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

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

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “423494”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

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

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

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

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1 Five years ago, a car crash killed my husband Matt and our one-year-old son Phillip. It left me with endless grief and a $300,000 debt to a loan shark. To repay it, I worked day and night. I hauled concrete, delivered food, and drove for a rideshare service, sleeping just three hours a day. My best friend Jessica told me, “The debt died with them. You’re killing yourself for nothing.” But I couldn’t bear the thought of Matt’s name being cursed. On this year’s anniversary, loan sharks found me at the cemetery. They wrecked the offerings and stole everything except one small paper gold ingot. That night, overwhelmed, I posted online: “Matt, I’m so tired. Why won’t you and Phillip visit me in my dreams?” Soon, a notification arrived from an account with a cartoon star as its avatar: “Who are you? Why are you posting pictures of me and my dad?” Phillip’s nickname had been “my little star.” Trembling, I opened the profile. The background photo showed a family: a father, a mother, and a son. The man was unmistakably Matt. The woman beside him was Jessica. … I was frozen, my fingers shaking as I typed out a reply. “That’s my dead husband and son. Who are you?” Just as I was about to hit send, the comment vanished. The account with the star avatar was suddenly set to private. A cold dread washed over me. Jessica had gotten married five years ago, right around the time Matt and Phillip had “died.” She’d said it was a quiet affair, a high-society arranged marriage that had to be kept out of the papers. Lost in my own grief, I hadn’t questioned it. I glanced at the clock. An idea sparked. I grabbed my keys and drove toward the most exclusive private elementary school in the city. My mind raced. Right after we found out I was pregnant, Matt had bought an apartment in this school district, paying in cash. He’d also made a two-hundred-thousand-dollar donation to the school for a new library. “Our son will have the absolute best education,” he had sworn. School wasn’t out yet. The security guard at the gate stopped me. “Can I help you?” I hesitated, a bitter taste in my mouth. “I’m here to pick up Phillip Pierce.” The guard eyed me suspiciously. “I know Phillip’s parents. I’ve never seen you before.” Another parent waiting nearby chimed in. “She’s probably the new nanny. Mrs. Pierce is far too glamorous to be doing school runs herself.” “That’s true,” another parent agreed. “They’re such a lovely couple. They always pick him up together. I wonder why they sent the nanny today.” I looked down at my faded blouse and worn-out jeans, a familiar wave of shame washing over me. Before I could respond, the final bell rang. A few minutes later, a black Maybach purred to a stop at the curb. Even though I had prepared myself, the man who stepped out of the driver’s seat made my vision swim. My whole body started to shake uncontrollably. It was Matt. Alive. He opened the passenger door, took Jessica’s designer handbag, and then took her hand, leading her toward the gate. I ducked behind a large oak tree, listening to the other parents greet them. “Mr. and Mrs. Pierce! Here for your boy!” “Phillip is such a wonderful child! Top of his class! I wish my kids were half as brilliant.” “Well, look at his parents! With a loving home like that, of course he’s going to be a star!” I clamped a hand over my mouth, my nails digging into my palm so hard I thought I might draw blood. I couldn’t believe this was real. After he died, I had prayed every single night just to see his face one more time in a dream. Now, seeing him here in the flesh, all I wanted was for this nightmare to end. A flood of children poured out of the school. A boy, about six or seven, came bounding out and leaped into Matt’s arms. “Mommy! Daddy! I got a hundred on my test again!” When he turned his head, I saw the small, distinct birthmark behind his ear. A choked sob escaped my lips, and tears streamed down my face. It was Phillip. My Phillip. The son who was supposed to have died in that car crash with his father. And now, my son—the baby I carried and birthed—was calling my best friend “Mommy.” The sight squeezed the air from my lungs. The pain was a physical force, threatening to tear me apart. I stepped out from behind the tree. I met Matt and Jessica’s wide, shocked eyes and said, in a voice I barely recognized as my own, “Long time no see.” 2. Matt’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak. He hadn’t changed a bit in five years, yet the way he looked at me—like I was a complete stranger—was a world away from the love he once held in his eyes. Jessica snapped out of her shock first, rushing forward to grab my hand, her voice a desperate whisper. “Catherine, let’s go somewhere and talk. It’s not what you think…” Looking at her, at the woman I once considered my sister, filled me with a sickening revulsion. I ripped my hand away and slapped her hard across the face. “I gave you everything, Jess. I treated you like a sister. And you stole my husband. You stole my son. How could you?” My voice rose, shaking with fury. I turned my glare on Matt. “And you! Was it fun? Watching me suffer for five years while you played house?” Matt’s face hardened, and he stepped in front of Jessica, shielding her. “If you have a problem, take it up with me. This has nothing to do with her.” The sight of him protecting her sent a fresh wave of rage and heartbreak through me, and my vision blurred with tears. Jessica and I had been inseparable since childhood. Her home was a nightmare—an alcoholic mother, a gambling father. They beat her. I was always dragging her over to my house for dinner, for homework, for safety. One time, when her father was about to hit her with a belt, I jumped in front of her. I woke up in the hospital to her crying, her eyes swollen shut. “You saved my life, Catherine,” she’d sobbed. “You’ll always be my best friend.” And now, that same best friend had stolen my entire world. My shouting had attracted a crowd of onlookers. Matt frowned, reaching for me. “This isn’t the place for this. Let’s go somewhere else to talk.” My throat was raw. I was about to refuse when a small body slammed into me, pushing me back. “You’re a monster! Don’t you hurt my mommy!” Phillip stood before me, his little face contorted in rage, looking at me like I was a wild animal. “Say you’re sorry! Or I’ll hit you!” I stared at the son I had endured so much to bring into this world, my heart aching with a bitter sorrow. Five years ago, when he was just a toddler, he was already my little protector. I remember cutting my finger on a broken glass, and he had toddled over, taking my hand in his tiny ones, whispering, “Don’t cry, Mommy. Phillip will kiss it better.” Matt had gently scolded me for being clumsy as he bandaged my finger. In that moment, I had felt like the luckiest woman alive. Now, my husband was alive and with my best friend. My son was defending her against me. The crowd went silent. Matt was the first to speak. “Catherine, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “I fell in love with Jessica. The truth is, you and I… we grew too far apart. We have nothing in common anymore.” “My company needs the connections and support Jessica can provide. And Phillip needs a mother with an Ivy League education like Jess.” “I know you’ve had a hard five years. Name your price. I’ll compensate you.” His words were a knife, twisting in my gut. I let out a hollow laugh. “You’re not afraid of karma, are you, Matt?” I first met him in middle school. My father sponsored his education. He was a brilliant orphan who tutored me in his spare time. When my father’s business went bankrupt and he was sent to prison my senior year, my world shattered. Matt offered to drop out of school to repay our family’s kindness. I refused. “You’re destined for the Ivy League,” I told him. “I’m a lost cause anyway. You go. I’ll take care of my mother. I’ll support you.” I worked three jobs to pay his tuition. When I handed him the money for his first semester, he traced the calluses on my fingers, his eyes full of pain. “Catherine,” he promised, “the day I graduate, we’ll get married. I’ll take care of you forever.” He was offered a spot in a PhD program. He wanted to turn it down, but I wouldn’t let him. “My father’s dream was to see you succeed. Go. I’ll wait for you.” So I worked even harder. After he graduated, he started a company with some classmates. It grew, and he grew more distant. I, with my high school diploma, couldn’t keep up with his talk of venture capital and market shares. He had no interest in the price of groceries. But he always defended me. “Catherine paved the way for my success with her own sacrifice,” he’d say. “I’ll be grateful to her for the rest of my life.” When the news of the “car crash” came, the loan sharks showed up. That’s when I found out he’d borrowed a fortune to start his business. The weight of it all nearly broke me. I wanted to die. But I pulled through, determined to pay back every cent so he could rest in peace with his name cleared. For five years, I worked in construction, washed dishes, delivered food, and drove a taxi. I slept three hours a night. I paid it all back. And it was all a joke.

