to move in with him. Sasha was the one who said couples shouldn’t live together before the wedding, that it “killed the magic.” I agreed. So I rented this little place near his office, hoping I’d see him more often. He stopped by once in a while. Crashed for a night. Left before I woke up. The walls in this apartment have seen us kiss, fight, go silent, and every version of his back walking out the door. “Yeah,” I say. “Today.” He sighs and tells me to leave the keys in the mailbox. I’m taping up a box of books when the front door swings open. Julian walks in first. Sasha skips in behind him. She turns to him with a sparkle in her eye. “So it’s settled, right? The bedroom with the bay window in the new house, that one’s mine. But I want the curtains changed to pink.” I freeze in the middle of the living room. I think I’ve misheard. She says it so casually. Like moving into our marital home, the home Julian and I picked out together, is the most natural thing in the world. Julian doesn’t push back. He just laughs, fond and indulgent. “As long as your sister’s okay with it.” “My sister loves me. Of course she’s okay with it.” Something inside me snaps. Quietly. Like a thread I didn’t know was holding me up. “And what if I’m not?” Two seconds of dead silence. Sasha’s lips part. She blinks like a kicked puppy. Right on cue, her eyes well up. Julian’s voice drops, hard. “Elena. What’s gotten into you? You usually can’t wait to give her whatever she wants. Now you’re going to fight over a bedroom?” “I’m not fighting.” “Then what are you doing?” He frowns. “She’s your sister, not a stranger off the street. The house is huge. The room is empty. What’s the problem?” “It’s our marital home,” I say. “Is she marrying you?” Julian’s mouth opens. Closes. Sasha sniffles, eyes shimmering. “Sis, I just wanted to be close to you. Forget it. I won’t move in.” Julian shoots me a look. “See what you just did? She’s a girl. She’s your little sister. Can’t you think about her for once?” “Can anyone think about me for once?” The words come out before I can stop them. “You got her that cushy job at your company. She’s set for life. And what do I have? I only have⁠—” “Enough!” His face changes. He steps toward me. “Be reasonable. She’s your baby sister. The only reason I look out for her is because of you. Do you really have to be this petty?” Petty. I laugh. A small, dry sound. Then I shut my mouth. Sasha tugs his sleeve. “Julian, don’t. Maybe she’s just in a mood.” He pats her hand. His voice softens. For her. “Elena. The decision’s made. Sasha moving in is a good thing. You sisters won’t have to be apart anymore.” I nod. Sure. Whatever. It’s your house. Your family. I won’t be living in it anyway. Julian exhales, relieved. Sasha dabs at her eyes and gives him a watery smile. I turn back to my boxes. Behind me, Sasha’s voice, bright again. “So I really can do pink curtains?” Julian, laughing: “Whatever you want.” That afternoon, I drive to Julian’s office. In my bag: his apartment fob, his office key, and a client file he’d asked me to organize weeks ago. The receptionist beams at me. “Ms. Carter! Want me to ring Mr. Hayes?” “No need.” I set the bag on her desk. “Just give him this.” I turn and walk out. I’m halfway down the stairwell when I hear his voice through a cracked door. “Saturday? Mani-pedi appointment with you?” My fingers go stiff on the railing. Then his laugh, warm and easy: “Yeah, yeah, I know. You want to look perfect for the wedding. I’ll go. I’ll tell your sister.” I press my forehead against the cold concrete wall. Saturday was supposed to be ours. He promised me last winter we’d watch the sunrise together before the wedding. He kept pushing it. To spring. To the week of. Finally we settled on this Saturday. Now he’s “handling” me. Like I’m a chore. I don’t wait to hear the rest. I walk down the stairs, get in my car, and drive straight to my hometown upstate.

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On our third wedding anniversary, Liam brought Serena home. He had forgotten our anniversary again. He just gave me a displeased look. “What are you staring at? Go get Serena her slippers, quickly.” He paused, then added, “She just got divorced and has nowhere to go. She’ll stay with us for a few nights. Don’t get the wrong idea.” Serena was the woman he loved but couldn’t have in his youth. How could I not overthink it? That night, I was jolted awake by a sharp female voice. Liam wasn’t beside me. From the guest bedroom next door, I heard intimate moans. What they were doing was obvious. I pulled out my journal from the nightstand, flipping to the first page. It was already filled. “Day one of marriage, he got drunk and called out Serena’s name. Minus ten points.” “I had a high fever. He flew to Paris for Serena’s dog’s birthday. Minus ten points.” …… “Brought another woman home on our anniversary. Minus twenty points.” After writing that, I looked at the bottom line: “When I deduct one hundred points, I’ll file for divorce.” Now, only twenty points were left.

Ashley POV I closed the thick textbook and rubbed the back of my aching neck. “Ashley, your husband is in the news again.” The seventeen-year-old boy opposite me twirled his pen, pushing his phone screen toward me. His eyes held undisguised pity and the bluntness typical of his age. “Who’s that woman? She’s making him forget his actual wife?” My gaze fell on the screen. It was a video secretly filmed by a reporter. Late at night, in the VIP lounge of the international airport, Liam Vance, wearing the black coat I had ironed for him that morning, was holding a slender woman with red-rimmed eyes tightly in his arms. Flashbulbs flashed non-stop. Liam, who usually hated cameras, didn’t lose his temper. Instead, he pressed the woman’s head into his chest with a large hand, shielding her face from all prying eyes. It was a look of cherish and fervent devotion I had never seen in our three years of marriage. The bold headline below the video was painfully clear: “Liam, heir to the prominent Vance Group, picking up his ex-girlfriend Serena Clarke late at night as she returns home after her divorce.” I stared at the screen for five full seconds until it went dark. Then, I forced a faint smile. “Adults’ business is not for kids. You got half your grammar questions wrong today. I’ll check your corrections tomorrow.” I calmly packed my canvas bag, pushed open the door, and walked out of the luxury mansion nestled in the hills. As soon as I stepped outside, a cold wind wrapped in drizzle hit me. I shivered, pulling my trench coat tighter. Today was my and Liam’s third wedding anniversary. For this day, I had canceled my two evening tutoring gigs, booked a table at his favorite French restaurant half a month in advance, and even bought a sexy silk nightgown. But just three hours ago, Liam had sent me a cold message: “Something urgent came up at the office. I won’t be back tonight.” Turns out, his urgent business was picking up Serena. I didn’t hail a cab. Instead, I opened my umbrella and walked for a long time in the rain. Passing a cake shop that hadn’t closed yet, I went in and bought a small strawberry mousse. It was already eleven at night when I returned to our downtown penthouse apartment. The house was pitch black, empty, and devoid of any warmth. I didn’t turn on the main lights, only a dim floor lamp. I placed the strawberry mousse on the dining table and lit a thin candle. The candlelight flickered, illuminating my pale, thin face. “Happy third anniversary, Ashley,” I whispered to the empty air, then blew out the candle. I didn’t make a wish, because I knew my wish would never come true. At two in the morning, the click of the fingerprint lock finally echoed from the front door. Liam walked in, bringing with him a chill. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and long-legged. His chiseled face showed clear exhaustion, but when he saw me sitting on the sofa, his brow immediately furrowed. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” His voice was low, with a hint of annoyed displeasure at being disturbed. I stood up and walked closer to him. As soon as I was near, a faint hint of orange blossom perfume drifted into my nostrils. That was Serena’s favorite scent. Back in college, Liam’s clothes always smelled like that. My chest felt like it had been stung by something sharp. I suppressed the nauseating acidity rising in my throat and asked softly, “Is the company matter settled?” Liam’s hand paused slightly as he took off his coat. His gaze flickered for a moment, but quickly returned to its usual aloof indifference. “Yeah, it’s settled.” He was lying. I looked at his stern face and suddenly found it a little funny. This man, who was decisive and ruthless in business and never bothered to lie, was now lying to me to protect another woman’s reputation. “Liam,” I called out, stopping him as he was about to go shower. My voice was a little hoarse. “Do you remember what day it is today?” Liam’s steps halted. He turned to look at me, his impatience even more pronounced. “Ashley, I’m exhausted today. I don’t have time for your guessing games. If you need money, just use your platinum card.” With that, he walked straight into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. The sound of water running covered my suddenly heavy breathing. I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted a hint of blood, then slowly released it. I went to the study, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out a locked journal. I opened the first page, which had a table titled: “Liam Point Deduction Chart.” Full score was one hundred. The first line read: “Day one of marriage, he got drunk and called out Serena’s name. Minus ten points.” The second line read: “I had a high fever, he flew to Paris to buy Serena a limited-edition handbag. Minus ten points.” … The densely packed handwriting recorded every heartbreak I’d suffered over the past three years. I picked up the pen and wrote in the newest line: “On our third wedding anniversary, he went to the airport to pick up Serena, who’d returned home after her divorce, and lied to me about it. Minus ten points.” After writing that, I looked at the bottom line: “When I deduct 100 points, I’ll file for divorce.” Now, only twenty points were left. I closed the journal and locked it again. I returned to the bedroom. Liam had already showered and was lying in bed. He had his back to me, presenting a rigid back. I lay down beside him, separated by a boundary that felt like it could never be crossed. The next morning, I was woken by a shrill doorbell. I got up to open the door, but when I saw who was standing outside, my blood ran cold. Serena stood there in a pure white dress, her long hair flowing over her shoulders. She was dragging a huge suitcase and looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, like a frightened fawn. And Liam, who had gotten dressed at some point, was standing behind me. He reached past me, took the suitcase from Serena’s hand, and spoke in a tone I’d never heard before, so gentle. “Why are you here so early? I told you to get some more sleep.”

Ashley POV Serena glanced at me timidly, biting her lip. “The hotel bed was too hard, and I was scared being alone… Liam, am I disturbing you two?” “No,” Liam answered definitively. Then he turned to me and said in an undeniable, commanding tone, “Serena just got back, and she’s emotionally unstable. She’ll be staying here for a while. Go tidy up the guest room.” From the first day Serena moved in, this house stopped being mine. There was a pink toiletries set on the bathroom counter, Serena’s stuffed animals piled on the sofa, and even my desk, which I usually used for lesson planning, was now covered with her various cosmetics. I didn’t make a fuss. I acted like a dutiful invisible person, leaving for my tutoring jobs on time every day and returning late at night under the moonlight. I thought that if I just yielded, I could maintain surface peace. But I underestimated Serena’s tactics and overestimated Liam’s bottom line. One weekend night, I was suddenly hit with a severe stomachache. It felt like a meat grinder violently churning inside my stomach. I was in so much pain that I broke out in a cold sweat, curled up in bed, my breathing shaky. I fumbled for my phone and called Liam. The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. Liam’s extremely impatient voice came through. “What is it?” “Liam… my stomachache is acting up, it really hurts. Can you come back and take me to the hospital?” My voice was so weak it was almost inaudible. There was silence on the other end for two seconds. Apparently, he heard the pain in my voice, and Liam finally relented. “Alright, I’ll be right back. Get dressed first.” I hung up, forced myself to get up, put on a thick coat, and sat on the living room sofa, waiting for him. The cramping pain in my stomach came in waves. I bit down hard, staring at the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes later, the lock clicked. Liam strode in. Seeing my pale face, his brows furrowed slightly. “Why are you in so much pain? Let’s go, the car’s downstairs.” He actually reached out to help me. Leaning on his warm arm, my nose stung, and that little spark of hope in my heart, which was almost extinguished, seemed to reignite. Just as we reached the front door, and Liam had picked up his car keys, the guest bedroom door on the second floor suddenly burst open. Serena ran out barefoot, her face ashen, trembling all over, and threw herself into Liam’s arms. “Liam! I’m scared! There’s thunder outside, I’m so scared!” She clutched Liam’s shirt, crying uncontrollably. “Please don’t leave? Please don’t abandon me!” Liam stiffened, instinctively letting go of my hand and instead wrapping Serena tightly in his arms. “Don’t be scared, Serena, I’m right here. It’s just thunder, it’s okay.” He patted Serena’s back gently, his voice dripping with tenderness. I lost my support and stumbled, my back hitting the cabinet by the door with a heavy thud. A dull ache spread, but it was nothing compared to the cramping in my stomach, or the tearing pain in my heart. I looked at the two of them, tightly embracing, as if they were the loving couple, and I was just the villainous female antagonist ruining their moment. “Liam,” I took a deep breath, my voice trembling from the pain. “I’m really hurting.” Liam’s movements paused. He turned to look at me. In his deep-set eyes, there was no sympathy, only the cold calculation of weighing pros and cons. “Ashley, Serena had a very unhappy marriage abroad. She’s been severely traumatized and has serious PTSD from thunder,” Liam said, frowning, his voice carrying a sense of righteous accusation. “You just have a stomachache. Go to the hospital in a cab by yourself. I’ll stay here with her.” You just have a stomachache. That sentence was like a resounding slap across my face, shattering the pitiful hope in my heart. I looked at Liam and suddenly laughed. It was a laugh uglier than any cry. “Alright.” I didn’t argue, didn’t become hysterical. I just turned around, pushed open the door, and walked out into the stormy, thundering rain. I don’t know how I managed to get a cab, or how I registered and got an IV. The cold IV fluid dripped into my veins. I lay on the emergency room bed, staring at the sterile white ceiling, took out my phone, and noted in my memo: “My stomachache was unbearable, but he made me go to the hospital alone in the pouring rain to comfort Serena who was afraid of thunder. Minus ten points.” Only ten points left. Just then, a commotion erupted outside the emergency room. “Doctor! Come quick and see her! She’s bleeding!” The voice was too familiar. I turned my head, and through the half-open curtain, I saw Liam. He was soaking wet, cradling an equally drenched Serena in his arms, his face showing a mix of panic and urgency I had never seen before. A doctor rushed over to examine her. A few seconds later, the doctor’s voice was a little helpless. “Sir, this lady just accidentally cut her finger while cutting fruit. The wound is very shallow, doesn’t even need stitches. A band-aid will be fine.” “What do you know! Her blood doesn’t clot well. What if it gets infected? Call your best surgeon!” Liam roared furiously. I lay behind the curtain, silently watching the scene unfold. Turns out, he wasn’t afraid of the heavy rain, or the thunder. He just… didn’t care about me. I closed my eyes, and a hot tear slid down my temple. Just then, Liam seemed to sense something. He suddenly turned his head, his gaze directly meeting my dead eyes.

Ashley POV The moment our eyes met, I saw a flicker of panic, almost imperceptible, in Liam’s eyes. He released Serena’s hand and took a step forward, as if to come over. But Serena chose that moment to let out a delicate whimper of pain. “Liam, I feel so dizzy.” Liam’s steps were rooted to the spot. He looked at the swaying Serena in his arms, then back at me, pale-faced and hooked up to an IV behind the curtain. Finally, he turned back to support Serena. “I’ll take Serena to get bandaged first, I’ll come find you later,” he said coldly, from several feet away. I didn’t respond. I simply pulled the curtain shut, blocking his view. I knew Liam too well. As long as Serena shed a single tear, his “later” would become “never.” Sure enough, even after I finished my IV, had the needle removed, and walked out of the hospital alone, Liam never reappeared. For the next few days, I buried myself in work. I took on more tutoring jobs, leaving early and returning late, deliberately avoiding any encounters with Liam and Serena. Liam seemed to enjoy my absence too. He spent every day shopping, visiting art exhibits, and seeing a therapist with Serena, acting like a devoted boyfriend. One afternoon, I was teaching a class at a high-end tutoring center downtown. The center was on the third floor of an old commercial building. Downstairs was a popular coffee shop. I was standing at the podium, explaining a complex math problem, when suddenly, a piercing fire alarm blared through the entire building. “Fire! Run!” There were heart-wrenching screams from outside. My face changed. I immediately put down the chalk and directed the dozen students in the classroom. “Don’t panic, everyone! Cover your mouths and noses with your clothes, duck down, and form a line to the emergency exit!” Thick smoke quickly poured in through the door cracks, making it hard to see. By the time I shielded the last student out of the classroom, the hallway was engulfed in flames. The old building’s fire safety system was outdated, and the fire spread incredibly fast. I coughed violently from the smoke, tears streaming down my face. I fumbled my way towards the stairwell, but at a corner, a suddenly collapsing wooden beam struck my calf. I cried out in pain, falling heavily to the ground. Sparks still clung to the beam, and the intense heat scorched my skin, making me almost pass out. I desperately tried to push the beam away, but it was too heavy. I couldn’t budge it. Flames licked at the surrounding walls, and the air grew thinner and thinner. I lay on the ground in despair, my vision gradually blurring. Just then, a tall, imposing figure suddenly rushed up the stairwell. It was Liam. He was wearing a well-tailored suit, his face smudged with ash, anxiously searching for something in the inferno. My heart pounded fiercely. Was he here to save me? Did he know I was teaching here, and rushed in despite the danger? “Liam,” I used all my strength, reaching out towards him, my voice hoarse beyond recognition. “I’m here. Save me.” Liam heard my voice and spun around. Through the smoke and flames, his gaze landed precisely on me. I knew he saw me pinned under the burning beam, saw the desperate will to survive on my face. He took long strides, running towards me. Ten feet, five feet, three feet… Just as I thought I was finally saved, and hope ignited in my eyes, a piercing cry suddenly came from the other end of the hallway. “Liam! Help! I’m so scared!” It was Serena. She was in this building for some reason, now trapped near another classroom door, surrounded by fire. Liam’s steps abruptly halted. He looked at me, so close, then at Serena in the distance. For the first time, his stern face showed struggle and hesitation. “Liam,” I stared at him, tears mixing with black ash and flowing into my mouth, bitter enough to make me gag. Don’t choose her. Please, this time, don’t choose her. However, no miracle occurred. Liam just looked at me deeply, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Then, he unhesitatingly turned and sprinted towards Serena. “Ashley, hang on! The firefighters will be here any minute! Serena has depression; she can’t handle this!” The man’s voice cut through the flames, like a poisoned knife, savagely stabbing into my heart and then twisting. I watched as Liam wrapped Serena in his suit jacket, picked her up, and rushed down the stairs without a single glance back. He didn’t even turn his head once. The fire grew fiercer, and the ceiling above groaned, cracking under the strain. I gave up struggling. I lay on the scorching floor, feeling the flames creep closer and closer. A string in my heart snapped completely. Boom! A massive, burning section of the ceiling crashed down, engulfing me entirely.

