1 In the third year of our marriage, I finally learned where I stood in Jennifer’s heart. Her first love, Elliot, was ranked first. Elliot’s depression was second. Elliot’s ragdoll cat, Snowball, was third. I was ranked fourth, right behind the cat. When she flew overseas to accompany Elliot for his medical treatments for two weeks, she hired a professional pet-sitter to drop by and feed Snowball for a hundred and eighty dollars a day. For me, she left a locked basement door and a dismissive note: Just deal with it for a bit. By the fifth day, I was burning with a fever so intense I was delirious. By the tenth day, I had started talking to the voice on my phone. She would cook virtual porridge for me, tell me soothing stories, and sing me to sleep. I asked her once if she was just a hallucination brought on by my boiling brain. She told me no, she had always been there. By the time Jennifer finally returned, my fever had broken. She looked me up and down, her eyes critical. “How did you get better so fast?” “Someone on my phone was taking care of me,” I replied. She rubbed her temples, letting out a heavy sigh of irritation. “Silas, grow up. Stop acting childish. I’m absolutely exhausted.” I looked at her and smiled. Then, I unlocked my phone, deleted Jennifer from my contacts, deleted our marriage from my future, and walked out of that damp basement. The voice on the phone asked me if I wanted to go home. I stared at the screen, a lump rising in my throat. It had been years since anyone had asked me that. “Who are you calling? What do you mean, home?” Jennifer’s brow furrowed, and she reached out to snatch my phone. I pressed the lock button, slipped the device into my pocket, and stepped out of her reach. “Silas! I just sat on a fifteen-hour flight and came straight here to see you without even stopping for a glass of water, and you’re going to give me the cold shoulder?” “I unlocked the basement door, didn’t I? How long do you plan on keeping up this pathetic tantrum?” I looked at the dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes. If this had been the old Silas, I would have already rushed to the kitchen to brew her a soothing herbal tea. But looking at her now, her towering sense of entitlement only struck me as sad. “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I said quietly, walking past her to the twin cot to fold my worn blanket. “If you’re not, why won’t you even look at me?” Jennifer marched over, grabbing my wrist with a firm, tight grip. “Jennifer…” A soft, fragile voice drifted down from the top of the basement stairs. Elliot stood there, dressed in my favorite silk pajamas, cradling his ragdoll cat in his arms. His bare feet looked tiny and pale against the wooden steps. “Elliot, why did you come down here? The basement is damp and freezing. You just got out of the clinic, you shouldn’t catch a cold,” Jennifer said, immediately dropping my wrist to run up and shield him. “I heard shouting, and I got scared,” Elliot whispered, shrinking into her side, his eyes pooling with tears. “We aren’t arguing. Silas is just being difficult. He’ll get over it in a couple of days,” Jennifer murmured, gently patting his back. The ragdoll cat peeked over Elliot’s shoulder, baring its teeth and hissing softly at me. “Silas, I’m so sorry,” Elliot said, biting his lip as he looked down at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Jennifer spent the last two weeks with me in Europe to see my therapist. It must have been hard for you, being locked down here alone.” “But I really didn’t mean to cause this. When my depression flares up, I completely lose control of myself. Jennifer was just terrified I’d do something reckless.” “Exactly,” Jennifer added, looking down at me from the top of the stairs with cold disapproval. “You know how severe his condition is. You’re a healthy, normal adult. What’s the big deal about staying down here for a couple of weeks?” “I gave the house staff a paid vacation, but the pantry was fully stocked. It’s not like I starved you. Why do you have to be so incredibly dramatic?” I looked at the empty water bottles piled in the corner of the basement. The very first day she left, the main water valve to the basement had been shut off. I had survived the worst five days of my fever on half a bottle of stale water. If it hadn’t been for the woman on the phone guiding me through the dark, telling me where I had left my old travel bag with a bottle of aspirin, I would have died down there. I didn’t bother explaining any of this. Instead, I asked a simple question. “Where are the pastries you brought?” Jennifer blinked, caught off guard. “On the coffee table upstairs. I had my assistant line up at that artisanal bakery uptown to get those almond croissants you like so much.” I nodded, stepping past them as I walked up the stairs. The bakery box was sitting on the glass table in the living room. I opened it to find six perfectly dusted almond croissants. Elliot followed close behind Jennifer, whispering softly, “Jennifer, doesn’t Silas have a severe tree nut allergy? I thought those croissants were covered in crushed almonds.” Jennifer looked at the box, then at me, a brief flash of embarrassment crossing her face. “I didn’t think about it when I ordered. My assistant must have grabbed the wrong box.” “Silas, don’t be so sensitive. Just pick the almonds off before you eat them.” I didn’t say a word. I picked up the box, walked over to the trash can, and flipped it over. The pastries landed at the bottom of the bin with a quiet thud. “Silas! What is wrong with you?” Jennifer’s voice rose, sharp and angry. “I can’t eat them, so they belong in the trash,” I said, pulling a tissue from the counter to wipe my fingertips. “Why are you acting so incredibly bitter?” She marched over, gripping my shoulder tightly. “I brought those all the way from uptown. Even if you can’t eat them, you don’t throw my gesture into the garbage right in front of my face!” “What did you want me to do instead? Build an altar for them?” I asked, looking her dead in the eye. “Meow.” The cat in Elliot’s arms let out a sharp cry, leaping from his chest and lunging straight at my face. I put my hands up to shield myself, and its claws tore across the back of my left hand. Three angry red lines welled with blood. Before I could even register the pain, Jennifer had kicked a nearby chair aside, stepping between me and the cat to shield it. “Silas, are you really going to pick a fight with an animal now?” Beads of blood began to drip from my knuckles, splattering onto the pristine hardwood floor. I turned and walked toward the hallway to find the medical kit. “Stop right there!” Jennifer barked. “You terrified Snowball. Apologize to him right now.” I stopped, turning slowly to look at her. “You want me to apologize to a cat?” “He’s highly sensitive! You threw those pastries so aggressively, he thought you were going to strike Elliot!” Jennifer said, stroking the cat’s white fur to calm it down. Elliot clutched his chest, gasping for air as tears streamed down his face. “Jennifer, don’t blame Silas. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have brought Snowball down here.” “You did nothing wrong. It’s his petty, miserable attitude!” Jennifer said, drawing Elliot into her arms. She glared at me, her voice cold and commanding. “Silas, I’m going to count to three. You will apologize to Elliot and Snowball, or you can pack your bags and get out of my house!” “One.” I opened the medical cabinet and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic. “Two.” I pressed an alcohol pad against the deep scratches. The sting was sharp, but I didn’t even flinch. “Three!” Furious, Jennifer marched over and swiped her hand across the counter, sending the entire medical kit crashing to the floor. Cotton balls, bandages, and bottles scattered across the tiles. “You think you’re tough, Silas? You think I won’t actually throw you out?” She pointed a finger at the front door. “Get out! Pack your things and leave this instant!” “And don’t bother trying to use any of my credit cards. I’m locking them all before you even reach the driveway!” She was entirely convinced I wouldn’t leave. She thought she held all the cards because I had severed ties with my family and quit my career three years ago to become her stay-at-home husband. But she had no idea I had already decided to leave with the woman on the phone. “Alright,” I said, my voice incredibly calm. I bent down, picked up the antiseptic bottle, tightened the cap, and set it on the counter. Jennifer froze, her eyes widening slightly. I walked past the mess on the floor, headed down to the basement, and picked up my canvas tote bag. It held nothing but a few changes of old clothes and my ID. I didn’t touch any of the luxury watches or designer items she had bought me over the years. When I walked back up to the living room with my single bag, Jennifer’s expression shifted from anger to disbelief. “You’re actually going?” She knit her brows. “Silas, stop playing hard to get. Do you honestly think I’m going to chase after you once you walk out that door?” “I don’t expect you to,” I said, slipping on my sneakers. “Silas, please don’t do this,” Elliot said, walking over to tug on my sleeve. His fingers gripped my arm, his sharp nails digging painfully into my skin. “It’s pouring outside, and you don’t have any money. Where will you go? Just apologize to Jennifer.” I didn’t answer him. I simply pulled my sleeve out of his grasp. “Let him leave!” Jennifer sneered. “I want to see how long his pride lasts without my bank accounts. He’ll be crawling back to this house begging for forgiveness within three days!” I pushed the heavy front door open. Outside, a black Bentley sat idling in the heavy rain. The passenger door opened, and a large black umbrella was hoisted into the air. Maude stepped out, looking effortlessly elegant in a tailored wool coat. She walked down the stone path, tilting the umbrella forward to shield me from the freezing rain. “Silas, I’m here to take you home,” she said, her voice warm and steady. Standing in the doorway, Jennifer stared through the rain, her eyes locked onto the woman standing beside me. “Who is that?” her voice trembled slightly. I didn’t look back. I stepped down the stairs and into the shelter of Maude’s umbrella. “The person from my phone,” I said quietly. Jennifer let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Silas! If you’re going to hire an actress just to make me jealous, at least pick someone believable!” Maude smoothly took my canvas bag, resting her hand lightly against my back to guide me toward the car. “Silas, get back here right now!” Jennifer screamed, stepping out onto the porch as the rain began to drench her silk blouse. But she didn’t pursue me. Behind her, Elliot let out a weak whimper. “Jennifer, my head… I feel dizzy.” Instinctively, she stopped, turning back to catch him before he fell. I sat in the warm leather seat of the car, watching their figures blur in the side mirror as we drove away. I closed my eyes. The car’s heater was running, filling the cabin with a quiet warmth and the subtle scent of cedarwood. Maude pulled a soft cashmere blanket over my lap, her eyes dropping to the bloody scratches on my hand. Her brow furrowed. “Did you clean those?” “Just some antiseptic,” I murmured, leaning my head against the headrest. She didn’t push for details. Instead, she pulled a small medical pouch from the glove compartment, took my hand, and began to gently clean the wound with an alcohol wipe. She applied a soothing ointment and covered it with a sterile bandage, her movements incredibly light. “What happened these past two weeks, Silas?” she asked softly. “Nothing much,” I said, watching the rain streak across the window. “I just realized some things aren’t worth holding onto.” I didn’t tell her that Jennifer had locked the basement door to keep Elliot’s cat from making a mess downstairs. I didn’t tell her how close I had come to dying of a fever, or how her voice on the phone had been the only thing keeping me anchored to reality. It was over now. “What do you want to eat?” Maude asked, packing away the medical kit. “Some porridge,” I said. “Pork and preserved egg. No green onions, please.” Maude smiled. “Alright. Let’s get you fed.” We pulled up to a quiet, high-end private dining club downtown. Maude booked a private room and ordered a warm bowl of porridge along with a few side dishes. As I sat there, letting the warm food soothe my empty stomach, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Jennifer. Who is that woman? I know you’re doing this just to get a reaction out of me because you still care. I’m willing to overlook it. But Silas, I am warning you, get back here right now. Elliot’s depression is flaring up because of your behavior, and he’s back on his medication. We have a family dinner tonight. You need to be there. Don’t make me look foolish in front of my mother. I didn’t reply. I simply blocked her number. “Jennifer?” Maude asked, pouring a cup of warm tea for me. “Yeah,” I nodded. “What do you want to do now? Do you want to go back to your hometown?” “No,” I shook my head. “I cut ties with my parents to marry her. Going back now would just be embarrassing.” “Then stay in Boston,” Maude said, her tone absolute. “I have a vacant apartment downtown. It’s fully furnished and close to everything. You can stay there.” “Maude, I can’t accept that…” “Silas,” she interrupted gently, looking at me with a soft smile. “You’ve called me ‘sis’ for ten years. Let your older sister look after you for once, okay?” My eyes burned, and a sudden wave of emotion threatened to spill over. Lying in that dark basement, I hadn’t shed a single tear, but her simple kindness was nearly enough to break me. “Okay,” I whispered, lowering my head to hide my eyes. After dinner, Maude drove me to the apartment. It was spacious, filled with natural light, and stocked with every necessity, including a closet full of brand-new clothes in my exact size. “Get some rest,” Maude said, standing by the doorway. “I won’t crowd you. Tomorrow morning, I’m taking you to the clinic for a full checkup.” “Thank you, Maude.” “Rest up, Silas,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the hot water washed over my thin, pale body, carrying away the grime and exhaustion of the basement, I looked at my reflection in the steamed-up mirror. Three years of devotion. I had finally put the Silas who loved Jennifer to death. The next morning, the clinic results came back. I was suffering from severe malnutrition and a lingering lung infection from the untreated fever. The doctor prescribed a stack of medications and ordered strict rest. On our way back, we walked past a luxury jewelry store. My eyes lingered on a pair of diamond bands in the display case. “Do you like them?” Maude asked, stopping beside me. “No,” I said, pulling my gaze away. Those were the rings Jennifer had promised to buy me. For three years, I had worn a cheap silver band. She told me we would get proper wedding rings once her company went public. But when the company finally listed, she told me Elliot was in a fragile mental state and couldn’t handle the news of our formal ring exchange. There was always an excuse. When we got back to the apartment, I logged into my cloud drive, pulled up the divorce agreement I had drafted months ago, filled in the date, and signed my name. I emailed the document directly to Jennifer’s personal inbox. On the other side of town, in the spacious living room of the He estate, Jennifer sat on the plush sofa. She stared at her phone, her calls to my number failing to go through. “Jennifer…” Elliot walked down the stairs, dressed in a custom designer suit. It was a piece Jennifer had bought at a high-end auction the previous month, promising to give it to me for our wedding anniversary. “The sleeves are a bit too long. It doesn’t really fit right,” Elliot complained, adjusting the cuffs. Jennifer looked at him, her expression distracted. “It’s fine. I’ll have the tailor adjust it for you.” “Is Silas still not back?” Elliot asked softly. “If he misses the family dinner tonight, will your mother be upset?” “Don’t mention his name!” Jennifer snapped, throwing her phone onto the table. “I’ve spoiled him. He actually thinks hiring some woman to play a part will make me crawl back to him.” “But her car was worth millions,” Elliot murmured, testing her reaction. Jennifer let out a cold snort. “It was probably a rental. Silas doesn’t have those kinds of connections. He’s just trying to make a point.” She stood up, smoothing the front of her blazer. “Let’s go. We don’t need him there anyway. It’ll save me the trouble of explaining his behavior to my mother.” That evening, the family dinner was held at a five-star hotel downtown. Jennifer introduced Elliot to everyone as her close family friend, and the guests all smiled and nodded politely, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Halfway through the dinner, her assistant hurried over and whispered something in her ear. Jennifer’s expression went entirely stiff. She stood up abruptly, walked out to the quiet corridor, and pulled up her email inbox. There, sitting at the top of her list, was a message titled Divorce Agreement. She opened the attachment, her fingers tightening around her phone as she stared at my clean, elegant signature at the bottom of the page. “Silas… do you really think you can just walk away?” she muttered, her jaw clenching. She dialed my number again, but the automated voice only informed her that the line was disconnected. She turned to her assistant, her voice sharp with panic. “Go find him! Find out where he is staying, and track down the owner of that Bentley!” The assistant nodded quickly, terrified by the sudden fury in her eyes. Jennifer leaned against the cold marble wall, trying to steady her breathing. But she had no idea that at that very moment, I was already sitting on a flight bound for Lake Tahoe.