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The sterile scent of the hospital was what finally dragged me back, but the grotesque scene from that midnight still clung to my mind like a phantom limb. Three months pregnant, I’d been jolted awake by a searing cramp in my abdomen, only to find the bed beside me cold and empty. Was he, Adam, working late again? I clung to the wall, dragging myself to the next room, hoping to find my live-in “mother-in-law” for help. The door was unlocked, a gentle push all it took to open it – and my blood ran ice cold. Adam’s arm was draped beneath the woman’s head, their bodies spooned together, sound asleep. The agonizing twist in my stomach combined with the horror unfolding before my eyes sent me spiraling into unconsciousness. When I next opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed. The more I thought about it, the more wrong it felt. My hands shaking, I dialed Mr. Roberts, Adam’s father, who lived in the countryside. When I mentioned “my mother-in-law,” Mr. Roberts’ voice on the other end was laced with confusion: “Mother-in-law? Adam’s mother?” “Adam’s biological mother passed away when he was ten, honey. Where did you get a mother-in-law from?” Mr. Roberts’ words hit me like a thunderclap, sending shivers down my spine. 1 My hands began to tremble uncontrollably, barely gripping my phone. Adam’s mother died when he was ten. So who was the woman who’d lived in my house for three years, the woman I’d called “mother-in-law” for three whole years? My phone was on speaker, so my parents, sitting beside me, heard Mr. Roberts’ words too. Seeing me frozen, my dad snatched the phone. “Mr. Roberts, are you certain?” “Adam’s mother passed away twenty years ago?” Mr. Roberts’ voice still held a hint of amusement, as if he’d heard a ridiculous joke. “My dear man, what kind of talk is that? She was my wife, Adam’s birth mother. You think I wouldn’t know if she was alive or dead?” Dad’s face was beet red, he was about to say more, but I grabbed the phone back. “Okay, Dad, I understand.” After hanging up, I sat on the hospital bed, unmoving, tears streaming down my face. Mr. Roberts’ words confirmed my suspicions. The so-called “mother-in-law” living in our home was absolutely not Adam Roberts’ mother! Seeing my tears, Mom frantically tried to comfort me, but couldn’t help tearing up herself. “Aurora, please don’t cry. You just lost your baby, and you’re in your postpartum recovery. You absolutely mustn’t cry. You’re so young, what if you damage your eyes?” Dad’s face was livid with rage. “That scoundrel! That absolute scoundrel!” “Don’t worry, Dad won’t let him off easy. I’ll make sure he gives you answers!” I fiercely wiped away my tears, looking up at my parents. “Dad, Mom, trust me this once.” “I want to handle this myself.” No sooner had I spoken than Adam and my so-called “mother-in-law,” Elaine Walker, pushed open the hospital room door. The moment he entered, Adam rushed to the bedside, his face etched with anxiety. “Aurora, please let me explain. It’s really not what you think. Last night, my mom wasn’t feeling well, her back was aching terribly. I was just helping her with a back rub. It got late, and I accidentally fell asleep in her room. You truly misunderstood.” Before I could even speak, Dad couldn’t restrain himself and was about to curse him out. I shot Dad a look, and he reluctantly held back his fury, though his tone was still stiff. “You’re thirty years old! Don’t you know the basic decency of a grown child keeping their distance from their parents? Adam! You caused the death of your own child, you’re an animal!” Adam hung his head low, unable to meet my father’s gaze. Elaine, seeing this, looked heartbroken, but knowing they were in the wrong, she dared not quarrel with my parents. “My dear in-laws, please don’t say such things. It’s all my fault, I didn’t raise him well. Don’t worry, I’ll be more careful from now on, this kind of situation definitely won’t happen again.” Mom was about to speak, but I gently squeezed her hand. 2 “Mom, let it go.” Hearing my words, Adam looked up, his face brightening with surprise. “Aurora, you forgive me?” My parents looked indignant, but remembering my earlier instruction, they ultimately kept silent. I landed two sharp slaps across Adam’s face. “This slap, that’s for me!” “This one, that’s for our baby!” Elaine’s face was a mask of pain, but she bit her lip, not daring to step forward. They were clearly in the wrong, so they couldn’t say much. What exactly was going on between him and Elaine? I absolutely needed to find out. Though I couldn’t push for a divorce just yet, I wasn’t going to swallow this insult. Three days later, I was discharged from the hospital. Despite my parents’ worry, I declined to recover at their house and went back home with Adam and Elaine. Shortly after we arrived, Adam, who hadn’t been to work for three days, rushed off to the office. Elaine also grabbed her grocery basket and headed to the supermarket. Seizing the opportunity while they were both out, I made my way into Elaine’s room. Before, I always believed in maintaining boundaries between in-laws, so I’d never entered her room. But my gut told me there was something I needed to find in there. Sure enough, in the bottom drawer of her wardrobe, I found a stack of photographs. The subject of almost every photo was Elaine. There were pictures of her wearing an apron, cooking in the kitchen; watering plants on the balcony; wiping tables