It was 11 PM and my wife Natalia hadn’t returned home yet. When I called, she hesitated, claiming to be caught up in a company gathering and couldn’t leave. I didn’t confront her. Instead, I quietly watched as she, the woman I had dated for four years and married for five, entered a bar hand-in-hand with another man. “I’ll probably be a few more hours. Don’t wait up for me; go to sleep,” she said in a rush and hung up. This was her eleventh late return this month, and it was the last chance I was willing to give her. At 4 AM, Natalia came home. She immediately rushed to the bathroom to shower. The clothes she carelessly threw on the sofa were missing the stockings she had worn out. I sighed, picked up the clothes to wash, and went to the kitchen to make some sobering soup. “You’re the best, Gerold!” she exclaimed suddenly, embracing me from behind. Her voice was still sweet. “Staying up late to make soup for me? Aww, you’ll spoil me.” My usual warmth was gone; I pushed her away coldly. “Have some soup first. You have stomach problems, and without this, you’ll have trouble sleeping tonight.” Natalia smiled, settling down like an obedient cat, sipping the soup bit by bit while muttering, “Work has been so hectic recently, always either overtime or gatherings. Looks like I won’t get a break this weekend either, it’s killing me…” I remembered she had said the same last week. When I worried about her irregular meals and brought her lunch, I discovered she never stayed late at work. Her empty desk held only a photo frame that included a picture of her and Jason. Her colleague told me the frame hadn’t been changed in years. “If you’re tired of hiding it, just stop.” “Hiding what?” Natalia’s eyes widened in an instant. “Your thing with Jason. It must be exhausting to lie every day, drinking late into the night, then having to scheme around me. It’s really not necessary.” As I spoke, I poured the soup into a prepared dish, pointing out each ingredient, instructing her to remember how to make it. “Next time you drink, you might need to learn to make it yourself.” “Gerold, stop it!” “Are you saying you won’t make soup for me anymore? You don’t want me anymore?” Natalia clung to my arm, her eyes beginning to redden. Years of marriage had me holding back my anger. “You cheated on me, and I failed to win your heart even after nine long years. I think that’s enough.” “What are you talking about? I’m not that kind of woman!” Natalia released my arm and glared at me furiously. “Haven’t I explained it to you? Jason and I are just friends. He recently came back from abroad, with no place or job settled, so I met with him a few times to help. “Can’t you just man up? Stop being so irrationally jealous. It’s really unbecoming!” She frowned in disgust. The last time I caught her lying about a date with Jason, she had used a similar excuse. But if it was just a friendship, why the repeated lies? Why were her returns home getting later and later? I sighed, no longer able to tolerate it. “Then let’s get a divorce. Go find your classy Jason!” Her childhood friend for many years was nothing but a jobless leech, living off his parents and spending his nights at bars and clubs. Yet inexplicably, she was drawn to him.

“Divorce? “Gerold, you can’t just act like a jealous prick! Just because I come home late, you throw around the word divorce? That just makes me dislike you more!” Natalia grabbed the soup bowl and smashed it on the floor. “And I’m your wife, not your pet. I don’t need your permission to see people! “Instead of watching me like a hawk every day, you should spend some time improving yourself!” She yelled and then stormed into the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. The heart I thought could no longer ache twisted painfully once more. For nine years, I cooked for her because of her poor stomach. Every holiday, I never forgot to give her gifts. Whatever she wanted, I went out of my way to provide. Yet none of that could replace the photo of her childhood sweetheart on her desk at work. “Enough is enough,” I sighed deeply and began to pack my bags. [Gerold, it’s been so long. Why haven’t you come to make up with me?] [No matter how mad I was, you never left me alone for more than 10 minutes. Do you really not want me anymore?] I could visualize her tear-stained, pitiful face from the texts on my phone. I remembered the weekend last month when she lied about working overtime. I saw her at a 24-hour bar, nestled in Jason’s arms, their embrace too intimate for just friends. At that moment, I felt insane with jealousy as I grabbed Jason by the collar to confront him. Natalia frantically pushed me away, protecting Jason. “He’s just a good friend! Let’s talk about it when we get back. Don’t embarrass Jason right here!” Her determination to defend Jason mirrored the way I had always defended her. Later, she left with Jason, leaving me stranded, a husband watching his wife walk away with another man. It felt like a cruel joke. That incident had planted the idea of divorce in my mind. But when I brought it up, Natalia locked herself in the bedroom, crying. She claimed I was the one she loved most. She didn’t want to upset me, which was why she hid her meetings with an old friend. Then, she said she had stomach pains from drinking. After nine years of love, her tears shattered my resolve. I chose to believe her one more time. But there would not be a second. “Gerold, you know I can’t sleep. Why didn’t you come to coax me? “Nothing happened between Jason and me, I swear. From now on, I won’t hide our meetings to avoid your suspicions. “My stomach hurts again. I didn’t drink much of the soup. Could you make me another bowl, please?” When Natalia came to me with tears in her eyes, I was writing her a note. It listed her favorite recipes, her menstrual cycle schedule, where the stomach medicine was kept, and the dosage she needed… She had never paid attention to these details, accustomed to my constant care. “Didn’t I already tell you how to make the soup?” I handed her the note. “From now on… you’ll need to learn to take care of yourself.”

Natalia froze in place, not reaching for the note I placed on the table. I stood up, grabbed my suitcase, and started to leave. Only then did she react, lightly tugging at me, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’ve packed your bags already? You really don’t want me anymore? You want a divorce?” Her tears began to fall. In the past, her crying would instantly soften my heart. But this time, I simply said calmly, “Yes, Natalia, I gave you chances. But now, I’ve had enough.” I pushed her hand away without a second thought. “Are you never done, Gerold?! How many times do I have to tell you? Jason is my best friend. I haven’t betrayed you, or done anything inappropriate!” Natalia suddenly burst out yelling, “I might have been closer to him, and yes, we had something in the past, but that’s all it was! “If I really couldn’t let go of him, why wouldn’t I just divorce you and be with Jason?” She pushed me in frustration. I hadn’t yet cleared the broken pieces of the bowl from earlier, and a shard pierced through my shoe and deep into my foot. Blood began to seep out, reflecting my tall but frail figure. For nine years, I prioritized Natalia above all else. I worked tirelessly to provide a better life for her, taking on all household duties after long hours at work. Gradually, my back began to stoop from the strain. “Perhaps it’s because you’re used to being taken care of. You see me more as a caretaker than a partner…” I couldn’t think of any other reason. “It’s not that, Gerold, it’s not. “I chose to be with you because of love. I can’t bear to leave you…” Natalia’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke, kneeling to inspect the wound on my foot, a flicker of pain crossing her eyes. “Gerold, I’ll get the first aid kit to bandage that up.” She stood to rush to the living room and just opened the cabinet when her phone rang. She instantly forgot about my injury and ran to the bathroom to answer the call. The voice on the other end was loud enough for me to hear. It was Jason, and he was drunk. “Do you have any money left, Natalia? I missed you so much I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the bar for a few drinks. But I drank too much, and now I’m short on cash…” As Jason’s voice faded, Natalia rushed out of the bathroom, urgency in her eyes as she hurried to the foyer to change her shoes. Opening the door, she remembered me for a moment, casting a casual glance back. “Gerold, can you bandage it yourself for now? I have an emergency. I need to go out; it’s important.” I couldn’t help but smirk bitterly. “Go ahead, and remember to make some food when you get back. You’ve been drinking all night without sleep; your stomach must be…” She didn’t have the patience to let me finish and rushed off toward Jason. It was clear who mattered more to her. The blood from my foot spread further, forming the shape of a flower. It seemed to serve as a memorial to our marriage that had now thoroughly perished. Goodbye. Natalia. I pushed the suitcase, waving farewell to the home we had shared for five years, leaving without a backward glance.

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=#### When Mrs. Cooper handed me a check for five million dollars and told me to leave Natalie Cooper, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I had spent five years by Emily’s side, giving her the best years of my life. Five million? It wasn’t nearly enough for what I’d sacrificed. Word of this reached Emily soon enough. I later heard that on the day she found out, she skipped the most important meeting of her career just to come find me. When Natalie Cooper stormed into the apartment she had bought for me, I was in the middle of packing my things. “What’s the meaning of this?” Her face was dark, her expression colder than I’d ever seen it. After years of being with her, I knew what this look meant—she was furious. “Ms. Cooper,” I said with a calm smile, trying to look composed despite the mess around me. “Five million dollars to leave you—what’s there to misunderstand?” That only made her angrier. Her jaw clenched, and I could see the fire behind her eyes. “Once you walk out that door,” she hissed, her voice low but sharp, “don’t come crawling back.” With that, she turned and slammed the door behind her. To be fair, Emily had been good to me over the years—at least, in a material sense. She showered me with gifts: luxury cars, designer watches, all the trappings of a kept man. If I’d stayed, those five million dollars would’ve been just a fraction of what I could’ve gotten. But lately, I’d grown tired of it all. And besides, word had it that Andrew was coming back from abroad. Andrew—the man Emily’s family had always wanted for her. Her fiancé. The man who was my reminder of what I really was: just a stand-in. It didn’t take me long to pack up my things. Within half an hour, I was out the door with nowhere to go. I ended up crashing at my buddy Matthew’s place. Unfortunately, his new girlfriend was there too. They were wrapped up in their little love bubble, making me feel like the third wheel. Matthew gave me an apologetic look, but I hadn’t called ahead, so I couldn’t really blame him. I excused myself and checked into a nearby hotel instead. This hotel wasn’t unfamiliar. Emily and I used to stay here often. On nights when her business deals turned into boozy work dinners, she’d book a room nearby to rest. Emily could hold her liquor well—she rarely lost her cool in public, no matter how much she drank. But on the rare occasions she did get drunk, she was impossible to handle. No one could deal with her when she was like that—no one except me. Her assistant would always call me to come and take care of her. As I checked in, the woman at the front desk recognized me. “Ms. Cooper didn’t come with you this time?” she asked with a polite smile. I shook my head and replied casually, “Emily and I aren’t together anymore.” She blinked, clearly taken aback by how easily I said it. After all, everyone in the city’s elite circles knew about us. Natalie Cooper, the famously unattainable CEO, and me, her kept man—a detail that had always been a source of gossip. Once I got my room key, I poured myself a drink and turned on some heavy metal—the kind of music I loved but rarely got to listen to. Emily hated rock music. She said it was too loud, too chaotic. Whenever we were together, I’d play the soothing acoustic tracks she preferred. But now, as I sat alone in the hotel room with an expensive drink in hand and the music blasting, I realized something felt… off. Something was missing. I stayed in that hotel for three days, doing nothing but drinking and trying to drown out the silence. On the third day, Matthew showed up. He’d heard about my breakup with Emily and had taken time off from his girlfriend to help me “get back on my feet.” His grand plan? A road trip. Just the two of us, hitting the open road to clear my head. But the day before we were supposed to leave, Matthew got called into work for some emergency at his company. And just like that, our “bro trip” turned into a solo adventure. So, I packed my bags and went to Emberwood, alone.

The moment I boarded the plane, my phone started buzzing. It was Natalie. The call rang for what felt like an eternity. I didn’t pick up, even as a flight attendant politely reminded me that the plane was about to take off and I needed to turn off my phone. Right before shutting it down, a text came through from her: “I’ll only say this once—stop being dramatic and come back when you’re done.” I stared at that single line of text, and suddenly, memories from four years ago came rushing back. Four years ago, I’d been with Natalie for just over a year when I first heard about Andrew Shen. Her Andrew. That night, I drank too much at a bar, and for the first time, I lost my temper with her. She was in her study, working as always. Sitting behind that massive desk, she was conducting a video call for some international meeting. The glow from her monitor lit up her sharp, elegant features, making her look as distant as she was breathtaking. I stumbled in, drunk and reeking of whiskey. Natalie had a strict rule: no one was allowed to bother her while she worked. But that night, emboldened by alcohol and jealousy, I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her close. I kissed the sensitive curve of her collarbone, then asked, half-resentful and half-petty, “What’s more important, Natalie? Work or me?” For the first time, she got angry. She looked up at me with those cold, piercing eyes and said, “Get out. I’m working.” When I didn’t move, she called her bodyguards. They dragged me out of the house, and I was left standing outside in the middle of the night, furious with myself for pushing her. The gated community was isolated, the kind of place where even streetlights felt like a luxury. My phone was dead, and my only company was a pack of cigarettes I burned through one by one. By the fifteenth cigarette, Natalie showed up. She walked toward me in nothing but a silk camisole, her expression unreadable. “Have you had enough?” she asked sharply. I bit down on the cigarette she hated most and opened my mouth to say something snarky—only to sneeze. That must’ve been the breaking point. She laughed. A real, unguarded laugh. For the first time, she reached out to me, her hand extended. But my pride got the better of me, and I brushed her off. Her hand froze midair before she pulled it back, her face hardening. “I’ll say this one more time,” she said. “When you’re done acting like a child, come home.” And then she turned and left. I called after her, “Give me my car keys!” She didn’t even glance back. “Jonathan, the car is mine. If you’re not coming back, don’t even think about taking it.” That was the moment I realized what I was to her. The car I drove, the watch on my wrist, the designer suits in my closet—they were all hers. When she turned back again and extended her hand a second time, I took it. That night, I became the perfect, obedient companion she wanted. And I stayed by her side for the next five years. I deleted her text and turned off my phone. Two hours later, I landed at Emberwood International Airport. Of course, my bad luck didn’t end there. No sooner had I arrived than my wallet was stolen. At the police station, the officers eyed me suspiciously, their gazes lingering on my expensive clothes and accessories. Their expressions practically screamed, If someone’s going to get robbed, it might as well be you. Without money, proper ID, or any way to prove who I was, I was stuck. The officers handed me a phone and told me to call someone to help. But who could I call? My parents died when I was young, and my grandmother raised me on her own. She passed away before she could enjoy any of the success I might’ve brought her. Natalie had entered my life that same year, a radiant light piercing through the darkness of my world. With no other choice, I called her. The sound of the international dial tone stretched on, each ring a cruel reminder that the light she once brought into my life had long since faded. Matthew’s number escaped me, and the police officers’ patience was wearing thin. Just as I was about to give up, a young woman approached me. Her name was Helen. She was at the police station by chance that day, and when she saw me sitting alone, looking lost and out of place, she decided to help. Helen helped me sort everything out with the officers. When we left the station, I got a new phone number and made the decision to cut all ties with Natalie. But even then, I couldn’t escape her entirely. Every so often, I’d see her name online: Natalie, shopping with Andrew, his gaze soft and adoring. Natalie and Andrew, cutting the ribbon at the grand opening of a new hotel. Natalie and Andrew, preparing for their upcoming wedding—a match made in heaven. I stayed in Emberwood. Helen and I became friends. With her help, I found a job at a trading company. It wasn’t easy. After five years of being Natalie’s kept man, I’d forgotten how to fend for myself. The language barrier was frustrating. The work was grueling. But Helen was always there, supporting me. We were two lonely souls in a foreign land, leaning on each other to survive. But no one tells you that when two broken people come together, the loneliness doesn’t just disappear. One night, during Emberwood’s lantern festival, I asked her, “Why did you decide to stay here?” She looked at me, her eyes heavy with sorrow. The night sky was filled with glowing lanterns, their golden light reflecting off her sharp features. Finally, she told me her story. She had come to Emberwood with her boyfriend. He’d always wanted to see the lanterns. But he never got the chance—he died in her arms before they could experience it together. “People say if you make a wish to the lanterns, it’ll come true,” she said softly. I knew she was thinking of him. For the first time, I wanted to believe in something greater than myself. I clasped my hands together, gazing up at the endless sea of lanterns, and made my wish: I wished to forget Natalie.

