I can see the cheating rates hovering above everyone’s heads. When the rate hits 100%, it starts counting the number of times they’ve cheated. I’ve been married for three years, and my husband has always treated me like a queen. Everyone praises him, calling him the perfect husband. But only I know the truth. The number above his head says: 56. It started about six months ago. My gentle, caring husband’s cheating rate suddenly changed. Overnight, it jumped from 0% to 50%. At first, I didn’t think much of it. After all, men are men. They’re bound to scroll through a few TikToks of girls in skimpy outfits. A momentary thrill is inevitable. Even my best friend, Abby, has fluctuations in her cheating rate whenever she switches celebrity crushes. But soon, I realized something was off. The number didn’t go down. Instead, it climbed higher every day. In just three days, his cheating rate hit 68%. Now that was interesting. I started to get curious. Who was the little temptress stealing my husband’s attention?

Quinn and I had a whirlwind romance. He’s seven years older than me, with a stable job, a charming sense of humor, and undeniable good looks. But his family? Not so great. His dad is a farmer, his mom has a chronic illness that requires constant medication—she can’t afford the $2,000-a-month imported drugs, so she gets by on cheap generics from India. Then there’s his younger sister, who dropped out of vocational school and spends her days glued to video games at home. As for me, I come from a wealthy family. My dad is a CEO, and my mom is a high-powered lawyer. I’ve been privileged since the day I was born. When I first met Quinn, I thought he was just handsome. We exchanged numbers, and that was that. But then he started pursuing me relentlessly. Three months later, we were married. Before the wedding, my mom was completely against it. She kept saying we were from two different worlds. But I had my reasons. Out of all the men I had ever met, Quinn had the lowest cheating rate and the best looks. A catch like that? I wasn’t about to let him slip away. In the end, my persistence won, and my mom reluctantly gave her blessing.

After the wedding, Quinn turned out to be the perfect husband. He handed over his paycheck without question, took care of all the housework when he had time, comforted me when I was upset, and celebrated with me when I was happy. He was polite and respectful to my parents, never holding a grudge against my mom for opposing him initially. In fact, he was so genuine that she eventually warmed up to him and treated him like family. My mom even used her connections to get him a cushy job in a government office, setting him up for a bright future. She found his sister a low-stress job as a library assistant, despite her lack of qualifications. And thanks to my mom’s doctor friends, my mother-in-law now had access to the expensive medications she needed—for free. Her health began to improve day by day. So… was this why Quinn started seeking “excitement”? When men’s lives become too comfortable, do they start looking for a thrill? In just one short week, Quinn’s cheating rate soared past 90%. Based on my experience, it meant he was seriously considering cheating. All he needed now… was the right opportunity.

The next day, Friday, Quinn came home from work looking restless. He was trying hard to act normal, but I could tell something was eating at him—especially since the cheating rate above his head had climbed to 95%. Wow. That’s like dry wood waiting for a spark to set it ablaze. Even when I asked him what we should order for dinner, his responses were vague and distracted. During dinner, I decided to tell him a little story. “Hey, honey, something wild happened back in Abby’s hometown. It even made the news.” “Oh? What happened?” he asked absentmindedly, biting into a chicken wing. “Abby’s neighbor caught her husband cheating. She literally walked in on him and the other woman, you know, in bed. Guess what she did?” I made a scissor motion with my fingers. Quinn froze mid-bite. The number above his head dropped instantly to 60%. “She got so mad, she chopped off his… you know. Blood everywhere—soaked the whole bed! Then she flushed it down the toilet.” 30%. I smiled sweetly at him. “Oh, and when the man called the cops, guess what the police did?” Quinn rubbed his nose awkwardly, avoiding my eyes. “Uh… what?” “They detained her for ten days and fined her 200.Canyoubelievethat?Aman’s…uh,∗pride∗isonlyworth200. Can you believe that? A man’s… uh, *pride* is only worth 200.Canyoubelievethat?Aman’s…uh,∗pride∗isonlyworth200!” 10%. He looked genuinely shaken. He forced a laugh and mumbled, “Well, uh… I guess she has a bit of a temper. If she couldn’t stand him anymore, she should’ve just divorced him instead of, uh, using a knife.” I shook my head and replied, “Honestly, I think she was being pretty polite. When I visited Abby once, we played cards together, and she told me, ‘In my world, there’s no such thing as divorce. Only widows.’” Quinn’s hand trembled slightly. “Uh, what did you say to that?” I smiled wider and leaned in. “I told her, ‘Same here.’” I stared straight into Quinn’s eyes, and for a moment, he looked away. But then he quickly recovered and grabbed my hand, putting on his best devoted husband act. “Baby, you don’t have to worry. I’ll only ever love you in this lifetime.” 3%. Quinn barely touched his food after that. He shoveled down a few bites before hurrying off to take a shower. The reason I told him that story was twofold: to warn him and to give him one last chance. If he understood where I stood on cheating and still chose to chase after a cheap thrill, well… then he’d only have himself to blame.

Quinn’s showers usually take about 10 minutes. That night, it stretched to almost an hour. And considering our water heater only provides hot water for 30 minutes, that was… interesting. I rummaged through the house briefly and, sure enough, his phone was missing. He had taken it into the bathroom with him. I pressed my ear to the door. Amid the sound of running water, I could faintly hear his voice. He was speaking softly, stopping and starting, as though trying to comfort someone. When he finally came out, towel-drying his hair, he put on an exaggerated grin and said, “Man, that shower was so refreshing!” But what caught my eye was the number above his head—it had jumped back up to 80%. Not long after, his phone rang. After taking the call on the balcony, he came back inside with a heavy sigh. “Babe, my company just called. They need me to deliver some documents tonight, so I won’t be able to come home.” “Why would delivering documents take all night?” I asked, keeping my tone casual. “The boss is at a conference in the next city over. There’s an important presentation tomorrow, and they need these files first thing in the morning. If you’re not comfortable with it, I can ask someone else to go instead.” I stared at him, barely able to suppress my laughter. Wow. An Oscar-worthy performance. When I didn’t respond right away, his face fell, and he added, “If you don’t want me to go, I won’t. I’d rather stay with you.” The number above his head dropped to 50%. “If it’s for work, you should go,” I said lightly. “Just come back as soon as you can.” He tried to hide his excitement, but I could see it in his eyes. He mumbled an apology, kissed me a few times, and left reluctantly, closing the door behind him. I watched him walk away. The number above his head had climbed back to 100%. So he didn’t take my story seriously at all. Fine. If that’s the case, he can’t blame me for what comes next.

The next day, Quinn didn’t come home until almost afternoon, looking disheveled and tired. To “make it up to me,” he even brought back a famous crispy duck from the neighboring city. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion and sleepiness, but there was also a faint trace of satisfaction in his expression. Of course he was tired—how could he not be? Because now, the percentage above his head wasn’t there anymore. It had been replaced by 7. Oh, wow. Seven times in one night? Truly impressive. He eagerly peeled fruit for me, rambling on about how his boss praised him the night before and promising that, once he gets a raise, he’ll buy me the latest Louis Vuitton bag. Listening to his empty promises, I only felt disgusted. I had been so careful in choosing Quinn, thinking I’d found someone with the lowest cheating rate. But in the end, he still cheated. I knew one thing for certain—once a man gets a taste of infidelity, it becomes addictive. The first time would lead to a second, and then countless more. This man? He had to go.

I started thinking back to when Quinn’s cheating rate first began to change. Wait a second—wasn’t it the day he went to his high school reunion? At the time, he came back acting perfectly normal, so I hadn’t thought much of it. But now that I think about it, reunions are the breeding ground for rekindling old flames and starting affairs. A few drinks, and people start acting like dogs in heat, forgetting their families and their morals. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the number above Quinn’s head climbed to 15. I hired a private investigator to dig into the details. Just as I finished setting that up, the doorbell rang. Looking through the peephole, I saw Quinn’s parents and his younger sister, standing on my doorstep. Great. These three had bent over backward to impress me before the wedding, treating me like royalty. But after the marriage, their true colors came out, revealing their greed. First, when my mother-in-law’s health improved, she wanted to rebuild their old house in the countryside. She “borrowed” a huge sum of money from me—calling it a loan, but conveniently forgetting to mention any repayment. Then, Quinn’s sister, Wendy, asked me to introduce her to a wealthy guy. To be fair, Wendy is decently attractive. If she had behaved herself, she might’ve actually landed someone rich. I introduced her to a family friend, a second-generation millionaire. But on their first date, she demanded that he buy her a designer bag and necklace, even hinting that they could get a hotel room that night. No rich guy is stupid enough to marry someone like that. When I found out, I was furious. She wasn’t just embarrassing herself—she was embarrassing me. But when I confronted her, my mother-in-law defended her, saying, “Men act all pure, but they’re only thinking about what’s in their pants. He wasn’t losing anything, so why be so uptight?” It was then that I fully understood how disgusting and shameless this family could be. And now, here they were, once again. I could only imagine what they wanted this time.

“Sweetie, Quinn is the only son in three generations of our family. I went to a spiritual healer and got this special holy water for you to drink—guaranteed to help you have a baby boy!” My mother-in-law barely sat down before pulling out a plastic bottle filled with some murky black liquid and shoving it into my hands. I rolled my eyes internally. From the day we got married, she had been nagging me about having kids. Even after I clearly told her that I was focused on my career and wouldn’t consider children until after 30, she just wouldn’t stop. I glanced toward the bedroom, where Wendy was casually trying on my lipstick at my vanity without even saying hello. In the corner of the couch, Quinn’s dad sat puffing on his pipe, absentmindedly letting ash fall all over the carpet. The whole family showing up at once? This was clearly about something big. Suppressing my annoyance, I forced myself to stay calm and asked, “What’s going on?” My mother-in-law hesitated for a moment before glancing at Wendy. “Well,” she began, “Wendy’s been dating this guy. He works in finance, and they’ve been together for a while now. Recently, he told her about a great investment opportunity. It’s guaranteed to make big money! And, well… since it’s such a great opportunity, we thought—why not let everyone in the family make some money together?” The moment I heard “finance guy,” “investment opportunity,” and “big money,” I knew exactly what was going on. Wendy had clearly fallen for some kind of pyramid scheme or scam. My mother-in-law kept rambling, hinting that they didn’t have enough money for the investment and wanted me to pitch in $30,000 to help them “make it big.”

��Wait a second, Wendy. Do you actually know this finance guy? Have you even met him in person?” Wendy sauntered over and replied, “Of course I know him! We’ve been dating for a whole month now. We haven’t met in person yet, but we’ve video-chatted plenty of times.” “He’s in Southeast Asia right now, but he said he’d buy me a plane ticket for next month so we can finally meet.” I frowned. “You haven’t even met him, and yet you’re willing to give him money? Have you ever considered the possibility that he might be scamming you?” Wendy got defensive immediately. “Sure, we haven’t met in person, but the villa and yacht he showed me can’t possibly be fake! I even saw his property deed. And anyway, I already invested 5,000afewdaysago,andit’salreadygrownto5,000 a few days ago, and it’s already grown to 5,000afewdaysago,andit’salreadygrownto8,000.” “This is such a great opportunity, I wouldn’t even tell most people about it!” I crossed my arms and said flatly, “This is textbook financial fraud. My advice? Call the police before you lose everything.” Hearing the word “fraud” made Wendy blow up. Her face turned bright red as she shouted, “If you don’t want to lend me the money, just say so! Why are you spreading lies about my boyfriend and calling him a scammer? You owe him an apology!” I gave her an exasperated look. There was no reasoning with someone this clueless. I turned to leave, but Wendy grabbed my arm, yanking me so hard I nearly stumbled. “You’re not going anywhere! Apologize to him right now!” “You just don’t want our family to do well, do you? You want us to always live beneath you!” “And don’t even get me started on that ‘rich guy’ you introduced me to. What a cheapskate! He wouldn’t even buy me a bag! Please, as if I’d want someone like him. I’m the one who’s out of his league!” My mother-in-law came over, pretending to mediate. “Oh, Wendy, calm down. Your sister-in-law didn’t mean it like that.” But then she turned to me and said with a sneer, “Still, she’s got a point. At least the hens in our backyard know how to lay eggs. You’ve been married to Quinn for three years and haven’t given us a single child. Are you even as useful as a chicken?” Quinn’s father banged his pipe against the coffee table twice, sending ash flying everywhere. At this, Wendy finally stopped shouting, but she continued glaring at me with an angry pout. Quinn’s father cleared his throat and said, “If we’re not welcome here, we’ll leave. But don’t go slandering my son-in-law, calling him a scammer. Wendy’s right about one thing—on a farm, a chicken that doesn’t lay eggs doesn’t last a year. It’s been three years, Celia. You owe the Quinn family an explanation. Are you having kids or not? Give us a straight answer.” My mother-in-law chimed in, “Exactly! Three years! Don’t tell me it’s because you’re the one with the problem?”

I almost laughed out loud. You know those videos of scam victims yelling at anti-fraud officers, accusing them of ruining their chances to “get rich”? I used to think, How can people be so clueless? But today? I got to witness it in person. I had half a mind to warn them again, but their attitudes changed my mind. Why bother? In fact, I decided to play along and set them up instead. I put on a thoughtful expression and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted your boyfriend. If this opportunity is as good as you say, then it must be legitimate. You should definitely invest more before it’s too late.” Wendy’s lips curled into a smug smile. “But,” I continued, “we really don’t have the money right now. If you’re short on cash, why not consider taking out a loan? If the project is guaranteed to double your money, the interest on a loan is nothing to worry about.” “Actually, if it’s a sure thing, why not borrow as much as you can? The more you invest, the more you’ll make!” “I know a great loan app you can use. You could borrow, say, 100,000.Whenitdoubles,you’llhave100,000. When it doubles, you’ll have 100,000.Whenitdoubles,you’llhave200,000 in no time!” Her smug grin faltered when I mentioned the loan. But when I brought up the idea of borrowing $100,000, I saw a flicker of excitement in her eyes. “Oh, and about having kids,” I added, “we were actually planning to start trying this year. We wanted to surprise you, but I guess you beat us to it by bringing it up first.” Hearing this, my mother-in-law clapped her hands in delight, her face lighting up with joy. After I finally sent this ridiculous family on their way, a cold smile crept across my face. I couldn’t wait to see the day they were drowning in debt, desperately running from loan collectors.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “295906”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #校园School #重生Reborn #励志Inspiring #魔幻Magic #惊悚Thriller #玄幻Fantsy #擦边Steamy

