1. I never dreamed my husband, the man whose hands sweat just driving a car, could ever do such a thing. The day my sister Diana was kidnapped, he transformed. His usual timid demeanor vanished into frantic urgency. He only said, “Wait at home,” and rushed off. I thought he was calling the police. Then I saw the news: police surrounding an abandoned factory, and a man driving an SUV straight through the gates. The camera zoomed in. It was clearly my husband, Matthew. The report praised a retired special forces hero who rescued the hostages. Diana was safe. But watching it, I laughed a bitter laugh. “You said driving made your hands shake,” I challenged him. “When our daughter had a 104‑degree fever, you refused to drive her to the hospital, afraid of an accident. Back then we had no money for her treatment. Now you crash a car with fifty thousand dollars to save someone else. What a hero.” Matthew stood speechless, stammering. Then Diana, leaning weakly against him, explained, “Don’t blame him, Tiffany. Years ago, he accidentally hurt me in a car accident. After that, he promised he would only ever drive for me.” “Sis, you really shouldn’t misunderstand him.” … Inside the hospital room, Matthew grabbed my arm, wanting to speak to me outside. “Say it right here!” I fiercely shook off Matthew’s hand, demanding an explanation. Matthew sighed. “Don’t misunderstand, I just… I was afraid you’d become too dependent on me if you knew I was a retired special forces operative.” “I wasn’t exactly hiding it, either. Why didn’t you ask me?” “Besides, what difference would it make if you knew? What could it change?” Mom and Dad carefully adjusted Diana’s blankets. Dad lowered his voice. “Your sister just fell asleep. Matthew’s right. Why didn’t you ask?” “Matthew wasn’t hiding anything from anyone. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for not asking, for not caring about your own husband. Who are you blaming now?” I looked at my uncomprehending parents, a bitter taste rising in my throat. Hadn’t I cared enough about Matthew? Matthew and I had been married for six years. Matthew said he’d experienced a major earthquake while volunteering and suffered from PTSD. He was timid and easily scared, afraid to drive, afraid to go out at night, afraid to argue with anyone. He even feared going to crowded places to buy groceries. I supported him for six years. I worked three jobs a day, saving money to find Matthew the best therapist. I became a fierce lioness, holding our household together. When Matthew got into a fight and was taken to the precinct, I, heavily pregnant, knelt before the other party, begging for their understanding. Because of an outsider’s comment that Matthew was a kept man, I, fearing he’d overthink it, took all our savings to open a business for him. Even when the business failed completely, leaving us in debt, I didn’t say a word. Our daughter was frail, getting a fever every change of season. That night, her temperature soared to 104 degrees, but Matthew’s hands trembled on the steering wheel. His PTSD was acting up, preventing him from driving. This was despite the fact that he had just driven for his nephew’s parent-teacher conference that very afternoon. I gritted my teeth, scooped up our daughter, and rushed to the hospital. But it was too late. Our daughter ended up in the ICU. Matthew’s eyes turned red with anger. He frowned deeply, then spoke through gritted teeth. “You’re so ungrateful. I saved your sister. Why are you so mad?” “Can’t I be mad?” “I sold our house to pay for our daughter’s medical bills, and you just conjure up fifty thousand dollars as a down payment?” “You had money, but you wouldn’t use it to treat our daughter. You took our marital assets and spent them on another woman. You pair of cheating dogs!” My words grew uglier and uglier, fueled by the thought of our daughter, lying alone in her hospital room. My accusations silenced Mom and Dad. Furious, Dad kicked me in the chest. For a moment, I felt a coppery taste well up in my throat. “What cheating dogs? That’s your sister!” “If you want to blame someone, blame us! Do you expect me to give you an IOU?” “That money belongs to Matthew. What does it have to do with you?” “Are you trying to disown us? You ungrateful daughter!” “If you’re so unhappy, then get a divorce!” A chill spread through my heart. “Divorce!” 2 Agreement: The Bitter Truth Matthew no longer bothered to keep up the pretense. He parked his SUV casually downstairs, one hand on the steering wheel, the other flicking his burning cigarette out the window to extinguish it between his thumb and forefinger. Matthew handed me a folder, instructing me to sign. “Diana was afraid you’d misunderstand and want a divorce, so she insisted I explain everything clearly.” I looked through the marital property agreement he handed me. Only then did I realize that my good-for-nothing husband was actually the big boss of an international security company, with countless properties and assets to his name. “Honey, don’t make a fuss. Our daughter has her own trust fund. She can access it after she turns eighteen. As long as she doesn’t elope with a man at eighteen like you did, I guarantee she’ll be financially secure for life!” My fingertips, gripping the document, turned white. “I eloped at eighteen? Matthew, how shameless are you? I followed you when I was eighteen. You’re saying I eloped at eighteen!” “You’re the shameless one, running off with me at eighteen!” Matthew slammed his hand against the steering wheel. He paused, a flicker in his eyes, avoiding my gaze. “That’s not what I meant, don’t misunderstand!” My teeth ground together, and I spoke each word distinctly. “I’m not misunderstanding. I wasn’t joking about the divorce. And my daughter doesn’t need your trust fund.” “Let’s get a divorce!” Matthew clicked his tongue impatiently. “Why do you have to get a divorce? Yes, I kept it from you, but why didn’t you ask me?” “Our daughter has cerebral palsy. She can’t take over my company!” “My assets will still go to your family, won’t they? They’ll go to your sister’s child!” Matthew told me to be content. He said that not finding another woman to have children with was already a testament to his love for me. He said it was better to leave the company to my sister’s child than to someone else. “You and our daughter will still have someone to depend on later, right?” After Matthew finished speaking, he seemed to be waiting for me to be utterly grateful to him. I refused to sign and didn’t want to communicate with him anymore. I simply told him to wait for the court summons. When I went to pick up our daughter, I found Diana and my nephew, Peter, there. Diana was six years older than me, but simply by appearance, an outsider would easily mistake me for the older sister. The dark green silk scarf she used to carry her Hermes bag was one I had always wanted but never bought. I noticed the charm on Peter’s backpack. It was a character from our daughter’s favorite cartoon. When my daughter tugged at it a couple of times, Peter angrily stomped on the charm. “I broke it, and you still won’t get it. I’ll just have Uncle Matthew buy me another one!” Diana offered an apologetic smile, but the look in her eyes felt like a challenge. “Matthew specially took Peter abroad to buy this birthday gift!” Diana was there specifically to explain things to me. “Lily, Matthew rescued me because I’m a manager at his security company. I handle many important projects. I can’t afford to have anything happen to me!” “I’m not like a housewife such as yourself! I can help Matthew with his career!” “Matthew never hid anything from you. Both Mom and Dad and I knew what Matthew did. You’re the only one who didn’t know. Why didn’t you ever care about your husband?” “He’s a hero!” “Matthew said he just didn’t want you and your daughter to rely on him too much!” Listening to Diana, I felt my heart clench, a searing pain gripping me. Matthew didn’t want my daughter and me to rely on him. He pretended to be poor, deceiving me, making me live like a madwoman for six years. “Get out!” “Get as far away from me as possible!” Before I could finish speaking, I heard Peter place my daughter’s food bowl on the floor. He used a string to pull at her neck. My daughter choked and coughed, two distinct white marks appearing on her throat. He wanted her to eat like a dog on the floor. “Puppy, come eat!” “What are you doing?!” In a panic, I pushed Peter, and he cried, scared by my intensity. Mom embraced Peter, comforting him. Dad said I was making a big deal out of nothing, targeting Peter, targeting Diana. My eyes burned with anger. Matthew had appeared at the doorway at some point. Diana noticed Matthew’s displeasure. My daughter, seeing her father, instinctively reached out her small hands. “It’s all my fault, all my fault. I didn’t raise Peter well, and Peter doesn’t have a dad to teach him!” “Peter, apologize to Uncle Matthew quickly!” Diana, her eyes red, apologized to Matthew. Matthew told me to let bygones be bygones. 