in the living room. And even some intimate ones, utterly inappropriate, taken in a bedroom. These photos clearly suggested a relationship far beyond a normal mother-son bond. Besides the photos, I discovered numerous love letters, all written by Adam to Elaine. Adam was thirty now, and judging by the dates, they had been together for twelve years. At that time, Adam was eighteen. And Elaine was already thirty-nine. I steadied myself, took photos of all the pictures and letters, then carefully put everything back exactly as I’d found it. After I finished, I returned to my room, tears silently falling. Though I had suspected it all along, seeing the truth laid bare was utterly sickening. It all made sense now. Everything clicked. When we first met five years ago, Adam told me his parents were divorced, that he was from a single-parent home, and had grown up with his mother. Two years later, we decided to get married. But when it came time for our families to meet, Adam told me his parents had a bad relationship after the divorce, so we’d have to meet them separately. Before I met his father, he even warned me not to mention his mother. Elaine didn’t even attend our wedding. My parents and I didn’t understand, but we just assumed the divorce had been messy and painful. Fearing we’d stir up old wounds for Adam and his dad, we didn’t press for details. After we married, Adam’s father stayed mostly in the countryside and never once encountered Elaine. Looking back, from the beginning of our relationship until now, Adam had already brought Elaine into my life under the guise of being his mother, and she had lived with us for three years. The thought of it made my stomach churn, and I leaned over the bed, dry-heaving. At dinnertime, Elaine brought a bowl of chicken noodle soup into my room. She placed the soup on the bedside table. “Aurora, the chicken noodle soup is fresh, have some to tide you over. Dinner will be ready soon.” I glanced at the soup, a layer of grease floating on top. “Too oily.” Three minutes later, Elaine returned with a fresh bowl of soup. 3 I took a sip, then set it down. “Too bland.” A little while later, Elaine came in with another new bowl of soup. I didn’t even look at it. “I don’t want chicken noodle soup anymore.” “Go buy a fresh salmon, I want salmon chowder.” Elaine bit her lower lip, looking as if she’d suffered a tremendous injustice. After a moment, she seemed to compose herself, forcing a weak smile. “Alright, I’ll go get it right away.” Adam didn’t return until dusk. Perhaps Elaine had spoken to him, because the moment he entered the room, Adam sat beside me, his face etched with exhaustion. “Aurora, my mom is getting old, please don’t make her run around so much…” Adam’s words were cut short by a sharp slap across his face. “I’m making her run around?” “Adam! Whose fault is it that I lost our baby?” “I just wanted some salmon chowder. Is that a capital crime?” Adam stared at me for a long time, but ultimately said nothing, rising and leaving the room. I watched Adam’s retreating back, pondering deeply. Why? Why could Elaine stand by and watch Adam marry someone else? Why would Adam risk everything to give Elaine a fake identity, just so she could live under the same roof as us? If their love was so profound, why did he need to marry me? A million questions swirled in my mind. But I knew it wasn’t the right time yet. For the next week, I tormented Elaine relentlessly. I complained that her cooking was terrible, that she didn’t wash clothes properly, that her loud movements around the house disturbed my rest. Finally, one midnight, thinking I was asleep, I heard Adam open Elaine’s bedroom door. Barefoot, I crept to Elaine’s door and pressed my ear against it. Elaine’s voice sounded tearful and resentful. “Maybe we should find someone else, Aurora is absolutely driving me insane these past few days.” “She finally got pregnant after three years of marriage, and now the baby’s gone. Who knows if she’ll ever get pregnant again?” “If that’s the case, we might as well get someone younger, maybe she’ll conceive faster.” Adam seemed to hesitate, and then, after a long moment, he spoke. “But her work performance is outstanding, she’s practically secured all the company’s current contracts.” “And besides, she just lost a baby. If I brought up divorce now, she definitely wouldn’t handle it well.” “Alright, Elaine, just bear with it a little longer. Once she recovers and gives birth, I’ll divorce her. Then we’ll be a proper family, the three of us, and no one will ever make you suffer again.” Elaine’s voice was choked with emotion. “Okay then, once she’s recovered, you need to get her pregnant quickly, and I’ll cook her more nourishing soups.” “Adam, you have to understand, if I weren’t too old to have children, why would I have put up with this for so many years?” “I’m doing all of this for you, for the Roberts family to carry on its lineage. If you ever betray me, I swear I won’t forgive you.” Soon, the room filled with intimate sounds. I staggered back to my room. The moment I closed the door, I couldn’t hold myself up any longer and slid down the wood, collapsing onto the floor. So, to them, my only purpose was to be a baby-making machine. From the very first day of our marriage, Elaine would constantly make me various nourishing soups, and the topic of having children was always on her lips. Though it made me uncomfortable, I just assumed it was an old “mother-in-law” who yearned for grandchildren.