Life went on. Work was hectic, and sometimes I had to deal with my sleazy boss. He was gay and made no attempt to hide his interest in me. He’d find any excuse to touch me or crack inappropriate jokes under the guise of “work.” One time, Helen came to pick me up from the office and, seeing the situation, casually introduced herself as my girlfriend. From that day on, the harassment stopped completely, and I finally had some peace. I’d been living in Emberwood for nearly two years when my company assigned me to a project in Starfall. Within days, I packed my things and boarded a flight with a few colleagues. The moment the plane touched down, representatives from the partner company were already waiting for us at the airport to escort us to the hotel. When we arrived, I froze at the entrance. It was the same hotel Natalie and I had stayed at countless times. The memories I thought I’d buried surged forward like a tidal wave, overwhelming me. It wasn’t until I saw the receptionist behind the front desk—a stranger, not the familiar face I dreaded—that I finally relaxed. “Welcome, Mr. Baker. Welcome, Ms. Cooper…”

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### She only begged me to stay after I had grown completely numb to her tears. But by then, there was no going back. I sat at the dining table, staring at the untouched meal in front of me. The food was growing colder with every passing minute, much like my heart. Today was my birthday. But it was also Sarah’s childhood friend Daniel’s birthday. I opened Daniel’s Instagram, already knowing what I’d find. Sure enough, there was a brand-new post on his feed: “Grateful for another birthday spent with you. Here’s to celebrating many more together!” The photo was simple: two hands forming a heart over a birthday cake. One of them was Sarah’s. She was wearing the necklace I had given her. I stared at the screen for a moment, then hit the “like” button. Setting my phone down, I swept all the dishes off the table—her favorite foods—and dumped them into the trash. Then I grabbed my keys and headed to a restaurant. This time, I ordered my own favorite meal to celebrate my birthday. From now on, I’ll make sure to enjoy every birthday for myself.

Halfway through dinner, my phone rang. It was Sarah, her voice tinged with urgency. “Matt, you saw Daniel’s Instagram post, didn’t you?” “I saw it.” “I’m spending his birthday with him, but I’ll come back after. Next year, I’ll celebrate with you instead, okay? Don’t get upset over this, alright? Be the bigger person.” In the past, I would’ve lost it—yelling, arguing, making a scene. But now, I didn’t have the energy for it anymore. “Okay,” I said simply. The next morning, around 7:00 AM, I was jolted awake by the sound of my phone ringing. It rang three times before stopping. I glanced at the screen—Sarah. She had this habit of calling me when she didn’t feel like using her key. Three rings, then she’d hang up, knowing I’d rush to the door no matter what I was doing. But not today. I tossed the phone aside, pulled the blanket over my head, and went back to sleep. The spare key was under the shoe rack by the door. She knew that. Last night, I’d been up until 3:00 AM packing. My head was still pounding. The phone rang a few more times, but I couldn’t even muster the energy to look at it. I don’t know how much time passed before I heard the sound of the door opening, followed by a loud thud as it slammed against the wall. Sarah stormed into the bedroom, shoving the door open with enough force to rattle the hinges. “Matt!” she snapped. “Why didn’t you open the door for me? I called you so many times! You know I hate using the key!” I opened my eyes, looked at her blankly, and said, “I was too tired. Didn’t hear it.” Sarah’s mouth opened as if to argue, but she finally just huffed and said, “I’m starving. Get up and make me some oatmeal. I didn’t sleep at all last night, so I need to eat and catch up on sleep.” In the past, I would’ve jumped out of bed and hurried to the kitchen, eager to please her. But now, I just said, “I’m tired too. Go grab something from the café downstairs.” Her face darkened with frustration, but she held it in. “Are you still mad about me not being with you on your birthday yesterday?” “No,” I replied calmly. “You’re overthinking it.” She didn’t believe me and continued, as if trying to justify herself. “Daniel is like a brother to me. His parents passed away when he was young—if I don’t celebrate his birthday with him, who will? Don’t be so petty. You’re better than this.” “You’re right,” I said. “It’s good that you were there for him. I’m not upset.” I got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. Sarah grabbed my hand, reluctantly pulling something out of her pocket. “Here. Stop being moody. This is your birthday gift. I didn’t forget.” She handed me a cheap red string bracelet with a small metal charm dangling from it. “You’re in your zodiac year,” she said. “I thought this would bring you good luck.” I stared at the bracelet, the flimsy charm swaying as she held it out. It looked so thoughtless, especially compared to the expensive watch Daniel had posted on Instagram yesterday—the one she’d given him. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly to myself. For months, I’d noticed Sarah cutting back on her spending. I’d convinced myself she was saving up for something special for my birthday. Turns out, I was just fooling myself. I glanced at my wrist, where I was already wearing the watch my mom had sent me last week. “Thanks,” I said. “But I already have a watch. I don’t think I’ll wear this. You keep it.” Sarah’s face twisted with anger. “You say you’re not mad, but now you’re being picky? You used to love everything I gave you, no matter how small. Why are you acting like this now?” She wasn’t wrong. Her gifts had always been cheap—trinkets that cost a few bucks, or sometimes nothing at all when she forgot. But I never minded. Every year, though, I went out of my way to make her birthday special. Just last week, I’d given her a gold necklace. Now, I was just too tired. Too drained to argue anymore. I took the bracelet and shoved it into my pocket. “Thanks,” I said flatly. I got dressed and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” Sarah asked, her voice sharp with suspicion. “To play basketball with some friends,” I replied. Since we’d started dating, every spare moment of my life had been hers. I gave up weekends, hobbies, and time with friends to entertain her, shop with her, and take care of her. Not anymore. From now on, I’m living for myself.

After an intense basketball game with my friends, we sat on the sidelines, drinking water and catching our breath. One of them teased, half-jokingly, “Man, we thought you’d forgotten about us ever since you got a girlfriend. We were about to stop inviting you altogether.” I laughed and quickly apologized. “My bad, guys. I promise it won’t happen again. Call me anytime—you’ve got my word.” “That’s more like it! Let’s go hit up the gaming café and play a few rounds.” When I was with Sarah, I could never fully fit into her circle of friends. And because of her, I’d slowly started drifting away from my own. Everything revolved around her. She was the center of my world, and I willingly let it happen. Looking back now, I can’t believe how foolish I was. By the time I got home, it was almost midnight. I opened the bedroom door and found Sarah sitting on the bed, arms crossed, her face clouded with irritation. “Matt, why are you just getting home? I had to order takeout for both lunch and dinner—it was disgusting!” I grabbed some clothes from the closet and shrugged. “I ate out at a restaurant today too. The food was pretty good—not bad at all, actually.” Sarah’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You used to say we should never eat takeout because it’s unhealthy. You promised me you’d cook every day so I wouldn’t have to.” “That was my mistake,” I replied calmly. “Living in this world, if you can’t cook, you’ve got to learn to live with takeout.” An angry spark lit up in her eyes. “You’re still mad, aren’t you? Don’t even try to deny it. You didn’t call or text me all day, and you didn’t come home to cook for me. How is that not being mad?” “I’m not mad,” I said evenly. “I was just out with my friends. My phone died, that’s all.” Sarah threw the blanket off, jumped out of bed, and grabbed my arm as I turned to leave. Her voice rose sharply. “Can you stop being so childish? How many times do I have to tell you—Daniel and I are just like brother and sister! Why are you still making a big deal out of this? I’m running out of patience, Matt!” I pulled my arm free. “I’m not making a big deal out of anything. I’m just tired. I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” With that, I grabbed my clothes and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Sarah shouted after me, but I didn’t bother responding. For the first time in years, I slept peacefully that night. Sarah has terrible sleeping habits; she kicks the blanket off multiple times a night. When we shared a bed, I’d always wake up to cover her back up, never managing to get a full night’s sleep myself. The next morning, Sarah was sitting in the living room with her arms crossed, her face dark and stormy. I knew she was waiting for me to apologize, to coax her out of her mood. In the past, whenever she was upset, I would swallow my pride, beg for her forgiveness, and do whatever it took to make her happy—even if I wasn’t wrong. Then she’d lay out a list of demands, and only once I’d fulfilled every single one would she reluctantly forgive me. That routine had gone on for years. But this time, I was done. I walked past her without a word, got ready for the day, and left the apartment. I had important things to take care of.

At work, I handed in my resignation letter. My manager was shocked and tried to convince me to stay, but I was firm. When I’d taken this job, it was because I wanted to be near Sarah, to take care of her. But that wasn’t necessary anymore. The night before, I’d called my parents over video chat and told them I was planning to move back home. I saw the tears of joy in my mom’s eyes. My dad hasn’t been in good health lately, and running the family’s small convenience store on his own has been taking a toll on him. “Home” isn’t some far-off rural place. It’s a small coastal city—quiet and comfortable. Sarah, on the other hand, is from the South. She loves her spicy food and always refused to move with me, saying she couldn’t handle the change in cuisine. So I’d left my family behind and moved here for her, building my life around hers. Now, that life was crumbling, and I was going back to the one place that had always been constant: home. That evening, I went out to dinner with my friends and told them about my plans. They all agreed I was making the right choice. “Your parents’ health comes first,” one of them said. After a few rounds of drinks, someone finally asked the question I’d been avoiding. “What about Sarah? Is she coming with you?” I was quiet for a moment before answering with a bitter smile. “No. We’ll probably break up.” For years, I’d believed we could build a home together here, and that one day I’d bring my parents to live with us. But now I knew better. That dream was gone. The home I wanted wasn’t here. It was the one with my parents, the one where love wasn’t conditional. When I got back to the apartment, Sarah was sitting on the couch in a white dress, her hair perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. She was holding her phone, smiling brightly as she FaceTimed Daniel. “Sarah, you’re stunning,” I heard him say. “Even in something as simple as a white dress, you look like an angel.” Sarah giggled, covering her face with her hand. “Really? You’re always so sweet with your compliments.” I stood silently in the doorway, watching. That dress wasn’t “simple.” It was the one I’d spent an entire month’s paycheck on, a gift I’d given her. When Sarah turned and saw me standing there, her smile vanished. She turned back to the phone. “I have to go now, Daniel. I’ll see you soon. Don’t forget to eat something before I get there.” She ended the call, gave me a look of pure disdain, then walked past me to put on her shoes. Without a word, she left the apartment. This was her usual pattern—silent treatment, passive-aggressive behavior, all over Daniel. In the past, I would’ve panicked, desperate to win her back. This time, I didn’t feel anything. I quietly unpacked the groceries I’d brought home and made myself a late-night snack. I hadn’t eaten much at dinner, and I was starving. Over the next few days, I focused on wrapping up work and packing my things. Little by little, my presence in the apartment grew smaller, but Sarah didn’t seem to notice.

Today, Sarah went out again to meet up with Daniel. I sat at the dining table, scrolling through my phone as I ate. Daniel had just posted on Instagram: “Every time I feel lonely, you’re always there for me. I’m so lucky. Grateful!” The photo showed Sarah and Daniel, their heads leaning together, both smiling and making peace signs at the camera. Sarah’s friends flooded the comments with likes and gushing messages, praising the “bond” they shared. They’d always said she and Daniel were meant to be together. Childhood friends, practically soulmates—they made it sound like I was the outsider who’d come in and ruined their perfect story. Looking at that post, I realized they weren’t wrong. They did look more like a couple than we ever did. In the past, I used to keep my feelings bottled up for as long as I could before gently reminding Sarah to set some boundaries with Daniel, to avoid giving people the wrong impression. Her friends always mocked me for it, calling me controlling and possessive, accusing me of stifling Sarah and cutting her off from her friends. Sarah never defended me. Instead, she joined in, scolding me for being overbearing and telling me to give her more space. On Daniel’s post, Sarah had left a comment: “You’re always there for me, too!” I closed the app without a second thought, stood up, and started clearing the table. Outside, thunder rumbled. Rain was coming. I went to the balcony to bring in the laundry, and just as I finished, heavy raindrops began pounding against the windows. In the past, a rainy night like this would’ve had me scrambling to call Sarah, asking where she was so I could take an umbrella and pick her up. I couldn’t bear the thought of her getting even a little wet. She and her friends used to laugh at me for it, calling me a “hovering mom,” saying I worried too much and ruined the fun of their nights out. This time, I just took a shower, climbed into bed, and scrolled through some videos until I drifted off. The sound of Sarah slamming my bedroom door woke me up. She stormed in, furious. “Matt, it’s pouring outside, and your girlfriend still isn’t home. Don’t you care at all? If it were my friends’ boyfriends, they’d be calling nonstop, asking where they were, and showing up with umbrellas. But you? Nothing!”

I blinked, surprised by the anger in her voice. I couldn’t understand why she was so upset. I thought back to a similar night, years ago, when it was raining and Sarah was out with Daniel. I’d called her several times, asking where she was and when she’d be home. I even offered to pick her up. She’d snapped at me, saying I was being ridiculous. “Daniel’s here,” she’d said. “He’ll drop me off. Stop worrying so much.” She accused me of being jealous, claiming I just couldn’t stand the idea of her spending time with Daniel. She said my need for control was suffocating her. Now that I was giving her the freedom she’d asked for, she was mad at me for not calling. I couldn’t figure out what she wanted from me anymore. Calmly, I replied, “You’re with Daniel. I don’t have anything to worry about. Stay out as long as you want—he’ll make sure you get home safely.” Sarah’s eyes widened, stunned. Maybe she was surprised by how casually I mentioned Daniel’s name, or by how unconcerned I seemed about them spending so much time together. Her expression shifted, and she quickly offered an explanation. “Today’s the anniversary of Daniel’s mom’s passing,” she said. “He’s been really upset, and as his friend, I couldn’t just leave him alone. You understand, right? Please don’t take it the wrong way.” I nodded, my voice steady. “I understand. It’s a hard day for him. You’re right to stay with him.” My calm response seemed to throw her off. She studied my face, searching for any sign of anger or jealousy, but found none. Her tone softened as she said, “Matt, I bought a new set of pajamas today—black lace. Do you want to see how they look? You can tell me if they’re a good fit.” I glanced at her, caught off guard. This was unusual. Sarah never apologized or extended an olive branch unless I begged her to. She always held the upper hand, making me grovel before she’d agree to forgive me. Now, she was reaching out first, trying to make peace. But I pretended not to notice the meaning behind her words. “There’s no need,” I said flatly. “If you like them, that’s all that matters. Go back to your room and get some sleep.”

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### My husband, Ethan Carter, was the CEO of a publicly traded company, a man who was admired and envied by many. He traveled for work every month, like clockwork. Everyone knew him as a “wife guy,” someone who spoiled me endlessly and never missed a chance to show his love. Every time he came back from a trip, he brought me thoughtful gifts. This time, he’d been in Charleston for business and returned with a single peach blossom branch. Because he couldn’t take it on the plane, he went out of his way—lugging it onto trains and even the subway—just so he could bring a piece of Charleston’s early spring back to me. As he handed it to me, Ethan spoke softly, his voice as warm as ever. “The spring comes early down there,” he said. “I couldn’t wait to bring it back for you to see.” But just before he walked through the door, my phone buzzed. It was a text from that same unknown number that had been messaging me for weeks: “Your husband and his little assistant took their romantic getaway to Charleston this month.” Attached was a photo: Ethan and his secretary, Emma, locked in a passionate kiss beneath a canopy of pink blossoms. I stared at the picture, my stomach twisting. When Ethan turned away to take a shower, I set the peach blossom branch in the most unnoticeable corner of the room. My hand brushed against my slightly rounded belly as I picked up the phone and made a call I hadn’t dared to make in three years. “Dad,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’ve made a mistake. I’m leaving Ethan.” They say a marriage without your parents’ blessing is doomed from the start. Three years ago, I walked down the aisle against their wishes, thinking love was enough. Now, it was clear: that wedding had been a mistake. It was time to cut my losses and walk away.

