The plane was ten minutes from takeoff when I was blocked by several flight attendants. The reason: my deaf-mute daughter had handed out a stack of cards with pleas for help. “We’ve received a report that you’re suspected of child abduction. Please show your ID.” The flight attendant’s voice was undeniably serious. Before I could explain, my daughter suddenly unbuckled her seatbelt and rushed out. She knelt before the flight attendant, bowing repeatedly, desperately signing “sister save me.” The entire cabin immediately erupted. Passengers rose to take photos. “Willow, stop it! We still need to go abroad to see the doctor!” I was sweating profusely, frantically pulling out my ID and household register to prove my identity. But my daughter cried even harder, the bruises on her arms strikingly obvious as she struggled. The moment I was escorted off the plane, I watched, helpless, as she threw herself into another woman’s arms, laughing with innocent joy. The immense shock caused me to miss a step on the boarding ramp and fall, my consciousness plunging into darkness. When I opened my eyes again, the familiar scene replayed—flight attendants surrounded me, and my daughter was about to rush out. This time, I didn’t panic. In front of everyone, I dialed the police: “Police? Someone here is abducting my child.” … “I want to report a crime.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough to be heard throughout the cabin. The flight attendant froze, her hand holding the cards suspended in mid-air, her professional smile fracturing little by little. Willow’s hand paused on the seatbelt buckle, not pressing it. She turned to look at me, her eyes filled with confusion. I pulled out my phone, dialed 911 in front of everyone, and put it on speaker. “Hello, Capital 911, how may I help you?” I looked into the eyes of the flight attendant before me, saying each word clearly: “I want to report a crime. Flight CA989, Capital Airport T3 Terminal. Someone is abducting a child.” There was a second of silence on the other end of the line. The flight attendant’s face went white, and Willow’s eyes widened. Someone in the back row gasped. Seeing everyone’s reactions, I smiled. In my previous life, when I was suddenly surrounded by flight attendants, my mind went blank. All I could say was “no,” “I didn’t,” “she’s my daughter.” But no one listened. Only ten minutes remained until takeoff. The lead flight attendant held a pile of cards, her face grave, as she questioned me: “Ma’am, we’ve received a report that you’re a child trafficker. Please show your ID.” The cards were covered in children’s drawings, each with “HELP ME” and “child trafficker” scrawled on them. Before I could react, Willow had already darted out. She knelt before the flight attendant, bowing her head, her forehead hitting the aisle floor with loud thuds. Her face was drenched in tears, and she signed rapidly: “Sister, save me, she’s not my mother.” She signed quickly, forcefully, as if using all her strength to beg for help. Someone in the cabin understood sign language, and the place instantly erupted. “Oh my god, she’s saying she’s been abducted by a trafficker!” “Call a flight marshal!” “Record it! Don’t let her get away!” I stood up, flustered: “Willow! Stop fooling around!” “I’ve scheduled you for surgery abroad, time is of the essence!” I pulled out my ID, household register, birth certificate, surgery appointment… Taking them out one by one, my hands trembling, my voice shaking. The flight attendant skeptically took the documents. But Willow cried heartbrokenly. She rolled up her sleeves, her thin arms covered in bruises, purple and blue. Frantically signing: “Save me, save me.” Everyone, upon seeing the injuries on my daughter, instantly made me their prime suspect. I was helpless and desperate. “The surgery took eight months to schedule, if it’s delayed now, it’s truly lost!” “Willow! Tell them! I really am your mother!” But my daughter just cried endlessly; the moment I touched her, she shrieked and bit me. Her frantic behavior raised suspicions, and I was forcibly ordered off the plane, only to see my daughter run into another woman’s arms. In a daze, I missed a step on the boarding ramp and fell to my death. The call paused for a second, then immediately asked: “Madam, are you sure—” “I’m quite clear.” I cut her off, my voice as calm as if I were remarking on the good weather: “There’s a child trafficker on this plane. I saw it with my own eyes.” “The plane is taking off in ten minutes. I suspect the trafficker has other motives. For safety, please dispatch officers immediately.” After hanging up, I looked at the stack of cards in the flight attendant’s hand and smiled. “Isn’t there a child trafficker? I called the police for you. Go ahead and catch them.” When the call ended, the cabin was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air conditioning. The flight attendant still held the stack of cards, her face as if someone had pressed the pause button. Willow’s hand paused on the seatbelt buckle, not pressing it. She turned to look at me, her eyes filled with confusion. Someone in the back row gasped. Willow finally moved; she still rushed to the flight attendant and knelt. Her face tear-streaked as she signed: “Sister, save me. She’s lying; she’s really not my mother.” She signed quickly, forcefully. Someone stood up to block the aisle, someone else held a phone up, filming my face. I sat in my seat, unmoving. Watching Willow hug the flight attendant’s legs, watching her cry until her face was crimson. In my previous life, I hadn’t noticed anything was wrong with Willow. Willow has been deaf and mute since childhood. This trip was for a cochlear implant. I waited eight months in line, begged countless people, and spent all my savings. Miss this chance, and I’d have to wait another year. Willow is five and a half now; doctors said the window period is before she turns six. If we waited another year, she would miss the optimal timing and might never hear again. She started acting up after boarding the plane. First she wanted orange juice, then apple sauce, then a blanket. The flight attendants ran back and forth more than a dozen times. I thought she was nervous before surgery and didn’t pay much attention. Now I knew she wasn’t acting up; she was handing out those cards one by one. Over a dozen cards, each with “HELP ME” and “child trafficker” drawn on them. How did a five-year-old deaf-mute child, without help, manage that? The flight attendant helped Willow up and hugged her, then turned to me, her expression changed: “Madam, please show your ID again. We need to check it.” I didn’t speak again. I took out my ID and household register from my bag, handing them over one by one. My movements were slow, steady. The flight attendant took them, this time looking very carefully. She flipped through page by page, checking word by word. “Olivia Goodwin, female, 29 years old.” She read the information on the ID, then opened the household register. “Willow Goodwin, female, relationship to head of household—daughter.” She looked up at me, a trace of hesitation in her eyes. Just then, Willow began to sign again. She pointed to the bruises on her arm, crying heartbrokenly, her whole body trembling in the flight attendant’s embrace. “Save me! She’s really not my mom, she hits me every day!” The flight attendant looked down at Willow’s arm, her brows furrowed. Those bruises—black and blue—were shocking under the cabin lights. A woman nearby leaned over for a look, gasping, “Oh my goodness, how badly was she beaten?!” More people gathered. “This child is so pitiful.” “Just looking at her breaks my heart.” “Must be a stepmother, right? No birth mother would hit a child like that.” “Yes, yes, definitely a stepmother!” “Why aren’t the police here yet! Arrest this person immediately!” The voices grew louder, some even started pointing and cursing at me, wishing me dead. I sat in my seat, watching those people. In my previous life, I cried, explaining “I’m her biological mother,” but no one believed me. The flight attendant hesitated, then handed my documents back. “Madam, your documents are in order. However, the child’s accusations and injuries—” “I know.” I nodded. “You need to investigate.” “Yes, for the safety of passengers and the child, upon arrival at our destination, we will need to investigate you. Please cooperate.” “Now, our plane is about to take off…” As soon as she heard the plane was about to take off, Willow visibly panicked. She rolled up her sleeves, showing both her arms, frantically signing: “She’s not my mom! She’s a trafficker! Her suitcase has a bomb!” The person who understood sign language immediately shouted: “She says there’s a bomb on the plane!” The word “bomb” was like a fire thrown into an oil barrel. The flight attendant’s face instantly changed, her voice trembling, “Bomb?” Willow nodded frantically, tears streaming down her face, her fingers signing wildly: “Suitcase! The suitcase she’s carrying!” “There’s a bomb inside! She wants to blow up the plane!” The cabin completely erupted. “I want to get off the plane!” “Open the door! Open the door now!” “Fake, right? How could security let a bomb through?” “Can a child lie? She’s deaf and mute! She wouldn’t lie!” Some people started unbuckling their seatbelts, pushing towards the cabin door. Others pulled their suitcases from the overhead compartments, using them as shields. The flight attendant picked up her intercom, her voice trembling: “Captain, emergency situation, suspected explosive threat in the cabin. Request immediate evacuation!” There was a second of silence on the other end, then the captain’s voice: “Received. Initiate emergency protocol immediately. All passengers evacuate in an orderly manner.” “The plane is evacuating! Let’s go!” The flight attendant began organizing the evacuation. But panic still spread, turning the entire cabin into chaos. Willow was picked up by the flight attendant and moved towards the cabin door. She looked back at me. She smiled at me. That smile was not one a five-year-old child should have. I sat in my seat, unmoving. Two flight attendants rushed over, one on each side, grabbing my arms and pulling me from my seat. I didn’t struggle, letting them drag me towards the cabin door. “Let go of me.” My voice was very calm. “There’s a bomb threat on the plane, please cooperate!” “What if there’s no bomb in my suitcase?” No one paid attention to me. I was dragged out of the cabin door and pushed into the jet bridge. Behind me was a chaotic crowd; some were cursing, some were on their phones. I was pressed against the jet bridge wall by two flight attendants. Five minutes later, the police arrived. Three police cars, six officers. The jet bridge was cordoned off, and all passengers were taken to the waiting area for re-screening. I was led into an office by two police officers. The moment the door closed, the cold air from the AC hit me. The officer opposite me, a man in his forties with a square face, had a very stern expression. He sat down, opened his notebook, and looked at me. “Alright. What happened?” “My daughter said on the plane that I was a child trafficker, and that I had a bomb in my suitcase.” “Your daughter? Biological?” “Biological.” “Why would she say that?” I looked into his eyes: “Because someone taught her.” The officer frowned. “Who?” “I don’t know, that’s why I called the police.” He paused. “I called the police, saying there was a child trafficker on this plane.” I looked at his face. “The trafficker isn’t me, it’s the person who taught her.” “How do you prove that?” “First, the bruises on my daughter’s arms weren’t there when she bathed last night; the hotel surveillance can prove that.” “Second, those rescue cards, over a dozen of them, a five-year-old deaf-mute child couldn’t write them without being taught.” “Third—” I pulled out my phone, opened my chat history with Anna Chen, and handed it over. “This is an appointment I made eight months ago with a New York specialist, for today’s surgery.” “My daughter has congenital deafness. If she misses this, and we wait another year, the window period will pass.” “Would I, at this critical juncture, take her on a plane, then abuse her and let her accuse me?” The officer looked down at the phone, his brows furrowing deeper. “So you suspect—” “I suspect someone approached her before she boarded the plane, taught her to write cards, taught her to cry for help, taught her to say there was a bomb.” I looked into the officer’s eyes: “The goal was to cancel the flight and have me arrested as a criminal.” “I demand to review the surveillance footage from Terminal 3, this afternoon, to see who contacted my daughter.” Just then, the officer’s walkie-talkie buzzed. “Report, no explosives or suspicious items found in the luggage. Repeat, no explosives found.” The officer put down the walkie-talkie and looked up at me. “There was indeed no bomb in the suitcase.” “I know.” “Why did your daughter say there was?” “As I said, someone taught her.” The officer was silent for a few seconds, then closed his notebook. “We understand the situation. You can wait outside for now; please don’t leave the airport until the investigation is complete.” “What about the flight?” “It’s canceled. All passengers need to go through security again. Specific takeoff time will be announced later.” I closed my eyes. Eight months of waiting, gone. “Let’s go.” The officer stood up and opened the door. I walked out of the office, the lights in the waiting area stinging my eyes. Willow was surrounded by a group of people. A woman was holding her, while others offered water and wiped her tears. “So pitiful, such a small child.” “She has injuries on her body, look at her arms.” “Thankfully she was discovered, otherwise she really would have been taken abroad.” Someone saw me walk out, their face changed: “How did she get out? Not arrested?” “What are the police doing? Why aren’t they arresting someone like her?” The woman holding Willow took two steps back, as if afraid I’d snatch her. “Stay away from us! You monster!” Someone blocked my path, pointing a finger at me and cursing: “You dare to come out? Hitting a child like that, are you even human?” “Stepmother! Definitely a stepmother!” “Officers! Why aren’t you arresting her!” The voices grew louder, some even started pushing me. I stumbled a step, my back hitting the wall. Just then, the airport announcement boomed. “Attention all passengers, Flight CA989 has undergone security checks, and no explosives or suspicious items were found.” “This security incident was a false alarm. We apologize for any inconvenience caused. Please monitor future announcements for the flight’s updated departure time.” The waiting area was silent for a second. Then, the crowd immediately erupted. “What? False alarm?” “What the hell is going on? I’ve been waiting here for ages, and it turns out to be fake?” “Who called the police? Who said there was a bomb?” “How much trouble has this caused me! I have an urgent meeting to attend!” The waiting area was in complete chaos. “You’ll pay! You’ll pay me a hundred million!” A man in a suit rushed towards me, his face crimson. “My contract was delayed because of your messed-up situation! Can you afford to pay?!” “Exactly! You’ve wasted so much of our time!” “Call the police and arrest her! Her daughter said there was a bomb!” “Didn’t her daughter say it? What kind of child did she raise!” More and more people gathered around. Some held up phones, filming me; others pointed and cursed at me. The man in the suit reached out to push me. “I’m not the person you should be looking for.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough for those in the front row to hear. “If not you, then who! Your daughter said there was a bomb!” “Right! Your daughter said it!” “Then go find my daughter.” I looked at them. “She’s standing over there. Go ask her for a hundred million.” The man in the suit froze. “You… you’re trying to squirm your way out of this!” He grabbed my collar, pushing me against the wall, my head hitting the tile with a ringing thud. “Stop!” The police rushed out, pushing the man in the suit away.