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1 Another winter holiday season had rolled around, and my husband and I had just finished moving our little family to Helena, a quiet northern town. I never expected to run into my aunt’s family here. The moment they saw me, their very first question was whether I had finally cooled off, and when I planned to go back to Ruben. Ruben was my childhood sweetheart, my first love, and my ex. We had been together for eight years, with every intention of getting married the moment we graduated. But on graduation night, in front of a crowd of our peers, he slapped me across the face, all for the sake of Audrey, who had just returned from her studies abroad. Heartbroken and humiliated, I deleted every trace of him from my life and fled alone to this snowy little town. Meeting my aunt again after all this time, she looked at me and said, “Ruben still has you in his heart, Vivian. The night he got engaged to Audrey, he drank too much and told everyone that the second you came back, he would call off the wedding and run back to you.” I offered her a polite, empty smile. “Aunt Brenda, I got married two years ago. My daughter is already over a year old.” Ruben still thought I was just throwing a tantrum, throwing a five-year fit. He had no idea that I had long since started a completely new life. … The news of my marriage had not yet traveled back to Boston. When I ran into my aunt in the streets of Helena, she was entirely in the dark. A light snow was drifting down, dusting the pavement. I held an umbrella in one hand and a box of fresh pastries for my daughter in the other. As I crossed the open plaza in front of the shopping center, I spotted my aunt and my cousin, Tyler, staring at me in sheer disbelief. We had not spoken in five years. My aunt’s opening words were thick with accusation. “Vivian! Where on earth have you been hiding? You didn’t leave a single word!” I looked up, my expression completely flat. In contrast, my aunt and Tyler looked thrilled to see me. “Vivian, you’re finally back!” Tyler burst out, practically beaming. “Ruben has been looking everywhere for you. His firm is massive now, and his family is riding him hard to settle down, but he keeps saying that if you just come home…” “He really does!” Aunt Brenda chimed in, eager to please. “You have no idea, Vivian. Ruben is the most eligible bachelor in Boston right now. The families have been trying to push him and Audrey together for ages. Audrey is a sweet, proper girl, and both sets of parents want the match.” “But Ruben made it clear. He only wants to marry you. He promised that the moment you go back, he’ll terminate the arrangement with Audrey’s family.” My aunt and cousin were practically vibrating with excitement, acting as if they were overjoyed on my behalf. It was funny, considering they had never cared about me before. When my parents died in that car crash years ago, these relatives suddenly became very hard to reach. Now that Ruben had climbed to the top of the world, they suddenly remembered they had a niece. Amused by the sheer hypocrisy, I cut them off. “Aunt Brenda, Tyler, I am never getting back together with Ruben.” Speaking that name for the first time in half a decade, my voice didn’t even tremble. It was as if I were speaking of a vague, distant acquaintance. My aunt and cousin froze, looking at me as if I had lost my mind. They clearly did not believe me. After all, back in college, my devotion to Ruben was legendary. I was a free-spirited fine arts major; he was the golden boy of the finance department. We met in a campus club during our freshman year. I fell for his bold, magnetic confidence, and he loved how lively and uninhibited I was. People used to whisper that Vivian was a climber, a girl from a modest background who knew exactly how to hook a wealthy heir. Young and stubborn, I paid the gossip no mind. I only cared that we loved each other and that we had promised to marry right after graduation. I clung to him. I dragged him to art galleries, made him wander through late-night street markets with me, and we were practically joined at the hip from freshman year until senior spring. If nothing had changed, I would have walked down the aisle to him the summer we graduated. But during our senior year, Audrey, the daughter of Ruben’s family friends, returned from her elite European university. She was poised, soft-spoken, and elegant, the quintessential high-society daughter. Standing next to me, she was the daughter-in-law his parents had always dreamed of. I, on the other hand, was an art major with wild hair and a temperament to match. “A girl from an ordinary family simply can’t compare to a lady raised by the Shens,” a snippet of overheard gossip once drifted my way, stinging sharply. Hurt, I went to find Ruben, wanting reassurance that he didn’t care about those things. But when I arrived at our usual cafe, Audrey was sitting across from him. She gave me a gentle, sweet smile. “Vivian, I just got back to the country and don’t know my way around yet. I asked Ruben to show me around. You don’t mind, do you?” Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have. But today was our third anniversary. Ruben had promised to spend the whole day with me, yet he had just handed Audrey the handmade ceramic mug I had spent a month crafting as a introductory gift. Staring at the familiar mug in Audrey’s hands, remembering the long, frustrating nights I spent in the pottery studio burning my fingers, my face went cold. “Ruben, what is the meaning of this?” 2 The cafe was crowded. My sudden confrontation caught Ruben completely off guard. He knit his handsome brows, cast a quick, apologetic glance at Audrey, and then grabbed my wrist, pulling me into a quiet corner. “Audrey just got back,” he muttered, his voice hushed and irritated. “She’s overwhelmed and lonely. I’m just helping her adjust. What are you throwing a fit about?” Honestly, I didn’t entirely know why I was so angry. Maybe it was the buildup of weeks of hearing myself compared unfavorably to her. Or maybe it was just the mug. “Why did you give her the mug I made for you?” I demanded, my eyes stinging. Ruben blinked, a rare flash of embarrassment crossing his face. “She remarked on how unique it was, so I let her take a look at it.” “You didn’t give it to her?” I asked, skeptical. “It was a gift from you,” he said, softening his tone. “Why would I ever give it away?” A single sentence was all it took to soothe my anger. I couldn’t help but smile, leaning into his shoulder. “So, you don’t find me embarrassing?” “Why would I?” “You know, because I’m not as delicate and polite as Audrey.” Ruben chuckled, resting his chin on my head. “Well, you could stand to be a little softer.” I nudged his ribs with my elbow, not hard enough to hurt. He didn’t pull away, but behind us, Audrey’s eyes welled with tears. She walked over, her fingers lightly catching the sleeve of Ruben’s coat, her voice trembling. “Ruben, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. Did I cause trouble between you and Vivian? Maybe I should just take a cab home.” Standing there, looking frail and helpless, she quickly drew the sympathetic gazes of several nearby tables. I frowned, preparing to tell her that there was no misunderstanding, but Ruben beat me to the punch. “Vivian, drop it,” he said, before turning to Audrey with an entirely different, gentler tone. “Don’t worry about it. Just sit down for a minute, and I’ll have my driver take you back.” But Audrey didn’t let go of his sleeve. Ruben, who always seemed to possess an infinite well of patience for her, looked at me with a sigh. “Viv, let’s reschedule our anniversary dinner. Audrey isn’t feeling well, and I need to make sure she gets home safely.” And just like that, the anniversary celebration I had anticipated for weeks was cut short. Gradually, Ruben’s free time stopped belonging to me. Audrey’s presence in his life grew more frequent, and scheduling a simple date with my own boyfriend required checking if Audrey had any plans first. Eventually, I couldn’t bottle it up anymore. On the university library rooftop, I confronted him. “Don’t you think this is getting ridiculous? I’m your girlfriend, Ruben.” Ruben was scrolling through his phone. He looked up, a familiar look of exhaustion settling over his features. “Are we doing this again? Audrey is like a sister to me. Why do you have to be so competitive with her?” “I’m not being competitive,” I said, staring directly into his eyes. “But we don’t even have time to be alone anymore. We promised we’d get married right after graduation, but now?” That was a fair point, and it seemed to sober him up. He reached out, pulling me into his chest and stroking my hair. “Once we graduate, I have to step into the family business. It’s going to be chaotic for a while. Let me get my feet under me, and then we’ll get married, okay?” He leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead and presented me with a delicate silver necklace as an apology for our ruined anniversary. I wore that necklace every single day after that. I counted down the days to graduation, dreaming of the life we would build. But graduation did not bring the fairytale ending I had envisioned. During the final semester of senior year, I lived in a tiny off-campus apartment, pulling consecutive all-nighters to finish my graduation showcase. On the day of the final submission, my head was spinning so violently I could barely stand. I called Ruben, hoping he could drive me to the campus clinic. The phone rang for a long time before a soft voice answered. “Vivian? Ruben is in the shower right now. Is there something I can pass along?” I froze, my chest tightening as if a hand had squeezed my heart. “Where… where are you?” “At Ruben’s apartment,” Audrey replied, her tone perfectly light and natural. “I came over to help him organize some of his documents for his upcoming trip. Oh, by the way, Vivian, that ceramic mug you made for him? I accidentally knocked it off the counter earlier. I feel absolutely terrible.” My hand shook so hard I could barely hold the phone. “It’s fine,” I managed to choke out before hanging up. I walked to the clinic alone, my feet heavy. The doctor diagnosed me with severe physical exhaustion and put me on an IV drip. Lying on the narrow clinic cot, staring at the sterile ceiling, a profound wave of loneliness washed over me. I wanted Ruben. So, I called him again. This time, he answered. “Viv? Audrey mentioned you called earlier. What’s going on?” My throat felt dry, clogged with unshed tears. “I’m sick, Ruben. I’m at the clinic.” There was a brief pause on the other end. “Is it serious? I’ve got some urgent matters to attend to right now, but I’ll try to swing by later tonight.” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice dead. “Just do what you need to do.” I hung up, watching the screen go black, and let the tears slide silently down my cheeks. I found out later from a classmate that Audrey’s father had arrived in the city that afternoon, and Ruben had spent the evening hosting a lavish dinner for their family. My graduation project went on to win the department’s highest honors, but Ruben never showed up to my gallery exhibition. He told me his family had an emergency. In reality, Audrey was preparing to head overseas for graduate school, and Ruben’s entire family had gone to the airport to send her off. On graduation day, clad in my black academic gown, I searched the crowd for his face. Instead, I found him near the campus gates, gently holding a weeping Audrey in his arms, stroking her back with practiced tenderness. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll talk every single day.” The softness in his eyes was so familiar, yet so entirely foreign when directed at someone else. I stood there, paralyzed, looking down at the small box in my hands. Inside was a pair of custom-engraved cufflinks I had saved up for months to buy him. Sick to my stomach, I turned to walk away. But Ruben spotted me. He let go of Audrey and hurried over. “Vivian, happy graduation.” I handed him the box, unable to bring myself to speak. He opened it, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “These are beautiful. Thank you, Viv.” He paused, looking back toward Audrey. “She’s going to be gone for at least two years, and she’s terrified of being alone. I was just trying to calm her down.” I nodded, keeping my mouth shut. Sensing the thick wall of silence between us, he grabbed my hand. “What’s wrong? It’s graduation day. We should be celebrating.” I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. “Ruben, do you still love me?” 3 Ruben stiffened, his eyes darting away for a split second. “Why are you asking that out of nowhere?” “Do you?” I persisted, refusing to let him look away. Around us, groups of graduates were cheering and taking photos. In the midst of the celebration, my quiet question felt like a sudden drop in temperature. Ruben let go of my hand and cleared his throat. “There are too many people here, Viv. Let’s not do this now. We’ll sit down and talk tonight, okay?” “No,” I said. “I want to know right now.” His brow furrowed, irritation bleeding into his expression. “Vivian, can you please stop being so difficult? Look around us. Is this really the time or place for this?” Looking at him, I felt a sudden, terrifying sense of unfamiliarity. Why was it so easy for him to offer Audrey boundless tenderness, yet so difficult to offer me a simple reassurance of his love? Years of accumulated grief and neglect boiled over. I bit my lip, my voice shaking with rage. “Am I being difficult, or have you simply checked out? We were supposed to get married after graduation, Ruben. Yet your parents are already planning an engagement party for you and Audrey. Do you think I’m stupid?” Ruben’s face darkened instantly. “Who told you that?” “So it’s true,” I whispered, a bitter laugh escaping me as tears finally spilled over. “Unbelievable. You talk to me about our future while quietly letting your parents arrange a marriage with someone else.” “There is nothing going on!” Ruben raised his voice, drawing a few sideways looks from passing families. “Audrey is like family. The engagement was a passing joke between our parents. I never agreed to it!” By now, a small crowd was starting to gather. Audrey walked over, her eyes still red, her voice dripping with sweet concern. “Vivian, please don’t be mad at Ruben. The engagement talk… it was just a silly joke our fathers made over dinner. It doesn’t mean anything.” Staring at the two of them standing side-by-side, the picture-perfect match, I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “A joke? Your families have already drafted a guest list, and you call it a joke?” I looked back at Ruben. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never once thought about marrying her?” Ruben’s face went entirely cold. He stared at me with a mixture of profound disappointment and rising anger. “Vivian, do you really have to ruin graduation by making such a disgusting scene?” “Am I making a scene, or are you just terrified of the truth?” I threw my chin up, refusing to back down. “I’ve seen your phone, Ruben. I saw the folder of her photos labeled ‘My Sweet Pea.’ I saw how you ignore my texts for days but reply to hers in seconds. Is that how you treat a sister?” Slap. The sound was sharp, cutting through the ambient noise of the courtyard. I froze. My left cheek burned with a fierce, throbbing heat. My mind went blank, unable to process what had just happened. Ruben froze too. He stared at his own palm, then looked at me, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. In all the years we had spent together, Ruben had never so much as raised a hand to me. No matter how much I yelled, no matter how childishly I behaved, he had always met my tantrums with indulgent sighs. I never imagined he would strike me, let alone for her. Audrey gasped, covering her mouth. “Ruben! What did you do?” She reached out to grab his arm, but he violently shook her off. He stared at me, his eyes a chaotic storm of regret, hurt, and overwhelming frustration. “We both need space to think,” he said quietly, before turning on his heel and walking away. He didn’t look back. Audrey shot me a brief look—one filled with a strange, hard emotion I couldn’t quite decipher—before turning to run after him. I was left standing alone in the middle of the crowded courtyard, the red handprint on my face burning under the afternoon sun. That day marked the beginning of a cold war. Ruben tried to visit my apartment a few times, but I refused to open the door. A week later, word reached me that Ruben and Audrey had boarded a flight together. His family had sent him to manage their European branch, and Audrey was starting her graduate program in the same city. Before he left, he sent me a single text: Wait for me for two years. We’ll get married the moment I get back. I never replied. A month later, sitting in the bathroom of my rented apartment, I looked down at the two solid pink lines on a pregnancy test. My heart in my throat, I dialed Ruben’s number. The call went through, but Audrey’s voice answered. “Vivian? Ruben is in an executive meeting right now. Can I take a message?” I sat in silence for a few agonizing seconds. “No,” I whispered. “It’s nothing.” I hung up, slid down to the cold bathroom tile, and wept until my chest ached. The next morning, I walked into a clinic alone. When I was discharged, I gathered every single thing Ruben had ever given me—the silver necklace, the bracelets, our matching shirts, and dozens of printed photographs—packed them into a cardboard box, and shipped it to his vacant Boston apartment. Then, I changed my phone number, packed a single suitcase, and left Boston behind. I came to this quiet, freezing northern town where nobody knew my name. And I stayed for five years. Until today, when my aunt dragged all those buried memories back to the surface. But to my surprise, my heart remained entirely still. Aunt Brenda watched my face closely, testing the waters. “Vivian, honey, are you still harboring resentment over what happened? You two were young and hot-headed; couples fight. It’s been five years. Isn’t it time to let it go?”

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1 I am a traditional alpha female. From the time I was a little girl, my mother always drummed one rule into my head: Love yourself first, because nobody else will. So, naturally, I took her advice to heart and got myself three boyfriends. For my intellect, I had a brilliant senior from my college. For my domestic peace, I had a sweet, devoted homemaker of a man who wanted nothing more than to marry into my life. And for my physical satisfaction, I had a wild, athletic puppy who knew exactly how to behave in the bedroom. For three years, because I managed my schedule with military precision, they had absolutely no idea the others existed. That was until I decided it was time to settle down with my sweet homemaker. I initiated a clean, ruthless break with the other two, only to walk straight into a family dinner and find my exes calling my fiancé “big brother.” The two of them looked at me, their smiles turning into sharp, venomous smirks. “Oh, look at that. Is this our future sister? And here I thought she was my girlfriend!” … It all started on a Tuesday evening when I got home from work. I walked into the kitchen to find Fred cooking, shirtless, wearing nothing but a kitchen apron that did very little to hide his broad, muscular chest. Taking in the sight, I couldn’t help but admire how absolutely divine he looked. He was like a portrait of a pure, domestic saint. “Did you work on your chest at the gym again?” Fred was six years older than me. Terrified that I would eventually discard him for being too old, he had been secretly working out for months. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with hopeful anticipation. “Do you like it, Gemma?” I walked over and ran my hand over his chest, utterly pleased by his dedication. “Fred, without you, who on earth would pamper me like this?” He wrapped his arms around me from behind, gently lifting my long hair over one shoulder so I could eat my dinner in peace. “You lost your mother when you were so young, Gemma. From now on, I’ll be your protector, your caretaker, your everything.” My heart swelled with affection. As a reward for his sweet, compliant behavior, I didn’t force him to say any of his usual embarrassing, dirty-talking phrases tonight. Afterward, as I lay curled against his chest, I asked him what he wanted. “My boss told me my name is on the list for a permanent tenure-track position.” “Whatever you want, your girl will buy it for you,” I murmured, tracing a circle on his chest. Fred caught my fingers, his touch incredibly gentle. “Actually, I want to take you to meet my family. Is that okay?” He lowered his long eyelashes, his thumb lightly stroking my palm. “I was raised in a very traditional household. My father always told me that a man must be devoted to one woman for his entire life.” “I’ve been with you for three years, Gemma. I think it’s only fair we start talking about marriage.” Looking at his cautious, anxious face, my heart softened. “Fred, do you really doubt my character? The position of my husband belongs to you, and only you.” A woman could have a thousand lovers, but she could only have one husband. That was my boundary as a traditional alpha female. Fred was a respected professor at a prestigious university. He was perfect. He could manage the household, cook magnificent meals, and eventually tutor our children. I only needed a supportive husband to keep my home front secure while I climbed the corporate ladder. In return, I was more than willing to keep him comfortable. “An alpha female needs to secure her home before she can conquer her career. With you managing the house, I have absolutely nothing to worry about!” Fred let out a soft, dramatic sigh. “Unfortunately, I only know how to cook eighteen different cuisines, including European, Japanese, and fusion.” “You have so many admirers, Gemma. They are younger than me, and they know how to say all the right things. I’m so terrified you’ll get bored of me.” I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely insecure or just flexing his domestic superiority. Regardless, as a traditional alpha female, I knew I had to give my man some reassurance. “I swear to you, nobody can ever touch your position as my husband.” I wasn’t lying. The husband spot was permanently reserved for him. It was just the lover spots that had suddenly been vacated. I laced my fingers through his, resting my head against his shoulder. “I recall you mentioning you have two younger brothers.” “I happen to have some free time this weekend. Take me to meet them.” Fred had raised his younger brothers after their parents moved overseas. He was basically a father figure to them. Moving forward, his brothers would be my brothers, and I would make sure our family was perfectly looked after. But first, I had to officially end things with the other two. 2 I returned to the high-rise apartment I shared with Tristan. Sitting on the kitchen island was a fresh glass of milk and a neat sticky note. Working late tonight. Wait up for me. I took a slow sip of the milk, crumpled the note, and tossed it into the trash can. At three in the morning, Tristan walked through the door. Even with his tie loosened and his dark hair slightly mussed, his sharp, aristocratic features looked strikingly handsome in the dim light. “Tristan, we need to break up.” Tristan froze, his dark, narrow eyes locking onto me like a predator spotting prey. I was rarely difficult or demanding. This was the very first time I had ever initiated a conflict. He ran a hand through his hair, his voice raspy with exhaustion. “Gemma, I don’t recall doing anything wrong.” “Or did you do something wrong?” I looked away, a slight pang of guilt hitting my chest. In reality, Tristan hadn’t done anything wrong. I was the one who had never done a single proper thing in our relationship. “The reality of marriage is that one partner always has to sacrifice their career to manage the home,” I said, keeping my voice cool and rational. “Both of us are ambitious, career-driven people. Neither of us would ever make that sacrifice.” “You are an incredible boyfriend, Tristan. But you are not husband material.” Tristan strode over, his hand clamping under my jaw to tilt my face up. He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my neck. “I don’t agree. We have a dozen ways to solve that issue. Breaking up is just the easiest way out for you.” He began to press his weight against me, his hands sliding under my shirt. “Have I been too busy lately? Have I not been keeping you satisfied?” “That’s my mistake. Let me make it up to you tonight.” Understanding his intentions, I reached up and stopped his hands. “Do you want me to help you find your next girlfriend?” Tristan’s hand went entirely still. “What did you say?” “I said…” Before I could finish the sentence, he had already taken charge. I was powerless against his physical strength, so I simply allowed myself to enjoy the experience. Two hours later, Tristan sat on the edge of the bed, his back covered in angry red scratches. He pulled a tube of soothing cream from the nightstand, pulled back the duvet, and began to gently apply it to my bruised skin. “Our family has very traditional values, Gemma. You are my first woman, and you will be my last.” “I expect the same from you.” I frowned, entirely disagreeing with his philosophy. “You know that humans aren’t naturally monogamous creatures, Tristan. Sleeping with the exact same person for the rest of your life gets boring for both of us.” Under the dim yellow lamp, his dark eyes turned incredibly cold as he stared at me. “So, you’re bored of me?” “Have you found someone else who excites you?” “Tell me who he is.” “I want to see who has such a massive death wish.” I shrank back slightly, only for him to pull me back down onto the mattress, pinning me beneath him. Staring into his intense, dark eyes, a shiver ran down my spine. “Nobody,” I lied. But Tristan believed me. He leaned down, placing a gentle, possessive kiss on my lips. “Gemma, if anyone else dares to look at you, I’ll ruin them.” “I love you so much it makes me feel sick.” I held my breath, staring at him. In that moment, I realized Tristan was an absolute psychopath. Thank God I was marrying Fred. He was gentle, sweet, knew how to cook eighteen different cuisines, and actually wanted to run a home. His brothers were bound to be normal, healthy individuals, unlike Tristan. The next morning, I packed my things, called the landlord to terminate the lease, and moved out. As I walked down the street, I spotted Logan standing under a large sycamore tree. Seeing me step out of the building, he jogged over, grabbing my hand with a desperate, pleading expression. “Gemma, did I do something to upset you? Why are you breaking up with me?” He buried his face in my neck, his tears soaking into my sweater. “I’ll be better, I swear. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t leave me.” I let out a quiet sigh, placing my hands on his shoulders to gently push him back. “No, Logan. I’ve just lost interest.” “You’re young. You’ll find someone much better suited for you.” I was lying, of course. He would never find another woman who could successfully manage three different boyfriends at the same time without breaking a sweat. Logan stood frozen, his hazel eyes clouded with tears. “I don’t believe you. Your mouth says you don’t care, but your body tells me you still want me.” I looked away, unable to meet his eyes. I hadn’t expected the young athlete to be so observant. Logan reached out, his fingers lightly catching mine. “Are you breaking up with me because of her?” I remained silent, trying to recall who “her” was. 3 Last week, I had gone to the sports academy to pick him up. I had walked into the training facility just in time to see a young girl in a white tennis skirt handing Logan a bottle of sports drink. The rest of the team was cheering and whistling, and Logan’s ears had turned bright red as he playfully nudged his teammate. Ultimately, he had accepted the drink, twisting the cap off to take a sip. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but I had casually tossed the energy drink I had bought for him into the nearby recycling bin. When I looked up, Logan was staring straight at me, his face pale with panic. He had dropped the bottle immediately and sprinted over to me. “I only took it because I didn’t want her to feel embarrassed in front of everyone,” he had rambled desperately, his fingers lightly tracing my palm. “Gemma, I’m your puppy. From now on, I’ll only drink water if it comes from your hand.” His touch had been incredibly warm and electric. I had to admit, out of the three of them, Logan was the most satisfying in the bedroom. Tristan was far too intense, always leaving marks on my skin, while Fred was too gentle and cautious to be truly exciting. Logan was like a wildfire, always energetic, always eager to please, and constantly bringing new ideas to the table. To be honest, I was going to miss him. But a young athlete was a lover, not husband material. I tucked my hands into my coat pockets. “That girl is younger, she has more time for you, and she actually suits your lifestyle.” “More importantly, she can give you a normal future.” Logan’s brow furrowed in anger. “We’ve been together for three years, Gemma. Whatever rough edges we had have been smoothed out. Tell me the truth. Are you hiding something from me?” A flash of panic hit me, and I quickly shifted my gaze toward the taxi waiting at the curb. “I need to get married next year, Logan. And I want to have a child the year after that.” “You’re still practically a kid yourself. How could I ever rely on you to run a household?” Logan’s shoulders slumped, his eyes welling with tears like an abandoned golden retriever. “I’ll grow up, I promise! I’ll mature! I won’t stay like this forever!” “I can be your husband, Gemma.” I offered him a sad, small smile. “By the time you’re ready, I’ll already be married with a child.” Logan looked as if he were about to cry. He grabbed my sleeve, his voice cracking. “Gemma, please. Just keep playing with me. I don’t care.” I reached up and patted his soft, messy hair. “Ending this is the most responsible thing I can do for you, Logan.” The cold winter wind swept through his hair as I stepped into the cab, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk. When I got back to Fred’s house, he was on the phone, giving his younger brothers a stern lecture. Fred was an incredibly protective older brother. Having just found out that both of his younger brothers had been ruthlessly dumped by “cruel, heartless women” and were currently drinking themselves into a stupor, he was furious. “I’ve told you both a thousand times to keep your eyes open when choosing a partner!” he shouted into the receiver. “If you had my judgment, if you had found a woman as sweet and devoted as your future sister, would you be crying into your beer right now?” “Just wait. I’m bringing her to the family dinner this weekend. I want both of you to see what a proper, loving woman looks like.” “Do you hear me?” “Your big brother only wants the best for you.” He hung up and immediately pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Are your brothers having relationship trouble?” I asked curiously. As Fred began to detail their tragic breakups, I reached out and patted his chest. “How could anyone be so cruel? Don’t worry, Fred. As their future sister, I will make sure they feel loved and supported.” Fred’s brow furrowed slightly, a rare hint of possessiveness in his eyes. “You don’t need to love them too much. Just focus on me.” At one o’clock on Saturday, we arrived at the five-star restaurant Fred had booked. Fred came from an academic family. His parents were both professors teaching overseas, leaving the three brothers to navigate life in the city together. Every time Fred spoke of them, his voice was filled with pride and affection. To be honest, I was slightly envious of their bond. If I had been raised by loving parents instead of being abandoned by mine, maybe my perspective on relationships wouldn’t be so twisted. Before pushing the door open, my chest tightened with a strange, nervous energy. “Fred, what if your brothers don’t like me?” I asked, looking at him. “What if they try to turn you against me? Will you run away with me?” Fred squeezed my hand tightly, his eyes dead serious. “Don’t worry, they’re going to adore you. And if they don’t, I will choose you over them every single time.” Hearing his absolute devotion, I let out a sigh of relief. “I hope so.” I pushed the door open. Sitting across from the elaborate spread on the round table were Tristan and Logan. My brain went entirely blank. As my eyes locked with Tristan’s dark, frozen gaze, my entire body began to tremble with sheer terror. Oh my god. They both had the last name Shaw. How did I never make the connection? Fred, entirely oblivious to the silent explosion in the room, kept his arm wrapped around my waist as he guided me toward the table. “Tristan, Logan, this is the woman I’ve been telling you about,” he said, beaming with pride. “Her name is Gemma.” Tristan tilted his head, his lips curling into a sharp, terrifying smirk. “Gemma? What a spectacular coincidence. My ex-girlfriend was named Gemma too.” “Fred, are you sure we aren’t sharing the same taste in women?”

