I was the daughter of some bigshot billionaire, Victoria Foster’s fake boyfriend. My brother Wesley Grant was doing the same gig, playing along as arm candy for Margaret Russell, this up-and-coming actress. We had this brilliant plan to milk the situation for all it was worth and then split town with the cash. But things didn’t quite go according to plan. They dumped us before we could score any real money. Wesley and I had no choice but to pack our bags and leave in the middle of the night. Two years later, Margaret tracked down my brother. I was just standing there, enjoying the drama unfold, when someone smacked me upside the head. “I could handle you ghosting me, but did you really have to steal my dog too?” Victoria’s voice cut through the air. Just as Margaret was about to reach her apartment door, Wesley grabbed my arm while holding an iPad, trying to pick out a birthday gift for her. When the sound of the keypad lock downstairs clicked open, Wesley tossed the tablet aside and whispered, “Quick, hide somewhere. She hates having other people here.” I quickly contorted my six-foot frame into a shrimp-like shape and squeezed myself under the bed. Wesley, who had been all business moments ago, suddenly transformed into a lovesick puppy, throwing his arms wide open to embrace his beauty. “Welcome home, babe!” Margaret impatiently shoved Wesley away from her. “It was you, wasn’t it? You leaked the story about Evan being illegitimate! His gallery just opened! This negative press could ruin him! If you’re upset about something, take it out on me, not him! Why did you have to go after Evan?” Wesley’s eyes started to well up with tears. “You really think I would do that?” Margaret angrily threw her bag down. “This happened right after you visited his gallery. He only told you about it.” Just as Wesley was about to respond, Margaret’s assistant came upstairs. “We can’t reach Mr. Evan Porter on his phone.” Margaret set down the water glass she had just picked up. She shot Wesley an icy glare before heading back downstairs. “Margaret, I swear I didn’t do it,” Wesley pleaded. Margaret let out a cold laugh. “Last week, you got all jealous about me supporting Evan’s gallery. If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” Wesley sniffled as tears fell onto the tip of his shoes. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? Today is your…” “Just shut up! I never thought you’d be this kind of person!” Margaret stormed out, slamming the door without even looking at him. “Did you ever have any feelings for me at all?” Wesley rushed to the door and called out to Margaret’s retreating figure. Her heels paused for a brief moment, but she didn’t answer. The only response was the sound of a car driving away downstairs. Wesley put away his tablet and rubbed his nose before flopping spread-eagled onto the bed. “Well, at least I won’t have to spend money on her birthday this year,” he muttered. I poked my head out from under the bed and gave him a thumbs-up. “Wesley, your acting skills are amazing. You almost had me believing you were really in love with her.” Wesley kicked me lightly. “Evan is your girlfriend’s childhood sweetheart.” “Hey, I didn’t do anything to hurt him!” I protested. “Are you suggesting that I did?” “What exactly are you saying?” My voice started trembling as I processed his words. “Let’s grab some cash and get the hell out of here!” Wesley stared at me with determination in his eyes. “What’s going on?” I asked with confusion. “I ran into Evan at the gallery last week, and he gave me this ultimatum. When I called him out for being shameless, he came after me today,” Wesley explained with a grimace. “Don’t forget that Evan is Margaret’s old flame and your girlfriend’s childhood sweetheart. Knowing your girlfriend’s temperament, if you mess with her beloved childhood friend, you might not live to see another day!” I quickly scrambled to my feet and started putting on my shoes. “Alright, alright, say no more. Let’s figure out how much money we can withdraw and make a run for it,” I said urgently.

Wesley and I were identical twins. He majored in Theater Arts while I studied Economics in college. He became Margaret’s personal assistant, and Margaret immediately offered him the position during his senior year audition. I was just a stand-in boyfriend for billionaire heiress Victoria. Right after graduation, Victoria claimed me in an underground parking lot when I went for a job interview. We both grew up in an orphanage, and our incredible stroke of luck came from looking precisely like Evan. For three years, we’ve been living the high life without any financial worries. As a top celebrity, Margaret naturally had to maintain her public image. Victoria is a different story altogether. As the sole heiress to a billion-dollar fortune, she was a wild beauty with a temper, and anyone who crossed her path would regret it. We thought life would just continue this way indefinitely, but things have changed. Evan, who once stubbornly refused any financial support from Margaret, had returned. After life beat him down overseas, he’s given up on the struggle for success. Now he was back, planning to choose between two golden tickets—the A-list celebrity or the billionaire’s daughter to secure an easy life for himself. “Back at the gallery, he told me that Margaret would give him everything he needed with just a snap of his fingers. Let alone something as simple as getting rid of me. Look how quickly he made it happen. I wouldn’t care much if it was just about getting fired, but Victoria isn’t someone you want to mess with. What if she decides to throw both of us into the river?” The memory of Victoria driving someone insane with her bungee jumping stunt sent me chills. It all started when someone called me a gold digger. Victoria had them tied up and forced to bungee jump by the river. The next day, they ended up in a mental hospital, babbling like a lunatic. “God, I’m just Evan’s stand-in for crying out loud. If Evan decides to turn against me next, will I make it out alive? He’s the one who grew up with her, after all. We need to get out of here, like, right now!” After our discussion, we headed home separately to grab our cards and withdraw cash for our escape plan.

I had just finished packing up most of my belongings at home. Suddenly, someone burst through the doorway and threw herself into my arms, whispering, “What are you doing here so late? Where are you headed?” The smell of alcohol lingered on her breath. She seemed a bit drunk. Even after four years together, I still didn’t dare confront her about her drinking, so I simply replied, “I was actually going to look for you.” She appeared to be in high spirits, looking at me through half-closed eyes as she snuggled closer into my embrace and pushed the door shut behind her. “What would you like me wearing tonight?” she purred. I nervously responded, “You look beautiful in anything.” Victoria’s mother had passed away when she was young, and her father was a womanizer who frequently brought different women home. She grew up believing all men were cut from the same cloth. One day, while running away from home, she met a little boy who wiped away her tears. Victoria always said he was the first person to shed her tears. That person must have been Evan. Tonight, she was unusually forward. Before I could sit, she straddled my lap with a mischievous smile and began pulling up her dress… I wasn’t like Wesley. For artists like Wesley and Margaret, spiritual connection mattered most. I preferred a more physical kind of intimacy. Afterward, a wave of sadness washed over me. I ran my fingers through her hair as she rested her head softly on my arm. The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Do you love me?” She froze, and I caught a glimpse of her eyes in the darkness, staring at the ceiling before closing them again. Her only response was the steady rhythm of her breathing. You can never wake someone who’s pretending to sleep. But tonight, I desperately needed an answer. “What am I to you?” I rolled over to kiss her, one arm holding her tight against me while the other tugged at her newly donned nightgown. “Jason, you’re crossing a line,” she said coldly. She pushed me away and got up to put on her shoes. “Get some rest. I’m sleeping upstairs.” Just moments ago, she’d been whispering in my ear, and now she might as well have been a stranger. “Are we gonna keep this relationship hidden forever? This isn’t the kind of relationship I want,” I said. “Oh yeah? Then there’s the door. We can end this right now,” Victoria barely spared me a glance. I fell silent, watching her with a stunned expression. “Please. I’ve got guys falling all over themselves for me,” Victoria snapped before stomping up the stairs.

What was I to her? I was some poor guy who looked a bit like her childhood sweetheart, nothing but a man hiding in the shadows who couldn’t bear the light of day. I was not fooling myself. I didn’t even have a ticket to the game of high-society marriage. Yet today, like an idiot, I had to go and ask her that question. I wiped the moisture from my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Victoria’s pet dog, Dolly, jumped onto my bed, looking at me with sympathy, drool dripping from her mouth. Dolly was a stray mutt that Victoria had rescued from the streets, and I was the one who raised her. I have to take her with me. I carefully went downstairs, carrying Dolly in one arm and my luggage in the other. I texted Wesley as soon as I left: [I’m heading out now.] [Let’s meet at the airport in thirty minutes.] [I can’t take a plane; I’ve got my dog with me.] [Damn, we’ll have to take the bus then!! Meet at the bus station in thirty minutes!!!] Jason glared at me through gritted teeth as I stood there with my luggage and Dolly in my arms. I didn’t see what the big deal was, but Wesley showed up looking like a refugee with three massive suitcases, which really made me think. “What’s all this stuff you’re bringing?” “She dumped me and told me to wipe every trace of myself from her life, so I packed up everything that was mine.” “Did you really need to bring the broom, though?” “I bought that broom too.” I momentarily fell silent and said, “Well, I got dumped, too. Victoria said she had plenty of other options.” Wesley gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, his look indicating that he knew exactly how I felt. Then we both loaded our bags into the bus’ luggage compartment, looking like two rejected puppies, and squeezed onto the smelly bus with my dog. We slunk out of the city like a couple of defeated soldiers.

Margaret was bombarded with contract termination calls throughout the day. The media unleashed a ruthless attack on Evan’s identity as an illegitimate child, and vandals completely trashed the gallery. She had no choice but to take him to her home, but the paparazzi caught them and broke the news overnight. Wesley flew into a rage and stormed out of the house. Her investigation revealed that all the paparazzi admitted Wesley had leaked the information. “Margaret, Wesley took all his belongings with him. Should we…” her assistant whispered tentatively. “Let him go. Just leave him alone,” she snapped back irritably. Evan touched his bruised forehead and said, “Margaret, I’m grateful for your help, but you should go after him. I’d feel terrible if I caused problems between you two.” His eyes were deep and lifeless, and his dejected tone made Margaret feel even more disgusted by Wesley’s inhuman behavior. “Do you know who did it?” “When I met him before, I tried to comfort him about his insecurities. I told him that being poor wasn’t a big deal and mentioned how I was just an unwanted illegitimate child whose father didn’t love my mother. I said he was better off than me. Someone with ulterior motives must have overheard our conversation.” Margaret felt her heart tighten in her chest. She knew exactly who that “someone” was. Her investigation had revealed that Wesley himself had tipped off the paparazzi. At first, she couldn’t believe it, but after hearing Evan’s explanation, her last glimmer of hope vanished. Evan cast a subtle glance at Margaret. He stood up and said, “Margaret, you should check on him.” After taking a few steps, he pretended to lose his balance. Margaret rushed to support him, saying, “Forget about him. He can go wherever he wants. How are you feeling?” At that moment, the infrared beam from a camera swept through the window. After years in the entertainment industry, she had become susceptible to infrared lights and camera flashes. “Who’s there!” she called out. Evan continued his act of unsteadiness and collapsed against Margaret’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything while you focus on getting better,” Margaret said softly as she gently patted Evan’s shoulder. Within minutes, new headlines flooded the media outlets. [Rising Star Margaret Caught in Late-Night Embrace with Porter Family’s Illegitimate Son!] [One Night Stand or Secret Romance?] Social media notifications bombarded Wesley’s phone from every direction. Wesley heaved as his trembling hands removed the SIM card from his phone in the darkness, snapped it in half, and tossed it out the car window. My phone remained empty, devoid of any messages. To prevent myself from dwelling on the past in the future. Following Wesley’s lead, I pulled out my SIM card and threw it out the car window. “Your dog chewed up the window handle, and now it won’t close properly,” Wesley growled through clenched teeth, glaring at Dolly and me while struggling with the window. The wind howled through the broken window, sending dust swirling around us, and I couldn’t tell if the moisture on our faces was from tears or the damp evening air. Wesley and I took turns carrying the dog and dragging our suitcases, only to discover our cards had been frozen when we finally got off.

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On Valentine’s Day, Joyce got into a car accident while making a U-turn on the highway, all to save the cat of her first love. Both the cat and I were trapped under the car, and no matter who she saved first, the other would suffer more serious injuries from the imbalance. I endured the pain and called for help, but Joyce didn’t hesitate at all to save the cat. “This is Samuel’s favorite cat. I can’t let it get hurt. Don’t worry, even if you lose a hand, I’ll stay with you.” The car was hit again, the glass shattered, and my arm was crushed, flesh mangled. Yet Joyce was still entirely focused on checking the cat over and over. When the ambulance finally arrived, she even stood in front of the vehicle, ensuring the doctors treated the cat first. “William’s just got a minor injury. How can he compare to my cat? If you don’t save it, you’re not leaving today!” She forgot that I have a clotting disorder. With all this blood loss, I could die. “Joyce, what is this supposed to mean?” I let out a desperate growl and used all my strength to push her away. But the intense pain from my right hand made me nearly lose consciousness. Joyce gave me a complicated look. “William, don’t blame me. Luna is Samuel’s favorite cat. I have to do this.” Then she left me behind, walking straight to the side of the road and holding the cat. Blood poured from my wrist, and the wound was deep enough to see the bone. But Joyce still ignored me, continuing to check the cat for any injuries. Five minutes later, the paramedics finally arrived. They quickly moved me onto a stretcher, ready to transport me, but Joyce stopped them. “Don’t you have a first aid kit? Help me check on the cat first!” “What are you doing, worrying about a cat now? The patient’s lost so much blood, and if we wait any longer, it’ll be too late!” The doctors exchanged looks, their expressions full of disbelief. Upon hearing this, Joyce stood in front of the ambulance. “Do you know whose cat this is? It’s Samuel’s! If anything happens to it, you’d better worry about your jobs!” Samuel’s family was wealthy, and his grandfather had once been the hospital director, with powerful connections. The doctors knew Samuel’s name, so they hesitated slightly. They took the cat, examined it quickly, then handed it back to Joyce. “It’s just a little shaken up, not even a scratch. Don’t worry.” The sting from my wound made me groan involuntarily, and seeing my condition, the doctors rushed to close the door and start the journey. But Joyce was still unrelenting. “You just glanced at it to appease me, I’m not so easy to fool! William, you’re fine with just a little injury, why are you acting like this? “Move aside, check my cat again!” She then pulled out her phone and took a picture of each doctor’s ID badge. “If you keep messing around, I’ll send this straight to Samuel. Don’t regret it when someone gets fired.” The doctors, unable to do anything else, had no choice but to leave me aside and continue inspecting the cat. The blood kept flowing, and I felt myself growing colder. Three minutes later, the stretcher was almost completely soaked in blood. Seeing my condition worsen, Joyce finally relented. “Fine, let’s go. William, I barely put any pressure on you, why are you so fragile?” She cast a disgusted glance at me, then muttered under her breath, “Such a waste of time… I don’t even know if Luna’s really alright…” Earlier, when she knew I was cut by glass shards, she still cruelly pressed down on me, deepening my wounds. But now, she was accusing me of being weak. The hurt and humiliation overwhelmed me in an instant. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but no words came out. Joyce, seeing this, made no attempt to hide her disdain.