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In Professor Rivera’s eyes, I was always a quiet one, a wallflower who never spoke up in class. I was far less favored than Gabrielle, the charming and outgoing junior student from the neighboring research group. To “force” me to change, Professor Rivera set a bizarre rule: during lab meetings, presentations had to exceed eighty decibels, or he’d refuse to sign off on my thesis. The first meeting, I bravely read my report aloud, but he scoffed at my trembling voice, then turned around and handed my research data to Gabrielle. The second meeting, I came prepared with throat lozenges, argued with Gabrielle with all my might, even pounded the table in my fervor, just barely managing to overshadow her. To my surprise, Professor Rivera simply tossed my thesis into the trash, coldly calling me “ill-mannered, like a fishwife,” and threatened to delay my graduation by a year for “reflection.” During that time, I barely scraped by, fixing phone screens under an overpass. By the third meeting, I remained silent throughout. Instead, I simply played a silent surveillance video on the projector. The entire room fell into a deathly hush, because on the screen, Professor Rivera was engaged in something utterly indecent with Gabrielle. 1 “Turn it off.” Professor Rivera’s voice was softer than the hum of the air conditioning. No one moved. On the projection screen, he had Gabrielle pinned against the edge of his desk, his right hand slipping beneath her white lab coat. Gabrielle’s head was thrown back, her mouth half-open as if gasping for air, but the video was silent. Twelve people sat in the meeting room, twelve pairs of eyes fixated on the screen. “I said, turn it off.” Leather shoes clicked on the floor, one measured step after another. I didn’t move. He walked to the projector and unplugged the data cable. Vince, a senior grad student, kept his head down, while Ava, a senior peer, was engrossed in her phone. Gabrielle sat in the front row, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her skirt. Professor Rivera turned around. “It’s AI-generated,” he declared. “I trust everyone here can tell the difference.” No one responded. He looked at me. “Skylar, where did you get this?” “Library Annex B corridor surveillance, October 17th, 9:13 PM.” “Who authorized you to access the surveillance footage?” I didn’t answer. He chuckled. “Unauthorized access, fabricating video, publicly displaying it in an academic setting,” he said. “Skylar, that’s defamation.” “That’s the truth.” “That’s a crime.” He pulled out his phone and dialed in front of everyone. “Officer Jenkins? It’s Professor Rivera. Can you send two officers to Room 706—yes, a student is playing an AI-generated, explicit video at a lab meeting, defaming a faculty member.” Gabrielle started to cry then. “Professor Rivera,” she whimpered, “if this video gets out, how can I ever show my face again?” “Don’t worry,” Professor Rivera patted her shoulder. “A fake can’t stand up to scrutiny.” Two campus security officers arrived. Professor Rivera pointed to the items on my desk: “Take her USB drive and laptop. That’s evidence.” “Those are mine.” “These are your tools of crime.” He pocketed the USB drive. A female officer approached and took my laptop. I cast one last glance at my peers, all of them looking down. “Vince.” His shoulder twitched, but he didn’t look up. “Ava.” She pretended to organize her notes. The male officer tugged my arm. “Come on, student, let’s go.” I stood up. As I reached the door, Gabrielle’s voice drifted over. “Skylar, I don’t know why you hate me so much. But doing this, you’re only hurting yourself.” I turned to look at her. I walked out. First floor of the administrative building, a windowless office. The officers told me to wait. I waited for four hours, going to the restroom once with a female officer accompanying me inside. At 11 PM, the door opened. A man sat down, his name badge reading “Dean Peterson, Student Affairs.” He opened a folder. “Skylar, do you understand the implications of your actions today?” “What implications?” “Illegally obtaining surveillance footage, publicly displaying a video suspected of being deepfake and explicit, and defaming your advisor. Any one of these is grounds for disciplinary action.” “That video is real.” “Our technical department has issued a preliminary assessment.” He flipped through the documents. “Conclusion: Traces of AI generation detected, deepfake not ruled out.” “They finished the assessment in ten hours?” “Professional team, highly efficient.” I stared at him. “Have you seen the video with your own eyes?” He didn’t answer. “Sign a statement of facts,” he pushed a paper toward me. “Admit to an operational error, playing the wrong file. The university will treat it leniently—a written reprimand, no permanent record.” I looked down at the paper. The main body was already typed out for me—admitting that due to emotional distress, I mistakenly played an AI-generated video at the lab meeting, causing damage to the reputation of Professor Rivera and Gabrielle, and expressing deep apologies. The blank space at the bottom awaited my signature. “What if I don’t sign?” “We’ll proceed through formal channels. Academic committee and internal affairs will get involved. The outcome, I won’t be able to control.” I stood up and walked to the door. “Skylar.” He called out to me, then hesitated. “Do you have any other copies?” 2 “Following an investigation, graduate student Skylar is found to have, on October 23, 2024, during a lab meeting, unauthorizedly obtained campus surveillance footage and publicly displayed a video suspected of being an AI-generated deepfake and explicit, severely damaging the reputation of Professor Rivera and Gabrielle—her student status is immediately suspended pending further proceedings.” The hearing lasted less than forty minutes. I sat at one end of the long table, facing five people—two department heads, two professors from the academic committee, plus Dean Peterson. Professor Rivera wasn’t there. Gabrielle was. “Since September, Skylar has been messaging me frequently,” her voice was small. “At first, it was just about research topics, but then it became… more.” She handed her phone to Dean Peterson. The screen displayed a series of chat messages: “How dare you take my data?” “Do you really think Professor Rivera cares about you?” “I have leverage over you; you’d better be smart.” “I didn’t send those.” “The records are all here.” Dean Peterson passed the phone around the committee. “Chat logs can be fabricated.” “You also said the surveillance footage was real,” Gabrielle looked down, wiping tears. “But the technical assessment says it’s fake.” Dean Lewis, sitting in the middle, took off his glasses. “Skylar, I understand you have grievances with your advisor, but no matter how serious, it shouldn’t be handled this way. Professor Rivera is a key faculty member in our department; his academic reputation affects the entire program’s development.” “So whatever he did doesn’t matter?” “You can voice your concerns through proper channels,” he put his glasses back on, “not through such… extreme means.” After the hearing, Dean Peterson handed me a stack of documents. Student status suspended. Lab access revoked. Email frozen. Dorm room to be vacated within three days. “What about my experiment data? The ones on the server.” “Research output generated with lab resources belongs to the research group. Your access has been terminated.” “I did that work.” “Follow the rules.” I went back to my dorm to pack. As I was carrying out the last load, Ava leaned against the hallway wall. “Professor Rivera held a meeting after you left,” she whispered. “He made us sign a joint statement—all present confirmed that the video was blurry and the content unrecognizable during playback.” “You signed?” She wouldn’t look at me. “Everyone signed.” I walked out with my suitcase. “Skylar,” she called after me. “Hmm?” “Why didn’t you sign that statement? At least you could have stayed.” “Because it was real.” She paused for a few seconds. “But no one cares if it’s real.” That night, I dragged my luggage to the underpass. My phone-screen-repair stall was still there, the folding table and plastic stools stacked in a corner. I set them up and arranged my tools. My phone lit up. Mom’s number. “Skylar, the university called home. Are you causing trouble there?” “I’m not causing trouble—” “They said you defamed your professor! Are you crazy? That’s your advisor!” “Mom, please listen—” “Listen! Your dad and I put you through grad school, is this how you repay us?” “That advisor, he—” “Advisor or not! If your professor has an issue with you, you fix it, don’t stir up trouble! What if you get expelled? Where do we put our faces?” “I haven’t been expelled.” “It’s only a matter of time if you keep this up! Apologize to your professor, you hear me? Kneel, write a confession, just settle this!” “Mom, in that video—” “I don’t care what video! You apologize!” The call ended. I squatted under the underpass, watching car lights drag long streaks across the pavement. The first customer was a middle-aged man in a hard hat, his phone screen cracked with a single line. “How much for a screen protector?” “Ten bucks.” “Cheap. I’ll take one.” 3 “That semantic segmentation paper of yours, Professor Rivera published it.” Vince sent a message, followed by a link. I clicked it. “Research on Semantic Segmentation Algorithm Based on Multi-modal Feature Fusion.” First author: Gabrielle. Second author: Professor Rivera. Corresponding author: Professor Rivera. My name wasn’t there. My phone vibrated again. Vince’s message: “What are you going to do?” I didn’t reply. I finished applying the screen protector and collected ten dollars. That evening, I went to the university’s academic integrity committee website, uploaded all my original code records and local version logs, and spent two hours writing a complaint letter. Three days later, an automated reply: Your complaint has been received and will be forwarded to the relevant department. Five more days passed, no news. I called the academic integrity committee. “Case number JB20241028-007.” “Please hold—this case has been transferred to your department for processing.” “Which department?” “Your department. The School of Information Engineering, the Departmental Academic Committee is responsible.” Head of the Departmental Academic Committee: Dean Lewis. I closed the webpage. Business dwindled after 9 PM. A pair of high heels stopped in front of me. Gabrielle. Beige trench coat, meticulously made up, a stark contrast to her unadorned appearance at the hearing. “Long time no see.” She squatted down to meet my gaze. “Here to get your screen fixed?” She smiled, took an envelope from her bag, and placed it on the folding table. “Professor Rivera asked me to give this to you.” A settlement agreement. Party A: Professor Rivera, Party B: Skylar. Content: Party B admits to playing an AI-generated false video due to emotional distress, causing severe reputational damage to Party A and Gabrielle. Party B voluntarily withdraws all complaints and issues a public apology. Compensation: Party A will pay Party B fifty thousand dollars for emotional distress and assist in contacting an advisor at another university. “Fifty grand?” “That’s a lot,” she tilted her head. “How much do you make fixing screens here in a day? A hundred? Two hundred? Fifty grand is enough for you to work for half a year.” “Your name is listed as the first author.” She blinked. “The results of a research group, the authorship is the advisor’s prerogative.” “I wrote the code, I ran the data.” “Resources you used in the research group, the output belongs to the research group.” She stood up, brushing dust from her knees. “Skylar, you no longer have student status. What good is having your name on a paper to you?” She pulled out her phone from her bag, found a photo, and held it in front of my eyes. A lawyer’s letter. The words “pursuing criminal charges” were crystal clear. “Skylar, what have you gained by causing all this trouble?” she leaned down, her voice soft as if comforting me. “Discipline, suspension, sleeping under a bridge. What was it all for?” I looked at her face. “What was it all for, for you?” Her smile froze for a moment. “What did you and he get? Authorship? Publication opportunities? Anything else?” “You—” “You know you’re not the first, right?” That was a guess. But her pupils contracted slightly, clearly illuminated by the streetlights. Her lips moved, then she ultimately composed herself, all emotion gone. “Sign within three days, or the lawyer’s letter goes to your home.” The click-clack of her heels faded into the distance. I folded the agreement and tucked it into the bottom of my toolbox. My phone lit up. An unsaved number. “Are you the one who played the surveillance video at the meeting?” “Who is this?” A long pause as the other person typed. “My name is Cecilia. Five years ago, Professor Rivera was my advisor too.” 4 “I shouldn’t have come to you.” Cecilia sat on a plastic stool, cradling a cup of soy milk she hadn’t touched. Short hair, a faded gray hoodie, she looked about six or seven years older than me. “How did you find me?” “It spread all over the university forum. The posts were deleted several times, but screenshots remained, and someone posted your location in the comments.” “Why did you come?” “Because I saw your name—and I just knew.” She finally took a sip of soy milk. “It was exactly like me back then.” “Exactly like what?” “That video is real, isn’t it?” I didn’t speak. “No need to answer.” She gave a bitter smile. “He did the same thing to me five years ago. I was in my third year of grad school, half my thesis written, and he brought in a junior student. Very compliant, very obedient. Later, my data was given to her, and when I confronted him, he said I wasn’t capable enough.” “Then what?” “I got held back for two years. The second year, he made me switch to an obscure, unwanted field and start from scratch. I couldn’t afford to waste any more time, so I dropped out.” “Did you report it?” “I went through all the internal channels, and it just vanished into thin air. I even wrote to the Department of Education—not a single reply.” “Why?” “No evidence.” She set down her cup. “No surveillance, no recordings, nothing but my word.” I pulled out my phone and accessed my cloud drive. The folder was empty. The activity log showed that last Friday at 3:17 AM, someone logged in remotely using my account and cleared all backups. The login device was a desktop computer. A lab computer. “They blocked all your escape routes,” Cecilia’s voice was soft. “Why did you come to me?” “Because I’ve regretted it for five years,” she said. “If someone had stood with me back then, maybe things would have been different.” She stood up, leaving the untouched soy milk on the table. “If you still want to fight this battle, find me anytime.” She left. The traffic on the overpass gradually thinned. I sat on the stool and started to pack up my tools. I rummaged to the very bottom of the toolbox—an old phone. This was my test phone for screen repairs, used to check touch sensitivity and fingerprint recognition after applying a new protector. It was linked to the same account as my main phone, syncing automatically. I pressed the power button. The screen lit up, 11% battery. I opened the file manager. In the sync records lay an MP4 file, synced on October 12th—the day after I copied the video from campus security. I opened it. The silent footage brightened. A corridor view, Professor Rivera’s office door ajar, the outlines of two people perfectly clear. I turned off the screen, gripping the phone tightly. A beam of headlights swept over. A black sedan pulled up across the road, engine still running. The driver’s side window rolled down. He got out, crossed the street, and pulled up a plastic stool to sit. “How’s business?” “How did you know I was here?” “Some of my students are your customers.” He crossed his legs. “That thing Gabrielle gave you, did you sign it?” “No.” “Skylar, I’ve been teaching for twenty years. Smart students take the money and leave. Unsmart ones—” his gaze swept over the old phone by my hand, “—insist on hitting a brick wall.” He stood up and brushed off his pants. “The lawyer’s letter will be sent the day after tomorrow. Defamation charges with civil damages—guess the amount?” He leaned down, his face close to mine, the streetlight casting his shadow over me. “Whatever you have, I’ll take. What I can’t take, I’ll make sure you have nothing left.” The sedan merged into traffic, its taillights disappearing around the bend. I looked down at my toolbox. The old phone screen faintly glowed through the gaps in my tools. 11% battery. One unscheduled backup. A number for a woman who dropped out five years ago. I pulled out the old phone and plugged it into my power bank. Then I sent Cecilia a message. “You said you regretted it for five years. If you could do it again—would you dare?” Two minutes later, she replied. “You found a way?” “I have.”

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My birthday gala was a surprise thrown by my older brother, Steven. I’d planned to use the occasion to introduce Steven Maxwell to my family. But he claimed he had an important business dinner and declined my invitation. So, I reluctantly dropped the idea. At the gala, a familiar figure suddenly appeared, instantly drawing the gaze of every socialite and reporter in the room. It was Steven. He wore a sharp, tailored suit, radiating an undeniable brilliance. He was a completely different person from the Steven I knew, who wore a worn-out tank top in our rented apartment while telling me stories. Even more surprisingly, he had a woman by his side. Steven leaned in and whispered, explaining that this was Steven Maxwell, a renowned rising star in the city, who had taken over his family’s empire at eighteen and, at twenty-two, married the shipping magnate’s daughter – the very woman now at his side. My brother added that Steven’s life had been nothing but smooth sailing, earning him much envy and admiration. That was when it hit me: Steven Maxwell’s “Maxwell” wasn’t just a surname. It was the Maxwell, of the city’s most powerful dynasty. 1 My family had been in politics for generations, originally old friends with the Maxwells. But then the Maxwell patriarch decided to venture into business, shifting from government to commerce. Our families now maintained only a basic, polite facade. Underneath, we even skipped exchanging courtesies during holidays. Simply put, the political elite looked down on merchants for their “new money” stench, while those in business found the politicians hypocritical and pretentious. As for me, I rarely set foot in the city, making few public appearances. My social media scarcely featured any photos of me. The outside world only knew of the Maxwells’ well-protected younger daughter, Aurora. They didn’t know I also used my mother’s maiden name, Luna Turner. After graduating college, I spent three years gaining experience in a rural town with my brother, which left me even more out of touch with city affairs. So, when I first met Steven and heard his last name was Maxwell, I didn’t give it much thought. But I never imagined. I wasn’t the only one concealing my identity. Seeing my prolonged silence, my brother frowned, turning his gaze to me. “What are you thinking about?” His voice pulled me back to reality. I was startled, then forced a smile, shaking my head. “I’m fine, just probably didn’t get enough rest.” My explanation sounded a little thin; my brother clearly didn’t buy it. He looked at me twice more but ultimately said nothing. Steven was no longer in the main ballroom, nor was my father. They had clearly gone to the study upstairs. I unconsciously frowned. “What does he want with Dad?” My brother’s knuckles, wrapped around a champagne flute, tightened slightly, his eyes dimming. “They want an arranged marriage.” “The Maxwells have a younger relative, about your age.” Suddenly, I froze, my heart churning with emotion. “So Steven is here to broker a deal?” “Yes, he wants to win Dad over.” The moment my brother’s words landed, I couldn’t help but let out a cynical laugh. A wave of absurdity washed over me. Round and round we went. Steven had lied to me, I had lied to Steven, and now he wanted his family’s junior to marry me? How dare he? What right did he have? Betrayal and resentment surged simultaneously. I clenched my fingers, letting my nails dig into my palm. As blood dripped from my fingertips to the floor. My brother’s frown deepened. This time, his voice was firm. “You know Steven Maxwell?” I didn’t deny it. Steven and I met in Willow Creek. Three years ago, my painting hit a wall. Coincidentally, my brother was heading to Willow Creek for a training stint, so he brought me along. He was busy every day, always on the go. I explored the entire town, but he couldn’t spare a moment. It was then that I met Steven. That day, I wandered around with my easel, eventually stopping at a small park. Willow Creek was undergoing urban development back then, and officials were often in the vicinity. Steven was among the crowd that day, wearing a hard hat, a white T-shirt, and jeans, looking somewhat out of place among the suited individuals. So much so that I overlooked their respectful attitude towards Steven. He stood among them, speaking animatedly, a faint smile occasionally playing on his lips. The sunlight falling on his shoulders seemed to make him glow. I was so captivated by the sight that by the time I realized it, his profile was already sketched onto my canvas. That was my first encounter with Steven. At the time, I thought it was just a chance meeting and was filled with regret. But I never imagined our second meeting would come so quickly. 2 I rear-ended a car, and the owner was Steven. He got out of the driver’s seat, his brow furrowed, and walked towards me. I thought he was coming to chew me out. But the next second, his magnetic, gentle voice filled the air: “Are you hurt?” I was instantly captivated. It was love at first sight with Steven. The moment I saw him, I couldn’t move. Later, when he often took me hiking to mountain peaks, he’d ask, “If I didn’t have this face, would you still love me?” He’d demand an answer but then wouldn’t care what it was. So much so that even today, I never said: “Steven, my feelings for you started with your looks and were cemented by your character.” But it’s a good thing I didn’t say it. Otherwise, everything that happened today would have been far too ironic. Later, we exchanged contact information. But neither of us reached out first. Until one night, half a month later, Steven got drunk, and the bar owner called me. I hailed a cab to the bar almost immediately. Terrified I’d arrive too late and Steven would be taken advantage of. After all, it’s dangerous for guys out alone these days, especially handsome ones. I didn’t take Steven home; I didn’t dare. My brother detested every man in my life, so my relationship with Steven had to be kept a secret from him. Steven was a good drunk; he didn’t cry or make a fuss, but he was too quiet. There were moments I thought he’d fallen asleep, but a quick glance showed he hadn’t; his deep eyes were fixed on the TV, unblinking. Until the clock struck midnight. Steven softly murmured, “Happy birthday to me.” Then he fell into a deep sleep. In that moment, I felt an indescribable mix of emotions—a deep ache, a heavy suppression. I ended up sitting in the living room all night. When I woke up the next day, I confessed my feelings to Steven. Steven didn’t seem surprised then; he smiled and agreed. As we spent more time together, I learned that Steven had seen me the first time I appeared in the park. And our second and third encounters had all been his deliberate planning. At the time, I was so angry I didn’t want to talk to him. Steven simply hugged me from behind, then bit my earlobe, muttering, “Baby, I just liked you too much, so I found ways to meet you.” “I want you to love me, to like me.” “I lied a lot to you, but that day really was my birthday.” His voice was laced with a hint of grievance by the end, and eventually, I surrendered. I loved Steven, so I was willing to compromise. We dated for three years, our relationship stable; we almost never argued. Steven indulged me without limits, and even when we occasionally disagreed, we always resolved it in bed. Even a week ago. This man was still sleeping next to me on the wooden bed in our rented apartment, holding me gently from behind. His thin lips brushed softly against my ear, saying: “Luna, you are this world’s gift to me.” “I love you so much.” But who could have imagined that Steven was married? After a long pause, my brother’s throat bobbed, his gaze fixed on me. “So, all those times you told me you were staying at a friend’s house, you were actually with Steven?” I nodded. “Yes.” Hearing this, my brother’s eyes darkened further. He silently lowered his head, finished the wine in his glass, then said hoarsely, “What are you going to do now?” I didn’t answer, just gave my brother a reassuring look. Then I turned and walked straight away. Steven wanted me to marry a junior from his family. Fine, I’d grant him his wish. I just hoped he wouldn’t regret it someday. 3 Just then, Steven had settled the marriage alliance intention with Mr. Maxwell, when his peripheral vision caught a familiar figure at the stairwell corner. Before he could get a good look, the person disappeared into the depths of the hallway. He frowned, his right hand instinctively reaching into his pocket for his phone. The top contact on his social media was Luna Turner; not even his nominal wife held that privilege. Luna had sent him a message that afternoon; he hadn’t read it yet. “Even though it’s my birthday today, you’re allowed to come home late, BUT! You absolutely must bring a gift.” After reading it, a faint smile played on Steven’s lips. His expression was clearly visible to Mr. Maxwell, who chuckled. “Everyone says Steven Maxwell is cold and unfeeling, a block of ice. It seems that’s not entirely true.” Steven looked up, a little belatedly, but his smile remained. “Just a little laugh, Mr. Maxwell.” Mr. Maxwell waved his hand, shaking his head. “Alright, I’m off to join my little princess. I still need to ask for her opinion on this marriage alliance. If she doesn’t agree, I’m out of options.” Steven nodded, saying nothing more about the alliance, leaving it at that. But he didn’t expect Steven Crosby to walk towards him. Steven Crosby was the Maxwell family’s adopted son, and perhaps out of gratitude, he was fiercely protective of his sister, Aurora. He worried about every little thing that might happen to her. From childhood, she had been shielded, everyone calling him a “sister’s boy.” The alliance with the Maxwell family. While Mr. Maxwell said he’d consider Aurora’s feelings, Steven Crosby’s approval was, in reality, far harder to win. “I hear from Father that you’re here to discuss my sister’s marriage to your nephew,” Steven Crosby went straight to the point. Steven didn’t deny it, nodding frankly. “So?” Steven Crosby scoffed. “Just give up already.” He lifted his eyes to Steven, a mocking curve playing on his lips. “Aurora won’t agree. Even if she says yes, I won’t let your Maxwell family cling to her.” His words were unapologetic. He didn’t care about Steven’s power or status, nor did he bother to save face for him. Steven also knew Steven Crosby’s background. Three years in Willow Creek. All to return now and rightfully take over from Mr. Maxwell. But an alliance between the two families would only bring benefits, not drawbacks. He couldn’t understand why Steven Crosby was so resistant, even showing hostility towards him. Steven narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man before him. But before he could figure it out. His assistant hurried over, whispering in his ear: “Mrs. Maxwell is having an argument with someone in the backyard.” … I didn’t expect to run into Chloe Turner before I ran into Steven. Chloe recognized me almost instantly. Dressed in a haute couture gown, she directly blocked my path. “You must be Luna Turner, right?” I frowned. “You know me?” “Surprised?” Chloe looked at me with an easy smirk, her hand casually stroking her abdomen. “Steven Maxwell is my husband, in name. As his wife, I should be aware of all his activities, including—” She paused, then softly uttered three words: “His side chick.” Instantly, my fists clenched unconsciously. “So you knew about Steven and me all along?” Chloe smirked, nodding. “Yes, I knew all along.” “I know exactly what kind of person Steven Maxwell is—possessive, doesn’t like anyone interfering in his affairs, so there’s no need for me to stir up trouble.” “Anyway, he won’t shortchange me on what’s rightfully mine: love, status, power, position. What belongs to me, he hasn’t given to anyone else.” “What more could I want?” I opened my mouth, then fell silent for a moment. If Steven had given Chloe the love she deserved, what had he given me? Three years of companionship, what did it mean to Steven? Chloe noticed my daze and continued: “Luna Turner, do you know why Steven suddenly came back to the city?” 4 I hadn’t considered that question. Steven was always traveling between two cities, claiming it was for work, and for a man, putting his career first was perfectly understandable. I never demanded that Steven revolve around me. So, when he said he had to attend a business dinner and would miss my birthday, I didn’t say anything. But now, Chloe stared at me, her words crystal clear: “Because I’m pregnant.” A sudden crash echoed in my mind. My pupils constricted, and I looked up in disbelief, almost instinctively asking, “So what?” “What are you trying to brag about?” “Are you trying to tell me how much Steven loves you?” But on second thought, why would Chloe need to brag? She was Steven’s wife, and it was natural for her to be carrying his child. It was me. What was I? What standing did I have? “Did you know, Steven loves this child very much? The day he received the report, he established a charity foundation in its name, accumulating good karma for it,” Chloe boasted. No wonder. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. Willow Creek was still under development back then, so commercialization wasn’t severe, and it was by the sea. Lying on the beach at night, you could see many stars. At that time, Steven loved to watch the stars with me and play in the sand with the kids nearby. I thought he liked children, so I tentatively asked, “Steven, do you like kids?” But he looked at me deeply before saying: “No.” Now I finally understood. Steven didn’t dislike children; it was just that the person who would bear his child shouldn’t be me, couldn’t be me. I didn’t want to be entangled with Chloe any longer. Everything that happened today had caught me off guard; I needed to calm down. But as I turned to leave, Chloe suddenly grabbed my arm. I instinctively pulled my wrist back with force. She lost her footing, staggered back two steps, her heel slipping on the ground. She fell unsteadily onto the floor. A passing waiter immediately came to help her up. “Ms. Turner, are you alright—” “Get out!” Chloe snarled. She stood up and raised her hand, slapping me across the face. Her movement was too swift; I didn’t even have time to dodge. “Slap—” The slap landed squarely on my face. A burning sting instantly flared on my cheek. Steven arrived just in time to see this scene. He almost stepped forward immediately, but his assistant reminded him there were paparazzi nearby. After a moment of consideration, he stopped. I laughed, mocking myself. I had actually just been hoping Steven would come over, would stand up for me like he used to. But I’d forgotten. My Steven was dead. The Steven before me was just Chloe’s husband. I stepped past him, ready to leave. Steven said softly, “Come home, I’ll explain everything to you—” Mid-sentence, I calmly interjected, “No need.” “Steven, we’re over.”

