I was the Harrington family’s designated bride. But at eighteen, forced to choose between the brothers, I was paralyzed. Christian was ice-cold; Ashton was pure wildfire. Ready to flip a coin, glowing text suddenly invaded my vision: [Why is this annoying side character hesitating? Both brothers despise her.] [She only throws her weight around because of that ‘chosen bride’ title. Nothing like our sweet female lead.] [The main trio would be perfect without this stupid side character ruining it.] [At least she dies in childbirth. Main characters get their happy ending. Otherwise, I’d puke.] Gasping, I looked up at my childhood friends. Beneath their calm masks, I saw it—faint, repressed disgust. Aunt Beatrice urged me gently. Chaos reigned in my mind until new text appeared: [Forget the brothers! Look at the incubus uncle!] [He hides his feelings because of the age gap.] [Pick him, and you skip the tragic death. You’ll be living your best life in his bed!] Panicked, I glanced toward the quiet corner. There sat the man with hawk-like eyes, staring intently right at me. 1 “Sisi, Christian and Ashton both grew up with you. Their feelings for you are unquestionable.” “But this is about your lifelong happiness. Who do you want as your future partner?” Aunt Beatrice’s gentle voice cut through the silence, and instantly, everyone’s eyes locked onto me. They were holding their breath, waiting for my decision. Because this decision would determine the future heir of the Harrington empire. I was originally the daughter of the Harringtons’ housekeeper. When I was five, my mother died saving Aunt Beatrice’s life. On her deathbed, her weak, sorrowful gaze had lingered on me. “Ma’am, I don’t regret saving you,” she had whispered, struggling to speak. “I just… I can’t bear to leave my little girl behind.” Aunt Beatrice had immediately clasped her hands, tears streaming down her face as she promised: “Do not worry. From this day on, Sisi is my own daughter. She will be my future daughter-in-law.” “The Harrington family will cherish and protect her for the rest of her life.” With those words, my mother closed her eyes in peace. And just as Aunt Beatrice had promised, I became the jewel of the Harrington household. From that day on, I lived a life of luxury, showered with affection. Aunt Beatrice’s twin sons willingly became my knights, shielding me from the world. The three of us were inseparable childhood friends. But now, I had to choose one of them to be my partner for life. Choosing one meant hurting the other. It was an impossible choice. I hesitated, my gaze shifting between the two brothers. Just as I was about to suggest a round of rock-paper-scissors to let fate decide, dense rows of glowing comments erupted before my eyes. 2 [Wait, why does this annoying girl look so conflicted? Is she seriously picking between them?] [Does she actually think the male leads are head over heels for her? If Mrs. Harrington hadn’t forced them into this, they wouldn’t have pretended to tolerate her for so many years.] [Exactly. She’s been acting like she owns the place just because of her mom’s sacrifice. She’s not half as cute or endearing as our female lead.] [I’ve been waiting forever to see the relationship between the three main characters, and she’s ruining it.] [Thank goodness she dies during childbirth in the end. Otherwise, I would have lost my mind!] The floating comments were vicious and biting, filled with nothing but hatred and contempt for me. I pinched my arm hard. It stung. This wasn’t an illusion. If this was real, then according to these comments, I was merely the villainous side character in a reverse-harem romance novel. A girl who used her mother’s sacrifice to force an engagement on one of the male leads. A girl who, after marriage, would be neglected by her husband, eventually dying a miserable death on the operating table during childbirth. Nothing but a tragic stepping stone in the sweeping romance of the main characters. I couldn’t believe it; my tragic end, and the revelation that my two childhood friends actually loved someone else. We had spent over a decade together. I had felt their genuine care and protection. How could it all be a lie? But when I turned to look at the brothers, my confidence shattered. 3 The older brother, Christian. The younger brother, Ashton. They shared identical, striking features, yet their vibes were entirely different. Christian was cold and reserved; Ashton was wild and untamed. But right now, without exception, both of their dark eyes held a deeply buried flicker of annoyance. Yes, it was disgust. A cold chill washed over me. Seeing my prolonged silence, Aunt Beatrice couldn’t help but urge me again: “Sisi? Have you made up your mind?” [Oh my god, the dark moment is finally here!] [Who is this annoying girl going to choose? Don’t tell me she wants both of them?] [She’ll probably choose the older brother. That’s what happened in the original story.] [And then Christian completely ignored her after the wedding. She kept lying to herself, thinking he was just being considerate because of her weak health, while he was actually hooking up with the female lead behind her back.] [Hahaha, talk about a clown!] Staring at the glowing words, my eyes widened in shock. In my memory, Christian was always steady and calm, rarely showing extreme emotions. Was he really that wild with the so-called female lead in private? And what about Ashton? [As for the younger brother? With Christian taking one for the team, Ashton was free to be with the female lead.] [But the female lead missed Christian so much she kept waking up from nightmares. To comfort her, Ashton actually agreed to act as Christian’s stand-in, letting his brother slip in to meet her.] The details in the comments grew more bizarre and shocking by the second. Ashton was incredibly proud, and he had hated being compared to his brother since we were kids. Yet, for his beloved, he was willing to become his brother’s body double. 4 “Sisi?” Aunt Beatrice’s gentle voice called me back to reality. I shook off the shock, looking at the brothers one by one. The moment Ashton met my gaze, he quickly looked away. He was terrified of being chosen. Christian was more subtle. He simply lowered his eyes without a word. But his complete, quiet rejection stung my heart. So, our engagement was nothing but a burden to them. I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the bitter ache in my chest. I turned to Aunt Beatrice, biting my lip as I spoke hesitantly: “Aunt Beatrice… can I… choose neither?” Aunt Beatrice froze. “Why, sweetheart?” Then, seeing the conflict and struggle in my eyes, she seemed to have a sudden realization and lightly tapped her own forehead. “Oh, how silly of me. I should have realized.” “The three of you grew up together. You care for both of them equally. Forcing you to choose one over the other must be so difficult.” “In that case, let’s leave it to fate.” “Butler, bring the drawing straws!” Throughout my life, Aunt Beatrice had perfectly filled the role of my mother. Even now, she was trying to find a way to spare my feelings. But vicious comments began to flood my vision: [Is this girl for real? She can’t even make a choice, so she’s forcing Mrs. Harrington to play the bad guy?] [No matter who draws the short straw, they’re going to resent their mother for it.] [Seriously, the girl’s mom was just as annoying. Saving a life is fine, but using it to guilt-trip a wealthy family for generations is just cheap.] [If her mom hadn’t dumped this burden on them on her deathbed, the brothers wouldn’t be in this miserable position.] They weren’t just insulting me anymore; they were dragging my late mother into it. That crossed the line. 5 I swallowed the tears threatening to spill over and raised my voice: “Aunt Beatrice, there’s no need!” “Actually, I don’t love Christian or Ashton. I’m already in love with someone else!” My words were like a sudden thunderclap, shocking everyone in the room. But to my surprise, the strongest reaction came from the twins. Ashton snapped his head toward me, his eyes locking onto mine as he snarled: “You’re lying!” “You spend every single day with us. You don’t even have the chance to meet outsiders.” “How could you possibly be in love with someone else?” Ashton’s presence was always intense, and his current fury genuinely startled me. I shrank back slightly, my voice trembling with a hint of tears. “I… the person I like… is also a Harrington…” Hearing this, the harshness in Ashton’s eyes softened into a mocking sneer. “A Harrington, huh?” “I’d love to hear who this is.” “Who could possibly have more charm than my brother and me to make your heart flutter like this?” His eyes were filled with amusement, completely convinced I was making it up. Even Christian, who had remained silent, slowly raised his eyes to stare at me, demanding: “Who is it?” Suddenly, the pressure in the room felt suffocating. I clenched my hands tightly, my eyes darting around the room as I desperately searched for a suitable candidate. 6 The Harrington family was an absolute empire, controlling a massive portion of the country’s business landscape. But because of the immense wealth, the different branches of the family fought viciously behind closed doors. As a result, the younger generation had been competing since childhood. They didn’t dare target Christian or Ashton, so they chose me, the easy target, to bully. Almost every cousin in my age group, boy or girl, had secretly mistreated me at some point. Because I was timid, I never said a word. Eventually, the twins discovered the bruises on my arms and, defying family rules, fought back on my behalf. From then on, everyone knew one absolute truth: the quiet daughter of the housekeeper was the twins’ red line. Cross it, and you pay. So Ashton knew I would never be foolish enough to fall for any of the cousins who had bullied me. But now… [What is she doing? Playing hard to get? Is she trying to use this pathetic method to get the twins’ attention?] [Using such a cheap trick to make them jealous? How pathetic.] [Can the person above shut up? I’ve tolerated you for so long. If she chooses a male lead, you complain. If she doesn’t, you still complain.] [Wait, does she really not like the twins anymore? Then look at our gorgeous incubus uncle!] [He heard her say she likes someone else, and now he’s practically dying to confess to her!] [Oh my god, he’s actually been in love with her for years, but he was too insecure because of the age gap, and because she was supposed to be his nephews’ girl, he never dared to say a word.] [If she picks him, she won’t end up on an operating table; she’ll be thoroughly spoiled in his bed.] As the side character, even doing nothing was considered a crime. I expected another round of insults from the comments. Instead, a few strange comments defending me popped up. But the direction of these comments was getting incredibly wild. The seductive uncle was in love with me? Spoiled in his bed? Each comment was more scandalous than the last. And the only person in the family who fit the description of “uncle” was Gideon Harrington, my grandfather’s youngest son. He liked me? Was that even possible? Highly skeptical, I turned my head toward the corner. There, sitting elegantly on the sofa, was the refined and handsome man. His dark, intense eyes were fixed on me like a hawk. Deep within those dark depths, a storm of repressed, burning passion was swirling, threatening to break free. 7 [This is the burning, silent love of our incubus uncle.] The floating comment summarized it perfectly. In an instant, my heart skipped a beat. It was as if I could actually see the molten lava of his love rushing toward me from his deep eyes. Unable to handle the intensity, I hurriedly looked away. Meanwhile, Christian pressed on, his voice dripping with cold authority: “Sisi, tell me. Who is it?” I didn’t understand. Since he and Ashton already loved someone else, wasn’t it a good thing that I didn’t want to marry them? Why were they pushing me so hard? Seeing my hesitation, Aunt Beatrice spoke with deep concern: “Sisi, did someone threaten you? Just tell me, and I promise I’ll handle it.” As she spoke, she swept a warning, dangerous gaze over the cousins from the other branches of the family. I quickly shook my head. “No! Aunt Beatrice, it’s not that.” “I was just… too afraid to say it because the person I like is far above me in both age and family rank!” I clenched my teeth, throwing caution to the wind. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the worst, too terrified to see anyone’s reaction. In the dead silence that followed, a sweet, innocent voice suddenly shattered the quiet: “Oh my goodness! Sisi, you don’t mean… you’re in love with Mr. Harrington, are you?” I opened my eyes. A slender, beautiful girl was standing at the entrance of the villa. She looked utterly shocked, as if she had just stumbled upon a scandalous secret, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.

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After a drunken night with my best friend’s older brother, I became his secret, off-the-books girlfriend. For eight long years, I lived in the shadows. Finally, my family handed down a harsh ultimatum: I had to marry this year, or they would arrange a match for me. “Austin,” I told him, as we lay in the quiet dark of our bedroom. “My parents gave me an ultimatum. I need to get married this year.” He paused, his body tensing, before he pressed a soft, distracting kiss to my forehead. He gave me the same old line he always did. “Just wait a little longer.” But the very next day, I opened my social media and saw a post from our new office intern, Lily. It was a photo of her and Austin holding up a fresh marriage license outside the city courthouse. Her caption read: Got the handsome CEO locked down. Eight years of begging for a crumb of commitment, and she got the whole damn loaf in three months. Swallowing the bitter lump in my throat, I tapped the heart icon. Then, I left a comment: Congratulations! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness. Within the hour, I called my mother and accepted the match they had arranged for me. My phone rang almost immediately. For the first time in eight years, Austin’s voice sounded panicked. “Sydney, don’t get the wrong idea. It was just a stupid dare. I lost a bet with the guys, and Lily and I went to the courthouse as a joke…” I cut him off. “Austin, I’m getting married.” 1 There was a sudden, heavy silence on the line. Then, Austin’s voice returned, laced with his usual irritation. In the background, I could hear a girl’s soft, playful giggles. “Here you go again,” he sighed. “Are you really that desperate to walk down the aisle? The company’s cash flow is practically dry right now, Sydney. Can you please stop making a mess of things?” I stood on my balcony, watching the city lights flicker in the cool evening wind. My voice was flat, empty of the warmth I used to give him. “I’m not making a mess. I’m actually getting married.” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh, as if I had just told the most ridiculous joke. “You don’t even have a guy in your life. Who are you marrying? The wind?” I opened my mouth to say Nate’s name, but he was already in a hurry to end the call. “Look, I have to take this. I’m telling you, the license was just a stupid dare at a party. Don’t overthink it.” The line went dead, replaced by the cold drone of the dial tone. Eight years. He had spent eight years telling me to “don’t overthink it” while I quietly withered away in his shadow. The next morning, I walked into the office carrying two boxes of luxury, imported wedding chocolates. The open-plan office was buzzing with noise. A crowd of colleagues had gathered around Lily’s desk, and her face was flushed a deep, self-satisfied pink. “Lily, you are unbelievable! Austin is always so cold, and you managed to lock him down in three months?” “Does this mean we have to start calling you the boss’s wife? You have to look out for us now!” Lily covered her face with her hands, giggling. Her voice was just loud enough to carry across the entire room. “Oh, stop it, guys! It’s not like that. We just got hitched on a silly dare during a game. Please don’t spread it around.” I felt a cold sneer tugging at my lips. She had already broadcasted the marriage license to her entire social network, yet she wanted people to “not spread it around”? Her sharp eyes caught sight of the chocolate boxes in my hands. She practically bounded over in her designer heels, wrapping her arm tightly around mine. “Sydney! Are these the wedding chocolates Austin asked you to prepare for us? Thank you so much for the hard work!” Before I could open my mouth to correct her, she snatched the boxes right out of my grip. She tore open the expensive gold packaging and began stuffing the truffles into our coworkers’ hands. “Everyone, try some! Austin went out of his way to get these imported chocolates for the celebration!” The office erupted into cheers, praising Austin for being a romantic, attentive husband. Right on cue, Austin stepped out of the elevator. The crowd immediately started chanting, “Thanks for the wedding chocolates, Boss!” Lily looked up at him, her eyes wide and glittering with girlish adoration. Austin froze for a fraction of a second. Then, his lips curved into a smooth, easy smile. “I’m glad you all like them.” “The chocolates are mine,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. The entire office fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Every single pair of eyes pinned themselves to my face. Austin’s expression darkened instantly, a flicker of panic darting through his eyes. “Sydney, this is a place of business,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a harsh warning. “Don’t start acting out here.” “I’m not acting out,” I replied, looking him straight in the eye. “I bought those chocolates. I am getting married next Saturday.” His face turned so dark it looked like a thundercloud. He took a predatory step toward me, his voice a low, furious hiss. “Do you really have to push me like this?” Beside him, one of the junior marketers scoffed under her breath. “Honestly, Sydney, we’ve never even seen you with a guy. Who are you marrying? Are you just so jealous of Lily that you’re losing your mind?” Lily’s eyes welled with tears on command. She bit her lower lip, looking incredibly wronged. “Sydney, I know you used to have feelings for Austin. But he never felt that way about you. He even cleared up those rumors privately, telling us that you two were strictly professional colleagues.” The moment those words left her mouth, the collective gaze of the office shifted. They were looking at me like I was a desperate, pathetic side-piece who had tried and failed to home-wreck her way to the top. I looked at Austin. He turned his head away, staring out the window, refusing to offer a single word of defense. During our eight years in the shadows, I had ruined my liver drinking with clients to secure his contracts. I had pulled his company back from the brink of bankruptcy more times than I could count. When people whispered that I was desperately throwing myself at him, he had stayed silent. And now, he wouldn’t even grant me the dignity of the truth. “Seriously, Sydney,” another coworker chimed in, eager to please the new boss’s wife. “Austin and Lily are legally married now. If you keep throwing yourself at him, you’re just a homewrecker. If clients hear about this, it ruins our reputation.” “Exactly. Trying to steal your own intern’s husband? Have some self-respect.” I looked at these people, most of whom I had personally trained and mentored. A bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. I had originally planned to invite them to my wedding, but now I realized they didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as my fiancé. I squeezed my phone in my hand and swept a cold glance over the room. “Since everyone is so desperately curious, I suppose I should introduce my fiancé.” I tapped my screen, preparing to pull up the photo of Nate and me. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my wrist. Austin snatched the phone out of my hand, his face pale and twisted with rage. “Everyone, get back to work!” he roared. He gripped my arm tightly, dragging me toward his private office. Behind us, I could hear the team instantly whispering comfort to Lily, paired with the disgust they threw at my back. 2 He slammed the office door shut, aggressively loosening his tie as if he were suffocating. “I told you the courthouse was a stupid game!” he snapped. “Do you really have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?” “If it was just a game,” I said, staring at him with eyes as cold as stone, “why didn’t you clear the air? Why did you let them brand me a homewrecker?” He choked on his words, his jaw tightening. When he spoke, his tone carried that familiar, infuriating entitlement. “Lily is a young girl. She’s sensitive. I couldn’t just humiliate her in front of the entire company, could I?” So her feelings were precious, but my dignity was fair game to be dragged through the mud. I reached out, snatched my phone back from his grip, and turned toward the door. With my hand on the brass handle, I paused. I didn’t turn around. “My wedding is next Saturday. You and Lily are more than welcome to attend.” I walked down to the parking garage, my heels clicking sharply against the concrete. Before I could unlock my car, my phone buzzed. It was the executive recruiter who had been trying to poach me for months. “Sydney, about that director position at the multinational firm we discussed. They are willing to bump the starting salary by another twenty percent. Will you please reconsider?” The offered figure was at the absolute ceiling of the industry standard. “I accept,” I said, my voice steady. “Furthermore, I will be bringing a ten-million-dollar account with me. I expect the standard commission structure to apply.” The recruiter sounded like she was about to scream with joy. “Absolutely! I will have the contracts drafted immediately!” After hanging up, I sat in the driver’s seat. My thumb hovered over Nate’s name on my contact list. I sent him a quick text: Hold off on signing the contract. Wait for my word. Austin had complained about how hard things were for the company, telling me not to add to his stress. But for eight years, which of his crises hadn’t I personally resolved? This multi-million-dollar deal with Vanguard Group was something I had secured by swallowing my pride and pleading with Nate three separate times. It was the very lifeline Austin’s company needed to survive. As I drove out of the dark garage, the city blurred past my window. It felt like a metaphor for the last eight years of my life, a fast-forward reel of wasted youth. I met Austin outside my college dorm. He was Brooke’s older brother, arriving in a crisp white shirt to pick her up for summer break. He had stood under the shade of an oak tree, smiling, a tiny mole catching the light near the corner of his eye. My heart had skipped a beat. Later, at a graduation party, we both drank too much and ended up in bed. It felt natural to join his startup, beginning at the very bottom as a low-paid intern. At first, he said we couldn’t go public because he didn’t want people thinking I got promoted through favoritism. I believed him, so I waited. Once I became the top-performing manager in the marketing department, he said he was worried it would ruin my friendship with Brooke. I believed him again, so I waited. I foolishly believed that if I just kept quiet and worked hard, he would eventually give me a ring. It wasn’t until I saw Lily’s post that the fantasy shattered. He didn’t hate the idea of marriage. He just hated the idea of marrying me. 3 I drove back to the apartment we had shared for the last five years. My resignation would take a few days to process, but I wanted my personal belongings out of his space immediately. I dragged my suitcase out of the closet and opened the wardrobe. His clothes occupied more than two-thirds of the rack. In the past, I had complained that his style was too stiff and corporate. I had bought him bright, casual hoodies, but he had always shoved them to the back, claiming a CEO needed to look serious. Yet, hanging in the most prominent spot of the wardrobe were several brand-new, expensive designer hoodies in vibrant colors. He wasn’t incapable of changing. He just hadn’t wanted to change for me. I began folding my dresses into the suitcase. The sound of the front door unlocking cut through the quiet apartment. Austin walked in. Seeing the open suitcase and the bare hangers, his brow furrowed. “Sydney, there is absolutely nothing going on between Lily and me. Can you please stop throwing a tantrum?” He walked over, reaching out to grasp my hand. “The marriage license was a mistake. I’ll take her to the courthouse to file for divorce this afternoon.” “Once the Vanguard contract is signed and the company is stable, we can go public. Okay?” I parted my lips to say We are over, but he cut me off, scanning the room. “By the way, where did you put the keys to the Maple Heights townhouse?” I paused. “In the bottom drawer of the nightstand.” I looked at him. “Are you selling it to cover the company’s debts?” He blinked, then offered a casual, dismissive shrug. “Why would I sell it? It’s just sitting empty. Lily’s lease is up, so I told her she could stay there for a bit.” My chest tightened, a dull, throbbing ache spreading through my ribs. He had bought the Maple Heights house last year on my birthday, whispering in my ear that it would be our future home. And now, he was handing the keys to another woman. Before I could process the sting, he continued, entirely oblivious to my pale face. “Also, once you finish up the Vanguard contract, transfer the account details over to Lily. Her probation period is ending, and this deal will secure her permanent position. Don’t worry, I’ll still make sure you get the full commission.” My phone remained silent as his began to ring. He glanced at the screen and answered immediately, his voice instantly softening into a tone I hadn’t heard in years. “Yeah, sweetie. I’ll text you the address. Just have the movers head straight over…” He walked out toward the balcony to finish the call, never once looking back to see the expression on my face. The heavy thud of the glass door closing echoed in the quiet room. I stood in the center of the apartment and let out a soft, humorless laugh. Eight years of my youth, my sweat, and my devotion. In his eyes, it wasn’t even worth more than a three-month intern. I zipped my suitcase and walked out, never once looking back. I went straight to my parents’ house. Ever since I had agreed to the marriage with Nate, my mother hadn’t stopped smiling. The moment I walked through the door, she rushed to take my bag. “I always knew Nate was the one,” she beamed. “We watched that boy grow up. He’s decent, polite, and his family is wonderful. Your father and I can finally sleep easy.” Nate and I had been inseparable since childhood. Our mothers were best friends, and they used to joke about arranging our marriage when we were still in diapers. If I hadn’t met Austin in college, I probably would have married Nate years ago. I knew he loved me. He had always loved me. When Austin’s company was bleeding cash and on the verge of ruin, I had swallowed my pride to beg Nate for a lifeline. He had stayed silent for a long time before finally agreeing to the deal. Now, I realized just how incredibly foolish I had been. After dinner, I retreated to the study to organize my client files. My phone vibrated. A text from Austin: I’ll be late tonight. Don’t wait up. I stared at the screen for a moment, then deleted the chat thread entirely. By the time I finished organizing my files, it was past ten. I lay in bed, aimlessly scrolling through my social feed. The very first post on my timeline was from Lily, posted thirty minutes prior. The photo showed the living room of the Maple Heights townhouse. Austin was laughing, his arm slung over a friend’s shoulder as they played a drinking game, surrounded by empty beer bottles. Her caption read: He called me ‘kiddo’ in front of all his bros. Does he think I’m too childish? The comment section was filled with squeals and teasing, everyone gushing about how sweet and protective Austin was. I stared at the screen, then closed the app. There was no anger left, no tears. Whatever love I had carried for him for eight years had been burned to ashes the moment he let his employees call me a homewrecker. A new message popped up. It was from Nate. Are you free tomorrow? The bridal shop finished the alterations on your dress. Want to go try it on? I typed back a single word: Yes. The next morning, Nate arrived early to pick me up. My mother sent us off with a warm smile, stuffing two boxes of his favorite pastries into his hands. As we drove, I cleared my throat, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Nate, about that Vanguard contract… could you hold off on signing it? I’m moving to a new firm, and I’d like to use that account to make a strong first impression.” He glanced at me, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Why don’t you just come work for Vanguard?” “I think it’s better if we keep our professional and personal lives separate,” I replied, smiling back. At the bridal boutique, the consultant welcomed us warmly, presenting a stunning, elegant mermaid-cut gown. “Mr. Nathaniel insisted on having the measurements adjusted three times to ensure it fits you perfectly, ma’am,” she said. When I stepped out of the dressing room and looked at myself in the mirror, I froze. Years ago, whenever Austin and I passed a bridal shop and I lingered at the window, he would pull me away, promising he would hire a world-class designer to make me a one-of-a-kind gown when the time was right. I waited eight years for that promise. Instead, I was standing in a custom gown Nate had quietly prepared for me. “Do you want to take a photo and post it?” Nate asked, standing behind me, his eyes full of warmth. I nodded and handed my phone to the consultant. “Could you take a photo of us, please?” Nate seemed slightly taken aback, but a brilliant, genuine smile quickly spread across his face. He stepped up beside me, gently placing his hand near his waist without fully touching, a gesture of pure respect. The photo was breathtaking. I uploaded it to my social media with a caption: Next Saturday, at the Apex Hotel. We would love for you to join us as Nathaniel and I celebrate our wedding. Within a minute, the comment section exploded. Oh my god! Is that the Nathaniel from Vanguard Group? Sydney, you’ve been holding out on us! And people actually thought she was chasing after Austin? Talk about a reality check! Nate makes Austin look like a boy playing dress-up! While I was scrolling through the comments, my phone rang. It was Austin. I picked up, and his voice came through, thick with alcohol and dripping with bitter sarcasm. “Nice move, Sydney. Dragging Nate into your little game just to force my hand? You really are desperate for a ring, aren’t you?” Before I could answer, Nate reached out, took the phone from my hand, and pressed the speaker button. His voice was calm, steady, and filled with an undeniable authority that echoed through the room. “Austin, we are actually getting married.” “She waited for you for eight years. I have been waiting for her for twelve.” “Thank you for letting her go.”

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My husband always told me he loved me enough to buy me a one-carat diamond ring. But whenever our family actually needed money, his love came with a discount. When our son started preschool, the tuition was $4,800. He only transferred me $3,000. When the $3,500 rent was due at the end of the month, he sent $2,500. I put up with it until the night our three-year-old son spiked a massive fever and went into convulsions. The emergency room demanded a $5,000 deposit before they would admit him to the pediatric ICU. Like clockwork, my husband only transferred $3,000. “Figure out the rest yourself,” he told me. I broke down, begging him over the phone. All I got in return was a cold sigh. “Sarah, you are being completely unreasonable.” The line went dead. There was no further response. He left me alone in the sterile hospital corridor, holding my burning, seizing child, drowning in absolute despair. 1 “Ma’am! If you don’t pay the deposit right now, I have to take him off the monitors!” The nurse’s voice echoed down the empty, fluorescent-lit hallway. I looked down at little Noah in my arms. His lips had faded from a terrifying purple to a sickly, ashen gray. His tiny fingers weren’t even gripping my shirt anymore, and his seizures had grown weaker. That weakness was far more terrifying than the violent shaking. Instinctively, I glanced down at my left ring finger. That one-carat diamond caught the harsh hospital lights, glittering blindingly. He always said this was the absolute best thing he could ever give me. I ripped the ring off my finger, hoisted my son higher against my chest, and sprinted out the sliding doors of the ER. Two blocks east of the hospital, the neon sign of a 24-hour pawn and jewelry exchange was still buzzing. I crashed through the doors, holding my fever-hot boy. The owner barely looked up from his phone. “Please, how much can I get for this ring? It’s an emergency.” He took it, screwed a jeweler’s loupe into his eye, flipped it over for maybe five seconds, and tossed it onto the glass counter. “Look, lady. This isn’t a diamond.” I froze. “That’s impossible. It’s a full carat. My husband paid ten thousand dollars for it.” “It’s moissanite,” the owner said flatly. “Synthetic. Wholesale price is about thirty bucks. Factor in the cheap 18-karat gold-plated band, and the whole thing is worth maybe fifty dollars on a good day. You don’t believe me, take it to any appraiser in town.” I stood perfectly still in front of that counter. My baby was burning up with a 105-degree fever against my chest, and I just stared at the ring. Fifty dollars. He said he loved me. He said he spared no expense for my ring. A thirty-dollar piece of wholesale glass. Even his grandest gesture of love was heavily discounted. “Hey, lady? You okay? Your kid’s color looks really bad.” The owner’s voice snapped me back to reality. I shoved the useless metal into my pocket, turned around, and ran back into the night. By the time I reached the ER lobby, my legs were giving out. It wasn’t physical exhaustion. It was the feeling of being hollowed out, completely scraped clean from the inside. My phone buzzed. It was my mother. “Mom, can you please Zelle me two thousand dollars? Noah is having febrile seizures. We’re in the ER and I’m short on the deposit.” A two-second pause on the line. “Where’s Carter?” “He sent three thousand. It’s not enough.” “Sarah, your husband makes a great living. He bought you that huge diamond, and you’re telling me you don’t have enough money?” “Mom, please…” “Your brother’s wife has been married for three years and hasn’t asked us for a single dime. Look at you. Calling me in the middle of the night just to beg for cash.” “Mom, Noah is convulsing! I’m not making this up!” “Every kid shakes a little when they get a fever. When you were little and got a fever, I gave you some Tylenol and chicken soup and you were fine. You mothers today are just too dramatic.” I hung up on her. The plastic chairs in the ER waiting room were mostly empty. In the corner sat a woman in her early thirties, holding a sleeping boy about four years old. She was using a wet cotton swab to moisten her son’s cracked lips. She had been watching me the entire time. I ignored her and opened my contacts. I scrolled from A to Z, making three calls. The first went straight to voicemail. The second friend said things were tight this month. The third listened to me panic, muttered that two grand wasn’t exactly pocket change, and made an excuse to hang up. “Excuse me. Are you short two thousand for the deposit?” I looked up. It was the woman from the corner. “I… I don’t even know you.” “My name is Rachel,” she said softly. “Give me your Venmo. I’ll send it right now.” “I can’t take your money.” “If you waste time being polite, your kid might not make it.” Right on cue, Noah’s tiny body seized against mine again. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, and pulled up my app. Two thousand dollars hit my account three seconds later. I rushed the billing window, slamming down my debit card to pay the exact five-thousand-dollar deposit. Three thousand from a husband I had known for years, and two thousand from a stranger I had known for ten minutes. The nurses immediately swarmed Noah, rushing him through the double doors into the pediatric intensive care unit. Before the doors swung shut, one nurse looked back at me. “A few minutes later and there would have been brain damage.” The doors locked with a heavy click. I stood at the glass window, watching them hook my baby up to a maze of tubes. The green line on the EKG monitor spiked and dipped. In my pocket, that fifty-dollar piece of fake jewelry dug into my thigh. Rachel appeared beside me quietly. She crouched down slightly to meet my eye level and handed me a bottle of cold water. “Thank you,” I whispered, my hands shaking as I took it. “I will pay you back as soon as humanly possible.” She waved off the promise, staring intently into my eyes. Then she asked a question that made my blood run cold. “Your husband… does he always give you a discount whenever he sends you money?” 2 “How could you possibly know that?” Rachel didn’t answer immediately. She stood up, brushed the dust off her jeans, and glanced through the glass at Noah. “Let them stabilize him. Keep your phone charged. If you need anything, call me.” She pressed a business card into my palm, scooped up her own sleeping child, and walked toward the exit. I looked down at the card. Rachel Dawson, Administrative Assistant at Bennett Legal Group. On the back, written in blue ink, was a single sentence: You are not alone. Before I could even process what that meant, my phone vibrated in my hand. It was the family group chat. Carter had just posted a message, accompanied by a selfie of him standing outside the hospital entrance. He had put on a grim, concerned expression. The caption read: Got the terrifying call at 1 AM. Dropped everything and rushed to the ER for my boy. A father’s heart is breaking right now. Please pray for Noah’s speedy recovery. The replies flooded in instantly, full of sympathy. His mother was first. My poor Carter. Working so hard to provide, and now you have to deal with this exhaustion. His aunt chimed in. Where is Sarah? How does a mother let a child get that sick before going to the doctor? His mother replied to the aunt. Exactly. Some people just don’t know how to be mothers. I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, my fingernails digging sharp crescents into my palms. Then, Carter’s reply popped up. Don’t blame Sarah. It’s hard for her to manage him alone. I’m already here at the hospital handling things. Don’t worry, everyone. He said he was already at the hospital. I looked up and down the desolate, echoing corridor. It was 3:30 in the morning. He was nowhere to be seen. That photo… I remembered taking that picture of him outside this very hospital last month when we brought Noah in for his vaccines. He had just slapped a dark, moody filter on it. Twenty minutes later, he finally showed up. He was wearing a rumpled t-shirt, his hair sticking up at odd angles. “How is he?” But those weren’t his first words. Instead of asking about his son, he glanced toward the ICU window, pulled out his phone, and snapped a picture through the glass. I watched him adjust the lighting, type out a caption, and post it to his Instagram story. The whole performance took less than thirty seconds. Only after sliding the phone back into his pocket did he finally look at me. “Did you figure out the money?” “I did.” “How?” “I pawned the ring.” All the color drained from his face instantly. “Where did you pawn it? Which shop?” “The gold exchange two blocks down.” “How much did they give you?” I stared dead into his eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. “Take a guess.” “Sarah, don’t play games with me. That ring… you need to go buy it back right now.” “Why?” “That is the symbol of our marriage! You just pawned it like it meant nothing? Do you have any sentimental value in your bones at all?” He completely avoided the topic of the price. He didn’t ask what they appraised it at. He went straight for the emotional guilt trip. A dry, bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. “I couldn’t pawn it.” “They wouldn’t take it?” His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Why not?” “The owner said…” I paused, ultimately deciding to swallow the truth for a moment. “He said it was too late and the appraiser wasn’t in until tomorrow.” Carter visibly deflated, his tense shoulders dropping two inches. “Okay. Good. Don’t go back tomorrow. I’ll take it to the boutique this weekend to get it professionally cleaned and polished instead.” He had never once mentioned getting it cleaned. I had worn it for three years straight without him bringing it up. Tonight, he was suddenly terrified. Because he knew an appraiser would expose him. “What did the doctor say about Noah?” he asked, changing the subject. “They need to keep him under observation for at least three days.” “Three days? How much is a day in the ICU?” “About two thousand dollars a day.” “Two grand? So three days is six thousand? Plus the deposit… that’s over ten grand!” “Carter, he almost died tonight.” “I know, but look at him, he’s sleeping peacefully now! Kids bounce back fast. There’s no reason to bleed money staying in a hospital when he can rest at home.” He let out a loud yawn, slumped onto the vinyl waiting room bench, and pulled out his phone to start scrolling. I stood by the glass door, watching Noah’s little chest rise and fall faintly. My phone lit up. It was Carter’s mother. “Sarah, Carter told me the baby was admitted?” “Yes, Maggie. He had severe febrile seizures.” “I’ve told you before, you coddle him too much. If a kid has a fever, you put them in a lukewarm bath. Why do you insist on running to the hospital and burning through Carter’s hard-earned money?” “Maggie, his temperature was a hundred and five. He was convulsing.” “Don’t exaggerate. Carter ran a fever of a hundred and four when he was a toddler. I gave him some ice water and Motrin, and he was running around the next day. Look at how much stress you’re putting on my son. Dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night when he has to work tomorrow.” Carter was sitting five feet away. He heard every single word echoing from my phone speaker. He didn’t say a syllable to defend me. “Next time the boy gets the sniffles, just watch him at home. Carter is under a lot of financial pressure. You need to be a more supportive wife.” “Okay,” I said quietly, and ended the call. When I turned around, Carter had already fallen asleep on the bench. His phone screen was still illuminated, showing a lock screen photo of him and Noah. A stack of unread notifications piled up at the bottom. I didn’t snoop. Not because I trusted him, but because I was terrified of what else I might not be able to handle tonight. But Rachel’s question kept looping in my mind like a broken record. Does your husband always give you a discount? How could she possibly know our private financial dynamic? I reached out toward his glowing phone, then pulled my hand back. On the other end of the bench, Carter shifted in his sleep and mumbled something into his jacket collar. “Seventy percent… is enough.” 