Joyce and I had been married for three years, and up until this incident, our relationship had been quite good. A while ago, she brought home this cat, saying she had just found it, feeling sorry for it. I believed her and took care of the cat, feeding it carefully and even making sure to clean its litter as soon as I came home from work each day. Who would have thought I was just being a fool, doing everything for someone else? I even almost lost my life today because of it. Tears streamed uncontrollably from my eyes. I shut them, feeling utterly disappointed in Joyce. Once we arrived at the hospital, the tension I had been holding in released, and I passed out completely. I didn’t know how much time had passed when I slowly regained consciousness. My right hand was wrapped in several thick layers of bandages. “We spent a long time resuscitating you. You mustn’t let this hand get injured again, or it will be permanently damaged,” the doctor said, his voice full of concern. He continued with a serious tone, “Rest well. If you get through the next few days, there may be a chance for recovery.” I nodded gratefully. After they left, I instinctively reached for my phone to call Joyce. But then I remembered she was the one who had hurt me, and the excitement I initially felt turned into bitterness. I closed my eyes in exhaustion, ready to rest, but Joyce called me. “I paid for the ambulance ride earlier. Transfer the money to me, I still need it. “The doctor already told me you’re fine. It was just a minor injury, right? You were just pretending to be so dramatic!” I clenched my phone tightly, my voice trembling. “You’re the one who hurt me, and now you want me to transfer money? Joyce, do you even have a heart? “Also, you still haven’t explained why you’re helping your ex-boyfriend take care of a cat?” I had been rushed into the emergency room, and she still thought I was faking it. My disappointment deepened, my throat tightened, and tears once again filled my eyes. The line fell silent for a few seconds, and then I faintly heard some voices, a man’s voice. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could tell Joyce was with Samuel. Just as I was about to hang up, Joyce finally spoke, “So now you dare speak to me like this? Samuel and I are just friends. He went abroad and left Luna with me for a few days. It’s just a small favor between friends. Is that so hard to understand? “I’ve been considerate of you. If I didn’t worry about you getting jealous, why would I have lied and told you Luna was a stray?” Hearing that, my heart hurt uncontrollably. No wonder, a month ago, Joyce started using business trips as an excuse, and the number of nights she stayed out kept increasing. During that time, her behavior became erratic. She kept her phone glued to her hand and was unusually defensive toward me. I had suspected something. After seeing the diamond ring on her finger, I even asked her about it. But every time, Joyce found a way to brush it off. At that moment, I already had a bad feeling in my gut, but I chose to trust her. I had been in love with her for seven years, ever since I first saw her at university. Later, when her family faced a crisis and she was dumped by Samuel, she had a breakdown and tried to take her own life. I happened to be there to save her, helping her through her family’s troubles and resolving the crisis. Joyce was moved by me, and six months later, she proposed to me. Though her temper grew worse after we married, and she frequently nitpicked at me, I stayed by her side without complaint, giving all my heart and love. But now, I suddenly didn’t want to keep lying to myself and holding onto this relationship. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Joyce. Let’s get a divorce.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and then Joyce’s laughter clearly came through. “So now you’re threatening me with divorce? Fine, let’s get a divorce, but only if you can convince my parents to agree!” As soon as she finished speaking, she hung up. I let my wrist drop, lying on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Joyce’s parents had always treated me very well, and I owed them a lot. Even though they knew I was an orphan, they never once criticized my family background. In my heart, they were like my own parents. In the past, when Joyce and I had conflicts, I would always consider their feelings and try to let things go. But now, I couldn’t stand it anymore. After mentally preparing myself, I called her father. After explaining what had happened that day, he immediately transferred 50 thousand dollars to me. “William, you’ve been wronged. This is just a little compensation from me. “But about the divorce, please don’t act in haste. After all, in my heart, you’re the only one I recognize as Joyce’s husband! Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Joyce now and make her come to apologize to you.” I wanted to refuse, but then her mother joined in. Both of them sincerely tried to persuade me. After hanging up, I almost softened again. But then Joyce barged into the hospital room, with Samuel in tow, both of them furious. “You really complained? You got me scolded by my parents and even froze my bank card! “Do you know I was shopping for Samuel’s clothes? At the checkout, the salespeople were laughing at me!” Joyce cared so much about her pride, and now she was practically trembling with anger. She even reached out to grab me. I remembered the doctor’s warning and frowned. “Don’t touch my arm. The doctor said it can’t be injured again!” But to my surprise, she didn’t stop. Instead, she deliberately picked up a nearby vase and smashed it onto my injured arm. In an instant, I let out a painful scream that echoed through the entire ward. The wound was torn open again, bleeding profusely. I curled up, writhing in agony, almost passing out from the pain. “You deserve it! This will teach you a lesson. Let’s see if you dare to complain again next time!” Joyce stood smugly, watching me in pain, while Samuel stood next to her, holding her in his arms. “Joyce, your temper is still the same, so clear-cut in who you love and hate. It’s really cute,” he said. At his words, Joyce’s face flushed red. “Achen, stop it. There is an outsider here.” We were a legally married couple, but to Joyce, I was nothing more than an outsider. “Get out! Get out!” I glared at them, my eyes red with anger, gritting my teeth. Joyce rolled her eyes disdainfully. “Do you think I want to see you? What a nuisance. If it weren’t for you making trouble, Samuel and I could still have fun for a long time. “William, you’d better stay put and not cause any more trouble. Samuel just got back, and I’m just here to welcome him.” With that, she pulled Samuel with her and left arrogantly. I pressed the call button for the doctor, and when he saw my injuries and the broken pieces on the floor, his face changed dramatically. “How did this happen? Didn’t I tell you not to get injured here again? Your hand… it’s most likely beyond saving.” Tears flooded my eyes once more, and the hatred I felt for Joyce reached its peak. After the doctor managed to stop the bleeding, I immediately contacted a lawyer to draft the divorce agreement. Then I messaged my mentor, David Parker: [I agree to the project you mentioned.]

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My wife Naomi Chase sent me to a mental hospital just because her beloved Robert Dalton needed test subjects for his drug research. I had just finished surgery, but she didn’t care. They shocked me until I drooled and convulsed, and yet, she simply covered Robert’s eyes, clearly disgusted. “Disgusting, don’t look.” Due to this experiment, Robert was nominated for an award, and Naomi celebrated by lighting up the whole city with fireworks in his honor. Meanwhile, I, Lincoln Booker, lay in the freezing cold of a winter night, having my right leg amputated due to excessive electric shocks. To cover it up, Robert arranged for a prosthetic leg and threatened me not to tell Naomi the truth. He claimed my leg had been injured during the experiment. I numbly placed my amputated leg in a freezer. Seven days later, at Robert’s award ceremony, it would be presented as a gift in Naomi’s hands… Chapter 1 I begged the caregiver, Ian Flynn, to help me with this task, my eyes swollen from crying. Since I came here, Ian was the only one who treated me kindly. He mentioned having an older brother who looked like me. But of course, he couldn’t fight Robert and wasn’t able to rescue me. Seeing me holding my prosthetic leg and crying uncontrollably, he hesitated before agreeing to help. He held the freezer box, ready to leave, when he ran straight into Naomi. The smell from the freezer made Naomi cover her nose. She watched the nurse walk away before finally lowering her hand, frowning. But nothing seemed to be able to ruin Naomi’s good mood. She looked as if she had just returned from a victorious battle. Her voice was light and carefree as if she were talking to herself. “Robert’s experiment was a huge success. “His dream is finally coming true.” Since Naomi entered the room, her gaze had been fixed on the bright night sky outside the window, offering no sympathy for me. It wasn’t until she realized I hadn’t spoken a word that she glanced at me with a cold stare and furrowed her brows. “Lincoln, Robert came back just to ask you for this small favor. You’ve been recovering at home after your surgery for so long, with nothing to do. Why not come here, make some friends, and help him out? There’s no need to look so miserable.” I thought, “Let me think about it. The old lady came into my room and harassed me. The old man who strangled me and accused me of stealing his money. The one who kicked me to the ground, claiming I stole his woman. This was Naomi’s idea of friends.” I had been drugged by Robert and shocked repeatedly, causing my right leg to die. The doctor who treated me said that if I had come to the hospital earlier, I might not have had to lose my leg. But I had no freedom, so how could I expect treatment? Seeing my eyes red and my gaze still on the ground, Naomi finally leaned in to question me. “Lincoln…” But she barely got my name out before her attention shifted to her buzzing phone. The moonlight from the window illuminated her face, which held a truly happy expression, so much so that Naomi stayed in the room for over 20 minutes without noticing my abnormal right leg. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, Robert’s alumni came in to deliver my medication for the day. When I thought about my empty right leg, I spilled the pills all over the floor. She froze for a moment, then walked quickly to my bedside without hesitation, placing the pills near my mouth. Her cold voice filled my ears. “This is part of Robert’s experiment. If you don’t take it, how is he going to write his report?” I turned my head away, tears in my eyes, but she grabbed my chin and forced the pills into my throat. Naomi seemed ready to say something, but her phone buzzed again. She glanced down, then quickly left the room, not even taking her coat. I could guess why she left. I checked Instagram, and the first thing I saw was Robert with tissue stuffed up his nose, looking both silly and cute. [After watching fireworks all night, I caught a cold. I took an extra cold pill… hope I’m not going to die from it, right?] The comment section was filled with Naomi’s concerned messages. [You caught a cold? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?] [You’re such a mess! Get checked out at the hospital. Wait for me.] Chapter 2 That night, Naomi didn’t come back. After midnight, I silently wished myself a happy birthday. I remembered the days before I ended up in the mental hospital when Naomi still accompanied me to my check-up. The doctor had said my stomach cancer surgery was healing well, and she had been so excited. “Your recovery will coincide with your birthday. We’ll have a big celebration that day!” But time had passed, and she had set off fireworks all over the city for Robert just to celebrate a nomination that wasn’t even real. The next morning, as the first light of dawn broke, Ian brought me a small cake about the size of a palm. “I remember you said today’s your birthday, but… your leg…” Ian hesitated, unsure of what to say, but still lit the candle for me. Through all these inhuman days, I was grateful for his care. I closed my eyes, made a wish, and was about to blow out the candle when someone appeared at the door. Naomi stood in the doorway, her brow furrowing as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, today’s your birthday,” she said. Flustered, she rummaged through the pocket of her coat as if she could pull something out to give me as a gift. But to my surprise, what she pulled out was half-used rubber products. She awkwardly stuffed it back into her pocket, stammering, “Maybe… maybe someone was messing with me. “I’ll get you a proper gift later.” I blew out the candle with a sharp exhale, responding without thinking. “No need.” As soon as I spoke, Naomi’s face darkened, and she impatiently shoved her hands into her pockets. “Are you really making a big deal over a gift? “I’m the one who paid for your father’s treatment when he was seriously ill. And now you’re throwing a tantrum just because of a stupid birthday? Don’t you think that’s unreasonable?” I just bit my lip and quietly listened as she finished speaking. Because she wasn’t wrong, she was the one who saved my family. I felt like I could never repay her, not in a lifetime. Ian, who had been sitting beside the bed, couldn’t take it anymore. As he stood up and walked out, he accidentally bumped into Naomi’s shoulder. Naomi stumbled, her expression growing even uglier. She shot me a resentful glance, then turned to leave but bumped into Robert, who was entering the room in his lab coat. Underneath his white coat, there were faint red marks on his neck. Naomi’s anger seemed to disappear for no reason, and she hurried over, speaking gently. “I told you to rest at home. Why did you come back?” Robert sneezed and waved it off, saying, “Yesterday, you took your clothes off to warm me up. I’m much better now.” He quickly realized there were others in the room and looked away. He flashed me a smile. “I’m here today for an important experiment. I need Lincoln’s help again.” My heart skipped a beat. I looked at Naomi desperately, shaking my head, silently pleading with her not to agree. But she gave Robert a bright, gracious smile and said lightly, “It’s fine. He’s been doing nothing anyway.” At that moment, the weight that had been hanging over me finally fell. Robert smiled back at her and then turned to me, adding, “This one might hurt a bit more, but if you can handle it, it’ll be fine. Lincoln’s helped so many times before, I’m sure he’ll manage.” A sense of dread crept into my chest. Chapter 3 Naomi had poured a huge amount of startup funds into opening Robert’s lab. She let Robert feed his experimental drugs to live subjects and even went as far as to allow him to use his bottomless methods of electric shock therapy. Every time, Naomi was the one cleaning up the mess. And she seemed to enjoy it. But I never imagined that one day, Naomi would stand by and let Robert torture me like this. I didn’t resist strongly because I owed her far too much. But once the experiment was over, I hoped I’d finally be able to repay that debt. The silence was broken by a few slaps from Robert, and a group of doctors with various tools rushed into the room. Once all the equipment was in place, Robert suddenly took Naomi’s hand and whispered close to her. “Naomi, I’m a little worried. What if this experiment fails?” She seemed to shudder, her heart aching as she grasped Robert’s hand with tenderness. “It won’t fail. Let’s step outside first, and then we can get the data later.” Inside the room, I lay on the cold hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as they bound my limbs. The light blurred into a mess, and my consciousness became more and more hazy. As the voltage increased, my body grew numb, but my mind occasionally stayed sharp. In a daze, I could hear people scrambling around and the sounds of objects clanging together. “Ugh, what are you doing? You can’t even control the voltage.” Then came the spasms, and I vaguely heard someone shout. “Hurry, get him to emergency! There might still be time!” I didn’t struggle, almost as if I’d been knocked out by a blunt force. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a new and unfamiliar hospital room. Before I could speak, a man’s voice sounded in my ear. “Thank you so much, Lincoln. This is your payment for your hard work.” Robert flashed me a mocking grin, then pulled out a bill from his bag and placed it on my pillow. He turned around and ran into Naomi, who had just entered. Immediately, the sinister expression on his face disappeared, and he looked down with a furrowed brow. “It’s my fault. I was too stupid. That’s why Lincoln passed out. I’ve already apologized to him.” Naomi barely glanced at me, then lovingly stroked Robert’s face. “You didn’t mean to. There’s no need to apologize.” But then she paused for a moment, as if remembering something, and walked over to my bed. “The doctor said there’s something wrong with your leg. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” I stayed silent. At the time, she’d been busy watching fireworks with Robert, and I’d sent her countless messages, none of which got a reply. Ian, who had been by my side, was about to explain, but Robert quickly stopped him, giving him a threatening look before turning to Naomi and saying. “It’s my fault. There was an unexpected issue with the experiment, and I was too busy handling it to tell you about Lincoln’s leg injury.” “How could I blame you? He’s fine now. It’s okay.” Without me saying anything, Naomi casually forgave me. To prevent Ian from letting anything slip, Robert nudged him away. Naomi turned to look at me, showing a hint of guilt. “You’ve been holding it in all this time. Tonight, I’ll take you to a restaurant to celebrate.” Not waiting for my consent, Naomi dragged me straight to a clothing store to buy a suit. When she saw the bruises on my back, she stopped as she handed me the clothes. But in the end, she didn’t say anything. She just made an excuse to wait for me outside. Did she really think she’d feel guilty seeing me like this? It was laughable. Wasn’t all of this her doing? At the dinner table, Naomi’s eyes never left her phone. She even disappeared to the bathroom for over twenty minutes during the meal. When she returned, she finally remembered to ask the waiter for the menu. But Naomi was completely absent-minded, pointing casually. The waiter was totally confused because Naomi had pointed at the restaurant’s address. With a sigh, I took the menu, ordered our food, and handed it to the waiter. A while later, just as the food arrived, Naomi hastily stood up and grabbed her coat. “Robert’s being bullied at the party. I have to go now.” Chapter 4 Naomi was about to step out but paused for a moment, her tone cold. “Let’s go together. There won’t be any cars at this hour anyway.” On the way, Naomi had no intention of talking to me, occasionally glancing at her phone, worried she might miss some messages. We hurriedly arrived at the location Robert had sent, but the private room was buzzing with excitement. When Robert saw me, his smile disappeared in an instant, but he quickly adjusted his expression, looking down with self-reproach. “I didn’t know you were together. I only called you here because I lost a dare.” Naomi, rushing into the room, still out of breath but showing no sign of anger, said. “It’s no big deal. It’s just a meal with him.” As soon as she finished speaking, all eyes turned to me. I looked down, fiddling with my fingers, wanting to put an end to this farce. “I’ll leave if there’s nothing else.” But just as I turned to go, Robert suddenly stopped me. “Lincoln, my experiment isn’t over yet. You can’t go home now. You should stay a little longer in the hospital.” At that moment, a voice from the crowd mocked. “So he’s Robert’s lab rat? No wonder he’s covered in scars.” Another voice chimed in. “Scars are normal, but wearing such an expensive suit with a limp? What a waste, it looks ridiculous!” I turned away, squeezing the webbing between my thumb and index finger, trying to hold back the bitterness in my throat. Naomi, as if she hadn’t heard, continued defending Robert. “Robert’s right. You can’t give up now. Stay in the hospital for a while longer.” I gritted my teeth and endured it, but just before I could leave the room, I got a call from the hospital. “Mr. Booker, your father’s condition is critical. If you can, please come back and say your final goodbyes.” My mind exploded with shock. I tried to rush out, but I was stopped by a few large men who seemed to be bodyguards. I couldn’t break free. Red-eyed, I looked back, silently pleading with Naomi, but she only showed irritation. “Robert’s worked so hard to get to this point, and now you want to make trouble at the last moment?” Seeing me silent, she gave no room for negotiation. “You have to go back to the psychiatric hospital today.” At that moment, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I desperately tried to explain. “My dad is dying. I have to go see him!” Naomi showed a flicker of emotion, but Robert immediately tugged at her sleeve, looking pitiful. She quickly changed her tone and scolded. “Your dad’s hospital account has plenty of money. What good would it do for you to go now? “Robert’s been nominated, and the award will be presented in a few days. Can’t you just let him be happy for once?” My throat tightened, and a chill ran through my body, but Naomi’s face grew more impatient as she raised her hand. Seeing this, the bodyguards at the door grabbed me and forcefully dragged me outside, tossing me into a car sent by the psychiatric hospital. It was a long journey. I was locked back in a cold, dark room. Until I saw the devastating news from the hospital… In that instant, countless images spun in my mind. It felt like falling into an ice cellar. For the next few days, no matter how Robert tortured me, I was like a walking corpse, no longer resisting. On the last day, Naomi accompanied Robert to the awards ceremony, the flashing cameras focusing on them. And I regained my freedom. I got the plane ticket Ian had bought for me, carrying the heavy urn with my father’s ashes, along with my bruised body, back to my hometown. As soon as I got off the plane, my phone was filled with missed calls. All from Naomi. After thinking for a moment, I replied with just one message. [Naomi, let’s divorce.] Then, I blocked her and walked into the bustling crowd. Back in the dilapidated neighborhood, I finally let out a sigh of relief. I was halfway through packing when I received a call from Ian. “The city’s news channels are all reporting…”