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On the morning of our third wedding anniversary, I sat on the edge of the bed, numbly waiting for the sun to rise. The screen of my phone lit up. It was my husband, Betts. Pinned at the very top of his iMessage app was a contact saved under the name “Babygirl.” The profile picture belonged to Sienna. A woman pushing thirty, entirely comfortable basking in the cringe-inducing affection of that nickname. I scrolled through their chat history. The words pierced my chest like needles. “Be careful crossing the street, okay?” “Bought you those strawberry cream lattes you love.” But the text that finally suffocated me was hers: “I’ve been waiting forever for you to drop her.” Betts had replied, whining about his own marriage. “Picking up your husband’s slack, buying you flowers in secret, acting like just a friend… every second of these three years has been pure torture.” When Betts finally woke up and saw his phone in my hand, he froze. Then, a smile of absolute relief washed over his face. “Since you already know, I guess I can stop pretending,” he said, his tone impossibly light. Just yesterday. On our actual wedding anniversary. He and Sienna had made it official. “I chased her for three years, and she finally said yes.” I could hear the barely contained thrill vibrating in his throat. “I’m sorry, but she and I… we’re meant to be.” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just nodded, completely silent, and opened the drawer of my nightstand. I pulled out two copies of a divorce settlement. The date line at the top was blank. But at the very bottom, his signature was already there in black ink. He had signed it on the exact same day we picked up our marriage license, three years ago. 1 He snatched the papers from my hands, flipping them over twice as if looking for a trick. “What is this supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it looks like,” I said. “Three years ago, when you signed this, I told you. The day you figured out what you really wanted, just fill in the date.” He slammed the papers down on the nightstand. The crisp smack of the pages echoed in the quiet room. “Sienna had no idea I was after her these past three years,” he said, his jaw tightening. “She only agreed to be with me yesterday. I didn’t cheat. I never betrayed you.” I stood up and walked to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. “I know,” I said. “You came home on time every night. You spent your weekends here. You bought the obligatory jewelry for every holiday. You didn’t physically cheat.” He followed me out. “Then what the hell is this? You’ve just been sitting on a signed divorce paper for three years waiting to spring it on me?” I set my glass down on the marble counter. “Last night, you came home blackout drunk. When I was wrestling you into bed, you muttered her name twenty-three times.” That shut him up. I walked right past him, back into the bedroom. I picked up the two copies of the settlement, set them back on the nightstand, and laid a pen right next to them. “Fill in the date yourself. I’m going to work.” As I was slipping into my heels by the front door, he chased after me. His bare feet slapped against the hardwood, his voice thick with morning sleep and sudden panic. “You’re just going to leave?” I straightened my posture and looked back at him. “What else do you want me to do? You confessed your undying love to her yesterday. Have you even texted her good morning yet? Is she waiting for you? Did you guys plan your first real date?” His mouth opened, but nothing came out. “Let me help you out,” I said. “Today is Thursday. You two can grab dinner on Friday, maybe catch a movie over the weekend. I’ll come back on Monday to pack up the rest of my stuff.” When the front door clicked shut behind me, he didn’t come after me. The elevator arrived almost instantly. I stood inside the metal box, watching the digital floor numbers tick down, one by one. Lobby. The doors slid open. A delivery guy was standing right there, holding a massive, obnoxious bouquet of red roses, squinting at the shipping label. “Delivery for Sienna?” he looked up and asked. I told him he had the wrong person. He stepped aside, and I walked out the glass doors. The morning sun was blinding. 2 A white BMW was idling right outside the gates of my neighborhood. As I walked past it, the tinted window rolled down, revealing Sienna’s face. She offered me a fragile, little smile. It was fleeting, like it slipped out by accident, but also entirely calculated. “Hi,” she said softly. “Is Betts around?” I didn’t break my stride. I just walked around the hood of her car. She called out after me. “He drank way too much last night. I was so worried about him, so I just wanted to come check.” I stopped in my tracks. When I turned around, she was already stepping out of the driver’s seat. She was wearing a simple, flowing white sundress. Her hair was loose and casual, her face scrubbed entirely clean of makeup. I had seen this exact look a hundred times. In the hidden photo albums on Betts’s phone. Lingering around the lobby of his office building. “He did drink too much,” I said flatly. “He drank it inside my house.” She flinched. “Please, you have to understand, don’t misunderstand…” “There’s no misunderstanding,” I cut her off. “He got hammered, grabbed my hand, and called your name twenty-three times. He woke up this morning and told me he finally wore you down. You guys are together now. Congrats.” A furious flush crept up her neck and spilled onto her cheeks. “I am so, so sorry… I swear to God I didn’t mean to do this. I literally had no idea he was married. He never told me…” I just stared at her. Her eyes were already brimming with tears. Moisture clung to her eyelashes. She bit her lower lip, looking like a girl who had just been handed the most tragic, unfair hand in life, trying desperately to hold back her sobs. I knew this routine by heart. “Well, now you know,” I said. “He’s upstairs. Apartment 301. Go get him.” She stayed frozen, glued to the pavement. Footsteps pounded from the courtyard behind me, followed by Betts’s breathless voice. “Sienna?” I glanced over my shoulder. He had run out in his house slippers. His hair was a mess, his dress shirt wrinkled from sleeping in it. When he saw Sienna standing there, he hesitated for a fraction of a second before practically sprinting to her side. He stepped right in front of her, acting like a human shield. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, his voice dropping into a dark, defensive register. I actually laughed. A harsh, dry sound. “What am I doing?” He kept her tucked firmly behind his back, looking at me like I was a rabid dog about to lunge at her throat. “She doesn’t know anything,” he insisted. “I went after her. I lied to her and said I was single. If you’re mad, take it out on me. Leave her out of this.” Sienna tugged weakly at the back of his shirt, her voice trembling. “Betts, don’t be like this. She didn’t even say anything bad…” I laughed out loud this time. “She’s right, I haven’t even said anything yet,” I said. “But you’re really putting on an Oscar-worthy performance.” Betts glared at me, his brow furrowed in disgust. “Stop being so toxic.” “I’m toxic?” I looked at him, then at the half of Sienna’s face peeking out from behind his shoulder. “Sienna, didn’t you just apologize to me two minutes ago? You said you didn’t know he was married. He says he lied to you. So which one of you is full of crap?” The tears finally spilled down Sienna’s cheeks. Betts glanced back at her, his face darkening with rage as he turned back to me. “Enough,” he snapped. “I’ll sign the papers. Take whatever you want. Just back off.” I looked at the man I had married. Three years. He had never looked at me with that kind of intensity. He had certainly never used his body to shield me from the world. “Take what I want?” I echoed. “I don’t want a damn thing. The papers are blank, fill them out however you want. Your parents put down the deposit on the house, I paid the mortgage for three years. Do the math and Venmo me my half. The car is yours, take it. I’m just taking my clothes and leaving.” He was stunned into silence. Sienna stepped out from behind his shadow, her delicate fingers wrapping around his sleeve. “Betts, please, stop fighting… I’m fine, really…” Betts reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight. I looked at their intertwined fingers. Suddenly, the whole thing just felt exhausting. It was incredibly boring. “Whatever,” I said. “I’ll get my stuff on Monday. Have a nice life.” I turned my back and started walking down the sidewalk. I hadn’t made it fifteen steps before I heard the rapid clicking of sandals chasing after me. It was Sienna. She ran up, panting slightly, and grabbed my arm. “Please,” she whispered, her voice pathetic and small. “I really didn’t know he had a wife. If I knew, I never would have said yes to him. You have to believe me.” I looked down at the hand clutching my arm. Her manicure was flawless. Little sparkling rhinestones embedded in the gel. “Let go.” She didn’t. “Please don’t blame him, it’s all my fault.” I yanked my arm away violently. “Sienna,” I said, my voice dropping to a dead calm. “Do you want to know what I hate the most about you?” She stared at me, wide-eyed. “It’s not that you like him,” I said. “It’s the fact that every time you show your face, you pull this exact act. You know exactly what you’re doing, yet you pretend to be the biggest victim in the room. He chased you for three years. You didn’t say yes on day one, you didn’t say yes on day a thousand. You waited specifically until yesterday. Do you even know what yesterday was?” Her eyes flickered. A tiny, imperceptible flinch. “Our wedding anniversary.” She pressed her lips together, mute. “Every bouquet he bought you, every dinner reservation he made, every bullshit excuse he fed me. You enjoyed every single second of it. You didn’t know he was married? You’re telling me you didn’t notice that every time he came over to see you, he had to rush back to a house he shared with a woman?” The tears started flowing again, thick and fast. “I swear, I…” “Save it,” I cut her off. “I’m done watching the show.” I turned and walked away. She didn’t chase me this time. By the time I reached the bus stop, my phone buzzed. A text from Betts. “Papers are signed and dated. Left them on the shoe rack. Let me know before you come back to pack. I’ll take her out so you don’t have to see us.” I stared at the glowing pixels for a long time. The bus pulled up with a screech of air brakes. I climbed aboard and took a seat by the window. My phone buzzed one more time. Him again. “She’s been through a lot of pain because of this over the last three years. I’m not going to let anyone hurt her anymore.” 3 Sienna was standing at the bottom of the concrete steps outside the Family Court building. She had changed her outfit. A soft, powder-blue dress, her hair pulled back into an elegant half-up style. Still sporting that painfully clean, innocent aesthetic. When she saw me get out of the Uber, she took a deliberate step backward and kept her mouth shut. Betts was waiting at the top of the stairs, gripping a folder of documents so tightly his knuckles were white. I walked up the steps. He glanced at me but didn’t move an inch. “Let’s go,” I said. He turned and pushed through the heavy glass doors. I followed. Sienna didn’t come inside. She just stood by the entrance, a silent martyr. The clerk’s office was dreary, filled with rows of plastic chairs. We sat across the desk from a middle-aged woman wearing reading glasses. She was flipping through our paperwork, not even bothering to look up. “Reason for divorce?” “Irreconcilable differences,” I said. Betts snapped his head toward me. The clerk dragged a finger down the settlement agreement, stopping at a blank section. “Asset division needs to be explicitly stated. If there’s no spousal support, write zero.” I scribbled my direct deposit info on the page and handed over the printed stack of my mortgage payment receipts. The clerk skimmed it, grabbed her heavy metal stamp, and slammed it down. The thud echoed through the stale air. “Done,” she said, sliding two official decrees across the counter. “One for each of you. Keep them safe.” Betts just sat there, frozen. I reached out, grabbed both copies, opened mine to check the spelling, and then shoved his copy across the laminate desk. “Take it.” He stared at my face. He didn’t reach for the paper. I left it right in front of him, stood up, and started walking toward the exit. Just as I reached the doors, he called out. “Hold on.” I stopped. He caught up to me, standing right in my personal space, clutching the decree in his fist. All the color had drained from his face. “You’re really just going to walk away like this?” “What else?” I asked. “Did you want me to buy you guys a celebratory lunch?” He let out a sharp, unhinged laugh. It wasn’t the relieved smile from yesterday morning. This was something ugly. The corners of his mouth pulled back, but his eyes were completely hollow. “I regret it,” he spat out. “I regret marrying you.” I studied his face. Three years. This was the face I woke up next to every single morning. When he slept, his brow was always slightly furrowed. Sometimes he would roll over and blindly reach his hand out across the mattress. Whenever his hand brushed against me, he would pull it back, turn over, and face the wall. “Excuse me?” “I said I regret it.” He glared at me, forcing every word out through his teeth. “From the very beginning. Every single day of the last three years, I regretted it. But the thing I regret the absolute most is.” I slapped him across the face. The smack was explosive. The clerk at the desk jolted upright. The entire line of couples waiting for their paperwork turned to stare. He cupped his reddened cheek, utterly paralyzed. I shook out my right hand. My palm was stinging. “That was for making me waste three years of my life.” Before he could even process what happened, frantic footsteps clattered behind me. Sienna threw herself in front of him, spreading her arms wide like a mother hen shielding her chick. “What is wrong with you!” she screamed at me, her eyes manic and red. “You hit him! You absolute psycho!” I looked at her. Tears were spilling down her face, her lips quivering. Standing in front of him like that, she looked incredibly fragile. Incredibly brave. I let out a soft laugh. “Psycho?” She flinched back, then forced her spine straight. “He just told you the truth, and you hit him? Do you have any idea that for the past three years, he came over to my place every single night before going home to you? He told me he dreaded opening that door. He told me he couldn’t breathe in that house. He said being in the same room as you made his skin crawl.” “Sienna,” Betts hissed from behind her. “Stop.” She ignored him, practically vibrating with self-righteous fury. “Every single gift he bought you, I was the one who picked it out. He didn’t know what you liked, so he begged me to choose. Every bouquet of flowers he brought home, he brought to me first to make sure I liked it before he dared give it to you.” “Sienna!” She spun around to look at him, sobbing openly now. “My heart breaks for you,” she wailed. “I can’t stand watching her abuse you anymore.” Betts pulled her against his chest, burying her face in his shoulder. He looked over her head at me. It was a look I had never seen in my life. It was a volatile cocktail of hatred, fury, heartbreak, and guilt. It all twisted together until it formed three simple words. “Just leave.” I stood my ground. “I was already leaving,” I said. “You’re the one who told me to hold on.” He blinked, thrown off balance. Sienna lifted her tear-streaked face from his shirt. Looking at me, she whispered, “Please don’t be mad at him. He’s just having a really hard day.” I looked at the two of them. He was holding her. She was leaning on him. Standing right outside the Family Court, they looked like star-crossed lovers who had finally survived the war. The morning sun spilled over them, bathing them in a warm, golden light. I stuffed my divorce papers into my purse, turned around, and walked down the steps. After a few strides, I heard him call out from the top. “I’m sending a crew to pack up the house tomorrow. Make sure your stuff is gone by tonight.” I didn’t look back. “I saved your bank info. The money will hit your account by next week.” I kept walking. Just as I reached the edge of the sidewalk to hail a ride, I heard Sienna’s voice ringing out. “Wait!” I stopped and looked over my shoulder. She was practically jogging down the concrete stairs, panting heavily as she closed the distance. “Listen,” she said. “I’m sorry.” I stared at her face. Tears were still clinging to her cheeks. Her nose was flushed pink, her lips pressed tightly together. She looked the absolute picture of sincerity. “Sorry for what?” She hesitated. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for blowing up like that just now. I didn’t mean to lose control, it’s just that it physically hurts me to see him suffer.” “Suffer from what?” She blinked, confused. “Suffer… from the last three years.” “What exactly happened to him these last three years?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Did he cheat on me? No. Did he hit me? No. Was he emotionally abusive to my face? No. He just didn’t love me. What part of that is a tragic, gut-wrenching trauma?” She opened her mouth, stammering. “Sienna,” I said. “If you felt so horrible for his suffering, what exactly were you doing for the last three years? He chased you. You strung him along. You kept him on the hook until the exact day of his wedding anniversary to finally give him an inch. Who is it that you actually feel sorry for? Him? Or yourself?” She was completely silenced. I turned away for the last time. She didn’t follow. As I stood under the shade of the bus stop, my phone vibrated. A text from Betts. “I’m wiring the money this afternoon. I’ll leave the apartment keys with the front desk. Grab them yourself. Don’t ever contact us again.” I stared at the harsh letters on the screen. The bus arrived with a heavy sigh of hydraulics. I got on, finding an empty seat near the back. My phone buzzed again. Him. “She’s not the malicious person you think she is. You have her all wrong.” I shoved the phone into my pocket. And for the first time that morning, the corner of my mouth tugged upward into a genuine smile. Finally. I was free. 4 There were four cardboard boxes stacked in the middle of my new studio apartment. I ripped the tape off the last one and started shoving my clothes into the wardrobe. The closet was a cheap wooden thing provided by the landlord. The hinges were shot, so if I packed too many sweaters, the doors popped open like a joke. My phone was tossed on the mattress, the screen glowing brightly. The movers had just left. The silence in the room was heavy and absolute. I sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the bedframe. I pulled the divorce decree out of my purse, stared at it for three seconds, and shoved it back in. I grabbed my phone blindly. The little notification dot on Instagram was annoying me. I tapped the app and scrolled past a few random posts until Sienna’s feed popped up. A photo of her and Betts. The two of them were sitting in a high-end restaurant. A decadent slice of cake sat between them, a single candle flickering. She had her hands pressed together, making a wish, smiling radiantly for the camera. The caption read: A belated anniversary. I dropped the phone face-down on the bed. Five seconds later, I picked it back up. I opened my camera and snapped a quick picture. Just the blank white wall of my studio, the stack of moving boxes in the corner, and a pile of clothes scattered on the floor. I typed out four words: Waking from a nightmare. Post. I threw the phone back down and went to tackle the kitchen boxes. Every pot and pan was wrapped in old newspaper. I unwrapped them one by one, wiped them down with a rag, and shoved them into the chipped cabinets. My phone started ringing. I ignored it. It rang again. I was fighting with a bottle of dish soap, twisting the stubborn pump until my palms were red and raw. The ringing didn’t stop. I slammed the plastic bottle down on the counter, walked over, and picked up the phone. Seventeen likes. Eight comments. Coworker A: You moved?? Coworker B: Congrats on the new place! A few old college friends had left thumbs-up emojis and party poppers. I scrolled down. And hit a comment from Betts. I didn’t even have time to read what he wrote because his name flashed across the screen. Incoming call. I swiped to answer. “What the hell is that post supposed to mean?” His voice barked through the speaker. I walked over to the window, phone pressed to my ear. My new place was in a rundown neighborhood. Down in the courtyard, someone had draped their laundry over the bushes, and two old ladies were sitting under a tree, aggressively gossiping. “What do you mean?” “‘Waking from a nightmare,’” he quoted, his tone dripping with venom. “Who exactly are you calling a nightmare?” I let out a dry laugh. “Who do you think?” Dead silence on his end for two beats. “Are you insane?” he snapped. “You’re the one who agreed to the divorce. You’re the one who drew up the papers. I didn’t force you into a damn thing. Who are you putting on a show for?” I said nothing. “Delete it,” he demanded. “Take it down right now.” “Why?” “What do you mean ‘why’?” “Why should I delete it?” I asked casually. “What are you so terrified of?” He choked on his words. Faintly, through the receiver, I heard Sienna’s voice. It was soft, muffled. Betts’s voice moved away from the phone for a second. “It’s nothing. Just sit there.” Then he was back, the phone close to his mouth. “You’ve been misunderstanding her for three years. That’s enough. We’re divorced. Stop acting like a bitter ex.” I leaned against the windowsill, watching the two old ladies below. They seemed to be arguing now. One was pointing a crooked finger; the other swatted it away and turned her back. “What exactly did I misunderstand?” “She has never done a single malicious thing to you,” he stated firmly. “It’s all in your paranoid head.” “She’s never done a single malicious thing,” I repeated slowly. “Then why did you just tell her to sit down and stay away from the phone?” Silence. “She saw you call me, didn’t she?” I pushed. “Did she ask you what was wrong with her big doe eyes? Did she tell you that it’s okay, she understands you have to deal with me? Did she beg you not to be angry with me because I’m just hurting?” “Shut up.” “Did I get the script wrong? I was just guessing her dialogue. It’s been three years. I have her routine memorized.” He hung up on me. I pulled the phone away. Call ended. One minute, forty-seven seconds. The Instagram notification dot lit up again. I refreshed the app and finally read his comment. Betts: We’ll see who the real nightmare was. Right beneath it, Sienna had replied. Just a single emoji—the monkey covering its eyes—and a short phrase: Stop it, you. I stared at that little monkey emoji for a very long time. My phone buzzed again. Not him this time. It was Rupert. Rupert was my oldest friend. We grew up on the same street. He went out of state for college, came back, and opened up a design studio. We barely saw each other more than twice a year these days. The last time I saw him was around Christmas. He dropped off a box of fancy pastries, claiming he “just happened to be driving by.” Rupert: What nightmare? I typed back: Nothing. He replied instantly: I saw Betts’s comment. What’s going on? I debated for a second, then typed: We’re divorced. The little typing bubble appeared on his end. It danced on the screen for a solid minute. Finally, a single word popped up: Oh. A second later, another text. Rupert: Did you eat yet? I looked at those words. Suddenly, a weird memory clicked into place. For the last three years, no matter what I posted on Instagram—a sunset, a work complaint, a meme—he would always reply with a text asking if I had eaten. Sometimes I said yes. Sometimes I ignored it. But he always asked. I didn’t reply. I tossed the phone on the bed and went back to the kitchen. The dish soap bottle was still refusing to pop open. I dug through my cardboard toolbox looking for a pair of pliers. The phone vibrated against the mattress. Rupert: I’m standing outside your gate. Which building? I froze. Stared at the text. I typed: How the hell do you know where I live? He replied instantly: I recognize the background in your photo. That ugly, crooked oak tree outside the window. There’s only one complex in this zip code with a tree that depressing. I walked back to the window and looked down. Right at the entrance of the courtyard, there it was. A massive, twisted oak tree leaning at a dangerous forty-five-degree angle. It had been half-dead for twenty years. Standing right beneath it was a guy in a grey hoodie, holding a plastic takeout bag, craning his neck to look up at the windows. I pushed the glass open and waved down at him. He spotted me, raised the plastic bag in a salute, and started walking toward the stairwell. Watching his broad shoulders disappear under the awning, another memory hit me out of nowhere. That crooked oak tree. He was standing under that exact tree on the day I got married, three years ago. I remember seeing him from the tinted window of the bridal car as we pulled away. Later that night, he had texted me: Are you happy? I never replied.

