I stared at my husband’s open laptop screen, messages from a group chat named “The Cheater’s Club” constantly popping up. Someone in the group was egging on “Eduardo,” saying he’d kept his secret stash for ten years without his “old lady” finding out, and urging him to share his secrets. Eduardo proudly replied that as long as he acted like he was selflessly dedicating himself to the family and perpetually exhausted, his wife would never suspect a thing. Someone else chimed in, saying that besides Eduardo, the longest-running record in the group belonged to the “Minister.” A cold smile tugged at my lips as I read these conversations. My husband’s strategy was indeed brilliant, but what he didn’t know was that he wasn’t the only one in this house who was skilled at deception. 1. “Honey, this month’s salary, it’s all here. Didn’t you say last week you had your eye on a bag?” “Our son is growing up fast; you should buy what you want.” My husband, Eduardo, tugged at the corner of his suit jacket, looking at me with an expression full of pure happiness. “Aren’t you keeping any for yourself?” I looked at his slightly faded suit, a complex feeling stirring within me. “What do I need a salary for, a grown man like me? I work hard out there, but isn’t it all for you and our son?” Eduardo’s face was etched with willing dedication to our family. “I’m working overtime tonight. If only I could work harder, my wife wouldn’t have to be so tired.” As Eduardo walked out the door with his briefcase, anyone who saw him would praise him as a man utterly devoted to his family. But who could imagine that such an honest man would be so eloquently sharing his infidelity tips in a cheaters’ group chat? “Women, they’re all family-oriented. Once they have a child, they have a weakness.” “As long as you win the child over, she won’t have the energy to go after you.” “Just act completely devoted to the family, and she’ll never suspect a thing.” “Remember, you have to forge every single pay stub meticulously.” The men in the group were full of admiration. “No wonder it’s Eduardo! Cheating for years and never caught.” “I remember Eduardo’s been married for a decade, right? People in this group have come and gone, but only the Minister and Eduardo are still standing strong.” Messages kept flashing on the social media alternate account I’d forgotten to log out of. I was stunned… It felt like a sick joke. My perfect husband, cheating behind my back… The chat window on the screen was quickly closed forcibly. The sound of a key turning in the lock came from the door. I walked out of the kitchen as if nothing was wrong, and Eduardo let out a sigh of relief as he saw the dim screen. “What’s wrong?” I smiled at Eduardo, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. “Nothing, just left my phone and laptop at home.” “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to reach me. Did you see anyone send me messages, honey?” Eduardo looked at me tentatively, a hint of concern for his work in his eyes. “This collaboration is very important. Didn’t you always want a new bracelet? When I land this deal, your husband can buy it for you.” I knew what answer he wanted. “Your laptop screen was off the whole time, and I didn’t hear anything.” Eduardo instantly relaxed, placing a kiss on my forehead. “For our anniversary in a few days, let’s drop the kid off at Mom’s place, and we can go out and have a proper celebration.” With that, he turned to leave. “Darling, wait.” I called out to him, a sarcastic smile flashing in my eyes. “I remember, you weren’t wearing these clothes when you left this morning.” Eduardo’s steps faltered, a look of panic in his eyes. Damn, in his rush to get back, he’d forgotten to change clothes. “The client I’m seeing today is quite important. For the company, the boss lent me his suit.” I smiled and nodded, straightening his tie. “You work too hard. Come home early.” Eduardo feigned calmness, nodding, but his departing figure, if scrutinized, held a hint of stiffness. I sighed. The scent of perfume on his suit was all too familiar. Only the sales associates at C-brand luxury boutiques wore that specific fragrance. He hadn’t even noticed the earring dangling from his tie. Too much heartfelt acting, and he’d even convinced himself. After a long moment, I opened Chat App and, from memory, added the account I hadn’t logged into for years. The message history from that group chat poured in like a torrent. I scrolled through the messages one by one, then sent a casual greeting with a smile. “Everyone, long time no see.” “Oh my god! It’s the Minister! The Minister has appeared!” A hint of cunning flickered in my eyes. Having been a housewife for so long, I almost forgot my true identity. You see, I am a genuine succubus. 2. The Cheater’s Club was something I founded back when I was a succubus, playing games in the human world. But then, I met Eduardo. I was either attracted by his honesty, or tired of being a succubus and wanted to try being human. Once a succubus falls in love and bears a child for a human, she is cursed, losing her succubus abilities. A succubus who has given birth cannot use any of the power she once gained as a succubus. Unless… they are willing to go back to their old ways. Successfully manipulating a man into willingly betraying his current lover is the only way to break the curse. And now, older and past my prime, I had no way to use my looks to win Eduardo’s heart back. Moreover, I had chosen to bear his child. “Mom, why are you still dawdling?” Leo looked at me, a hint of impatience and disdain in his eyes. If Dad hadn’t given him a task and promised him a toy train, he wouldn’t want to be with Mom at all. Mom never dressed up and had nothing in common with him. “We’re not going to kindergarten today.” I looked at Leo, filled with deep disappointment. Hearing he didn’t have to go to kindergarten, a hint of cheer lit up Leo’s eyes. But then, remembering the task Dad had given him, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. Dad was planning to go on a date with Aunt Sophie today. Dad had also instructed him to keep Mom occupied after kindergarten. I saw the conflict in Leo’s eyes. After all, the messages I saw recorded showed Eduardo had shared in the group more than once how he used Leo to keep me busy. “Mom has something to do with Aunt Sarah tonight. Do you want to go play at Grandma’s house?” Leo hesitated for a long moment, then nodded. Mom had something to do anyway, so she wouldn’t bother Dad. Besides, he really didn’t want to go to kindergarten, so it counted as completing Dad’s task. After dropping Leo off, I found the succubus clan’s human world administrator, my sister Sarah. “You mean, you want to be a succubus again?” “Take back everything you once had? Luna, are you crazy?!” “You were the one who went mad wanting to be human. Now you want to be a succubus again? It’s not that easy!” I smiled bitterly, then handed her my phone with the messages. “Humans are truly no good,” Sarah said, a hint of anger in her eyes. Compared to humans, succubi are far more open. She couldn’t understand how her sister had suddenly become so love-struck. Marriage, for both humans and succubi, once a wrong step is taken, is a bottomless abyss. “I can help you, but according to the succubus covenant, I can only change your appearance, and it definitely won’t surpass your current beauty…” “Good.” I nodded. I knew she was doing all she could for me. “Are you sure? With that appearance, you’re confident you can make him change his heart? Lure him away from other women?” “I can only help you transform once…” After a moment of hesitation, Sarah looked at me with a complicated expression. With this face, unless he was truly starved, a normal man would likely find it hard to stomach. “I’m sure.” A determined smile flickered in my eyes. 3. I found the owner of the earring, Sophie Evans. She was very beautiful, the top sales associate at C-brand. In the Cheater’s Club, she had become Eduardo’s trophy. The moment she saw me, she recognized me. “Hello, I’m here to return something.” I smiled and nodded at her. However, the moment I opened the box, her professional smile froze on her face. Inside the box was the earring I had taken from Eduardo’s tie. “You know already?” Sophie looked at me, a sharp glint in her eyes. Soon, a smile touched her eyes again. “If it weren’t for me, you would never have known this in your life. You should thank me for letting you know your ‘honest’ husband is cheating.” “Women still need to love themselves.” “Survival of the fittest, you’re out.” “Mrs. Miller, as a fellow woman, I’m giving you a chance to leave with dignity.” Sophie looked down on me, her eyes full of youthful brilliance. “Do you really like other people’s things that much?” “Ms. White, I’m ten years younger than you, that’s my capital.” “My value is much higher than yours. You know a woman’s appearance depreciates with age.” “Did you know? Your husband isn’t just an ordinary company employee; he’s the general manager.” “You, you’re not worth his investment. If you were smart, you’d step aside sooner.” “Is that so?” I looked at the young Sophie. Her appearance wouldn’t even rank as low-grade among the succubus clan. Using looks to gain human love is a low-level succubus tactic. “Ms. Evans, what makes you so sure?” “Mrs. Miller, I’m ten years younger than you. That’s capital.” I looked at her, a hint of sarcasm flashing in my eyes. According to the succubus covenant, to regain my identity, I had to win back my unfaithful husband. That meant making him betray Sophie. “No wonder you’d believe a man like that.” Through her, I also saw my ten-year-younger self. “You’re being too naive.” Ten years, so much had changed. Not just me, but Eduardo too. I smiled, looking at the figure behind her. “Husband, what a coincidence.” 4. “Luna, weren’t you with Leo for the parent-child event? What are you doing here…” Eduardo’s eyes held a hint of awkwardness. “Didn’t I tell you last time that I wanted a new bag?” “Today, I specifically came to have a look. This old bag has been with me for so many years; it’s time for a change.” “Do you have any recommendations?” I looked at Sophie, a hint of a smile in my eyes. “Madam, you’ve certainly come at the right time today.” “As it happens, we’ve just launched a new bag, designed by a renowned international designer. Both its interior and exterior are top-notch.” “Madam, that bag of yours must be a ten-year-old model, isn’t it? So old and worn, the inside is probably already falling apart.” Sophie looked at me meaningfully. A hint of sarcasm flickered in my eyes as I looked at Eduardo. Isn’t that right? As Sophie walked past Eduardo with the bag, she deliberately brushed against him. Eduardo stiffened. However, I acted as if I hadn’t noticed. “Oh?” “But actually, I still prefer older styles.” I looked at the bag on the shelf, saying with a cheerful smile. “After all, the newer these luxury items are, the more easily they become outdated and depreciate.” “Classic styles, though old, hold eternal value.” Sophie gritted her teeth. “Sir, what do you think?” After looking at the price on the shelf, which was several times higher, Eduardo quickly made up his mind. “Honey, I think this new one is better. The old style is completely outdated. You should try something new. Anyway, once I make more money, you can change bags whenever you want.” “Then, Ms. Evans, please wrap it up.” I brushed my hair back, smiling at Sophie. Sophie’s eyes held a hint of jealousy. This bag was not cheap. This damn old woman. Once Eduardo divorced, wouldn’t all this be hers anyway? In the passenger seat, I frowned, noticing the adjusted mirror and a lipstick case lying on the floor. Eduardo seemed to sense my unusual behavior, and a dark flicker crossed his eyes. He was facing a promotion recently. If news of his affair and divorce got out now, his position as vice president, after being general manager, would be in jeopardy. Sophie was too impatient! “This bag isn’t cheap. It costs several months of our household expenses. You just bought it, just like that?” I suddenly looked at him with a half-smile. “Honey, it’s all worth it. You’ve given so much to this family. It’s just a bag. Even if it were stars in the sky, your husband would try his best to pluck them for you.” Eduardo said, a hint of financial pain in his eyes. “In the future, there will be more and more. You deserve the best.” “I’ve been neglecting you these past few days.” Eduardo continued to whisper sweet nothings, and a hint of sarcasm flickered in my eyes. Anyone would say that Eduardo, at this moment, was a perfect husband. It turned out that the most captivating thing wasn’t beautiful skin, but the deadly, gentle trap a man weaves for you. The next day, I went to the bank. Sure enough, after checking all the numbers, another sum of money was missing from my savings account. It was exactly the price of yesterday’s bag. Using a woman’s money to make her grateful was another one of his excellent strategies shared in the cheating group. A cold glint flickered in my eyes. To avoid alerting him, I took the bag to a pawn shop. “Madam, your bag is a fake. We can’t pawn it.” The pawn shop manager said cautiously. This marriage, already shattered beyond repair, now only consisted of mutual deception. Meanwhile, on the other end, Sophie held her new bag, doting on it. “Don’t be angry, you know I’m in a career growth period right now.” “You’re the only one in my heart. That old hag at home can’t even compare to you. My love and money will all be yours in the end.” Young girls are harder to appease. But as long as you make her believe you’re spending all your money on her, she’s easy to win over. In the evening, I helped Eduardo in the Cheater’s Club, sharing his insights and answering the group members’ doubts on his behalf. How could I not know what he was thinking? “Still, the Minister hits the nail on the head.” “The Minister is the most amazing one, isn’t she? I thought she had retired from the game!” “I heard the Minister’s admirers have all risen to prominence, haven’t they?” The group instantly boiled over again. Eduardo, having been the “big brother” in the group for so many years, probably forgot… The original legend wasn’t him at all. I smiled, turning off my phone screen. Looking at the private message friend request, I knew the fish had taken the bait.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “416962”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day I arrived on campus for my freshman year, I was practically buzzing with excitement. I clutched my acceptance letter—same major as Nate—and planned the perfect surprise. I found him leaning against a brick pillar outside the women’s dorms, phone pressed to his ear, his voice a low, casual murmur. “Sera has severe anxiety. She only talks to me, she can’t handle being alone. You have to find a way to get her into my program,” he was saying, his tone smooth and commanding. He paused, then added, “And Ava… yeah, switch her to the International Relations department. Her temper’s bad and she gets jealous. I don’t want her stressing Sera out.” He glanced up at the dorm windows, a soft, almost tender smile gracing his lips. I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but when the topic shifted back to me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Just forget about her. She’s been stuck to me for years. I need some damn breathing room.” So that was it. More than a decade of my life, a constant presence by his side, had been reduced to a burden. This time, I didn’t scream or cry. I just walked up to him and calmly ended it. A second after I said the words, a friend request popped up on my phone. It was from the Student Body President. The message read: “So… is it my turn now?” 1 “Break up?” The impatience in Nate’s eyes was so thick I could practically feel it. “Seriously? Just because I got here a day early and didn’t text you?” “Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “Fine,” he sighed, the sound heavy with theatrical exasperation, as if I were the most unreasonable person on the planet. “When you’ve cooled off, I’ll win you back.” But even as he spoke, his gaze drifted past me, locking onto a girl who had just stepped out of the dorm. “Nate, I mean it. We’re really…” My words trailed off. The lazy, arrogant slouch he always had was gone. He stood up straight, instinctively smoothing the wrinkles on his shirt. “Sera! You all settled in? Need help with anything else?” His voice was suddenly bright and eager, completely drowning out the rest of my sentence. Seraphina, or Sera, just nodded. She didn’t have to say a word. The way she stood there, biting her lip and staring up at him, was more powerful than anything I could have ever screamed. “I… I need you to introduce me to everyone at orientation… There are so many people… I’m scared…” she whispered, tugging on his sleeve and leaning in so close her lips brushed his ear. “Of course,” he agreed instantly. It was only then that he turned and seemed to remember I was still standing there. He cleared his throat, offering a half-hearted olive branch. “Ava, after I help Sera out, I’ll give you a tour of the campus, okay?” He didn’t even realize it. From the moment she appeared, I had become an afterthought. “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “You should stick close to your helpless little baby. I’m afraid she might have a meltdown and run home on her first day without you.” “Ava, what the hell is your problem? You know her situation!” he snapped, his brows crashing together. It was the first time he’d ever used my full name, and it was to defend someone else. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, but it was followed by a sharp sting in my nose. Nate and I had been childhood sweethearts. It was the kind of storybook romance everyone envied. Then, in our senior year of high school, a transfer student arrived. Seraphina. The whole school buzzed with whispers about the new girl with crippling social anxiety. Our boring, test-filled senior year suddenly had a new drama. Nate, ever the hero, decided he needed to be the one to “bring her out of her shell.” I thought it was pathetic, but he became obsessed. Soon enough, he was the only person at school she would speak to. He took it upon himself to be her guardian. He tutored her, took her on the Ferris wheel at the state fair, and bought her cupcakes from the bakery we used to love. He re-created every single one of our special moments, but with her. We fought. We screamed. We broke up a thousand times, and every single time, he would come back, head hung low, begging for forgiveness. But he never stopped “taking care” of Sera; he just got better at hiding it. When it was time to apply for college, I couldn’t let go of a decade’s worth of history. I chose the same university, the same niche major, just to be with him. Sera’s grades weren’t good enough, so she was waitlisted and then shunted into a less competitive program. I thought college would be a clean slate. But now I saw the truth. He wasn’t hiding his obsession anymore. He was flaunting it. “Oh, I know her situation,” I retorted, my voice sharp. “One’s a basket case and the other’s a fool. You’re both sick in the head. You two deserve each other. Do the world a favor and stay off the market.” I shoved down the flicker of pain and watched with grim satisfaction as his face darkened and Sera’s eyes filled with tears. Then, I turned on my heel and walked away. I checked my new schedule. International Relations. It seemed like a random, difficult pivot, but it was a perfect fit. My mother was a diplomat, my father a top-tier translator. I had always planned on following in their footsteps, but I’d thrown it all away for Nate, choosing a major I hated just to be near him. In a way, he’d put me back on the right track. And from now on, every step I took would be loud, brilliant, and on my own terms. I wouldn’t be his shadow anymore. I would become someone he could only ever look up to. 2 I wanted a clean break, but the official transfer paperwork was still being processed. That meant I was stuck attending the freshman orientation for my old major. I sat in the back of the lecture hall and watched as Nate led Sera onto the stage by the hand. He gave a brief, charming introduction for himself, then tightened his grip on her hand as she pressed herself against his side. “This is Seraphina,” he announced to the crowded room. “She’ll be transferring into our program soon. She’s a little shy, so I’ll be speaking for her.” The hall erupted in a chorus of whistles and suggestive catcalls. “Damn, of course the hot guys show up with girlfriends already.” “They look so perfect together! They must be totally in love.” They did look perfect. The girl, blushing and hiding in the boy’s arms. The boy, head held high, looking proud and possessive. From a distance, it was a fairytale. Only I saw the truth. I watched, my blood turning to ice, as Nate let the assumption hang in the air, a silent confirmation. So this is what it felt like to have him publicly claim someone. A memory flashed in my mind. The first week of high school, before we were officially a couple. Someone had put a love letter in my locker. Nate found it, read it aloud in front of the whole class, and then scoffed, “Ava’s been looking at this face for over a decade. If you want to compete, you’ll have to do better than me.” He was handsome, confident, and radiant. I used to love that about him. Now, the sight of his arrogance was blinding. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and slipped out the back door. I’d only made it a few feet down the hall when a hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me back. Nate stood there, panting, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Ava, let me explain. I was put on the spot. If I had denied it, Sera would have been completely humiliated. You know how sensitive she is.” I stared at the red marks already forming on my skin where his fingers dug in. A humorless smile touched my lips. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. We’re broken up, remember?” He visibly relaxed, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he slung an arm around my shoulders, his tone shifting to a playful, condescending purr. “Alright, alright. We’re broken up, if you say so. We’ll get back together after you’ve had your little fit. You’re so cute when you’re jealous.” He flicked my nose with his finger, a gesture so familiar and practiced it made me want to gag. We had been together for so long he genuinely believed I was incapable of leaving him. Just as I was about to shove him off, his expression turned serious. “Ava, listen. There’s a major national debate tournament coming up. It’s a huge deal for anyone wanting to get into a top-tier grad school. I know you can easily get one of the university’s sponsorship slots.” He paused, his eyes pleading. “Can you… can you give your spot to Sera?” I stared at him, my ears ringing with disbelief. A low growl rumbled in my chest. “On what grounds? Nate, do you seriously think that even if I handed her my spot, Seraphina, a girl who can’t even introduce herself to a room full of people, could actually win?” His voice dropped, laced with a pleading tone I had never heard before. “That’s why… I want you to compete, but put her name on the registration. Her grades aren’t as good as yours. If she wants to get into the same graduate program as me, this is her only shot…” I couldn’t stop the manic, incredulous laugh that bubbled up from my throat. I laughed until my eyes burned and tears started to stream down my face. It was the first day of college, and he had already mapped out his entire future with her, right down to her graduate school applications. “And what about me?” The question was a raw whisper. “Did you ever think about me?” Nate flinched. He looked away, his jaw tight. “It’s different. You have your family’s connections. You’ll be successful no matter what you do. Sera… she only has me.” He looked back at me, his eyes wide with earnest expectation. “Ava, I’ve always known you were a kind person. You’ll help her, won’t you?” I met his hopeful gaze and smiled, a sharp, cruel thing. “Of course. As long as she comes and begs me herself. If she impresses me, maybe I’ll throw her a bone.” 3 “You’re being completely unreasonable,” Nate spat, before storming off. I stood there for a long time, the disappointment in his eyes feeling like a physical wound. Finally, I turned and walked in the opposite direction. From inseparable companions to bitter strangers. It had only taken a year. I went to class alone, I ate in the dining hall alone. And everywhere I looked, I saw Nate doting on Sera. He walked her to class, saved her a seat at lunch, and whispered secrets to her as they strolled across the quad. We were technically in the same orientation group, but we were locked in a cold war. Thankfully, my transfer paperwork finally went through. I was almost free. On my way to the department office to pick up my final documents, I heard voices coming from behind the decorative pond near the administration building. Behind a large rock formation, a group of tall, muscular guys from the basketball team had cornered Sera. “Hey, are you for real with that whole mute act?” one of them sneered. “Is Nate into broken girls or something? That’s just gross.” Another one stepped closer, his voice menacing. “Tell us what that prick is afraid of. Spill, and we’ll let you go.” I recognized the jerseys. My roommate had told me that Nate had gotten into a nasty argument with some guys during a pickup basketball game a few days ago. It looked like they were holding a grudge. Sera looked around frantically, her eyes wide with terror. When she spotted me, she rushed forward and grabbed my sleeve. I flinched, instinctively shaking her hand off. I hadn’t pushed her hard, but she stumbled backward with theatrical grace and fell straight into the shallow pond. There were two loud splashes. One was Sera. The other was Nate. I stood frozen as he vaulted over a bench and dove into the water without a second of hesitation. He scooped her into his arms, his face a mask of fury as he glared at me. “Ava, what the hell is wrong with you? You’ve become a monster! Sera doesn’t know anything about our problems! If you have an issue, take it up with me. Don’t you dare bully her!” He automatically cast me as the villain. The injustice of it all sent a surge of hot rage through me. “Get your facts straight, Nate,” I shot back. “I have everything I need. Why would I waste my time bullying a ‘mute’? What’s in it for me?” I glanced around. The basketball players had vanished the second Nate appeared. I took a breath and tried to explain. “The people hassling her were the guys you pissed off on the court. If you don’t believe me, ask her yourself!” Sera coughed weakly, her pale face looking even more fragile and soaked. Her eyes, rimmed with red, were heartbreakingly pitiful. She didn’t say a word. She just cried, looking at me with pure terror. I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. But Nate saw it as proof. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from me. “Ava, apologize to Sera. Now.” My vision narrowed. I barely recognized the cold, harsh man standing in front of me. “Why should I apologize? It wasn’t my fault. This girl is a manipulative liar who frames people…” CRACK. The slap sent my head snapping to the side. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the shock. Before the pain even fully registered, my own hand flew up, and I struck him back with every ounce of strength I had. My palm throbbed. I stared at Nate’s stunned, silent face, a red handprint blooming on his cheek. My heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest. Just when I thought I couldn’t be more disappointed, he found a new way to shatter me. “Nate, we’ve known each other our entire lives. You’ve always protected me. And now you hit me? For her?” My voice cracked. “You’re the one who’s lost his damn mind!” I turned my glare on Sera. “And you. Keep up your act. Sooner or later, you’ll choke on your own lies. You pathetic, manipulative, fraud.” I spat the words out, one by one. I couldn’t stand to be there a second longer. I turned and ran. Behind me, Nate just stood there, staring at his own trembling hand. The hand that had just struck the person he once claimed to love more than anyone in the world. 4 After a few days of slathering on concealer, the handprint on my face faded. The one on my heart was permanent. I started packing my things to move to my new dorm across campus. As I was wrestling a suitcase taller than I was down the stairs, I ran right into Nate. He was carrying both of Sera’s suitcases, one in each hand, yet he was still managing to chat and laugh with her, doting on her every move. We met on the landing—him, pristine and smiling; me, sweaty and struggling. It used to be me and him, a perfect team. “Ava? You’re moving dorms?” I didn’t bother to look at the awkward guilt in his eyes. “Yep,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Someone was kind enough to file my major transfer paperwork for me, so I’ve got to make room for the new student.” His gaze darted away, and his voice was raspy when he finally spoke. “Look, Ava… maybe International Relations is a better fit for you anyway. And even if we’re in different programs, I can still come see you.” I closed my eyes, too exhausted to argue anymore. But as I turned to leave, he dropped Sera’s bags and ran after me, his voice tight with panic. “That day… I didn’t mean to…” Whatever apology he was about to offer was cut short by a sharp cry from Sera. He immediately fell silent and rushed back to her side. “Nate, it’s all wet… Everything is ruined…” Sera sobbed, pointing at one of her suitcases, which was now soaked, a dark stain spreading across the expensive fabric. “Who did this?!” Nate roared, his temper flaring. I had been watching the scene with detached amusement, but my blood ran cold when Sera turned and dropped to her knees directly in front of me. “I’m sorry…” she stammered, her voice a pathetic whimper. “I… I know I’m not good enough for Nate… I can stay in my old major…” Her small voice was laced with a delicate, wounded tremor. “Please… I worked so hard to get into college… I just want to study…” She never directly accused me, but she didn’t have to. The implication was clear. In that moment, I finally understood. She wasn’t an innocent victim. She was a master puppeteer. And her favorite puppet was still completely under her spell. “Ava, how far are you going to take this?!” Nate’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. “First you push her into the pond, now you destroy her belongings! What’s next? Are you going to get her expelled so you can have me all to yourself?” His voice rose to a furious shout. “God, right now, I honestly regret ever meeting you.” The words struck me like a physical blow, but my expression remained like stone. “Think whatever you want.” That was the spark that lit the fuse. Nate exploded. He stormed over to my luggage and kicked it, sending it tumbling down the stairs. Then he grabbed an empty water jug from a nearby trash can, filled it at a water fountain, and dumped it all over my scattered belongings. He stomped on my clothes, my books, my life. He crushed a small, leather-bound journal my grandfather had given me. It was the last birthday present he ever gave me before he died. He had filled it with photos and notes, documenting every important moment of my life, from my first steps to my high school graduation. On the last page, he’d written his final words to me. I treasured it. I kept it pristine. It didn’t have a single folded corner. Now, it was a soggy, mangled mess on the dirty floor, the ink bleeding, the pages ripped and ground into the tile by Nate’s shoe. “NATE, STOP!” I screamed, throwing myself forward, trying to salvage it. But he pressed his foot down harder, refusing to move. “See, Ava? Now you know what it feels like to have something you love destroyed!” he hissed. Having vented his rage, his voice softened, as if he were scolding a misbehaving child. He reached out a hand to help me up, but flinched back as a tear from my cheek dripped onto his skin, hot as acid. “Ava, you…” I looked up, my face streaked with tears, my eyes shot with blood. “That was the last thing my grandpa ever gave me… Nate, I hate you.” My voice was a raw, broken whisper. “I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone in my life.” Panic finally washed over his face. He scrambled backward, his foot slipping off the ruined journal. He stammered a quick, meaningless “I’m sorry,” then turned, grabbed Sera, and practically fled the scene. His parting words echoed down the empty stairwell. “Ava, when you’ve calmed down, I’ll come back and we can talk.” I knelt on the floor, gently picking up the tattered, unrecognizable pieces of paper. I wiped my tears away. There was nothing left to talk about. He had just personally, brutally, and permanently destroyed everything we ever were. I pulled out my phone. The friend request from the Student Body President was still there, sent three days ago. I pressed ‘Confirm.’

