I’m an actress, and my boyfriend—who’s also my agent—told me to gain twenty pounds to land a role. But when I arrived on set, the director looked at me with regret and sighed. “Your acting is solid, but you’re too heavy. Didn’t your agent tell you this role requires someone slimmer?” I was about to ask my boyfriend what was going on. But then I saw him smiling as he congratulated my rival, Natasha. Turns out Natasha got the role. When our eyes met, his expression was weary. “She needs this role more than you do. Your acting is too good—to keep you from getting cast, I had to trick you into gaining weight.” “You’ve been pestering me about marriage, right? Perfect timing—now that you’ve gained weight and can’t get any roles, let’s hurry up and get married.” In that moment, I realized that in five years, he’d never forgotten Natasha. I let out a bitter laugh and removed the simple ring engraved with his initials from my finger. “No. We’re breaking up.” The ring rolled under the sofa. Cameron’s expression darkened. “You want me to beg you to stay in front of her, to prove how important you are to me, is that it?” I opened my mouth. “No…” Before I could finish, he raised his hand, impatience in his eyes. “Don’t explain. Whatever. Just don’t come crying to me drunk later, begging to get back together.” I clutched the hem of my clothes, my cheeks burning. It was more humiliating than being slapped in public. Natasha tugged at his sleeve. “I told you not to talk to girls like that… He’s just blunt, he doesn’t mean any harm, don’t take it personally…” Cameron pulled her away. “Don’t waste your breath on her. Don’t you still need to pick out your costume?” The two of them left without hesitation. Their interaction was almost identical to the romantic clips that circulated online years ago—so in sync, as if they’d never broken up at all. Someone caught this moment on camera and posted it online from a burner account. And once again, my figure became negative news. [Oh my God, her body is seriously ugly. Does she even know she’s an actress? Is she planning to play a pig with that weight?] [I can’t believe this. She just gains weight whenever she wants—does she have any professional standards? Can’t she control her eating? Look at Natasha!] I’ve had the kind of body that gains weight from drinking water since I was a kid. The first time I was mass-ridiculed online for looking heavy on camera, I developed depression and had to take hormones to control it. My weight skyrocketed again. Directors rejected me. I was on the verge of giving up my acting dreams. That’s when Cameron pushed through the crowd of people mocking me and took me away. Looking at my tear-streaked makeup, he said, “Everyone already looks down on you—are you going to bully yourself too?” From that moment on, I saw him as my guiding light. I followed him silently, and I fell for him. He knew how hard my journey had been. He knew how much I trusted him. And now, he’d shattered that trust with his own hands. My phone chimed. It wasn’t a message from him—it was several loyal fans privately messaging me on social media, telling me to fire my agent. From the first time I worked with Cameron and got cyberbullied over styling and unflattering roles, they’d been telling me to drop him. But I always believed that as long as my acting was solid, I could play any role well, no matter how thankless. But now, the labels of “most vicious” and “most foolish supporting character” had been nailed to me, even seeping into my real life.

Only now did I realize how laughable my confidence was in the face of the contrast he deliberately created. My assistant sighed. “Stop reading that. I signed you up for a weight loss program.” I took a deep breath, staring out at the rainy weather. “Don’t bother. Doesn’t the company want me to go international? Director Andrew’s project—let’s take it.” My assistant looked at me in shock. “If you take that project, you’ll be working in Europe for two years. What about you and Cameron?” I cut her off calmly. “It doesn’t matter. From now on, my business has nothing to do with him.” When my manager found out I’d agreed to change my development path, he was thrilled. To build momentum for me, he didn’t pull down the online rumors. At least I wasn’t as psychologically fragile as I used to be. But as I was filling out the overseas assignment form, Cameron stormed into the office in a rage. “I told you when I got here not to create rumors about Natasha. Now the internet is full of people calling her manipulative…” He hadn’t expected me to be there. His anger stopped abruptly, replaced by a trace of embarrassment. Rumor had it that after he and Natasha broke up, the company spent a fortune to poach him and agreed to many unfair terms. I just hadn’t expected one of those terms to be about Natasha. Looking back, when he was supposedly trying to make me famous, he ignored positive PR about my professionalism and kindness. Instead, he churned out rumors about me for free—about my looks, my body, my personality, one after another, sometimes trending all day. When crazed fans stalked me, he never showed an ounce of concern or anger. Just like now—both situations involved rumors, but his eyes only held Natasha. I let out an inexplicable laugh. His expression turned ugly. “I knew it. The manager promised me he wouldn’t go after her, so it was you, wasn’t it?” “You’re upset that I lied to you and gave her the role, so you got your fans to call her manipulative, to say she’s using me to suppress and smear you and your roles?” I frowned slightly, about to explain, when Cameron’s phone rang. Seeing the caller ID labeled “Natasha,” he answered in seconds. It was treatment I’d never received in five years—not even when stalker fans chased my car and I called him for help. “Cameron, someone leaked photos of you and Priscilla on a date. Now everyone’s saying Natasha is a homewrecker who came between you two.” “She’s crying uncontrollably, threatening to jump off a building to prove her innocence!” In that moment, he panicked so badly his legs went weak. The look he gave me was full of resentment. “You’re ruthless. To destroy her, you’ll even flip over your own meal ticket!” He didn’t give me a chance to speak. He stumbled away. The manager looked at me helplessly. “We didn’t buy those photos. Should I…” I forced a smile. “Don’t bother. Let him think whatever he wants. I’m leaving anyway.” The manager sighed and took the form from my hands. Not even three minutes after I left the office, my phone buzzed with a special notification from social media. I opened it to see Cameron had reposted the most-viewed dating photo. [Not in a relationship. Just colleagues. Natasha and I never broke up. All marketing involving Priscilla was work-related. There is no homewrecking situation.] My heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. When he was first poached by the company to manage me, Natasha’s fans said I’d stolen him away, that I was the catalyst for their breakup. After paparazzi photos of us together surfaced, it confirmed everything. I endured a full year of cyberbullying. At its worst, the company suggested we officially announce our relationship to clear things up.

But he always used the excuse that I needed to focus on my career, refusing again and again, watching me get cursed at in public. And now he’d given the official announcement that should’ve been mine to his ex. He still let the “homewrecker” label follow me. Only now did I understand—true love has no obstacles. The only obstacle was that he never loved me. The company couldn’t do anything about him, so they assigned me a new agent and rushed to officially clear up the relationship. But when it came time to transfer responsibilities, he refused. “I’ve managed her for so many years—no one knows better than me how she should develop!” His sudden change in attitude was laughable, and it only confirmed my role as a stepping stone, a foil. I looked at him quietly, my eyes filled with unfathomable numbness and sorrow. “No. I know what’s best for myself.” He stiffened, as if he’d never expected me to talk to him this way. In the past, the company had also suggested changing agents. But he never even had to object—I’d refuse on my own, wanting any excuse to spend more time with him. But now that I was standing firm, he was completely powerless. As the tension peaked, the manager pulled out my overseas assignment form. “Actually, it’s because Priscilla is leaving…” Cameron frowned, reaching for the document. I moved in front of him immediately. “I decide my own career path. If not me, then the company will. If you won’t transfer your duties, I’ll do it myself.” With that, I folded the form and handed it to the manager, shaking my head gently. As I turned to leave, Cameron reached out to grab my wrist, but I dodged him. After the unpleasant confrontation, I went home and started packing. As I was organizing, my phone buzzed with a rare message from him. [She’s psychologically fragile. I was just comforting her. Don’t overthink it.] This was the first time in a month he’d voluntarily talked to me about something unrelated to work—and it was still about Natasha. But when I’d acted cute, asked for support, complained, or sought comfort, his most common response was [Be strong.] I didn’t call him immediately like I used to, acting cute and vulnerable, expressing my relationship needs and asking him to care more about me. After all, what was the point? Soon, the password lock at my door beeped with several failed attempts. My heart jumped. I opened the security camera to see him at the door. My heart settled, and along with it, my expectations of him. A simple anniversary password—in five years, he’d never successfully opened this door. But the social media login password he hadn’t used in two years, the one based on Natasha’s birthday, took him less than a minute to remember this afternoon. I put down what I was holding and let him in. His eyes held a trace of concern. “Why didn’t you open the door? I thought something happened to you.” I found it ridiculous. “What could happen? I have a very strong mental state.” He frowned slightly. The guilt in his eyes disappeared. “The rumors and gossip were released by her own company. I didn’t get the full story before I verbally attacked you—that’s my fault.” “But you don’t need to be so passive-aggressive about her. She and I only broke up because of the company. There’s nothing between us.” “That statement was also posted from my account by her. By the time I noticed, there was no way to clarify. I already told you we can get married right now. You don’t need to keep harping on this.” Seeing the barely concealed impatience in his eyes,

I suddenly spoke up. “So if you two hadn’t broken up, would you talk to her like this too? Demanding she marry you without even proposing?” He looked irritated. “That’s not important. Right now you’re in the rising phase of your career, you can’t…” My heart clenched suddenly. Before he could finish, I slapped him across the face, my voice terrifyingly calm. “You know I’m in my rising phase, but you still tricked me into gaining weight!” “Yes, none of it matters. Whether your excuses were for my good or because you can’t forget her—none of it matters. What matters is we’ve already broken up.” “Now get out of my house immediately! I don’t want to see you!” His eyes reddened with anger and a trace of shock at being kicked out for the first time. He slammed the door on his way out, leaving behind a vicious parting shot. “You’ll regret this!” In five years, I’d always accommodated him. We’d never had this kind of hostile atmosphere. So when he realized I was no longer easy to control, no longer compliant, he pulled out all the dirty tricks he’d kept hidden. My new agent, Livingston, said there was a charity gala to attend that evening. But when I arrived, I discovered it was a low-end commercial drinking party. Cameron and Natasha sat on either side of the boss. Livingston gently pushed me inside. “Your resources have been downgraded and you’re not making money. Cameron said if you can help Natasha handle this event, he’ll get the director to give you a good role.” When I was a newcomer working with Cameron, I couldn’t land good roles or get paid, which dragged down his performance bonuses and evaluations. To avoid being a burden to him, I secretly accepted a commercial dinner reception. At first it was just drinking. Then several people started forcing drinks on me. I tried to run, but the door was locked. They groped me lewdly all over. Just as I was losing hope, Cameron kicked the door open, holding an axe, and split the round table in half. His eyes bloodshot, he pulled me into his arms protectively. He took me back and scolded me the whole way, saying I had no brains. He said these drinking parties almost always ended in sleeping with clients. By the end of his lecture, I’d gone silent, blood flowing from my mouth like water. That time, his face showed a panic I’d never seen before. After that, I almost never attended events that required drinking. Seeing me frozen in place, Natasha walked over with a smile. “It’s my fault. I said I couldn’t drink much but didn’t want to refuse the investor’s goodwill, so he said you could drink and called you over.” “You don’t mind, right? After all, we’re just trying to get you roles.” Seeing the triumph mixed with provocation in her eyes, I was surprisingly calm. Fine. I’d drink tonight. After tomorrow, all grudges would end. I raised my glass, meeting his surprised and slightly nervous gaze. “Thank you all for this opportunity.” The cheap alcohol burned down my esophagus into my stomach. I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes and poured another glass. “But this time…” Before I could finish, Cameron frowned and snatched the glass from my hand. His voice was low. “If you can’t drink, don’t! Do you have to be so stubborn? Is it that hard to give in?” I smiled. Just as I was about to speak, a clattering sound came from overhead. Before we could look up, the room began shaking violently.

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After I posted my retirement announcement, everyone applauded. Only Simons, my girlfriend Julia’s rumored boyfriend and rising creative genius, objected. In front of numerous reporters, he put on a show. “It’s all a misunderstanding. Anthony is an indispensable talent. I sincerely hope he can return to the entertainment industry.” I turned off my phone, ignoring his proclamation. In my past life, my work was identical to his original single. Online users accused me of plagiarism and wished death upon my entire family. Unwilling to accept this, I posted all my creative process, but it couldn’t overcome the final publication time of the work. His new song was published ten minutes earlier than mine. Because of those ten minutes, netizens created death photo edits of me, and some even came to my house to throw paint. Over several years, constant cyberbullying gave me depression. My parents spent their entire fortune trying to clear my name, but were burned to death by crazed fans. Finally, on the day his original song won an award, I leaped from a high-rise building. Unexpectedly, when I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn on the day the new song was published.

“Your new song will be released on time at noon today.” “Don’t be nervous. With the quality of this song, you’ll definitely win Best Creator at this year’s Music Awards!” My agent Johnston patted my shoulder, and I gasped for air as if waking from a nightmare. Looking at the familiar living room and the bewildered Johnston in front of me, I finally realized I had been reborn on the day of the new song’s release. “You’ve worked hard staying up late to write songs these past few days. I won’t schedule any announcements for you. Get some good rest.” “Wait!” I called out to Johnston, who had reached the door, my eyes fixed on the wall clock. The second hand ticked forward. When the minute hand pointed to 10, I opened my phone and found Simons’ Twitter. Just like in my previous life, he posted a music website link with the caption: “Original solo single ‘Sunshine in the Ruins’ awaiting your listening.” Opening the link, a male voice flowed from my phone. “What’s going on? Isn’t this your new song!” Johnston stepped forward and grabbed my phone. “The melody, the lyrics—they’re all the same. This is your original work. How could Simons publish it early!” “Could it be someone from the recording studio who stole the song? Wait, I’ll have someone investigate right now!” I stopped Johnston. “Cancel the new song release with the company!” In my past life, because I released the exact same single as Simons, I was branded a plagiarist. To clear my name, I posted my creative process, but no one cared. “Plagiarism is plagiarism—doing it but not daring to admit it!” “Now you’re even faking the process to prove yourself. That must have been exhausting to write, huh?” “Plagiarists deserve to have their whole families die! Support Simons in defending his rights. Sue him until he’s bankrupt!” My agent Johnston and the recording studio teachers spoke up for me, but they were also cursed out by netizens. At that time, my girlfriend Julia, who had won Best Actress, went live. During the livestream, my girlfriend who had always refused to make our relationship public openly declared her love for Simons and strongly condemned my plagiarism. In an instant, I was utterly devastated! I had clearly played my new song for her in advance. To protect Simons, she actually backstabbed me, her legitimate boyfriend! Following her lead, the fans’ anger surged. They flooded my social media, cursing me endlessly. Singers and actors I had worked with avoided me like the plague, eager to distance themselves from me. If anyone didn’t publicly condemn me, they would be attacked by masses of fans. As they wished, I was blacklisted from the industry, expelled from the professional association, and even my previous awards were revoked. Under public pressure, my management company terminated my contract. From that point on, whenever Simons released a song, I would be dragged out and viciously cursed. Netizens sent me funeral wreaths and created death photo edits. Some even came to my house to throw paint. Years of cyberbullying gave me depression. My parents spent their entire fortune trying to clear my name, but were burned to death by crazed fans. On the day Simons’ original song won the Music Award, I leaped from a high-rise building. What I never expected was that when I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn. Heaven gave me a chance to start over. This time, I had to figure out what was really going on.