Ashley POV When I woke up, all I saw was the hospital’s glaring white. The strong smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils, and excruciating pain shot through my right arm and calf. I moved my cracked lips, but no sound came out. “The patient’s awake! Call the doctor!” A nurse’s surprised voice rang in my ears. After a series of examinations, the doctor told me I had second-degree burns over much of my body, a fractured calf, and had inhaled a large amount of toxic gas. Surviving the fire was extremely lucky. “Firefighters brought you in. Where’s your husband? I don’t see any family members,” the doctor said, frowning, a hint of displeasure in his voice. I closed my eyes and said nothing. My husband was busy comforting his first love. Why would he have time for me? The ward door was pushed open. It wasn’t Liam who came in, but his good friend, Greg Evans. Seeing me wrapped up like a mummy, Greg’s face showed a flicker of awkwardness and guilt. He placed a fruit basket on the bedside table and cleared his throat. “Ashley, you’re awake. Liam… he’s a bit busy, he asked me to check on you.” My gaze was hollow as I stared at the ceiling, my voice hoarse like sandpaper. “He’s with Serena, isn’t he?” Greg choked, his eyes darting away. “Ashley, don’t misunderstand. Serena just happened to be at the coffee shop downstairs looking for Liam that day, then the fire happened. She was terrified, and her old condition flared up. Liam had no choice…” “No choice?” I scoffed, a movement that pulled at the wounds on my face, making me gasp in pain. “He had no choice, so he stood by and watched me burn to death, while saving a woman who didn’t even have a scratch?” Greg was speechless. Just then, footsteps and hushed arguing came from outside the door. The ward’s soundproofing wasn’t good. I clearly heard the conversation outside. It was Daniel Hayes, another of Liam’s friends. “Liam, are you crazy? Do you know the video of you rushing into the fire to save Serena has gone viral? The entire city is laughing at the Vance family! You risked your life for a divorced woman? If you get scars on your hands, will you still be able to hold your position as the Vance heir?” Then came Liam’s cold, firm voice. “If I can’t, then I won’t. As long as Serena is okay, I can give up everything the Vance family has.” Daniel was furious. “What about your wife? Ashley is still lying in there! She’s your actual wife! You saved Serena right in front of her. How do you think she feels?” There was a long silence outside the door. So long that I thought Liam had left, before his low, cold voice slowly broke the quiet. “How she feels, does it matter?” “If her father hadn’t died saving my grandfather back then, if my grandfather hadn’t forced me, I never would have married her. For these three years, I gave her the dignity of Mrs. Vance and endless money. What more could she be unsatisfied with?” “I married her to find an obedient ornament, and to give up hope, to forget Serena. But I overestimated myself. I love Serena. From beginning to end, she is the only one in my heart. As for Ashley, she is injured, and I will give her the best medical care, but don’t expect any affection from me.” These words were like sharp ice blades, precisely piercing my already bruised and battered heart. Turns out, these three years of marriage were just my solo act, from beginning to end. What I thought was love growing over time was merely his calculated charity; what I thought was a beautiful relationship was just his indifference after his heart had turned to ashes. He gave all his favoritism, his madness, his tenderness to Serena, leaving me only with calculation and exploitation. I slowly closed my eyes, tears sliding down my temples, seeping into the bandages, stinging terribly. I didn’t cry out loud. I just silently added the last sentence to that journal in my heart. “He personally admitted that he married me only to repay a debt and to forget Serena. Minus ten points.” One hundred points deducted. I opened my eyes. There was no longer any hidden endurance or love in them, only a desolate emptiness. With my uninjured left hand, I struggled to press the call button beside the bed. The nurse quickly arrived. “Ashley, what’s wrong?” “Please, contact a lawyer for me.” My voice was quiet, but it carried a decisive strength. “I want to draft divorce papers.” The conversation outside the door ceased abruptly. A few seconds later, the ward door was violently pushed open. Liam stood in the doorway, his face terribly grim, his dark eyes fixed on me in the bed. “What did you just say?” he asked through gritted teeth, as if he’d heard some unbelievable joke. I met his gaze without flinching, repeating coldly: “I said, Liam, we’re getting a divorce.”

Ashley POV Liam’s face instantly turned ashen. He strode to the bedside, looking down at me, wrapped in bandages, his eyes burning with suppressed fury. “Ashley, haven’t you made enough of a scene?” He lowered his voice, his tone full of warning. “Do you know what you’re saying? Divorce? Do you think the Vance family door is something you can just walk in and out of?” In his eyes, I was just playing hard to get. For three years, I had been as docile as a cat without a temper, silently enduring no matter how much he neglected me. Now, bringing up divorce was merely a tantrum because he’d saved Serena in the fire first. I looked at his arrogant demeanor and suddenly felt utterly disgusted. “I’m not making a scene,” my voice was calm, as still as stagnant water. “Liam, I’m tired. Since Serena is the only one in your heart, I’ll grant you your wish.” He scoffed. “Ashley, don’t forget, before your father passed away, he entrusted you to me. Without the Vance family, how will you make a living in New York? With your few thousand dollars a month from tutoring? Don’t be so reckless. When your injuries heal, I’ll compensate you with a penthouse downtown.” That dismissive tone again, as if I were a beggar. I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at him anymore. “Get out. I don’t want to see you.” “You!” Liam’s temples throbbed. He was about to say something when Serena’s delicate voice suddenly came from outside the door. “Liam, are you in there?” Liam’s expression instantly softened. He glared at me furiously, then turned and quickly walked out. The moment the door closed, I finally couldn’t hold on any longer, and silent tears streamed down my face. The next day, the lawyer came to the ward with the drafted divorce papers. I signed my name without hesitation. I asked for nothing. The Vance family’s assets, properties, shares. I didn’t take a single penny. I truly left with nothing. As I signed, the ward door opened. It wasn’t Liam who entered, but Serena. She wore a custom Chanel suit, her makeup flawless. She walked to the bedside in high heels, looking down at my disheveled self. “Ashley, I hear you’re divorcing Liam?” Serena chuckled, covering her mouth, her eyes full of a victor’s smugness. “You’re quite sensible. You should have realized long ago that you’re not good enough for him.” I handed the signed agreement to the lawyer, signaling for him to step outside. Once only the two of us were left in the ward, I lifted my eyelids and looked at Serena coldly. “Did you come here just to say these pointless things?” My cold attitude stung Serena, and her smile faded slightly. She pulled a velvet box from her bag, opened it, revealing a brilliant pink diamond ring. “Do you recognize this?” Serena deliberately dangled the ring in front of me. “Liam bought this at auction yesterday for twenty million. He said this is the ring that truly belongs to Mrs. Vance. As for that cheap ring on your hand, you should have thrown it away long ago.” I glanced at my empty ring finger. That plain band had probably fallen off during the fire, when I was trying to push away the beam. “Oh, really?” My tone was flat. “Well, you’d better hold onto it tightly. After all, trash like Liam is only a treasure to you.” “How dare you call Liam trash?!” Serena exploded, raising her hand as if to hit me. Just then, familiar footsteps sounded outside. Serena’s eyes flickered. Her raised hand suddenly reversed direction and slapped her own face hard, then she collapsed to the floor, covering her face and crying hysterically. “Ashley, I’m sorry… I know you hate me, but you can’t hit me…” The ward door was violently pushed open. Liam immediately saw Serena crying on the floor, and me, expressionless, leaning against the bed. “Serena!” Liam tenderly helped Serena up. Seeing the clear red handprint on her face, he turned and glared at me. “Ashley! Are you insane? She has depression, and you dared to hit her!” I looked at her terrible acting, lacking even the desire to explain. “Yes, I hit her. So what?” I retorted with a cold laugh. “How could you do such a thing!” Liam looked at me with profound disappointment. “I actually thought I owed you something after the fire. But now it seems, a vicious woman like you doesn’t deserve my sympathy!” “Are you done talking?” I pointed towards the door. “If you are, take your first love and get out.” Liam laughed in exasperation. “Fine, Ashley, don’t you dare regret this!” He picked up Serena and strode out of the ward. Half a month later, I forced through my discharge procedures. My injuries weren’t fully healed, but I couldn’t stand another moment in this city saturated with Liam’s presence. On the day I was discharged, I went to New York’s largest art center. A crucial education symposium was being held there, and I needed to meet a professor to get a letter of recommendation. It was my only chance to leave New York and move to California. In the art center’s main hall, a grand jewelry exhibition was underway. I dragged my still-healing leg, limping through the hall. As luck would have it, Liam and Serena were also there. Serena was wearing that pink diamond ring, nestled in Liam’s arms, accepting media interviews. I lowered my head, trying to quicken my pace and leave, but fate always seemed to play cruel jokes on me. Above my head, the massive crystal art chandelier, weighing several hundred pounds, suddenly let out a grating, snapping sound. Bang! A steel cable broke, and the huge chandelier plunged straight down! Directly below the chandelier were both Serena and me! “Serena!” Liam’s eyes widened in horror. Like a mad leopard, he lunged desperately towards Serena, embracing her and rolling them both to a safe area. And I, thrown by the immense impact, crashed heavily against a marble pillar. Shattered crystal glass pierced my body like blades. But the most painful was my lower abdomen. I lay in a pool of blood, clutching my agonizingly painful stomach, feeling a warm liquid gush furiously down my thighs.

Ashley POV An excruciating, heart-wrenching pain. I curled up on the cold marble floor, my vision blurred by blood and tears. All around were screams, alarms, and panicked footsteps; the entire art center was in chaos. I clutched my lower abdomen tightly. The warm liquid was gushing out faster and faster, draining all warmth from my body. “Save my baby.” I weakly reached out to the crowd, but couldn’t even form a complete sentence. Not far away, Liam was anxiously checking Serena. Aside from being a little startled, Serena didn’t have a single scratch on her body, yet she still huddled in Liam’s arms, trembling pitifully and crying. “Liam, I’m so scared, the light almost hit me…” “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here.” Liam held her tightly, his voice filled with the relief of a narrow escape. He didn’t notice that less than ten feet away, his wife was lying in a pool of blood, close to death. It wasn’t until the ambulance arrived, and paramedics carried me away on a stretcher, semi-conscious, that Liam, amidst the confusion, caught a glimpse of a dazzling crimson. But he only frowned, then averted his gaze, because Serena was calling him, complaining of dizziness in his arms. Inside the emergency room, the situation was chaotic. “Patient has severe abdominal trauma and massive hemorrhage! Blood pressure is dropping rapidly!” “Ultrasound shows an eight-week intrauterine pregnancy, placental abruption. The baby can’t be saved, we need to perform a D&C immediately and transfuse blood!” “Patient is RH-negative O-type blood! How much reserve blood does the blood bank have?” The chief surgeon commanded the rescue, dripping with sweat, but a nurse rushed in, pale-faced. “It’s bad. The only two bags of RH-negative O-type blood in the blood bank were forcibly claimed by Mr. Vance of Vance Group ten minutes ago.” The doctor was horrified. “Why did he take them? Does he have a critical patient on his side?” “No.” The nurse was almost in tears. “The woman Mr. Vance brought in was just startled. Mr. Vance insisted her face was pale and she might have internal bleeding, so he forcibly kept the blood bags in her room as a precaution, saying no one was allowed to touch them without his permission.” Lying on the operating table, my consciousness was hazy, yet I heard every word of that conversation clearly. RH-negative O-type blood. Serena was also this blood type. Years ago, because Serena had this rare blood type, Liam had established several private blood banks worldwide, just to ensure she would always have blood available if she ever got injured. And now, for a woman who was merely startled, he withheld the blood that could save my life and my baby’s. “Call Liam immediately! Tell him there are two lives at stake here!” the doctor roared. The nurse tremblingly dialed Liam’s number and put him on speakerphone. The phone rang three times before it was answered. Liam’s cold and impatient voice came through. “I told you, those blood bags must remain in Serena’s room. She has severe PTSD. If she has a stress reaction leading to shock, that blood will be life-saving.” “Mr. Vance, we have a pregnant woman here with severe bleeding. Without this blood, both she and her baby will die,” the nurse pleaded, her voice choked with tears. There was a moment of silence on the other end. Just as the doctor thought Liam might relent, he let out a laugh so cold it was chilling. “What do other people’s lives have to do with me? I only care about Serena. If so much as a single hair on her head is harmed, I will make sure this entire hospital pays. Stop bothering me with these petty games.” The call was ruthlessly disconnected. The emergency room was dead silent, save for the piercing alarm of the heart monitor. I lay on the cold operating table, a tear, mixed with blood, sliding from the corner of my eye. I no longer had the strength to hate. I only felt profound sorrow. That was his child. He didn’t even know he was about to be a father, yet he personally sentenced his own child to death. The wavy line on the heart monitor instantly flatlined. A sharp, prolonged beep pierced the emergency room air.