3 “What did you say?” I leaned over, bringing my ear close to his face. Carter just let out a muffled groan and rolled over. His phone slid off his chest and fell into the crack between the cushions. I left it there. At 7:00 AM, the attending physician did his rounds. He told us Noah’s inflammatory markers were dangerously high and he needed a heavy course of IV antibiotics for three full days. The moment Carter heard “three days,” he started nervously rubbing his fingers together. “Doc, can’t you just write a prescription for some oral antibiotics we can take home? It’s the same stuff, right?” The doctor shot him a look of absolute disgust, ignored him entirely, and turned to me. “Mom, the child had three consecutive severe seizures last night. I highly advise we keep him monitored until his bloodwork clears. As parents, you cannot put a price tag on your child’s life.” “You’re right, doctor. We will do whatever you recommend.” As soon as the doctor walked away, Carter’s face darkened. “Three days of IV meds is going to be another four grand easily. Plus the bed fees, the nursing fees… we’re looking at fifteen thousand dollars out of pocket.” I said nothing. “Sarah, how much money do you actually have left in your checking?” “Nothing.” “What about the money from your Etsy store?” “I spent the last of it covering the rest of Noah’s preschool tuition.” He stood up and began pacing the small corridor. “Well, you need to figure something out. You’re resourceful, right? You figured out the deposit last night.” I gripped Noah’s medical chart so hard my fingernails nearly pierced the plastic cover. Carter left for work at 8:00 AM. Before he walked out, he transferred me $1,500, claiming it was for the three days of hospital food and miscellaneous expenses. I did the math in my head. Three days of three meals from the overpriced hospital cafeteria, plus Noah’s liquid diet, was at least $120 a day. That’s $360. Diapers, baby wipes, and a change of clothes from the gift shop would be another two or three hundred. The remaining thousand was a drop in the bucket against the medical bills. Even with this, he was applying his discount. At 10:00 AM, Rachel walked through the sliding doors. She was holding a basket of fresh fruit. She sat quietly next to me on the vinyl chairs, studying the EKG numbers through the glass. “Has his fever broken?” “It’s down to a hundred. A little better than last night.” “You haven’t slept a wink, have you? Your eyes are completely bloodshot.” I shook my head. I stared at the floor for a long time before finally finding the courage to speak. “Rachel… that question you asked me last night. How did you know my husband always discounts the money he gives me?” She paused, the small pairing knife halting mid-air as she peeled an apple. “Because my ex-husband did the exact same thing.” “He…?” “Everything was discounted. Rent money, grocery money, pediatrician copays. He always gave me exactly seventy percent. He forced me to figure out the remaining thirty percent on my own.” She handed me a slice of apple. “I was a stay-at-home mom with no income. Every single time a bill came, I had to swallow my pride and beg him to cover the gap. I thought he was just struggling at work. I lived like a monk for three years, feeling guilty buying myself a five-dollar coffee. Until one day…” She stopped and looked at me. “Until what?” I asked. “I was doing laundry. A receipt fell out of his jeans pocket. It was an annual subscription fee for a private online community. Two thousand, nine hundred and eighty dollars.” “He lectured me over buying a twenty-dollar bottle of face wash, but dropped three grand on an online course.” “What kind of course?” Rachel put down the knife, unlocked her phone, and scrolled through her photos. She handed it to me. It was a screenshot of a Discord community landing page. The background image was a man in a tailored suit holding a heavy bag of cash. Bold letters across the top read: The 70% Principle: Mastering Financial Dominance in Your Marriage. The subheadline beneath it made my stomach churn: Give her seventy percent. Keep your leverage. Control the household. I stared at the glowing screen for what felt like hours. “What exactly does this group teach?” “It teaches husbands how to strictly cap their household contributions at seventy percent. If preschool is $4,800, give her $3,000. If rent is $3,500, give her $2,500. No matter what the wife asks for, multiply it by 0.7. Then, feed her a generic excuse: the economy is bad, work bonuses got cut, business expenses are too high.” “The goal is to condition the wife. Make her used to scrambling to cover the difference. Make her afraid to ask for money. Make her feel ashamed for being a financial burden.” My fingertips started to go numb. “How many men are in this group?” “When my ex was in it, there were over a hundred. That was two years ago. There are probably way more now.” She swiped to the next photo, showing the community’s ‘About’ section. “Look closely at the profile picture of the founder.” The avatar was a photo taken from behind. A man in a dark blue button-down shirt, standing in front of floor-to-ceiling office windows. He had a slight slouch in his shoulders, his head tilted just a fraction to the right, his left hand shoved casually into his pocket. I knew that posture. I knew that shirt. I bought it for him. It was Carter. “This guy…” Rachel said softly, “goes by the handle Mr. Markdown. He posts a new module every week, and it’s always based on a real-life case study. How he applied the 70% rule, how his wife reacted, and how she eventually panicked and solved the deficit herself.” “He repackages your misery into a curriculum and sells it to hundreds of men. The yearly fee is $2,980. The lifetime VIP membership is $9,800.” I heard my own voice trembling. “Are you saying… I am his course material?” Rachel didn’t nod or shake her head. She just pocketed her phone, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “Sarah, I think you need to read it for yourself. See if his ‘case studies’ match your life.” 4 “Can you send me the link to that community?” She sent it immediately. Sitting in the echoing hospital corridor, I pulled out an old burner phone I kept in Noah’s diaper bag for emergencies. I created a fake email, registered a new profile, and paid the $2,980 entry fee using money Rachel advanced me. My hands shook as the loading wheel spun. The pinned post at the very top of the forum read: Mandatory Reading for New Members: The Core Philosophy of the 70% Principle. The Harder She Works, The Easier Your Life Gets. I scrolled down. The posts were arranged chronologically, dating back three years. The founder, Mr. Markdown, had a gold verified badge next to his name. His bio read: Married, father of one. The pioneer and preacher of the 70% lifestyle. I clicked on his very first post. Gentlemen, a quick tip for you today. The Engagement Ring Hack. The wife wanted a one-carat diamond. Market rate starts around ten grand. I found a wholesaler online, bought a fake moissanite stone, slapped it on a cheap gold-plated band. Total cost: under a hundred bucks. Looks identical to the naked eye. She’s been wearing it for three years, bragging to all her friends about how much I spoiled her. Boys, this is the power of information asymmetry. Below it were hundreds of replies. “Legendary.” “Bro, teach me your ways! My girl wants two carats, what do I do?” Mr. Markdown had replied: “A two-carat moissanite is literally forty dollars. Be bold, brother.” I swallowed the bile in my throat and scrolled down to the second post. Preschool Tuition Execution. Wife told me the kid’s preschool was $4,800. I transferred $3,000. My excuse: ‘The company missed its quarterly targets.’ She went silent for three minutes and didn’t push it. When I went to bed, her phone was still glowing under the covers. I peeked. She was on Etsy, looking up how to sell handmade bracelets… Gentlemen, are you taking notes? This is the essence of the 70% Principle: You give her a number that is just out of reach, and she will pave the rest of the road herself. Comments: “Brilliant! My wife started walking dogs on Rover yesterday. Made four hundred bucks this month.” Mr. Markdown replied: “A woman’s true potential is unlocked by desperation. If you provide 100%, she becomes lazy and useless.” I kept scrolling. Third post: The Rent Stress Test. Rent is $3,500. I sent $2,500. The excuse this time: ‘Client dinners ate up my budget.’ When she asked what we were going to do about the missing thousand, I didn’t answer directly. I just hit her with, ‘What do you think we should do?’ She shut down completely. The next day, she came home from the grocery store with nothing but discount ramen and wilted spinach. Boys, when your wife starts actively starving herself to save your money, the conditioning is working. My fingernails dug into the cheap plastic case of the burner phone. I scrolled to the very top of the feed. The newest post. Published twelve hours ago. It had a bright red tag that read: ULTIMATE STRESS TEST. Gentlemen, we hit a milestone tonight. At 1 AM, my son spiked a massive fever and had severe convulsions. Wife was in the ER panicking, needed a $5,000 deposit. As always, I stayed disciplined to the 70% rule. I transferred $3,000. First came the begging. Then the crying. Then the accusations. Finally, the submission. The whole cycle took about forty minutes. After I hung up on her, she didn’t call back. When I casually rolled into the hospital this morning, the deposit was miraculously paid. What does this prove, brothers? It proves the 70% Principle holds up even in life-or-death scenarios. A woman’s breaking point is always much lower than you think. You assume she’ll shatter, but she won’t. She will find a way. Because you’ve trained her to believe she has no other choice. The comment section was exploding. “All hail the master!” “Dude, you held the line while your kid was in the ER? That’s ice cold. I don’t think I have it in me.” Mr. Markdown’s response was pinned right beneath that comment. If you can’t do it, it’s because you’re weak. Remember this: Empathy is the enemy of financial dominance. If you show weakness and pay the difference today, tomorrow she’ll ask for more. You have to be ruthless. Was I worried about my kid seizing in the ER? Of course I was. But you never break the rules of the system. I slowly lowered the phone to my lap. People were talking in the hallway. Doctors were walking by. The machines in the ICU were beeping rhythmically. But I couldn’t hear any of it. Everything had gone completely, utterly silent.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “459937”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Before the summer break, I decided to surprise Neil at his university. Instead, I walked in to find his undergrad lab assistant pestering him, demanding to know who was prettier between her and me. Neil let out a careless, lazy laugh. “Olivia, obviously. She’s way prettier than you.” The freshman girl instantly pouted, her lower lip trembling. I pushed the door open, only to see Neil resting his hand gently on the top of her head. “Are you going to cry over that? Olivia isn’t just pretty, she’s fiercely independent.” He chuckled. “Unlike you. Without me, you’re just a helpless little disaster.” 1 The girl’s whiny, flirtatious voice echoed through the empty lab. “You only ever bully me! I am not a disaster!” Neil laughed softly. But as he lifted his head, he caught sight of me standing frozen in the back doorway. “Liv?” When he said my name, his hand was still resting in her hair. He quickly closed the distance between us. “What are you doing here? Are your finals already over?” “I guess I shouldn’t have come,” I said flatly. He smiled, completely missing the ice in my tone. “What are you talking about?” He turned back and waved at the girl in the room. “I’m heading out. You handle the rest of the data. My girl is here.” The room was silent. Neil wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me into the hallway. “Who was that?” I asked. “Oh, that’s Lily. Just a freshman in our program.” My footsteps hitched. I knew that name. For the past year, that name had been slipping into our conversations with alarming frequency. Even though I had never met her, she was always there as a shadow in my relationship. “Do you like her?” He looked at me like I had grown a second head and let out a laugh. “What? How is that even possible? She’s literally a kid.” He stared at me, highly amused. “Are you actually jealous? God, Liv, you’re always overthinking things.” “Neil…” “Let me text the guys. We’re taking you out to dinner tonight to celebrate you being here,” he interrupted, staring down at his phone. He typed furiously, then looked back up at me. “Let me look at you. Did you lose weight again? Have you been secretly dieting? I told you your weight was perfect. Are you trying to turn into a stick figure so I can use you as a cane?” I took a deep, shaky breath. “Right now, I’d really love to take a cane and beat you half to death with it.” He burst out laughing and pulled me in, leaning down for a kiss. Right at that moment, a sickeningly sweet voice echoed from behind us. “Senior.” 2 Neil and I turned our heads simultaneously. Lily was standing there, holding a lightweight jacket in her hands. “You left your windbreaker at my workstation again,” she pouted, her eyes wide and innocent. “You’re always forgetting your stuff.” “Oh. Thanks,” Neil said, taking the jacket. “And who is this?” She turned her gaze to me, blinking dramatically as her eyes raked up and down my outfit. “You don’t know how to greet my girlfriend?” Neil teased, lightly tapping her on the head with the rolled-up notebook in his hand. “Ouch! Why are you always hitting me?! You’re so violent!” she whined, rubbing her head playfully. “I honestly thought she was an upperclassman from our campus. The science building doesn’t allow students from other universities inside. Did you secretly make her a spare key, Senior? I’m totally telling the professor on you!” Neil seemed to finally realize the logistics. He looked at me, confused. “Wait, how did you actually get into the building?” “I tailgated a guy through the side door,” I replied evenly. I locked eyes with him. “I texted you half an hour ago asking where you were. You didn’t reply. You didn’t answer my calls either.” “Huh?” Neil looked genuinely baffled. “I am so sorry!” Lily chimed in, flashing an apologetic, guilt-ridden smile. “Senior and I were at a super critical point in our data calculation, so he probably just missed it. Please don’t be mad at him over this. The professor has been putting so much pressure on us lately…” “That’s weird.” Neil pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping the screen. “Wait. Why is my phone on Do Not Disturb?” He muttered to himself as he changed the settings. “Must have hit it by accident in my pocket.” “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go.” I turned around. But the moment I turned my back, I heard Lily’s hushed, murmuring voice behind me. “She’s honestly so average. It’s literally all just makeup…” 3 My boots planted firmly on the tile. I stopped and turned back around. Neil looked confused. “What’s wrong?” I stared directly into Lily’s eyes. “I am not deaf. First of all, whether I look good or not, you don’t have the right or the pedigree to talk trash behind my back. Second, any girl with an ounce of self-respect knows better than to compare her looks to another guy’s girlfriend right to her face.” Lily froze. Instantly, her eyes welled up with tears, and she looked at Neil with absolute, trembling devastation. Neil let out a heavy sigh. “Liv, what is this about? I didn’t see your messages. If you want to pick a fight with me, then fight with me. Don’t bully the poor girl.” I slowly turned to look at him. “Oh. Look how fast you jump to her defense. It really makes me look like the unreasonable villain here, doesn’t it? I’m not a saint, Neil. I don’t have the bandwidth to smile and nod while my boyfriend ignores his phone to entertain another girl, leaving me standing outside in a hundred-degree heatwave for half an hour. I don’t care about the precious security of your lab, and I won’t ever step foot in here again. And we both know Do Not Disturb doesn’t just turn on by ‘accident’.” Neil’s face stiffened. “What is that supposed to mean? I have no idea how the setting got flipped. Do you actually think I muted you on purpose?” “Are you misunderstanding something?” Lily cried softly, looking the picture of pathetic innocence. “Drop the act,” I told her, my voice eerily calm. “Whether I’m misunderstanding or not, you know exactly what you did.” The hallway fell dead silent. “Seriously, why are you escalating this?” Neil reached out, grabbing my waist to pull me against him, playing the weary peacemaker. “Lily couldn’t figure out the equation earlier, so she borrowed my phone to listen to some music while she worked. But there’s no way she put you on Do Not Disturb. You can’t just be paranoid and blame her for everything. It was probably just a glitch…” “Neil, let’s break up.” I heard my own voice say the words. It sounded incredibly steady. Neil froze. His arm went slack around my waist. “Are you kidding me? You flew all the way across the country to see me, and just because I missed a text message, you’re dumping me?” He let out a scoff of absolute disbelief, like he was dealing with a toddler. “You touched her hair.” “That’s it?” His eyes went wide. “Yes.” I looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing. “It makes me feel dirty. Is that not enough?” 