“Honey, can you send a file to Jack for me? It’s on my phone,” Ethan said. “Sure,” I replied casually. Hearing my response, Ethan turned on the shower, humming as the water began to run. His phone was sitting on the table, unlocked, as it always was. Ethan never hid anything from me—he’d even joked about handing over his phone if I ever wanted to check it. I entered the passcode, my birthday, and the lock screen opened. After sending the file, my eyes fell on the name “Emma” in his message list. The chat history was clean—just work-related texts. Ethan was meticulous like that. He’d never leave anything incriminating behind. But curiosity got the better of me. I tapped on Emma’s profile and opened her social media. Her latest post stopped me cold. It was a photo of two hands intertwined beneath a canopy of pink blossoms. The caption read: “I told him I loved peach blossoms, so he brought me all the way to Charleston.” The post was clearly hidden from both her coworkers and me, but one mutual friend had commented underneath: “Is it your mysterious, handsome, rich boyfriend again?” Emma’s reply was a simple “Yes.” Two weeks ago, I’d started receiving anonymous texts from an unfamiliar number. The first one read: “Your husband, the man who swears he loves you more than anything, is cheating on you.” Since then, every day, I’d received more and more “evidence.” Photos, locations, details—everything pointed to Ethan and Emma. Apparently, Ethan’s monthly “business trips” were just elaborate vacations with her. They’d watched sunsets on beaches, kissed under the Northern Lights, and held each other in snow-covered forests. I’d even had the photos verified by a professional. They weren’t fake. Ethan. Emma. And me. We’d all been high school classmates, though I’d barely known Emma back then. When Ethan told me a few months ago that Emma had applied to be his assistant, I’d thought nothing of it. In fact, I encouraged him to hire her—after all, it was nice to help an old classmate. Who could’ve known I was hiring my own replacement? Scrolling further through Emma’s social media, I found more posts. Every month, there were photos of trips to different cities, each captioned with romantic lines: “A life well-lived is half mountains and seas, half you.” “The sun is setting, and we’re falling in love.” “Going to beautiful places with the person I love most.” Every destination matched Ethan’s business trips. Every caption matched the anonymous texts. Some of the photos showed a man’s silhouette—his face deliberately cropped out. But I didn’t need to see his face. I knew that figure. I’d recognize Ethan anywhere. There were other photos, too: jewelry, designer bags, luxury items. The gifts Ethan had brought home to me? She had them too. Three years of marriage. Three years of meticulous care, of devotion that everyone envied. The perfect husband, they said. And yet here he was, betraying me. As memories of our life together flashed through my mind—his sweet words, his warm embraces—they all turned into jagged shards, stabbing into my heart. I felt the baby move inside me, and I instinctively rested a hand on my belly. “I’m sorry,” I whispered softly. The next moment, I felt warm arms wrap tightly around me. Ethan was back, holding me close from behind, his head resting in the crook of my neck. “What are you saying to our baby, huh?” he murmured. “I missed you so much while I was away.” I didn’t respond. The thought of him whispering the same words to her just days ago made my stomach churn. “What’s wrong?” he asked, gently turning me to face him. His eyes were full of concern as he noticed my red, swollen eyes. I shook my head and waved a hand in front of my face, trying to explain it away. “It’s nothing. Pregnancy hormones. I’ve just been emotional lately.” Ethan knelt in front of me, his hand resting on my belly. “Hey, little one,” he said softly, his eyes lighting up. “Your mom is working so hard for you, so you better behave in there, okay? No causing trouble.” He pressed his ear against my belly as if listening for a response, then looked up at me with a grin. “Babe, our baby just told me they understand.” His joy, his tenderness—it was all so convincing. How could he love me like this and still hold someone else’s hand under a canopy of blossoms? I gave him a weak smile, and he stood, brushing his thumb across my lips. “You know,” he said, his voice low and husky, “the doctor said we’re past the three-month mark now, so…” He leaned in to kiss me, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I bolted for the bathroom and threw up violently, the nausea overwhelming me. Behind me, Ethan followed, his hand rubbing circles on my back, his voice full of concern. “Babe, this pregnancy is really taking it out of you. Let’s make this the last one, okay? No more after this.” He thought it was just morning sickness. He had no idea that I wouldn’t be having this baby either.

“You’re terminating the pregnancy?” The doctor froze mid-exam, looking at me in disbelief. Outside the room, Ethan stood by the window, scrolling through his phone, a soft, tender smile spreading across his face. That smile—so familiar, yet so foreign—made my chest ache and my stomach churn. “Yes,” I said firmly, breaking my gaze away and turning back to the doctor. “You’re sure? Does your husband know?” she asked cautiously. “I’ve seen him come with you to every appointment. He seems so excited about this baby, even with how busy he must be. Running a company like his can’t be easy.” Ethan Carter—self-made billionaire, founder of a multi-million-dollar tech company at just 30 years old. His face was a regular feature on business channels, and even the doctor had heard of him. He had his share of admirers, women who swooned over his looks, wealth, and the fact that he was madly in love with his wife. “This is my decision,” I said, my tone unyielding. “Please don’t tell him.” The doctor sighed, hesitant, before launching into a string of reasons why I should reconsider. I didn’t hear a word of it. A failed marriage. A child born into a loveless home. Why bring someone into the world only to suffer? Better to give them a chance with a different set of parents. It was Ethan’s day off, and he’d woken up early, thinking I was still asleep. He tiptoed into the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise. But pregnancy had made me a light sleeper, and I lay there, staring at the ceiling as the faint light of dawn crept in. I could hear him tinkering in the kitchen for nearly half an hour. When he finally came back into the bedroom, I quickly shut my eyes. “Time to get up, sleepyhead,” he whispered as he gently pinched my cheek. I opened my eyes to see him standing there, wearing an apron and grinning like he’d just conquered the world. Ethan had started taking cooking classes after I got pregnant—something about making sure I ate well. Since marrying him, I hadn’t stepped foot in the kitchen. He even left work early every day just to cook dinner for me, much to the delight of his employees, who joked that their boss was a “top-tier wife guy.” “Your husband’s cooking hasn’t gotten rusty, has it? I made all your favorites,” he said proudly, gesturing to the table. But before I could even respond, his phone buzzed on the counter. He grabbed it quickly, but not quickly enough. I saw the name flash across the screen: Emma. Ethan’s cheerful demeanor shifted in an instant. He answered the call, his voice calm but serious. “I understand. I’ll be there soon.” Hanging up, he turned to me with an apologetic expression. “Something urgent came up at work. I’m really sorry, but I have to go. Please make sure you eat breakfast, okay? Take a short walk after—it’s good for you and the baby. I probably won’t make it back for lunch, but I’ll have a meal delivered for you. Call me if you need anything. Oh, and don’t forget, we have the high school reunion tonight. I’ll come home to pick you up.” Ah, the reunion. I’d almost forgotten. Before leaving, Ethan walked over to me, smoothing the crease between my brows with his thumb. He kissed my forehead softly, whispering, “Don’t be upset, alright?” You see, his performance was flawless. Not a single crack showed as he smoothed his words over me like silk. Even as he prepared to run into another woman’s arms, he didn’t falter. The door closed behind him, and the sound of it felt like a cue for my tears to fall. I stared at the breakfast he’d made, the food now tasteless in my mouth. My stomach turned, and I scraped it all into the trash. When something no longer tastes good, you throw it away. Forcing it down only makes you sick. People are no different. That evening, Ethan came home to pick me up for the reunion. He knelt down in front of me to help me put on my socks and shoes, as he always did. From this angle, I could see the collar of his shirt—and the faint marks peeking out from underneath. Those weren’t there this morning. Ethan didn’t open the front passenger door for me like usual. Instead, he guided me to the backseat. That’s when I saw her. Emma was sitting in the passenger seat, her lips curling into a polite, almost saccharine smile as I hesitated. Ethan cleared his throat awkwardly. “Emma’s going to the reunion too. I figured it made sense for the three of us to go together.” “She gets carsick,” he added, almost too quickly. “The front seat is better for her.” Emma turned toward me, her head tilting slightly, her voice soft and sweet as honey. “You don’t mind, do you, Jane? You’re so far along now—it’s probably more comfortable for you to sit in the back anyway.” The blue diamond necklace she wore caught the light, sparkling brightly. It was identical to the one around my neck. I said nothing, just nodded and climbed into the backseat. As we drove, I listened to their laughter, their easy banter. My head began to pound, the ache growing worse with every mile. I reached up and unclasped the necklace, slipping it into my purse. I didn’t need it anymore.

“Well, well, look who’s here!” “If it isn’t the golden couple from our class reunion!” The moment Ethan walked in with my hand in his, the room erupted in cheers and playful teasing. Back in high school, Ethan’s pursuit of me had been nothing short of legendary. Everyone, even the teachers, knew about it. But since we were both straight-A students, they turned a blind eye to his over-the-top efforts. Ethan had even changed his college plans to follow me, chasing me all the way to university. By freshman year, he’d started a business from scratch, determined to be “worthy” of me. His persistence became the stuff of school lore. By the time we were about to graduate, I finally gave in. I let myself be swept away by his devotion. I still remember the night I said yes—how he cried so hard he couldn’t even speak, swearing over and over: “Jane, I’ll love you and only you for the rest of my life.” Inside the reunion, three empty seats were waiting for us. Ethan sat between me and Emma, his assistant. He frowned slightly before turning to me, his voice soft and almost apologetic. “Jane, can we switch seats?” That simple gesture earned yet another round of teasing from our old classmates. “Look at Ethan, such a gentleman! Doesn’t even want to sit next to a single woman!” “Jane, what kind of spell did you cast on him? He’s still head over heels after all these years!” “Seriously, you two make the rest of us look bad. Every time I see your posts on social media, I swear my teeth hurt from how sweet you guys are!” Ethan laughed along, pulling me closer as he smiled and said, “What can I say? I just love my wife.” Then he looked at me with the kind of gaze that made everyone else swoon—a gaze full of warmth and tenderness. Everyone believed Ethan adored me. But I knew better. His love, like the gifts he showered me with, had long since been divided into two equal shares. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Emma’s forced smile. Her lips twitched upward, but the way she looked at Ethan—her eyes filled with longing and frustration—gave her away. “Emma’s boyfriend must be treating her well too,” someone chimed in, nodding toward the massive diamond necklace around her neck. “Look at that rock—he must have some serious cash.” Emma touched the necklace, her fingers lingering on the jewel as her eyes flicked to me. “He treats me very well,” she said, her voice tight but filled with pride. “Every month, he takes me somewhere special. Buys me so many things I can barely keep up. Just last month, I mentioned wanting to retire in Florida one day, and he went ahead and bought a house there. Oh, and this necklace? It’s a limited edition—only ten in the world.” Only ten in the world. Eight million dollars each. Ethan had bought two. “Wow, sounds like your boyfriend could give Ethan a run for his money,” someone joked. “When are you bringing him to meet us?” Emma smiled sweetly, her gaze softening as it landed on Ethan. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll all meet him one day.” Ethan didn’t look at her. Instead, he picked up some food and placed it on my plate. Halfway through dinner, Ethan excused himself to take a phone call. Not long after, Emma slipped out too, saying she needed to use the restroom. I waited a moment, then followed. By the time I reached the stairwell, I heard their voices. Emma had her hands draped around Ethan’s neck, her voice laced with a mix of frustration and desperation. “You’re not going to just ghost me, are you? Ethan, it’s been two years. Don’t you dare act like I don’t mean anything to you.” Ethan’s tone was calm but firm, his expression unreadable. “As long as you don’t mess with Jane, as long as you stay quiet and keep your place, I’ll take care of you. You know that. But if she finds out…” His voice dropped, cold and threatening. “If she leaves me, I’ll lose it.” Emma’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but then her lips curled into a small smile. “Fine. Then I’ve got some good news for you: I’m pregnant.” My heart froze. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over me. Ethan’s expression flickered—shock, then calculation. He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he reached out to lift her chin. “You’re pregnant? And yet here you are, throwing yourself at me. Aren’t you worried about losing the baby?” Emma bit her lip, her cheeks flushing as she pressed herself closer to him. “I can’t help it. I see you, and I just…” She trailed off, her voice soft and breathy as she leaned into him. Ethan chuckled, his hand moving to the back of her head as he pulled her in. Under the dim stairwell light, they kissed like no one else existed. I stood frozen in place, my back pressed against the wall, my entire body trembling. My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of my daze. It was a text from my doctor. “Your appointment is scheduled for Saturday.”

Saturday morning. I handed two documents to Ethan, placing them on the table in front of him. “These are two insurance policies I got for the baby. They need both parents’ signatures.” Ethan took my hand, his signature smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The baby isn’t even born yet, and you’re already getting insurance?” “A friend recommended it. I thought it was a good idea,” I replied with a soft smile. Ethan stared at me for a moment, almost mesmerized. “Jane, you’re so beautiful when you smile. You should smile like this more often.” As he picked up the documents, ready to read them over, I panicked and stopped him. “I’ve already read through them. They’re fine. No need to double-check,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. He ruffled my hair affectionately. “Oh, come on. Let me take a quick look. What if you missed something and got scammed?” My heart raced as his hand moved toward the papers. Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. I was close enough to hear the voice on the other end—it was Emma. Ethan answered the call and walked out onto the balcony, his tone low and familiar. A few minutes later, he came back, his expression tight. “Something came up at work. I need to go deal with it,” he said, grabbing a pen and signing the documents without another glance. “Ethan!” I called out as he was about to leave. He paused in the doorway, turning back toward me. “Yeah?” “Do you remember what you said on our wedding day?” His brow furrowed slightly before his features softened. “If I ever betrayed you, you’d leave me without a second thought,” he recited, word for word. “That’s right,” I said with a small smile. Ethan crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe, his expression full of confidence. “What, are you testing me? Don’t worry—I’ve got every word burned into my heart.” I watched as he turned back to the door, his hand lingering on the doorknob for a few seconds before he hesitated. Then, he walked back to me and wrapped his arms around me tightly. “I don’t know why, but I feel uneasy today,” he murmured against my ear. “I’ve told you before—I’ll love you and only you for the rest of my life. Don’t forget that, okay? Wait for me to come home.” I nodded silently, and only then did he seem reassured enough to leave. When I heard the sound of his car engine fading into the distance, I opened the documents on the table. The bold title at the top read: Divorce Agreement. For a moment, I just stared at the words, lost in thought. Ten years. From high school sweethearts to now, our story had stretched across a decade. But this was where it ended. I packed up my belongings, called a courier to take them away, and donated everything Ethan had ever given me—including the baby items he’d bought. After learning I was pregnant, Ethan had been over the moon. He’d dragged me to baby stores every chance he got, buying everything we could possibly need from birth through toddlerhood. “You’ve bought way too much,” I’d scolded him once, laughing. He waved me off with a grin. “So what? If I can’t spoil my own kid, who else am I going to spoil?” Back then, we had both been so excited for this baby—the perfect symbol of our love. Now, all of it was gone. I left a copy of the signed divorce papers on the couch, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door. On my way to the clinic, my phone buzzed again. It was the same unknown number that had been messaging me for weeks. “Who do you think Ethan loves more—you or the other woman?” Attached was a photo. Ethan was at a doctor’s appointment with Emma. The way he looked at her—soft, caring—was identical to how he used to look at me. Maybe Ethan didn’t even realize it himself, but the scales in his heart had already tipped in her favor. I typed out a reply: “Ethan and I are divorced. The baby will be gone too. Stop sending me these messages. I wish you and him a long, happy life together.” After hitting send, I blocked the number. I’d known from the very first message that it was Emma. No one else would fight so hard to drag their love out of the shadows and into the light. On the day of the procedure, as I was being wheeled into the operating room, I received a text from my dad. He and my mom were waiting to take me home afterward. Just as I was about to enter the room, I saw them. Ethan and Emma were walking out of another doctor’s office down the hall, hand in hand. Our eyes met. Ethan froze, his hand slipping free from Emma’s as panic swept over his face. “Jane!” he shouted, pushing through the crowd toward me.

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### A security guard in our apartment complex was killed by a falling object. No one admitted to it, and there were no security cameras to catch what happened. No one had an alibi. Then, the guard’s son, holding an axe, stormed into the building. “Tell me,” he demanded, “who do you think the murderer is?” The finger-pointing began. And with it, the nightmare. It was Sunday, and I didn’t wake up until 2 p.m. That’s the life of someone caught in the grind of a relentless job—working 9 to 9, six days a week. Your only day off is mostly spent catching up on sleep, and even then, you never feel rested. Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffled to the door in my slippers to grab the packages I’d been meaning to bring inside. Halfway through sorting the boxes, a deafening thud echoed through the building. Then came the screams. I froze in place, a terrible feeling settling in my chest. Something must’ve happened… something bad. Whatever drowsiness I had left was gone in an instant. I ran to the balcony and looked down. The security guard, Mr. Miller, lay motionless on the ground, his head bloody. Beside him was a shattered flowerpot. A crowd had gathered around his body, pointing and shouting, many glancing nervously upward.