“The company spent a fortune on this single. You can’t just cancel it like that. I won’t be able to explain this to the higher-ups!” “How about this—I’ll investigate the song theft, and you quickly write another song to turn in.” After Johnston left, I sat alone on the sofa thinking for a long time. Simons was my girlfriend’s childhood friend. They grew up together and had always been very close. After graduating from a music academy abroad, Simons entered the entertainment industry through Julia’s connections. With the seasoned Julia as his backer, he signed directly with SKY Entertainment, the largest entertainment company in the country. Right from his debut, he sang the theme song for an international director’s film. These were all privileges I, the legitimate boyfriend, had never enjoyed. Because Julia treated him so well, I was always jealous and resentful. But Julia said her family and Simons’ family were old friends, and it would look bad if she didn’t help him. Not wanting to make things difficult for her, I turned a blind eye. Little did I know that Simons had always been the one she desired but couldn’t have in her youth. My hands kept moving as I continued searching through Simons’ Twitter for clues. Finally, I discovered something suspicious in a post from a month ago. On August 26th, Simons posted a photo with the caption: Creative inspiration flowing. I enlarged the photo and examined it carefully. Suddenly, my head buzzed! The draft paper on his desk showed the same creative thought process as mine. Even the lyrics I had deleted were identical, word for word! I wrote the lyrics based on my personal experiences. There was absolutely no possibility of plagiarism or borrowing. Could it be that Simons, like me, had experienced that earthquake? No, impossible! Simons and Julia were both from the north. How could they have been living on that southern island? But how else could I explain our identical manuscripts? While I was racking my brain unable to figure this out, Johnston called again. Unsurprisingly, there were no leads on the song theft. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Johnston was right. The company had spent big money promoting this new song. Besides Twitter trending topics, there were LED screen advertisements in major shopping districts. The upfront investment was at least several million. To minimize the company’s losses, I could only work harder to create another new song. Rushing into my studio and picking up my long-absent guitar, my hands trembled involuntarily. This time, let me become Nemesis and write about the injustice I suffered in my past life. I didn’t believe Simons could have the same rebirth experience as me! In two days, I finally finished writing the lyrics and melody for the new song after staying up all night. Using another spare phone, I recorded a simple demo and immediately sent it to Johnston. After listening, Johnston excitedly sent five emojis. “Rock? Anthony, you’re a musical genius! How many more surprises do you have that I don’t know about?” Before I could reply, Johnston sent a voice message: “I’ve booked the recording studio. I’ll pick you up in an hour.” When we left the recording studio, the sky was gradually brightening. Johnston loosened his shoulders. “Christmas break is coming up soon. Your song will probably be released around January 3rd. What do you think?” I didn’t rush to reply to Johnston. Instead, I asked about Simons’ recent situation. “I have a friend at SKY Entertainment. He said Simons hasn’t been to the company lately. No one knows what he’s up to.” After releasing a new song, he should have been touring the country for promotions, but there wasn’t any activity from him. It was too strange. To avoid any more accidents, it was good to observe ahead of time. I took a deep breath and agreed to the company’s proposal to delay the release. After returning home, I finally got the most restful sleep since my rebirth. I was awakened again by Johnston’s knocking. “Anthony, this is bad!” “Simons released another song, and it’s… identical to the new song you recorded early this morning!”

Johnston’s words were like a heavy blow, crushing all the courage I had built up since my rebirth. Why couldn’t I change any of this even with a second chance! Did this mean I could never make music again? Would I have to live forever in Simons’ shadow? To avoid unnecessary trouble, this time I had left my regular phone on the balcony and hadn’t used the computer to arrange the music. How did Simons know about my original song! On Twitter, Simons, who had released two original singles in succession, trended for three consecutive days. The top two spots on all major music charts were Simons’ singles. His popularity even overshadowed a superstar whose secret marriage had been exposed. Some fans asked him in the comments under the new song link why he had changed his style. “My previous new song was plagiarized by someone. Fortunately, I changed the timing and released it early, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to clear my name even if I was right. This new song is a warning to those who steal other people’s work. Talent is a creative artist’s foundation, and I’m someone you’ll never be able to catch up to!” His domineering declaration caused an uproar on social media. Following the company’s previous new song announcement, some people found my Twitter and kept posting comments. “Simons’ plagiarist must be you, right? Didn’t you say you were releasing a song? It’s been so long—where’s your new song?” “And you call yourself an excellent creative artist. Your previous albums must have been ghostwritten too, right?” In this life, I hadn’t released a song, yet I was still branded a plagiarist by Simons. But without solid evidence, my fans weren’t pushovers. How could they let me be slandered? They argued fiercely with those clamoring netizens in the comments section. Simons was a newly debuted artist with mostly casual fans and very few loyal followers. During this controversy, Simons’ reputation fell instead of rising. At this point, Julia couldn’t sit still. “You must come to Simons’ celebration party tomorrow!” Julia’s tone was harsh. I laughed bitterly. “Why should I!” “You have the nerve to ask why! Your fans are cyberbullying Simons. He’s been drowning himself in alcohol these past two days!” “If you still want to be my boyfriend, you must come to the celebration party tomorrow to dispel the rumors!” Simons plagiarized my songs and still wanted me to celebrate with him. Even with ten thousand grievances, I could only grit my teeth and endure. Because I still needed to uncover the secret about Simons. On the day of the celebration party, Julia held Simons’ arm, surrounded by people. “Simons’ two originals broke records directly. They’ve been at number one for a week already!” “Our Simons’ ballads bring people to tears. Who would have thought his rock could be so soul-stirring? He’s truly a creative genius!” The staff around him glanced at me. “Unlike some people who carry the title of genius but engage in theft.” I looked down and smiled. “Simons really is a rare talent. Since that’s the case, can you tell us why you used a minor key for your first original?” Simons didn’t rush to answer. Instead, he exchanged a glance with Julia. “Anthony, that’s enough! Simons graciously invited you to his celebration party, not for you to cause trouble!” Julia’s face flushed red as she defended Simons. In that instant, I had an epiphany—she must know the truth too. “Aren’t you supposed to be a creative genius? Why can’t you even explain the reason!” Simons pushed Julia aside: “There’s nothing I can’t say. Major keys are cheerful, minor keys are sad and gentle. If you play ‘Sunshine in the Ruins’ at 0.75 speed, you’ll discover this isn’t actually a cheerful song at all. Of course a minor key better fits the song’s true meaning.” My heart pounded wildly. Simons’ songwriting thoughts were identical to mine. Especially the 0.75 speed playback—this was a hidden easter egg I had placed in the song. How could he even know about this? I felt darkness before my eyes. “Thank you for the explanation. I have something to attend to. I’m leaving.” As soon as I walked out of the private room, Julia chased after me. “What was the point of that! In front of all those people, did you have to embarrass Simons?” I was thoroughly disappointed in Julia and didn’t want to get entangled with her anymore. “Let’s break up!” “I’m retiring from the industry and going back home. I wish you and Simons all the best!” “What are you doing now! If you go home, what can you do? Move bricks with your incompetent father?” Julia sneered. “Can your father afford your contract termination fee?” I smiled indifferently and left decisively. Julia didn’t know I was a genuine second-generation rich kid. My dad was indeed a contractor over a decade ago, but he caught the right timing and was now a nationally renowned real estate developer. The astronomical termination fee was nothing more than selling a few fewer properties to my dad. Without making music, I could still go home and inherit the family business. I wanted to see how Simons could continue being a rising creative genius without me creating anything!

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The new intern, Vivian, reported me for slacking off for the third time: “Mr. Hayes said no one is allowed to eat snacks, drink water, or use their phones at their desks. You did all three, so you’re getting fined three thousand dollars—a whole month’s salary.” Looking at her young, refined face, I smiled. With CEO Sebastian Hayes backing her, she ran rampant throughout the company. But she didn’t know that I was the largest shareholder. What right did she have to report me? My name is Laura, and I’m thirty-eight years old. Ten years ago, I founded this interior design company. Now I’ve stepped back from the frontlines, handing daily management over to CEO Sebastian Hayes, whom I personally promoted. Sebastian was the successor I had the most faith in. Now, I just kept a desk for myself in a corner of the office, with flexible work hours. My colleagues only thought I was some powerless old-timer. Until half a month ago, when Vivian appeared. She was personally escorted into the design department by Sebastian. “This is Vivian, an honors graduate from an Ivy League school. She’ll be joining our design department from now on. Everyone, please help her get up to speed.” Sebastian’s tone was full of admiration. Vivian smiled as she greeted everyone, her gaze sweeping across the entire office. When it finally landed on me, her eyes held scrutiny and contempt. But from her very first day, she didn’t act like an intern at all. She complained the company-issued computer was outdated and demanded the latest model. She complained the coffee beans in the break room weren’t good enough, and the next day had a colleague go buy freshly ground Blue Mountain coffee. When people whispered about it, she heard them and just smiled faintly: “Mr. Hayes says good ideas need a good environment. We can’t cut costs on these small things.” She really was quite clever. She quickly gathered a group of young designers as arrogant as herself. Toward us “old employees,” she showed nothing but disdain. In front of everyone, she said my design philosophy was “too outdated, can’t keep up with the times.” She would also, during the director’s project review meetings, bluntly point out “the color scheme is too old-fashioned, doesn’t fit mainstream aesthetics.” At first, I didn’t pay much attention. I even helped her once. One time, there was an urgent project. Vivian volunteered, saying she could handle it. But with only an hour left before the deadline, she’d only finished half. She was nearly in tears. It was me who sent the design proposal to the client at the last moment. She looked at me then, her eyes filled with gratitude and shock. I thought that after this incident, she would at least change her attitude somewhat. I was wrong. The next day, I overheard her conversation with someone else. “That Laura is nothing special. Just has a bit more experience, that’s all.” The other person chimed in: “Exactly. I heard she’s just an old employee coasting by. Relies on her seniority and slacks off at work all day.” Vivian laughed lightly, her tone full of superiority. “Don’t worry. The company won’t keep supporting deadweight like that forever. Mr. Hayes said the future belongs to us young people. Those who can’t keep up with the company’s development will be eliminated sooner or later.”

The “cleanup” targeting me began soon after. First, the administrative department approached me with a tactful tone: “Ms. Laura, Mr. Hayes has recently been implementing a new attendance system requiring everyone to clock in strictly. Could you please…?” In my ten years at the company, I’d never clocked in once. This was one of my privileges as founder. I looked at the conflicted administrative manager and nodded. “Alright, I understand.” The next day, HR called me in for a talk. “Ms. Laura, a colleague reported that you browse websites unrelated to work during work hours. This… doesn’t look very good.” I looked at the screenshot HR handed me. It showed me browsing a home design forum. That was a habit I’d maintained for ten years to find inspiration. “Who told you that?” I asked. HR hedged: “Well… we’re obligated to protect the reporter’s identity.” “Fine. I’ll be more careful in the future.” I didn’t take it seriously. But I underestimated Sebastian’s indulgence of her. A week later, the company issued a new “Employee Conduct Guidelines,” hundreds of rules covering everything from how to arrange files on your desk, what cups to use for drinking water, to not being allowed to sleep at your desk during lunch breaks. At the bottom was Sebastian’s personal signature. And the drafter of these guidelines was none other than Vivian. Sebastian had promoted her ahead of schedule to CEO Assistant. Her desk also moved from the design department’s open floor to an independent partition next to the CEO’s office. From then on, she patrolled the company daily, notebook in hand, constantly recording what she deemed “violations.” Sarah was written up for taking a call when her child was sick. Mark was publicly criticized for eating a sandwich at his desk while rushing a project. The entire company was full of complaints. The work atmosphere became extremely oppressive. And I became her primary target. The first time was because I had a cactus on my desk. “Ms. Laura, company policy states no personal items may be displayed in work areas. It affects the company’s overall image.” The second time was because I used my personal laptop to handle private emails. “Ms. Laura, company computers are for work only. If you need to handle personal matters, please do so after work hours.” The third time was today. Because of a glass of water, a plate of crackers, and me using my phone to check feedback from the homeowner of a project we’d just completed. She stood before me, looking down like a judge. “Three thousand dollar fine, deducted from this month’s salary. Do you have any objections?” I looked at her and slowly turned my phone screen toward her. It showed a thank-you letter from the homeowner, specifically praising the entire project team, including her as an intern. “I was working,” I said. She glanced at it and sneered. “Don’t make excuses. Everyone knows you slack off during work hours all day and talk back to your superiors. What do you think the company should do with you?” “Talk back to my superiors?” My gaze moved past her to scan the entire design department. “I’d like to ask everyone here—who exactly is my superior?”

Dead silence. Vivian’s expression turned ugly. She hadn’t expected that not a single person would stand up to support her. She bit her lip and stubbornly said: “My position is Executive Assistant to the CEO, responsible for supervising all employees. Of course I’m your superior! If you don’t accept it, you can go find Mr. Hayes!” “Good idea.” I nodded and picked up my phone. “I’ll call him over right now.” A chorus of sharp intakes of breath rippled through the room. Everyone thought I’d lost my mind. An old employee “coasting by” actually daring to challenge the CEO’s authority. Vivian’s face lit up with a victorious smile. Ignoring her expression, I found Sebastian in my contacts and dialed. The phone rang twice before connecting. “Hello?” Sebastian’s voice was steady as always. “Sebastian, come to the design department.” My tone was calm, without honorifics or unnecessary explanation, as if giving instructions to a subordinate. There was a second of silence on the other end, then: “Alright, I’ll be right there.” I hung up and gently placed my phone on the desk. Vivian crossed her arms and sneered. “Playing games. Let’s see how you handle this when Mr. Hayes gets here.” I said nothing, just pulled out my chair, sat back down, and looked at her leisurely. In less than three minutes, Sebastian’s tall figure appeared at the design department entrance. As the manager I’d personally promoted, he now carried a sufficiently powerful presence. The air in the entire office became even thinner. Vivian immediately rushed up to him, her tone filled with grievance and complaint. “Mr. Hayes, you’re finally here! Laura openly violated company regulations, eating and playing on her phone at her desk. I fined her three thousand dollars according to the new system, but not only did she refuse, she talked back to me, and even dared to call you directly! She has absolutely no respect for you or company rules!” As she spoke, she shot me challenging glances from the corner of her eye. Sebastian’s gaze fell on me, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. His expression was complex—impatience, scrutiny, and an emotion I couldn’t quite read. Over these three years, he’d become more and more like a competent businessman—calm and decisive. “Laura, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice cold and emotionless. I raised my eyes and met his gaze calmly. “Just like Vivian said. I drank half a glass of water, ate one soda cracker, and looked at my phone for three minutes.” I paused, picked up the plate of crackers from my desk, and pushed it toward him. “Mr. Hayes probably doesn’t know that I have hypoglycemia. I had administration specially stock these at the office for me.” “As for the phone,” I waved the screen, “Mr. Williams from Willow Creek Properties just posted a thank-you letter in the group chat and said he wants to refer us a new client. I wonder if that counts as playing on my phone?” Sebastian’s expression darkened. Seeing this, Vivian immediately added fuel to the fire. “Mr. Hayes, don’t listen to her excuses! Company rules are company rules. We can’t make exceptions for one person! She’s relying on seniority to challenge your authority! If you don’t punish her severely today, how can we enforce company policies in the future?”

I knew that in the three years since Sebastian had taken over the company, what he most wanted to do was prove himself, escape my shadow, and establish his own absolute authority. Vivian’s appearance was just a knife he was using to reorganize the company and eliminate “dissenters.” Sure enough, Sebastian’s gaze turned completely cold. He looked at me and said word by word: “Rules are rules. Since they’ve been set, everyone must follow them. Laura, as a senior employee of the company, you should set an example. Vivian was following protocol. She did nothing wrong.” “So?” I asked. “So, the three thousand dollar fine stands. Additionally, you publicly defied a superior and refused to comply with management. This month’s bonus is completely canceled. Write a thousand-word self-criticism and submit it to my office tomorrow morning.” Sebastian delivered his final judgment, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. The office was completely silent. Everyone was shocked by this outcome. This wasn’t just punishment—it was humiliation. Vivian’s face showed undisguised triumph and satisfaction. I looked at this man I had once trusted completely. The last bit of sentiment in my heart dissipated in this cold verdict. I sneered: “Sebastian, what if I don’t write it?” “Then submit your resignation yourself.” He said without courtesy. “Fire me? Sebastian, are you certain you have that authority?” “As the company’s CEO, don’t I have the authority to fire an employee?” My attitude had angered him, and his voice rose several notches. “It seems after three years as CEO, you’ve forgotten whose company this really is.” I said mockingly. Sebastian’s pupils contracted sharply. The smile on Vivian’s face froze as well. I turned to face all the employees: “I’m now notifying you in my capacity as founder and chairman of DreamBuild—Sebastian Hayes, and Vivian, you’re both fired.”