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1 When I was six, I found a pawnshop hidden behind my wardrobe. The shopkeeper promised to grant any wish if I gave him something in return. I traded my perfect report card for a hug from Mom. My favorite new dress bought me a bedtime story read by Dad. Soon, good grades and dresses were not enough. The shopkeeper began demanding parts of my body instead. My left eye bought a family dinner. A pint of blood bought an afternoon of Mom picking me up from school. A kidney bought one rare night of Dad tucking me in with a whispered, “Goodnight, my sweet girl.” On my twelfth birthday, the pawnshop closed forever. Disappointed, I stepped out and overheard my parents in the hallway. “Yumi’s body accepted the transplant,” Mom sighed. “We can finally breathe easy.” “Six years of acting just to get her kidney was not easy,” Dad admitted. “Do not mention it again. The shop is shut down. We have the cornea and kidney we needed.” “Wren is growing up. If we continue, she will figure it out.” My hand drifted to the jagged scar on my side. I froze. The pawnshop had never been real. It was a cruel game to harvest my body for my sister. I slipped back inside, closed the door, and whispered one final wish into the dark wardrobe. Take my soul. In exchange, give me my parents’ genuine, absolute love. The moment the words left my lips, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [System activated successfully. The transaction is complete.] … “Wren, why are you just standing there? Come and sit down.” Mom called from the dining room. I snapped out of my daze, walked over, and pulled out a chair. In the center of the table sat a massive strawberry cream cake. Bright, glossy strawberries covered the top, filling the room with a rich, sugary scent. A chocolate plaque read in elegant script: “Happy Rebirth, Yumi!” Today was my twelfth birthday, but my name was nowhere on that cake. I stared at it for a moment, then quietly took my seat. Yumi looked up, her eyes curling into happy crescents. “Wren! Mom said today is a super special day. Do you know what it is?” I knew. It was the day your body finally accepted my kidney, marking your recovery. I kept my voice flat. “No. What day is it?” Yumi tilted her head. “Mom calls it my rebirth day.” “That’s right,” Mom said, walking over to press a tender kiss onto Yumi’s cheek. “It’s my sweet girl’s rebirth day. My little princess is finally healed.” I said nothing, quietly picking up my bowl of white rice. Dad brought out the last dish, a perfectly steamed sea bass, and sat down next to Yumi with a wide grin. “Come on, everyone! Our little princess is back. Eat as much as you want today!” Yumi sat in her wheelchair. Though she was still pale, her eyes shone with life. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you, Mommy.” Mom beamed with affection. She pulled on a plastic glove and began peeling shrimp. She did it meticulously, deveining each one before placing them gently into Yumi’s bowl. “You need all the protein you can get, sweetheart. It’ll help your incisions heal faster.” I stared at my empty plate, picked up my fork, and reached for the sweet glazed ribs. They were my favorite. This was the dish I had begged for when I traded my left eye for a family dinner at eight years old. Mom’s fork sharply blocked mine. “Yumi just recovered, and her stomach is still weak,” Mom said, her brow furrowing with a cold, non-negotiable authority. “These ribs are soft and easy to digest. Let her have them.” My hand froze in midair. After a long, suffocating silence, I pulled my hand back and took a bite of plain rice. Yumi, trying to be sweet, nudged one of her peeled shrimp onto my plate. “You can have this one, Wren.” Mom frowned. Without a word, her fork swiftly swept the shrimp back into Yumi’s bowl. “Be good, Yumi. You need to finish your own food.” Yumi pouted but didn’t argue. I picked up a piece of boiled cabbage. It tasted like cardboard. My left eye socket, fitted with a cold glass prosthetic, felt incredibly dry. I blinked hard, but no tears came. Dad tried to smooth things over, tossing a piece of broccoli onto my plate. “Wren is a big girl. You have to look out for your little sister. Tell you what, next weekend when I’m free, I’ll take you out for burgers, just the two of us. How does that sound?” I chewed the tasteless green and nodded mechanically. I knew he would never be free. After dinner, the living room felt warm and cozy. Mom cradled Yumi on the plush sofa, opening a beautifully bound book of fairy tales. “Mom, read me The Little Mermaid,” Yumi snuggled closer. “Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” Mom’s voice was dripping with a gentle warmth I had never felt. I sat on a small wooden stool in the far corner, watching them in silence. Suddenly, the lifeless voice chimed in my head. [Soul extraction progress updated.] [Remaining soul: 85%.] [Emotional threshold lowered. Pain perception reduced.] As the system spoke, the dull ache in my side and the dryness in my fake eye seemed to fade. Even the hollow ache in my chest grew pleasantly numb. Mom turned a page, her voice soft and melodic. “The Little Mermaid watched the prince marry another, and her heart broke. When the sun rose, she dissolved into sea foam.” Yumi looked up, big tears welling in her eyes. “Mom, she’s so sad. Why did she have to die? She traded her voice to the witch, but she got nothing in return.” Mom set the book aside, running her fingers through Yumi’s soft hair. “That’s why you must remember, Yumi. Never trade what is most precious to you for something as fleeting and worthless as someone else’s love.” The next morning, I left for school without breakfast. It wasn’t that I wasn’t hungry, I just barely had the energy to drag myself out of bed. My head throbbed, and my limbs felt like they were filled with lead. First period was gym class, starting with a half-mile run. I barely finished the first lap before my vision began to vignette. The world spun violently, and the last thing I heard was the panicked voice of my desk partner, Grace. “Wren! Wren, what’s wrong?” Then, the darkness swallowed me whole. When I woke up, the harsh, clinical smell of antiseptic burned my nose. I was lying in a hospital bed, an IV needle taped to the back of my left hand. Grace was hovering by the bed, on the verge of tears. Beside her stood a doctor in a white lab coat, his nametag reading Dr. Bennett. “Thank god you’re awake, you terrified me!” Grace cried, her eyes red-rimmed. Dr. Bennett studied my chart, his brow deeply furrowed. “Wren, right?” he asked gently, pulling up a chair. I gave a weak nod. “Are you aware of your medical history?” His voice was incredibly grave. “You have severe anemia and malnutrition. But that’s not the worst of it.” He pointed to the ultrasound results. “Your right kidney is functioning, but your left kidney is completely gone. And…” He stared at me, his gaze lingering on my face. “When the nurse performed the pupillary light test, she noticed your left eye is an implant.” Grace gasped beside me. “Wren, you’re missing a kidney? And your eye?” I stayed quiet, pulling the thin hospital blanket tighter around myself. Dr. Bennett lowered his voice, his tone a mix of confusion and quiet fury. “You’re only twelve years old. How did you lose your left eye?” I looked at him, and memories of Christmas Eve when I was eight flooded back. Yumi had been rushed to the emergency room, and my parents didn’t come home for three whole days. Terrified and alone, I went behind my wardrobe and traded my left eye to the masked shopkeeper. All I wanted was for them to come home and have Christmas dinner with me. “I traded it for a family dinner,” I replied calmly. Dr. Bennett froze, entirely lost. “What do you mean by that? And your kidney? Which hospital performed the extraction? Why isn’t there any record of your surgery in the state database?” I thought about the searing pain in my lower back on my twelfth birthday. “Behind my wardrobe.” Dr. Bennett’s expression completely shifted, a look of horror washing over his face. He bolted upright, opening his mouth to press further. The door was slammed open. Mom rushed in, completely out of breath, still holding a fancy boba tea she had bought for Yumi. “Wren! What on earth is wrong with you? Why did you pass out at school?” The moment she entered, her eyes darted to me with immediate irritation and blame. Dr. Bennett turned around, his expression dark. “Are you her mother? Do you have any idea what kind of state your daughter’s body is in?” The annoyance on Mom’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a smooth, perfectly practiced smile. “Hello, Doctor. Yes, I’m Wren’s mother. I’m well aware,” she said smoothly, reciting lines she had clearly rehearsed a thousand times. “The poor thing was born with a single kidney. As for her left eye, she had a terrible fall a few years ago. A branch pierced her eye, and we had no choice but to get her a prosthetic.” Dr. Bennett narrowed his eyes, catching the slip-up immediately. “Born with one kidney? If that were true, it would be documented in her pediatric records and the birth registry. Why did my search yield absolutely nothing?” Mom’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered instantly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “Oh, that was over a decade ago. The paperwork probably got lost in some old clinic database. I’ll look for the old records when we get home and send them over to you.” Dr. Bennett clearly didn’t buy it, but before he could speak, Mom stepped past him and grabbed my wrist. Her grip was vice-like, bruising my skin and pressing hard against the bone. She leaned down close to my ear, her voice dropping into a venomous whisper. “Keep your mouth shut. We’ll talk when we get home.” She pulled back, instantly donning her sweet, doting mother persona again. “Thank you, Dr. Bennett. And thank you, Grace, for looking after our Wren. She’s always causing such a fuss.” Once the IV finished, Mom went to the reception desk to settle the bill. Taking advantage of her brief absence, Dr. Bennett stepped back to my bedside. He slipped a folded piece of paper beneath my pillow. “My personal number is on there,” he murmured, his words rushed and low. “If you ever need help, or if you feel like you are in danger, call me immediately.” I stared at him blankly. Before I could even nod, Mom walked back into the room. [System Update: Remaining soul at 72%.] The moment we stepped through the front door, we heard Dad speaking in low, hushed tones out on the balcony. He was trying to keep his voice down, but the words carried clearly to my ears. “What do you mean Yumi’s bone marrow isn’t producing blood cells? A bone marrow transplant? And she’ll be fully cured after that? Yes, of course. I’ll arrange for our oldest to be brought in as soon as possible.” He hung up and spun around, his eyes locking directly onto my hollow, lifeless right eye. As evening fell, the setting sun painted the living room in a deep, bloody crimson. Mom sat at the dining table, flipping through a worn, brown leather notebook. That notebook was usually locked away in the bottom drawer of the master bedroom. Dad called it “Yumi’s Lifeline.” The second she saw me exit my room, she slammed it shut. For once, she actually got up, walking into the kitchen and returning with a steaming bowl of soup. “Wren, come here and drink this while it’s hot,” she said with a rare, sweet smile. “I spent the whole afternoon brewing this herbal bone broth. It’s packed with nutrients to build up your blood.” I stared at the oily broth. A sudden wave of nausea hit my stomach. “Mom, I don’t want it.” Her smile vanished instantly. “What do you mean you don’t want it? You literally passed out at school today. The doctor said you’re severely anemic! Drink it. Every single drop! If you don’t build up your strength…” She bit her tongue, realizing she had almost said too much. “If you’re weak, how are you supposed to help look after your sister?” I understood completely. The soup wasn’t meant to heal me. It was meant to prime the marrow donor for Yumi. I walked over, picked up the bowl, and forced the burning liquid down my throat. It scalded my throat and pooled in my stomach, hot enough to burn. “It’s gone,” I said, setting the empty bowl down and retreating to my room. Behind me, Mom let out a satisfied hum. “That’s a good girl.” By ten that night, my parents went into Yumi’s room to tuck her in. I slipped out of my room and crept into the master bedroom. In her rush, Mom had left the bottom drawer unlocked. The brown leather notebook lay inside, waiting. I opened the first page, and the blood drained from my face. It was a detailed record of Yumi’s failing health, juxtaposed with my market value. Age 8: Yumi’s corneal ulcer. Plan: Use the pawnshop to secure Wren’s left cornea. Age 10: Yumi’s surgical hemorrhaging. Plan: Prompt Wren to make a wish; extract 500cc of blood. Age 11: Yumi’s end-stage kidney failure. Plan: Use a bedtime kiss on her birthday to extract Wren’s left kidney. Every entry was written in Mom’s elegant, sloping handwriting. At the very bottom, there was a fresh entry, the ink barely dry. Age 12: Yumi’s bone marrow failure. Plan: Bone marrow transplant. A thick red circle surrounded the words: The Final Step. [System Update: Remaining soul at 58%. Emotional detachment in progress.] I closed the journal and placed it exactly where I found it. I didn’t cry. The crushing pain in my chest was gone, replaced by a dull, hollow silence. The system was right. I was feeling less and less. Back in my bedroom, I pulled open the wardrobe doors. Sure enough, tucked into the dusty corner was a single wrapped caramel chew. It was the signal that the pawnshop was open. I picked it up and unwrapped it. I knew it was laced with sedatives and hallucinogens, designed to blur my reality and keep me compliant. That was how they kept their six-year lie alive. I popped the candy into my mouth without hesitation, chewing and swallowing it. Ten minutes later, the drugs kicked in. My vision blurred, and the wooden backing of the closet seemed to dissolve into a dark, swirling gateway. The back of the wardrobe opened, and a figure draped in a heavy black cloak stepped forward. I knew it was Dad. “Little girl, have you come to make another trade?” The shopkeeper’s voice was deep and metallic, disguised by a cheap voice changer. I slumped to the floor, tilting my head up to look at him. “I want to make a wish, sir. I want my sister to be fully healed. I want her to never be sick again.” The masked figure stiffened. He hadn’t expected me to ask for Yumi’s health after everything they had already taken. But he recovered quickly, sticking to his script. “That is a massive request. You have already given your eye and your kidney. What do you have left to offer?” He paused, his voice turning dark and theatrical. “To buy your sister’s life, you must trade your marrow. Extracting bone marrow is excruciating. Are you willing?” The heavy fog in my mind deepened, making my eyelids droop. [System Update: Confirming consent. Soul at 58%.] “I’m willing,” I whispered. I closed my eyes, letting out one final breath before the darkness claimed me. “I’m willing… Dad.” That single word, Dad, sent a visible shockwave through the cloaked figure. I couldn’t see his face under the mask, but I felt him stumble back a half step in pure panic. He was terrified. Terrified that his six-year charade had been shattered. But I didn’t say another word. The drugs pulled me under, burying me in pitch black. When I woke up, the afternoon sun was high. I was back in my bed, a glass of lukewarm water resting on the nightstand. Over the next few days, a bizarre, fragile peace settled over our home. Dad stopped glaring at me. He even bought me a beautiful new dress. Mom became incredibly attentive, cooking different meals for me every night. Even Yumi was on her best behavior, offering to share her favorite toys. They were walking on eggshells, constantly watching my face to see if I knew the truth. As long as I didn’t bring up that whispered “Dad,” they could convince themselves it was just the drug-induced rambling of a delirious child. For the sake of that final transplant, they maintained this fragile, suffocating illusion of love. On the seventh morning, Mom walked into my room carrying a fresh coat. “Put this on, Wren. I’m taking you to the clinic to get your anemia checked.” She smiled warmly, but her eyes refused to meet mine. I slipped the coat on and silently followed her out to Dad’s car. We didn’t drive toward the state hospital downtown. Instead, the car drifted into the industrial district on the edge of the city. The streets here were desolate, lined with rusty factories and overgrown weeds. We pulled up outside a dingy, grey three-story building. A rusted sign hung crookedly from the roof: Apex Clinic. A few stray cats scavenged around a dumpster near the entrance. Inside, the overpowering stench of cheap, harsh bleach hit my throat. At the end of the narrow corridor stood a balding, middle-aged man in a wrinkled white coat. Dr. Gable. I recognized him. He was the one who had taken my kidney. “Thomas, you’re here,” Dr. Gable said, crushing a lit cigarette in an ashtray. His eyes rolled over to me, assessing me like livestock. “She’s grown. Looks like you’ve fed her well.” Mom clutched her handbag tightly. “Are you sure about this, Doctor? Yumi is already prepped and waiting at the general hospital.” Dr. Gable let out a dry, dismissive laugh. “Relax. It’s just a marrow extraction. It’s not going to kill her. Get her inside and prepped. We need to deliver the sample before the window closes.” Two nurses flanked me, taking firm hold of my arms. I didn’t resist. I let them lead me into a cold, makeshift operating room. There were no clean, modern beds like Dr. Bennett’s hospital. Only rusted metal stands, flickering monitors, and a cold steel table. “Lay flat and don’t move, sweetheart. A quick shot and you’ll go to sleep,” Dr. Gable said, approaching with a massive syringe. The thick needle pierced my vein. In my mind, the system’s final countdown began. [Soul extraction accelerating.] [Remaining soul: 5%…] The icy sedative rushed through my bloodstream, pulling my limbs into a heavy paralysis. [3%…] The blinding surgical light above fractured into a hazy, white fog. [1%…] I remembered Mom snatching the sweet glazed ribs from my plate. I remembered the night Dad stole my kidney. With the absolute last ounce of my strength, I whispered to the system: Execute trade. [Ding… 0%.] [Soul successfully extracted. Transaction complete. Forced emotional infusion initiated.] On the monitor, the rhythmic pulsing line suddenly flattened into a solid, unyielding green streak. A high, piercing screech shattered the quiet of the operating room. Dr. Gable, holding the marrow extraction needle, froze. His hand shook, and the heavy metal needle clattered onto the linoleum floor. “What the hell?” he swore loudly, frantic. He slammed his palm against the side of the monitor. “No pulse! Her blood pressure is flatlining! Get the crash cart! Now!” Outside, Dad was on his phone, confirming the delivery window with the general hospital. At the sound of the sudden panic inside, his coffee mug slipped from his grip, shattering against the concrete floor. Mom bolted upright, all color leaving her face. The heavy doors burst open, and a nurse ran out, her gloved hands stained with blood. “Dr. Gable says she’s gone! We have no signs of life!” Thomas and his wife stood completely frozen, turned to stone.