3 Favoritism: Sisters at Odds I filed for divorce in court and moved with my daughter into a small, dilapidated apartment. I had already consulted with a lawyer. Since our daughter was under three, custody would naturally go to me. I scrolled through Diana’s social media. Photos showed Diana and Matthew standing side by side, Mom and Dad on the sofa, holding Peter. It looked just like a young couple bringing their child to visit the grandparents. A relative commented, “Matthew is so filial, buying so many things again.” “Doesn’t your sister ever visit your parents?” Diana replied, “No, Tiffany is very busy. She has to take her child for physical therapy every week!” “Filial or not, there are always excuses. Luckily, she married a good man! If it weren’t for the elopement causing such a scandal, he would have been your husband.” “But either way, he’s still family.” Diana’s social media was no longer set to a three-day viewing limit. I scrolled through her posts, seeing snapshots of Matthew’s life over the past six years. As a son-in-law, Matthew was absolutely exemplary: celebrating birthdays with Mom and Dad, bringing gifts and transferring money for holidays. As a husband and father, he patiently tutored children, attended parent-teacher conferences, and stayed up all night with his wife when she needed an IV drip. But that woman wasn’t me. The people Matthew was filial to weren’t my parents. I tightly hugged my daughter, tears streaming down my face. Just after I commented on that post, Matthew’s call came through. I took a deep breath, pressed the answer button, and deliberately let my voice sound husky from crying. “Hello?” “Lily? What’s the meaning of your comment? Diana is crying.” Matthew’s voice carried suppressed anger. “I’ve already explained everything to you clearly. How can your mind be so twisted?” “Are you implying Diana and I are having an affair?” “I’ve set up a trust fund for our daughter, and I’ll transfer money to you every month for household expenses. What more are you dissatisfied with?” “You’re a housewife, so don’t meddle in company affairs.” “Delete that comment.” I scoffed internally, but on the surface, I feigned distress and panic. “I didn’t. You were the one who hid marital assets first. Diana is draped in gold and silver, while I have to borrow money just to buy a bowl of noodles.” “You don’t even allow me to vent my emotions?” As I spoke, I quietly pressed the record button. I had just discovered when making a payment today that all my bank cards and payment accounts were frozen. Silence stretched for a few seconds on the other end. After a while, Matthew sighed. “Freezing your accounts was meant to make you calm down, to realize what hardships you’d face without me.” “Your accounts will be unfrozen in a while. Think it over and come back.” “From now on, I’ll be your support.” Before hanging up, Matthew made me a promise. I found it utterly ridiculous. I hadn’t relied on him since we got married. Matthew didn’t spare a thought for how my daughter and I would live while my accounts were frozen. He didn’t offer to bring us back either. I knew he was taking Mom, Dad, Diana, and Peter on an overseas trip soon. Even if Mom and Dad weren’t my biological parents anymore, my daughter and I couldn’t stand in the way of his filial piety.

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1. Five years ago, my stepsister, Annabelle, burst into my life. She was a master at charming my father, and soon, even my fiancé was captivated by her. Once, to force me to tend to Annabelle’s injury, Father ordered someone to cut off my mother’s oxygen supply during surgery. I bit back my fury and bandaged Annabelle’s wound, but she turned around and accused me of deliberately pressing down hard on it. My fiancé, without hearing me out, cursed me for being vicious and unethical, then roughly pushed me away. He had me locked in our marital suite, saying I wasn’t allowed out until I apologized. That night, under the cover of darkness, I jumped from the window and fled the country. Today, five years later, I was invited back to the States to treat an important figure. But the moment I stepped off the plane, I was intercepted by men sent by my father and ex-fiancé. They tried to forcibly take me to treat Annabelle, whose old illness had relapsed – a chilling replay of five years ago. But what they didn’t know was that the person who invited me back was someone they absolutely couldn’t afford to cross. … Perhaps because I was wearing sunglasses, the man leading the group—my father’s confidant, a man I’d known as Uncle Arthur for twenty-odd years—didn’t recognize me. He spoke with respectful indifference, “I heard a highly skilled doctor was returning on this flight. You must be Dr. Stone, the specialist. Our young lady’s old illness has flared up again. We’d appreciate it if you’d come with us.” “Why should we? Do you have any idea who invited Dr. Stone? Hijacking someone at the airport—is there no law and order anymore?” My assistant, Amy, loudly challenged him, pulling out her phone to contact our client. Uncle Arthur smacked the phone out of her hand. “Law and order? My apologies for not introducing ourselves properly to Dr. Stone. The people asking for you are not ordinary citizens. They are the Thompsons and the Parkers, influential families in Harrington.” “We’re not familiar with Dr. Stone’s background, but you,” Uncle Arthur looked at Amy, “you’re a local. You’ve lived here for twenty-two years. Surely you’ve heard of the Thompsons and the Parkers.” Amy gasped, pulling my arm and whispering, “They’re the ones…” “I know. It’s fine.” I cut her off, then addressed Uncle Arthur. “What if I refuse?” “Then you still don’t understand. To be blunt, the person you are to treat is the only daughter of the Thompson family, and she is also the fiancée of the Parker family heir. Regardless of your purpose for coming to Harrington, the Thompsons and Parkers have their ways.” “So, Dr. Stone, there’s no need to struggle.” With that, he signaled to the bodyguards beside him. One of them immediately reached for my surgical instrument case. In the struggle, the case flew open, scattering instruments across the floor. I rushed to retrieve them, but could only watch in horror as they were trampled underfoot, broken into a thousand pieces. I was furious, shouting at them, “Those are my custom surgical tools! Without them, how am I supposed to operate?” Uncle Arthur sneered. “Don’t worry, Dr. Stone. What surgical tools can’t we buy? The hospital has a full set of equipment ready, just waiting for you.” Buy a damn thing, my rage flared. How could he know that my hand had been broken in a shove, then immediately locked away, missing the best treatment window? Because of that, I spent two years abroad in grueling rehabilitation before I could even pick up a scalpel again. Later, I treated the family member of an international magnate, who specially commissioned a complete set of custom surgical instruments for me at great expense. Even a single pair of forceps cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. And this wasn’t just a matter of money. Without them, how could I perform surgery on my client? The thought of that venerable old man having to suffer for a few more days made my teeth ache with anger. Amy was sobbing hysterically, crying out, “Dr. Stone, what do we do? What do we do?” Uncle Arthur glared at her impatiently. “Now is not the time for your wailing. If you continue to drag your feet and delay Miss Thompson’s treatment, the Thompsons and Parkers will make sure you both disappear without a trace.” I scoffed, “Oh really?” “Of course. For Miss Thompson’s sake, Mr. Thompson and Mr. Parker would give anything. They once, for her, even…” Uncle Arthur trailed off, a sigh escaping him as his tone softened. “Dr. Stone, you’re both young. Be sensible.” “They once, for her, had one kill his own wife, and the other harm and imprison his ex-fiancée?” I finished his unspoken sentence. “Dr. Stone, what are you talking about?” Amy asked, confused. The men opposite me froze. “Uncle Arthur, do you remember me?” I took off my sunglasses. 