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The day I discovered my husband, Leo, was cheating, his health report arrived, confirming a severely weakened heart. The doctor repeatedly warned me: “Your husband must avoid any strong emotions, especially when it comes to sex. He needs to abstain, or risk sudden death.” I nodded, but the moment I was out of sight, I tore up the report. After that, I played the role of the tender wife, pretending ignorance of his affair, even deliberately creating opportunities for him to cheat. Until one night, Leo died of sudden cardiac arrest while he was with his mistress, Eve. Holding the autopsy report, I faced a sobbing Eve and said, “You murderer, I’ll see you locked up for life!” Watching Eve’s terrified, panicked face, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. His inheritance, plus Eve’s compensation, would soon all be mine. Our seemingly perfect, middle-class life, envied by outsiders, crumbled today. Blown to pieces by two packages that arrived simultaneously. One was a thick envelope from a private investigator, filled with countless photos. My husband, Leo, walking hand-in-hand through the mall with a younger woman, kissing passionately in front of his car, and even entering a discreet adult hotel together. The photos were blindingly clear. The woman’s face was radiant, captivating—displaying a brazen vulnerability and dependence I had never once shown Leo. The dates ranged from six months ago to just yesterday. The other package was from the City Medical Center, containing Leo’s comprehensive health report. I had been casually flipping through it until my eyes landed on the cardiovascular section: severe coronary artery atherosclerosis, critical stenosis. Warning: Extremely high risk of acute myocardial infarction. Immediate intervention recommended. Avoid emotional agitation, excessive fatigue, overeating… Avoid emotional agitation? I looked at the warning in the health report, then back at Leo’s flushed face in the photos, eyes gleaming with excitement as he held that woman around the waist. A frantic thought took root. The blade of betrayal and the gravedigger’s shovel – both handed to me at the same time. The world fell silent for a moment. Then, a strange calm mixed with excitement enveloped me. I didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene, didn’t even feel the expected heartache. Only a cold, hard thing named revenge quietly solidified within me. Well, Leo, you’re having so much fun out there, but what happens when you burn yourself out? As your lawful wife, it’s my duty to help you replenish your energy, isn’t it? I picked up the health report, carefully tucking it into the bottom drawer. Then, I shredded the unbearable photos. Afterward, I put on my apron and started preparing dinner. The rich aroma of roasted pork ribs wafted from the kitchen – Leo’s favorite, but also precisely the kind of dish the doctor had strictly warned him to avoid. At seven sharp, Leo came home. His shirt collar had a smudge of glaring fuchsia lipstick. He handed me his briefcase as usual, his tone carrying a subtle hint of perfunctory dismissal: “Lots of company stuff today, I’m exhausted.” I greeted him, taking his bag, my smile impeccably gentle: “You work so hard, Leo. Go wash up, I made your favorite roasted pork ribs, and I opened a nice bottle of wine to help you unwind.” Leo looked at me with a touch of surprise, apparently not expecting this reaction. He probably anticipated an interrogation or a cold war. After all, just yesterday we had a huge fight because he’d “worked late” until dawn again. But he was quickly drawn in by the aroma, a familiar, somewhat entitled look of satisfaction spreading across his face: “You’re so good to me.” I watched him devour the thick, glossy pieces of meat slathered in sauce, watched him drain the wine glass I had filled. The stagnant pool in my heart stirred, a ripple of greasy satisfaction spreading through it. Eat, drink, my dear husband. This is only the beginning. Your good times are still to come. On the surface, I remained Freya, the gentle, considerate wife. But in the shadows, I became the most patient hunter, weaving Leo’s fate inch by inch with silken threads of tenderness. Our daily meals were completely revamped, all under the guise of “nourishment.” Breakfast was no longer oatmeal and whole wheat toast, but sizzling bacon and eggs, paired with crispy, buttered white toast, and a high-sugar, full-fat chocolate milk. Leo ate with a wide smile, praising my cooking and saying I’d become more “caring.” “Darling, you work so hard every day, so much brainpower. You need quality fats and protein.” I refilled his bacon, watching his slightly bruised eye bags with feigned concern. “Your complexion still doesn’t look great lately. Is work stress too much? How about I fry you a steak tonight to give you a boost? That’s the most nourishing.” Leo mumbled a reply, eyes glued to his phone, fingers flying across the screen, a subtle smile playing on his lips. I didn’t need to guess who was on the other end. My heart felt dipped in ice water, but the smile on my face grew even softer. Dinner was the main event. Lamb chops, steak, foie gras, ice cream… a rotating feast. Fats and sugars are silent killers for the cardiovascular system, and I, with my own hands, disguised these assassins as a feast of love, feeding them spoonful by spoonful into my husband’s mouth. He ate until his mouth was greasy, occasionally touching his chest and saying, “A bit rich, I feel bloated.” I would immediately hand him a pre-prepared strong coffee or fresh juice, saying softly, “Drink some coffee to cut through the richness, and juice for vitamins. Your stomach’s just a bit sensitive since you don’t go out much. You’ll get used to it after a few more times. It’s all for your health.” Occasionally, he’d cast a scrutinizing glance my way, but it would always melt under my impeccable concern.

The real ‘extra meals’ happened late at night. Leo’s “overtime” became increasingly frequent and late. Before, he would at least come up with plausible excuses. Now, it was almost just a notification. I never pressed him. Instead, when he returned late at night, reeking of booze and cheap perfume, collapsing onto the sofa and complaining of exhaustion, I’d tie on my apron and head into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, a steaming bowl of instant ramen, topped with a golden fried egg and a few slices of spam, shimmering with oil, or a generously portioned microwave pizza, loaded with stretchy cheese, would be placed before him. “You’re back so late, you must not have eaten properly. Going to bed on an empty stomach is bad for you, hurry and eat something while it’s hot.” I sat opposite him, propping my chin on my hand, my eyes so gentle they could melt. “I also brewed a pot of strong coffee for you, to perk you up. You don’t want to get sleepy after eating, do you? Don’t you still have emails to deal with?” Leo usually had already had a late-night snack in Eve’s “love nest,” but faced with my earnest care, plus the energy drained by his illicit affair, he often managed to force down a considerable amount more. High-salt, high-fat late-night meals, combined with the stimulating caffeine, forcibly awakened his nerves in the dead of night. His heart raced, his face flushed. Several times, after eating, he’d irritably tear open his collar, pacing the living room and complaining, “Damn it, I’m stuffed and wired, can’t sleep now.” At this, I’d slip on the running jacket and shoes I’d conveniently left by the sofa, my eyes bright: “Can’t sleep? Let’s go for a night run! The doctor said moderate cardio is good for sleep and strengthens your heart and lungs. I’ll go with you!” Leo was initially resistant, but he couldn’t resist my persistent coaxing. Sometimes I’d say things like, “Look, your belly’s getting a bit soft. Running will help you stay in shape. I love it when you have abs,” half-coaxing, half-encouraging. His deep-seated male chauvinism and vanity were completely satisfied. So, at one or two in the morning, the figures of us, the “loving” couple, began appearing on the quiet streets outside our neighborhood. Of course, I couldn’t really run. After a few hundred meters, I’d stop, breathless, leaning on a streetlamp, waving him on: “Honey… I can’t go on, you’re… you’re so fit… You keep running, I’ll wait for you here and cheer you on!” Leo’s vanity swelled under my admiring gaze and the occasional surprised, somewhat envious looks from passersby. He was like a spinning top whipped by an invisible lash, running furiously under my watchful eye, on the silent streets. I could see the veins bulging in his neck, hear his increasingly heavy, bellows-like breathing. Meanwhile, I’d slowly walk to the 24-hour convenience store, buy two energy drinks, then sit on a bench by the roadside, taking out my phone. The screen displayed real-time data from his health app. Heart rate: 158, 162, 165… constantly climbing, hovering near the danger zone. When he finally finished one or two laps, sweat-soaked and purple-faced, returning to my side, I’d immediately rush up, wipe his sweat with a towel, hand him a drink, my face full of concern: “Darling, you’ve sweated so much, you must have burned a lot of energy. Are you hungry? There’s a BBQ joint still open over there, shall we grab something to replenish your strength? If you don’t refuel after exercise, you’ll lose muscle.” And so, Leo, fresh from his “healthy” night run, would once again find himself at a smoky BBQ joint, eating greasy grilled meat and drinking ice-cold beer. I watched him with a smile, as he consumed those high-salt, high-fat, high-purine foods. A few scattered late-night diners and the BBQ joint owner all looked on with admiration. “Buddy, you’re a lucky man! Your wife’s gorgeous and so thoughtful. She even works out with you late at night and then feeds you!” “Not many couples work out together like you two these days. Such a great relationship!” Leo, puffed up by these compliments, guzzled his beer, arm around my shoulder, boasting to onlookers, “That’s right, my wife’s one of a kind!” I leaned into his embrace, smiling as I accepted everyone’s praise, my fingers subtly tapping my phone screen, checking his health app data from an angle he couldn’t see. His daily diet was the high-load foundation. My ‘loving’ late-night snacks added fuel to the fire. The ill-timed night runs were the final straw. And the BBQ and beer after his workout? The perfect, deadly cycle. Every step was filled with a wife’s profound concern for her husband’s health. Every step pushed his already fragile heart closer to the brink of collapse. A neighbor lady bumped into me at the supermarket and complimented me: “You look so well lately, dear. Must be your husband making you happy. I see him running every night, he’s got more energy than a twenty-year-old!” I smiled shyly: “Oh, he’s just restless. But exercise is always good, and I support him.” I supported him. Yes, I supported him more than anyone, towards the ‘healthy’ end I had so meticulously prepared for him.

My physical care was meticulous, and I never relaxed my mental and physiological manipulation either. However, from the day I confirmed his affair, my body had completely shut him out. Every touch physically repulsed me. But that didn’t stop me from keeping him in a state of insatiable hunger, high arousal, yet utterly unsatisfied by me. I began deliberately changing my information consumption habits. My browser history would occasionally show pages for adult novelty stores and niche lingerie brands. The search bar on my shopping apps would be filled with keywords like ‘sexy,’ ‘seductive,’ ‘couple’s intimacy.’ Big data algorithms are ruthless and efficient. Soon, not just my phone, but the shared household tablet, and even Leo’s own phone, began popping up with related recommendations. Ads for barely-there lingerie, promotions for all sorts of bizarre products, and even short video clips disguised as ‘tutorials’ but actually quite explicit. At first, Leo would awkwardly swipe them away, scolding: “What kind of rubbish are you looking at all day?” But the light in his eyes didn’t lie. I wouldn’t argue, simply responding in a shyer, more innocent tone: “Oh, I just clicked on it by accident. This big data is so annoying…” My tone and expression were like a child who had just discovered a new world, both scared and curious. This blend of innocence and forbidden suggestion was more impactful than any direct seduction. Leo’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His gaze at me grew complex, holding surprise, suspicion, but mostly an undeniable, aroused desire. I created a new, anonymous social media account, with no connections to anyone we knew. Then, I ‘accidentally’ let Leo discover it. Consequently, bolder, more explicit images, links, and short videos began to ‘casually’ appear in our lives. I never said, “Let’s try this.” I just asked, “Does this look good?” or “Is this useful?” leaving the space for choice and imagination entirely to him. His body, ravaged by alcohol, high-fat diets, and irregular sleep, secreted untimely hormones of excitement. I knew he forwarded most of those pictures and links to Eve. Because I had inadvertently seen Eve’s replies pop up on his phone: “You devil, so kinky?!” “Buy it! I want the black one!” “This looks wild, let’s try it next time!” Their interactions, thanks to my unseen contribution, grew more passionate, more brazen. I could even imagine how Eve was using these ‘new toys’ to desperately please and bind Leo to her. This was exactly what I wanted. However, merely adding fuel to their fire from afar wasn’t enough. I needed this fire to burn more wildly, consuming him even faster. The opportunity soon arose. Eve was even more impulsive than I’d imagined. Perhaps my changes made her feel threatened, or maybe Leo’s recent physical discomfort made him less capable, causing her anxiety. She actually used a seemingly ordinary anonymous account to send me a SnapChat friend request. The message read: “Hey, thinking of trying out some new skincare? Let me know!” I looked at the profile picture and name and almost burst out laughing. Such a petty trick. I clicked “Accept.” She started sending me occasional skincare ads, her tone enthusiastic and humble. I would occasionally reply with a bland “Hmm,” or “I’ll take a look,” my attitude cool but polite. I posted on Ins, setting the privacy to ‘custom visibility,’ meaning only she could see it. The first photo was a lavish dinner I had cooked, captioned: “Hubby’s been working hard lately, so I’m nourishing him. He ate all of my loving dinner!~” The second was a profile shot of me wiping Leo’s sweat after his run, captioned: “Accompanying hubby on his night run. Even though he’s fast, I’ll always be at the finish line waiting for him.” The third showed a corner of our closet, vaguely revealing an adult novelty item, captioned: “Oh dear, my package arrived by accident, so embarrassing… I’ll surprise him when he gets back!” Every Ins post was precisely targeted. Sure enough, Leo’s “overtime” hours suddenly increased, and the timing became even more ridiculous. Sometimes he wouldn’t come home all night. When he returned, his face bore the exhaustion of overindulgence, his eyes bruised, but his spirit had an unnatural high. Besides his usual cologne, he sometimes carried the mixed scent of cheap essential oils or other strange fragrances. And whenever he received certain calls, looking hurried and about to leave, I would express just the right amount of disappointment, but quickly replace it with an understanding smile. “More overtime? Go on, don’t work too hard.” Or, before he left, I would gently pull him back, my face flushed, saying in a voice only we could hear: “My… my new nightgown arrived. Will you… come home early tonight?”

The most spectacular incident was on Leo and Eve’s one-year anniversary. That afternoon, I posted an Ins story visible only to Eve: an old photo of Leo and me, captioned: “It’s that day again. Thank you, darling, for always being there. See you at our usual spot tonight~” Then, I pre-booked Leo for dinner at home, telling him I’d learned to make his favorite fondant cake, a complex process, and he absolutely had to come home for it. At seven sharp, Leo arrived home, looking restless. I pulled him to sit down, fed him a bite of cake, my eyes as soft as water. Just as he picked up his spoon, his phone began to vibrate wildly. It was Eve. He glanced at it, his face subtly changing, and hung up. The phone rang again. He hung up again, and it rang once more. I looked at him, surprised: “What’s wrong? Urgent company matter?” Leo stammered: “No… just a difficult client.” “Then pick up, don’t delay important business,” I said thoughtfully. He awkwardly walked to the balcony and answered the call. The soundproofing was good, but I could still hear his low, anxious voice. “…I know what day it is! But I really can’t leave right now!… Stop making a scene, okay?!… What Ins post? You saw it wrong! That was an old one!… Hello? Eve! Hello!” He slumped, lowering the phone, and turned to see me watching him silently, still holding a soup spoon. His face was a mix of embarrassment, guilt, and unvented frustration. “Darling, I…” he tried to explain. But I smiled faintly, interrupting him: “Was that Eve? She sounds very anxious to find you. Is today… some important day for you two?” Leo looked as if he’d been struck by lightning, his face instantly draining of color. Without waiting for his answer, I put down the spoon, my voice still calm, even tinged with a weary tolerance: “Go on, don’t keep her waiting. I’ll save the soup for you.” In that moment, the expression on Leo’s face was priceless: the panic of being exposed, guilt towards me, and fury at Eve’s ill-timed theatrics. But he eventually grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the house, without even a proper explanation. I knew that when he left, he would face an Eve completely out of control, driven by jealousy and insecurity. Appeasing her would require ten times the energy and effort than usual. Indeed, Leo didn’t return until well past midnight, dragging himself in, even more exhausted, reeking of stale smoke and booze, an air of despondency clinging to him. He saw the living room light still on. I was curled up on the sofa, seemingly asleep, covered by a thin blanket, the TV playing some boring late-night show. He paused, then tiptoed over, his eyes filled with genuine remorse. He wanted to touch me, but didn’t dare. I stirred at the opportune moment, rubbed my eyes, and seeing him, offered a tired yet soft smile: “You’re back? Want some more cake?” “No, Freya!” He grabbed my hand, his voice hoarse, “I’m not hungry. Why… why aren’t you in bed?” “Waiting for you,” I whispered, with just the right touch of grievance and dependence. My lack of argument, my waiting, my fatigue, my forced tenderness in my eyes—they were like countless needles pricking his dwindling conscience. He felt an unprecedented wave of guilt, a guilt that demanded immediate atonement. “I’m sorry, Freya, I…” He stammered incoherently. Then, as if finding an outlet, he hastily added: “I’ll clean the kitchen! You go rest!” He rushed into the kitchen, clumsily started washing the pots and pans I had deliberately left, splashing water everywhere. After tidying up, he noticed the floor was a bit dirty. Without a word, he grabbed the mop and started cleaning the floor. After doing all this, his energy still had nowhere to vent. Or rather, guilt compelled him to do more to compensate. “Freya, you look pale. You haven’t been exercising. How about we do some yoga? I’ll join you!” He pulled out the dusty yoga mat. In the dead of night, after finishing chores, he started exercising again. His breathing quickly grew heavy once more, sweat beading on his forehead. After a few awkward yoga poses, he was still wide awake. Or rather, he dared not sleep. He was afraid if he closed his eyes, he’d see me, quietly waiting, or Eve’s hysterical face. “How about… we watch a movie? A horror film? That’ll wake us up.” he suggested, his eyes bloodshot. So, at three in the morning, we sat on the sofa, watching a horror movie with jarring sound effects and gory visuals. The screen’s light illuminated his pale, agitated face. With every sudden scare, his body jerked, his heart pounded like a drum. I leaned against him, feigning fear, gripping his arm, feeling the abnormal, violent throbbing of the veins beneath his skin, and his increasingly ragged breaths. As he stared intently at the screen, gasping in fear at the plot, I smiled coldly. Look how hard my husband works. Working hard to juggle two women, working hard to burn away what little health he had left. And I, I just quietly accompanied him, Until he completely burned out.