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I tucked my feelings for Juliana away for ten solid years. As her executive assistant and right-hand man, I spent nine of those years pouring every ounce of my blood, sweat, and tears into her company. I never dared to slack off for a single second. When I was finally on the verge of being promoted to Vice President, I genuinely believed all those years of silent devotion had paid off. Then she brought her college ex-boyfriend into the company and handed him my position on a silver platter. When I demanded an explanation, she just looked at me with this infuriatingly casual expression and told me his degree was better than mine. He was simply more qualified. I stood there staring at the woman I had loved for a decade, and every word I wanted to scream died right in my throat. 1 The second I walked into the office lobby, people were smiling and tossing congratulations my way. “Big day today, man! Guess we can’t call you Mr. Assistant anymore. It’s VP Chris now!” “Ten years of grinding finally paying off. You better take care of us little guys up in the C-suite, Chris.” “Drinks are on the new VP tonight! We’re all going to be working under you now, after all.” I looked at my coworkers’ beaming faces and pressed my lips into a modest smile. “Nothing is set in stone yet. Let’s not jinx it.” “Come on, it’s a done deal. We’re just waiting on the official paperwork. You’re too humble, man.” I waved them off with a laugh and headed toward the main conference room. They weren’t trying to flatter me for no reason. I had been with Nova for ten years. I started working alongside Juliana back when she was just a sophomore in college running a startup out of her dorm. My official title was Executive Assistant, but I was the one writing the proposals, negotiating the contracts, mapping out our corporate strategy, and even making sure she remembered to eat. It was an unspoken fact. Without me, there would be no Nova. And there would be no Juliana sitting at the top. That VP title belonged to me. I pushed down the bubble of excitement in my chest and walked into the boardroom. The senior management team was already seated. But the atmosphere inside was completely different from the lively chatter in the bullpen. The room was dead silent. When I walked in, these veterans who had fought in the trenches with me for years looked at me with a mixture of poorly concealed outrage and deep pity. My fingers twitched. I looked up at the head of the table. Juliana sat there, her slender fingers steepled gracefully on the polished wood. Sitting right next to her was a ridiculously handsome man in a razor-sharp tailored suit. They were leaning in close. The body language was intimate. In that split second, my heart plunged into ice water. But some pathetic, lingering shred of hope made me ask the question anyway. “Juliana, who is our guest?” Juliana actively avoided my eyes. She forced a light, breezy tone. “Everyone, this is our new Vice President, Tristan. Chris, I’ll need you to take him down to HR to get his onboarding sorted. As for his office, let’s put him in the suite right next to mine.” I stood frozen on the carpet. It felt like someone had just slapped me across the face in front of a live audience. The room started to spin. Marcus, our Director of Operations, couldn’t hold it in anymore. He slammed his hand flat on the table and stood up. “Juliana, what is the meaning of this? We all agreed the VP slot was going to Chris.” “Exactly,” our HR Manager chimed in, her brow furrowed. “We have all seen how much Chris has sacrificed for this company. You can’t just swap him out at the eleventh hour. It’s not right.” These were my people. We had built this place from the ground up together. Juliana’s face darkened. She swept a cold glare across the room. When she spoke, her voice was laced with quiet fury. “Am I the CEO of this company, or are you?” Marcus didn’t back down an inch. “You are the CEO. But this company doesn’t just belong to you. You’re air-dropping a total stranger into the second-highest seat in the building. How do you expect us to justify that?” Juliana let out a sharp scoff. “Tristan has a Master’s in Financial Economics from Columbia University. His educational background eclipses Chris’s, and his professional qualifications are superior. I am making a strategic decision for the future of this company.” “You are all letting personal friendships cloud your judgment. A business cannot survive on sentimentality alone.” I stared at Tristan’s vaguely familiar face. A bitter, jagged laugh ripped its way out of my throat. “Save the corporate bullshit, Juliana. You can spin this however you want, but we all know you brought him in because he’s your first love.” I had known Juliana since high school. The rest of the board might not know his face, but Tristan’s image was burned into my memory. He was her high school sweetheart. They had this massive, chaotic, fiery romance that ultimately blew up because Juliana wanted to stay stateside to build her startup, and Tristan wanted to run off to Europe to study. Over the years, guys had drifted in and out of Juliana’s life, but none of them ever lasted half as long as Tristan had. Being brutally called out in front of her executives made Juliana’s face flush with anger. She leaned back into her massive leather chair, looking down her nose at me. “Tristan is my ex. So what? Does that make anything I just said untrue?” “He has a better degree than you. He is objectively more qualified than you. You have to learn to accept reality, Chris.” 2 The meeting ended in a toxic atmosphere, culminating with me slamming the boardroom door on my way out. Replacing me at the absolute last second of my own promotion hearing. I couldn’t fathom why she would do this to me. She could have sat me down in private beforehand. Instead, she chose the most humiliating, public execution possible. Marcus was a guy I had personally headhunted seven years ago. We had bled for this company together. He was so furious he refused to do any work, marching right over to my cubicle to vent. “I heard through the grapevine that your precious Tristan caused a massive scandal at his last firm overseas,” Marcus sneered. “He got fired, his reputation in the industry is radioactive, and nobody else would hire him. That’s the only reason he came crawling back here.” “Did you see the way she acted in there? Throwing all of us under the bus just to pamper her little golden boy. It makes me sick.” I didn’t say a word. I just stared blankly at my desk. It was an old, beat-up thing with scratches fading into the edges. Nine years in this company, and I still didn’t have my own office. Back in the day, Juliana told me office space was tight. She said since I was always running in and out of her office anyway, giving me my own room would be a waste of real estate. She asked me to give up my allotted space for the new hires. Like an absolute idiot, I smiled and agreed. But today, Tristan walked through the front doors and was immediately handed a massive private suite. He got the mahogany desk. He got the top-of-the-line Mac setup. It was suddenly crystal clear. Every excuse she ever gave me was just a convenient lie. The truth was simply that Juliana didn’t think I was worth it. “You should just quit,” Marcus said, taking a swig of his coffee. “We’ll all walk out with you. I give this sinking ship six months before it goes under anyway.” I sat in silence for a long time. Finally, I looked up at him. “Could you really walk away?” He froze. He didn’t have an answer. We had been here since the days we were working out of a damp garage. To us, this wasn’t just a paycheck. Nova was a child I had raised with my own two hands. I couldn’t just abandon it. The backlash against Tristan’s sudden appointment was fierce. The senior staff were far angrier than I was. We had survived too many late nights and near-bankruptcies together. Our loyalty to each other ran deep. They couldn’t openly declare war on Juliana, but they made damn sure Tristan felt the freeze. His transition was a nightmare. Marcus completely stonewalled him, refusing to hand over any high-value client accounts. He only tossed Tristan the dead-end leads or the absolute most toxic, demanding clients on our roster. The other departments treated his data requests like pulling teeth. If Tristan didn’t physically hunt them down and demand the files, they conveniently forgot to send them. When Juliana angrily confronted them, they played innocent. They claimed they didn’t know exactly what the new VP needed, and insisted they were fulfilling all his written requests. Juliana was cornered. So, she decided to fix the problem by coming after me. She called me into her office, her tone dripping with fake sympathy. “You’ve worked so hard for us over the years. You’re an assistant on paper, but you’ve been carrying the weight of three departments.” I looked at her dead in the eye. “Skip the preamble. What do you want?” Juliana looked annoyed by my lack of compliance, but she forced a tight smile. “Now that Tristan is here, you don’t need to overwork yourself anymore. You can hand your entire client portfolio over to him. From now on, you can just focus on being my personal assistant.” She said it so casually. Like she was asking me to pass the salt. I stared at her, genuinely horrified. “Excuse me?” The clients in my portfolio were loyal accounts I had nurtured for years. She knew exactly what it cost me to secure those contracts. When the company was bleeding out in our first year, we had zero leverage. We had to fight tooth and nail just to pick up the scraps left behind by the corporate giants. It was a brutal, degrading hustle. I still remember the night we took a meeting with this sleazy, overweight distributor. He took us to a high-end whiskey bar downtown. He lined up a row of shot glasses on the sticky table, smiled a yellow-toothed grin at Juliana, and made his offer. “You drink a glass, I sign a hundred grand into your account.” “Don’t say I never did you any favors, sweetheart. That’s an expensive drink.” Juliana was young and fiercely proud back then. She couldn’t stomach the humiliation. She grabbed my arm, her face flushed with rage, ready to storm out. But I knew the truth. If we walked out of that bar without a signature, our cash flow would dry up by Friday. Everything we had built would turn to dust. I looked at Juliana, gave her a reassuring smile, and gently pulled her hand off my arm. I sat down right across from that sleazy distributor. “My boss isn’t much of a drinker, sir. But I’ll be happy to keep you company.” I can still taste the violent burn of that liquor. It was cheap whiskey, the color of burnt caramel, and it felt like swallowing liquid gasoline. It burned a trail of fire straight down to my stomach. I wasn’t a drinker. I didn’t even like alcohol. But that night, I threw back eight consecutive glasses. When I finally staggered into the alleyway behind the bar, I threw up until my vision went black. It felt like I was vomiting up my own internal organs. My face was a mess of tears and sweat, completely pathetic. But I still clung to that distributor’s jacket, refusing to let go until he signed the paperwork on the hood of his car. He was genuinely disturbed by my desperation. He gave me a slow nod of respect. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch, kid. I’ll give you that.” He authorized a one-million-dollar contract for Nova on the spot. The second he signed the last page, my legs gave out. I blacked out on the pavement. I had to be rushed to the ER in an ambulance to get my stomach pumped. It took the doctors all night to stabilize me. When I finally opened my eyes to the pale morning light, Juliana was slumped over the edge of my hospital bed. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying. I forced a weak, cracked smile. “Why are you crying? We saved our baby.” Back then, she used to call Nova our baby. I always acted a little embarrassed by it, but in secret, that shared intimacy made my heart race. I loved Juliana. I knew it. And she knew it too. Juliana was so young back then, lacking the cold, polished armor she wore today. Her voice broke as she sobbed into the blankets. “Why would you do that? If we lose the company, we lose the company. But last night you almost… you almost…” She choked on her tears, her shoulders shaking violently. “…Please don’t ever scare me like that again.” But sitting in that hospital bed, I thought it was completely worth it. That night permanently ruined my stomach. I developed a severe ulcer that still haunts me to this day. And that wasn’t the last time something like that happened. Juliana was brilliant but impulsive. She had zero tolerance for the ugly side of the business world. Every time a client crossed the line, I was the one who stepped in front of her to take the hit. I loved her. I was willing to sacrifice pieces of myself to protect her and the dream she was building. I was such a naive idiot. I actually thought bleeding for her was a privilege. But now, the same Juliana who once sat crying by my hospital bed swearing she would never forget what I did for her, was casually stripping me of my life’s work. My voice trembled. “Juliana, you know exactly what I sacrificed to build this portfolio. How the hell can you do this to me?” Juliana frowned, looking deeply inconvenienced by my emotion. “I know you worked hard, Chris. But everyone here works hard. Do you really have to keep bringing up the past like it’s a weapon?” “Tristan is new here. He needs to find his footing. You need to hand those accounts over so he has a foundation to work with. Besides, you’re an assistant. Why does an assistant need to hold onto client relationships?” “Absolutely not.” My voice was ice cold. Juliana paused, genuinely shocked that I was defying her. Before she could speak, the office door swung open. Tristan strolled in. He walked right up to Juliana’s side, looking down at me with absolute contempt. “I wouldn’t make this any uglier than it already is, Chris.” He narrowed his eyes, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t let your seniority confuse you. This company belongs to Juliana. Without her, you are a nobody.” “If you play nice and cooperate with my transition, I might let you keep your little desk job. But if you want to make this difficult, I’ll just fire you right now. You can pack your things in a cardboard box.” I ignored him completely. I kept my eyes locked on Juliana. My voice was dangerously quiet. “Is this what you want?” Juliana stared back at me, her expression completely unreadable. “Tristan is the Vice President of this company. He has full executive authority over personnel.” I stared at her in silence for five long seconds. Then, I slowly nodded my head. “Understood.” I reached up, unclipped my corporate badge from my lapel, and tossed it onto her pristine glass desk. It landed with a sharp clatter. “You don’t have to fire me.” “I quit.” 3 The second I stepped out of her office, I saw half the floor pretending not to eavesdrop. Marcus was practically vibrating with rage. “The absolute nerve of that guy! I’m done. I’m packing my shit right now, Chris. I’m leaving with you.” The junior staff looked devastated. “Chris, you practically built Nova. If you leave, what’s going to happen to us? Are we seriously supposed to take orders from that nepotism hire?” I forced a tight smile and clapped Marcus on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid, man. You’ve got a mortgage to pay. Let me go scout the territory first. When I build something bigger, I’ll come back and poach you.” It was snowing the day I walked out of Nova for the last time. I stood on the sidewalk holding a cardboard box of my belongings, looking up at the towering glass high-rise. The building was shrouded in the swirling gray blizzard, but the warm, golden lights glowing from the office windows looked beautiful against the dark sky. I don’t know if a snowflake melted in my eye, but my vision suddenly blurred. I had worked in that building for nine years. I watched Nova grow from our cramped college dorm, to a dingy apartment in the suburbs, to a tiny two-story storefront, and finally up into the clouds of the downtown financial district. I remembered our first week in business. We sat cross-legged on the bare floorboards of our empty apartment, drinking cheap beer, crying and laughing as we bragged about how rich we were all going to be. I would have taken a bullet to protect that company. And just like that, in the span of an afternoon, I was walking away from it forever. A few days after I left, I heard Tristan tried to establish his dominance by calling an all-hands meeting. He threatened the staff, telling them that anyone who didn’t respect his authority would end up exactly like me—unemployed and humiliated. Marcus didn’t even let him finish his sentence. He laughed right in his face. “You mean they’ll get headhunted to be the VP of Apex Dynamics with a massive pay bump? Sign me up!” Tristan’s face turned a violent shade of purple. The meeting dissolved into chaos, and he stormed out. He was an idiot. A multi-disciplinary operative with my track record was a unicorn in the corporate world. Back when Nova was still struggling to break even, giant tech firms were constantly trying to poach me. They offered me starting salaries in the high six figures. I turned down every single one of them. I was completely devoted to Juliana and the vision of Nova, perfectly happy taking home a meager paycheck just for the privilege of standing by her side. But I didn’t have those chains holding me down anymore. The morning after I quit, I made one phone call to Victoria, the CEO of Apex Dynamics—Nova’s biggest, most aggressive rival in the city. “I heard you’re doing some restructuring. Are you looking for talent?” Victoria didn’t even hesitate. “I’m looking for a Vice President. If you’re serious, your office is ready tomorrow morning.” She didn’t string me along with empty promises. The very next day, she walked me through the paperwork and paraded me through every department on the floor. “Everyone, Chris is the new Vice President of Apex. His word is my word. I want department heads in his office by the end of the week to run him through your current projects. Give him your full cooperation.” That evening, Victoria threw a welcome reception for me at a high-end lounge. I raised my glass to her. “Victoria, it’s a privilege to join the team. I look forward to winning together.” Victoria’s eyes sparkled with a predatory, confident grace. “No, Chris. Getting you in this building is the biggest win Apex has had all year.” The environment at Apex was a breath of fresh air. And finally, I had my own corner office. Nobody resented me for crossing enemy lines. In our industry, my reputation preceded me. They knew exactly what I was capable of. The transition was flawlessly smooth. Until Victoria handed me my first major portfolio. When I flipped open the dossier, my heart skipped a beat. It was a massive marketing contract for Morningstar, a publicly traded conglomerate. The sheer volume of the deal would dictate which agency controlled the Chicago market for the next two years. Juliana was paranoid about losing it, so she had personally assigned me to handle the pitch weeks ago. I had pulled consecutive all-nighters for half a month to build that presentation. Knowing how obsessed Juliana was with proving Tristan’s worth, there was zero doubt in my mind she had handed this exact account over to him to secure his glory. A dark, burning fire flared up in my chest. This was my first battle since leaving Nova. It was my chance to draw blood. I was going to show them exactly what Nova amounted to without me pulling the strings.