2. “Miss… Miss Thompson?” Uncle Arthur tentatively stepped forward, carefully scrutinizing my face. Confirming it was truly me, he said, “Mr. Thompson asked me to bring you back.” His tone had changed quickly. I ignored him, took Amy’s hand, and prepared to leave. “Miss Thompson, stop right there.” He shouted, and the bodyguards once again surrounded us. “Miss Thompson knows Mr. Thompson’s temper. If you insist on leaving, please don’t make things difficult for us. Allow me to report to Mr. Thompson.” He pulled out his phone and called my father. “Dr. Stone is indeed Miss Lillian, yes, she’s alive. It’s true. Good.” He handed the phone to me. “Mr. Thompson wants to speak with you.” I didn’t move, so he had to put it on speakerphone. My father’s voice came through. “So they were talking about you, Dr. Stone. I thought you had died when you jumped from the window that year. It seems you simply ran away.” “If you had stayed by Annabelle’s side, she wouldn’t have relapsed. This is your fault. Come back and make amends.” His tone held no joy at my being alive, only an unyielding command. I chuckled softly. “Mr. Thompson, even if you control everything in Harrington, I do not fear your power. I have other commitments. I regret that I cannot treat your beloved daughter.” “Lillian Thompson, I am your father.” The static of the phone crackled in my ear. I laughed lightly. “Mr. Thompson, you’re mistaken. I am Lillian Stone. I have no relation to you.” “Besides, Annabelle is the only daughter of the Thompson family. How could you possibly have another daughter?” The phone went silent for a moment, save for the sound of heavy breathing. When I was twenty-four, I successfully completed a highly complex, high-profile surgery in my field. At the celebration, Annabelle burst in, claiming to be the daughter of my father and his first love. Father took her to his study. I don’t know what they discussed. When they emerged, I had a stepsister. Everyone offered congratulations and flattery, praising Father as a decisive and passionate man. No one cared about my anger or my mother’s forced smile. My mother advised me, “Annabelle’s mother only found out she was pregnant later. It’s rare that she knew your father was married and didn’t try to break up our family. Besides, Annabelle is innocent. Her mother has passed away, and she is seriously ill. Let’s not dwell on the past.” I knew that besides being kind-hearted, my mother was primarily thinking of me. She worried that my father and I would turn against each other because of this. To put her at ease, I conceded step by step. Annabelle said she grew up in poverty, so Father told me to give her my clothes and jewelry. Annabelle said my room was suitable for recuperation, so Father told me to vacate it immediately. Annabelle said she was afraid of going to the hospital and always forgot to take her medicine. So Father told me to arrange everything for her, reminding her to take her medicine three times a day. Finally, when she changed her surname back to her father’s, she refused to share any characters with my name. “My mom named me Annabelle, hoping I’d be safe. Now, my sister’s name also has ‘Ann’ in it. So whose safety is this?” Father still asked me to be understanding. I couldn’t bear it any longer. “My mother also named me. Why should I make concessions for your illegitimate daughter?” “Annabelle is right, you really do look down on her.” Father ignored my objections and bribed the staff. My name changed from Annabelle Thompson to Lillian Thompson. After going abroad, I simply took my mother’s surname. Since he wanted to change it, I might as well give him back the surname altogether. Father was silent for a long moment, then finally said in a low voice, “Keep an eye on her,” before hanging up. Uncle Arthur’s men stared menacingly. We stood in a silent standoff in the airport terminal. A few minutes later, a trembling voice broke the stillness. “Lillian, is that really you?” 3. The next second, I was held tightly in a trembling embrace. Brandon Parker’s eyes were bloodshot. “You’re alive, you’re really alive.” I pushed him away, my voice cold. “Once, I couldn’t stop my fiancé from holding another woman, but I can refuse another’s fiancé from holding me. Mr. Parker, please have some self-respect.” He stiffened, releasing me, his question laced with angry embarrassment. “Lillian, how heartless you are. Five years, a whole five years without a single word from you. Why did you secretly leave? Otherwise, we would have been married by now. If you had just taken care of Annabelle, with her healthy and our family living harmoniously, wouldn’t that have been better? Why couldn’t you tolerate her? Why did you play games with us?” I looked at the face I had loved for so many years and felt a wave of nausea. I remember the day Annabelle appeared. He held me in his arms, saying that even though I wasn’t Father’s only daughter, I would be his only love. Whatever Annabelle took from me, he would buy me double. When Annabelle moved into my bedroom, he discussed our wedding date with Father, hoping I would have my own home soon. So, when I refused to change my name, he also asked me why I was targeting Annabelle. I couldn’t help but wonder if his heart had changed. His face suddenly shifted. He said my thoughts were twisted, that he merely pitied Annabelle’s similar fate. I deflated, because he, too, was initially an unacknowledged child of the Parker family. His heavily pregnant mother was driven out by the elder Mrs. Parker. He was only recognized because the Parker family’s lineage was dwindling. I had no intention of opening Brandon’s old wounds. To apologize, I booked the most expensive hotel and stayed up all night for a week planning his birthday. When I arrived at the hotel, I only received a call from him. “Lillian, thinking about the past, I suddenly don’t feel like celebrating my birthday. I’m sorry.” I had no choice but to cancel, apologizing to each invited friend. Turning around, I saw a party being held in the marital suite he said was still under renovation. Those friends who had been comforting me just minutes before were now shouting “Happy Birthday!” Brandon had his arm around Annabelle’s shoulder, their gazes filled with tender affection for each other. My father, standing nearby, looked utterly gratified, as if he had forgotten this man was the fiancé of his other daughter. Now, how could he have the audacity to say he was family with me? To me, he was worse than a stranger. “Impossible.” He looked at me with a half-smile. “Stop lying. You’re clearly jealous. How many times have I told you, I only have brotherly affection for Annabelle. If I hadn’t thought you were dead, I wouldn’t have gotten engaged to her.” “Lillian, as long as you cure Annabelle this time, we’ll get married right away.” I couldn’t listen anymore, interrupting sharply. “You used your position as a hospital shareholder to block my advancement opportunity—an opportunity I’d been looking forward to for three years—forcing me to operate on Annabelle. You violently shoved me because of her simple slander, causing me to break my right hand. You locked me in a dark room to force me to apologize to Annabelle.” “Brandon, I wish you were dead. How could I ever want to marry you?” My hatred flared. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, and he quickly reached out to examine my right hand: “I didn’t know, I truly didn’t know. No, Lillian, you clearly still love me. I checked. You didn’t take anything with you when you left, only our engagement ring. If you hadn’t been unable to let go… you still care, and you’re deliberately trying to trick me, aren’t you?” “Enough, Brandon.” I shook off his hand. “I didn’t take the ring. My finger bone was broken, and it fell off somewhere.” “No, impossible.” Brandon shook his head, closing his eyes. “Regardless, you have to come with me now.” “Wake up.” I raised my hand to slap him, but it was blocked before it could land. Father had arrived at some point. He sneered. “Dr. Stone, you say you’re not my daughter? Very well.” He pointed to my neck. “Explain this then.”