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The acrid smell of smoke was the first thing that hit me, jolting me back to a nightmare I’d already lived. I was home. And the house was on fire. This time, I noticed something I’d missed before. The front door had been locked from the outside. He had locked me in. He had taken the entire fire crew with him, up into the mountains, to search for her. His long-lost love, his old flame. The fire crept closer, its heat a living thing, forcing me onto the balcony. I knew what came next. Last time, in this exact moment, I had called him, begging for help. He had rejected the call to save her instead. I was pregnant. The fire had swallowed me whole. He had cried afterward, choked with regret. But on the day we were supposed to be married, he stood at the altar with her. Then, on their wedding day, he jumped from a bridge. His suicide note said that if he could do it all over again, he would choose me. A lie. Right now, in this second life, my call went straight to voicemail. I could only watch as the flames devoured our home, our future, everything. … The fire was a ravenous beast, consuming everything in its path. I clawed at the front door, my hand blistering against the searing hot metal, only to confirm my terror: it was bolted shut from the outside. My phone’s signal was weak, my call to 911 dropping in and out. In a desperate, muscle-memory reflex, I dialed my fiancé, Mark. A firefighter. The man who had sworn he would always choose me. The call connected. “I’m busy,” he said, and hung up. Thick, black smoke coiled around me, a suffocating blanket. A sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen. The wooden furniture, things he’d built for me with his own hands, groaned and cracked as the fire ate them alive. I stumbled back, forced onto the small balcony, the fire nipping at my heels. Finally, my 911 call connected. The voice on the other end was sickeningly familiar. It was Mark’s cousin, Zoe. “Our house… it’s on fire,” I choked out. “Please, hurry…” As I spoke, the living room curtains went up in a sheet of flame, a wall of fire lunging toward me. I froze, paralyzed by terror. Zoe’s voice dripped with disdain. “Look, Abby, it’s not that I don’t want to help you. But Mark took all the experienced guys to the state park to look for Evelyn. The only ones left at the station are a few rookies in training. They can’t be deployed.” She let out a dismissive scoff. “Besides, Mark told me the fire started in the apartment next door. He said he locked your door specifically for your safety. He said even if the fire spread, you’d have plenty of time to get out another way.” Her voice turned sharp. “You can drop the act. I’m not falling for your little stunts to get his attention. I want my best friend Evelyn to be my cousin’s wife, not you.” The moment she said Mark had locked the door, the world went silent. I didn’t hear the rest of her insults. The fire devoured the trellis he had built for my roses, and just like that, the house that was supposed to hold our six years of love became unrecognizable. I looked down. Blood was spreading from between my legs, a dark crimson river mingling with the soot and ash. I couldn’t believe I was back here, in this exact moment. In my last life, the fire from the neighbor’s kid playing with matches had engulfed the entire floor in minutes. My first instinct had been to call Mark. He had promised me he was on his way. He told me not to worry. The next thing I knew, he was leading his best crew up a mountain trail, searching for his precious Evelyn, who had been “missing” for days. The fire consumed me and my unborn child. When he finally found me, all that was left was a charred, incomplete skeleton. He had knelt in the ashes, a hollowed-out wreck, refusing to eat or drink for three days. He clutched the urn with my and our baby’s remains as if he couldn’t go on living. His old flame, Evelyn, cried and apologized, but he just stared through her. My spirit had ached for him, seeing his pain. And then, he married her. On the exact date we had set for our wedding. His parents, even my own, were thrilled. They thought he was finally moving on. But on their wedding day, he killed himself. His last words, spoken to everyone, were a vow that if he had a second chance, he would choose me without hesitation. And here we were. A second chance. And he had chosen to lock me in and run to her. A crowd was gathering on the street below. They saw me, trapped on the balcony, with nowhere left to go. I gripped the railing, the metal so hot it seared my palms, and watched the flames melt the plastic coating at the edges. The outdoor air conditioning unit I was standing on wobbled precariously. My hands and feet were swollen and blistering. The neighbors who had escaped were scrambling, dragging out mattresses and tarps. “My God, there’s a pregnant woman up there all alone!” “She’s covered in blood! Hurry, everyone, we have to get her down!” A sea of unfamiliar faces worked frantically below, their brows beaded with sweat, trying to build me a chance at survival. Some of them had burns of their own, but they didn’t stop. A bitter, acidic feeling rose in my throat. These strangers were risking their lives for me, while the man I had loved for years had done nothing but lock the door and hang up the phone. A single tear traced a path through the grime on my arm. In that instant, the fire surged, a wave of heat washing over me, engulfing my hand. “Call the district fire department! Someone’s going to die!” a man shouted from below. “We did! They just brushed us off, said they don’t have anyone available! What kind of fire department is that?” More people were calling, while others organized the makeshift rescue. A little boy yelled up at me, his voice piercing the chaos. “Jump, lady! My daddy said we’ll all catch you!” The pain was so immense it was becoming abstract, my mind drifting into a hazy fog. The sheer volume of calls must have finally gotten through to Zoe. She had trusted her brother, the rising star of the department, the one who gave lectures on rescue techniques. He had assured her he’d done a thorough risk assessment of the old apartment buildings in the area. She had believed him. But the calls kept coming. She couldn’t ignore them any longer. She put in an emergency request for a crew from the neighboring district. But in our small county, the two districts were separated by a wide river. Even with the bridge, it would take them forever to get here. The fire wrapped around my hand, my fingers no longer my own. The balcony beneath my feet was slick with my own blood. The railing snapped. I had nothing left to hold onto. I fell backward into the inferno. Before I was reborn, I witnessed Mark’s all-consuming grief. I had interpreted his suicide as a final, tragic act of love for me. I had drowned myself in the fantasy of our perfect connection, our shared dreams. When he failed to save me in that life, my heart broke, but it fluttered again when I saw his ghost clutching my ashes before he jumped. I never once doubted his love. He had loved me so loudly, so fiercely, and I had believed him so completely. But Evelyn’s existence proved that his love had always had a prior claim. One text from her saying “I miss you” was all it took for him to abandon his pregnant fiancée and drive hundreds of miles to spend her birthday with her. I had cried, I had begged, I had even used our baby to try and make him stay. All I got was, “Can you stop being so dramatic? Evelyn has severe depression. If something happens to her, can you live with that?” So he used that excuse, night after night, leaving me alone while he went to comfort her. After I died, he must have realized that depressed people can take medication, see therapists; they don’t always need him. But he wanted to be needed. Evelyn, insisting on the purity of their “platonic” friendship, had him give her my number. She made sure to document every moment they spent together. A selfie of them at dinner. A picture of the cake and flowers he bought her—on my birthday. A photo of them locked in a tight embrace. The constant torture from my own fiancé’s affair wore me down. I started fights over nothing. Nightmares plagued me. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, reaching for him, only to find the other side of the bed empty nine times out of ten. When I called his phone, Evelyn would answer. “Mark’s fast asleep,” she’d whisper. “Want to see?” Then she’d turn on the camera, showing him sleeping soundly, his arm wrapped around her. His explanation? He was just worried she’d have a relapse if he left. It was too risky. He never explained why they were sleeping in the same bed. He shattered my heart again and again, then offered just enough hope to piece it back together. My mental state deteriorated until I was a wreck. When I was finally diagnosed with severe depression, he just laughed. “Nice try,” he’d said with a sneer. “Don’t pretend you’re like Evelyn. You think faking depression is going to stop me from seeing her? Couldn’t you come up with a better excuse?” After my death, he found my diagnosis papers and the unopened bottles of antidepressants I’d refused to take for the baby’s safety. He had collapsed. But in this new life, knowing all of that, he still ran to her. Oh, how I wished I could tell all those people from my past life who called him a tragic, romantic hero. They were so, so wrong. His devotion was a cheap imitation. My last tear fell as the flames rushed to meet me. Below, the crowd of strangers surged forward as one. I was lucky. They caught me. But the impact sent a cataclysmic, tearing pain through my abdomen. An older woman with knowing eyes screamed. “Oh, God! The baby… the baby’s gone!” As her words fell, my child left my body in a rush of blood and ruin. For a moment, the world went utterly silent. Then I heard Zoe’s voice, raw with panic. She pushed through the crowd with a first-aid kit, her eyes red and swollen. “Abby… I’m so sorry… I really thought… Mark said he did the inspections, that everything was safe… I…” She fumbled through a basic check, her face growing paler by the second, especially when she saw the perfectly formed, lifeless infant on the ground. Her hands shook uncontrollably. The crowd’s shock turned to fury, directed at the uniform she wore. “Where the hell were you people? This is on you! Look at that baby! If you had come even a minute sooner, they both would have been okay!” Sobs broke out among the onlookers. Zoe kept whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” while frantically trying to call Mark. The first call… unanswered. The second… rejected. On the third, he picked up, his voice a furious bark. “What?!”

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My world shattered in the instant she turned and walked toward him. This proposal was meant to be the crown jewel of our company’s fourth-quarter PR strategy, the culmination of my ten-year relationship with Veronica Shay. But here I was, moments before the show, watching her from the shadows of a backstage fire exit. She was in her wedding gown, locked in a passionate kiss with a younger man. “An explanation?” I laughed, a cold, jagged sound. “You want to explain why you’re cheating on me minutes before you’re supposed to propose?” “This is being broadcast live to millions. The entire world is waiting.” I tossed the velvet ring box at her feet. “After the final song, you can either walk on that stage and propose, or you can watch your career burn to the ground.” Her fists clenched. She snatched the box from the floor, forcing the word through her teeth. “Fine.” The stage lights hit her, the crowd falling silent as she held up the ring. But she looked past me, her eyes locking onto the pale-faced man in the VIP section. “Jackson,” she said, her voice ringing through the arena, “thank you for making me a star. But tonight, I’m going to follow my moon.” The stadium erupted. And just like that, I became the punchline to my own proposal. 1 “Mr. Kang,” Kevin, my assistant, said, his voice hoarse. He handed me his tablet. “You… you should see this.” The screen was a firestorm of headlines about the concert. This proposal was supposed to be our masterpiece, a triumph for both our business and our love. I had poured a nine-figure sum into it, coordinating with dozens of major brands. All Veronica had to do was propose to me in front of her adoring fans, and the commercial value of our “power couple” brand would have been limitless. Everything was perfectly in place. But now, a photo of Veronica kissing that kid, Will, on stage was plastered everywhere, under the glaring headline: POP SUPERSTAR CHOOSES LOVE OVER CORPORATE GREED. My stunned, retreating back had been screenshotted and turned into a thousand different humiliating memes. Our company’s market cap had plummeted by half a billion dollars overnight. I scrolled through it all with a calm, detached focus, article by article, post by post, until I landed on Veronica’s official statement. She thanked everyone—her fans, her team, the lighting guy—but when it came to me and my company, she referred to us only as “a difficult professional chapter in my past.” She declared that she would, at any cost, “seek her artistic freedom.” Freedom. I stared at the word and a humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Get PR on the line. Tell them no response, no comment, nothing. Then get legal. I want them to prep the nuclear option in her contract. The breach of contract penalty clauses.” Kevin stared at me, bewildered. “Sir… shouldn’t we release a statement first? To do some damage control? The narrative online is turning against us.” “Damage control?” I walked over to him and pointed at the photo of Veronica’s soulful, earnest face. “You can’t control the damage from a liar, Kevin. You can only burn them to the ground.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose and collapsed onto the sofa, the last five years flashing before my eyes. Five years ago, she was just a girl with a beat-up acoustic guitar, singing an unheard-of indie folk song in a dive bar. There were maybe five people in the audience, but I heard something in her voice, a spark of raw talent. I decided to take a chance. I signed her and started a boutique agency with her as my only client. We had nothing. To save money, we slept on the floor of our tiny thirty-square-meter office, eating cheap instant ramen and talking about our impossible dreams. “Jackson,” she’d said one night, “the second I make it big, I’m going to marry you.” I had laughed. “The second you make it big, you’re going to pay back the startup loan.” She called me a killjoy, but her eyes were full of stars. To fund her debut album, I sold the only thing I had left from my parents: our family home. To get her a slot at a major music festival, I drank with a sleazy investor until I was puking blood into a toilet at 3 AM. She rushed to the hospital, her eyes red-rimmed. She clutched my hand and whispered, “Jackson, I swear, I will never let you suffer like this for me again.” Looking at her then, I felt like it was all worth it. I thought we were a team, that we had only each other. I poured every resource, every drop of my soul, into paving her path to stardom. I taught her how to work the cameras, how to handle the press, how to sculpt herself into the perfect idol for her fans. She was a fast learner. She was a massive success. So she got more and more famous. We moved into a sleek high-rise in the city center. The boutique agency became Starstream Media. But somewhere along the way, we changed. She started complaining about my “control.” She said her schedule was too packed, that she had no time to create, that she missed the “purity” of her early days. That’s when Will, her “pure” college friend, showed up. He became the symbol of everything she claimed to have lost. I tried to talk to her about it, about a month before the concert. “Veronica, we are business partners, and we are in a relationship. I can’t have anything jeopardize the foundation of either,” I said, getting straight to the point. She just stared at her phone, her reply dismissive. “You’re overthinking it. Will is just a friend. Someone I can talk to about music.” “I’m the one who produces your music,” I reminded her. Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing with a resentment I’d never seen before. “It’s not the same! What you do is business! It’s a product! Don’t you get it? That’s all you understand!” she spat. “When I’m with Will, I feel like a real person, not just a commodity you’re selling!” That was the first time I realized she wasn’t the same girl who had slept on the floor with me anymore. She was just the successful product I had created. And now, my product had a mind of its own and wanted to escape its creator. I chose to let it go. I told myself it was just the pressure of fame getting to her. I thought that once the concert was over, once our relationship was solidified by this grand, public proposal, everything would go back to normal. I was wrong. I was wrong to treat her like a pawn on my chessboard, forgetting that the most unpredictable piece in any game is the one that chooses to betray you. 2 The office door was thrown open without a knock. Veronica strode in, dressed head-to-toe in black, sunglasses and a hat obscuring her face. Will trailed behind her like a lost puppy. “Mr. Kang,” Kevin said, jumping to his feet and instinctively moving to stand between us. “Get out,” I said, my eyes fixed on Veronica, my voice devoid of any emotion. Kevin shot me a worried glance before retreating and closing the door behind him. The office was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning. “What do you want?” I asked. Veronica took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her expression was eerily calm. “I’m here to discuss the termination of my contract.” She led Will to the sofa opposite my desk and tossed a file onto the polished wood. “I hope we can do this amicably. It’s better for the company, and for you, if we just go our separate ways.” “Amicably?” I felt a laugh, sharp and bitter, rise in my throat. “You call last night’s meticulously planned public humiliation an ‘amicable split’?” My voice rose, the control I was clinging to starting to fray. “You didn’t just ruin a proposal, Veronica. You detonated a nine-figure marketing campaign, the cornerstone of our entire fourth-quarter strategy. You know that better than anyone!” She scoffed, leaning back into the plush leather, her face a mask of defiance. “Business, business, that’s all you ever think about! I’m sick of it! I am not your goddamn cash cow!” Will decided to play the hero. “Mr. Kang, don’t blame Veronica… it’s all my fault. We’re in love…” “Shut up,” I said, my gaze cutting to him like a shard of ice. “No one is talking to you.” The color drained from Will’s face. He fell silent. That was what finally broke her. Veronica shot to her feet, her eyes blazing with hatred. “That’s enough, Jackson! You and your arrogant, condescending act! Who do you think you are? My savior?” She was practically shaking with rage. “Let me tell you something. Every single day with you felt like I was suffocating! You sold your house, you drank yourself sick—that wasn’t for me! That was for your own ambition! For your investment! I was just the most successful stock in your portfolio!” Every word was a calculated strike, aimed at my most vulnerable points. “So the last five years of our lives, that was just an investment, too?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet as I met her furious glare. “Me sleeping on the floor next to you, was that an investment? Me waiting all night in the ER, was that an investment?!” She faltered for a second, her eyes darting away. I smiled, a tight, painful stretch of my lips, as tears burned the back of my eyes. “Veronica, just answer one question,” I said, taking a deep breath. “What were the last five years?” She was silent for a long moment. Then, a look of chilling resolve settled on her face. “They were… me paying you back.” She paused, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, and one more thing.” She wrapped an arm around Will’s shoulders, her other hand resting gently on her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. I have to do what’s right for him. And for our child.” Pregnant. Of course. The last thread of my sanity snapped. So that’s what this was all about. I wasn’t building a future for us. I was funding their love story and paying for their baby. 3 That afternoon, I sat in my office, watching the live feed of Veronica’s press conference on the large screen. She looked thinner, her face pale and fragile, her eyes red and swollen. Will sat beside her, his head bowed, the very picture of innocent, tormented love. “First, I want to apologize to everyone who cares about me,” Veronica began, her voice raspy, as if she’d been crying for hours. She wove a tragic tale of her pure love for music, of being swept up in the relentless tide of commercialism, of her profound artistic suffering. She painted Will as a beacon of light who had illuminated her dark, corporate world. She never mentioned a single thing I had done for her. I was simply “the former record label,” the “shackles of capital.” I, the man she had been with for five years, the man she was supposed to marry, had been erased. “I admit, Mr. Kang is a brilliant businessman,” she said, her voice turning from sorrowful to accusatory. “He brought me to where I am today, and for that, I am grateful.” “But,” she continued, her voice trembling with manufactured outrage, “he controlled my work, my social life, even my thoughts! Who I could see, what I could say, what I could wear—everything had to be approved by him! I was just his creation, a puppet with no soul!” Will, on cue, looked up at the cameras, tears streaming down his face. “It’s not Mr. Kang’s fault… it’s all my fault. I never should have come into her life… Veronica, I’m so sorry…” The room erupted in a blinding sea of camera flashes. The live chat comments exploded with fury. [OMG MY POOR GIRL! WE WILL PROTECT YOU!] [I’m crying, she was living in a prison this whole time!] [Jackson Kang is a monster! Get him out of the industry!] [#FreeVeronica! Let her make real music!] Finally, Veronica announced she was launching her own independent label, severing all ties with my company. “I’m going to make the music I want to make, on my own terms. It might be difficult, but I have Will. And our baby.” She looked at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. “And that’s enough.” The press conference ended. The internet detonated. I was public enemy number one. The company’s phone lines were jammed. A few of the smaller artists I had personally mentored were already sending feelers through their agents, hinting at wanting to terminate their contracts, afraid of being associated with the “evil corporate tyrant.” The rats were jumping ship. I looked at the hypocritical, tear-stained face on the screen and felt nothing but a cold, crystallizing hatred. I wiped a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen and buzzed my assistant. “Get legal, and get every department head. Conference room one. Five minutes.” Kevin looked at me, his eyes filled with concern. “Mr. Kang…” I forced a smile, my voice calm and steady. “Conference room one. Five minutes.” “I’m going to utterly destroy her.”

