A crazed woman barged into my home. She pulled my hair, tore at my clothes, and screamed, calling me a mistress. The neighbors, pretending to care, rushed over, phones out, live-streaming every second and making millions off my misery. During the chaos, I was shoved down the stairs. I ended up in a coma, my body rotting away until I died. It wasn’t until much later that I realized the true cause of my death: a single, misplaced food delivery. And then, I opened my eyes… and found myself back on the day the delivery arrived. This time, I wasn’t going to let it happen. The first thing I did was snap a photo of the delivery and post it in the building’s group chat. “Who ordered food to my apartment?” 1 “Hey, that’s mine! Thanks so much!” A shrill, overly-sweet voice pierced the air, jolting me back to reality. Christina Sherman stood there, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. She reached out to grab the delivery from the guy’s hands. “Wait!” I shouted. Both the delivery guy and Christina froze and turned to stare at me. I snatched the bag out of the delivery guy’s hands and glanced at the receipt. My eyes widened in disbelief. It actually was addressed to my apartment—20

Christina’s smile faltered, her brows furrowing in irritation. I clutched the bag tightly. No way was I giving this to her. Swallowing hard, I said, “The receipt says 201. You live in 202.” Christina’s tone turned sing-songy, her words laced with a fake Californian accent. “Oops! My bad. I must’ve accidentally put the wrong address!” I shot back, “Or maybe my boyfriend ordered this for me. I need to check with him before I hand it over.” Christina pouted. “Oh my gosh, you’re being so mean! This is obviously my food, and now you’re trying to steal it.” The delivery guy, clearly uncomfortable, mumbled, “Look, I don’t care whose it is. It’s delivered. You two figure it out—I’ve got more orders to run.” And with that, he bolted. Christina crossed her arms over her chest. “Seriously? You’re making such a big deal over one delivery?” I held the bag behind me. “If it’s yours, show me the receipt from your app.” Her face turned red, then pale, then red again. “No receipt? Then I can’t hand it over. This wasn’t cheap, you know.” I knew she couldn’t prove it. Christina never ordered food herself—her sugar daddies always did it for her. Grinding her teeth, Christina spat, “Fine! Keep it, you shameless beggar. Consider it charity.” In my last life, I’d believed her when she said it was hers. Without a second thought, I’d handed it over. I never imagined that one delivery would become the spark that set my entire life ablaze. This time, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Back in my apartment, I snapped a photo of the delivery receipt and posted it in the building’s group chat. “Who accidentally sent food to my apartment?” Christina wouldn’t dare claim it publicly. That wasn’t the point. I did this to make sure someone else saw it—someone who needed to know. Because Christina’s sugar daddy? He lived in the same building as us. Christina was a small-time influencer—a wannabe star who spent her days making cringy TikToks and livestreaming at night. Her earnings weren’t much, but they were enough to keep her afloat. Through her streams, she’d met her sugar daddy, James Whitmore. And James’s wife lived in the same building. “501: @201 That’s my husband’s order. I’ll come down to get it.” My heart skipped a beat as I read the message. Moments later, there was a knock at my door. I opened it with trembling hands. Standing there was a gentle-looking woman, her hands resting on her pregnant belly. It was hard to believe that this kind, soft-spoken woman was the same person who had once turned into a vengeful storm that destroyed me. My heart pounded as her warm smile greeted me. “May I come in?” she asked, her tone polite but firm. I nodded stiffly, chills running down my spine. She stepped inside, her movements calm and deliberate. Last time, she’d done the same—entered quietly, with an air of control. And then, moments later, she’d grabbed my hair and dragged me to hell. My breathing quickened, my legs felt like jelly, and my heart thumped like a drum. But instead of attacking me, she suddenly grabbed my hand. Her voice cracked, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. 2 A Wad of Cash? What’s Going On? A thick stack of paper bills was shoved into my hands. I glanced down and froze. It was a pile of crisp, freshly-printed cash—each bill adorned with the face of President Harper. I’d never seen so much money in my life, not even in my wildest dreams. My fingers trembled as I ran my thumb over the edges. So thick. As I watched the woman walk away, carrying her takeout order, I couldn’t help but sigh. Must be nice to be rich. I thought that would be the end of it—that after what happened, Christina’s takeout orders would stop showing up at my door. But the next day, I woke up to yet another delivery. Same address: Apartment 201. Same phone number: that all-too-familiar one. At this point, I was certain—this wasn’t a mistake. It was a setup. They were doing this on purpose. In my previous life, even James had implied to his wife that I was his mistress. All of this had been orchestrated for one reason: to protect Christina. That night, I bought a security camera and installed it by my front door. I thought about using the cash James’s wife had given me to rent a new place and move far away. But when I remembered the hell I’d been through in my last life, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Not without fighting back. After I fell into a coma, I learned the truth about James’s wife. She had bipolar disorder. In my last life, she’d stormed into my apartment in a frenzy, yanked my hair, and screamed that I was a homewrecker. It took everything I had to calm her down. But just as she was starting to settle, Christina showed up with her phone camera rolling. “Homewrecker?” Christina shouted dramatically. “I always thought it was weird that someone kept sending her takeout. Turns out she is a homewrecker!” Those words were like gasoline on a fire. James’s wife snapped, lunging at me again. Christina, still filming, yelled, “Don’t worry! I’m here to help!” But instead of helping, she subtly steered James’s wife toward the staircase. I was trapped. Christina kept egging her on, and before I knew it, I was falling. I hit the stairs hard, my head slamming against the edge. The world went black. When I woke up, I couldn’t move. I was a vegetable. The police came, and James put on the performance of a lifetime. He removed his glasses, dabbing at his dry eyes as if he were weeping. “Officers,” he said, his voice trembling, “I won’t cover for my wife. “She has bipolar disorder. Her mental health has been fragile for years, but I love her deeply. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, and I let my selfishness blind me to the harm she was causing others. “After this… I know what I have to do. I’ll have her committed to a psychiatric facility. “And as for Miss Lee…” He gestured toward my unconscious body. “I’ll take full responsibility for her medical expenses. I’ll make sure she gets the best care possible.” Then Christina jumped in, acting like we were the best of friends. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, “Let me take care of her! We’re neighbors. We’ve always been close. I never imagined something like this would happen to her.” Normally, the hospital would’ve contacted my parents. But my parents didn’t care about me. They only had eyes for my older brother, and I was nothing more than a forgotten shadow in their lives. When they heard Christina was volunteering to look after me, they happily signed the papers, took the settlement money, and washed their hands of me. James’s promise to “take full responsibility” turned out to be a joke. They moved me to a private hospital, not to help me recover, but to keep me out of sight. And Christina’s offer to take care of me? A lie. She only showed up when James wanted her there. My hospital room became their love nest, my body nothing more than a convenient excuse for them to spend time together. I was the bridge that connected them, the cover story that hid their affair in plain sight. 3 A Chance Encounter in the Elevator A flash of beige caught my eye, snapping me out of my thoughts. James’s wife had just stepped into the elevator. Gripping the bag of ribs I’d just purchased, I hurried after her. The elevator was spacious, but it felt stifling with just the two of us inside. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I remembered her fate in my last life—locked away in a psychiatric hospital. Meanwhile, James and Christina spent their days exchanging flirtatious glances and their nights kissing beside my hospital bed. Looking at her now, so different from the deranged, broken woman I had known, I felt a pang of guilt. She didn’t deserve to stay with a scumbag like James. But… what if she wasn’t as innocent as she seemed? Suddenly, a slender, pale hand appeared in front of me. I looked up. She was smiling. “I forgot to introduce myself last time,” she said warmly. “I’m Rachel Whitmore. I live upstairs in Apartment 501.” I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lily Carter.” The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. But the sight waiting for me outside made my blood boil. Christina was standing at my door, messing with another takeout order. She loved her soups and broths, but without fail, she spilled them every time. The greasy puddles she left behind were like her personality—disgusting and impossible to scrub clean. This time, I had proof. With my newly installed camera, I had everything I needed to catch her in the act. I charged out of the elevator, my voice sharp and cutting. “Do you not know where your own apartment is? Why is your takeout always ending up at my door?” Christina didn’t even flinch. “I told you already—it’s a mistake.” “A mistake?” I scoffed. “You ‘accidentally’ put the wrong address every single time? And last time, you said the delivery was yours, but someone else claimed it!” She folded her arms and snapped back, “Maybe I misread the receipt. Is that a crime?” I pointed at the camera above my door. “I’ve installed a security camera now. Let’s see you ‘misread’ your way out of this.” Her face paled. For a moment, she was silent, but then she regained her composure and shot back, “This is illegal! You can’t just install a camera in a shared space! It’s against the rules!” “Illegal?” I raised an eyebrow. “It’s on my door. How is that illegal?” She sneered. “This is a common area! Everyone here pays for it! You didn’t get permission from the rest of us to install a camera. That’s not allowed!” Before I could respond, she spun around and marched toward the door of Apartment 210, pounding on it like her life depended on it. The door swung open, revealing a burly man with a scowl. “What the hell is it now?! You people are always making a racket!” Christina batted her lashes, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Oh, hi, neighbor! There’s a problem with the tenant in 201. She installed a camera in the common area, and when I tried to talk her out of it, she wouldn’t listen. Isn’t that so unfair?” The man’s irritation melted away the moment he recognized her. His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Wait a minute… I know you! I’ve seen you online!” Christina’s expression brightened. “Oh, really? You’ve watched my streams?” “Yeah, yeah!” he exclaimed, smacking his forehead as if trying to jog his memory. “Aren’t you… uh… what’s your name again? The one with all the cooking videos…” Christina’s voice turned saccharine. “That’s right, that’s me! I’m so glad you watch my streams!” His face lit up even brighter. “Oh, I remember now! You’re LilBabyPeachy! That’s your username, right?” Christina’s smile froze. I couldn’t help it—I laughed out loud. For the record, Christina’s username on her streaming platform was definitely not “LilBabyPeachy.” Her face turned an alarming shade of red, but she quickly recovered, grabbing the man’s arm and leaning in closer. “Neighbor, you’re so sweet! But please, you have to help me. This camera is totally against the rules!” For a moment, it seemed like the man might actually take her side. But then he glanced up at the camera, frowned, and gently pulled his arm free. “Look, lady,” he said, stepping back. “If she wants a camera on her own door, that’s none of my business. You’re on your own.” Then he slammed the door in her face. I later found out that the man was married—and completely under his wife’s thumb. Back in the hallway, Christina stood frozen for a moment, her face a mix of fury and embarrassment. Finally, she turned to me, her voice trembling with anger. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m calling the building manager. Let’s see what he has to say about this!” I stared at her, incredulous. Christina… how many men have you roped into your little web? Does James even know? 4 That afternoon, I finally met the so-called “building manager” Christina had been bragging about. He stumbled toward my door, unsteady on his feet, wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face. The massive dark circles under his eyes were impossible to miss, as was the sour attitude he brought with him. Without a word, he raised a hand and smashed my security camera. I stared at the live feed on my monitor as the screen went black. Then, I calmly picked up my phone and called the police. The bigger this mess got, the better. Let everyone see what was really going on. I crouched by the remains of the camera on the floor, took a few photos, and uploaded them to the building’s group chat. “This is what happens when you try to protect yourself,” I captioned the post. Soon enough, a crowd began to gather outside my door. By the time the police arrived, there was a full-blown audience. I walked up to the officers the moment they stepped out of their car. “The building manager destroyed my security camera,” I said, pointing to the shattered pieces on the ground. “I paid over $3,000 for it!” The building manager, who had clearly come under duress, widened his eyes in disbelief. “Three grand for a camera? Are you insane?” He turned to the officers, throwing his hands in the air. “I swear, I didn’t destroy anything!” I crossed my arms and shot back coldly, “I have footage.” He scoffed and tried to save face. “Even if I did destroy something, it’s not the point! She was using a shared space for her personal equipment! That’s what’s really wrong here! I was just doing my job, protecting the interests of the community. Officers, please, you’ve got to see how unreasonable she’s being!” One of the officers frowned and turned to me. “You were taking up a shared space?” I sniffled and said, “He’s calling my front door a shared space.” The officer blinked, looking genuinely baffled. “Your own door is considered shared property?” The crowd collectively gasped. It was a moment of silence for the absurdity of the “building manager.” I let a couple of tears fall for dramatic effect. “Officers,” I said, my voice trembling, “please help me. I’ve had this camera for a while, and we’ve been through so much together. I even got emotionally attached to it!” I wiped my cheeks and straightened up, my tone suddenly firm and righteous. “Officers, I have reason to believe the building manager didn’t destroy my camera on his own accord. Someone put him up to it!” From the back of the crowd, Christina flinched, her shoulders jerking involuntarily. “And,” I added, my voice sharp enough to cut glass, “I still have the footage.”