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While applying for colleges, I got a video call from my future self. The woman in the video looked utterly exhausted, screaming: “Don’t give up Harvard for Ethan! No one should ruin your future!” “Ethan truly loves Lily Smith, not you. They secretly agreed to get married right after college. Everyone knows about it!” I froze for a few seconds, then quickly changed all my applications to Harvard. Seeing me finish, the woman in the video visibly relaxed. She then leaned closer to the camera, speaking faster, “Go buy a lottery ticket tomorrow. The numbers are 122033, and buy ten of them! This money will completely change your fate.” “Also, no matter who tries to persuade you, don’t sell the old house Grandma left you. This area is scheduled for urban redevelopment soon.” “In two years, Horizon Tech’s stock will skyrocket a hundredfold before being delisted.” “What you need to do is buy heavily into it on May 6th, 2024, to bottom-feed.” “Eighteen-year-old Chloe Smith, you absolutely must save yourself from this mess. You must seize this opportunity and live a life of success.” As soon as she finished speaking, the video cut off, and my phone went completely black. I murmured, “I will.”

My bedroom was so quiet I could hear my own breathing. I stared intently at my phone, which was now just a black screen, my heart pounding. What had just happened felt like a dream. Compared to my youthful crush on Ethan, the undeniable regret and exhaustion in my future self’s eyes were like a bucket of ice water poured over my head, snapping me wide awake. My hands trembling, I pulled a notebook from my drawer and carefully wrote down the lottery numbers. Below them, I marked in red — “Don’t sell Grandma’s house, Horizon Tech.” After I finished, I let out a long breath. Just then, my phone buzzed with a SnapChat message from Ethan: [You changed your college applications to Texas College, right? Lily loves the ocean, so we’ll both go with her to the coast.] Lily’s message followed immediately: [Chloe, Ethan said you’d come to college with me and take care of me.] [Thanks! You really are the best sister in the world.] My gaze fell on the constantly popping up messages on my phone screen, and I slowly closed my eyes. Ethan was my childhood sweetheart, we grew up together. Lily was my half-sister. Half a month after my mom passed away, Dad brought Lily and her mom home. That’s when I found out I had a sister, Lily, who was only half a month younger than me. Grandma was worried I’d be mistreated, so she took me in and raised me. It wasn’t until Grandma passed away that I was sent back to live with Dad. Dad felt guilty and tried to make it up to me in every way possible, giving me more allowance than Lily. My stepmom was relatively kind; at least, she didn’t overtly make things difficult for me. Lily, on the other hand, loved sticking by my side, always telling everyone she had a super-smart older sister who aced everything. But after that phone call, I realized these people might not be worth it. My life, my future, should be my only pursuit, something I should give my all for. Perhaps seeing that I hadn’t replied for a long time, Ethan called directly. “Chloe, what’s going on? College applications are almost due. Have you even—” “Don’t worry, I’ve filled them out.” My voice was calm. Hearing this, the person on the other end of the line let out a sigh of relief. Then came Lily’s sweet and lively cheer, “Yay! That’s great! The three of us can be together again!” Lily’s voice was as innocent and harmless as it had been countless times before—she was a girl who truly grew up surrounded by love. Before, I would have thought that Lily depending on me and Ethan being by my side was the best thing ever. But now, I just felt a bitter irony. On the other end of the line, Ethan was completely at ease, his tone as gentle and confident as ever. “Chloe, I knew you’d be the most understanding.” “Texas College has a nice environment and is close to home. It’ll be convenient for all three of us to come back on holidays, much better than going thousands of miles north.” He always took things for granted. He never considered that I could have gone to Harvard and had a brilliant future. But thankfully, it wasn’t too late. I washed up and went to bed. I had a dreamless night. The next day, as soon as it was light, I woke up with a start. In my mind, that string of numbers, enough to rewrite my destiny, flashed over and over, perfectly clear. I quickly changed, not even stopping for breakfast, and rushed out the door, heading straight for the nearest lottery store. The morning breeze was cool, dispelling the summer heat. I walked up to the counter and recited the numbers I knew by heart: “Excuse me, I want to buy 122033, ten lines.”

Five minutes later, I walked out of the lottery store. I carefully folded the ten thin lottery tickets and put them into my pocket, close to my body. I unconsciously clenched my hand, my fingertips trembling slightly. Before yesterday, I was willing to sacrifice my own future for Ethan and Lily. But now, I only cared about myself. As I walked towards the apartment building. I vaguely heard rustling sounds from the lawn ahead. “Lily, let me hug you. I’ve missed you so much.” It was Ethan’s voice. Then came the sound of clothes rubbing together, and wet kissing sounds. I was about to walk past when I heard Ethan’s voice again, “Chloe is such a tag-along, always clinging to us. Good thing she’s not around today, or we wouldn’t have any alone time.” “You’re so bad, don’t talk about Chloe like that.” Lily’s coquettish voice followed. Ethan chuckled, taking over with a spoiled tone, “Okay, okay, we won’t talk about her.” “But Lily, we can’t go public yet. Chloe wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Lily sniffled, a little wronged, “Okay, I know. Chloe is so pitiful, and she’s always liked you a lot.” “Chloe is sensitive, fragile, and has a weird personality. She’s always disliked me. In her subconscious, Mom and I are the culprits who destroyed her family.” “But I actually like her.” Ethan sighed. “Lily, you’re just too kind. No matter what, you’re innocent.” I didn’t listen any further, turning and quickening my pace. To say I wasn’t sad at all would be a lie. Ethan was my most important friend when I was a child. Even after Dad took me back, my connection with Ethan never broke. He would worry about me being bullied, constantly reminding me to watch out for my stepmom, almost like he had paranoia. [Chloe, you have to be careful of your stepmom. She doesn’t look like a good person; that’s how it always goes in TV dramas.] [You should be careful of your dad too. After all, a new mom often means a new dad.] [That sister of yours isn’t simple either. A child born from an affair—what good could come from that?] [Chloe, if you get bullied, tell me, and I’ll rush over to save you that very night.] [We’re childhood sweethearts; I’ll be your strongest support.] Later in high school, Ethan threw tantrums at home to protect me, absolutely insisting on coming to the same school as me. … I took a deep breath. Compared to that slight melancholy, what filled my heart was the wild joy of impending destiny change. Back home, I buried myself in my room. By then, it was 8:50 AM. The lottery drawing was less than half an hour away. I reached into my pocket and touched the lottery tickets, feeling like I was holding a scorching hot fire-ball. Just then, someone knocked on my door. I opened it. It was Ethan who knocked, with Lily standing beside him. Seeing me, Lily immediately flashed a sweet smile, walked over, and linked her arm through mine, her voice soft, innocent, and spoiled, “Chloe, where did you go this morning? Ethan and I waited for you forever.” Ethan frowned at me, his eyes filled with worry and confusion, “What’s wrong with you? You haven’t replied to any messages all day. Do you know how worried we were about you?” “Didn’t check my phone.” I said dismissively. Ethan paused slightly, the tenderness in his eyes fading a bit, a flicker of annoyance crossing his brows. But soon, his brow smoothed, and he chuckled, “You’re throwing a fit because we asked you to apply to Texas College, aren’t you? Chloe, you’re so stubborn.” “Honestly, if you really didn’t want to, who could force you? But you can’t agree verbally and then secretly resent us.”

Lily quickly stepped between Ethan and me, playing the peacemaker, “Okay, okay, both of you say less.” She looked back at me, her voice soft and coaxing, “Chloe, we’re going on a trip. Are you coming? The SATs are finally over; shouldn’t we relax?” I subtly pulled my hand back. “No, I’m not interested.” The air hung heavy. But I didn’t pay them any more attention, turning back into my bedroom and closing the door. At this point, there were only five minutes left until the draw. The two outside seemed to say something else, but I couldn’t hear it. My gaze returned to the lottery draw page. The countdown ticked down, with only three minutes remaining. I pulled out the ten lottery tickets I had kept close to me, my hands trembling, and spread them out on the table. At 9:15 AM sharp, the numbers were drawn. Every single digit matched. In an instant, my blood surged, boiling hot! I stared intensely at the screen. A single winning ticket was ten million. Ten winning tickets meant a hundred million. After taxes, I’d have a solid eighty million dollars. The next morning, I put on the most inconspicuous baggy hoodie, a baseball cap, and a mask, then grabbed my ID and the lottery tickets to claim my prize. I arrived at the state lottery center around 11 AM. Following the procedures I had looked up in advance, I cooperated with the staff to complete registration, tax payment, and bank transfer. Two hours later, eighty million dollars were transferred into my newly opened exclusive bank account. Looking at the long string of numbers, I could barely suppress my smile. Indeed, money solves ninety-nine percent of problems. Perhaps because of the unpleasant argument the night before, Ethan seemed to be giving me a “lesson” and didn’t contact me all day. Lily, however, sent me a message: “Chloe, are you unhappy?” “No.” I replied. She clearly didn’t believe me but didn’t ask further. I got home in the evening. As soon as I opened the door, a heavy, oppressive atmosphere hit me. Dad sat on the sofa, smoking, his face full of worry, looking tired and anxious. My stepmom, Mrs. Jenkins, sat beside him, sighing frequently, her eyes red-rimmed. Lily sat close to Mrs. Jenkins, her eyes downcast. I changed my shoes as usual and walked over calmly. Hearing my movement, Dad looked up, speaking with some difficulty, “Chloe, you’re back. Dad needs to talk to you about something.” I looked at him, my gaze utterly calm. I could already guess what he was going to say. Sure enough, Dad spoke again, “The factory ran into big trouble. We’re having cash flow problems, and if this keeps up, we might… go bankrupt.” Mrs. Jenkins immediately chimed in, “Chloe, you’re a sensible girl. You know how important this factory is to our family. If it goes under, we’ll all struggle.” “The most urgent thing now is to cash out quickly and plug the hole!” With that, Mrs. Jenkins rushed over, grabbed my hand, and said urgently, “Chloe, the old house your grandma left you is in a great location, right next to the commercial district. We’ve checked; it can sell for at least five million, which is just enough to cover the debt.” I pulled my hand back, not a ripple of emotion in my eyes. My future self had repeatedly warned me to hold onto that old house. Seeing my silence, Dad grew more anxious, “Chloe, we’re family. You can’t just ignore us when the family is in trouble. That old house is sitting empty; it’s a waste to keep it. We might as well sell it for an emergency.” “Once Dad gets through this, I’ll definitely compensate you.” Lily looked at me with teary eyes, “Chloe…” I looked up, my gaze sweeping over the family of three before me, and slowly said, “Okay.” At my words, their eyes lit up, and smiles appeared on their faces. Dad chuckled, “I knew Chloe would be the most understa—” But I cut him off directly, calmly throwing out a question, “But I have one question: this factory that needs me to sell my house to save it, in the future, who will it go to?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, the living room fell into dead silence. Lily suddenly looked up at me, biting her lip tightly. Dad’s smile froze, momentarily speechless. The gentle, sincere expression on Mrs. Jenkins’s face completely vanished. She stared hard at me, saying nothing. In that eerie and awkward atmosphere, I smiled. My laughter was jarringly out of place. Everyone knew the answer to that question. All the family’s assets and savings were implicitly reserved for Lily. They wanted me to sell the house Grandma left me to save the family business that would eventually belong to Lily. That night, I used it as an excuse to pack my bags and move out. Before I left, Dad’s figure seemed to slump significantly. He asked me, “Chloe, you never truly forgave me, did you?” I paused for a moment. No, I never did. All these years, I’d acted indifferent, trying to fit in with this family. But all of that was just a means for me to survive. That night, I returned to Grandma’s old house. I tidied up a bit and then crashed, falling into a deep sleep. Perhaps because I had been so stressed these past few days, I slept like a log until 2 PM the next day. Just after I finished eating, the doorbell rang. It was Ethan. He actually came to make up. “Chloe, can we stop this cold war? You haven’t spoken to me in days; I can’t take it.” “Okay, okay, I admit it was my fault. I neglected you.” “How about this: after our test results come out, we’ll go on a trip. I’ll go anywhere you want, just you and me.” I looked at him with some surprise. Ethan met my gaze, his ears slightly red, “I used to think you clung to me too much, making me feel suffocated. But these past few years, with you ignoring me, I feel even worse.” I couldn’t help but frown. Ethan, lost in his own emotions, smiled and reached out to ruffle my hair, “We promised each other we’d be together forever.” I took a step back, spreading my hands. “My dad once said that to my mom too, but he cheated on her while she was pregnant.” My words were too blunt, making Ethan flinch. He instinctively retorted, “But Lily is innocent; she can’t help how she was born.” I stared at him for a long time. How could I have ever liked someone like this? I then turned and closed the door. I wouldn’t stop for unworthy people anymore. In the following days, Dad and Mrs. Jenkins still didn’t give up. Annoyed, I directly asked in the family SnapChat group—”You need money to plug the hole, so why don’t you sell all the gold jewelry at home? Why don’t you sell the cars and house? You’re just waiting to take advantage of me, aren’t you!” My words were too blunt and harsh. It caused a stir in the extended family chat. Dad, being thin-skinned, left the group that day. Mrs. Jenkins then played the victim in the group, claiming how good she had been to me, but I had never truly accepted her. Of course, doing so only made the relatives scold her even more. As for Lily, the beneficiary, she remained silent. Ethan wasn’t someone who would pester endlessly. After being treated that way last time, he also felt angry. For a long time, he didn’t appear before me again. I was happy with the peace. About half a month later, acceptance letters for college started arriving for my classmates. The class SnapChat group was lively every day. Everyone was excitedly looking forward to college life. I also received my acceptance letter—it was from Harvard University. I looked at the letter, my fingertips tracing the school name over and over, my eyes moist. Ethan, who hadn’t spoken to me in a long time, called me proactively, “Are you still mad? You should have gotten your Texas College acceptance letter by now. We’ll be going to college together, you know.” I raised an eyebrow and said, “Who told you I was going to Texas College with you?”

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After Ethan Thompson and I started dating, he blocked his ex-girlfriend, Scarlett Hayes, on all platforms. But every time she got drunk, she’d show up outside our apartment building and cause a massive scene, pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell incessantly, until he came down. As soon as the lights went out, he had to go downstairs. They were always on a collision course, clashing like rivals since their dating days, and they’d argue intensely over the smallest things, each cursing louder and fouler than the last. I had long grown used to it. But this time, the usual war of words escalated. Scarlett straddled him, her fists and kicks showing no mercy. Furious, I rushed over and pushed her away, only to receive a harsh slap in return. Just as I was about to retaliate, Ethan clamped down on my wrist. He helped Scarlett up from the ground, his eyes overflowing with concern: “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” When he turned to me, there was only harsh criticism: “She’s had too much to drink, why would you push her?!” I stared blankly at the man who allowed another woman to cling to him and throw a drunken tantrum. Suddenly, I understood. When a man says he hates a girl he’s dated, that girl is actually the one he can’t forget.

Ethan and Scarlett had been entangled for seven years, and their breakup was anything but amicable. I had been living in Ethan’s apartment for three years, and Scarlett had been causing trouble for three years. At first, she secretly made a spare key and, when he wasn’t home, stole the dog they had raised together. Ethan spent three days tracking her down, finally retrieving the dog from a rental in the suburbs. Later, she attached a miniature device to the bottom of his car. Every time we drove out, the car’s GPS would loop the voice message of Ethan confessing his feelings to her from back in the day. After that, every time she drank, she’d come to our building and cause a huge scene, pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell incessantly, until he came down. Such was the tangled mess of their love and hate. Ethan would clench his teeth in anger every time, swearing he’d cut ties with her completely. Yet he never truly pursued any action against her. This time, I was the one who got hit. But she was clinging to him, still sobbing, her face streaked with tears. Ethan didn’t look at me. He didn’t even ask if I was hurt. He just held her patiently in his arms, comforting her in a soft, low voice: “There, there, it’s okay now. I’m here, stop crying.” “I hate you, Ethan!” Scarlett clung to him, feigning drunkenness, tearing and biting at him. Ethan was a severe germaphobe. He couldn’t stand physical contact with others. Every time I tried to kiss him, he’d turn his head. Frowning, he’d say, “Chloe, cut it out, it’s not hygienic.” But now. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her wet kisses landing on his cheek, his neck, the corner of his lips. The sounds of her wet kisses were jarring. He didn’t pull away. Even when she bit his Adam’s apple, he only let out a muffled groan and tightened his arms around her. “Chloe, don’t mind her, she’s had too much to drink.” He finally spared me a glance. “You go on back to sleep. I’ll take her home.” With that, he lifted her into his arms and turned to leave. Scarlett lay on his shoulder, her previously closed eyes suddenly opening. There was no trace of drunkenness in those eyes, only triumph. She looked over his shoulder at me, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. As if to say, “See? I won again.” I watched Ethan’s retreating figure. It was strange; he seemed to have lost his light. I had tried hard to convince myself that for a crazy woman like Scarlett, Ethan felt nothing but disgust. It wasn’t until this moment, watching him carry her away and disappear around the street corner, that I finally understood. His fondness for her was almost physiological. It would always override his reason.