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For our anniversary, my boyfriend gifted me a white gold Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet. My best friend, a luxury appraiser, took one look at it and shook her head. “It is a straight-up fake.” Fuelled by a nagging suspicion, I asked my boyfriend to send me a screenshot of the digital receipt. The image showed the official Van Cleef flagship store. Total amount spent was $7,500. But when I brought the screenshot to our girls’ brunch, they instantly spotted the glaring inconsistency. “The bracelet on your wrist is fake, but this receipt is one hundred percent real. That makes zero sense.” Sarah zoomed in on the image. “Babe, look at the bottom of the screenshot. There is a recommended products section.” She pointed directly at a targeted ad right below the receipt. “He definitely bought two bracelets. One real, one fake.” If he gave me the fake one… then who got the real one? … The mood at the table instantly plummeted. Just two days ago, I was flexing my relationship all over Instagram, posting aesthetic pictures of my beautiful new Van Cleef bracelet from every conceivable angle. Now, I was sitting here holding a cheap piece of metal. And the man I loved had bought the real diamond piece for someone else. “Nora, if he really wanted to drop that kind of cash on you, wouldn’t he take you into the boutique to pick it out together?” Jess asked gently. “A typical straight guy buying a last-minute gift would just grab whatever is trending. But Carter specifically hunted down the Guilloché white gold series. He either suddenly developed impeccable taste, or someone else picked it out for him.” Sarah grabbed my hand, her expression serious. “Your top priority right now is finding out exactly where that real bracelet went.” Their words planted a seed of absolute dread in my stomach. I pulled out my phone and stared at the screenshot Carter sent me that morning. I focused on the algorithm’s recommended items beneath his order confirmation. The product title read clearly in bold text. High-quality Van Cleef dupes so good your girlfriend will never know. Unless a user actively searched for counterfeit jewelry, the algorithm would never push such a specific product to Carter’s feed. Armed with a terrifying gut feeling, I knew I had to see the actual order history on his phone with my own eyes. 1 “Nora? What are you doing home so early?” Carter was lounging on the living room sofa. He opened his arms for a hug. “Did you go out shopping today? Tell me what you bought, I will reimburse you.” He looked at me with those soft, loving eyes, acting as if absolutely nothing in our world had changed. But there was an invisible, $7,500 receipt standing between us. Until I knew the truth, I could not bring myself to fall into his arms. “Carter.” He hummed in response, and I casually dropped the bait. “Jess was telling me about this amazing new skincare line. Can I use your account to order it?” Just like always, Carter agreed without a second of hesitation and tossed his unlocked phone straight into my hands. “Pick out whatever you want, baby. Consider it an extra weekend treat.” He pushed himself up from the sofa. “I am going to grab a hot shower. Just leave the phone on the nightstand when you are done.” I smiled and nodded. My fingers automatically typed in my birthday to keep the screen awake. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Carter was the ultimate catch, the kind of loyal guy everyone envied. He never guarded his phone, always told me exactly where he was, and never stayed out late. The bracelet thing had to be some bizarre misunderstanding. That fragile hope shattered into a million pieces three seconds later. I did not even have to dig through his shopping app. I just opened his delivery tracker. The moment his account loaded, a flood of unread notifications popped up. Your gift order is currently out for delivery. I clicked the tab. The screen was absolutely packed with orders going to another address. It started with imported snacks and expensive aesthetic home decor, then escalated to fine jewelry. The final nail in the coffin was an order placed just two days ago. A set of incredibly sheer, expensive lingerie. Carter had another woman. 2 I used my own phone to search for the best ways to catch a cheating partner. The internet provided hundreds of creative methods. Following their advice, I scoured Carter’s ride-share history, his food delivery apps, and his download logs. He had scrubbed everything spotless. It was not until I opened his messenger app and checked the hidden folder in the top right corner that I hit the jackpot. The contact name was Kitty Cat. The profile picture was an anime girl holding a bouquet of flowers. Carter’s last message to her was sent ten minutes ago. Baby, I just gave my phone to her so she can buy some crap. I will text you a bit later. She replied with an eye-roll sticker. All she does is shop. Nora seriously treats you like a walking ATM. She does not even appreciate how hard you work to provide for her. A second later, another text popped up. Kisses, hubby. See you later. Staring at the glowing screen, my hands began to shake uncontrollably. I scrolled up. They exchanged hundreds of messages a day. Even when Carter and I were sitting on the couch watching a movie, he was secretly texting her his review of the film. With me, Carter was always polite, polished, and composed. But in this hidden chat, he let his true colors show. He used this space to trash-talk his annoying clients, celebrate his financial wins, and even ask her opinion on what pajamas to buy. Nora does not have boobs as big as mine, the mistress texted. Give me the silk set with the deep V-neck. You can just buy her a similar colored crewneck set from a different brand. She is so clueless anyway. She will never even notice it is not the women’s version of the set. Three days after that text, Carter handed me the exact pajamas she had picked out. He had smiled perfectly and said, “The women’s set was out of stock, so I tracked down a similar one. Now we have matching couple pajamas.” I had thought it was incredibly sweet at the time. Now, reading the truth, my nails dug painfully into my palms. The nausea really hit when I saw Carter’s response to her. Well, your big boobs are entirely my doing anyway. The chat was a cesspool of explicit photos and filthy sexts. To my face, Carter swore I was his one and only. Behind my back, he was spending his days worshiping another woman. He had put an insane amount of effort into keeping me totally blind. Hearing the shower water shut off, I stopped scrolling and checked the timestamp of their very first message. It was from July 18th of last year. A perfectly innocent start. Carter had asked her, Do you guys carry pink climbing roses? My girlfriend loves them. Before locking his phone, I casually added two sets of ultra-premium La Mer skincare to his cart, checked out, and tossed the device onto the bed. A minute later, Carter walked out with a towel wrapped around his waist. “All done? Did you make sure to treat yourself?” “Yeah.” I glanced at him, quickly pivoting the conversation. “Carter, the flowers in the living room are wilting. Which shop do you usually buy them from? Send me their contact info.” I watched a microscopic flinch ripple across his face. That was all the confirmation I needed. His precious little mistress was the florist. “I will just pick some up on my way home from work tomorrow,” he said smoothly. “It is way too hot outside. I do not want you dealing with the traffic.” He was terrified to tell me, and I did not push him. When he leaned in to kiss my cheek, I put a hand on his chest and shoved him back gently. “I am exhausted today. Go sleep in the guest room.” Carter blinked, then gave me an affectionate pat on the head. “Alright. Get some rest, baby.” The moment he stepped into the guest room, his thumbs started flying across his screen. I watched the messages sync live to my laptop. Nora is acting completely psychotic tonight. I just bought her thousands of dollars in skincare, and she kicks me out of my own bedroom. She is so ungrateful. The other woman replied instantly. Come over to my place, hubby. I just got a brand new lace set delivered today. 3 Staring at the synchronized chat logs on my screen, everything felt like a hollow hallucination. I did not even notice Carter walk back into the master bedroom. “Nora, a client just called with an absolute emergency. I have to head back to the office and put out a fire.” “Nora?” I snapped back to reality and gave him a numb nod. “Don’t work too hard.” The next morning, I cornered Carter and insisted we go to the flower shop together. He tried every excuse to stop me, but he could not push too hard without looking suspicious. Out of options, he frantically texted a warning to his mistress and drove me to the boutique near his office. “It is right on my commute, which is why I always buy your bouquets here,” he lied effortlessly. I nodded, looking through the pristine glass storefront. I immediately recognized the woman from the profile picture. She had a stunning hourglass figure, flawless makeup, and an aura of mature, calculated seduction. “Mr. Cherry.” She strutted over in her stilettos, flashing Carter a sickeningly sweet look. “Is this your girlfriend? She is so cute.” Carter wrapped a stiff arm around my waist. “This is Nora. Nora, meet Katrina, the owner of the shop.” Katrina. Kitty Cat. It was definitely her. After asking what kind of floral arrangement I wanted, Katrina insisted we sit in the VIP lounge for some tea. She poured Carter a fragrant brew in an exquisite, hand-painted porcelain cup. Then, she handed me a flimsy plastic cup filled with plain tap water. “Nora, do you have any idea what kind of tea this is?” I gripped the cheap plastic, glancing at the amber liquid in Carter’s cup. Before I could even guess, Katrina cut me off. “A real connoisseur does not even need to taste it. One breath of the aroma tells you everything you need to know about the brew.” Katrina sat down entirely too close to Carter, her chin tilted up in sheer arrogance, her eyes locked onto mine. She was waiting for me to make a fool of myself. So I gave a careless shrug. “Looks like basic black tea to me.” Katrina let out a loud, mocking laugh. She grabbed Carter’s bicep, leaning into him. “Your girlfriend really doesn’t know her stuff, does she? Does she only categorize things by color?” “That is hilarious, Nora. You know there are more than just green and black teas in the world, right?” She reached under the table and pulled out a velvet-lined display box. “This is a highly exclusive strain of aged Oolong. But since you clearly do not understand luxury, you are better off sticking to your tap water. It probably all tastes the same to you anyway.” Katrina was practically radiating superiority. She was talking down to me like I was dirt on her shoe. Just like they did in their private chats. To them, I was just a clueless, uncultured peasant. “This is an excellent vintage, but Katrina…” Carter set his porcelain cup down, giving her a pointed, warning look. “Please do not speak to my girlfriend like that. She just doesn’t study tea. That doesn’t mean she is ignorant.” Once upon a time, I would have melted at that. I would have thought I had the best, most protective boyfriend in the world. Now, it just made my skin crawl. Did he honestly think I could not see their fingers secretly twisting together under the glass coffee table? “I have some errands to run. I am leaving. You can bring the flowers home yourself.” I slammed the plastic cup down and stood up. As I grabbed my purse, I made direct eye contact with Carter. He instantly read the pure fury in my eyes. He panicked and grabbed my wrist. “Let me drive you home.” Watching him beg me, Katrina’s triumphant smile cracked. She masked her jealousy with a sweet gasp. “Wait just a second! A fresh shipment of ice-blue roses just arrived in the back. Let me grab a few stems for Nora as an apology!” Ten seconds later, a loud, theatrical scream echoed from the back room. “Oh my god!” Carter dropped my wrist instantly. He sprinted toward the back room without a second thought. “What happened?! Are you bleeding? We need to sanitize that immediately!” His voice was raw with genuine panic. He grabbed Katrina’s hand, pressing his own palm over a tiny scratch on her finger. I stood by the heavy glass door, looking back at them. I said his name softly. “Carter.” “Nora, just catch an Uber home! I have to take Katrina to the ER. Those trimming shears were rusty, she could get tetanus!” He didn’t even look up at me. To save time, he simply scooped Katrina up into his arms bridal style. He treated me like a doorman, marching straight past me and out the door. Over his shoulder, I saw Katrina shoot me a smug, victorious glare. I saw exactly how much he truly cared about her. I stood alone in the sweltering afternoon heat, watching his car speed off toward the hospital. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. “I changed my mind. I will marry you.”