I’m a college student who tutors kids on weekends to make a little extra money. My latest employer? A wealthy single dad—charming, polished, and devastatingly handsome. But I never expected that after drinking a cup of coffee his daughter handed me, I’d lose all strength, helplessly watching as he walked toward me step by step. He carried me into his bedroom. No matter how much I begged, he ignored me. In the end, he shattered my innocence completely. My name is Leah White, and I’m a student at Crestwood University studying to become a teacher. On weekends, I tutor kids to make ends meet. One day, someone introduced me to a new tutoring gig. The student’s name was Shannon, and her father wanted me to give her intensive lessons over two full days during the weekend. The Landons are filthy rich, and the pay they were offering was unbelievable. I called the number on the card and spoke to Shannon’s father, Ryan Landon. Ryan was quick to seal the deal—he wired me a hefty deposit right away. When I saw all those zeros in my account, my hands literally shook. This man was generous! Early Saturday morning, a car arrived to pick me up and drove me to the outskirts of town. The Landon mansion was massive, complete with a sprawling yard. It looked like something straight out of a movie about the rich and powerful. The kind of wealth I couldn’t even begin to imagine. Waiting for me at the door was a strikingly handsome middle-aged man. He was tall, with sharp features and a polished demeanor that made him look like he belonged in an expensive magazine ad. “Welcome, Ms. White. I’m Ryan Landon, Shannon’s father,” he said warmly, extending a hand to me. He greeted me with a polite smile, clearly pleased that I’d arrived. As I stepped into the grand, luxurious living room, Shannon came down the spiral staircase. She looked frail and pale, like someone who didn’t get much exercise. I followed her upstairs to her room, and we began the lesson. The room was warm—too warm. Within minutes, I was sweating. I took off my sweater, leaving just a fitted T-shirt underneath. That’s when I heard it—the sound of someone swallowing hard. I glanced up and froze. Ryan was standing behind me, his eyes burning into me. His hand rested casually on the back of my chair. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, watching me. I felt uncomfortable, but what could I say? “Don’t mind me, Ms. White. Please continue,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as if nothing was amiss. “You’re an excellent teacher—I’d love to sit in and listen.” He made no move to leave. He was the one paying me, so I had no choice but to force a smile and keep teaching. Shannon was focused on her notes, but I could feel it—Ryan’s eyes, hot and heavy, watching me. Every time I turned around, his gaze seemed to follow my every curve. Finally, I “accidentally” glanced back. Sure enough, his eyes were fixed on the neckline of my T-shirt. “Mr. Landon,” I said firmly, “don’t you have something else to do?” But he just smiled, unbothered. “Well, Ms. White, I am paying you a lot of money. I just want to make sure I’m getting my money’s worth.” The light reflecting off his glasses couldn’t hide the way his eyes roamed over me. I stiffened and grabbed my sweater, pulling it back on despite the heat. “Aren’t you hot, Ms. White? You’re sweating so much—it’s soaking through your shirt,” he said. Then, to my horror, he reached out and touched my cheek. I jerked my head away, glaring. “Mr. Landon, you’re distracting us from our work. Please leave.” He chuckled, brushing his hand against his lips. “You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?” he said, amused. “Alright, I’ll leave.” Finally, he walked out, but he didn’t close the door. It stayed slightly ajar, as if he planned to come back. After he left, I leaned toward Shannon and asked quietly, “Shannon, when is your mom coming home?” We’d agreed I’d spend the weekend at their house to tutor her, and I hadn’t been worried about it before. But now, I was on edge. Shannon’s eyes filled with tears. “My mom passed away,” she said softly. My heart sank. “I’m so sorry, Shannon. I didn’t know,” I said gently. I tried to compose myself and refocus on the lesson, but something felt off. That’s when I heard it—a faint clicking sound. Looking around the room, my eyes landed on a camera mounted on top of Shannon’s wardrobe. The lens followed my movements, its tiny red light blinking as it recorded everything. “Shannon, keep working on your problems,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. I walked to the door and yanked it open. Ryan was still there, leaning casually against the wall. “Mr. Landon, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.

Ryan turned off his phone screen and straightened up, his face flushed with excitement. “I didn’t do anything,” he said with a smirk. I glared at him, my voice cold. “I saw everything. You’ve been spying on me through the camera in Shannon’s room!” My eyesight is sharp, and I had caught a quick glance at his phone earlier. He wasn’t just watching me—he was zooming in on specific parts of my body! “What’s wrong with checking security footage?” he said, feigning innocence. “Ms. White, why are you so defensive? Unless… you’ve stolen something?” I may come from a poor background, but I still have my dignity. This was a line I refused to cross. I had no interest in “playing along” with his twisted games. “Mr. Landon, I haven’t stolen anything, but I can’t continue teaching Shannon. You’ll need to find someone else,” I said firmly. Ryan’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Ms. White, accusations require proof. Perhaps I should search you, just to make sure you’re not hiding anything under your clothes.” Before I could respond, he stepped closer, trapping me between his arms. “If you touch me, I’ll scream,” I warned, my voice shaking with rage. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “If I’m unhappy with your ‘service,’ Ms. White, I can make sure no one in this town ever hires you to tutor again.” I stared at him, stunned by his audacity. He was actually threatening me, using his wealth and connections to control me. “You know exactly why I don’t want to stay,” I said through clenched teeth. “Your threats won’t work on me. I’ll return every cent you paid me, down to the last dollar.” Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and headed back to Shannon’s room to pack my things. Shannon watched me with wide, teary eyes, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. “Shannon,” I said softly, “if you ever need help with your homework, you can send me a message, and I’ll explain the problems to you.” With my bag in hand, I walked downstairs, determined to leave. But when I reached the front door, my heart sank. The car that had brought me here—and the driver—were gone. I stood frozen, staring out into the darkness. The mansion was isolated, surrounded by nothing but dense forest. There wasn’t a single house or shop in sight. I pulled out my phone and opened the map app, but it couldn’t even locate where I was. The entire screen showed nothing but blank space. Ryan followed me to the door, looking completely unbothered. “Ms. White, this house is in the middle of the mountains. You won’t make it far on your own.” Cold sweat dripped down my back. My hands were clammy as I clenched my phone tightly. “Mr. Landon,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “please ask the driver to take me back. I’ll pay for the gas if that’s the issue!” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Money isn’t a problem for me, Ms. White. But I think it’s best if you stay and stick to the plan.” Before I could respond, Shannon came running down the stairs, clutching her workbook. “Ms. White,” she said nervously, “there are bears in these woods. It’s too dangerous for a girl to walk out there alone. You should stay the night. The driver will definitely be here tomorrow to take you home.” I clenched my teeth, furious. But what choice did I have? Ryan had planned this entire situation perfectly. I sighed and nodded, deciding it was best to stay close to Shannon. As long as I stayed by her side, Ryan wouldn’t dare try anything. I followed her back inside. As she closed the door, she shot her father a pleading look. Ryan didn’t say anything, but his behavior became noticeably more restrained afterward. For the next few hours, he didn’t show up, and the camera in Shannon’s room stayed off. Before I knew it, it was nighttime. Shannon yawned a few times, rubbing her eyes. “Ms. White, can we stop here for today? Let’s continue tomorrow,” she said, her voice soft with drowsiness. I was exhausted too. My throat was dry, and my head felt heavy. Reluctantly, I agreed. The Landon mansion had two floors, but strangely, there were no maids or staff in sight. “Where will I be sleeping tonight?” I asked. Shannon gave me a small smile. “The guest room is ready for you, Ms. White. The sheets are brand new.” I hesitated. “Shannon, I’m afraid of the dark. Can I share your room tonight?” Her face fell, and she looked at her single bed nervously. “My bed is really small, Ms. White. I don’t think we’ll both fit.” “I’m also not used to having someone else in my room. I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” she added apologetically. I sighed. “Alright, I’ll manage in the guest room.” The guest room was on the first floor. As soon as I walked in, I grabbed a chair and wedged it under the doorknob. It wasn’t much, but it gave me a small sense of security. I didn’t dare sleep deeply. Instead, I leaned against the wall, drifting in and out of a light doze. At some point, I was startled awake by the sound of distant screams—high-pitched and desperate, like a woman crying out in agony. Mixed with the screams was the deep, guttural roar of a man shouting angrily. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. But the sounds continued, sending shivers down my spine.

The sound nearly made my heart jump out of my chest. The mansion was eerily quiet at night, surrounded by pitch-black darkness outside. Empty and silent, it felt suffocating. The cries kept coming in waves, faint but persistent. I couldn’t stop myself from worrying about Shannon. Finally, I decided to crack open the door just a little to peek outside. The sound was coming from the living room ahead. I tiptoed down the hallway, careful not to make a sound. When I reached the living room, I found it empty. But on the massive flat-screen TV, an explicit adult film was playing. My face instantly turned red as I realized what I was seeing. In the scene, a woman was being restrained by several men, struggling and crying out in anguish—the same screams I had heard earlier. I spun around to leave, but I slammed straight into a wall of muscle. Ryan was standing right behind me, blocking my way. Before I could step back, he grabbed me by the waist, his hands moving over me as his alcohol-laced breath filled the air. “Can’t sleep, Ms. White?” he asked, his voice low and predatory. I pushed against him, trying desperately to put some distance between us. “I heard strange noises and thought something might be wrong. I just came to check,” I said quickly, using Shannon as a shield. “If there’s nothing wrong, I’ll head back now. I need to be ready to teach Shannon in the morning.” But Ryan didn’t move. Instead, he smirked, clearly amused by my excuse. “Strange noises?” he said, leaning closer. “Ms. White, surely you know exactly what kind of noises those were.” I pretended not to understand, turning my head away to avoid his gaze. “Ms. White,” he said, his grip tightening around my waist, “don’t tell me you don’t have a boyfriend yet?” His voice dropped as he leaned even closer, his lips nearly brushing my neck. “You smell amazing.” “Mr. Landon, behave yourself!” I snapped. “Your daughter is asleep right upstairs!” “And so?” he replied nonchalantly, his tone dripping with arrogance. “Everything in this house—I paid for it. I worked hard to earn it all. On my property, I can do whatever I want.” “Don’t you care that Shannon might find out?” I shot back. “Find out what? That her mother’s gone, and her father gets lonely sometimes? She’s old enough to understand that much,” he said, his voice calm, as if he were discussing the weather. What kind of father talks like that? I was so angry my hands were shaking. Ryan’s eyes shamelessly lingered on my heaving chest, his gaze making my skin crawl. “Ms. White,” he said, his voice a mix of mockery and temptation, “name your price.” “What… are you talking about?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “You’re a smart girl. Surely you understand,” he said with a crooked smile. “Let’s make a deal: I pay, you stay. Simple as that. A mutually beneficial arrangement.” Anger boiled up inside me. Without thinking, I swung my hand, aiming to slap him across the face. But Ryan caught my wrist mid-air, gripping it tightly. His fingers moved over my skin, sending waves of disgust through me. “Ms. White,” he said with a sly grin, “drop the act. You didn’t come here in those tight, curve-hugging clothes for nothing, did you? You wanted my attention, and now you’ve got it.” I was so furious I couldn’t even speak. Just then, Shannon appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching a stuffed animal. “Dad? Ms. White? What are you doing?” she asked, her voice groggy from sleep. I froze, unsure of how much she had heard or seen. Ryan instinctively let go of my hand and turned to Shannon. “Oh, nothing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly warm and fatherly. “Ms. White just came down for a glass of water. Go back to bed, okay?” But I didn’t wait for his permission to leave. I ran back to the guest room and locked the door behind me. Before I closed it fully, I caught a glimpse of Shannon still standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at her father with an unreadable expression. Maybe she sensed something was off. Whatever the case, her unexpected appearance had bought me some time. For now, Ryan backed off. I didn’t dare go back to sleep. I turned on every light in the guest room and sat by the window, gripping a dumbbell I had found in the corner. If he tried sneaking in, I was ready to smash it over his head. But the night passed without any further incidents. It seemed Ryan had actually gone to bed. By the time dawn broke, I was utterly exhausted. At some point, I had dozed off at the desk, my head resting on my arms. A sudden knock at the door jolted me awake. I sat up with a start, my heart pounding. I quickly checked myself, relieved to find my clothes still intact.

“Ms. White, are you awake?” It was Shannon calling me for breakfast. I quickly freshened up and followed her to the dining room. Ryan was already there, sitting at the table, engrossed in the financial news. He looked every bit the picture of a polished, successful businessman. If I hadn’t experienced what happened yesterday, I would’ve been fooled by this calm, picture-perfect image of him. Today, however, he seemed different—almost like someone else. He barely acknowledged me, only glancing up briefly to greet me. “Good morning, Ms. White,” he said simply, then returned to sipping his coffee, his eyes glued to the news. Not a single lingering look, not a trace of his usual predatory presence. I sat next to Shannon, who seemed genuinely thrilled to have me there. She kept piling food onto my plate. “Ms. White, you have to try this custard bun! It’s so good.” “Ms. White, these rice rolls are my favorite. Do you like them?” I didn’t know why she was so warm and friendly toward me, but her enthusiasm was contagious. Before I realized it, I’d eaten far more than I usually would. After barely sleeping last night, I was exhausted. “Ms. White, you’ve got such dark circles under your eyes! Did you not sleep well in a new place? Let me make you some coffee. Our Blue Mountain beans are amazing,” she said, already heading toward the kitchen. Coffee sounded good. I’d never had proper, high-quality coffee before—mostly because I couldn’t afford it. Every penny I earned from tutoring went to support my mom. At school, I lived as frugally as possible. Spending 5or5 or 5or6 on a cup of coffee at a café always felt like a luxury I couldn’t justify. So, I didn’t decline. Shannon quickly returned with two cups, one for each of us. The coffee was rich and aromatic, and after just one sip, I felt a little sharper and more awake. After breakfast, Shannon pulled me upstairs to start the lesson. Ryan grabbed his car keys, looking like he was heading out. “Study hard with your teacher,” he said to Shannon before nodding at me and stepping outside. Was it possible he felt guilty after Shannon had caught him last night? Maybe his conscience had finally kicked in. Either way, as long as he stayed away, I didn’t care. Once this lesson was over, I swore I’d never set foot in this mansion again. With Ryan gone, I felt a wave of relief. I threw myself into teaching, finally able to focus. Shannon worked diligently on her essay while I recorded practice questions for her oral exercises. Time flew by—until something strange happened. My eyelids started to feel impossibly heavy. The words on the worksheet began to blur and swirl in front of my eyes. What was happening to me? I tried to shake it off, but the room spun around me. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shannon suddenly slump forward, her head hitting the desk with a loud thud. “Shannon! Shannon, wake up! Are you okay?” I tried to call out to her, but my voice came out weak, barely above a whisper. She didn’t respond. A wave of panic surged through me, but my body felt like it was weighed down by lead. I couldn’t move. I summoned every ounce of strength I had to stand, but my legs buckled, and I collapsed onto the floor. Help… someone help us… The door creaked open. Ryan’s familiar face appeared in the doorway. He had come back. When he saw the scene in front of him, a slow, sinister smile spread across his face. I was doomed. Ryan stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He bent down and scooped me up effortlessly. “Ms. White, why are you resting on the floor? Wouldn’t the bed be so much more comfortable?” I wanted to fight him off, to scream, to curse him—but my body wouldn’t obey me. I could only watch helplessly as he carried me into an unfamiliar room. The walls were covered with photos. Photos of Ryan with a woman who bore an eerie resemblance to me. A chill ran down my spine. Before I could process what I was seeing, Ryan laid me down on the bed and pinned me in place, his weight pressing down on me. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my neck. “Ms. White,” he whispered, his voice dripping with mockery, “you’re such a bright student. Surely you’ve heard the phrase ‘all roads lead to the same destination’? You struggled so much yesterday, but look where you are now—right here in my bed.”