4 I didn’t go to the welcome dinner that night. After I told Neil we were done, I turned on my heel and walked away. He didn’t chase after me. Because Lily had started sobbing, her shoulders shaking in that fragile, pitiful way that demanded immediate rescue. Neil was actually incredibly good at coaxing people. He knew exactly how to make someone feel safe. When he wanted to. My high school best friend, Harper, attended the same university as Neil. I dropped my luggage off at her dorm. When she heard I hadn’t eaten a thing all day, she dragged me out to a trendy new restaurant near campus. Harper went to the restroom while I sat on the bench by the entrance, staring blankly at the menu. Of course, the universe had a sick sense of humor. Neil had booked a table at the exact same place. A group of guys from his program came strolling past me. “Hey man, I thought your girl was flying in? Where is she?” “She’s throwing a tantrum. She’s not coming,” Neil’s voice drifted over, laced with exhaustion. “Damn, what happened?” “She’s pissed because I didn’t reply to a text fast enough.” “Just over that?” The guy laughed loudly. “Women are exhausting, bro. Good thing you’re long-distance. If you had to deal with that every single day, you’d lose your mind.” “They’re all like that. They just want you to grovel,” another guy chimed in. “Just get on your knees and coax her a bit, she’ll fold.” “Coax her? Why don’t you go coax her?” Neil smacked the guy playfully with a closed umbrella he was holding. “Let her cool off on her own. Over the last three years, her temper has gotten way out of hand.” I looked up. The umbrella in his hand was small, pink, and adorned with little cartoon strawberries. It was absolutely not something Neil would ever buy for himself. Trailing right behind him, her hands completely empty, was Lily. She was skipping lightly. “Honestly, I don’t think you did anything wrong. If you’re not wrong, why should you apologize first? It’s not like the person who gets angry automatically wins the argument.” I stood up. Harper had just walked back over. “Is our table ready?” I shook my head. “Almost. But Neil is inside.” “Oh.” Harper hesitated. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” “No need.” The restaurant was open to the public. There was no universe where his presence meant I had to run away and hide. Five minutes later, the hostess called our names. Harper and I were walking down the main aisle of the restaurant. Just as we passed the self-serve draft beer station, a frantic voice screeched through the noise. “Oh my god, I can’t hold them! Move out of the way!” Before my brain could even process the words, Lily, carrying two massive glasses of draft beer, charged straight into me. The heavy mugs collided with my chest. Golden beer and foam cascaded down my neck, soaking my dress entirely. 5 The commotion was loud enough to pull the guys out of their private dining booth. By the time Neil stepped out, Lily’s tears were already falling in perfect, fat drops. “I swear I didn’t do it on purpose! The floor by the kegs was so slippery, I couldn’t stop myself! I already said I was sorry!” “You didn’t do it on purpose?” Harper exploded, her face red with fury. “There is ten feet of open space in this aisle! You carried those heavy glasses and made a beeline straight for Olivia! She couldn’t have dodged you if she tried! Do you think we’re blind?!” “What’s going on?” Neil pushed through the crowd. He saw me, dripping wet, and froze. “What are you doing here?” My clothes were sticking to my skin. The smell of cheap yeast was overwhelming, and I was entirely out of patience. “Why? Did you buy out the restaurant, Mr. VIP? Am I banned from eating in the same zip code as you?” His brow furrowed. “Why are you firing off like a machine gun? I never said you couldn’t be here.” He stepped closer. “Why are you completely soaked?” Harper let out a venomous laugh. “Why don’t you ask your precious little lab assistant?” “Senior, I swear it was an accident! My foot slipped!” Lily cried, burying her face in her hands. “I had no idea she was even walking down this aisle. She just appeared out of nowhere…” Neil exhaled a long, suffering sigh. “I told you that you couldn’t carry both glasses. Why do you always try to prove how strong you are? You should have just let me carry the drinks.” “Are you actually shameless?” Harper screamed at Lily. “Appeared out of nowhere? We were walking in a straight line! You deliberately rammed into her!” “Harper, watch your mouth,” Neil snapped, his voice dropping into a cold warning. “What the hell does that mean?” My own temper finally snapped. “Harper is defending me. Lily knows exactly whether she did it on purpose or not. You didn’t even ask what happened, and you immediately take her side? Have you completely lost your grip on reality?” “How am I taking her side? I’m trying to be reasonable!” he pleaded, throwing his hands up. “Liv, if you want to take your anger out on me, fine. But she didn’t mean it. Could you please just stop finding every little excuse to make her life miserable?” I stared quietly at the man standing in front of me. We had met in high school. We had known each other for six years. We had survived three years of grueling long-distance in college. In just one more year, I was supposed to get an early admission fellowship to his university for grad school. We had talked about marriage. We had mapped out our future. We had even joked about what our kids would look like. And now, he was standing in a crowded restaurant, looking at me—his girlfriend, dripping wet with beer, humiliated in public—and begging me to stop making things difficult for another girl. “I’m not making her life miserable,” I said, my voice dead and hollow. “This dress is ruined. It wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t designer either. It was four hundred dollars. Compensate me for the dress, and we’re done here.” Lily gasped, her eyes going wide with manufactured terror. “Four hundred dollars? That’s… that’s two months of my grocery money.” Her eyes instantly darted to Neil, rimmed with red. “Senior, my dad is going to kill me…” “Hey, it’s fine, it’s fine,” one of Neil’s friends jumped in, puffing out his chest. “Don’t panic. We can pool some cash together to cover it. It’s just four hundred bucks.” “Yeah, if we all pitch in forty bucks, it’s covered. Don’t cry, okay?” Neil’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Liv, Lily’s family isn’t exactly wealthy. Four hundred dollars is a massive amount of money to her. It’s just a dress. Let it go. I’ll buy you a new one later, okay?” I let out a cold, bitter laugh. “If she knows four hundred dollars is a lot of money, she should have watched where she was going. It’s my property. I have every legal and moral right to ask for compensation.” “It’s not even your dress,” Neil said suddenly. I froze. “Liv, if I remember correctly, I bought that dress for you.” His voice was quiet, but every single syllable felt like a serrated knife dragging across my chest. “Gifts exchanged during a relationship can be legally and morally revoked.” He paused, staring down at me, as if offering me one final chance to repent for my sins. “If you really want to be ruthless about this… take the dress off and give it back to me.” 6 I stared at him in absolute silence. A second later, I turned around, grabbed Harper’s wrist before she could physically attack him, and walked out the door. “Liv, how could you just walk away!” Harper was hyperventilating with rage the entire walk back to her dorm. “Did a horse kick him in the head?! Forget the fact that he didn’t care you were drenched, how could he say something that disgusting to you?!” My footsteps suddenly stopped. “Liv?” Harper looked at me, her anger melting into panic. “If you need to cry, just cry…” I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I went to her dorm, took a blistering hot shower, and changed into spare clothes. I took the beer-soaked dress, stuffed it into a plastic bag, and dropped it off at the front desk of Neil’s dorm building. Then, I went straight to the bus station. Flights were too expensive last minute, and the express trains were sold out. I bought a cheap ticket for an overnight Greyhound bus back to my city. The bus was chaotic and loud. A baby screamed two rows up, someone was arguing on their phone, and the whole cabin smelled faintly of stale coffee and cheap fast food. Neil’s texts started rolling in right around midnight. What kind of tantrum is this? Did you really think I wanted the dress back? I just felt like you were being way too aggressive. There were so many guys from my program there. I can’t just blindly side with my girlfriend when she’s being unreasonable. It makes me look bad. I bought the exact same dress online. It’s being delivered to Harper’s dorm tomorrow. Just go down and get it. He sent a few more texts, but the screen was starting to blur. Water droplets were hitting the glass of my phone. My eyes were swimming in tears. I couldn’t read them. I didn’t want to read them. I tapped his contact name, hit settings, and dragged him to the blocked list. When I woke up, it was 2:00 AM. My eyes burned, and my head was pounding. The streetlights flashed through the dirty bus window, casting rhythmic shadows across the quiet cabin. Looking at the empty seat next to me, I suddenly remembered the last time I took a cheap overnight trip like this. I was with Neil. It was sophomore year of high school. We had traveled out of state for an academic decathlon. Getting return tickets was a nightmare. The chaperone teacher managed to get two early tickets and told Neil and me to head back first. I had drifted off to sleep that night on the bus. When I woke up, I realized my head had been resting squarely on his shoulder for hours. I was mortified. I scrambled back and stammered out an apology. He just looked at me, a soft, teasing smile on his lips. “Having good dreams?” I shook my head furiously. “Well, I was,” he laughed quietly. “It was a really good dream. If you keep leaning on me, I might be able to finish it.” After that trip, we grew incredibly close. He was handsome, outgoing, and the star of the basketball team. Every time he played, a crowd of girls would rush the court to hand him Gatorade. I would go watch him sometimes, but I always stood in the back row, hidden in the bleachers. Until one day, as I was turning to leave, I heard a voice boom across the gym. “Olivia!” I froze and looked back. Neil was jumping up above the crowd of cheerleaders, waving his arms with a massive grin. “Look at me!” He caught the inbound pass, drove the lane, and sank a flawless three-pointer. The crowd erupted. After the game, he asked me why I never stayed until the end. “There are too many people. I can never see over the crowd.” “That’s an easy fix,” he said. “I’ll have the guys reserve a front-row seat for you.” The next game, I was escorted to the very first row by one of his teammates. “Neil specifically saved this for you,” the guy winked. At halftime, a swarm of girls rushed the bench with sports drinks. Neil waved them all off, grabbed a towel, and walked straight toward me. “Where’s my water?” “Huh?” I blinked. He sighed dramatically, resting his large, sweaty hand on top of my head. “Miss Olivia, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. You’ve been admiring my athletic prowess for an hour and you didn’t even buy me a water? I am heartbroken.” Before long, handing him water turned into us studying together. On the day we submitted our college applications, he cornered me by the back door of the classroom. “What are you thinking?” he asked. “About what?” He let out a frustrated laugh. “Do you think I have a neck problem from always turning around to look at you? Olivia, even the ants on the sidewalk know how I feel about you.” My face burned hot. “But we’re going to colleges in different cities…” “Wow. Are you really going to hit me with that heartless rejection?” He pulled me into a sudden, tight hug, burying his face in my hair. “Distance is just geography. I only need you to answer one question. Do you like me or not?” The setting sun poured through the classroom windows, casting a golden glow over our faces. I nodded, my cheeks flushed. When his lips pressed gently against mine that afternoon, I genuinely believed I was the luckiest girl in the world. 7 I arrived home at 6:00 AM. My parents picked me up from the bus terminal, wincing at my appearance. “Those overnight buses are pure torture. Look how red your eyes are,” my dad sighed. I forced a smile. “I just need to catch up on some sleep.” “Why didn’t Neil come back with you this time?” my mom asked. “His finals aren’t over yet.” “You two work so hard,” she said affectionately. “Just hold out until next year. Once you get your grad school fellowship to his university, it’ll all be fine. He’s guaranteed a spot in their master’s program, right?” I stayed silent for a long moment. “Mom, I think I’m going to apply for the fellowship at my current university.” My mom looked surprised. “Really? But Neil’s university has a better overall ranking.” “Mine is top three in the country for my specific major. The faculty is incredible, and the job placement rate is higher.” “Oh? Is he going to transfer to your city then? Otherwise, won’t you guys still be long-distance?” I stared out the car window, unsure if I was ready to say the words ‘we broke up’ out loud. I spent the next week resting at home. Neil remained firmly on my blocked list. He didn’t find another way to reach out, and I didn’t reach out to him. My mom grew increasingly worried. “Why are your eyes swollen every single morning? Do you have an infection?” I shook my head. “I’m fine. Just a little stressed. It’ll pass.” That weekend, my high school class organized a reunion. Harper called me. “The class president said Neil couldn’t make it,” she reported. Then she sent me a screenshot of Lily’s Instagram story. “Are you guys officially done? My roommate sent me this and asked if the golden boy had a new girlfriend.” The picture showed Neil and Lily throwing peace signs in the campus laboratory. The caption read: Who else is stuck doing lab work as a freshman?! T_T Science is torture! So grateful to my knight in shining armor, Neil, for helping me finish my summer project early. As a good lab assistant, I bought my senior his train ticket home! Hehe. I texted Harper back: It’s good he’s not coming. I really wanted to go see our old teachers without the drama. The reunion was held at a nice banquet hall near our old high school. All the teachers knew Neil and I were high school sweethearts. Every time I ran into one, they naturally asked about our future plans. The words “we broke up” were right on the tip of my tongue, when a painfully familiar voice drifted over my shoulder. “She’s prepping for the grad school entrance interviews next semester. She’s coming to my university.” I turned around. Neil, who supposedly wasn’t coming, was standing right there.

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1 After I was framed and thrown into prison, Keean came to see me every single day. He would hold my hand through the glass, whispering promises that he believed in my innocence. But five years later, on the day of my release, he looked me in the eye and confessed the truth. “Actually, I was the lawyer who built the case against you.” “I was the one who framed your brother for harassing Johanna, ruining his reputation until he jumped from that rooftop.” “And I was the lead surgeon who took your mother’s kidney to give to Johanna.” He stared at the thick, jagged scars crisscrossing my wrists, his voice entirely devoid of remorse. “Johanna accidentally killed someone in a hit-and-run. She is too fragile to survive prison. I am her only brother, her protector, so I needed you to take the fall.” “As for your brother, he brought it on himself. He dared to try and take Johanna away from me.” “Your mother’s surgery? Johanna complained of back pain around that time and didn’t want to wait on the transplant list.” I stood frozen, the blood in my veins turning to ice. “Why?” Keean spared me a cold, indifferent glance. “You always targeted Johanna. I only wanted to teach you a lesson, to make you grow up. If you can’t accept it, we can get a divorce.” The metallic taste of blood welled up in my throat, and in my mind, a long-silent, robotic voice chimed. Host, do you wish to abandon the mission and withdraw from this world? The sudden reappearance of the system, dormant for so many years, left me dazed. I looked at Keean’s calm, handsome face, and a sharp, blinding pain pierced my chest. Five years ago, he called me, claiming he had been in a horrific car accident on his way to celebrate my birthday. Terrified out of my mind, I sped through a shortcut to find him. The moment I stepped out of my car, police surrounded me. They claimed I had run someone over and killed them. I was sentenced to five years. During those five years, I was locked in solitary confinement every single night and beaten. My body was covered in bruises that never had a chance to heal. Yet, every time the pain became unbearable, the thought of Keean kept me going. And now? The mastermind who destroyed my life, drove my brother to suicide, and left my mother hospitalized was Keean, all to shield Johanna. Tears spilled over as a violent, trembling hatred consumed me. “I want to leave.” Request received. The departure countdown is now seventy-two hours. Seeing the tears on my face, Keean instinctively reached out to wipe them away, his voice suddenly softening to that familiar, gentle tone. “You don’t have to divorce me if you don’t want to. But Johanna has suffered enough. You are not allowed to lay a finger on her again. She still has nightmares about the slap you gave her.” I once carried Keean’s child. Four months into the pregnancy, I drank a bowl of porridge Johanna brought me and suffered a miscarriage. In a fit of grief and rage, I slapped her. At the time, Keean held me tight, whispering soothing words of comfort. But the very next day, reporters smeared my brother’s name with false accusations of sexually harassing Johanna, driving him to leap to his death. Grief-stricken by the loss of both my child and my brother, I had been too broken to see the truth. I never suspected that Keean had engineered all of it just to avenge Johanna. My chest felt like it was being ripped open, every breath a stab of agony. “If you were going to lie to me, why didn’t you just keep lying for the rest of my life?” He stared at me for a long time, letting out a soft sigh. “You are my wife, Cassie. I only wanted you to learn your lesson so we could protect her together. Besides, Johanna’s other kidney is failing now. She needs another transplant. If you agree to save her, I will let the past go and make it up to you.” A profound, freezing numbness washed over me. Unable to contain myself, I swung my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Never!” “You destroyed my brother, threw me into a living hell, and left my mother rotting in a hospital bed! How dare you ask for my kidney?” His head turned from the blow. Seeing the raw hatred burning in my eyes, his expression darkened instantly. “Cassie! I thought five years in prison would teach you some humility. It seems you haven’t changed at all! Men, take her to the hospital for a match test!” His bodyguards swarmed me, trying to drag me into the car. I fought with everything I had, breaking free and running blindly toward the street. A heavy truck roared around the corner. Tires screeched violently, and the next instant, I was thrown through the air, crashing hard onto the asphalt. Blood pooled around me, blurring my vision. Through the haze, I heard Keean’s terrified, desperate scream. “Cassie!” When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed. Every bone in my body ached, and even breathing felt like swallowing glass. A nurse stepped forward to examine my injuries, but Keean cut her off, his voice tight with anxious urgency. “Do the kidney match test first! Johanna is waiting!” Despite knowing his cruelty, a wave of absolute despair washed over me. The old Keean would never have treated me this way. Years ago, when he was a homeless teenager begging on the streets, I had defied my parents and brother to bring him into our home. I gave him the warmth and care he had never known. Before my father passed away, Keean had knelt by his bed and sworn an oath: “I will protect Cassie for the rest of my life. I will never let her suffer.” After we married, he worked himself to the bone to prove he was worthy of me, eventually becoming a titan of the business world. Everyone in Emerald Bay knew he treasured me above all else. I thought I would be happy forever. That was why I chose