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The chill of early spring still clung to the air on the day of the memorial, the familiar scent of blooming daffodils filling my senses. I watched as my sister, Scarlett, snatched the metallic-looking power fruit from the table without a moment’s hesitation. Her movements were swift, almost rehearsed. In that instant, a cold dread seized me – she’d come back, too, carrying the ghosts of our past life. In that first life, she’d chosen the immunity fruit, only to be dragged away by the labs as a test subject due to her unique physiology. I, wielding the very metal power she now coveted, became a war heroine, a legend forged in the wasteland. Yet, in the end, I met my demise beneath her scalpel. Her enraged screams still echoed in my ears: Why do you get to bask in glory while I suffer? The memory was as sharp as the blade itself. This time, I calmly picked up the remaining fruit, the vibrant red one offering immunity to viruses, and swallowed it whole. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know that every use of the metal manipulation power gnawed at one’s life force – a secret I’d unearthed through an entire apocalypse’s worth of pain and sacrifice. If she craved heroism that desperately, then I would grant her wish. Let’s see if, this time, she could bear the true cost of her ambition. 1 The chill of early spring still clung to the air when I found myself back in the familiar living room. My sister, Scarlett, was rummaging through the wardrobe, a familiar scene that still sent a shiver down my spine. My hand instinctively went to my throat, a phantom ache lingering from the surgical blade that had ended my last life. As Scarlett pulled out a small, tarnished metal box from the depths of the closet, her face alight with barely contained excitement, my world tilted. “Rain, look what I found!” she chirped, trying for casual, but her knuckles were white from clutching the box. I slowly rose, feigning a polite curiosity. “What is it?” Seeing my clueless expression, Scarlett let out a relieved breath. She giggled, “I have no idea. Probably Mom’s old jewelry box?” She carefully pried open the lid. Inside lay two fruits, glowing with an otherworldly luminescence – one a vibrant, blood-red, the other a sleek, metallic silver. “What are these…?” I murmured, my gaze fixed on the fruit, pretending to see them for the first time. “Mom left them,” Scarlett’s breath hitched, her eyes glued to the silver one. “There’s a note too… take a look…” I took the yellowed slip of paper. It was Mom’s familiar handwriting, detailing the coming apocalypse in a month and the powers of these two fruits. Scarlett leaned in beside me, her entire body tensed. “This silver one grants control over metal, and the red one… immunity to viruses,” I read slowly, deliberately, my peripheral vision catching Scarlett’s fingers inching toward the silver fruit. Just as her fingertip was about to make contact, I looked up. “Scarlett, which one do you want?” She froze, then forced a smile. “I… I think controlling metal sounds pretty cool. I’d like that one…” A cold smirk played on my lips as I watched her try to maintain composure. In my previous life, she’d snatched the immunity fruit with the exact same greedy look. “Then it’s settled,” I said softly, laying down the note and reaching for the red fruit. “I’ll take this one.” Scarlett’s eyes lit up instantly. She practically snatched the silver fruit and shoved it into her mouth. As the pulp burst, a flash of triumphant joy crossed her face. “How’s the taste?” I asked, savoring a bite of the red fruit – sweet, with a subtle bitterness. “Amazing!” Scarlett wiped her mouth, already eagerly spreading her palm. A coin from the coffee table shot into her hand, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “It actually works!” I watched her display calmly, my mind already calculating the timeline. Thirty days until the apocalypse, plenty of time to prepare. “Scarlett.” I discarded the fruit core, asking casually, “If there really is a zombie virus, what’s your plan?” She paused, her gaze flickering. “To… to protect everyone, of course. With this power, I can definitely help a lot.” I nodded, saying nothing more. She had no idea about the cost of using the power. Each use drained the user’s life force. In my last life, when I became a war heroine, my life force was already nearly depleted. Even if she hadn’t killed me, I wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Since she was so keen on being a hero, it was only right for me, her sister, to grant her wish. 2 The following days unfolded with an unsettling calm. Scarlett practiced her metal manipulation daily, oblivious to the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. She brushed it off as a beginner’s struggle, completely unaware of the gradual drain on her vitality. Meanwhile, as she honed her powers, I secretly hoarded supplies and contacted trusted friends. My five years of survival experience in the previous apocalypse made me intimately familiar with this city. I knew exactly where the safest havens lay. Following the memories from my past life, I rented a defunct factory on the city outskirts. It had its own water source and generators, making it the most secure refuge during the initial chaos. I’d initially thought that, given her past lessons, Scarlett would also suggest moving. But she merely scoffed, “If I go to the suburbs, how will I be a savior?” In the previous timeline, Scarlett was captured by the lab precisely because she was too high-profile. At the very beginning of the apocalypse, she’d flaunted her abilities within our neighborhood, attracting the attention of malicious individuals, which led to her capture. Reborn, if she hadn’t shed that habit, she was destined to repeat history. Seeing her insistence on staying, I tried to persuade her to stock up on more supplies. I urged her to lie low during the initial chaos and only emerge as a hero after order had completely collapsed. But she remained dismissive, even mocking me for being cowardly. “What’s the point of having superpowers if you hide them?” she’d argued. I was utterly speechless. Perhaps… this was a case of good advice falling on deaf ears. So, I stopped trying to dissuade her and quietly moved all my hoarded supplies to the warehouse. I reached out to a few friends I trusted implicitly, asking them to help me build a secure safe house. Only those who had truly lived through the apocalypse understood that the most terrifying threat was never the zombies, but human nature itself. Even my own sister had brutally murdered me out of jealousy in the last life; others were certainly no different. The people I chose were all individuals who had risked their lives to save me in the previous apocalypse. Though their individual abilities might be limited, their loyalty and reliability were unquestionable. The night before the apocalypse struck, I received photos from them. Seeing the mountains of supplies and the rows of weapons procured through special channels, a genuine smile touched my lips. I left a note and, under the cover of darkness, departed my home, heading towards the safe house… I had done my duty as a sister, offering all the warnings I could. Since Scarlett wouldn’t listen, all I could do was silently wish her good luck. 3 The safe house was even more perfect than I’d imagined. The heavy metal door was a solid eight inches thick, steel plates were embedded in the walls, and every window had been replaced with bulletproof glass. The basement had been converted into a comprehensive living space, stocked with enough food and medicine for ten people for five years. “Rain, are you sure the end of the world is really coming?” Uncle Leo, who had helped me build the safe house, handed me a hot mug of tea, his eyes still holding a hint of doubt. I took the mug. “Yes. Tomorrow morning at 7:15, Eastside Hospital will report the first zombie case. By 8 o’clock, the citywide alarm will sound…” Uncle Leo’s hand trembled, tea sloshing onto the table. He had been my father’s wartime comrade and, in my previous life, the only one who had risked his life to find medicine for me when I was gravely wounded. “Don’t worry, Uncle Leo. We’ll make it through this,” I said, setting down the mug. He hesitated, then asked, “What about Scarlett? She… why isn’t she here?” I spread my hands, then turned on the hidden camera I’d installed at home. Scarlett was in the living room, excitedly practicing her powers, various metal objects dancing around her. Pointing to my sister on the monitor, I explained, “She said she wants to be a hero, and heroes don’t hide in the shadows.” Uncle Leo sighed, saying nothing more. He’d probably figured out Scarlett’s stubborn nature and knew that trying to persuade her would be futile. He shook his head and walked away. Just then, an excited voice crackled through the monitor. “Yes, I really have superpowers! Tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll prove it to you!” I realized Scarlett was on the phone with someone. I sighed, turning off the monitor, a knot tightening in my chest. It seemed, even given a second chance, she had chosen the same path… 4 The next morning, I stood on the safe house’s observation deck, scanning the city through binoculars. At 7:15, Eastside Hospital’s alarm blared exactly as predicted, the wail of ambulances slicing through the dawn’s silence. “It’s begun,” I murmured, my fingers unconsciously tightening on the binoculars. The streets below erupted into chaos, screams drifting from the distance. Countless zombies surged from the hospital’s direction, sweeping through the city like a tide. I adjusted the lens to my old neighborhood and saw Scarlett already standing in the main plaza, surrounded by panicked residents. With a sweep of her hands, the iron gate of the community entrance tore upwards, twisting and deforming in the air, ultimately forming a metal barricade. Gasps of amazement rose from the residents; some even pulled out their phones to record. A wry smile touched my lips. She still loved the spotlight. “Rain, check the news!” Uncle Leo called from downstairs. I pulled out my phone and found Scarlett’s video already going viral online, emblazoned with headlines like “Superhuman Appears! Apocalypse Savior!” The comment section was ablaze, some cheering for a savior, others questioning if it was just special effects. Just then, my phone rang. It was Scarlett, a video call. I hesitated but answered. “Rain! Did you see the news?” Scarlett’s face, vibrant with excitement, filled the screen, the chaotic neighborhood blurring in the background. “I’m a hero now! Where are you? Come find me, I can protect you!” I shook my head, a sense of weariness washing over me. “You should worry about protecting yourself first.” A mocking sneer twisted her lips. “Rain, are you jealous? Jealous that I have powers and you don’t?” Her voice dripped with triumph. “Don’t worry, once I’ve got things sorted here, I’ll come for you.” I watched the crowd gathering around her. “No need,” I sighed. “Just be happy.” I hung up. Uncle Leo walked over, his face etched with a complex expression, hesitating before he spoke. “Rain, are you really not going to try to talk some sense into Scarlett? Being so flashy, she’s going to get herself into trouble!” I picked up a nearby weapon, my face devoid of emotion. “It’s her choice, Uncle Leo. Instead of worrying about her, we should focus on fortifying our defenses.” Outside the window, the shadow of the apocalypse had already engulfed the city. But I knew this was just the beginning. The truth about my healing powers would inevitably come out. To face the wolves eager to exploit it, only early preparation would ensure our survival. 5 By the third day of the apocalypse, the city had descended into utter chaos. We monitored various channels via radio. Temporary shelters were established in the city, only to be quickly overrun by zombies. One district, plagued by an overwhelming number of the undead, issued orders for carpet bombing. Even more bizarrely, a lab claimed to have developed a vaccine, recruiting survivors for trials. This very lab, recruiting survivors for trials, was the same organization that had captured Scarlett in my previous life. As for why they hadn’t made a move on her yet, I suspected it was due to public opinion. After all, Scarlett was a rising online sensation; a sudden move against her would spark outrage. Moreover, order hadn’t completely collapsed yet; they still had to consider the authorities. I sat in the safe house’s control room, watching Scarlett’s latest video on the screen. She had formed a small team of survivors and was actively “rescuing” trapped citizens. Her metal manipulation skills were clearly more refined in the video, but her complexion was noticeably paler. “She’s used her powers too many times,” I murmured. Even though Scarlett in the video was trying to project strength, the fine lines around her eyes and her chapped lips betrayed the rapid drain on her life force. Uncle Leo handed me a hot coffee. “When are you going to tell her the truth?” I had already confided in him about the side effects of the powers and my past life experiences. I took the coffee, shaking my head. “She wouldn’t believe me. She’d just think I was jealous.” “But…” Uncle Leo began, then trailed off. “Uncle Leo, I know what you’re going to say,” I said, setting down my coffee cup. “But this is the path she chose. Our priority now is to ensure the safe house’s defenses are impenetrable.” Uncle Leo watched the monitor, Scarlett basking in the adulation of the crowd, and sighed. “Oh, that girl… when will she ever grow up?