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In this post-apocalyptic wasteland, my only ticket to survival was Subject 591. He was the apex predator of the Facility. To make sure he would keep me safe when the world inevitably went to hell, I starved myself to save him extra rations. I racked my brain every day trying to make small talk and win his affection. But after all that effort, the look in his eyes when he stared at me was still the look of a beast watching its prey. A massive, ice-cold claw suddenly pinned my chest to the floor. Putrid, bloodstained fangs hovered mere inches from my nose. My entire body locked up in absolute terror. “Please don’t eat me!” My voice trembled violently. “Did you forget? I was the one who hand-fed you when you were just a baby!” 591 did not listen to a single word. Instead, his wet nose began to nuzzle against my cheek. His colossal body pressed flush against mine, and his heavy tail coiled tightly around my calf. I was completely lost. What the hell did he want from me? Just back off! 1 My vision was entirely submerged in blood-red. Agonizing screams echoed in my ears. A split second later, a searing pain tore through my flesh. I lost all consciousness and sank into a pitch-black abyss. Something hard and cold jabbed roughly against the side of my head. I snapped my eyes open. The freezing barrel of a rifle was pressed hard against my temple, digging into my skin with rhythmic, punishing shoves. “What are you standing around daydreaming for? Get back to work.” My survival instinct kicked in instantly. I bent over and began apologizing profusely to the two armed guards in front of me. One of them sneered. “Do your damn job, or I’ll throw you in the pens to feed the test subjects.” Their heavy combat boots faded down the corridor. Only then did I dare to stand up straight and carefully survey my surroundings. The hallway was immaculately clean and brightly lit. I was holding a mop and a plastic bucket, apparently right in the middle of my cleaning shift. I lifted the bucket, set it down, and looked around in utter disbelief. I pinched my thigh hard. I even slapped my own cheek. After doing this a few times, the impossible truth finally sank in. I had been reborn. The memory of being torn to pieces and chewed alive by the experimental subjects was still vividly burning in my mind. A violent shiver wracked my body, and cold sweat beaded on my forehead. In my past life, I was the janitor assigned to clean the observation cell for Subject 591. 591 was classified as a low-threat asset. Nobody in the higher-ups cared about him. Because he was utterly neglected, the researchers constantly used him for cheap entertainment. They subjected 591 to gruesome, sadistic torture. His agonizing shrieks would echo through the entire wing. But his cries never bought him any sympathy. They only made the scientists more creative with their cruelty. I watched it all happen, but I couldn’t do a single thing to stop it. I was just the lowest-ranking cleaner in the entire Facility. In this apocalyptic era, human laborers like us were dirt cheap. The moment we signed those predatory contracts just to get a daily ration of moldy bread, we signed away our freedom. We were nothing more than slaves. I had to stand by and watch them mutilate 591 until he was barely recognizable. But as 591 matured, his size exploded. His physical strength multiplied tenfold. During one of their sadistic sessions, 591 snapped his restraints and ripped the researchers into pieces. I tried to run, but 591 dragged me back. I begged for my life. I sobbed and swore I had nothing to do with it, that I never hurt him. His chilling voice still echoed in my ears. “Did you really think standing by and watching makes you innocent?” I took a deep, shaky breath, gripped my mop, and started walking toward 591’s cell. His room was in the deepest, most neglected sector of the Facility. It took a winding twenty-minute walk to get there. The automated doors hissed open. My eyes instantly locked onto the massive, cylindrical containment pod made of reinforced glass in the center of the room. They called it an “ecological habitat,” but it was really just a few pathetic rocks and some dead grass scattered across a concrete floor. The room was empty. I put down my cleaning supplies and carefully approached the glass. A tiny, pitch-black ball of fur was huddled against a rock. He looked like a stray puppy. Right now, 591 wasn’t even the size of a football. He looked so fragile that any random guy off the street could easily crush him. But I knew the truth. In the future, 591 would grow to be larger than an armored transport van. The spikes running down his spine would be a hundred times harder than tempered steel, and humans would be as fragile as wet paper under his claws. Sensing my shadow, 591 lifted his head. A harmless, fuzzy little face looked up at me. His dark, crimson eyes locked onto me without blinking. He looked me up and down, scanning me the exact way a predator sizes up its food. Because of his low threat level, 591’s cell was incredibly basic. There were no wall-mounted turrets, and no guards were posted at the door. I was probably the only person in this entire hellhole who knew exactly what a nightmare he would become. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted to end this slave-like existence and escape this place for good. And there was only one way to make that happen. I had to make 591 my best friend. 2 While I was busy observing 591, the sound of deliberately muffled footsteps echoed from the corridor outside. I jumped, immediately retreating to the corner where I had left my mop bucket. “Why is there someone in here?” I pretended to be startled, taking a step back and keeping my head bowed respectfully. “Just a janitor? Want me to kick him out?” “Nah, leave him. He’s just a cleaner. What’s he gonna do, snitch? I’ll slit his throat in a heartbeat.” The man’s voice trailed off as he made a slicing motion across his neck, drawing cruel laughter from his two buddies. They ignored me completely and walked straight toward 591’s containment pod. “Are you sure nobody is gonna find out?” “Relax, have I ever steered you wrong?” “Man, look at those red eyes. I really want to carve them out…” My grip tightened around the mop handle. Every muscle in my body pulled taut. I couldn’t let them touch 591. My brain worked in overdrive, desperately searching for a way to stop them. The control panel lit up under their fingers. The three of them began arguing excitedly about where to make the first incision. Just as they finalized their sadistic little game, I stepped forward. It felt like walking to my own execution. “Excuse me…” My weak voice cut through their twisted excitement. All three heads snapped toward me, their eyes locking onto the frail, malnourished cleaner standing in the corner. “They installed a new surveillance system in the containment pod…” I tried with every fiber of my being to sound calm. The air in the room instantly turned freezing. Their eyes cut into me like jagged knives, full of doubt and disgust. “A new surveillance system?” the leader frowned, glancing at his buddy. “I don’t know anything about that…” “Who ordered that?” “Just shut it off.” “I can’t. There’s no override switch on this panel…” The hairs on my arms stood straight up. My cheap uniform was soaked in cold sweat. In this Facility, a researcher could have me tossed into the mutant feeding pits with a single word. I instantly regretted my impulsive move. My instinct was to drop to my knees and apologize. But dying to 591 later, or being executed for insubordination now. It was a death sentence either way. That thought ironically centered me. I faked a terrified flinch, hugging the mop handle tightly to my chest. My voice was a tiny, frightened squeak. “Director Blackwood ordered maintenance to install it this morning.” “Who?” Their patience had completely run out, their faces contorted with rage. “Director Blackwood.” The moment that name left my mouth, the room fell dead silent. Director Blackwood was the absolute sovereign of this Facility. He controlled the food, the water, and whether we lived to see tomorrow. They stared at me in disbelief. “The Director?” I nodded frantically. Getting a firm confirmation, the men slowly pulled their hands away from the control panel. “Why would he suddenly want cameras here? 591 isn’t even a priority asset.” “Dammit, is this rat lying to us?” “Could it be because of what happened last week?” “You mean the guys who got caught running unauthorized vivisections?” “Tch. So the Director doesn’t trust us anymore? He’s monitoring everything himself?” “Probably. There were rumors a few days ago about hidden cameras going up.” “Why didn’t we get a memo about it?” “Are you an idiot? Why would the boss send out a warning if he’s trying to catch rulebreakers?” “This is bullshit!” The leader kicked the control console violently. “I really needed to blow off some steam today…” “Forget it, let’s just go. Don’t let the Director catch us down here.” I went back to slowly mopping the floor, keeping them in my peripheral vision until the heavy metal doors hissed shut behind them. Once their footsteps vanished, a massive breath shuddered out of my lungs. I collapsed onto the cold concrete floor, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. If they had noticed even a single flaw in my lie, I would be monster food right now. As my heart rate finally settled, I turned my gaze back to the containment pod. Pressed against the glass, two tiny, round crimson eyes were quietly watching me. They were filled with blatant hostility and deep confusion. His fur was patchy and dry, and I could clearly see his ribs protruding beneath his skin. Food was incredibly scarce in this apocalypse. Even the high-priority monsters barely got enough to eat. 591, an off-the-books reject, was practically starving to death. I needed to get him some food. Sharing a meal is the universal fast-track to building trust. Whether you’re dealing with a human or a feral beast, food is love. I crawled over to the glass to start farming approval points. “Hey.” “I’m Nate.” I pointed at my chest. “I’m a friendly human. I’m not going to hurt you.” 591 tilted his head, studying me. “Don’t be scared. They’re gone. You’re safe now. I—” A voice suddenly echoed inside my skull, sending a violent chill down my spine. “Did you honestly think playing savior would make me spare your life?” I scrambled backward, staring wildly around the empty room. It was just me. I thought I was losing my mind, so I tried speaking to 591 again. “Hey…” “Idiot.” I was completely speechless. Our eyes met through the glass. Inside the pod, sitting on that fuzzy, adorable little face, was a look of pure, unadulterated disgust and mockery. 3 I didn’t say a word. The only entity capable of speaking into my mind was 591. He sat perfectly still inside his enclosure. His tiny, puppy-like appearance severely contrasted with the deep, resonant, masculine voice echoing in my head. “It’s just you and me in here.” In that exact moment, I knew with terrifying certainty: 591 had been reborn, too. My brain completely short-circuited. 591 didn’t open his mouth, but the voice reverberated through my mind. “Though, keeping you alive isn’t entirely off the table.” He lowered his mental voice into a dark, seductive whisper. “If I’m in a good mood, I might even take you with me when I break out of this cage.” “You’ve been trapped in this hellhole for a long time, haven’t you?” He casually licked his front paw, issuing a commanding order without a shred of hesitation. “I need food.” “Bring me food.” Feeding him was literally step one of my master plan anyway. “Deal.” But my shift wasn’t over, and I couldn’t afford to get written up. I immediately went back to furiously scrubbing the floors. In my peripheral vision, 591 stopped licking his paw. He paced impatiently. “Why are you still standing there? I said I need food.” I didn’t possess telepathy, so I had to answer out loud. “I have to finish my job. If I don’t finish, I don’t get my daily rations, and they’ll beat me.” “Tch.” 591 scratched at the concrete floor but stopped rushing me. He just sat there, monitoring every single move I made. At noon, I lined up at the mess hall with my roommate. The food was a joke. A stale, rock-hard protein biscuit, a spoonful of pickled cabbage, and a bowl of broth that tasted like warm dishwater. That was our entire caloric intake. The janitors did the most grueling, hazardous work in the Facility, but we received the smallest rations. Nobody dared to complain. The cabbage and the broth were impossible to smuggle, so I wolfed them down. I slipped the protein biscuit into my pocket and hid it in my bunk. We only got three meals a day, and breakfast was ironically the best one. It was just the leftover scraps from the guards and researchers from the night before, reheated by the kitchen staff. I stockpiled a little bit from every meal. By the end of the day, I had managed to hide two biscuits and half a synthetic meat stick. I had the food. Now I just had to figure out how to feed it to 591. “Stupid.” 591 looked at me with immense disappointment, tapping his claw against the glass. “Every cell has an automated feeding chute. Over there.” Because 591’s cell was an outdated model, the mechanics were simple. It only took his brief explanation for me to figure it out. I pulled the hidden food out from the bottom of my bucket and shoved it into the delivery pipe. I hit the button, and the biscuits and the meat stick dropped right into his enclosure. 591 walked over and poked the rock-hard biscuits with his paw. The biscuit flattened under his force, leaving deep claw marks in the dough. “This is it?” 591 glared at me, the spikes along his spine bristling with irritation. “Are you screwing with me?” The razor-sharp quills ran from his neck all the way down to the tip of his tail. They weren’t fully matured yet, but they were still lethal enough to impale a human. “No, no, I swear! They barely give us anything to eat…” Right on cue, my stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl, providing solid evidence that I wasn’t lying to him. 591 went silent. He didn’t ask any more questions. He leaned down and sniffed the food. Confirming it wasn’t poisoned, his defensive posture relaxed. The spikes flattened against his back, and he returned to looking like a harmless puppy. Starving, he wolfed down the stale biscuits with a feral ferocity. Once the biscuits were gone, he turned his attention to the synthetic meat. As he was chewing, his eyes locked onto mine through the glass. I hadn’t forgotten my mission to build maximum trust. I leaned close to the glass, doing my best to make sure he understood exactly how much I was suffering to feed him. “The cafeteria gives us barely anything. It’s usually just watery gruel or these little rocks they call bread.” “We do manual labor all day. It’s never enough food.” “But I’d rather starve. I’d rather work until I’m dizzy, nauseous, and my vision goes black, than watch you go hungry in here…” 591 just stared at me. Without breaking eye contact, he picked up his meat stick, turned around, and pointed his furry rear end directly at my face. 4 591 rarely initiated conversations with me. Occasionally, out of sheer boredom, he would observe me and mimic my movements for entertainment. He would pace around his pod, using his tail to sweep the floor exactly the way I used my broom. If I stopped, he would stop, and we would just stare at each other. The second I picked the broom back up, his tail would start sweeping again. When I inevitably got annoyed and started yelling at him to stop copying me, he would bare his fangs in a wolfish grin, clearly laughing at me. My temples throbbed with irritation. I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. I started mimicking him. Whatever he did, I copied. He stretched his front legs. I stretched my arms. He let out a low howl. I howled back. He licked the glass. I leaned forward and licked the exact same spot on my side of the glass. 591 froze. He tilted his head, his tail flicking in confusion. “What the hell are you doing?” I parroted him out loud. “What the hell are you doing?” In the end, I couldn’t tell if he was furious or just disturbed. He blew a hard puff of air through his nose and retreated to his dark corner. Having won the psychological warfare, I felt fantastic. I hummed a weird little tune as I got back to work. As the days turned into weeks, I started treating him like a captive therapist, dumping my daily complaints on him whenever no one was around. “I’m telling you, there’s not a single decent human being in this entire place. The other janitors keep dumping their sectors on me.” “Thank God I’m quick on my feet and made up a lie, or I wouldn’t have gotten a single minute of sleep last night.” “And don’t even get me started on the researchers. They act like they’re gods just because…” 591 raised both his front paws and clamped them firmly over his fuzzy ears, making it painfully clear he was rejecting my trauma dump. I tapped on the glass. “What’s your problem? You don’t want to listen?” He pressed his paws harder against his head. I let out a heavy sigh. “Come on, just let me vent.” “Aren’t you terrified of me? I’ve killed you before.” To say I wasn’t scared would be a massive lie. But in this sprawling, freezing, metallic tomb of a Facility, 591 was my only friend. “Yeah, but nobody else in here is willing to listen to me.” The furry ears twitched. 591 slowly lowered his paws, giving me a look of profound resignation. After getting everything off my chest, I felt a million times lighter. “If you’ve got anything bothering you, you can tell me too.” 591 flicked his ears, his tone laced with sarcasm. “I’m locked in a glass box twenty-four hours a day. Aside from the complete loss of freedom, what could possibly be bothering me?” “How did they even catch you? Doesn’t Director Blackwood only order the retrieval of high-tier apex mutants?” As far as I knew, the Facility never brought in infants. They always captured adult pairs to breed and experiment on them. 591’s mental voice grew dangerously low. “Humans used long-range artillery to butcher my parents and my siblings.” “When they came to harvest the corpses, they found me in the den.” “The humans said my bone density was highly unusual. They said I would be extremely valuable.” “They said once I grew up, they would skin me and strip my bones…” Putting myself in his shoes, a suffocating wave of despair washed over me. My lips parted, but it took a long time to finally force the words out. “They’re going to pay for what they did.” “I expected you to defend your own kind.” 591 mocked. “Don’t all humans want to eradicate us?” “Not all of us.” The apocalypse started eight years ago. Flora and fauna underwent massive, grotesque mutations, overrunning the cities and hunting humans to near extinction. I didn’t know the exact scientific cause, but it was almost certainly due to global pollution. At the end of the day, humanity brought this upon itself. 591 looked at me. The mockery in his eyes faded. “What about me? I tore you apart.” “If you didn’t think I could break you out of here, wouldn’t you want me dead?” That was a complicated question. For once, I actually used my brain. “It’s a lie to say the thought never crossed my mind. But honestly…” 591 watched me intensely, his claws curling slightly against the floor. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t just kill the janitor. I’d slaughter every single breathing thing in this Facility.” This unexpected answer made 591 tilt his head in confusion. “I’d make the blood flow like a river! I’d make them suffer a thousand times worse than what they did to me!” I let out an evil, unhinged laugh. It actually startled 591 so badly his ears pinned flat against his skull. “Ugh, it’s too depressing. Don’t ask me these heavy questions anymore.” I grabbed my mop and got back to scrubbing.