to stay in this world. Until he brought Johanna home. He had held me and pleaded, “Cassie, Johanna is the daughter of my father’s late comrade. I can’t leave her on the streets. I promise she’ll just have a roof over her head. She will never take your place.” Looking at the frail, pitiful girl, my heart softened. But she became my living nightmare. She would spill hot soup on herself whenever Keean walked down the stairs, kneeling before me in tears: “I’m sorry, Cassie. It was an accident.” She would push me aside after I had stayed up all night nursing a feverish Keean, wrapping her arms around him the moment he opened his eyes, sobbing, “Keean, you’re finally awake! I didn’t sleep a wink watching over you!” She would steal the business proposals I spent all night drafting and present them to Keean as her own: “I stayed up three nights straight to write this for you, Keean.” Despite her constant framing, Keean never blamed me. He would always hold my hand and whisper, “I believe you, Cassie.” Back then, I was so blinded by his sweet words that I failed to notice the growing coldness in his eyes when he looked at me, or the deepening tenderness when he looked at Johanna. Until the day I lost my baby, slapped Johanna, and triggered five years of pure torment in prison, my brother’s wrongful death, and my mother’s illness. My vision blurred again, and I drifted back into darkness. When I woke up next, the countdown had reached forty-eight hours. Keean was sitting by my bedside, looking like he hadn’t slept all night. Seeing my eyes open, a flash of relief crossed his face, quickly replaced by his usual cold indifference. “You’re awake,” he said, tossing a medical consent form onto my lap. “The match is a success. Your kidney is a perfect fit for Johanna, just like your mother’s was. Sign this, save Johanna, and I will pretend none of this ever happened. I’ll get the best doctors for your mother’s recovery, and we can go back to how we were.” I shook with rage, finding his words utterly laughable. I grabbed the consent form and tore it into shreds. “You destroyed my entire family. How do you have the audacity to ask for my kidney? There is no future for us, Keean. I want a divorce.” The sharp crash of breaking glass shattered the silence. Johanna stood at the door, her eyes red, a spilled bowl of chicken soup puddling at her feet. “I heard about your accident, Cassie. I spent hours making this soup for you,” she sobbed, rushing forward to grab my arm. “I don’t want your kidney anymore. It’s all my fault. I’ll leave. Please, don’t fight with Keean because of me.” Her voice was sweet and pleading, but her eyes gleamed with malice. As her hand gripped my injured arm, her sharp nails dug viciously into my raw wounds. White-hot pain flared through my body. Instinctively, I shoved her away. “Ah!” she shrieked, tumbling backward onto the broken glass. Keean’s breath hitched. In an instant, he swept her into his arms. Seeing the blood on her palms, his face contorted with fury. A harsh, stinging slap delivered with brutal force caught me across the face. My cheek went numb, and the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. “You knew how weak Johanna is, yet you still pushed her!” Keean snarled. “You’re even more vicious than you were five years ago! You want a divorce? Fine. But first, you will apologize to Johanna, and you will give her your kidney!” The wounds on my arm throbbed. I glared at Keean, pointing a trembling finger at the security camera in the corner. “She pinched my wounds first! If you don’t believe me, check the cameras!” Keean froze, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes. But before he could speak, Johanna gasped and went limp in his arms. “Johanna!” Turning pale with panic, Keean didn’t spare me another look. He scooped her up and rushed out to find a doctor. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. Dragging my battered body out of bed, I tried to leave the hospital, only to be cornered by Johanna in the stairwell. The frail, fainting act was gone. She sneered at me, her face twisted in mockery. “All these years as a task-host and you still failed. What a useless waste. You should just give up.” I froze, staring at her in sheer shock. “You… you’re a host too?” She laughed, her voice dripping with disdain. “I’m nothing like you. You spent years failing to secure him, while it only took me five years to take everything. If you know what’s good for you, step down. I am the one Keean loves. I will be the only Mrs. Lockwood.” “Oh, by the way, your brother didn’t commit suicide. I pushed him.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. She smiled, a wicked, sadistic curve of her lips. “I lured him to the rooftop, promising I would help clear his name. The idiot actually believed me. I can still see the look of absolute shock on his face as he went over the edge.” My hand flew across her face, my entire body shaking with violent rage. She held her bruised cheek, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure venom. “Johanna…” Keean’s voice echoed from down the hallway. Johanna flashed me a terrifying, twisted grin. “Actually, I don’t even have kidney disease. Your mother’s kidney? I had it carved up and fed to the dogs. Now tell me, who do you think Keean will believe? You, or me?” Before I could react, she grabbed my hands, forced them against her shoulders, and threw herself backward down the stairs. By the time Keean reached the stairwell, Johanna was sprawled in a pool of blood at the bottom, looking up at me with tearful, fluttering eyes. “Keean… please don’t hate Cassie. She didn’t mean to push me…” My face went white. I shook my head frantically. “No, I didn’t do it…” Before I could finish, a furious Keean charged up and kicked me squarely in the chest, sending me tumbling down the stairs. A sickening crack echoed as my leg snapped. I screamed in agony, but Keean didn’t even look at me. He scooped Johanna up and ran, throwing a final, freezing threat over his shoulder. “If anything happens to Johanna, I will make you pay with your life!” I lay in the stairwell, drowning in agony, until a passing nurse finally found me. But before they could wheel me into the operating room, Keean’s bodyguards intercepted the gurney and pushed me straight into Johanna’s room. Keean stood over me, his eyes burning with absolute disgust. “Johanna is suffering from acute renal failure because of your push. Are you satisfied now? You caused this, and you will give her your kidney to pay for it!” I stared at him, my eyes bloodshot. “Never!” His face remained entirely cold, treating me like a mortal enemy. “You can refuse. But don’t forget, your mother is still in my hands.” A bodyguard held up a tablet. On the screen, my mother lay helpless in a hospital bed, her oxygen mask ripped away. Her face was blue as she thrashed in agonizing suffocation. My sanity shattered in an instant. I screamed, completely broken. “No! Stop! I’ll do it! I’ll give her the kidney! Just put the oxygen back on her, please!” Keean threw a consent form onto my chest. “Sign it. The moment the surgery is finished is the moment she gets her oxygen back.” With my mother’s painful gasps echoing from the tablet, my hand shook violently as I signed my name. As the anesthetic took hold, I drifted into darkness, consumed by absolute despair. When I woke up, a fresh, raw scar throbbed violently on my abdomen. Ignoring the excruciating pain, I dragged myself out of bed to find my mother. In the hallway, I saw two nurses wheeling a gurney covered in a white sheet. “That poor old lady. Someone pulled her oxygen plug. By the time anyone noticed, she was already gone.” A pale arm slipped out from beneath the sheet, wearing a bright green jade bracelet. The very bracelet I had bought my mother for her birthday five years ago. My blood froze. I stumbled forward, screaming. “Mom! Mom!” Before I could reach her, Keean blocked my path, shielding Johanna behind him. “Johanna just got out of surgery. Stop making a scene. Go back to your room, or I’ll have your mother suffer more.” Tears poured down my face as I thrashed wildly. “Let go of me! That’s my mother! She’s dead! She’s dead!” Keean grabbed my wrists, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean she’s dead? What nonsense are you talking about?” Suddenly, a middle-aged man charged into the hallway, wielding a long kitchen knife. “You bitch! You killed my son! I’m going to make you pay!” Keean’s pupils dilated. Instinctively, he stepped back, pulling Johanna behind him, shielding her completely. Leaving me entirely exposed. A cold blade plunged deep into my chest. White-hot pain flared, and I collapsed into a pool of my own blood. Keean turned, his face suddenly twisting in sheer horror. “Cassie!” Watching my mother’s gurney disappear down the hall, I slowly closed my eyes. “Dad, Mom, Gavin… I’m coming to join you.” Mission failed. Initiating world departure…

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The client dinner cost eight hundred dollars, but the company only approved a two-hundred-dollar reimbursement. “What about the other six hundred?” I asked. Brenda from accounting tossed my expense report back across her desk like a piece of garbage. She did not even bother to look up from her phone. “What do you mean? You cover it yourself.” My brain buzzed as if a live wire had snapped inside my skull. I stood frozen on the cheap carpet. “This was a mandatory business dinner. Why on earth am I paying for it out of my own pocket?” Brenda shot me a dirty look, clearly annoyed that I was interrupting her scrolling. “You went over the budget limit. That’s why.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, forcing myself to swallow the anger rising in my throat. 1 “The company allowance is fifty bucks a head. You spent eight hundred dollars on four people?” Brenda rolled her eyes. “I’m already doing you a massive favor by not reporting you to management for a penalty.” “If word gets out that you’re dropping this kind of cash, all our other clients are going to expect the same treatment. Do you have any idea what kind of headache you’re causing the company?” Fifty bucks a head? We were trying to close a deal in downtown Manhattan. You could barely get a decent appetizer and a cocktail for fifty bucks, let alone host a corporate dinner. I could feel the blood pounding behind my eyes, but I kept my voice steady. “Brenda, this was for Ryder Corp. I spent six grueling months just getting Apex Marketing a foot in the door with them. We were at the finish line. After last night’s dinner, they practically shook on giving us the contract.” “We can’t trip at the finish line over a single dinner bill, right?” Brenda clicked her tongue, thoroughly out of patience. “Connecting with clients and closing contracts is your job. My job is enforcing corporate policy. Apex does not allow employees to use company time to fund their luxury dining habits. Save the sob story, I am not buying it.” With that, she picked up her phone and went right back to watching TikTok videos. I stood there in front of her desk like a statue for a long time. The rage burning in my chest had absolutely nowhere to go. “Why are you still standing there? Your long face is ruining my mood,” Brenda snapped, waving a manicured hand toward the door. “If you have time to stand around slacking off, go back to your desk and do actual work.” She was kicking me out. I didn’t explode. Instead, I turned on my heel and marched straight up to the boss’s office. I had been with Apex for three years, right from its messy startup phase to its current stability. Rick and I had history. We had fought in the trenches together. I knocked and walked into his office. Just last night, when I texted him the good news about the dinner, he had spammed me with thumbs-up emojis. Audrey, you are the absolute backbone of this company! Once the ink is dry on this deal, I’m getting you that promotion! But now, sitting behind his mahogany desk with his legs crossed, he listened to my reimbursement issue and put on a painfully exaggerated face of sympathy. “Audrey, listen. You really can’t blame accounting for this. Policies are policies. Even as the owner, I have to play by the rules, right? Otherwise, how can I keep the team in line?” “You’re putting me in a really tough spot here…” I blinked, totally blindsided. I never expected him to throw me to the wolves like this. Overnight, he had completely changed his tune. “Rick, you literally texted me yesterday to spare no expense to land Ryder Corp. The text messages are right here.” I pulled out my phone, loaded the chat, and held it out across his desk. His eyebrows pulled together in a tight frown. He waved my phone away. “Spare no expense means within the limits of our defined costs. Fifty dollars a head is the cost. You clearly went rogue.” “Besides, once we secure this million-dollar contract, your end-of-year bonus is going to be massive. Why are you nickel and diming me over six hundred bucks? Can’t you just view it as a contribution to the company?” His voice was terrifyingly casual. The words slipped into my ears like ice-cold needles, making my chest tighten. Contribution? I worked unpaid overtime, pulled back-to-back all-nighters, and smiled until my cheeks ached just to bring in new leads. Was that not enough of a contribution? The executives at Ryder Corp were sleazy, middle-aged creeps who couldn’t keep their eyes off women in their twenties. For six months, I had been on constant high alert, expertly dodging their wandering hands without offending them, forcing myself to smile through the disgust just to land this deal. And it still wasn’t enough? A layer of frost settled over my heart, but I was still naive enough to try explaining, hoping he would see my side. “Rick, my take-home pay is barely four grand a month. Six hundred dollars is a huge chunk of my rent money. And rent is due next week.” 2 Rick’s tone suddenly shifted. “Audrey, you’ve been with us since day one, right? Three years now?” I nodded, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. I thought he was finally remembering our shared history. “I’ll authorize a special exception for you this time…” I had spent half the morning fighting over this reimbursement and I was mentally exhausted. Before he even finished his sentence, I let out a massive breath of relief and thanked him profusely. “Thank you, Rick. Really, thank you.” I felt the weight lift off my chest, but when I looked up, his face was colder than before. “Who said I was authorizing it? I said, if I authorize a special exception for you this time, what happens next time? If everyone starts running to my office begging for special treatment, how am I supposed to run a business?” My breath caught in my throat. The oxygen in the room suddenly felt incredibly thin. “But if I don’t get this money back, I won’t be able to buy groceries next month…” My throat tightened. The realization that I was actually about to lose six hundred dollars of my own hard-earned cash made the corners of my eyes sting with frustrated tears. Rick tapped his pen aggressively against his desk, clearly losing his patience. “That sounds like a personal problem.” He stared at me, his eyes dark and hostile. The fire in my chest surged straight to my throat. I couldn’t control my emotions anymore. My hands started to shake. “Rick, are you seriously going to screw me over for six hundred dollars? This deal brings in over a million dollars in profit for the agency, and you want me to pay out of pocket to work here? Do you think that is remotely fair?” Rick slammed his hand flat onto the desk. The polite facade completely vanished. “Excuse me? You’re the one who broke protocol. You don’t know how to control a budget, and now you have the nerve to blame your boss?” I was the one getting robbed, but he was breathing heavily, acting like the victim. “How was I supposed to control the budget? The Ryder director ordered a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine the second he sat down! By your logic, I should have taken a million-dollar client to a diner for some scrambled eggs?” I fought back my tears, feeling the blood in my veins turn to ice. “Audrey. Rules are what keep us from falling apart. If you can’t adapt to the corporate culture here, then you can hand in your resignation.” He had backed me into a corner. I turned around and walked right out of his office. I clutched the restaurant receipt in my hand and looked around the bullpen. This was the place I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for three years. There was a brief twinge of sadness, but mostly, I just felt a deep, sickening betrayal. If they wouldn’t cover the full amount, I was at least getting my two hundred dollars back. I marched back down to the accounting office. Brenda raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly disgusted by my presence. “Why are you back?” I slapped the receipt down on her desk. “Process it for the two hundred.” A smug, victorious smirk spread across Brenda’s face. “See? That wasn’t so hard. If you had just followed standard operating procedure from the start, that two hundred bucks would already be processing.” She picked up the receipt, glanced at it, and her smile instantly vanished into a cold scowl. “Can’t process it.” Three words. They pushed the simmering rage in my gut right past the boiling point. “Why not?” Her voice was light, almost mocking. “Did you not read the updated employee handbook? Reimbursements require an itemized corporate tax invoice, not a standard credit card receipt.” My ears started ringing. “Brenda, why didn’t you tell me I needed a corporate invoice the first time I came in?” “We hadn’t gotten to that stage of the process yet, had we?” She slid the receipt back across the desk. “Go back to the restaurant and get the right paperwork.” My chest heaved. I wanted to scream, but I knew arguing with her was completely pointless. Solving the problem was the only way I was getting my money. I was being bounced around like a ping-pong ball. Just as I turned toward the door to leave, Brenda casually dropped another bomb. 3 “Just a friendly reminder. The new policy states today is the absolute final day for monthly reimbursements. I clock out at four sharp. If you don’t make it back in time, you’ll just have to eat the cost.” My eyes widened in sheer disbelief. “What? The restaurant is a private dining club an hour outside the city. In this traffic, there is no physical way I can get there and back by four!” Brenda blinked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “That sounds like a personal problem.” From morning until afternoon, those were the exact words the agency used to completely destroy me. I was a twenty-something girl who had chugged glass after glass of expensive liquor just to keep the clients entertained. I had locked myself in the restaurant bathroom to force myself to throw up, just so I could stay sober enough to dodge their creepy advances. I had exhausted every ounce of my physical and mental energy. And this was my reward. At that exact moment, the illusion shattered. There was no loyalty in the corporate world. You were just meat in the grinder. Since Apex was perfectly willing to steal six hundred dollars from me, perfectly willing to scrape the very last ounce of flesh from my bones, I had absolutely nothing left to lose. “Fine. I won’t expense it.” The second I conceded, Brenda’s entire demeanor brightened. She looked at me with a sickeningly sweet smile. “See? That’s the spirit! You account managers make plenty of commission anyway. No need to waste time stressing over pocket change.” I kept my face deadpan. I didn’t say a single word. As I walked out of the accounting office, I paused in the hallway. I heard Brenda recording a voice memo on her phone. “Who knew working in accounting came with a commission? Hey honey, I just successfully blocked another reimbursement request. Rick gives me a fifty-buck bonus for every one I deny. Let’s go try that new Korean BBQ spot tonight.” I didn’t turn around. I didn’t storm back in to tear Brenda apart. Instead, I walked down the block to a discount electronics store, bought a bright red, battery-powered megaphone, and took an Uber straight to Ryder Corp headquarters. I stood on the sidewalk in front of their towering glass skyscraper, cranked the volume dial to maximum, and pressed the trigger. “Marcus! I am Audrey from Apex Marketing! My company refuses to reimburse your dinner from last night! Do me a favor, come downstairs right now and Venmo me your half of the bill!”