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Joshua and I had been childhood sweethearts for twenty years. At the height of our love, he got into a car accident trying to save me and lost his memory. I bent over backward, doing everything I could to help him remember our past. But to my horror, during this time, he fell in love with the woman who had once bullied me. Private photos of me, taken during the days I was bullied, spread like wildfire online. And he? He wrapped his arm around the woman who tormented me and laughed along with the crowd: “Her? Covered in scars. Just looking at her makes me sick.” When I saw Joshua speaking softly to Ivy, my blood ran cold. I never thought I’d see her again. Back then, after she failed her college entrance exams, Joshua’s family used their influence to make her disappear from Bayhurst for good. I had believed I’d never have to face her again in this lifetime. But here she was. The moment I saw her, I couldn’t stop myself from trembling. The cigarette burns on my arms and thighs—scars that had never fully faded—seemed to come alive again, throbbing with phantom pain. I gripped the doorframe to steady myself, my legs weak. Yet, when I saw her leaning against Joshua’s shoulder with tearful eyes, trembling like some helpless victim, anger surged through me, overpowering my fear. I stormed forward and shoved her away with all my strength. “Get away from him!” Ivy fell heavily onto the couch, looking up at me with wide, frightened eyes before glancing at Joshua, pleading silently for help. Joshua immediately pulled her to her feet, his face full of concern, before turning to me, his expression dark with anger. “Harper, what the hell is wrong with you?!” I panicked, trying to explain. “Joshua, don’t let her fool you! She’s not who you think she is—she’s a terrible person!” He took a deep breath, clearly trying to contain his frustration. “Whether she’s a good person or not isn’t for you to decide!” “And you,” he added, his voice cold, “how long are you going to keep clinging to me just because of some old connection between our families?” I froze, my voice trembling as I tried to reason with him. “I’m not… Joshua, we’re together—we’re a couple!” He rubbed his temples as if my words physically pained him. “Three years. For three years, you’ve been telling me I’m your boyfriend. But I don’t remember anything you’ve been trying so hard to make me believe. You’re the one who’s delusional—don’t drag me into it.” “I tolerated you out of respect for our parents, but this ends here, Harper. You’ve gone too far.” With that, he scooped Ivy into his arms and carried her out of the room, brushing past me without a second glance. As they left, Ivy shot me a triumphant look over his shoulder. The same look she used to give me back then—the look of someone who wouldn’t stop until she’d completely broken me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor, gripping the edge of the table for support. My entire body was cold, trembling with fear and anger.

For days, I couldn’t bring myself to go find Joshua. Maybe I was too scared to face the truth—that he might actually be falling for Ivy. But deep down, I kept telling myself that couldn’t be true. He lost his memory because of me. This wasn’t his fault. He just forgot… that’s all… I kept repeating these thoughts to myself like a mantra, trying to convince myself I still had hope. Eventually, I decided to bring him lunch. I spent hours preparing a homemade meal and delivered it to his office. Most of his coworkers knew me, so they let me into his office without any trouble. But I waited for over an hour, and he never showed up. Finally, his secretary came in with an apologetic expression. “Ms. Harper, I’m so sorry, but it seems Mr. Carter stepped out for a meeting.” I nodded, forcing a smile. “That’s okay. I’ll just leave this here for him.” I placed the lunchbox on his desk and instructed the secretary, “He’s probably too busy to remember to eat, so make sure he does, okay? Otherwise, his stomach will act up again.” The secretary couldn’t help but sigh. “You’re so thoughtful, Ms. Harper. Mr. Carter is lucky to have someone like you.” I smiled faintly. “Well, I’ll get going now.” As I left his office building, I hailed a cab to head home. But just as I reached my front door, I realized I’d left my bag behind. I had no choice but to turn back. When I walked through the glass doors of his office again, I froze. There was Ivy, sitting in Joshua’s office, eating the lunch I had made. Joshua was at his desk, glancing at her every so often with a soft, indulgent smile. It was the same look he used to give me before he lost his memory. A sharp pain shot through my chest, a mix of heartbreak and nausea. Without thinking, I stormed into the room, grabbed the lunchbox from Ivy’s hands, and threw it to the ground. Ivy’s head snapped up, her glare piercing. That look—it was too familiar. So familiar that my body went weak, and I instinctively took a step back. Joshua was on his feet in an instant, grabbing my wrist. His voice was filled with rage. “Harper, have you lost your mind again?! Haven’t you caused enough trouble? What did Ivy ever do to you?” I could barely keep my voice steady as I looked him in the eye, tears streaming down my face. “You knew I made that for you. If you didn’t want it, you could’ve thrown it away—but why did you give it to her?” For a moment, Joshua hesitated, my words seeming to strike a nerve. But before he could respond, Ivy chimed in with a soft voice. “Mr. Carter… Harper didn’t mean it. She just likes you so much that she doesn’t want someone like me eating something she made for you.” Whatever flicker of doubt Joshua might have felt disappeared instantly. He turned to her, his voice gentle. “Don’t say that. You’re not ‘someone like that.’” Then, he let go of my wrist, shoving me backward. I stumbled and fell to the floor. Looking down at me, his voice was cold and cutting. “If it’s something you made for me, then it’s mine to decide who gets to eat it. If you don’t want me giving it to someone else, then stop being pathetic and stop bringing me food!” His words shattered me. I don’t even remember how I managed to stand up, or how I forced myself to pick up the broken pieces of the lunchbox and leave his office. I straightened my back, determined not to look as defeated as I felt. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

I was about to throw the lunchbox away. But then I remembered it was a gift from Joshua back when I was battling depression and barely had an appetite. He had taught himself how to cook during that time, trying out new recipes every day just to get me to eat a little more. This lunchbox was one of the first things he gave me. I’d kept it all these years, unable to bring myself to let it go. Thinking of the Joshua who used to care for me so deeply, the Joshua who was so kind and loving, I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I grabbed some disinfectant and scrubbed it over and over again. But no matter how clean I tried to make it, the thought of Ivy touching it made me feel sick. No amount of scrubbing could erase the disgust. Just then, my phone rang. On the other end, Joshua’s voice sounded weak. “…Harper, where’s my stomach medicine?” I instinctively answered, “Middle drawer of your nightstand, on the right.” There was a moment of silence. “It’s not there…” I paused, realizing he must’ve run out. Even though I was still angry, I couldn’t help but feel worried. “Is the pain bad? Can you handle it?” Another long silence followed. “…I want some of your shrimp porridge,” he finally said. His tone—it sounded so much like the Joshua I used to know. I couldn’t resist. Before my brain could catch up, the words were already out of my mouth. “Wait for me.” I picked up his prescription from the pharmacy, bought some fresh shrimp and vegetables, and headed to his place. When he opened the door, he looked terrible—his face pale, his lips colorless, his steps unsteady. I immediately handed him a glass of water and the capsules. He took them from me without hesitation, as naturally as if we were back in the old days. Three years of him claiming to hate me, yet he’d grown so used to my care. I got to work on the porridge. Once it was ready, he slowly ate a bowl, and the color started returning to his face. I watched him, lost in thought, and finally asked, “Does it taste good?” He froze, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. The truth was, I was the one who loved shrimp porridge—not him. He was the one who used to make it perfectly—not me. Three years had passed, and he still didn’t remember. I forced a small, bitter smile and turned to clean up the dishes. But before I could finish, his phone rang. He answered it, and his expression instantly grew tense. “Are you okay?” “Just stay where you are—I’ll be there right away.” A chill ran down my spine. I didn’t need to guess who was on the other end. My gut told me it was Ivy. I grabbed his wrist before he could leave. “What happened?” His voice was rushed, impatient. “Ivy’s place caught on fire. I need to go check on her.” The moment he said her name, my grip tightened instinctively. “If she had the time to call you, she’s obviously fine. You’re sick—you can’t go out like this…” I was practically begging him at this point. “Please, just don’t go.” But Joshua only frowned, looking at me as if I’d said something unforgivable. “I know you hate Ivy, but how can you say something like that? She’s alone—don’t you think she might be scared?” He pulled his wrist free and stormed out without another word. “She’s alone—don’t you think she might be scared?” Of course, she’d be scared. Just like I was, back when she cornered me in the bathroom stall, holding a lit cigarette that flickered in and out. I had been terrified. Terrified to the point of breaking.