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I stood in the center of the penthouse suite holding a snow-white Teacup Poodle. Suddenly, my lifelong rival, Roman, appeared out of nowhere and pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window. He kissed me with a desperate, intoxicating heat. Right at that exact moment, rows of glowing text began scrolling across my vision. The comments were vicious. They called me a desperate, man-hungry side character. They said if the male lead hadn’t been drugged and mistaken me for someone else, I would never have had a chance with him. They gloated that the female lead would soon arrive to save him. Once he woke up, I, the wicked villainess, was going to pay a heavy price. Someone even dropped a spoiler. They claimed Roman was the female lead’s loyal guard dog. Because he hated me for defiling him, he would throw me to the streets to be humiliated by a gang of thugs, leaving me to die a gruesome death in an alley. My heart was pounding out of my chest as I read the terrifying predictions. Suddenly, the suite door was pushed open. Lily stood there with red, teary eyes, screaming, “What are you two doing?!” But the steamy, scandalous scene she was expecting wasn’t there. I wasn’t holding Roman in my arms. I was holding a fluffy little Poodle. The dog and I turned our heads to look at her at the exact same time. I let out a confused “Huh?” and the Poodle chimed in with a perfectly timed “Woof!” 1 [Wait, where is my male lead?! Where did my massive, dominating CEO go?!] [Did he just magically turn into a freaking puppy?!] [I wanted to read about the female lead’s emotionally broken puppy boy, not an actual literal dog! WTF!] [My brain hurts… what is this plot twist?] Lily scanned the entire room, failing to find Roman anywhere. She turned to me with a look of stubborn defiance. “Sally, where are you hiding Roman?” I casually stroked the soft fur of the Poodle in my arms. “You must be joking, Lily. Look around. Where exactly could I hide a fully grown man in here?” Lily looked suspicious. Soon, her gaze landed on the dog in my arms. A woman’s intuition told her this little animal was incredibly important. “That looks like my missing dog.” She reached out, trying to snatch him. “Miss Sally, can you give my puppy back to me?” The glowing comments exploded across my vision again. [Stop causing trouble, you wicked villainess! Give the male lead back to the female lead right now!] [Once our sweet girl takes him home, their romantic cohabitation arc begins!] [The process is a bit weird now, but as long as they end up together, it works!] I shielded the Poodle, giving Lily a freezing glare. “You think everything belongs to you just because you say so? Do you have any proof?” Right then, the usually well-behaved Poodle started struggling violently, trying to break free from my arms. [Yes! Bite her! Bite this evil woman!] [You desperate bitch, the male lead is choosing his true love! Stop being so delusional!] An invisible hand squeezed my heart. I couldn’t help but loosen my grip. The white furball dropped to the carpet, rolled over once, and immediately sprinted toward Lily. Lily opened her arms with a delighted smile. “Come here, baby!” The next second, a loud splashing sound filled the room. The Poodle lifted his hind leg and unloaded a massive stream of yellow liquid right onto Lily’s pristine white designer dress. Then, wagging his tail happily, he bounced right back into my arms. His dark, grape-like eyes were completely filled with smug satisfaction. I couldn’t hold it back. I burst out laughing. The scrolling comments went dead silent. Lily’s face turned so green you would think she just swallowed a live fly. I hugged the dog, my expression shifting into a mocking smirk. “Looks like you and your own dog aren’t very close.” I pointed a finger toward the door. “Be smart and get out. I don’t welcome people like you in my space.” Lily’s eyes turned red, her voice trembling. “Sally… I might be a girl from a poor background, but I have my dignity!” “Dignity?” I cut her off with a half-smile. “Right. The designer clothes and bags you are wearing are things Roman supposedly begged you to accept. You despise rich, powerful people like us, don’t you?” “So, could our pure, noble Lily please roll out of my room?” After Lily ran away covering her face crying, I finally had a moment to look down at the Poodle in my arms. Even though I had already processed the initial shock, it still felt absolutely surreal. I called Roman a dog all the time. I just never expected him to literally turn into one. Roman and I grew up together. Our families were close business partners. He was my childhood rival, and aside from constantly bickering with me, he was a perfectly normal guy. That was until Lily showed up. After meeting her, Roman became completely unhinged. He started speaking in a deep, gravelly voice, pinning people against walls, and spitting out ridiculous alpha-male quotes. “Woman, you have successfully captured my attention.” I thought he was just incredibly horny and suggested he get his brain checked. Instead, he accused me of having a sinister crush on him. “The weather is getting cold. It is time for your family’s company to go bankrupt.” I recorded that threat, sent it to his parents, and his father beat him black and blue before freezing all his credit cards. I figured that would shut him up. Instead, he cornered me with a look of supreme disgust. “You think threatening me with my parents will make me love you? My heart only belongs to Lily. Stop being so delusional.” “If you ever dare touch a single hair on her head, I will show you the true meaning of hellfire!” Remembering the comments predicting my gruesome death, my gaze toward the Poodle turned dangerous. My hands slowly moved toward his fragile little neck. The comments immediately panicked. [Is the villainess trying to kill him while he is weak?!] [Holy crap, look at her eyes! She is going to murder the dog!] [Run, male lead! Run!] Noticing my dark stare, the puppy suddenly tilted his head. He looked up at me with huge, watery, innocent eyes. “Woof?” Damn it. That was way too cute. His fluffy tail wagged so fast it looked like a helicopter rotor. The comments were instantly overwhelmed by people crying over how adorable he was. [Help! What happened to the dominating, toxic CEO trope?!] [Where are your morals? Where is your bottom line? Also, drop the address so I can steal this puppy!] [This would be absolutely perfect if he was acting this way with the female lead instead…] The little Poodle was incredibly clingy, burying his face into my chest. His soft, curly white fur tickled my neck. Was this really the same Roman who walked around with an ice-cold resting bitch face all day? He was literally a different breed now. The comments went back to being salty. [Ahhh! Why are you throwing yourself at her?! Open your eyes, she is the evil side character!] [He must have lost his memories when he transformed.] [Just wait until he turns back into a human. He is definitely going to kill her to vent his anger!] I picked the little white furball up by the scruff of his neck. “Stray dogs are filthy. Don’t rub your dirt on me.” The Poodle immediately dropped his ears, looking at me with big, pathetic, wet eyes. A wicked grin crept onto my lips. “You need a bath first.” The moment the words left my mouth, the little guy went stiff as a statue. 2 In the bathroom, I held down the frantically splashing Poodle with one hand and operated the showerhead with the other. Realizing escape was impossible, the little guy eventually gave up and laid flat in the tub, looking completely dead inside. I scrubbed him from head to tail, inside and out. His curly white fur plastered flat against his body, making him look like a drowned rat. However, when I tried to wash between his hind legs, he fought me like his life depended on it. He crossed his two front paws over his crotch, guarding his modesty. “Pfft…” I could not hold back my laughter. “Why are you acting so shy, like you are actually human?” The moment I said that, I froze. I looked down at the dog in absolute disbelief. “Wait a second. Do you still have your memories?” The Poodle, who had been playing dead, suddenly went rigid. He guiltily covered his eyes with his little paws. My scalp went numb. I lifted him by the back of his neck and brought him right up to my face. “Roman! You know exactly who you are?!” The Poodle gave a slow, reluctant nod. I let go of him and buried my face in my hands. Good god. Not only did I just bathe him, but I had completely trashed his reputation, thinking he was an amnesiac dog. He guiltily tapped my sleeve with his paw. I swatted it away. He dropped his head, trotted over to the nightstand, and clumsily used his paw to unlock his phone. A second later, a notification popped up on my screen. A wire transfer for one million dollars. The memo line simply read: [Adoption Fee]. 3 My mood instantly flipped from cloudy to sunny. A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth before I could even stop it. Roman continued to type clumsily with his paws. [I have no idea why I turned into this.] [I have nowhere else to go right now. Can you please take me in for a bit?] I was about to say yes when I remembered the scrolling comments. Once he turned back, he was supposedly going to be the one to orchestrate my death. My mood plummeted again. “Aren’t you absolutely obsessed with Lily?” I sneered, crossing my arms. “I am sure she would be thrilled to keep you as a pet. I can drop you off at her place right now.” Roman panicked. He spun in circles, his paws furiously tapping the screen. [Bullshit! I do not like her! The person I actually like is…] “Is who?” I narrowed my eyes. Roman suddenly lost his nerve. He covered his face with his paws, peeking at me through the gaps like a guilty child caught stealing candy. Ha! So he still refused to admit it. I mocked his signature alpha-male tone. “Didn’t you say that if anyone hurt Lily, you would slaughter their entire family? You sounded pretty tough back then, Mr. CEO.” It was the very first time I had ever seen a dog look genuinely embarrassed. Roman’s fluffy ears flattened completely against his head. He typed on his phone, looking utterly defeated. [I do not know what happened. During that time, I felt like I was possessed…] I let out a cold scoff. But thinking back, the whole situation had been bizarre. Roman’s personality had basically been hijacked the moment he met Lily. Their first encounter ended with him forcing someone to kneel and apologize to her, calling them filthy peasants. Then came the classic dynamic of her running away and him obsessively chasing. It was a textbook toxic romance between an overbearing billionaire and a pure, unyielding innocent flower. The most ridiculous part was when Roman’s parents tried to gently talk some sense into Lily. Roman exploded, accusing his own parents of trying to tear them apart, and threatened to cut all family ties. His parents were so angry they drove to my house in the middle of the night and complained to my parents until three in the morning. Roman kept typing. [This time, someone drugged my drink. Lily just magically appeared in my hotel room out of nowhere.] [If I had not snapped out of the trance at the very last second and forced myself to run away, she would have completely taken advantage of me!] “So you just broke into my room instead?” I blurted out. The white furball nodded. A weird, heavy silence fell over the room. I remembered how Roman had burst through my door, slammed me against the glass, and kissed me breathless without a word of warning. My cheeks instantly caught fire. Meanwhile, Roman was so embarrassed he had buried his entire face under his paws on the bed. “Ro-man!” I gritted my teeth and picked him up by the scruff again. 4 After putting him in his place, I lay on the sofa to organize my thoughts. According to the comments, we were living inside a cliché billionaire romance novel. Roman and Lily were the main characters. But looking at Roman’s current reaction, he was clearly a victim of the plot too. All the weird red flags pointed directly at Lily. Sending him back to his family was impossible. If his mother saw her son had turned into a Poodle, she would probably pass out on the spot. I had to call his house and tell them he was crashing at my place for a few days. “Keep him! Keep him as long as you want!” His mother sounded absolutely thrilled on the phone. “Tell him he does not ever have to come back! Sally honey, I am leaving that brat in your capable hands.” I hung up and tapped Roman’s wet black nose, laughing at him. “See how annoying you are? Your own parents are celebrating your absence!” Roman let out a pathetic little whimper. He wrapped his front paws around my wrist and rubbed his fluffy head against my palm. Help! How was I supposed to resist this?! I had zero defense against fluffy animals! I gritted my teeth and put him down, fighting the urge to pet him. I could not let this guy win. “I am going to work. Stay here and behave.” Before I could even stand up, Roman leaped right back into my arms. He clung to my blazer, his dark eyes sparkling. “Woof, woof.” I am going too! His logic was that since he turned into a dog while he was with me, he needed to stick by my side to see if there was a trigger to turn him back. I had no choice but to bring him to the office. I left him in the VIP lounge and warned him not to run around. When I finally finished my meetings and went to check on him, I found a massive crowd of female employees packed into the lounge. Looking through the crowd, I saw the little white furball standing on one hind leg on top of the coffee table, wobbling as he struck a majestic pose with his front paws spread wide. The women were practically screaming. “He is so cute!” “I am going to pass out! Someone catch me!” I was utterly speechless. Roman spotted me and immediately barked, launching himself into my arms. His little tail wagged proudly. I didn’t even need a translator to know he was saying, Look how awesome I am! I sighed and rubbed my temples. Roman’s arrogant, show-off personality hadn’t changed one bit. Since he turned into a dog, he acted more like the childhood friend I actually recognized. It proved my theory. There was something deeply wrong with Lily. I called my assistant into my office and handed him a file. “I need a full background check on Lily. Do it quietly. Do not let anyone know.” “Understood, Boss.” He smiled as he took the folder. “You have been smiling a lot more lately.” I paused. “Ever since your falling out with Mr. Roman, you have been ice-cold. People in the office have been terrified to even breathe around you.” My assistant secretly pointed at Roman, who was currently chasing his own tail in circles. “I think this little angel is exactly what you needed.” I let out a soft laugh. If my staff knew this little angel was actually the terrifying CEO Roman, their jaws would drop to the floor. But had I really stopped smiling because of him? I fell into deep thought. A week later, Lily showed up unannounced at my company lobby. I instinctively glanced at Roman. He didn’t react at all, just kept chewing on his glow-in-the-dark bouncy ball. But as soon as she walked in, the floating text flooded my vision again. [Our smart baby girl figured out something was wrong!] [It is all the wicked side character’s fault. The male and female lead should be doing the dirty deed right now!] [It is fine, the plot is about to get back on track. Just wait and see.] Back on track? Meaning Roman would turn into that cold, brainwashed monster again? My chest tightened painfully. Lily suddenly crouched down and pulled a small piece of jerky from her bag. “Here you go, cutie. Have a bite.” Before I could react, Roman darted forward and swallowed it whole. His eyes even gleamed with hunger. Lily smiled sweetly, reaching into the bag to give him another piece. “My dog does not eat random trash from strangers,” I said coldly, stepping between them. The comments exploded, cursing me for being an evil bitch. Lily just offered a fake, apologetic smile and left without a fight.

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I gently wiped the wine from my face, my expression perfectly calm. “Since you keep talking about spending the rest of your life with that stuffed bear, I am simply granting your wish.” “Gunther!” “Our daughter just turned one, and you are using this ridiculous excuse to divorce me. You are a complete and utter bastard.” Judy was shaking, her eyes rimmed with furious, red tears. “Sign the papers,” I said, entirely unfazed. “I will see you at the divorce attorney’s office tomorrow at nine in the morning.” I did not want to waste another breath. I threw the divorce agreement onto the table and turned to leave. The entire banquet hall fell dead silent. None of the guests could comprehend why the city’s most envied, picture-perfect couple was suddenly imploding. A flash of panic crossed Judy’s eyes. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Kensington, frowned deeply, their expressions turning dark. No one expected me to be this ruthless. Simon, her executive assistant, lunged forward and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me back. “Girls love stuffed animals. Stop acting crazy and apologize to Judy right now.” “Do you not remember what she went through for you? She almost died giving birth to your child. She labored for two agonizing days without an epidural.” “She sleeps in a separate room and takes care of the baby alone just so you can get a good night’s rest. How can you be so blind to her sacrifices?” The surrounding guests immediately joined in, burying me in criticism. “Simon is absolutely right. You have a perfect life. What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how many men would kill to have a wife like her?” “If something is bothering you, sit down and talk like adults. You do not just take your anger out on your wife and throw the word divorce around.” Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Judy rushed forward and wrapped her arms tightly around my waist. “Honey.” “We have known each other, loved each other, and stayed by each other’s side for twelve whole years. I know you. You are gentle. You never lose your temper.” “Is something wrong at the company? Are you asking for a divorce because you are in trouble and do not want to drag me down? Tell us. We can figure it out together.” Seeing her defend me so fiercely, the crowd praised her grace, which only made me look like an ungrateful monster. “Gunther, I may be retired, and I step back from the business these days, but people in this city still respect my name.” “We are family. If you are in trouble, speak up. Do not bottle it up inside.” Mr. and Mrs. Kensington finally broke their silence. They still chose to trust my character. After all, I was the son-in-law they had carefully handpicked. Ignoring the piercing stares of everyone in the room, I shoved Judy away. My voice was ice. “It is very simple. I do not love you anymore.” A pin drop could be heard in the hall. “What? Say that again.” Judy froze, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “I said I do not love you anymore!” “Did you hear me clearly this time?” With that, I stepped around her and headed for the door. “Stop right there!” Simon violently grabbed my collar, screaming in my face. “Drop this act right now! Even as an assistant, I cannot stand to watch this.” “Did you forget how obsessed you were with her? You chased her for three entire years! You dated for six years before you finally got married!” “Did you forget your own wedding vows? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health. She never abandoned you.” “Your daughter is only a year old! Do you want her to grow up in a broken home?” Watching him play the furious protector, a mocking smirk touched my lips. “Why are you so desperate? Unless…” Simon completely cut me off, his arrogance flaring. “Anyone with a conscience would be disgusted by an ungrateful parasite like you.” “You came from nothing. Judy never looked down on you. She gave you a high-level position in her family’s empire.” “If it was not for the Kensington family, would you have this luxury life? Would you be sitting in a CEO chair?” Smack! I backhanded him across the face with everything I had. “You are just an assistant. Know your place.” Judy immediately panicked. “Are you insane, Gunther? What gives you the right to hit Simon?” She shoved me hard in the chest and rushed to help Simon off the floor. Her eyes were overflowing with frantic, undeniable concern. “He deserved worse,” I said, clenching my fists. I felt absolutely zero remorse. My coldness instantly triggered the crowd’s disgust. They all whispered that my usual gentle demeanor was nothing but a fake mask, hiding a violent, hypocritical nature. Simon looked at Judy, playing the wounded victim perfectly. “I am so sorry, Judy. This is all my fault.” “I should have kept my mouth shut. I made Mr. Kensington angry. Please do not blame him.” He kept his head down, looking terribly guilty. “It is not your fault.” “I dragged you into this.” Judy comforted him softly before turning back to me, her tone shifting into a pathetic plea. “Honey, we do not need to take our issues out on other people.” “Today is our daughter’s first birthday. Please stop causing a scene. I am begging you.” As she spoke, her tears began to fall again. Her heartbreaking compromise contrasted perfectly with my brutal arrogance. The guests entirely sided with her. Mr. Kensington took a deep breath, trying to be the voice of reason one last time. “Gunther, you have worked hard all these years. You have been a good husband and a respectful son.” “There is no need to make this so ugly.” “If you can show me actual proof that you have been wronged, I swear I will stand by you and seek justice.” He was handing me an olive branch. I did not take it. My expression remained locked in stone. “This marriage is over.” Mr. Kensington’s face turned completely purple. Judy stared at me through her tears. “Are you seeing another woman?” “Think whatever you want,” I replied flatly. “Enough!” Mr. Kensington finally lost his temper, his voice booming across the room. “I am giving you exactly three days to think about this, Gunther.” “You either come home and fix your marriage.” “Or I will see you in court, and you will walk away penniless.” “Do not ever forget that everything you own today was given to you by me.” His threat was heavy. Everyone expected me to instantly fold. Instead, I turned on my heel and walked out the door. Outside in the cool night air, my junior from law school, Audrey, had been waiting for me by her car. “I already sent my private investigators to Europe,” she said with a sharp, confident smile. “You will have the answers you are looking for very soon.” “Thank you.” “We are going to trial against Judy in three days. I need you there as my lead attorney.” I collapsed into the leather backseat, utterly exhausted. I pulled out my phone and opened a saved security video. On the screen, Judy’s beloved giant stuffed bear was casually walking out of the guest bedroom. It stood in the middle of the living room and did a bizarre, rhythmic dance directly in front of the hidden camera. Three days was more than enough time to set the trap and burn everything to the ground. I originally planned to stay at a luxury hotel, but every single one of my bank cards declined. That was when I remembered that over the past year, Judy had slowly manipulated the finances back under her family’s control. Even the names on the joint accounts had been quietly changed to hers. On the surface, I was the head of a happy, wealthy family. In reality, I was completely isolated. I crashed on Audrey’s couch for the night. The next morning, I went to the corporate headquarters to pack my personal belongings. The moment I stepped into the lobby, the whispering began. “A pathetic gold digger who does not know how good he has it. Asking for a divorce? What an idiot.” “So what if the boss likes sleeping with a giant teddy bear? I love stuffed animals too. It is harmless.” “He is probably just tired of her post-pregnancy body and wants a younger model. I bet he is hiding a dozen mistresses in the city.” They looked at me like I was a convicted serial killer. The judgment in their eyes was suffocating. Before I could even respond, Judy’s voice echoed behind me. “Shut your mouths. Who gave you permission to gossip? Get back to work.” The employees scattered like frightened mice. “Honey.” “I bought you a new watch. Try it on.” Judy pulled a pristine, velvet-lined box from her designer bag. Gasps immediately filled the lobby. “A limited edition Patek Philippe! Only three of those exist in the world, and they were supposedly bought by anonymous billionaires.” “She must have moved mountains to get that watch. She cares about him so much.” Jealousy radiated from everyone in the room. My face remained completely blank. I pushed the box away. “I am just here to pick up my family heirloom. Give the watch to your teddy bear.” The room froze. Judy stood there, completely stunned. The employees were furious, whispering that I was a heartless piece of trash. I tuned them all out and walked straight to the executive floor. When my parents passed away, the only thing they left me was a simple jade pendant. They said it would ward off evil. I had worn it around my neck my entire life. A few months ago, Judy kept complaining that her office felt freezing and creepy, claiming she heard weird noises. I took the pendant off and hung it in her office. The strange occurrences supposedly stopped. She did not deserve to have it anymore. I pushed open the heavy glass doors to her office and saw Simon playing with my daughter on the carpet. “Mr. Kensington.” “You finally came back. Living a good life is better than throwing it all away. Look at your daughter.” “She is so precious. How could you ever abandon her?” Simon said, picking the baby up and stepping directly into my path. “Get out of my way,” I said, a deep frown carving into my face. “Sir.” “This is your own flesh and blood. Are you really refusing to even look at her?” Simon demanded loudly. “Move!” Annoyed, I shoved Simon’s shoulder aside and walked straight to the back wall to retrieve my jade pendant. A second later, a loud, piercing cry echoed through the room. I turned around. Simon and my daughter were both sprawled on the hard floor. Right at that exact moment, Judy and several senior executives walked into the office. Judy dropped her files, rushed over, and snatched the crying baby into her arms. She frantically checked her for injuries and let out a huge sigh of relief when she saw no blood. “What exactly happened here?” Her furious gaze darted between me and Simon. Simon lowered his head, his voice trembling. “I just wanted him to look at his daughter. But he refused. He shoved me away.” “It is my fault. I am useless. If I had better balance, we would not have fallen.” What? Hearing his pathetic lie, Judy stood up, marched over, and slapped me across the cheek. “How could you be this cold-blooded?! That is your biological daughter!” “She is only a year old! What if you broke her neck?!” My reaction was chillingly calm. “Say whatever you want. I do not care if she drops dead.” Judy completely broke down, sobbing hysterically. Simon pointed a shaking finger at my face. “Are you even human?! Cursing your own baby to die? You are absolute scum!” “Enough. Do not waste another breath on him.” Judy looked at me, her entire body trembling as she wiped her tears. “I am completely done with you.” “Get out!” “Get the hell out of my building! I can live perfectly fine without you, and my daughter does not need a monster for a father.” “I will see you in court!” She screamed the last sentence until her voice cracked. I did not say a single word. I turned around and walked out. The news of our explosive divorce leaked to the press almost immediately. The internet was flooded with wild rumors. Anonymous sources claimed I was funding dozens of mistresses. Tabloids published blurry photos claiming I frequented underground escort clubs. Bloggers swore I had secret illegitimate children hidden across the country. I was nailed to the cross of public opinion. To the entire internet, I was a cheating, ungrateful parasite who abandoned his perfect wife and innocent child. I chose total silence. I did not offer a single explanation. Three days later, I finally appeared at the city courthouse. Because the trial was open to the public, the gallery was packed with mutual friends, business partners, and a swarm of hungry journalists. “Gunther.” “I am giving you one last chance. Swallow your pride, apologize, and we can go back to our normal lives.” Judy stared at me, her fists clenched tight in her lap. Simon sat right behind her, chiming in. “You have absolutely zero legal ground. You are going to lose, and you are going to walk away with nothing. How will you even survive? You will be a pariah.” “Give up before you end up sleeping on the streets.” Mr. and Mrs. Kensington sat in the front row, their faces grim. “Gunther, I strongly suggest you think about the consequences.” “Trying to take half her assets just because she likes sleeping with a stuffed bear is a joke. You cannot win.” I ignored every single one of them. I walked straight to the plaintiff’s table and sat down next to Audrey. The Kensington family let out a collective, disgusted scoff. The judge slammed his gavel. The trial began. The judge reviewed the massive stack of documents Judy had submitted. He looked down at me from the bench. “Sleeping with a stuffed animal does not constitute marital fault.” “However, the respondent has submitted fifty photographs of you being intimately close with other women.” “If you cannot provide compelling new evidence, this court will rule you as the party at fault based on the established facts.” I stood up, adjusting my suit jacket. “I have evidence, Your Honor.” The real show was about to begin. Every camera lens in the room focused on me. The crowd leaned in, desperate to see what desperate trick I was going to pull. “The plaintiff requests permission to play a video file,” Audrey said, handing a secure USB drive to the bailiff. The judge nodded. The court clerk plugged the drive into the system, projecting the contents onto the massive screen above the witness stand. There were three locked folders. At my instruction, the clerk opened the first folder and clicked play. The courtroom gasped. On the screen, Judy was wearing a sheer, electric-blue silk nightgown. She was straddling her massive stuffed teddy bear on their bed. She was moving her hips in a slow, provocative rhythm, pressing her body intimately against the plush fabric. Her eyes were half-closed, her face flushed with pure, intoxicating ecstasy as she whispered breathlessly into the bear’s ear. “Oh my god… Judy was secretly doing that with a teddy bear?” “That is absolutely insane. She is a married woman!” “Who dry-humps a toy while their husband is in the next room?!” The gallery erupted into shocked, scandalized whispers. Judy’s face flushed a violent, humiliating crimson. She never expected me to have this footage. She knew for a fact there were no security cameras inside the master bedroom. “She has a medical condition!” Simon suddenly shouted, jumping up to run damage control. “Judy nearly died on the operating table giving birth. The trauma caused severe postpartum depression!” “We have certified medical records from her psychiatrist. This was just a coping mechanism. A harmless way for her to relieve extreme stress!” Hearing this medical excuse, the crowd’s tone shifted. “Oh, if it is postpartum depression, that actually makes sense.” “Yeah, trauma patients do really weird things when they are breaking down.” “When I had PPD, I used to sit in the closet and cry while holding a potted plant.” “What kind of monster husband films his sick wife having a mental breakdown just to humiliate her?! He is disgusting!” Seeing the crowd side with them again, Simon went on the offensive. He pointed a self-righteous finger at me. “You have crossed the line, Gunther.” “You neglected your sick wife, and now you are weaponizing her darkest moments to publicly destroy her.” “You are doing all of this just to steal her money. Are you even a man?!” He was masterfully manipulating the narrative, trying to trap me in a moral cage. Judy buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. “Do not cry, sweetie. Mom and Dad are right here. We will protect you!” Mrs. Kensington wrapped her arms around Judy, glaring at me with pure hatred. “They say marriage is sacred. How could you abuse my daughter like this?” “Do you know how important a woman’s reputation is?!” “How is she supposed to show her face in public after this? You are a psychopath!” Mr. Kensington’s eyes were bloodshot. He gritted his teeth, his voice trembling with rage. “I was blind to let you into my family. I fed a rabid wolf.” “I swear on my life, I will destroy you for humiliating my daughter!” The entire courtroom was practically calling for my blood. The reporters were furiously typing, live-streaming the drama to millions of angry netizens who were demanding I be locked up. “Order in the court!” The judge slammed his gavel violently, silencing the chaos. “Please open the second folder,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. Since I had dared to walk into this courtroom, I was prepared to burn it all down. The judge nodded. The clerk opened the second folder. It was filled with dozens of video files. They played the first video. It was the exact footage I had watched in the car.