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Recently, I’ve had this unsettling feeling—like I’m not alone in the house. I’m a professional haunted house tester, and this is my final five days in what is known as the “most haunted mansion in the country.” But today, when I woke up, my live stream’s comment section exploded. 0″Two grand a night—stay for 30 days. Do you dare?” When my dad needed an expensive medical procedure, and all I could think about was how to make quick cash, I took the offer without hesitation. Dare? Of course, I dare. Who wouldn’t take that kind of money? To make the most of it, I started live streaming my stay. On the first day, viewers tipped me like crazy, even asking me to check every room in the mansion. There was nothing unusual. The place was dusty, the faucets were slightly rusted, and it was clear no one had lived here for a long time. “Boring. This is supposed to be the most haunted house? Nothing creepy at all.” “Yeah, are you sure you checked every room?” The comments kept coming, and I felt a little guilty. I smiled awkwardly and said, “Guys, I swear I’ve checked everywhere. Nothing strange to report.” “Maybe the ‘haunted’ thing is just a gimmick.” I lied to them. There was one room I hadn’t checked—the one right next to mine. It wasn’t because I was scared of what might be inside. The door wouldn’t open. I knew my audience too well: the more a door refuses to open, the more they’ll insist I break it down. But I couldn’t risk damaging the property. The decor alone screamed “expensive,” and breaking the lock would probably cost me my entire paycheck—maybe even more. Forget saving up for my dad’s treatment, I’d be broke. So, I brushed it off. My audience bought the excuse and focused on trying to spot something paranormal at night. They failed. Meanwhile, I ate well, slept soundly, and carried on without a care. More than half the month flew by, and my live stream’s audience dwindled to just four or five regular viewers. At least one familiar username was still there, so I wasn’t completely alone. With only five days left, I didn’t expect anything exciting to happen. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Recently, I’ve had this strange sensation—like there’s someone else in the house. For example, I spend most of my time in one bedroom, but I keep hearing faint shuffling sounds outside. Or how the TV remote on the couch always goes missing, and the ashtray on the coffee table seems slightly out of place every time I look at it. Then, there was the time I left my dishes on the dining table after lunch. By evening, when I went to make dinner, I reached for the plates to clean them. But I froze. I’m left-handed, so I always place my chopsticks on the left side of the plate. Why were they now on the right? I swallowed hard, my nerves on edge, but I forced myself to act normal and quietly cleaned up. From that moment on, I started paying closer attention. I made sure to leave my chopsticks on the left every single time. I didn’t mention any of this during the live stream. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. Then it happened again. The chopsticks were on the right. This time, my chest tightened, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Am I really the only one in this house? By Day 26, I was counting down the hours, praying for the time to pass so I could collect my money and leave. But what I didn’t expect—what I couldn’t have imagined—was waking up to find my live stream trending, ranked #2 in popularity. The comment section was flooded, with messages flying so fast I could barely read them. When I finally managed to make out a single comment, my blood ran cold: “Run, get out now!” 0

I froze. Run? A chill crept up from the soles of my feet. “What do you mean, run? What’s going on?” Panic crept into my voice as I stared at the screen. My reflection in the lens looked twisted and tense, but I didn’t care. My hands flew across the screen, scrolling through the flood of comments, trying to pick out any useful information. Finally, a few comments from twenty minutes ago caught my eye: “Miss, the wardrobe door opened! Wake up!” “Holy crap, why is there a doll in there?!” The wardrobe? I whipped my head around to look at it. It stood there silently, completely closed. Not a single sign that it had been opened. I forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “You must’ve been imagining things.” “Get out of there now!” “Why are you just standing there? RUN!” The comments became more frantic, angry even, as if they couldn’t believe I wasn’t reacting. Someone even sent me a big tip, writing: “Run, and I’ll send you more!” My feet felt like they were encased in cement. I couldn’t move. Was it because I didn’t want to leave? No. If I left now, I’d break the contract. How would I pay for my dad’s treatment then? No. I couldn’t leave. That’s when I noticed my phone battery was almost dead. I quickly grabbed my charger. “Sorry, everyone, my phone’s dying—wait, what the hell? The power just went out!” The comment section exploded into chaos. But I just frowned at the charger in my hand, hesitated for a moment, and shook my head. I couldn’t leave. What do I do now? No electricity, no way to charge my phone. My battery was at 1%. Just as the screen went dark, I saw one last comment that sent a jolt down my spine: “Miss, behind you!” As soon as the phone shut off, I heard it—a faint creak behind me. My body froze. Slowly, I turned my head. The wardrobe door was open. Inside, there was a doll. It wore a brightly colored dress, its glassy black eyes staring out into the room. I don’t know how long I stood there, paralyzed. Then, out of nowhere, I laughed. What am I freaking out about? What’s the big deal? It’s just a doll. It’s not like it’s alive. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince myself or someone else. I walked over to the wardrobe, grabbed the doors, and slammed them shut. But just as I did, I felt a shiver run down my spine. For a split second, as the doors closed, I could’ve sworn the doll’s glass eyes were watching me. The power outage was making everything worse. I glanced at the landline phone by the bed. The man who hired me had specifically warned me: “Don’t use the landline unless it’s absolutely necessary.” I hesitated, my hand hovering over the receiver. Then I picked it up and dialed the service line for the gated community. Beep. The line didn’t connect. All I got was a loud, piercing tone. But beneath it, I thought I heard something—something faint, like nails scratching against a wall. A wave of cold washed over me, and a splitting headache flared up behind my eyes. I instinctively touched my left ear, then slowly put the receiver back down. No one was coming to help. I couldn’t leave the property, but I had to figure something out myself. Pushing myself up, I started searching for the electrical box. I made my way down the staircase to the first floor. But when I reached the box, I found nothing wrong. The breakers were fine—the outage wasn’t caused by anything here. I was about to close the panel when something caught my eye. Taped to the top of the box was a small piece of paper. Without thinking, I pulled it down and unfolded it. My hands froze. On the paper, written in elegant handwriting, were the words: “The power’s out, isn’t it? Go upstairs and find the doll!” 0

I froze, gripping the note tightly in my sweaty palm. A prank. This had to be some kind of prank! I rushed back upstairs to the second floor and flung open the wardrobe. Fear was the last thing on my mind—I was furious. Without thinking, I grabbed the doll in its flower-patterned dress. Its glassy black eyes seemed to flicker for a moment. Something fell out from underneath its dress—a journal. I tossed the doll back into the wardrobe and unfolded the journal. The handwriting inside was the same elegant script as the note I’d just found. The first entry was dated May 18 of last year. “I’m so excited. But I’ve already spent an entire day in this so-called haunted house, and nothing has happened.” The next entry came on May 19. “Slept like a baby. I wonder if anything interesting will happen today?” Page after page, the entries described uneventful days. From the tone of the writing, the journal’s author was growing increasingly frustrated, clearly starting to doubt the mansion’s reputation as “haunted.” Was she also hired to test this house, just like me? If someone else had already tested the house last year, why did they hire me to do it again? That man who hired me… he never mentioned this. My stomach churned as a chilling thought crossed my mind. Did something happen to her during the trial? Did she fail to complete her stay? I flipped to the entry dated June 3. My hands began to tremble. “I keep feeling like someone’s been moving my things. Am I imagining it?” June 5: “I keep hearing noises outside my room, but when I check, there’s nothing there. I must be going crazy from being cooped up here for so long.” No. It wasn’t her imagination. I’ve been hearing those noises too. I frantically flipped through the pages, desperate to find something useful. “I heard the wardrobe open. But when I looked inside, there was nothing. How did it open by itself?” “I’m starting to feel scared. The power went out.” The blood drained from my face. My fingers trembled as I turned the page. The date of the entry? The 26th day of her stay. The same day as today. The same power outage. This wasn’t a coincidence. It was deliberate. My breath hitched as I read further. “The landline is useless. It doesn’t connect to anything. I tried to leave, but the front door is locked! That man lied to me!” Locked? That couldn’t be true. I bolted downstairs, cold sweat dripping down my face. I grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. It didn’t budge. The door was locked. Even if I’d wanted to leave today—regardless of the money—I couldn’t. A wave of cold washed over my back. My chest tightened as I gulped hard and shakily returned to the journal, determined to keep reading. “This is insane! They told me the power would be out for five days! I’ve been tricked!” “I’m terrified. That room next to me—the one that’s supposed to be locked—how is it possible that there’s someone in there? I can hear scratching noises coming from the walls!” The journal ended there. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I gripped the journal tightly. Why did it stop? Did she leave the mansion? Or did something happen to her before she could write more? A crushing sense of dread settled over me. No. This can’t be the end of the journal. There has to be more! Just as I was about to turn the next page, the landline phone on the second floor started ringing. 0

I didn’t have time to keep flipping through the journal. Gripping it tightly, I sprinted back to the landline, breathless, and picked up the receiver. A cold, monotonous mechanical voice greeted me. “Hello, due to current electrical issues, your call may experience interruptions. Please state your request.” I didn’t care anymore. I blurted out, “Call the police! I need to get out of here!” “Sorry, I did not understand your request. Please repeat.” “I said, call the police!” My vision blurred as frustration and fear took over. My whole body was tense, my muscles aching from the strain. “Sorry, I did not understand your request. Please repeat.” I collapsed onto the floor, defeated. The journal slipped from my hand and landed beside me. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut: no matter what I said, there would be no help on the other end of the line. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. “How many days will the power be out?” My throat was dry, and I licked my cracked lips. Maybe—just maybe—the journal was wrong. Maybe what it said wasn’t true. “Due to line maintenance in your area, the power will be out for 5 days. Please remain patient.” Beep. The line went dead, like someone had cut it off with precision. Five days. It was true. My last shred of hope was crushed. It was all too perfectly calculated. The moment my question was answered, the phone became useless. I had no choice. I had to save myself. Whatever was causing this—human or not—I couldn’t just sit here and wait for things to happen. A breeze blew in through the window, rustling the pages of the journal. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed new writing had appeared. Shaking, I grabbed the journal again. Skipping over the blank pages, I flipped forward. “At least I have my doll to keep me company.” “She’s the only one I have left.” That flower-dressed doll… it belonged to her? No wonder she wrote about the wardrobe opening and finding it empty. But when I got here, the doll was inside. I kept reading. “Stop flipping through this. The clock is almost at midnight.” I froze. My head snapped up, and I glanced toward the clock in the living room. From this angle, I could see it clearly. It was exactly midnight. From behind the wardrobe, I heard it—the sound of nails scratching against the wall. Sharp, deliberate, and relentless, like someone was clawing at the wall, trying to dig their way through from the locked room next door. Sweat poured down my back, and a thin layer of moisture coated my trembling fingers. Steeling myself, I turned the page. “Since you’ve read this far, let me teach you a few ways to stay alive. Follow these rules exactly!” What? I blinked in disbelief. My heart raced as I continued reading, unable to stop even though every word sent chills down my spine. “On Day 5 of the countdown, you’ll face extreme danger. During the day, you’re free to move around anywhere except the locked room. However, at night, you must lock your door and never, under any circumstances, leave your room.” “You can sleep during the day, but avoid closing your eyes at night. If you absolutely can’t stay awake, hold the doll while you sleep. If the doll goes missing, immediately open your eyes and find it.” “Do not read past this entry until tomorrow.” I let out a shaky laugh. Seriously? This was all I had to do? I already didn’t dare leave my room at night. But the final line felt like a warning. My hand hesitated over the journal. With everything so uncertain, I decided to follow the instructions and closed it. Even though it was still daytime, I didn’t dare leave my room except to grab a quick bite to eat. Afterward, I stayed put. As the hours dragged on and the sky darkened, I made sure to use the bathroom, then locked my door securely. I lay on the bed, clutching my dead phone like it was some kind of lifeline, a tiny source of false comfort. To my left was the flower-dressed doll. Then it began. The scratching sounds returned, relentless and sharp, piercing my ears until they ached. What terrified me the most was the realization of what it meant: Something—someone—was pressed up against the wall, furiously clawing at it with their nails, trying to break through. How long had this been going on? Long enough that the sound was starting to feel normal. That’s when I heard it. A knock at the door.

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My best friend called me drunk, asking me to pick him up. But when I arrived at the private room, I saw him getting intimate with my girlfriend. My friend looked up and asked her, “Do you really like him?” She shook her head with a smile, “Of course not. You’re the one I’ve always had feelings for.” I turned away silently and sent my girlfriend a breakup text. Afterwards, I actively distanced myself from them. But they kept coming to beg for my forgiveness one after another. Hearing the chaotic music through the phone, I worried about my friend’s safety. I quickly got dressed and took a cab to the bar he was at. When I reached the private room, the door was slightly ajar. I was about to walk in when I suddenly saw a woman sitting on the couch whose side profile looked just like my girlfriend. Next to her was a man who looked exactly like Jack. The lighting was dim so I couldn’t see clearly. I quickly moved to the side and peeked through the crack to observe the situation inside. The scene made my blood boil. The woman was all over the man, kissing him passionately. It was an incredibly intense scene. At that moment, I could see clearly that the two people inside were indeed my girlfriend Celine and my supposed best friend Jack. My heart skipped a beat as I stared in disbelief. I remembered how they always seemed to dislike each other, but now they were secretly hooking up behind my back. And Jack had deliberately called me – did he want me to see this? I instinctively took half a step back, then called Celine’s phone. Hearing the ringtone, Celine quickly took out her phone but frowned. Jack took the opportunity to pull Celine closer, leaning into her as he asked with a smile, “Are you going to answer his call?” Celine stopped Jack and answered the phone casually, “Hello?” I suppressed my turbulent emotions, trying to stay calm as I asked, “Where are you, Celine?” Celine leaned against Jack and said in a serious tone, “I’m at a work dinner. I’ll probably be home late.” Watching this scene unfold, my heart ached and I felt a lump in my throat. After composing myself, I said, “Alright, be careful and don’t drink too much.” Celine nodded and quickly hung up, then eagerly went back to being intimate with Jack. The pain in my heart felt like being stabbed by a knife. I clenched my fists unconsciously as anger built up in my mind. Just as I was debating whether to burst in and confront the cheating couple, Jack’s voice rang out, “Do you really like that Alex guy?” Hearing this, I suddenly became curious to see how Celine would respond. But her answer was like a bucket of cold water poured over me. She looked away, her tone full of disdain: “Of course not. I only got close to him to get to you.” So that was it. Celine had only gotten close to me because of my best friend Jack. Suddenly, my heart shattered and my mind went blank. Tears started streaming down my face involuntarily. I opened my phone to Celine’s chat, where I could still see the loving message she had sent. “I love you so much…Alex.” Looking back now, it was all just a big joke.

Jack and I go way back. We’ve known each other since we were little kids. With his sunny image and witty personality, he was always very popular. Lots of girls pursued him. I benefited from this too. Many girls would try to get close to Jack through me, buying me snacks and treating me to meals. But Jack had always been picky, so no girl ever succeeded with him. Later we got into the same university, where we met Celine, a popular student leader. She was a big deal on campus – rich, pretty, and nice. Lots of guys liked her, including me. But I could only admire her from afar. Until one New Year’s Eve party, when the male host had an emergency. Celine found out I had relevant experience and invited me to co-host. Afterwards, we got to know each other and became friends. Jack felt left out and complained to me a few times. He started to dislike Celine and would try to trip her up in various ways. Although Celine was usually easygoing, she was quite unfriendly with Jack. They would argue heatedly in front of me multiple times. Time flew by and in our junior year, I finally worked up the courage to confess to Celine. I thought I’d be rejected, but to my surprise, Celine agreed. So we started dating. But Jack wasn’t happy about it. After all, he and Celine were like bickering enemies, so he really didn’t want to see this outcome. I had to convince him for a long time before he reluctantly accepted it. But afterwards they still disliked each other as always. Celine even advised me several times to distance myself from Jack, saying I should cut ties with him if necessary. This awkward situation continued until now. I never imagined they would end up hooking up together. So everything before had just been an act. If the Oscars gave out awards, they would both deserve one for Best Actor.