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The Head of Surgery’s roar still echoed in my ears, yet all I felt was utter absurdity. Just because I, a neurosurgeon, had treated a patient’s head wound, my assistant had turned around and reported me. “Hospital regulations prohibit operating beyond your level, Dr. Ellis, you’re fired!” When he flung those words at me, I couldn’t help but ask—who in this entire hospital could stitch better than me? But the Head of Surgery only sighed helplessly: “Dr. Ellis, when a superior takes over a subordinate’s work, it counts as exceeding your level.” “Suturing is an assistant’s responsibility. Your job is to be the lead surgeon!” His words were like a thorn, drawing a cold laugh from me. As I left the hospital without a backward glance, I thought this was just a minor blip in my career. It wasn’t until a week later, when the news came that the billionaire’s father urgently needed brain surgery and specifically requested me as the lead surgeon, that I heard the Head of Surgery had completely panicked. … 1. A patient came into the ER this morning. He’d fallen from a factory platform, suffering severe head bleeding, in critical condition. He was already semi-conscious when they brought him in. His family was wailing and begging, even kneeling to the medical staff for help. I had just gotten off the operating table when I saw the scene. A nurse ran over, calling my name and updating me on his condition. I quickly went over, took a look, and immediately decided to suture and stop the bleeding in the treatment room before doing a full-body check. It was this completely impulsive act, driven by a desperate desire to save a life, that landed me in serious trouble. 2. As a neurosurgery specialist, I quickly brought the patient’s deteriorating condition under control. The bleeding stopped, and the suturing was successful. After informing the family of his condition outside, I instructed the nurses to admit him and check for any other injuries. The family was overjoyed, bowing and expressing their gratitude profusely. I smiled, waved them off, and told them to go complete the admission process. No sooner had the family left than my assistant, Leo, arrived, fully geared up and looking flustered, just as I was about to change. “Where’s the patient? Get the disinfectants ready!” he commanded the nurses in a rush. The nurse told him the suturing was already done. Leo’s gaze immediately fell on me. He scrutinized me from head to toe, his eyes flashing with displeasure. “The patient’s condition was quite urgent earlier, with severe bleeding, but it’s been handled now,” I explained simply. Leo had only recently joined the hospital and hadn’t been out of medical school for long. He highly valued clinical experience. He had privately approached many doctors, taking on all the dirty and difficult work. His goal was to get more opportunities for surgical procedures. I knew this. So, for the sake of collegial relations, I explained it to him to avoid any misunderstandings. “Dr. Ellis, were you being deliberate?” Leo suddenly asked me this. Then he continued, “Is it because I told the Head of Surgery last time that you were drinking glucose, and you’re holding a grudge?” “You must know that a rookie doctor like me values such opportunities greatly. You did this on purpose!” 3. Due to fluctuating temperatures, blood vessels were prone to issues, leading to a surge in neurosurgeries last week. I had performed several consecutive operations and was feeling exhausted, so I drank a bottle of glucose to replenish my energy. Leo saw this. He didn’t react then but immediately reported me to the Head of Surgery, Dr. Bennett, after the surgery. Dr. Bennett was my girlfriend; we met in college. Upon hearing the report, she was unusually puzzled. She lambasted me, demanding to know how I could make such a rookie mistake. She wouldn’t listen to my explanation, just reprimanded me, and then told me to leave. The next day, at the all-staff meeting, she used me as a prime example. She was passionately lecturing everyone about preventing such incidents, her emotions so high that it seemed she might fire me at any second. That’s when I produced the receipt for the glucose. I told her, “Knowing there would be several surgeries and no time to eat, I prepared it in advance.” The meeting was supposed to last half an hour. After that incident, it ended in fifteen minutes. Afterward, Dr. Bennett accused me of disrespecting her, asking why I hadn’t shown the evidence sooner and why I had humiliated her in front of so many people. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain.” I simply replied. Then I continued, “If you’re tired of seeing me, just say so. I can leave.” 4. My thoughts returned to the present. Looking at Leo, who seemed on the verge of exploding, I simply told him, “The patient’s condition couldn’t wait. I wouldn’t gamble with a patient’s life just to give you an opportunity.” With that, I walked away. The nurses, having witnessed everything, whispered to each other, glancing in Leo’s direction. Back in the doctors’ office, I was about to organize the patient’s medical records when Dr. Bennett’s call came through. Her voice was cold. “Come to my office.” My right eyelid twitched a few times. I smirked at my reflection. What exactly was Dr. Bennett up to? Entering the Head of Surgery’s office, Dr. Bennett’s sigh was the first sound. “You’ve been reported again.” I nodded. “I figured. It’s the new assistant, Leo.” Dr. Bennett paused, then leaned back in her chair, immediately adopting a helpless demeanor. She began lecturing me in her official, authoritative tone. “Dr. Ellis, you’re an experienced professional. You must see that Leo has connections, right? Couldn’t you be more careful under his nose?” “I know he likely has connections, and he definitely knows about our relationship,” I replied, as calm as water. Dr. Bennett frowned. “No one knows about our relationship. That’s what we agreed on.” Hearing that, I laughed. I didn’t know if she was playing dumb or thought I was. “Out of all the doctors in the hospital, he’s only reported me, and twice in a row.” “He’s always respectful to others, but only cold to me.” Dr. Bennett immediately denied it. “You’re overthinking.” I chuckled softly, not replying. What was the point of saying more to someone who refused to admit the truth? “If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave.” I didn’t want to stay any longer. “Wait, we haven’t discussed the main issue.” Dr. Bennett called out to me. The moment I turned, I caught a glimpse of guilt in her eyes. Her voice dropped. “You’re fired.” Even though I knew