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1 At a dinner party with friends, someone raised their glass, smiling at me. “Violet, you and your husband are so deeply in love. Isn’t it about time to put a baby on the agenda?” I smiled softly, leaning naturally against Dante’s shoulder. “We’re just letting nature take its course. No rush.” Before the words even left my mouth, my best friend, Jessica, let out a sharp, amused laugh. “No rush? Well, I suppose that makes sense. After all, you did rush things once before, didn’t you?” She propped her chin in her hand and looked at Dante, her eyes shining with a strange, pitying light. “Don’t mind me, Dante. My mouth runs faster than my brain. I was just thinking about last year, when Violet secretly sneaked off to the hospital. I was the one who accompanied her through the whole thing.” A few people around the table exchanged quick, uneasy glances. The lively chatter died instantly. Jessica acted as if she hadn’t noticed the sudden tension, lazily swirling the ice cubes in her glass. “When it comes to babies, well, what’s meant to be will be. But sometimes, when the timing is wrong, you just have to… take care of it first.” She offered Dante a gentle, reassuring smile. “Don’t overthink it, Dante. Violet chose you, and that’s all that matters. As for what really happened last year, there’s no point in digging into the past, right?” … “Jessica, you’ve had too much to drink,” I cut in, keeping my smile tight. Jessica didn’t even look at me. Her eyes remained locked on Dante’s face, her tone airy. “I’m not drunk at all. I’m just hurting for Violet.” She finally turned her head and winked at me, as if we shared some intimate, secret code. “Right, Vi?” I didn’t answer. The others at the table scrambled to break the silence, someone raising a glass to change the subject, another pulling her arm to tell her to slow down. Dante remained silent the entire time. “Let’s go, Violet. It’s getting late.” Throughout the goodbyes, his social mask remained flawless. He nodded and bid everyone farewell, not skipping a single beat of politeness. But when he grabbed my hand, his grip was much tighter than usual, his knuckles turning white. We stepped out of the restaurant. In the dim alleyway outside, he let go of my hand. He opened his own car door without reaching for the passenger side. I walked around, climbed inside, and pulled the door shut. When we reached our apartment’s underground garage, he killed the engine but made no move to get out. “Last year,” he said. My breath caught in my throat. “When did you go to the hospital?” It wasn’t a question. It was a cold, flat demand. “Dante, listen to me…” “I asked you when.” The silence weighed heavily in the cramped car. “September last year,” I whispered. His knuckles cracked against the steering wheel. “How far along?” I opened my mouth, but my throat felt as if it were stuffed with dry cotton. “Eight weeks.” He turned his head to look at me, his gaze freezing. “Did you abort it?” “No.” My voice was trembling, the panic obvious even to me. “It was a miscarriage, Dante. I didn’t abort it. I couldn’t save it…” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” The question was softer than all his previous demands, but it cut deeper. I couldn’t answer. Because last year in September, he had been working until three in the morning every single night. The company’s funding round was on the verge of collapsing, and he was standing on the edge of a cliff. He would crash the second he got home, if he even came home at all. The night I started bleeding, I called him three times. His voice had been utterly exhausted, snapping quickly before I could speak: “Violet, everything is falling apart on my end. Don’t add to my mess right now. Whatever it is, we’ll talk tomorrow.” The next day, Jessica sat with me in the ER hallway all night. And he didn’t even know there was a next day. “I just…” “You just felt it wasn’t convenient to tell your own husband,” he finished for me, his voice dripping with a bitter sarcasm I had never heard from him before. “But it was convenient enough to tell Jessica.” “She only found out because she ran into me at the clinic, Dante.” “So she knew everything, and I am the last to know.” He let out a soft laugh. That laugh was far more terrifying than his silence. “What else am I the last to know?” “What is that supposed to mean?” “Nothing.” He pushed his door open, his leather shoes hitting the concrete floor. “Go on up. I need some air.” He leaned against the concrete pillar by our parking space, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. I didn’t even know he bought them. The lighter clicked twice before catching. He didn’t smoke. In our three years of marriage, he had never touched a cigarette. “Violet, you make me feel like a complete stranger in my own marriage.” I sat frozen in the passenger seat. Jessica’s final words at the dinner table kept echoing in my ears. There’s no point in digging into the past, right? It wasn’t a careless remark. I knew her too well. Jessica never said anything without a calculated purpose. “Vi, I am so, so sorry about last night.” Early the next morning, Jessica’s voice message arrived, her tone raspy as if she had been crying. “I really drank too much. You know how my mouth gets when I have wine. Are you and Dante okay? Please don’t let my stupid words cause a fight.” I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Outside, the morning light filtered into the living room, illuminating the blanket neatly folded on the sofa. Dante had slept in the living room. I typed out a quick reply: It’s fine, don’t worry about it. The second it sent, she replied: Really? Oh, thank goodness. It was followed by a hugging emoji. I placed my phone face down on the table. Dante stepped out of the bathroom, his hair damp. He walked past me without making eye contact. “Breakfast is on the stove, oatmeal and eggs.” “I’m not hungry.” He grabbed his car keys and walked toward the door, pausing. “Stay home today. I have some things to discuss with you tonight.” “About what?” The door clicked shut. My phone buzzed six times throughout the afternoon. Four check-ins from Jessica, one delivery notification, and one restricted number that hung up the moment I answered. At three in the afternoon, Jessica sent a long voice note. “Vi, I’ve been feeling sick with guilt all day. I shouldn’t have brought up the past in front of everyone. But my heart just breaks for you. You have no idea how terrified I was when I found you at the hospital. You looked like death itself, lying there so pale. I only wanted the others, and especially Dante, to understand how much pain you’ve carried, so he wouldn’t take you for granted.” She sighed, her tone dripping with carefully crafted vulnerability. “If you’re mad at me, I understand. But please don’t freeze Dante out. It’s not worth it.” I didn’t reply. At seven in the evening, Dante walked through the front door. He kicked off his shoes, sat on the sofa, and placed his phone on the coffee table. The screen was lit, displaying an open chat interface. “See for yourself.” I picked it up. The interface belonged to CarePortal, a medical consulting app. The sender’s username was “TruthFinder.” The first message was sent three months ago: Mr. Song, I’ve hesitated for a long time, but I believe you deserve to know. Your wife, Violet, underwent a procedure at Westside Women’s Hospital in September last year. I shouldn’t disclose the exact nature of the surgery, but I suggest you look into her medical files yourself. Some secrets are kept even from the person sharing your bed. I scrolled up. The second message was from two months ago: I don’t know if you saw my last message. Just to add: she was only accompanied by a female friend. You were not the one who signed the consent forms. The third was from a month ago: As an outsider, it’s not my place to judge. But don’t you find it strange? She still hasn’t mentioned a word of this to you. Does a wife hide a miscarriage from her husband unless there is some doubt about whose child it was? The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering against the edge of the coffee table. “Dante, who is this?” “I don’t know.” “And you just believed them? You believed some random anonymous account?” “When the first message came three months ago, I ignored it. When the second came, I still didn’t believe it.” He paused, his gaze burning into mine. “Until last night, when Jessica confirmed every single detail at that dinner table.” A loud buzzing filled my head. “So you actually think I’ve been sleeping around?” He didn’t answer. The heavy silence was answer enough. “Dante, look at me.” He raised his eyes. “That baby was yours. A week after that terrible fight we had last year, I found out I was pregnant. Before I could even process the joy, I started bleeding three days later. By the time I made it to the clinic, the doctor said it was already gone.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” “Because you told me not to! Have you completely forgotten what you said?” He knit his brows. “You snapped at me on the phone, telling me not to add to your mess and that we’d talk the next day. By the time you actually came home, I had already left the clinic. I didn’t know how to bring it up. Then, every day that followed felt like the wrong time. Eventually, I decided it was a burden I should carry alone.” He was silent for a long moment. “Violet, do you know what that sounds like?” I stared at him. “It sounds like a beautifully rehearsed script.” He took his phone back, locking the screen. “I’m going to look into this.” “Then do it. Dig until you find the truth.” “I will.” He stood up, pulled a spare blanket from the closet, and walked toward the living room. Halfway there, he stopped, his back still turned to me. “Get some sleep. I’ll be on the couch again.” “Excuse me, I need to pull my medical files from September last year. What’s the protocol?” First thing the next morning, I drove to Westside Women’s Hospital. The clerk behind the desk glanced up. “ID and insurance card. If you’re the patient, I can print them out immediately.” I handed over my cards. She typed into her system for a minute, then frowned. “Are you sure it was September?” “Yes. Admitted on September twelfth, discharged on the thirteenth.” She tapped her keys a few more times. “Violet Zhuang, right? The system shows these files were already requested and printed last month.” “What? By whom?” “I can only see that they were pulled. To see who requested them, you’ll have to submit a formal inquiry form.” A cold shiver ran down my spine as I stood at the window. Last month. That was right around the time Dante received the third anonymous message. I obtained the copies. There it was in black and white: Admitting Diagnosis: Threatened Miscarriage. Procedure: Dilation and Curettage. Discharge Diagnosis: Incomplete Miscarriage. It wasn’t an elective abortion. Every page clearly stated it was a spontaneous miscarriage. I snapped photos of the documents and sent them to Dante. Twenty minutes later, his reply came: Jessica told me you might try to falsify the records. My fingers trembled over the keyboard. I typed a reply, deleted it, typed another, and deleted that too. In the end, I sent nothing. Around noon, Jessica called. “Vi, I heard you went to the clinic today?” I squeezed my phone, keeping my voice as flat as possible. “How do you know that?” “Dante told me, of course. He was worried about you and asked if I knew what was going on.” “Dante contacted you?” “Yeah, he called this morning.” Her tone was incredibly casual. “Don’t be mad at him. He just doesn’t know how to talk to you right now, so he reached out to me.” “What did you tell him?” “What could I say? I’m not a doctor. I just told him the truth, that I was there with you last year, that you were in a really bad state, and that I didn’t know the exact medical details.” My grip tightened on the phone. “Jessica, you know exactly what you were doing at that dinner party.” The line went quiet for a couple of seconds. “Vi, you don’t seriously think I did that on purpose, do you?” Her voice softened into a hurt, delicate whisper. “I’m your best friend. If I didn’t care about you, why would I even bother?” “You said ‘what’s meant to be will be’ and ‘when the timing is wrong, you just have to take care of it.’ How do you think anyone would interpret that?” “Oh my god, Violet, I was trying to defend you! I wanted everyone to know how much you’ve struggled. Think about it, did I actually say you did anything wrong?” I opened my mouth, but no words came. She had trapped me perfectly. She hadn’t actually used words like “abortion” or “affair.” “Jessica, are you the one sending those anonymous messages?” “What anonymous messages?” She sounded genuinely baffled. “Vi, what are you talking about? What messages?” I had no proof. Absolutely none. “Never mind. It’s nothing.” “You’re worrying me. Are you under too much stress? Why don’t you come over to my place? We can talk. Don’t sit there spiraling on your own.” After hanging up, I sat on the sofa for a long time, numb. Later that evening, Dante’s mother, Eleanor, called. “Violet, Dante told me about what happened last year.” “Mom, about that…” “Let me finish first. September last year, an eight-week miscarriage. Is that correct?” “Yes.” “You know that at eight weeks, a miscarriage is usually due to chromosomal issues or progesterone deficiency. It’s a medical issue, nothing to be ashamed of. But choosing to hide it from my son, that is where the problem lies.” “Mom, back then I…” “I’m not trying to blame you. But Jessica shared some details with me, and I need to verify them.” My heart sank. “What did Jessica tell you?” “She said you hesitated for a long time before the procedure, debating whether to tell Dante.” “Yes, but that was only because…” “She also said the reason you ultimately chose silence was because you weren’t entirely sure of the child’s situation yourself.” A bomb went off in my brain. “Mom, she’s lying! That child was one hundred percent Dante’s! I have never…” “Violet, calm down.” Her voice remained perfectly measured, carrying the cold precision of a surgeon holding a scalpel. “I am not making any assumptions. But as a doctor, let me give you a piece of advice: if you are telling the truth, you had better find a way to prove it. Because right now, things look incredibly bad for you.” “We are having a family dinner this weekend. You and Dante will both attend, and we will clear this up in person.” The line went dead. My palms were slick with sweat. Dante’s text arrived right after: We’re going to my parents’ place for dinner this weekend. Be ready. I typed out a response: Dante, have you ever realized that you believe every single word that comes out of Jessica’s mouth, but you haven’t believed a single thing I’ve said? Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Over an hour passed before his three-word reply came: Just get ready. “You’re here? Come in.” Eleanor opened the door. The table was already set with dinner—a quiet family meal, no different from our usual weekend visits. Dante’s father, Richard, sat at the head of the table. Dante walked in ahead of me, kicked off his shoes, greeted his father, and sat straight down. He didn’t take my hand. He didn’t hand me a pair of indoor slippers. None of the small, attentive gestures he used to do were there today. “Sit down, Violet,” Eleanor said. “Mom,” I murmured, sitting directly across from Dante. Once the meal began, nobody mentioned the elephant in the room. I knew the more normal they acted, the worse it actually was. Sure enough, halfway through dinner, Eleanor set down her utensils. “Violet, let’s address the matter we discussed on the phone.” Richard glanced at his wife, quietly set down his bowl, and leaned back in his chair. “Please, Mom.” “Violet, Dante brought home the medical records you sent. I’ve looked them over. The admission and discharge diagnoses both state a miscarriage.” A faint warmth bloomed in my chest. “However,” Eleanor continued, “believing the file is only the first step. The deeper issue is why you chose to hide this from Dante.” “At the time, I…” “I know you have your reasons. But have you considered that your silence is exactly what allowed room for these rumors to fester? You are an adult, Violet. A marriage cannot survive when one partner makes these major decisions in total isolation.” Richard spoke up, his voice deep. “Eleanor, don’t put it all on her. Dante shares the blame here.” “I know my own faults,” Dante muttered, his eyes on his plate. “Do you?” Richard glared at him. “Your wife was carrying your child, lost it, and you as her husband didn’t have a single clue. You think that’s normal?” “That’s why I’m looking into it now.” “You call this looking into it?” Richard slammed his fork onto the table. “It’s been nearly two weeks and you’re sleeping on the couch. Your wife hands you her medical files to explain, and you won’t even look her in the eye. You call that normal?” The dining room fell into a tense silence. Dante kept his head down, refusing to argue. Eleanor sighed. “That’s enough, Richard. Let Violet speak.” She turned her steady gaze back to me. “Violet, I need to verify something. Jessica mentioned a few details to me that contradict your story.” “What details?” “She said that when you were in the emergency room, you told the nurse: ‘Can we skip this shot? I don’t want him to know.’” “I never said that.” “She claimed you were incredibly resistant to the treatment plan.” “I did speak to the nurse, but my exact words were: ‘I’m allergic to penicillin. Can we use something else?’” “The version she gave me was that you begged: ‘Can we not do the injection? I don’t want him to find out.’” My hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. Jessica had been there the entire time. I remembered my exact words with absolute clarity. She had altered just a few words, completely twisting the meaning. “Mom, she is distorting the truth.” “I have no way of knowing who is telling the truth,” Eleanor said, taking a sip of tea. “But I must tell you, the evidence is stacked against you. Those anonymous messages contained highly specific details about your night in the ER, details only someone who was physically present would know.” “Jessica was the only other person there,” I said, my voice rising sharper than I intended. “So you are accusing your best friend of trying to sabotage you?” Eleanor looked at me calmly. “Mom, I…” “I’m not putting you on trial, Violet. But your claims must hold weight. If Jessica is truly the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, you need more than mere suspicion. Where is your proof?” I sat there, my lips dry. I had nothing. I had no proof she sent the messages, no proof she twisted my words, and no proof of any malicious intent on her part. Every word she spoke sounded like concern. Every action she took looked like devotion. Meanwhile, every explanation I offered sounded like a pathetic attempt to shift blame. At the end of the meal, Dante went to the kitchen to wash the dishes, leaving only Eleanor and me at the table. She suddenly leaned in, lowering her voice. “Violet, there is one thing I haven’t mentioned to Dante.” I looked at her. “Jessica came to our house last month. In person, not over the phone.” “What did she say?” “She sat right where you are sitting for two hours, talking about your lives, all the way back to college.” “She said she felt a lingering guilt. She said if she hadn’t introduced you to Dante back then, you wouldn’t have had to suffer through any of this.” Eleanor glanced toward the kitchen to ensure Dante was out of earshot before continuing. “She sounded incredibly sincere. I almost believed her entirely. But one detail made me uneasy.” “What was it?” “Throughout the entire conversation, her phone was propped upright behind her teacup. She thought I didn’t notice.” “The camera was pointed directly at me.” A cold chill ran down my spine. “She was recording you?” “I can’t say for certain if she was actively recording, but the angle of the phone made it obvious she wasn’t just checking her messages.” Eleanor stood up, gathering the last few plates. She walked to the kitchen doorway, pausing before she entered. Without turning around, she said, “If I were in your position, and my best friend was secretly filming my mother-in-law, I would ask myself: who is that recording meant for?”