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Right in the middle of a massive joint corporate press conference, I announced my divorce. The reason? A cheap, fluffy rabbit keychain dangling from my husband’s new assistant’s tote bag. Chaos erupted. Everyone in the venue was completely blindsided, desperately urging me to reconsider. “It is just a stupid keychain. If you hate it that much, just throw it away.” “Exactly. Just fire the assistant. There is absolutely no reason to throw your entire marriage away over this.” My husband, Simon, threw his billionaire CEO image entirely out the window. He dropped to his knees in front of flashing cameras, begging me not to abandon him. But looking at the pathetic display, I simply shook my head. “No. This marriage is over.” 1 “Mary, please. I am so sorry. Did I do something wrong? Please do not walk away from me.” The entire conference hall went dead silent the second Simon hit the floor. A heartbeat later, the press practically climbed over each other, camera shutters firing like machine guns. Nobody wanted to miss a scandal of this magnitude. Today was supposed to be the monumental merger announcement between the Belmont Group and Plana Industries. Simon and I were sitting at the main panel, fielding questions from top-tier financial journalists. Everything was going perfectly. Until I glanced to the side of the stage and saw Simon’s temporary assistant absentmindedly stroking the plush rabbit hanging from her bag. I leaned into my microphone, cutting Simon off mid-sentence, and declared that the Belmont-Plana partnership was terminated. I then announced our impending divorce. “Mary Belmont, have you lost your mind?!” My father shot out of his front-row seat, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Over a keychain?! You do not gamble a billion-dollar merger on a temper tantrum!” “Mary, sweetheart, listen to your father.” Simon’s mother rushed toward the stage, trying to do damage control. “If you do not like the girl, Simon will fire her right now. We do not throw away family ties over the hired help.” Simon and I were childhood sweethearts. From preschool to the corporate boardroom, I was the only woman he ever had eyes for. Everyone in the city knew Simon Plana worshiped the ground I walked on. After we got married, he took his loyalty to an extreme level just to make sure I never felt insecure. His drivers, his executive assistants, and his entire inner circle were strictly male. Even during corporate board meetings, female executives were required to sit at least ten feet away from him. It was a running joke in the financial district. They said that within a ten-foot radius of Simon Plana, not even a female mosquito was allowed to exist. Except for me. The only reason this girl was here today was because Simon’s actual assistant got into a fender bender on the highway. She was a last-minute substitute pulled from the event staff. Throughout the entire conference, Simon hadn’t spoken a single word to her. He barely even nodded in her direction. “Wow. I heard the Belmont heiress was insanely possessive, but this is actual clinical paranoia.” “Right? I have been watching the stage the whole time. Mr. Plana literally never even looked at the assistant. She is absolutely unhinged.” The whispers from the press pit grew louder, buzzing with malicious gossip. I ignored all of it, standing my ground. “Mary, stop this nonsense right now! Look at the absolute circus you have created!” My father, realizing I wasn’t backing down, stormed the stage. He raised his hand, fully intending to slap some sense into me in front of the entire city. I braced myself, ready to take the hit. But at the very last second, Simon lunged in front of me. The sharp crack of my father’s palm against Simon’s cheek echoed through the microphones. “Oh my god, Mr. Plana is literally taking a beating for her. He is so hopelessly in love.” “Where do you even find a guy like that? She is completely out of her mind to divorce him over a stuffed animal.” “Honestly, he is better off without her. She doesn’t deserve a man that devoted.” The crowd’s sympathy instantly shifted entirely to Simon. “Mary, whatever I did, I know it is my fault.” Simon ignored the trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth. The red handprint on his face was already swelling, but he just grabbed my hands, his eyes wide and desperate. “Just forgive me this one time. Please. We grew up together. We do everything together. You are literally a part of my soul. I cannot live without you.” I stared at his pleading face. I slowly pulled my hands out of his grip. “I am filing the papers tomorrow.” “Divorce? You open your mouth and demand a divorce over this piece of junk?!” My father, shaking with rage, marched over to the terrified assistant. He violently ripped the plush rabbit off her tote bag and threw it directly at my feet. I looked down at it. It was a remarkably cheap, ugly little toy. The stitching was crooked, exactly like something you would buy from a dollar-store bin. Simon was a man who obsessed over bespoke Italian suits and imported luxury goods. A tacky piece of synthetic fur like this was something he would normally order sanitized from his presence. To the naked eye, there was absolutely zero connection between this toy and my billionaire husband. But my resolve was made of iron. 2 “Mary, look at me.” My mother slipped onto the stage, wrapping a warm arm around my shoulders. She lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. “Tell me the truth. Did he hurt you? Because if he actually did something unforgivable, I will back your divorce a hundred percent.” My throat tightened. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. After all the screaming and public humiliation, my mother was the only person in the room who actually cared about my well-being. “Thank you, Mom,” I whispered back. “But it has nothing to do with that. Simon is perfectly fine. I am just… tired of him. I have had enough.” Hearing my blatant dismissal, my father practically vibrated with rage. He couldn’t even form words. My mother and Simon’s parents looked at me with profound disappointment. I didn’t care. I turned my back on all of them. “Simon, expect to hear from my lawyers by the end of the week.” I walked off the stage, leaving the flashing cameras and the shattered remains of our corporate empire behind. The moment I got home, I began drafting the legal framework for the separation. Unraveling the Belmont and Plana corporate assets was going to be a monumental nightmare. I was buried in spreadsheets when my phone buzzed frantically. It was my best friend, Zoe. “Mary, you need to get online right now. It is a complete bloodbath. Your announcement is the number one trending topic globally.” I clicked the link she texted me. It was a high-definition recording of the press conference. The comment section was a toxic wasteland of pure hatred directed at me. [This woman needs to be locked in a psych ward. Destroying a corporate merger over a cheap keychain? Insane.] [This is what happens when spoiled housewives sit at home with too much free time. They manufacture drama because their lives are too easy.] [Am I the only one who feels terrible for the assistant? She is just trying to do her minimum-wage job and suddenly she is the catalyst for a billionaire divorce. Talk about catching strays.] [Plot twist. The wife is definitely the one cheating. She just needed to manufacture a public excuse to play the victim before she gets caught.] [Actually, I work at a luxury hotel downtown. I have definitely seen her checking in with different men. Rich people are freaks.] There were a tiny handful of rational comments sprinkled in. [Guys, what if the CEO actually is sleeping with the assistant? The keychain might just be a coded excuse to keep the real scandal quiet for the sake of the company stocks.] But that tiny sliver of defense was obliterated ten minutes later. Someone leaked Simon’s highly classified personal schedule from the last three months. Simon was an infamous workaholic. His entire itinerary was broken down into ten-minute intervals. Every single second of his life was accounted for. He was either in high-level board meetings, attending public corporate galas, or at home with me. Furthermore, his business dinners were exclusively held in highly publicized Michelin-star restaurants. He never stepped foot in shady private clubs or VIP lounges. Hundreds of elite witnesses could vouch for his exact whereabouts. [Look at this schedule! The man barely has time to sleep, let alone maintain a secret mistress.] [He literally goes straight home to his wife every single night after working 16-hour days. He is the blueprint for a perfect husband.] To make matters infinitely worse, the assistant posted a tearful, shaky video from her apartment. In the video, she sobbed hysterically, explaining that she didn’t even work for Plana Industries. She was a low-level contractor hired by an external PR firm to manage the stage lights. She only stepped in to hand Simon a microphone because his real assistant crashed his car. She swore on her life she had never met Simon before today. The keychain was just a trinket she bought at a gas station. The internet went absolutely feral. [What a psychotic, rabid dog. She is just ruining innocent people’s lives for fun.] [She definitely got knocked up by another dude and is trying to burn her husband’s reputation to secure the bag.] [She is the heiress to the Belmont Group, right? I am boycotting all their products. I refuse to give my money to a clinically insane narcissist.] The digital mob was relentless. Within hours, Belmont Group’s stock took a catastrophic nosedive. 3 Because I publicly nuked the Plana merger, three of our biggest international development projects were instantly frozen by panicked investors. “Mary, I swear to God I didn’t mean for the schedule to get leaked.” I walked into the living room to find Simon sitting on my sofa. The second he saw me, his eyes welled with tears. He rushed over, grabbing my wrists in a desperate grip. “My PR team panicked and released it without my authorization. I already fired the guy who did it.” “I never wanted any of this public. Please, Mary. Just forgive me. Come back to me.” I looked at him with pure, unadulterated disgust. I ripped my hands out of his grip like he was coated in acid. “Mary Belmont, you have really done it this time.” My father stormed out of the kitchen, his face purple with fury. “You have single-handedly tanked the family legacy. The board is in a total panic.” “We are incredibly lucky Simon is a decent man. He is willing to forgive your psychotic episode and proceed with the merger.” My father grabbed my arm, forcibly dragging me toward his laptop on the coffee table. “Log into your account right now. You are going to post a public apology, beg for his forgiveness, and we are going to bury this disaster today.” He stood over me, radiating a terrifying ultimatum. If I didn’t type the apology, I was dead to him. Fine. I stared at the blank text box on my official social media page. I placed my fingers on the keys and typed a single sentence. [Seven days from now, I will host a live broadcast revealing the exact, undeniable truth behind my divorce. See you then.] I hit publish. “You… you absolute monster!” My father stared at the screen as the post went live. He clutched his chest, gasping for air as his face drained of color. “You are burning down everything your mother and I built! You are destroying us!” “Mary. I am so incredibly disappointed in you.” My mother walked into the room, staring at the viral post on her own phone. “I raised you better than this.” “Get out of my house! I am formally disowning you. The Belmont family has no daughter!” My father roared, winding up and backhanding me across the face with everything he had. The slap was devastating. It caught me right on the temple. My ears instantly erupted in a blinding, high-pitched ringing. The room spun wildly, fading into black as my knees buckled. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room blinded me. Strangely, the suffocating anger that filled the room earlier had completely vanished. Everyone was smiling. “Mary, baby, how are you feeling? Does your head hurt?” Simon was sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping my hand so tightly it was cutting off my circulation. His eyes were shining with manic joy. “Mary, you are pregnant. We couldn’t believe it either. You are already six months along. How on earth did you not notice?” my mother asked, her voice trembling with happy tears. I froze completely. I forgot to even pull my hand away from Simon. My menstrual cycles had been an erratic, nonexistent mess for years due to severe PCOS. I never tracked them. I had gained a little weight recently, but with an anterior placenta hiding the bump, I just assumed it was stress bloat. Pregnancy was literally the last thing on my mind. Shortly after Simon and I got married, we spent a fortune at a fertility clinic. The specialists told us that due to severe blockages in my fallopian tubes, natural conception was a medical impossibility. Since we were both the sole heirs to our respective corporate empires, a lack of children was a massive crisis. I didn’t want to trap him in a dead-end lineage, so I offered him a clean divorce back then. When I handed him the papers, he had physically covered my mouth with his hand. He swore that he only wanted me. He promised we would live a beautiful life as a party of two, and leave our billions to charity when we died. Even his parents had held my hands and told me they loved me like their own blood. They promised that a child would never dictate my worth in their family. At the time, I wept in his arms. I truly believed I had found the perfect family. But now, right as I uncovered the sickening truth and wanted to burn his life to the ground, this impossible child decided to make its presence known. “Look, Mary. This is proof. The universe knows we belong together. Even God refuses to let us separate.” A single tear rolled down Simon’s cheek. “We are going to be parents, Mary. Everything is going to be perfect.” 4 “Exactly! I can’t believe I am actually going to be a grandfather.” My father, who had literally knocked me unconscious hours ago, was beaming with pride. “I need to go buy some baby name books. We will pick out a few options for both boys and girls.” The room was practically vibrating with wholesome, domestic joy. But looking at their smiling faces, my heart was a block of solid ice. “I am not keeping it. I am booking an abortion immediately.” My voice was flat and dead. “And regardless of what happens, I am divorcing him.” The joyous chatter instantly flatlined. The silence was deafening. My father dropped the glass of water he was holding. It shattered against the sterile floor. “You ungrateful wretch! Do you have any idea how broken your body is? Simon stayed with you when he knew you were barren. He sacrificed his own bloodline for you!” “Now, by some absolute miracle, you finally give him an heir, and you want to murder it?! If you want to act like a lunatic, you will do it after you deliver the child. Once the baby is born, I do not care if you drop dead in a ditch!” My father was practically hyperventilating, his face twisting in ugly fury. The door swung open. Simon’s parents rushed in, their faces tight with panic. “Mary, please listen to us. We just spoke to the chief obstetrician. The baby is perfectly healthy!” Mrs. Plana grabbed my arm, her manicured nails digging into my skin. “The child has been inside you for six months and hasn’t given you a single complication. It is a literal angel sent from heaven. How could you be so cruel?” I didn’t flinch. I just hit the call button and demanded the nurses prep me for an induction termination. But because I was already in my second trimester, the procedure required a complex induction process. Without finding a severe fetal abnormality, the hospital ethics board flat-out refused to authorize it. I demanded a transfer to a private clinic. But the slap to my head had left me with severe vertigo. More importantly, Simon and my father placed a small army of private security outside my room. I was functionally a prisoner. I wasn’t even allowed to walk to the cafeteria. Every single day, they rotated shifts, employing a brutal mix of emotional manipulation, guilt trips, and outright threats to break my resolve. “Mary, look at me. I took that stupid keychain and burned it to ashes in the backyard. It means absolutely nothing.” Simon knelt by my bed, presenting me with a velvet jewelry box. “I swear on my mother’s life I have never met that assistant before. You know my schedule. I do not have the physical time to cheat on you.” “If you don’t believe me, I will have my IT department clone my phone, my servers, and the entire corporate security grid. You can hire your own private hackers to scrub my data. I am innocent.” He gestured to the mountain of designer shopping bags piled in the corner of the hospital room. “These are all the limited-edition pieces you mentioned liking last year. I bought them all to celebrate you becoming a mother. Whatever you want, I will buy it.” He rested his chin on my blanket, looking up at me with those sad, puppy-dog eyes. “Oh, by the way. I authorized the Plana legal team to temporarily freeze the Belmont merger assets. I know your family’s stock is hemorrhaging right now. If you keep pushing this divorce, Belmont Group will be bankrupt by Friday.” He buried his face in my sheets, his voice muffled but sharp. “But do not worry. As long as you have my child, I will never let your family starve. I love you more than anything, Mary.” He looked up, a perfect, devoted smile plastered on his face. My stomach violently turned. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from vomiting. He was holding my entire family hostage under the guise of true love. “Do not flatter yourself. My company will survive without your charity. And this parasite is coming out of me the second I find a clinic.” I stared coldly into his eyes. “As for the real reason I am dumping you… make sure you tune into the livestream.” Simon didn’t visit me after that conversation. The Belmont Group’s international projects began mysteriously failing, bleeding millions by the hour. I knew exactly who was pulling the strings. He was trying to starve me into submission. On the seventh day, my phone rang right as I was setting up my ring light. It was Simon. “Mary, call off the broadcast. Tell the world we are working it out, and I will instantly inject capital back into your father’s firm. We can pretend this ugly week never happened.” I didn’t say a single word. I hung up, blocked his number, and hit the ‘Go Live’ button on my app. Because of the massive media circus, my viewer count instantly skyrocketed past one million the second my face appeared on screen.