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1 My suitcase stood packed by the bedroom door. Tonight, I was leaving the place I had called home for three years for good. Living with Frederick, the hardest part wasn’t the love fading away. It was the Ragdoll cat named Cotton, who belonged to his ex-girlfriend Sophie. It had become the unbearable, constant burden of my life. I followed every fussy instruction about imported cat food, tofu litter, and special baths, despite my severe cat allergy. Every morning, I woke with swollen eyes. Frederick would just hand me an allergy pill and say, “Hang in there a little longer. Sophie will take the cat back as soon as she finds a pet-friendly apartment.” That “little longer” stretched into fourteen months. Sophie moved three times, each with the same excuse: no pets allowed. So, Cotton stayed. My allergies turned from seasonal to a year-round nightmare. Yesterday, the doctor warned me clearly: if I didn’t get away from the cat, I could develop asthma. I sent the diagnosis to Frederick. He saw it but never replied. That night, I saw Sophie’s new post: a screenshot of her video-calling the cat. The caption read, “Long-distance parenting! Big thanks to Frederick for being the best cat-sitter an ex could ask for.” In that moment, everything became clear. I packed the empty allergy medication boxes into my suitcase, alongside a relationship that had long since spoiled. … The suitcase was waiting by the bedroom door. Zipped tight, it was filled with clothes and art supplies I’d bought for myself. Not a single thing in it was a gift from him. It wasn’t out of spite. It’s just that in three years, I could count the gifts he’d given me on one hand. Two boxes of macarons, a cheap silk scarf for my birthday, and an endless supply of allergy pills. Cotton, at some point, had leaped onto my suitcase. With a flick of her tail, a cloud of fine white fur drifted into the air and straight into my nose. I sneezed three times, hard. My eyes immediately began to swell, my vision shrinking to a slit. I lifted the cat off and placed her on the imported cat tree in the living room. The cat tree cost five hundred dollars. The allergy pills, twenty dollars a box. I’d been doing that math for fourteen months. The lock clicked. Frederick was home. The first thing he did after slipping on his house shoes was check the cat’s food bowl. It was empty. He frowned, tore open a bag of the expensive cat food, and poured it into the bowl. The kibble rattled, and Cotton came running. Only then did he notice the suitcase by the bedroom door. “Going on a trip?” “Moving out.” His hand froze. Kibble spilled from the bag, scattering across the floor. He ignored the mess and walked over, his hand closing around my wrist. My eyes were swollen, tears of allergic reaction clinging to my lashes. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his face. “Ava, I know this has been hard on you.” He pulled out his phone, showing me his chat history with Sophie. His last message to her: “Sophie, you have to pick up Cotton this weekend. No more excuses.” She’d replied with a string of crying emojis. “Frederick, the new landlord really won’t allow it. Can you just give me one more month? Please? I’m already looking for a new place.” Frederick put his phone away and looked at me, his expression earnest. “Just one more month, Ava. I promise, this is the last time.” I almost laughed. I opened the notes app on my phone and pulled up a file titled “The Last Time.” Entry 1: Last March. “She’ll be moved in by next month.” Entry 2: Last April. “Just a bit longer, she’s waiting on her security deposit.” Entry 3… Entry 4… There were fourteen entries in total, spanning fourteen months. Each one was dated. I didn’t show him. He pulled me into a hug, resting his chin on the top of my head. His sweater was covered in cat hair. Where my bare arm touched the wool, a red, itchy rash began to form. I didn’t push him away. “I’ll take you to the doctor tomorrow,” he murmured. “We’ll get the best imported medicine.” I pushed the suitcase back into the bedroom. It wasn’t because I’d softened. It was because I couldn’t let my anger derail my life. My drafting table was still here, and I had three original pieces for a brand collaboration due next week. A one-point-two-million-dollar contract. I wasn’t about to jeopardize that over a move. It was 2:43 AM. I woke up unable to breathe. My chest was tight, each inhale a struggle, a thin wire pulling taut in my throat. Cotton was curled up next to my pillow, her fur tickling my lips. I scrambled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. A drop of blood, then another, hit the white porcelain of the sink. A nosebleed. I stuffed some tissue up my nose and went back to the bedroom. Frederick was fast asleep. His phone screen lit up. A new message. From Sophie. “Thank you for sticking up for me today, Frederick. Sometimes, knowing Cotton is still with you makes me feel like we’re still connected, you know?” It was followed by a heart emoji. I placed the phone back where it was. The tissue was soaked through. I replaced it with a fresh one. The streetlight outside cast a glow into the room, making Cotton’s eyes shine in the dark. She tilted her head, looking at me, so innocent. She didn’t know she was the string. One end tied to Frederick, the other to Sophie. And I was just the inconvenient knot tied in the middle. 2 The doorbell rang early Saturday morning. I wasn’t even out of bed yet. By the time I stumbled into the living room, wrapped in a robe, Sophie was already sitting on our sofa. Cotton was curled in her lap, her tail swaying gently. She was wearing a linen housecoat. My linen housecoat, the one that had been hanging on the hook in my bathroom. “Cotton scratched Sophie’s clothes, so I let her borrow yours,” Frederick explained, poking his head out from the kitchen. Three breakfast plates were set on the coffee table. Eggs Benedict, avocado toast, and pour-over coffee. All of Sophie’s favorites. My oat milk latte was made with whole milk. I’m lactose intolerant. After three years of living together, he remembered every detail of Sophie’s palate but couldn’t remember that whole milk would make me sick. Sophie saw my swollen eyes and immediately set the cat down, standing up. “Ava, I’m so sorry! Did Cotton bother you again? I can put her in her carrier if you want.” Her voice was soft, her eyes brimming with apology. Frederick quickly stepped in. “Cotton’s never been in a carrier. It’ll stress her out, and the vet bills for that are even worse.” He turned to me. “Why don’t you take one of your pills, Ava?” The cat’s stress was more important than my allergic reaction. I sat down and reached for the latte. But Sophie was faster. She picked up the mug from the coffee table and took a long drink of water. It was my mug. The one with the stardust pattern I’d hand-painted myself. A one-of-a-kind piece. She smiled after her drink. “This mug is so pretty.” Frederick chimed in, “Ava painted it. I’ll have her make one for you, too.” No one asked me if I wanted to. I went to my workspace to get my draft illustrations. Sophie followed me. She stood behind me, watching for a moment, her eyes lighting up. “Ava, you’re so talented! Frederick sent me your new ‘Moonlight Jellyfish’ series, and I tried copying it for practice, but I just can’t get the same feeling.” My hand, holding the drafts, froze. The Moonlight Jellyfish series. The core visual for next month’s brand collaboration launch. The contract explicitly stated, “Under no circumstances shall the work be disclosed in any form prior to the official launch.” I turned and looked at Frederick. He was on the sofa, scratching his nose. “Sophie’s learning