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “416958”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years ago, I packed my bags, divorced, severed all ties with that family, and fled the country. This year, on this solemn day of remembrance, I quietly returned home. The cemetery was stiflingly silent. I walked to an inconspicuous little headstone and laid a small bouquet of white daisies on the grass. This was my child’s grave. Today marked three years since he left, and I had flown across oceans specifically to see him. As I turned to leave, I unexpectedly ran into three people. It was my brother, Tristan, whom I hadn’t spoken to in three years, and my ex-husband, Garrison, who had hated me for just as long. Between them, they shielded my stepsister, Ramona. They clearly hadn’t expected to encounter me here; they all froze. I twisted my lips into a self-mocking smile, intending to walk past them. But my brother stepped forward, blocking my path, and loudly demanded how I dared show my face here to visit Mom’s grave. They all believed I had returned to pay my respects to our deceased mother. In truth, I hadn’t come back for any kind of reunion, and certainly not for her. Ignoring his taunts, I continued on my way. 1 Tristan’s broad frame squarely blocked the path down the hill. He glared at me, his disgust unconcealed. “Cat got your tongue, Giselle?” Tristan’s voice sharpened, echoing on the desolate mountain road. Ramona tugged at Tristan’s sleeve, shaking her head gently. “Tristan, don’t push her.” Always the saint, always playing the part of understanding and considerate. Garrison stood to the side, his dark, seemingly bottomless eyes fixed on my face. Three years apart, he was still forbiddingly stern, but his gaze, when it met mine, was as cold as if I were a complete stranger. “Go to Mom’s grave and kneel to apologize,” Tristan insisted, unyielding. “Ramona’s leg is ruined because of you. Mom, in the afterlife, would never forgive you.” I stopped, meeting Tristan’s eyes directly. “I didn’t push her.” I had repeated that truth countless times, but no one had ever believed me. Tristan let out a cold laugh. “The stairwell camera was broken. It was just you and Ramona there. She fell, bleeding profusely, her leg shattered, and you didn’t even call for an ambulance before running off. What else could that be but a guilty conscience?” I turned my head to look at Ramona. She flinched, retreating timidly behind Garrison, dragging her slightly limping leg. Garrison instinctively shielded her, his brow furrowed deeply. “Giselle, drop that haughty act,” Garrison finally spoke, his voice cutting like an ice blade through the air. I didn’t retort. I just felt tired, so tired even breathing was a struggle. That day, I had bled so much, a stream running down my thigh to my ankle. The agonizing cramps in my abdomen shredded my sanity; all I could think about was saving my child. I couldn’t spare a thought for Ramona, who had fallen down the stairs. I had no time to defend myself. “Move aside, I’m going down the mountain,” I said, pulling my trench coat tighter. Rain began to fall, fine streaks chilling my face. Tristan was about to erupt again, but Garrison stopped him. “The paperwork isn’t finished,” Garrison stated, fixing his gaze on me. “The transfer documents for the downtown apartment. You’ve dragged your feet for three years.” That had been our marital home. I’d signed the divorce papers without a second thought, but the property transfer had remained undone. Not because I was reluctant to let it go, but because back then, I simply had no energy left for material possessions. “I’ll meet you at the law firm tomorrow,” I said, bypassing them and continuing down the path. The rain intensified. Without an umbrella, I could only quicken my pace. My wrist was suddenly seized by a strong grip. Garrison, holding a black umbrella, caught up to me in long strides. “My car’s at the bottom of the hill. Get in,” he commanded, his tone unyielding. I tried to pull my hand away. “No thanks, I’ve called a ride.” His grip tightened, knuckles white. “You won’t find a ride here. Do you want to die on this mountain road?” Tristan and Ramona had also approached; he held another umbrella over Ramona’s head. The three of them looked like a proper family. I stopped struggling, letting Garrison pull me towards his black Maybach. The car door shut, sealing off the cold rain outside. The air inside the car was suffocating. I sat in the back. Garrison took the driver’s seat. Ramona, naturally, opened the front passenger door and settled in. 2 The car started, smoothly easing onto the winding mountain road. No one spoke, the atmosphere thick with awkward tension. Ramona turned on the car stereo, casually selecting a soothing piano piece. Garrison used to only listen to financial news when he drove. Now, he’d even changed his habits for her. “Sister, are you leaving again after this trip?” Ramona asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “I’ll leave once the paperwork is done,” I replied, staring at the blurry rain outside the window, my voice flat. Ramona seemed to let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Garrison and I are having our engagement party next month,” she murmured. I turned my head, my gaze falling on Garrison’s profile. He drove with a poker face, offering no denial. “Congratulations,” I said, two words devoid of warmth. Garrison slammed on the brakes! Tires screeched on the wet road. Ramona gasped, clutching her chest. “What is it, Garrison?” Garrison pressed the accelerator again, his voice tight. “A stray cat ran out.” A nauseating wave of sickness rolled in my stomach. The long flight, coupled with the recent cold rain, was taking its toll on my already fragile body. I closed my eyes, fighting down the urge to vomit. Images of my mother’s final moments involuntarily flashed in my mind. Mom had been sick for a long time. In her last few months, it was Tristan and Ramona who attended to her bedside in the hospital. I hadn’t even seen her one last time, because the day her critical condition notice was issued, I was on an operating table in another hospital. A massive hemorrhage during my abortion, and I was barely clinging to life myself. Everyone assumed Mom would leave her inheritance to Tristan, who had cared for her day and night. But Mom understood everything, and she loved me most. Before she passed, she hired a lawyer and left all her life’s savings to me. The lawyer handed me a voice recorder. Inside were her last words for me. “Giselle, take this money and stay far away from them. Mom knows you couldn’t be there; Mom doesn’t blame you. Mom just hopes you can live for yourself from now on.” After Tristan learned of the will, he smashed everything he could in the hospital corridor, believing Mom had been utterly biased. He told everyone I was a cold-blooded monster, who hadn’t even bothered to visit my dying mother, yet selfishly took all the assets and fled. From then on, he brought Ramona back to the family estate, treating her as his only real sister, as compensation. And I became the undeniable villain of the family. “Sister, are you carsick?” Ramona’s voice pulled me back to reality. I opened my eyes, the cramps in my stomach intensifying. “No,” I forced out, enduring the pain. The car finally stopped in front of the family estate. I pushed open the door and stepped out, a cold draft swirling down my collar, making me shiver. Tristan’s car had also arrived. He parked and walked towards me. “Grab your things and get out. Don’t dirty the house,” Tristan’s eyes were still like daggers. I said nothing, walking directly into the old house. The furnishings were exactly as they had been three years ago. I followed my memory up to the study on the second floor. Garrison followed behind me, his footsteps heavy. The study door creaked open, and the stale smell of old paper and ink washed over me. Garrison walked to the safe, inputting the code. It was Ramona’s birthday. The safe opened. He took out a thick stack of documents and held them out to me. “Sign these, and that apartment will have nothing to do with you anymore.” I took the pen. Without looking at the contents, I flipped directly to the last page. 3 The pen tip scratched softly across the paper. “You’re not even going to look at it?” Garrison suddenly spoke, a hint of irritation in his tone. I finished signing and pushed the documents back to him. “There’s nothing to see. I’m leaving with nothing.” Garrison stared at the signature on the papers, his brow furrowed. “Three years. What are you playing at, being so high and mighty now?” I didn’t reply, turning instead to search for my passport, which I had left behind. I pulled open a drawer; inside lay a wooden jewelry box. I opened the box, and my passport rested quietly at the very bottom. Next to the passport, nestled beneath it, was a delicate sterling silver longevity lock. Three years ago, I had personally sought out a priest at the cathedral to bless it for my baby. I had planned to put it on him myself once he was born. I quickly snapped the lid shut and shoved the box into my bag. My movements were clumsy, knocking over the pen holder on the desk. The pen holder clattered to the floor, making a sharp sound. Garrison walked over, bending to pick up the pen holder. His gaze lingered on my bag for a moment. “What did you take?” he asked. “My personal belongings,” I said, zipping my bag shut. Garrison took a step closer, his tall frame exuding an intense pressure. “Giselle, what exactly are you hiding?” I looked up, meeting his eyes directly. “Mr. Garrison, we’re divorced. I’m not obligated to report my private matters to you.” Garrison’s face darkened. “You left so decisively back then, without a single explanation.” “Explanation for what?” I retorted. “To explain that I didn’t push Ramona, or to explain that I don’t need your charity?” “Why are you always so prickly?” Garrison gritted his teeth. “Ramona was crippled because of you back then. If you had just swallowed your pride and apologized, I could have saved you.” I found it utterly laughable. “Why should I apologize for something I didn’t do?” The study door opened, and Ramona walked in, carrying two steaming cups of tea. “Garrison, Sister, have some tea to warm up.” She walked between us, skillfully diffusing the tense atmosphere. Garrison stepped back half a pace and took a teacup. I didn’t take one. “I’m not thirsty. The paperwork is done; I’m leaving.” I picked up my bag, walked past Ramona, and headed for the door. “Sister,” Ramona called out to me. I stopped. “This study, Tristan said he’s turning it into my music room,” Ramona said, looking at me with a subtle hint of triumph. I glanced around the room where I had spent ten years. “Suit yourselves.” I left the study, walking down the hallway towards the stairwell. Tristan stood at the landing, smoking. In the hazy smoke, his expression was shadowed and unreadable. “In such a hurry to leave? Afraid to face Ramona?” Tristan stubbed out his cigarette. I stopped in front of him. “Tristan, do you truly believe that Ramona’s leg was my fault?” Tristan scoffed. “Who else could it be but you?” I looked at him, speaking flatly, “Tristan, we are blood relatives, brother and sister.” “Then where were you when Mom passed away?” When I touched a raw nerve, Tristan didn’t back down. I opened my mouth, but decided against wasting more words on him. Outside, the rain intensified, strong winds whipping raindrops against the glass. I walked to the foyer, preparing to change my shoes and leave, but the butler stopped me. “Miss Giselle, the roads outside are closed due to the storm. It seems you won’t be able to leave tonight.” I looked at the pitch-black night and the raging storm outside, my spirits sinking to rock bottom. Garrison carefully helped Ramona down the stairs. “Since you can’t leave, stay the night,” Garrison stated. Tristan frowned but didn’t object. At dinner, the atmosphere in the dining room was suffocating. The long dining table was laden with rich dishes, most of them Ramona’s favorite seafood. I quietly picked at the greens on my plate. Ramona picked up a piece of fish, but it slipped from her grasp just as she brought it to her mouth, falling onto the table. She bit her lip in annoyance. Garrison naturally picked up the serving tongs, selected another piece of fish, carefully removed the bones, and placed it in her bowl. Tristan, meanwhile, served her a bowl of hot soup. “Be careful, it’s hot.” They doted on Ramona, showering her with care. I ate my plain rice, a detached observer. 4 My stomach hurt too much, so I only ate a few bites before returning to my room. The bedroom was spotlessly clean, clearly maintained regularly. I sat on the edge of the bed, the cramps in my stomach growing more frequent. I found the painkillers in my bag and dry-swallowed two tablets. The pain eased slightly, but I still couldn’t sleep. The wind and rain outside hadn’t stopped. I leaned against the headboard, checking the time on my phone. My flight was at three tomorrow afternoon. Before that, I needed to visit the downtown hospital. After my abortion, the records of my frozen eggs and embryos were still there. I wanted to leave completely, erase every trace of myself from this place. I didn’t want any more ties to them. At 2 AM, I changed, then quietly opened my door. The hallway was pitch black, with only a faint glow from the sconce at the far end. The wind and rain had subsided a little. I used a rideshare app to call a car, paying triple the fare to finally get a driver. I opened my umbrella and walked out into the rainy night. The hospital corridor reeked of harsh disinfectant. In the dead of night, only the on-call doctor was in the archives office. I handed over my identification and application form. The doctor skimmed through my file, his brows gradually furrowing. “Ms. Giselle, correct?” he asked, pushing up his glasses. I nodded. “Once this destruction agreement is signed, the three frozen embryos you stored will be disposed of as medical waste,” the doctor stated matter-of-factly. “I confirm,” I said, picking up the pen from the table. The doctor sighed, pushing the agreement towards me. “Actually, you’re still young. Although that hemorrhage three years ago damaged your system, it’s not entirely hopeless.” My hand froze, the pen tip bleeding a dark blot on the paper. “No need. Just dispose of them.” I took a deep breath, quickly signing my name on the agreement. The doctor took the agreement, stamping it with a bright red “VOID” mark. “All set. You may go.” I picked up my identification and turned to leave. Just as I stepped out of the outpatient building, I saw that familiar Maybach. Garrison, without an umbrella, rushed towards me in long strides. Rainwater dripped from his jawline, his face ashen. He grabbed my shoulder, his voice hoarse, barely recognizable. “What did you just sign in there?” I tried to shake off his hand. “None of your business.” Garrison’s chest heaved violently, as if breathing had become difficult. “That hemorrhage… what does that mean?” Garrison stared into my eyes, his voice trembling uncontrollably. His fingers tightened, his eyes gradually reddening. “Giselle, three years ago… were you pregnant?”