After that incident, Ivy managed to move into Joshua’s house without much resistance. I’d anticipated her next move—I knew her too well. But what I hadn’t expected was for Joshua to actually agree to it. I thought my heart had already gone numb, but the pain of it hit me harder than I imagined. What surprised me even more was the night of Mr. Carter’s birthday celebration. Joshua brought Ivy to the party. I was sitting in the living room chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Carter when the room suddenly fell silent. Following everyone’s gaze, I turned and saw Joshua walking in, arm in arm with Ivy. It wasn’t just me. Mr. and Mrs. Carter’s faces also darkened in shock. Especially Mrs. Carter—she shot up from her seat, her eyes blazing with fury as she glared at Ivy. “What are you doing here?! Get out!” Ivy immediately hid behind Joshua, feigning fear. Joshua frowned. “Mom, I brought Ivy here. How can you treat her like that?” Mr. Carter, unable to stay seated any longer, stood and pointed an accusing finger at Joshua. “You ungrateful brat! Have you even thought about how Harper feels?!” Out of respect for my feelings, my parents and the Carters had never mentioned Ivy in front of me, nor had they spoken to Joshua about her. They had watched as Joshua, after losing his memory, became less and less like the person he once was. But none of them could have imagined he’d go so far as to bring Ivy into his life—and now into their home. Joshua, seemingly dismissive of the gravity of Ivy’s past, furrowed his brow and said, “Ivy’s already explained everything to me. She was just young and reckless back then. Why does everyone have to be so aggressive?” “Aggressive?!” Mr. Carter’s voice was shaking with anger. “If she has so much to explain, it’s Harper she should be apologizing to—not you!” Furious, he shouted for security. “Get this woman out of my house!” Joshua immediately stepped forward to block them. “All this over some petty incident? Do you really have to treat Ivy this way?” A sharp pang shot through my chest. So to Joshua now, everything Ivy had done to me was just some petty incident. Suddenly, Joshua whipped his head around and glared at me, his eyes filled with hostility. “It was you, wasn’t it?” “You’re disgusting. Spreading lies about Ivy to my parents? How pathetic can you get?” Mrs. Carter, trembling with rage, slapped him hard across the face. “You—!” she shouted, unable to finish her sentence as her voice broke with fury. Ivy gasped, her face full of tears, looking like a helpless victim. “Joshua, don’t fight with your family because of me. It’s all my fault—I’ll leave, okay?” She turned and ran toward the door, sobbing. Joshua immediately chased after her. I grabbed his wrist before he could leave, my voice shaking as I asked, “Do you love her?” He looked at me with nothing but contempt, his voice dripping with venom. “Yes. I love her.” With that, he wrenched his wrist free and ran after Ivy without looking back.

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On our wedding anniversary, my wife slit her wrists in the bathtub, taking her own life to follow her so-called “first love” to the grave. When I opened her old diary, I was transported back to her 16-year-old self. And there he was—this so-called “first love”—trying to convince her to tattoo his name on her arm. I couldn’t hold back my anger. Pulling her behind me, I glared at him. “You Punk, get lost!” My wife, Mia, had been battling severe depression for years. Nothing seemed to bring her joy anymore. But today, on our wedding anniversary, she did something unusual—she said she wanted to have a cake to celebrate. I was overjoyed, practically rubbing my hands together with excitement as I agreed and rushed out to buy one. When I came home with a bouquet of roses in one hand and a beautifully decorated cake in the other, I found her lying motionless in the bathtub. Her body was submerged in a pool of crimson water. The cake slipped from my hands, smashing onto the floor, just as shattered as the day that was supposed to celebrate our marriage. I had always known about Mia’s so-called “first love,” Ryan. His death had left her devastated, and she fell into a deep depression because of it. One night, I came home from work to find her numbly pressing a fruit knife against her wrist. For the first time ever, I lost my temper with her. “Mia, what are you doing?! Ryan’s gone. Are you seriously going to hurt yourself over someone who’s been dead for years?” Her hand trembled as she dropped the knife, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, Brian,” she whispered. “I don’t know… I can’t control myself.” I sighed and pulled her into my arms, gently wiping her cold tears away. “Don’t be scared,” I said softly. “You’re sick, but I’ll get you the help you need. We’ll get through this together.” She nodded. She said she’d try. But in the end, she broke that promise. While sorting through her things, I found an old pink diary with a small brass lock. Mia’s parents had spoiled her when she was younger, back when the family was still doing well. They had bought her one of those trendy diaries with a lock to keep her secrets safe. But as I held it in my hands, the lock fell off on its own, and the pages began flipping wildly, as though carried by an invisible wind. Finally, they stopped on a page. April 16th, 2013 “My sixteenth year feels like a never-ending storm, cold and damp, year-round.” Before I could read any further, a blinding white light engulfed me, and I felt myself being sucked into the diary. A distant, ethereal voice echoed in my ears. “Save her. Please, save Mia…” When I opened my eyes, I was sitting in a noisy high school cafeteria. I was wearing the uniform of Linrose High—Mia’s high school. Finding a reflective tray, I caught my own reflection. I was 16 again—back in my own teenage body! Across the cafeteria, I heard a group of students taunting someone. “Mia, your dad fell off a construction site and died, huh? And now your trashy mom’s working the streets? Heard you’re the one bringing her the bathwater to clean up after her ‘clients,’ huh?” “Makes sense—a trashy mom and her trashy daughter. You keep hanging around Ryan, helping him with homework. What is it? Trying to advertise yourself?” The cafeteria went silent as everyone stopped eating to watch the drama unfold. Mia’s face turned bright red. Her hands shook slightly, but she forced herself to stay calm, chewing her food slowly, pretending not to hear a thing. The girl who had been mocking her grew angrier at being ignored. “You little slut!” she snapped, slamming her tray toward Mia. Mia couldn’t dodge in time, and greasy food splattered all over her school jacket. Before I could react, a boy with bleached, messy hair stepped forward. Without a word, he grabbed his own tray and dumped its contents over the girl’s head. Soup and gravy dripped down her face as she shrieked in outrage. “Ryan, are you seriously beating someone up over a girl?” A chubby kid pointed an accusing finger at him.Ryan ran a hand through his messy hair, grabbed a Coke bottle, and smashed it against the table. Shards of glass scattered everywhere as the chubby kid touched his forehead, horrified to find blood dripping down.“I’ll beat the crap out of anyone who talks trash about Mia!” Ryan yelled. “If I hear one more word about her, I’ll go after every single one of you, one by one!” So… Mia’s so-called “first love” was this punk? And she took her own life over him? Sure, he protected her. But this kind of extreme behavior? It was bound to lead to trouble. Ryan handed Mia an empty Coke bottle and raised his eyebrows, thinking he looked cool. “Mia, nice people get walked all over. You’ve gotta hit them where it hurts so they’ll never mess with you again. Here, take this bottle and teach that liar a lesson.” What? Was this guy seriously encouraging Mia to assault someone? My future wife—kind, gentle, and soft-hearted—absolutely could not be corrupted by this idiot! Mia hesitated, staring at the bottle in her hand. Her eyes flickered with a dangerous, almost manic light. As she raised the bottle high over her head, I darted forward and shielded the girl she was about to hit. The Coke bottle came down hard—right on my back. Damn, my future wife was way stronger than I thought. That hurt. The wild look melted from Mia’s eyes, replaced by panic. She dropped the bottle and rushed to me. “I’m so sorry, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Before I could respond, the cafeteria supervisor’s voice boomed across the room. “Who’s causing trouble in here? Don’t let me catch you!” Ryan didn’t even wait. He bolted without a word, slipping out the back like the coward he was. I pointed at Ryan’s retreating figure and said to Mia, “Don’t listen to him. Fighting never solves anything. He hit someone and ran away—do you really want to associate with someone who doesn’t take responsibility for his actions?” The supervisor stormed over, spitting mad. “Mia, were you the one fighting in here?” Mia, already burdened by everything happening in her life, lowered her head, ready to take the blame. But I stepped in front of her before she could say a word. “Sir, look at her. She’s tiny and well-behaved. Do you really think she could’ve been the one fighting?” I kept my tone calm but firm. “The one causing trouble was some punk named Ryan. He hit someone hard enough to draw blood and ran off in that direction. You should catch him and teach him a lesson.” The supervisor gave Mia one last sharp look before turning to deal with the injured student. Then, spotting Ryan’s bright blond hair in the distance, he took off at a sprint. “Nothing to see here. Everyone, get back to your meals,” I said. The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving Mia standing there, looking at me with wide, uncertain eyes. “Who… who are you?” she asked softly. I’m your future husband—the one you left behind, the one you broke. When I saw your lifeless body, I hated you for it. Hated that you never left a place for me in your heart, that you ended your life over a man who’d been gone for years. But now, seeing you here, alive and vulnerable, all those feelings melted away. I just wanted to save you, to change your future. Even if there’s no place for me in it, I want you to be happy. I smiled and answered sincerely, “Hi, Mia. I’m Brian. It’s nice to meet you again.” “Brian, thank you for helping me earlier,” she said hesitantly. “But… why did you betray Ryan?” “He hurt someone. He needs to face the consequences. But what about you? Why are you defending him so much?” She paused, thinking. Then she said quietly, “Because… he’s the only one in this whole school who doesn’t treat me like I’m dirty.” I studied her for a moment, then gently reminded her, “Mia, your jacket got stained earlier. You should take it off.” She hesitated but eventually slid the dirty jacket off her shoulders. Without missing a beat, I draped my own clean school jacket over her. “Well, now he’s not the only one. You’re not dirty, Mia. You’re the cleanest, kindest person I’ve ever met.”

In my original life, I attended a prestigious high school in the city. But in this alternate timeline within the diary, I was now living with my grandfather in the small rural town of Linwood, where I had somehow become Mia’s classmate. Mia was one of the top students in our grade, but she sat alone in the far corner of the classroom, her desk isolated from everyone else’s. Nobody wanted to sit next to her. Dragging my desk over, I placed it beside hers and smiled. “Our new seating arrangement. Let’s make it work, seatmate.” Mia nodded shyly. Sixteen-year-old Mia was soft, timid, and completely adorable. If I wanted to change the future and prevent Mia from taking her own life ten years later, I’d have to start by dealing with Ryan. Mia had once told me that Ryan died in June 2013, crashing his motorcycle on a stormy night. To save Mia, I needed to achieve two things: 1. Prevent Ryan’s death in two months. 2. Minimize Ryan’s influence over Mia. Mia and I were in the top-tier Class One, while Ryan was in the bottom-ranked Class Nine. During evening study hall, Ryan would often come to our classroom, knocking on the window by Mia’s desk. With two fingers, he’d make a beckoning motion, signaling for her to sneak out with him. He was trying to lure her away from study hall to hang out with him. Mia hesitated, her indecision written all over her face. When she didn’t move, Ryan started mouthing words dramatically, waving his arms and jumping around outside the window like a lunatic. Just as Mia began to rise from her seat, I grabbed her wrist. “Mia, you hit me in the back earlier, so now you owe me. Sit down and explain these questions to me as compensation.” Mia looked guilty and reluctantly nodded. “Okay.” I tore a page from my notebook, wrote a bold note on it, and stuck it to the window: SHE’S NOT GOING. Then I mouthed a simple, clear message to Ryan: Get lost. I’d graduated from one of the best universities in the country. I thought I’d breeze through some tutoring to make Mia feel accomplished. Turns out, I’d forgotten most of the material over the years. Mia giggled at my confusion, grabbed a scrap of paper, and began patiently explaining the problems to me. Each time she finished a question, I showered her with praise. “You’re amazing, Mia. A total genius.” She tried to keep a straight face, but every now and then, I’d catch her sneaking a little smile. Girls like her deserved compliments—lots of them. Over time, Mia seemed to rediscover a sense of pride in her studies. Whenever Ryan came knocking, asking her to ditch class and ride around with him, she’d brush him off by saying she had to help me with homework. At least for now, my future wife’s attention was shifting ever so slightly toward me. Ryan wasn’t the type to give up easily. Knowing Mia didn’t have much pocket money, he’d often sneak into Class One and leave cheap snacks in her desk drawer. Every time Mia found one of his snacks, her face would light up with joy. I’ll admit—I was jealous. Before and after we were married, I’d spent so much effort picking out gifts for her: jewelry, designer bags, luxury makeup, even handmade items I spent hours on. She’d always react with a polite, distant smile. But now here she was, grinning ear to ear over a packet of junk food. How could someone so hard to please be this happy over Ryan’s cheap snacks? One day, I pulled out a peach-flavored jelly cup from her desk, turned, and casually tossed it into the trash. “You’re allergic to peaches,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He can’t even get that right. Some ‘thoughtful’ gift.” Mia’s expression darkened. “Ryan said that while everyone else in the world throws mud at me, he’s the only one who brings me flowers. How could you ruin something so precious?” I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. From then on, I started bringing Mia breakfast: milk and eggs to start her day, fresh seasonal fruit after meals, and occasionally some high-end snacks. “This is what it looks like when someone really cares about you,” I said, smirking as I handed her a small box of chocolates. “Compared to this, that cheap stuff shouldn’t even catch your eye. Got it, Mia?” She looked down at the treats, then up at me, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Got it,” she mumbled. “Good,” I said, leaning back with a grin. “Smart girl.” On the weekend break, Ryan pulled up on his motorcycle, helmet still on, and called out to Mia. “Mia, don’t go home. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your mom and her ‘clients.’ Look, I’m being generous here—why don’t you crash at my place instead?”