illustration, so I thought she could use your work as a reference. It’s not like she’s using it commercially. It’s no big deal.” The confidentiality clause of a $1.2 million contract was “no big deal”? The doorbell rang again. Frederick’s mother had arrived. The first person she hugged was Sophie. “Sophie, you’ve gotten so thin! It must be hard living all by yourself.” Then, she glanced at me. “Oh, Ava’s here too.” I didn’t answer, heading to the kitchen to pour her a cup of tea. In the living room, Frederick’s mother held Sophie’s hands, chatting warmly. “You two were such a perfect match. If only Frederick hadn’t been so focused on his career back then…” She glanced my way and trailed off. She didn’t have to finish. I knew the rest. The rest was: he wouldn’t have settled for someone else. Before she left, Frederick’s mother pulled him aside. “The company’s brand launch is next week. Bring Sophie with you. It’s not easy for her out there on her own. You should help her network with people in the industry.” Frederick nodded. “Okay.” I stood in the kitchen doorway. I had drawn every single visual for that launch. Seven months, twelve original pieces. No one had asked if I was going. Sophie stayed for dinner. She and Frederick stood side-by-side in the kitchen, laughing about old stories of raising Cotton. The cat weaved around her legs, purring. She bent down, scooped Cotton into her arms, and kissed her. The scene was perfect. Standing there in the kitchen, she looked like the lady of the house. I retreated to my bedroom and shut the door. My phone buzzed. It was my best friend, Zoe, with a screenshot. It was an Instagram post from Sophie, dated three days ago. The photo showed the floor-to-ceiling window of her new apartment, bathed in sunlight. A cat tree stood by the window. Cat toys were scattered nearby. The caption: “Finally got the new place all set up. The sunlight is perfect for all-day napping.” Her apartment was pet-friendly. Fourteen months. Every single “the landlord won’t allow it” was a lie. I heard the jingle of the cat’s bell from the living room. And Sophie’s voice as she left. “Frederick, today was so wonderful. It felt just like old times.” She was right. This home had always been their “old times.” I was just a temporary guest. 3 Monday. Three days until the brand launch. I put the final stroke on the last piece at my drafting table. Twelve original collaboration pieces. Seven months of work. Each one was hand-drawn with a 0.03mm pen, each with a collector’s value in the six figures. The entire contract was worth $1.2 million. I stretched, rubbing my aching fingers. The door opened. Frederick walked in, with Sophie trailing behind him. “Ava, the company decided to add a last-minute showcase for an emerging artist at the launch. We want to give Sophie a chance to display some of her practice pieces.” He walked up to my table, his tone casual. “We’ll just use the last twenty minutes of your exhibition slot. It’s a great opportunity for her to get some exposure.” “No,” I said, flatly. Seven months of my heart and soul. Not even for twenty seconds. Frederick frowned. “Ava, can you see the bigger picture for once? Sophie is just starting out. What’s the harm in helping her out?” Sophie lowered her head. “It’s okay, Frederick. If it’s inconvenient for Ava, we shouldn’t bother her. I’ll find another opportunity…” Her voice trailed off as she turned to leave. Frederick sighed, watching her go, then turned back to me. “See? Now look how you’ve made her feel.” I ignored him and began carefully gathering my originals. Just then, Cotton slipped into the studio from somewhere. She leaped onto my drafting table. I reached out to lift her down. The cat, startled, kicked out with her back legs, her claws digging into the table’s surface. Her claws raked across three of the twelve originals I had laid out to dry. Deep gashes tore through the paper, severing the delicate ink lines. They were ruined, beyond repair. I stood there, frozen. Seven months. Every single line drawn by hand, one by one. Sophie rushed in from the doorway and scooped up the cat. “I’m so, so sorry! Cotton didn’t mean to do it!” she sobbed. Frederick’s first move was to check the cat’s paws, turning them over and over to make sure she wasn’t hurt. Only then did he look at the shredded artwork on my table. “Can you fix them?” “No.” “Then just print out digital copies to replace them. The client will never know the difference.” He said it so calmly. The originals had a six-figure collector’s value. The prints were worthless. But to him, there was no difference. I said nothing. That evening, the head of the brand called me. Her voice was ice. Three of my line-art illustrations, she said, were “highly similar” to a submission in a competition for new artists. She asked me if I had plagiarized the work. I told her it was impossible. She sent me the side-by-side comparison. The name of the “new artist” was Sophie. The submission date was two weeks before I had delivered my final drafts. She had used the files Frederick had secretly sent her to enter a competition in advance. The brand representative’s words were sharp. “Ms. Reed, this raises a serious dispute about originality. We have to suspend the collaboration and launch an investigation.” The $1.2 million contract was frozen. I called Frederick. In the background, I could hear Sophie’s voice. “Thanks for taking me to get Cotton’s paw checked today.” He was dropping her home. The cat’s paw was more important than my $1.2 million contract. I didn’t waste words. I sent him the recording of my call with the brand. He was silent for a full five seconds. “I’ll handle this,” he said finally. “Sophie wouldn’t do this on purpose. She just doesn’t know the industry rules. I’ll talk to her. Don’t worry.” He hung up. I stared at the three ruined originals and the “contract suspended” notification on my phone. Seven months of work. Three years of a relationship. And he wanted to brush it all away with a simple, “She didn’t mean to do it.”

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To surprise my husband for Valentine’s Day, I lied about going on a business trip, but secretly came home. The moment I pushed open the front door, I saw a strange woman lying on the bed, and a furious rage ignited within me. I rushed over, grabbed her hair, ready to unleash my anger on this shameless homewrecker, but as I turned her over, a chilling dread froze me to the core. Her eyes were vacant and lifeless, staring fixedly at me. A grotesque knife wound on her neck was gushing blood, staining the entire bedsheet crimson. Just as my heart seized with terror, I heard my husband’s key fumbling in the lock at the front door. Panicked beyond belief, I scrambled, desperately hiding in the bedroom closet. The closet door had barely swung shut when my fingertips brushed against cold, stiff flesh. I looked down, and another woman’s corpse was curled up inside! 