Mr. Miller was dead—killed instantly by the falling flowerpot. When the paramedics arrived, they took one look at him, covered his body with a sheet, and left. The police sealed off the area. Someone in the apartment’s group chat shared a video. I clicked on it. In the video, Mr. Miller’s lifeless eyes stared blankly into the camera. The person filming sighed heavily. “It’s such a tragedy. Just like that, he’s gone. I was just talking to him earlier, you know?” “And that flowerpot… God, imagine if it had hit a kid instead.” The video was unsettling, and it didn’t take long for the building manager to delete it. But not before the accusations started flying. Someone in the group chat claimed the flowerpot had fallen from Building D, calling out its residents as potential murderers: “I suggest the guilty party turn themselves in. Otherwise, everyone in Building D is a suspect—and a murderer.” The comment lit a fire in the group chat. D602 | Clara Jones: “Find the person who did it! Don’t lump us all together—I’ve done nothing wrong and have nothing to hide.” D701 | Eric Howard: “I just bought this place, and now someone’s dead outside my building? I should be the one complaining about bad luck!” D502 | Mark Stone: “Relax. With all the cameras around, they’ll figure out who did it soon enough.” The chat devolved into chaos. I turned off my phone and looked at the officer standing outside my door. “Officer, have you caught the person responsible yet?” I asked nervously. He gave me a hard look. “As long as everyone cooperates, we’ll find the killer.” I nodded, still shaken. “I’m scared to even step outside. What if something falls on my head next?” The officer jotted something down in his notebook, then asked, “Miss Carter, can you tell me where you were between 2:00 and 2:30 p.m. today?” That was when Mr. Miller had been killed. It wasn’t hard to recall. “I woke up around 2:00, had some water, and started unpacking the packages by my door. I was still in the middle of it when I heard the noise around 2:30.” “What kind of packages?” I gestured to the corner of my room, where a mountain of boxes sat. “I’m a beauty blogger. Most of these are PR packages from brands, plus some things I ordered for myself.” The officer glanced at the pile, clearly surprised, and scribbled something down. “Did you hear anything unusual during that time?” he asked. I thought for a moment. “Actually… I think I heard the couple on the seventh floor arguing.”

After the officer left, the couple from the seventh floor exploded in the group chat. D701 | Eric Howard: “Who the hell has such a big mouth?” D701 | Jessica Howard: “My husband and I are perfectly happy together. Whoever’s spreading rumors should stop before I sue for defamation!” D701 | Eric Howard: “If I find out who’s been running their mouth, you’re dead meat!” The chat went silent. No one dared to respond. I ignored the drama and went back to unpacking the rest of my packages. By the time I was done, it was already dark. I stuffed some of the empty boxes into a large trash bag and decided to take them downstairs to the recycling bins. At the door, I bent down to put on my shoes. Out of habit, I glanced through the peephole. My heart stopped. Someone was standing on the other side of the door, staring directly into the peephole.

Who was it? Who was outside my door? I froze, my body rigid with fear. Thank God peepholes only work one way. As long as I didn’t make a sound, whoever it was wouldn’t know I was inside. I don’t know how long I stood there, holding my breath. Finally, the person moved. The sound of faint footsteps faded as they walked away. I collapsed against the wall, my legs weak. My back was soaked with sweat. I didn’t dare leave my apartment to take out the trash. Instead, I bolted into my bedroom and locked the door behind me. If I hadn’t checked the peephole, if I had just opened the door without thinking… I didn’t want to imagine what might’ve happened. The terror of that moment stayed with me, haunting me far more than Mr. Miller’s death had. That night, I dreamed of nothing but the eye staring back at me through the peephole. The next morning, after making sure no one was outside, I left the apartment complex and bought a discreet security camera. By the end of the day, I had it installed near my door, hidden from plain sight. If that person ever came back, I would catch them. And this time, they would pay.

Almost a week had passed, and the figure outside my peephole hadn’t appeared again. Today was Saturday, the last day of my soul-crushing 9-to-9 work week. Life seemed to have returned to normal—for the most part. The only noticeable change was the replacement of the security guard. Other than that, everything felt the same. After finishing my work, I went home, took a long, relaxing shower, and settled into my couch with a face mask while binge-watching a series. That’s when the sound of a power drill suddenly echoed from downstairs. It was loud, jarring, and completely out of place in the otherwise quiet night. I glanced at the clock. It was already 10 p.m. What the hell? Who starts drilling this late at night? I checked the apartment group chat. Sure enough, everyone in Building D was losing it. D502 | Mark Stone: “Who the hell is remodeling this late on a weekend?!” D602 | Clara Jones: “Drilling at this hour? Are you kidding me? Some of us are trying to sleep!” D701 | Eric Howard: “Whoever’s doing this, I swear I’ll kill you!” D502 | Mark Stone: @D701 Eric Howard “You go ahead, Eric. You’ve got my full support.” Eric didn’t reply after that. Our building was part of a high-end complex, with only two apartments per floor and plenty of space between each building. The noise was clearly coming from our building—only we could hear it. Meanwhile, the other buildings in the group chat were having a great time mocking our misery. Eventually, a girl from the fourth floor spoke up. She volunteered to find out who was doing the drilling, saying we wouldn’t get any peace unless someone stepped in. Everyone agreed, relieved they didn’t have to deal with it themselves. Ten minutes later, the drilling finally stopped. D502 | Mark Stone: @FourthFloorGirl “Thanks for handling that!” But she didn’t respond. I hesitated for a moment before typing a quick “thank you” message myself. It didn’t go through. I checked my phone and realized there was no signal. “No service?” I muttered. Weird. I tried switching to Wi-Fi. As soon as it connected, the lights in my apartment went out. Everything went pitch black.

No signal. No lights. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. A wave of unease washed over me. I walked to the window and peeked outside. The other buildings in the complex were all still lit up. Only Building D was shrouded in complete darkness. Something wasn’t right. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and lit a candle for extra light. It’s nothing. I told myself. Probably just a tripped circuit. The new security guard will notice and fix it soon. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. To distract myself, I opened my laptop. There was still enough battery left, so I decided to edit a video I’d filmed earlier this week. Making beauty content was just a side gig for me—something I did for fun on my days off. Somehow, I’d managed to grow a decent following of a few tens of thousands of followers. Brands had even started sending me products to review. I clicked on the file to start editing when a sharp, muffled scream cut through the silence. It was short—almost too short—but it sent chills down my spine. I froze, straining my ears to listen. Silence. An eerie, suffocating silence. Even the usual chirping of birds outside had disappeared. My hands started to tremble as my mind raced. I thought of Mr. Miller, the security guard who’d been killed the previous Sunday. Today was Saturday. At midnight, it would be the seventh night—the Seventh Night, the night when spirits were said to return.

It was 10:22 p.m. Not quite midnight yet. I couldn’t stay here any longer. I decided to pack a bag and leave for a hotel. Anywhere would be better than staying in this cursed building tonight. I quickly changed my clothes, grabbed my phone and laptop, and headed for the door. But just as I stepped out of my bedroom, I heard a faint rustling sound coming from the front door. Someone was outside. My mind immediately flashed to the figure I’d seen through the peephole last week. Thankfully, I’d installed a security camera after that incident. It was battery-powered, so it still worked even without electricity. The camera had night vision, too, so I could see exactly who was outside. I crept quietly to the monitor and glanced at the feed. It was my neighbor—David from the apartment across the hall. He was standing at my door, nervously glancing around. “David, what are you doing outside my apartment?” I called out. He jumped, startled, then leaned closer to the door and whispered, “Keep your voice down, Rachel… I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight. Something’s going to happen in this building.” “What do you mean?” He swallowed hard, his face pale. “Do you remember Mr. Miller? The security guard who died last week? I think… I think he’s come back for revenge.” A chill ran down my spine. Was he seriously saying this? If it had just been my imagination, I could’ve dismissed it. But hearing David voice the same fear… I tightened my grip on my phone, unsure of what to say. David continued, his voice trembling. “The whole building’s too quiet. I didn’t want to go to other floors—I was too scared. I thought maybe… maybe we could stick together.” He paused, then added hesitantly, “I brought these… do you want one?” He held up two small paper talismans, his hands shaking. Looking at his trembling legs and pale face, I felt an odd sense of calm wash over me. “How generous of you,” I said dryly. “What made you decide to share one with me?” David hesitated, then muttered, “Well… I’ve been following you for a while. I’m… a fan of your content.” A fan? Of me? I’m a beauty blogger. Why the hell would I have a male fan?

I never had much interaction with David before. At most, we’d exchange awkward nods in the elevator. Back then, he was just like he is now—timid, shrinking into himself like a mushroom that thrives in the shadows. I used to think he was pathetic, someone unworthy of a second thought. But tonight, as strange as it sounds, he didn’t seem so bad. “Rachel, I’ll leave the talisman outside your door. Don’t forget to grab it…” On the security monitor, I watched as David carefully placed the paper on the ground, glancing around nervously before retreating. I didn’t tell him I was about to leave the building entirely. “Thanks, David. You should go back inside now.” He muttered a small “okay” before shuffling off, his head ducked low. His footsteps grew fainter until I heard the sound of his door creaking open and slamming shut. I waited a few more minutes, just to be sure, before cautiously opening my door and picking up the talisman. If Mr. Miller had come back… maybe this flimsy piece of paper would actually help. I turned back toward my apartment, my mind racing. My laptop was still in the living room. If I could just grab it and shove it into my bag, I’d be out of here in no time. I pulled the door shut behind me. But just before it could fully close, something suddenly jammed it open. Thud. The sound made my blood run cold. I turned, heart pounding, and saw it: a man’s hand wedged in the doorframe. Was it… was it Mr. Miller? Panic surged through me. I threw my weight against the door, desperate to shut it, but the hand was too strong. No matter how hard I pushed, I couldn’t get the door to close. Then I remembered the talisman. Clutching it tightly, I raised it like a weapon. The door swung open, and in the dim flicker of my candlelight, I saw… David.

elief flooded through me. It wasn’t a ghost—it was just David. But something still wasn’t right. He stood in the doorway, perfectly still, his figure shrouded in shadows. He looked the same as always, yet there was something deeply unsettling about him now. My chest tightened as my heartbeat roared in my ears. Forcing a shaky smile, I tried to play it cool. “David, what are you doing? You scared me half to death. Seriously, jokes like this aren’t funny.” He smiled too. A slow, eerie smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Rachel.” “But I just can’t help myself anymore. Rachel, I’m so sorry… I like you too much.” As he spoke, he stepped inside, moving closer to me. “Don’t come any closer!” I shouted, stumbling backward. But he didn’t stop. In fact, he quickened his pace, grabbing me effortlessly before I could run. I screamed, but it made no difference. He pulled out a rope and tied me to a chair, his movements quick and practiced. “What do you want?!” I cried, my voice trembling. “Is it money? Tell me how much you want—just don’t hurt me!” David shook his head, his expression strangely calm. Even… gentle. “Money? No, Rachel. I don’t want your money.” His voice was soft, almost tender, which only made it more terrifying. “I told you—I’m your fan. How could you think I’d hurt you? I only want to be close to you. That’s all.” My skin crawled. “This is how you show you like me?!” I spat, struggling against the ropes. David tilted his head, his smile faltering. “I know you don’t like me. I know you think I’m pathetic. That’s why I never said anything before. I was happy just watching you from afar. Just seeing you was enough for me… but…” His voice cracked as he knelt in front of me, his face twisted with a strange mix of sadness and frustration. “But then you saw me, didn’t you? I couldn’t stop myself from watching you. And when you installed that camera by your door… I knew you’d caught me. I couldn’t come back after that. I tried to hold back, Rachel, I really did. But I just couldn’t anymore.” My breath hitched. The eye. The one I’d seen through the peephole. “It was you,” I whispered, horrified. David nodded, his smile returning. “Yes, it was me.” My stomach churned with nausea. He grinned wider, his face alight with an unsettling joy. “But it’s okay now. You’re mine, Rachel. Finally, you’re mine.” I’d rather die than let this creep keep me tied up like some kind of sick trophy. As he leaned closer, I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for whatever horror was coming. Then, suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed from outside the door. Thump. Thump. One step light, the other dragging, like someone with a limp. The sound didn’t stop at my door. Instead, it continued down the hall—toward David’s apartment. A loud knock shattered the silence. Bang. Bang. Bang. A low, raspy voice followed. “Room 802. David, are you home?”