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The chauffeur’s son went all out, sparing no expense, to throw an extravagant birthday party for his little girlfriend. When it came time to pay, surprise! His credit card was frozen. Fuming, he called me in a fit of rage: “Lila Grant, what gives you the right to freeze my credit card? Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to not be able to pay here?!” I chuckled coldly and reminded him, “Have you been drinking too much expired milk formula? That card you’re holding happens to be mine. If I freeze my own credit card, how’s that any of your business?” Please. I’m not like the original lovestruck fool I replaced. Why would I, a rich heiress, stoop to chasing after the chauffeur’s son? I woke up in the world of a cliché romance novel. The original heroine, Lila Grant, was the only daughter of the prestigious Grant family in the fictional city of Avalon. She was raised like a princess, showered with love and attention from all directions. This kind of girl had probably never faced rejection in her life, which is why, when the chauffeur’s son, Austin Chase, turned her down after she invited him to hang out, her obsession kicked in. This guy dares to reject me? He’s so different from everyone else. I love it! And so, from that day forward, Lila became Austin’s shadow. At first, maybe she just wanted to conquer him, to see him fall for her like every other boy at school. But clearly, Austin wasn’t buying it. No matter how much she bribed, threatened, or pleaded, his attitude toward her remained stone cold. Eventually, her feelings morphed into full-blown desperation. She started doing everything she could to win his favor. Her dad bought her a brand-new phone? She gave it to Austin and kept using his old hand-me-down. Her mom bought her a gorgeous new necklace? Austin took it and gifted it to his crush, Mia, for her birthday. Even her monthly allowance—$10,000—was mostly spent on Austin. Everyone at school knew how far Lila was willing to go for Austin. No matter how outrageous his demands, as long as he frowned slightly, she’d immediately lower her head and apologize. Rumors started circulating that Lila wasn’t actually the Grant family’s daughter, but the housekeeper’s kid. Supposedly, the only reason she could attend the elite Westbridge Academy was because Austin’s family sponsored her. Honestly, the original Lila was an absolute fool. Just earlier today, the poor girl heard that Austin confessed his love to Mia at her birthday party. She got so worked up that she literally died of anger. Seriously? What kind of spell did Austin cast on her to make a rich heiress lose her mind like this? But now, I’m the one lying on this luxurious, king-sized bed, staring at the absurd balance in my bank account, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. Being a rich heiress is awesome. Forget Austin Chase or whatever-his-name-is. I’m done. I hung up on Austin and immediately blocked his number. Just as I was enjoying my victory, another call came in. A girl’s tearful voice greeted me: “Lila, I know you like Austin, but he loves me! How could you freeze his credit card just because he doesn’t like you?” “Now the whole class is stuck at the hotel because the bill hasn’t been paid! Stop being so petty and unfreeze his card already!” “And you blocked his number too! Do you know how furious he is? If I hadn’t calmed him down, he’d have ended your friendship by now!” I replied coolly, “Good. Let’s end it then. I don’t care.” “Oh, by the way, did Austin not tell you? That card he’s using is mine. I froze my card. How is that any of your business?” “If he wanted to throw you a party, why didn’t he use his own money? Isn’t he supposed to be some big shot? Can’t even afford a birthday bash? What a joke.” The phone was snatched away from the girl, and Austin’s angry voice roared on the other end: “Lila Grant, stop playing these stupid games to get my attention! I’m warning you—unfreeze the card in the next minute, or you’ll regret it!” Wow. He really thought he was the main character, didn’t he? Too bad. Austin was just the chauffeur’s kid. Before I even had the chance to respond, he hung up on me. Great. Saved me the effort of wasting my breath. I calmly blocked the number, got up, and started putting on makeup. I chose an outfit from my walk-in closet, where the selection was bigger than the living room in my old house. Man, being rich is incredible. Designer makeup lined the vanity, and the closet was filled with the latest high-end fashion and handbags. If it weren’t for the fact that I was starving, I’d have stayed there all day trying on clothes! Austin’s dad, John Chase, is my personal driver. In reality, he was originally my dad’s driver, but because the previous owner had a thing for Austin, he insisted on having John drive him around, and, of course, Austin ended up getting a ride too. Funny enough, even though John was technically my driver, he always insisted on waiting for Austin to show up before leaving. There were several times when I was stuck at school after bombing an exam, and John would pick up Austin and leave without me. I’d end up having to take the bus back home. This happened because when I asked John to come back for me, Austin would scold him: “It’s your fault for not studying properly and failing the exam, why should my dad have to run another errand for you? Can’t you just take the bus back like everyone else?” I opened the back door and slid into the car, just as I heard John on the phone. “I got it, I got it, I’ll ask him.” He hung up and turned to look at me, with a hint of reproach in his eyes. “Lila, did you have a fight with Austin? Why did you freeze his credit card? He’s stuck at the hotel, embarrassed in front of the whole class. Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” “Mr. Chase, I call you Mr. Chase out of respect, but you need to know your place. You’re just my driver. Lila is what my parents call me, not what you should be calling me.” “And just so you understand, the credit card your son is holding is mine. I froze MY credit card. What does that have to do with you guys?” John stared at me, his face going through a range of expressions, almost like a painter’s palette. He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. I gave him an address, closed my eyes, and pretended to nap. But when the car stopped, I realized that John had driven us straight to the hotel where Austin was throwing a birthday party for Mia. “Lila, I know you’re upset about Austin being with Mia, but we can’t force feelings, right?” “This hotel was your booking for Austin. You paid for it, and now you’re trying to skip out on the bill. Do you really think that’s the right thing to do?” “Now the whole class is stuck at the hotel because of your actions. Stop throwing a tantrum and just pay the bill.” I stared at John for a moment, then nodded. “Fine, but you have to come with me.” John hesitated, wanting to refuse, but when he saw the look in my eyes, he reluctantly agreed. We walked in, me first, and before we even reached the private room, I could hear the noise and complaints inside. “Lila Grant must’ve lost her mind today—she actually blocked Austin’s number.” “Yeah, Mia tried to call her and she blocked her too. Is it because Austin and Mia are together? Is that too much for her to handle?” “Don’t worry. This happened before, remember? She only lasted an hour before she gave in and apologized to Austin. I bet she’ll last an hour today too.” I pushed the door open, and all eyes turned toward me. I could hear the same two voices laughing as they spoke again: “See, I told you she wouldn’t last. Now she’s rushing to apologize to Austin!” Austin looked at me with a mix of disgust, his smile vanishing in an instant. “Lila Grant, so you decided to show up after all!” He gave me a once-over, then sneered. “It’s Mia’ birthday, and you came empty-handed? Where’s your gift?” When I didn’t answer, he went on, “Fine, no gift? Just send me 100k, and I’ll pick out a bag for Mia. That’ll be your present to her.” I laughed and walked up to him, meeting his gaze directly. “How strange, Mr. Chase. Where would the daughter of a maid like me get 100k to buy Mia a bag?”3 His face shifted, and he stammered, “But, but wasn’t that the salary I gave you?” I raised an eyebrow, about to say something when Mia interrupted. “Forget it, forget it, no gift, no problem. Lila Grant, just pay the bill already, we’re heading out to karaoke!” I blinked in surprise. “What? Why do I have to pay the bill? I’m just the daughter of a maid. Where do you think I’m getting the money to pay for all of you?” I purposely said it loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s not your money, it’s the money Austin left with you,” someone piped up. “You’re letting your pocket money be managed by your maid’s daughter?” I shot back, dripping sarcasm. The person fell silent. Austin pulled me to the side, lowering his voice: “Lila Grant, what are you trying to do? Why is it so difficult for you to just pay the bill?” I raised an eyebrow, looking at him. “I’m not doing anything, I just suddenly realized I don’t want to be your doormat anymore.” I turned and looked directly at John Chase, who had been trailing behind me. “Mr. Chase, your son’s too broke to pay for his girlfriend’s birthday dinner, seems like you—his dad—should pick up the tab, right?” The moment Austin and John locked eyes, their expressions were… odd. Of course, the rest of the class looked even more bewildered. “Austin is the heir to the Chase family, right? Why is his dad dressed so… plain?” “That suit doesn’t fit, and it’s all wrinkled. Definitely not custom-made.” “No way… this is Austin’s dad? He doesn’t look like a rich guy at all. What’s going on?” The whispers buzzed, and Austin’s face was all shades of green and white. I took the opportunity to deliver the final blow, “This is our driver, Mr. Chase. Austin is his son.” “Mr. Chase, if you’re short on cash, I can call my uncle and ask for a discount.” “Oh, and by the way, you’re fired. As of today, you’re no longer working for my family.” With that, I waved my hand casually and turned, strutting away. This is too funny—thought they could make me the sucker to foot the bill? Not a chance! With that money, I could donate it to kids in the mountains—what’s better than earning some good karma?4 The next day when I went to school, I opened the car door to get in, but before I could even sit down, Austin tried to climb in right behind me. “What do you think you’re doing?” I grabbed the door and stopped him. “Move, we’re going to be late,” he said, shoving me aside before climbing into the car and sitting next to me. He then turned to the driver and said, “Dad, like usual, stop by to pick up Mia first, then take us to school.” The driver turned around, confused, and looked at Austin. John Chase had been fired yesterday. To make sure he didn’t think I was all talk, I’d called my dad to tell him about it. My dad said that his other driver, Mr. Harris, was available and would be picking me up and dropping me off from now on. “Austin Chase, have you lost your memory? I fired your dad yesterday.” “You—get out! Now!” I kicked him hard, sending him tumbling out of the car.

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After my brother passed away, My pregnant sister-in-law developed an unsettling obsession: secretly filming couples on dates. She didn’t stop there—she blackmailed them for money and even spread the videos online. When one furious victim showed up at our house with a knife, demanding answers, She pointed to her pregnant belly and forced my mom to choose. And my mom? She decided that “two lives were more valuable than one.” “Your sister-in-law is carrying my grandchild. Be understanding, okay?” Then she shoved me out the door to face the knife-wielding man. I was stabbed to death. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back in the past. This time, I stole my mom’s line And shoved her out the door instead. Bang. Bang. The violent pounding on the door jolted me awake. I sat up in bed, wide-eyed, frantically feeling my stomach. No wounds. No blood. No pain. I was alive. I had been reborn! In my last life, after my brother passed away from an illness, my sister-in-law, Caroline, completely lost it. Pregnant and unbalanced, she developed a strange hobby. She loved spying on couples, secretly recording their intimate moments, and saving the videos to watch later. I was disgusted by her behavior, but I never imagined she’d take it further. She started blackmailing the people in the videos, demanding money. And when one couple refused to pay, she retaliated by sharing the footage online. Furious, the man in the video showed up at our house with a knife, demanding justice. My mom, ever the “family protector,” said something I’d never forget: “Your sister-in-law is carrying my grandson. Two lives are at stake. You’ll understand, won’t you?” Then she shoved me out the door. I was stabbed to death. Now, as the man outside screamed and pounded on the door, memories of my last life flooded back. “Get out here, you filthy woman! Come out NOW!” Caroline, just like before, clutched her belly and leaned against the wall, tears brimming in her eyes. She stared at my mom, shaking her head in silent fear. My mom immediately turned to look at me. I felt a chill run down my spine. Here we go again. But this time, I wasn’t going to wait for her to make the first move. As soon as she turned back toward Caroline, I stood up and cut her off, stealing the words she was about to say. “Caroline is carrying your precious grandson. Two lives are more important than one.” “Mom, I understand.” Ignoring her stunned expression, I walked to the storage room and grabbed a shovel. This time, she didn’t push me toward the door. She grabbed my arm instead. For a brief moment, hope flickered in my chest. Had my rebirth changed her heart? But then she turned to Caroline, her voice full of urgency. “Caroline, go hide in the bedroom! Hurry before you get scared.” And then, without missing a beat, she shoved me lightly toward the door. “Go on, sweetheart. Mom will never forget your sacrifice.” The pain I felt in that moment was worse than death. I turned back around, grabbed her wrist, and shoved the shovel into her hands. Then I threw the door open and pushed her out with all my strength. “You want the shovel? Here—it’s all yours. Let’s see how you handle this.” This time, we’re switching roles. Let’s make the game a little more interesting.

I slammed the door shut and locked it, pressing my ear against it to catch every sound from the other side. First, I heard my mom cursing. Then, the screams started. After a while, the man’s screams joined hers. My mom was fighting back. That’s when Caroline burst out of the bedroom, her face pale with fear. She pointed at me and shrieked, “Why are you still here? Why didn’t you go out there?” I smirked. “Why wouldn’t it be me?” I crossed my arms and sneered. “After all, my mom isn’t pregnant. Just one life. Seems like a fair trade, don’t you think?” Caroline’s eyes widened, and she shot back in a shrill voice, “You heartless monster! What if your mom dies out there? Go save her! Go now!” Oh, right. My mom owns three very expensive houses. If she dies, how would Caroline ever get her hands on them? I smiled coldly. “You’re right. You should have a chance to prove yourself.” Before she could react, I shoved her toward the door. But instead of going out to help, she spun on her heel and bolted back into the bedroom. “I’m pregnant with your mom’s grandson, and you expect me to go out there?” she screeched. See? The whip only stings when it cracks on your own back. Outside, the noise died down. All I could hear now was my mom’s faint cries for help. Peeking through the peephole, I saw her lying on the ground, covered in blood. But the man was gone. I sighed, taking a moment to compose myself before slowly opening the door. “Mom? Oh no, Mom! What happened to you?” I walked over, feigning panic. “Are you… are you dying?” She only had two or three shallow cuts, none of them life-threatening. Honestly, she got off easy. But as I stood over her, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. Why had I given her the shovel to defend herself? Wouldn’t it have been better if the curtain had closed on this little drama for good? Caroline suddenly charged out of the bedroom, her inner drama queen fully activated. She wailed hysterically, throwing herself to the ground next to my mom as though she might faint from grief. “Call 911!” my mom groaned, her face twisted in pain. I pulled out my phone—not to call for help, but to snap photos. “Hold on,” I said, snapping a few shots. “Gotta document this for evidence.” “You little brat!” my mom hissed through gritted teeth. “You ungrateful, heartless—” I stopped what I was doing and gave her a sidelong glance. “Really? You’re still complaining? It’s just a couple of scratches. Don’t be so dramatic.” “You…” Her face turned red, and she gasped for air before her eyes rolled back, and she passed out. In my last life, I was shoved out that door without warning. I was stabbed dozens of times and left to die, bleeding out as I clawed at the door for help. And what was my mom doing then? She was inside the house, making soup for Caroline. So forgive me if I wasn’t exactly moved by her fainting spell now.

I called the police first. Then, I called for an ambulance. The apartment complex was clogged with traffic, so the ambulance took its sweet time getting there. That suited me just fine. Let her suffer a little longer. Caroline, meanwhile, panicked completely. She hovered over my mom, pressing on her bleeding wounds, muttering, “It’s fine, it’s fine. You’ll be okay.” “Relax,” I said with an eye roll. “She’s not gonna die.” Caroline shot me a look of disbelief. “She’s your mother! How can you be so cruel?” I laughed. “You want her so bad? She’s all yours. Congratulations.” Then, I grabbed a bag of sunflower seeds, plopped down on the couch, and waited for the police and paramedics to arrive. My mom eventually made it to the hospital. She had lost a lot of blood but didn’t have any serious injuries. When the doctor asked about her medical history, I quickly spoke up. “She’s allergic to anesthesia,” I said with a straight face. “You’ll need to stitch her up without it.” Caroline glared at me, suspicious. I turned to her and smirked. “You should start thinking about what you’re going to tell the police.” Caroline puffed out her chest, smug as ever. “Why should I care? I’m pregnant. What can they possibly do to me?” I gave her a long, unimpressed look. “Sure, keep hiding behind that belly. We’ll see how long that lasts.” Moments later, the sound of my mom’s screams echoed through the hospital as they stitched her wounds. Pressed down onto the hospital bed, her face contorted in agony, her mouth wide open as she howled. I watched through the window, feeling nothing but satisfaction. The man who attacked her was quickly caught, and the police came to the hospital to take Caroline in for questioning. As soon as my mom was wheeled out of the emergency room, I delivered the news with a big smile. “They’re taking Caroline in to make a statement,” I said cheerfully. My mom’s face drained of color. “She… she can’t get a record! What about my grandson? What if he wants to work for the government someday?” I shrugged, my voice ice-cold. “Guess that’s not an option anymore.” Her panic was instant. She tried to jump out of bed, but her freshly stitched wounds tore open, sending blood gushing everywhere. “Ahhh!” she screamed, writhing in pain. She reached out to me, desperation etched on her face. “Help me! Emily, help me up!” I turned away. “I’ll go get the doctor.” I left the room, taking my time as I strolled down the hall. When I returned with the doctor, we found her collapsed by the door, her bloodied hands leaving streaks on the floor as she tried to crawl out. I couldn’t help but smirk and give her a thumbs-up. “Wow, Mom,” I said. “You really are something else.”