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My so-called best friend tricked me into coming to her house and pushed me onto her husband’s bed. She cried and said, “I’m pregnant and can’t satisfy him. You’re the only one who can help me!” The next day, she waved explicit photos of me in front of my face, threatening to send them to everyone I knew unless I came running every time her husband wanted me. I snapped. Grabbing a kitchen knife, I slashed at them—again and again. The last slash was for myself. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment I knocked on her front door. A second chance. “Jenna, what took you so long? I’ve been waiting here for half an hour!” Cassie was standing in the doorway in a pastel pink maternity dress with little bunny patterns, looking as sweet and innocent as ever. She’d pointed it out on one of our shopping trips, saying how much she loved it, so I spent half my paycheck to buy it for her. Her smile back then had made it seem worth it. That’s what best friends are for, right? At least, that’s what I told myself. All the clothes, makeup, and bags she flaunted—most of them were gifts from me. And what did she give me in return? A spot in her husband’s bed. Oh, and let’s not forget the photos. A whole night’s worth of explicit, high-definition evidence of me and her husband. She waved them in my face, threatening to send them to my friends if I didn’t crawl back every time he wanted me. Best friend? Sure. Some best friend. If I’d been given just one minute’s warning before that day, I never would have knocked on her door. But now that I’ve been given a second chance, they can both prepare for hell. I smiled faintly and held up a bag. “You said you were craving hot wings, right? I stood in line to get some for you.” Cassie’s face brightened a little at that, and she pulled me inside, pointing to the groceries piled on the counter. “Jenna, didn’t you say you had a craving for braised pork and lamb stew? I bought all the ingredients, so you can cook it up for us. That way, when my husband gets home, we’ll all have something nice to eat.” I glanced at the sink, still piled high with dirty dishes, and a flicker of mockery passed through my eyes. This was her usual trick. She’d pretend I wanted something, then guilt-trip me into coming over to wash dishes and cook meals for her and her husband. That’s exactly how it had gone the first time around. I’d been so naive back then, thinking it was just another one of her schemes to get me to play housemaid. I never saw it coming when she fed me aphrodisiac-laced food and sent me straight to her husband’s bed. Not this time. This time, I smiled and nodded, playing along. “Cassie, what would you do without me?” I said, my voice dripping with affection. Cassie giggled, her tone sugary sweet. “Even if I didn’t have my husband, I could never live without you!” I smirked slightly. Oh, don’t worry—I’ll make sure you get exactly what you deserve. While Cassie was distracted in the living room, munching on her hot wings, I picked up the stack of dirty dishes from the sink and smashed them—one by one—onto the floor. The sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the house. Cassie craned her neck, staring at the mess in shock. “Jenna, what the hell?! Why did you break all the dishes?” Putting on my best innocent expression, I pouted. “What’s wrong with you guys? These dishes are so greasy I couldn’t even hold onto them. They just slipped right out of my hands!” Her face turned red with rage. “Those dishes were imported! Do you know how expensive they were?!” She ran into the kitchen, crouching down to pick through the shards in search of anything salvageable. She wasn’t careful, though, and her hand slipped, leaving a deep gash. As she stood up, her foot caught on another shard, slicing her skin open again. Blood quickly seeped through her pink bunny dress, staining it a deep crimson. Honestly, the red looked much better on her than the pink. Cassie shrieked, panic and anger mixing in her voice. “I’m bleeding! I’m bleeding so much—oh my God!” She reached out to grab me, her bloodied hand stretching toward me like some grotesque horror movie scene. I took a step back, wrinkling my nose in disgust. “I’m squeamish about blood,” I said, pretending to feel faint. “It’s making me nauseous. I’ll wait for you in the living room.” Without a second glance, I strolled over to the couch and plopped down, ignoring her cries for help. Watching her stumble around, helpless and furious, was an absolute delight.

Not long after, Cassie’s husband, Ethan, came home from work, carrying a few bottles of red wine. The moment he spotted me, a strange smile crept onto his face. “Jenna, I knew you’d be here for dinner, so I went out of my way to grab some wine for us.” I gave him a faint smile. “How thoughtful. Now, why don’t you head to the kitchen and help Cassie with dinner? Make sure the pork is braised until it’s nice and tender—I like it that way.” Ethan’s face darkened, his brows furrowing. “Weren’t you two already cooking? Why do I have to do it?” I almost rolled my eyes right there. Back when Cassie announced she was marrying Ethan, I was the loudest voice against it. He was the walking embodiment of everything wrong with a man: broke, unattractive, stingy, and loaded with an ego the size of Mount Everest. Now, though, I had to admit—they were a match made in heaven. Lock them together forever, please. Cassie poked her head out of the kitchen, her face a picture of wounded innocence. “Ethan, Jenna broke all the dishes while washing them, and I cut myself on the shards. My hands and feet are bleeding!” Ethan set the wine down and walked over to the kitchen. The sight of the greasy mess on the floor mixed with blood was enough to make anyone gag. His face twisted with anger. “How old are you? You can’t even handle something as simple as washing dishes? What’s the point of having you around?” “Other men’s wives have dinner ready and waiting when their husbands get home. You’re just lazy as hell. If you weren’t pregnant, I’d have taught you a lesson right now.” The veins bulging on his forehead, the fists clenched at his sides, and Cassie’s trembling body told me all I needed to know—this wasn’t the first time he’d blown up at her like this. Of course, Cassie never mentioned it to me before. Probably because she was afraid I’d tell her parents, who’d either beat Ethan to a pulp or force them to divorce. Neither outcome was something Cassie wanted. Ah, love. The logic of the hopelessly infatuated is truly beyond comprehension. Cassie tried to soothe him, her voice meek and apologetic. “I swear I’ll do better next time, Ethan. Let’s just focus on cooking for now, okay? Jenna’s probably starving.” Ethan shot me a sleazy glance, his eyes lingering on me far too long before he let out a grunt. “Fine. For Jenna’s sake, I won’t make a big deal out of it today.” Cassie exhaled in relief, but her moment of peace was short-lived. As soon as Ethan turned back around, she threw me a venomous glare, jealousy written all over her face. I caught the whole thing in vivid detail thanks to the mirror hanging on the wall. Despite all his grumbling, Ethan didn’t forget to add his own little twist to the meal. I watched as he pulled a small vial from his pocket and began slipping something into the food—carefully lacing every dish with drugs. At one point, Cassie stopped him. “Ethan, if you spike everything, what am I supposed to eat? If I don’t touch any food, Jenna’s going to get suspicious.” Ethan snorted. “Fine. I’ll leave the salad alone for you.” Cassie beamed at him, her eyes practically sparkling. “I knew you loved me the most.” Listening to this exchange, I nearly burst out laughing. Cassie had started gaslighting herself now. Incredible. Then, as if the scene couldn’t get any more absurd, Ethan pulled out a bottle of Viagra from his pocket and popped two pills into his mouth. Cassie, seeing this, pouted like a jealous teenager. Ethan smirked, reached over, and gave her a firm smack on the butt. Her mood instantly flipped, and she giggled, blushing like she’d just won the lottery. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

The dining table was packed with food—four dishes and a soup. Cassie eagerly placed a lamb rib on my plate, while Ethan poured me a glass of wine, both of them beaming with over-the-top hospitality that left no room for me to decline. “Jenna, I remember lamb ribs are your favorite. Don’t hold back—eat as much as you like.” “And I know how picky you are about wine. This one’s over $200 a bottle, so drink up,” Ethan added with a smirk. I responded with a soft smile but didn’t touch my plate. Instead, I grabbed a piece of pork from the platter and placed it on Cassie’s plate, my tone playful and indulgent. “Cassie, do you remember back in college when we used to grab pork knuckle rice from that food truck near campus? You’d always steal my pork knuckles. So today, it’s only fair the first bite goes to you.” Cassie’s smile faltered for a second before she forced it back into place. “I’m pregnant now, Jenna. I’m avoiding greasy food.” I pouted, feigning childish annoyance. “If you’re not eating, then neither am I!” Ethan jumped in to mediate. “Cassie, just have a bite. It won’t hurt.” Reluctantly, Cassie picked up the pork knuckle with the thickest layer of skin—the part that had been spiked with the most powder—and took a big bite. Afraid I’d notice anything suspicious, she exaggerated her reaction, chewing quickly and forcing a smile. “It’s really good, Jenna! You should have some too!” she said, piling several pieces of pork knuckle onto my plate with an almost vindictive enthusiasm. I smiled sweetly. “Cassie, you’re giving me all the tendons and leaving Ethan nothing to go with his wine. What’s he supposed to drink with?” With that, I picked up the pork from my plate and dropped it into Ethan’s bowl, giving him a playful wink. “You’re not going to tell me off for not using serving utensils, are you?” Ethan, taken aback by my sudden friendliness, stammered, “Of course not!” He immediately dug in, shoving a piece into his mouth. “This is amazing—so soft and tender!” he said, stuffing more into his mouth between compliments. Cassie, watching this little exchange, grew visibly annoyed. Her voice turned sour. “Ethan, since when do you love pork knuckle so much?” I laughed lightly and, just to provoke her, added more food to Ethan’s bowl. “What’s the matter, Cassie? Don’t tell me you’re jealous of me giving Ethan some food? In that case, I’ll just have to serve him even more!” “And not only am I going to load his plate, but I’m also going to drink with him after dinner. My alcohol tolerance is no joke—I’ll probably have Ethan passed out under the table in no time.” I turned to Ethan, flashing a challenge. “You’re not going to chicken out, are you?” Ethan, always the vain and self-centered type, couldn’t resist. He puffed out his chest and smirked. “Me? Back out? Not a chance. But don’t come crying to me when you can’t keep up!” With that, he polished off the food I’d given him and raised his glass to toast me. I was careful, though. I only drank the wine I’d opened myself. While Ethan was busy trying to outdrink me, I sipped cautiously, knowing full well what kind of people I was dealing with. As a sales professional, drinking was practically in my job description. Knocking back ten Ethans wouldn’t be a problem for me. The more we drank, the more Ethan focused on pouring glass after glass, desperate to get me drunk. He’d forgotten all about convincing me to eat. Meanwhile, Cassie sat to the side, seething with jealousy, her expression twisted and ugly. Cassie wasn’t just a hopeless romantic—she was also incredibly paranoid. Back in college, she had two other close friends from our dorm. We used to hang out and eat together all the time. But one day, during a casual dinner, one of them complimented Ethan’s looks out of politeness. Another got a compliment from Ethan on her figure. That was all it took for Cassie to cut ties with both of them, spreading rumors behind their backs that they were “homewreckers” trying to steal her man. The only reason she stayed close to me was because I’d always made it clear how little I thought of Ethan. My disdain for him was what kept her trust intact.

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In my previous life, my teacher, a grown adult, led the charge in bullying me simply because I scored higher than her favorite male student. She spread rumors about me throughout the class, accusing me of cheating and even dating. She’d say things like: “Some people’s grades suddenly improve out of nowhere. We all know how that happens.” Or: “Some girls don’t focus on studying—they’re too busy figuring out how to seduce people!” She egged the entire class on to isolate me, and in the end, she pushed me into depression, forcing me to drop out. But this time? This time, I returned to the moment she first accused me of cheating. I raised my hand and asked: “Miss Garcia, the other day I saw you sitting on Mason Taylor’s lap. Is that how grades get improved?” The results for the midterms had just come out. I’d jumped up thirty spots in the rankings, climbing from the bottom of the class to somewhere in the middle. Lila Green, my best friend, stared at my test paper in awe. “You’re amazing, Amanda! Seriously, this is incredible.” Lila had always been my closest friend, the one who encouraged me when no one else would. Even in my past life, after I spiraled into depression and dropped out, she was the one who kept visiting, begging me to hold on. When I eventually took my own life, she cried so hard she almost passed out. Now, as I stared at the test paper on my desk, I didn’t feel much joy. I knew what was coming. Just then, the sharp clack of heels echoed through the classroom as Miss Garcia strode in, her hips swaying as if she were on a catwalk. “I’ve posted the class rankings on the board,” she announced, her tone brisk. “Feel free to take a look after class.” She paused, her gaze deliberately sweeping the room before landing on me. “But I’d like to talk about two students in particular—Amandaand Mason Taylor.” She walked over to Mason’s desk, which was right by the podium, isolated from the rest of the class. She patted him on the shoulder in a mock show of sympathy. “Mason, you’ve slipped in the rankings this time. Amanda even surpassed you.” Mason nodded, but from where I was sitting, I could see him nudge Miss Garcia’s lower back with his elbow. Disgusting. Lila, sitting beside me, bristled at Miss Garcia’s words. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she muttered under her breath. Miss Garcia’s expression hardened, her voice turning sharp. “It’s natural for students to struggle sometimes. As a teacher, it’s my job to support those who are falling behind and help them catch up. But…” She paused, her eyes narrowing as they flicked to me. “What concerns me is when certain students improve their grades too quickly. It makes you wonder what methods they might be using. I won’t investigate—out of respect. But let’s just say, everyone knows the truth.” I stared at her, her words dragging me back to my past life. It had started just like this. The first time I outperformed Mason, she began making insinuations during class meetings: “Some people’s grades suddenly improve out of nowhere. We all know how that happens.” Then she saw Mason helping me pick out a book in the library and started spreading new rumors: “Some girls spend more time flirting than studying!” She led the class in ostracizing me. In lessons, she refused to call on me, ignored my assignments, or pretended not to receive them. When she did collect my work, she never graded it. It got worse. She stopped giving me study materials, excluded me from group projects, and even left me off the class roster during school-wide attendance counts. High schoolers are simple—and cruel. If the teacher hated me, the other students followed suit. Only Lila stayed by my side, until Miss Garcia transferred her to another class. With no one left to lean on, I was buried under the weight of rumors, isolation, and cruelty. It all led to my eventual withdrawal from school and, finally, my death. And all because I’d dared to score higher than Mason Taylor, her golden boy. This time, though, I wasn’t going to sit back and take it. When Miss Garcia finished her little speech, I raised my hand. “Miss Garcia,” I said innocently, “the other day when I dropped off my homework, I saw you sitting on Mason’s lap. Is that how grades get improved?” Her face drained of color. “You—what are you talking about?! That’s absurd!” She pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice rising. “First you cheat, and now you’re spreading lies?” I tilted my head, feigning confusion. “Lies? Oh, no, I just meant… didn’t you lose your balance, and Mason was helping you steady yourself? Isn’t that what happened?” Her face turned an alarming shade of red, then pale again. “Yes! I… I lost my balance. That’s all it was.” Of course, that wasn’t what had happened. But I wasn’t trying to expose her—not yet. I just wanted to give her a taste of the humiliation she’d given me. The class, however, was already buzzing with whispers. Teenagers and their imaginations—this kind of gossip was like gasoline on a fire. Miss Garcia quickly yelled, “Enough! Quiet down—class is starting!” But her composure was gone. She didn’t even spare Mason a glance after class, rushing out of the room as soon as the bell rang. As soon as she left, my classmates swarmed me. “Amanda, was that true?” “Did Miss Garcia and Mason really… you know?” “I always thought she walked like that for a reason. Guess I was right!” I calmly gathered my books, ignoring most of the questions. Lila shot me a worried look. I grabbed her arm. “Come on, let’s go to the restroom.” Before leaving, I turned to the group. “Didn’t you hear her? She said she just lost her balance. Anything else, I wouldn’t know. If you’re curious, go find out for yourselves—but don’t drag me into it. She already doesn’t like me.” I led Lila out of the classroom. When someone spreads rumors about you, the best weapon is an even bigger, juicier rumor. And this wasn’t even a rumor—it was the truth. Miss Garcia accused me of cheating, so I planted the seed of her inappropriate behavior. Teenagers thrive on gossip, especially when it involves scandal. And a teacher-student relationship? That was dynamite. Let’s see if Miss Garcia can keep her skeletons buried now. On the way to the restroom, Lila hesitated, clearly wanting to say something. Finally, as we washed our hands, she blurted, “Amanda, I’m scared she’s going to come after you for this.” I smiled. “She won’t—unless she really has something to hide.” “But… did she really sit on Mason’s lap?” I held a finger to my lips. “Shh. Walls have ears.” Lila nodded nervously, grabbing my wrist as we hurried back to class. High school is supposed to be the most beautiful, unforgettable time of our lives. As Lila tugged me along, glancing back to urge me to keep up, I felt a pang of guilt. I was using her. It wasn’t just a warning about walls having ears—I knew someone was listening in the restroom. I wanted Miss Garcia to feel what I’d felt. To endure the same shame, isolation, and whispers. What she did to me… she deserved every bit of it.