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When my mom was five months pregnant, she made me move into the barn to “ward off misfortune” for my unborn brother. That was the first time I didn’t argue with her. I just said yes. Because she’s an artist with words. She can always say one thing and mean two. “My daughter is so sensitive — one little comment and she’ll hold onto it for ten years.” “Let her be. Kids having opinions is a good thing. We have to respect that.” For eighteen years, I’d become exactly the daughter she described to everyone else — “difficult,” “ungrateful.” When I was brought back home and forced to eat on my knees like an animal, while my brother rode on my back 。 Everyone praised my mom for being a saint. For never giving up on me. I didn’t argue. Because they didn’t know I was counting down the days. Getting ready to give her a gift she’d never forget — in front of every single relative and friend she cared about. **1** The barn door shut behind me. I heard Mom sigh on the other side. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Just three months. Once your brother is born, I’ll come get you.” Her voice was as soft and warm as always. Mrs. Henderson from next door happened to walk by. “Oh my — why is your daughter staying in there?” My mom’s voice filled with what sounded like heartache. “She asked to. Said she wanted the experience.” “I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how kids are these days. So headstrong.” Mrs. Henderson told her she was such an open-minded parent. I crouched beside the cow and said nothing. Through the wall, I heard Dad say: “Isn’t this a bit much? She’s still our daughter.” “What do you know? This is an old tradition — a frail baby needs someone to take on the bad luck.” “She’s tough. And besides, she didn’t even object.” That’s right. I didn’t object. Because I knew it wouldn’t matter. If I said I didn’t want to stay here, she’d cry to the neighbors. And then everyone would call me an ungrateful, selfish daughter. So I saved my energy. At least this way I’d walk away with the one good reputation I’d never had — the compliant one. The barn was harder than I’d imagined. In winter, cold wind poured through the gaps. In summer, mosquitoes left welts all over my skin. Mom came once a day with food. She’d stand at the door and call out softly, “Sweetheart, dinner’s ready.” The neighbors who saw her said she had such a kind heart. “She’s bringing real food to the barn — if my kid pulled something like this, I’d let them go hungry until they learned.” What was actually in the thermos container was usually leftover rice that was almost spoiled. I’d crouch beside the cow to eat. Sometimes it would wander over and sniff at my bowl, then sneeze and turn back to its hay. The day my brother was born, I heard firecrackers going off next door. The cow gently bumped its head against my side. “You think it’s funny too?” I rested my hand on its neck. “I’ve never even seen his face, and I’m already out here taking the hit for him.” It blinked its big dark eyes. Three months became six. Six months became a year. Every time, Mom would say: “Soon. Just until your brother gets a little stronger, then I’ll bring you home.” Year after year. In the spring of the fifth year, the barn door finally opened. Mom stood there with the same gentle expression. “Sweetheart, you’ve worked so hard. Your brother is healthy now. Mom’s here to bring you home.” The cow followed me to the doorway and pressed its nose against my hand. “It doesn’t want to let you go,” Mom said with a smile. “Even animals have a sense of these things.” It sounded like she was complimenting the cow. But I knew what she meant. She was saying I was only capable of bonding with animals. The house had changed a lot. The living room was full of toys. The walls were covered in my brother’s drawings. A five-year-old boy came running over and stared at me with wide eyes. “This is your sister,” Mom said, lifting him up. “Say hi.” My brother wrinkled his nose and shrank back. “Ew! She stinks! Cow poop witch!” I sniffed myself out of habit. “I don’t smell.” He pinched his nose shut. Mom patted his back gently. “We don’t say things like that about your sister.” She turned to me. “Don’t take it to heart, sweetheart. He’s little. Good nose on him.” “Mom noticed too, honestly.” She smiled. “But it’s fine. After a while you just… stop noticing the smell.” “And we’ve all had our shots, so nothing to worry about.” — **2** I stood in the middle of the living room, wanting to say something back, but not finding the words. “You’ll take the guest room for now.” “We turned your old room into a playroom for your brother.” Mom pointed to the small room at the end of the hall. “Once he gets a little older, we’ll clear the toys out.” “Your blankets are out on the balcony. Go grab them.” She carried my brother toward the kitchen. “Mom needs to warm up his milk. It’s naptime.” I went to the balcony and found my blankets covered in mold. It was obvious no one had touched them in years. That evening, our neighbor Aunt Carol stopped by with sweets to celebrate — her son had just gotten into college. Mom invited her to stay for dinner, sounding genuinely envious. “That’s wonderful. You must be so proud.” “Mine, now — she got in too, but threw a fit and refused to go. Insisted on going to live on a farm for the experience.” I was sitting at the table. My hand froze in midair. I didn’t know which hand to pick up a fork with. For the past five years in the barn, Mom never gave me utensils. I ate crouched on the ground, hunched over my bowl. My brother noticed and burst out laughing. “Mommy, look! She doesn’t know which hand to use!” Mom said gently, “Don’t laugh at your sister. She’s just… gotten used to a different way.” She held out a fork for me. I took it and tried to pick up some food. My fingers wouldn’t cooperate. The food fell back onto the table. “That’s okay. Take your time.” She ladled some soup into my bowl. “Start with the soup.” Her voice was as warm and patient as ever. But I saw her lean down and whisper something in my brother’s ear. He laughed even harder and ran over to me, shoved me off my chair, and climbed onto my back. “Giddyup! Ride the cow! Ride the cow!” Mom smiled warmly. “Look, sweetie — your brother is doing exposure therapy with you.” “Only family would care enough to do this. If you weren’t his sister, he wouldn’t even bother playing with you.” My brother started kicking my ribs. “Giddyup! Move!” I didn’t move. He kicked harder. I shot up. He tumbled to the floor and started wailing. “I am not a cow.” “I am NOT a cow!” I shouted. “I’m a person! I’m an adult!” Aunt Carol flinched. “Good lord. Why is she being so rough with him? She spent all that time on the farm and she’s still got that temper.” Mom gave a tired smile. “I know. I worry about her. No matter how much I do for her, she always feels like we owe her something.” “Mom,” I cut in, “I don’t feel like you owe me anything.” She blinked. “Okay. I’m sorry. Tell me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it.” That kind of line. It always sounded so sincere. Aunt Carol took the bait right on cue. “See how good your mom is? She’s actually apologizing to you.” “You’re old enough to know better.” Mom shifted my brother in her arms. “She’s always been a hair trigger.” “I have to be so careful with what I say. I’m always afraid of setting her off.” Aunt Carol patted her hand. “I hear you. It’s not easy being her mom.” I opened my mouth. Wanted to say something else. But suddenly I was just exhausted. All these years of fighting, and I’d never once won. She’d turned me into the family villain. I got down on the floor. Went back down on my hands and knees. My brother sniffled and climbed back onto my back. Mom immediately brightened. “There we go. Siblings don’t stay mad.” “We all just want what’s best for you.” Aunt Carol sighed. “That temper of yours really does need work.” “Good thing your mom is so patient. In my house, I’d have sorted that out a long time ago.” As I crawled along the floor, I thought of the cow back in the barn. So thin its ribs pressed through its skin. I used to wrap my arms around its neck for warmth. It never moved. Now I understood. It probably wanted to die back then too. It just couldn’t say so. — **3** That night, lying in a real bed for the first time in years, I heard Mom’s voice drifting from the master bedroom. “Sending her to that barn back then — honestly, best decision I ever made.” I couldn’t hear the other side of the call. Mom laughed. “Ward off misfortune? That was just something to say.” “Otherwise the neighbors would’ve talked — called me sexist, called me a bad mother. How awful would that look.” “If she broke down out there, ran off or lost her mind, that’s on her. Nothing to do with us.” “I honestly didn’t think she’d make it five years. She’s tougher than I gave her credit for.” So that was it. There was no superstition. No warding off anything. She just didn’t want me. But she didn’t want the reputation that came with throwing away a daughter, either. So she put me in the barn and waited for me to disappear on my own. I didn’t. I lasted too long. So bringing me back at least made me useful — a toy for my brother. Make the most of every resource. Once I understood that clearly, something in me went quiet. In a few days, it would be my brother’s birthday party. Mom said she wanted to go all out. Every relative, every family friend would be there. She planned to announce that day, in front of everyone, that I was home. To tell them she never gave up on me. I sat up, bit into my finger, and wrote in blood on a torn page. Then I reached under the bed for the old backpack I’d hidden there. Inside were everything I’d written over the years. Every day. Every word she had ever said to me. The soft ones. The ones that cut like ice. The ones that sounded so perfectly kind. Mom — if that’s how it is, I’ll keep being your obedient cow. I’ll go quietly. And I’ll make sure your perfect life stops on that day. Forever. Late that night, I dreamed I was back in the barn. The cow was chewing hay in the dark. It looked at me. As if to say: *Hold on a little longer. It’s almost over.* — The next morning, my brother was sprawled on the floor playing with toy cars. He looked up at me and grinned. “Make a cow sound, sissy!” I didn’t move. “Come on, come on!” He scrambled up and grabbed at my leg. “Mommy said you lived with the cow forever — you definitely know how!” Mom watched from across the room with a smile. “Don’t tease her. For her sake — let’s not talk about cows.” “She’ll get worked up again.” But she stood right there without pulling him away. Just watching. My brother started to cry. “I want to hear the cow sound! I WANT TO!” Mom crouched down to soothe him. “Baby, don’t cry…” She looked up at me and gave me that perfect smile. I knew what it meant. She was waiting for me to handle it myself. I opened my mouth and let out a low moo. My brother stopped crying instantly, clapping and shrieking with delight. “She did it! A real cow sound!” Mom laughed and ruffled his hair. “There you go. Happy now? Let’s go downstairs.” I stood up and walked to the window. In the garden below, my brother was chasing a balloon. Mom trailed behind him, arms half-raised, ready to catch him if he stumbled. The sunlight fell across her face. Soft. Beautiful. Anyone who saw her would say she was a perfect mother. — That afternoon, I went to the kitchen for water and stopped in front of the dispenser for three seconds. Then I crouched down, leaned toward the spout, and stuck out my tongue. The water hit my tongue before I caught what I was doing. For five years in the barn, that’s how I drank. Crouched over the trough, lapping like an animal. My brother came running in and saw. He clapped his hands and screamed laughing. “Mommy! Sissy is drinking like a cow!” Mom came over and crouched next to me, voice soft. “Sweetheart — for your own sake, let’s use a cup.” She held out a plastic cup. “Some habits take time to unlearn after being away so long. Mom understands.” My brother was beside himself. Mom was laughing too, eyes curving into gentle crescents. “Look at you — you made him laugh again.” I took the cup and brought it to my mouth. Some of the water spilled and ran down my chin. “Slow down,” Mom said. “No one’s taking it from you.” My brother leaned in and pointed at my face. “Mommy! Her mouth is leaking! Just like a cow!” Mom dabbed at my chin with a paper towel. Gentle hands. “Good job. You used a cup today.” I ran back to my room. My hands were still shaking. Not from anger. Because just now, when I was drinking — I almost stuck out my tongue again. The body remembers more honestly than the mind. — **4** That night I didn’t want to come out for dinner. Mom pulled me out of my room anyway. “Sweetheart, you have to eat something. Your body isn’t yours to neglect. When you don’t eat, it hurts us too.” She sighed and said into her phone, “Let me call you back, sis. I’m trying to get her to eat… Kids get harder when they grow up.” My brother appeared from somewhere holding a fistful of grass and set it on the table. “Cow eats grass!” Mom let out a soft laugh. “See? Your brother loves you.” “He knows you got used to eating fresh things out there. The cooked stuff probably doesn’t sit right.” I stared at the grass. My stomach lurched. “Eat it! Eat it!” My brother grabbed the grass and shoved it at my mouth. I gagged and bolted to the bathroom, where I threw up. My brother froze for a second — then burst into laughter. “The cow puked! The cow is ruminating!” I snapped around. Ruminating. A five-year-old knew that word. I gripped the edge of the sink and finally understood. Mom taught him that. She had been teaching him how to humiliate me. One lesson at a time. In her mind, I wasn’t her daughter. I was livestock. A cow that might wander off at any moment. Dad put down his fork. “That’s enough.” Mom wiped the table with a napkin, movements unhurried. “The kids are just playing. Don’t be so serious.” She looked up with a smile. “It’s sibling bonding.” I came out of the bathroom holding my stomach. Mom reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bag. “Oh, right — for your brother’s birthday party, wear this.” She shook out what was inside. A cow mascot costume. Brown fur, black hooves, and a hood with two curved horns. “Think of it as your present to him. You’ll be adorable in it.” Her eyes were bright and full of expectation. Like any ordinary mother waiting for her child to do something sweet. I nodded. She smiled and hugged me. “I knew you’d come through.” “Oh — that cow. It’s gone.” My hand stopped. “Froze to death,” she said, as casually as if she were talking about the weather. “I found it stiff one morning and had the neighbor come take it away.” I didn’t say anything. “Don’t be sad about it. It was just an animal. That’s life.” She paused. When I still didn’t react, she kept going. “The neighbor said its eyes were still open when they found it.” “Silly thing. What did it have to be so reluctant about?” She smiled. “Try the costume on.” I felt nothing. I pulled off my jacket and stepped into the costume, then pulled the hood over my head. She adjusted it so I could see out through the eye holes. “Perfect fit.” She stepped back and looked me over. “Your brother will want to introduce you. ‘This is my sister.’” She paused. “The most soulful one in the family.” She walked away. I went back to my room and closed the door. I pulled the tiebacks off the curtains and stretched them between my hands. There was a crossbeam above the door frame. I dragged a chair over, stepped up, and tied a knot. Mom was laughing in the living room. The sound drifted in, muffled. I lay down and looked at the rope. The height was just right. She’d push the door open tomorrow and it would be the first thing she saw. My gift to her. — The day of my brother’s birthday party, the house filled up. Relatives everywhere. Laughter pouring from the living room. My brother ran around in a tiny suit, collecting red envelopes from every guest. Mom’s voice was even softer than usual. “You really didn’t have to bring anything.” My door stayed shut. No one came to get me. Close to noon, Mom said through the door, “Get ready, sweetheart.” I didn’t answer. She waited a moment, then left. I got up. Put on the cow costume. Covered the walls with the blood letter and the diary pages. Then I stepped onto the chair. The costume was bulky and awkward. I adjusted my position, settled the rope around my neck, and kicked the chair away. The costume weighed me down. I dropped fast. The moment the rope pulled tight, I heard Mom’s voice in the hallway: “We actually have some wonderful news today — my older daughter is back home after some time away in the country…” Applause from the guests. “If she comes out and she’s crouching, or acting a little strange, please don’t laugh…” “Just think of it as giving her a chance to start over.” “I know that with the love of this family, she’ll be okay.” Louder applause. The door handle turned. The door swung open. Mom stood in the doorway, her perfect smile in place. Then she looked past it and saw me. Saw my arms and legs hanging limp inside the costume, swaying gently. The smile froze on her face.

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Sonnet had two “husbands.” One was Garrett, the man she had married and shared a life with. The other was Garrett’s identical twin brother, Cole. They looked almost exactly alike. If not for years of living together, she might not have been able to tell them apart. But she could. She always could. She just never said anything. Looking at the notification on her phone — the island purchase had gone through — she thought, *this is enough. Enough to start over.* — **1** Thirty-eight minutes into the movie, Sonnet finally saw Garrett walk in. He was wearing a dark coat, his hair slightly messy at the front. He’d clearly rushed. He settled into the seat beside her and said quietly, “Sorry. Something came up at work.” His tone was gentle. Same as always. Sonnet turned to look at him. The dim light of the theater fell across his profile — that face she had loved for five years, still handsome, still guarded, still controlled. But suddenly it felt like a stranger’s face. She slowly tore the two movie tickets in her hands. The sound of the paper tearing was unusually sharp in the dark. “It’s fine.” Her voice was calm. “I didn’t really want to watch it anyway.” Garrett paused. “Today is my birthday,” he reminded her. “I know.” She nodded. “That’s why I got here an hour early.” A brief silence settled between them. He seemed to sense something. He didn’t push. Sonnet didn’t say anything more. The quiet between them was colder than anything playing on that screen. On the way home, Sonnet idly scrolled through her phone. She accidentally tapped into a live study stream. On the screen, a young girl sat under a soft lamp, head down, working through a problem set. Sonnet was about to scroll away. Then a hand reached into the frame. Long fingers. Defined knuckles. Beautiful. Near the base of the thumb, a faint scar. The girl looked up, smiling as she accepted the coffee. “Thanks.” The comments exploded — *”Is that her boyfriend???”* *”That hand though omg”* The girl smiled, a little shy. “That’s a secret.” Sonnet’s finger went still. She recognized that scar. The accident years ago — glass flying everywhere. She had stepped in front of Garrett to take the hit. Afterward, he had held her hand and said, *”Let me be the one to protect you from now on.”* There was no way she was wrong. Outside the car window, the neon lights blurred without warning. So this was what “something came up at work” meant. A different world. A different girl. And she was the one left standing outside. When she got home, Sonnet said nothing about what she’d seen. Garrett went to the study, like always. After a while, the real Garrett came back. She caught a faint floral scent on him. Sweet. Nothing like him. She didn’t look up. She had known for a year. Garrett had a twin brother. Cole. They were nearly identical. Sometimes it was Garrett who came home. Sometimes it was Cole. They took turns playing her husband. They thought it was seamless. What they didn’t know was that she had been able to tell them apart all along. Garrett always tucked his left hand in his pocket. Cole used his right. Garrett drank his coffee black. Cole liked two sugars. Small differences. None of them ever slipped past her. She had just been waiting. Waiting for Garrett to stop on his own. He never did. A few days later, Sonnet received the confirmation notice. The island transfer had gone through. She had bid on it online on a whim. Now it had become her way out. One month, she thought. That’s enough time to disappear. — **2** The girl from the live stream was named Rachel. Two years below Sonnet in college. A junior when Sonnet was a senior. Sonnet still remembered her. Back then, at the architecture design competition, Rachel had plagiarized. Sonnet was the one who reported it. Rachel lost her scholarship. Lost her overseas exchange opportunity. After that, the way Rachel looked at Sonnet always carried something — something like hatred. Now, Rachel wore Sonnet’s signature “Sea Mist” necklace on her live stream, laughing bright and easy. “My boyfriend gave it to me.” Sonnet stared at that necklace. It had taken her six months to create that piece. The original design files were locked in the studio at home. Only Garrett had access. She called him. “Where are you?” “At work, in a meeting.” Garrett’s voice was easy, natural. He sent her a location pin and a photo of the conference room. Airtight. Sonnet stared at the necklace around Rachel’s neck on her screen. “I believe you,” she said quietly. She hung up. She knew. Even if she walked into that office right now, all she’d find was Cole. From the very beginning, she had been the one being managed. Things were worse than she’d imagined. A few days later, it blew up. *”Sonnet’s Studio PLAGIARIZED!”* hit the trending page. Rachel posted a video calling her out. She showed sketches — timestamped earlier than Sonnet’s published work. The internet came for her in waves. Her online shop was flooded with attacks. Her physical storefront was vandalized with red paint. And the most devastating part — Sonnet couldn’t find her original drafts. She knew exactly who had taken them. She called Garrett. “Did you give her my design files?” A pause on the other end. “I figured you were done with them.” “It’s just a draft.” “She’s practically still a student. Why are you making it into such a big deal?” Sonnet laughed. “Just a draft?” “That was six months of my life.” Garrett’s voice went cold. “This family doesn’t need you to make money. All you have to do is be Mrs. Whitfield.” In that moment, something clicked. To him, her work had never mattered. She was just an accessory. A woman’s voice drifted through from the other end of the line. A soft, playful laugh. Sonnet didn’t say another word. She hung up. Minutes later, Rachel called. “How does it feel to be called a plagiarist, *senior*?” “Should’ve minded your own business back then.” “You really picked a great guy.” Sonnet pressed record. “Why are you doing this?” “Because I hate you.” “Everything you have — it’s mine now.” She ended the call. The apartment was terrifyingly quiet. Sonnet looked down at her hands. Once, she had believed love was a shelter. Now she knew. It was just an excuse. — **3** She didn’t sleep. The phone call, the recording, the trending posts — she backed everything up. Not to start a fight. To make sure she could stay clear-headed, no matter what came next. Clear enough that she’d never be dragged back with a single *”you misunderstood.”