Because Caroline violated people’s privacy by secretly filming and distributing obscene videos, she was sentenced to 15 days of administrative detention and fined $5,00. When my mom heard about it, she threw a fit, insisting on leaving the hospital to check on Caroline. “It’s raining out there! What if she gets cold?” “The food in jail is awful and has no nutrition! How is she supposed to survive?” “This is all your fault, you ungrateful brat! Why did you push me out the door?” “My poor, sweet Caroline. She’s suffering because of you!” I turned around and tossed the takeout box I had been holding straight into the trash. She didn’t deserve it. My mom was bedridden, powerless to do anything herself, but Caroline’s “hobby” had become the talk of the town. In her twisted logic, she blamed me for everything—claiming that I had ruined her precious unborn grandson’s reputation before he even had a chance to be born. And to “restore” that reputation? She did something unthinkable. She used my name to write a fake confession and posted it all over social media. “Dear friends and family, I’m Emily Watts, and I’m here to confess my sins. It was me who secretly filmed those videos, not my sister-in-law. She only took the blame to protect me. I’ve let my mom down. I’ve let my family down. Most of all, I’ve let my unborn nephew down. Please don’t blame Caroline. Blame me.” She followed it up with ten similar posts, tagging every family member and friend she could think of. Then she forwarded it to group chats, ensuring maximum exposure. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Call after call came in, all asking the same thing: “Is it true?” Furious, I stormed into her hospital room, fists clenched, demanding an explanation. Her response? Calm. Matter-of-fact. “Our family’s future depends on my grandson. As his aunt, this is the least you can do.” When Caroline was released from detention, my mom insisted on checking herself out of the hospital to take care of her. Honestly, Caroline should count herself lucky. Having a mother-in-law like mine is like winning the lottery—if the lottery rewarded you with blind devotion and endless enabling. The moment Caroline stepped through the door, she burst into tears, sobbing about the “horrors” of jail. My mom, of course, was right there with her, dabbing at her own tears like they were the stars of a tragic soap opera. “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” my mom cooed. “Your suffering is over now.” The sight of the two of them together made me want to throw up. Caroline, through her crocodile tears, began spinning a new story. “Mom, I don’t need the houses anymore. Just give them to Emily. If I keep them, she’ll keep causing trouble for me and the baby. Who knows what she’ll do next?” She sniffled dramatically. “I’m scared, Mom. What if she hurts us? What if she hurts the baby?” Her little act worked. My mom’s face twisted with rage. “She dares to touch my grandson? I’ll kill her first!” Hearing this, I decided to play along. I walked out of the kitchen, head lowered, pretending to be remorseful. “Mom, Caroline, I’m so sorry. I was wrong. I’ll never do anything to upset you again.” Caroline shot me a triumphant, venomous glare. But I wasn’t done yet. The drama died down for a while, but it didn’t take long for Caroline to go back to her old habits. This time, she secretly filmed someone having an affair and used the footage to blackmail them. The woman in the video paid her off to keep things quiet, but the man wasn’t as forgiving. One evening, on my way back from the store, someone grabbed me from behind, covering my mouth and nose. I was dragged into a dark alley. “Not bad,” the man sneered. “Didn’t realize you’d be this hot.” I struggled with all my strength, but he slapped me hard across the face. My head buzzed, my cheek stinging from the impact. “Stop fighting, you little bitch,” he growled. “Like spying on people, huh? Let me give you a show you’ll never forget.” Something inside me snapped. I stopped struggling and went limp. Then, slowly, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “Fine,” I whispered. “But don’t you think we should go somewhere more private?” My sudden compliance caught him off guard. He froze, his grip loosening ever so slightly. Taking advantage of his hesitation, I stood up, removed my coat, and smiled coldly. “Do you know why I secretly film people?” I asked, my voice calm, almost conversational. “Because I have a condition. It’s the only thing that makes me feel alive.” The man’s face twisted in disgust. Swearing under his breath, he yanked up his pants and stormed off. As soon as he disappeared, I pulled out a tissue, carefully wrapped the skin and hairs I’d scratched from his neck, and headed straight for the police station. The alley was too dark to identify him, but the DNA evidence would be enough to track him down. That night, a kind police officer drove me home. It was nearly midnight when we arrived. My mom opened the door, her face sour as she started to scold me. “You ungrateful brat! Took you long enough to—” Her words died in her throat the moment she saw the officer behind me. Fear flickered in her eyes, but she quickly replaced it with fake concern. “Oh, Emily! What happened to you? Why didn’t you call me? I was so worried!” But as soon as the officer left, her mask slipped. “You got assaulted buying groceries?” she sneered. “Honestly, you deserve it. Serves you right.” Caroline, sitting at the table, smirked at me. “Come on, Emily,” she said mockingly. “Join us for a midnight snack.” My mom shot her a look of exaggerated concern. “She doesn’t deserve to sit with us. Caroline, sweetheart, you eat. Don’t let my grandson go hungry.” I stood there in the living room, silently watching them, hatred burning in my eyes. Caroline wanted the houses. My mom wanted her grandson. Fine. If this is what they wanted most, then that’s exactly what I’d destroy.

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When I won an iPad at my company’s annual party, I was thrilled. As soon as I got home, I shared the news with my mom, grinning from ear to ear. The next day, my sister-in-law, Amanda, knocked on my bedroom door. “Hey, do you think you could give that iPad to your nephew, Ryan?” she asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Ryan’s been needing one for school—online classes, assignments, you know. You don’t have kids, so you don’t really need it. Why not just give it to him?” I shook my head. “Sorry, Amanda, but I’m planning to use it myself.” That’s when the entire family decided to gang up on me. “You’re living here, eating here, and you can’t even give your nephew something you got for free?” “What a selfish, ungrateful leech!” “Don’t ever call me your brother again. Get out of this house!” So, I did. I packed my things, moved out, and left them to their drama. Funny thing is, after a while, they begged me to come back. “Listen, Emily,” Amanda began one evening, pulling me aside with an overly earnest look. “You know how hard your brother works, right? Ryan just started high school, and the pressure is insane. We can’t afford a tutor, and the iPad would help him keep up with online resources.” I hesitated. “But I was planning to use it too…” “For what?” she snapped, patting my hand like I was a child. “Watching YouTube? Scrolling through Instagram? You can do all that on your phone, can’t you?” She sighed dramatically. “Ryan’s at such a critical point in his education. As his aunt, shouldn’t you support him?” The iPad I’d won was the latest model, something I’d been eyeing for months but couldn’t justify buying because of its price. Now she wanted me to hand it over for free? Absolutely not. “You could always check out second-hand options,” I suggested. “You can get a decent tablet for much cheaper.” Amanda’s eyes widened in horror. “Second-hand? Are you serious? All the boys in Ryan’s class have the newest models. Do you want him to be the laughingstock of the school? Is that what you want?” Before I could respond, she sneered, “You’re trying to humiliate him, aren’t you?” I clenched my fists. “Then go buy him a new one!” She threw her hands up. “Why would I do that when you already have one? It’s such a waste!” Her tone shifted to mock sympathy. “You’re divorced now, Emily. No husband, no kids. When you’re old, you’ll need Ryan to take care of you. Shouldn’t you invest in his future?” I laughed bitterly. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t need anyone.” And with that, I slammed the door in her face and went to work.

After my divorce, I moved back into my parents’ house. Between my job and the messy legal battle with my ex, I figured staying with family would give me some stability. Amanda wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. She’d turned my old bedroom into a storage space and wasn’t happy about having to clear it out. As I started unpacking my things, she stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “Do you really need to move everything back in? These boxes were just fine where they were. You hardly take up any space when you’re sleeping, so why not just leave them here?” Her logic was absurd. My room was already the smallest in the house, and with all her junk in there, I could barely move. Still, I bit my tongue and quietly cleared out the space. To smooth things over, I offered to pay $300 a month as a contribution to the household expenses. Amanda put on a fake smile. “Oh, there’s no need for that. You’re family.” When I insisted, she finally relented. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll take it. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure you’re comfortable here. I’ll even cook your favorite meals!” That promise didn’t last long. Barely two months in, she started complaining at the dinner table. “Groceries are so expensive these days. And doing all this housework? My back is killing me.” One evening, while we were all watching TV, she stormed into the living room and started ranting about money. “Ryan needs to enroll in an extracurricular program, but we can’t afford it. And whose fault is that? Your brother barely makes enough to feed this family!” she yelled, glaring at him. “Do you know how long it’s been since I bought myself new clothes? I can’t believe I married someone so useless!” Before she could keep going, my brother slapped her across the face. The room went silent. Amanda froze for a second before bursting into tears, wailing so loudly it made the walls shake. “Enough!” my dad shouted, slamming his coffee cup onto the table. Amanda immediately stopped crying, staring at him in shock. “If you don’t like it here, you can leave,” he said coldly. Amanda opened her mouth to argue, but I quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation. “It’s okay, Amanda. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress. I’ll add another $100 to my monthly contribution. It’s not much, but I hope it helps.” That seemed to calm her down. She wiped her tears and nodded reluctantly. My dad, however, glared at me. “Ever since you came back, this family’s been in chaos. You couldn’t hold onto your marriage, and now you’re bringing your bad luck here. You’re nothing but a burden.” He’d never liked me. To him, I was just a daughter who’d failed to “marry well” and brought shame to the family by getting divorced. At the time, I thought he was right. I felt guilty for moving back in and tried to make up for it by keeping my head down and buying expensive gifts for everyone. But no matter how much I gave, they never treated me with kindness. My mom was the only one who showed me any warmth. The rest of them only spoke to me when they wanted something—like the time I paid for Ryan’s summer camp. Ironically, I’d moved back home to save money, but living there ended up costing me more than renting an apartment. Looking back, it’s clear that Amanda’s constant complaints about my brother’s income were just a smokescreen. In the end, I was the only one footing the bill for their luxuries.

After work, I decided not to head home right away. After the morning’s drama, I wasn’t ready to face Amanda. I called my mom to let her know I’d be late and told her not to wait for me for dinner. Growing up, my dad ran the house like a dictator. As my brother got older, he naturally took the position of second-in-command. I always thought my mom and I were on the same team. She was quiet, submissive, and rarely taken seriously. When my brother dropped out of middle school, I’d often come home from school to find him and my dad sprawled on the couch, watching TV or playing video games. The floor was always littered with cigarette butts, sunflower seeds, and trash. Meanwhile, my mom, with an apron tied around her waist and gloves on her hands, would be rushing around cleaning up after them. She’d sweep the floor, ask them to throw their trash into the bin, and then head back to the kitchen. But by the time she returned, the floor would be trashed all over again. I felt sorry for her and helped with the housework whenever I could. When my dad hit her, I’d step in to shield her, hoping to ease her suffering even a little. So, when I won the iPad, I only told her, trusting she’d keep it between us. I even posted about it on my private social media, carefully excluding any family members. But by the next morning, Amanda knew. When my mom called to check on me during lunch, I couldn’t hold back my frustration. “Mom, I told you not to say anything about the iPad! How does Amanda already know?” She hesitated, then stammered, “Well, uh… last night when you told me about it, I think she overheard us talking.” “And what, you just told her everything when she asked?” I snapped. “I didn’t mean to! She said Ryan needed it for school, so I… I just mentioned it.” I was so angry I couldn’t speak. After a pause, she added nervously, “Emily, if you don’t need it, why not let your nephew have it? Amanda may be a bit harsh, but Ryan’s education is important…” Ryan’s education? He was consistently at the bottom of his class and was always in trouble. Somehow, Amanda had convinced herself that an iPad was the magical solution to his academic failures. I ended the call, not wanting to hear more excuses. When I finally got home that evening, the house was unusually quiet. Normally, this was the time of night when Ryan would be glued to the couch, refusing to go to bed. Amanda would yell at him, and the two of them would argue until the entire house was in chaos. But tonight, only my parents were in the living room. My brother and his family were nowhere to be seen. I went to my room and decided it was time to sell the iPad. Things had been tight financially lately, and I’d been debating whether to keep it or sell it for cash. After Amanda’s stunt, the decision was easy—selling it was the way to go. I opened my desk drawer to grab it… but it was gone. The desk had a lock, but I’d lost the key years ago. I figured it was safe enough to leave the iPad there—after all, I was living in my own home. But now, it had vanished. I immediately knew who was responsible. Ever since moving back in, I’d noticed my things going missing—half-used skincare products, makeup I rarely wore, clothes I didn’t touch, snacks I’d bought for myself. None of it was expensive, so I’d let it slide. But this? Stealing the iPad crossed the line. Fuming, I stormed into Amanda’s room without knocking. She and Ryan were lounging on the bed, and the moment she saw me, she instinctively pushed something down onto the mattress. It was too late. I’d already seen it. “Don’t you knock?” Amanda snapped, trying to go on the offensive. “When have you ever knocked before coming into my room?” I shot back. Her face twisted in indignation. “Watch your tone! Don’t forget whose house you’re living in!” “‘Whose house’? This is my house!” I shouted. “And while we’re at it, stop taking my things. Give me back the iPad!” Amanda’s laugh was cold and mocking. “Your house? What a joke. No wonder your husband left you. Married for three years and you couldn’t even have a kid!” I froze, stunned by the cruelty of her words. She didn’t stop there. “Women like you—useless and barren—don’t deserve a place in any family. You’re lucky we even let you stay here!” The sheer audacity of her words made me laugh bitterly. I shook my head, regaining some composure. “I don’t have time for this. Just give me the iPad.” She glanced at the device on the bed, then sneered. “How do you know it’s yours? I just bought this today.” “Bought it?” I said, smirking. “Every iPad has a serial number. I took a photo of mine the day I got it. Let’s see if it matches.” I pulled out my phone and started dialing. “I’ll let the police sort this out.” Amanda panicked. She lunged at me, trying to grab my phone, and in the scuffle, it fell to the floor, the screen shattering on impact. “Call the cops, huh? Go ahead!” she screamed, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “I’ll beat you to death before they even get here!” The rage boiling inside me gave me strength. I shoved her off me, and she stumbled back, falling against the bed. Ryan jumped up, pointing a finger in my face. “How dare you touch my mom!” At fourteen, he was already tall and broad—a physical match for me. Despite everything I’d done for him, he now looked at me with pure hatred. I braced myself as he raised his fist, but before he could take a swing, my parents rushed into the room. “Are you all trying to destroy this house?!” my dad bellowed. Amanda, still shaken, ran to my parents, sobbing dramatically. “Look what your daughter did to me!” she wailed. “She attacked me and threatened to call the police! She’s out of control!” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but before I could get a word out, my dad slapped me across the face. The force of it left me stunned, my cheek burning as tears blurred my vision. “Do you do anything besides disgrace this family?” he growled. “If you cause one more problem, you’re out of this house for good.”