My heart turned cold. In the end, I chose to go home. Celine didn’t reply to my message. My nose stung as I cried again. I cried until midnight before falling into a restless sleep. I was woken up by the faint sound of keys in the door. Suddenly someone turned on the lights, which were a bit blinding. It was Celine. She had come home, looking tired. Seeing me lying on the couch with sleepy eyes, she frowned, “Why are you sleeping here?” Looking at this woman in front of me, I suddenly felt like she was a stranger. Because in our relationship, Celine had always been passive. She never actively hugged or kissed me. It was always me initiating, and she would comply. All along, I thought it was just her personality. But now I realized, she simply didn’t love me. Under my direct gaze, Celine looked uncomfortable. “I saw the text you sent. What are you making a fuss about now? I told you I was just busy with work, can’t you be more understanding?” Seeing her fake act, I found it laughable. She had always been fake, I had just been deliberately deceiving myself, subconsciously believing she loved me. I sat up straight and looked Celine in the eye, “Alright then, let’s get married.” Hearing my words, Celine was stunned for a moment before quickly saying, “Didn’t we agree long ago to focus on our careers first? Can we talk about marriage later?” Actually, the reason Celine had stayed with me was simple – her family business was facing bankruptcy and needed my family’s investment to save it. Including Celine’s own startup afterwards, she relied on my family’s resources to become successful. Under these circumstances, she wouldn’t dare break up with me no matter what. But I wasn’t going to give her the chance anymore. I coldly said, “In that case, let’s break up.” Celine hadn’t reacted yet, thinking I was joking with her. “Alex, we’re adults now. Can we talk seriously?” She quickly came over to hold my arm, but remembering how intimate she had been with Jack, I felt disgusted and nauseous. I didn’t hold back, decisively shaking off her hand and walking into the bedroom.

When I woke up the next morning, Celine was gone. She had left for work. I got up, washed up, and went to Celine’s company. The receptionist greeted me right away: “Are you here to see Ms. Liu? She’s in a meeting now, I need to check with her assistant first.” Hearing “assistant”, I paused, suddenly realizing something. “What did you say? Which assistant?” Seeing my sudden seriousness, the receptionist was startled. “J-Jack.” So it was him. I guess I hadn’t paid attention to company matters for too long and didn’t know when he had joined as Celine’s assistant. Seeing me lost in thought, the receptionist tentatively asked, “Mr. Lin, should I let Jack know you’re here?” I shook my head, “No need, I’ll go up myself.” After I left, some new receptionists gossiped. “Is that really Mr. Lin? He doesn’t seem that well-matched with Ms. Liu. I wonder how she ended up with him.” “Shh! Watch what you say! Mr. Lin owns company shares!” “But Ms. Liu and Jack seem unusually close!” “Keep it down, he hasn’t gone far yet. It’d be bad if he heard!” I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the chatter as I took the elevator to Celine’s office. I sat on the couch, waiting for their meeting to end. About half an hour later, I heard footsteps and a man and woman talking outside. It was Celine and Jack’s voices. Celine said softly, “Jack, Alex has been acting strange lately. Why don’t you check on him after work?” Jack scoffed, “Didn’t you say you were going to break up with him? Why do you still care?” Celine was silent for a moment before saying, “Let’s wait a bit. The company can’t do without the Lin family right now. You have to believe me, I like you. Alex isn’t even my type.” Then I heard the sound of kissing. My whole body was shaking. Tears welled up in my eyes again, falling onto my phone. This feeling of being betrayed by two people at once was awful. After a while, I heard Jack’s voice: “Celine, will you marry me?” Unfortunately, Celine opened the door just as she was about to answer Jack, and her words got stuck in her throat when she saw me. I didn’t get to hear Celine’s answer. “Celine, why aren’t you saying anything?” Jack walked in like he owned the place, but stopped abruptly when he saw me. Celine’s brows furrowed as she stared at me intently, pretending to be calm as she asked, “Alex, why are you here?” I leaned back in the chair, saying nonchalantly, “I heard we’re looking for a spokesperson for the new product. I came to take a look.” Jack put both hands behind his back, lowering his head to avoid looking at me. I knew this was Jack’s habit when he was nervous. I held back my tears, trying to keep my tone normal as I looked at Jack and asked, “Jack, when did you start working at the company?” By now Jack had come up with a response. He walked over to me with a grin. “Didn’t I tell you I quit my job? I saw Celine’s company was hiring so I came to work here temporarily. I’ve been busy moving recently so I didn’t mention it to you.” I looked at Jack and Celine. They were still trying to fool me. I asked, “Is that so?” Celine quickly answered, “Yes, that’s right.” I nodded and said “Oh.” Looks like they still planned to keep me in the dark, playing me for a fool.

When I left the company, it had started raining outside. I went to the front desk to borrow an umbrella from Lily, but she mysteriously pulled me aside. Lily gripped her phone tightly, looking a bit nervous as she glanced around to make sure no one was nearby before asking, “Mr. Lin, do you know Jack’s Instagram account?” I should know Jack’s Instagram. But as far as I knew, he hadn’t updated it in a long time. Lily handed me her phone. I looked at the Instagram profile on the screen for an account called “JackKnows” with over 1 million followers, labeled as a couple’s account. I glanced at the most recent post from yesterday. [M is taking me to see the Northern Lights in Iceland!] There was also a 9-photo collage of pictures he took in Iceland. Looking at the date, I suddenly remembered that just a week ago, I had wanted to go on a trip with Celine but she said she had a business trip. Then when I went to find Jack, he said he had to go back home for something. Could it be that they had both lied to me and actually gone to Iceland together? I thanked Lily and told her not to spread this around. Back in my car, I searched for this account on my phone. Scrolling to the bottom, I saw posts from two years ago when we had just graduated college. [Graduation trip with M! I said I like the ocean so she brought me here.] The photos were of Jack’s travels, including many that I had taken for him. Graduation trips were popular when we finished college. At the time, both Celine and Jack had asked me to go on a trip with them separately. I had to convince them for a long time before they finally agreed for the three of us to travel together. To help them get along, I put in a lot of effort and carefully planned out an itinerary, looking forward to traveling with my girlfriend and best friend. But I never imagined that they had hooked up that day, keeping it from me for two whole years. [M rushed back from out of town in the middle of the night when she heard I was sick.] I looked at the date – it was around the time my mom passed away. The company was just starting up then, and Celine was traveling everywhere trying to secure project partnerships. When my mom died of cancer, Celine was on a business trip in Shanghai. I called her in despair, wanting her to come back and be with me. But she said she really couldn’t get away, and would fly back as soon as the deal was done to be with me. But even after the seventh day memorial service for my mom, I still hadn’t seen her return. Yet the day after my mom died, when Jack had appendicitis and was hospitalized, she couldn’t even wait for the next day’s flight and had her driver bring her back that same night. So it wasn’t that she couldn’t come back. I just wasn’t worth coming back for. Tears blurred my vision, making it hard to see the screen clearly. I closed my eyes and tears rolled down my cheeks onto my phone. My heart was in so much pain. It felt like countless ants were biting my heart. I wiped away my tears and continued scrolling through Jack’s Instagram. [One year anniversary! M took me to Disneyland, she’s my princess forever.] This date was last June 1st, when I had planned for a long time to go on a trip with Celine. But the day before we were supposed to leave, she told me she had to meet an important client and might have to delay our trip by a few days. So the important client she mentioned was Jack. She didn’t go on a trip with me, but went to accompany Jack instead. [M and I had a fight today. I was in a bad mood, but then she bought me 999 roses and a diamond ring. I guess I’ll forgive her.] The photo showed their intertwined hands, with shiny diamond rings clearly visible. I noticed a mole on the woman’s index finger. Celine has a mole just like that on her hand. I didn’t want to look anymore. I quickly closed my phone and leaned my head on the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn which blared loudly in the empty underground parking lot. The sound briefly snapped me out of my daze. But as soon as I thought about how Celine and Jack had betrayed me for two whole years, my heart ached unbearably again. I took a deep breath, started the car and drove out of the parking garage towards home. But just as I was getting close to home, a car suddenly swerved out of nowhere. I quickly turned the wheel to avoid it, but ended up crashing into a tree. 5 When I woke up, the hospital room was empty. My throat felt dry and uncomfortable. I instinctively reached out, trying to get some water. But my hand had no strength and I couldn’t grip the cup I had just grabbed. The cup fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. The door opened and a woman wearing a hat and mask walked in. Seeing I was awake, she came to my bedside and poured me a new glass of water. Before I could ask, she explained, “Sir, you were in a car accident and hit a tree. I brought you to the hospital.” I looked at her and asked, “Were you the car that suddenly swerved out?” She quickly waved her hands to deny it: “No, no. I’m just a good Samaritan. Your injuries aren’t serious. I’ll call the police now and you can sort out the rest yourselves.” Looks like I got lucky. At least nothing major happened. The woman saw I was okay and asked, “My name is Emma. Do you want to call your family?” Who could I call? I didn’t want to worry my dad, so I definitely couldn’t call him. Celine? Jack? They were the last people I wanted to see right now. I shook my head. Emma seemed like she wanted to say something but held back. She didn’t say anything else and left after the police arrived. The police said the driver who swerved out was drunk driving. Luckily I had avoided them in time. Although I hit a tree, my head was protected by the airbag so there were no major injuries. After taking my statement, the police left. My head felt groggy and I fell asleep soon after lying on the hospital bed. When I woke up again, it was already dark outside. I picked up my phone and saw that besides missed calls from my dad, no one else had contacted me. I called my dad back but didn’t tell him about the accident. I just said I was out with Celine and wouldn’t be visiting him for a few days. After hanging up, I stared at Celine’s chat window and impulsively decided to call her. The phone rang several times before she picked up, sounding impatient: “Hello.” I lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling as I asked, “I got in a car accident. Can you come to the hospital to see me? I want to eat the porridge you make.” There was silence on the other end for a while, like she was doing something. Then she said, “Okay, I’ll be there soon.” Hearing Celine agree, I felt nothing and just hung up expressionlessly. About 15 minutes later, Celine called back. I answered and heard her slightly guilty voice: “Alex, I’m so sorry. I have some urgent work to deal with right now. I’ll have my assistant bring you some porridge. I’ll come see you first thing tomorrow morning with more porridge, okay?” I didn’t argue or get upset. I just said “Okay” and hung up. Not surprising. Thinking back on our years together, she had never really cared about me. But I was still so passionate, believing I could be her exception. What a fool I was, dreaming the impossible dream. I covered my eyes as tears spilled out, soaking the pillow. At first I cried silently, but gradually I felt more and more wronged. I started sobbing out loud until I cried myself to exhaustion. Then I moved my hand and lay on my side, staring wordlessly out the window at the sky. My phone suddenly lit up. It was a notification from Instagram. I tapped on it and saw that Jack had posted an update. [Just now! M lost to me in a game, she said she’ll buy me a new skin every week for a month. Everyone witness this!] The photo showed them in Jack’s home, both wearing pajamas and curled up on the couch playing games, just like a normal couple. I stared at the photo, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. Celine couldn’t be bothered to care that I was in a car accident, but was happily playing games with Jack. Can a person really be so heartless? I lifted my hand and found Celine’s chat window. My hands were shaking too much to type properly, and my eyes were too blurry with tears to see the keyboard clearly. I wiped away my tears and steadied my hand, typing five words into the chat box. “Let’s break up.”

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When my girlfriend’s male best friend was being treated at our hospital, he was unexpectedly diagnosed with AIDS. After I told my girlfriend, she thought I was lying to her. Not only did she slap me on the spot, but she also hired trolls to smear me online, accusing me of causing a patient’s death through malpractice. I was viciously cyberbullied as a result. Later, she and her best friend even burned me to death. I’ll never forget her words as I was engulfed in flames: “You deserve to die for keeping me and Jake apart!” When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day her best friend was diagnosed with AIDS. This time, I didn’t tell her. After all, if she loved him that much, she’d have to accept everything about him. “What’s wrong with Jake? Tell me already!” Olivia’s voice snapped me back to reality. I looked at her impatient face, then glanced around, realizing I was in my office. So I really had traveled back in time. It seemed even the heavens didn’t want me to die so senselessly. “What the hell are you spacing out for? I’ve been asking you for ages,” Olivia said angrily, shoving me. I came to my senses and looked at Jake’s blood test results in my hand. Sure enough, just like in my previous life, he had AIDS. He was Olivia’s male best friend, and they were very close. In my previous life, on this day, he had suddenly been in a car accident and brought to the hospital. Olivia had been beside herself with worry. After learning he had AIDS, I agonized for a long time before deciding to tell Olivia. But she didn’t believe me at all and slapped me hard across the face. “I know you don’t want me hanging out with Jake,” she had said. “But you need to know when to draw the line. You’re a doctor – you can’t just accuse patients of having infectious diseases because of your personal feelings!” No matter how I tried to explain, she wouldn’t listen. Legally, I shouldn’t have disclosed a patient’s condition to her anyway. It was private medical information. But out of concern for her safety, I had selfishly told her. Little did I know that my loose lips would lead to my brutal death in my past life. So in this life, no matter what, I won’t make the same mistake again.

“It’s not too serious, just some minor injuries. He’ll be fine after a few days of treatment in the hospital,” I told her. Hearing this, Olivia let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good.” But the next second, she was irritated again: “Then why didn’t you say so earlier? I thought it was something major!” “Adam, let me tell you – Jake is my best friend. Don’t you dare try anything sneaky.” I smiled at her. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” After she left, a colleague came in and patted me on the shoulder. “Hey Dr. Grant, didn’t you tell your girlfriend that Jake has AIDS?” he asked. “I saw her go feed him some soup just now.” “The law states that a patient’s condition is private. Doctors can’t disclose it to others without permission,” I replied formally. My colleague looked at me in surprise. “But that’s your girlfriend!” “She used to be. Not anymore,” I said.

I’ll never forget what Olivia did to me in my past life. After I told her Jake had AIDS, she thought I was deliberately lying to drive them apart. So she started giving me the cold shoulder and stopped coming home. Before long, rumors spread online that I had caused a patient’s death through malpractice. People were calling me an incompetent doctor. The hospital was terrified of the public backlash and suspended me under pressure. That’s when Olivia came to find me. “I’m the one who spread those rumors online. I hired people to smear you,” she admitted. “That’s what you get for lying about Jake having AIDS!” My heart shattered. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Olivia, you’re my girlfriend! You’ve ruined my entire career!” I cried in anguish. “So what?” She glared at me furiously. “Jake has been my best friend since childhood. I won’t let anyone say he’s sick. Not even you!” In that moment, my heart died completely. I broke up with her and left. I moved to another city by myself. But her mother kept contacting me, urging me to go back and marry Olivia. I refused. Soon after, Olivia called to yell at me: “You deliberately got my parents to scold me, didn’t you? You’re trying to keep me and Jake apart. Just you wait!” The next time I saw her was when my house suddenly caught fire. I saw her and Jake pouring gasoline outside. She even said: “You deserve to die for keeping me and Jake apart!” I’ll never forget the agony of being slowly burned alive. Olivia, in this life I won’t be your doormat anymore.