there was something wrong with this, I never expected Dr. Bennett to fire me over this incident. I asked, “Why? Just because I sutured the patient’s wound?” Dr. Bennett nodded slowly, then said pompously, “Dr. Ellis, acting above your station is also considered exceeding your level.” “Suturing wounds is what an assistant should do. Your main job is surgery.” Hearing this, I couldn’t help but laugh. My heart felt pierced by countless needles. I wanted to ask her, have you fallen for someone else? But the words died in my throat. I felt it would only make me seem more pathetic. So I simply asked her, with professional detachment, “What if the patient died waiting for him to arrive?” “Medicine always has risks. No one can avoid them.” “But I had confidence I could save him,” I pressed. “That’s just your judgment. Your judgment doesn’t represent everything!” Dr. Bennett stood up, somewhat annoyed. “Even if someone died because of it, and the family made a scene, the hospital’s patient relations office would handle it. It would have nothing to do with you. But your current actions clearly violate hospital regulations!” Watching Dr. Bennett’s furious face, I asked, “How did you become like this?” She used to rush any small animal hit by a car on the street to the vet clinic, even missing an important exam once. How could someone who respected life so much have changed so drastically? “You changed the moment you became Head of Surgery. If you were still a doctor, would you say such things?” “Don’t twist my words!” Dr. Bennett’s eyes darted away. She sat back down, her voice cold. “The position you’re in dictates your awareness. The past is the past, and now is now.” “You should leave. Pack your things and go. For old times’ sake, I don’t want to provoke you further.” There were no old times. If there were, I wouldn’t be targeted. My heart had completely chilled. But, “I won’t resign.” 5. Dr. Bennett’s eyebrows shot up, as if I had offended her deeply. “Dr. Ellis, what did you say?” “I’m not resigning,” I repeated. Dr. Bennett grew impatient, scolding me. “Don’t be so thick-skinned, okay? Can’t you see what I mean? Don’t you know this just makes me dislike you more?” “You’re likely mistaken. I’m staying not to harass you, but because in a few days…” “Enough!” Dr. Bennett cut me off. “You know my family background. I got this position, and you had a chance to be hired, all thanks to me!” I didn’t deny this. I had indeed gotten in because of her. I said, “This matter, I…” “What are you still saying? Without me, you’re nothing! Now I’m telling you to leave, so leave!” She erupted in anger. Her words completely shattered my dignity. I didn’t say anything, just stared at her. Dr. Bennett took a few deep breaths, then raised her hand. “Leave this hospital, and I’ll find someone to get you into another one. Consider it my way of giving you an out.” “I said I’m not leaving. I have an important surgery coming up, and no one else but me can perform it.” “Dr. Ellis!” Dr. Bennett’s eyes widened. “I’ve given you enough face, enough consideration for your dignity. I advise you not to push me to say harsher things!” I forced a faint smile. “I’ll talk to you after you’ve calmed down.” I turned to leave. The file box she threw flew past my cheek, smashing loudly against the door. 6. In the hospital corridor, I took a deep breath. I hoped the billionaire’s father would arrive soon. The billionaire had been kind to me. My family was poor, and I earned my college tuition by washing dishes. The hotel owner, upon learning of my situation, gave me a raise and provided me with housing. Later, somehow, the story reached the billionaire. He covered all my college expenses. Without him, I would have had to work multiple part-time jobs, with no time to focus on my studies. I would probably have graduated as just another greenhorn with a diploma. Actually, during graduation season, the billionaire offered to arrange a job for me, but with Dr. Bennett by my side then, I didn’t want to trouble him. Later, my medical skills steadily improved, and I became one of the top specialists in the field. When I heard that the billionaire’s father needed brain surgery and specifically requested me as the lead surgeon, I naturally had no reason to refuse. Now, I hoped they would come soon. Because I was afraid that if too much time passed, I wouldn’t be able to hold on, and the old man’s condition would be delayed. 7. Back in the doctors’ office, I saw Leo with his arms crossed, directing a few nurses to move things from my desk. “Throw those files in storage. If anyone needs them, they can dig through them later.” “Ellis here is so eager for everyone to know he’s working, piling up discharge reports from years ago on his desk. What a show-off!” “Also, replace this chair for me. I don’t like sitting in chairs other people have used.” “And throw out those potted plants. A grown man with houseplants? He wouldn’t even know if someone gave him a cuckold’s horn, hah.” “What are you doing?” I stepped forward quickly. The nurses immediately stopped what they were doing, explaining as if they’d found a savior. “Dr. Ellis, he said…” “Yes, I said it. Clear out your workstation. From now on, I’m the interim lead surgeon for Neurosurgery.” Leo turned to me, his nose in the air. I was amused by the unfamiliar term “interim lead surgeon.” It meant he’d lead surgeries when he could, and bring in outside help when he couldn’t. Dr. Bennett was truly playing with lives. Leo had almost zero surgical experience. Not long ago, a patient’s wound burst open after being discharged due to inadequate suturing, nearly causing a medical error. The doctor who gave Leo the opportunity was terrified. Luckily, someone with immense power reached an agreement with the family, and the hospital never even questioned it, acting as if nothing happened. But now, someone who hadn’t even mastered basic skills was being appointed “interim lead surgeon.” They didn’t value human lives. “I haven’t agreed to resign, so you can’t have this position.” I told the nurses to stop. The nurses, ignoring Leo’s protests, immediately left the office. Leo was furious, pointing at me and raging. “Ellis, you’re not an idiot. Can’t you see what’s happening? I advise you not to make a fool of yourself!” “You’re the one making a fool of yourself. Someone who can’t even hold a scalpel properly dares to wear this hat.” I said indifferently, pushing him aside and sitting in my chair. Just then, Dr. Bennett suddenly arrived. “Ellis, this is your termination notice.” She slapped a document onto my desk. “You’ll receive all the compensation you’re due, not a penny less. Pack your things and leave.”