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The day my wife gave birth to a child for her terminally ill first love, her parents hired ten security guards to stand outside the delivery room. But even as the delivery ended, I didn’t show up to make a scene. Her mother held her hand, comforting her. “Sarah, don’t worry. As long as we’re here, he won’t get within ten feet of you.” “Your dad’s stationed at the hospital entrance too. If he dares to come here and stop you from having this baby, we’ll call the police!” Sarah, pale and exhausted, nodded weakly, but her eyes kept darting toward the elevator doors. When she saw only empty hallways, she finally exhaled in relief. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just support her decision to have a child for her first love, Thomas. Looking at the nurse cradling the crying newborn, Sarah smiled with satisfaction. She thought to herself, If Brian comes to see me tomorrow, I’ll let bygones be bygones. I’ll even let him raise this child as his own father. What she didn’t know was that I had submitted my application to the United Nations earlier that day. In seven days, I would renounce my citizenship to become a doctor with Doctors Without Borders. I would leave this country—and her—forever. The day Sarah left the maternity recovery center, I had just finished handing over my hospital responsibilities. As I approached the front door, I heard laughter and cheerful voices inside. “This baby is gorgeous! Those big eyes—definitely got the best features from his dad,” Sarah’s mother cooed as she played with the baby in her arms. Meanwhile, Thomas was walking out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl of chicken soup. “I made this myself. You’re still weak; you need to take care of yourself,” he said, sitting beside Sarah and gently feeding her like they were the perfect little family. Sarah’s father sat nearby, shaking a rattle for the baby, grinning ear to ear. “This kid is just so lovable! Definitely takes after his dad. Thank God it’s not Brian—that guy’s such a bore. Imagine having a doctor for a father—what a nightmare!” My hand tightened on the doorknob. I thought back to the first time I met Sarah’s father. He had slapped me on the back and said being a doctor was a noble calling, how saving lives was an honor for the whole family. He even mentioned that he, too, had been a doctor before retiring early after a workplace injury. But now, here he was, sneering about how a doctor didn’t deserve a family. I lowered my head and let out a bitter laugh. Sarah and I had been married for three years. She told me early on that she didn’t want kids, and I respected that. I knew how dangerous childbirth could be, so I never pressured her. I still remember the day I left for my year-long advanced medical training abroad. She had cried so hard, saying she couldn’t bear to be apart from me. For that entire year, we talked every day, sharing every little detail of our lives. Even my colleagues teased me, saying we were like newlyweds who couldn’t get enough of each other, even after three years of marriage. But then, a month ago, I managed to take a break and fly home. After sitting through an exhausting eight-hour flight, I didn’t even stop to rest. I rushed straight home, only to find Sarah heavily pregnant, standing beside her first love, Thomas. My thoughts were interrupted by Thomas’s voice. “Brian, when did you get back? Why are you just standing there? Come in!” At his words, everyone in the room turned to look at me. When Sarah’s father noticed the resignation letter in my hand, his expression darkened. “Why the hell did I ever agree to let my daughter marry someone like you? What a disgrace. Quitting your job now—what are you planning to do? Live off us?!” “What kind of husband are you, huh?” Sarah’s mother jumped in, her voice sharp. “You quit your job? You couldn’t even hold onto a high-paying, stable career as a doctor? What else can you do?” “Sarah just had a baby! She and the child need money for everything! Are you planning to let the three of them starve?” I couldn’t help but laugh at her words. “Whose wife and child? Whoever they belong to should be the one providing for them.” “Brian, what’s that supposed to mean?!” Sarah’s voice rose, her eyes red with anger. She glared at me, her chest heaving with frustration. She coughed violently, and Thomas quickly moved to comfort her, rubbing her back with a look of concern. Taking a deep breath, Sarah shouted, “Three years ago, if it wasn’t for Thomas saving me in that car accident, I’d be dead! His parents are gone, and now he’s been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Soon, the world won’t even remember him!” “Why do you keep targeting him? Do you really think I’m some kind of filthy, immoral woman?” Thomas gave her a pained look before turning to me. “Brian, just let it go. This is all my fault. I promise I’ll disappear from your lives from now on. Just don’t let me ruin your marriage.” I looked at the four of them—the perfect little family—and felt a wave of irony wash over me. So this was what a real family looked like. Sarah took a deep breath before speaking again. “Brian, my patience has limits. If you keep badmouthing Thomas for no reason, then don’t bother coming home anymore!” “If you want to stay married to me, you’ll behave yourself. At the baby’s party next week, I’ll even announce in front of all our friends and family that you’re the baby’s father.” Next week? I glanced at the baby sleeping peacefully in the crib. By next week, I’d already be on a plane to another country. But before I left, I didn’t mind giving them a parting gift they’d never forget. Without a change in expression, I nodded. “Alright.” 2 After finishing my sentence, I didn’t bother to wait for their reaction. I turned and headed to the bedroom to pack my things. Since I’d already decided to leave for good, I didn’t want to leave any trace of myself behind. The laughter from the living room seeped through the closed door as I folded my clothes, making my hands pause for a moment. “Thomas, I’ve been thinking…” Sarah’s voice drifted in, soft but filled with affection. “I’d like the baby to have your last name. That way, no matter who he calls ‘Dad’ in the future, he’ll always remember that you are his real father.” Even without seeing her face, I could imagine the tender smile she must have worn as she said those words. And just like that, my heart, already riddled with wounds, took another blow. My mind flashed back to last month, when I’d flown home after a year abroad. I’d been so eager to see Sarah that I hadn’t cared about the long flight. I even brought home a special gift I’d picked out for her. But the moment I reached our front door, I froze. There she was, walking hand-in-hand with Thomas, laughing as they returned from a stroll. Sarah’s face turned pale with panic when she saw me, but Thomas just looked confused, staring at me like I was a stranger who’d wandered into the wrong house. “Are you sure you’ve got the right door?” he asked, his tone casual and mocking. I didn’t say a word. My eyes were fixed on Sarah’s swollen belly. Eleven months. I’d been gone for eleven months, and now my wife was pregnant. No matter how much I wanted to lie to myself, there was no way this child could be mine. Sarah’s panic grew as she rushed to stand between us, stammering an introduction. “This is my husband, Brian…” I thought Thomas would back off after hearing that, but instead, he acted like he owned the place. With an infuriating smirk, he invited me—invited me—into my own home. As we passed each other in the doorway, he leaned in close and whispered, just loud enough for me to hear: “I hear you’re a bit older than me. Guess I should call you ‘big bro.’ After all, my kid’s living in your house.” My blood boiled. I couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, I swung my fist and slammed it into his face. Years of longing, frustration, and betrayal erupted all at once. If there’d been a knife nearby, I might’ve done something I’d regret for the rest of my life. The neighbors must’ve heard the commotion because it wasn’t long before the police arrived. We were both taken to the station, but since it was deemed a “domestic matter,” the cops couldn’t intervene. They sent us home with a warning. When we got back, Sarah’s parents were waiting for us. Before I could explain, they immediately tore into me. “How dare you cause such a scene the moment you come back? Do you know how embarrassing this is for us? The whole neighborhood must think we’re a joke now!” “All those years of school, and this is what you’ve learned? Resorting to violence? If something had happened to Thomas, we’d never forgive you!” It was then I realized they’d known about Sarah and Thomas all along—and not only that, they supported it. In just one year, Thomas had become their perfect son-in-law, while I’d been kept in the dark. Bitter laughter bubbled in my throat as Sarah nervously approached me, trying to take my hand. “I never meant to betray you, Brian,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Thomas… he’s not well. The doctors said he only has six months to live. I couldn’t bear the thought of him dying without leaving behind a child.” “I wanted to tell you, but you were so far away, and I didn’t want to distract you from your work. I thought we could talk about it when you got back.” “Brian, we can raise this baby together. Please?” She spoke about having a child so casually, as if it were just another errand on her to-do list. I didn’t respond. I just zipped up my suitcase and turned to leave. Before I could reach the door, Sarah’s mother walked in. She glanced at the suitcase by my feet and gave me a condescending smile. “Good. At least you know your place. While you were gone, I let Thomas stay in your room. The study’s been turned into a nursery, so you can sleep on the couch tonight—or better yet, find a hotel.” I was too drained to argue. Nodding silently, I headed to the living room and lay down on the couch. That night, the baby’s cries echoed from the bedroom. I rolled over and reached for my earplugs, but then I heard Sarah’s annoyed voice. “Thomas, can’t you do something? He won’t stop crying.” “You’re my baby too,” Thomas teased. “Why don’t I take care of you instead? Let the little guy cry—it’s good for his lungs.” Sarah giggled, whispering something too soft for me to hear, followed by the unmistakable sound of rustling sheets. I pulled the blanket over my head, trying to block out the noise. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Sarah’s face from the night she first confessed her love to me—so pure, so full of hope. That version of her was gone, replaced by someone I no longer recognized. 3 I barely slept through the night, tossing and turning on the couch. At dawn, I grabbed my suitcase and left without a word. My first stop was the municipal office, where I filed the paperwork to renounce my citizenship and finalize my plans to leave the country. The process was surprisingly quick—having the right government approvals made everything smooth, and the clerk didn’t ask many questions. Just as I was about to leave, the clerk called out to me. She handed me a small piece of candy, her smile kind. “May your wishes come true,” she said softly. I gave her a faint smile, thanked her, and walked out. After checking into a nearby hotel and dropping off my suitcase, I decided to head out and find something to eat. But as fate would have it, I ran into Sarah and Thomas, surrounded by her parents—and their new baby. Thomas looked nothing like a man on the brink of death. He was dressed in a tailored Armani suit, his face glowing with health. “Brian! Wow, I thought I saw you earlier, but Sarah insisted it couldn’t be you,” Thomas called out, his voice dripping with mock surprise. His eyes landed on the recruitment flyer in my hand, and a smirk spread across his face. “So, you’re out here job hunting, huh? With your scrawny frame, are you planning to work construction? Seems like a bit much for you, doesn’t it?” I didn’t respond. The flyer had been handed to me by a young girl on the street, shivering as she stood in the winter cold. Out of sympathy, I’d taken it from her without even looking at it. Thomas took my silence as an opportunity to continue. His laughter grew louder, more mocking. “You should’ve told me you needed help. Who knows? Maybe I could’ve pulled some strings for you. After all, we’re family now, right? If you do well, Sarah will be happy, and I’ll sleep better at night knowing she’s taken care of.” His words hung in the air. My silence must’ve looked like agreement because Sarah’s expression darkened. Her brows furrowed deeply, and the disdain in her eyes became impossible to miss. “Why would anyone help him? He quit a perfectly good job as a doctor, and now he’s out here looking for work? If he starves on the streets, that’s his own fault. He deserves no sympathy.” She crossed her arms, glaring at me. “Brian, you really have no sense of responsibility, do you? What, you think this little act will guilt me into giving up the baby? Dream on.” I looked at her face—once so familiar, filled with warmth and love. Now, she was a stranger to me. I thought back to the early days of our marriage. Once, when the hospital’s cutthroat competition had left me demoralized and considering a career change, Sarah had held me close. I could still hear her voice as she gently patted my back and whispered in my ear: “We’re in this together, no matter what. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.” “Who cares if you leave the hospital? You’re brilliant, and I know you’ll shine no matter where you go. I’ll always be by your side.” But now, that same woman stood by silently as another man humiliated me. She’d forgotten those promises. She’d forgotten the love we once shared. Even her parents, who had once welcomed me into their family with open arms, were now shaking their heads in disappointment. Sarah’s father let out a heavy sigh. “I must’ve been blind to think you could give my daughter the future she deserves.” “Good thing we’re still around,” her mother added. “If we weren’t here to protect Sarah, who knows what kind of life she’d have with someone like you?” Their voices grew louder, more exaggerated, and I could feel the stares of passersby on the street. My hands slowly clenched at my sides. I was about to speak when Thomas stepped forward, his voice filled with mock sincerity. “We’re actually on our way to take a family portrait. Brian, why don’t you join us? After all, I’ll be counting on you to help take care of Sarah and the baby in the future.” Before I could respond, Sarah let out a cold laugh and cut him off. “Are you serious? Look at him—he looks so pathetic. If he gets in the picture, he’ll just drag down the whole family’s image.” With that, she turned around and started walking toward the photography studio, not bothering to look back. “Hurry up, Thomas,” she called out impatiently. Thomas gave me a smug smile and patted me on the shoulder. “Well, we don’t want to hold you up, Brian. Good luck with the job hunt.” I watched them walk away, their laughter fading into the distance. From the outside, they must’ve looked like the picture-perfect family. If that was the life Sarah wanted, who was I to stand in her way? Letting go was the only gift I had left to give her. 4 Three days before I was set to leave, I received a message from the hospital director. He told me that the cardiologist I’d reached out to—a world-renowned expert—was in town for a medical conference. It was the perfect opportunity to have him examine Sarah’s father’s heart condition. Sarah’s father had always had heart issues. Years ago, he’d even been rushed to the ER for emergency surgery. While I was abroad for my medical training, I collected case studies and resources to help manage his condition. No matter what had happened between us, I still felt obligated to help. After all, years of being family couldn’t be erased overnight. I figured this would be my last act of goodwill before cutting ties with them completely. But when I told him about the appointment, his face darkened immediately. “Why on earth would I go to the hospital? Are you trying to curse me or something? That bypass surgery I had years ago was a success—what’s the point of another checkup?” “There’s a top cardiologist in town today,” I explained calmly. “It would be a good chance to get ahead of any potential issues—” Before I could finish, he hurled a water glass at me, the contents splashing across my shirt. “Cut the crap! You think a jobless bum like you could get an appointment with a top expert? Stop bragging! Thomas stayed up all night once to get me an appointment with a specialist. Where were you when I needed that?” Every word, every comparison to Thomas, made his opinion of me crystal clear. No matter what I did, I would always be wrong. No matter how hard I tried, I would never measure up to Thomas.

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Lucas and I had been bitter enemies for half our lives. On our deathbeds, we stared at each other, spitting out the most venomous words, hoping never to meet again in our next lives. He hated me for tying him down with marriage and children, robbing him of his chance to become a singer in New York. I despised him for his constant partying and drinking, leaving me to care for his sick parents and our two children. And in our mutual hatred, we were reborn. We locked eyes in the crowd, then turned away without hesitation. This time, we hoped, neither of us would have any regrets. The day I changed my college application, my dad walked into the study, glanced at me, and nodded approvingly. “Good. With your high scores, you should attend a top university! Stop chasing after that Wilson boy. What’s so great about him anyway?” My mom, hearing this from the kitchen, rushed in and pulled my dad away, giving him a stern look. I watched my parents leave, smiling, but suddenly felt a lump in my throat. In my previous life, I had run out late at night to find Lucas at the train station. My parents, searching for me, were killed by a drunk truck driver. I never got to see them one last time. Fighting back tears, I moved the mouse and clicked the confirm button to change my college application without hesitation.