I contacted Olivia’s parents to break off the engagement, saying I no longer wanted to be with her. No matter how much her parents tried to persuade me, I insisted on ending things. They finally had to agree. That night, Olivia called me. “How dare you, Adam! Just because I took care of Jake for one day, you want to break off our engagement?” she yelled. I calmly replied, “It’s not because you took care of him. I just think you really like him and you two are a good match. I don’t want to come between you. So I’m stepping aside to let you be together.” She spent all her time with Jake anyway. It would be hard for her not to get infected with AIDS. So I had to stay away from her. “Fine, have it your way. But don’t come begging me to take you back later!” she snapped. “I won’t. I wish you and Jake a lifetime of happiness together,” I said before hanging up. I had never stood up to Olivia like this before. She bombarded me with angry texts afterwards: “Who the hell said you could hang up on me?” “Adam, where did you get the nerve?” A few minutes later: “You didn’t pay Jake’s medical bills?” She had brainwashed me into thinking she and Jake were just friends before. So I had always covered Jake’s hospital bills whenever he came for treatment. They both got used to it over time. Looking back now, I was such a fool. I didn’t reply to her and blocked her number. I had no patience left for someone like her.

The next day, Olivia came barging into my office with a pale-faced Jake in tow. “Give me money,” she demanded. “Hurry up. Don’t make me slap you.” In my past life, I had been her obedient lapdog. I gave her whatever she wanted, which is why she felt so entitled to demand money from me now. “Olivia, have you forgotten? We’ve broken up. We have no relationship anymore,” I said calmly. “Adam, how could you break up? Did I cause problems between you two?” Jake suddenly chimed in, looking all innocent. He always used that act to gain Olivia’s sympathy. “Yes, it’s because of you,” I said, staring him down. “You two like each other, don’t you? So I’m letting you be together. You should be the one giving Olivia money now, not me.” Olivia’s face was livid with rage. “Adam, are you trying to play hard to get now? Let me tell you, this won’t make me like you. It’ll only make me hate you more!” she spat. With that, she dragged Jake away. Not long after, I received a complaint. A patient had reported me for having a bad attitude towards them. The next thing I knew, a nurse said someone was causing a scene in the hallway. I went to check and found Olivia sitting on the floor crying and screaming, with Jake standing beside her. “Dr. Grant was extremely rude to patients. We just asked about a condition and he told us to get lost,” she wailed. “Where’s the hospital director? Come out and explain this!” In my past life, she had used her talent for lying to get me cyberbullied. In this life, she was trying to use the same tactic to harm me. But I had anticipated she might do this. Before coming, I had gone to the security office to retrieve the surveillance footage from my office. Then I called the police.

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On the 100th day of having Alzheimer’s, I couldn’t find my way home. I dialed Jack Thompson’s number. But what came through first was the sultry moan of his stepsister, “Mmm… Jack, your technique is getting better and better!” Then came his hoarse, angry voice. “Rachel Moore, are you fucking retarded?” “You know Emily can’t be without me because of her skin hunger syndrome, yet you dare to interfere.” “If you can’t make it back, just go find a sea and die!” Later, I fulfilled his wish and really went to die. He then kept asking my tombstone, “Rachel, what should I do if I can’t find you?” “Miss, are you done with your phone call?” the store owner asked, looking at me with tear-filled eyes. He continued, “Miss, where do you live? I’ll take you home.” “Don’t worry, I won’t charge you. I just think it’s not safe for a young woman to be out alone so late at night.” I looked at the owner in confusion, unable to say a word. I couldn’t remember where home was. I only remembered Jack Thompson’s phone number, but Jack hung up on me. He wouldn’t come to pick me up, and he even told me to go die. Leaving the store, the late autumn wind made my thin nightgown flutter loudly. It’s so cold! I hit my head hard, trying to remember where home was. But I just couldn’t recall. Just as I was getting agitated, a man approached me and asked warmly, “Miss Moore, I know where your home is. I’ll take you back.” I took several steps back, eyeing the man warily. Jack had said not to trust any man other than him. “Miss Moore, don’t be afraid. I’m not a bad person. I’m Jack’s friend. My name is Chris Sanders. He sent me to pick you up.” “Look, this is the message Jack sent me.” He even showed me a photo of him with Jack. I immediately smiled from ear to ear. I knew it. How could Jack not care about me? I’m his most beloved wife. I got into Chris’s car. Half an hour later, he took me to a dark, narrow basement. There was no Jack here, and Jack and my home didn’t look like this. I turned to leave, but Chris blocked me. I lowered my voice and said carefully, “Mister, let me go. I can give you a lot of money.” Jack had said that when in danger, pretend to be weak first, and save your life before anything else. Sure enough, hearing my words, Chris, who had looked vicious before, smiled. “Miss Moore, I’ll let you go, but I don’t want money. I just need you to… do me a small favor.” “What favor?” “I want Miss Moore to put these on and do a livestream for me.” Looking at the revealing lingerie, my forced calm instantly crumbled. I used all my strength to push Chris to the ground, then quickly ran towards the door. The moment my hand touched the doorknob, it felt like my scalp was being torn apart, followed by my whole body being slammed hard against the wall. “Bitch, you dare to run away!” “I’m telling you, you’re going to stream whether you like it or not!” “But first, let me enjoy myself a bit!” The sound of clothes tearing and the man’s disgusting touch terrified me. Jack, pick up the phone quickly! Please pick up! When Chris’s hand reached my pants, the phone was finally answered. “Jack, save me!” I cried out shakily. But the voice that came through the phone was Jack’s cold and mocking tone. “What? You were pretending to be retarded earlier, and now you’re putting on an act of being kidnapped?” “Then just go die!” “It’s not like that, I really…” The busy tone that came through the phone cut off my screams. “Bitch, you think Jack Thompson will come save you? You’re dreaming.” “Today is Miss Harris’s birthday. He’s busy accompanying Miss Harris. How could he come save you, the daughter of a murderer!” Right, I remembered now. Jack Thompson hates me. How could he possibly come to save me? After all, my dad killed his mom.

When I was 8, my family went bankrupt, and my dad became addicted to alcohol and gambling. When he was drunk or lost money, he would beat my mom and me. My mom endured it for three years before finally running away on a stormy night. My dad took out all his anger on me. That’s when Jack Thompson appeared. He was a year younger than me but saved me from my dad’s hands. He said, “You girls are always crying. Don’t cry anymore. I’ll protect you from now on.” A promise worth its weight in gold! He protected me for a full five years, breaking three ribs for me, and my dad went to jail because of it. Jack brought me back to the Thompson family. He told his parents, “This is the wife I’m going to marry in the future. You better take good care of her, or I won’t take care of you in your old age!” That earned him a good beating from Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Thompson would make me lots of delicious food. I especially loved the strawberry cake she made. I loved listening to Mr. Thompson tell me history stories the most. The days at the Thompson house were my happiest times. On my 23rd birthday, Jack coaxed me into getting our marriage license. Mrs. Thompson was as happy as a child and said she wanted to prepare a grand wedding for me. I was spoiled and refused her kindness, even persuading her to go on a trip with me, leaving Jack behind. If it weren’t for that, we wouldn’t have encountered my dad, and Mrs. Thompson wouldn’t have died protecting me. My dad was the direct murderer of her death, and I was an accomplice. Jack hating me was justified.

I was covered in blood, stumbling back home at 7 AM. Jack had just put freshly steamed buns in front of Emily. Seeing me, Emily covered her mouth and shouted, “Oh my God, Rachel, where are your clothes? Why are you wearing a man’s clothes?” “Rachel, you’re too much. You were out all night, and Jack was so worried he couldn’t sleep.” Indeed, he hadn’t slept. Last night, Emily’s skin hunger syndrome flared up, and Jack had stayed up all night with her. Now, Emily’s Instagram still had a picture of them holding hands tightly, with the caption: “The best medicine to cure illness is the company of your loved one all night long!!” “Heh… Rachel, how much fake blood did you use this time?” Emily was referring to the time I had an episode and mistook her for my dad, crying on the phone for Jack to come save me and Mrs. Thompson. But when Jack rushed back, what he saw was me covered in fake blood. That was the first time Jack laid hands on me. He gripped my neck, “Rachel Moore, you’d use this excuse to compete with Emily for attention.” “Why couldn’t it have been you who died back then?!” … “Jack, if I told you I was almost raped last night, would you believe me?” I looked into Jack’s eyes and asked. Jack sneered, “Rachel Moore, your acting skills put even me, an award-winning actor, to shame!” “If you had listened to me back then and pursued a career in entertainment, you’d be the one winning Best Actress awards.” I couldn’t bear to hear his sarcasm anymore and shouted, “I’m sick, Jack! It’s because I’m sick!” “Sick? What illness? Depression or dementia?” Seeing the disdain on his face, my throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, unable to utter a single syllable. In the past, Jack would take every word I said seriously, but now he wouldn’t believe even half a word. “What rape? What illness? What? Are you trying to find a noble excuse for your promiscuous behavior?” “If I had known you were such a slutty woman, I would never have saved you, no matter what.” He violently threw a phone at my forehead. Blood covered my eyes, but I didn’t dare close them. I stared wide-eyed at the video playing on the phone. In the video, I was sprawled on top of Chris Sanders with disheveled clothes, whispering intimately in his ear. Although the video had no sound, anyone could tell from Chris’s smile that what I was saying must have been lewd words. I instantly understood everything. Chris was Emily’s man. Emily not only wanted to destroy me but also wanted Jack to despise me even more. It was truly killing two birds with one stone. Before, for Jack’s sake, I had always tolerated Emily, but now I didn’t want to anymore. I suddenly lunged at Emily, but she was prepared. She grabbed a fruit knife from the dining table and came at me. The fruit knife sliced across my palm, and blood splattered on the white floor, like blooming red flowers. But in Jack’s eyes, all he saw was Emily falling to the ground. His panicked gaze was exactly like when Mrs. Thompson had the accident. At that moment, I finally understood that Jack had no feelings for me other than hatred. As Jack carried Emily away, he said if anything happened to her, he would make me regret being alive. But Jack, I had long since regretted it.

At noon, I received a phone call. “Hello, Miss Moore. This is Sam Stewart. Have you considered what I told you this morning?” Last night, I had deliberately submitted to Chris, knocked him out when he wasn’t paying attention, and escaped. If I hadn’t met Sam, I probably wouldn’t have made it home that night. He lent me his coat and sent me back. He’s a lifestyle blogger looking for filming material. When he learned I was an Alzheimer’s patient, he wanted me to be his subject. To record the real life of an Alzheimer’s patient and call on young people to start taking care of their health early. “I’m willing to be your subject,” I said. I still had some use. That’s good. “But don’t release the video for now.” Jack was about to start filming a new movie. I didn’t want to affect him. Sam was quick; in less than an hour, he came to install cameras. Hidden cameras inside, and he would follow me outside. Looking at the empty villa, he asked, “Miss Moore, do you live alone in such a big house?” I nodded. Jack had moved in with his father to the Harris family three years ago. “Then where’s your partner?” “Divorced.” Actually, I lied to him. I had proposed divorce a month after Mrs. Thompson’s accident, but Jack didn’t agree at that time. He hated me but couldn’t bear to let me go. Back then, he would often crawl into my bed in the middle of the night, hugging me from behind and repeatedly asking, “Rachel, what should we do?” I had no answer, I could only silently cry.

I was becoming lucid less and less often. I didn’t know what I did when I was out of it, but every time I woke up, I was greeted by a mess. Like now, what I saw was Mr. Thompson’s angry gaze and the gloating looks of Emily and her mother. “Rachel Moore, not only did you kill Jack’s mother, but you’re also celebrating your birthday on her death anniversary. Has your conscience been eaten by dogs?” “You won’t die well, you’ll definitely face retribution.” This was the Thompson family’s old house. Looking at the festive decorations all over the house and the three-tiered cake on the table, I felt like I had fallen into an ice pit. Rachel Moore, that was Mrs. Thompson, the Mrs. Thompson who saved your life. What have you done? Rachel Moore, you really deserve to die. “Mr. Thompson, I’m sorry, I…” “I don’t want your apology. Get out of my house right now!” Seeing Mr. Thompson about to faint, I didn’t dare stay any longer. I bowed deeply to Mr. Thompson. “I’m sorry.” When I opened the door, I saw an furious Jack. “You wanted to celebrate your birthday? Then let me give you a proper celebration.” He took me to a bar’s private room and ordered a lot of alcohol. “It’s your birthday, so we must drink. Come on, have a glass.” Before I could move, he grabbed a bottle with one hand and pinched my jaw with the other, forcing the liquor down my throat. I don’t know how many bottles I was forced to drink, I just felt my stomach burning and aching. Finally, he even called four or five male models for me. He said, “These are my birthday gifts to you. Do you like them?” “Your task today is to please her well.” No matter how Jack punished me, I would accept it, but he chose to humiliate me in this way. But I didn’t even have the strength to struggle. I could only watch as he left holding Emily’s hand. “Be good, don’t look. It will dirty your eyes.” Dirty? Jack, so this is how worthless I’ve become in your heart. Before I lost consciousness, I dialed Sam’s number.

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I slipped the matchmaker $500, asking her to make me sound as appealing as possible. She really delivered, describing me as accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy and painting – the perfect combination of a virtuous wife and loving mother, beautiful both inside and out. Thanks to her efforts, I managed to marry a great husband. The kind that’s always abroad and rarely comes home. With the added condition of taking care of a child under 5 years old. I agreed without hesitation! From then on, pizza and burgers became our daily staples. The kid and I lived carefree days, happy as can be! Now, I dabbed at non-existent tears with a tissue, crossing my legs as I spoke softly into the phone to my husband: “No matter how big the house is, it’s not a home without you here.” A low chuckle came through the line, his deep voice tinged with amusement: “Honey, there are cameras in the house.” “More than one.” I stopped swinging my leg and carefully slid it under the covers. Keeping my tone unchanged, I said, “Darling, what do you mean there are cameras? I had no idea.” I glanced around the large villa, lavishly decorated. I had installed much of the furniture myself while James was away, and he hadn’t been back since. How could there possibly be cameras? “Are you trying to scare me? I’m already nervous being alone in this big empty house, and now you say things like that!” I pretended to get angry, huffing into the phone, “I’m not talking to you anymore!” Then I quickly hung up. Sitting on the bed, I started to calm down and think. For now, I’d play it cool. Damn it, it had been eight months! A full eight months before he mentioned cameras? James was definitely lying. If it was true, then all my carefully crafted image would be ruined!