I suddenly found myself in a world ten years in the future, adrift and disoriented on the streets. Instinctively, I headed for the villa belonging to Garrison Bale, my childhood friend. The door opened, revealing a cold-faced child who stood there and told me, “Go away. Don’t even think about pretending to be my mother.” I froze, still trying to grasp what was happening, when I noticed scrolling comments—the kind you see on online videos—floating in my vision. One comment read: “This ‘Player’ is too dumb. The kid’s already been successfully ‘captured’ by someone else, and she just shows up?” Another mentioned: “The other Player perfectly replicated the deceased wife, Natalie Reed, even down to all her memories. She’s probably sipping coffee in the villa right now.” And a warning: “The male lead, Garrison Bale, is on a plane heading back. This Player should run; the last person who tried to impersonate his wife? The grass on her grave is already two feet high.” I stared at these comments, slowly piecing things together until I finally understood a few things. First, Garrison and Natalie had married and had a child. Second, Natalie had died at the age of thirty. Third, there were these so-called “Players” attempting to “capture” Garrison. But they all had it wrong. I wasn’t some Player. I was twenty-one-year-old Natalie Reed. 1 Of all these revelations, the hardest to accept was this: Why did I die so young, at thirty? Even if I somehow went back to my own time, I would only have nine years left to live. Definitely not good news. So I bent down, earnestly addressing the child in front of me: “Um, how did your mother die?” When he didn’t respond, I pressed on: “Accident? Illness? Or… murder?” His brow twitched a few times, his face growing even fouler. Then, with a CRACK, the door slammed shut. I paused, a dawning confusion washing over me. Maybe that was a bit too blunt. A sharp pain suddenly shot through the sole of my foot. I slowly walked to the villa’s front steps and sat down, examining my foot. There was a cut, bleeding slightly, from a piece of gravel. Having walked three miles barefoot, it was probably unavoidable. I must have been sleeping in my dorm room when I transitioned. I woke up to find myself on a park bench, dressed in my pajamas, with no money, no phone, not even shoes. Fortunately, the park was close to the Bale’ villa. And for many years in the past, I had lived in the Bale’ villa and visited this park. That’s why I came directly to knock on the door. I just hadn’t expected… this scenario. The comments continued to scroll: [I can’t with this Player, she’s so funny.] [Son: Constantly provoking.] [She showed up in pajamas, looking so disheveled. Sister, put some effort into your job.] [Out of all the Players, the son only opened the door for the one who perfectly replicated his mother, the one currently inside.] [Pajama Lady, give up. You can’t even get through the Bale’ door. When the male lead returns, your life will be at stake.] Actually, I didn’t desperately want to go inside. I just wanted to see Garrison. I wanted to know what had happened to us over these ten years. But the next second, the door behind me opened again. The child still had a cold expression. “You, come in.” 2 I was puzzled. The comments were also puzzled. [What does this mean? Why did he let Pajama Lady in?] [Maybe he saw her and was reminded of his mother when she was younger? But there have been other Players like that before!] [Ahhh! She just walked in without wiping her feet! Doesn’t the son have mysophobia?] I glanced at my dirty feet. Quietly, I retreated to the rug in the foyer. The child, however, said nothing. He simply took out a pair of grey slippers from the shoe cabinet. As he handed them to me, he noticed the bloodstain by my foot and visibly winched. “So dirty.” “…” What have I given birth to? This kid’s temper was awful. Not like me, not like Garrison. I slipped on the slippers and walked into the living room. Immediately, I came face to face with a very familiar countenance. My own face. But it looked much more mature, bearing the marks of time. She tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Are you… a Player? Please leave. Now that I’m back, there’s no need for your futile efforts.” I didn’t reply, simply studying her. Studying this “me” from ten years in the future. The child also remained silent, finding a first-aid kit and handing it to me. He pointed at my foot. “Clean that up.” My heart softened a little. I took the first-aid kit and thanked him. “Thank you. What’s your name?” His eyes dimmed, as if with disappointment. “Adam.” After that, he returned to the sofa, busying himself with his phone, not looking at me again. The Player also seemed to relax, settling comfortably beside Adam, smiling at me. “Next time, maybe do your homework before you come.” She peeled an orange and handed it to Adam, who naturally took it and put it in his mouth. Mother and son, harmonious. 3 I took the first-aid kit to the bathroom to clean my wound. The comments were laughing hard. [LOL, Pajama Lady doesn’t even know the kid’s name. What kind of people does the system find?] [The kid must be speechless. Never seen such a useless Player.] [Pajama Lady, be smart and leave. You can’t compare to even a single strand of hair on Replica Sister. When she arrived, the kid almost cried.] [Just waiting for the male lead. He’ll be here in half an hour. He’ll definitely choose Replica Sister too when he sees both Players.] [I bet on Replica Sister.] [You bet, I bet too. I bet Replica Sister ten coconut lattes.] [Agree!] [Also agree with the above.] … I couldn’t blame them. Even I wasn’t very confident. After all, Adam was practically a stranger to me. His personality, his preferences—I knew nothing. I hadn’t even imagined I would end up with Garrison. And certainly not that we’d have a child. He and I were just too different. 4 To be perfectly clear, Garrison and I were childhood friends. Or perhaps, “young master and bodyguard” would be more accurate. I was naturally strong, developing faster than my peers. When I was six, Garrison visited our orphanage during a kindergarten charity event. He was almost kidnapped, stuffed into a sack, but I saved his life. Garrison’s parents subsequently adopted me. But not into the Bale family directly. I was adopted under the name of the Bale’ housekeeper. It saved face and didn’t waste too many resources. So I moved into the Bale’ staff quarters. On my first night there, Garrison and I officially met. His face was pale and sickly, his features delicate, making him look almost androgynous. Seemingly harmless, his mouth, however, was sharp. “Oh my goodness! I wished for a gentle, cute sister! Why are you here?” I actually wanted to punch him. But being dependent on them, I could only feign obedience, smiling sweetly. “No, I’m not your sister.” I was just his bodyguard. Garrison was a premature baby, born with an underdeveloped heart valve. To live a normal, healthy life, he would need a valve replacement as an adult. Until then, he remained very frail and needed protection. And I was the best candidate. Later, Garrison and I grew up together. Wherever he went, I followed. I was also trained in various martial arts, winning numerous championships along the way. In Garrison’s senior year of high school, he must have been in an early relationship. As rivals, he got into a conflict with another wealthy young man. When I arrived, Garrison had just fallen to the ground. The wealthy young man frantically waved his hands. “He threw the first punch! Really! Everyone saw it! I dodged, he missed, and just fell over!” “…” Though it sounded absurd, for Garrison, it was perfectly normal. I carried Garrison on my back and turned to leave. Behind me, the other boy was still muttering, “I just casually asked if they’d gone all the way. Was it really necessary? She was already…” I walked further away, not quite catching the rest of his words. On the way to the infirmary, Garrison lay on my shoulder, uncharacteristically silent. Finally, he managed to blurt out: “I’m sorry, Natalie. Am I a lot of trouble?” It was the first time he’d smiled so weakly. “You’ve always protected me. I feel like I’ve never done anything for you.” My footsteps faltered slightly. I wanted to say that’s not true. Garrison had also done a lot for Natalie. He would pretend to have no appetite, bringing his nutritious meals back to the room and feeding them all to me. He would insist, in my early teenage years, that I should have the right to lock my own room. He would cancel pre-arranged dates when I had my period, deliberately staying in so I wouldn’t have to endure the pain of going out. I wanted to say, you really did so much. So much that I’ve developed feelings I shouldn’t have for you. But the words that came out were different. “Yeah, you did. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be in the orphanage, and I wouldn’t have gotten into such a good school. Besides, aren’t you having surgery soon? You won’t need me after that.” Garrison fell silent again. This time, the silence stretched on for a very long time. It wasn’t until the school nurse finished examining him and confirmed nothing serious was wrong that he suddenly spoke. “Natalie, which university are you planning to go to?” A baffling question. Through the white privacy curtain, I couldn’t see Garrison’s expression, couldn’t guess his reason for asking. I ended up lying. I casually mentioned a university up north, but in the end, I went south. 5 Later, during my university years, Garrison came to find me once. But we parted on bad terms. After that, I heard he went abroad. We lost all contact. And now, there was Adam. And I was dead. What had truly happened in those ten years? What were these “male lead,” “system,” and “Players” all about? Could they be connected to my death? … I splashed water on my face; a cool rush instantly permeated my skin, waking me up. No matter what, I had to see Garrison first. If even he didn’t recognize me, then I’d make other plans. With that thought, I exited the bathroom, only to find the living room filled with fierce-looking security guards. They clearly intended to escort me out. The Player remained seated on the sofa, maintaining the demeanor of a hostess. “Now that everything is handled, please leave.” I didn’t agree. “Garrison will be here soon. I need to see him.” She sighed, as if regretting the next step. “Then don’t blame us for getting rough.” At her words, the security guards prepared to rush me. “Wait!” It was Adam. He stood up, looking at me, his small face serious. “Wait until Dad gets back to decide.” It had to be his own son. I felt a surge of emotion, about to speak, but the Player cut me off. She knelt, meeting Adam’s gaze, her expression pained. “Have you forgotten how Mom died?” Adam froze, a conflicted, hesitant expression appearing on his face for the first time. “I’m sorry…” He didn’t finish. But I was curious. “How did I… how did you die?” Regardless of whether I’d get an answer, any delay was a win. As I asked, I saw a fleeting look of disdain in the Player’s eyes. But quickly, she resumed her facade, patiently coaxing Adam. “See? She doesn’t even know how Mom died. How could she be real? Adam, you’ve always been a smart boy. You can tell the difference this time, right?” Adam looked at me deeply, the hope in his eyes completely extinguished. A moment later, he murmured, “You should go.” An inexplicable dull ache settled in my heart. 6 The security guards immediately surrounded me. The comments were also mocking me. [She doesn’t even know the cause of death. Pajama Lady, stop daydreaming.] [Replica Sister is so smart. She knows the cause of death is a hurdle the son can’t get over, so she used it to stop him.] [Speaking of the ex-wife’s death, it was truly tragic. Otherwise, why would the male lead have become so dark?] [I don’t understand why the son is hesitating. Shouldn’t he just kick Pajama Lady out? She’s been full of holes for a while.] [Actually, being dragged out by security is the good outcome. If the male lead arrives, it won’t be so simple.] I really wanted to know my cause of death. Yet, among all those comments, not one clearly explained it; they were all betting on how quickly I’d be thrown out. Too bad, I was about to disappoint them. I braced myself for the security guards’ attack. Just as I was about to punch one of them in the jaw, a deep, cold male voice suddenly cut through the air from the doorway. “What’s going on?” The chaos in the room immediately ceased. The security guards all turned to look back, allowing me to see the man as well. He was dressed in black, dusty from travel, his face a healthy pale, his features much sharper now. His gaze swept over everyone in the room. When he saw the Player who looked exactly like me, he paused slightly. But finally, his eyes locked firmly on me. A myriad of emotions swirled in his gaze. Shock, doubt, disbelief, regret, grief… And the wild joy of finding something lost and recovered. After a brief staredown, Garrison suddenly strode over and grabbed my wrist, his voice hoarse with a trembling intensity. “Natalie? Is that you?”

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It was May 20th. My roommate, Kelly, announced her new relationship that day. In the photo, a diamond ring sparkled brightly on their tightly clasped hands. Her caption read: “This is the best thing he’s ever given me.” I zoomed in on the photo and suddenly saw a scar on the man’s index finger that was all too familiar. I turned my head and yelled to my dad, who was busy in the kitchen, “Dad, I feel sick, I want to throw up.” … 1 In the living room, Mom and Dad hovered over me, their faces etched with worry. I clutched the trash can, my stomach churning violently. Ever since I saw that social media post, my mind had been uncontrollably conjuring images of my dad and Kelly together. Each one made me physically ill. Mom gently rubbed my back, offering a perfectly tempered honey water, her eyes full of concern for me alone. Suddenly, I couldn’t meet her gaze, as if I was the one who had done something wrong. Perhaps I truly was to blame. If I hadn’t felt sorry for Kelly, working hard during summer and winter breaks, and hadn’t brought her home so often for meals to cheer her up… If I hadn’t constantly bragged that my dad was the best man in the world… Would none of this have happened? Self-inflicted blame and internal turmoil surged, and I almost blurted out: “Mom, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault Dad had the chance to betray you.” But before the words reached my lips, I regained my composure and rationality. I couldn’t just rip open this wound. Dad held all the financial power in the family. Why should Mom’s years of hard work and everything she built just be handed over to someone else? She can dream! I took a deep breath, and when I looked up again, my eyes were brimming with tears, my expression utterly distraught. “Dad, can you skip your company meeting tonight? I feel really unwell.” Dad didn’t hesitate for a second, nodding repeatedly. I was his little princess, cherished above all else. That evening, I still shared my daily life in the dorm group chat. [Anyone else feel me, fam? I’m getting force-fed puppy chow again.] In the video I posted, my dad, with a look of pure adoration, fed peeled shrimp to my mom. Aside from Kelly, the other two roommates responded with emojis like [eating puppy chow] and [can’t even look]. I tagged Kelly, asking with feigned innocence and curiosity: [Kelly, I saw your relationship announcement on social media. Congrats! You’re the first one in our dorm to get snatched up. I bet your boyfriend’s peeling shrimp for you on this romantic day too, right?] I wasn’t sure if Kelly’s post was public, so I used this method to gauge her reaction and that of the other two roommates. The other two roommates were surprised, asking in a flurry what social media post I was talking about. They screenshotted Kelly’s feed. The 5/20 announcement wasn’t there. I, in turn, screenshotted Kelly’s post from my own phone. The other two roommates, clearly annoyed, tagged Kelly. [Kelly, what’s the deal? We’re all roommates, and you’re blocking some of us from your posts? What’s up with that?] [Falling in love isn’t something shameful. Why hide it and not even show his face? Is your boyfriend some top idol or something?] I smirked behind my phone screen. Huh. Looks like that post was specifically set to ‘visible only to me,’ with a lot of thought. What was she trying to do? Covertly brag? Test if I could recognize the owner of that hand? Undermine my perfect family, which I always prided myself on? Whatever her reason, I would never tolerate or forgive it. I treated her as my best friend, always thinking of her when I had something good. Yet she maliciously wanted to destroy my family. The other two roommates’ barrage of questions quickly filled the screen. Kelly clearly hadn’t expected things to spiral in an unanticipated direction. She couldn’t play dead any longer, stammering explanations in the group chat, claiming she’d accidentally tapped the wrong setting when posting. The excuse was weak and transparent. No one was stupid; the other two roommates naturally didn’t believe her. The once lively group chat suddenly grew awkward. Since my family was local, I usually didn’t stay in the dorms. Kelly and the other two roommates lived there. Thinking about how Kelly would face them tonight, the pent-up frustration​ in my heart finally eased with a satisfying breath. Kelly wanted to snag a rich guy, that was her business. But when she tried to snag my rich guy, she shouldn’t expect me to be polite. … 2 To my parents’ astonishment, I drove my dad’s Porsche, which he’d given me for my eighteenth birthday. With a trunk full of belongings, I moved into my school dorm room with great fanfare. My excuse: independence and self-reliance. In the dorm, Kelly sat disconsolately, clutching her phone. Seeing it was me, she yanked her bed curtain shut. I happily and loudly announced to my other two roommates that I’d be living in the dorms and started bustlingly unpacking my things. I was in the thick of it when my phone rang with a video call. I pulled out my hand to answer. A rich, deep voice came through. “Cora, Dad just got home