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I used to think I was adopted by the absolute best parents in the world. They fed me the finest food, gave me the biggest bedroom, and dressed me in custom-tailored clothes. That illusion lasted until I was twelve. We took a family vacation overseas. The moment the plane touched down, I was dragged into a sterile operating room. While I was still breathing, they carved my heart out of my chest. It turned out I was never a daughter. I was just a biological spare part, a vessel kept alive solely to extend the life of their sick biological child. The lead surgeon couldn’t bear to watch me die on that table. He went rogue, installing a highly experimental artificial heart in my empty chest cavity. I survived. And I spent the next twenty years clawing my way up to become the world’s most elite cardiothoracic surgeon. Now, I was back in the States for a medical symposium. Right in the middle of my lecture, a man stormed through the double doors, desperate and screaming. “Dr. Valerie, please! You have to save my little girl. She’s in the OR at City General right now. You are the only one in the world who can pull off this surgery!” I took the medical file from his trembling hands. The second my eyes locked onto the patient’s family name, I handed it right back. “I’m not doing this surgery.” The man lost his mind. He pointed a shaking finger an inch from my nose, spitting with rage. “You are a doctor! How can you just watch a child die? Do you even have a heart?” A soft laugh escaped my lips. I reached up, letting my fingers rest over the faint, mechanical whir beneath my left breast. “A heart? I think that’s a question for your family, Tristan.” 1 Tristan froze. A few seconds later, whispers began ripping through the auditorium. “Wait, does Dr. Valerie really have an artificial heart?” “No wonder she’s practically a god in cardiovascular research.” I picked up my leather briefcase and let the security detail escort me toward the backstage exit. Tristan lunged forward to chase me, but a wall of guards shoved him back. “You’re going to regret this, Valerie!” His furious roar echoed off the vaulted ceilings. “There is nothing the Sinclair and Whitmore families can’t buy or break. You are a doctor with zero backing. Who the hell do you think you are?” I didn’t even break my stride. I stepped straight into the waiting elevator. The moment the metal doors slid shut, I closed my eyes and dragged in a long, deep breath. The mechanical valve in my chest adjusted its pump rate, letting out a hum so quiet only I could feel it. Back in my penthouse suite, I collapsed into a velvet armchair. My phone buzzed against the glass coffee table. It was a Swiss number. “Dr. Valerie, word on the street is you turned down Tristan Sinclair’s request today.” News traveled fast in the billionaire boys’ club. “I did.” “I have to remind you, the Sinclair family has deep, billion-dollar ties with European defense contractors. Tristan’s sister is married to a top executive at the Ministry of Defense. If you keep stonewalling them, you might run into some serious friction when you fly back to Zurich.” I repeated the word, letting the heavy sarcasm drip from my voice. “Friction? Like being randomly detained at customs? Or something more permanent?” Dead silence on the other end. “You are a global asset, Doctor. We respect your medical autonomy. But sometimes, you have to play the game. The Sinclairs are offering triple your usual surgical fee. They’re also guaranteeing five years of bottomless funding for your lab in Switzerland.” I let out a dry, rattling chuckle. “Do me a favor. Pass a message to Tristan and the Whitmore family. I will never operate on anyone sharing their bloodline. Bribes, bullets, or blackmail. None of it will change my mind.” The line stayed quiet for a long moment. “You are gambling with your life, Valerie.” “I already died once when I was twelve.” I cut him off, my voice turning to ice. “Every single day since then has been stolen time. I have nothing to lose.” I killed the call and poured myself two fingers of neat bourbon. The amber liquid caught the glittering skyline of New York outside my window. I raised the glass to the city. “To a second life.” I tossed the drink back in one smooth motion. The phone lit up again. This time, it was my assistant, Sarah. “Doctor, City General just sent an update. Lily Sinclair’s condition is tanking. But they miraculously found a matching donor heart. A ten-year-old girl named Daisy. She was supposedly declared brain-dead after a hit-and-run. The surgery is scheduled for three days from now, but the chief surgeon is terrified to touch it. He says the success rate is under thirty percent.” My grip on the empty glass tightened until my knuckles turned white. “Which hospital?” “City General.” “I want a deep dive on this Daisy kid. Everything. Family background, financial records, full medical history, and exactly which doctor signed off on that brain-death diagnosis.” “Valerie, are you seriously about to…” “Just do it.” I grabbed my trench coat off the rack. “Oh, and get our Swiss legal team on the line. I want my will updated immediately. If I die under mysterious circumstances, every single patent, blueprint, and research file under my name goes open-source to the public. Free of charge to every medical institution on the planet.” I heard Sarah suck in a sharp breath. “Are you declaring open war on these people?” “No. I’m just teaching them that human lives aren’t disposable commodities.” 2 Serena Whitmore came looking for me while I was analyzing a batch of pathology slides. Sarah knocked on the door, looking totally stressed. “Valerie, Serena is in the lobby. She refuses to leave. She says it’s about her daughter.” I didn’t look up immediately. I just peeled off my latex gloves and tossed them in the bin. “Put her in Conference Room Three.” When I walked in, Serena was standing with her back to the door, staring out at the chaotic city traffic. “Let’s talk, Doctor.” I took a seat at the far end of the mahogany table, gesturing for her to sit opposite me. “If this is about your daughter’s surgery, my answer hasn’t changed.” “Why?” Her voice cracked with sudden volume, but she forced herself to swallow it down. “Look, I know Tristan came on way too strong yesterday. I apologize for his behavior. But Lily is just a little girl. If this is about the money, name your price. Blank check. The combined assets of the Whitmores and Sinclairs are at your disposal. Whatever you want.” I sat perfectly still, just watching her. She really didn’t recognize me. She had absolutely no memory of the skinny little girl who used to trail behind her twenty years ago, calling her “big sister.” Then again, why would she? In their twisted minds, I died on a cold operating table in a black-market clinic. I was just biological trash. Medical waste. You don’t remember the wrapper after you eat the candy. “I simply don’t want to take the case.” She slammed her perfectly manicured hands onto the table, leaning over. Her eyes were rimmed with red. “What the hell do you actually want?” I didn’t blink. “You don’t have what I want.” “Try me.” I leaned back into the leather chair, crossing my fingers over my stomach. “Alright. Let me ask you something. This donor heart your daughter needs. The one from the ten-year-old girl, Daisy. Are you entirely sure her parents consented to this out of the goodness of their hearts? Are you positive the hospital confirmed she is completely, irreversibly brain-dead with zero chance of waking up?” Serena’s flawless expression cracked for a split second. “What does that have to do with anything?” “It has everything to do with it.” I stood up, walking slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “If getting a heart requires pulling the plug on another child prematurely, I won’t touch the scalpel. It’s really that simple.” “Are you accusing us of something?” Her voice dropped an octave, turning venomous. “Daisy’s parents signed the paperwork. The hospital issued the death certificate. Everything is strictly by the book.” “Is it?” I spun around to face her. “Then let me ask you one more thing, Serena. Your own heart. The one beating in your chest right now, the one you received twenty years ago. Was that donor a willing volunteer too?” All the oxygen was violently sucked out of the room. Serena’s face turned the color of ash. That heart had belonged to me. It pumped blood through my veins for twelve years before they butchered me for it. And now it was keeping her alive. “You investigated me?” She was shaking now. I kept my tone absolutely flat. “I’ve spent years in elite medical circles overseas. Your miracle transplant is practically an urban legend. A flawless surgery. Perfect recovery.” I took a slow step toward her. “But there’s one glaring anomaly. Every single trace of the donor was wiped off the face of the earth. No name. No medical history. No family records. Not even a blurry photograph. It’s almost as if the girl never existed.” “It was a closed adoption process. To protect donor privacy.” Her defense sounded pathetic, even to her. “Or to bury a crime?” I closed the distance between us, leaning down until I was looking right into her panicked eyes. “A twelve-year-old girl happens to be a perfect genetic match for you. Right when your heart failure becomes terminal, she conveniently gets into a fatal accident. She’s conveniently brain-dead. Her nonexistent family conveniently signs her away.” “Don’t you think that’s a hell of a lot of conveniences, Serena?” Her head snapped up. Pure terror swam in her eyes. “What are you trying to say?” I stood up straight, casually adjusting the cuffs of my silk blouse. “I’m saying your daughter’s current situation feels like history repeating itself.” She was barely whispering now. “What do you mean?” “I mean I will not slaughter one child to save another. Find a different butcher.” I pulled the door open, giving her one last look over my shoulder. “I have rounds to make. Let yourself out.” 3 Tom and Mary O’Connor showed up to the cafe thirty minutes early. They were huddled in the darkest corner booth. When Mary saw me, she bolted upright, slamming her knee into the table with a dull thud. “Dr. Valerie. Can you actually save our little girl?” I took the seat across from them and gestured for them to breathe. “Did you bring the files?” Tom scrambled to pull a thick stack of crumpled, tear-stained papers from a cheap canvas tote bag. Scans, billing statements, diagnostic reports. I flipped through them one by one. The cranial CT showed a hematoma, but there was zero compression on the brain stem. The EEG readings were where things got dirty. “How many days after admission was this second brainwave test done?” “The second day.” “Medical protocol mandates two separate doctors must confirm brain death, with a strict time gap between tests.” I tapped my manicured fingernail against the timestamps on the two reports. “These were done exactly four hours apart. That violates federal protocol. Furthermore, the waveforms on this second test…” I paused, tracing the suspiciously flat line on the paper. “This looks fabricated.” The couple froze, staring at each other in horror. “But Dr. Carter swore she was gone. He said there was zero brain activity left.” Tom’s voice was a ragged rasp. “He told us if we signed the donor papers, the hospital would waive our massive medical debt and give us a half-million dollar grant from a charity foundation. We maxed out every credit card we have just to keep her on life support. We were out of options.” I closed the folder and looked them dead in the eye. “I need you to do two things right now. First, march into that hospital and legally revoke your consent for organ donation. Second, demand an immediate medical transfer to City Presbyterian. That’s my hospital.” “But…” Mary slapped a hand over her mouth, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. “A private transfer costs thousands. We don’t have a dime left.” “I am covering every cent.” I leaned in closer. “But you have to move right this second. Every minute she stays in that ICU is a minute closer to her being legally murdered.” Tom suddenly reached across the table and gripped my hand. His palms were calloused and rough from years of manual labor, his grip completely desperate. “Are you swearing to God you can wake her up? You aren’t playing us?” “I don’t deal in absolute guarantees.” “But looking at this raw data, your daughter is not brain-dead. She is in a deep, medically induced coma. City General’s diagnosis is a lie.” “Why would they lie?” I debated shielding them from the ugly truth, but the bloodshot panic in their eyes made me drop the filter. “Because a very powerful family needs a healthy heart for their kid, and your daughter happens to be a biological match.” The air in the cafe turned to lead. After a few agonizing seconds, Tom shoved his chair back so hard it screeched against the tile, drawing stares from the counter staff. “The Sinclairs. That bastard Dr. Carter kept dropping hints about a VIP family whose kid needed a miracle. He framed it like Daisy would be a hero.” “Keep your voice down.” I kept my tone sharp and commanding. “The only thing that matters is getting her out of that building. Are you with me?” They looked at each other, a sudden, fierce fire replacing the grief in their eyes. They nodded in unison. “We trust you.” Mary wiped her face roughly. “We will burn that place down to get her out.” “Good.” I pulled out my phone. “I’m texting my contacts at the major news networks right now. With cameras shoved in their faces, the administration won’t dare block the transfer. Go straight to the ICU desk. Tell them the deal is off. I’ll be right behind you.” An hour later, the third-floor ICU at City General was a total circus. Security guards were physically blocking the O’Connors. Dr. Carter, sweating through his scrubs, was shouting at them while local news crews rolled cameras from the elevator lobby. “Revoke consent? Are you completely insane?” Dr. Carter tried to keep his voice down, but the panic was bleeding through. “Your daughter is dead! You are wasting critical hospital resources and letting her organs rot!” “Step away from my patients, Dr. Carter.” I pushed through the crowd, putting myself firmly between the corrupt doctor and the weeping parents. “Federal medical guidelines dictate that brain death must be confirmed by two independent neurologists, spaced at least twelve hours apart. You ran two tests in four hours. I am taking custody of this patient for a complete re-evaluation.” Carter’s face went from red to a sickly pale green when he recognized me. “Dr. Valerie. This is an internal matter regarding my patient.” “It stopped being an internal matter the second you engaged in illegal organ trafficking.” I let the words ring out loud enough for the reporters’ mics to catch. “I just filed a formal complaint with the Medical Board. Until they finish their criminal probe, Daisy is coming with me.” Sweat dripped from Carter’s nose. He fumbled for his cell phone. “I highly suggest you step aside, Doctor.” I leaned in, dropping my voice so only he could hear. “If she truly is gone, I will issue a public apology on prime-time television. But if I find out you chemically paralyzed her to fake a flatline, you are going to rot in federal prison.” His hands started violently shaking. Under the glare of a dozen camera lenses, Daisy was loaded into my private ambulance. The tests at my clinic confirmed exactly what I suspected. Deep coma. Intact brain stem. The corrective surgery took three hours. It was flawless. When I walked out of the OR, Mary dropped to her knees, trying to kiss my hands. I pulled her up into a hug instead. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Unknown number. 4 Arthur Whitmore wanted to meet at an exclusive, members-only cigar lounge downtown. “Dr. Valerie. Have a seat.” “Nice spot, Arthur.” I slid into the leather booth across from him, glancing at the antique chessboard between us. His black pieces had my white king trapped, but he was intentionally delaying the final move. “Chess is a lot like life. Sometimes, if you just back down and surrender the board, you get to walk away in one piece.” He finally looked up, his eyes cold and dead. I wasn’t here to play his billionaire mind games. “Skip the metaphors. What do you want?” “Straight to the point. I like that. My granddaughter’s surgery.” “Not happening.” “Name your price, Valerie. Cash? Real estate? A seat on the Whitmore corporate board?” He paused, a dark smile playing on his lips. “Or maybe you’re playing the hero for someone else? I ran a background check on that trailer park kid. You have zero connection to her.” I kept my face perfectly neutral. “I don’t know her. But I am a doctor. And I draw the line at slaughtering poor kids to keep rich ones breathing.” Arthur’s fake grandpa persona vanished. “Watch your mouth.” “The parents signed a legal waiver. The hospital issued the death certificate.” “A forged certificate makes it legal?” I cut him off, my voice dripping with disgust. “You people really keep a stocked pantry of spare parts, don’t you? If Daisy didn’t work out, who was next on the chopping block?” He slammed his fist onto the chessboard, sending pieces scattering across the floor. “You arrogant little…” “What?” I tilted my chin up, daring him to finish the threat. “You think God isn’t watching you, Arthur? Aren’t you terrified of karma?” “Karma?” He burst into a raspy, genuine laugh, sinking back into the leather cushions. “I’ve lived a long, ruthless life, kid. Karma is a bedtime story for poor people. I believe in leverage. I believe in power. Like right now.” He picked up his smartphone and tapped the screen. “You young hotshots always think you’re invincible. But everyone has a weak spot. It would be a damn shame if someone you cared about paid the price for your stubbornness.” “I know you left a mentor back in New York. A Dr. Harrison. Lovely old man. Pushing seventy, right? Lives alone in a brownstone in Queens. Every single day at 5:00 PM, he walks down to the corner deli for a pastrami on rye.” “What is your point?” He smirked, showing yellowed teeth. “My point is that bad choices have fatal consequences.” He slid the phone across the table. It was a live video feed. It showed the front steps of Dr. Harrison’s Queens apartment building. “I make one phone call, and your sweet old father figure doesn’t wake up tomorrow.” He stared into my eyes, practically begging to see a flicker of terror. He wanted me to break. He wanted me to beg. I didn’t even blink. I picked up the glass of scotch he had poured me and took a slow sip. “Ice is melting, Arthur.” His brow furrowed. This wasn’t the script he had written in his head. He snatched the phone back and barked into the microphone. “Go inside. Drag the old man out.” On the screen, a group of bulky men in leather jackets rushed the front door. I set my glass down. “Call off your dogs, Arthur. You’re wasting your time.” “Excuse me?” “He isn’t there.” Arthur’s smug expression evaporated. He stared hard at the live feed. His thugs were currently arguing with a confused property manager. The apartment was completely gutted and empty. Arthur slowly raised his head, a flicker of genuine uncertainty crossing his face for the first time in his miserable life. “You moved him?” I leaned forward, locking eyes with the monster who had raised me. “I lived under your roof for ten years. I know exactly how you operate.”