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## When I insisted on the divorce, he was just an ordinary guy with big dreams. Fast forward a few years, he’s now a household name—and married to my former best friend. Meanwhile, I was scraping by, juggling three waitressing jobs just to make ends meet. We crossed paths again at an upscale club. My former friend gave me a pitying look and said, “If you hadn’t been so stubborn about that divorce, you’d be the one living the high life right now. But I guess your luck’s always been just a little off, huh?” He stood there, calm and composed, holding his new wife’s hand like he owned the world. There was a quiet arrogance about him, an unspoken satisfaction in seeing me stuck in the mud while he basked in the glow of success. The crowd joined in, chiming with snide comments and treating me like I was nothing but a cautionary tale. I could see it in his eyes—Ethan Whitmore was enjoying every second of this. He wanted to see me humiliated, crushed, begging for what I’d thrown away. But here’s the thing: I felt nothing. No regret, no shame, no longing. To me, it was like watching a show from the sidelines, completely detached. If he was waiting for me to break, he was in for a disappointment. After setting down the fruit tray, I said politely, “Everything’s here. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be heading out now.” Ethan’s expression stiffened, and he quickly stood up to block my way. This was the first time we’d seen each other since our divorce six years ago. He still hadn’t let go of the fact that I walked out on him, standing there with that unmistakable look—demanding an explanation. And honestly, I knew why it was hard for anyone to understand why I left. Back then, we were the golden couple, the kind of pair our families and friends couldn’t stop gushing over. We married surrounded by blessings and good wishes. Life wasn’t luxurious, but Ethan was known for being reliable and family-oriented. Everyone adored him. Even my parents used to say, “Fiona, what more could you possibly want? You’re married to a guy like Ethan. Do you know how lucky you are?” So when I asked for a divorce, I was branded as ungrateful. My mom slapped me. My dad threatened to cut ties with me. But I didn’t look back. I left Ethan without a shred of hesitation. Now, standing in front of me, he was the picture of success—sharp suit, confident demeanor, the kind of man people admired. I smiled faintly. “Even if you’ve become a billionaire now, I still don’t regret leaving you.” Ignoring the stunned looks around me, I added, “In six years, you’ve never once stopped to think about where you went wrong.” I almost envied how shamelessly content he seemed with himself. What no one knew was just how much I’d suffered in that marriage. When we first got married, Ethan secretly sold our house while I was away on a business trip. I came home to find my belongings packed into a few garbage bags sitting in the hallway. That’s how I discovered we no longer had a home. Exhausted and confused, I called him, hoping for an explanation. All I got was an impatient response: “My second cousin’s wife needed money for surgery. We’re family—I had to help! What’s the big deal about selling the house?” I wasn’t against helping people. But shouldn’t we do so within our means? We’d just gotten married, barely making ends meet. Some days, we couldn’t even take care of ourselves. What hurt the most was that the house was something we’d saved for together. He didn’t even bother to tell me before selling it. Dragging my bags under the scorching sun, I didn’t even know where I was going to sleep that night. When I broke down crying, his reaction was anger, not empathy. “All you ever do is cry! The house is sold—it’s done. What more do you want from me? I promise I’ll buy you a mansion someday, okay?” He hung up on me and took time off from work. I thought it was to help us find a new place to live. But no. He spent weeks at the hospital, taking care of his second cousin’s wife—a woman who wasn’t even remotely close to him. Everyone around us praised him for being a saint. “Fiona, your husband is such a good man. You’re so lucky!” Even when a neighbor’s cat went missing, Ethan wouldn’t hesitate to spend his nights searching for it after long shifts at work. He’d come home with dark circles under his eyes, ignoring my concern for his health. Only when the cat was safe did he drag his exhausted body back home. 2 Before we got married, I thought these things were small and endearing—a sign of his big heart. But after living with him, I couldn’t ignore the way his kindness to strangers contrasted with his indifference toward me. Three months after he sold our house, we were living in a cramped rental apartment. And then, life threw another wrench into the gears—I found out I was pregnant. The doctor warned me that I had a high-risk pregnancy and needed to stay on bed rest for three months. I took a leave of absence from work to focus on the baby. Ethan thought I was being overly dramatic. Listening to his second cousin’s advice, he decided I was just lazy and didn’t want to work. So what did he do? He invited a group of elderly relatives to our tiny apartment and expected me to cook and clean for them. The place turned into a zoo—constant noise, piles of dishes, and trash everywhere. My head throbbed every day, and the chaos pushed me to my limit. When I finally lost it and told everyone to leave, Ethan exploded. “They’re my family! If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t even be here today. They raised me when no one else would!” “And now that you’ve married me, it’s your responsibility to take care of them too. That’s just how it is.” His words hit me like a slap in the face. He looked around the messy apartment with disdain, then pointed a finger at me. “I’m going to bring them back. You’d better clean this place up before I return. And mop the floors while you’re at it.” He slammed the door so hard that it bounced back open. The neighbor passing by clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You’re just pregnant, not disabled. If you can’t even do basic chores, no wonder Ethan’s so upset.” Ethan had always been a social butterfly—everyone loved him. Anytime we had a disagreement, it was inevitably spun as my fault. Back then, I was so stressed and anxious that I dropped to 80 pounds, looking more like a skeleton than a person. I didn’t care about the whispers and judgment from others; I swallowed my pride and tried to reason with him again and again. “The doctor said I need to rest for the baby’s sake. And let’s not forget, we’re barely scraping by. We can’t afford to keep supporting all these relatives of yours.” I couldn’t understand why he insisted on bringing his extended family to live with us in the city. The apartment was tiny, we were sleeping on the floor, and his relatives had perfectly comfortable homes in the countryside, with their own farms and land. I tried to stay calm and reason with him: “Ethan, I wouldn’t complain if you sent them half your paycheck every month, but having them stay here is destroying our lives. Don’t you see that?” But Ethan wouldn’t listen. He called me selfish and heartless, and we didn’t speak for days. It wasn’t until I lost more weight, the baby stopped growing, and the doctor advised terminating the pregnancy that he finally, begrudgingly, sent his relatives back home. But it was too late. For the sake of my own health, I decided to follow the doctor’s recommendation and let the baby go. Ethan was furious. “I already sent my family away! Just eat a little more, sleep a little better, and everything will be fine! I don’t believe for a second that the baby won’t survive if you take care of yourself.” I was stunned, staring at him like I was seeing him for the first time. The doctor had said the baby wasn’t healthy and that my life was at risk if we didn’t end the pregnancy. How could he not care about me at all? In that moment, it felt like the blood in my veins froze. There was no point in trying to explain anything to a man like him. So, I went alone to have the procedure. When I got home, pale and weak, he slapped me across the face. I stood there, stunned, as his voice roared in my ears: “Fiona, you’re a monster! You killed my child!” The whole neighborhood heard about it. Neighbors came by to console Ethan, patting him on the back and singing praises about his kindness. No one said it outright, but their looks said it all—they hated me. A few self-righteous “helpers” even made snide remarks: “Poor Ethan. He was so excited about becoming a father. Goes to show, you really need to marry a good woman. Even the nicest guy won’t have a good life with someone like that.” 3 Ethan could have explained my side of the story. He could have told them why I made that painful decision. But he didn’t. He basked in their sympathy, wallowing in his role as the victim. I looked at him, exhausted beyond words, and asked, “Are you done pretending?” No one grieved for that child more than I did. No one hurt more than I did. And yet, I wasn’t the one at fault. “Ethan, why do someone like you even bother getting married? All you do is ruin the lives of the people closest to you.” “It’s miserable being around you. Go ahead and keep loving the rest of the world—I won’t stop you. I want a divorce.” I packed my things and left. Before I walked out, I slapped him back. He pressed a hand to his reddened cheek but didn’t say a word to stop me. He didn’t have to. There were plenty of people ready to take his side. First, there were my parents. They tried every trick in the book to make me stay: “What did Ethan do wrong, really? This whole thing is your fault. You went behind his back and got rid of the baby. Of course, he’s upset!” “And look at Ethan—what kind of son-in-law goes out of his way to take me shopping on the weekends? Last week, when I coughed a little, he bought me medicine and made me soup. He’s practically our own son!” “You’re not allowed to keep fighting with him! Go home and apologize right now!” When I refused, my dad issued an ultimatum: “If you don’t move back in with your husband today and make things right, don’t bother calling me your father anymore.” Then, there was my best friend, Sarah Cooper. She was still gushing over the time Ethan drove cross-country to take her back to her hometown last year. Naturally, she joined the chorus of criticism: “Fiona, you’re in the wrong here. Honestly, ever since you got married, you’ve become so petty and spoiled. It’s not a good look on you.” Even my best friend had benefited from Ethan’s generosity. I was the only one who hadn’t. Since the day we got married, I hadn’t gotten a single ounce of kindness from him. He’d donate half his paycheck to animal shelters. Or drop everything to volunteer at the community center because someone sent a message in the neighborhood group chat. When a hurricane hit, the windows in our apartment started cracking. I was terrified, shaking and crying, but Ethan only answered his phone to say he was going to check on a female neighbor. I begged him to stay. He rolled his eyes. “What’s there to be scared of? Stop acting like a child.” And with that, he walked out into the storm. Even when he slipped and broke several bones in the wind, he still dragged himself to her place, ignoring his injuries. Or there was the time he promised to take me to a prenatal appointment but ditched me at the last second to grab lunch with his friends. Things like that happened so often, I lost count. I started to feel like I was worth less than trash to him. Even Sarah, my so-called best friend, couldn’t see the truth. “Fiona,” she said, shaking her head. “This time, I’m not on your side. No matter how upset you were, you shouldn’t have gotten rid of the baby.” I pulled out the doctor’s report and handed it to her. “The doctor said the baby wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t my decision—it was a medical necessity. Got it? Stop acting like I did it out of spite.” They all fell silent, choking on their words. But what I didn’t expect was what came next. While Ethan and I were taking time apart, Sarah took advantage of the situation. She told Ethan she had breast cancer and begged him to take wedding photos with her as her “final wish.” “I just want one set of wedding photos before I die,” she said, batting her eyes at me. “Fiona, you won’t mind lending me your husband for this, right?”

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### After seven years of marriage, I stumbled upon two letters my husband had written to his first love. One was a love letter. The other was a will. “In our next life, I’ll make you my wife.” “My inheritance will go to you. Even after I’m gone, I won’t let anyone hurt you.” It turns out, I’ve been the fool all along. I didn’t want to stand in the way of their true love, so I booked a plane ticket that very night. The next morning, I ironed his shirt for the last time and saw him off to work. At the door, he hesitated, waiting for the goodbye kiss I didn’t give him. “Anna, don’t be mad. The lipstick on my collar last night—it’s not what you think.” “It was just a friend. I was just giving her a ride home. Don’t overthink it.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I simply said, “Oh, I don’t mind.” Because I’d already lined up a date with someone else. I was ready to move on. But that’s when he started to panic. As I watched Oliver step out the door, he lingered in the entryway, hesitating, as though he were waiting for something. I kept my tone neutral, indifferent. “You’ve got your briefcase, your watch… what else are you waiting for?” His jaw tightened, and his brows furrowed in restrained irritation. He said nothing, but I knew. Seven years of marriage, plus the three years I spent chasing him before that—ten years of knowing this man inside and out. I could read him like an open book. He wanted a goodbye kiss. Because I hadn’t leaned in like I usually did, hadn’t whispered “I love you” with a peck on the cheek, he could sense something was off. “Anna, are you still mad? Be reasonable,” he said, his voice calm but laced with subtle condescension. “The lipstick stain was a misunderstanding.” “That woman wasn’t feeling well. I gave her a ride home, and the mark must’ve gotten there somehow. It’s not what you think.” “I explained this to you all night. You’ve got all the facts—can’t you be logical about it?” Oliver was a lawyer, and his words were always sharp, polished, airtight. Even the prenuptial agreement he wrote for us had been meticulously fair—no bias, no loopholes. Last night, I had screamed and cried over his suit jacket, the one I had ironed so carefully that morning. My fingers still bore the small burns from pressing out every wrinkle. But by the time he brought it back, it smelled of someone else’s perfume and bore a faint, familiar lipstick stain. The color and scent were unmistakable: his first love’s signature shade. When we first started dating, Oliver used to buy me that same brand of lipstick and perfume. I thought it was sweet, a sign of his thoughtfulness. Even though I didn’t like the scent, I wore it for him. It wasn’t until later that I realized the gifts weren’t for me at all—they were hand-me-downs, tokens meant for someone else. At the door, he tried again. “Do you believe me now? Can we move past this?” I glanced at my empty hand, my ring finger bare. I had taken off my wedding band last night. There was still an angry red mark where it had pressed into my skin for years. Would he notice? Would he care? If he said something—anything—to try to hold onto me, maybe I’d soften. Maybe I’d forgive him one more time. But Oliver didn’t even glance at my hand. He was already slipping on his shoes, ready to leave for work. “Oh, and I’d like fish for dinner tonight,” he added casually, as though I were his personal assistant. I watched his perfectly tailored suit disappear into the elevator. My heart sank a little deeper.

The letters were hidden in plain sight, wedged between the pages of a romance novel on the bookshelf. Oliver had always banned me from entering his home office, and for seven years, I’d respected that boundary. But the day before, he’d forgotten an important document and, in a hurry, had given me the door code: “716523.” I froze for a moment. The first three digits were his birthday. The last three weren’t mine. Before I could say anything, he snapped over the phone, “I’m about to go into court. Hurry up!” Flustered, I grabbed the folder, accidentally knocking a book to the floor. Oliver didn’t read romance novels. Curious, I picked it up. The pink cover bore an inscription: “To Luna, my one and only treasure.” The handwriting was unmistakably his. I flipped through the pages, and two letters fell out—one a love letter, the other a will. The love letter was nineteen pages long, filled with heartfelt words that gradually shrank in size toward the end. On the last page, he wrote: “There’s so much more I want to say, but this paper is too short, and my feelings are endless.” The will was precise, written with the same legal expertise Oliver used in his work. It outlined how most of his assets would go to Luna—his first love. He’d even taken out a life insurance policy, naming her as the sole beneficiary. “Luna, even if I leave this world first, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” That night, when Oliver reached out to unhook my bra strap, I pushed his hand away. “Anna?” he said, confused, his fingers brushing against my collarbone. “What’s wrong? I want you.” Normally, I would’ve blushed and let him have his way. But not that night. “You said you didn’t want kids,” I replied flatly, my voice devoid of emotion. From the very beginning of our marriage, Oliver had been adamant about not having children. He told my family it was because of my health, but the truth was, it was never about me. For years, I’d endured lectures from my parents, swallowed bitter herbal supplements, and taken countless fertility treatments—all while knowing he didn’t share my burden. Once, when I told him the treatments were harming my body, I caught a flicker of relief in his eyes. “Just hold on a little longer,” he’d said, wrapping me in his arms. “Once my career stabilizes, we’ll try for a baby. I promise.” I believed him. And I kept believing him, even as the years passed and his promises remained empty. That night, when I rejected him, his expression turned cold. He rolled over, muttering, “Fine. Play hard to get. Don’t expect me to try again this month.” I lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. It was a king-sized bed, but it felt as cold and empty as a stranger’s. The next morning, I booked a one-way ticket back to my hometown. I sent my mom a text: “Mom, I’m filing for divorce. Start looking for someone I can date.” Her reply came instantly: “Finally! I knew you’d leave that ungrateful jerk someday!” “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll find you someone good. My network’s huge.”

Before I even met Oliver, I knew he had a first love. They were once engaged, but she walked away after his parents disapproved. Angry and hurt, she refused his proposal. But the wedding venue had already been booked, the officiant scheduled. Oliver, ever the prideful man, wasn’t about to let himself look like a fool. So, he turned to me. “Anna, would you give this a shot with me?” His voice was steady, confident. He didn’t even bother to kneel—just stood there, looking down at me, as if he already knew my answer. And of course, he did. I had been chasing him for three years. There was no way I would say no. That day, I dropped my overseas work assignment, slipped into a wedding dress, and we eloped. Everyone around me congratulated me, saying I had finally “won” Oliver, the golden boy. And for a while, I believed it. Oliver was everything I thought I wanted—handsome, successful, with a family name that opened doors. Within a few years, his law firm had expanded all across Chicago, and when we went out, people called me “Mrs. Carter” with admiration. That day, I was over the moon. I stood in the parking lot, holding a positive pregnancy test, waiting for him to arrive. His career was steady now, and a baby would be the perfect cherry on top. When his car finally pulled into the lot, I ran toward it, grinning ear to ear. “Oliver, you’re going to be a dad!” I said, knocking on the window, my face nearly pressed to the glass. But Oliver didn’t roll down the window right away. When he finally did, the faint scent of perfume hit me. A familiar scent. And then I saw her. Luna, his first love, sat in the passenger seat, her lipstick smeared and her eyes red from crying. “I’m so sorry, Anna,” Luna said softly, her voice trembling. “I kissed Oliver. I’ve just been so emotional since my breakup… I lost control.” She turned to look at me, her face full of fake remorse, but her lips curled into the faintest smirk. “Don’t be mad, okay?” she added sweetly, her tone dripping with mockery. Behind her words, her eyes glittered with triumph as she raised her hand in a subtle, taunting gesture only I could see. My hands shook as I gripped the pregnancy test. Without thinking, I threw it at her, my voice trembling with rage. “Get out of the car—now! Who raised you to be this shameless?” But before Luna could respond, Oliver’s hand shot out, striking me hard across the face. The slap rang in my ears, sharp and deafening. My earring, a gift from him, tore from my ear, leaving a searing pain and a trickle of blood. Stunned, I stumbled to the ground, clutching my face as waves of pain radiated from my stomach. “Anna,” Oliver said, his tone cold, “you’re out of line. You know Luna grew up without a father. How could you be so cruel to her?” His words cut deeper than the slap. “Oliver,” I whimpered, clutching my stomach, “I think something’s wrong. Please, take me to the hospital. I’m pregnant.” For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes flickering with something that almost looked like concern. But then Luna let out a soft, pitiful moan. “Oliver,” she whispered, holding her head dramatically, “my head… it hurts so much. But you should take Anna first—she’s pregnant, after all.” Her voice was sweet, but her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she leaned back in her seat. Oliver immediately turned his attention to her, his expression full of worry. He reached out to wipe the nonexistent tears from her face before starting the car. “Anna,” he said sharply, glancing at me through the rearview mirror, “your behavior today was unacceptable. If Luna ends up hurt, I’ll have no choice but to press charges for assault.” The man who had won every case he’d ever taken—my husband—was now threatening to sue me. For his first love. “Oliver,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face, “I’m carrying your child.” He didn’t even look at me. “Being pregnant doesn’t give you a free pass to act like this,” he said coldly. “Stop being so dramatic.” As the car sped away, leaving me crumpled on the pavement, I clutched my stomach and prayed for the tiny life inside me. I lost the baby. Oliver stayed with me for a month after the miscarriage. He fed me, stayed by my bedside, even helped me bathe. For a moment, I thought he might have changed. Friends and family urged me to forgive him. “All men make mistakes,” they said. “At least he’s trying now.” In the end, I softened. Oliver wrote me a letter of apology, promising he’d never hurt me again. “Anna,” he said, “I’m a traditional man. I only have room in my heart for one wife, and that’s you.” He swore Luna was just a friend. And like a fool, I believed him.

When I got the call about Oliver getting into a fight, I was taking out the last bag of trash. All our photos together? Gone. The matching outfits I once begged him to wear? Tossed. The handmade forever roses I carefully preserved? Now just fragile junk at the bottom of the trash can. It’s funny how things I once thought were precious now seem like nothing more than useless, flimsy clutter. The matching outfits I bought for us were always beneath him. He said they made him look “ridiculous.” But tucked away in the back of the closet was a matching pair of watches—the men’s version his, the women’s version I’d once seen his ex wearing. “Anna! Come quick! Oliver’s in the parking lot fighting someone!” “What?” I asked, my voice calm, scissors in hand, snipping away at the lucky bamboo I had nurtured for seven years—planted after I prayed for his success at the “most spiritual” temple in the city. “He’s bleeding from his forehead! His hand’s all messed up!” This was shocking. Oliver, the ever-composed attorney, never lost his temper. Even when someone cut him off in traffic, he’d quietly jot down their license plate and report them later, rather than dirty his hands. He was the epitome of calm and control. When I got into a car accident years ago, he handled everything without so much as a flinch. I’d once fallen in love with that steady, logical side of him. But now, I hated it. Because he could lose control for another woman, but he was always too rational with me. “Who’s the fight about?” I asked, my tone sharp, cutting straight to the point.