Rumors about Miss Garcia started spreading like wildfire around the school. She swapped out her usual flashy outfits for plain, casual clothes. Even her signature high heels were replaced with flats. It was obvious she was trying to clean up her image. But, as these things go, the gossip only got worse. “Miss Garcia isn’t wearing heels anymore—do you think she’s pregnant?” “Totally. My mom was the same way when she was having my little brother. Loose clothes, flat shoes, the whole deal.” “So… who do you think the dad is?” “Do you really need to ask?” The students burst into laughter, their voices echoing through the halls. Miss Garcia must have overheard because she suddenly yelled, “Quiet!” before dragging the group of whispering students into the hallway. Her scolding was loud enough for the entire corridor to hear. The next day, she returned to her old wardrobe—heels, tight skirts, the works—like she was trying to prove she wasn’t pregnant. But what good did it do? The rumors persisted. Miss Garcia no longer called Mason Taylor to her office as often. Instead, she started targeting me. “Clean the office.” “Take these books to the principal’s office.” “Fetch me a cup of water.” She treated me like her personal assistant. But the real kicker? She constantly called me out in class. In our second year of high school, we had weekly quizzes for every subject. The homeroom teacher—Miss Garcia—was always the proctor. One day, she held up my quiz results in front of the entire class, waving the paper like a trophy. “Some students spend all their time running to the teacher’s office, yet their grades keep dropping.” Then she held up Mason’s quiz alongside another classmate’s. “Now, look at these students. They don’t waste time hanging around teachers, and yet their scores keep improving. See? When you focus on learning, progress happens naturally.” She stared at me, her voice dripping with condescension. “And then there are students who play little tricks to grab a teacher’s attention. But when the teacher tries to help, they repay it with betrayal. It’s disappointing—no, heartbreaking—for a teacher.” Her strategy was clever. By keeping me out of the classroom and constantly sending me on errands, I couldn’t keep up with the lessons. Naturally, my grades started to slip. But the rest of the class didn’t know that. To them, it just looked like I was failing because I wasn’t trying. During one of her rants, the head of academics, Mrs. Watson, happened to walk past our classroom. She paused when she noticed me standing at the back. “What’s going on here, Miss Garcia?” Mrs. Watson asked. Miss Garcia let out a dramatic sigh, pretending to look concerned. “Oh, it’s nothing. Amanda’s grades improved for a while, but now they’ve dropped again. I’m just trying to figure out how to help her.” Mrs. Watson frowned and picked up my quiz paper from Miss Garcia’s desk. “Hmm, Amanda, this isn’t great,” she said, scanning my answers. Then, her expression softened. “Come see me in my office after class. I have some practice tests—you can copy them and share them with your classmates. They’re actual exam questions. I think they’ll help.” I nodded quickly. “Thank you, Mrs. Watson!” Mrs. Watson was a senior teacher in her 50s, highly respected by both students and staff. Even the principal deferred to her judgment. She gave me a kind smile before leaving, completely unaware of how Miss Garcia’s face had darkened. When Mrs. Watson left, Miss Garcia turned back to the class, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Well, everyone, let’s all thank Amanda for being so helpful. Without her, you wouldn’t have access to these practice tests.” But the class didn’t pick up on her tone. Instead, they cheered sincerely. “Thanks, Amanda!” I stood up, bowed slightly, and said with a small smile, “Sorry for dragging the class down. I’ll try my best to catch up.”

I thought the whole thing was over, but I didn’t expect Mason Taylor to block my path after school. Keeping my hand in my pocket, I discreetly turned on the recording device hidden there. “What do you want?” Behind Mason were a few delinquent-looking guys, casually smoking and smirking. Mason stepped closer, his tone mocking. “What do I want?” He flashed a cruel smile. “Don’t you know what you’ve done?” I raised my voice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” One of the guys behind him let out a sharp whistle. “You’ve got guts, girl. Didn’t anyone tell you not to mess with Mason Taylor?” Another chimed in, laughing, “Yeah, do you even know who you’re messing with? Mason freakin’ Taylor!” I crossed my arms, feigning indifference. “Oh, so you’re the Mason Taylor?” Mason lit a cigarette, smirking smugly. “Who else would it be?” Before I could respond, the headlights of a car cut through the dim alleyway. Miss Garcia stepped out in her usual dramatic fashion, swaying her hips as she approached. Mason immediately slung an arm around her waist, pulling her close. The group of boys let out a chorus of catcalls and whistles. Some shouted “Miss Garcia!” while others called her “sis-in-law,” their laughter echoing in the alley. Miss Garcia rolled her eyes. “Stop calling me that. You’re not my students, so why bother with the formalities?” She gave Mason a knowing look. “Only Mason gets to call me Miss Garcia.” Her gaze shifted coldly to me, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips. Then she turned back to Mason and said casually, “Just don’t kill her, okay?” I froze. I understood exactly what her words meant. As long as they didn’t kill me, anything else was fair game. Miss Garcia got back in her car and drove off without another glance, leaving me surrounded. One of the boys dumped an entire cup of milkshake over my head before I could even react. Then someone grabbed my hair, yanking me to the ground. They dragged me across the pavement while my books spilled out of my backpack, trampled and smeared with footprints and spit. Mason’s voice cut through the chaos. “Strip her. Take pictures.” The boys laughed and got to work, ripping off my clothes piece by piece until I was left in only my undergarments. I struggled, kicking and thrashing, but it only made them more aggressive. Someone kicked me in the ribs, knocking the wind out of me. Just as things were about to get worse, the piercing sound of police sirens echoed through the alley. The boys panicked, snapping a few hurried pictures before scattering. As soon as they were gone, I scrambled to put my clothes back on, my hands shaking. My first instinct was to check the recording device in my pocket. It was intact. When I looked up, I saw someone standing at the entrance to the alley. It was Jeffrey, our school’s student council president. In my last life, Jeffrey had once helped me pick out a book at the library. That simple act had been enough for Miss Garcia and her cronies to spread rumors—that I was trying to seduce him, that my grades were fake, and that I was nothing but a shameless flirt. Seeing him again now, I felt a pang of guilt. In my past life, my ruined reputation had probably affected him too. But at the moment, I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about that. I was filthy, covered in dirt, and still shaking from what had just happened. “Did they leave?” Jeffrey asked calmly. I nodded, realizing it must’ve been him who called the police. He glanced at the recording device in my hand. “Is it broken?” “No,” I replied cautiously. “Then give it to me.” I blinked, confused. “What? No, this is mine.” Jeffrey sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. For the first time, I noticed something—he looked a lot like Mason. Especially those sharp, piercing eyes. “I helped you,” he said, his tone cool. “Shouldn’t you repay me somehow?” My heart sank, but I kept my expression neutral. I had a suspicion about what he wanted, but I wasn’t sure. Taking a deep breath, I decided to take a gamble. “You want to take Mason down,” I said slowly. “We can work together, but I’m not handing over my leverage. I’m keeping control of this.” Jeffrey froze for a moment, surprised. Then he laughed—a deep, genuine laugh that echoed in the quiet alley. “Whoever said you weren’t smart clearly didn’t know you,” he said, still grinning. “Alright, Amanda. How do you want to do this?” I met his gaze, my voice steady. “I want Miss Garcia ruined. Completely. As for Mason, I’ll document everything he’s done. When the time comes, I’ll decide how to use it.” Jeffrey extended his hand, his grin turning sharp. “Deal. Let’s work together.”

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After transferring schools, I became a target for the rich boys—just another pawn in their twisted games. They acted like they were interested in me, but behind my back, they made bets about who could take my virginity first. What I thought was love was nothing more than a cruel wager. They shared my photos, my private messages, and even drugged me. Eventually, the whole school mocked me, calling me pathetic, desperate, and trash. I was bullied to death by their fanatical admirers. But when I opened my eyes again, the school’s golden boy grinned at me and said, “Rhea, what a beautiful name. May I take you to dinner?” Dinner? Sure. This time, let’s make it your last meal. It was my first day at St. Augustine Academy—a prestigious private school—and also the day I was reborn. I had originally been a top student at a public high school. But St. Augustine had lured me in with promises of a better future, offering me a full scholarship and, after graduation, a $150,000 bonus. That’s five years’ worth of my parents’ combined salaries. The tuition at St. Augustine was so outrageous that my family couldn’t afford even a single semester, even if we starved ourselves for a decade. But with their offer, I couldn’t resist. I thought transferring here would change my life. And I wasn’t wrong—it did. I became their prey, their entertainment, nothing more than a joke to pass the time. They chatted with me sweetly while secretly spreading my private messages and photos. They even made bets about my “first night.” The entire school looked at me like I was a walking punchline. In the end, I was cornered in a bathroom by a group of jealous girls—fans of the boys who had pretended to like me. They drowned me in a toilet, all while hurling insults: “Pathetic loser.” “Desperate fool.” “Daydreaming nerd.” I died humiliated, staring at the photos and messages they had plastered all over the school. As my life slipped away, all I could think about was how much I hated the ones who had orchestrated it all. I wanted to tear those monsters apart. But my consciousness faded before I could even begin to imagine revenge. And then… I woke up. I came back. If there’s such a thing as divine intervention, this was it. I didn’t have much time to bask in the joy of my second chance before I ran into one of the masterminds: Ethan Monroe. Ethan Monroe—the ever-charming gentleman with a smile so warm it could melt anyone’s defenses. How fitting for the heir to a family that monopolized the country’s energy industry. He had enough “electricity” to toy with anyone he pleased. “You must be the new transfer student,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. I pretended to be naïve, nodding shyly. Ethan glanced at the enrollment form in my hand. “Senior class 1A? What a coincidence—looks like we’re in the same class.” His smile was radiant, the kind of smile that had fooled me in my past life. I had fallen so deeply into the web he spun that I didn’t even realize it was a trap until the very end. What I hadn’t known back then was that none of this was a coincidence. Even my transfer to St. Augustine had been part of their plan. I was their carefully chosen prey. And Ethan? He was one of the ringleaders. I could still hear the mocking voices of his admirers in my mind. They had shown me videos of him—the perfect gentleman, his eyes filled with arrogance and disdain. “It’s too boring around here. Of course, we need someone to play with.” “She’s perfect. So desperate to change her fate. It’s hilarious.” And just like that, I had become their entertainment. As we walked toward the classroom, Ethan started giving me a brief rundown of the school’s history, describing it as a haven for the wealthy and privileged. “These kids don’t need good grades to secure their futures,” he said with a laugh. I wasn’t really listening. My mind was already planning. Ethan waved his hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Rhea Carter. What a beautiful name. May I take you to dinner?” Dinner? Sure. This time, I’ll make it your last supper.