In my previous life, Lucas, my childhood sweetheart, suddenly announced he wanted to become a singer and pursue his dreams in New York. But before that, he had always said being with me and attending the same college was his dream. I had even wasted my high score of over 600 points to apply to the same average college as him. But two days before the acceptance letters arrived, he suddenly said he was going to New York to chase his dreams. His sick parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, came knocking on our door in the middle of the night, begging me to help find their son. In my previous life, I went. My parents, worried about me, followed and ended up in a car accident. Lucas was later found by me. When he heard his parents say that my parents’ deaths were his fault, they insisted he had to make it up to me. So they forced Lucas to get engaged to me, planning for us to marry right after college graduation. But I got pregnant in my sophomore year and had to take a break from school. We hastily got married, I went through pregnancy and childbirth, and took care of the baby. Two years flew by, and just as I was excitedly planning to return to school, his parents fell seriously ill and came to stay with us for treatment. Lucas told me to be understanding, saying his parents had already worked so hard for his education, and now they were sick and needed care. As for him, of course, he had to go to work to support the family. At the time, to save Lucas’s face, I didn’t mention that his monthly salary of $3,500 wasn’t even enough to cover the children’s formula and normal household expenses. Later, I had to sell our old house to pay for his parents’ medical bills and raise our two children. But while I gave up my education and struggled to manage the whole family, he was out making a bunch of fair-weather friends with his meager $3,500 salary. What little money he had left, he spent on making music, claiming he was fulfilling his dream. Crushed by the pressure of family life and after several failed attempts at communication, we started having huge fights. He began calling me bitter and narrow-minded, saying if it wasn’t for me forcing him to come back, he would have already become a big star in New York. He even accused me of using my parents’ death to emotionally blackmail him into marrying me. I didn’t hold back either, calling him delusional, saying his terrible voice made his dream of becoming a singer nothing but a pipe dream! When he brought up my parents’ death, I went crazy, lunging at him to shut him up, only to be violently pushed away. After that, Lucas deliberately started staying away from home. His parents, unable to see their son, blamed everything on me, complaining that I was immature and petty, only knowing how to anger their son. They completely forgot how they had begged me to find their son in the first place. In this miserable life, I gritted my teeth and tightened my belt to do odd jobs and earn money to support the family. But the children I had worked so hard to raise were never close to me, instead being affectionate towards the irresponsible Lucas. I thought the children would understand when they grew up, but I waited for over twenty years, until they were married with families of their own. But they competed to have Lucas live with them, while remaining cold and distant towards me. “Mom, you controlled us too much in the past. We don’t want to hear your lectures anymore.” “Dad’s youthful dreams were stifled by you. Now that he’s older, we want to take him to New York to chase his dreams again.” “Grandpa and Grandma were right. You just want everyone to live according to your plans. You’re so selfish!” I never expected my children to say such things. Devastated, I returned home to find Lucas smugly packing his bags, gloating that he was about to leave me for a better life. After dedicating over twenty years to this family, all I was left with was a reputation for being selfish and controlling. Why did Lucas get to be so carefree? Never taking care of the family or responsibilities, yet ending up as the open-minded father in our children’s eyes? I rushed forward and pushed Lucas. He was stunned for a moment, then immediately grabbed a vase and smashed it towards me. “Damn you, you dare to lay hands on me? I’ll beat you to death…” So our deaths were actually the consequence of our mutual assault. As we both fell to the ground, I was still praying in my heart: if there’s a next life, please don’t let me meet Lucas again.

The day I was reborn happened to be the day I changed my college application. Seeing my parents still by my side, I was determined not to get involved with anything related to Lucas again. After the college entrance exam, parties came one after another. I had just finished a gathering with close classmates when I saw Lucas in the distance, laughing and chatting with his buddies. “I heard Lucas isn’t going to college. He’s going to New York to be a singer!” “Wow, isn’t that the trendy thing now, chasing dreams in the big city? If he becomes a big star, should we ask for some autographed photos now to keep as investments?” “Ava, didn’t you grow up with Lucas? Did you know he was going to New York?” My friend nudged me, and my gaze happened to meet Lucas’s as he turned his head. With just that one look, I was certain that Lucas had also been reborn. “I don’t know. I have something to do. I’m leaving first.” I turned away without a second thought. If he wants to go to New York, let him go. What does his life have to do with me?

As the day of Lucas’s departure drew near, I whined to my parents about missing Grandma and wanting them to take me to see the new pony at her place. My parents always doted on me, so they packed up without hesitation and took me out. Just then, Mrs. Wilson opened her door and was surprised to see us leaving. “Going out?” My dad nodded with a smile, “The kid misses her grandma, so we’re going for a few days.” Mrs. Wilson smiled and nodded, watching us leave. I pretended to be nonchalant, but in reality, I was clenching my fists tightly in hatred, trying not to let my emotions show. It was laughable how in my previous life, I thought Mrs. Wilson truly cared for me. It wasn’t until later that I realized her intentions were never pure from the beginning. She had long had her eye on our house, which was why she worked so hard to bring Lucas and me together after my parents passed away. Back then, having lost my parents, I was crying every day. The gentle and good-natured Mrs. Wilson took care of me daily, making me let down all my defenses. Add to that my feelings for Lucas, and I naturally agreed. Little did I know that they had been planning this all along. I took a deep breath, hiding the slight trembling caused by my anger, and started chatting with my parents about Grandma’s new pony, while catching a glimpse of Lucas hurrying away out of the corner of my eye. Lucas must have realized that I had also been reborn, so he had to move up his plan to run away and chase his dreams. My parents and I had just arrived at Grandma’s house and were enjoying dinner when Mom received a call from Mrs. Wilson. “Lucas is insisting on going to New York to be a singer. He’s not going to college anymore. Now he’s acting like it’s a matter of life and death, and his father and I can’t talk him out of it… Could you ask Ava to come back and try to persuade him? After all, the two kids are close, and Lucas listens to Ava!” The script was almost identical to my previous life. Mom looked at me, a bit troubled. After all, it wasn’t easy to go back at this time from the countryside. I calmly put down my chopsticks and took the phone from Mom’s hand. “Mrs. Wilson, this is Lucas’s own decision. I have no right to interfere, and even if I did, he would resent me for it. I think you should respect his choice!” I hung up decisively, not forgetting to block Mrs. Wilson’s number. My swift series of actions left even my parents stunned. Grandma was the first to speak up, telling them to continue eating, muttering that other people’s business is their own karma, and we shouldn’t interfere. I thought Grandma’s words couldn’t be more right! After dinner, I was crouching in the yard, petting the dog’s soft head, when my parents came over. “Ava, what’s been going on with you lately…” Mom hesitated, “It feels like you’re different somehow.” Dad didn’t say anything, but he looked at me with concern. Their gaze made my nose tingle, and as I wiped my eyes, I realized there were actually tears. “Mom, Dad, let me tell you something. I had a dream.” I lied about having a dream and told them everything that happened in my previous life. When they learned that after their deaths, I had been manipulated by the Wilson family all along, Dad’s face turned as black as the bottom of a pot. They always believed me, especially since I said the story began with Lucas wanting to go to New York and Mrs. Wilson begging me to find him. They also understood why I suddenly wanted to come to Grandma’s house and why I adamantly refused to go find Lucas. “Oh, my dear child, my precious baby.” My mom was always easily moved to tears. Even though she knew it was just a dream, she quickly hugged me, her tears falling on my head one by one, feeling incredibly sorry for me. Dad lit a cigarette nearby and made a decision. “Ava having this dream might mean that the Wilson family is bad luck for us. I’ve decided, we’ll move as soon as we get back! Get far away from them.” I didn’t expect my parents to support me to this extent. My nose tingled, and I nodded tearfully. At the same time, I hugged Mom tighter, feeling her warmth. We stayed in the countryside for half a month, and I noticeably tanned quite a bit. When we left, Grandma packed a car full of food for us. We still had to live in the old house for a while before moving. As soon as we arrived at our front door, Mrs. Wilson quickly opened her door. With red, teary eyes, she looked at us, unable to hide the traces of resentment in her gaze.

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After my son started college, I gave him two thousand dollars each month for his living expenses. Once he got a girlfriend, he started complaining to me, “Mom, how can I possibly have a girlfriend on such a small budget? If you want a grandchild, you’ll need to send another two thousand!” So, I downloaded every loan app available and took out loans in his name to fund his lavish college lifestyle. This is because in a previous life, I sacrificed everything for my son. After he graduated, he refused to get a job, insisting that he needed to focus on life’s major events first—getting married and having children. My husband and I scraped together a down payment at the height of the housing market. But he couldn’t keep up with the payments and started physically abusing us, saying, “If you hadn’t bought such an expensive house for me, I wouldn’t be under so much pressure!” “I can’t pay it back; you make the money to pay it off, or I’ll give this house back to you!” I ended up taking on three jobs, eventually working myself into the grave. This time around, I decided to ruin his credit first. Let’s see how he plans to buy a house now.

“Mom, I’m out of money again this month. Could you send me some more?” “Send a thousand—no, make that two thousand. The cafeteria food is terrible; I’ve had a stomach ache for three days. Eating out is expensive, but at least it doesn’t make me sick.” It’s only the 10th, and my son’s calling again. He’s a sophomore now. The initial living expense was two thousand dollars, but in less than a year, he claimed it wasn’t enough. It increased to three thousand, and even then, it doesn’t last ten days. In the past, I would have lectured him for ten minutes about being thrifty because earning money isn’t easy. But this time, I said nothing. I calmly replied, “Alright, hang on a moment; Mom will get the money and send it to you.” Then I went to the app store, downloaded over ten loan apps, entered my son’s ID, and borrowed five thousand dollars. I sent him two thousand. There was no response, just a cold receipt confirmation. I took out a journal and noted the first loan of the day. All this because in a previous life, I painstakingly supported my son through college. He was determined to marry, bringing home a pregnant Daphne, and asking for a thirty thousand dowry. Plus, a two-million-dollar house. We didn’t have that kind of money, but seeing the young girl’s tearful face and hearing my son’s pleading, I relented. We borrowed from every relative, scraping together one hundred twenty thousand, including the thirty thousand dowry. The rest went towards the house down payment. My son was so touched. “Thank you, Mom and Dad. I will be filial for this life. You can just relax at home, play with your grandchild, and enjoy life.” We didn’t dare to enjoy; we tirelessly paid off the relatives’ debts. Just as we were about to catch our breath, my son came crying again. “Mom, help me, the mortgage is too much. I have to support a family and can’t manage it.” “Can you bear to see your son, grandchild, and daughter-in-law homeless?” “Please, you and Dad support us for a few years. When inflation rises and salaries increase, the pressure will ease.” My husband and I went out again, financially supporting their little family. But after two years, not only did my son’s salary not increase, but the housing market crashed, and the job market tightened. A house similar to my son’s in his neighborhood was listed at eighty thousand and still didn’t sell. I worried about their pressure, considering selling our current large house and buying a smaller one. The difference would help pay off my son’s mortgage. But instead, he lashed out at us. “If it weren’t for you buying such an expensive house, I wouldn’t be under so much pressure!” “I can’t pay it; you go make money to repay it, or I’ll give this house back to you!” I took another job, but while washing dishes, everything went black, and I collapsed.

After my body fell, my coworkers found me, and the boss called an ambulance immediately. But I knew I was already gone. I watched my husband’s hair turn completely white overnight. He held my photo every day, not cooking or going to work, no matter how my son abused him. Meanwhile, my son was very busy. He first dragged my corpse, leaving it in front of the boss’s shop for two days. When the boss didn’t give in, he hung a banner, banging drums every day. I watched helplessly as my son walked away with the fifty thousand the boss scraped together. He used the money to eat and drink with his wife and son. No one remembered my body was still on the street. In the end, a young man informed my husband to claim it. After my husband arranged for my cremation, he banged his head on my tombstone and died. When I woke up again, it was my son’s sophomore year. He had just secretly started dating, doubling his living expenses. But at this point, we still had savings, and my husband and I hadn’t retired. We lived frugally but managed. Still, I wasn’t that heartless. I just wanted to ruin his credit so he couldn’t get a mortgage. After graduation, I wouldn’t care about his life or death. After graduation, I listed our house online. But three months before he graduated, he brought Daphne home. Daphne, with her slightly protruding belly, timidly looked at me. “Hello, Auntie~” Just then, my son came in with a big bag of baby supplies. “Mom, Dad, this is Daphne, your daughter-in-law.” “Come on, call Mom. This is Dad. Don’t worry, my parents are very kind.” Seeing she was about to speak, I interrupted, “Please don’t. You’re not married yet. People will say we’re rude and bullying you.” “Dear, have a seat. I’ll get you some fruit.” At the dining table, I noticed Daphne kept giving my son meaningful looks, occasionally dry heaving. I pretended not to notice until my son couldn’t hold it in. “Mom, I came back to get married. Daphne is already carrying your grandchild.” I rolled my eyes. Last time, this grandchild didn’t even call me Grandma before I died. Every time he saw me, he treated me like trash, kicking or spitting. I thought he was just a child, plus I was busy working. I thought it was because I wasn’t like other grandmas who took their grandkids out to play, so I didn’t care. Thinking back now, this Daphne, who left such a good first impression, might not be as simple as I thought. “You’ve always taught me to be responsible as a man. Please contact Daphne’s parents and set a date.” Yes, I taught him to be good to his wife and kids, and he did that. But I also taught him to be filial, yet he wouldn’t even claim my body. “When are you and Dad available? I’ll talk to Daphne’s parents.” “I’m available anytime. You two decide and let us know in advance.”