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### It’s been ten years since my childhood friend and I ended up in this world. Ten years. That’s how long it took for him to finally tell me, “If you die, you’ll go back.” And with that, he jumped from the tower without hesitation. Blood splattered across his wife’s ivory dress. The woman who had been screaming at him just moments ago fell to her knees, wailing in anguish. I stood silently, my face expressionless, watching the scene unfold. My gaze shifted to the woman huddled in the arms of her so-called “true love.” That woman was my wife—this world’s empress. I sighed. It’s time to go home. When Zach leapt from the tower in front of me, I thought I was prepared for it. But the sight of his blood pooling on the ground still burned into my eyes, sharp and unforgiving. That night, my dreams were full of his face. He smiled at me like he always did—bright, carefree—until the blood began to pour, streaking his cheeks like crimson tears. I woke up drenched in sweat, my shirt clinging uncomfortably to my skin. The maid waiting outside my tent came in to help me change, but I waved her off. “Bring me some hot water. I’ll do it myself.” I remembered when we first arrived in this world, how Zach would constantly complain about how inconvenient bathing was here. “It’s nothing like back home,” he’d grumble. “A quick shower, and you’re good to go. This whole ‘bucket and basin’ thing is barbaric.” Now, he’s the one who left clean. Zach and I grew up together. Our parents were so close they used to joke there was something more between us. Little did they know, we both had our own romantic interests. We’d spend hours swapping stories, trading advice, and laughing at each other’s missteps. One evening, after work, we decided to hit a bar. But we never made it. The car accident came out of nowhere. The next thing I knew, we woke up here, in this strange, foreign world. Bound to the same system. The system told us that if we completed the “main storyline,” we could return home. It even let us choose our own roles. Zach, of course, was immediately smitten with Sophia—the ethereal beauty in white—and insisted on making her his target. That left me with Olivia, the exiled princess, beaten down and clinging to the scraps of her former life. The journey wasn’t easy. There were times when Zach and I barely escaped with our lives. But Sophia and Olivia were close friends, and our goals aligned. Eventually, we succeeded. I helped Olivia reclaim her throne, giving up my position as General of the Western Front to remain in the palace as her advisor. Zach married Sophia, and together they opened the most successful inn in the capital, a place called Evergreen Hall. They became the wealthiest couple in the entire empire. We thought we were done. But the system had other plans. “Your mission isn’t complete,” it told us. Zach and I were stunned. We’d done everything it asked of us. Then came the twist. Sophia and Olivia’s “true loves,” their long-lost childhood friend, Nathaniel, returned to the capital. Zach and I had never even heard of this Nathaniel before. When we pressed the system for answers, it explained that Nathaniel had been a childhood companion to both women. Years ago, he’d nearly died saving Olivia, his meridians shattered beyond repair. The Nathaniel we’d never known had been sent away to the southern mountains to train in seclusion. He hadn’t been seen in the capital since. Even the system couldn’t explain why he had suddenly returned. “Maybe it’s to advance the main storyline,” it said in that cold, mechanical voice. “You should wait and see. Complete the story, and you may finally return home.” I didn’t trust it. From the moment Nathaniel appeared, I knew he was going to turn our lives upside down. But Zach didn’t see it that way. He shrugged it off, spending his days doting on Sophia, completely unconcerned about Nathaniel. I remembered the look in his eyes just before he jumped. Zach had always been terrified of pain. But in that moment, he didn’t even hesitate. I never expected him to take such a drastic step. Honestly, I don’t even know if his plan will work. The system never mentioned anything about dying being a way to return. If it doesn’t work… I can’t bear to think about it. But one thing is certain. Someone will have to pay for this.

“Luke! Luke! Tell me—what were Zach’s last words to you?” I had just finished my bath and was in the middle of getting dressed when Sophia barged into the room uninvited. Her usually delicate, doll-like face was now ghostly pale, her wide eyes brimming with a kind of desperate pain, as though she might start crying blood. She stared at me like I held the answers to everything. I adjusted my collar slowly, letting out a cold chuckle. I didn’t bother to respond. “Luke! Say something!” She dared to grab my arm. I shoved her off with ease—though, unfortunately, she didn’t fall. Nathaniel, who had followed her in, caught her before she could stumble. “Luke,” Nathaniel said, his tone calm but tinged with fake concern, “I know you’re upset about Zach’s death, but that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on Sophia. What kind of man does that make you?” I glanced at him, my expression icy. His gaze wasn’t exactly kind either. If I looked closer, I could see the challenge in his eyes, like he was daring me to retaliate. “And who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that?” I sneered. “Get out.” “You—” “Luke! Have you lost your mind?!” Before Nathaniel could retort, Olivia strode into the room, her presence commanding as always. It seemed my courtyard had become the morning gathering spot for drama. Ever since Nathaniel returned, it had been nothing but chaos. “Olivia, don’t get mad,” Nathaniel said, putting on his best innocent smile, the kind that made my stomach turn. “Luke’s just grieving. Let’s not hold it against him.” I turned away, disgusted by his theatrics. “Luke, please…” I had almost forgotten Sophia was still here. She clung to my sleeve with trembling hands, her desperation clawing at me like nails on a chalkboard. “Tell me,” she begged, her voice cracking. “What did Zach say? Please, I need to know.” I sighed, her touch filling me with nothing but irritation. “Zach said,” I began, my voice cold and deliberate, “The one thing I regret most in this life is choosing you.” I didn’t wait for her response. I pulled my sleeve out of her grip and turned toward the door, ready to leave this suffocating room. Behind me, Sophia let out a broken, disbelieving whisper: “No… no, that’s not true. That’s… that’s impossible!” Her voice rose into a scream as she stumbled out, muttering to herself like she’d lost her mind. But before I could take another step, Olivia grabbed my arm. “Luke,” she said sharply, her voice filled with authority, “you still owe Nathaniel an apology.” I froze, stunned at her audacity. “An apology? To him?” I asked, disbelief dripping from every word. “Olivia, it’s fine,” Nathaniel said smoothly, his tone dripping with false humility. “Luke is a decorated general, a hero of war, and your partner in ruling this empire. I would never expect him to treat me as an equal.” His words were laced with mockery, the kind that was just subtle enough to make it infuriating. And Olivia, of course, fell for it completely. “I am the Empress,” she said coldly, her voice slicing through the air like a blade. “There is no ‘partner in ruling.’ And Nathaniel saved my life—his worth is beyond question.” Her words hit me like a slap in the face. I stared at her, her striking face as cold and beautiful as ever. Memories of the first time I met her flooded my mind. It had been a month since I was thrown into this world. Zach had already crossed paths with Sophia, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Meanwhile, the system had been hounding me to get close to Olivia. At the time, she was nothing more than a fallen princess. Her mother, the former Empress, had been unloved by the late Emperor, leaving Olivia powerless and forgotten. When I first saw her, she was in the palace gardens, being bullied by servants. Her face was smeared with dirt, but her eyes—her eyes burned with defiance, like a cornered wolf ready to strike. In that moment, I felt a spark of satisfaction. The system had chosen well. I saved her that day, pulling her under my protection. Using my grandfather’s influence, I paved her path to power. Step by step, I helped her ascend the throne. For her, I fought countless battles, spilling blood and sweat on the battlefield. Even Zach had nearly died protecting her once, taking a blade meant for her. His injuries were so severe that we thought he wouldn’t make it. Even Sophia, who usually avoided conflict, had argued with Olivia over it. At the time, I thought Sophia truly cared for Zach. How wrong I was. And now, standing here, listening to Olivia’s cold dismissal, I couldn’t help but feel the urge to destroy everything I had built for her. “You’re right, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice sharp with sarcasm. “Nathaniel’s heroics truly set him apart. Unlike Zach, who only nearly died taking a blade for you. Now, at least, he’s dead and out of the way. Convenient, isn’t it?” I yanked my arm free from Olivia’s grip and walked out without looking back. Let them stew in their self-righteousness. I was done.

I returned to the estate. The same estate where Zach and I had first arrived after being thrown into this world. This place had been our home. Now, Zach’s lifeless body had been brought back here at my command. I would bury him here, in the place that had been ours. And I certainly wouldn’t give Sophia another chance to defile his memory. As I stood by Zach’s coffin, my hand resting on the polished wood, a deep ache settled in my chest. Zach had always been like a little sun. Bright, carefree, full of life. He’d always had a thing for women who were strong and commanding, the kind who could keep him in line. And Sophia? She was his perfect type—adorably sweet on the outside, but with a sharp, dominant personality underneath. Eventually, Zach fell for her, hard. I still remember the way he’d grin and tell me that he didn’t want to go back to our old world anymore. “Stay here with me, Luke,” he’d say, laughing. “We can make this place home.” But now? Now Zach was gone, and I didn’t even know if he’d truly escaped this hellhole—or if he was just lost forever. How could I not hate the people who pushed him to this point? Zach and I were nothing alike. He was the forgiving one, always brushing things off with a laugh. But me? I was the kind of kid who’d destroy someone’s backpack just because they stepped on my shoes. And now someone had trampled all over me—and over Zach. Did they really think I’d just let that slide? Let’s see if they can handle the storm they’ve unleashed. “General, Sophia’s at the gates, demanding to be let in,” one of the guards informed me. I’d been expecting her. Of course, she wasn’t going to leave this alone. But late apologies are worth less than dirt. Sophia had already lost her chance. I walked out into the courtyard, keeping my expression cold as I faced her disheveled figure. “Sophia,” I said, my voice sharp and unyielding, “I’m not letting you disturb Zach again. Stop making a scene.” “Luke!” she screamed, her voice raw with desperation. “Zach was my husband! You can’t keep me away from him!” I tilted my head, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “If I remember correctly,” I said, my tone cutting, “you tore up your marriage contract, didn’t you?” Her face twisted, but before she could respond, my mind drifted back to Nathaniel—the man who had been a thorn in Zach’s side ever since he returned. Nathaniel had made it his mission to provoke Zach at every turn, subtly stirring up trouble behind his back. Zach, being Zach, kept his temper in check for as long as he could. But one day, after Nathaniel crossed the line, Zach finally snapped and gave him a well-deserved beating. Of course, Nathaniel ran straight to Olivia to play the victim. Sophia and Zach had fought bitterly about it afterward, and Zach, true to form, didn’t defend himself. Instead, he came to me, drank himself into oblivion, and went right back to doting on Sophia the next day. I wanted to step in, to put Nathaniel in his place, but Zach always stopped me. Then came the palace banquet. Zach had gone with Sophia, and at some point during the night, Nathaniel cornered him in the palace gardens. By the time I got there, both of them were being dragged out of the fountain, soaking wet. Nathaniel immediately dropped to his knees in front of Olivia, his voice trembling with fake humility. “Your Majesty,” he said, “this was all my fault. I shouldn’t have upset Zach. I lost my balance and fell into the fountain—it wasn’t his fault.” More of his carefully crafted lies. Zach just stood there, staring at Nathaniel with a coldness I’d never seen on his face before. Before Olivia could say anything, Sophia stormed over and demanded to know what had happened. I’ll never forget the way Zach’s voice cracked as he asked her, “That jade pendant—did you give it to him?” Sophia froze, and I felt a chill run down my spine. That pendant wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was Zach’s family heirloom, something he’d given to Sophia as a symbol of their bond. “It’s just a piece of warm jade,” Sophia said at last, her voice dismissive. “Nathaniel’s health is poor, and I thought it might help him. You gave it to me, didn’t you? So it’s mine to do with as I please.” Zach’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “Do you even remember,” he said quietly, “that I’m your husband? And you gave our keepsake to another man?” The tension was suffocating. Olivia stepped in before things could escalate further, ordering them to settle their issues at home. I don’t know what happened after that. All I know is that the next day, Zach came to me looking like a man who’d lost everything. “She tore up our marriage contract,” he said, his voice empty. As expected, the moment I mentioned the marriage contract, Sophia froze. Her face twisted with pain, but I didn’t care. I was just about to call someone to show her out when she suddenly started muttering, her voice frantic and desperate. “Let me see Zach… He has the system, doesn’t he? He’s not really dead, right?” Her words made my heart skip for a moment. I almost wondered if Zach, in one of his lovesick moments, had accidentally spilled the secret about the system to her. “I know! He was mad at me because I tore up the marriage contract! He said back then that he’d make the system send him away!” “Luke, tell me—where did he go? I’ll go find him!” Hearing this, I was sure of it. Zach, that idiot, must’ve let something slip, and Sophia had pieced things together from there. But it didn’t matter. I had no intention of entertaining her any longer. “Sophia, please leave,” I said coldly. “You’re not welcome here.” And with that, I motioned for someone to escort her out. But before the guards could even step forward, Olivia strolled in with Nathaniel trailing behind her, as smug as ever. “Sophia, what are you doing here?!” Olivia exclaimed, feigning concern. “I told you not to bother Luke right now—he’s obviously not in the mood. Why can’t you just listen to me?” Nathaniel, predictably, chimed in with his usual syrupy tone, “Sophia, you should’ve stayed back. Luke’s clearly upset, and you’re only making things worse.” His voice was so grating I wanted to plug my ears. But something in Sophia snapped. Her eyes locked onto Nathaniel like a predator eyeing its prey. “It’s you! Zach’s mad at me because of you!” Nathaniel’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Sophia! How could you accuse me of that?!” he said, turning to Olivia as if for support. “It’s Luke, isn’t it? He’s been poisoning you against me again!” And, of course, he made sure to throw me a wounded look, like I’d actually done something to him. Olivia stood silently, her cold gaze fixed on me, not saying a word. I didn’t spare her a glance. I wasn’t interested in their little drama—I just didn’t want them disturbing Zach’s peace. “You’ve misunderstood me completely!” Nathaniel said, reaching into his pocket with a theatrical flourish. “Look, I even brought the jade pendant. I thought it should be buried with Zach, to honor him.” The jade pendant. Sophia stared at it, her whole body trembling as she took a hesitant step forward. But before she could get any closer, I drew my sword in one fluid motion and brought it down on Nathaniel’s hand. The blade sliced through like butter. “AHHHHHHHHH!!! MY HAND!!!” Nathaniel screamed, clutching the bloody stump where his hand used to be. “Luke, have you lost your mind?!” Olivia shouted, rushing forward to grab Nathaniel. “Someone get a doctor! NOW!” “Your Majesty,” I said coldly, stepping in front of her with my sword still drawn. “If you want him treated, I suggest you head back to the palace. Your presence here is no longer welcome.” Olivia’s face darkened, her expression like a storm cloud ready to burst. “Luke,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “you’ve gone too far this time. Do you really think I won’t act against you?” “Your Majesty!” Nathaniel’s wails interrupted her. “It hurts! My hand! Why, Luke? WHY?!” I glanced at him, his face contorted in agony, and felt nothing but disgust. “You don’t deserve to touch that pendant,” I said, my voice sharp and unyielding. “That jade belonged to Zach. It was his lifeline. And Sophia—” I turned to her, my anger boiling over. “I’m taking it back on his behalf. Now get out. All of you. Leave this place.” I signaled for the guards to escort them out. The estate gates slammed shut behind them. This estate, the General’s Estate, was a gift from the late Emperor to my family. The stone pillars at the entrance bore his inscription: Pillars of the Nation. No soldier was allowed to set foot inside without permission. Which meant Olivia had no power over me here. She had no choice but to leave, dragging Nathaniel and Sophia with her. But this was far from over. My revenge? It was only just beginning.

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When my brothers allowed their foster sister to impersonate me, they thought I’d accept it. Given another chance, I’ll ensure she faces the consequences. ### When I was eight, the family’s spiritual advisor declared that my destiny was “too fragile.” So, they sent me away to live in seclusion at Serenity Ridge, a place overflowing with spiritual energy. I was supposed to stay there until I turned eighteen. But when I finally returned to the family estate, I discovered the truth: For ten years, my so-called loving brothers had let their adopted foster sister, Jessica, take my place, pretending to be me. At the birthday banquet of my fiancé, she had the audacity to take things even further. Jessica snatched the token of our engagement—a gift from my uncle, the Emperor himself—and held it up for everyone to see. Pointing at me, she spoke loudly, her voice full of mockery: “Lord Wyatt, I’m so sorry for the embarrassment. Our foster sister here doesn’t know her place and dared to steal the engagement token the Emperor gifted to the two of us. She even tried to use it to impersonate me and deceive you. Don’t worry, when we return home, I’ll make sure my brothers teach her how to behave properly.” If this had been my previous life, I would’ve swallowed my pride and let her humiliate me, desperate to please my brothers and their favorite little “sister.” But not this time. Because this time… I had been reborn. I stepped forward, grabbed the engagement token from her hand, and threw it to the ground with all my strength. Then, I slapped her across the face so hard the room fell silent. “Jessica,” I said coldly, my voice cutting through the stunned silence, “you dare steal from me? You must think your life has been too easy for too long.”