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When I found out the investor was Lincoln, I knew I was going to lose to Mia. She was Lincoln’s first love—the one he could never forget. After the meeting ended, Lincoln chose Mia’s proposal, just as I expected. Mia looked at me and sneered, “Even if you’re his wife, in his heart, I’ll always come first.” “Everything you schemed so hard to get comes effortlessly to me.” She and I had been rivals since our student days, ever since her mother stole my father. And she could just as easily occupy Lincoln’s heart. I glanced wearily at Lincoln in the distance, suddenly unwilling to fight Mia anymore. This time, I was giving up on him. Between Lincoln and my career, I chose my career. The company’s new investor caused quite a stir among the young women because he was incredibly handsome. The investor was Lincoln, my husband. The moment I learned this news, I knew my competition with Mia was already lost. In the break room, my colleagues were gossiping about the new investor. “This investor is the CEO of Zenith Group, the heir to the company—Lincoln himself.” “If our team’s design catches his eye, we won’t have to worry about performance metrics going forward.” “I bet Mia’s team will get it. I heard that Lincoln’s first love is Mia.” “Mia and Lincoln were college classmates, each other’s first love. Lincoln’s investment this time is all for Mia.” Hearing these words made my heart tighten. I returned to my office feeling lost. News that Lincoln was the investor had already spread throughout the company. The director called Mia and me to his office. “Jane, Mia.” “The investor for our project is Lincoln from Zenith Group. You two will each lead your teams to design a proposal. Submit them in one month.” The director looked at Mia with meaningful appreciation he couldn’t hide. It seemed he too had heard those rumors and understood why Lincoln had chosen our company. Before I even left the office, I knew our team’s design proposal would be a waste of effort. Competing against Mia, I’d likely just be there to make up the numbers. Outside the office, Mia stopped. We stood facing each other. I met her gaze. She smiled slightly. Her smile was triumphant and bold. “Jane, may the best woman win.” Yet her demeanor showed absolute confidence in victory. Because she knew very well that between her and me, Lincoln would definitely choose her. Watching her walk away with her head held high, I turned and left. The design department erupted in excitement. If my team’s design proposal was rejected, I’d spend the next period working under Mia, swallowing my pride and accepting all her guidance. I didn’t want to humble myself under her. Before the end of the workday, everyone gathered around Mia, praising her endlessly. “Mia, you’re amazing.” I made eye contact with Mia through the crowd. She was surrounded, the center of attention. Compared to her, my corner seemed cold and desolate. I stood alone in the corner, no one beside me. She smiled at me, lips pressed together. I looked away, put on my coat, and walked out.

Lincoln came home. His expression was its usual cool indifference. I still couldn’t help but ask. “Lincoln, you invested in our company?” Lincoln looked up at the sound. He met my eyes briefly, his expression bland, and hummed softly in acknowledgment. I continued asking, “Why did you choose our company?” I used a joking tone, “Will you give me special treatment?” Lincoln’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression serious. There wasn’t a trace of amusement in his eyes. After a moment’s thought, he said, “This was a decision by the company’s senior management.” “The proposal isn’t my decision alone.” The implication was that even being his wife didn’t matter. I didn’t ask any more questions. He was always this cold and distant, following his own rules and logic, never willing to make exceptions for me. And I always humiliated myself hoping to become his exception. Lincoln turned and left, entering his study. The study door wasn’t completely closed. I could hear him talking on the phone. The voice on the other end was Mia’s. Lincoln occasionally laughed softly in response to Mia. After hanging up, he pushed open the study door. He walked to the entryway and grabbed his coat from the rack. Putting on his overcoat and changing into dress shoes. He straightened up and said to me, “I have a business dinner tonight. I’m going out.” I nodded. Lincoln was extremely handsome, with deep-set features, a high-bridged nose, and thin lips. The dark overcoat over his perfectly fitted suit made his figure even more imposing. He disappeared through the front door. He came home very late that night. The words I wanted to ask died in my throat after seeing the post Mia shared on social media. Mia’s post showed a group photo. Four people in the photo: Mia, Lincoln, and two of their college classmates. Seeing this photo, I realized I didn’t need to ask that question. I wanted to ask Lincoln if he would favor Mia. I knew he would. I used to leave a light on for Lincoln when he came home late from business dinners. After turning off the light, I slept soundly. When I woke up, Lincoln and I didn’t run into each other. We each went to our respective companies. Everyone in our design department fawned over Mia, orbiting around her. Everyone knew that without Mia, Lincoln wouldn’t have chosen our company. My conflict with Mia was my own business. My colleagues only needed to care about their year-end bonuses and whether performance targets would be met. Today Lincoln appeared at the company as the investor. The director called Mia over. When Mia returned, everyone’s eyes were on her. “Mia, is Mr. Lincoln intimidating?” Mia’s lips curved slightly, her answer vague and ambiguous. “Mr. Lincoln and I have known each other for quite a while. He’s not intimidating.” “Everyone can relax.” Several people exchanged glances and smiled knowingly. I had already clicked the link and read through Mia and Lincoln’s love story once. If I weren’t Lincoln’s wife, I too would sigh about how beautiful young love was. Unfortunately, reading the love story between Lincoln and Mia compiled by their college alumni, I could only feel heartache. Mia still had a social media account from her college days that she hadn’t deleted. It was full of posts documenting their relationship. I masochistically scrolled through all these posts. The more I read, the more I realized Lincoln had truly loved her. Lincoln would patiently read through each of her posts, then comment and like them. And it was Lincoln who had pursued Mia first. It took me a whole year to pursue Lincoln. When I learned that Lincoln’s ex-girlfriend was Mia, a flash of satisfaction crossed my mind—a sense of revenge against Mia. But I quickly realized I had lost completely. That Lincoln still had his ex-girlfriend in his heart was utter humiliation to me. This let Mia gain another advantage over me.

Mia and I had been rivals since middle school. We were like fire and water, incompatible. Her mother had wormed her way into my family, and my mother became depressed and attempted suicide. I nearly lost my mother. In high school, we ended up at the same school again. She was one point short of getting into First High. My father, Jason, pulled strings to get her in. That year in high school, Mom went abroad. I stayed at the Jane house. I thought if I went too far, Mia and her mother would know when to back off. My methods weren’t sophisticated—rather stupid, actually. I poured ink into their cups. I was afraid they’d actually drink it, so I used colored black ink. I just wanted to scare them, to establish my authority in front of Mia. Unexpectedly, Mia complained to Jason, whose face darkened as he scolded me with furrowed brows. I hated them but didn’t dare do anything truly excessive. And everything I did only made Jason feel he’d wronged them. After high school graduation, Mia and I finally weren’t at the same school. What made me completely give up on Jason was during my first winter break in college, when Jason brought Mia to a gala. He didn’t deny that Mia was his daughter. He even wanted Mia to take the Jane surname. I told him that if he let Mia take the Jane surname, I would change mine to my mother’s maiden name. His eyes filled with fury as he looked at me, his arm raised in midair about to strike me. But a tall figure blocked it. That person was Lincoln. After graduation, I encountered Lincoln again. I pursued him for a whole year. Just when I was about to give up, he relented. It wasn’t until after marriage that I learned Mia was his ex-girlfriend. And that Lincoln had visited the Jane house as Mia’s boyfriend to meet Jason. So when Jason learned I had married Lincoln, his face darkened, clutching his chest, barely able to breathe. “Did you do this on purpose?” “You knew full well that Mr. Lincoln was Mia’s ex-boyfriend, yet you still married him?” I was stunned for a long while. During New Year’s, I didn’t want to return to the Jane house, but Lincoln insisted on taking me back. At the Jane house, Mia and I got into another conflict. We fell in the Jane house courtyard. Lincoln reacted quickly, striding forward to catch Mia. I took a fall. At the hospital, I stubbornly asked Lincoln with red eyes why he didn’t catch me. He cut fruit with an indifferent expression. “I didn’t see.” When Lincoln left the hospital room, Mia came to see me. She smiled as she looked at me lying in the hospital bed, recounting everything about her and Lincoln in college. In her telling, it was a side of Lincoln I didn’t know. My heart constricted. After I was discharged, Mia and I crossed paths again. We even ended up working at the same company. She and I competed neck and neck, neither willing to submit to the other. She wore the identity of Jason’s daughter, making the director treat her with utmost respect. Now she had an additional identity—the heir’s ex-girlfriend. Everyone fawned over her even more. I knew my design proposal would most likely be rejected in the end, but I still led my team working overtime, rushing to complete the design proposal.

A month later, I walked into the conference room with the proposal. Everyone was present except Mia. She arrived with Lincoln. Light fell perfectly on the two of them. Lincoln occasionally bowed his head, accommodating Mia’s height to hear her speak. The man’s profile was illuminated, his features sharp and defined. His eyes were dark, his smile faint. In that unintentional moment our eyes met, I wanted to read something different in his gaze. But there was nothing—still the same cool indifference. The lottery determined the presentation order. I was before Mia. I calmly took the stage and opened my PowerPoint presentation. I explained all my design concepts and inspiration. During the presentation, I was completely focused. When I stepped down, sparse applause sounded. The most enthusiastic applause came from Nora, a young woman who had been interning with me since graduation. Lincoln showed no expression. No one could read his thoughts. The director tried to gauge the meaning in his expression with sidelong glances. It was Mia’s turn to present. She naturally made eye contact with Lincoln. They smiled at each other. Colleagues below exchanged glances with gossipy smiles. Nora leaned close to me and whispered, “Jane, is our team’s proposal going to be rejected?” I pulled at the corners of my mouth, forcing a strained smile. After Mia’s presentation ended, her applause was clearly much louder than mine. The director enthusiastically applauded her. Lincoln’s lips curved slightly upward. There was a thirty-minute break midway. Recently, I’d been caught up in the rumors about Lincoln and Mia, barely able to breathe. The way he looked at me was too cold, making my heart tighten. Through office gossip, I learned more about Lincoln and Mia’s past. Lincoln had actively pursued Mia. He unfailingly walked her back to her dorm and brought her breakfast. All their classmates at Preston University knew how much Lincoln loved Mia. I sat motionless in my chair. Watching Lincoln and Mia walk out side by side, my nose tingled. The man I’d schemed so hard to get held my most hated person in his heart. Only Nora and I remained in the conference room. Nora held my hand. The thirty minutes ended. The results were in. Lincoln and the Zenith Group team had already left. Our director announced the results. Three votes total. All three votes went to Mia. When the results were announced, my eyes stung, welling with tears. I forcibly held back those tears. The director and Mia exchanged glances, expressing his approval. Several colleagues surrounded Mia. “Mia, you’re incredible.” I left with a lonely silhouette. But Mia chased after me. “Jane.” I stopped. Her eyes curved in a smile. “Even if you’re his wife, in his heart I’ll always come first.” “Everything you schemed so hard to get comes effortlessly to me.” Yes, at fourteen, Mia could easily take Jason’s love for me. Now she could occupy Lincoln’s heart too. In the distance, Lincoln was ushered into the elevator by the director, his posture lazy and casual. Suddenly I felt exhausted. I didn’t want to fight Mia anymore. I didn’t want Lincoln either. The elevator stood still. The director, very observant, quickly called out for Mia and me to enter the elevator together. The elevator slowly descended. The director kissed up to Lincoln. “Mr. Lincoln, you and Miss Mia are a perfect match. Made for each other.” Others chimed in. “Exactly. I heard Mr. Lincoln and Miss Mia are already married. Mr. Lincoln really dotes on his wife, specifically choosing our company for Miss Mia.” I numbly listened to these flattering words, unable to summon any reaction. Sensing a covert but burning gaze from beside me, I looked over. Lincoln’s face stiffened. The director nudged my arm, hinting that I should say something too. “Jane, don’t you agree? Mr. Lincoln and Miss Mia are such a perfect match.” The elevator doors opened. I calmly met Lincoln’s eyes. “Indeed, a perfect match.” Panic flashed in his normally indifferent eyes, his thin lips parting as if to say something.