Daphne was anxious but too embarrassed to speak, constantly tugging on my son’s sleeve. My son glanced at me as I took a sip of tea. “Mom, about the dowry, Daphne says it’s quite high there.” I replied, “Oh~” “Look, if Daphne weren’t pregnant, I wouldn’t rely on you.” “Don’t worry, I’ll consider it a loan. Once I graduate and start working, I’ll pay you back.” I sighed, “Oh, Guanghui, let me tell you the truth. Your university expenses have left us with no savings.” His face changed instantly, “I barely spend anything each month! Are you making excuses not to pay?” “What kind of parents don’t prepare a house and car for their son, only care about their own pleasure!” “If I can’t get married, don’t expect me to care for you in your old age.” “Rot away in your hovel!!” I smiled inwardly. This is my good son, who immediately changes his face when his parents won’t slave for him. My husband couldn’t stand it, wanting to say something, but I held his hand. “Son, it’s not that we don’t care. We had saved fifty thousand for you.” “But look at how much you’ve spent in college these years? Your monthly expenses are around twenty thousand. Since sophomore year, for three whole years.” “There was also a time you said you broke your leg and needed surgery. I sent you fifty thousand. In total, it’s fifty-two thousand.” “Your bride price was spent by you. Where can we get more dowry money?” He was speechless, his face flushed, “If you don’t want to give it, just say so. Why make so many excuses! How could I spend over fifty thousand just going to college?” “I’ve never seen parents like you. If you don’t care, my son won’t recognize you. He won’t have such stingy grandparents. You’re unworthy!” “Daphne, let’s go! I can take care of you myself!” “You two can keep your lousy money and live by yourselves!” After saying this, he slammed the door and left. Only Daphne looked back repeatedly, pitifully glancing at me. After my son left, my husband was a bit resentful. “Wife, don’t we still have savings? Why are you doing this to our son?” “Besides, nowadays, parents have to prepare a house and dowry for their son.” “I’ve never encountered parents like you before. Since you don’t seem to care, don’t expect my son to acknowledge you in the future. He doesn’t need grandparents as stingy as you. You’re not worthy!” “Lydia, let’s go! I can take care of you by myself!” “Just live your life with your pitiful money!” With that, he slammed the door and left. Only Daphne looked back at me, filled with pity with each step. After our son left, my husband grumbled a bit. “Dear, don’t we still have some savings? Why are you making it difficult for our son?” “Besides, these days, it’s expected that parents prepare a house and a dowry for their son’s marriage.” “Now look what happened, he doesn’t acknowledge us anymore, and we won’t even get to hold our grandson in the future. When we get old and sick, who’s going to take care of us?” I glanced at my soft-hearted husband and questioned him back. “Do you think we can rely on a son like that to take care of us when we’re ill?” He didn’t respond, and after a moment, he sighed. “Forget it; it’s just the two of us, and it’s quite nice without all the drama.” Isn’t it truly a hassle? In my past life, he didn’t even claim my body. He only used me as a tool to make money. We raised him for over twenty years, and it turned out to be less worthwhile than raising a dog. Just to be safe, I transferred most of our money to an account that neither my son nor my husband knows about. On the street, I saw a young man selling balloons in the cold wind. I was momentarily stunned; his face looked exactly like the young man who claimed my body in the past life. Though it’s early spring now, the temperature is still low. He wore a thin black jacket. His face and nose were red from the cold. Because in my previous life, I wandered for a long time after dying, I knew he had no parents. At home, there was only an elderly grandmother, but she was not in good health and often fell ill. Therefore, he had to use all his time to work. In my spare time, I found his school, contacted his teacher, and quietly supported him. His name is Ezra, and he’s now a college sophomore. He has excellent grades, winning scholarships every year, and his tuition is waived. But due to his grandmother’s health, life is still tough. I knew Jude wouldn’t let things go easily, considering he hadn’t graduated yet; how could he support a wife and child? But I didn’t expect him to change his attitude so quickly. Within a week, he was inviting us to a hotel dinner on Sunday night. I refused, but my husband was too soft-hearted. After all, we raised the child ourselves. Parents can’t just stand by and do nothing when it comes to such significant life events. I couldn’t persuade him, so I had to attend, letting him see the true nature of our son. As soon as I entered, the strong smell of smoke hit me. A young man in his twenties with slicked-back hair had his feet on the table, holding a cigarette. A middle-aged woman with heavy makeup saw me but said nothing, speaking instead to the boy. “Sit up straight, people are here.” After a while, our son came in. A female voice rang out. “Let’s be clear, we want a dowry of 300,000, not a penny less.” “After all, we raised our daughter so well, we’re not giving her away for free. 300,000 isn’t much at all.” “She’s carrying your family’s first grandson.” “And there must be a house; my daughter won’t live with in-laws! You need to prepare a big house, at least 100 square meters.” “Otherwise, how can we visit our daughter in the future?”

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The day I was diagnosed with kidney failure, my wife, Lydia, was celebrating the release of her first love, Asher Williams, from prison. And on the day I passed away, Lydia and Asher jetted off to a tropical island together. She often hurled insults at me, saying, “You filthy pig farmer, go die somewhere far away.” Yet when I actually died, she lost her mind and cut off Asher’s hand, screaming, “Give me back my husband’s healthy body!” How ironic. She had never once called me her husband before. Love that arrives too late is truly pitiful. 0 After two grueling days at the farm, I received a call from the doctor. His voice was somber, confirming what I had already suspected. Leaning against the fold-out bed in the break room, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window’s reflection. My shirt was drenched in sweat, and my face was swollen, almost unrecognizable. Wes, my colleague, came in with a pot of water. He hesitated before speaking, “Brother Michael, why don’t you head home to rest? Your absence for days might worry your wife, Lydia.” Would Lydia really be concerned? I mulled over his words, a bitter smile crossing my lips. If I vanished, she might just relish her newfound freedom. I checked my phone: three ads for loans, two scam warnings, and a missed call from my mother. I called her back. She asked about my health check-up. In simple terms: death was knocking at my door. One kidney was already gone, and the remaining one was failing. The doctor insisted I needed immediate dialysis. But I didn’t tell her the truth. Five years ago, after being stabbed, losing a kidney, my mother couldn’t sleep, her hair turning gray almost overnight as she searched for a kidney for me. What was Lydia doing then? She cried every day at the hospital, pleading leniency for the man who stabbed me—her first love, Asher Williams. She claimed the Williams family wanted to settle privately, urging me to let it go. Five million. That was the price for my half-year hospital stay, two brushes with death, and a lost kidney. Back then, it felt like a fortune. I still remember Lydia’s expression when I refused to settle. She looked at me like I was the one who had been stabbed, glaring at her enemy. Finally, she spoke with humiliation, “What good does it do to oppose Asher Williams? His family is powerful; can you compete? Since you like me, let’s get married, and you take the settlement.” In the end, I seemed like the villain bullying a girl, while Asher was her childhood sweetheart. Yet back then, I was overjoyed. I even thought trading a kidney for love was worth it. But reality was harsh. Lydia quickly married me, and I took the settlement money. Still, Asher Williams was sentenced to five years. When Lydia found out, she called me shameless. I didn’t argue. It was already a light sentence. But she blamed it all on me. If I hadn’t pandered to her, she wouldn’t have stayed with someone as shameless as me. I was drowning in bitter memories when a bank alert woke me up. [Your account 8174 spent 678 RMB on a travel website on August 25 at 7:25 AM…] I frowned. This was Lydia’s card; she frequently used it for travel. The date made me uneasy. I called her, and after a long wait, she answered. I heard a taxi driver’s voice in the background. My heart sank, “Where are you going?” “Why do you care?” she replied, her tone impatient. “I’m your husband!” I shouted, for the first time raising my voice at her. “Are you going to see Asher Williams? He nearly killed me, and you still can’t let him go?” My words struck a nerve, triggering an explosive reaction in Lydia. She sneered, “You deceitful scoundrel, what right do you have to meddle in my affairs with him?” My vision blurred, my temples pounding, “I’ll work hard to give you a better life, just don’t go to him… I’m not feeling well…” “You filthy pig farmer, go die somewhere far away.” The call ended abruptly. Wes hurried over, calling my name. As I fainted, one thought lingered. If I truly died, would Lydia be sad? 0

When I regained consciousness, the familiar scent of disinfectant filled my nose. My mother was outside the door, crying softly. She knew about my condition. I wondered how much more her hair would turn white this time. I sighed silently. My sister was comforting her. I wanted to get up and see them, but my body felt like it was pierced by spikes, unable to move. The sound of the dialysis machine was my lifeline. Not long after, I heard my sister making a call. “Lydia, my brother is in a coma in the hospital, and you’re out having fun. Do you even have a heart?” I didn’t hear the response, but my sister was furious. “My brother could have raised a dog for five years and developed feelings for it. If it weren’t for him, you would have been ruined by Asher Williams five years ago. How do you even deserve to be my sister-in-law?” Her voice faded away. I recalled the life-and-death struggle in the hospital. Five years, over eighteen hundred days, and I couldn’t warm her heart. The idea of time breeding affection was just a consolation for the disillusioned. How laughable. During the week I spent recovering in the hospital, my mother and sister took turns staying with me. I tried to forget everything related to Lydia. When Wes brought the farm’s accounts to me, my sister scolded him harshly. “You’ve been with my brother for three years; haven’t you learned anything? Even if my brother turns to ashes, you have to burn paper for him and ask how to handle a sow’s premature birth, right?” I smiled, making “ho ho” sounds, trying to smooth things over. Wes was solid and reliable, and my sister was almost ready to marry him; I didn’t want to cause a rift because of myself. During this time, Lydia called. My sister was on high alert. I stared at the flashing number, deep in thought, and wrote a note on the whiteboard for my sister to relay. The call connected, and her familiar soft voice came through: “What do you want?” After waking up, I called her over ten times, but she never answered. Now, she finally remembered me. My sister snorted coldly: “You’re really busy; we won’t serve you anymore. Just divorce my brother and get out of the Johnson family.” There was a long pause on the other end, “Let Michael Johnson tell me that himself. If there’s nothing else, I’ll hang up. I’ll be back on Sunday, tell him not to pick me up.” “Lydia, you…” I patted my sister, calming her down. She leaned on the bed, upset. “Brother, make sure she leaves with nothing. Asher Williams is out, and Lydia deserves a jerk for a match. “Brother, you have to be okay, wait for Lydia to regret it, and slap her hard in the face.” She forced a smile, but her eyes, swollen like walnuts, were brimming with tears. Both kidneys failed, along with acute heart failure. I became a mummy on the hospital bed, skin gray, unable to speak or walk. The only thing I could give Lydia was the freedom she always wanted. The lawyer soon came to finalize the divorce agreement, including my will. When I could no longer sit up, I refused dialysis and wanted to be discharged. The house was filled with new roses. On Valentine’s Day, Lydia threw aside the bag I gave her, saying everyone else had 999 roses. Later I bought roses, and she scolded me for having no originality, tossing them all away. I knew she liked them, so I picked them up and kept them alive. In college, I also gave her roses, and she happily kissed me. Like clouds brushing across my cheek, leaving a blush. Then Asher Williams appeared, and my world was shrouded in darkness. Roses wilt without water; she wouldn’t see them when she returned. My sister tearfully called me an idiot. I stopped breathing at the end of summer, dying in the twentieth year of knowing Lydia. Flashes of memories crossed my mind, recalling many moments with her. In elementary school, I held her hand to buy candy at the store. In middle school, I helped her with math, and she playfully distracted me with fruit. In college, I pulled her out of a club, and she slapped me, telling me to get lost… 0

It turns out, even in death, I could see myself. I floated in the air, seeing someone lying in the living room, face ashen and swollen like a bloated corpse. I was glad Lydia didn’t see how I looked when I died, thinking this, my soul suddenly drifted to her side. Whenever she returned from a trip, I used to pick her up. This time, she didn’t want me to come because she was with Asher Williams. They were laughing and talking at the airport, not looking like they just returned. Asher had a buzz cut, wore casual clothes, still looking sharp and arrogant. When he looked at Lydia, there was a strong sense of possession in his eyes. Their destination was Hawaii. While I was suffering from illness, they went on a tropical getaway. I couldn’t help but follow Lydia. Asher joked about carrying Lydia’s bag, which she dodged. “Why didn’t you bring the bag I gave you? This bag looks really ugly, did Michael Johnson give it to you? He hasn’t called you in days, is he mad because you came to see me?” Lydia frowned, “Don’t mention him.” Asher’s face lit up with a smug smile, “My bad, I shouldn’t mention the man who stole five years from us. I remember you saying you wanted your honeymoon to be in Hawaii, now our reunion trip isn’t too late.” During my struggle with illness, Lydia and Asher went on a couple’s getaway to an island. I found myself unable to stop tracking Lydia’s actions. Asher Williams cheerfully offered to carry Lydia’s bag, but she sidestepped him. “Why aren’t you using the bag I gave you? This one looks terrible. Did Michael Johnson give it to you? He hasn’t called you in days. Is he upset because you came to see me?” Lydia frowned, “Don’t bring him up.” Asher smirked, “My bad, I shouldn’t have mentioned the guy who took five years from us. I remember you once said you wanted to honeymoon in Hawaii. It’s not too late for our reunion trip now.” Lydia didn’t argue, but she kept glancing at her phone before boarding. Her calendar app reminded her that my birthday was in three days. I had set it up on her phone a month ago after much persuasion. Lydia impatiently swiped away the reminder and boarded the plane with Asher. To them, I was the thief who stole five years of their life. She despised me so much that she didn’t even want to speak my name. I remembered when we first got married, I was so joyful. Even while lying in a hospital bed, I couldn’t wait to plan our honeymoon. I filled a book with plans, including all her favorite foods, hoping to take her to the snowy mountains and grasslands she longed to see. But before I could show her all my love and anticipation, she found my plan book, tore it to pieces, and called me delusional. My joy and love were shredded and trampled under her feet. At that time, my beautiful dream had just begun. How could I let go of the only leading lady in my dream? But reality taught me that unrequited love leads nowhere good. 0

Asher brought Lydia to stay at a beach hotel. To my surprise, a third person joined them on the trip. It was Joan, Lydia’s best friend from college. Through Joan, Asher met Lydia and pursued her relentlessly. Joan mingled in these circles hoping to snag a wealthy husband, and Asher was one of her targets, leading to a fallout between her and Lydia. Back when Asher orchestrated a trap at the club to win over Lydia, Joan tipped me off, which led to my dramatic confrontation at the club. But now, Lydia happily welcomed Joan. Asher’s expression soured. Joan rushed over to hug Lydia, and her eyes gleamed like a bear spotting honey when she glanced at Asher. “Lydia, it’s been ages! How did you know I was dying to come to Hawaii?” As she spoke, her gaze lingered on Asher. Joan’s arrival was unexpected for Asher. The romantic candlelight dinner for two turned into a table for three. Asher ordered sea urchin sashimi for Lydia and wanted to feed her intimately. “Try this, we have plenty of time. I just ordered a cake to celebrate our reunion.” Lydia stiffened for a moment, staring at the dish as if lost in thought. She avoided Asher and said flatly, “Sorry, I’m allergic to seafood. You have it.” I watched her push away the plate of sea urchins and felt it was ironic. The one allergic to seafood was actually me. Lydia used to love seafood, but after we got married, I knew she had a cold uterus, so I often made soup for her and reminded her to eat less seafood. She found my nagging annoying. Now, without my interference, why would she use such a poor excuse to restrict herself? Asher’s face fell. Joan covered her mouth, laughing, eyes full of ridicule, giving Asher an out, “Lydia probably hasn’t had such a seafood feast in a long time. Don’t force it, Asher.” Lydia frowned and focused on cutting the cake. Asher grabbed her hand, “Lydia, how did you burn your hand? That useless Michael, he’ll just stay raising pigs in the countryside forever. You should’ve waited for me.” I instinctively wanted to smack his hand away, but my body passed through their clasped hands. Lydia shook off Asher, “It’s none of your business. Don’t touch me.” “Touch you?” Asher sneered, eyes brewing a storm, “If Michael hadn’t caused trouble and gotten stabbed by me, you’d have been with me long ago. I went to jail for five years because of him!” Lydia stopped, and Asher smiled triumphantly. The atmosphere at the table was tense, and Lydia was forced to drink a lot. Asher moved closer to Lydia, and she didn’t refuse. I felt bitter, but powerless to stop it. Without my interference, they were meant to be together. But the expected result didn’t happen. Asher was the first to get drunk. Lydia, with hazy eyes, looked at Joan, “Joan, we agreed on this…” Joan sneered, “I don’t know what spell you’re under. Asher doesn’t mind being a homewrecker…” Lydia wobbled to stand, and Joan quickly summoned a waiter to help her back to her room. She lay in bed, tapping away on her phone for a while, and sent me a message. 0 Soon, Lydia fell asleep, and I stared at the message. The previous message in our chat was from ten days ago when I told her I had to work overtime at the farm. Going back through dozens of messages, most were me reminding her to eat at work, or delivering warming soup during her period. If she was in a good mood, she’d reply once. Most messages went unanswered. This time, she proactively messaged me about her itinerary. I should be happy, but I can no longer reply to her. In the middle of the night, Lydia’s phone rang, and her sister’s choked voice came through, “Lydia, my brother is dead. Are you satisfied now? “When he was alive, you treated him coldly. Now he’s gone, you won’t even come back to see him?”