and saw your room half-empty. My heart sank. You’ve never been away from home your whole life. If you need anything at school, anything at all, you have to tell Dad. I’ll bring it to you.” From behind Kelly’s curtain, there was the sound of a dropped phone. I glanced over, playfully adding: “Dad, do you remember my roommate, Kelly? Her boyfriend gave her a huge diamond ring, it’s so beautiful, I’m so jealous! But I don’t have a boyfriend, sigh… Dad, maybe I should find a rich boyfriend, then I can have a big diamond ring too.” Kelly’s bed curtain remained motionless, but I could feel it. She was undoubtedly staring at me with cold fury from behind that curtain. On the other end of the video, a flicker of discomfort crossed my dad’s face, immediately replaced by anger. His tone was anxious, clearly afraid I’d actually start a relationship just for a diamond ring. “Cora! Don’t you dare! My daughter, Cora Tang, would never date for money like some gold digger. If you like diamond rings, Dad can buy you enough to fill ten fingers. Don’t ever say anything that demeans yourself like that again.” My dad angrily hung up the video call. Five seconds later, the dorm room echoed with the sound of [Alipay: 500,000 yuan received]. My roommate, Sarah, rushed over, exclaiming, “Oh my god, what kind of fairy tale dad is this? Cora, are you really going to buy ten diamond rings with 500,000 and wear them all?” I pulled back Kelly’s bed curtain, feigning innocence and a carefree smile. “If you wear one and I wear ten, would you be mad, Kelly?” Kelly seemed to be suppressing something, gritting her teeth as she squeezed out, “Does my being mad matter? You, Miss Tang, always do whatever you want, never caring about anyone else’s feelings.” I beamed at her words and happily walked out. I really did buy ten diamond rings. When curious people asked, I’d tell them my dad was so afraid I’d become a gold digger for a single ring that he filled my fingers with them first. Everyone then looked at the diamond ring that had suddenly appeared on Kelly’s finger with complicated expressions. In just a few days, Kelly couldn’t bear it anymore and voluntarily took off her ring. Yet every time she saw me, her eyes were filled with resentment and unwillingness. Is that all it takes to make her feel wronged? To feel humiliated? This was just the beginning. I wasn’t exposing her yet. Not because I was afraid of her, but because I wanted to slowly torture her to death. After a few quiet days, Kelly started returning to the dorm later and later, almost always just as the doors were closing. Each night, she came back beaming. But on her, I smelled a familiar, high-end cologne. Kelly, giddy with delight, admired her new designer bag in the dorm mirror, her eyes twinkling with a smile as she asked me: “Cora, this is the bag my boyfriend gave me tonight. It’s a new style. Do you like it?” I surveyed her, my words sharp. “The bag’s alright. It just looks a bit… suburban on you. Don’t you think, everyone? Kelly looks neither rural nor sophisticated.” 3 The other two roommates took a careful look, nodding in agreement. Kelly stood in front of the mirror like a clown, her face alternating between green and white. Then, as if remembering something joyful, she said with a suggestive tone, “But my boyfriend says he loves my natural, country girl charm. Cora, don’t you think my boyfriend is great?” This time, I didn’t even bother to look up, my fingers flying across the screen. After a lot of effort, I had finally calculated our family’s approximate assets. I pinched the bridge of my nose, then slowly said, “That’s hard to say. Who knows if your boyfriend just got tired of all the fine dining and suddenly craved a bit of dandelion greens?” Kelly glared at me, her eyes red with fury. I hummed a tune, my heart filled with frost. Hating Kelly was true. But I hated my dad more. He knew Kelly was my roommate, knew how much Mom and I trusted him. Yet he entangled himself with Kelly, again and again. Perhaps, that perfect dad had always been just my own fantasy. Only because it was Kelly this time did I finally notice the cracks. I should be grateful, grateful for Kelly’s thoughtlessness and subtle bragging. It allowed me to see my dad clearly, and gave me time to make arrangements beforehand. I wouldn’t let either of them off the hook. That weekend, I drove to my grandparents’ house. The moment I walked in, I knelt before them and burst into tears. My grandparents cherished me like the apple of their eye, calling me their precious darling, frantic with worry. Between sobs, I told my grandparents, “I don’t want to live, Grandma, Grandpa. You’re the ones who love me most. I wanted to see you again before I die.” At my words, Grandma’s tears flowed freely, and Grandpa, a strong man his whole life, teared up, his voice trembling. The two of them held me, comforting and reassuring me, promising that no matter what injustice I suffered, they would stand up for me. I pulled out my phone, found the picture of Kelly and my dad with their fingers entwined, and then found the video I secretly recorded of Kelly showing off her new bag and asking me if her boyfriend was great. My grandparents, guided by my hints, recognized the scar on my dad’s finger. Grandpa’s eyes widened in fury, his face turning ashen. He stood up, ready to go beat my dad to death. Grandma grabbed me, insisting we go to the school to expose Kelly for breaking up a family. I cried, stopping them, my voice choked with grievance. “It’s no use, Grandma, Grandpa. A scar alone can’t prove this. And besides, if family secrets get out, where will Mom and I put our faces? I really don’t want to live, but I don’t want Mom to know any of this. I’m afraid she’ll do something rash, boohoohoo…” My grandparents were heartbroken, crying that if anything happened to me, it would be the end of them. When the moment was right, I spoke with a bitter tone. “Grandma, Grandpa, my roommate is clearly after Dad’s money. Every time she gets something, she subtly flaunts it in front of me. I’m so sad. Is there… is there any way to make sure Dad has no money for her? I’m afraid today she wants a diamond ring, tomorrow a bag, the day after a car, an apartment, and then Dad’s company. What will Mom and I do then, boohoohoo…” Grandpa and Grandma exchanged glances, lost in thought. A moment later, Grandpa put his arm around my shoulder, promising: “Don’t cry, sweetie. Grandpa has a plan. Grandpa will find a way to reclaim your dad’s assets and transfer them to your name. If that day comes, the only one left with nothing will be him, the one who made the mistake. You and your mother have Grandpa to protect you.” My objective achieved, I lowered my head to conceal the curve of my lips, my eyes clear and sharp. …

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Our seventh wedding anniversary. The hospital called, pulling me in for an emergency C-section. The Chief of Staff, Mr. Hill, his face grim, personally warned me: The patient was someone very important’s beloved. The surgery had to be flawless, or the entire hospital would face the consequences. I frowned, reviewing her chart. I’d always thought power players in this town, like my husband Asher, were devoted to their wives. A “beloved” who wasn’t his wife? That stung. The surgery was a success. The incision, neat and clean, was a testament to my skill. Just as I was letting out a relieved breath, a swarm of men in dark suits burst in. They shoved me roughly to my knees, right outside the patient’s room. Then, a voice, hauntingly familiar, pierced the air, sending a chill straight to my bones. “My wife says you hurt her during surgery. You’ll stay on your knees all night to atone.” Through the window, I saw him. My husband, Asher Hill, cradling a newborn, his eyes red-rimmed with tender concern. He was my husband, Asher Hill. And the woman in the hospital bed? The one he claimed he’d cut ties with three years ago. … 1 Six hours of surgery had already drained every ounce of my energy. The cold seeping into my knees was nothing compared to the icy stab in my heart. My lips parted, but no words came out. All I could do was stare blankly into the room. Asher’s eyes were bloodshot as he leaned over, pressing a kiss to the girl’s forehead. “Sweetheart, our daughter is beautiful.” “Thank you for this precious gift on our three-year anniversary.” Tears splattered onto the pristine hospital floor. So, Asher had never truly ended things with her. All those late nights he supposedly spent “at the office,” were they spent with her instead? The girl on the bed, her voice sickly sweet, grated on my nerves. It was just like Asher’s birthday, years ago. I’d swapped shifts with a colleague, rushing home early to surprise him. But when I pushed open our door, Asher was tangled naked with a stranger. I’d gone wild, flinging the birthday cake at them. Asher had dragged the girl to her knees, his eyes wild with a desperate, bloodshot plea. “Aurora, I’m so sorry. My friends got me wasted and brought her to my bed.” “I was drunk, I didn’t know who she was…” The girl, trembling, reached for my hand, trying to excuse Asher. “Mrs. Hill, it was my fault. I needed money, I seduced him, I even drugged his drink.” That night, Asher whisked the girl away at lightning speed, then tore into his buddies who’d allegedly set him up. He wrote a ten-page apology by hand, then knelt outside my bedroom door for an entire month. It even reached Asher’s mother. With tears in her eyes, she begged me to give him another chance. “Aurora, he can’t live without you. He’ll fall apart.” I locked myself in our room for three days and three nights, convinced I couldn’t sever the deep, searing love I felt for him. I forgave Asher. But I also warned him: if there was ever a next time, I would vanish from his life forever. Daylight broke, and the bodyguards finally let me go. Chief Hill, shaking his head, told me to pack my things and leave the hospital. I drifted home like a ghost, every muscle aching, my spirit a fragile thread. The candles on the dining table had burned down, the steak was cold. A tight, sickening ache filled my chest. I collapsed onto the floor, my eyes drawn to the enormous wedding photo on the wall. Asher in that picture, his gaze brimming with devotion, was the exact same man I’d seen doting on Felicity in the hospital room last night. Felicity pouted, asking for water. He carefully checked the temperature, then brought the glass to her lips. Felicity murmured her legs ached. He immediately searched online for how to massage a new mother. My eyes were vacant, tears streaming down my face, my heart spasming uncontrollably. Seven years of shared love, now reduced to ashes. Asher, I don’t want you anymore. 2 I packed a small bag, then sat alone until darkness fell. During that time, I called Asher over a dozen times. A part of me still couldn’t let it go. I wanted to ask him, face-to-face, how he could love two people at once. How could he lull me to sleep, then still have the energy to sneak off to Felicity? But the only response was a cold, dismissive text: “Don’t be silly. I’ll be home tonight to be with you.” Close to midnight, the lock clicked. Asher, seeing my red eyes, stiffened. He rushed to me, pulling me into his arms, feeling my ice-cold hands and feet. “Didn’t I tell you not to wait up for me anymore?” “You always make me worry, sweetheart.” Asher tucked me into bed, holding me tight, trying to warm me with his body heat. Years ago, before he made it big, we lived in a drafty, leaky apartment. Nights were brutally cold. Asher would hold me just like this, piling every warm piece of clothing onto me, his voice choked with promises. “Aurora, I’ll never let you suffer like this again.” Now, we had more money than we knew what to do with, our house warm year-round. But why was my heart growing colder by the day? My throat was raw and dry, and I couldn’t stop the tears. I was about to demand when he’d changed, when the strong scent of baby formula on him hit me. My stomach churned, and I pushed Asher away, rushing to the bathroom. In the mirror, my face was ghostly pale, a strange unease settling in my gut. Asher followed, gently patting my back, pulling out his phone to call our family doctor. “My wife isn’t feeling well. Be here in five minutes.” My hand instinctively went to my slightly swollen belly. I prayed there wasn’t a baby to complicate my plans. The doctor arrived quickly. After a brief check-up, he handed me a pregnancy test. “Mrs. Hill, have you been losing your appetite, feeling nauseous lately?” “It might be early pregnancy…” Asher’s eyes lit up, shining with a sudden, fierce hope. He practically dragged me into the bathroom. “Aurora, are we going to have a baby?” My fingers trembled, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. About three minutes later, two distinct lines appeared on the pregnancy test. Asher’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his lips quivering uncontrollably. “Aurora, we’re having a baby.” He immediately instructed the family doctor to fill our house with supplements and delved into thick stacks of pregnancy guides. I gave a bitter smile, unable to grasp why this child had arrived at such an utterly wrong time. Years ago, while helping Asher with deliveries, we’d been in a terrible car accident. I’d instinctively shielded him with my body, suffering severe injuries that landed me in the ER. That’s when we lost our first child. The doctors said my uterine lining was thin, and it would be very difficult to conceive again after the miscarriage. Later, as Asher’s career took off, I started regulating my body, trying to get pregnant. Five years passed with no luck. And now, just when I’d caught him cheating, just when I was planning to leave, a tiny life was growing inside me. But what could I do? Let this child grow up without a father? Be ostracized in a single-parent family? I looked at Asher, a last sliver of hope in my voice. If he just confessed, I could convince myself to forgive him one more time. “Asher, is there anything you want to…” The insistent ringing of his phone cut me off. Asher glanced at me guiltily, his fingers flying across the screen. He came over, hugged me, his voice muffled. “Something urgent came up at the office. I need to go make money to support you and the baby.” I grabbed Asher’s hand, my throat tight. “Can you give me three minutes?” His phone continued to ring. He gave a helpless smile. “We can talk about it when I get back. Tomorrow, I’ll spend the whole day with you.” Half an hour after I watched Asher leave, a text message from an unknown number arrived. The photo showed the man who supposedly went to the office, kissing the girl’s lips, while the baby in their arms smiled at the camera. 3 Some questions, I realized, didn’t need answers. Thankfully, Asher had been good to me over the years. The zeros in my bank account were almost uncountable – enough for me to raise a child alone, comfortably. I stroked my belly, tears splashing onto my hand. “Baby, from now on, it’s just you and me.” Tonight’s flights were sold out. I only managed to book one for tomorrow night to Los Angeles. All night, my phone pinged with a new photo every ten minutes. Asher had bought the girl a villa, right in our own neighborhood. The photos showed Asher holding the girl’s hand, helping her write calligraphy. Amidst the blurred ink, I zoomed in, making out the words on the red banner: “A Happy Family of Three.” A dull ache started in my lower abdomen, and my hand slipped, losing its grip. The phone crashed to the floor, its screen fracturing into a spiderweb of cracks. It lit up, displaying a picture of Asher and me, our first kiss, the moment we fell in love. I went insane, smashing the phone to bits, then tearing down the photo wall opposite our bed. Over a thousand pictures, Asher always saying “I love you” each time the camera clicked. But he lied to me… how can you love someone and still seek out another? How could he bear to break my heart? I shredded every photo of us, tossed out the ceramic mugs we’d made together. As the sun rose, I slipped off my wedding ring, selling every piece of jewelry Asher had ever given me. Our once warm room became hollow. Just as I finished tidying the last remnants, Asher finally came home. He carried countless elegant gift bags, then noticed the empty space on the wall. “Aurora, where’s our wedding photo?” I looked at him with cold eyes, my voice soft. “The frame broke. I sent it to be repaired.” Asher’s tensed shoulders relaxed. He came to my side, tentatively speaking. “Have you been short on cash lately? A friend said they received some jewelry engraved with our names.” He opened a box, revealing everything I’d just sold. The pink diamond earrings, the first luxury item he’d bought me with his first big paycheck. To commemorate it, Asher had even hired a professional engraver to carve our names into them. I glanced at them indifferently, my voice flat. “Must have accidentally packed them with some other things I was getting rid of.” Asher rummaged through the glittering array of jewelry and pulled out a simple diamond ring. The diamond was tiny, almost unnoticeable. But it was the best Asher could afford back then, a symbol of his deepest love for me. Asher gently stroked my head, his tone indulgent. “My little scatterbrain, how could you lose your wedding ring?” He leaned down, kissing my ring finger, then slipped the ring back on. Afterwards, he transferred fifty million into my bank account. “If you need money, just tell your husband. Don’t try to handle everything alone.” “Aurora, try to rely on me more.” I didn’t say a word, feeling like a hollow shell from which the soul had been sucked out. These gifts were things he’d bought while out with Felicity. Not because he genuinely wanted to give them to me, but because someone had reminded him. Asher, how much genuine affection do you still hold for me? The entire day, Asher turned off his phone and stayed with me, almost like we were back in our dating days. He cooked my favorite century egg and lean pork congee, and meticulously followed a blogger’s recipes for my pregnancy meals. Time ticked by, and my app reminded me it was time to leave. I watched the busy Asher, unable to find an excuse to get rid of him. Just then, the doorbell rang.