That slap couldn’t be for nothing. I immediately called the police. The siren’s wail quickly pierced the quiet of the neighborhood. Scarlett sobered up instantly, lunging at me like a maniac, trying to scratch me, but the police officers handcuffed her arms behind her. She screamed as she was shoved into the patrol car. Ethan’s usually impassive face was almost contorted with panic. “It’s a complete misunderstanding! She’s my friend, she was drunk and emotionally unstable, that’s why she lashed out at me! We can sort this out at home…” The officer explained, “A victim, Ms. Chloe, reported an assault. We need to take her back to the station to verify the details.” “What victim?” Ethan whipped his head around, his gaze like an ice pick, piercing right through me. He looked like he wanted to skin me alive. “Chloe! Are you seriously going to take this that far?!” My cheek was still swollen, and I looked at him coldly. “Ethan! Save me! No!” Scarlett cried out from the car. Ethan was burning with anxiety, pounding on the car window: “Scarlett, don’t be scared! I’ll be right there!” He ignored me, started his car, and sped after the police vehicle. I went to the hospital and got a medical report for the injury. All the way, my phone vibrated frantically. When I didn’t answer, messages popped up one after another. All from Ethan, demanding answers. [Answer the phone.] [Why did you call the police? Scarlett was drunk, it wasn’t intentional, and besides, you pushed her first!] [Go to the police station right now and drop the case.] [If she gets a criminal record, her life will be ruined. Can’t you be a little kinder?] Kinder. I touched my still-throbbing cheek and made a decision in my heart. Back at Ethan’s apartment, I pulled out my suitcase. Three years, but not many personal items. I neatly folded my clothes, and threw away my used toothbrush. Finally, I opened Ethan’s laptop. I deleted the few, precious photos of us together from his cloud storage. Those were the only few photos from our three years together, proof that I hadn’t imagined this relationship. The login ID auto-filled. The page refreshed, and just as I was about to delete, I clicked on the folder named “Archive” by some strange impulse. The mouse wheel scrolled down. No end in sight. Over ten thousand photos. All of them Scarlett. Waves crashing, she ran barefoot on the beach, the camera capturing her flying hair as she looked back. Cherry blossoms like snow, she stood under a tree laughing joyfully, his hand reaching out to support her waist. In a field of flowers, he held a cake, gazing at her deeply, his eyes brighter than starlight. Their past was intimate and unrestrained. And me? Three years into our relationship, I always felt like a shadow. I used to think trust was the most important thing in a relationship. He blocked all her contact methods, hated her so much he wouldn’t even order her favorite dishes or listen to her favorite songs. That meant it was completely over. I had strong self-esteem; I wouldn’t snoop, I hadn’t even asked for his phone password. Even if his replies to my messages were always brief and cold. Even if I gave him gifts, he would always give gifts of similar value in return. I lied to myself, thinking it was his politeness and boundaries. But now, the screen displayed countless saved chat logs, like a giant spiderweb. That was their daily life back then. He’d say: [I saw a cat on the street today, it looked a lot like yours.] She’d say: [The clouds today look like marshmallows, you have to buy them for me after work.] He’d say: [My little greedy cat.] Meaningless chatter back and forth, he’d reply to all of it. Even when they fought, he’d write lengthy messages, every word carefully chosen, arguing with her endlessly. He even gave her his salary card, playfully begging her: [Babe, can I have some spending money?] I looked at those photos, those records. It felt like a dull blow to my chest. A long, sinking feeling of helplessness washed over me. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand romance, or that he was inherently cold. It was just that his passion, his indulgence, his boundless affection, he had always been stingy about sharing even an ounce of it with me. To him, I was always dispensable. That’s why, with me, he thought even arguing was a waste of time. I closed the laptop. The moment the screen went black, it reflected my pale face and swollen red eyes. My phone buzzed on the table, its screen lighting up and darkening. Ethan sent another message: [I’ll wait for you for half an hour. If you don’t come drop the case, we’re breaking up.]

The elevator doors slowly closed. I looked down at my phone screen, his threat pricking my eyes like needles. For three years, he had always been a decent boyfriend. It was only when Scarlett was involved that every argument between us felt like he became a different person. I remembered last week, he waited in line for half an hour to buy the drink I wanted. Just as he handed it to me, Scarlett appeared. She stopped us, pouting petulantly: “I want one too, Ethan. You promised you’d only ever buy drinks for one woman – me.” Without a word, he took the cup from my hand, inserted the straw, and handed it to her. I looked at my empty hand, but he casually put his arm around me: “It’s just a coffee, give it to her, or she’ll make a scene again.” In our second year of dating, I took him home for the first time. My parents prepared for three days, cooking a table full of his favorite dishes. Halfway to my place, Scarlett called, saying her car had been in an accident. He turned the car around and left. I was left alone with a table full of cold food and my parents’ awkward silence. Later, he coaxed me: “She’s never handled these things before, don’t be mad. I’ll make it up to your parents another day.” When that “another day” came, he was having dinner with my parents. His phone rang, an unknown number. He stood up to answer it, speaking into the screen with extreme impatience: “Scarlett, are you done yet? What is it now?” My mom’s hand, holding a dish, froze in mid-air, and my dad put down his wine glass. After he hung up, I quietly reminded him that it wasn’t very polite. He frowned, stating matter-of-factly: “If I don’t answer, she won’t stop. Your family won’t mind this.” Our biggest argument erupted when I had acute appendicitis. I was about to go into surgery, when Scarlett called, drunkenly screaming, “If you don’t come in ten minutes, I’m ordering three male escorts.” He hesitated for three seconds, then chose her. When I woke up, he was standing by my hospital bed, looking exhausted, with blood marks from her scratches still on his neck. He explained: “She was drunk, I was afraid she’d do something she’d regret.” “You’re fine now, aren’t you? I’ll take time off to take care of you for the next few days.” They say a good ex should be like they’re dead. But his ex was everywhere. Like air, like a virus. Every time, he’d say dismissively: “I’m annoyed too, what can I do?” Making me feel like I was the petty, unreasonable villain. The elevator descended, the numbers constantly changing. I sent Ethan one last message. [Okay, let’s break up.]

No matter what Ethan sent me next, I firmly refused to reply. Of course, I didn’t go to drop the case. But the next morning, a call woke me up. Through the receiver, Scarlett’s voice was triumphant, almost floating. “Chloe, so what if you called the police? Ethan still couldn’t bear to see me suffer!” “He contacted his dad last night and bailed me out.” I instantly sobered up. Ethan and his estranged father, who had abandoned his family, hadn’t spoken in over a decade. It was the deepest scar on his heart. Now, for Scarlett, for a mere 48-hour detention, he had humbled himself to beg that man. Seeing my silence, her laughter grew even more jarring. “Doesn’t that count as Ethan publicly slapping you in the face?” “So what if you’re his girlfriend? His first choice, the one he loves, will always be me.” I hung up the phone, and the screen lit up. It was a screenshot of Scarlett’s Ins story. That private list, visible only to three people, was once filled with her presence. When he was with her, he updated it daily. Sweet moments, arguments, making up—all updated. But for me, he had never officially announced my existence, saying only that showing affection on social media was childish. For every one of their anniversaries, he would meticulously prepare surprises. Because he was afraid “my little princess wouldn’t be happy, and would cause a scene again.” Yet for our three anniversaries, he was absent due to Scarlett’s various dramas. I once tried acting out like Scarlett. He frowned impatiently: “Chloe, I broke up with her precisely because I was tired of her capriciousness. Are you going to be like that too?” I loved him too much, so I could only swallow my grievances and back down. At noon, the lock turned. Ethan came in, carrying a large bouquet of champagne roses. Seeing the unpacked suitcase in the hallway, he smiled helplessly. “Baby, yesterday was my fault. I spoke out of turn.” He walked closer to me, his tone indulgent as he explained. “I didn’t mean to favor her. You know her personality; I was worried she’d keep causing trouble if you hit her back.” “You’re usually so gentle, you’d get the short end of the stick in a fight.” I looked at him, feeling both absurd and amused. My 6’1″, eight-pack-abs boyfriend was right there. But I still took a slap for nothing, didn’t I? “So, you sought out the person you despise the most, to bail her out?” At the mention of that man, Ethan’s expression hardened. “If you hadn’t insisted on making such a big deal out of it, would I have gone to beg him?” “Scarlett’s mom and my mom are best friends, we grew up together. Now my girlfriend put her in a police station, how are our families going to interact in the future? What will my mom think of you?!” “I used to think you were sensible, but this time, you just acted so recklessly.” He kept talking. “Chloe, does it make sense for you to always be jealous because of her? That’s just her personality, you know I’ve blocked her, what else can I do?” Listening to his string of accusations, my heart grew colder. Yes, he had blocked all her contact information. But he never missed a call from those unknown numbers. “You should go.” I heard myself say. “I agree to break up.” “I already said I was impulsive and spoke wrong. Can’t you just let it go?” He tugged irritably at his collar. “Chloe, I’ve told you many times, I will never get back with Scarlett. Her temper is too fiery, we simply can’t make it work.” Saying this, he took a velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was the diamond ring we had custom-made together. “Once we’re married, she’ll finally give up and stop bothering us.” “From the day I started dating you three years ago, I knew you were the perfect wife for me.” I looked at the diamond ring I had dreamed of so many times. Now, the light it reflected was no longer dazzling, only blinding. He said so many words about “suitable,” “wife,” and “stability,” but he never once mentioned love. The refusal was on my lips when my phone rang at an inconvenient moment. It was my mom. Her voice was excited and relieved. “Ethan just brought so many gifts to the house, and he and your dad set the engagement date. This weekend sounds good.” I was stunned, instinctively refusing: “Mom, I don’t want to, it’s too rushed…” “You child, you’ve been together for three years, it’s time to move forward. What more could you want from a good man like him?” Mom’s rambling faded as she hung up. Ethan hugged me from behind, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Your mom is very happy about our engagement.” His voice was coaxing: “She just slapped you, right? I’ll let you hit me back for her, as much as you want, okay?” “Let’s not quarrel over such a small thing.” I remembered my mom, just a while ago, wiping away tears and holding my hand when she found out she needed heart surgery: “Mom’s biggest worry is that no one will take care of you.” I stood there blankly, letting him slide the ring onto my ring finger. Like a beautiful set of shackles.

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Julian Thorne’s first love was back. He not only settled her in the most secluded mansion in the hills overlooking New York, but he also played the piano for her. That very piano he had sworn he would never touch again. As he indulged her, letting her drink from his personal mug, I suddenly understood. He wasn’t born cold-hearted. He just wasn’t warm to me. Today was our fifth wedding anniversary. I had canceled all my appointments and spent the day cooking all his favorite dishes. At eight that evening, Julian called. His voice was as distant and cool as ever. “There’s an urgent merger and acquisition deal at the office. I won’t be home tonight. You should get some sleep.” He had chronic stomach issues, relying on medication to manage it. I poured the warm soup, which I had kept simmering on the stove, into an insulated container and drove to Thorne Corp. The lights in his executive office were off. The assistant on duty saw me, his eyes darting away, stammering, unable to offer any coherent explanation. I didn’t press him. I turned and went downstairs, pulling up Julian’s car’s GPS location. The red dot was stationary at a hillside estate outside New York. It was one of Julian’s private properties, one I’d never even visited. The night wind was chilly. It took half an hour of driving winding roads to reach the destination. The villa’s front gate was ajar, spilling warm yellow light. I pushed the door open, walked through the entryway, and the scene in the living room hit me, completely unprepared. In front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows stood a black Steinway grand piano. Julian sat on the piano bench, his long fingers dancing across the black and white keys, producing a light, gentle melody. I froze. His right hand had been injured, once making it difficult even to hold a pen. I’d spent a full year seeking out top doctors, massaging his hand with warm towels every night, painstakingly helping him with physical therapy. He recovered, but afterwards, he refused to touch the piano again. “Audrey,” he’d said, “my hand hurts. I won’t play anymore.” My heart ached for him, so I had the piano at home moved out and never brought it up again. But now, his hand didn’t seem to hurt at all. Because the woman sitting beside him was watching him, a radiant smile on her face. Serena Bell wore a silk slip dress, leaning lazily against the edge of the piano. She casually picked up a glass of water from the piano and took a sip. It was Julian’s mug. He was an extreme germaphobe, with territorial instincts that bordered on obsessive. At home, if I accidentally used his cutlery, he would toss it directly into the trash. Yet at this moment, not only was he not angry, but he stopped playing, naturally lifted his hand, and gently wiped the water from Serena’s lip with his thumb. “Drink slowly. No one is going to snatch it from you.” His voice was incredibly soft, filled with a level of indulgence and affection I had never heard directed at me. The scene was blinding, stinging my eyes. Julian and I had been married for five years. He was always polite, distant, and restrained with me. I thought he was just that kind of person, like a block of ice that couldn’t be melted. I believed that with enough patience, I could eventually warm him. Now it seemed the ice had long melted, but it had turned into water in someone else’s mug. I took a deep breath, raised my hand, and knocked twice on the open doorframe. “Excuse me.” The piano music stopped abruptly. The two people near the sofa turned to look at me simultaneously. Serena gasped, flinching back like a startled fawn. Julian’s face instantly darkened. He instinctively stood up, shielding Serena behind him. That protective posture, so practiced, sent a chill through me. “How did you find this place?” He frowned, his tone full of accusation and displeasure. I walked in, carrying the insulated container, and placed it on the coffee table. “I came to bring you your stomach medicine. But it seems, Mr. Thorne, your appetite is doing quite well right now; you don’t need this.” Julian’s gaze swept over the container, a flicker of discomfort in his eyes, but it quickly returned to cold rigidity. “Company matters finished early. Serena just got back to the country and is a bit unstable emotionally. I came to check on her.” “Emotionally unstable?” I tugged at the corner of my mouth, my gaze moving past him to Serena. “Does it require drinking from the same mug to cure? Which hospital prescribes that kind of remedy? I’d love to learn.” Serena bit her lower lip, her eyes instantly welling up. “Audrey, please don’t misunderstand. I was just thirsty and didn’t realize I grabbed the wrong mug. There’s nothing going on between Julian and me; it’s completely innocent.” Her aggrieved, innocent act made me look like an irrational shrew. I let out a cold laugh. “Completely innocent? A man and a woman, alone in a secluded villa late at night, playing piano and sharing drinks? You call that innocent? Ms. Bell, your definition of ‘innocent’ seems a little too flexible.” “Audrey Hayes!” Julian cut me off sharply. “Watch your tone. Serena has severe depression and can’t handle stress.” “She can’t handle stress, but I can?” I met Julian’s eyes, asking each word distinctly. “Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. You lied to me, saying you were working late at the office, only to be here playing therapist for her?” Julian was silent for two seconds, then softened his tone slightly. “It’s just an anniversary. We can celebrate later. Go home first; don’t make a scene here.” A scene? In his eyes, my coming to find my husband was “making a scene.” I looked at the piano, and suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of absurdity. “Your hand wasn’t able to play the piano anymore, was it?” Julian’s body stiffened, his fingers at his side curling slightly. “Understood.” I nodded, then swept the insulated container directly into the nearby trash can. With a dull thud, the soup spilled all over the floor. “It wasn’t that you couldn’t play; it’s that you didn’t want to play for me. Julian Thorne, you disgust me.” With that, I turned and walked away. Julian strode after me, grabbing my wrist. His grip was strong, squeezing my bones painfully. “What’s wrong with you?” he growled, suppressing his anger. I violently shook off his hand, stepping back in disgust. “Don’t touch me. You’re dirty.”