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1 I was focused on driving on the freeway when my husband’s cousin, Skye, let out a piercing shriek from the passenger seat. “Look out, someone’s up ahead!” she yelled, reaching over and yanking the steering wheel hard. The airbags burst open, and through the ringing in my ears, I heard her giggle, “Just kidding!” She even shrieked with excitement, “This is way more fun than bumper cars!” I stomped on the brakes, trembling with anger as I cursed her reckless behavior. But she pouted, claiming I was too mean. “How could you understand a sweet girl like me, Evie?” she whined. My husband, Dan, had a bump on his forehead, yet he defended her, saying she was young and didn’t know any better, telling me to let it go. But Skye was always like this, her words laced with provocation, and Dan always just washed his hands of it. Watching Skye’s smug expression, I activated my system. I chose to redeem a reward, intending to make her careless words become reality. …… I got out of the car. The front end and the barrier were wrecked. I had no choice but to call the police. Calculating the time, if we handled this quickly, I should still make it back for my father-in-law’s funeral. The traffic officer reviewed the dashcam footage, then, stone-faced, asked Skye to explain herself. Skye blinked, still wearing that innocent expression. “I’m just a sweet girl, what do I know about all this? It was just a joke!” “Nobody got killed, why are you being so serious?” The officer frowned, scolding her, “Whether it’s a joke or not isn’t up to you to decide!” “Grabbing the steering wheel on the freeway is a seriously dangerous act!” “Additionally, the damaged guardrail will need to be compensated!” Skye froze in fear. She immediately turned to my husband. “Dan… the nice officer is being mean to me…” Dan finally ambled over, his tone dismissive. “What’s the big deal? You were driving anyway, just deal with it.” “Skye is still young. She was just playing with you because she likes you.” Skye hugged Dan’s waist, peeking out to flash me a defiant smile. I took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time. When we traveled abroad, Skye insinuated I was a spy, leading to me being strip-searched in a tiny room. When I rushed my mom to the hospital, she insisted to a traffic officer that I was drunk driving, almost making my mom miss the golden hour for treatment. Anytime we went through airport security, she’d claim I had dangerous items, only to say later she was “just messing around.” Dan always laughed along with Skye, watching me awkwardly clean up the mess. Then, with a simple, “She’s just a kid,” he’d dismiss it. For Dan, I had endured it all. But now she dared to snatch the steering wheel on the freeway? If I kept enduring, what if she got me killed? Would they dance on my grave? I let out a cold laugh. “She’s twenty-two this year, isn’t she?” “Still a kid? Is she mentally challenged or just plain stupid?” Skye’s eyes immediately welled up. “…I’m a sweet girl, not stupid…” “Evie!” Dan barked suddenly. “Watch your tone!” I looked at him. “I am being polite enough!” “If I wasn’t pressed for time, I’d press charges against her for illegal interference with driving!” “Dad’s funeral is in a few hours. You’d better tell your cousin not to make trouble now!” But Dan just waved his hand casually. “You’re the one in a hurry, not me.” I froze. “What do you mean?” Dan sneered. “Killing your own father wasn’t enough, now your stepfather is dead too, thanks to you.” “Honestly, what does your family’s death have to do with me? I brought my cousin to keep you company, and you’re still treating Skye like this?” “So let’s just waste time. If you don’t get to see him one last time, don’t come crying to me!” I stood there, my fingertips slowly tightening. No wonder he hadn’t been in a rush the whole way, letting Skye mess around. I scoffed. Well, if that was the case, why should I be in a hurry? I spoke directly to the system in my mind: “I want to redeem a reward.” “From this moment on, every careless, mean-spirited thing my cousin says will come true!” The system replied quickly. [Verifying. Reward content: Skye’s mean words come true. Host, please confirm.] I thought about it. “What if she talks about past events? Like making up something I did before, will that come true?” [This ability only affects current events. Established past facts cannot be altered.] “Then what is the standard for ‘mean-spirited’?” [The system will detect Skye’s malice index towards the host to make a judgment.] I felt reassured. “Confirm redemption!” The next moment, something seemed to expand from my consciousness, silently settling upon Skye. I decided to test how far the system could go. Suddenly, Skye mumbled under her breath, “I actually grabbed the steering wheel because I found white powder in the tire…” [Ding! Detected Skye’s mean words! Content has come true!] 2 I almost yelled, “Holy cow!” The two traffic officers exchanged glances, their expressions instantly turning sharp. “What did you just say?” Skye flinched under their gaze, but foolishly continued her mean-spirited chatter: “She was driving so fast on the freeway to smuggle those things…” “So, I’m not really interfering with driving, am I? I’m a good girl!” She glanced at me, then quickly lowered her head. “Oh, Evie… You specifically told me not to look or touch anything when I got in the car, I really didn’t mean to…!” Skye hadn’t even finished speaking when one of the officers’ voices abruptly rose. “Everyone, stay put!” My wrist suddenly tightened, and I was handcuffed behind my back. “As the driver, you need to come with us and cooperate with the investigation!” I was restrained to the side. But not only did I not struggle, I almost couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Unbelievable, just like Skye, she really dared to say that! Anyway, the car belonged to Dan. With such a ridiculous amount of white powder, he wouldn’t even need to attend the funeral; he could go straight to the grave to join his dad! Skye mimicked a child’s innocent demeanor, speaking in a cutesy voice, “Wow, Dan, look, it’s just like in those TV shows when the police catch bad guys!” Dan stood beside her, looking relaxed. He, of course, knew Skye was messing around again. “You’re probably going to cause your sister-in-law some trouble.” “But she did look quite convincing just now.” The two of them pointed at me, restrained, and laughed uproariously. The officer’s face was already grim; he immediately rebuked Skye, “This is a serious law enforcement scene, potentially involving a major case!” “If you keep messing around, you’ll be taken in too!” Skye completely ignored him, staring at me for a good while. As if she’d had her fill of my “helplessly arrested” look, she slowly walked towards the car’s tire. She crouched down and pulled a small knife from her bag. “I think I remember Evie hid the white powder in this tire?” “Oh, it’s really just a small problem, officers, you’re being too nervous, because—” She said, casually plunging the knife into the tire. “I was just joking!” Pfft! The tire was punctured. She didn’t even look down. She had already turned around, still waving cheerfully. “See! There’s nothing there!” “You’re making too big a deal out of it. I’ve only seen white powder in movies; I can’t believe I actually tricked them!” She giggled and laughed at Dan. “Look how nervous they are, they didn’t actually believe it, did they?” Dan patted Skye’s head, his tone casual. “Alright, stop messing around.” “If you keep talking like that, they’ll actually take it seriously.” Then he smiled, trying to smooth things over. “My cousin is just so witty and amusing, please don’t mind her—” He hadn’t finished speaking when a sharp command suddenly rang out. “Hold them down!” Several officers instantly rushed forward. The two of them hadn’t even reacted before their hands were cuffed behind their backs. A frantic voice came through the walkie-talkie: “On-site anomaly confirmed! Extremely high concentration of contraband!” “Seal the area! Secure the scene!” Dan was completely bewildered. “Are you serious? My cousin was just joking!” A police officer cut him off coldly, “Joking?” “Why don’t you look behind you yourselves!” They both instinctively turned their heads. Through the punctured tire, white powder was slowly, steadily, beginning to seep out. 3 Skye’s smile froze, and her voice trembled. “I-I just said that off the cuff…” “How could there actually be…?” Dan was also dumbfounded. “How is this possible?!” He abruptly turned, his gaze fixed on me. “Evie! Did you put something in the car when I wasn’t looking?!” But I laughed aloud. “Who