1. My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to shatter them. I clamped my hand over my mouth, terrified that even the slightest sound would bring about my demise. The scent of mothballs, combined with the chilling odor of the stiff corpse beside me, was suffocating. Through the narrow slats of the closet door, I watched as Chris walked in, casually closing the bedroom door behind him. My husband, the man who usually spoke in gentle tones, who was always agreeable to me, who worried if I even frowned. But now, there was no surprise or panic on his face, not even a hint of emotion. He simply cast a calm glance at the woman lying on the bed, freshly deceased, blood still gushing from the horrific wound on her neck, staining the pristine white sheets a sickening red. His gaze was as indifferent as if he were looking at an ant on the floor. Then, he walked to the bed, bent down, and with a disturbingly unhurried motion, picked up the paring knife that had fallen nearby. The tip of the knife still glistened with crimson droplets, which splattered onto the light-colored rug with a soft plink, spreading into a small, dark red stain. He held the knife, plunging it into the woman’s corpse, again and again, fiercely and precisely. The dull, wet thwack of the blade sinking into flesh echoed clearly in my ears. He stabbed her seven or eight times before finally stopping, tossing the knife aside. He turned the body over, gently cradling it in his arms, his gaze tenderly sweeping over her face. Then he pulled out a few wet wipes, meticulously and patiently, little by little, wiping away the blood spatters on her face and hair. He even tenderly smoothed her tangled auburn hair with his fingertips and gently straightened the wrinkles in her shirt. “You’re really not being good.” He spoke, his voice low, with an eerie, almost doting intimacy, just like when he’d coax me after one of my little tantrums. “Why do you insist on knowing my secrets? Hmm?” A chill shot from my feet straight to the top of my head. Secrets? What secrets did he have? Had this woman discovered something that led to her murder? What about me? Chris and I had been together for almost seven years, would I be next? After speaking, he gazed at the corpse for a moment longer, then placed an incredibly gentle kiss on her forehead before leaving the room. I didn’t know where he was going. I just tried to put as much distance as possible between myself and the corpse, then scanned the room for an escape route. But I found nothing before Chris returned. My hands and feet were icy cold, and I was curled up in the farthest corner from the body, watching the situation outside. Chris sat on the bed, resting the corpse on his lap as he sipped his tea, stroking her ashen cheek. After finishing his tea, he retrieved an oversized, thick black duffel bag from a storage cabinet. With practiced ease, he dragged the corpse over, stuffed it inside, and zipped it up. The entire process was seamless, without a hint of hesitation or wasted movement, so practiced it sent shivers down my spine. This was definitely not spontaneous; this level of expertise… I dared not think further. My whole body trembled uncontrollably, like a leaf in the wind. My teeth chattered involuntarily, making faint clicking sounds. Even worse, from extreme fear and prolonged crouching, my legs and feet were completely numb, feeling like a thousand needles were pricking them. Instinctively, I tried to shift my numb ankle, but my knee accidentally bumped the inner wall of the closet. “Click.” A faint scrape of wood, in the deadly silent room, broken only by the sound of the zipper, was like a clap of thunder. Chris, who was tightening the duffel bag, froze! He suddenly lifted his head, his gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, cutting like a physical blade directly towards the closet where I was hiding! Those eyes, usually filled with gentle smiles, were now cold, alert, and full of scrutiny and murder. I instantly froze completely, my blood seeming to stop flowing, my mind a blank. I was doomed! He found me! I’ll be the next one in the bag! 2. Yet, Chris merely narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the closet for a full ten seconds, a slight frown on his brow. Then he slowly lowered his head, muttering to himself. “Heh, just getting ahead of myself.” He resumed his task, but the speed at which he dragged the duffel bag and cleaned the blood from the floor noticeably increased. The duffel bag was temporarily tucked into the bedroom corner, partially obscured by the curtain’s tassels. Chris didn’t immediately move it. Instead, as if nothing had happened, he meticulously checked his shirt and hands, ensuring no bloodstains, then opened the bedroom door and walked out. Soon, the sound of a news broadcast drifted from the living room, a female anchor’s clear voice reporting on irrelevant international affairs. Then came the sound of running water, the squeak of a wet mop on the floor, and his occasional off-key humming. He was cleaning up, as normal and natural as any meticulous husband doing chores after work. I bit my lip hard, letting the metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth. I had to do something! I couldn’t just cower here like a lamb to the slaughter, waiting to die! I forced myself to calm down, beginning to cautiously grope around the narrow, dark closet, filled with the smell of unnatural things. My fingertips once again touched the cold, stiff body beside me, and the icy sensation sent my stomach churning. I suppressed the urge to vomit and the extreme fear, carefully searching her body. Maybe I could find something to identify her? Or, find a weapon for self-defense? Suddenly, my fingers brushed against something hard. It was on her hand, which hung limply at her side. It was a ring, on the woman’s ring finger. The design was highly unusual, like a snake biting its own tail, its body coiling, scales intricate, and its eyes set with two dark emeralds, glowing eerily in the faint light within the closet. I knew this ring, a very clear memory of it! Just a few months ago, I had seen its design sketch in a corner of a locked drawer in Chris’s study! At the time, I’d curiously asked about it, but he had just casually dismissed it as an old practice drawing he’d long forgotten. My heart pounded in my chest, threatening to burst from my throat! This was evidence, irrefutable proof directly linking Chris to this unknown woman! This unique ring was very likely the reason she was killed! Trembling, I tried to slip the ring off her stiff finger, but the corpse was completely rigid, the joints unyielding. The ring was stuck at the knuckle, unmoving. I dared not use force, fearing I’d make too much noise, so I had to give up for now. Perhaps… perhaps leaving it, for the police to discover later, would actually be crucial evidence to incriminate him? A faint flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Just as I tried to shift my position to relieve my almost numb legs and feet, and continue searching for other clues, my ankle accidentally hooked an object deep within the closet. It was a dusty, old wooden box, which slid further in when I nudged it, making a faint shhh sound as it scraped against the rough wooden floor of the closet. The sound wasn’t really loud, especially inside this fairly soundproof closet. But at that very moment, the TV volume in the living room was precisely lowered, and the mopping sound stopped. Heavy footsteps resonated, light but purposeful. He stopped just outside the bedroom door, utterly still. Through the thin door, I could almost feel his gaze, palpable and predatory, scanning the entire room. My palms were drenched in cold sweat, clutching tightly the small, decorative button I had instinctively torn off my jacket earlier. 