St. Augustine Academy was known for its sky-high tuition fees and rigorous admission process, which naturally kept the student population small. The entire high school division had only about 600 students. Among them, the most famous were Ethan Monroe and his three closest friends. Ethan, the golden boy, was the school’s heartthrob—charming, gentlemanly, and adored by all the girls. Chris Langston, the artsy intellectual, was the principal’s son and had a brooding, poetic vibe that made him stand out. Logan Brooks, the star athlete, had bronzed skin and a muscular build that made hearts race. And finally, Ryan Chase, the senior class valedictorian, was both a top-tier scholar and devastatingly attractive. Together, they were inseparable, and the rest of the school called them the “St. Augustine F4.” In my previous life, all four of them had conveniently “fallen” for me. The rest of my classmates were overly friendly on my first day, going so far as to give me the best seat in the classroom—a spot with a perfect view of the board. But I knew better. These people had treated me as a joke in my past life. My death had been tied to every single one of them. So I played along, smiling politely on the outside while cursing them to hell on the inside. At lunchtime, Ethan led me to his family’s private dining room on campus. The table was overflowing with gourmet dishes, and sitting around it were his three loyal friends. This wasn’t my first time here. In my past life, Ethan had also brought me to this restaurant. I’d stood there awkwardly, unsure of how to act, surrounded by handsome boys and an intimidating spread of international cuisine. I hadn’t dared move a muscle, let alone sit down. The entire meal, I’d been too nervous to speak or eat, instead watching Ethan for cues on what to do. Little did I know, every awkward moment had been caught on camera. They had uploaded the footage to the school’s private online forum, mocking me for my “small-town ignorance,” my inability to use proper table manners, and my so-called “wannabe” behavior. If they wanted a battle of public opinion, fine. Two could play that game. This time, I pulled out my phone and started recording. “Oh my gosh, is this truffle? It looks just like chocolate!” “And this? French foie gras? Isn’t that just… fatty liver?” “I can’t believe how lucky I am to receive such warm treatment from my classmates! Let’s all say thank you to our generous host!” I looked up from my phone, aiming my most innocent smile at Ethan, whose expression had soured into something resembling constipation. “Ethan, you’re so handsome. You wouldn’t mind if I shared this video to help everyone learn a little more about fine dining, would you?” Ethan forced a tight smile, his jaw visibly clenched. “Of course not.” In my past life, my high grades and desire to earn extra money for my family had led me to run a small social media account. Though it hadn’t made much, I’d gained a modest following at school. Ethan and his crew had chosen me as their target because they wanted to tear down the positive, hardworking image I’d built online. Well, if exposure was what they wanted, I’d give it to them—on my terms this time.

In my previous life, I’d been too young and naive to enjoy the luxury of the food in front of me. This time, I glanced at the four boys sitting around me. “No wonder everyone dreams of being a sugar mommy. Turns out spoiling a group of pretty boys feels this good!” The smiles on their faces froze instantly. Feigning surprise, I quickly added, “Oh no, did I just say that out loud? My bad!” “Don’t be shy, everyone! Let’s dig in—pretend we’re all family!” Channeling the spirit of a true host, I didn’t hold back, savoring every dish like a queen. Why let all this good food go to waste by just staring at it? After I’d eaten my fill, Logan Brooks eyed the empty plates in front of me with a mix of shock and admiration. “Rhea, your appetite is impressive. Want to go burn some of that off with me?” I glanced at his deliberately flexed bicep and flashed a bright smile. “Sure! But do you have an eight-pack?” He grinned. “Only six. Is that okay?” I shrugged, pretending to be excited as I raised my phone. “Guess we’ll have to see for ourselves!” But when it came time for Logan to show off his so-called six-pack, he hesitated and awkwardly pulled up his shirt halfway. I took a quick photo, then glanced at it with a raised brow. Wow. Bold of you to brag with… this. Are you not worried about the internet teaching you a lesson? Logan, however, seemed unbothered. He even tried to drag me to the school’s private gym to “show me the joys of fitness.” The gym, of course, was as luxurious as you’d expect from a place like St. Augustine—spotless, fully equipped, and free of the usual sweaty smell. As always, I whipped out my phone, angling it carefully to capture the entire scene before recording Logan as he guided me through the equipment. “Let’s start with pull-ups!” he said confidently. In my past life, I’d been so flustered and nervous that I hadn’t managed to do a single pull-up. Logan had taken the opportunity to “help” by wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me. We’d been so close, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. Blushing and weak, I couldn’t muster any strength. The school’s private forum had later exploded with the headline: “Chubby Girl Goes for the Kill”—mocking me mercilessly. Now, Logan stood in the same position, asking, “Need me to show you how it’s done?” I nodded, stretching my wrists and ankles. Fitness was Logan’s comfort zone, and after the embarrassment over his “abs,” he was eager to prove himself. He jumped up, knocked out a few pull-ups, and even flashed a sliver of his stomach. I watched through my phone’s screen, already imagining the views this footage would bring me. When Logan finished, sweat dripping down his face, he turned to me. “Want me to guide you through it?” I waved him off, grabbed the bar, and cranked out a set of pull-ups far more impressive than his. “Oh, by the way,” I said casually as I hopped down, “I used to be a personal trainer.”

St. Augustine Academy had its perks, but there was one thing I struggled with: the teaching methods. “Elite education” and “holistic development” were great buzzwords, but they didn’t exactly suit someone like me, who had transferred from a public school and still relied on grades to chase my dreams. In a classroom full of students who didn’t need to worry about their futures, I was the only one who cared about the upcoming college entrance exams. My desk partner happened to be Ryan Chase, the resident genius of St. Augustine. When he noticed me struggling with a question, he slid his notebook over. “Need help, Rhea?” I glanced at his messy handwriting, then at his face. To be honest, his handwriting was nowhere near as good as his looks. “Rhea, you seem stuck. Let me walk you through it,” he offered, assuming I needed his assistance. “You’re wrong,” I said bluntly. Ryan froze. “Where am I wrong?” “You’re overcomplicating it. If you use these two points instead, it’s faster and easier to understand.” Ryan looked like a deflated balloon, no longer eager to speak. The entire day passed without me learning much of anything. In my past life, this was exactly how it had gone. But back then, I’d let their words sway me. They’d told me grades weren’t everything, that I was already smart enough and should focus on building relationships instead. And like an idiot, I’d believed them. I’d gotten so caught up in their world of idle chatter and social games that I’d forgotten what mattered most: my studies. This time, I wouldn’t fall for it. We weren’t born equal. The heights they’d reached effortlessly were places I’d have to struggle my entire life to even glimpse. So, I created a strict schedule for myself, sticking to the study habits that had served me well before. After finishing my review for the day, I turned my attention to editing the photos and videos I’d taken. In my past life, the cyberbullying from one school had been enough to suffocate me. This time, I’d expand the battlefield. One school wasn’t enough. I wanted the entire internet to join the party. I uploaded the video to my account with the title: “My First Day at St. Augustine: Gourmet Food, Hot Guys, and Abs!” The name “St. Augustine Academy” was a magnet for attention, and the video’s view count skyrocketed, quickly breaking all my previous records. Comments flooded in: “OMG, how did she get so lucky? A transfer student with a $150,000 scholarship?!” “Those abs aren’t that great, though. Why was he bragging?” “Trying to show off but ended up getting schooled by the girl. I wonder how big his ‘emotional damage’ is right now.” “Girl, stay true to yourself! Don’t let the glitz and glam blind you!” Every single view and comment translated to money. Watching the numbers climb, I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, I slept peacefully that night. Early the next morning, I got up and started memorizing vocabulary words. I had to admit, St. Augustine Academy lived up to its reputation. The campus was stunning, with a tranquil lake surrounded by lush greenery. I sat on a bench by the water, soaking in the scenery as I studied. Just as I was engrossed in my notes, Ethan Monroe appeared, carrying a perfectly arranged breakfast in his hand. “Rhea, you’re up early,” he said with a smile. I mentally reviewed the words I’d just memorized to make sure I had them locked in before turning to him. Ethan’s custom-tailored uniform accentuated his long legs, and he deliberately angled his face to show off his best side. I glanced at the breakfast tray he was holding—milk, bread, and fruit. “Is that for me?” I asked, pretending to gaze at him with wide, admiring eyes. Ethan nodded and even pulled out a picnic blanket, spreading it neatly on the grass. Once everything was set up, I casually pulled out my phone and started snapping pictures.

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My son was overjoyed when he received a scholarship to a prestigious school and couldn’t wait to share the good news with me. On our way to buy him a new computer as a reward, we were suddenly attacked by a knife-wielding thug. In that split second, my son bravely stepped in front of me to protect me. Though I was unharmed, my son was severely injured and rushed to the hospital! With tears in his eyes, my husband said: “Honey, the doctor says our son’s condition is critical. Only you, with your surgical expertise, can perform this operation.” My father-in-law, too, pleaded with tears: “Sunny got hurt protecting you. You have to save him!” My mother-in-law’s body trembled as she nearly knelt before me, begging me to save our son. I extended my hand coldly, revealing a shallow cut on my wrist: “I’m sorry. My hand is injured. I can’t perform the surgery.” “Sunny was so excited about the scholarship that he rushed off to tell you the good news without even packing his things.” “He was fine when he left home. How could he suddenly end up in the emergency room?!” My mother-in-law arrived at the hospital, full of confusion and anxiety, questioning me. Calmly seated outside the hospital room, I replied: “He did come to the company to share the scholarship news with me.” “He wanted to celebrate with a meal, and as we reached the restaurant entrance, the thug charged at me.” “Sunny pushed me out of harm’s way with all his strength to save me. I was unharmed, but he was gravely injured.” Upon hearing my account, my mother-in-law burst into uncontrollable tears. My father-in-law sighed deeply: “This child has always been so brave and devoted. In a life-or-death moment, he valued your safety above his own.” Despite his deep sorrow, my husband Declan tried to comfort me: “Don’t blame yourself too much.” “Sunny has always been close to you. He did this to ensure your safety. As long as you’re okay, he can endure this.” Declan’s voice was gentle, and his concern was sincere and deep. Hearing this, my father-in-law nodded and added: “Yes, Hazel, Sunny has always been close to you. You have to stay strong and not let him worry.” My mother-in-law blamed herself, “It’s all my fault. I should have been with Sunny.” “If I were there, I wouldn’t have let anything happen to either of you, even at the cost of my life!” Even though Sunny is their beloved child and they know he’s in critical condition because of me, they suppress their grief to comfort me, not putting any pressure on me. Seeing their concerned faces, I remained silent.

During the rescue, critical condition notices kept arriving. Sunny’s situation was extremely severe. As everyone anxiously waited, the attending doctor emerged from the operating room with a grave expression. He walked straight to me and urgently said, “Dr. Hazel, the patient’s condition is very dangerous. We’ve done everything we can.” “You’re a surgical expert. If you perform the surgery, there’s a slim chance of survival for the patient!” Hearing this, my father-in-law immediately pleaded with me: “Hazel, Sunny got hurt saving you. You can’t let anything happen to him!” My mother-in-law wiped her tears and added, her voice trembling: “Yes, Hazel, Sunny is still so young with a bright future ahead. You have to save him!” Declan looked at me earnestly: “Honey, Sunny’s life is in your hands.” The three of them placed their hope in me, their eyes filled with worry and pleading. But I calmly extended my hand, showing the shallow cut on my wrist, and said: “Sorry, my hand is injured. It’s not convenient for me to perform surgery.” My refusal left everyone stunned. The attending doctor was bewildered: “Dr. Hazel, it’s just a small cut. It won’t affect the surgery at all!” “The patient is in critical condition. Every minute of delay could be fatal for him.” Hearing this, my mother-in-law anxiously cried, pleading with me: “Hazel, the doctor said your injury doesn’t matter. Sunny’s situation can’t wait. Please go save him!” My father-in-law, with tearful eyes, said to me: “Hazel, Sunny is your biological son. He risked his life for you. Are you really going to watch him die on the operating table?” Declan looked at me with worry: “Hazel, are you hurt somewhere else?” With that, Declan started examining me carefully, as if convinced there was something I wasn’t saying. But I remained indifferent and replied coldly: “No need to check. Thanks to Sunny saving me in time, I’m completely fine.” Hearing this, Declan became agitated: “Then why won’t you save Sunny? Don’t you know how sensible and loving he is?” “The first thing he said when he got the scholarship was that you would be proud of him, so he couldn’t wait to tell you.” “He risked his life to save you, and now you’re leaving him to die?!” Even the usually gentle Declan couldn’t hold back his anger. My mother-in-law frowned, confused, and said: “Hazel, you’re the most important and admired person in Sunny’s heart. He studied hard and got the scholarship to make you happy.” “He protected you with everything he had. How can you abandon him at such a critical moment?” My father-in-law, devastated, pleaded with me: “Yes, if Sunny knew that the mother he always looked up to didn’t care about his life and death, how desperate would he be?” I looked at the three of them, who were heartbroken, and responded earnestly: “The hospital has a rule against performing surgery on direct relatives.” “I can’t break hospital rules.” “I can’t do this surgery.”

After saying this, I didn’t wait for their reaction and got up to leave. “Dr. Hazel, is the hospital rule more important than your son’s life?” “If even you don’t help, the patient really has no chance of survival!” The attending doctor called after me, trying to stop me. But I remained indifferent and resolute, leaving without looking back. As I reached the hospital entrance, my in-laws and Declan caught up with me. My mother-in-law knelt in front of me, begging: “Hazel, I’m begging you. You can’t leave. If you leave, Sunny has no hope!” Her public kneeling drew the attention of people around. “Isn’t that Dr. Hazel, the surgical expert? What’s going on?” “I heard her son got stabbed by a thug trying to save her, and now she’s leaving him to die while her family begs her!” Hearing the story, those present were filled with righteous indignation: “I never expected Dr. Hazel, who seemed so responsible with patients, to be so cold to her own son?” “She was probably just putting on a show before. How can she truly care for patients if she’s so heartless to her child?” “Exactly, what kind of mother leaves her child to die? She’s no different from a demon!” “Even a tiger wouldn’t harm its cubs. It’s a pity her son, so filial and brave, risked his life to save such a cruel mother!” The crowd’s curses flew, and they all branded me as a villain. Even those patients and families I had helped before, who respected me, now looked at me with disdain and disgust. Amidst the crowd’s gossip, my father-in-law, wiping tears, spoke to me earnestly: “Hazel, I can’t believe you’re really such a cold and heartless person.” “When you gave birth to Sunny, you almost died from a difficult labor but kept telling the doctor to save the child.” “You said this child was more important than your life and that you’d do anything as long as he survived.” “Sunny is the child you risked your life for. You wouldn’t just stand by and watch him die because of you, right?!” With tears streaming down his face, my father-in-law looked at me with eyes full of pleading and hope. But I remained unmoved, just quietly watching him without saying a word. Declan, seeing my indifference, became increasingly anxious, his voice rising: “Hazel , lying in that operating room is your son, who protected you with his life!” “Are you really going to be so heartless?!”