I walked out of the villa without looking back. The mountain wind blew against me, carrying the chill of late autumn, instantly piercing my thin coat. I pulled open the car door and got in, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. My stomach churned. I pushed the car door open and squatted by the roadside, dry heaving. Nothing came up but bitter stomach acid burning my throat. Five years of marriage, over eighteen hundred days and nights, had turned into a complete joke tonight. I’d always thought Julian was an emotionless person. He didn’t laugh loudly, didn’t get angry, and even in bed, he maintained a precise rhythm and restraint. I tolerated his aloofness, grew accustomed to his rules, and even changed my style of dress and daily habits to cater to his preferences. I believed this was our way of being together. It wasn’t until tonight that I saw a vibrant side of him. He would lie for a woman, play the piano for her, and glare at me because of a single tear from her. The difference between love and indifference was so stark. I didn’t return to the house filled with Julian’s presence. Instead, I drove to my small, older apartment, a bit run-down, that I’d bought in college. It wasn’t large, but every piece of furniture was hand-picked by me, filling it with a cozy and lived-in vibe. As I opened the door, the scent of dust greeted me. I didn’t even turn on the lights, collapsing onto the sofa fully clothed, my eyes open until dawn. The next morning, the sound of the lock turning echoed through the apartment. Julian walked in. He was wearing the same custom-tailored suit from yesterday, the creases still in the same place; clearly, he hadn’t slept at home. He carried a cake from my favorite bakery in the South End, his expression normal as he walked to the dining table and set it down. “Get up and eat something.” His tone was so calm, as if nothing had happened last night. I sat up, watching him coldly. “How did you get in?” “The password hasn’t changed, so of course, I could get in.” Julian unbuttoned his suit jacket, sat on the single armchair, and frowned slightly. “I can explain what happened last night.” “No need,” I interrupted him. “I don’t want to hear it.” Julian’s face hardened a few shades. “Audrey Hayes, can’t you stop being so stubborn? Serena went through something overseas years ago; she has severe psychological trauma. She has no family or friends in this city. As a friend, it’s perfectly reasonable for me to look after her.” “Friend?” I chewed on the word, finding it utterly ridiculous. “What kind of friend needs you to lie to your wife in the middle of the night to spend time with them? What kind of friend gets to drink from your mug? Julian, do you take me for a fool?” “I already said, it was an accident!” His voice rose, tinged with irritation. “Do you have to cling to this trivial matter?” Trivial matter. In his eyes, deception and betrayal were just “trivial matters.” I suddenly felt exhausted, lacking the energy even to argue. “Say whatever you want,” I stood up, walked to the window, and pulled back the curtains, letting the glaring sunlight stream in. “Julian, let’s get a divorce.” The room fell into an instant, heavy silence. Julian stared at me, his gaze gradually turning sharp and icy. “What did you say?” “I said, divorce.” I turned to face him, calmly meeting his eyes. “Let’s end things amicably before it gets too ugly.” Julian abruptly stood up, his tall frame looming over me with an oppressive presence. “Audrey Hayes, don’t throw around the word ‘divorce.’ It’s not funny.” “I’m not joking.” I looked at his tense jawline. “I’ll grant you your freedom. You can openly care for your severely depressed patient without needing to make excuses to lie to me anymore.” “Impossible!” Julian gritted his teeth. He grabbed my shoulders, his grip so tight it felt like he might crush my bones. “You want to divorce me over this misunderstanding? Audrey Hayes, what kind of tantrum are you throwing?” I forcefully broke free from his grasp, stepping back two paces to create distance. “Misunderstanding? Julian, can you look me in the eye and say you only have platonic feelings for Serena Bell?” His thin lips were pressed tight; he said nothing. Silence was the best answer. I managed a sarcastic laugh. “See? You can’t even be bothered to lie to me anymore. If your heart belongs to someone else, why keep me tied to your side? Let me go, and let yourself go.” “I said, divorce is not an option.” Julian took a deep breath, forcing down his anger. “Stay here for a while to cool down. I’ll come pick you up when you’ve thought things through.” With that, he turned and strode out, his retreating figure exuding an undeniable forcefulness. The loud bang of the door closing plunged the room back into silence. I looked at the cake on the table and unhesitatingly threw it into the trash. Cool down? I was perfectly calm. Calmer than any moment in the past five years.

The silent treatment had officially begun. I didn’t return to the villa, and Julian didn’t come looking for me again. He probably assumed that if he just ignored me for a few days, I’d be the one to back down and make peace, dutifully returning to his side, just like before. After all, for five years, I was always the one to compromise first. But not this time. I poured all my energy into my company. Apex Tech, a startup, was founded by me and a few seniors after college. Years ago, our funding dried up, and we were on the brink of bankruptcy. It was Julian who stepped in with an investment, bringing the company back from the dead. Now, Apex Tech was back on track and preparing for a new round of financing. I was swamped with work every day, trying to numb myself with endless tasks. Until Friday afternoon, when my assistant, Sarah, knocked on my office door. “Ms. Hayes, have you seen the news?” Sarah handed me her tablet, her expression complicated. The screen displayed an entertainment gossip headline. “Thorne Corp. CEO Splurges on ‘Tears of the Ocean’ for a Mystery Woman.” The accompanying image was a blurred profile shot. Julian, dressed in a custom black tuxedo, was leaning down to fasten a sparkling sapphire necklace around the woman’s neck. I’d recognize that woman’s figure anywhere. It was Serena Bell. And that “Tears of the Ocean” necklace was an exhibit I’d looked at for a moment too long at a gala Julian and I attended last month. I’d casually remarked that it was beautiful. Julian, however, had coolly commented, “It’s too flashy. It doesn’t suit you.” It wasn’t that it didn’t suit me; it was that it didn’t suit him to buy it for me. Now, that flashy necklace adorned the neck of his long-cherished first love. “Ms. Hayes, this…” Sarah looked at me cautiously. “It’s fine. You can go.” I pushed the tablet back, my voice so calm it surprised even myself. Did it hurt? It felt like the pain had numbed me. I opened my laptop, pulled up a divorce agreement I’d drafted long ago, filled in the date, and printed two copies. If he wouldn’t end things amicably, I’d make him. At 3 PM, I took the agreement to Thorne Corp. This time, I wasn’t stopped downstairs. The receptionist respectfully called me “Mrs. Thorne” and let me pass directly. I pushed open the door to the executive office. Julian was listening to an executive report. Seeing me enter, he raised a hand, signaling the executive to leave. Only the two of us remained in the office. Julian leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on my face, seemingly assessing my state over the past few days. “Have you come to your senses?” he asked nonchalantly, his tone carrying an arrogant certainty that he was in control. I walked to his desk and slapped the divorce agreement down in front of him. “Sign it. Let’s get a divorce.” Julian’s gaze landed on the bold black letters “DIVORCE AGREEMENT,” and his face instantly darkened. Without even looking at the contents, he picked it up and tore it in half right in front of me. “I told you, no divorce.” The shredded paper was casually tossed into the wastebasket. I expressionlessly opened my bag, took out another copy, and placed it before him. “It’s alright. I printed plenty.” Julian’s eye twitched, and he tore it up again. I kept taking them out. He kept tearing them. Until I produced the twelfth copy of the agreement. Julian finally lost his patience, abruptly stood up, braced his hands on the desk, and glared at me. “Audrey Hayes, are you ever going to stop? It’s just a necklace; do you really need to make such a scene?” “A necklace?” I laughed. “Julian, do you really think if you toss me a crumb of your patience, I should be grateful and continue being your perfect wife? You use my affection to fawn over another woman, and you expect me to applaud magnanimously?” “I bought that necklace because Serena needs it for an important gala she’s attending! She needs to make a good impression!” “She needs to make a good impression, so you use something I admire to boost her image?” I met his gaze without backing down. “Julian, stop making excuses for your favoritism. Just sign it. It’ll be better for everyone.” Julian clenched his jaw tightly, his chest heaving. He looked at my resolute eyes, seemingly finally realizing that I wasn’t playing hard to get. I followed him, neither of us speaking, as we drove separately to the courthouse. There weren’t many people applying for divorce in the afternoon. Soon, it was our turn. The clerk checked our documents and, as per routine, asked, “Irreconcilable differences, confirm you want to divorce?” “Confirmed,” I answered without hesitation. The clerk turned to Julian. “And you, sir? Are you sure?” Julian sat in the chair, his jaw as rigid as iron. He stared at the divorce petition in front of him, his pen hovering, never quite touching the paper. Time ticked by, second by second. The clerk grew a bit impatient. “Sir, if you haven’t made up your mind, you can always go back and reconsider.” Julian suddenly flung his pen down and abruptly stood up. The chair scraped against the floor with a harsh sound. “I won’t divorce.” He dropped those three cold words, then turned and walked out.

I froze for a second, then rage shot through me. “Julian, what game are you playing!” I grabbed my bag and chased after him, blocking his path. “Are you insane? You signed the papers, you brought me here, and now, at the finish line, you’re backing out?” Julian looked down at me, his eyes as deep and lifeless as stagnant water. “I changed my mind. Is that not allowed?” His righteous attitude made me laugh in anger. “Why? If you care about Serena so much, why won’t you divorce me to make room for her? Keeping me as your legal wife, forcing her to be a mistress in the shadows her whole life. Is that your love for her?” “Shut up.” Julian roared, a vein throbbing faintly on his temple. “Serena and I don’t have that kind of relationship. I promised to take care of you for life, and I won’t break my word. The position of Mrs. Thorne can only be yours.” Take care of me for life? That declaration, which once moved me to tears, now sounded utterly chilling. “Your ‘care’ is treating me like a trophy wife, then pouring all your emotions and energy into another woman?” I looked at him coldly. “Julian, I don’t need your pity. I’m divorcing you, no matter what.” I didn’t bother with him anymore, turning to walk towards my car. Since an amicable divorce wasn’t possible, I would have to sue. The next morning, I went straight to my lawyer and filed a divorce petition with the court. I thought this would be a long, drawn-out battle. But I underestimated Julian’s methods, and I overestimated my own leverage. On the third day after filing the lawsuit, Apex Tech ran into trouble. The company’s largest supplier suddenly announced a unilateral termination of our contract. Immediately after, two investment firms that had agreed to fund us simultaneously pulled out, and even the bank froze our loan facility. In just one day, the company’s funding completely dried up. My partners were frantic, calling me one after another. “Ms. Hayes, what’s going on? The supplier is even willing to pay the breach of contract penalty; they’re determined to cut ties with us!” “The investors said they received a ‘message from above’ and couldn’t fund us anymore.” I sat in my office, looking at the continually flashing red numbers on my computer screen, feeling a chill run through me. In this industry, only one person had such immense power and could precisely squeeze Apex Tech’s lifeline. Julian. He didn’t even bother to conceal his actions, openly telling me: he could crush me as easily as an ant. I grabbed my car keys and sped all the way to Thorne Corp. This time, I didn’t knock; I pushed open the door to the executive office directly. Julian was sitting behind his large desk, a cup of coffee in his hand, casually reading a document. Seeing me rush in, out of breath, he didn’t even lift an eyelid. “Julian, you’re despicable!” I charged to his desk, slamming my hands on the surface. “How dare you mess with my company?” Julian put down his coffee cup, leaned back slightly, and looked at me calmly. “I merely reclaimed the resources I once provided. You know perfectly well whose help Apex Tech owes its success to.” His voice was devoid of emotion, yet every word stung. Yes, Apex Tech had survived back then because of Thorne Corp.’s investment. Over the years, many partners had given us preferential treatment out of respect for Julian. I thought my career was something I had built through my own hard work and struggle, but it had always been under his wing. He could take it all back at any time. “What do you want?” I asked, gritting my teeth. “Withdraw the lawsuit,” Julian said, his long fingers lightly tapping the desk. “Then move back home. As long as you’re obedient, Apex Tech will be back to normal tomorrow.” He looked at me as if I were a pet throwing a tantrum. Cut off my food supply, and I’d surely return to my cage. I glared at him, my fingernails digging deep into my palms, using the pain to maintain the last shred of my sanity. “What if I don’t?” Julian let out a faint laugh, but his eyes were chillingly cold. “Then Apex Tech won’t survive this week. Your partners, those seniors who started the company with you, will be saddled with massive debts and never recover. Audrey Hayes, can you bear to drag them down with you?” He knew me too well. He knew I was loyal, knew I couldn’t sacrifice others’ hard work for my own marital problems. He had me completely trapped. My chest felt like it was stuffed with waterlogged cotton, making it hard to breathe. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and when I opened them again, only the dead calm of compromise remained. “Fine, I’ll withdraw the lawsuit,” I heard my voice, hoarse and unfamiliar. “I’ll move back today.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed Julian’s eyes. “That’s better, isn’t it?” He stood up, walked over to me, and reached out to touch my hair. I turned my head, avoiding his touch. His hand froze in mid-air, his face slightly darkened. “Don’t touch me,” I said coldly. “Julian, you won. But I’m telling you, you’ve only kept a shell.”

I moved back into the hillside villa. The moment I stepped through the front door, that suffocating sense of oppression washed over me again. The piano in the living room was still in its original spot, silently mocking my helplessness. I didn’t take my luggage into the master bedroom. Instead, I walked directly to the most secluded guest room on the first floor. Julian followed me. Seeing my actions, his brows immediately furrowed. “What are you doing?” “Sleeping,” I pushed my suitcase into a corner, then turned to face him. “Mr. Thorne, you only asked me to move back; you didn’t specify which bed I had to sleep in, did you?” Julian’s face was so dark it looked like it could drip ink. He strode over, grabbed my wrist, and tried to pull me out. “Go back to the master bedroom! What would it look like if a married couple slept in separate rooms?” “Is there any dignity left between us?” I struggled against his grip, glaring at him coldly. “That bed is full of your disgusting lies; I find it repulsive. If you’re unhappy, you’re welcome to bankrupt Apex Tech right now!” Julian’s actions froze. He looked at the undisguised disgust and resolve in my eyes, his jawline clenched to the extreme. They stood there, locked in a stalemate, for a full minute. Finally, he roughly flung my hand away and scoffed. “Suit yourself.” He turned and strode off, his retreating back radiating furious irritation. I locked the guest room door, then slid down the doorframe, collapsing onto the floor, completely drained. First round, I had lost completely. But I knew this was only a temporary compromise. Over the next few days, Julian and I lived under the same roof but existed in two separate worlds. I left early and returned late, trying to avoid him. When we occasionally met in the dining room, I treated him as if he were thin air, not even sparing him a glance. Julian tried to mend things in his usual condescending way. He would have his assistant send expensive jewelry, have the kitchen prepare my favorite dishes, and even knock on the guest room door at night. But my response was always a locked door and icy silence. He was accustomed to my obedience. Faced with my unyielding attitude, his patience was rapidly running out. And I wasn’t idle either. I returned to the company and called a meeting with a few key partners. “I plan to bring in new investment firms, dilute Thorne Corp.’s shares, and gradually strip Thorne Corp. of its control over Apex Tech.” I pushed a detailed financing plan in front of them. The conference room fell silent. The partners exchanged glances; no one reached for the plan. “Audrey,” Michael, the eldest senior, rubbed his hands, looking troubled, “actually, Mr. Thorne has already reinstated the cooperation, and the funds are in place. To provoke him now would be too risky.” “That’s right,” another partner chimed in. “Thorne Corp.’s resources are unparalleled. Besides, husband and wife make up in bed. Since Mr. Thorne is willing to compromise, you shouldn’t be too stubborn.” I looked at their evasive eyes, a wave of sadness washing over me. “He’s not compromising; he’s using you to threaten me.” I took a deep breath, trying to make them understand the gravity of the situation. “As long as Thorne Corp. is involved, Apex Tech will always be his puppet. Today he can cut off our funding; tomorrow he can kick us out!” “It’s not that serious, is it?” Michael forced a dry laugh. “What man doesn’t have a few flings? Mr. Thorne is just playing around. As long as he hasn’t committed a cardinal sin, you can just turn a blind eye. It’s not worth jeopardizing the company over this.” Turn a blind eye. So, in their eyes, my dignity and boundaries were worthless in the face of profit. I looked at this group of comrades who had once stayed up all night coding with me, eaten instant noodles, and vowed to build a great business. Suddenly, they felt utterly foreign. Our paths diverged. I retrieved the plan and stood up. “Since we disagree, I won’t force it.” I looked at them calmly. “I will sell all my shares and withdraw from Apex Tech.” The conference room instantly erupted. “Audrey, are you crazy? This is your life’s work!” “If you leave, what will happen to the company?” I ignored their pleas and accusations, turning to walk out of the conference room. What if it was my life’s work? If this hard-earned achievement became the shackles Julian used to trap me, I’d rather destroy it with my own hands. I would sever all ties to him, leaving him completely and cleanly.