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My stepsister dragged a stray man in from the pouring rain. Her eyes were rimmed with red as she looked at me. “Sienna, he got into a terrible car crash. He is in a vegetative state. It is just too pitiful.” She wiped away a fake tear. “How about I pay you, and you put in the labor? You can take him back to your place and nurse him back to health.” I looked at the man lying on the sofa. His face was ghostly pale, but it could not hide the sharp, aristocratic lines of his jaw and his inherently cold, untouchable aura. My heart softened. I nodded. The very next second, a barrage of glowing golden text exploded in the air right in front of my eyes. [ LMAO the supporting character took the bait! ] [ This naive idiot has no idea that the vegetable on her couch is Alexander Kensington, the absolute apex predator of Manhattan’s elite! ] [ In the last timeline, the supporting character took him in, nursed him back to health, and became a billionaire’s wife. The female lead was jealous to the point of madness. ] [ That is why the female lead brought him home early in this reborn timeline! But she thinks wiping and feeding a living corpse is too much work, so she is dumping him on the supporting character again! ] [ Exactly! She is going to let Sienna do all the dirty work for three months until he wakes up. Then the female lead will use that dark magic Transference Sigil she bought to forcibly swap bodies with Sienna. She will steal the credit and become the richest woman in the country. I can hear her calculating from outer space! ] I froze in place. My eyes swept over those glaring golden lines. A chill shot up from the soles of my feet straight to the crown of my head. I turned my head and looked at Ruby. She was crying beautifully, but her eyes kept darting toward the bloodstained man on the sofa. It was disgust. It was repulsion. But beneath it all, it was undisguised, ravenous greed. “Sienna, you know I have a weak constitution. I can barely take care of myself. How could I possibly care for a bedridden patient?” Ruby stepped forward and affectionately linked her arm through mine. “Plus, you are a certified caregiver. I feel safest leaving him in your hands. If you agree, I will transfer you two thousand dollars a month for your hard work. Please?” Her tone was sickeningly sweet, but her fingernails dug painfully into my flesh. She was terrified I would refuse. [ Oh please. Two thousand bucks to play nursemaid to a comatose man for three months? The female lead is too cheap. ] [ Poor Sienna. The female lead already bound the Transference Sigil to her. The moment the female lead wants to swap bodies, it is over. ] [ Once Alexander wakes up, she will swap bodies, taking Sienna’s form. All his billions will belong to her! ] [ Tsk tsk. Sienna finally got a happy ending in the last life, and now she is going to be sucked dry again! ] I lowered my eyelashes to hide the icy rage rolling in my eyes. So that was it. Ruby, you really played a brilliant hand. You refuse to endure the grueling labor of caring for a comatose man, but you want to swallow the immense wealth and gratitude that comes from saving his life. You are even willing to use a toxic occult curse to steal my entire existence. Seeing my silence, Ruby grew anxious. “Sienna, aren’t you the kindest person in the world? Are you really going to just watch him die?” Moral kidnapping. She always used it with flawless precision. If this were the past, I might have actually been fooled by her hypocritical mask. But now. I looked at the floating golden text and a barely perceptible smile curled the corners of my lips. “Alright.” I looked up at her with a gentle expression. Ruby’s face lit up with joy. She opened her mouth to speak, but I sharply changed the subject. “But Ruby, you know how incredibly expensive it is to care for a comatose patient. IV nutrition, a specialized medical bed, imported medications. Two thousand dollars will not even cover the taxes.” I stared at her freezing smile and spoke with absolute clarity. “Non negotiable. Twenty thousand a month, three months paid upfront. Total of sixty thousand. Otherwise, you can keep him yourself. Or I can call the cops and let the city hospital deal with him.” Hearing this, Ruby’s face drastically changed. [ She is panicking! The female lead was reborn, so she knows the Kensington family is tearing the world apart looking for him right now! ] [ If Sienna actually calls the cops and the authorities take Alexander away, her entire body swap scheme is ruined! ] [ But wait, why did Sienna counter so perfectly? Did she notice something? Is she playing the female lead? ] “Sixty thousand it is.” Ruby gritted her teeth. A flash of physical pain crossed her eyes at the cost, but it was quickly replaced by feverish fanaticism. “I will pay the money. But you must take perfect care of him, Sienna! You have to handle his food, his hygiene, everything personally. Do not let anyone else touch him!” She stared at me like I was a highly efficient, free piece of machinery. [ LMAO sixty grand in exchange for a hundred billion dollar empire. The female lead won the lottery! ] [ Sienna actually thinks she made a profit. In three months she is going to learn what true despair feels like! ] My phone chimed. Sixty thousand dollars had been deposited. I put my phone away and smiled brightly. “Do not worry. I will take excellent care of him.” Ruby looked like a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She covered her nose in disgust, unwilling to stay in the room for a single second longer, and ran out the front door. Only the man and I were left in the living room. The heavy metallic scent of blood saturated the air. I walked over to the sofa and looked down at this legendary figure. The ruthless, cold blooded crown prince of Manhattan’s elite. Right now his eyes were tightly shut. His face was the color of crushed chalk. He looked utterly defeated. I fetched a basin of warm water and a towel, gently wiping away the dried blood crusting his face. The golden text exploded in front of me again. [ Actually the male lead is completely conscious right now! His body is paralyzed, but his hearing is perfectly intact! ] [ Yes! He definitely hates the female lead right now. He heard every single word when she looked at him with disgust and used him as a bargaining chip! ] [ When the body swap happens, the drama is going to be legendary! ] My heart skipped a beat. He was conscious? I leaned down. The man’s sharp, aristocratic features were mere inches from mine. Even in this pathetic state, he radiated the suffocating pressure of a man used to absolute power. My sharp eyes caught a microscopic detail. The fingers resting by his side twitched in a faint spasm. He really could hear. My mind raced through a dozen different plans. I gently reached down and hooked my pinky finger around his. I leaned close to his ear and deliberately softened my voice. “Let’s go home.” I moved Alexander to my small apartment. I used the sixty thousand Ruby gave me to rent a top tier medical bed and life support monitors overnight. I drained my own meager savings to buy premium IV nutrients and the best imported wound care medications. Looking at Alexander hooked up to the tubes, I took a deep breath. Washing his hair. Bathing his body. Massaging his atrophied muscles. Dressing his severe lacerations. For three solid hours, I worked until I was drenched in sweat and my lower back was screaming in agony. But I did not stop. Because the golden text told me he could feel everything. [ Sienna has it so rough. This is not a job for a human being. No wonder the female lead could not handle it. ] [ But she is so meticulous. She even cleaned the dried blood out from under his fingernails. ] [ Alexander has severe OCD. He must be touched beyond belief right now! ] I wrung out the towel and dabbed the last drops of moisture from his face. With the blood and grime gone, his true face was finally revealed. Sharp eyebrows, a prominent nose, a jawline carved from marble. I looked at Alexander, reached out my hand again, and gently hooked his pinky finger. “If you can hear me, give me a little response. Okay?” Dead silence. Two seconds later. The man’s eyelashes gave a violent tremble. The very next second, his stiff, heavy fingers moved with agonizing slowness. He curled his pinky backward, hooking tightly onto mine. [ AHHHH! The Crown Prince responded! ] [ He is famous for being a violent, cold blooded tyrant. I cannot believe he is being this obedient for Sienna! ] [ Obviously! When a man is trapped in the darkest abyss, the person who pulls him out becomes his entire world! ] My heart stirred. I leaned down and whispered. “I am going to heal you. But you have to cooperate with me. Can you do that? Do not be afraid. I will never abandon you.” A faint friction brushed against my skin. The force of his pinky hooking mine slowly tightened. The apartment door was suddenly shoved open. Ruby stood in the doorway, covering her nose with a look of extreme disgust. “Sienna, this dump smells absolutely revolting. Is this living corpse going to rot in…” Her voice abruptly died in her throat. Ruby stared blankly at the bed. Stripped of the blood and dirt, the man was breathtakingly handsome. The disgust in her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by undisguised awe and a sickening greed. But she quickly forced her expression into a mask of bitter cruelty. “What good is a handsome face? He is still just a cursed cripple!” After cursing him, she turned her venomous glare on me. “I paid you to be a nursemaid. Who are you trying to seduce, holding his hand like that? You cheap tramp!” Golden light flashed in front of my eyes. [ The female lead is pure poison! She is deliberately trying to enrage the male lead so he hates this body! ] [ Exactly! Once she uses the sigil to force Sienna into her body, Alexander will wake up and instantly want to kill the new female lead! ] [ She is borrowing his knife to commit murder! ] Seeing my silence, Ruby sneered and raised her hand high. “I am talking to you! Are you deaf?” A sharp slap cracked across my cheek. Her manicured nails instantly sliced open the corner of my mouth. The metallic taste of blood flooded my tongue. Before I could even swallow the blood, the quiet man on the bed suddenly went into a violent convulsion. The heart monitor connected to his chest let out a piercing, high pitched alarm. His eyebrows locked together. His entire body radiated an aura of extreme, violent rejection. Ruby shrieked in terror and stumbled backward. “What is wrong with him?! Did you give him the wrong medicine?!” I ignored the throbbing pain in my lower back and completely ignored her. I stepped right up to the bed, turned my back to Ruby, and flawlessly hooked Alexander’s pinky finger again. “It is okay. I am right here.” It was like magic. The man’s violent convulsions stopped instantly. His tightly knit brows slowly relaxed. His skyrocketing heart rate dropped rapidly back to a safe, steady rhythm. That stiff, massive hand locked onto my pinky with a death grip, exactly as it had before. He squeezed even harder than the last time. The golden text erupted. [ AHHHH! The Crown Prince heard Sienna getting bullied and went totally feral! ] [ A vegetative body absolutely cannot handle that kind of emotional spike. He is literally fighting his own ruined nervous system to protect her! ] [ He has developed an absolute psychological dependency on her. He refuses to let anyone hurt a single hair on her head! ] Ruby peeked out from behind the doorframe, staring at Alexander clutching my hand. Instead of being angry, her face twisted into a mask of irrepressible ecstasy. “Well Sienna, it looks like he really likes you. You better hold onto this blessing tightly.” After Ruby left, the apartment fell quiet again. I turned back to the bed. With the outsider gone, the man’s brow furrowed anxiously once more. His entire body remained rigid. He had absolutely zero sense of security. I took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the mattress. The second my fingers brushed his. He latched onto my pinky like a drowning man clinging to the only piece of driftwood in the ocean. With that single point of contact, his rigid muscles instantly melted into the mattress. I looked at his pale, thin lips and could not help but smile as I soothed him. “Sleep peacefully.” “When you sleep, I am not going anywhere.” “If you need anything, just squeeze my finger. I am always going to be here.” His breathing hitched. Then, very faintly, his pinky rubbed against the pad of my finger. Two months passed. Under my relentless, day and night care, Alexander’s muscles stopped atrophying. Color slowly returned to his ghostly pale face. Every single night, that one mobile pinky finger would lock onto mine, refusing to yield a single inch. During these two months, Ruby came looking for trouble every few days. “Wow, treating him like treasure? Only you would sell your soul for a crippled vegetable!” She maliciously kicked over the basin of hot water I had just drawn. The scalding water splashed all over my legs. I did not dodge. I endured the searing pain of the burns, lowered my head, and quietly cleaned up the mess. On the bed, Alexander’s fingers dug into the bedsheets so hard his knuckles turned white. The veins on the back of his hand bulged. He was using every ounce of his willpower to suppress his murderous rage. I gently hooked his pinky to soothe his violent emotions. I knew Ruby was getting impatient. She was desperate to swap bodies. The harder she tried to make Alexander hate her face, the more perfectly calm I remained. Another month passed before the golden text appeared again. [ Sienna is so tragic. She has no idea the female lead already got the dark magic Transference Sigil from the occult master! ] [ That sigil is pure evil. The moment the female lead activates it, their souls will be forcibly swapped! ] [ Poor Sienna cleaned up his filth and slaved away for three months, and tomorrow everything will be stolen from her. She is just making a wedding dress for someone else! ] Looking at the text, I turned my head and stared fixedly at the man with his eyes shut tight. I leaned down and asked in a whisper so soft only the two of us could hear. “Alexander. If one day, I suddenly wear a face that is completely foreign to you.” “Will you still be able to recognize me?” Dead silence. One second later. The man’s fingers trembled. He applied force in the opposite direction, hooking my pinky with bone crushing strength. Exactly as the golden text predicted, Ruby kicked my door open the next morning. The second she walked in, she viciously dug her nails into Alexander’s newly scabbed wounds. Golden light flashed frantically in front of my eyes. [ HIGH ALERT! Patriarch Kensington tracked the GPS! His convoy is pulling up to the building right now! ] [ The female lead is making her move! She is maxing out his hatred, and then she is going to trigger the swap! ] Sure enough, Ruby leaned close to Alexander’s ear and laughed venomously. “You dead cripple. I have been praying for you to die every day for three months. Why are you still breathing?” Alexander’s eyes snapped open. He stared at her with a gaze filled with apocalyptic, murderous intent. But the very next second. A vicious light flashed in Ruby’s eyes. She slammed a piece of yellow parchment hard against her own chest. A violent, catastrophic tearing sensation instantly ripped through my entire body. My vision went black. It felt like my internal organs were being thrown into a meat grinder. When I opened my eyes again, my perspective had completely shifted. I looked down and saw the expensive Chanel dress Ruby had been wearing. The body swap was a success. Crash. The cheap metal door of the apartment was violently kicked open. A dozen men in black suits flooded the room, securing the perimeter in seconds. An old man with silver hair, leaning heavily on a carved walking stick, stepped into the room. The moment his cane struck the floor, the oppressive aura of absolute authority plunged the temperature in the tiny room to below freezing. The ruler of Manhattan. Patriarch Arthur Kensington. His eyes locked onto Alexander, whose eyes were open on the bed. The old man’s eyes instantly went red. “Alexander! Your grandfather was too late!” Ruby, currently wearing my face, immediately dropped to her knees and began sobbing hysterically. “Mr. Kensington! You are finally here!” She pointed a trembling finger at me, weeping tears of blood. “My sister Ruby has lost her mind! She hated Mr. Kensington for being in a coma. Not only did she starve him, but just now she was digging her nails into his wounds trying to murder him for his money!” “For three months, I woke up before dawn and stayed up all night keeping him alive. But she came here every day to torture him!” Her acting was Oscar worthy. She even pulled up her sleeve, revealing the scratch marks she had inflicted on herself just moments ago. “Look! These are the injuries she gave me when I tried to stop her from hurting him!” The golden text scrolled like a waterfall. [ She is utterly shameless! Framing the victim while playing the hero! ] [ Oh no, oh no. Sienna is stuck in the female lead’s body right now. She has no way to defend herself! ] [ Patriarch Kensington is notoriously protective of his own. He is going to skin Sienna alive! ] Patriarch Kensington’s gaze snapped toward me. It was dark, cold, and dripping with the lethal intent of a man who decided who lived and died. “You arrogant, filthy creature. You dared to touch someone from my family!” Two bodyguards immediately lunged forward. They pinned my shoulders down with crushing force and kicked the back of my knees. I hit the hard tile floor with a heavy thud. The pain of a fractured kneecap shot up my leg. I did not struggle. I did not bother explaining. Because I knew that in the face of absolute power, explanations were useless breath. I lifted my head, looking past the Patriarch, staring straight at Alexander on the bed. Ruby stood to the side, a smug smile hooking the corner of her lips, acting as if the hundred billion dollar empire was already sitting in her bank account. Patriarch Kensington walked to the edge of the bed, looking at his grandson with heartbreak. “Alexander, you suffered.” He pointed his cane at me and Ruby on the floor. His voice was freezing cold, carrying the finality of a death sentence. “Tell your grandfather. Between these two women, who is your savior, and who is your tormentor?” “Today, I will make her wish she was dead.” The room fell into a deathly silence. Ruby looked at Alexander with eyes full of shining expectation. I looked at him too. Alexander leaned against the headboard. A chilling, razor sharp smirk pulled at his pale lips. He slowly lifted the right hand that I had held for three months, and pointed it straight at. Ruby. More accurately, he pointed at the woman wearing my face. “Her.” Alexander’s voice was rough as sandpaper, but it carried an undeniable, lethal certainty. “She is the one who tortured me day and night.” The room went dead. In a room so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the only sound was the faint, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. The triumphant, victorious expression frozen on Ruby’s stolen face completely shattered. Her eyes widened so far they looked like they would pop out of her skull. She shook her head like a maniac. “No! Impossible! Alexander, are you confused from the brain injury?” “I am Sienna! I am the savior who worked day and night to keep you alive for three months!” She scrambled wildly toward the bed, desperately trying to grab Alexander’s hand. But a bodyguard stepped in and kicked her brutally to the floor. “Stay back!” the bodyguard barked. Ruby ate dirt, but she refused to give up, screaming at the Patriarch. “Mr. Kensington! You have to see the truth! I really am the one who took care of him!” “His brain is damaged! He is confusing me with my evil sister!” Patriarch Kensington frowned deeply, the veins bulging on the hand gripping his cane. He looked at Alexander and spoke in a low voice. “Alexander, you just woke up. Is your mind still clouded?” “Grandfather is here. You do not need to be afraid. Whoever hurt you, I will have them torn limb from limb.” “My mind is perfectly clear.” Alexander rested against the pillows. Though his face was still pale, those dark, bottomless eyes burned with a terrifying, hellish fury. He snapped his head toward Ruby. His piercing gaze scraped across her face, and he let out a cold laugh. “In the past three months, you came here exactly twenty seven times.” “The first time, you called me a cursed cripple, kicked over a basin of boiling water, and severely burned someone.” “The fifth time, you dug your fingernails into my healing wounds because you said I smelled.” “And just ten minutes ago, you leaned into my ear and told me you had been praying for me to die every day, and asked why I was still breathing.” With every sentence Alexander spoke, Ruby’s face grew another shade of white. By the end, she had collapsed into a pathetic puddle on the floor, her teeth audibly chattering. “No. That wasn’t me. I didn’t say those things. I am Sienna.” She was still offering pathetic, weak lies, snot and tears smearing all over her face. Patriarch Kensington’s face was as black as thunder. He raised his heavy cane and smashed it violently against the floorboards right next to Ruby’s head. “You venomous wretch! You dared to dig your claws into my family!” The old man laughed from pure rage, his eyes practically dripping with murderous intent. Then, Alexander’s gaze bypassed everyone in the room and landed squarely on me, pressed onto my knees by the bodyguards. I was currently wearing Ruby’s face. But as Alexander looked at me, his cold, severe gaze instantly melted into incredible softness, carrying a trace of deeply hidden heartbreak. “And her.” Alexander raised his hand and pointed at me. “She is the one who spent the last three months cleaning up my filth, bathing me, feeding me medicine, and dragging me back from the gates of hell.” The room erupted into quiet gasps. The bodyguards exchanged bewildered looks. The hands pinning my shoulders subconsciously loosened their grip. Patriarch Kensington looked utterly baffled. He looked at me, then back at Alexander. “Alexander, are you absolutely certain?” “Grandfather.” Alexander cut him off, his tone absolute. “I would never fail to recognize what is mine.” The golden text scrolled in a frenzy. [ HELP! Sienna is wearing the female lead’s face! How did the male lead figure it out?! ] [ Yeah! Her face changed, her voice changed. Does the male lead have X-ray vision? ] [ Did he just guess? What if he got it wrong? ] I was stunned too. I looked up at the man on the hospital bed, tears swimming in my eyes. He recognized me. He really recognized me! Under the confused stares of everyone in the room, Alexander slowly moved his right hand and extended his pinky finger. He looked at me. A storm of intense emotion raged in his eyes. His voice was hoarse beyond belief. “In the last three months, during the countless dead of night when the pain was driving me insane and I thought I could not hold on.” “It was her who hooked my pinky, over and over again, telling me not to be afraid.” “It was her who held my hand every time the heart monitor went off, telling me she would always be there.” Alexander’s eyes turned red. He took a deep breath, as if using every ounce of strength he had left in his body, to speak his final truth to me. “In this entire world, she is the only one who knows I am terrified of sleeping alone.” “She is the only one who left a lamp on every single night, standing guard over a living corpse.” “Faces can change. Voices can be altered. But that warmth, that absolute dependency carved directly into my bones and my blood. I, Alexander Kensington, would never mistake it even if I died.” As his words faded into the air, I could no longer hold back. The tears broke the dam and slid silently down my cheeks. Wearing Ruby’s foreign face, separated by a crowd of armed men, I slowly extended my trembling hand and faintly, so faintly, hooked my own pinky finger in the air. Alexander immediately responded. His pinky hooked forcefully in the empty space, as if crossing the barrier of life, death, and physical flesh, locking onto me with unbreakable force. The golden barrage completely exploded. [ AHHHHHH I am sobbing! The ultimate romantic warrior has arrived! ] [ To hell with the Transference Sigil! In the face of true love, dark magic is garbage! ] [ The Crown Prince is too cool for words! He never loved the skin, he loved the soul that saved him! ] [ The female lead calculated everything, and the clown was her all along! Deserved! ] Seeing her empire crumble, Ruby had a complete mental breakdown. She shrieked and lunged at me like a rabid animal. “You bitch! What kind of demonic seduction did you use?!” “Give me back my wealth! I am Sienna! I am the real Sienna!” Before she could even touch the hem of my dress, two bodyguards slammed her brutally to the floor. Her cheek was pressed hard against the freezing tiles, rendering her completely immobile. “Drag this lying, murderous viper out of my sight!” Patriarch Kensington roared his orders. “Throw her in the Kensington underground holding cells! Without my explicit order, no one gives her a single drop of water or a crumb of food!” “I am going to make her taste what it means to beg for death!” “Yes sir!” The bodyguards dragged Ruby away as she squealed like a slaughtered pig. As she was dragged past me, she glared at me with eyes full of pure venom and madness. She mouthed a silent threat. “You won’t be smug for long.” I watched coldly as she disappeared down the hall, but my heart did not feel an ounce of relief. Because I knew, the true curse of the Transference Sigil was just beginning.