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Ethan Hunt pretended to be gentle for three years, raising me to be a tool for his first love’s paintings. I heard him laughing in the lounge. “I don’t love her at all. Being with her? Aside from the paintings, the sex is amazing.” I stood outside the door holding coffee. My hands didn’t shake, but my heart turned cold. That night, I burned everything he’d given me, jumped from the second floor, and ran toward the future I’d once rejected for him without looking back. Only later did I learn that the SUV that rescued me in the pouring rain wasn’t a coincidence. The man named Louis had been secretly collecting all my paintings since I was a little girl doing street graffiti. He said, “I’ve waited three years for you. Waited for you to wake up from another man’s cage.” This time, I won’t run away again. Cherry POV When I pushed open the slightly ajar door of the gallery VIP lounge, laughter was coming from inside. “Ethan Hunt, we really don’t get you. You’re a billionaire, a top-tier curator. Why are you acting like a servant in front of that poor girl Cherry? Cooking for her every day, even taking off her shoes for her. What’s the point?” Hearing my own name, my hand froze mid-push. After a brief, deathly silence, Ethan’s habitually gentle voice rang out, but it carried a coldness and mockery I’d never heard before. “Wild cats need to be stroked the right way to be tamed.” A lighter clicked, and he seemed to light a cigarette. His voice sounded distorted through the smoke. “Vivian’s hand is ruined. She can’t hold a paintbrush anymore. Cherry’s painting style is identical to hers, even more spirited. If I don’t spoil her rotten and make her devoted to me, how will she willingly paint those thirty pieces to pave the way for Vivian’s comeback exhibition?” Each word stabbed brutally into my eardrums. All the blood in my body froze solid in that moment. I felt like I’d fallen into an ice pit. I was a ghostwriting tool for Vivian?! The lounge fell silent for a moment, then erupted in even more enthusiastic exclamations. “Damn, that’s so you, Ethan Hunt! That’s ruthless. Using your current girlfriend’s blood and bones to feed your first love’s dreams. That’s insane.” “I heard Vivian’s coming back next week? Since you’ve almost gotten all thirty paintings, what about Cherry? She’s so headstrong. If she finds out she’s been used as a blood bag for three years, won’t she blow the roof off?” Ethan laughed lightly, his tone dripping with contempt. “She can’t leave me. For three years, I’ve cut off all her social connections and raised her to be a waste of space who only knows how to depend on me. Even if she finds out, she’ll just stay obediently in the cage I’ve built for her.” Seeing someone about to come out, my face went deathly pale as I jolted awake and stumbled backward out of the hallway on stiff legs. Outside, a blizzard had started at some point. I didn’t even have my coat on as I walked into the swirling snow. Icy snowflakes slammed into my face, melting into water that mixed with my tears and fell into the mud. Everything before my eyes blurred, but scenes from the past three years flashed through my mind. Ethan was the youngest art professor at New York’s top art academy, and also an extremely influential curator in the industry. The first time I met him was in an alley behind an underground racing track. I’d gotten into a bloody fight with some thugs over graffiti territory, biting one guy’s neck like a lone wolf. Ethan appeared holding a black umbrella, his leather shoes stepping through filthy puddles. With those slender fingers that usually handled masterpieces, he wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. He said gently, “Cherry, hands are for painting, not fighting. Come home with me.” In that moment, having grown up in an orphanage scraping by and enduring countless cold stares, I heard my own heart pounding wildly. I thought I’d found salvation. For three years, Ethan had spoiled me to a pathological degree. He wouldn’t let me do any housework for fear of hurting my hands. He cooked for me with endless variety every day, and when I was tired from painting, he’d even kneel on one knee to massage my aching calves. I thought this was the ultimate expression of love. Turns out, he was just maintaining a useful tool. He was afraid of my hands getting hurt because I had to paint for Vivian. He kept me confined at home because he was afraid my painting style would be exposed prematurely. Even in bed, when he always liked to hold me from behind and force me to watch my right hand holding the brush in the mirror. It was because that hand could fulfill his first love’s dreams! I crouched in the snow, biting hard on the back of my hand, crying until my throat was torn raw and I tasted thick blood. I don’t know how long passed before I swayed to my feet. My tears had dried up, leaving only ash-gray desolation in my eyes. I pulled out my phone from my pocket, found a number I’d blocked for three years, unblocked it, and dialed. It was the private number of Crete, France’s top art master. Three years ago, Crete had recognized my talent and wanted to take me to Paris for secret intensive training to mold me into the next generation’s artistic giant. But for Ethan’s words “I can’t live without you,” I’d refused without hesitation. The call connected. I cleared my hoarse throat, my voice cold as ice. “Mr. Crete, this is Cherry. Is your offer still valid? I’m willing to go with you.”

Cherry POV “Cherry! You’ve finally come to your senses! My God, I knew you wouldn’t let your talent be buried! In half a month I’ll send a private jet to pick you up. Use these two weeks to settle everything in America!” Hearing the French on the other end of the line, excited to the point of breaking, I calmly responded “okay” and hung up. When I returned to the luxury villa Ethan called our “love nest,” it was already late at night. As soon as I pushed open the door, warm air hit my face. Ethan, wearing gray loungewear, was coming out of the kitchen carrying a steaming cup of mulled wine. Seeing me covered in snow and looking disheveled, his eyes immediately creased with concern. “Where were you? How did you get like this, not even using an umbrella?” He walked over quickly, habitually trying to pull me into his embrace. I instinctively turned my head away, avoiding his touch. Ethan’s hand froze mid-air. A flash of displeasure crossed his eyes, but it was quickly covered by gentleness. He sighed and forcibly grabbed my cold hand, rubbing it between his palms. “Cherry, sulking at me again? The gallery was too busy today. I didn’t have time to pick you up. That’s my fault. Drink the mulled wine first, don’t catch a cold. You still need to deliver the last three paintings next week.” Listen to that. Such a perfect excuse. Caring about me was fake. Caring about those last three paintings was real. I lowered my eyes, looking at his refined, scholarly face, and suddenly felt my stomach churning with nausea. “Ethan.” I suddenly spoke, my voice terribly hoarse. “Mm?” He looked down, blowing on the mulled wine, responding carelessly. “If one day I couldn’t paint anymore, would you still treat me like you do now?” Ethan’s motion of blowing on the wine abruptly stopped. He looked up, studying me deeply, then laughed and reached out to ruffle my damp hair. “What nonsense. Even if you became completely useless, I’d still take care of you for life. Cherry, drink up.” If this were before, hearing those words would have made my eyes redden with emotion. But now, I only felt my hair stand on end. His promise to take care of me for life meant keeping me chained in a basement like a pet, draining every last drop of blood from me. I didn’t take the wine. I walked past him and headed upstairs. “I’m tired. I want to sleep.” I didn’t look back, but I could imagine the gentleness instantly draining from his face, his expression turning sinister and cold. Over the next few days, I behaved unusually quietly. I no longer clung to Ethan acting cute like before, nor did I pull him out to look at stars in the middle of the night. I locked myself in the studio every day, painting frantically. Ethan seemed very satisfied with my obedience. He probably thought his “domestication” had finally reached its most perfect stage. At noon that day, Ethan came into the studio carrying cut fruit. “Cherry, take a break.” He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, his chin resting in the crook of my neck, but his eyes greedily fixed on the nearly completed “Sunflowers” on the canvas. The brushwork, color, and light were virtually identical to Vivian’s work from her peak years, even more stunning. “This painting is beautiful.” He praised it sincerely. My hand holding the brush tightened slightly, my knuckles turning white. I turned my head, looking at his face so close to mine, and suddenly smiled. “Is it? Whose name are you planning to sign on this painting?” The smile on Ethan’s face instantly froze. A flash of panic crossed his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure, even adding a touch of indulgent reproach. “What are you overthinking now? Your painting will naturally have your name on it. Next month’s exhibition, I’ll let the entire New York art world know how excellent my girlfriend is.” Watching his masterful performance, the last trace of hope in my heart completely died. I calmly pushed him away and picked up the palette nearby. “I’m thirsty. I want the coffee you make.” “Okay, I’ll go brew it for you.” Ethan kissed my forehead and headed downstairs. After confirming he’d left, I immediately locked the studio door and opened the laptop Ethan had left on the desk. I used to run the streets. My hacking skills weren’t top-tier, but cracking Ethan’s password was more than easy enough. Three minutes later, a document hidden deep in the files appeared on the screen. “Vivian’s Comeback Solo Exhibition Planning Document.” The catalog of thirty exhibited works was exactly all the heart and soul I’d poured out over the past six months! And the exhibition date was in ten days.

Cherry POV The black text on white background on the screen burned my eyes. Thirty paintings. Each one I’d stayed up countless nights to complete, painstakingly crafted stroke by stroke under Ethan’s “gentle encouragement.” Now, they all bore Vivian’s name. I laughed coldly, destructive madness churning in my eyes. I didn’t make a scene. I silently cleared my browsing history and put the computer back in its place. Footsteps sounded outside the door. Ethan came in carrying coffee. “Cherry, coffee’s ready.” I turned around, took the coffee and sipped it, then suddenly my hand shook and the scalding coffee spilled directly onto the nearly finished “Sunflowers”! The dark brown liquid instantly spread, ruining the entire painting’s color structure. “What are you doing?!” Ethan’s voice shot up sharply. His gentle mask instantly shattered, his eyes erupting with barely concealed fury and heartbreak. He shoved me aside and lunged at the canvas, trying to wipe away the stains with his sleeve, but the more he wiped, the worse it got. The force of his push made me stumble backward. My waist slammed hard against the easel, pain making me gasp. But I laughed. “My hand slipped.” I looked at Ethan’s frantic back, my tone light as air. “It’s just a painting. Why are you so worked up? Worst case, I’ll just repaint it.” Ethan’s whole body went rigid. He seemed to realize he’d lost his composure. He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the violence in his eyes. When he turned around, he’d become that gentle, considerate perfect boyfriend again. “I’m sorry, Cherry. Did I hurt you?” He came over, rubbing my waist with apparent concern. “I just thought it was such a shame. You spent so long on this painting. I feel bad about all your hard work going to waste.” “Feel bad about my hard work, or about your cash cow being destroyed?” I looked at him with a half-smile. Ethan’s eyes darkened. He suddenly grabbed my chin, applying so much force he nearly crushed my bones. “Cherry, what’s gotten into you today? All these passive-aggressive remarks.” He leaned in close, his tone carrying a dangerous warning. “I’ve been swamped lately preparing for your exhibition. Can you be a little more sensible and stop making trouble?” “I’m making trouble?” I met his gaze fearlessly. “Ethan, do you dare look me in the eye and tell me this exhibition is really for me?” The two of us stood in a standoff, the air thick with gunpowder. Just then, Ethan’s phone suddenly rang. A special ringtone. Ethan’s expression changed. He immediately released me and walked onto the balcony with his phone. Though separated by the glass door, I could still clearly see the careful, treasuring expression on his face. An expression of genuine emotion he’d never shown me. “Vivian, you’ve arrived? Good, wait for me at the VIP passage. I’ll be right there.” Hanging up, Ethan rushed back in, putting on his coat as he spoke. “There’s an emergency at the gallery. I need to handle it. Stay home and paint obediently. That ‘Sunflowers’ must be redone within three days, understand?” Without giving me a chance to respond, he slammed the door and left. I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and watched the black SUV shoot out of the villa like an arrow released from its bow. I pulled out my phone and called a rideshare. “Driver, to the airport.”

Cherry POV Half an hour later, outside the airport VIP passage. Wearing a hat and mask, I stood behind a pillar. Not far away, Ethan was holding a black umbrella, carefully sheltering a woman in a white trench coat with a delicate demeanor. The woman seemed cold. Ethan immediately took off his own coat and draped it over her shoulders, then naturally tucked her cold hands into his embrace. “Vivian, welcome home.” His eyes were so tender they could drip water. Vivian leaned into his embrace, acting coquettish. “Ethan, how are the preparations for my exhibition going? My hand shakes even holding utensils now. If the exhibition fails, I’ll never be able to show my face in the art world again.” “Don’t worry.” Ethan lowered his head to kiss her hair, his tone firm and cruel. “All thirty paintings are ready. Every single one is top quality. They’ll definitely restore you to your peak.” “That ghostwriter Cherry… she won’t cause trouble, will she?” “Her?” Ethan’s lips curved with contempt. “Just an orphan who’s never seen the world. Give her a few scraps and she’d gladly give me her life. After the exhibition ends, I’ll find some random excuse to get rid of her.” Behind the pillar, I held up my phone, recording every moment of this scene completely. My heart had gone numb from the pain. So in his eyes, I wasn’t even human. Just a piece of trash to be thrown away after use. I put away my phone and turned to walk into the rain. Ethan, you want to use my blood to nourish your first love? Dream on. Over the next three days, I seemed like a different person. I no longer resisted painting. Instead, I locked myself in the studio like a madwoman, working day and night. Ethan was very satisfied with my condition. He thought his trip to the airport hadn’t been exposed, that I was still the fool he had firmly in the palm of his hand. To placate me, he even canceled several important engagements and came home on time every day to cook for me, playing the role of perfect boyfriend. “Cherry, eat first. There’s no rush with the painting.” Ethan set a plate of cut steak on the table and hugged me from behind, intimately nuzzling my cheek. I didn’t turn around. The brush in my hand flew rapidly across the canvas, adding the final brilliant touches of color. “It’s finished.” I set down the brush and turned around, looking at Ethan with calm eyes. Ethan’s gaze moved past me to the canvas. It was a brand new “Sunflowers,” even more vivid and stunning than the one that had been destroyed, as if one could feel the sunflowers’ life force burning under the scorching sun. “It’s perfect…” Ethan murmured, his eyes gleaming with fervent light. He must be thinking to himself. With this painting, Vivian’s exhibition would definitely cause a sensation! He excitedly embraced me and kissed me hard. “Cherry, you’re a genius! Don’t worry, after the exhibition ends, I’ll definitely make it up to you. What do you want? Designer bags? A sports car? Or… should we get married?” Get married? I laughed bitterly to myself. A marriage bought with my thirty paintings. The thought disgusted me. “I don’t want anything.” I pushed him away and walked to the sink, methodically washing my hands. “I’m tired. I want to rest for a few days. I’ll leave the exhibition matters to you.” “Of course. You rest well. I’ll handle everything else.” Ethan couldn’t wait to call a moving company and have all thirty packaged paintings from the studio transported away. Looking at the empty studio, my lips curved into an icy arc. Five days until Crete’s private jet arrived. Three days until Vivian’s exhibition. The show was just beginning.

Cherry POV The next day, Ethan used the gallery as an excuse and didn’t come home all day. I knew he was with Vivian. I methodically packed my luggage. Actually, there wasn’t much to pack. Everything in this villa was bought by Ethan. I didn’t want to take a single item. I only took my passport and the utility knife I’d always carried with me. At ten p.m., Ethan came home reeking of alcohol and faint perfume. “Cherry, still awake?” Ethan loosened his tie and walked to the sofa, habitually trying to rest his head on my lap. I subtly avoided him and stood up. “I’ll run you a bath.” Ethan froze, watching my cold retreating figure, probably feeling an inexplicable irritation rising in his chest. These past few days, I’d been too obedient. So well-behaved it was abnormal. No acting cute, no clinging to him, even the look in my eyes when I looked at him carried the stillness of dead water. He strode over and grabbed my wrist, pinning me against the bathroom doorframe. “Cherry, what exactly are you sulking about?” He looked down at me, his eyes sinister. “I’ve already taken the paintings. The exhibition is about to start. Are you planning to pull some stunt?” He was gripping me so hard my bones ached, but I didn’t struggle. I looked up, meeting his eyes directly, and suddenly smiled. “Ethan, do you have paranoia? What stunt could I possibly pull? I’m just tired.” “Tired?” Ethan sneered and roughly tore open my collar. “If you’re tired, let’s do something relaxing.” He lowered his head and kissed me brutally, with the intent to punish, roughly biting my lips. I didn’t resist, letting him manipulate me like a puppet. This dead-fish response completely enraged Ethan. He shoved me away violently, his eyes full of disgust. “Buzzkill.” With that, he turned and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door with a bang. I leaned against the wall, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth, my eyes cold as if frozen in ice. Ethan, this is the last time you’ll ever touch me. Vivian’s exhibition was set at New York’s largest private art museum. The night before the opening ceremony, Ethan came home unusually early. He was carrying an exquisite gift box containing a custom haute couture gown worth a fortune. “Cherry, wear this to the exhibition tomorrow.” He placed the gown on the bed, his tone carrying an unquestionable command. I didn’t even glance at the dress, asking flatly, “In what capacity? Your girlfriend, or… Vivian’s ghostwriter?” Ethan’s face darkened, his eyes instantly turning sharp. “What nonsense are you spouting?” He stepped forward, staring hard into my eyes, trying to find any flaw. “Who told you about the ghostwriting?” “Does anyone need to tell me?” I met his gaze fearlessly, my lips curving in a mocking smile. “Ethan, did you really think I was an idiot? I saw the planning document on your computer ages ago.” The air seemed to freeze in that moment. A flash of panic crossed Ethan’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by icy killing intent. He suddenly grabbed my throat and slammed me against the wall. “You snooped through my computer?!” His voice was distorted with rage. “Cherry, you’ve got some nerve!” The sensation of suffocation instantly overwhelmed me. My face flushed red, but I didn’t struggle. I just stared at him hard, my eyes full of contempt and mockery. “What? Exposed and now you’re lashing out in humiliation?” I squeezed the words painfully from my throat. “Ethan, you disgust me.”

Cherry POV “Shut up!” Ethan tightened his fingers, and watching me struggle in pain probably gave him some perverse satisfaction. “Since you already know, I don’t need to keep acting for you anymore.” He leaned close to my ear, his voice like a venomous snake. “That’s right. All those paintings are for Vivian. You’re nothing but a dog to me. Being able to make way for Vivian is your honor!” He suddenly released his grip. I fell to the floor like a broken doll, coughing violently. “Tomorrow, you’re not going anywhere. Stay home like a good girl.” Ethan looked down at me, his eyes cold to the extreme. “After the exhibition ends, I’ll give you some money. Get out of New York. If you dare say a single word outside, I guarantee you’ll disappear from this world.” With that, he turned and walked out of the bedroom, locking the door from the outside. Hearing the lock click into place, I lay on the floor and suddenly began to laugh quietly. The laughter grew louder and louder, finally turning into heart-wrenching, maniacal laughter. Ethan, you think one door can contain me? You really underestimate me. Late at night, the villa was completely silent. I pulled out a black backpack from under the bed, filled with tools I’d prepared long ago. I walked to the window and looked down at the drop below. Second floor. For someone like me who used to do parkour on the streets, this was nothing. I tore the bedsheet into strips, tied them into a rope, secured one end to the bed leg, and let the other end drop out the window. Just as I was about to climb out the window, footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door. Then the lock turned. Ethan pushed the door open, holding a glass of water. Seeing me standing on the windowsill, his pupils contracted sharply. The glass in his hand crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. “Cherry! What are you doing?!” he shouted and rushed forward. I looked at him coldly and jumped without hesitation. “No!” Ethan lunged to the window, only catching a corner of my clothing. I slid down the bedsheet halfway when it suddenly snapped. I fell heavily onto the lawn. Intense pain shot through my ankle. I grunted, cold sweat instantly beading on my forehead. “Cherry!” Ethan’s furious roar came from the second floor. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up from the ground despite the excruciating pain and limped toward the villa’s main gate. I couldn’t let them catch me! Absolutely not! Rain poured down, instantly drenching me. The pain in my ankle made every step feel like walking on knife points, but I didn’t dare stop. Behind me, I heard the villa’s main door being violently pushed open. Ethan, holding an umbrella and accompanied by several bodyguards, rushed into the rain. “Catch her! Don’t let her get away!” Ethan’s voice sounded especially vicious in the thunderstorm. I clenched my teeth and desperately ran toward the mountain road. I knew that if I could just reach the road and flag down a car, I’d be saved. But my ankle had swollen like a bun, and I was getting slower and slower. Just as the bodyguards were about to catch up, a black SUV suddenly burst around the corner, its blinding high beams forcing everyone to shield their eyes. The SUV screeched to a stop in front of me, and the door flew open. “Get in!” A deep, powerful male voice rang out. I didn’t have time to think. I scrambled into the car. The SUV roared like a wild beast and shot forward like an arrow, leaving Ethan and the bodyguards far behind. The car’s heater was on. I collapsed in the back seat, soaking wet, gasping for air. “Thank you…” I said weakly. The man in the driver’s seat handed me a clean towel, his voice cold and hard. “Dry yourself off.” I took the towel and, by the light of the streetlamps outside, got a clear look at the man’s profile. His features were chiseled, sharp as if carved by a blade. His eyes were keen as an eagle’s. He radiated the aura of someone battle-hardened. “Who are you? Why did you save me?” I asked warily. The man didn’t turn around, only saying flatly, “I was asked to do a job. Crete sent me to pick you up.” Hearing Crete’s name, my taut nerves finally relaxed. I leaned back against the seat, closed my eyes, and let exhaustion and pain wash over me. Ethan, we’ll settle our accounts slowly.

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