Once the decision to leave Apex Tech was made, I acted quickly. I didn’t contact any industry magnates who had connections with Julian. Instead, I secretly reached out to several out-of-state venture capital firms and competitors. My shares were tempting, but taking them on meant potentially offending Julian, so negotiations were not smooth. To expedite the sale, I proactively lowered the price, seeking only a swift resolution. Half a month later, I finally reached an agreement with a conglomerate from Hong Kong. On the day of signing, the Hong Kong representative looked at me, somewhat puzzled. “Ms. Hayes, Apex Tech’s momentum is excellent right now. You’re cashing out at this price, which is a significant loss.” I signed my name, capped my pen, and smiled faintly. “Some things are more important than money.” Like freedom, like a bottom line that could no longer be manipulated. The moment the funds were transferred, I let out a long sigh of relief. I returned to Apex Tech one last time, placing the share transfer agreement in front of my partners. They looked at the official seals on the document, their faces turning pale. “Audrey Hayes, you actually sold your shares? You sold us out to outsiders!” Michael, the senior partner, angrily pointed at me. “I gave you a choice; you chose Julian,” I said, calmly looking at their angry faces. “Now I’m out. You can rest easy clinging to Thorne Corp.’s leg. I wish you all the best.” I didn’t take a single thing from the company, only my personal laptop. Stepping out of the office building, the sunlight was a bit dazzling. I glanced back at the “Apex Tech” logo atop the building, feeling no regret, only liberation. Now, between Julian and me, only a marriage certificate remained. I found a quiet coffee shop, preparing to call my lawyer to restart the divorce proceedings. Just as my coffee arrived, the chair opposite me was pulled out. A pungent scent of perfume wafted over. I looked up and saw Serena Bell. Today she was dressed in a Chanel haute couture suit, her makeup flawless, completely devoid of the helpless, depressed patient appearance she’d worn that night. “Audrey Hayes, you certainly have a lot of free time on your hands,” Serena said, taking off her sunglasses, looking down at me with blatant provocation in her eyes. I took a sip of my coffee, not even sparing her a direct glance. “Ms. Bell, what can I do for you? If you’re here to discuss your condition, there’s a psychiatric hospital around the corner to your left; it’s more suitable for you.” Serena’s face stiffened for a moment, then she let out a cold laugh. “You don’t need to be so sharp-tongued with me. I came here today to ask you, when exactly are you going to divorce Julian? Don’t you feel ashamed monopolizing the position of Mrs. Thorne?” I put down my coffee cup and looked at her with interest. “No, I don’t feel ashamed. After all, I’m legitimate, protected by law. As for you, running here in broad daylight to make demands, what’s wrong? Did Julian not satisfy you last night, leaving you feeling frustrated?” “You!” Serena’s chest heaved with anger, and she gritted her teeth. “Julian spent the whole night with me! He doesn’t love you at all, so why are you clinging to him so shamelessly?” “Is that so?” I chuckled lightly, my tone full of mockery. “Then you’d better try harder to get him to sign the divorce papers soon, instead of just sitting on it. After all, he’s the one who refused to sign, even threatening my company to make me move back. If you’ve got the guts, get him to come to court with me today.” Serena’s face turned from green to pale as I hit a nerve. She glared at me, then suddenly started laughing, her smile twisted with a cruel triumph. “Audrey Hayes, you’re truly pathetic. Do you really think Julian won’t divorce you because he can’t bear to let you go?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Do you really think a privileged golden boy like him would take an interest in an orphan like you, who had nothing? Do you think your meeting, his salvation of you back then, were all mere coincidences?” I frowned slightly, a bad premonition rising in my gut. “What do you mean?” Serena looked at me, her eyes glinting with malice. “Want to know? Then beg me.” I looked at her smug, petty face, and my disgust reached its peak. “If you don’t want to say, then don’t. It’ll just choke you.” I stood up, picked up my bag, and prepared to leave. “Audrey Hayes, stop right there!” Serena cried out, scrambling up to block me. “Don’t you want to know how your brother, Ryan Hayes, really died?” At the mention of that name, my steps froze. My blood seemed to turn to ice.

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For five years, I was with Scarlett. Her latest movie became a blockbuster, raking in hundreds of millions at the box office. I used my five years of savings to secretly order an engagement ring, believing that the day we’d finally start a family was just around the corner. But the night before the wedding, she leaned back on the couch and casually dropped the bomb. “The inspiration for this movie was Ethan, my first love.” “Back then, I was afraid he’d have to endure hardships with me, so I sent him abroad.” “And you, you were just a stand-in.” My hand, which was ironing my shirt, froze. “Why are you telling me this today?” Her tone was as nonchalant as if she were discussing dinner, so entitled it was absurd. “Ethan has suffered a lot abroad over the years. I want to make it up to him, so I already married him yesterday. But don’t worry, I’ll divorce him in a year, and then I’ll definitely marry you.” “I haven’t treated you badly all these years. I’ve taken care of you, supported you. You haven’t lost out.” It was as if she thought giving me a hidden, unofficial position was some grand favor.

I stood there, motionless for a long time. I didn’t even notice my arm getting burned until the skin blistered. It was Scarlett who frowned, pulled me to the couch, and applied medicine. Her voice was full of concern, as if she hadn’t just said those words. “How can you be so clumsy? You can even hurt yourself ironing clothes.” I got injured often over the past five years. Scarlett had done this many times. Each time, a warmth spread through my chest. Only this time, my chest felt heavy, as if something was lodged there. I pulled my arm back, my voice low. “Scarlett, don’t you find it pointless, living with a fake for five years?” Scarlett’s face darkened. “Alex, don’t talk about yourself like that.” She was too calm. I couldn’t help but smash the first-aid kit. “Didn’t you turn me into this?!” My chest heaved uncontrollably. Scarlett sighed, gathered the scattered medicines, and spoke softly. “I know it’s hard for you to accept right now, but we’ve been together for five years. There’s no need to deny everything over such a small matter.” As she spoke, Scarlett reached out to touch my shoulder. I moved aside, avoiding her. Suddenly, I felt like I was back on the day she confessed to me. My mom had a heart attack and was hospitalized. To earn money, I worked as a server at a club. One accidental spill soaked the guest’s shoes, and the people behind them started jeering. “Designer shoes! So, handsome, are you going to pay up, or spend a few nights with Tiffany?” “I recommend the latter, it’s a better deal.” “Yeah, Tiffany has high standards.” I clutched the tray, caught between a rock and a hard place. That’s when Scarlett appeared. Seeing me, she paused for a moment, then came to my rescue. “Didn’t you say this was for my birthday? Come on in, don’t bother him.” She was a close friend of Tiffany’s, so no one dared to say anything when she intervened. The group left. Before long, someone brought me a band-aid. It was Scarlett’s doing. After that, I often saw Scarlett at the club. She’d watch where I went, and she’d have her friends order from me. One evening, a few drunk guests blocked her in the hallway, making crude comments. She ignored them, her face cold, but one of them reached out to grab her purse. My blood boiled, and I grabbed a bottle nearby, smashing it. The scene descended into chaos. I was surrounded and kicked several times. Eventually, security rushed in and pulled everyone apart. I leaned against the wall to stand, blood oozing from the corner of my mouth, my back covered in bruises. Scarlett pulled me into the break room, got a first-aid kit, and treated my wounds. Her movements were gentle, and she didn’t speak for a long time. Finally, she asked in a low voice, “Why are you so good to me?” I leaned back in the chair, wincing from the pain, and casually replied, “If you don’t know how to repay me, how about you just give yourself to me?” Scarlett stopped what she was doing, looking up at me. “Alex, I’m serious.” “Will you be my boyfriend?” It would be a lie to say I wasn’t moved. Because of that, all these years, I’d always felt Scarlett was a stroke of luck from above. I never imagined it was all a deception from the very beginning. I turned my head away, not looking at her, my voice unusually firm. “Scarlett, let’s break up.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, Scarlett’s phone rang. She glanced at it, her tone casual, as if she didn’t care at all. “I’ll just assume you’re angry and speaking out of emotion. As long as you’re good this year, you won’t miss out on what’s yours.” “I’m going to Ethan’s welcome party first. You stay home and think about it.” The moment the door closed, I smashed the only photo I had with Scarlett. My phone suddenly lit up, grabbing my attention. It was a link from my friend. Scarlett’s book had become popular, bringing her into the public eye. These past few days, he’d sent me plenty of videos related to Scarlett. But this time, seeing his text, I froze for a moment. [Your early photos with Scarlett have been dug up.] In fact, Scarlett had never publicly acknowledged my existence. Whenever I brought it up, she’d use the excuse of not wanting her private life to be overly scrutinized. Because of this, I had been with Scarlett for five years without any official status. Even though I already had a suspicion, when I clicked on the link, my heart felt a sharp prick. The link contained a Google Maps screenshot from five years ago. And the main characters in the picture were Scarlett and “me.” The same height, similar backs. If I hadn’t learned the truth about being a stand-in today. I might have thought I’d lost a memory. But Scarlett would never squat down to tie my shoelaces. In the five years we were together, Scarlett and I did everything couples do. Except for her bending down to tie my shoelaces. I can’t count how many times I wanted Scarlett to tie them for me. But each time, it was fruitless. Even when my stomach pain made my face turn pale, Scarlett was indifferent to my request to tie my shoes. What I got was annoyance. “I don’t like tying people’s shoelaces. Can you please stop forcing me?” I remember that day, I didn’t speak all evening. Later, Scarlett tried to coax me for a long time. I thought I had forgotten, but three years later, that memory was still vivid. So vivid that seeing that scene, my chest felt like it was crushed by a heavy stone. So it wasn’t that she didn’t like to, it was just that the person wasn’t me.

I don’t know how long I stared at that photo. It wasn’t until Scarlett came in with a drunken Ethan that I snapped back to reality. Seeing me still awake, Scarlett paused, then explained. “Ethan’s drunk, and he lives alone, so there’s no one to take care of him.” I should have exploded in anger. But I knew clearly, it was useless. Scarlett didn’t love me. Thinking this, I moved aside to let Scarlett pass. Scarlett raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Good, it seems you’ve thought it through. I haven’t treated you badly, after all.” “Besides, if you leave me, you won’t be able to afford your mom’s medical expenses.” I didn’t reply, letting Scarlett help Ethan upstairs. I also deliberately ignored the faint smirk on Ethan’s lips as he looked at me. It was only when I returned to the bedroom and saw the clothes Ethan was wearing that I clenched my fists. I rushed forward, wanting to tear the clothes off him. The moment I touched Ethan, he cried out, “Ah, you’re hurting me!” The next second, Scarlett, coming out of the bathroom, shoved me away. The force was too much, and I hit the corner of the table. In my ear was Scarlett’s accusation, “Alex, are you out of your mind?!” I braced myself against the table corner and stood up straight, responding for once. “Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that?!” “You know this jacket was handmade by my mom, and she’s barely clinging to life with medical equipment. How can you let another man wear it?!” Scarlett’s movements paused, as if she finally realized. But she didn’t lower her head, shielding Ethan behind her, and said in a deep voice, “Even so, you shouldn’t lay a hand on him! Apologize to Ethan!” My voice tightened. “He’s the one who was wrong. Why should I apologize?” Scarlett scoffed. “Fine, let’s see how long you can keep this up. Don’t regret it!” With that, she turned to Ethan, her tone softening. “Change back into your clothes. I’ll take you to the hospital.” Ethan nodded, casting a glance at me before he left. I hadn’t meant to lose control. But the emotional disparity was too great; it was suffocating me. Blood from the cut on my forehead trickled down my brow, and a familiar message popped up on my phone. [My offer still stands. As long as you’re willing, I’ll marry you.] I didn’t want to wait for Scarlett anymore. I’d waited for her for five years for this marriage. How many five-year periods does one life have? I finally made up my mind to reply. [I agree. Get ready.]

But I didn’t expect Scarlett’s methods to be so swift. The next day, as I went downstairs, two bodyguards forced me into a chair. In front of me were countless bottles of liquor. My heart tightened, and I looked at Scarlett, who was sitting on the couch. “What are you doing?” Scarlett smiled, pointing to Ethan beside her. “I told you, let’s see how long you can keep this up.” The consequence of not apologizing. The realization hit me like a thunderclap, as if something exploded in my mind. I stared intently at her. “Scarlett, you can’t do this to me, I can’t drink alcohol!” A flicker of hesitation crossed Scarlett’s eyes. Ethan saw it. He frowned, looking at Scarlett. “If he doesn’t want to apologize, just let it go. I’m fine.” Scarlett’s face darkened. “I said I wouldn’t let you be wronged.” With that, Scarlett looked back at me and smiled. “Didn’t you used to work at a bar? How can you not drink now?” “Since you won’t apologize, then you’ll have to endure this.” My heart sank. Scarlett seemed to have truly forgotten that my stomach was ruined drinking for her. Back then, Scarlett’s family sent people to the bar to make things difficult for her. Knowing she was allergic to alcohol, they still demanded she drink ten bottles of liquor before she could leave. It was me who drank bottle after bottle for her. By the end, I lost consciousness and was rushed to the hospital. When I woke up, Scarlett was there, watching over me. She apologized again and again. “The doctor said you can’t touch alcohol anymore. Let’s quit this job, okay?” “I’ll take care of you from now on, and I’ll take good care of your stomach.” Scarlett spoke earnestly, and I was happy that she could continue doing what she loved. Time passed, and in just four years, Scarlett had forgotten. I suddenly felt that my four-year-old self wasn’t worth it. The bodyguards forcing the liquor down my throat brought my thoughts back. I struggled, but no matter how much I resisted, the alcohol still went down my throat. It made me cough. Scarlett’s hands clenched at her sides, and she reminded me, “As long as you apologize to Ethan, I can let you go.”

I didn’t bow my head, struggling to speak. “What did I do wrong?” “You’re the one who’s wrong, both of you!” Seeing that I still wouldn’t give in, Scarlett waved her hand to continue. The alcohol entered my stomach, causing a burning pain. I gritted my teeth, trying not to make a sound. But the next second, my phone rang. It was a call from Ms. Miller, my mom’s caregiver. Ms. Miller never called for no reason; every time it was because Mom had been rushed to the operating room. Thinking of this, my heart suddenly sank. I yelled hoarsely, “Scarlett, I apologize, I know I was wrong.” “I was wrong, I won’t ever lay a hand on Ethan again, please let me go.” Scarlett was a little surprised, but she still sneered, “Alex, an apology needs some sincerity. I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” The bodyguards, perceptive, released me. I didn’t care about anything else, and I walked a few steps to Ethan’s front. To his surprised expression, I bowed my head again and again. “Ethan, I know I was wrong, I shouldn’t have laid a hand on you.” “I beg your forgiveness, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” I don’t know how many times I said it, but Scarlett still didn’t give in. It wasn’t until the wound on my forehead split open and started bleeding that Scarlett frowned. She had a bodyguard bring the first-aid kit and tried to pull me up. “I told you, as long as you’re good, I’ll give you anything you want.” “Let’s just forget about this time, just be good in the future.” But I ignored Scarlett, pushing her away and stumbling out. Scarlett chased after me, her voice laced with panic, “Alex, where are you going?!” I didn’t respond, flagged down a car, and went to the hospital. Throughout the journey, I prayed incessantly. As I arrived at the operating room, the doors opened. The doctor looked at me and shook his head, giving a different result for the first time. “I’m sorry, we did everything we could.” I stood at the operating room door, my mind buzzing. Scarlett, who had rushed after me, also heard those words. Her face instantly turned ashen. Remembering what she had just done, Scarlett felt a wave of panic. She walked forward, wanting to say something. A hand suddenly blocked her. “Get away! Don’t touch him!”

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The day I collapsed from heart failure, I lay alone in our large house during a power outage. My husband and son were outside, setting off fireworks across the city for another woman. After what felt like an endless night, my son finally came home. He kicked my emergency medication, which lay by my foot, with disgust. “Mom, can you please stop faking illnesses for sympathy? Bella is so upset because of you, she can’t even eat!” My husband, Daniel, shielded our son, his voice laced with annoyance. “Eleanor, have you made enough of a scene? Bella just got back from overseas, and she’s emotionally fragile. As the lady of the house, can’t you be more generous and accommodating?” I looked up at the man whose face once swore to protect me from any grievance. I didn’t argue. I just quietly signed the “Organ Donation Consent Form” I’d hidden at the bottom of a drawer. Eight years ago, Daniel had written on a greeting card: “My heart beats only for Eleanor.” Our eight-year-old son had awkwardly drawn a heart on it, adding: “I’ll protect Mommy forever too.” They seemed to have forgotten. It’s fine. They’ll remember the day my heart stops beating for good.