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1 I noticed Connor’s fitness tracker had been logging over twenty thousand steps a day for an entire week. I teased him about it, asking if he was secretly hitting the gym behind my back. He walked out of the master bathroom, roughly towel drying his wet hair. “The firm is pushing a massive new campaign. I’ve been running around meeting clients all day. I am absolutely dead on my feet.” He caught the thoughtful look in my eyes. Coming up behind me, he wrapped his arms around my waist, his voice dripping with that familiar affection. “What’s wrong? Scared I’m running away from you? Relax, babe. I’m yours. Always.” I forced a smile and kept my mouth shut. Later that night, long after his breathing leveled out in sleep, I unlocked his phone and opened his running app. His GPS route didn’t show client meetings. Every single day, a thick red line looped around the apartment complex where his ex lived. Lap after lap. Circle after circle. I quietly took a screenshot, opened my Instagram, and posted it to my close friends story. The caption read: “Congratulations to my husband on re-entering the dating market.” … My story had been live for less than three minutes when Connor’s calls started rolling in. I let it ring. He was relentless. My phone buzzed angrily against the glass coffee table, vibrating over and over. Finally, I swiped to answer, put him on speaker, and tossed the phone onto the sofa. “Justine, what the hell is wrong with you? Take that post down right now!” His voice was tight, barely suppressing a furious roar. I could hear the wind whipping through the receiver. He was definitely outside. I poured myself a glass of cold water, taking my time. “There’s nothing wrong with me. The caption is pretty self explanatory.” “Do you have any idea how many people are blowing up my phone? The guys from the office, our mutual friends! Everyone is asking what happened! Are you trying to publicly humiliate me?” “You humiliated yourself, Connor. Twenty thousand steps at a time.” Dead silence on the other end. When he finally spoke again a few seconds later, the anger had drained out of him, replaced by an exhausted, pleading whine. “Justine, please stop this. I am so burnt out from work. Can you just cut me some slack for once?” “Cut you some slack for jogging laps under your ex’s balcony?” “It is literally just a coincidence! The new development project is on the West End. All my clients are over there. I just decided to get some cardio in while I was in the neighborhood. Is that a crime?” “We have been married for three years, Connor. Since when do you run?” He choked on his words, completely out of ammunition. I was sick of listening to him scramble for lies. “If that is all you have to say, I am going to bed. My lawyer will email you the divorce papers in the morning.” “Justine!” he screamed into the phone. “You are ending our marriage over a freaking run? Are you insane?” I ended the call and immediately blocked his number. The apartment was beautifully quiet. I opened my phone again. My notifications were an absolute war zone. One of our mutual friends had cautiously replied to the story: “Justine, what did Connor do?” One of Connor’s frat brothers jumped into my DMs: “Yo Justine, aren’t you overreacting a bit? My boy has been stressed out of his mind with this new account. You really shouldn’t put him on blast like this.” I stared at the messages, let out a cold laugh, and didn’t bother typing a single word back. Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. I peered through the peephole. It was Connor. His hair was a messy disaster, his eyes bloodshot, and he was pounding his fists against the heavy wood. “Justine, open the damn door! Let’s talk about this like adults! Face to face!” I didn’t move a muscle. His pounding grew heavier, his voice echoing down the hallway loudly enough to make the neighbor across the hall peek out. “Justine, please! Just let me explain!” I turned my back on the door, walked into our bedroom, shoved my noise canceling AirPods in, and cranked up the volume. The banging faded into nothing. I lost track of time. When I finally pulled the earbuds out, the living room was completely silent. He had given up. I let out a long breath and was just about to head to the shower when my screen lit up again. It was Connor’s mother. 2 “Justine, what on earth is going on between you two? Married couples have spats, but airing your dirty laundry on social media? Threatening divorce? Were you raised with zero class?” Helen’s voice was exactly as sharp and venomous as it had been since the day we met. I listened to her rant, my face expressionless, refusing to interrupt. “Connor told me everything. He went for a jog. That is it. Why are you turning this into a massive circus and making our family look like fools in front of everyone?” “Did he happen to mention exactly where he was jogging, Helen?” “What does the location matter? It is a good thing he is staying active! You are his wife. You should be worried about how stressed he is, but instead, you are throwing a tantrum over nothing. Do you even care about him?” I let out a dark chuckle. “He was running laps around the apartment building of his ex, Lily. Twenty thousand steps a day. For an entire week.” The line went dead silent. A long moment passed before Helen cleared her throat, her tone turning defensive and rigid. “So… so what? It was probably just a coincidence! You know Lily has a weak heart. The poor girl is practically an invalid. Connor was probably just… checking in on her to make sure she was okay. Is that such a crime?” “Checking in on her by running in circles outside her window every single night?” “Why are you being so stubborn? He married you, didn’t he? Stop being so hysterical. Delete that ridiculous post, apologize to Connor, and we will pretend this never happened.” “I did nothing wrong. Why would I apologize?” “You…” Helen sputtered, choking on her rage. “Justine, let me make this very clear. The family name will not be dragged through the mud! If you want to remain a part of this family, you will fix this mess immediately!” She slammed the phone down. I stared at the darkened screen, feeling a freezing hollow sensation in my chest. This was the man I had married. These were the people I had tied myself to. Whenever anything went wrong, I was always the villain. I dragged my suitcase out of the closet and started tossing my clothes inside. I couldn’t stand to breathe the air in this apartment for one second longer. Just as I zipped the bag shut, my phone buzzed with an unknown caller ID. I hesitated, then swiped to accept. A soft, breathy female voice filtered through the speaker, sounding like she was on the verge of collapsing. “Is… is this Justine?” It was Lily. “It is Lily. Justine, please, you have to listen to me. Do not be mad at Connor. It is… it is not what you think.” Her voice was so frail it sounded like she was whispering through a dying lung. “He just heard that my heart condition flared up again. He was terrified I was going to pass out alone in my apartment, so he just… lingered around the neighborhood to make sure I was safe. I swear to you, we haven’t even seen each other face to face.” I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. “So, I should be thanking him? Is that it? Thanking my husband for dedicating his precious free time to babysit his fragile ex while I am working myself into the ground?” “No, Justine, please don’t say that…” She sounded like she was about to burst into tears. “It is all my fault. Blame me, but don’t punish him. He only loves you. If you don’t believe me, I will swear on my life right now that I will never text him again!” What a brilliant performance. The ultimate damsel in distress. I scoffed into the mic. “I really don’t care if you text him or not. We are getting divorced.” I killed the call. I was done listening to their pathetic excuses. 3 I dragged my suitcase out to the curb, flagged down an Uber, and went straight to Roxy’s place. After I spilled the whole story, Roxy was so furious she hurled a throw pillow violently across her living room. “Are you kidding me right now? What is wrong with his mother? And what exactly is Lily suffering from? The Black Plague? Does Connor need to perform a goddamn healing ritual on her front lawn every night?” I sank deep into the cushions, too drained to formulate a sentence. “You are divorcing that trash! Tonight! We are not dragging this dead weight into the new year. I’ve got your back, babe, whatever you need.” Roxy shoved a mug of hot tea into my hands, rubbing my freezing knuckles. “You did the right thing putting him on blast! Let the whole city see what a lying snake he is!” I managed a weak, bitter smile. My phone buzzed. Another text from Helen. “Justine, come over for dinner tonight. I made that glazed pork you like. We are going to sit down as a family and talk this out like adults.” A second text immediately followed. “I invited Lily to join us. She is going to look you in the eye and clear this whole misunderstanding up, so you can stop being so paranoid.” I turned the screen toward Roxy. Roxy’s jaw literally dropped before her eyes narrowed into lethal slits. “Oh, this bitch is good. It is a total ambush. What is she expecting? You and the mistress holding hands over dessert, bonding over how much you both love her precious son?” “Get up,” Roxy demanded, suddenly yanking my arm. Her eyes were burning with a terrifying thrill. “We are going. And we are going to look drop dead gorgeous. I want a front row seat to whatever psychotic play this family is trying to put on.” By sunset, I was wearing a killer cherry red dress Roxy had pulled from her closet, my makeup flawlessly sharp. We pulled up to his parents’ suburban house together. Connor opened the door. His eyes lit up the second he saw me, but the relief vanished the moment he spotted Roxy glaring at him from my right. “Hey. You came.” He reached out to grab my hand, but I dodged him smoothly. “Roxy, this is family business. Why are you here?” Roxy crossed her arms, flashing a predatory grin. “What, scared I’m gonna eat all your groceries? Relax, I’ll Venmo you for the water.” Helen rushed out of the kitchen, plastering a painfully fake smile on her face. “Oh, Roxy! What a surprise. Come in, come in. Justine, sweetie, I made soup for you.” I slipped my heels off and stepped into the living room. My eyes immediately locked onto the girl sitting on the sofa. Lily. She was wearing an oversized white knit dress. Her skin was incredibly pale, her lips completely bare of color. She looked so pitiful and frail, like a strong gust of wind would snap her in half. When she saw me, she nervously got to her feet, offering me a trembling, fragile smile. “Hi, Justine.” I looked right through her, walking straight to the armchair across from her and sitting down. The dining table felt like a graveyard. Arthur, my father in law, sat stone faced at the head of the table. Helen aggressively piled food onto my plate, acting as the frantic peacekeeper. “Justine, look at you, you’ve lost weight. You need to eat. Work is important, but health comes first.” “And Connor,” she scolded, shooting her son a theatrical glare. “You are acting like a child. If you had a problem, you should have just talked to your wife instead of making her worry.” Connor instantly dropped his head, playing the role of the repentant boy perfectly. “I know. I’m sorry, babe. Please stop being mad.” I hadn’t picked up my fork. I just sat back and watched the family theater unfold. Under the table, Roxy tapped my ankle with her boot, shooting me a knowing look. 4 Helen cleared her throat, finally pulling the trigger. “Justine, the reason I asked Lily to join us tonight is so we can get everything out in the open and squash this silly rumor once and for all.” She gave Lily a pointed look. Lily caught her cue perfectly, her voice trembling like a dying bird. “Justine, I am so, so sorry for causing you so much stress.” Her eyes immediately filled with tears. “There is absolutely nothing going on between Connor and me. He just… he just pitied me.” “I was born with a severe heart defect. The specialists told me I wouldn’t make it past thirty. My parents passed away a long time ago, so I have been fighting this totally alone. A few weeks ago, my condition crashed. They handed me a terminal prognosis. Connor must have heard about it from our old college friends, and he just…” She choked on a sob, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. Connor practically leaped out of his chair to hand her a tissue, his eyes swimming with guilt and desperate affection. “Don’t push yourself, Lily. Take a breath.” Helen sighed heavily, shaking her head. “Such a tragic hand to be dealt. You see, Justine? Connor just has a bleeding heart. He couldn’t stand seeing her suffer. You are reading way too much into this.” Roxy actually snorted, nearly choking on her wine. She slammed her glass down, flashing a razor sharp smile. “Wow, Helen. That is some wild logic. So because he feels bad for his ex, he gets a free pass to completely trash his wife’s boundaries? What happens next week? He sees a homeless guy on the street and moves him into the master bedroom?” Helen’s face flushed purple. “Excuse me? Who taught you how to speak to adults?” “Just calling it how I see it,” Roxy fired back, staring Helen down without blinking. “Also, it is so crazy, because when Lily was doing her master’s degree in Europe, she looked incredibly healthy. Scuba diving, rock climbing, partying in Ibiza. Her Instagram grid looked like a Red Bull commercial. But the second she moves back to the States, she is suddenly on her deathbed?” All the blood instantly drained from Lily’s face. She stammered in absolute panic, “That… that was years ago. My heart started failing right after I flew back…” “Really?” Roxy raised an eyebrow. “What terrible timing.” Connor slammed his hand on the table, stepping up to shield Lily. “Back off, Roxy! Who do you think you are interrogating her like this? You don’t know a damn thing about her medical history!” “No, I don’t. But I know that a married man orbiting his ex girlfriend like a pathetic satellite is cheating!” “I didn’t cheat!” Connor roared, his neck turning red. “I was just jogging! Stop acting like a psycho!” The shouting match was seconds away from exploding. I finally opened my mouth. “Enough.” I didn’t yell, but the room instantly went dead silent. All four pairs of eyes snapped to me. I pulled out my phone, pulled up a specific webpage, and flipped the screen around for all of them to see. “I posted this on a local Reddit forum yesterday.” The title of the thread read: “My husband logs 20k steps a day, but his GPS shows he’s circling his ex’s apartment. What do I do?” There were already hundreds of comments. “Girl, throw the whole man away!” “Pack your bags. If you stay, you’re the clown.” “My ex did the exact same thing. Found out six months later he had a whole secret baby with her!” Connor and Helen looked like they were going to vomit. I scrolled past the comments and opened a specific direct message. A user named MidnightJogger had sent me a massive block of text. “Hey OP. I am pretty sure I know exactly who you are talking about. I live in the same building as your husband’s ex.” “There is this guy who runs laps around our courtyard every single night. He stays for hours. He always stops to stare up at the third floor balcony.” “Last night, I actually saw him bring a pharmacy bag up to her door. They were standing way too close. He was holding her.” Right beneath the text message was an attachment. The photo was slightly grainy, taken in the dim hallway lighting, but it was undeniable. Connor had his arm firmly wrapped around Lily’s waist. His face was buried in her hair. And Lily was leaning completely into his chest, looking like the happiest girl in the world.

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1 “Yes, I am the plagiarist. I will stop updating my comic and drop out of college to atone for my sins.” The moment I posted that final announcement, my loyal readers didn’t panic, but the manipulative little clout chaser definitely did. In my past life, I was just a quiet artist drawing a popular queer fantasy webcomic. Then she came along. An influencer with a massive following. She framed me for stealing her work, incited a massive internet hate campaign against me, and even got my publisher to publicly denounce me. She took my original universe, butchered the lore, and sold the movie and animation rights for millions. Nobody remembered that when she first started posting her comic, she claimed it was just a “humble homage” to my work. I couldn’t handle the crushing weight of the death threats and the global humiliation. I stood on the edge of the campus rooftop. I watched my sketchbooks flutter down into the abyss, and then I followed them. The moment gravity won, my final sight was my parents. Their eyes were completely shattered, red and screaming with despair. I fell into an endless, suffocating darkness, drowning in bitter regret and sheer hatred. Then I opened my eyes. And the first thing I saw was the notification for her newest chapter update. A sharp ringtone violently pulled me out of my trance. The dorm room was pitch black. The only light came from my monitor, reflecting off my bloodshot eyes. I frantically checked the date in the bottom corner of the screen. I was back. Exactly two weeks before everything went to hell. Which meant… I scrambled to open my creator dashboard. In my scheduled drafts folder, my newest chapter was sitting there. It was set to publish in exactly one hour. Without a single second of hesitation, I smashed the cancel button. In my previous life, that specific chapter was my absolute masterpiece. It perfectly tied together a massive plot twist I had been setting up for months. When it originally went live, my comment section exploded. “The storytelling is insane! Even the background characters have such tragic depth!” “Why did you have to kill him off so early? I am literally sobbing over my keyboard right now.” “The artwork is breathtaking. The look of repressed agony on his face ruined me.” Those were my day one readers. The ones who had been with me since I was a nobody. When the plagiarism accusations started flying, they were the only ones who stood in the trenches and fought for me. Looking at their old comments begging for an update, hot tears spilled down my cheeks. Thank you for believing in me. But their voices had been completely drowned out by Ivy’s rabid fanbase. One of my top readers, a girl who always sent me premium gifts on the app, had her real identity leaked online. She endured thousands of vicious messages, explicit deepfakes, and vile rumors. Her mental health completely collapsed, and she had to drop out of her university. Thinking about her, I opened my drafts again, staring at the panels I had painstakingly drawn frame by frame. A sudden, freezing prickle crawled down my vertebrae. I whipped my head around to look at my sleeping roommates. I didn’t know why, but it felt like invisible eyes were burning a hole in the back of my neck. But the room was totally still. In my past life, exactly three days after I posted this chapter, Ivy’s fans went on a total rampage. They posted timestamps showing that Ivy had updated her chapter exactly one hour before mine. The plot was identical. The platform, which had always ignored my emails, suddenly posted a massive public statement. They permanently banned my account and mass blocked anyone who tried to defend me. They blatantly took Ivy’s side. Her fans didn’t stop there. They tracked down my personal Instagram. “Thieves deserve to rot.” “Did your parents raise you just to steal other people’s talent?” “No wonder your art is garbage. Go beg on the streets, you brainless hack.” “You go to Western Arts Uni? We are calling the dean right now to get you expelled!” The school administration, terrified of bad PR, forced me into an indefinite suspension. The day I packed my bags to leave the dorms, I barely made it to the ground floor before someone threw a dripping trash bag right at my face. 2 It was garbage from the communal bathrooms. A sickening stench flooded my lungs. Before I could even wipe my eyes, a heavy boot slammed into my ribs. “You filthy thief! Stealing from our queen! We’ll teach you a lesson!” “Go eat dirt, psycho!” They pinned me to the concrete and kicked me relentlessly. They fractured two of my ribs and stomped on my dominant hand until my fingers snapped. After that day, I went from being a top tier artist to a broken shell who couldn’t even grip a stylus without shaking. Everywhere I went, the whispers and the venom followed. My fingers suddenly throbbed with a phantom pain. I looked down at my hands. They were perfectly fine. Unbroken. My heart rate slowly leveled out. My phone screen lit up, flashing a call from my boyfriend, Connor. Connor and I were both in the fine arts program. He was the golden boy of the campus. From the first week of freshman year, girls had been throwing themselves at him. I never cared about his hype, but out of nowhere, he started pursuing me. Obsessively. He waited outside my classes, brought me coffee, and flooded me with attention. Eventually, I gave in and agreed to date him. But a few months into our relationship, a new girl suddenly appeared in his orbit. Ivy. I didn’t realize it until right before my death, but Ivy was the mastermind behind the webcomic account that ruined my life. Ivy had this striking, almost unearthly aesthetic. Deep violet eyes, porcelain skin, and a tragic, delicate aura. She looked ethereal, completely untouchable by the real world. She transferred to our program a few months ago. Rumor had it her mother was a famous Hollywood screenwriter and her dad was a prestigious novelist. Within weeks, she was crowned the undisputed campus queen. She had just as many stalkers as Connor did. Connor swore they were just distant childhood family friends. He claimed they practically grew up in the same sandbox and viewed each other like siblings. So I brushed off their constant, overly intimate touching. Until the night he got too drunk at a frat party and accidentally dialed my number. I walked into the VIP room and found Ivy sitting right on his lap. They were sipping from the exact same glass of whiskey. Their lips were practically brushing. I walked right up to them, my face deadpan, and snatched the glass away. “Sharing a cup seems a bit inconvenient, doesn’t it?” “Actually, keeping me around is what’s inconvenient.” “We are done.” But the very next day, we were back together. He staged a massive public apology in the middle of the quad. He spelled out my name in expensive candles and shoved a giant bouquet of roses into my arms while a crowd cheered. I felt incredibly humiliated and completely trapped. I agreed to take him back just to escape the hundreds of staring eyes. But once a cheater, always a cheater. Every time I caught him getting too close to Ivy, he would pull another massive, manipulative stunt to force my forgiveness. I was completely exhausted by the toxic cycle. But I never knew how to break it. Now, with a second chance at life, my only goal was crystal clear. I was going to stay a million miles away from this pathetic, cheating duo. Connor’s name flashed on my screen again. I declined the call and went straight to his contact profile to delete him. But right before I hit block, I saw his newest status update. “Nothing is more beautiful than a girl chasing her dreams.” Attached was a photo of Ivy’s back. She was sitting at a cafe, drafting storyboards in a leather notebook and scribbling script notes. Something felt incredibly wrong. I zoomed in on the picture. The script she was writing was the exact same plot from my unpublished drafts folder. It wasn’t just a similar vibe. Her outline, the camera angles, the emotional beats, even the specific dialogue lines were identical. The only difference was that my story was about two male fantasy warlords, and hers was a traditional male and female romance. Sure, the High Fae fantasy genre had common tropes, but matching dialogue and panel pacing word for word? That was impossible. She literally just took my tragic male protagonist and slapped a dress on him! 3 This was exactly how she killed me in my past life. She published her chapter exactly one hour before my scheduled release. It locked me in as the undeniable thief. I always thought it was a freak coincidence or a massive leak. But looking at it now, something darker was happening. Every single plot twist in my comic came directly from my own brain at random hours of the night. They were purely mine. I rarely read other comics, let alone copied anyone. I searched up Ivy’s latest published chapter on the app. My eyes went entirely cold. She even copied the deliberate, unresolved cliffhanger I had written when I was suffering from writer’s block. Word for absolute word. My brain felt like a knot of barbed wire. I sat in the dark and thought about it all night long. By dawn, I made a ruthless decision. I permanently deleted every single unreleased file in my drafts folder. I was going to completely nuke my own storyline. I was shifting it from a sweet, slow burn romance into a highly toxic, agonizing psychological tragedy. I wanted maximum emotional damage. I spent the entire morning writing a brand new outline, drafting twisted new character motivations, and sketching rough character sheets. I had been posting art online since high school. Over the years, I had built a reputation as a veteran creator. Because my genre was a bit niche, I wasn’t mainstream famous. But my core audience was fiercely loyal. Since the day I signed my publishing contract, this comic had completely dominated the top ranking charts. It had been sitting at number one for months, beating the second place comic by tens of thousands of premium tips. My ultimate dream was to see my universe adapted into a beautiful animated series. I wanted to pick the voice actors and oversee the script myself. Even if a studio couldn’t capture every nuance, I had already mapped out exactly how to translate the subtle romantic tension to the screen. Every night before I fell asleep, I imagined my characters moving and breathing on a cinema screen. This specific story was inspired by a random moment from my teenage years. I saw two guys walking in front of me in the rain. The taller one playfully flicked the forehead of the shorter one. He laughed and said, “If you’re an angel, I’m definitely your downfall.” “I won’t just break your halo, I’m going to break your heart. That’s the only way you’ll never forget me.” That passing joke sparked my entire universe. I spent three years fleshing out the lore, breathing life into the words. And Ivy had stolen every single drop of it. In my past life, she used my soul to secure massive animation and film deals. And she let the studios butcher it. She made an absolute fortune while my life’s work was humiliated. My stoic, self sacrificing hero was rewritten into a whiny, boy crazy idiot who was willing to destroy the universe just to get a kiss. It was utterly psychotic! Thinking about that, an electric spark lit up my brain. Wait. Wouldn’t an unhinged, psychotic protagonist actually be a brilliant twist? If I rewrote the angel’s descent to earth as a descent into absolute madness, the lore would be incredibly rich. I downed two iced americanos and didn’t sleep for a second. I just typed and sketched like a machine. The ideas were bleeding out of my fingertips. By the second afternoon, my heart was hammering against my ribs. My nervous system was completely wired. The adrenaline rush was so intense it actually hurt. It felt like my brain and my physical body were violently wrestling for control over my own hands. The manic trance didn’t break until my roommate gently placed a cupcake on my desk. “Serena, you haven’t slept or eaten in thirty six hours. Are you trying to put yourself in the ER?” “Put the pen down. Eat something.” I violently snapped out of the trance, gasping for air. I exhaled deeply, feeling like my soul had been scooped out with a spoon. “Thanks for the sugar. I’ll eat it right after I upload this chapter.” My roommate wasn’t having it. She hit save on my software and physically closed my laptop lid. “You already update twice a day. What is the rush?” “If you don’t eat right now, I am calling your mom to tattle on you!” Defeated, I picked up the fork and started eating. 4 While I was chewing on the frosting, I aimlessly scrolled through social media and completely froze. A forgotten memory slammed into my chest. Back when Ivy first started gaining traction, a few eagle eyed readers pointed out that her lore felt way too similar to mine. She had responded to a comment directly. “I am just paying homage to Heavy Rain.” Heavy Rain was my pen name. “Is paying homage a crime now? Or does she own the copyright to the entire fantasy genre? Did she invent the universe?” That single comment started an absolute war. Remembering this, I quickly opened the app and found her creator profile. Her original replies were still public. Reader: “Why does your world building feel like it was directly copy pasted?” Ivy: “Haha, you caught me! I totally borrowed Heavy Rain’s vibe. I just thought her style was cute.” Reader: “Your villain’s backstory is exactly like Heavy Rain’s protagonist.” Ivy: “What can I say? I am her biggest fanboy! I practically worship her!” I took rapid screenshots of every single admission and finally let out a breath of relief. In my past life, she eventually deleted all the comments where she admitted to copying me, keeping only the vague, defensive ones. Those deleted comments later became the weapon her fans used to destroy me. They accused me of having a god complex, bullying a small indie artist, and gatekeeping the entire fantasy genre. I never gatekept anything. It was an entirely fabricated narrative. But the internet mob didn’t care about the truth. To them, my explanations were just pathetic excuses. “Thieves always lie through their teeth!” “She is actually sending her toxic fans to harass our princess on Instagram!” “Our princess is having panic attacks because of her! She needs to be held accountable. I need to know where she lives so I can handle her in person.” And they did. They found my university. They found my parents. The university was flooded with so many bomb threats and angry calls that they forced me out. My phone was bombarded with disgusting texts from strange men asking for my hourly rate. Ivy had posted my personal phone number on explicit hookup forums. Disgusting creeps tracked my location. One night, right outside the dorms, I was almost dragged into an unmarked van. If my roommate hadn’t screamed for campus security, I would have been… During that absolute nightmare, I called Connor begging for help. He just screamed at me through the phone. “Serena, you make me absolutely sick. I cannot believe I dated a fraud.” “Don’t you feel pathetic stealing from someone else? You can’t even draw your own stick figures! You call yourself an artist? You’re a parasite!” “I never want to see your ugly face again. Go jump off a bridge!” “Looking at you makes my skin crawl. I must have been blind to ever touch you.” I had smiled a broken, hollow smile, dropped my phone, threw my sketchbooks into the wind, and stepped off the ledge. When my skull cracked against the pavement, my eyes locked onto my parents’ faces, completely destroyed by grief. In that split second, the regret consumed me. If I could do it all over, I would burn the world down before I let them hurt me again. And now, the universe had handed me a second chance. This time, I just needed to figure out exactly how Ivy was getting access to my unreleased thoughts. Once I cracked that, she was finished. The suffocating memories made my chest tight. I couldn’t breathe. My heart seized with a sharp, terrifying pain. Something was deeply wrong. In that moment of intense pain, an unnatural, burning urge commanded me to open my laptop and upload my draft. I violently fought the urge, distracting myself by endlessly scrolling through my phone. A second later, Ivy’s new comic update popped onto my feed. A layer of freezing sweat coated my spine. Her brand new chapter was the exact same unhinged, psychotic plotline I had literally just hallucinated in my head!