Everyone froze, stunned by my actions. For a moment, the room was filled with silence as people exchanged uneasy glances. Jessica, however, was completely thrown off. She stumbled backward, falling to the ground in shock. For a brief moment, anger flickered in her eyes, sharp and venomous, but it quickly disappeared. She replaced it with her usual pitiful act, clutching her cheek as tears welled up in her eyes. “Savannah,” she whimpered, her voice trembling, “I know you’ve admired Lord Wyatt for a long time, but you and he… you’re worlds apart. Please, don’t lower yourself like this.” “Worlds apart?” I echoed, stepping forward. My gaze bore into her as I looked down at her pitiful figure on the floor. A cold smirk tugged at my lips. “My mother was a princess of the royal bloodline. My father is the Duke of Harrington, a man whose victories on the battlefield are the stuff of legend. My uncle is the King of this realm. I am the true heiress of the Harrington family, noble-born and of the purest lineage. And Wyatt?” I scoffed. “He’s the son of a mere baron. You’re right, Jessica—we are worlds apart.” “Savannah! How dare you twist the truth!” The voice belonged to my fourth brother, Logan, who rushed toward us, his expression filled with panic. Following close behind was my third brother, Michael, who bent down to help Jessica off the ground. “Jessica, are you all right?” Logan asked, his voice dripping with concern as he gently cupped her face. His brows furrowed in worry, his tone soft as if she were a fragile flower. Jessica shook her head weakly, tears brimming in her eyes. She looked up at him with such a pitiful expression that anyone watching would have felt sorry for her. Michael, meanwhile, turned to Lord Wyatt with a composed but sharp expression. “Lord Wyatt,” he said, his voice steady and full of authority, “Savannah was nothing but a lowly servant in the Harrington household. My father, out of mercy, adopted her as a foster daughter. But clearly, she’s forgotten her place. She’s delusional enough to think she could pass herself off as a noblewoman—worse yet, your future wife. Allow me to summon my elder brothers. We’ll deal with this matter through the family’s laws.” At his command, an attendant hurried off to fetch our eldest brother, Edward. The crowd, already murmuring before, erupted into louder whispers, their words sharp and biting. “She’s a fraud! Pretending to be the Duke’s daughter? How shameless!” “I heard the late Duchess adored her real daughter so much that she gave up her comfortable life in the palace to travel the kingdom, helping the poor and praying for her child’s future. Can you imagine how furious she’d be if she knew about this imposter?” “And the Duke himself—he’ll be furious when he hears his precious daughter was mistreated. He’ll make that girl wish she’d never been born.” “Not to mention the four Harrington brothers. They dote on their sister like she’s made of gold. There’s no way they’ll take this lying down.” “If I were her, I’d be on my knees right now, begging Jessica for forgiveness.” “She’s just some peasant girl from the countryside, trying to act like a noble. A crow pretending to be a swan. Disgusting.” I let out a soft laugh, amused by the ridiculous chatter. They weren’t wrong, though. When my parents returned and learned the truth, neither Jessica nor my so-called brothers would escape punishment. Wyatt stepped forward then, standing beside Jessica and my brothers, his expression one of smug self-righteousness. “Of course, I trust your word, Third Young Master,” he said to Michael, his tone eager to please. “Jessica is the picture of grace and kindness. There’s no way someone like her could be an imposter.” He turned to Jessica, his gaze softening as he looked her over. Once satisfied that she wasn’t seriously hurt, he turned to me, his face twisting into a sneer. “And you,” Wyatt said, his voice dripping with contempt, “just two nights ago, you came to me with the engagement token, claiming to be the real Lady Harrington. Did you truly think I’d believe you? I’ve known Jessica for years—her kindness, her nobility. And you?” He scoffed, his lip curling in disdain. “You’ve been allowed to play the role of a noble for so long that you’ve forgotten your true place. You’re nothing but a dog pretending to be human.” Perfect. Everything was going just as I had planned. Wyatt, oh Wyatt, if you didn’t insult me like this, how else would I break this ridiculous engagement?

When the old Marquis passed away, and Wyatt’s family fell into decline under his lackluster leadership, the once-proud house of the Stuarts grew desperate. That’s when they clung to the mighty Duke of Harrington, hoping to salvage their crumbling status through an alliance. In my previous life, Wyatt went to great lengths to secure a royal decree for our engagement. Day after day, he petitioned my uncle, the King. His persistence fooled my uncle into thinking he would treat me with the utmost devotion, and thus, my uncle granted his consent and gifted us a pair of matching jade pendants as a symbol of our union. At the time, I was far away, training in isolation at Serenity Ridge. When the pendants arrived, I was stunned. But my uncle had always been a good judge of character, and I’d heard whispers that Wyatt’s reputation as a handsome and capable young lord was well-earned. Imagine my shock when I returned home to find Wyatt wrapped around Jessica, my so-called foster sister, showering her with affection. For the first time in my life, I ignored my brothers’ warnings and secretly revealed my true identity to Wyatt, hoping he would set things right. But instead, he flew into a rage. Without hesitation, he ran straight to my brothers, who, terrified that Jessica’s true origins would be exposed, decided to silence me before my parents could return. They beat me to death with clubs, my cries silenced by the wilderness. My body was left unburied, torn apart by the wild dogs that came in the night. After my death, my uncle the King was furious. Wyatt, ever the actor, knelt before the throne with tears streaming down his face, swearing that he had always loved me, that he’d been tricked by villains. Such a man… a liar and a coward. Hardly the loving husband my uncle had envisioned. Jessica, foolish as ever, thought that marrying into the Marquisate would bring her endless wealth and status, blind to the fact that Wyatt’s house was already on the verge of collapse. What a joke. Now, in this life, the crowd stood firmly on Jessica’s side. She cast me a quick, triumphant glance before lowering her gaze demurely. Her voice, soft and sweet, carried just the right hint of grievance as she spoke: “Savannah, I’ve always treated you like my own sister. How could you stab me in the back like this, pretending to be me just to marry Wyatt? Don’t you care how much it hurts me?” She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her expression full of betrayal and heartbreak. Her act was so convincing that the onlookers immediately began murmuring in sympathy. “Sister?” I sneered, my voice icy. “You think you deserve to call yourself my sister?” I stepped forward, my gaze sharp as a blade. “Since the day you were taken in as a foster daughter of the Duke’s family, you’ve coveted everything that belongs to me. And every time, I let you have it. My dresses, my jewelry, my books—whatever you wanted, I gave it to you. Even when you mistreated the servants, I covered for you, afraid my brothers would throw you out if they found out the truth. “And how do you repay me, Jessica? By stealing my fiancé?” I laughed coldly, the sound cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. “How greedy can you be?” Tears began to pool in Jessica’s eyes, and she bit her lip, trembling like a fragile bird. The sight of her pitiful act made the spectators’ hearts soften even more. “Jessica, you’re too kind,” Logan said soothingly, patting her shoulder. “That’s why people like her take advantage of you.” Three pairs of angry eyes turned toward me, their combined fury almost tangible. Wyatt, emboldened by their support, stepped forward and declared, his voice loud and clear: “I, Wyatt Stuart, would never lower myself to marry someone like her! I swear, my heart belongs only to Jessica, and I will never take another woman as my wife—not even a concubine!” His words rang out, bold and resolute, drawing gasps of admiration from the crowd. “What devotion!” “Lord Wyatt is truly a man of principle. Such a beautiful love story!” “And that shameless girl dared to try and interfere? Ridiculous!” I let out a soft, mocking laugh, my gaze locked onto Wyatt’s face. “Are you certain?” I asked, my tone light and teasing. “You’re choosing her over me?” Wyatt shot me a look of utter disgust, as if my very presence offended him. “You? A lowly wretch like you dares to ask that question? Even the stable hands at the Marquisate are too good for you. How dare you dream of marrying me?” Laughter erupted around us, the crowd pointing and jeering at me. “Good,” I said quietly, my smile widening. “You’ve made your choice. No regrets, then?” “None,” Wyatt spat, his voice firm. “Perfect.” At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed in the hall. My eldest two brothers had arrived, completing the scene. The sight of them brought back memories of my previous life, of the day they stood over me, their faces cold and unfeeling as they condemned me to death. “You dare defy us and reveal Jessica’s secret? You thought you could steal her fiancé? You’ve gone too far this time!” “She’s been nothing but trouble since the day we took her in. Let’s cut out her tongue so she can’t speak anymore!” “Cutting out her tongue isn’t enough. She can still write. Better to kill her and be done with it. Feed her to the dogs and tell Father and Mother she ran away.” “Yes, once she’s gone, Jessica will truly be the only daughter of the Harrington family.” The memory sent a chill down my spine, but I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm. Now, everyone was finally here. And it was time to end this charade once and for all.

“Edward! Victor!” The moment Jessica saw the two of them enter, her eyes turned red, and tears pooled as if on command. She looked utterly pitiful, the picture of injustice. Victor, my Second Brother shot me a venomous glare before gently patting Jessica on the shoulder. His voice was soft and soothing, dripping with indulgence. “Jessica, don’t be afraid. Tell Victor everything. No matter what, I’ll make sure justice is served for you.” “It’s nothing,” Jessica replied with a weak smile, her voice trembling slightly. “Savannah’s just a little jealous of me. She wanted to pretend to be the Duke’s daughter, but I understand. She’s never seen the world and let her ambitions get the better of her.” “She dares to impersonate you?” Victor’s voice turned sharp as he spat on the ground in my direction, his contempt clear. Edward, his brow furrowed and his tone as cold as ice, added, “We only have one sister, and that’s Jessica. Savannah? She’s nothing more than a lowly servant in the Duke’s household.” The moment those words left his mouth, I could see the same murderous intent in his eyes that I remembered from my previous life. Just like that day, when he and the others had beaten me to death in the wilderness. With Edward’s declaration, the crowd immediately sided with Jessica, their murmurs of disdain for me growing louder. At that moment, a girl stepped out from the crowd. I recognized her immediately—Charlotte, the daughter of a minor noble and one of Jessica’s most loyal lapdogs. She crossed her arms and glared at me with righteous indignation. “This wretch even dared to lay a hand on Jessica!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I saw it with my own eyes last night. Poor Jessica’s back is covered in bruises—purple and swollen!” “Charlotte, please…” Jessica bit her lip, her teary eyes glistening as she looked up at the crowd. Her voice was soft and full of sorrow. “Jessica, did she really hurt you?” Victor’s face darkened as he stepped closer to her, his voice trembling with anger. “I’m sure Savannah didn’t mean to hurt me,” Jessica murmured, her voice delicate and full of forgiveness. “Please don’t blame her because of me.” Her words sounded like mercy, but they confirmed her story in the eyes of the crowd. To them, she was the poor, innocent victim, and I was the vile aggressor. Jessica’s frail figure, trembling ever so slightly, combined with her pitiful expression, only deepened the crowd’s sympathy for her. My brothers stared at me like wolves ready to tear me apart. “Savannah!” they barked in unison, their eyes blazing with fury. I arched an eyebrow and turned to Charlotte first. “You’re the daughter of a minor court official, a mere fourth rank at best. What gives you the right to speak to me like this? Why don’t you fetch your father instead?” Her face turned red, but before she could retort, I turned to Jessica with a cold smile. “You claim I hit you? That you’re covered in bruises? Fine—let’s have your injuries examined.” The moment the words left my mouth, Jessica and Charlotte’s expressions changed. Charlotte’s face flushed with anger. “You filthy wretch! How dare you speak to me like that? You’re not even worthy to lick my boots. And Jessica’s injuries don’t need to be examined! If she says you hit her, who else could have done it?” “Who knows?” I shrugged. “Maybe you did it yourselves.” Charlotte’s face contorted with rage, and Jessica’s lips quivered as tears fell from her eyes like pearls on a broken string. She threw herself into Victor’s arms, sobbing pitifully. “To examine my bruises, I’d have to undress. Savannah wants to humiliate me and ruin my reputation! How could I possibly live with such shame?” Jessica’s words were like oil on fire. Wyatt, who had been sitting quietly, jumped to his feet and pointed a trembling finger at me. “Savannah, how dare you?” he roared. “Jessica is my future wife, the future lady of the Marquisate, and I will not allow anyone to humiliate her!” “Try to touch her, and you’ll answer to us!” Logansnarled, his anger boiling over. “You’re so malicious, Savannah,” Michael spat. “We should’ve sold you off ages ago!” I didn’t bother listening to their empty threats. Instead, I waved to the servants. “Bring a screen. Let’s settle this properly.” “Slap!” The sound of a sharp slap echoed through the room. A stinging sensation bloomed across my cheek, and Jessica’s lips twitched with satisfaction as she tried to hide the smug smile on her face. But her eyes couldn’t conceal her triumph. “Well done, Edward!” Logan cheered, clapping his hands with glee while the others smirked. Edward glared at me, his eyes cold with anger. “You dared to hurt Jessica? That slap was mercy. Kneel before her, apologize, and perhaps we’ll spare you.” “Slap!” Before he could finish, I struck him across the face. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at me, stunned into silence. “Savannah, you—” “Slap!” I struck him again. “You—” “Slap!” Three slaps in total. Edward’s face turned crimson, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He looked like an enraged bull, ready to charge. “Feel better now?” I asked calmly, my voice devoid of emotion. The room fell silent. The crowd was stunned. Edward, the future Duke of Harrington, had been slapped—three times—in front of everyone. “Savannah, how dare you!” Logan bellowed. “Kneel down and apologize to him immediately!” I let out a cold laugh. “Him? A Duke? That’s a joke. The lot of you have forgotten where you came from. Shall I remind you?” My voice dripped with contempt as I continued, “Father and Mother have only one child—me. The four of you? You’re nothing but orphans, adopted out of pity after your father died in a brothel, leaving you to fend for yourselves. You’re lucky to even bear the Harrington name.” Their faces turned pale, their hands trembling. “Enough talk!” Victor growled. He handed Jessica to Wyatt, then drew a dagger from his belt. “If you won’t apologize, I’ll cut off your hands. We’ll see how stubborn you are after that!” “No need for that,” Edward said coldly. He grabbed the dagger and plunged it into my chest. The crowd gasped in horror. “Die!” he hissed, his eyes red with rage. Wyatt shielded Jessica’s eyes. “Don’t look, my love—it’s too gruesome.” But instead of blood, there was only silence. Edward’s expression shifted to terror as he realized the blade hadn’t pierced my skin. “W-what…?” “Such a shame,” I said with a smirk, pulling open my cloak to reveal the golden scales beneath. “The King’s gift—an enchanted breastplate. Completely impenetrable.” The dagger clattered to the floor as Edward stumbled back in shock. At that moment, a deep, booming voice cut through the tension: “You wretched fools! How dare you lay a hand on my daughter!”