The pen scratched across the paper, and the moment my name was signed, a dull, heavy ache pulsed in my chest again. I pressed my hand to my left side, cold sweat tracing paths down my cheeks. It took a while for the pain to subside slightly. I folded the organ donation consent form and tucked it into the deepest part of the drawer. The lock clicked as I turned the key, just as the front door downstairs swung open. “Watch your step, don’t twist your ankle.” That was Daniel’s voice, hushed and unusually gentle and patient — a tone he rarely used with me. I held onto the banister as I walked downstairs. Daniel was carefully escorting a woman inside. It was Bella Rivera, his college sweetheart, the woman who once made him smoke an entire pack of cigarettes alone late at night. Now, she was brazenly walking into my home. Bella scanned the living room after entering, her gaze finally landing on me. A smile played on her lips, but her body subtly snuggled closer to Daniel. “Eleanor, I’m so sorry. I just got back to the country and haven’t found a place yet. I’ll have to bother you for a few days. You don’t mind, do you?” I gripped the banister tightly, my failing heart pounding even harder in my chest. What good would minding do? Last night, Daniel hadn’t even discussed it with me; he’d simply informed me she was moving in. Before I could answer, eight-year-old Leo, clutching a new pair of slippers, ran up to Bella. “Bella, wear these. They’re super soft.” My vision blurred as I looked down. Those were the slippers I’d trekked to three different stores under the scorching sun to buy just two days ago. When I first brought them home, Leo had clung to my leg, playfully begging, saying I would look the prettiest wearing them. Now, he didn’t hesitate to give them away to impress another woman. Bella smiled and ruffled Leo’s hair as she put on the slippers. They were a bit too big, and she frowned prettily. Seeing this, Daniel immediately glared at me, his brows furrowed in displeasure. “Eleanor, you’re usually just idling around at home. Why can’t you even manage basic preparations for a guest? Bella has small feet. Giving her such big slippers, are you deliberately trying to embarrass her?” My stomach churned with acid. I took a deep, nauseous breath. They were bought for me, of course they wouldn’t fit her. I didn’t argue. I just turned and walked towards the sofa. My body swayed as I moved too quickly, and I had to grab the back of the sofa to steady myself. Daniel didn’t notice anything amiss. He pulled Bella to sit opposite me. “You’ve been busy all morning, Bella must be hungry. Go to the kitchen now and prepare something light. Bella has a sensitive stomach and can’t eat greasy food.” He leaned back on the sofa, issuing orders. In the past, I would have rushed into the kitchen, eager to earn a word of praise. But today, I was simply too exhausted. The sharp pain in my chest had drained all my strength, let alone the energy to cater to his first love. I took off my apron and draped it over the back of the sofa. “I’m a bit tired. I don’t feel like cooking. You guys can order takeout or go out.” Daniel froze, apparently not expecting his usually obedient wife to dare to refuse him in front of an outsider. A cold, angry sneer quickly appeared on his face. “Eleanor, you’ve grown a temper, have you? Bella just arrived today, and you’re already putting on airs as the lady of the house, even haggling over a single meal? This little game you’re playing, it just makes me sick.” Even my refusal to serve them was seen as a tactic to gain his attention. Before I could speak, Leo pouted and pointed at me. “Mom is so selfish. She never does anything around the house, and she won’t even cook something for us. Bella just got back and worked so hard, you don’t even care about her. Bella is much gentler than you.” Each word from my eight-year-old son pierced my heart. This was the home I’d sacrificed my career to care for, for eight years. This was also the consequence of the heart condition I developed after risking my life to give birth to him. In the end, I couldn’t even compare to a stranger. My heart began to beat erratically, and my vision blurred again. I knew I couldn’t stay. I calmly turned, dragging my heavy steps towards the guest room on the first floor, leaving the master bedroom and living room to the three of them. “Stop right there. Who are you putting on this ‘poor me’ act for?” Daniel demanded from behind me, his voice simmering with rage. I didn’t pause until I reached the guest room and closed the door behind me. Soon, Bella’s soft, comforting voice could be heard outside. “Daniel, don’t blame Eleanor. She’s probably upset that I’m here. Let’s just go out to eat.” Leo chimed in, eager to take her out for a fancy meal, and then the front door slammed shut. The house fell silent instantly, leaving only my labored breathing. I slid down the door to the floor, fumbled for my emergency medication, and dry-swallowed a few pills. Once my breathing steadied, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Dr. Miller, it’s Eleanor Vance. I’ve already signed the organ donation confirmation form. How long does the process usually take?” The voice on the other end sounded heavy, sighing just before I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock outside the door.

I quickly hung up and flipped my phone face down, struggling to stand upright. Leo ran in, clutching an old notebook with yellowed edges, heading straight for the living room. That was my journal from when I was pregnant with him, documenting the three hundred-plus shots I’d taken to protect the pregnancy and the joy of counting his fetal movements. I’d always kept that journal cherished in the living room’s glass display cabinet. I walked out of the guest room and saw Leo placing the journal directly under the plate Bella was holding. “Bella, the table is a bit wobbly. I’ll use this to prop it up so your food won’t spill.” Blood rushed to my head. I strode over, intending to pull the journal out, but Bella deliberately pressed down on its edge. She looked up, feigning innocence, but a subtle smile played on her lips. “Eleanor, I’m so sorry. Leo said this was just an old, worthless notebook, so I used it as a coaster. Don’t be angry with the boy. I’ll just help you wipe it clean later.” The bottom of the plate scratched deep marks into the cover. The moment my fingers touched the journal’s edge, Leo forcefully shoved me. Unprepared, I stumbled backward and hit the wall. A dull pain shot through my back. “Why are you scaring Bella? What’s a few old notebooks worth anyway? Dad can just buy you new ones.” Leo stood in front of Bella, glaring at me with open hostility. Daniel walked out of the kitchen, carrying a cup of hot milk. Without asking for an explanation, he frowned and reprimanded me. “Eleanor, what’s gotten into you first thing in the morning? You’ve completely ruined the atmosphere. What’s the big deal if an old journal is used as a coaster? Is it worth laying hands on a child over?” My fingernails dug deeply into my palms, blood seeping from my skin. “That was my journal from when I lay in the hospital for half a year, fighting to give birth to Leo.” My voice was dry and tight. Daniel’s eyes flickered with an unnatural expression, but he quickly hardened his face. He pulled out his black credit card from his wallet and tossed it onto the dining table, sliding it towards Bella. “Bella, after you eat, let Leo take you shopping. Use this card for whatever you want. Consider it compensation for the trouble you went through today.” He was using my money to please another woman, to compensate her for the ‘shock’ of using my journal as a coaster. A metallic taste of blood rose in my throat. My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall, clutching my chest. Cold sweat trickled down my forehead. I gasped for air, but it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Leo, standing by, rolled his eyes and snorted. “Dad, look, she’s acting again. Every time she can’t win an argument, she pretends to be sick. That trick is so old. Bella, let’s ignore her. We’ll go buy a big Transformer.” Daniel looked at my pale face and trembling body, his brow furrowing. He took a step forward, but Bella grabbed his sleeve. “Daniel, I feel a bit dizzy. Maybe I haven’t adjusted to the time difference yet…” Daniel immediately turned to steady Bella, not sparing me another glance. I gritted my teeth, swallowed the metallic taste in my throat, and used the wall to slowly push myself up. I walked to the dining table. Right in front of them, I forcefully pulled out the crumpled journal. The cover was already stained with grease. I didn’t look at it again, simply lifted my hand and tossed it into the nearby trash can. Daniel’s face changed as he saw the journal in the trash. He opened his mouth to speak but forced himself to remain firm, scolding me. “Absolutely illogical, your temper is getting stranger and stranger.” Then he put his arm around Bella’s shoulders and left with Leo. Hearing the car drive away, I retreated to the guest room and collapsed onto the bed. Only after the dreadful palpitations subsided did I pick up my phone. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “Mr. Davies, it’s Eleanor. I want to divest all my indirect shares in Vance Corporation.” When Daniel started his business, I sold my house and borrowed money to raise capital for him. The shares had always been registered under his name. Mr. Davies quickly agreed, scheduling a meeting for tomorrow afternoon. Just as I hung up, a new message arrived from my attending physician at the Central Hospital. “Ms. Vance, your test results are in. Your heart failure has worsened significantly. Conservatively, you have less than three days. Please come to the hospital for admission immediately.” Three days. I stared at the numbers on the screen, my dry lips curling into a bleak smile. Good. Divesting the shares and completing the donation procedures would be enough.

Only two days remained until the final deadline. Daniel pushed open the guest room door. Without even looking at my pale face, he held out his hand for the keys to the Ocean Bay Beach House. That was the house he bought with his first big money, registered in my name, and the place where he proposed to me. I lay against the headboard, unmoving, and looked at his expectant face, asking what he wanted the keys for. He impatiently tugged at his tie, his face full of displeasure. “Bella is feeling down and wants to clear her head by the sea. I’m taking her and Leo to stay at the Ocean Bay for two nights. She just got back and has nothing. As the lady of the house, can’t you be generous enough to lend her the house for a few days?” To take another woman to the place he proposed, for a vacation, and expect me to hand him the keys myself. I pulled open the drawer, found the keys, and the access card, and tossed them onto the duvet. “Take them. You can use everything inside however you like.” My straightforward attitude surprised Daniel a little. He took the keys, looking uncomfortable as he explained they were just going to relax. I didn’t respond, turning my back to him, and picked up my phone to text Mr. Davies. “Also, please draft a divorce agreement for me. I don’t want anything. Send it to me as soon as possible.” Seeing that I ignored him, Daniel snorted, took the keys, and slammed the door shut as he left. In the evening, I heated the doctor’s prescribed medicine in the kitchen. The bitter smell made me cough uncontrollably. Laughter and playful shouts from Bella and Leo came from the living room as they packed their bags. Suddenly, a gasp was followed by the sound of something heavy falling. Bella had fallen down the last three steps of the staircase. She sat on the floor, clutching her ankle, tears streaming down her face. Hearing the commotion, Daniel rushed downstairs. He picked Bella up tenderly, then spun around, glaring fiercely at me as I emerged from the kitchen. “Eleanor, look what you’ve done! So what if I borrowed the keys to your old beach house? Do you really have to be so malicious as to push someone down the stairs?” My hand, holding the medicine bowl, trembled. A few drops of scalding medicine splattered onto my hand, leaving a red mark. “I was in the kitchen the whole time. I wasn’t even near the stairs.” Bella, nestled in Daniel’s arms, shook her head tearfully. “Daniel, don’t blame Eleanor. I just lost my footing. Maybe she accidentally bumped me as she passed.” Daniel completely exploded. He strode over and kicked the bowl of medicine out of my hand. The ceramic bowl shattered on the floor, and the life-saving medicine I had just spent three hours brewing splashed everywhere, soaking my pants. I looked at the mess on the floor. The stabbing pain in my chest returned, and I lost the strength to even stand upright. My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor, reaching out with a trembling hand to pick up the pills that were still usable. The moment my fingertips touched a pill, Leo stepped on my hand, grinding his heel into it. He gritted his teeth, glaring at me with intense disgust. His small face was full of loathing. “You wicked woman, not only do you bully Bella, but you also cook this stinky stuff at home. I don’t deserve a mom like you, you make me so ashamed!” My finger bones were throbbing, and my skin scraped against the broken ceramic, starting to bleed. Hearing my own son utter such words, I didn’t cry; my eyes didn’t even well up. I pulled away my bloody, bruised hand, looked at the clear shoe print on its back, and forced a smile. A smile at the eight years of devotion that had led to this outcome. Daniel, seeing me still smiling, looked even more disgusted. He picked up Bella and walked out without a backward glance. “Come on, Leo. Let’s take Bella to the hospital for a check-up. This crazy woman can stay home and reflect.” The three of them left. Thunder rumbled outside the house, and a few minutes later, the rain began to pour. All the lights in the house suddenly went out, plunging the surroundings into darkness. The throbbing in my chest turned into a continuous, excruciating pain. I fumbled for my phone, only to find it dead. I could only crawl along the wall towards the landline in the living room. A mere few meters felt like twenty minutes. Finally, I reached the receiver and pressed it to my ear, but there was no sound. I traced the telephone line down and found a smooth cut. The phone line had been severed. Leo had been messing with craft scissors just before they left. He had personally blocked his own mother’s last chance at life. The intense pain completely overwhelmed me. I curled up on the cold floor, my consciousness beginning to fade. I didn’t even have the strength to breathe. I could only lie there, silently waiting in the dark, powerless house. I don’t know how much time passed. The rain stopped. The faint light of dawn filtered through the window, and faintly, the wail of an ambulance siren could be heard outside.

The mansion’s front door was forcibly smashed open. A team of people in uniforms rushed in, their flashlights sweeping across my face. This was the private emergency medical team I had prepaid a high price to hire two days ago. The lead doctor knelt, checking my pupils, and urgently directed them to put me on a stretcher. “Patient is in deep shock, heartbeat extremely weak. Immediate stretcher transfer, quickly!” My body was numb. They carried me onto a stretcher and rushed me into the emergency room at Central Hospital. With the jolt of the defibrillator, I briefly regained a sliver of consciousness. The attending physician stood by the bed, holding a report, his face grim. “Ms. Vance, your heart function is completely lost. You can’t undergo a transplant surgery. The machines can only maintain your vital signs for the last two hours. Do you have any family members you need to speak to?” A layer of mist clouded the oxygen mask. I used my remaining strength to weakly shake my head. No family left. The nurse looked distressed. According to regulations, she had to call my immediate family for confirmation. She dialed Daniel’s number, which was on file, and put the phone on speaker by my pillow. It rang for a long time before someone picked up. From the other end, cheerful music and the sounds of fireworks played. “Daniel, look at that firework, it’s so pretty! Leo, come take a picture!” Bella’s joyful laughter echoed into the emergency room. The nurse paused for a moment before raising her voice. “Hello, is this Mr. Daniel Vance? This is the Central Hospital emergency room. Your wife, Ms. Eleanor Vance, is in extremely critical condition and could pass away at any moment. Please come immediately to sign some papers.” There was a brief silence on the other end, then Daniel’s extremely impatient shout. “Eleanor, are you done yet?! Bella finally got to the amusement park to clear her head. Why do you have to pick this moment to fake your death and ruin the mood?! I’m telling you, even if you die at home today, I won’t come back to see you!” After the noise, the phone seemed to be snatched away, and Leo’s shrill voice came through. “Exactly! Stop lying, you always use this trick. If you’re really sick, then get on your knees and beg Bella for forgiveness, or we’re absolutely not coming back!” The medical staff in the emergency room exchanged glances, their eyes full of shock and sorrow. The ventilator hissed rhythmically. I raised my bloody and bruised hand, trembling. The nurse quickly brought the phone closer to my ear. I swallowed a final mouthful of bloody saliva and parted my dry lips. “No need to come back. I hope you… have fun.” My voice was soft, without a ripple of emotion. After speaking, I used my last ounce of strength to press the end call button. The nurse, with reddened eyes, handed me the confirmation form for refusing resuscitation and consenting to organ donation. I didn’t hesitate. I held the pen and shakily signed my name at the bottom. The pen slipped from my grasp and fell onto the bedsheet. The breath that had been trapped in my chest for eight years finally dissipated. The lights above me blurred, and the alarms from the instruments faded into the distance. I was finally free. The monitor let out a steady, long beep, and only a flat line remained on the screen. Dozens of miles away at the amusement park, fireworks lit up the sky one after another. Daniel shoved his phone back into his pocket, his brows deeply furrowed, and muttered a curse under his breath. Bella, linked arm-in-arm with him, pointed at the fireworks in the sky and laughed. He forced a smile, but his phone in his pocket vibrated violently again. Annoyed, he pulled out his phone. It was the same number from before. He answered, about to unleash a tirade. A cold female voice came from the other end. “Mr. Vance, this is the Organ Donation Department at Central Hospital. Your wife, Ms. Eleanor Vance, has been confirmed deceased, and organ procurement has been completed. Please come to the morgue as soon as possible to claim her remaining belongings.”

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