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The moment I asked Brian for a divorce, my knuckles turned a stark bone white around my phone. Tears stung my eyes, threatening to spill. I was shaking, every muscle trembling with a rage I could no longer suppress. The catalyst was a social media post from Vanessa, his supposed platonic best friend. She had locked the privacy settings so only I could see it. She deliberately posted a glaringly intimate photo. In the picture, Brian was asleep, his head resting on her pale bare thighs. Their fingers were tightly intertwined. The caption was pure provocation. It read, “Twenty years of friendship. No one can tear us apart.” What chilled me to the bone was the phone call she made late that night. There were no words on the other end at first. There was only the distinct sound of a man snoring. “Brian had a bit too much to drink and fell asleep at my place,” she said lightly. “You and the kid should not wait up.” When Brian came home the next day, he saw my darkened expression. Instead of showing an ounce of guilt, he frowned and tossed his phone onto the couch. “Check it if you want. I have a clear conscience,” he said, turning toward the bathroom. He tossed a freezing remark over his shoulder. “If you keep being this paranoid, we really can not go on living like this.” “If we can not go on, then we will not.” I finally let the words out. “Since you love spending the night at your best friend’s house so much, I will grant your wish. Let us get a divorce.” The air in the house instantly froze. Brian stopped in his tracks. He turned around, staring at me in absolute bewilderment. “What did you just say?” “I said, divorce.” After that, I dropped our son off at kindergarten. By the time I got back home, Brian had already left for work. I started packing my bags. My phone buzzed with a text from him. “I want beef stew for dinner tonight. We can talk about the nonsense you brought up this morning.” When he got off work and walked through the door. He saw the rich, savory beef stew steaming on the dining table. A smug smile crept onto his face. Seeing me walk out of the kitchen with an apron on, he slipped into his house shoes, walked over, and wrapped his arms around me. “Honey, I knew you would always take care of my needs,” he murmured softly. “Marrying you was the best decision I ever made.” “Where is Noah?” I pushed him away, my expression completely flat. “You did not marry the wrong person, but I definitely did.” “Noah is in his room playing on his tablet.” I set the last plate of roasted vegetables on the table and handed him a bowl of rice. “Eat up, then sign the papers.” “From now on, we go our separate ways.” Brian had just lifted his fork. He froze. His sharp brows knitted together in deep frustration. “I have explained this to you a hundred times. The company is doing layoffs, my projects are a mess, and I am under a ton of pressure. That is why I went to grab a drink with Vanessa.” “I had too much and crashed at her place for one night.” “Absolutely nothing happened between us.” “We are completely innocent.” “How many times do I have to say it before you get it through your head?” By the end of his speech, Brian was visibly agitated. I could not tell if he was genuinely angry because I was wronging him, or if this was the hysterical defensiveness of a liar caught in the act. But none of that mattered to me anymore. Seeing my absolute silence, Brian looked ready to explode. “You always do this. You act paranoid every single day. You never believe my explanations. If I really wanted to sleep with Vanessa, why would I have married you in the first place?” “Do you think I could not have had her?” Hearing that, my lips twitched into a mocking smirk. “She was young and pretty back then, so she bagged a rich guy. If she had not gotten a divorce, do you really think you would have ever stood a chance with her?” Crash! Brian furiously swept his plate off the table. Food scattered across the hardwood floor, still steaming. Right now, he looked like a wild beast whose deepest wound had just been ripped open. He glared at me, his eyes practically shooting daggers. “Mom, what happened?” Noah poked his little head out from his bedroom. “It is nothing, sweetie. Dad just accidentally dropped a plate.” “Be careful, Dad.” “I know.” Once Noah closed his door again, Brian forced down his boiling rage and lowered his voice. “You can accuse me all you want, but do not insult Vanessa.” “Our relationship is purely platonic. We are innocent.” “If you refuse to believe it, I have nothing left to say.” “Then do not say anything.” “It looks like you have lost your appetite anyway.” With that, I pulled out the divorce papers I had prepared earlier and slid them across the table. “I am walking away with nothing. I do not want your money.” “I only want Noah.” Brian let out a harsh bark of laughter. He grabbed the papers, ripped them into shreds, and chucked them into the trash bin. “You want to take my son?” “Not a chance in hell!” “You are always walking around with a miserable look on your face, acting like everyone owes you something. You make me sick. I am done eating.” “I am going to get a drink with Vanessa.” After Brian slammed the front door behind him, I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug deeply into my palms. Just as the tears were about to spill over, I threw my head back. Crying over a cheating man who no longer loved me was the most pathetic thing I could do. For the next two days, Brian did not come home. I did not bother asking where he was. On the third afternoon, I had just brought Noah back from kindergarten when I heard the front door click open behind me. I thought Brian was finally back. But when the door swung wide, his platonic soulmate walked right in. “Well if it isn’t the wifey. Long time no see.” “Where did you get that key?” “Brian gave it to me. He said he did not want to come home, so I am here to grab some clean clothes for him. I figured I would take Noah out for dinner while I am at it.” Vanessa acted like she owned the place. She strolled right past me and headed straight for our master bedroom. She opened the closet with practiced ease, pulled out two of Brian’s shirts, and then turned to my son with a sickly sweet smile. “Come on, Noah. Your dad is waiting for us at the restaurant.” “We are having steak tonight.” My son shook his head and ran over to hide behind my legs. “I am not going.” Vanessa pulled two fancy chocolates from her designer bag. “If you are a good boy and listen to me, I will give you these.” “You are a bad woman.” “I do not eat candy from bad people. It makes my tummy hurt.” Noah’s words actually made me laugh out loud. Vanessa’s face immediately dropped. She glared at me with pure venom. “He is just a child and you are already teaching him to say awful things like that? What kind of mother are you?” “My son is growing up. He knows right from wrong. If he thinks you are a bad woman, maybe you should take a good hard look in the mirror.” “Have you been doing things you should be ashamed of?” “What exactly have I done that I should be ashamed of?” “Enlighten me.” I ignored her obnoxious demand. Instead, I pointed toward the front door. “You are not welcome in my house.” “Your house?” A wicked sneer twisted Vanessa’s lips. “You poor, pathetic woman. Never mind this house.” “You are about to lose your husband.” She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and smiled triumphantly. “Brian spent the last two nights at my place.” “So what?” I raised an eyebrow. “His heart is not with you anymore.” “And?” “Your little marriage is completely over.” She took a menacing step closer to me. “I am not afraid to tell you the truth. Yeah, I slept with Brian.” “He said you lie there like a dead fish. Zero fun at all.” “We try new things every single night, and…” While she was busy gloating, I raised my hand and slapped her across the face with everything I had. Smack! Vanessa was completely stunned. She clutched her cheek, staring at me in absolute shock. In her wildest dreams, she never thought I would actually hit her. “Sarah, you… you dared to hit me?” She glared at me, her entire body trembling with sheer outrage. “He and I are not legally divorced yet.” “I am still his wife.” “Who gave a cheap homewrecker like you the nerve to act this arrogant in front of me?” In the past, I held my tongue. I knew our marriage was on the rocks, but we had a five year old son. I wanted Noah to have a healthy, complete family. So even when Vanessa crossed the line, even when I suspected Brian was stepping out, I swallowed my pride. But Brian had only grown more brazen, treating me like absolute garbage. Now that I had made up my mind to leave him, I was not about to let this woman bark in my face. If I did not slap some sense into her, I would hate myself. Looking at her furious, unyielding face, I let out a cold laugh. “Your former husband cheated on you, kept a mistress, and treated you like dirt. Your life was miserable, so you came here to ruin ours. And poor stupid Brian actually thinks you are madly in love with him.” “He is just an idiot playing right into your hands.” “When he finally sees your true colors, he is going to regret ever looking your way.” Vanessa’s eyes went wide. She clearly did not expect me to know so much about her disastrous past. “You bitch. No one has ever laid a hand on me in my entire life.” “I will kill you!” I grabbed her wrist with one hand and raised my other hand to strike again. Just as I was about to deliver a second slap, a furious roar echoed from the doorway. “Sarah, stop it right now!” “Brian!” Vanessa, already playing the victim from the first slap, saw her savior. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. They spilled down her cheeks in heavy drops. She looked so incredibly fragile and wronged that even a stranger might feel sorry for her. Having been through a marriage already, Vanessa knew exactly how to manipulate a man’s ego. She wrenched her hand out of my grip and practically threw herself into Brian’s chest. “She is so mean.” “I only came to get some clothes for you.” “I planned to just grab them and leave, so I wouldn’t upset her.” “But she refused to let me go.” “She even taught Noah to curse at me.” “And then she hit me.” “Look.” Tears streaming down her face, she tilted her head up and pointed at the red mark on her cheek. Brian looked utterly heartbroken as he wiped her tears away. He gently stroked her bruised skin. Then he asked in the softest, most sickeningly sweet voice imaginable, “Does it hurt?” “It hurts so much.” Vanessa shivered dramatically. Brian’s face turned dark as thunder. He grabbed Vanessa’s hand, marched up to me, and demanded coldly, “Did you hit her?” “I did.” I did not hesitate for a second. “You are acting like a complete lunatic! You are completely unreasonable!” I kept my mouth shut, staring him down. “Apologize to her right now.” He did not even ask what happened. He just ordered me to apologize. My gaze shifted to Vanessa. She was clinging to his arm like a parasite. Catching my eye, she flashed a triumphant smirk, but her voice remained pitiful. “Brian, let it go. Nobody has ever truly cared about me or protected me anyway. People like me are just destined to be bullied.” “I… I am used to it.” More tears. Brian wrapped his arm around her waist. “I didn’t protect you in the past, but I will protect you from now on. Nobody gets to bully you.” “Really?” He nodded firmly. “Thank God. I finally have someone in my corner.” Vanessa smiled through her tears. Brian glared at me. “I will give you one last chance. Apologize to Vanessa right now.” “Or… I let her slap you back.” “Pick one.” I scoffed. “You think she deserves my apology?” “So you are choosing the slap?” Before I could even reply, Brian turned to Vanessa. “Go slap her.” “Oh? But she is your wife.” “Is that… okay?” “I have got your back. She will not dare do anything.” “Hit her!” Vanessa walked toward me, a vicious gleam in her eyes, and slowly raised her hand. “Well then… I guess I will do it.” The moment the words left her mouth, her hand swung hard against my face. Smack! I did not dodge it. I needed this sting. I needed the physical pain to completely harden my heart against this man forever. Feeling the burning sensation spread across my cheek, I stared dead into Brian’s eyes. “Are you satisfied?” “Do not ever mess with Vanessa again.” “Or I will not let you off so easily next time.” With that final warning, he grabbed her hand and walked out the door. A few days later. Brian came home, shot me an icy glare, and slammed a new set of divorce papers onto the coffee table. “You wanted a divorce so badly, right?” “Here you go.” “Sign them and get out of my house.” I silently picked up the document and skimmed it. He was giving me zero financial support. But the worst part was the custody section. He wanted full custody of Noah. Seeing that, I slammed the papers down. “I do not care about the money. We agree on that. But I am keeping my son.” “Keep dreaming.” “You get no money and no kid.” Brian dropped onto the sofa, casually crossing one leg over the other, a smug grin on his face. “I talked to a lawyer. A woman like you, with no job, no income, and zero financial stability? No judge is ever going to give you custody.” “If you want to take this to court, bring it on.” “But… do you even have the money to hire a lawyer?” Looking at his arrogant, victorious face, I trembled with fury. I had been a stay at home mom for years. He was right. I had no money and no job. I knew he would fight me for Noah. But I never expected him to be this ruthless. He was trying to completely destroy me. Seeing me frozen in shock, Brian chuckled. “I worked my fingers to the bone all these years so you and our son could live comfortably.” “You had it too easy for too long, and you forgot your place.” “You want to cause drama every single day.” “Since you love throwing tantrums, I am giving you exactly what you want.” “Sign the damn papers.” “Then pack your trash and leave.” “Oh, and one more thing.” “Just so you know, once we are divorced, I am moving Vanessa in. Noah will call her Mom.” “You are forbidden from ever seeing him again.” “Just pretend you never gave birth to him.” Every single cell in my body was vibrating with raw anger. I carried that boy for nine months. I went through agonizing labor, practically touching death’s door to bring him into this world. And he was telling me to pretend he never existed? “Are you even human… or are you just a monster?” “How can someone be this cold blooded?” “I do not have a job or money because I did not want to work? Because I was lazy?” “You begged me to stay home to raise our child and manage the house. And now you are using my sacrifice as a weapon to steal my son?” “Are you not afraid karma is going to strike you dead for being this evil?” “Sarah, I am not being cruel.” “You forced my hand.” “You and Noah could have stayed in this house perfectly fine.” “You could have kept your title as my wife.” “But you kept provoking Vanessa over and over again.” “You knew her first marriage was a disaster. You knew she lost her baby before it was even born.” “Yet you poured salt on her wounds. You called her wicked and said God was punishing her by taking her child.” “I used to feel a little guilty about what I did to you, but now…” “I realize you are the most toxic person I know.” His words hit me like a truck. When did I ever say those horrific things to Vanessa? It was glaringly obvious. Vanessa had used his anger against me to whisper poisonous lies into his ear. I opened my mouth to defend myself. But I swallowed the words. What was the point of explaining? Our relationship was already dead and buried. “No matter what you say, I am not giving up my son.” I laid out my final boundary. “Then we go to court.” “Let the judge decide.” And just like that, the custody battle began. I had no money for a fancy attorney. I had to rely on legal aid. My public defender took one look at my financial situation and told me my chances of winning were practically zero. The final verdict matched her prediction. I lost. The judge granted full custody to Brian. The moment the gavel fell, it felt like the sun went out. Without my son, my life meant absolutely nothing. My mind went completely blank. I stumbled out of the courtroom like a soulless ghost, barely registering my surroundings. Suddenly, Vanessa’s mocking voice pierced the air. “From now on, I am Noah’s real mommy.” “Come here, Noah. Let us go.” I whipped my head around. Vanessa was gripping my son’s wrist tightly, beaming with malicious joy. Noah was crying, trying to pull away and run to me. But she scooped him up into her arms. “Mommy, please do not leave me!” He reached out for me, sobbing uncontrollably. I instinctively took a step toward him. Vanessa shot me a venomous glare. “Sarah, the court has made its ruling. If you dare come near him again, I will get a restraining order. You will never see his face again.” The color drained from my face. The world was spinning. “Mom!” “Stop crying.” Vanessa scolded him. “She is not your mother anymore. I am your mother.” “You are not my mom! You are a bad woman!” Smack! Vanessa slapped my five year old son hard across his tender face. My heart physically tore in half. “Do not you dare touch my son!” I screamed at her, lunging forward. Just then, Brian walked out of the courthouse restroom. Unaware of the slap, he scowled at me. “What are you screaming about now? Get lost.”