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1 For the second time that week, Simon Hale stared at his phone and fed a whole grape to our six-month-old son. The next second, our baby choked. His little face turned red, his hands and feet thrashing in panic. Simon didn’t even lift his eyes from the screen. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” Ever since his first love added him back, that sentence had become his favorite excuse. I fumbled to pat our son’s back, tears spilling down my face from fear. Only when the grape finally came out did I breathe again. Simon glanced at the resentment on my face, then went right back to staring at his phone. “Natalie has been waiting months for these concert tickets. I had to grab them fast. One second late and they’d be gone.” It wasn’t an explanation. It was a warning not to make a scene and delay him from buying tickets. I held our sobbing, trembling child, cold sweat soaking my back. In that moment, this happy family everyone envied was no longer a place I wanted to stay. … Our son curled into a ball in my arms, clearly still uncomfortable. I said softly, “Why don’t you drive us to the hospital? Even a checkup would put my mind at ease.” “Got them!” Before I even finished, Simon nearly jumped off the couch. Then he sent Natalie a voice message telling her he had secured the tickets. The two of them started chatting excitedly. I stood there, suffocated by how absurd it all felt. Only when he accidentally looked up and saw my expression did he belatedly put away his smile. “The kid already stopped crying. If you’re worried, check an AI app. It has everything.” After our son was born, I struggled with postpartum anxiety for a while. Whenever I asked one extra cautious question, Simon would toss his phone to me. “If you don’t understand, ask AI. Artificial intelligence is so advanced now. You can find anything on your phone.” What temperature the formula should be. What to do about jaundice. How many night feeds were best. I typed every question into an AI app, word by word. Sometimes the answers were wrong, and I had to take the baby to the hospital alone. Meanwhile, Simon was busy helping Natalie fix clogged pipes, making her hangover soup, and celebrating her birthday. Whenever she asked, he answered. I often mocked him. “Didn’t you say AI is useful? Can’t she ask it?” And he would turn around and question me. “Is that the same thing? Can AI keep her safe? Sometimes I really don’t understand what goes on in your head.” Thinking of all that, then looking at our baby shaking in discomfort, I couldn’t help asking him. “Between me, our child, and Natalie, who comes first in your heart?” Simon finally looked up, as if surprised I would ask such a thing. Then he quickly frowned. “It’s just a concert ticket. Do you really have to turn it into some childish ranking?” “You’re a mother now. Stop being immature.” Whenever Natalie was involved, his final conclusion was always that I was immature. If Natalie had asked the same question, he would have posted online praising her for being innocent and adorable. I didn’t want to waste any more words. I picked up the keys, ready to take the baby to the hospital myself. But Simon snatched them away. “The concert is in the next city. We have to leave now. It’s more convenient if I drive her.” “Ask AI where you can get a cab. It’s not that far. Same thing.” After dropping those words, he grabbed a coat and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t even see our son cough up blood. Looking at the cold lines of answer text appearing on my phone screen, something in me finally snapped. I didn’t manage to get a ride until after midnight. The doctor said a baby’s throat was extremely fragile. If I had delayed treatment, it might have affected his speech later. When the doctor saw the “answer” from the AI app on my phone, he was furious. “What is wrong with you parents? If AI can solve everything, why do you need doctors?” In that instant, the tears I had been holding back finally fell. The doctor quickly stopped scolding me. I shook my head. “You’re right. Thank you.” I stayed with my son all night while he received anti-inflammatory fluids. Natalie posted a photo of herself and Simon on the concert’s big screen. [Random couple-cam kiss and hug. Didn’t expect Simon to be such a good sport!] I tortured myself by zooming in. The lipstick smudged at the corner of Simon’s mouth was clear. I still remembered our son’s first birthday. I begged Simon over and over to take us to Disneyland. He waved me off impatiently. “It’s hot, crowded, and exhausting. What’s so fun about that?” But now, in the photo, his smile was bright and free. That night, our son developed a high fever. I carried him up and down the hospital stairs, rushing through admission paperwork. At the corner of the stairwell, I heard a familiar voice. “Natalie, how are you feeling? I’ll get you admitted right away.” I looked up and saw Simon carrying Natalie in his arms, hurrying toward us. He was so nervous he didn’t even notice us. “Doctor, her blood sugar dropped. Admit her quickly.” The young nurse looked troubled. “We’re short on rooms right now. Mr. Hale, you’re a hospital VIP, so technically your family can be prioritized for a room, but…” The nurse looked at me and the baby. “These two are your wife and child, right? Then the baby should…” Only then did Simon follow her gaze and see us. He froze. But he reacted immediately. “Ah… no. This young lady needs to be admitted. Her situation is more urgent.” No. That single word slapped me across the face. The nurse, who recognized me and the baby, looked at us with sympathy. Natalie was quickly sent into a hospital room. Simon hurried after her. He never looked back. My son grew hotter in my arms. My heart was shaking. The hospital room entrance was crowded with people fighting for beds. Every minute felt like torture. Half an hour later, Simon came out of the room, frowning awkwardly. “I asked the department head. The baby’s throat is just a little inflamed. He can get anti-inflammatory meds in the hallway. He doesn’t need a room.” “Natalie fainted on the way back. If she doesn’t get properly checked, there could be long-term effects. Don’t be so petty.” As he spoke, he reached out to touch our son. I moved away without hiding it. “We’re not staying.” Then I held the baby and turned to leave. Simon’s hand froze in midair. His brow twitched. The hospital hallway was full of families coming and going. Only I walked alone with my baby in my arms, looking for somewhere to give him his fever shot. Thankfully, by the next morning, his fever finally broke. Then immigration services called and told me to come pick up the result. Simon’s company was moving overseas next month, but the immigration paperwork for me and the baby had been rejected again and again. As soon as I walked into the lobby, I saw Simon’s subordinate, Aaron. He greeted me warmly. “Mrs. Hale, what a coincidence.” “Are you really okay with being separated from Mr. Hale across countries? Taking care of the baby alone must be hard.” I was confused and thought he had misunderstood. So I smiled politely. “We’re still working on the immigration paperwork. This time should be fine. It’s not like someone can take the spot, right?” Aaron looked puzzled. “But Miss Natalie already took the immigration slot. I helped Mr. Hale submit the documents back and forth. I’m here to pick up the result.” All the blood in my body seemed to freeze. The approval letter in Aaron’s hand clearly had Natalie’s name on it. At that moment, the staff at the window handed me my result. Again, three words: Not approved. Only then did Aaron realize what had happened. He asked if I was okay. I shook my head. I didn’t even have the strength to say thank you. That night, when Simon came home and saw the piles of immigration applications on the table, his expression showed he understood. “Looks like you know.” One light sentence. No apology. No guilt. He walked over, his tone much softer than usual. “Natalie wanted to live in that country since she was little, so I asked a friend to help with her immigration. It took your slot.” My hand tightened on the table. Ever since he decided to move the company overseas, I had submitted my immigration documents more than thirty times. Every time, they were rejected. I revised them over and over. I had nearly memorized the fifty-plus pages of requirements. In the end, everything I did had meant nothing. Simon held my shoulders as if soothing a child throwing a tantrum. “When there’s another chance, I’ll bring you and the baby over. It’s not urgent anyway.” “You’re doing fine taking care of the baby alone. You’re getting more skilled.” I suddenly wanted to laugh. “Is the baby mine alone? Does he not have a father?” “Wren.” He interrupted me impatiently. “Are you trying to wake the baby?” He took a breath, as if explaining calmly and rationally. “Natalie is still young. There are more opportunities for her over there. Maybe she can find a good job.” “You’re just a homemaker now. You don’t need to do anything. What difference does it make where you stay?” I stared at him in disbelief. It felt like his next word would be useless. Once, I had a respectable and promising career too. He coaxed me into quitting. “Why work so hard when your husband can support you? After we have a baby, you can stay home, look after the child, go shopping whenever you want. When I come home, I’ll see you right away. Isn’t that nice?” He personally broke my wings. Then blamed me for not being able to fly. I suddenly smiled. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” A flash of surprise crossed Simon’s eyes. He probably hadn’t expected me to compromise so quickly. “You’re not fighting this time?” I threw the applications into the trash. My voice was unusually calm. “No. The baby and I aren’t in a rush.” It wasn’t that we weren’t in a rush. It was that we would never go looking for him. Simon finally smiled, visibly relieved. He touched my face, then looked at the baby in the crib with fatherly affection. “You and the baby will always be the most important people in my heart. I’m glad you understand.” Then he called a restaurant to celebrate Natalie’s successful immigration. I sat there and watched him leave, cheerful and eager. A divorce agreement lay on the coffee table. I signed my name and reached out to touch my baby’s chubby cheek. “Mommy will take you somewhere else to live, okay?” The baby didn’t understand anything. He only stared at me and giggled. The next evening, I was holding the baby and getting ready to go to the airport when Simon suddenly burst through the door. He slapped me across the face. Furious, he shouted, “Wren Hayes, how can you be this vicious? You tricked Natalie into going to some deserted place and nearly got her attacked!” I was stunned by the blow. The taste of blood spread quickly through my mouth. “I tricked her? I don’t even have her phone number.” Simon didn’t listen at all. He dragged me straight to the hospital. I stumbled the whole way. The baby cried in terror, but Simon didn’t care. When we entered Natalie’s room, she was curled up on the bed, trembling. The moment she saw me, she threw herself into Simon’s arms. “I’m scared. I’m so scared…” While I was still confused, five large, rough-looking men at the door bowed and nodded at me. “Miss Hayes, we followed your instructions to scare her and ruin her reputation. Take a look. Are you satisfied?” I frowned in confusion. “I don’t know…” Before I could finish, Simon shoved his phone screen in my face. “You’re still denying it? What is this threatening message if not yours? You even paid people to do your dirty work. Do you know you could go to prison for this?” I stared at him in disbelief, then pointed at Natalie, who looked secretly pleased on the bed. “Do you believe me, or do you believe her?” Just as he hesitated, the men pulled out chat records with “me.” “Boss, the transfer records are still here. You can’t deny it. Look…” “Or are you saying we didn’t do enough? That we went too easy on her? Just say the word. Next time, we’ll make sure she can never show her face again.” I looked up helplessly and met Simon’s ice-cold gaze. In the end, he chose to believe them. The man roared like a madman. “Get out, all of you! If you dare touch Natalie again, I’ll make sure you don’t see tomorrow’s sun!” Those men exchanged glances and rushed out of the room. My feet felt nailed to the floor, heavy as lead. Simon walked toward me, his expression cold to the extreme. “Apologize to Natalie. Now.” I held my crying baby tightly and looked at him. Then repeated, “I didn’t do it.” Natalie’s face was pale as she grabbed his arm. “If she doesn’t want to apologize, forget it. I deserve it. I took their immigration slot. I deserve this…” The more she said that, the more disappointment filled Simon’s eyes when he looked at me. He gritted his teeth and suddenly gave a cold laugh. “Your mentally ill mother lost her mind after being attacked. Are you mentally ill too? Do you want everyone to suffer like your family did?” I froze. Something shattered in my chest. That was the nightmare of my life. And now he had taken it and stabbed it straight into my heart. A tear slid down before I could stop it. Only then did he realize what he had said. “Wren, I…” I stared at his unfamiliar face and suddenly felt this marriage was nothing but a joke. I looked at Natalie, then at him. Without hesitation, I carried my child and left the room. After a long pause, Simon’s powerless roar came from behind me. “If you don’t apologize, don’t ever come home again!” But my steps never stopped. Fine. We would never go home again. … When Simon returned home, he opened the car door and stared blankly at the flowers and gifts he had bought. My abnormal behavior made him inexplicably irritated. In truth, he didn’t want to soften toward me so quickly. But after thinking it over, he still carried everything upstairs. The moment he pushed open the door, however, his steps stopped abruptly.