3. Just then, the doorbell rang without warning. Chris, outside the door, seemed to freeze for a moment too. Immediately, his footsteps changed direction, heading towards the front door, a little more hurried than before. “Chris, open the door! It’s me, Archie!” Archie’s distinctively loud voice, my best friend, carried clearly from outside, laced with an obvious impatience and urgency. An overwhelming surge of joy instantly washed over me! It was Archie! My best friend! But the euphoria lasted only a second, receding as quickly as the tide, replaced by an even deeper fear and dread. Chris was a merciless devil now. How would he deal with Archie? What if he… what if he hurt Archie too? “Coming.” Chris responded, his voice instantly reverting to its usual gentle tone, even with a hint of annoyed resignation at being disturbed. I heard him walk quickly to the entryway, then the click-clack of the door opening. “Archie? What brings you here at this hour? Is something wrong?” His tone was perfectly pitched with surprise and a familiar, slight complaint. “Aurora’s suitcase!” Archie’s voice came through clearly, tinged with anger, “She left it with me earlier, to trick you into thinking she was on a business trip! She said she’d pick it up around five or six this evening, and we were supposed to have dinner! It’s almost eight now, and there’s no sign of her. Her phone has been unreachable since this afternoon—first no answer, then it went straight to voicemail! What’s going on? Where is she?” I held my breath, my heart pounding in my throat, every nerve in my body stretched taut. I desperately hoped Archie would notice something amiss, that she would be assertive, that she would barge in! Chris was silent for a second or two, then his lighthearted laugh came, tinged with doting helplessness. “That scatterbrain! She hasn’t arrived yet, I’m waiting for her too. Just leave the suitcase with you for now, Archie, thank you so much for coming all this way! I’ll make sure she treats you to a big dinner later!” He was lying! “Hasn’t arrived? No way!” Archie’s voice instantly rose an octave, laced with obvious, undisguised suspicion. “I clearly dropped her off at the apartment complex entrance around four this afternoon! I saw her walk in with a small suitcase myself!” “Chris, what’s your game? Make her answer the phone! Now! Immediately! Or let me in to wait for her! I need to know what’s going on!” My heart felt like it would leap out of my throat. I wanted Archie to come in, but I also wanted her to leave quickly. Chris’s voice took on a decisive firmness, even subtly hinting at an imperceptible coldness and threat. “Archie, look, I’m preparing a surprise for her. The apartment’s a mess with balloons and streamers, I haven’t cleaned up, it’s really not fit for guests.” “The moment she gets home, I’ll have her call you back right away, I promise you’ll be the first call, alright? Don’t worry so much.” Silence fell for a few seconds outside. This brief stillness was filled with Archie’s hesitation, suspicion, and calculation. I could almost picture her frowning, scrutinizing Chris from head to toe, trying to find a crack in his facade. “…Fine.” Archie’s voice finally broke the silence again, laced with clear reluctance and lingering doubt. “Chris, I’m telling you, if even one hair on Aurora’s head is harmed, you and I are through! The moment she arrives, you tell her to call me! Immediately! You hear me?” “Don’t worry! Absolutely! I promise!” Chris’s tone was filled with relieved sincerity. Then, the sound of the door closing forcefully. Immediately followed by the distinct, chilling, and final— “Click.” The sound of the deadbolt locking. It wasn’t loud, but it was like a heavy gate crashing down before me, severing all my connections to the outside world, to life itself. Outside, a deadly silence. Then, I heard Chris’s voice. No longer the feigned gentleness or resignation, but stripped of all masks, raw, metallic, and utterly cold. His voice wasn’t loud, but every word, piercingly clear, penetrated the door and drilled into my ears: “Aurora…” He paused, as if savoring the name, or perhaps confirming that his prey finally had no escape. “So your surprise for me was to watch me perform?”

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1. I used to have a knack for playing Cupid for everyone around me. Looking back, that was the start of my nightmare. I remember introducing my best friend to my brother, and my roommate to my cousin. Who would’ve thought my best friend would betray my brother on their wedding day? The whole thing sent my mom to the hospital with a heart attack, and my brother became the laughingstock of the entire family. What was worse, my brother didn’t just lose face; his vengeful ex-wife ruined his career after the divorce. In despair, he jumped into a river, ending his life. As for my roommate, my cousin swindled her out of all her dowry and wedding gifts after they married. She was even subjected to domestic abuse when she got pregnant. She blamed me for introducing them, convinced I had ruined her life. One day, she stormed into my house, stabbed me to death, and then took her own life right there. Two marriages, three tragic deaths. My heart was heavy with regret. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day I introduced my best friend to a potential partner. This time, with a trembling hand, I suggested my cousin instead. … The moment I sent the recommendation, a voice message from my best friend, Cheryl, popped up: “Is this your cousin? He looks pretty decent in his profile. Tell him to take us out for dinner.” In my previous life, I had foolishly asked my own brother to treat her. Cheryl, of course, showed up with a bunch of colleagues and insisted on a high-end sushi place, running up a bill of five or six hundred dollars for my brother. Thinking of my cheapskate cousin, Lance, I couldn’t help but chuckle. That evening, at the sushi restaurant, Cheryl indeed brought a few colleagues. As Lance and I walked in, his brow furrowed, and he muttered to me, “Your friend really knows how to spend, huh? Sushi? What’s wrong with the diner next door?” I snickered internally, but outwardly I soothed him, “First impressions, you know? You have to show a girl you’re serious.” Lance clamped his mouth shut. Cheryl saw us and quickly said, “I brought a few colleagues. You guys don’t mind, do you?” To my surprise, Lance was remarkably generous. “Not at all. We’re not that petty.” I was a bit taken aback. Lance and Cheryl seemed to hit it off, laughing together several times during dinner. Midway through, I went to the restroom. Cheryl followed me in and whispered, “Your cousin isn’t as much of a bumpkin as you made him out to be. Get ready to call me sis-in-law!” I could only offer an awkward smile. I thought Lance had genuinely turned over a new leaf. He even rushed to pay the bill. But after settling it, he declared, perfectly straight-faced, “Total bill was six hundred and twenty bucks. Just venmo me a hundred and three dollars and forty cents each.” 2. Cheryl’s colleagues mumbled, “I thought he was treating. If I’d known it was this expensive, I would’ve gone next door.” “Seriously. Why pretend to be generous if you’re not going to pay?” Cheryl’s face darkened, and she shot me a furious glare. “Didn’t you say your cousin had money? He can’t even spring for one meal?” I could only offer a sheepish grin. “Maybe the sushi was just too pricey. If it was the diner, he probably would have.” Lance acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing, urging Cheryl to pay. “I barely ate anything just now. Technically, I shouldn’t even be splitting it. You guys aren’t thinking of skipping out on the bill, are you? And you, Tiffany, even if you’re my cousin, close family still settles their debts. You need to pay up too.” So, I paid my share. Back home, Cheryl was fuming, swearing she’d block Lance. I was secretly thrilled. Who would’ve thought that two days later, they’d be an item? I asked Cheryl what made her change her mind so suddenly. She beamed. “You wouldn’t believe it. After that night, he not only paid me back my share but also transferred back everyone else’s money.” “He said our money shouldn’t benefit outsiders.” I paused for a moment before asking, “Don’t you think my cousin is a bit cheap?” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Your cousin makes a fortune. He’s not short on cash. He was just testing me.” My mind drifted back to my honest, straightforward brother. In my previous life, he had paid the bill without a fuss, only to be called unromantic and stingy by Cheryl, who complained he should have sent her roses after dinner. After they got together, Cheryl took his debit card and became a stay-at-home girlfriend, buying luxury bags and clothes non-stop. She even took a sixty thousand dollar dowry when they married. But on their wedding day, she was caught cheating with the male photographer in the dressing room. My brother wanted a divorce, but she managed to take a large chunk of his assets, and her antics even cost him his job. Meanwhile, my jobless cousin ended up marrying my kind and hardworking roommate. After marriage, my roommate had to work and take care of my cousin and my demanding aunt. Even then, my cousin wasn’t satisfied. He disparaged her for her humble background and even physically abused her when she was pregnant. My roommate was beaten to the point of miscarriage but couldn’t get a divorce. From then on, she harbored a deep hatred for my cousin and me. But she couldn’t fight my cousin, so she sought revenge on me, even taking me with her in death. Just then, a knock echoed on my bedroom door. I opened it to find my roommate, Serena, her eyes red and swollen from crying. I quickly asked her what was wrong. Serena said, a little embarrassed, “My parents are rushing me to go home and get married, but I don’t want to. Once you get married back home, you can’t leave the boonies.” “Tiffany, do you know anyone suitable? Could you introduce me to someone?” 3. I was about to refuse, but looking at her tear-filled eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. I had wronged her in my previous life. I thought my cousin was just lazy, not a scheming jerk. Just then, my phone rang. It was my brother, Tony. “Mom said I should pick you up for dinner. When are you coming down?” My eyes lit up. I took Serena’s hand and said, “I actually know just the right person. My brother. Do you want to meet him?” Serena nodded, and I quickly told Tony, “Don’t go home yet. I’m introducing you to a friend. Let’s all have dinner together.” Tony wasn’t sure what we liked, so he booked a table at a high-end seafood buffet nearby. In the car, Serena hesitated, whispering, “Will it be too expensive? I’m almost out of money this month.” I gave her a reassuring look. “My brother’s treating. We don’t need to pay a thing.” During dinner, Tony was a quiet guy. All he did was peel shrimp and crack crabs for us. He wasn’t much for conversation. Serena was a bit shy at first, but gradually relaxed, and the atmosphere was decent enough. Later, they exchanged numbers. Serena tried to venmo Tony for the buffet, but he refused. Tony secretly asked me, “Did your roommate not like me? Why would she try to pay me? Was there something I did wrong?” I could only advise him not to take her money and suggest Serena treat him next time. After going out a few more times, they officially started dating. Cheryl’s relationship with Lance was progressing even faster. Soon, it was time to meet the parents and discuss marriage. I thought about it and decided to be honest with Cheryl. “Lance isn’t my biological cousin. He’s my cousin on my mom’s side, and he doesn’t even have a job. Are you sure you want to marry him?” To my surprise, Cheryl already knew. “He told me all about it. He’s in business, makes a few hundred thousand a year. Way better than your actual brother, the programmer who could lose his job anytime.” I almost laughed. “You actually believe that? How is he better than my brother?” Cheryl’s tone grew cold. “Are you just jealous of my happiness? You’d be happy if I ended up with your brother, wouldn’t you?” I quickly shut my mouth, terrified she might actually fall for Tony. Serena’s family was pressuring her to settle down, so after discussing it, she and Tony decided to get engaged too. Serena put a lot of thought into the gifts she brought to our house, even knitting a scarf for me. My parents were overjoyed, doubling their initial engagement gift from a thousand to six thousand. I remembered my previous life. Cheryl’s first visit to our house. She wore designer clothes but only brought a case of fruit. She claimed she didn’t want us to look down on her. Even then, my parents had treated her with such warmth, let alone a considerate girl like Serena. Cheryl, on the other hand, had a mishap the moment she met Lance’s family. She called me, crying, “Your aunt and uncle actually made me wash dishes!” 4. I quickly tried to comfort her. “That’s terrible. If it’s too much, just break up.” But Cheryl suddenly calmed down. “Lance said it’s his mom’s test. After we get married, there’ll naturally be someone to do the dishes.” “Tiffany, stop trying to make me break up with him. Do you think I don’t deserve to marry your cousin?” “Lance told me you originally wanted to introduce me to your brother, that IT guy, didn’t you? Everyone knows IT guys are out of a job by thirty-five. You think I’m going to marry a charity case?” I decided to just keep quiet, offering my best wishes. After the engagement was settled, my parents prepared a sixty-thousand-dollar dowry plus a house. Serena was overwhelmed, saying her family couldn’t afford a matching dowry. But my parents and brother didn’t care. My mom, beaming, held Serena’s hand and said, “We’re giving this to you because you deserve it. It has nothing to do with your family.” Serena’s family came from a very poor rural area, but even so, her parents scraped together a thousand dollars as a wedding gift for her, hoping she’d be happy. I saw Serena wiping away tears on the balcony and suddenly felt incredibly sad. In her previous life, she had married such a jerk. How heartbroken her parents must have been. Cheryl and Lance were also preparing for their wedding. Coincidentally, we ran into each other while scouting wedding venues. Cheryl saw us, her eyes wide. “Tiffany, your brother and Serena want to book a venue this expensive too?” I retorted, annoyed, “Are you the only ones allowed to?” Lance grinned. “We just figured you wouldn’t be able to afford it. After all, your brother’s almost thirty. He won’t be making money for many more years.” Serena whispered, “Maybe we should switch to a different hotel.” Cheryl rolled her eyes disdainfully. “A hairdresser thinking she can marry into money and climb the social ladder.” Serena opened her mouth, her face flushed crimson. I was instantly furious. What hairdresser? She’s a professional stylist, thank you very much! I was about to argue when I heard my brother ask, “How much is this venue?” The manager, who had been watching the scene unfold, quickly stepped forward. “You’re both booking on popular dates, and it’s a holiday weekend. The venue fee is thirty-eight thousand, and the banquet costs are separate.” My brother spoke directly. “Fifty thousand. We’ll take it.” Serena tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t spend that much money.” Cheryl immediately shot a glance at Lance, who then declared, “We’ll offer eighty thousand!” My brother raised it to a hundred thousand. Lance, caught up in the moment, shouted, “How about two hundred thousand?!” Cheryl shot us a triumphant look. To our surprise, my brother didn’t raise his offer. “Fine, you can have it then.” Cheryl and Lance were completely stunned. My brother and the manager directly booked another ballroom in the same hotel. Cheryl and Lance were left arguing with the manager nearby. As we left, Cheryl glared at me, seething. “You deliberately set us up, didn’t you? Just wait for the wedding day!”

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