James and I met through a dating service. He’s 31 this year, makes over a million dollars annually, and is both muscular and handsome. Apparently he had a girlfriend before, but James’ work is special – he’s often away for months at a time. Plus he has a child. Entrusted to him by his late brother. His ex-girlfriend thought she could handle it at first, but the problem was the kid. This wasn’t an ordinary child – he had very strong aggressive tendencies. On their first meeting, he apparently knocked the girl down with a sweeping kick. His pranks were endless. She ran away after less than two days. Until she met me. I came from a poor family without much education. My only asset was my thick skin. I gave the matchmaker $500 to make me sound as good as possible. By the time it reached James, I had become an accomplished musician, artist and chef – the perfect virtuous wife and loving mother, not to mention a great beauty. James was intrigued and agreed to meet me. After seeing me in person, he was even more interested. The next day we got married. The bride price was a million dollars, plus this big villa. But there was one condition – I had to take good care of that violent little boy. I held my head, eyes darting around nervously. I really couldn’t be sure if James was telling the truth or not. Just then, there was a knock at the door. I was a bit slow to respond, and the door was forcefully pushed open.

A little figure stood in the doorway. With big eyes and thick brows, he looked like a perfect little gentleman doll. He wore a small suit with suspenders, the very picture of a young master. At the moment, he was glaring at me with a gloomy expression. I knew what this meant – he was hungry. In the past, I would have rushed over with a big grin, hugging and kissing his chubby cheeks no matter how much he struggled. I’d cackle like a witch and exclaim, “Who’s this adorable little angel? Let auntie give you a big kiss!” But I couldn’t do that now. If there really were cameras like James said, I had to maintain my image. Even if it was a lie, surely James wasn’t watching 24/7. Maybe I still had a chance to fix things. “Emily, you are graceful and virtuous. You are gentle and kind,” I told myself. So I put on my most gentle smile and glided over to the little boy. I crouched down and said softly, “Sweetie, are you hungry? Would you like auntie to make you some pasta?” The boy was stunned. He even took a step back. After hesitating for a while, he frowned and said: “Did you take the wrong medication?” “…” I raised a finger to cover my smile: “What are you saying, darling? I’ve always been like this.” The boy thought for two seconds, then turned and ran to his room. Soon he came back with a water gun from who knows where. He started spraying me, as if trying to take me down on the spot. The stream was very strong, hitting me right in the face. I stopped smiling.

I wiped my face and took a deep breath. The boy’s surname was Lu like James, and his name was Leo. When James wasn’t around, I always called him “little bean” which felt natural and affectionate. Now I didn’t dare, so I put on a sad expression instead. “Leo, do you still hate me?” I covered my face and cried. With my face all wet, you couldn’t tell if I was really crying. My voice choked up as if I was extremely upset. “Auntie has done everything she can. I buy you whatever you want. Why do you still hate me…” Leo was stunned again. His little brain couldn’t understand such abstract adult behavior. He tilted his head in confusion and asked, “Leo?” Didn’t she always call him “little bean”? I choked again, about to break character. I quickly got up to heat some milk for the child. Leo was an extremely picky eater, so I always had him eat small frequent meals to make sure he got enough nutrition. Thinking back, Leo and I had a very rough start too. The day James and I got married, he disappeared. He just gave me the keys to the villa and told me to settle in on my own. So when I realized James wasn’t around and I had full control of this villa, I threw a huge celebration that very night. I made myself a big pot of spicy hotpot. A really extravagant one. I bought loads of shrimp, meat, and meatballs – things I never dared to imagine before. The first time Leo saw me, before I could even speak, he came at me with punches and kicks. He was surprisingly strong. Like a furious little lion defending his territory. I got angry too and spanked his little bottom, warning him he’d get no dinner if he was so rude again. Leo didn’t listen, so I really didn’t prepare any dinner for him. By the time I had almost finished my hotpot, I finally remembered the child. Feeling guilty, I cooked the remaining beef and put it in a bowl for Leo. At first he refused to eat, but as the smell of hotpot spread, he got too hungry and finally dug in with a scowl. Then he had diarrhea for three days and nights. I had no idea the kid’s stomach was so delicate. As a first-timer with no experience, I was terrified. I carried Leo to the hospital in a cold sweat. The whole time I held him, rubbing his tummy when it hurt and singing lullabies when he whimpered in discomfort. Leo clutched me tightly with his little hands. We stayed like that for three days and nights. After that, he never hit me again. And that’s how one hotpot cured a problem child.

I finally managed to get Leo to sleep. After maintaining my graceful act for half a day, I was completely drained. After showering, I lay in bed desperately trying to think of other ways to show my virtuous wife and mother side. But I was so tired that I fell asleep before I knew it. So I had no idea that in the middle of the night, someone picked the lock on my door. A figure radiating heat and danger stood by my bed. But Leo heard. He still retained memories from when he was younger. He was only two then, living abroad. On a dark night just like this, a group of people brazenly broke into his home. They hacked at his defenseless parents, then did unspeakable things to his mother’s corpse. He didn’t cry, but it was all burned into his memory. He vividly remembered the desperate fear of that night, which was why he instinctively tried to solve everything with violence. If that didn’t work, he wanted to kill them all. Leo silently appeared outside the door, holding a weapon Uncle James had given him. He didn’t want that woman to die now. She may act crazy, but he just didn’t want her to die. He wasn’t sure if the dangerous person inside was from the same group that killed his parents. But he wasn’t afraid this time. He would protect her. Before Leo could act further, the person inside suddenly appeared behind him. A hand swung towards his face with frightening speed. Leo quickly stepped back, drawing his weapon, ready to fight to the death. But he was scooped up in strong arms. “Huh?” Leo was startled. By the time he realized what happened, he had already been carried downstairs. When Leo saw who it was, his face lit up with joy. “Uncle James!” “Shh.” James held Leo, sitting him on his sturdy thigh. “Don’t wake her up.” After studying the boy for a moment, he nodded, “You’ve gained some weight.” Leo pursed his lips in a small smile. Being fed five meals a day, he was already trying hard to control his weight. James had three days of leave this time. To be honest, he was very intrigued by his young wife. His work abroad involved dangerous, grueling missions. His only interest and hobby was watching what new tricks his little wife would get up to each day. She looked as beautiful as a butterfly in the cameras, her antics both amusing and endearing in their silliness. James naturally knew her true nature. In their line of work, seeing through a person was child’s play. But if his little wife wanted to act, he was happy to watch her performance. Though he couldn’t help teasing her a bit. “Do you like her taking care of you?” James asked softly. He knew that after over half a year together, Leo and Emily’s relationship, while not loving, was at least peaceful. Perhaps with a hint of affection? Leo really thought about it seriously before nodding. “She’s an interesting woman.” James couldn’t help but smile. “That move earlier was pretty good. I’ll teach you a few more tricks in the morning.” Leo nodded, unable to hold back a yawn. James let the child go to sleep, but not before reminding him, “No matter what you hear in the morning, don’t worry. I’ll be here for three days, we’ll all be very safe, okay?” Leo nodded and went to bed fully at ease this time. James was still in his camouflage uniform, his boots caked with dark red mud. He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, then decided to strip it all off. He took a shower and changed into comfortable loungewear. Then step by step, he returned to the bedside. Though lively in personality and prone to little white lies, her sleeping form was quiet and docile. James silently climbed into bed. He first kissed her forehead, then couldn’t resist kissing the corner of her mouth. Slowly, he gathered her into his arms. The face he had only been able to watch through cameras for nearly eight months was finally in his embrace. Ah… He hoped his little wife wouldn’t be too startled when she woke up.

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When I filed for divorce, Oscar Astor remained as indifferent as ever. He turned his face away, his tone flat. “Do as you wish. You can keep Nora with you. I do not want her.” My heart felt like it had turned to ash. Just as I was about to sign my name, a stream of comments appeared before my eyes. [Kathy, do not sign! He may look calm and unbothered, but inside, he is dying. Look, he cannot even bring himself to look at you.] [He is giving up custody not because he does not care, but because he does not want to make you suffer. It has nothing to do with that woman.] [My heart aches for Oscar. Just because he is naturally reserved, he is going to lose the woman he loves the most.] My pen hesitated while writing. I snapped back to reality after reading those few lines. Lifting my head, I studied Oscar. Under the dim yellow light, his sharp profile remained as distant as ever, as if divorce were nothing more than a trivial matter. I couldn’t find a single flaw, so I took the initiative to speak, “Don’t you have anything to explain?” Oscar turned away, rubbing his temples. “What more do you want from me?” He let out a long sigh, as though I were the one being unreasonable. A dull ache spread in my chest. Forcing a weak smile, I was about to respond when his phone rang abruptly. The room was quiet enough for me to hear Carol’s tearful voice clearly. “Oscar, Mila has a high fever. What should I do?” This was the 33rd time. Carol’s excuses for calling him were always the same: something broke, her daughter was sick, or their house had been burglarized. My lips curled into a cold smirk, unsurprised to hear her excuse again. Oscar said, “Kathy.” I turned my head to look at him. At some point, Oscar had already ended the call. He stood there with his lips pressed together and stared at me. “There’s nothing as dirty between us as you think.” With that, he slammed the door, leaving with a hint of restrained anger. So that was his explanation? I lowered my gaze. How utterly unconvincing. But the online comments didn’t see it that way. [Oh, Oscar must be heartbroken because Kathy doesn’t trust him.] [He only takes care of that woman out of gratitude. Can’t Kathy be a little more understanding?] [Great, now Kathy has pushed him further toward the other woman again.] Frustration welled up in my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. I felt trapped, unable to move forward or back. Carol Wilson was the daughter of Oscar’s late mentor. Ever since her father passed away six months ago, she had returned to the country with her daughter, Mila. And from that point on, Oscar and I had been caught in an inexplicable cycle of cold wars. Our five-year-old daughter, Nora Astor, had been affected by the tense atmosphere at home, waking up crying from nightmares night after night. I had read online that a couple’s relationship directly impacts their children’s mental health. So, I chose to take the first step toward reconciliation. I brought a pot of soup to Oscar’s office, only to walk in on Carol already inside. “I’m married,” he said. “So what?” Carol’s eyes were red as she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “I know you’ve only ever cared about Kathy,” she choked out. “But I don’t have a father anymore… Can you give me just a little bit of the love you have for her? Just a little is enough.” Oscar fell silent. He didn’t say a word for a long time. At that moment, my hands trembled so much that I nearly dropped the lunchbox. There had always been countless girls who liked Oscar. But he was naturally indifferent, rejecting others with clean precision, never leading them on. So his silence now was nothing short of acquiescence. And for the first time, I realized that, to Oscar, there was now another exception besides me. That was why Carol had the audacity to throw me that blatantly provocative smile.

“Mommy, when will Daddy be back? I want to go to the amusement park soon!” Fresh out of school, Nora broke free from Mary’s hand and ran toward me. I snapped out of my thoughts and quickly caught her. It was only then that I remembered today was our family day. Oscar’s childhood had not been a happy one. His father was a violent gambler, while his mother was weak and timid, shaping him into the distant and indifferent person he was. On the day Nora was born, he had held her carefully in his arms, fearful yet gentle, his eyes so full of tenderness that it was almost overwhelming. “Kathy, I would be willing to die right now if it meant keeping this moment forever!” Oscar had grown up in an empty and lonely childhood, and he was determined not to let his child go through the same thing. That was why he personally established this family outing day. Every year, on November 1st, we would put everything aside and take Nora to the theme park. Even as she grew older and his business empire expanded, he had never missed it. I had not even answered Nora yet when she eagerly tapped on her smartwatch, starting a video call with Oscar. Then, she lifted her wrist high and pleaded with me, “Mommy, please ask Daddy for me!” Her expression was pitiful, making her look even more adorable. For some reason, Nora was never very close to Oscar. Perhaps in Nora’s heart, a father who was often absent naturally felt distant. I chuckled and took the watch, about to tease her when the call connected. The next second, a large, curious face filled the screen. It was Mila. My smile froze. “What did Daddy say?” Nora noticed my sudden stillness and leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the screen. Almost instinctively, I ended the call. Calmly, I placed the watch down, bent down, and patted her head. “Daddy is still busy. Today, Mommy and Mary will take you instead.” “Oh… Okay…” Nora lowered her head, looking a little disappointed. But being the sensible child she was, she did not throw a tantrum and obediently followed Mary upstairs to change. Once she was out of sight, I turned and continued packing the things we needed for the outing. As I reached for the three Halloween-themed family masks, my hand paused. After a brief hesitation, I took out the two smaller ones and put them in my bag. I casually tossed the black one into the trash. It would not be needed anyway. Oscar had always had a rigid sense of personal boundaries. He never let anyone touch his phone, not even his own daughter. When Nora was three, his phone rang while he was in the shower, and Nora picked it up, intending to hand it to him. Oscar flew into a rage. He scolded her harshly. Little Nora was terrified and cried so hard that she could barely breathe. In the past, Oscar would surrender the moment his daughter shed a tear. When I tried to intervene, he stopped me, his face stern as he declared, “Let her remember this lesson. She needs to understand what she is not allowed to touch.”

A child’s emotions were like a summer rainstorm, which was quick to arrive but just as quick to pass. At the theme park, Nora was so excited that she was like a wild horse set free. Despite the cold winter weather, she played until her face turned red and broke into a sweat. I rummaged through my bag and realized that we had finished all the warm water we had brought from home. “Let’s take a break,” I said, stopping Nora just as she was about to run toward the carousel for the eighth time. Holding her hand, I led her toward the convenience store. As we passed by a souvenir stall selling accessories, I glanced at it instinctively. Then, my footsteps came to a halt. Oscar was standing in front of the stall, one hand in his pocket, the other absentmindedly fiddling with a tiger-shaped mask. His expression was indifferent. Beside him stood Carol and Mila. Carol was bent over, adjusting a pumpkin hat on Mila’s head. Mila was excitedly gesturing, her cheeks flushed with joy, showing no signs of having a fever at all. She and Carol whispered something to each other, then both of them laughed with bright eyes. Even Oscar had a small smile. The bullet comments appeared again. [Oscar is smiling so gently. He must be thinking about the times he used to come here with Kathy and their daughter.] [The only person who can make him smile just by thinking about them is Kathy.] I ignored the comments and exchanged a glance with Mary, signaling her to take Nora another way. But before she could react, Nora had already spotted Oscar with her sharp eyes. “It’s Daddy!” she exclaimed. Oscar turned his head, and the moment he saw me, his lips immediately pressed into a thin line. [Haha, he is still sulking because Kathy brought up divorce this morning.] [He actually didn’t forget about family day. He agreed to come with Carol on purpose, hoping to run into Kathy. It is so heartbreaking how desperate he is!] [Yes! He has been waiting for her to call him all day, but when she didn’t. He had no choice but to come looking for her himself.] I had no time to pay attention to the comments because, at that moment, Nora had already broken free from Mary and was running toward Oscar. She grinned, thinking her father had come here to surprise her. But before she could reach him, Mila suddenly bumped into Nora and pushed her aside. Nora watched as Mila threw herself into Oscar’s arms and pointed at the pumpkin hat on her head. “Mr. Astor, I want this hat!” Nora stumbled and fell to the ground. Her eyes instantly turned red. In her memory, her father had never held any other child before. Her small body tensed up as she struggled to keep her tears from falling. “My daddy won’t buy it for you!” she declared. Nora got up, patted the dust off her clothes, and marched toward Mila, raising her voice. “You bumped into me! You need to apologize!” Mila huffed and lifted her chin. “Why should I? You weren’t looking where you were running! I didn’t even ask you to apologize to me, and who are you to decide what Mr. Astor buys? You are so rude!” Mila was about the same age as Nora but shorter, so she had to tilt her head up to glare at Nora. Nora was furious at her shamelessness. “It was obviously you—” “Apologize,” Oscar suddenly spoke. His voice was indifferent. Nora put her hands on her hips and swayed her head triumphantly. “Did you hear that? My dad told you to apolo—” “Nora, apologize!”