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My husband is a lawyer, renowned for his dedication to justice and his kind demeanor. Yet, in an attempt to clear the name of his first love, he personally disposed of a disfigured female body by throwing it off a cliff. Unbeknownst to him, that body belonged to his wife, who was five months pregnant. What he also didn’t know is that I’m a System Strategy Woman, and I have an uncanny ability to survive. The night was engulfed in a torrential downpour, washing over the ground. My body lay on the asphalt road, my face unrecognizable, blood mingling with the mud, forming a stream, though the source of the bleeding was not apparent. The man hesitated, conflicted. But soon, he donned gloves, lifted my head, and began dragging me to the roadside. This road ran along a mountain, with a sheer cliff at its edge. This man was my husband, Finn. Two hours earlier, his childhood sweetheart had called him. Nora’s voice was frantic, as she cried for his help: “Finn, I hit someone. What should I do? I’m terrified.” He rushed over. Upon arrival, he immediately embraced the trembling Nora in the car, comforting her: “Nora, don’t worry, I’m here, I’m here.” Nora sobbed uncontrollably, eventually calming down: “Finn, I went up the mountain to pray for your mother today. I didn’t expect to hit someone at this turn, and there was so much blood, sob sob…” Finn gently patted her back, soothing her softly: “It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m here.” The rain had soaked the body, making it much heavier. Finn dragged me until he stumbled over a stone and fell heavily onto me. Seeing my blood-streaked face, he was so frightened that he staggered back several steps, his throat clenching. Finn crouched on the ground, dry heaving. After a while, he dragged the body to the edge of the cliff. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and hurled the body off the cliff. Finn leaned over to peer into the dark abyss below, clutching his chest as he exhaled deeply. That night, he took Nora back to the mountain temple to stay for the night. They felt the relief of surviving the ordeal. Nora smiled sweetly, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek: “Finn, I knew you always cared for me the most.” Finn’s expression was a bit stiff, but his gaze at Nora was as gentle as a calm sea.

A week later, my body drifted ashore on the riverbank. By the time an old fisherman discovered it, the body was severely decomposed and bloated. “A body was found at Clear River!” The news spread online. Finn was aware of the news early on. But he was more preoccupied with having someone destroy the car from that night. His assistant knocked and entered, hesitating before handing him a vehicle registration. “Attorney Finn, while handling the cars, I found that one of the license plates belongs to your wife.” Finn’s eyes flashed with panic for a moment, then he decisively said: “It must be Eloise! She hired someone to frame Nora for murder.” He quickly took out his phone to call me. He dialed several times, but no one answered. The silence around him was thick, Finn’s expression stiffened, his hand clenched tightly. With a “crack!” the phone shattered on the ground. “She made such a big mistake herself and still dares not to answer the phone!” My soul heard those words and chuckled coldly. What a pity, he almost realized I was dead. The System couldn’t help but mock: This jerk must be insane, they’re a perfect match like a toilet and its lid! The front desk called, saying Nora had arrived. Nora sat comfortably on the sofa, smiling at Finn: “Finn, I made your favorite Sweet and Sour Ribs today.” Finn’s expression was unnatural, somewhat distracted. I had also made him Sweet and Sour Ribs before. Back then, to learn how to make it well, I begged the chef from his favorite restaurant for a long time. As a cooking novice, I didn’t know how many blisters I got on my hands. It took a whole year to finally make something he could eat. Nora affectionately pulled his arm, leaning her entire body against him. Finn hated it when I clung to him like this, he said it made it impossible for him to work or eat. “Not bad, Nora could be a chef.” The woman acted coy, murmuring: “No way, I only want to cook for you.” What a sickeningly sweet pair of a scumbag and a wench. The System was annoyed: So irritating, so irritating, what did you see in him back then? I pressed my lips together, forcing a smile: “Probably blind.”

I was indeed blind. I’m a System Career Strategy Woman, and my task here was to help Finn successfully take control of the Finn Family. Finn is an illegitimate child that Asher Finn secretly raised without his wife’s knowledge. The Finn Family has always been strict, and all children are from the legitimate wife. However, Dahlia’s womb was uncooperative, only giving birth to a daughter. Before Asher Finn passed away, he confessed the truth about the illegitimate child. Old Mr. Finn, considering the father-son relationship and feeling for the Finn Family’s bloodline being left outside. Finn was brought back to the Finn Family. But due to his awkward status, he was always excluded from the Finn Family. The first time I met Finn was in the hospital. He had just survived a car accident. His biological mother’s ashes were secretly hidden by Mrs. Finn. He developed Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, becoming irritable and restless. Like a frightened fawn. I felt sorry for him, so I deliberately got close, accompanying him to recover. From being an unnoticed, easily oppressed illegitimate child to now the Finn Family’s leader. Finn realized his dream, establishing a law firm. His reputation spread, known as a champion of justice. I forcefully intervened in his life, becoming his dependence. I stayed with him for seven years. In those seven years, not only did he become accustomed to me, but I also genuinely fell for him. So when the System reminded me that my strategy task was complete, I stayed. Because that pure-hearted boy told me I was his only love, his true love for life. When he clumsily and awkwardly recited his marriage vows, saying he wanted to have a family with me, I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I knew his biggest heartache was his biological mother’s ashes. I used every connection to help him find them, negotiating with Mrs. Finn. I still remember risking my life to find his mother’s ashes. Finn was as fragile as a child, holding the ashes and crying for a long time. At that time, the way he looked at me was as gentle as the sea, sickeningly sweet. I thought his love would never disappear.

On the eighth day of my disappearance, the hospital couldn’t find me, so they called my emergency contact. When Finn received the call, he was momentarily stunned, but quickly returned to his normal demeanor. “Lydia has been sick these days, resting at home. Please handle the paperwork on this end.” The face of the Finn Family’s leader was effective. The person on the other end repeatedly agreed and even specifically advised me to rest well before returning to work, no rush. Finn stared at the phone for a long time, somewhat distracted, then murmured to himself: “It’s been so long, there’s a limit to sulking, not even a single call, truly heartless.” He opened my profile, scrolling through the chat history. Looking at recent messages, mostly me expressing concern for him, only to receive an “OK” gesture emoji or read without response. Opening the contacts, the call log still showed the several missed calls I made to him over a week ago. Finn had changed, becoming increasingly impatient. Even communicating with him had become very difficult. I ironed his suit the night before, but the next day he left wearing another one. Before he went out, I reminded him: “It’s raining today, remember to take an umbrella.” He frowned, impatiently saying: “Oh.” But left the umbrella at the entrance. The photo in the living room was the first picture we took after dating. He was looking at me, I was looking at the camera, smiling brightly. But after being torn and glued back, the people in the photo looked a bit eerie. He looked at it for a long time, then took out the original from his phone, instructing his assistant to print a new one. A broken mirror can’t be made whole again, so why pretend to be deeply in love with me? Without my interference, he should be happier.

At a gathering, someone invited a group of beauties to liven things up. Only Finn sat in the corner, his finger fixed on our chat window, scrolling through the messages. Wesley leaned over, and Finn instinctively turned off the phone screen. “Hey Finn, what’s up? Fighting with your wife?” “How about I call her, women just need a little coaxing.” Finn picked up a glass of wine, his expression indifferent: “Drink.” Finn ended up drinking too much, mumbling incessantly. Wesley called me many times, but no one answered. He asked Finn: “What do we do if your wife doesn’t answer?” Finn lay back on the sofa, eyes closed, finally whispering: “Nora, Nora…” I sat there expressionlessly, coldly watching him. A sharp pain pricked the deepest part of my heart. Nora arrived quickly, originally intending to take Finn to a hotel room. But drunk Finn insisted on going home. Back home, Nora helped Finn to the bed, affectionately feeding him water. She quickly stripped off her clothes, snuggling up to him. Finn held her tightly, murmuring softly: “Why did it take so long to come back.” Just when I thought there’d be a scene I didn’t want to see, Finn suddenly pushed Nora away. His eyes were clearer: “Nora?” Nora’s expression was suggestive, continuing to cling to him: “It’s me, Finn.” “They say the heavens can’t beat a Childhood Sweetheart, we’re the original pair.” Nora continued to provoke: “Why can’t you just face your feelings?” When I got home, Nora helped Finn to the bed and gently gave him a glass of water. Then she quickly stripped her clothes and nestled close to him. Finn held her tightly, murmuring softly, “Why did you take so long to come back?” Just when I thought things might get more intense, Finn suddenly pushed Nora away. His eyes cleared a bit as he asked, “Nora?” With a suggestive look, Nora stayed close to him, saying, “It’s me, Brother Finn.” “People say that destiny can’t surpass a childhood bond; we’re meant to be together.” Nora continued to provoke him, “Why can’t you acknowledge your true feelings?” Hearing this made my stomach churn with disgust. A destiny that can’t surpass a childhood bond—what about the destiny that’s lost? Before pursuing Finn, I was well aware of his social circle. Nora was the daughter of his family’s housekeeper. She grew up with him, and because of Finn’s protection, she was able to attend the prestigious school she dreamed of. She enjoyed privileges like a young lady, all because when she first arrived at the Finn Family’s home, she was the only one who approached him. Before agreeing to be with Finn, I cautiously asked him, “Have you ever liked anyone else?” He answered directly, “No.” He even voluntarily explained his female friends, mentioning Nora himself. “She’s my housekeeper’s daughter. We were close as kids, but she went abroad, and we lost touch. If anything, we’re just friends.” He earnestly told me, “Lydia, I know the difference between love and friendship.” But after Nora returned to the country, he spent my birthday shopping with her. He let her post ambiguous messages on Twitter. The comments were filled with shippers. “My dear Nora deserves it! Finn is the one who’s lucky.” “Aw, secretly showing PDA again. I love childhood sweetheart stories.” “I knew Nora came from an extraordinary family and knew the heir of the Finn Family since childhood.” “Mom and Dad, I’m born!” Holding my phone, I confronted him. Finn nonchalantly explained, “Nora is an influencer; she needs me for marketing, to increase followers and hype.” With tears in my eyes, I questioned him in shock, “Do you know how much trouble your marketing has caused me?” Finn and I had been in love for seven years, and our friends and family knew it. We had plenty of photos together. Because of this hype, people dug up our photos and doxxed my personal information. They even came to my hospital to cause a scene, disrupting public order. I was forced to become the “homewrecker” in the eyes of others. In the end, Finn reluctantly compromised and dealt with some of the troublemakers at the hospital. That night, Nora posted content saying, “Just joking~” But those words only seemed like a couple’s playful banter. In many choices between me and Nora, Finn chose Nora. I’ve seen how he loved me, so how could I not see when he didn’t? The day Finn successfully took over the Finn Family, we planned to celebrate at a bar. At first, he kept fiddling with his phone, and I worried that he had something urgent. He said he was just replying to work messages. I was reassured. After a few drinks, Finn looked at me with deep affection: “Lydia, I’m so lucky to have met you. I’ll love you well in this life, the next, and the one after that…” I was moved to tears and joked, “If one day you don’t love me anymore, just tell me. We can part on good terms without any entanglement.” But later, I found out that the messages that day were sent to Nora. He feared she might lack food or clothing and sent her fifty thousand without a second thought. People who betray genuine feelings deserve to face harsh consequences. But I clearly said that if you stop loving me, just let me know. If you don’t love, why hurt? My thoughts drifted back as Finn listened to Nora’s sweet words, dazed for a moment but still avoided her tender gaze, replying hoarsely, “Nora, you should go back.” The next day, Finn’s hand instinctively reached out beside him, waking up in shock. He carefully looked around the slightly empty house, his gaze landing on a sticky note on the fridge. Both Finn and I have busy work schedules and often don’t check our phones. Whenever I head out, I always write down my whereabouts on a sticky note. The newest sticky note read: “I’m going to the mountain to pray for mom. I’ll be back tonight.” He quickly shifted his gaze, lips pursed, “She knows to leave a note but doesn’t know to come back quickly!” He had been on a business trip for many days, so he hadn’t seen these sticky notes. Just a few steps away, a glance at the sticky note, and he would have known the truth. After a night of a hangover, Finn’s stomach problem subtly flared up. He opened the drawer and found the medicine I had prepared for him. Inside was an agreement that caught his attention. It was a divorce agreement with the woman’s signature, which I had planned to discuss with him after returning from the mountain. I thought this was what he wanted too. Finn, in a rage, tore up the agreement, his breathing becoming heavier, and made numerous calls to me that went unanswered. He clenched his fists and slammed the coffee table hard. It shattered, a piece of glass piercing his hand, blood pooling on the floor. With eyes wide open, he shouted into the air, “Joan, dare to play hard to get with me? If you have the guts, don’t ever come back!” With his stomach acting up, he stayed home to rest for two days. Nora called him, but he didn’t answer. Nora came to see him, but he wouldn’t meet her. Unshaven and locked in his room, he kept calling me. Inside, I felt nothing, just fed up. I asked the system: When can I leave? “Host, the time tunnel entrance is being repaired, specific time unknown.” I watched as Finn opened our chat box again, thought for a long time, and sent me a Snapchat. “Lydia, come back when you’re done being mad. Let’s start over.” “I don’t hate you anymore.” Oh, right, he hated me. I had painstakingly retrieved his birth mother’s ashes from Mrs. Finn, which had mysteriously disappeared. In the end, it was Nora who risked her life to recover them. Nora knew I was a strategy woman, and my appearance beside Finn was too coincidental. She used this to convince Finn that I was someone Mrs. Finn had placed by his side. He believed her. No matter how I explained, He gripped my neck tightly, eyes filled with cold sarcasm. “I never thought you’d hide so deeply, Joan!” “Joan, how dare you? It’s as easy for me to deal with you as crushing an ant.” …… Now, Finn’s hypocritical act is truly nauseating. I really wonder if the beautiful, weak, and tragic boy from back then was truly him? Finn was still immersed in his deep role when he suddenly received a call from Nora. Nora trembled as she spoke, “Brother Finn, the police summoned me because of that night. What…do I do? I’m so scared.” “As long as I’m here, you’ll be fine.” Finn went to the police station. As a lawyer who upholds justice, he helped Nora fabricate evidence. He claimed that he was with Nora that night. He spent a lot of money to find a scapegoat, successfully clearing Nora’s name. After all the fuss, Finn returned home in the early hours. Lying on the couch, half asleep, he was awakened by a phone call in the middle of the night. “Hello, is this Mr. Finn? We are from the City Police Station. After DNA testing, a female corpse has been identified as your wife, Joan. We need you to come over for more details.” He was silent for a moment, then laughed mockingly, “What kind of joke is this? My wife went on a trip out of anger.” “I’m a lawyer, if you continue to curse or slander my wife, I have the right to sue you.” Finn eventually went to the police station. When he arrived at the morgue, I was completely naked, covered by a white cloth. He trembled as he slowly lifted the cloth, little by little. My originally bloodied and blurry face was pale, unrecognizable. My body was covered in scars, my abdomen unnaturally swollen. The coroner explained beside him, “The body was in a car accident before death, with multiple knife wounds on the face. The fatal wound was in the abdomen, causing death from blood loss.” The coroner hesitated before continuing, “There was a stillborn in the abdomen, estimated to be over five months.” The police officer comforted, “The suspect has been identified and confessed to the car accident. We believe the case will be resolved soon.” “Impossible.”