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1 On the eve of my due date, I received the news that Marcus Reed’s yacht had exploded and that he was missing at sea. The shock sent me into obstructed labor and massive bleeding. When I woke up, the doctor told me my baby had been born without a heartbeat. The double blow of losing my husband and my child hollowed me out. I drifted through the hospital ward every day like a ghost. Until late one night, the algorithm pushed me a video from an account called *Rosie’s Diary*. The title read: [A family of three escaping to an island. Love is the only salvation.] In the video, a pair of long, well-defined hands gently held a woman in a lace dress. Between them was a newborn wrapped in a blanket. On the inside of the baby’s wrist was a butterfly-shaped birthmark, red as blood. The creator had been careful. The man’s face was heavily blurred, and the wedding ring he always wore was gone. But I could never mistake those hands. Those hands had once pushed a burning beam away from me in a fire, leaving a long burn scar across the palm. That scar was the medal of our seven years of love. For one instant, I thought grief had made me hallucinate. But if the scar was a coincidence, then how could I explain the butterfly birthmark on the baby’s wrist? That birthmark was a maternal inheritance in the Whitaker family. My grandmother had it. My mother had it. I had it. With trembling fingers, I touched the skin on my own wrist. It was a genetic brand. No one outside my family could possibly know about it. If the scar was coincidence, what about this one-of-a-kind family birthmark? I bit my lip hard, trying to use pain to force back the dizziness, but my fingers shook uncontrollably as I opened the comments. “Marcus really pulled off the fake-death escape. Congrats, man. When are you coming back so we can celebrate?” “Keep it low-key. Only heaven and earth know about this. Don’t let anything leak.” “Don’t worry, Marcus. I’ll keep an eye on your wife.” Although the two accounts had default profile pictures, I would know that tone even if it turned to ash. They were Marcus’s two closest friends. My nails dug deep into my palm, leaving sticky red crescents behind. I never imagined that the husband who had sworn the day before to stay beside me in the delivery room would fake his death and run off with another woman the next day. And even steal my child, the baby I had been told was stillborn. “Julia, why are you out of bed? Lie back down. The doctor said you’re dangerously weak.” Travis pushed open the door, his face full of worry that almost looked real. He hurried forward to support me. “Julia, the dead can’t come back. You have to take care of yourself for Marcus. His death certificate and funeral arrangements are still waiting for your signature.” Funeral? For a living man? Maybe my dead, empty stare made Travis nervous. His eyes flickered, and he tried to smooth things over. “Don’t be too hopeless, okay? The search at sea still isn’t over. They haven’t found a body. Maybe… maybe there could still be a miracle.” “You mean Marcus might not be dead?” My sluggish mind finally caught a thread of logic in the chaos. I didn’t understand what Marcus was trying to accomplish with this act. Abandon his wife and child, then come back later as if nothing had happened? Travis didn’t dare meet my eyes. “I’m just trying to comfort you. Anyway, you need to take care of yourself first.” As if afraid I would notice the holes in his story, he muttered something about paying the hospital bill and fled the room. Two minutes later, my phone chimed with a special-follow notification. [Your special follow just posted a new update.] The moment I saw that first video, I had followed Rosie’s account with an old unused profile. To avoid being tracked, Marcus must have cut off all contact back home. That woman’s account was his only window. Dragging my body, torn with pain, I supported myself against the wall and moved step by step toward the door. I knew this might be my only chance to tear open the bloody truth. 2 I clenched my teeth and quietly followed Travis. Just as I turned the corner of the hallway, I heard him complaining in a low voice. “Marcus, what the hell is this? Julia looks like she’s about to follow you into the grave.” Through the phone came the sound of waves and the familiar voice of that man. Cold enough to freeze my blood. “What’s the rush? Stabilize her first. Have her handle the insurance claim and funeral matters. Once the heat dies down, I’ll naturally come back.” “Didn’t you say you were just going on a honeymoon and coming back? Why drag it out so long?” Marcus laughed softly, his tone full of indulgence. “What do you know? There are too many annoying procedures back home. Rosie wants a once-in-a-lifetime wedding, so of course I have to give her one overseas.” The pulling pain in my abdominal incision reminded me that I had walked through the gates of death for this man. But no physical pain could compare to even one ten-thousandth of what was happening to my heart. In a daze, I remembered every time I mentioned holding the wedding we never had, Marcus always put me off. He said, “My career is rising right now. A wedding would be too distracting. You’re my best partner, Julia. You understand, right?” After I found out I was pregnant, he said, “Honey, wearing a wedding dress with a big belly won’t look good. After the baby is born, I’ll give you the grandest wedding.” How ridiculous. I once treated those lies as sacred promises. From the other end of the phone came a woman’s sweet, clingy voice. Marcus immediately changed into a gentle tone and coaxed her for a few words. Then he spoke coldly to Travis. “Remember to keep an eye on your sister-in-law. Make sure she recovers. Rosie says she wants a daughter, and then we’ll have the perfect pair.” When I returned to the room, my phone screen was still lit. The influencer called Rosie had started a livestream. On camera, she wore a bohemian dress and smiled innocently. “Good evening, babes. The baby’s dad is way too shy. He refuses to appear on camera and won’t even let me talk too much.” A large hand reached in from the side and affectionately pinched Rosie’s cheek. The live chat exploded. “Oh my God, what kind of fairytale love is this?” “So this is the rich heir who fought the whole world for love? I’m obsessed!” “New follower here. What’s the story?” “Girl, this is true love wins. Rosie’s husband faked his death and gave up a billion-dollar inheritance to escape an arranged marriage!” On-screen, the woman lowered her head shyly. “We already exchanged vows at a local church. In the face of true love, a marriage certificate is just paper.” As soon as she finished, the man outside the frame leaned in and kissed her forehead. The livestream was full of their shameless flirting, while in the background, a baby’s weak crying could be heard. “Am I the only one who thinks that baby sounds miserable? His throat sounds hoarse.” When Rosie saw the comment, her face changed slightly. She reached over and dragged the baby into frame. Her stiff way of holding him made him cry even harder. “He’s an abandoned baby my husband and I adopted. I’ve never had a child before, but I’ll love him as my own. He’ll be the luckiest baby in the world.” The comments were full of praise, calling her beautiful and kind. Only I caught the disgust that flashed in Rosie’s eyes when she lowered her head. And the hand hidden under the blanket, pressing too hard. My child. I covered my mouth tightly as tears broke free without sound. When Travis came back, he arranged top-tier VIP care for me. I did not refuse. Even if it was paid for with my husband’s “death money,” I needed to recover as fast as possible. Only then would I have the strength for revenge. In the days that followed, I lived like a ghost and watched through a screen as Marcus and his true love held a lavish wedding in Bali. From the release of white doves to the champagne roses scattered across the ground. Every detail was taken from the dream wedding I had once drawn for him in my notebook. I still remembered showing Marcus my hand-drawn plans with excitement. He had looked so carefully, his eyes warm enough to melt. He said, “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Even if you ask for the stars.” Back then, I was so moved I held him and said I only needed him. Now, he had indeed recreated my dream perfectly. Only the bride had changed. 3 Watching the man on-screen kneel on one knee and swear his loyalty, I lifted my hand without expression and wiped away my last tear. Snap. The rosewood prayer bracelet on my wrist suddenly broke, scattering beads across the floor. Marcus had once climbed the steps of a mountain shrine on his knees to ask for that bracelet. Back then, my family had fallen apart. My father jumped from a building. My mother lost her mind. Debt collectors cornered me until I almost ended my own life. It was Marcus who stood in front of me, took the beating for me, and said through blood: “Julia, as long as I’m alive, no one can touch you.” He put that bracelet on my wrist and swore: “The priest said these beads block disaster. If they stay, I stay. If they break, I die.” His vow still rang in my ears. And now the bracelet had broken. I looked at the beads rolling across the floor. The last soft filter I had over my youth shattered completely. This was fate. The toxic bond was over. “My son is barely gone, and you’re sitting here eating grapes one after another? You curse of a woman!” Before I could bend to pick up the beads, brute force dragged me off the sofa. Marcus’s mother stormed in like a madwoman. After postpartum bleeding, my body had been ruined. Add the mental torture of these days, and I was frighteningly weak. But Mrs. Reed had spent her life doing farm work in the countryside and was strong as an ox. I was shoved around like a rag doll. “I said from the beginning you had the face of a woman who would ruin her husband! And look now. You killed my son, and you didn’t even leave behind a grandson. Give me back my son!” Mrs. Reed wailed and struck me at the same time. Travis peeked in from the doorway, calling out hypocritically. “Ma’am, calm down. Julia is a victim too.” He said he was helping, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He did not take a single step forward to separate us. “What kind of victim is she? Living in my son’s house, spending my son’s compensation money! What use is a hen that can’t lay eggs?” Mrs. Reed and I had always had a tense relationship. She despised me as a fallen heiress, too delicate and too expensive. Marcus used to protect me. He even sent his mother back to her hometown over it. That only made Mrs. Reed hate me more. Now that Marcus was no longer there to restrain her, her malice burst open like floodwater. “Ugh!” Her elbow rammed into my abdomen. The wound that had barely healed tore with sharp pain. In my daze, I wondered whether Marcus had imagined this scene before staging his death. Of course he had. Maybe this had been part of the plan. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, only icy resolve remained. If no one would protect me, then I would protect myself. I grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table. With a loud crack, I smashed it against Mrs. Reed’s forehead. Blood instantly ran down her cheek.

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On the day I died, my husband was being lifted onto a pedestal by his new book, *Born Toward the Sun*. The book told the inspirational story of how he and his first love fought cancer together. She was a fellow patient he had met during treatment. The whole internet praised the resilience of life and cried over their love, the kind that seemed to cling to each other between life and death. No one knew that his treatment had been paid for by me. I worked in an office during the day and delivered food at night, order by order, mile by mile. He survived cancer. But I worked myself sick, ate irregularly for too long, developed stomach cancer, and died vomiting blood. When I opened my eyes again, my husband was standing in front of me, handing me his cancer diagnosis. The water that had filled my brain in my last life seemed to flow out through my eyes. This time, I was perfectly clear-headed. So I let myself collapse onto the sofa. Forget “seek treatment as soon as possible.” Let me perform first. 1 I was back. Back to the day my husband, Ryan Cole, was diagnosed with leukemia. I looked at the diagnosis in front of me. Lymphocytic leukemia. Ryan and I had been college classmates. We dated for two years on campus, married after graduation, and spent four sweet years as a couple. We had even planned to start trying for a baby this year. In my last life, I got Ryan’s call and rushed home after asking for leave from work. When I learned about his illness, it felt like lightning striking a clear sky. But when I saw how devastated he looked, I forced myself to pull together. I knew I couldn’t fall apart. Ryan was more fragile than I was at that moment. He needed me. The diagnosis recommended seeking treatment as soon as possible. So I hurriedly packed our things and took him to the hospital that very day. After all, for things like bone marrow donation, the earlier you got in line, the better your odds. In the rush, there were bound to be oversights. And later, that became one of Ryan’s reasons for resenting me. “Audrey always does things in such a panic. She never thinks things through.” At the time, I blamed myself. I thought I shouldn’t have lost my head in the chaos. But later, I accidentally heard him sigh to another patient. “If only I’d been admitted one day later. Then I could have shared a room with Lily.” His voice was full of regret. Lily was the cancer patient in the next room. She was also the first love in his book. Thinking of that, I lowered my eyes. I refused to look at the face I had once found handsome and now found almost hateful. Since he regretted it so much, I would make his wish come true this time. 2 I closed my eyes. Warm liquid slid from the corners. It reached my lips, but I couldn’t taste salt. I thought perhaps these were the waters from my flooded brain in my last life. So I cried even harder. And my mind became clearer. Sometimes, doing something well is far less important than looking like you are. I let myself go limp on the sofa, head tilted at an elegant forty-five-degree angle. My face held four parts grief, three parts panic, two parts helplessness, and one part fragile beauty. Seeing me cry so hard I couldn’t speak, Ryan seemed to feel the heavy stone in his own chest loosen. He actually began comforting me softly. “Audrey, it’s okay. I’ll always be with you.” That had never happened in my last life. Back then, I quickly wiped away my tears, became his pillar, and arranged his hospital admission as fast as possible. Through the whole process, Ryan had been like a puppet with its strings cut, completely defeated. I was the one running up and down, while still taking care of his emotions. Who would have thought that in this life, shedding a few extra tears would make Ryan feel even more comforted? So I only cried and said nothing. After a long while, I finally stopped my attack of tears. Crying took energy too. “Ryan, we’ll get you treated properly. You’ll recover.” Before he could answer, I “struggled” to my feet. I kept muttering, “You rest. I’ll hurry to the store. Hospital stay means towels, and…” My mouth didn’t stop, and my steps were hurried. I looked busy from head to toe. Ryan’s expression softened more and more. What a thoughtful wife I was. So considerate. So completely devoted to him. 3 Preparing everything took time. By the time I finished, we could only go to the hospital the next day. Listening to the shower running in the bathroom, I took my phone from my bag. The slightly hard touch under my fingers steadied me. It was the tiny voice recorder I had bought that day. I opened TikTok and created an account. Expressionless, I wrote my first diary entry. [Day One After My Husband’s Leukemia Diagnosis: Preparing for admission. Come on. You can do this. You can protect him.] The photos were his diagnosis and the two large bags of supplies I had bought. I blurred the personal information on the diagnosis, leaving only the word leukemia visible. After posting, I logged out and put the phone back in my bag. The bathroom door opened. Ryan came out in a robe, his hair still dripping. By instinct, I wanted to grab a towel and dry it for him. In my last life, I did that every time. I was terrified he would catch a cold and affect his treatment. Taking care of him in every possible way had become a habit carved into my bones. “What’s wrong?” Seeing me stand, Ryan looked confused. “Nothing. I’m going to shower.” I smoothly withdrew the hand that had been reaching for the towel and walked into the bathroom. In the mirror, my eyes were faintly red at the edges. Steam filled the bathroom, blurring everything. For a moment, I seemed to see the wretched version of myself from my last life. I reached out and wiped the fog from the mirror. And with it, I smoothed away the tiny ripple that had risen in my heart. The woman in the mirror had deep, still eyes. There was no trace of panic from just learning her husband had cancer. 4 Early the next morning, I carried two large bags and accompanied Ryan to the hospital. I remembered at all times that I had to be a proper “good wife.” And a good wife, of course, had to record every detail. Click. My phone captured a photo of our “departure for battle.” In the picture, the woman’s back was straight, not crushed by the two heavy bags. Her face wore a strong smile. By contrast, the man beside her carried a small bag. His smile was forced, shadowed by gloom. Anyone who saw it would think I was the good wife about to carry the weight of the whole family without being broken. Diary material plus one. After completing the admission paperwork, Ryan was assigned to Room 21. The very room he had pined over for so long in my last life. Back then, we had arrived one day earlier, and he had been placed in Room 22 next door. Right after he was admitted, a bed had opened in Room 21, right next to Lily’s. He regretted it for ages. Later, he even resented me for it, blaming me for being too hasty and making him miss the chance to be closer to Lily. Ryan’s bed was by the window. On the bed beside his sat a young woman with her legs crossed. She was in her early twenties, bald from treatment, and looking down at a book. Hearing us, she lifted her head and smiled brightly. “Hi there.” Her voice was crisp, nothing like a person suffering from cancer. Her smile made me dazed for a moment. She was like a bright splash of color in that pale hospital room. Apparently, I was not the only one dazed. Ryan froze too. Then his eyes lit up like searchlights. That light was different from the gentle warmth I had seen in him before. Before, he was like fruit wine, warm and mellow, enough to make someone softly drunk. Now, the light in his eyes was like hard liquor, burning hot. “Hi. I’m Ryan.” “Everyone calls me Lily,” the girl said with an easy smile. 5 Lily was lively and talkative. Soon, the atmosphere in the room became animated. She was completely open about her eye-catching bald head. “It looks a little ugly, but washing my hair is so easy now.” “Not ugly. Not ugly at all,” Ryan said, word by word, his eyes full of seriousness. Lily froze slightly. She glanced at me as I busied myself setting things up, then seemed a little embarrassed and quickly changed the subject. So everything had signs from the beginning. In my last life, to cover Ryan’s expensive medical bills, I worked delivery after my day job. Under both mental and physical pressure, my hair fell out in handfuls. When Ryan saw it, he was only disgusted. He told me to pay attention to my appearance and stop getting hair everywhere. “Audrey, your scalp is showing. It’s kind of gross.” “Audrey, why are you so sloppy now? Your hair got on my blanket.” Perhaps in Ryan’s eyes, Lily’s bald head represented the glow of life. While my hair loss was nothing but the messy reality of daily struggle. My hands did not pause as I made the bed and arranged his things. Using my body as cover, I placed the tiny voice recorder in a hidden corner. Once everything was settled, I stepped outside the room and called my mother-in-law. The real me would not stupidly carry this burden alone again. 6 I was never Ryan’s parents’ ideal daughter-in-law. One reason was that my parents had died young, and my family offered no real support. But they forgot something. When we married, I had only asked symbolically for a bride gift of six thousand six hundred dollars. And in the end, every cent went back into household expenses. The old me thought Ryan was my whole life. Whatever I had belonged to our little home. As someone alone in the world, I longed for family. So I gave everything, every ounce of my heart, to maintaining that home. In my last life, Ryan persuaded me not to touch his parents’ retirement money unless there was no other choice. “Audrey, we still have about two hundred thousand. If something happens to me, we can’t leave my parents with nothing in old age…” Back then, I couldn’t bear hearing him talk like that. I quickly agreed. I thought I was young. If I worked a few more jobs, I could make it through. Later, one of his relatives accidentally let slip that my in-laws had nearly a million dollars in demolition compensation from their hometown property. So my understanding of them had been that shallow. After four years of marriage, I was still an outsider. In my last life, whether Ryan or his parents, they all watched me work by day and deliver food by night. Through wind and rain, growing more haggard by the day. No one ever mentioned that million. The phone rang seven or eight times. In my heart, I counted. Nine. Ten. My mother-in-law’s dissatisfaction with me also showed in how she answered calls. She never picked up immediately. She always waited until the call was about to end before leisurely pressing answer. “Hello, Mom. Ryan is in the hospital.” My voice carried a sob. “The doctor says treatment will cost hundreds of thousands.” “Mom, what should I do?” 7 After a passionate crying performance, I hung up, still wanting more. I guessed the old couple would arrive from their hometown tomorrow. Just as in my last life, I registered on a food delivery app, preparing to deliver after work. But this time, I would not work myself to death. In my last life, I wanted to buy Ryan the best medicine possible. I wished I could grow eight arms. I kept refreshing the app for orders and rode my scooter like I was flying. Several times, I was nearly hit. Rain, wind, snow, it didn’t matter. I usually worked until midnight every day before returning home. To squeeze in more orders, I often missed meals. When I ate, I would grab a bun or piece of bread and swallow a few bites casually. Now? After eating my fill, I opened the app at a leisurely pace. Too far, no. Too heavy, no. After picking a few easy orders, I called it a night. When I got home, I logged into TikTok and began editing the day’s material. Including hospital clips, delivery clips, and more. I wrote my second diary entry: [Got my husband to the hospital in time. The doctor estimates treatment will cost hundreds of thousands. It’s okay. I can still do delivery part-time. Smile.jpg] The next day, my in-laws arrived at the hospital. The moment my mother-in-law entered the room and saw Ryan, her eyes reddened. “Son, you’ve suffered.” Ryan quickly comforted her. “Mom, it’s okay. The doctor said it’s treatable.” As he spoke, guilt appeared on his face. “Dad, Mom, I made you worry.” The three of them looked warm and close. I arrived in my bright delivery vest, like an intruder ruining the scene. My voice trembled. “Dad, Mom, I’ll take good care of Ryan.” My fingers tugged at the delivery vest, and I lowered my head in shame. “But the economy is bad right now. Last night I only made forty-one dollars…” Halfway through, I “lost control” and began wiping tears. Ryan, who had looked vaguely disapproving, now seemed moved. My mother-in-law stiffened. Then for the first time ever, she reached out and patted my arm. “You’re a good girl. Ryan is our only child. Even if we have to sell everything, we’ll treat him.” As she spoke, she took out her phone. “We came in a hurry. We only have thirty-six thousand and change on hand. I’ll transfer it to you for emergencies first. Later, I’ll ask relatives to lend us more.” Thirty-six thousand and change. Very convincing. I did not mind that it was little. With the first thirty-six thousand, could the second be far behind? I looked deeply moved. “Dad, Mom, Ryan will definitely treat you well in the future.” 8 The days passed one by one. I still worked in the office during the day and delivered a few orders at night depending on my mood. Every day, I checked in at the hospital. I never stayed long, but my photo album recorded my figure at the hospital every night. Every few days, I made Ryan a nice nutritious meal. But making it every day and changing the menu constantly like in my last life? Impossible. In my last life, the doctor said nutrition was important for patients. So I shamelessly asked the doctor for details, from meals to snacks. For a while, the doctor practically avoided me. I also searched online. To get Ryan to eat a few more bites, I learned recipes from food bloggers. The meals had to be nutritious and delicious. I did not want the effort from my last life to go to waste. On TikTok, my diary became richer and richer. I wrote out all the experience I had gained from caring for Ryan in my last life. How to book specialists. How to handle donor matching. How to prepare nutritious meals for patients. Post by post, I turned it into practical content. These were all things I had learned through countless sleepless nights, endless research, and consulting many people. Cancer tortured patients physically. But family members carried both mental and financial pressure. My account followers grew from zero to ten. Then one hundred. Then over three thousand two hundred. People began thanking me in the comments, saying my posts were useful. The effort of my last life was finally being seen. But Ryan still did not see it. His eyes were full of Lily now. If Lily had one more needle mark on her hand, he felt heartache. If the book Lily read was one he loved, he was delighted. They talked from *Norwegian Wood* to *Gone with the Wind*, then to *Wuthering Heights*. The more they talked, the more perfectly they clicked. Lily was like spiritual opium for Ryan. With her, he could no longer feel the terror of cancer. He no longer feared life suddenly ending. Ryan had a literary side, which was one of the things I loved about him in my last life. Whenever he spoke eloquently about some classic novel, I always looked at him with starry eyes. But when I shared my own thoughts, he would give me a look that said, You don’t understand. Now, he and Lily were chatting happily. I put down the thermos, left the room, and updated my diary. [My husband chatted about literature with his fellow patient today. His smile was very bright. As long as he’s happy. I just feel a little regretful that I couldn’t join the conversation. I need to work harder.]

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