Oscar repeated coldly, his voice sharp. Nora’s eyes widened in disbelief, and tears instantly welled up. But she was strong-willed; she bit her lip stubbornly without giving in. Carol pulled Mila to her side and smiled in understanding, “Kids have tempers. It is normal. We are fine, really. You do not have to let this affect your relationship with your daughter.” Oscar did not respond. Instead, his brows furrowed even tighter, and his tone became even harsher. “Nora!” Nora trembled all over, and tears fell onto the ground. Oscar frowned, about to reprimand her further when I felt a sharp pang in my heart. I immediately rushed forward and shielded Nora. “Do you need me to apologize too?” Oscar’s furious gaze met my cold eyes. He froze. [Does Kathy think Oscar is standing up for Carol and Mila?] [Did Kathy forget that Oscar was badly bullied in high school? He just does not want his daughter to become someone weak like he was back then!] [Oscar may be scolding his daughter, but deep down, he feels sorry for her.] Ridiculous. The comments made me frown. I took Nora’s hand, ready to leave, but Carol stepped in our way. “Sorry, I did not know today was your family day. Mila kept insisting on coming here, and we are unfamiliar with this place, so we had no choice but to ask Oscar for help. Kathy, you are not mad about this, are you?” Her tone was full of apology, yet her eyes could not hide their smugness. “Yes,” I replied. “What?” Carol tilted her head in confusion. I curved my lips into a cold smile. “I am mad. So what now? Shouldn’t you apologize to me?” If she wanted to twist the truth, I could do the same. Carol had not expected me to be so direct. She stood there, momentarily stunned. “You…” “There is no need,” Oscar said flatly. “It has nothing to do with you.” His hands were in his pockets, but there was an unmistakable hint of amusement in his expression. [Kathy is jealous. Oscar is secretly pleased!] [Oh my god, this is too sweet!] [Oscar looks cold on the outside, but he is actually so sensitive. That is why he constantly needs reassurance of Kathy’s love. He is completely addicted to it.] I was so angry that I actually laughed. Ignoring Oscar, I walked straight up to Carol. In the midst of her shocked scream, I kicked her hard, sending her toppling to the ground. “Your daughter pushed my daughter. Returning this to you is reasonable, right?” Oscar was stunned by my sudden outburst. “Kathy?” I ignored him, picked up Nora, and walked away. He grabbed my wrist, his face dark with anger. “What are you doing? Apologize to them!” Without hesitation, I lifted my foot. The sharp heel of my shoe landed precisely on his toe. “You get lost too!”

Oscar walked through the door carrying a cake just as I finished putting down Nora’s backpack. Since that day, this was the first time he had come home. He did not look at me, only lifted the bag slightly in Nora’s direction. Little girls could never resist sweets. “Yay! It is from Cloud Dessert! My favorite!” As expected, Nora cheered in excitement and immediately followed Oscar into the dining room. [This is hilarious. Oscar originally refused to come home to punish Kathy, but in the end, he could not hold out himself.] [Oscar is not good with words, but this action is clearly his way of conceding to Kathy.] I thought for a moment but did not stop Nora from spending time with Oscar. After all, he was her biological father. He would not harm her. Turning around, I headed upstairs, planning to wash Nora’s school uniform. Just then, a voice message popped up. It was from the owner of Cloud Dessert. Because Nora loved their cakes, I often bought from them, and over time, I added the owner on WhatsApp. “Mrs. Astor, long time no see. I just wanted to check if you were satisfied with the two cakes Mr. Astor ordered today.” I froze. Oscar ordered two cakes? But he only brought back one. Cloud Dessert specialized in cartoon-themed cakes, and many parents usually ordered cakes for their children. The other cake must be ordered for Mila. The owner continued introducing the cake. “This is a new product from our store. It is made with a special cream, tastes better than before, and for the first time, we have added a whole pound of mango in the filling. If you are satisfied…” Mango? My expression changed, and I hurriedly asked, “It contains mango?” “Yes, and Mr. Astor was aware of that. He…” The moment I received confirmation, I dropped my phone without hesitation and rushed downstairs in a panic. Oscar was no longer in the dining room. On the table, the cake was nearly finished, only a small portion left. Nora was scratching her face. When she saw me, she immediately pouted. “Mommy, I feel really bad.” Her whole body was covered in red rashes, and blisters had already formed around her mouth. As soon as she finished speaking, she collapsed straight onto the floor with a loud thud. My vision went black, and my mind went blank. Like a madwoman, I grabbed my daughter and ran to the hospital. It was only when I saw the doctor administering her anti-allergy treatment that my legs gave out, and I sank to the floor. Mary arrived shortly after, bringing a change of clothes for Nora and a pair of shoes for me. Only then did I belatedly look down. I had not even been wearing shoes. No wonder people had been giving me strange looks on the way here. I let out a bitter laugh. I had been so terrified. When Nora was two, Oscar once fed her with a piece of mango, not knowing she was allergic. It had sent her straight into the emergency room. That was when we first discovered that Nora had a severe mango allergy, so severe that it could trigger anaphylactic shock. Back then, Oscar was overwhelmed with guilt. He had even warned Mary sternly, “From now on, I do not want to see mango in this house. If you cannot remember that, then do not work here anymore.” I looked out the window. Dark clouds devoured the blue sky. Waves of black rolled and churned, piling upon each other. It was so heavy that I could not breathe.

As I stepped out of the hospital room, Oscar arrived. His usually neat hair was slightly disheveled, likely from rushing over. Seeing me, he quickly strode forward. “Kathy, what—” “Where were you? Why didn’t you answer your phone?” I cut him off, my tone cold and sharp. From the moment Nora had the allergic reaction until now, I had called him countless times. He had not picked up a single one. “Mila had another high fever. Carol asked me to take her to the hospital. My phone battery died, so I did not get your calls. I am sorry.” Oscar’s expression remained indifferent, as if he were merely stating a fact. I studied his face for a moment before letting out a cold laugh. “Do you even know why you are here?” “I heard Mary had an accident,” he replied slowly, his voice devoid of any emotion. I scoffed in disbelief before speaking, “Your daughter went into shock after eating the mango cake.” His eyes widened in shock. “Yes,” I said icily. “The very cake you specially bought for her.” Suddenly, I remembered what the owner of Cloud Dessert had said yesterday. She had mentioned, “At the time, Mr. Astor even replied, ‘Perfect, the kids love mango-flavored cake.’” I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “Do you have anything to explain this time?” Oscar visibly froze. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then, in a panic, he reached for my hand. “I was careless. I did not mean to…” He abruptly stopped, as if unable to find a reasonable excuse for himself. Awkwardly, he changed the subject. “How is Nora? She must have been crying and asking for me. I will go in and see her—” He turned to walk toward the hospital room. I shouted, “You are not worthy!” Oscar stopped in his tracks. “Let’s get a divorce, Oscar.” At this moment, I felt nothing but absolute calm. [No, Kathy, do not be impulsive!] [Oscar is just naturally quiet. He does not know how to express himself, but that does not mean he does not love you.] [What is Kathy doing? Nora is fine now. She is his salvation, why does she not understand that?] [Oscar will never refuse. No matter how unwilling he is, as long as Kathy asks, he will do it.]

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My roommate couldn’t cook, but she still wanted to eat home-cooked meals. So, she taped a meal request notice right on my door. [Hey, roommate!] [I’m super busy with work, and I don’t have time to cook, not that I know how to, anyway. I’ve been living on takeout for over half a month, and my stomach can’t take it anymore. Your cooking looks amazing, so I was wondering if I could have some too.] At first, I felt a little bad for her. I mean, sharing a meal now and then wouldn’t be a big deal. But then I kept reading, and my jaw practically hit the floor. [Requirements 1: You need to cook three meals a day for me from Monday to Friday. No exceptions. And I don’t want to have to remind you that girls should be diligent, or else no one will want to marry them.] [Requirements 2: I expect you to buy me a new set of reusable food containers. Disposable ones aren’t hygienic. Just pack my meals and leave them outside my door.] [Requirements 3: I’m not picky, but I don’t eat black pepper, parsley, thyme, potatoes, chili, or anything smoked.] [Requirements 4: Each meal should include three dishes and a soup. The soup must be meat-based because I’m focusing on my protein intake.] [Requirements 5: Since I’m just ‘borrowing’ your meals, I won’t be paying you. And don’t even think about asking for money. Times are tough for all of us.] [If you’re willing to help, I’d be forever grateful. Your kindness might just add a few more years to a struggling worker’s life.] I actually laughed out loud. Then I ripped the note off my door, crumpled it up, and tossed it straight into the trash. I thought, “Was she serious? Maybe her stomach problems messed with her brain, too.”

Last Friday morning, someone knocked on my door. Half-asleep and irritated, I mumbled, “Who is it?” It was my day off, and I hadn’t slept in properly for ages. Of course, I was annoyed. “Adeline, are you home? I heard you say yesterday that you’re off today. Can you do me a favor? I have work soon, and I was wondering if you could make me a plate of pasta?” I recognized the voice immediately. It was Brynlee Mercer, the roommate who moved in two weeks ago. Her tone was almost pleading, with a hint of pitiful desperation. I scratched my head, still groggy. “Why don’t you just grab a sandwich on your way out? I’m exhausted. I worked an overnight shift yesterday.” I yawned, hoping she’d get the hint. Apparently, my rejection wasn’t clear enough. I had no idea, but the person outside just wouldn’t stop talking. “Adeline, those street vendors use terrible cooking oil. What if I get sick? “You’re off today anyway. Can’t you just make it real quick and go back to sleep? Please?” I took a deep breath. We were both struggling workers, after all. Helping her out this once wouldn’t kill me. So, groaning, I dragged myself out of bed. The moment I opened the door, I saw Brynlee’s face. And I swear, maybe I was imagining it, but I could’ve sworn I saw a smirk of satisfaction. I sighed, “What ingredients do you have? I’ll cook something for you.” Her eyes widened like I had just insulted her. “Huh? Aren’t you the one offering me food? Why would I have to provide ingredients?” I was stunned. When the hell did I say I was offering her a free meal? Sure, pasta ingredients weren’t expensive, but she could’ve at least pretended she was contributing. Honestly, I was already regretting getting out of bed. She was eating my food, using my stuff, and now, she was even disturbing my sleep. Brynlee pouted innocently. “Come on, hurry up! I need to eat right after I finish my skincare routine, or I’ll be late for work.” Then, just like that, she turned and walked off to the bathroom, washing her face without a second thought. Like I was some kind of unpaid maid. I was speechless. Still, I made her a quick plate of pasta using the potatoes and basil I had bought last night. But when I handed it to her, she actually had the audacity to look disgusted. “Adeline! I don’t eat basil! Or parsley! And definitely not potatoes! Why would you put those in my food?” At first, I thought she was joking. I mean, she had asked me to cook for her. But nope. She was dead serious.

I let out a short laugh, finding it unbelievable. “If you let it sit, it’ll taste even better. Besides, you didn’t tell me in the first place.” But Brynlee just stared at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, you never asked! Now hurry up and make me a new one!” I sighed, feeling drained. Even though I was annoyed, I still spoke to her nicely. “Aren’t you about to head to work? Why not just make do with this?” If she had any specific requests, she should’ve said something before I cooked, not after. That wasn’t my fault. I thought she’d grumble a little and let it go, but instead, she let out an angry huff, slammed her hands on the table, and shot to her feet. “Forget it! I’m not eating! You’re just doing this on purpose because you don’t want to cook for me!” Since we were roommates, I didn’t want things to get too tense between us. Just as I was about to explain, she suddenly rammed into me hard, like she did it on purpose. I let out a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything. “Did I not get enough things to do? Is that why I’m out here looking for trouble?” I figured that was the end of her ridiculous behavior, but I had seriously underestimated her. Just now, when I got home from work, I saw a notice taped to my bedroom door. [Hey, roommate!] [I’m super busy with work, and I don’t have time to cook, not that I know how to, anyway. I’ve been living on takeout for over half a month, and my stomach can’t take it anymore. Your cooking looks amazing, so I was wondering if I could have some too.] At first, I felt a little bad for her. I mean, sharing a meal now and then wouldn’t be a big deal. But then I kept reading, and my jaw practically hit the floor. [Requirements 1: You need to cook three meals a day for me from Monday to Friday. No exceptions. And I don’t want to have to remind you that girls should be diligent, or else no one will want to marry them.] [Requirements 2: I expect you to buy me a new set of reusable food containers. Disposable ones aren’t hygienic. Just pack my meals and leave them outside my door.] [Requirements 3: I’m not picky, but I don’t eat black pepper, parsley, thyme, potatoes, chili, or anything smoked.] [Requirements 4: Each meal should include three dishes and a soup. The soup must be meat-based because I’m focusing on my protein intake.] [Requirements 5: Since I’m just ‘borrowing’ your meals, I won’t be paying you. And don’t even think about asking for money. Times are tough for all of us.] [If you’re willing to help, I’d be forever grateful. Your kindness might just add a few more years to a struggling worker’s life.] I stared at the mooching notice and actually laughed out loud. I had made her one plate of pasta out of kindness, and now she thought I was her personal chef. I ripped the paper off the door, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it straight into the trash. This girl must’ve had stomach issues so bad that she shat her brains out. A loud commotion erupted from the entryway. I didn’t even need to guess who it was.

After all, who else in a shared apartment would make as much noise as Brynlee, whether she was leaving for work in the morning or coming home at night? It was like she was afraid no one would know she was there. A series of loud knocks hit my door, followed by her exasperated voice. “Adeline! How can you be so lazy? Where’s my dinner? Didn’t I tell you to make it for me? Where is it? “I finally get off work, all I want is a hot meal, and instead, you ignored me! “Get out here and cook! I’m starving! And did you buy me my own food container? I don’t want to use your plates. Women should have boundaries, and I hope you understand that.” I flung my door open, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “When God closed a door for you, He must’ve slammed it on your head, too. Otherwise, how else could you say something this brainless? “If you’re hungry, cook for yourself. What, don’t know how? No way. Did you hide when humans were evolving? Is that why you can’t even cook?” Brynlee opened her mouth, ready to curse me out, but I didn’t give her the chance. I put some force into my arm and slammed the door shut. Just as it clicked into place, a shrill screech erupted from the other side. “Adeline! You’re too much! What did I do wrong? All I wanted was a hot meal! Is that a crime?” Then came the wailing. I cracked the door open and found Brynlee squatting outside, tears and snot streaming down her face. I thought, “Oh my God. Did I do something in a past life to deserve this?” I leaned my head out, smirking. “You’re not a princess, so why do you act like one? No, wait, you’ve got something else. Unhinged Drama Queen Syndrome!’” With that, I slammed the door shut again. Her wailing instantly turned ear-splitting. I didn’t expect that the person who originally sat outside the door, crying, throwing tantrums, and even threatening to hang herself, suddenly stopped. Just when I thought she had given up, realizing she didn’t have a princess’ life but was playing the princess’ game, she unexpectedly attached herself to someone else.