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### When I stormed the drug cartel’s hideout, my fiancée, Mira, was taken hostage by the mastermind behind it all. In the heat of the moment, I pulled the trigger and killed him. Five years later, Mira and I got married. It was the happiest day of my life—or so I thought. That night, when I least expected it, she drugged me. I woke up in a dimly lit basement, my body broken and battered after a week of relentless torture. Mira stood over me, her heel crushing my unrecognizable face. “Jeremy was just an accountant,” she sneered. “Taking me hostage was nothing but a desperate move. And yet, you killed him in cold blood.” Given a second chance, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d pull the trigger all over again. After seven days and nights of torture, Mira finally showed up. Her stiletto heel pressed hard against my face as I lay on the floor, barely able to breathe, each gasp a shallow rasp. “How does it feel to be on the verge of death, Alex?” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “Compared to what Jeremy went through, I’ve been far too kind to you.” I stared up at her twisted, hate-filled expression—and somehow, I laughed. I laughed at my own stupidity. All those memories of love, the kind that felt so deep it burned into my soul—they were nothing but a lie. “What’s so funny?” My laughter must have enraged her, because she crouched down and dug her nails into my jaw, forcing me to look her in the eye. “Jeremy was just an accountant,” she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. “He was as innocent as a blank sheet of paper. Taking me hostage was nothing but a last resort, and yet you, Alex, you shot him down in cold blood.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot and bitter against my ear. “It’s been five years, Alex. Five long years. Jeremy’s been all alone down there, waiting. Don’t you think it’s time you join him?” Before I could react, she raised the gun and fired a single shot into my chest. The pain was indescribable, like fire ripping through my body. And just like that, I died—consumed by rage and regret. “Captain! One of the informants said Miss Mira is inside. Should we adjust the plan?” A familiar voice rang in my ears, pulling me out of the darkness. For a moment, I was disoriented. “Captain?” The voice called out again, more urgent this time. When I finally turned to look, I saw a face I hadn’t seen in years—Chris, one of my old teammates, standing right in front of me. Wasn’t I just shot? Wasn’t I dead? Panicked, I clutched at my chest, expecting to feel the wound, the blood. But instead, my chest was smooth, untouched. “What are you doing, Captain? Now’s not the time to show off your pecs!” Chris grabbed my arm, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. It didn’t take long for the reality to hit me. This wasn’t a dream. I was alive. I had been reborn—sent back to the day when I led the raid on the cartel’s hideout. In my previous life, Mira had already been taken hostage by Jeremy when we stormed the place. To save her, I shot him without hesitation. Afterward, we dismantled the operation, confiscated a massive stash of drugs, and celebrated a job well done. But I ignored the look in Mira’s eyes—the dazed, haunted expression she wore as she watched Jeremy die. At the time, I thought she was just shaken by the violence. It wasn’t until she killed me that I realized the truth. She wasn’t scared. She was grieving. She loved him. The memory of it made my chest ache, as if the bullet had hit me all over again. This time, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake. I wasn’t going to waste another thought on Mira’s survival. “Stick to the original plan,” I ordered, my voice cold and unfeeling. “We go in.” This time, I wouldn’t hesitate to add another body to the count. When we stormed the hideout, there he was—Jeremy, holding a knife to Mira’s throat, just like before. I narrowed my eyes, taking in the scene. I didn’t see a victim and a captor. I saw two snakes, coiled together in their betrayal. Without a second thought, I pulled the trigger. If my calculations were correct, the bullet would tear through Jeremy’s hand and lodge itself in Mira’s shoulder. Years of training had honed my aim to perfection. But what I didn’t anticipate was this: At the very last second, Mira moved. She threw herself in front of Jeremy, risking her own life to shield him, even with the knife pressed against her throat. The bullet hit her shoulder, just as I’d aimed. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down. Mira turned her head, glaring back at me with eyes filled with pure hatred. She didn’t say a word, but her expression spoke volumes. It was a look that said, You’ll pay for this. I tilted my head and smiled faintly, unbothered by her rage. What a shame. I missed her heart.

In my previous life, after Jeremy was shot dead, someone came forward with evidence exposing him as the real mastermind behind the drug ring. As we pieced everything together, the truth emerged: Jeremy was the illegitimate son of the city’s most notorious crime family. After college, he took over the family’s criminal empire and used his expertise to design a new type of drug. These drugs were distributed through the family’s nightclubs and underground casinos, while Jeremy hid behind the unassuming guise of a mild-mannered accountant. The media ran wild with the story. Jeremy became the city’s most hated man, condemned by everyone. Everyone except Mira. Her eyes red and swollen, she muttered to anyone who’d listen, “He was just an accountant…” I hated myself for not seeing through her back then. After Mira was taken to the hospital, I didn’t visit her. Instead, I went straight to the interrogation room, where Jeremy was being held. He sat there, calm and composed, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that made him look more like a college professor than a criminal. But I knew better. I’d seen the real Jeremy years ago—when he was a high schooler torturing stray cats in an alleyway. I knew then that his soul was rotten to the core. And yet, somehow, he always managed to twist the narrative. No matter what he did, everyone else ended up believing I was the one with a vendetta against him. “Alex, don’t make this personal,” Jeremy said with a smirk. “I’m just an accountant. Taking Mira hostage was a desperate move, nothing more.” I stared at him silently, letting him put on his little performance. “So tell me,” I said calmly, “since when does an accountant carry a weapon?” The knife he’d used to hold Mira hostage wasn’t just any knife. It was a finely crafted Swiss Army blade—customized, no less. Jeremy chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “How about this—you send your officer over there to get me a glass of water, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” I could see what he was doing. He wanted the room cleared. Fine. I played along. I dismissed everyone, leaving just the two of us in the room. “Alright,” I said, standing over him. “It’s just us. Talk.” Jeremy crooked a finger, motioning for me to lean in. Reluctantly, I did. And then he whispered in my ear. “You haven’t tasted Mira yet, have you? What a shame. She’s probably hating your guts right now.” My fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. I wanted nothing more than to smash his smug face into the table. Jeremy grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. “I love seeing you like this,” he added, his voice dripping with mockery. “Oh, by the way, how’s your brother doing these days?” That did it. My fist shot forward, slamming into his face with everything I had. Our family had always been in law enforcement. My parents were legends in the Organized Crime Unit, dedicating their lives to cleaning up the city. When I was a kid, they died during a raid on a crime syndicate. My older brother took up their mantle, becoming a cop and vowing to finish what they started. But during an undercover operation, his cover was blown. The gang tortured him, severing the tendons in his hands and feet. By the time we rescued him, the damage was done—both to his body and his mind. He was never the same again. I took up his badge and joined the force, swearing to continue the fight. It wasn’t until after Jeremy’s death in my previous life that I learned the truth: Jeremy was the one who had personally mutilated my brother. The hatred I felt for him now was enough to drive me to the brink of madness. Before I could land another punch, the door burst open. “Alex, what the hell are you doing?!” Mira’s voice, shrill and panicked, filled the room. She rushed to Jeremy’s side, shielding him like a fragile porcelain doll, her once flawless image as the city’s socialite now reduced to a pale, trembling wreck. “I brought a lawyer!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “I’m filing a complaint for police brutality!” Gone was the composed, elegant woman the city once adored. Now she looked like a desperate patient on the verge of collapse, clutching onto Jeremy as though her life depended on it. Jeremy, ever the opportunist, peeked out from behind her with a sly, taunting grin. I glared at them, my anger boiling over. If looks could kill, they’d both be dead. But I knew better. Jeremy didn’t deserve a quick death. He deserved to rot in prison, to be stripped of his freedom and power, to face the full weight of the law. No matter how much I wanted to end it right here, I wouldn’t let him escape justice. Not this time.

It didn’t take long for me to get called into the captain’s office over the punch I threw at Jeremy. I knew the truth—Jeremy was the one responsible for what happened to my brother. He was also the mastermind behind the entire drug operation. But without evidence, my hands were tied. I couldn’t say anything. The captain sighed deeply and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Alex, I get it. I know you want to take down criminals like him. But without proof, he’s innocent until proven guilty. You can’t let your emotions get the better of you.” Once again, Jeremy had played everyone like a fiddle with his innocent act. Even the captain and Chris thought I was overreacting, convinced I was letting my personal feelings cloud my judgment. The captain suggested I take some time off. Frustrated, I kicked a chair on my way out of the station. Mira was waiting for me outside. “Alex, I know you’ve never liked Jeremy,” she said, grabbing my hand and looking at me with an expression that might’ve been convincing—if I hadn’t known better. “But can’t you just let it go? He’s just an accountant. That’s all he is. Stop trying to make him into something he’s not.” In her mind, Jeremy would always be the harmless, defenseless little rabbit. I forced a bitter smile. It felt like the bullet that had once pierced my chest had now lodged itself straight into my skull. When my dad died, I was too young to understand what had happened. I followed my brother everywhere like a shadow until he joined the police academy, leaving me behind to live with my grandmother. Back then, I was timid and insecure, always the target of the neighborhood bullies. Then Mira showed up—a girl from out of town who stood in front of me like a shield, protecting me from everyone who wanted to hurt me. To my younger self, she was everything: my light, my hero. I relied on her. I admired her. I loved her. But looking at her now, I couldn’t help but feel like all of it had been one big joke. I stared at her anxious face, then closed my eyes and shook my head. “Mira, Jeremy is a criminal. He belongs in prison. This isn’t personal—it’s about justice.” I’d said these same words to her in my past life. And just like then, she didn’t listen. “You’ve disappointed me, Alex!” she snapped before storming off in a huff. After a few days of forced leave, I got a message from Chris. The drug dealers we’d arrested weren’t talking. Unlike in my previous life, they refused to point the finger at Jeremy. They were too scared of him to say a word. Furious, I slammed my fist against the edge of my bed. To make things worse, Mira had hired a high-powered legal team to defend Jeremy. And, just as I feared, Jeremy was released on bail. Fuming, I stormed into the captain’s office, ready to argue. But before I could even get a word out, the captain raised a hand to stop me. “Alex, it’s done. There’s not enough evidence to hold him. He’s walking free, and that’s final. Arguing won’t change anything.” The day Jeremy was released, Mira herself came to pick him up. She had gone all out, wearing a perfectly tailored dress and flawless makeup. She even invited the media to document the occasion, spinning the narrative that Jeremy had been wrongfully accused. I stood at a distance, watching the spectacle with cold detachment. Then I pulled out my phone and sent Mira a single text: [We’re done.] I saw her glance at her phone. She barely reacted, as if the message meant nothing to her. She put it away and went back to fussing over Jeremy like a concerned lover. It didn’t take long for the two of them to start appearing everywhere together. Hand in hand, side by side, they became the new “it” couple. I had to admire Jeremy’s cunning. Mira’s family had gone to great lengths to keep her from dating me, pulling every string they could to drive a wedge between us. But with Jeremy? They welcomed him with open arms. No matter how they twisted the story, I couldn’t care less about their relationship. Jeremy might’ve won this round, but I’d make sure he didn’t win the war. I swore to myself: no matter what it took, I would bring him down.

I’d just been assigned a new case—a cross-border drug trafficking operation in a neighboring city. In my previous life, I remembered Jeremy’s half-brother fleeing to that city, eventually cementing his control over the underground drug market there. Back then, after taking down Jeremy’s gambling ring, I retired from the force. I never got involved in the neighboring city’s operations. But this time? This time, I wasn’t going anywhere until I saw Jeremy and everyone connected to him behind bars. On the day I was set to leave, Jeremy showed up, flipping a lighter in his hand as he sauntered toward me. His expression was smug, his posture that of a man who believed he’d already won. “Leaving the city, Officer Reed?” he asked with a smirk, his tone dripping with mockery. The hatred I felt for him was no longer a hot, uncontrollable rage. It had cooled into something sharper, something focused—a determination to see him brought to justice. I didn’t respond. I didn’t even look at him. “Our wedding’s coming up soon,” he added, his smirk widening. “You wouldn’t want to come and congratulate Mira and me?” Still, I said nothing. “Shame,” he said, leaning in closer. “You know, I don’t even love her. She’s just a game to me. Just like you were back in high school.” His words slithered through the air like venom from a snake, making my stomach churn. Mira and I had grown up together. From elementary school to high school, we’d been inseparable—until Jeremy entered the picture. Back then, Jeremy was the golden boy. Polished, charming, smart, and good-looking. Teachers adored him, classmates admired him, and no one could get enough of his perfect image. Meanwhile, I was the stereotypical jock—good at sports, terrible at academics, and always getting into trouble. But beneath Jeremy’s flawless exterior was a monster. I’d seen it with my own eyes one day after school. I’d caught him in an alley, torturing a stray cat. He didn’t panic when I confronted him. Instead, he calmly dropped the cat’s lifeless body into my desk the next day. From that moment on, Jeremy stopped pretending around me. He showed me his true colors—his sadistic, manipulative side. He took every opportunity to provoke me, to make me lose control, only to turn around and play the victim. “Ah, that look in your eyes,” he said now, leaning in so close I could feel his breath on my ear. “It’s the same as back then. God, it’s exciting.” Then, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Mira’s been in my bed since high school. You didn’t know? What a shame.” My vision went red. My fists clenched instinctively, and I was ready to swing. “Alex Reed! Don’t you dare!” Mira’s voice rang out as she came running toward us, screaming. Before my punch could connect, Mira’s purse came down on me instead—over and over again. “Stop it, Alex! Stop!” “Don’t blame him, Mira,” Jeremy said, stepping back with mock innocence. “I told him I love you, that we’re in love. He’s just upset because he cares about you so much.” Jeremy’s ability to play the victim was nothing short of Oscar-worthy. “Alex! You’re the one who broke up with me! And I love Jeremy now! If you’ve got a problem, take it up with me, not him!” Mira turned to shield him, her face pale with rage and indignation. “Jeremy’s innocent!” she shouted, her voice trembling. That phrase. I’d heard it more times than I could count. When had she become so unrecognizable? The girl who once stood in front of me to protect me from bullies was now standing in front of Jeremy, defending him. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Then I looked her in the eyes and said coldly, “Don’t worry. A snake and a rat are a perfect match. I wish you both a long and miserable life together.” With that, I turned and boarded the bus to the neighboring city. It didn’t take long for me to uncover Jeremy’s crimes during the raid on the neighboring city’s drug operations. His half-brother, as it turned out, had kept a backup of everything—an encrypted hard drive containing damning evidence of Jeremy’s involvement in the torture and murder of law enforcement officers. The moment I got my hands on it, I didn’t stop. I raced back to the city, straight to the captain’s office. Slamming the hard drive on his desk, I filed for Jeremy’s arrest. The captain, stunned by the overwhelming evidence, wasted no time. Within minutes, I had the warrant in hand. Jeremy and Mira’s wedding day was nothing short of a spectacle. The hall was packed with guests, the decorations lavish, the champagne flowing freely. I walked in, interrupting their vows. “Jeremy Brooks,” I said, my voice cutting through the room like ice. “You’re under suspicion for the murder of a police officer.” I threw the arrest warrant onto the table in front of him, watching as Mira’s face twisted in shock. The room erupted into chaos. Mira screamed, clinging to Jeremy as I dragged him away in cuffs. Through all the noise, I kept my focus. This time, I was going to finish what I started. This time, I was going to end him.

In the interrogation room, I found myself face to face with Jeremy once again. He leaned casually against the table, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, his eyes filled with mockery. I placed the evidence in front of him. Jeremy glanced at it—and to my disbelief, he looked completely unfazed. In fact, he stared at the footage as though he were admiring some kind of masterpiece. “Hm,” he said, smirking even wider. “The execution’s a little sloppy, though, don’t you think?” He actually had the audacity to critique the crime scene footage. “Jeremy,” I said, my voice sharp, “the evidence is right here in front of you. What do you have to say for yourself?” I was curious—what excuse could he possibly come up with this time? Jeremy shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “I’ll wait for my lawyer. Until then, I have nothing to say.” I knew I wasn’t going to get anything out of him, so I didn’t bother wasting more time. But his calm, almost smug demeanor stirred something uneasy inside me. Taking the hard drive back to my office, I replayed the footage over and over again. The video clearly captured Jeremy’s face. There was no doubt it was him. And yet, something about it didn’t sit right. I paused the video at the final frame, freezing on the moment Jeremy looked directly into the camera. That’s when I saw it. He smiled—a slow, chilling grin. And at the corner of his left eye… there was a teardrop-shaped mole. Jeremy didn’t have a mole. A cold shiver ran down my spine as realization hit me. Before I could leave my office, Chris burst in, his face pale with urgency. “Captain, Mira’s here,” he said quickly. “She’s brought a lawyer… and someone else.” He hesitated, his expression uneasy. “You should probably see for yourself.” Pushing past him, I headed straight for the reception area. When I saw who was standing there, the world seemed to tilt. It was Jeremy. Or rather, someone who looked exactly like him. The only difference was the distinct teardrop-shaped mole at the corner of his eye. “Officer Reed!” Mira shouted at me, her voice sharp and commanding. “I’ve brought a lawyer and the real culprit. You need to let Jeremy go immediately!” I ignored her completely, my eyes locked on the man in front of me. He shifted nervously under my gaze, shrinking slightly as though I could see right through him. He was nothing like the cold, calculated monster from the video.

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