* At two in the morning, Garrett came home. The lock clicked. He took off his shoes in the entryway — same clean, efficient motion as always. He looked up and saw her sitting in the living room. Phone on the table, printed pages beside it. His footsteps slowed for just a beat. “Why are you still up?” His tone was warm. Like nothing had happened. Sonnet pushed the phone screen toward him. It was paused on the replay of the live stream — a hand reaching in from the edge of frame, the scar near the thumb unmistakable. Garrett’s gaze landed on it for half a second. Then he looked away, the ghost of a smile barely there. “You’re upset about that?” “Tell me,” Sonnet said, eyes steady. “Where were you today?” “Work.” He answered without hesitation. “Then where are my design files?” She wasn’t looking at his location, wasn’t reading his follow-up message. “The *Sea Mist* drafts. Why aren’t they in the safe?” Garrett’s brow tightened slightly. His tone dropped. “You went through my things?” “I went through *my* work.” She stood and walked straight toward the studio. “Open it.” That door had been locked. He kept the key. Garrett followed. Two seconds of silence. He unlocked the door. The light came on. The studio was too clean. The kind of clean that feels deliberate. Sonnet walked directly to the safe, entered the code, and the door swung open. One compartment was empty. She looked up at him. “You said you were at work.” Garrett’s expression finally shifted. He tried to reroute, dropping his voice lower. “I think you’ve been under too much stress lately. People online just love to stir things up.” “Don’t bring other people into this.” Sonnet cut him off. “One question. Who took the drafts.” Garrett’s throat moved. His eyes flickered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sonnet spread the printed pages across the desk. Screenshots from the stream. A timeline of the trending posts. A close-up of Rachel wearing the necklace. And the entry log she had compiled. “You don’t know?” She kept her voice even. “Then explain why the necklace she’s wearing has the exact detail you criticized when you watched me revise it.” Garrett’s fingers pressed together slowly. His knuckles went white. Sonnet didn’t give him room to breathe. She pushed forward. “One more thing.” She looked at him. Her voice dropped. “When did you start sending Cole home in your place?” Something hit him. His pupils contracted, just for a second. He denied it on instinct. “What are you talking about?” Sonnet looked at his hands. “Just now when you took your shoes off. You lifted your right foot first. That’s Cole’s habit, not yours.” Garrett’s breath caught. He tried to hold steady. “How could you possibly—” “Because you both thought I couldn’t tell you apart.” Her tone was flat. “But I could. I always could.” Silence held for a few seconds. Garrett’s expression slowly went cold. Like he was finally understanding that tonight wasn’t going to be smoothed over with a few soft words. Sonnet walked into the study. Garrett followed. For the first time, his steps weren’t steady. The study door closed. — **4** Garrett didn’t speak right away. The only sound in the study was the slow tick of the clock on the wall. “When did you find out?” he finally said. Sonnet stood near the doorway. She hadn’t moved further in. She looked at him. Her eyes were calm. “The first time was when you picked up a cup with your right hand.” “The second time was when you forgot I don’t eat cilantro.” “The third time was when you held me, and the way you held me felt different.” Garrett’s throat moved slightly. He hadn’t expected her to remember all of that. “Then why didn’t you say anything?” “Because I wanted to give you a chance.” She spoke like she was telling someone else’s story. “I wanted to see when you’d stop.” Something pressed down on Garrett’s chest. “Sonnet—” “You don’t need to explain.” She cut him off. “If you had really wanted to stop, you would have.” She walked further into the study. She set the printed divorce papers on the desk. The pages were stark white under the light. “Sign it.” Garrett stared at the papers, jaw tight. “Calm down.” “I am calm.” “You’re just angry.” Sonnet laughed — a quiet, brief sound. “Garrett. You still think this is me being emotional?” “You and your brother took turns pretending to be my husband.” “You gave my design files to another woman.” “You let her destroy my studio.” “And now you’re telling me *I’m* the one who needs to calm down?” Her voice didn’t break. No shouting, no tears. Just low and clear. Each word landing exactly where she meant it to. Garrett realized, for the first time, that her composure hurt more than crying ever would have. He didn’t sign. “I won’t agree to this.” “Then I’ll find another way.” Sonnet said it, turned, and walked out. The next day, she stopped coming home. The studio was a wreck. Red paint still smeared across the front door. Her employees stood with their heads down, nobody saying a word. Sonnet stood in the middle of the room, looking at the shattered model on the floor. She had stayed up three nights straight to build that. She bent down and picked up the pieces. The edge sliced a thin cut across her fingertip. She didn’t feel it. Compared to what was hollow inside her chest, the cut was nothing. “What do we do now?” her assistant asked quietly. Sonnet looked up. “Close the shop.” “Take everything down.” “We stop for now.” Her voice was steady. Like she was announcing a loss she had already accepted. Rachel was thriving. She went live every day. Her follower count was exploding. “I don’t want to press charges against my senior.” “I just hope she’ll address this directly.” “Plagiarism really does hurt original creators.” Her eyes glistened as she spoke, the tip of her nose faintly pink. The comments flooded with sympathy. Sonnet watched all of it in silence. She said nothing. No statement. No defense. There was no point in speaking to people who had already made up their minds. And right now, no one wanted to hear her side. Three days later, Sonnet sent a message to Cole. *”Meet me.”* The location: the sea cliffs. When Cole arrived, she was already there. The wind was strong. She stood in a white dress, hair pulled loose by the gusts. He felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. “Sonnet. Don’t do anything stupid.” Sonnet looked at him. “Are you scared?” Cole’s face went pale. “What do you mean?” “You both thought I couldn’t tell you apart, right?” “So let me tell you — I know everything.” “I know when you came, when you left.” “I know the things you said about me behind my back.” “I even know that you’re afraid of heights.” Cole took a step back. She really did know all of it. “Sonnet, we were only—” “Only having fun?” She finished the sentence for him, softly. Cole had no answer. Sonnet looked out at the water. “If I die in front of you, Garrett will hate you for the rest of his life.” “Are you going to jump in and save me?” Cole was silent. He couldn’t. He knew that about himself. Then she climbed over the railing. Clean. Decisive. Almost without hesitation. Cole lunged to grab her. His hand closed around nothing. “Sonnet—!” His voice was swallowed by the waves. She fell into the sea. The white of her dress swept through the air for a moment, then vanished. Cole stood at the edge of the cliff, legs shaking. He looked down. Vertigo hit him instantly. He couldn’t jump. He could only back away. For the first time, it hit him — She had even calculated his fear into the plan. Night deepened. The waves rolled. Across town, when the call came in, Garrett was still at the office. *”Sonnet jumped into the sea.”* His phone slipped from his hand. — **5** By the time Garrett reached the shore, it was past one in the morning. The wind cut cold. The barrier tape stretched far down the beach. The rescue team’s floodlights turned the water a harsh white, and waves kept breaking against the rocks with low, heavy thuds. The moment Garrett stepped out of the car, his legs nearly gave out. He spotted Cole standing at the railing, ashen-faced, fingertips still trembling — like a man just barely surfacing from something that had nearly crushed him. “Where is she?” Garrett’s voice came out rough. “Where’s Sonnet?” Cole opened his mouth. Nothing came out right away. His throat worked slowly, each word dragged out. “She jumped.” Garrett grabbed him by the collar, eyes gone red. “You just *let* her? You stood right there and did nothing?!” Cole stumbled back a step, lips white. “I tried — I almost had her.” “Almost?” Garrett was losing it. “*Almost* doesn’t mean anything!” Cole’s eyes flickered. Something like pain, quickly replaced by cold. “What are you performing for? You know better than anyone how she got to this point.” Garrett’s chest heaved. He wanted to say something. He couldn’t find a single word. Because he knew. Of course he knew. The search lasted ten full days. The water was divided into grids. Rescue teams rotated through in shifts. Sonar sweeps, dive teams, shoreline searches — every method they had. All they found was one of her shoes and a waterlogged section of her dress. Nothing more. Garrett refused to believe it at first. Still refused on day two. By day five, he stopped arguing with anyone. He just stood at the edge of the water, chain-smoking, one cigarette after another. The smoke scorched his lungs. He didn’t seem to notice. On the tenth night, Garrett came home and pushed open the bedroom door. It hit him like a blow to the chest. The closet was empty. The vanity was bare. The photo of the two of them from the nightstand — gone. That was the moment it became real. Sonnet hadn’t jumped on impulse. She had prepared to leave. This wasn’t a fight. This was a goodbye. Garrett braced his hand against the doorframe, knuckles white. After a long moment, he said quietly, “Margaret.” The housekeeper hurried upstairs, her face tight with worry. “Sir…” “The things in the room. Where are they?” “Ma’am… ma’am told us to get rid of them.” Margaret’s voice trembled. “She said it was all… just trash.” Trash. Something tore open in Garrett’s chest. He could barely breathe. He moved through the room slowly, like he was confirming something he wasn’t ready to confirm. Then he pulled open the nightstand drawer. The divorce papers. Sonnet’s signature, clean and certain. And beside them, a handwritten note. *”Garrett. This is where we end.”* He stared at those words until the edges of his vision darkened. That night, Rachel called. She was crying, soft and trembling. “Garrett… I saw the news. Is Sonnet really…?” Listening to her cry, he felt something he’d never felt around her before. Revulsion. He used to think she was delicate. Now her voice just felt like nails on glass. “Shut up.” His voice was ice. “Say one more word, and I’ll make sure you never open your mouth again.” Rachel choked on whatever she’d been about to say. He hung up. Garrett sat on the couch. The cigarette between his fingers burned down to nothing. He didn’t move. Let the ash fall into his palm. And he thought of something Sonnet had said to him. *”You don’t need to explain. If you had really wanted to stop, you would have.”* For the first time, he was afraid. Afraid that she was really gone. Afraid that she hadn’t even left him her hatred.

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After helping my brother’s beast queens carry his children, I decided to cut off his manhood. The comments suddenly exploded: [What’s going on? Has he lost his mind? If he actually does it, how is the male lead supposed to use him to win favor with the beast queens?!] [Relax. This ugly freak is covered head to toe in festering sores. His gender is barely his one saving grace — there’s no way he’d actually go through with it!] [Am I the only one who feels a little sorry for Ugly? Every day he gets used half to death by the beast queens, then gets tossed back in the cellar with nothing. Not even a warm bowl of soup. And he has to watch the male lead collect all the rewards.] [Shut up with that bleeding-heart crap! The reality is that Ugly is disgusting, covered in rotting tumors. If the male lead had any feelings for the beast queens — if he was willing to sacrifice himself — do you think any of this would’ve fallen to someone like him?] I stared at those words, and a chill ran through my entire body. The cellar door was kicked open.

Light flooded in. My brother, Ethan, stepped inside, his face full of concern. “You’re awake?” He set a bowl of black, murky medicine down gently beside me. “I know this is hard on you. But you know your condition is… well. Everything I do is for your own good.” “The Lion Queen wants you again tonight. Clean yourself up properly. Don’t let her feel those sores on your skin.” Ethan let out a long sigh, his gaze dropping to my abdomen, which was still seeping blood. His expression carried three parts disgust and seven parts pity. “You know what she’s like. Obsessed with cleanliness. Can’t stand a single thing out of place.” “Last time one of your pustules burst and stained the fur mat — she raged for an hour outside. Nearly threw us both out.” “If I hadn’t knelt on the ground begging, swearing it was my fault, we’d both be vulture food by now.” If this had been the old me, I would have already hung my head in shame by now. I would’ve hidden my knobbed, gnarled hands behind my back like a child who’d done something wrong. Then I would’ve stumbled over an apology — swearing I’d be more careful next time, that I’d sand my skin smooth before I went to her again. Honestly. More than once, I’d sensed that Ethan’s kindness toward me carried a suffocating coldness underneath it. Whenever the beast queens had wrung me out to the point of near-death, he would sigh and say he wished he could help — that his heart belonged to someone else and he simply couldn’t make himself go to them. It was such a burden on me, he’d say. When I was starving and chewing on bark, he’d be up in the main house. Right in front of the beast queens, he’d throw his leftover bones down to me and announce loudly, “Ugly loves these — says the texture is the best part.” But I always managed to push those thoughts away. Ethan was the rarest lop-eared rabbit shifter in the whole tribe. The pride of our entire bloodline. How could someone like him have any ill will toward an ugly wretch like me? Until now. I watched the comments light up. [LOL, the male lead’s manipulation game is next level. The Lion Queen rejected him because he was bad in bed — but he turned it around and blamed Ugly for dirtying the mat.] [I think the male lead is deliberately keeping Ugly from getting treatment. The worse those sores get, the more ashamed Ugly feels. Too embarrassed to show his face anywhere. Keeps him a shadow forever.] [That’s just how our clever little bunny operates! Honestly, even if Ugly got cured, he’d never be half as good-looking as the male lead — but you can never be too careful, right?] [Don’t worry, he already slipped Sterilization Weed into that medicine. It’ll help the beast queen conceive, but it accelerates aging in the drinker. This freak doesn’t have many doses left. Once the Lion Queen delivers, he’ll be done.] I couldn’t stop myself from clenching my fist tighter around the straw beneath me. Meeting Ethan’s wide, innocent eyes, I found — for the first time — that I couldn’t make myself crawl over like a dog and drink that medicine. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I pressed my cracked lips together, my voice rough and low, and said something I’d never said before. “My body… I think something’s wrong with it.” “Tonight… I want to rest.”

The air in the cellar went still. The saintly, long-suffering expression on Ethan’s face froze solid. A second later, the comments went into a frenzy. [Oh my God, is this lowlife trying to start something? He doesn’t actually think that because the beast queen might be carrying his child, he gets to be the tribe’s treasured consort — does he?] [Every scheming side character who tries to climb the social ladder through a pregnancy ends up the same way. This won’t end well.] [Is he trying to make the male lead grovel? This feels like a threat.] [Unbelievable. Does every tool character have zero self-awareness? If he won’t do it, there are plenty of slaves who will.] The comments were running hot. It was only now that I fully understood what I was. I was a side character in a beast-world romance novel — a tool. The ugly foil to the irresistible male lead. My true form was a toad shifter. Despised by everyone. While Ethan’s true form was a lop-eared rabbit — beloved wherever he went. Ethan had lost the one person he ever loved, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything for any of the beast queens. But he still needed to survive in this world. So he made me his stand-in. Every night, when the beast queens were sedated by desire-inducing incense, he pushed me into their chambers. He stood outside the door collecting praise and affection. I was inside, enduring whatever the beast queens chose to do to me. When morning came, he’d spray himself with a specially crafted imitation scent, then slip into bed beside them to receive their tenderness as they woke. And I would be discarded like a used-up piece of trash, dragged back to the dark cellar below. I would even rot in that dark cellar when I died. I knew I was ugly. But did being ugly mean I deserved to be deceived and used like this — and then discarded as a stepping stone for his comfort and status? After I spoke my refusal out loud — A flicker of disbelief crossed Ethan’s eyes. Then they went cold. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t curse me. He simply crouched down slowly, pinched my chin with two fingers like I was something distasteful, and forced me to look at him. “What are you babbling about?” “The Lion Queen is in her frenzy tonight. If you rest, who’s going to calm her down? Are you going to sit there and watch her tear me apart?” He tilted his head and gave me a look that was almost a smile — his voice gentle, his words like blades. “Besides, I’m not forcing you. If you don’t want to drink this medicine — if you don’t want to serve the beast queens — that’s fine.” “I’ll just go tell them it was you who poisoned the cubs out of jealousy. Let’s see who they believe — the father of their children, or the monster who lives in the cellar.” He stood up and straightened his clothes. “Drink the medicine before it gets cold. It won’t work once it cools. Don’t do something stupid, Ugly. I’m doing this so we both survive.” Then the cellar door slammed shut. His footsteps faded away. I did not drink the medicine. I tilted my wrist and poured every drop onto the ground. A soft hiss rose from the dirt where it landed. I watched it eat into the ground, and the cold feeling in my chest sank deeper. This was what Ethan called a tonic he made for my own good. The comments rolled across my vision again, faster than ever. [Oh my God — he poured out the Bone-Corrosion compound?! The male lead specifically exchanged for that to suppress his golden toad bloodline!] [Doesn’t matter. Eighteen years of that stuff — the toad skin has been fused to him for ages. Pouring it out changes nothing.] [Am I the only one worried about the Lion Queen tonight? Without that rotting smell from the medicine to mask it — what if she catches a whiff of his actual scent… that strange fragrance… and figures out the switch?] [No chance. She’s completely out of her mind during a frenzy.] I stared hard at the two words: golden toad. So that was it. All these years — the festering sores, the stench — it wasn’t a curse from heaven. It was man-made.

The cellar door crashed open again. Ethan stumbled in and threw himself at me, gripping my arm with both hands. “You have to save me this time!” “It’s not just Seraphine — Vyx and Thalara have both lost it too!” I calmly removed his hands and studied his ashen face. “How? Their cycles have never overlapped before.” Ethan was shaking so hard he could barely get the words out. “The Blood Moon — the hundred-year Blood Moon came early! All three of them are caught in the lunar tide. They’re in the main hall, out of their minds, tearing each other apart. If no one calms them down, the whole beast realm will collapse into chaos!” As he said it, real terror moved through his eyes. Three apex beast queens. If he — a fragile, delicate rabbit shifter — walked into that hall, he’d be torn to shreds in under ten minutes. They wouldn’t leave enough of him to bury. The comments erupted, full of sympathy: [Oh no! A Blood Moon night?! That’s the most terrifying event in the beast world!] [Send the thick-skinned toad! He’s built for punishment!] [Exactly! Ugly’s life is worthless anyway. If he dies for the male lead, at least it’s a death with meaning!] I read those words and laughed to myself. Honorable death? You’re so welcome to it. But I didn’t refuse. Because the golden toad bloodline excels at absorbing the vital energy of heaven and earth. The raging power pouring off three apex beast queens wasn’t poison to me. It was a feast. “Fine. I’ll go.” The moment I pushed open the doors to the main hall, a wave of violent, scorching pressure slammed into me. The hall was in ruins. From the darkness, three pairs of crimson beast eyes locked onto me. Seraphine, the Golden Flame Lion Queen, stood at the center. Vyx, the great obsidian serpent, coiled on the left. Thalara, the deep-sea siren, churned the water on the right, restless and thrashing. “ROAR!” Seraphine struck first. A claw wreathed in fire launched straight at my face. In the past, all I could have done was close my eyes and wait to die. But now the golden toad bloodline was surging inside me. “Perfect timing.” I didn’t dodge. I opened my arms and walked into the flames. The pain I expected never came. The moment that raging fire-energy touched my skin, it poured through my pores and flooded into every corner of my body. [WHAT?! Is the game glitching?!] [Why did the Lion Queen’s fire go out?! Does this toad have some kind of fireproof coating?!] [Wait — look at his skin!] Agony — and then a pleasure so intense it bordered on transcendence. Eighteen years of Bone-Corrosion poison, shattered apart in an instant by the wave of beast queen energy flooding through me. The festering sores that had caked my skin like rotting mud shriveled and fell away. The power that would kill an ordinary shifter on contact was, for me, the richest medicine imaginable. “What is that scent?” I looked coldly at the three beast queens. A scent? Of course there was a scent. The golden toad lineage was a sacred creature — a bringer of fortune and prosperity. We carried a natural fragrance in our bodies from birth. All these years, the poison had buried it under the smell of decay. Now that the toxin had been scoured clean, the fragrance had nowhere left to hide. The comments had shifted from [waiting to collect the body] to wall-to-wall [???]. In the last moment before dawn broke, I caught my reflection in a shard of broken mirror. The creature covered in sores was gone. In its place stood a man with skin like white jade. The transformation wasn’t complete yet — but even half-restored, the difference between me and Ethan’s merely-pretty face was the distance between the earth and the sky. I curved the corner of my mouth, wrapped my clothes around myself, and slipped quietly out of the main hall. The real show was only just beginning. When I got back to the cellar entrance, I found Ethan pacing in frantic circles outside. He had the vial of desire-inducing perfume clenched tight in his fist. When he saw me returning with my clothes in disarray, a flash of distaste crossed his eyes — but underneath it was unmistakable relief. “You’re not dead?!”