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1 Today was my thirtieth birthday. I specifically ordered a small artisan strawberry shortcake to be delivered to the office. When the box arrived, my coworker looked at me with wide eyes. “Wait, Sophie, I thought you never celebrated your birthday?” I sliced a piece, handed it to her, and forced a smile. “Yeah, well, I just felt like it this year.” This was the very first time in my five years of marriage to Kyle that I was actually celebrating my birthday. The reason was sickeningly simple. His dead first love, his perfect angel, happened to share my exact birth date. Every single year on this day, he would sit in the living room staring at her framed photograph, brooding in utter silence until dawn. Years ago, some friends who knew I loved a good party brought over gifts and a cake. Kyle threw everything straight into the trash. He told me, with ice in his voice, that absolutely no celebrations were allowed on the anniversary of her passing. For five whole years, he had been wearing mourning clothes for that woman. Even as recently as yesterday, I heard him tell a client he was a widower. The vanilla frosting on my tongue was supposed to be sweet, but as I swallowed, all I tasted was a bitter, acidic sting. If his heart was permanently buried in a graveyard with her, then I was done playing the ghost in this lifeless shell of a house. What was the point of a marriage where I couldn’t even blow out a candle on my own birthday? When I finally got home, I put the leftover cake into the fridge. Kyle’s exhausted, hollow voice immediately drifted from the living room. “Did you get the white lilies and the brioche?” “The lilies have to be fresh, and the brioche needs to be from that downtown bakery. Otherwise, she won’t like it.” He didn’t even bother to look up. His gaze was entirely glued to Audrey’s portrait on the mantelpiece. His eyes were red-rimmed, swimming with a sickening amount of tender devotion. This exact scene had played out on loop for half a decade. Every year on this date, Kyle canceled all his meetings, ignored all his calls, and stayed home to keep his dead college sweetheart company. When I didn’t respond, he reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the photo. He glared at my empty hands, annoyance twisting his handsome features. “Where are they? Did you not see my texts?” I saw them. They were just buried at the very bottom of my notifications, pushed down by dozens of birthday wishes from people who actually cared. And honestly, I just couldn’t be bothered to open them. In previous years, I would clock out of work, ride the subway for two hours across the city, stand in the freezing cold before the downtown bakery closed just to get that specific pastry, and then take another train to a specialty florist to buy the most expensive lilies. Then I would drag my exhausted body back home, cook a full meal for him and a dead girl’s photograph, and immediately go tend to his bedridden mother. I would bathe her, massage her atrophied legs, and clean up her messes. By the time I could finally sit down, it would be pushing midnight. And even after bleeding myself dry for him, I never once got a “Happy Birthday” out of Kyle’s mouth. A groan of pain echoed from his mother’s bedroom down the hall. But this time, I didn’t rush in like a well-trained dog. Instead, I opened the fridge, took out my half-eaten cake, set it on the kitchen island, and took a slow, deliberate bite. “My mom is calling for you. Why are you just standing there?” He frowned at the hallway, irritated by the noise, and barked the order at me as if it were my God-given duty. He marched over to the kitchen. I didn’t flinch. I looked him dead in the eye and spoke my first words of the night. “Kyle, I am your wife. Not some free live-in maid your family hired.” He froze. His brain seemed to short-circuit for a second before his eyes darted down to the pink cake on the counter. His face darkened instantly. “Sophie, didn’t I make myself absolutely clear? Today is Audrey’s memorial. You can celebrate your stupid birthday a day early or a day late. Do you really have to jinx her day and make everyone miserable?” It was utterly absurd. It was my birthday. Her death anniversary. And somehow, in his twisted mind, I was the curse bringing bad luck into the house. Right behind him sat Audrey’s portrait. The woman’s delicate, innocent smile was shrouded in the flickering shadows of the candles he had lit. It was a blurry, mocking sight. To his left was the hallway, echoing with the wet coughs and demanding yells of a mother-in-law who verbally abused me on a daily basis, constantly reminding me I wasn’t a fraction of the woman Audrey used to be. And standing right in front of him was me, a woman with absolutely zero presence, zero respect, and zero value in this household. I looked at the living room he had turned into a literal shrine. I listened to the hacking coughs that used to dictate my life. I swallowed the last bite of my cake and tossed the paper plate into the trash. And right along with it, I threw away my five-year marriage to Kyle Pierce. Ignoring his furious glare, I walked straight toward the master bedroom. Before closing the door, I paused and looked back at him. “Kyle. If you didn’t desperately need someone to wipe your mother’s ass five years ago, you never would have married me, would you?” 2 Asking a question I already knew the answer to was just asking for pain. Kyle looked completely stunned. Those sharp, analytical eyes that usually processed high-end corporate data went totally blank. It was as if he couldn’t even comprehend why I was acting out of line. One second. Two seconds. Three. I counted silently in my head, then turned away in disgust. But just as my fingers wrapped around the brass door handle, his patience snapped. “Is the limit on the credit card not enough for you?” “Sophie, if you want a bigger allowance, just use your words. There is absolutely no need to throw a childish tantrum just to get my attention.” I violently twisted the handle and slammed the door shut, locking his arrogant, self-righteous lecture out in the hallway. My legs gave out. I slid down the hard wood of the door, hit the floor, and covered my mouth to muffle the heavy, broken sobs tearing out of my throat. In five years of marriage, this was the very first time we had openly clashed like this. Sure, I had voiced my discomfort about the Audrey shrine before, but he always played the martyr. “She has no family left. No parents, no siblings. If I don’t remember her, no one will,” he would say, looking at me with gentle disappointment. “Sophie, do you really need to be jealous of a ghost?” He always sounded so logical. So painfully loyal and romantic. He made it impossible for me to argue without feeling like a heartless monster. When we first met, everyone told me I had hit the jackpot. They said I came from a totally average background, had an average face, and worked an average teaching job. Snagging a guy like Kyle on a blind date was a miracle. He was incredibly handsome, an Ivy League graduate, and made more in a month than I did in a year. I thought our first coffee date was just a polite, one-off thing. But a few days later, he asked me out again. Then a third time. A fourth. By the fifth date, he asked me to marry him. Back then, I had no clue he was harboring the ghost of a perfect first love. Audrey had been just as brilliant and glowing as him. They were the golden couple on campus until a tragic accident took her life. She became the bleeding, untreatable wound in his chest. A wound he decided to spend his entire life honoring. A wound so deep he actually set up a memorial shelf in our marital home. It was so bad that a week before our wedding, he dragged me to her grave, fell to his knees, and sobbed as he apologized to her headstone. It was so sick that even after we did the obligatory deed as a married couple, he would quietly slip out of bed and go whisper apologies to her framed picture in the dark. For years, I swallowed the pain. I naively convinced myself that if I just loved him enough, he would eventually let go of the past and actually live a life with me. I brainwashed myself into thinking there was no point competing with a dead girl. But what did all that enduring get me? A miserable, exhausting existence. A barren wasteland of a marriage. I finally realized how pathetic my silent suffering had been. It was so painfully funny that I actually choked on a laugh through my tears, the sound hollow and desperate in the quiet bedroom. I don’t know how long I sat there. Eventually, I pulled myself together, crawled into bed, and stared numbly at the city lights bleeding through the blinds. A sudden knock rattled the door. “Sophie. Are you asleep?” “Let’s talk.” When I unlocked it, Kyle was leaning against the doorframe, his expression a tight, complicated knot. He struggled with his pride for a long moment before finally speaking. “I was too harsh earlier. Don’t take it to heart.” The apology spilled out of him rapidly, as if the words physically burned his tongue. Before I could even register the half-baked sentiment, the real reason for his visit dropped. “But regardless of the fight, you really shouldn’t have brought a cake into the house on her anniversary. It would break her heart.” “Just go out there, light a candle, and tell her you’re sorry. Then we can drop this whole thing. Audrey was a sweet girl, I’m sure she won’t hold it against you.” His face was still as strikingly handsome as ever, but as he casually ordered me to bow down to a ghost, his features morphed into something utterly repulsive. For the first time in my life, I looked at my husband and felt pure, unadulterated disgust. Fighting back the bile rising in my throat, I gripped the edge of the door, my knuckles turning white. My voice came out raw and raspy. “Kyle, I want a divorce.” 3 Kyle froze, his eyes narrowing. “A divorce?” He chewed on the word, a mocking, condescending smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. It was like I had just told the funniest joke in the world. “I put three thousand dollars into your account every single month. That’s double your pathetic teacher’s salary. If you divorce me, how exactly do you plan on surviving?” I tilted my head back, looking up at this man who felt entirely like a stranger. He was much taller than me, and the height difference only amplified his suffocating arrogance. For five years, I had constantly looked up to him. I spent so much time craning my neck that I forgot how to stand straight on my own two feet. “Kyle. Do you have any idea how much your mother’s medication costs every month?” I pulled out my phone, opened my budget tracker, and shoved the screen toward him, reading the lines off one by one. “Just her prescriptions this month cost over two thousand. Groceries were eight hundred. Water, electricity, HOA fees. Do you think that pays for itself?” “And then there are the premium candles and imported lilies you make me buy for Audrey every week…” I stopped, swallowing the hard lump in my throat, and pointed a shaking finger at the total at the bottom of the screen. A number far exceeding his precious three grand. “The money burned for your dead girlfriend costs more than my personal expenses combined! I haven’t taken a single dime from you. In fact, I’ve been draining my own savings just to keep this miserable house afloat!” “So tell me, Kyle, what gives you the audacity to think you are providing for me?” Years of suppressed rage erupted like a pressure cooker. I had never felt so terrifyingly light, so incredibly free. Kyle stood paralyzed. His eyes were glued to the meticulous, undeniable ledger on my screen. A look of complete bewilderment washed over his face, an expression I had never seen before. It took him several agonizing seconds to deflate. “Fine. If money is the issue, I’ll transfer another three thousand next month.” “It is not about the goddamn money!” I cut him off cold. I finally spat out the pathetic, humiliating truth that had been rotting inside me. “We are supposed to be married. All I wanted was for you to love me. Is that really so impossible?” In five years, that was the first time I had ever said the word “love” to his face. And it would undoubtedly be the last. My bruised, battered heart was already in shreds on the floor. “I can give you anything else,” he said, his voice dropping low, sounding genuinely tortured. “But I promised Audrey. I promised her I would only love her for the rest of my life.” He smelled of stale wax and clinical grief. Standing there, trapped in his self-imposed misery, he looked so pathetic I almost pitied him. “Oh, drop the act,” I scoffed, my voice dripping with venom. “If you really loved Audrey that much, you wouldn’t have rushed into a marriage with me six months after she died! There’s no audience here, Kyle. Who are you putting on this devoted lover act for?” I ripped right through his hypocritical disguise, severing whatever lingering affection I had left. His eyes snapped up, bloodshot and feral. He lunged forward, his heavy hands clamping down hard on my shoulders. “You have absolutely no right to judge our love!” he snarled, his breath hot against my face. “If she hadn’t died, trash like you would never have been allowed to step foot in my house!” Blinding pain shot through my collarbones. I gritted my teeth and raised my hands to shove him off. Just then, a sickening thud echoed from the guest room. It was followed immediately by Mrs. Pierce’s agonizing wail. Kyle flinched, his grip releasing instantly. He spun around and sprinted down the hall. When he threw the door open, a suffocating, rotting stench rolled out into the hallway. Mrs. Pierce was sprawled awkwardly on the hardwood, covered in her own mess, groaning incoherently. Kyle gagged, immediately slapping a hand over his nose and mouth. He stood frozen in the doorway, absolutely refusing to take a single step inside. His mother’s breathing hitched, turning into a desperate, rattling wheeze. “Sophie… please… help me…” I couldn’t just stand there and watch a frail woman choke on her own fluids. So, despite everything, I stayed. I called 911. I stabilized her. I cleaned the vomit and the filth off her skin. And through it all, Kyle remained glued to the doorframe, as useless as a decorative plant. It wasn’t until the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance and we arrived at the emergency room that he finally snapped out of his trance. “Thank God you were there,” he exhaled, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do today. Look, whatever you said earlier, I know you were just lashing out. Let’s not bring up divorce again, okay?” I opened my mouth, but before I could utter a single syllable, a nurse called my name to pick up the prescription forms. When I walked back down the hospital corridor, I caught the tail end of a conversation between Kyle and another patient’s family member. “Hey, that young woman running around doing all the dirty work. Is she a nurse you hired from an agency?” the stranger asked. “Man, she is good. You don’t see young people that thorough anymore. Do you think you could ask her if she has time to take on my dad’s case?” Kyle went dead silent for three long seconds. Then, he gave a slow, barely perceptible nod. “Sure.” The pharmacy bags slipped from my fingers, hitting the linoleum floor with a soft crinkle. I didn’t even bend down to pick them up. I just turned around and walked away. This time, I didn’t look back. 4 Not far from the hospital was an intersection branching off in three different directions. I stood frozen in the middle of the pavement, totally lost, having nowhere to actually go. Directly across from me was an old clock tower. It was five minutes to midnight. And so, in the final five minutes of my thirtieth birthday, I closed my eyes and made a wish. A wish I hadn’t dared to make in five years. I wished for freedom. I wished for a clean break. I wished to never, ever cross paths with Kyle Pierce again. Over the next few days, I stayed at a cheap boutique hotel near the high school where I taught. I spent my free periods on the phone with a divorce attorney. My terms were crystal clear. I wanted exactly what was legally mine, including full reimbursement for the massive medical bills I had fronted for his mother. Nothing more, nothing less. While the lawyer was drafting the paperwork, Kyle’s texts started flooding in, increasing in panic with every passing hour. At first, he tried to play it cool. Where are you? Did you go home first? I don’t know how to deal with the hospital staff. You’re off work tomorrow anyway, so get here early. Then, the tone shifted. Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum? Come to the hospital right now so we can talk this out face to face. Give me your new number. I need to call you. Where exactly is your school? I’m coming to pick you up tonight. It was darkly hilarious. We had been married for five years, yet my own husband had no idea what my phone number was or what street my school was on. Yet he could recite the exact date Audrey bought a specific brand of lip gloss. I let out a dry, sarcastic laugh and hit the ‘Do Not Disturb’ button on his contact. I truly didn’t expect him to actually track down my workplace. “Sophie. Why the hell are you ignoring my texts?” He cornered me in the parking lot. He looked rough. His jaw was lined with dark stubble, his clothes were wrinkled, and he reeked of cheap hospital coffee and antiseptic. I gave him a dead-eyed stare, side-stepped him, and kept walking to my car. He lunged and grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “Listen to me. Every single nurse I hired for my mother quit because she kept screaming at them. So I need you to request a week off work and come back to take care—” Before the sentence even left his mouth, I swung my free hand and slapped him directly across the face. The crack echoed loudly in the quiet lot. “If you need a nurse, call an agency! Stop harassing me!” I yelled, my voice shaking with pure rage. “Or better yet, go to the cemetery and ask your precious ghost to rise from the dead and play happy family with you!” Kyle clutched his stinging cheek, staring at me like I had grown a second head. “Sophie, have you lost your damn mind?” he hissed. “Isn’t this little stunt dragging on long enough? Are you really trying to force a divorce and turn yourself into damaged goods that nobody else will ever want?” I was still shorter than him, but as I looked him in the eyes, I didn’t feel small anymore. “I’d rather be damaged goods than your maid,” I said smoothly. “Honestly, Kyle? Out of everything I’ve done in my entire life, marrying you is the one thing I am most deeply embarrassed by.” He didn’t try to contact me after that day. I wasn’t sure if his massive ego couldn’t handle the slap or if he had actually accepted reality. Honestly, I couldn’t care less. The day the divorce papers were finally ready, I drove back to the house one last time. Mostly to force a pen into his hand, and partially to pack up my clothes. But what I never, in my wildest nightmares, expected to see when I pushed open that front door… Was her. Standing right there in the living room. Breathing. Smiling. Looking exactly like the dead woman in the framed picture on the mantel.