In the kitchen, my other roommate, Clara Holloway, was busy cooking. I was a little surprised. She was tall and skinny, yet she could eat two plates of pasta. I couldn’t resist teasing her. “Wow, I’m so jealous. You eat so much and never gain weight!” Clara frowned and gave me a helpless smile. “I don’t have a choice. Brynlee wants me to cook for her.” The grin on my face vanished in an instant. “She gave you a notice too, didn’t she?” Clara looked confused. I almost told her about the ridiculous dinner request I’d gotten, but then I remembered we weren’t that close yet. Complaining about someone behind their back might make me look petty. So, I showed a smile and waved it off. “Oh… nothing. Forget it.” She didn’t seem fully convinced but didn’t push the issue. Carrying three dishes and a bowl of soup, she headed for the living room. Watching her walk away, I shook my head. “I really hope I’m overthinking this.” As I washed the dishes, I overheard Brynlee’s unmistakable voice once again. “Ugh, the meat isn’t tender! Do you even know how to cook? If you don’t, learn! “And didn’t I say I don’t eat basil? Are you deaf? Seriously, if you can’t even handle something so simple, what good are you? “This pasta isn’t soft either. My stomach can’t handle cheap food.” The moment she finished speaking, Clara let out a sharp, cold laugh. “Oh? Is that so?” I nearly choked, trying to hold back a laugh. I thought, “Life was dull, but watching a toad critique humans? Priceless.” What I didn’t expect was that by noon the next day, Clara would show up at my door, holding something I knew all too well, a fresh copy of the infamous dinner request notice. She stood there, looking downright betrayed. “So… this is what you wanted to tell me last night?”

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The deadly heatwave was coming, but I had stocked up on enough supplies to last for months. My husband, however, decided to “rescue” our frail female neighbor and invited her to stay with us. “We’ve got plenty of supplies,” he said. “How much can one woman possibly eat? She’s all alone—we’re neighbors, what’s the harm in helping her out?” But later, I found out they were enjoying themselves in my bathroom, steaming it up like a sauna and taking bubble baths together. The neighbor, blushing and smiling, said coyly, “The ice cream you gave me is the best—it really cools me down.” After I caught them red-handed, they panicked and locked me out on the balcony to roast under the blazing sun. I died of dehydration in the unbearable heat. When I opened my eyes again, it was the first day of the heatwave. My phone buzzed with a heat warning: [ALERT: Temperatures in the city will reach unprecedented highs tomorrow, exceeding 108°F. Stay indoors and avoid unnecessary outings.] As I read the message, my body jolted with the memory of the unbearable pain. The dehydration, the agony, the suffocating heat—none of it was real anymore. In my hand was a cold iced Americano. Trembling, I tilted my head back and gulped it down, savoring the icy relief like someone who had been dying of thirst. In my last life, I had died of thirst. I’m a well-known risk assessor, and I had seen the warning signs of global climate change long before the heatwave hit. I’d prepared for it meticulously: our standalone villa was stocked with supplies, equipped with cooling systems, and had its own independent power grid. It was a self-sustaining fortress capable of lasting more than a year. It was supposed to be the perfect refuge for me and my husband. But last time, Ryan had a sudden, misguided sense of heroism. He took pity on our neighbor, Molly, who lived alone next door. She was frail, he said, and wouldn’t survive the heatwave on her own. So he insisted on bringing her into our house. “She’s just one person,” he said. “It’s no big deal. Her husband’s abroad and can’t help her. We’re neighbors—it’s the right thing to do!” I had been against it from the start. Molly had only moved in a few months ago, and we barely knew her. “She’s a married woman,” I said. “What would people think? If you’re worried about her, I can check on her every day instead.” But Ryan ignored me and dragged Molly into the house himself. She stood there, tears streaming down her face, pleading with me. “I’m sorry to trouble you,” she said. “I have fainting spells—I can’t handle the heat. If I pass out at home alone, no one will even find my body.” Ryan frowned and turned to me. “See? How can you be so heartless? We’ve got plenty of supplies and space. It’s just for a few days!” Helpless, I gave in. Before the water and power were cut off, Molly moved under our roof. Then came the day Ryan decided he wanted fresh vegetables. By that time, temperatures outside had hit nearly 122°F. Going out required wearing full protective gear. Ryan, claiming he was getting nosebleeds from a vitamin deficiency and might develop sepsis, begged me to make the trip. Reluctantly, I drove miles to a national cold storage facility to buy him fresh vegetables. When I returned, I walked into my house to find Ryan and Molly in my bathroom, enjoying an air-conditioned 75°F haven. They were together in the bathtub. Molly was completely naked, her hands resting tenderly on Ryan’s chest. “Where’s the cucumber I asked for?” she whined. “I need it for my face mask!” Ryan, unconcerned, stroked her arm and replied, “I sent Ann to get it. That woman’s obsessed with me anyway—she’s like a dog. Let her play housekeeper while we relax.” They were using my home, my supplies, my life—and they didn’t even bother to hide their affair. Furious, I stormed into the bathroom and caught them in the act. But the pair of them, like cornered rats, turned on me. Before I could react, they stripped off my protective gear and locked me out on the south-facing balcony. The temperature outside was over 122°F. Under the relentless sun, I collapsed, my skin burning and my throat parched. I’d never known such despair. In a matter of hours, I was reduced to a dried, lifeless corpse. After I died, Molly convinced Ryan to dismember my body and dump it down the sewer. She took over everything I had worked so hard to build. Now, my phone buzzed with an incoming call. It was Ryan, his voice hurried and breathless: “Honey, can you bring me the valve wrench from 3044? Quick!”

Apartment 3044 belonged to none other than Molly. On a scorching 104°F day, my husband decided to skip his usual afternoon nap and help our dear female neighbor fix her air conditioner. When I got there, Molly was lounging in a skimpy crop top and shorts so short they barely qualified as clothing. Her legs were on full display, leaving little to the imagination. She was sucking on a banana-flavored popsicle, not biting it, letting it melt slowly and drip down her lips, making them glisten. Meanwhile, Ryan was standing on a chair, sweating profusely as he fiddled with the central AC unit. “So cool! But not as refreshing as having you here to fix my air conditioner,” Molly said with a bright, flirtatious smile. When she turned and saw me, she stuck out her tongue in mock surprise, pretending she hadn’t noticed me walk in. It was only in this second life that I realized her carefree demeanor was nothing but an act—a carefully crafted performance designed to lure men. I ignored her and looked up at the sweat-drenched back of my husband. “Excuse me, sir. What’s your profession again?” Ryan scratched his head sheepishly. “Oh, honey, when I was a kid back in the countryside, my dad used to fix appliances. I picked up a few tricks back then—this is nothing.” Funny. At home, he couldn’t even be bothered to change a lightbulb, always leaving it for the housekeeper. But now? Suddenly, he was eager to play handyman. Ah, the power of a pretty face. It can turn a man into the most obedient servant. “Did you bring the valve wrench?” he asked without looking at me. I shook my head. “We don’t even own one. You’ve never done a single repair at home, remember?” Molly chimed in, crossing her arms as the sheer fabric of her top clung to her skin, leaving little to the imagination. From Ryan’s angle, he had a perfect view of her cleavage. “It’s fine, big bro. You should head back with your wife. I’ll call someone else to fix it—don’t worry about me!” Years of marriage had made me an expert in reading Ryan’s body language. And as I glanced at him, I noticed it—he was turned on. He quickly averted his gaze, trying to cover it up, but I’d already seen enough. “All right,” he stammered. “If you need anything else, just let me know.” I scanned the room, taking in the chaotic scene. The dining table was covered in empty instant noodle cups, while the window sill was decorated with an elaborate dessert stand. On the old plastic clothes rack, a pair of Gucci spring collection black stockings hung delicately. The mix of sloppiness and luxury was almost comical. Molly was a private model—someone who made her living posing for exclusive clients. There was no way she could normally afford to live in a neighborhood like ours. She had only rented this apartment for her photoshoots. Her social media was filled with posts showcasing a glamorous life, paired with poetic captions meant to evoke sophistication. And Ryan? He was always in her comments, leaving little gems like “Such beauty deserves admiration.” Every single post. Rain or shine. It was so over-the-top that it practically oozed infatuation through the screen. I’d never paid attention to his behavior online, so I’d been completely unaware of his little crush until now. Molly glanced at me, then at Ryan, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “You’re so lucky, Mrs. Harris! Financially independent, with a husband who dotes on you every day. Unlike me…” Molly had been married for three years, but her husband worked overseas and rarely came back. My eyes caught on something new sitting on her table: a pristine Hermès handbag. I didn’t need to guess who had bought it for her. Molly noticed my gaze and tilted her chin up proudly. “Beautiful, isn’t it? A gift from one of my biggest fans!” “Women have to rely on themselves,” she added smugly. “You can’t depend on a husband alone. The real skill is getting other men to happily spend money on you.” Ryan stood there, perfectly composed, as if her words didn’t implicate him. “Honey, do you like that bag?” he asked me casually. “If you want one, I can get you one too.” I nearly laughed out loud. What a hypocrite. Spending my money to act generous and charming for someone else. When I first met Ryan, he was a fresh-faced college athlete, full of youthful energy. I was already working at the Social Sciences Institute and had a bit of a reputation in my field. Occasionally, I’d return to my alma mater to teach guest lectures, and that’s where I’d first seen him—on the basketball court. He was magnetic on the court, his jersey clinging to his sweat-soaked body as he dunked the ball effortlessly. His sharp abs flexed as he moved, and his fiery gaze seemed to burn through everything in its path. Whenever he saw me, his ears would flush red, and he’d stammer, “Miss Shaw.” There was a six-year age gap between us, and while I was charmed, I never took it seriously. Later, he started working part-time at the gym where I swam. He offered to coach me in diving, and one thing led to another—we ended up together. I’ve never been one to romanticize relationships. From the beginning, I was clear about what I wanted. Before we got married, I told him plainly: “As long as you keep up those abs, I’ll take care of everything else. You won’t need to work or worry about money.” I had a steady income from my work at the institute and my investments in U.S. stocks. Every month, I gave Ryan $20,000 as pocket money. My only two conditions were that he stay fit and stay faithful. But he still managed to fall for someone else. And now, a man who’s already tainted has no place in my life anymore.

The streets were already blazing at a terrifying 113°F these past few days. Like in my past life, I had meticulously stocked up on supplies, preparing for this catastrophic heatwave with calm precision. All outdoor work had stopped, replaced with remote jobs for those lucky enough to work from home. Only a few essential workers remained, gritting their teeth through the unbearable heat. The neighborhood chat group buzzed with constant anxiety. Even a one-hour water outage was enough to send everyone into a frenzy. The latest trending news told of a homeless man who collapsed on the asphalt. His skin had melted onto the pavement, and he passed away from severe burns caused by the heat. People online offered prayers and condolences, but no one used the candle emoji anymore. It was just too hot for even that. As the heatwave persisted, power grids in multiple cities began to fail. Stories of people literally dying from the heat became more and more common. Meanwhile, in my little villa, I remained vigilant despite the relative comfort of my surroundings. I saved electricity, stayed cautious, and never let my guard down. Thankfully, my parents lived up north, where the heatwave hadn’t yet spread. “Annie, it’s only in the mid-80s here,” my mom reassured me over the phone. “We’ve got enough supplies. Don’t worry about us—just take care of yourself!” I made sure they wouldn’t skimp on air conditioning by sending them $1,000 for their electricity bill. After that, I turned my attention back to my plan—my perfect plan to take revenge on my husband and his mistress. The heatwave had already caused Molly to faint several times in her home. Each time, she’d call Ryan to take her to the hospital. I didn’t stop him. Instead, I lounged on the couch with a chilled watermelon in my lap, smiling at the TV as if nothing was wrong. Finally, Ryan couldn’t hold back any longer. He came to me with a familiar request. “Annie, why don’t we let Molly stay with us? She’s not doing well on her own, and it’s not like she’ll use up much of our supplies. She’s just one person, and we’re neighbors—it’s the right thing to do.” This time, I didn’t even pretend to hesitate. “Of course, honey,” I said with a sweet smile. “Neighbors should help each other out.” Ryan blinked, stunned by how quickly I agreed. Then, looking flattered, he nodded. “I knew it—you’re the kindest, most generous wife. I knew you wouldn’t mind.” What he didn’t know was that I had upgraded the villa’s entire system. How could I possibly mind? I was counting on both of them to come here so I could send them straight to hell. On her first day in the house, Molly helped herself to my walk-in closet. When I called her for dinner, she strutted out in one of my dresses. Ryan’s eyes lit up with admiration he didn’t even bother to hide. “Why are you wearing Annie’s clothes?” he asked, though his tone was more curious than upset. “Oh, I saw her wardrobe and couldn’t resist trying something on,” Molly said with a coy smile. Ryan chuckled, his voice full of praise. “It looks great on you. Annie has so many clothes anyway—why don’t you keep it?” He didn’t even glance in my direction for permission. It was like I wasn’t there. I just shrugged. It was only a dress, after all. A good hunter knows how to be patient. Even during the heatwave, Molly refused to give up her “career.” She insisted on continuing her modeling work from home. Ryan had a hobby for photography, so of course, Molly begged him to take pictures of her. She’d even come up with a title for the shoot: #HotAndSultry: Heatwave Goddess Edition “I’m planning to submit this to Men’s Magazine,” she said smugly. “I can already tell it’s going to go viral.” I glanced at the outfit she was wearing for the shoot and realized it was one of my $2,000 dresses—now cut into a tattered, revealing mess that barely covered anything. In my past life, it was during one of these photoshoots that they ended up in the bathtub together. Ryan, thinking I had gone to bed early, assumed it was the perfect opportunity. I had even told him I wasn’t feeling well because of my period, which gave him an excuse to sleep alone. How convenient for him. That night, I sat at my desk, staring coldly at the live feed from the security cameras. Sure enough, Ryan and Molly had snuck into the largest bathroom in the house. While people outside were dying in the heat, they had the audacity to set the AC to a cool 75°F and waste precious water on a bubble bath. Ryan was gently washing Molly’s back, running his hands over her skin as he massaged in the soap. The sound of flirtatious laughter and moans echoed from the bathroom. Molly’s voice was sweet and teasing. “What if your wife finds out? She’d probably kill me!” “Don’t worry about her,” Ryan said dismissively. “That old hag’s obsessed with me. We’re just using each other—she wants my looks, and I want her money. She’s nothing to be afraid of.” He tilted Molly’s chin up and smirked. “How about tonight, you take charge? I’ll let you do whatever you want.” “Ugh, you’re so annoying!” Molly giggled, playfully hitting his chest. I could barely contain my disgust. How had I ever fallen for such a sleazy, pathetic man? Fifteen minutes later, they finished their little escapade and began rinsing off under the shower. They still hadn’t noticed that the bathroom door had automatically locked. “Still feeling hot?” Ryan asked with a grin. Molly, her face flushed, mumbled something incoherent. “…The ice cream you gave me earlier was the best way to cool down.” They turned on the rain shower, laughing as the water cascaded over their bodies. Watching them through the security feed, I smirked. The bathroom’s sauna system was controlled remotely. I could adjust the room temperature and water settings with just a few taps. The sauna mode could reach temperatures of up to 212°F. At such extreme heat, the human body couldn’t survive for long. I thought of my past life—how I had been left to die, roasting under the relentless sun. This time, it was their turn. Without a second thought, I pressed the button.

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