usually drives the car? Whose hands are the keys in?” “This is the first time I’ve touched this car today.” The police officers’ gazes had clearly shifted. From focusing on me, their attention slowly moved to the other side. Dan opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to refute. Soon, several cars pulled up behind the caution tape. Someone put on gloves and carefully scraped the fine white powder from the tire’s puncture, placing it into a sample bag. Skye was completely silent now. Dan’s face was pale, his forehead faintly glistening with sweat. And I felt a sense of anticipation I’d never experienced before. Let them enjoy their loose lips! A few minutes later. One of the personnel stood up, sighing. “It’s not contraband.” “It’s just ordinary white flour.” I froze for a moment. Flour? How was that possible? I mentally shrieked, asking: [System, what’s going on?!”] The system’s voice quickly responded. [Detecting target’s statement: ‘white powder’.] [This description is a vague substance designation, already matched to the most basic meaning – white flour.] My throat tightened. An indescribable frustration surged, choking me. The police were also very speechless. “Repeatedly mentioning contraband at a law enforcement scene, causing misjudgment and interfering with the enforcement process!” “Do you think this is funny?!” The two of them were taken away for a serious dressing-down. When they came out, Dan exploded. “Skye, do you even hear yourself?!” “White powder? What were you thinking?!” Skye’s eyes immediately reddened from his shouting. “I just said it casually…” “You used to say I was cute like this…” Dan cut her off directly, “This is in public!” “You almost made things spiral out of control just now!” Skye choked on her words. She clearly reined herself in a lot. My fingertips slowly tightened. My hard-won, cross-dimensional reward, and all I got was a car full of flour? Too much of a loss. I couldn’t just let it go! I looked at Skye; she looked like she’d been severely scolded. But I knew exactly what kind of person she was. She couldn’t keep quiet for more than three minutes. While Dan went to pay the fine, I approached Skye. “That’s it?” Skye sharply looked up at me. I spoke unhurriedly: “I thought you could come up with something new.” Skye’s face instantly changed. “What do you mean?!” I smiled, my tone even calmer. “Just think it’s pretty boring.” “And look, your cousin is already losing patience playing with you.” Skye’s eyes were slightly red. “You’re lying!” “Even if my cousin doesn’t pay attention to me, he wouldn’t bother with a trashy woman like you, would he?!” “I’m telling you, no matter how much I mess up, my cousin will always protect me unconditionally?!” Watching Dan walk back, looking annoyed, I simply said calmly, “Really? Why don’t I believe that?” Skye, Skye, please don’t disappoint me. 4 The officers gave a few more instructions, then allowed us to leave. Suddenly, Skye spoke up again. “Officers! The flour was just a distraction!” “Actually, my sister-in-law has a body hidden in the car’s trunk!” Dan’s face changed. “Skye! Shut up!” He was truly shaken by the previous incident. “Can you mess around with some sense of occasion?!” Skye acted as if she hadn’t heard him. Instead, she leaned closer to him, lowering her voice, speaking in a hushed, urgent tone: “Dan, look at that trashy woman’s smug face! The flour was definitely her deliberately toying with us! She made fools of us, and we got fined, are we just going to let it go?” Dan paused. Skye’s eyes glinted maliciously, her voice extremely low: “Don’t you remember why she’s rushing back today?” A faint, malicious smile touched her lips. “Just stall her, make her miss her dad’s last moments, make her regret it for life!” “Just say anything, let the police check again.” “At most, we’ll get scolded a few more times.” “But she, she’ll be too late!” Dan’s eyes flickered. Then he no longer stopped her. I wasn’t annoyed; instead, I looked at Skye. “You just said I had a body hidden?” “So, tell me, whose body did I hide?” Skye clearly paused. She hadn’t expected me to retort. I deliberately said, “I’m only rushing back today for Dad’s funeral.” “When would I have time to kill someone?” Skye’s eyes flashed. She indeed took the bait. “Who said you didn’t have time?!” “I saw you steal your dad’s body and hide it in the trunk! His organs were all dug out and put in a cooler!” Ignorance is truly terrifying. Such absurd words, even I found them exciting! She grew more self-righteous as she spoke. “Evie, you’re an absolute monster! To pay off your loan sharks, you actually stooped to messing with your dad’s corpse!” “I even heard you on the phone talking about trading organs!” [Ding! Detected complex mean-spirited content from Skye! Only partial content can come true!] Several police officers exchanged glances. The expressions on their faces were no longer tense. Instead, they showed obvious impatience and suspicion. A nearby officer murmured, “This person has made multiple false statements.” But if someone reports it, the procedure still has to be followed. At this point, Dan leaned closer to me, a cold sneer playing on his lips. “Now it’s impossible for them to let us go for several hours.” “You probably won’t make it to see your dad one last time, will you?” “Serves you right!” I looked at him. I also smiled, but my tone was a little cryptic. “Yes.” “I wouldn’t have made it, normally.” “But now—maybe I will.” Dan clearly didn’t understand. “What do you mean?” But I said nothing more. I just watched the police search the car. The moment the trunk was opened, Skye eagerly spoke up. She giggled, “Of course there’s nothing in the trunk, because my sister-in-law halfway…” Her voice abruptly stopped. Because a heavy, sickening smell of blood suddenly surged from the trunk. “Back off!” “Secure the scene!!” The police officer’s face drastically changed, and his voice sharply rose. Dan looked at the trunk, completely stunned. “This is impossible…” And the system’s voice also sounded at the same time. [Target’s statement “father’s body” condition is met, but host’s father passed away years ago.] [Since the ‘father’ about to be buried is Dan’s father, the target of organ trafficking is re-assigned!] [Partial content of the mean words has come true!]

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1 I had a secret rose birthmark. At nineteen, I gave myself to my uncle Jack while drunk. The night stayed with me, but the next day he told me the family business had failed and he had ALS. I left the military to care for him. I sold my house, borrowed money, and struggled for five years. Debt collectors hurt me, but I saved every coin to extend his life. One day at work, I saw Jack in a smart uniform, talking happily with friends. He was supposed to be in a wheelchair. A comrade said he had faked his illness for five years, and I had nearly destroyed myself to help him. Jack replied coldly that he did it to discipline me for not being kind to Monica. He planned a fake recovery to send me back to the military, believing I had learned my lesson. He thought I would believe anything he said. I stood there in silence, tears falling. There would be no later for us. His disease was a lie, but I was truly broken. ……. Outside, the cold wind bit at me. It was freezing. I stood rooted to the spot, a senseless puppet, enduring the slow agony of five years of shattered faith. Each cut tore at my flesh and blood. Jack’s comrade, Lincoln, sighed. “Honestly, you’re truly heartless. That’s the child you raised yourself, the youngest ace sniper in the military district. She retired just because you told her to, and at just twenty-something, she’s worn out like an old woman. A few days ago, she even asked me for a loan, needing eight hundred dollars for your imported medicine.” Jack’s face immediately darkened. “You lent it?” Lincoln shook his head helplessly. “You gave strict orders, how would I dare? The girl stood outside my dorm for an entire afternoon, fainted from low blood sugar, and I still didn’t dare help her up. When she finally woke, she walked away, leaning against the wall.” What Lincoln didn’t say was, that day, I held my service pistol to my temple. I said, “Uncle Lincoln, there’s one bullet left in the chamber. If you don’t lend me the money, I’ll pull the trigger.” Jack’s medicine had been interrupted for seven days; he coughed up bloody phlegm from his lungs. But Lincoln just bit his lip, his eyes red, and disarmed me, pushing me out the door as if I were a plague. Turns out, he didn’t want to lend it, he couldn’t. Jack snorted coldly. “Listen closely. Until Monica returns from her recuperation in the