I looked at them, speaking seriously: “I’m truly powerless.” I once again refused, decisively. This shattered the hope in Declan and my in-laws’ eyes instantly. The emotions of the onlookers were completely ignited. They hurled the most vicious curses and insults at me. Some even took out their phones, filming me, starting live streams. They accused me of all sorts of evil deeds to a wider audience. Suddenly, every live stream was condemning me. Whether or not I should save my son became a trending topic online. “If she wanted to save her son, she would’ve done it by now. Why wait until now?” “Exactly. Look at her indifferent face. It’s obvious she’s heartless!” “If not for the live stream, I couldn’t have imagined a mother like this exists.” “Her son is dying to save her, and she’s acting like nothing’s wrong. It’s disgusting!” The internet was filled with curses against me. The angry crowd threw fruit peels and paper scraps at me. I stood, like a lamb to the slaughter, amid a pile of trash, enduring endless insults. “She could have saved her son long ago if she had wanted to. Why wait until now?” “Exactly, just look at her cold expression. She clearly lacks any compassion!” “If I hadn’t watched the live stream, I wouldn’t have believed there could be such a mother.” “Her son is on the brink of death trying to save her, and she acts completely unfazed. It’s repulsive!” The internet was flooded with insults targeting me. Angry onlookers hurled fruit peels and scraps of paper in my direction. I stood there, overwhelmed by the barrage of insults, feeling utterly helpless. Declan’s emotions were at their breaking point. The tenderness and affection in his gaze were gone, replaced by unending anger. “Hazel, I’m asking you one last time. Are you going to save Sunny?” Declan was livid. His bloodshot eyes looked ready to burst. Yet, I remained calm and resolute: “I won’t sacrifice my career for personal reasons.” Slap! No sooner had I finished speaking than Declan, unable to restrain himself, slapped me hard across the face. “So your so-called career is more important than your own son’s life?!” “Hazel, I refuse to stand by and watch Sunny die in the operating room.” “Today, you must save Sunny!” “If anything happens to Sunny, I’ll make sure you join him!” With those words, Declan roughly dragged me towards the hospital’s operating room. His parents followed closely behind. The crowd applauded, and live-stream cameras captured every moment. In the live stream comments, viewers were thrilled to see Declan finally take a stand. The entire scene was buzzing with excitement. However, as Declan dragged me to the operating room door… The doors suddenly opened. The attending physician emerged, sighing deeply: “The patient couldn’t be saved. He’s already gone.”

In the stunned silence, my son’s body was wheeled out. Declan and his father rushed forward, crying out in grief. My mother-in-law spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed. Meanwhile, I silently took out my phone and dialed the police: “Hello, I’d like to report a crime.” “My son was murdered.” Before the person on the other end could respond, Declan stormed over and knocked the phone from my hand. Gritting his teeth, he accused: “Hazel, you still have the nerve to call the police?” “You killed our son.” “You upset my mom so much she spat blood.” “Are you satisfied now?!” Declan’s veins bulged on his forehead, his voice booming. His eyes bore into mine with an unprecedented fury. My father-in-law, supporting his weakened wife, spoke with tears and a trembling voice: “Hazel, how could we have trusted someone as heartless as you?” “What did we do to deserve this from you?” “Our family was destroyed by you!” His words were full of genuine sorrow and regret. Having me as a daughter-in-law felt like his life’s greatest shame. Seeing Declan and my father-in-law so outraged, the crowd also joined in. “This woman killed her own son and still has the nerve to call the police?” “Is she trying to have herself arrested?” “How could someone so heartless have such awareness?” “It’s sickening. Why isn’t it her who’s dead?” The people were furious, hurling angry curses at me. The live stream comments scrolled rapidly with unrestrained condemnation, cursing me to hell. With everyone hating me because of my son’s death, they all wished I’d just disappear. But under their resentful gazes, I looked at Declan and his parents, their eyes red from crying. I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. Seeing this, Declan’s brows furrowed, struggling to contain his anger, he asked in a low voice: “What are you laughing at?” “Our son is dead, and you can still laugh?” My mother-in-law, after catching her breath, looked at me weakly and said: “This is a sin!” “My poor Sunny, how did he end up with such a cold-hearted mother?” “How did our family end up with such a heartless daughter-in-law?” “Your own son died, and as a mother, you can still laugh.” She was heartbroken. For Sunny and for the misplaced trust. Seeing her heartbroken and angry face. I just laughed: “Stop pretending.” Hearing this, Declan grew even more furious: “Pretending?” He pointed at our son’s body, full of resentment: “Sunny’s body is right in front of you. He died saving you, and you didn’t shed a single tear. You think our grief is just an act?” “Hazel, you’re a heartless monster!” “You don’t deserve a son as good as Sunny!” Declan’s anguished roar resonated with the onlookers. Everyone stopped being silent and began to scream insults at me. The live stream comments were unrelenting, showing the deepest malice. Facing all those eyes wanting to tear me apart, I smiled. I did something that shocked everyone… In the eyes of the entire audience, I raised my hand and slapped Declan hard across the face. Slap! The crisp sound of the slap made the noisy scene fall silent. Everyone looked at me in disbelief. Nobody expected that the accused villain, me, would dare to strike first and slap Declan publicly.

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I spent a decade as a specialist in proctology, conducting numerous examinations daily. To be honest, I maintained a professional detachment throughout. One day, a man accompanying a patient exclaimed, “You have no right to examine my child’s condition!” “If you fail to treat her, I’ll hold your entire family accountable!” I gestured towards the door, “The psychiatric clinic is upstairs to the left. Next patient, please!” That remark led to five years of unemployment, two years of begging, and ultimately, I met my end in a street accident. It also caused undue suffering for my mother. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my office. In front of me stood an impeccably dressed, attractive couple. “I’m sorry, but without an appointment, I can’t see you.” “Director? Director!” I snapped out of it, “Yes, what is it?” “Director, have you been resting well lately? I brought you some hot water.” A cup of hot water appeared on my desk. I looked up and saw it was Leo, my intern from eight years ago. “It’s alright, just a lot of patients recently. I just need a moment.” I surveyed my surroundings. This was my office. Specifically, it was the office I had eight years ago when I was the head of the proctology department at City General Hospital. A bold idea crossed my mind. I pinched myself—ouch, not a dream. I found myself back to where it all began eight years ago. “Shall I call in the next patient?” Leo asked. I nodded. Moments later, the door opened. A striking woman walked in, exuding elegance, her designer attire making her seem unapproachable. A man followed her, his gaze sharp and authoritative. I was taken aback—it was them. The sting in my palm brought me back. I looked down and saw a nail mark in my hand. The woman blushed and shyly introduced herself, “Hello, Doctor, I’m Nora.” Nora was polite enough. The man beside her looked disdainful. “Who do you think you are? You’re not qualified to examine my child’s condition!” The same dialogue, the same scene. I was even more certain I had been given a second chance. Nora tugged at Declan’s sleeve, giving him a playful glance. “Apologies, but as a specialist with ten years of experience at City General Hospital and the current head of the department, I believe I am.” Declan’s expression darkened, his gaze icy, as if contemplating my downfall. He snorted, “If you can’t treat Nora, I’ll make sure your entire family pays!” There it was again. Even in a proctology department, his CEO persona was unyielding. In my previous life, when he said that, I was speechless. Was this guy out of his mind? It’s 2099, and people still mimic lines from decades ago. So I genuinely suggested he see a mental health professional. Declan’s CEO pride was offended, and he used his influence to fabricate medical mishaps, forcing me to resign. Not only that, but he also warned all hospitals not to hire me, leaving me unemployed. Unable to work in a hospital, I tried factories, but Declan blocked all my paths—no business dared hire me. I survived by intermittently setting up stalls and scavenging for recyclables. I drank rainwater and ate discarded cold takeout from trash bins. Snapping back to reality, I flipped through the records. “I’m sorry, but without an appointment, I can’t see you.”###Chapter

CEOs typically have family doctors and private clinics, so they never need to visit public hospitals and wouldn’t know about the appointment system at City General. Moreover, I’m a specialist. You need to book my appointments a day in advance since I only have one duty day a week. My slots are hard to get. “Doctor, I was just called! I went to the bathroom, sorry, sorry!” The office door opened, and the actual patient with an appointment walked in. I glanced at Declan and Nora, “Unrelated individuals, please leave.” Their faces turned various shades of green and red. Nora stood up, embarrassed, dragging Declan out. Just before leaving, Declan glared daggers at me. I returned his gaze, prepared to call security to escort them out for cutting in line, but he quickly looked away. After the checkup, I wrote a prescription. “Take this to the nurse.” “Ding dong” A bell chimed. I looked around, curious about the source. “Host Ethan, hello! I’m the Pain Transfer System 012. Congratulations on getting through Declan’s verbal attack and avoiding further tragedy!” A system? Is this the advantage of my rebirth? “What does the Pain Transfer System mean?” I asked mentally. “As the name suggests, I can help transfer the pain of symptoms. When it activates in you, it means that for every patient you successfully treat, their past pains will transfer to the male lead, Declan.” I nodded. Declan’s in for some serious discomfort. But I quickly caught onto a term—”male lead.” The system said Declan was the male lead. Was my world part of a novel? “Correct, host. You live in the book ‘The CEO’s Sweet Naive Wife,’ where Nora is the female lead, and Declan is the male lead.” The system briefly explained the book’s content. I was amazed. “Due to your death, Declan and Nora’s character settings collapsed, so City Hall gave you a chance to be reborn with a system.” I understood. In simple terms, this rebirth was my chance for revenge. Reflecting on my past life, Declan bore a grudge against me, hiring thugs to cause trouble at the hospital and attributing numerous false medical incidents to me. I worked tirelessly to gather evidence and refute the claims. Even when resolved, the leaders still doubted me. Numerous external exchange projects no longer bore my name. I was excluded from major lectures, and Declan’s people replaced me in positions I worked hard to attain. I thought, as long as I could still work, it was enough. I couldn’t fight a wealthy heir. I apologized! I sincerely sought out Declan to apologize. But he remained aloof, saying simply, “So, who are you?” I thought the matter was over. But soon after settling into work, Declan’s people accused me of stealing hospital drugs and being morally corrupt! I was dismissed, and no hospital dared hire me. I lived in a daze. My parents felt heartbroken, hugging me tightly, saying, “It’s okay! If the sky falls, your parents will hold it up!” But I didn’t expect Declan to spare even my parents! Nora accused my mom of stealing her jewelry. Though evidence was lacking, her status led the police to sentence my mom. Dad went to visit, only to return with a small box. I had never seen Dad so defeated. It was all my fault. If not for me, Mom wouldn’t have died. I cried until I couldn’t speak. Dad gently held me, patting my back. Soon after, I received news of Dad’s death. He had a car accident while driving, dying on the spot. I almost fainted. I put down the pancake I was making and grabbed a taxi straight to the scene. My loving dad stayed forever in that car, covered in blood, unable to hug and comfort me anymore. The car he drove was familiar—the one Declan often rode! Declan again! I yelled, “Isn’t this enough?! After all this, what more do you want? Go to hell! Go to hell! Go to hell!” “Host?”

I blinked, snapping out of my memories. Declan, Nora, so what if you’re the leads? I crawled back from hell, and even if you have a halo, I’ll shatter it and make you swallow it with blood! Our family’s lives will be repaid with yours! City A is teeming with talent. In such a city, becoming a department head at City General Hospital and an honorary professor at A University speaks volumes about my exceptional medical skills. No humility here—I could be called the top proctologist in the country. Business trips and exchanges were common. After finishing today’s duty shift, I immediately requested an exchange from my leader. The leader agreed quickly, as there was a project waiting. For a doctor of my level, exchanges last at least a month. While I’m away, Nora’s illness will drag on, and while I perform surgeries, Declan’s condition will worsen. I acted immediately. After work, I packed my things, dragged my suitcase, and boarded a plane. The system was handy, always updating me. On my first day in City C, after academic exchanges. System: “Nora went to the hospital looking for you, only to find your name missing from the registry.” “Declan must be fuming. His first time lowering himself for a doctor, only to find the doctor isn’t on duty.” I laughed, imagining his face turning black with rage. Leo, whom I left at City General, called me around this time. “Teacher, am I disturbing you?” “Remember that couple from yesterday? The one with CEO lines.” Leo sounded excited, as if something interesting had happened. “Yes, what’s up?” “They caused quite a scene at the hospital today. It was something else!” Leo described it vividly, and I could almost see the scene myself. Declan and Nora had come to the hospital only to find out I was away on a business trip. The top colorectal specialist they wanted to see was out too! For someone like Declan, who is used to getting his way, this was intolerable. He made a scene in the hospital lobby, barking into his phone, “You have three minutes! Get that woman here, or your whole family will pay!” With the hospital packed, his outburst drew everyone’s attention. “Is he out of his mind? No helping him now!” “Hey dude, the psych ward is on the third floor. Need a hand getting there?” a cheerful hospital volunteer chimed in. “Scram! Do you even know who I am?” Well, Declan definitely got the psychiatric department’s attention. I thanked Leo for the update and hung up. I had a surgery scheduled for the afternoon and was already eager to hear about Declan’s hemorrhoid woes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “295696”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #魔幻Magic #重生Reborn