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After witnessing the agony my mother endured when she severed ties with my father, who had an affair, she taught me one undeniable lesson—never trust a man. That all changed when Damien appeared. To claim me, Damien gave me his liver. He became my mate, and for a time, our life was bliss. He poured everything into our family. But everything shattered the day I discovered something on his computer. I experienced the searing pain of breaking bonds with my mate. Years later, I returned, opening a café. Every morning, a letter quietly awaited me at the door. I picked it up, read nothing, and tossed it into the trash. Damien—my former mate—your late love means nothing now. Wasn’t that what you taught me, too? Once, Damien and I were the perfect mates in everyone’s eyes. We met in college when we were both dirt poor, scraping by on part-time jobs and late-night instant noodles. My parents divorced when I was seven. My mother tried to shield me from the truth, but I knew. That day is seared into my memory. She had come home early from a business trip, her heels clicking rhythmically on the tiles as she stepped through the door. She paused at the bedroom door—her breath catching as the unmistakable sounds of laughter drifted down the hallway. And then… she saw it. My father, strong and imposing, wrapped in the arms of his secretary—her perfume sickly sweet, mingling with the scent of betrayal that filled the room. Their bodies tangled beneath the sheets—his sheets—the ones my mother had slept in for over a decade,. His lips on her neck, her hands on him. My mother stood there in the doorway, her heart breaking in real-time. She didn’t scream. She didn’t yell. She simply… fell. She quietly wove the threads of the mate bond they shared—threads that had once been strong enough to tie them together for life—into the fabric of her past. In those first few hours, while he was still fumbling through his apologies, my mother quietly arranged the dissolution of everything he thought he had a claim to. The house, the money, the family name—all became hers. “You are no longer my mate. ” “Leave,” she commanded, her voice sharp enough to cut through the thick air of the room. “And never return.” I watched, hidden in the shadows, as my father left. The door clicked shut. Then, silence. I saw my mother crumble. Her wolf, once fierce, collapsed, its spirit torn from her. Her knees hit the floor, her body folding like a broken animal. She gasped, her shoulders shaking, arms clinging to herself as if to hold her soul together. In that moment, I understood—breaking mate bonds was as painful as tearing a wolf apart. That year, I was seven. She always thought I didn’t know. But the truth was as clear to me as the scars on my heart. Years passed, and my mother, ever strong, raised me alone. By the time I was in my second year of college, the burden had taken its toll. My mother, once vibrant and full of life, began to fade. Her wolf grew weaker with every passing day. She was always tired, always lost in the weight of her own thoughts. And then, one cold winter evening, she stepped into the street, unaware of the oncoming car. It hit her hard, sending her flying. She never woke up. At twenty years old, I was left alone. My mother was gone. It was also the year I met Damien. We crossed paths at a student council event. He was the host, tall and commanding, with a presence that made the room go still. I couldn’t help but glance at him more than once. And those brief moments of eye contact were enough for him to notice me. From that day on, he pursued me relentlessly. Damien was persistent, his charm undeniable. He’d appear at my side in class, offering help with assignments, his dark eyes always watching me, his every move calculated to draw me in. Because of my past, I’d built walls around my heart. when he asked me to be his mate, I rejected him without a second thought. “I can’t be your mate. I won’t be.” I thought he would eventually take the hint and give up, after all, that’s what all my previous suitors did. But he didn’t. From sophomore year to senior year, and even after I started my internship, he never stopped pursuing me. I couldn’t help but feel a little touched by his persistence. But the more kind he was to me, the less confidence I had. Because, back then, my father had treated my mother just as well.

Although my mother has passed away, as a strong and independent woman, she left me a substantial inheritance. This money is enough to cover my tuition, living expenses, and even if I wanted to study abroad, it would be more than sufficient. Having suffered because of men, my mother feared I would repeat the same mistakes. So, she entrusted the money to a trustee. Every year, I could withdraw a portion, but I wouldn’t be able to access the full amount until my monthly income exceeded the average withdrawal amount she left for me, and remained stable for two years. I understand why she did this. When my mother married my father, it was purely a downward marriage. My grandparents were so furious that they severed ties with her. My stubborn mother packed a suitcase and left with my father without a backward glance. Then, using her years of pocket money, she bought a house. From that point on, she never contacted her parents again. When I was little, I asked her, “Mom, don’t you miss your parents?” At that moment, my mother’s face grew pale, and she fell silent for a long time before replying, “Your grandmother and grandfather can’t look at me anymore. ” Then, holding me close, she said, “Elly, all men in this world are untrustworthy. I don’t want you to suffer like I did. I hope you’ll have the chance to regret your choices.” This money, it was my mother’s way of giving me the chance to regret. So, even after I married Damien, I never told him about the money. I knew that this money was my mother’s way of ensuring my security, so I silently made a decision: unless absolutely necessary, I would try not to touch it. At the time when Damien met me, I was living on a tight budget. When I didn’t have classes, I would go out and take part-time jobs to earn my living expenses. Because of this, he always believed my financial situation was the same as his. Looking back now, I wonder—if Damien had known that I wasn’t actually struggling financially, perhaps he wouldn’t have pursued me. What he wanted wasn’t someone with an independent personality, but rather someone who needed to cling to him like a parasite. But at the time, I hadn’t realized that. He chased me for three years, confessed to me forty times. At first, I rejected him outright. Then, I couldn’t bear to keep saying no, so I allowed those around us to say we were a couple without correcting them. I craved the feeling of being chosen, of being wanted that badly. The forty-first time he confessed, I said yes. Why? Because that year, I fell ill. And Damien, without hesitation, donated his liver to save me. Lying in that hospital bed, he confessed again. I looked at his pale face and thought, This man, who’s willing to give up so much for me, can’t be as heartless as my father. I decided to trust him. When I gave him my answer, he held me and cried like a child. But inside, I thought, Fate really is cruel. I’ve always feared love because of what my father did, yet it’s because of his mistakes that I ended up choosing someone to be my mate. Yes, my illness was the result of my father’s affair years ago. He contracted hepatitis B and passed it on to me. By the time we discovered it, it was too late. Even though my mother tried every treatment possible, the damage had already been done after years of living with the disease. The pressure of graduating finally broke me, and my body collapsed. The only option left was a liver transplant. At the time, all I could feel was the bitter irony. I never stopped to think that I was gambling with my happiness because of the pain my father caused me. And in that moment, I realized, this was a doomed start from the very beginning.

After I was discharged from the hospital, we moved in together. Every day was filled with the mundane—cooking, cleaning, the rhythm of simple happiness. I had to admit, Damien was an incredible partner. Stable, positive, never once raising his voice. In the year we lived together, we didn’t even have a single major fight. And then, one day, he proposed. In a room he’d carefully decorated, he knelt before me and held out a diamond ring. I thought about it for a long time, then agreed. I had no reason to say no. He truly was a great lover. Over the past year, he’d worked tirelessly, putting in overtime just to earn extra money. The money he earned—after paying off his family’s debts—was spent on things I loved. I could see it—the ring was the best he could afford, after paying off his family’s medical bills. It was his last sacrifice, and it was all for me. I thought, I’ve found my happiness. Two orphans, both having lost our parents, decided to marry, and so everything moved quickly. A month later, at our wedding, Damien confessed to me once more, his voice full of emotion. The audience—our classmates, our friends, those who had witnessed our journey—watched us in anticipation. The air was full of excitement and laughter. And then I turned to Damien, my voice steady, my gaze unwavering. “Damien, I will try my best to be a good wife, but if you ever lie to me, I’ll vanish from your world without a trace.” I don’t know if he truly understood, and honestly, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that this was my line—my final boundary. Of course, there was also the money. I never intended to tell him about it. Marriage was blissful at first, but as time passed, cracks began to form. We started arguing. He wanted children, but I didn’t. Damien didn’t force me. He simply held me close, let out a soft sigh, and said, “If you don’t want one, we don’t have to. We’ll wait until you’re ready.” I nodded quietly, noncommittally. Seeing I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic, he kissed my cheek and turned to sleep with his back to me. After that, Damien would bring up having children every now and then, probably hoping to influence me, just like he did with his constant confessions. He wanted me to gradually accept it. But what he didn’t know was that wanting a child meant something entirely different for me. I couldn’t take the gamble. I couldn’t gamble on him being a good father. I couldn’t gamble on him continuing to treat me well, as he had. I didn’t want there to be another woman like my mother—and another me—stuck in that cycle. As the days passed, Damien brought it up more frequently, his patience wearing thin. Finally, one day, we fought. In the end, Damien stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I will never forget the deafening sound of the door hitting the frame that night. But that night, I didn’t chase after him. I simply got out of bed, closed the door, and went back to sleep, lying on my side of the bed. The next morning, Damien was back. He had made breakfast, and as if nothing had happened, he called me to eat. After breakfast, he kissed me goodbye as usual and left for work. In that moment, I suddenly thought, Maybe having a child wouldn’t be so bad. After all, Damien grew up in a pack that valued lineage and tradition so much. The fact that he could accept my decision to not have children made me feel… maybe he was someone I could trust. But then I remembered what my mother had always said: “Never trust any man.”

In our third year of marriage, Damien started his own business. He founded a tech company, and with the clients he had accumulated from his previous job, the company took off. Suddenly, our life became luxurious. We moved into a new villa, bought a million-dollar car, and everything we wore and used was top-tier. But at the same time, he came home later and later, sometimes not coming home at all. I would sometimes wait for him, sometimes not. Damien still treated me well, except for one thing—he insisted that I quit my job. He said he had earned enough money for both of us to live comfortably for the rest of our lives, and he didn’t want me to work anymore. I knew the real reason. He felt embarrassed by my low income compared to the wives of his business partners and friends. Most of them were either daughters of well-established families or women as successful as their husbands, while I was working a job that paid only slightly above the average wage. Damien was a man of pride, so he asked me to stop working and become a full-time housewife. I agreed. Just as I hadn’t told him about the money my mother left for me, I also didn’t tell him that the company I worked for was one I had started with my best friend during our senior year. The startup had been exhausting, and that’s when my liver disease relapsed, requiring a transplant to survive. My best friend had been terrified when she saw my condition. She cried and swore never to let me overwork myself again. She had hoped I could stay home and just wait for the dividends, but I couldn’t sit idle, so I took a part-time job to pass the time. Truth be told, I had already achieved financial freedom long before Damien. But I understood him. He didn’t want me to be too successful or independent, so I never told him the full truth. Since he wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife, I did as he wished. I quit my job and spent my days reading books and tending to the flowers. I read a lot of books on marriage. They all said that women shouldn’t be too dominant; that’s the key to a lasting marriage. I thought I was doing well. On our third wedding anniversary, Damien gave me a diamond ring the size of a pigeon’s egg. Holding me close, he said, “Baby, thank you for everything these years.” He removed the small diamond ring he gave me when we got married, saying, “I didn’t have money back then, so I could only give you a small diamond ring. But I promised myself, once I had money, I’d buy you the biggest one.” He threw the small diamond ring into the trash can and slid the large diamond ring onto my finger. “Baby, I’ve made it.” The ring was beautiful, but it was too big, uncomfortable, and a bit inconvenient. I still preferred the small diamond ring. But I knew I couldn’t pick it up from the trash. He wouldn’t like it, and we’d argue. Yes, as Damien made more money, his temper grew worse. Even the smallest issues could set him off, and after we fought, he would apologize and tell me it was just the pressure from work. I understood him. After all, my father had been the same way. Perhaps all men were like this. Suddenly, Damien kissed me wildly, his kisses more intense and urgent than usual. Before, he was always tender and affectionate. As he kissed me, he mumbled, “Baby, let’s have a child.” “I have money now.” I didn’t directly refuse him. His excitement made me feel uneasy, but I didn’t speak up, and he carried me to bed. Damien, you still don’t know. It’s not because you don’t have money that I don’t want a child. Later that night, Damien slept deeply, and I stared at his handsome face, just like it was back in college. The pigeon egg-sized ring was so large that it was causing the fingers next to it to turn slightly red. I got out of bed to take a shower, found a box, and carefully placed the large diamond ring inside. Then, I picked up the small diamond ring from the trash. But I also found a receipt for a necklace. It was dated a month ago. I was certain he hadn’t given me a necklace. I glanced at Damien’s phone, which was resting by the pillow. I knew the password, and he knew mine. I thought about checking, but in the end, I didn’t. I felt a little scared. Was history about to repeat itself?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “295415”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #励志Inspiring #浪漫Romance #校园School #魔幻Magic #重生Reborn #惊悚Thriller