capital, no one is to help Seraphina. Whether she kneels or begs, even if she dies in front of you, don’t even spare her a glance.” “Monica is sensitive, her depression has just improved. The ‘punishment’ for Seraphina for these five years, not a single day less. If anyone makes Monica unhappy, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” The private room fell silent. Someone awkwardly reminded him, “Commander, aren’t you afraid Seraphina will find out the truth and be heartbroken?” No sooner had the words left his mouth, Jack sneered, “Heartbroken? I raised her, I gave her life, what’s a little hardship? Monica is different; she has no family, suffered so much. It’s only right that I treat her well.” His gaze swept the room. “What’s said here today, if even a word reaches Seraphina’s ears outside this room, don’t blame me for abandoning old ties.” I leaned against the cold wall, my hands and feet numb. Turns out, these five years I risked my life for were nothing but a meticulously arranged torture. My future, my honor, merely required a slight frown from Monica to become a casual “it’s only right” from Jack. I wanted to laugh, but a metallic, rusty taste surged in my throat. A phone rang in the private room, and footsteps approached the door. I had no time to hide. As I hastily turned, I bumped into the manager delivering drinks. The bottle of military-issue liquor on the tray shattered. The manager’s face changed drastically, and he slapped me across the face. The private room door opened, and Jack quickly stepped out, but without even glancing my way, he opened his arms directly and caught Monica as she rushed into them. “How did you come back by yourself? Didn’t we agree I’d pick you up?” Monica’s laugh was clear and sweet. “I missed you, Jack! Wanted to surprise you!” I wore a mask, kneeling on the cold marble floor, less than a meter away from them. Monica’s dazzling diamond watch strap stung my reddened eyes. One of those tiny diamonds alone would be enough for three months of Jack’s imported medicine. The manager approached cautiously. “Commander Sterling, I’m so sorry… this drink, this idiot broke it.” Black military boots stopped in front of me. Jack frowned impatiently. “Alright.” He pointed at me. “Since you broke it, clean this carpet by hand. If Monica steps on even a shard of glass, you’ll swallow it, piece by piece.” I knelt down, moving my palms slowly across the carpet. Broken glass pierced my skin, leaving delicate streaks of blood. Monica let out a soft “hiss,” linking her arm through Jack’s. “Jack, my feet are tired.” “You’re delicate. I’ll carry you out. It’s dirty here.” The black military boots stepped over my hand, moving away without a pause. I knelt there, staring at my bloodied palm, and suddenly let out a low laugh. Tears mixed with warm fluid from my nose, dripping down together. The manager gasped. “What’s wrong with you? So much blood?” I stumbled to my feet, wiping my face haphazardly with my sleeve. The cuff instantly turned red. “Maybe… I’m dying.” Ignoring his startled expression, I turned, letting the blood drip behind me, forming a broken red line as I slowly shuffled out. Pushing open the front door, the sound of porcelain shattering came from the kitchen. Jack was struggling to prop himself up with his arms, trying to get out of the overturned wheelchair. Seeing me, his movements froze, he lowered his head, his eyes quickly reddening. “Seraphina… I just wanted to warm you a cup of milk… I’m so useless… just a cripple…” His speech was slurred, drool trickled from the corner of his mouth, accompanied by trembling hands and desperate eyes, looking exactly like an ALS patient tormented by illness for years. I suddenly remembered that before his “diagnosis,” Jack had severe germophobia. A man who meticulously wiped his service pistol three times a day, whose uniform couldn’t have a single crease, could, for Monica, play this sloppy, suffering act for five years. At this moment, I almost wanted to cut open his chest with a knife to see if his heart was made of stone. Seeing me silent, he slumped his shoulders in despair. “Seraphina… do you despise me now? Just leave… don’t bother with me anymore…” I silently walked over, righted the wheelchair, and helped him into it. Then, I fetched warm water to clean him up. He suddenly gripped my wrist, his gaze falling on my bloody, mangled palm. “How did this happen? Who hurt you?” I stared into his feigned anxiety. “Someone very much like you hurt me.” “At the Grand Imperial Hotel.” 2 Jack’s jaw tightened abruptly. I smiled again. “But I know that wasn’t you. Jack would never lie to me, right?” Jack’s gaze darted away. “Of course not. Seraphina is the most important person to me, I’d never lie to you.” I fiercely suppressed the bitterness in my eyes, then turned and pushed him out of the kitchen. After preparing and serving dinner, the living room was empty. The bedroom door was ajar, and hushed voices drifted out. “Good girl, Monica, I’ve prepared a big surprise for you tomorrow, a special birthday celebration.” On the other end of the line, Monica’s voice was sweet and soft. “But tomorrow… it’s also Seraphina’s birthday, isn’t it? Won’t she be sad if you don’t spend it with her?” “Silly girl. You’re the most important treasure to me. Seraphina stopped celebrating her birthday ages ago, she’s used to it.” Monica cheered. “I knew you were the best, Jack!” I stood by the door for a long time. Finally, I silently untied my apron and turned to leave. When Jack wheeled himself out, the house was already empty. On the dining table lay a bowl of noodle soup and an imported pill wrapped in foil. Usually by this time, I would have left for my night shift. His mind flashed back to my bloodless face, the grotesque wounds on my palm, and that spine so thin it looked like it would snap in two… A sudden, inexplicable panic seized his heart. He picked up his phone and quickly dialed a number. The next day, at the Military District Hospital. I took Jack for a re-examination. The attending physician’s expression was excited. “Miss Shen! A research institute in the capital has a special medicine that works wonders for ALS! I’ve secured a trial spot for Commander Sterling!” Compared to his excitement, I merely asked calmly, “What’s the recovery rate?” “Over eighty percent!” Jack obligingly reddened his eyes. “Seraphina… I can get better… I can continue to be with you…” I forced a faint smile. “If only one of us could live, Jack, I would always hope it was you.” Jack was stunned, his brows deeply furrowed. “Nonsense! We’ll both live well. Once I recover and return to the forces, you’ll still be the proudest sniper in the military district—” But I no longer wanted this “pride.” Nor did I want Jack anymore. The doctor, citing “complex examination procedures,” politely asked me to leave the office. I knew it was just an excuse to get rid of me. I stood at the corner of the hallway, watching Jack quickly change out of his hospital gown and walk steadily into the elevator. Downstairs, the familiar black military sedan had been waiting for a long time. I silently withdrew my gaze and turned to walk into another consultation room at the end of the hallway. “Miss Shen, your brain tumor has already compressed major nerves, and surgery is no longer an option.” The doctor sighed heavily. “Perhaps half a month ago… there might have been hope. It’s likely… just these last couple of days. Say your goodbyes to your family.” I sat quietly for a long time before slowly nodding. “After I die, please have me cremated directly. My ashes… please send them to the Sterling Family Residence in West Hill Military District, to Commander Jack Sterling.” Leaving the only money I had on me, I walked out of the hospital. My phone screen lit up, a new message popped up: “Come to the family residence and take a look.” The sender was Monica. I hailed a cab and went to the West Hill Family Residence. Five years. The single-family house in the military district compound, which I thought had long since changed hands, was now brightly lit, adorned like a fairytale castle. Guests filled the house, elegantly dressed. Monica, wearing a diamond-studded tiara and a pristine white haute couture gown, clung tightly to Jack’s arm. They were surrounded by people, standing before a six-tier cake. She clasped her hands together, her voice sweet: “My wish is to be Jack’s only little princess, forever and ever.” Jack smiled, taking a dark blue velvet box from his military uniform pocket. The moment the box opened. All the blood in my body felt as if it had frozen instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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