He rushed over and looked me up and down. I’d wrapped myself from head to toe — even covering my face — and he assumed I was too badly used up to let anyone see me. Too ashamed to show myself. “Thank God. I always knew you were hard to kill.” Ethan had no time to ask how badly I was hurt. He pressed forward, urgent. “What about them? Are they calm?” I dropped my voice and mimicked the weak, hollow tone I used to use. “Yeah… they’re all asleep.” Ethan shoved me toward the back of the cellar, then grabbed the vial of perfume and sprayed himself down like it was going out of style. “Calming three apex beast queens on a Blood Moon night — that’s a feat no one in history has pulled off. That’s my achievement.” A smile of absolute certainty spread across his face. “When they wake up and find me beside them, they’ll be more devoted to me than ever.” He straightened his clothes and sprinted toward the main hall. The cellar door closed. I pulled the wrappings off my face and looked at my skin — reborn. The old poison-stains on my arms had sloughed away, revealing new flesh with a faint golden sheen underneath. The comments in front of me were still arguing at full volume. [Something’s off! When the queens wake up, they’re going to know something isn’t right!] [You’re overthinking it. The male lead has his system buffs and the perfume — it’s always worked before. Beast shifters can’t tell faces apart. They go by scent.] [But… I thought I saw Ugly change in the main hall? I couldn’t see clearly — the feed was all blurred out.] [Who cares? The male lead is the male lead. Ugly is a stand-in prop. That’s just how it works. That’s the law.] I let out a quiet laugh and settled cross-legged on the ground, circulating the beast queen energy through my body. Meanwhile, in the main hall — Ethan gazed at the three women sleeping in breathtaking beauty even mid-slumber, and swallowed. He lay down on the bed and arranged himself into a pose of someone just waking up. A moment later, Seraphine’s gold slit-pupils snapped open. Ethan pulled her into a hug. “Sera, you scared me to death last night. I pushed through everything to calm you down — I’m completely exhausted.” In the past, Seraphine would’ve melted with guilt. But this time, she frowned. Her nose twitched. “What is that smell? It’s overpowering.” Beside her, Vyx and Thalara were waking up too. Vyx’s ice-cold serpent tail lashed out and sent Ethan flying ten feet across the room. “Get away from me. You reek.” Ethan hit the floor, completely stunned. The comments were stunned too. [WAIT — it’s backfiring?!] [How is that possible?! The male lead’s charm stat is maxed out!] [What is Vyx talking about?! What does she mean he REEKS?!] Thalara murmured under her breath, “The person last night — I couldn’t see his face clearly. But the texture of his skin… it didn’t feel like rabbit.” “It felt more like… warm jade.” The plan was unraveling. Ethan panicked. He scrambled to his knees and started crying, holding up his wrist to show a red scratch mark. “That was me last night! I came in to save you — that scratch is from you. As for the smell — I was worried about bothering you, so I scrubbed myself down so thoroughly I washed away my own scent…” It was a reasonable story. The suspicion in Seraphine’s eyes began to ease. She reached out and helped him to his feet. “I see… I’m sorry. We misjudged you.” Thalara still looked uncertain, but when she saw Seraphine accept the explanation, she let her killing intent recede. “Stop crying. If you really did save us, you can ask for whatever reward you want.” Ethan’s heart leapt with triumph. He’d gambled right. He was just about to name his price — A faint breeze drifted in through the great hall doors. Carried on it: a scent. Barely there, understated — and yet completely, overwhelmingly dominant. The hand Seraphine had been running through Ethan’s hair went rigid. Thalara’s pupils contracted to pinpoints, her gaze locked onto the direction the wind had come from. That scent — it was identical to the memory that had been carved into her bones last night. “It’s coming from outside.” The smile on Ethan’s face turned to stone. The direction the scent was drifting from was the cellar.

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Mom was the neighborhood’s “Moral Role Model.” Her favorite hobby was destroying her own family for public praise. When I was hungry and sneaked a piece of food from the ancestral offering table, she forced me to drink a bowl of dish soap water right in front of everyone — to “cleanse my stomach.” When the neighbor lost five hundred dollars, Mom didn’t ask a single question. She grabbed a thick upholstery needle and drove it through all ten of my fingers. Later, the police caught the real thief. It was the neighbor’s own son. But Mom just kept smiling at the neighbor: “Don’t worry about it. This girl is tough. A beating builds character — keeps her from getting any wrong ideas in the future.” The neighbor, embarrassed, said she’d accused the wrong person. Mom waved it off like it was nothing: “A girl like Nicole is born needing discipline. Consider it an early lesson.” What she didn’t know was that every time she wronged me, I crossed out one day in my diary. Just now, I used up the last page. Right in front of her, standing beneath the plaque of our “Model Family,” I drank that bottle of paraquat. Mom — is destroying myself for your reputation loud enough? — **1** The day I turned eighteen. Mom was at the community center, giving a talk on “Model Family” values. Dad crept over like he was hiding something, and pulled a squashed little box from inside his jacket. It was a cake. Barely bigger than his palm. The frosting had smeared all over the cardboard. He rubbed his hands together, his face full of nervous hope: “Nikki, quick, eat it before your mom sees.” My throat tightened. Three years. Ever since Mom became the neighborhood’s “Moral Role Model,” I hadn’t had a birthday. She said celebrating was wasteful and shameful — that money should go to children in need. I picked up a fork. My hand was shaking a little. I was just lifting it to my mouth when the door burst open with a bang. Mom stood in the doorway, cradling a gold-embossed “Outstanding Family” plaque in both arms. Her eyes locked onto that little cake like a pair of nails. Dad flinched so hard he nearly fell off the couch. “Li… Lisa, you’re back.” Mom ignored him and strode over. I instinctively hunched over the cake. “Mom, I just want one bite…” Mom let out a cold laugh. “Greg, is this what you’ve been doing behind my back? Encouraging this kind of self-indulgent nonsense?” She snatched the cake. Her fingers drove straight into the frosting, destroying the little red “18” on top. “Mrs. Wang next door lives alone. Her gout has been flaring up. She could use some cheering up.” She pulled out her phone, opened the camera, and her face instantly shifted into a warm, glowing smile. “Hey everyone, today is my daughter’s birthday — but as a family, we decided this cake should go to someone who really needs it.” The camera turned toward me. I looked down, tears burning in my eyes. “Nikki, you agree with Mom, right? Come on, give the camera a smile.” She pinched my arm. Hard. It stung. I forced out a smile that looked worse than crying. “Yeah… give it to Mrs. Wang.” Mom nodded, satisfied. She picked up the ruined cake and headed for the door. Before she left, she turned and muttered: “Greedy girl. Always thinking about food.” The door clicked shut. Dad sank into the corner of the couch, lit a cigarette, and couldn’t look at me. — That evening, the family held their traditional dinner ritual. The table was laid out with a big bowl of braised pork, glistening with oil. I hadn’t eaten all day. My stomach felt like it was on fire. While Mom slipped away to the bathroom, I quietly pinched off a piece and shoved it in my mouth. Before I could even chew, someone grabbed me by the hair from behind. “Nicole! You little thief!” Mom had appeared out of nowhere. A few relatives who’d dropped by were all staring. “Stealing from the offering table? That food is sacred! How dare you!” She dragged me to the center of the living room. The relatives made weak, half-hearted attempts to intervene: “The poor kid is hungry, one piece can’t hurt…” “Absolutely not!” Mom’s voice was razor-sharp, the veins in her neck bulging. “It starts with one stolen bite and ends with a life of crime! You let this go today, and tomorrow she’ll be robbing people blind!” She charged into the kitchen. When she came back, she was carrying a large bowl of water. Thick white foam floated on top. The sharp, chemical smell of lemon dish soap hit me in the face. Dish soap water. “Drink it.” She shoved the bowl against my lips. “Flush out that greedy gut of yours. Let this be a lesson.” I looked desperately at Dad. He moved his lips: “Lisa, this could really hurt her…” “Shut up! Soft fathers raise ruined children!” One look from Mom and he went quiet. I was force-fed the whole thing. A burning, slick liquid poured down my throat. Less than thirty seconds later, my stomach turned inside out. I dropped to my knees and vomited violently. That piece of braised pork came back up with bile and stomach fluid, all over the floor. Some relatives covered their noses. Some turned away. Mom stood over me, looking down like a judge handing down a verdict. “Remember this. That is what greed gets you.” — **2** Late that night. I was curled up in bed, my stomach still cramping. I reached under my pillow and pulled out my diary. I turned to a fresh page and drew a bright red X. *”My birthday cake went to feed Mom’s ego. -1 day.”* This diary had three hundred pages. I had made myself a promise. When the last page was gone, I would give this life back to her. That bowl of dish soap water left me burning with fever for two days. Mom didn’t take me to the doctor. She said: “A fever means your body is detoxing. It’s karma for what you stole.” I lay in bed, and the only comfort I had was the drawing board under it. I loved art. It was the only escape I had in that suffocating house. I secretly entered the city’s “Future Stars” art competition. To keep Mom from finding out, I practiced every night deep under my covers, using the dim glow of my phone as a light. My eyes went red. My wrist ached. I never let myself stop. Because I knew — this was my only way out. Win a prize, and I’d have a shot at early admission to the arts high school affiliated with the academy. Half a month later, the news came. First place. When the certificate arrived at school, my hands were shaking. The professor from the arts academy had written in his review: “Exceptional raw talent. Destined for greatness.” Walking home that afternoon, I held that certificate to my chest, and something warm sparked inside me. Maybe Mom would be proud? This was a city-level award. Wouldn’t that look good for her? I was naive enough to believe that as long as it was an achievement, she’d be happy. — When I got home, Mom was in the living room polishing her wall of commendations. “Mom, I won an award.” I worked up my courage and held out the certificate. Mom stopped, took it. Glanced at it. Didn’t smile. Her expression was like she was looking at a scrap of paper. “Art?” The word came out of her mouth like a piece of ice. “Who told you to do art?” My heart dropped. “Mom, the professor said I have talent, I could apply to the arts academy…” “Smack!” The certificate hit the floor. “Talent? You call wasting your time talent?” Mom’s voice went sharp. “I already have your future planned out. You’re going to study education, become a teacher — respectable, stable! What does art get you? Busking on a street corner?” She stormed into my room. Tore through it like she’d lost her mind. The drawing board under my bed, the paints, the thick stack of artwork I’d built up — she dragged it all out. “Greg! Bring me the fire pit!” Dad came running in from the balcony, took one look, and froze. “Lisa, her drawings are actually really good…” “Good? What good? This is all your fault for enabling her! How much did all this junk cost?” Mom dumped the whole stack of drawings into the fire pit. The lighter clicked. Flames shot up. That was my work. Countless sleepless nights poured into every page. “No!” I screamed and lunged forward, reaching into the fire. “You dare fight me!” Mom kicked me hard in the shoulder. I fell against the edge of the fire pit, and my hand pressed down on the scorching hot rim. A sizzling sound. The smell of burning skin. The pain was blinding. But I couldn’t think about that. All I could see was my winning piece — *Bird in a Cage* — curling in the flames, blackening, turning to ash. Mom stood on the other side of the fire, her face lit up red. “Nicole, let me make this clear. This is a model family.” “I will not allow a disgrace like you under this roof.” “This is a stain on this family. It has to burn.” Dad stood to the side, head down, not saying a word. That night, I stared at the blisters rising on my hand. I didn’t cry. With my left hand, I opened my diary and crossed out seven days. *”My dream burned up. Mom called it a ‘family disgrace.’ -7 days.”* I had only meant to cross off one. But today, I felt like my life wasn’t worth even that much. — **3** Mom had recently gotten obsessed with livestreaming. She called her account “Model Mom Lisa.” She posted about her approach to parenting — the tough love, the public discipline, what she called “choosing principle over family.” Her follower count shot up fast. People flooded the comments: *”This is what a responsible parent looks like.”* *”Kids these days just don’t get enough discipline.”* Mom read every word of praise with a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face. Then one day, our neighbor Mrs. Wilson came knocking. “Lisa… the five hundred dollars I left in my entryway is gone. Do you think maybe… Nicole might have seen it?” Mrs. Wilson was dancing around it, struggling to get the words out. I was doing homework at the time. My head snapped up: “I didn’t take it!” “Be quiet!” Mom snapped at me. She didn’t ask me a single question about what happened. Instead, a flicker of excitement passed through her eyes. “Carol, don’t you worry. I don’t cover for anyone.” Mom immediately grabbed her phone, set up the stand, and flicked on the ring light. Her hands moved with a practiced efficiency that made my skin crawl. “Hey everyone, something just came up. My neighbor’s money is missing, and even though it hurts, I have to do what’s right.” Thousands of viewers flooded the stream within seconds. The title read: **[Neighbor’s Money Stolen — Tough Mom Holds Live Interrogation]** Mom dragged me in front of the camera. “On your knees!” I stood my ground. “I didn’t take anything. Why should I kneel?” “Still playing innocent! You’re the only one who’s been to Carol’s house recently — you dropped something off! Who else could it be?” Mom reached into the sewing basket and pulled out a thick upholstery needle. “I taught you from the time you were little — keep your hands clean.” “If you won’t admit it, I’ll make sure you don’t forget this lesson.” She grabbed my left hand. I thrashed and fought, looking over at Mrs. Wilson: “I swear I didn’t take it!” Mrs. Wilson was starting to look uncomfortable: “Lisa, maybe we should just… let it go. There’s no proof…” “No! It starts with small things and turns into big ones! If I let this slide now, she’ll be a menace to everyone around her!” Mom turned toward the camera, her voice firm and righteous. The comment section erupted: *[Go Mom! That kind of kid needs consequences!]* *[Strict parents raise good kids!]* *[Your values are so right!]* Mom read the comments and was visibly energized. She pinched my index finger, aimed the tip of the needle at the pad of my fingertip. And drove it in. “Ahh—!” I screamed. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt instantly. “Are you going to admit it?” “I didn’t take it…” The needle went in again. Middle finger. Blood welled up and dripped onto the floor. Dad came charging over: “Lisa! Stop! You’re going to do permanent damage!” “Back off!” Mom backhanded him across the face without even turning around. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m doing this for her!” She turned back to the camera, eyes welling up: “Everyone, it hurts me so much more than it hurts her. But I can’t let my heart go soft.” Gifts and donations flooded the stream. The graphic effects burst across the screen in her tears — like fireworks at some grotesque carnival. Ten fingers. All of them punctured. The pain had gone past feeling. I was just collapsed on the floor. But I never once admitted to it. Because I hadn’t done it. — The next day, the police came. Not for me. For Mrs. Wilson. Security footage showed that her own son had taken the money. He’d spent it at the internet café. Mrs. Wilson showed up at our door, mortified, carrying fruit as an apology. “Lisa, I’m so sorry. We wronged Nicole…” My hands were wrapped in thick bandages. I sat in the corner. I thought Mom might feel at least a small amount of guilt. She didn’t. She faced the camera — still live — and waved a breezy hand, smiling like nothing had happened: “Don’t worry about it, Carol.” “This girl is tough. She can take it.” “A lesson now means she won’t go down the wrong path later.” “Think of it as getting ahead of things.” The neighbor left, embarrassed. Mom checked the earnings on her phone’s backend, grinning so wide it almost reached her ears. “Nikki, you see how much I put up with for your sake.” “Lucky for me, my followers have my back.” I looked at her. For the first time, I felt it clearly — she wasn’t my mother. That night, I bit down on my pen and struggled to open the diary. Blood had soaked through the bandages and stained the pages. I crossed out ten days straight. *”Ten fingers. Still couldn’t reach her heart. -10 days.”* — **4** The college entrance exams were over. I did well. Fifty points above the cutoff for four-year universities. It was my last ticket out of this hell. I applied to a university in the south — two thousand miles away. I wanted to see the ocean. I wanted to go somewhere nobody had ever heard of “Model Mom Lisa.” But the acceptance letter never came. Then one day, I found an opened envelope in Mom’s dresser drawer. Local State Teachers College. Designated placement program. My mind went blank with a roar. I grabbed the letter and ran out to confront her. “Why? I applied to Southern University. That was my choice!” Mom was trimming flowers. She didn’t even look up. “I changed it.” Three words. Light as air. “You had no right to change my application! This is my life!” I screamed like I’d lost my mind, tears pouring down my face. “I’m your mother. That’s my right.” Mom set the scissors down on the table, her eyes cold and sharp. “Why do you need to go so far away? What’s gotten into your head?” “Stay here, become a teacher. It’s a respectable life. Stable.” “I already talked to the district coordinator. You’re going to be our community’s ‘Second-Generation Role Model.’ Following in my footsteps.” “Do you know how many people would kill for an opportunity like that?” I was shaking. So that was all I was to her. Not a person. A decoration for her “role model” brand. A tool to extend her ego. “I’m not going! I’ll retake the exam! I’m leaving this place!” I turned to run. Mom grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me back to my room. “You’re not going anywhere.” “I have your ID, your documents — all locked up.” “Where are you going to retake anything? Who’s paying for it?” She shoved me inside and locked the door from the outside. “You sit in there and think about your choices. When you come to your senses, you can come out.” I pounded on the door, sobbing and screaming until my voice was gone. Dad’s voice came quietly from the other side: “Lisa, she’s old enough to choose for herself…” “You don’t know anything.” Mom’s cold laugh came through the door. “What does she know about what’s good for her? I decide her future.” “She’ll be a respected teacher one day, and she’ll thank me for it.” I sat on the floor and stared at the iron security bars over my window. Like a cage. Locking away my youth, my dreams, my dignity. I took out my diary. Only one page left. I had been holding onto these last few days, hoping some miracle might still come. Now I understood. There was no miracle coming. I didn’t cross out the page. Instead, I picked up my pen and wrote one line in careful, even letters: *”Mom, since your reputation means everything to you —* *let me give you the most unforgettable ending to your ‘model life’ story.”* — Three days later. The city held a grand ceremony to present Mom with the “City-Level Moral Role Model” plaque. It took place in the plaza right outside our building. Red banners, drums, a crowd packed thick with reporters, officials, and neighbors. Mom let me out. She’d picked out a white dress for me — one she’d worn when she was young. “Today is an important day. You behave yourself.” “When you get up on stage, you thank me for raising you right.” She combed my hair and issued her instructions at the same time. In the mirror, my face was pale. My eyes were empty. “Of course, Mom.” I answered quietly, like I always did. Mom looked satisfied. She thought I had finally given in. The ceremony began. Mom stood on the stage, a large red carnation pinned to her chest, glowing with pride. She accepted the heavy “Moral Role Model” plaque and spoke into the microphone without pause. “The most important thing in raising children is being willing to be the strict one…” “I may be hard on her, but everything I do is for her good…” The crowd applauded. Camera flashes went off like rain. I walked slowly out from behind the stage. In my hands, I held a small green bottle, gripped tight. The emcee blinked: “Oh — is this Lisa’s daughter? Are you here to present flowers?” Every eye in the crowd found me. Mom’s brow furrowed. She lowered her voice: “What are you doing up here? It’s not your turn to speak.” I walked to her side. I stood beneath that enormous “Moral Role Model” plaque. I looked out at the faces in the crowd. Mrs. Wilson. Mr. Lee. Mrs. Taylor. They had all been Mom’s audience. Her accomplices. I raised the bottle. My voice into the microphone was soft, but the speakers carried it everywhere. “Mom, you want your reputation. You want to be a role model.” “So I’m giving you myself.” “Is this enough to make history?” Mom went white: “Nicole! What is that! Put it down!” She reached for it. Too late. I twisted off the cap, tilted my head back. The dark green liquid — smelling of soil and something raw and wrong — poured into my throat. I didn’t hesitate. I drank every last drop.

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