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1 The post-holiday haze had barely lifted when my phone buzzed, the name on the screen a surprise. It was Victoria, the CEO of the company I had just left. I swiped to answer, and her voice, sharp and furious, immediately assaulted my ear. “Where the hell are you, Simon? The project deadline is today. If this falls apart, it’s on you. Get over here, now.” Her tone was a whip crack, an absolute command, as if I were still her employee on a 24/7 leash. Before I could even get a word in, she hung up. A moment later, HR called. It was Greg, the department head, his voice laced with a rehearsed disappointment. “Simon, what’s going on? You haven’t shown up. Victoria is losing it. You’ve always been the most reliable guy here. Even if you’re pissed about the bonus, you can’t just ghost us.” A dry laugh escaped my lips. I explained, patiently, that my absence wasn’t a protest. I had officially resigned and completed my exit paperwork before the holidays. … “Oh, that,” Greg’s voice was suddenly light, dismissive. “Yeah, I saw the paperwork. So did Victoria. But you know how crazy it gets before the break. We never had a chance to really discuss it. Now that the holidays are over, let’s sit down and talk, okay?” “Talk about what?” I asked. My resignation was finalized. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing left to say. “Your terms, obviously!” Greg jumped in. “Victoria is willing to bump your salary by two hundred a month. In this economy, that’s a generous offer. Do the math, that’s almost twenty-five hundred extra a year.” I did the math, but not on his pathetic offer. I thought about the slackers in my department, the ones who clocked out at five on the dot and never saw a project through. They each got a ten-thousand-dollar bonus. Last year, I single-handedly generated millions in revenue for the company. The flagship project I managed from scratch had an eight-million-dollar contract. I did the work of three people, logged more overtime than anyone in the department, and never once called in sick. But at the annual awards ceremony, every project I bled for was credited to Alex, my junior. He walked away with a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus and the latest iPhone. My bonus? Fifty dollars. The absurdity of it was still staggering. “Greg,” I asked, my voice flat. “Why was my bonus fifty dollars?” The line went silent for a few seconds. “Look, Simon,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “You have to understand, the company has its policies. You do great work, but you can be a little intense. You’re not much of a team player, you always skip the team-building events, you barely talk to your colleagues. The bonus has to reflect your overall performance.” I had to laugh, a bitter, angry sound. That weekend hike? I was working. That Friday happy hour? Finishing a proposal. That karaoke night? I declined because I had a major client meeting the next morning. Every single time I missed a “team event,” it was to do my job better. And now, they were using that to crucify me? And the others? What were they doing while I was working? Drinking, singing, posting filtered group selfies with captions like #workfamily and #teamgoals. So that was “overall performance.” “Any other reasons?” I pressed. Greg hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Well, Victoria also mentioned… that a couple of your projects last year had some, uh, negative client feedback.” “Which client? What feedback? When did they complain? Why am I hearing about this for the first time?” The questions shot out of me, rapid-fire. “I’m… not sure about the specifics. It was just hearsay.” Hearsay. I heard he did a bad job. I heard there were complaints. I heard he wasn’t a team player. So they gave me a bonus that was a slap in the face. The last flicker of hope died. “I understand, Greg,” I said, my voice calm, empty. “But as I said, I’ve already resigned. I followed the proper channels.” “Simon, don’t be so stubborn! Just listen to me—” “Greg,” I cut him off. “For seven years, I never missed a day of work, never took a sick day, never refused overtime. I gave this company everything. If you need me to assist with the transition, I will. Otherwise, don’t call me again.” “Simon Chen!” His voice turned shrill. “What is that supposed to mean? I’m trying to help you, and you’re throwing it back in my face!” I hung up. I wasn’t going to let my former company poison the first day of my new life. Five minutes later, my phone buzzed again. A video call request from Alex, the subordinate who stole my award. I declined. A stream of messages immediately followed. “Dude, why aren’t you answering?” “Victoria’s on a rampage. You should really text her back.” “You’re usually the guy everyone can count on. Why are you being so difficult? You’re making things hard for her.” I stared at the screen, feeling nothing. I had personally trained Alex, pulled him up from an internship. I taught him how to handle clients, how to fix problems on the fly. In return, he stabbed me in the back. Another long message popped up, a tone of frustration bleeding through. “Look, man, I know you’re upset about the bonus, but you can’t blame the company. Times are tough for everyone. Victoria actually really values you. If you quit over a little bit of money, it’s going to look bad. Besides, the company invested so much in you. Can you really walk away with a clear conscience?” Conscience. I stared at the word and almost laughed. I typed back a reply. “Who secretly copied my client files while I was out sick? Who repackaged my creative concepts and presented them as his own in the weekly meeting? Who bought the entire department boba before the annual review and ‘forgot’ me?” “You’re the last person on earth who gets to talk to me about conscience.” Less than three minutes later, he responded, his tone now condescending, as if scolding a foolish child. “What’s the point of bringing all that up? You’re only hurting yourself by making a scene. Where do you think you’re going to go? There are kids with Master’s degrees who can’t find jobs. You’re thirty, single, with a Bachelor’s. All the ‘accomplishments’ on your resume came from the resources this company gave you.” “Greg already said it. If you don’t come back today, Victoria is going to put the word out. No one in this industry will touch you.” A threat. I scoffed. My phone buzzed again. “Dude? You gonna say something? We’re all waiting.” I opened the chat and sent one last reply. A single, passive-aggressive smiley face emoji. Then I blocked him and got out of bed. Today was my first day at the Veridian Group. My new employer was the client from the eight-million-dollar project. The division head, Ms. Croft, was sharp, no-nonsense, and a pleasure to work with. When she’d heard about the bonus fiasco, she had sent me a message: Simon, we desperately need someone with your talent. You’re wasted there. Name your salary. The offer is open whenever you’re ready. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. This year, I was going to live differently. I walked through the glass doors of the Veridian Group. The receptionist recognized me. “Hey, Simon! Ms. Croft is waiting for you in her office.” Her office door was open. She looked up from her computer and smiled. “Simon, you’re here. Have a seat.” I sat across from her. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” she said, getting straight to the point. I sat up straighter. “Of course.” “That eight-million-dollar project from your old company. It’s time for the final acceptance review. I was going to assign it to someone else, but you managed it from start to finish. Nobody knows it better.” “So, I’d like you to go,” she said, her gaze steady. “Go to your old office this morning and conduct the final project review.” I met her direct gaze and thought of the day I resigned, how Victoria hadn’t even looked up from her screen. I thought of Alex on stage, his voice thick with fake emotion as he accepted my award. I thought of Greg telling me my bonus was a reflection of my poor social skills. I thought of the barrage of calls this morning—commands, threats, and finally, impotent rage. A slow smile spread across my face. “Absolutely. I’d love to see what their first day back looks like.” After leaving her office, I went to HR and completed my onboarding. They handed me a new ID badge. It read: Project Director: Simon Chen. Back at my new desk, my phone rang. It was Victoria. For seven years, that number had been a harbinger of doom—late-night emergencies, weekend work orders, last-minute tasks while I was on vacation. Every single time, I had answered immediately with a “Yes, Victoria,” “Right away, Victoria,” “No problem, Victoria.” I answered. “Simon Chen!” she snarled. “So you’ve finally decided to grow a pair? Ignoring my calls, blocking everyone! You think you’re hot stuff now?” “Let me tell you something,” she seethed. “If you don’t show your face here today, I’m firing you for job abandonment! I’ll put it in your permanent file, and we’ll see who’s brave enough to hire you then!” Fired. A hollow laugh echoed in my mind. “Victoria,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “I’m on my way to your office right now.” Her tone instantly shifted to smug triumph. “Hah. Took you long enough. Get here. I’m waiting.” When I received Ms. Croft’s offer, I didn’t accept right away. But after the humiliation of the awards night and the insult of the fifty-dollar bonus, I lay awake until dawn. And in those dark, quiet hours, one thing became crystal clear. My old company didn’t value talent. It valued sycophants. It was a place where you worked, you took the blame, and you watched from the shadows as someone else stepped into the spotlight you built. That night, I made my decision. My thoughts returned to the present. I stood up and clipped my new ID badge to my shirt. I wondered what their faces would look like when I walked in not as a supplicant, but as the client. The taxi pulled up to the familiar office building. I pushed through the revolving doors. Nothing had changed. I was only a few steps inside when Greg appeared, holding a mug of tea. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” he sneered, sizing me up. “After that attitude on the phone this morning, I thought you were off to conquer the world. What happened? Flew a little too close to the sun and came crashing back down?” I just smirked and said nothing. My silence seemed to fuel him. “What’s the matter? Playing nice now? Where’s all that fire from this morning?” He deliberately glanced at my chest. “Whoa, what’s this? That’s not our company’s ID. Simon, did you get lost? Or wait—” His eyes lit up with a look of mock revelation. “Oh, I get it! You’re a food delivery guy now! That blue lanyard, that’s what they all wear, right? Hahahaha!” The badge had flipped over, so the company name was hidden. Alex’s voice joined the chorus. “Dude, you’re finally here! C’mon, you’ve made your point. We need you to wrap this project up. The client is sending someone over any minute.” He reached for my arm. I swatted his hand away. His face hardened. “I’m trying to help you,” he hissed. “Victoria’s in a foul mood. Just finish the work and don’t make it worse. The last thing you need is the client showing up and watching you get chewed out.” “This project?” I said with a laugh. “I thought you completed it independently. That’s what Victoria said at the ceremony. That you carried it all on your own. An outstanding job.” “Your award, your bonus. Why do you need me to finish it?” Greg chimed in. “Come on, Simon, now’s not the time for that. Just get to work!” I didn’t move. The standoff was broken by a roar from the main office. “Where is Simon Chen? Get him in here, now!” Victoria stormed out, her heels clicking angrily on the floor. She gave me a long, contemptuous once-over. “So, you decided to crawl back,” she said, looking down her nose at me. I nodded calmly. “I’m here on business.” “Hah!” she scoffed. “I’ve seen your type a million times. You work a little hard, feel a little slighted, and throw a tantrum hoping the boss will beg you to stay. Let me tell you, it doesn’t work! The world keeps spinning without you. You think the company will collapse? What a joke!” She planted her hands on her hips. “And here you are. Back with your tail between your legs. Late on the first day, too. I’m docking your entire month’s pay. Maybe that will teach you some respect.” She stared at me, waiting for the familiar, submissive apology. Instead, I laughed. “Are you sure you want to take this tone with me?” Alex piped up. “Victoria, calm down. Simon’s probably just in a bad mood. I asked him to work, and he just snapped at me.” Victoria glared at me. “A bad mood? You think you can just abandon your responsibilities because you’re in a bad mood? This is a workplace, not your home. No one’s going to coddle you!” She waved a dismissive hand. “Get yourself together. The client is sending someone today to review the project. You’re handling the meeting. They’re the ones signing the checks, so be nice and don’t screw it up.” “Victoria,” I said calmly. “The client is already here.” She froze. “Here? Where?” “Right here.” I flipped my ID badge over. The three of them stared at the words printed on the plastic. Their faces froze.

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