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1 That night, at a friend’s gathering, I sat quietly on the sofa. Suddenly, my husband, Professor Alistair Berini, dropped to his knees before me with a thud. His face was contorted in a pained expression as he spoke. He said Celeste and I were a match for a heart transplant, and the surgery had to happen immediately. I froze, though deep down, I felt no surprise. I softly reminded him that everyone only has one heart. He instantly promised he’d arrange for the best surgeons in New York to install an artificial heart for me. I touched my belly, telling him I was three months away from giving birth. But he told me to give up this child first, saying there would be others later. As I sat there in a daze, Celeste’s clear, bright laughter reached my ears. She told my husband, “Happy April Fool’s Day!” and that the successful match was just a prank, never expecting he’d actually come to beg me. The friends around us erupted in cheerful chatter, teasing her about how awkward her joke was. Someone even quipped that if Celeste had claimed to be a match for them, Asher would have probably already dragged them to the operating table. Everyone was laughing. I alone sat in silence. After the party ended, I quietly took out my phone and booked an abortion for the next day. … Alistair had never truly been angry with Celeste. For his delicate, sickly student, he had always treated her with kid gloves, afraid to even raise his voice. But this time, after he rose from his knees, his face was uncharacteristically grim. The boisterous crowd grew quiet, sensing the shift. The air thickened. Someone quietly nudged Celeste. “You crossed a line with this prank, hitting a nerve with Professor Berini.” “He’s infamous for being devoted to his wife. The year he started teaching, a colleague made an offhand joke about Aurora, and Alistair beat him so badly he ended up in the hospital.” Celeste froze, then tears welled in her eyes. She carefully tugged at Alistair’s sleeve. “I’m so sorry, Professor Berini, it’s April Fool’s, I was just trying to play a joke.” When he didn’t speak, she turned to me, sniffling. “Mrs. Berini, I didn’t mean it. If you’re angry, scold me, I deserve it.” Friends quickly intervened, trying to smooth things over. “This girl is just a bit thoughtless, didn’t think before she joked. You two shouldn’t take it to heart.” “Exactly, Alistair. She’s been your star student for three years, even got a mention in your thesis acknowledgements recently. You can’t let an April Fool’s joke ruin everything.” Alistair’s expression finally softened a little. He reached up, gently wiping away the tears at the corner of her eye. “Don’t make jokes like that again.” Celeste nodded profusely. He then looked at me, a hint of apology in his voice. “I’m sorry, Aurora, I came to you for help before I even verified the information.” Such a massive thing as a heart transplant, casually wrapped up in “a little help.” It wasn’t the first time. Whenever something involved Celeste, Professor Berini, usually so clear-headed and rational, became remarkably emotional and vague. He would, in the dead of winter night, drive eight hundred miles to coastal cities because she mentioned menstrual cramps. When asked about it, he’d offer a helpless shrug: “The girl isn’t well, I worry about her.” But I was at home, five months pregnant, waiting through a cold, lonely night. He didn’t worry about me. I was in agony, speechless from constant fetal movements. He didn’t worry about me. My morning sickness, contractions, swelling, hair loss – none of it seemed to concern him. Facing me, he was always as rational as a machine: “Aurora, carrying a life is naturally difficult. It’ll be better once the baby’s born.” I became irritable, prone to outbursts, but he dismissed it as pregnancy hormones, offering a few casual words of comfort before retreating to his study. Each time, I’d force myself to suppress the urge to disturb his work. But that research paper, the one he’d poured five years of his life into, actually mentioned Celeste in the first line of the acknowledgements. A mere undergraduate student with, arguably, no professional competence. I only found out when the news broke. In the interview video, Alistair spoke with casual indifference. “In my five years of teaching, Celeste isn’t the most talented student I’ve seen. But she is certainly the most resilient.” “I’m grateful she appeared in my life. She gave me the courage to continue my research.” 2 That day, I accidentally shattered my favorite vase. When Alistair saw it, he simply calmly instructed the housekeeper to clean up the mess. But that vase, he and I had crafted it together in a small ceramics studio during the year we were most deeply in love. He’d even earnestly declared it would be a family heirloom. “Maybe… maybe I can put it back together.” I knelt on the floor, trembling, trying to piece together the tiny fragments. He frowned, pulling me up. “It’s just a cheap vase, Aurora, it’s nothing.” My eyes welled up, but his gaze fell to my belly. “Is the baby bothering you again?” I tried to reassure myself, telling myself he was a logical man, and it was perfectly normal for him not to care about such sentimental keepsakes. But that evening, when I went to his study to bring him fruit, I saw a locked, transparent display case. Inside, carefully preserved, was a twenty-dollar fountain pen Celeste had given him, the kind you buy at a stationery store. It was as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over my head. I yelled at him, and even smashed open the cabinet, throwing the pen fiercely into the trash. But in the next second, he retrieved it as if it were a precious treasure. When he looked back at me, Alistair’s eyes were full of impatience. “Aurora, look in the mirror. See how much you resemble a shrew right now!” “You broke the vase yourself today. What exactly are you blaming me for?” I made him swear to God that he hadn’t fallen for Celeste. If he had, then neither of us would find peace. Alistair, the staunch materialist, hesitated. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “Yes, I have fallen for her.” “But we haven’t crossed a line, and we won’t. You don’t need to act like you’ve suffered some terrible injustice.” Tears streamed down my face. He sighed, reaching up to smooth my disheveled hair. “Aurora, we’ve been together for eleven years. There’s no novelty left.” “To be frank, when I kiss you, it feels like I’m just pressing my own lips together.” “Sometimes I even regret marrying you abroad right after college, but back then, I never imagined I’d fall for someone else a decade later.” He was the one who once lit up the entire city with fireworks to woo me. Now, he was the one looking down, coldly discussing his change of heart. “Celeste has a vibrant, lively personality, unlike your subdued nature.” “She loves to play pranks, she loves watching silly romance movies, she loves feeding stray kittens by the roadside.” “Even though these are all boring things you used to enjoy, when she does them, I find them incredibly endearing. I can’t help but be drawn to her.” Finally, he lit a cigarette, his voice gentle yet cruel. “As long as you’re willing, the position of Mrs. Berini will always be yours. But you must accept that my heart belongs only to her.” After that night, I plunged into a continuous spiral of breakdown and emotional turmoil, crying every day until my eyes were swollen and red. I tried to detach myself, deliberately ignoring his late nights, his repeated absences from my prenatal appointments, his taking Celeste on vacation to Hawaii. But it was always just me lying to myself. Until today, when he knelt before me in front of everyone, begging me to give my heart to Celeste, even willing to sacrifice our six-month-old child. I suddenly felt this marriage was utterly pointless. 3 “Mrs. Berini, I know I was wrong, please forgive me.” Celeste’s voice was much more confident now than before, a subtle, hard-to-miss smirk hidden in her eyes. Someone chimed in, “Aurora, Celeste didn’t mean any harm. She’s always been a bit wild with her jokes. She even said something about wanting to marry Professor Berini when she was drunk once.” At that remark, the atmosphere instantly went silent. The person slapped a hand over their mouth in chagrin. “I didn’t mean it like that! I meant she just doesn’t think before she speaks. Who doesn’t know you and Asher have been together for years, solid as a rock? There’s no room for anyone else!” I gave a silent, wry smile, then looked at Celeste. “It’s fine. I don’t blame you.” Everyone visibly relaxed. The next second, I continued. “Alistair and I are getting divorced soon. Consider this an early congratulations on getting what you wanted.” “Aurora!” Alistair’s face darkened. “Don’t talk nonsense in front of all these people.” I found it ironic. “You can beg me in front of all these people to give my heart to Celeste, but I can’t even mention divorce?” He frowned. “It was just an April Fool’s joke. What’s the big deal?” “Celeste has already apologized, and I’ve spoken to her. If you keep making a scene, it’s just going to make things awkward for everyone!” Our friends also started to advise me. “Calm down, Aurora. You’re pregnant, don’t let this trivial matter hurt your marriage.” “Exactly. We all saw how much Asher cared about you earlier. He never speaks to Celeste that harshly.” At their words, I slowly looked at Alistair, my voice surprisingly calm. “You weren’t angry because of me just now. You were angry because Celeste joked about her match, and you were disappointed when you heard the truth.” He faltered slightly. A moment later, a flicker of irritation crossed his brow. “Please, I’m begging you, can we not talk about this here?” “You might be shameless, but Celeste isn’t.” A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I closed my eyes briefly, then whispered, “Fine. See you at the courthouse next Monday.” As I stood to leave, Celeste suddenly knelt before me. “Mrs. Berini, please don’t be angry with Professor Berini, okay? He just wants me to have a healthy body.” I stared coldly at the girl, whose face was streaked with tears, and scoffed. “You went to all this trouble to make that joke, proving your place in Alistair’s heart. You must be quite pleased now.” She suddenly looked deeply humiliated, her face turning ashen. I averted my gaze, walking around her to leave. The next second, I heard a cold, biting voice. “Aurora, don’t forget that Mom is still at Berini Memorial Hospital.” My steps halted abruptly. Never in my life did I imagine Alistair would use my mother to threaten me. After a long silence, I forced a smile, helping Celeste to her feet. “Everything I said just now was a joke. I don’t blame you.” Her voice was choked. “That’s good. I was so scared I’d cause trouble for Professor Berini.” The charade ended there. Alistair drove me home. On the way, he uncharacteristically offered an explanation. “I was just forced to scare you back there; I wouldn’t actually do anything to Mom.” “I really put you through a lot today. As compensation, I’ll accompany you to your prenatal checkup tomorrow.” “Aurora, we’ve been together for over a decade. I’m not completely devoid of feelings for you. If possible, I hope you and Celeste can get along.” I leaned against the car window, perfectly calm. “What I said today was serious.” “Alistair, let’s get a divorce. From now on, your business with her has nothing to do with me.” 4 The air hung silent for two seconds. He suddenly let out a low chuckle. “This is the seventh time you’ve brought up divorce since you got pregnant. Next time you throw a tantrum, try some new tactics.” As he finished speaking, his phone rang sharply in the car. He answered the call, then slammed on the brakes. “You get out here. Celeste is having an episode; I need to get back to her.” I looked at the pouring rain outside the window, paused, and opened the car door. His urgent voice came from behind me. “Find somewhere to shelter from the rain and wait. I’ll take her to the hospital and come back for you!” Late at night, in a downpour, finding a taxi was impossible. I waited in a convenience store until three in the morning before finally getting a ride home. Three hours of waiting – enough time for Alistair to take Celeste to the hospital and back ten times over. Not enough time for him to take his six-month pregnant wife home. … In the morning, I went to the hospital. The doctor looked gravely at the test results in her hand. “Miss Berini, given your current physical condition, undergoing an induced abortion would likely mean you won’t be able to conceive again in the future.” “If you confirm, please sign here.” I was naturally prone to difficulty conceiving. At twenty-three, I’d had a child once before. Alistair was just starting to make a name for himself in the research world back then. During his busiest period, I traveled with him through three different countries in a single week, eventually collapsing from exhaustion. I woke up in the hospital to learn I was a month pregnant, but the prolonged travel had caused a miscarriage. That was the first time I saw Alistair cry. He held me, heartbroken, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Aurora, it’s all my fault for not taking care of you, I’m so sorry…” “We’ll have another one someday, we will.” Six years. Six years of praying at temples, monthly hospital check-ups, all to finally welcome this child. But everything had changed. I signed the papers in silence, following the nurse to the ward, only to unexpectedly run into Celeste. Her face was flushed with health, showing no signs of the “episode” Alistair had mentioned. “Mrs. Berini, are you here for a prenatal checkup alone? Why isn’t Professor Berini with you?” The next second, her lips curved into a smile. “Oh, I almost forgot. He’s helping me get my period pain medication.” “He’s really making too much of a fuss. It’s just normal menstrual cramps, but he insists on bringing me to the hospital for a check-up.” “Last night, too, I just casually mentioned we were a match, and I never expected he’d actually want you to give me your heart.” Seeing no reaction from me, she looked a little annoyed. “I’m sorry, I seem to have upset you again.” Alistair, who had just arrived, overheard her. He frowned, stepping in front of her protectively. “Aurora, can’t you just leave Celeste alone? She’s very weak right now!” I didn’t speak, simply walked around them. Alistair watched my retreating back, and his heart inexplicably skipped a beat. He stopped the nurse. “Where are you going?” The nurse politely replied, “Sir, we cannot disclose patient privacy.” He wanted to press further, but Celeste stopped him. “Where else would she go? For a prenatal checkup, obviously.” “Professor Berini, you promised to go see a movie with me today. Let’s go.” … During the two days I was hospitalized, I received eighteen missed calls from Alistair. In his texts, he sounded frustrated and angry. “Why aren’t you home and why aren’t you answering your phone? There’s a limit to throwing tantrums; this just makes me more annoyed.” “I’m going on a business trip to Europe soon. Let me know if there’s anything you want.” “How were your prenatal checkup results? Everything alright?” I texted back. “Don’t forget, courthouse tomorrow.” His reply was instant. “Are you serious?” “Fine. Just don’t regret it later and come up with some excuse about not feeling well.” The next day at nine, I waited outside the courthouse. Half an hour later, Alistair finally arrived. He slowly got out of his car, but the moment his eyes landed on me, he froze, staring blankly at my flat stomach. “…Aurora, where’s the baby?”

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