My wife is a popular outdoor adventure influencer. She’s rarely home, always off exploring some rugged terrain, and frequently collaborating with another male influencer for her videos. In my previous life, the two of them planned a dangerous trek through the mountains. I thought it was far too risky, so I stopped her from going that day and kept her at home. Not long after, it started pouring rain. A landslide struck, and the male influencer was crushed to death by falling rocks. But instead of being grateful, my wife resented me for it. She blamed me, grew cold, and eventually poisoned me. I died in agony, wasting away in a hospital bed. As I lay there, gasping for breath, she leaned down, her voice trembling with hatred as she hissed in my ear: “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t stopped me that day, he’d still be alive. You’re the one who killed him!” Her words were the last thing I heard before the darkness swallowed me. But then I woke up. I opened my eyes and realized I had gone back in time—back to the very day she was supposed to leave for that deadly trek through the mountains. This time, I didn’t stop her. This time, I pulled back the hand that had once blocked her path. If she loved him so much, and then fine. She could die out there with him in the mountains.

“Mia, you can’t go. That mountain is way too dangerous!” “Jack, what’s your problem now? I’ve told you a thousand times—filming hiking videos is my job! Can you stop being so unreasonable?!” Hearing Mia’s familiar voice and seeing her irritated expression again, a sudden flash of light burst through my mind. Wait… what’s going on? Did I just… come back to life?! My eyes widened in shock as I stared at my hands, shaking them to make sure they worked. Every joint moved freely. I wasn’t dead. I was alive. I grabbed my phone to check the date. July 27, 2024. It was the exact same day, three years ago, when I stopped Mia from going on that treacherous mountain hike. I was back. I really came back! Mia, my wife, is a well-known outdoor adventure influencer. She’s never home, always traveling, hiking, climbing, and filming her content. Recently, she’s been spending a lot of time with another influencer, a guy named Henry. They often team up to film videos together, and their chemistry has caught the attention of their fans. Mia never told her audience she was married, so over time, her fans started shipping her and Henry as a couple. Her username is MiaExplores, and her channel has been blowing up lately, partly because of her collaborations with Henry. I hated it. I hated the way she acted like our marriage didn’t exist. Every time I confronted her about it, she’d brush it off like it was nothing. “It’s just for the videos, Jack! Why are you making such a big deal out of it?! Fake relationships bring in views. Views bring in money. And let’s be real—who else is paying the bills? You?” Her words stung. It was true that Mia was the breadwinner, but only because she’d insisted I quit my job to take care of the house. And now, she threw it in my face like I was worthless. And then there was Henry. Henry was the textbook definition of a thrill-seeker. His videos were always extreme—skydiving from insane heights, base jumping, trekking through uninhabitable canyons teeming with venomous creatures. His fans loved his reckless stunts, leaving comments like: “This guy’s soul is probably chasing his body from the afterlife.” “His ancestors must be working overtime keeping him alive.” When Mia started working with him, he dragged her into his dangerous lifestyle. Sure, her channel grew, but every time she came back from one of their trips, she was covered in bruises and scars. This time, it was Henry’s idea to hike the deadly mountain range. In my previous life, I had a terrible feeling about the trip. I’d checked the weather forecast and saw a warning for heavy storms. Something deep in my gut told me something was going to go horribly wrong. I’d begged her not to go. I even blocked the door, refusing to let her leave. After hours of arguing, Mia finally gave up and stayed home. Henry, on the other hand, was stubborn. He went on the hike alone. But the storm that day was beyond anything anyone could’ve predicted. It was like the sky had ripped open, pouring rain down in an endless torrent. The mountain couldn’t take it. A landslide roared through the cliffs, sending rocks and debris tumbling down. Henry was caught in the avalanche. He didn’t make it. When rescuers found him, his skull had been crushed by a boulder. His brain had spilled out onto the ground. His family later posted an announcement on his social media, informing his followers of his death. When Mia found out, she was devastated. But instead of grieving, she turned all her anger on me. She blamed me for everything. She said it was my fault Henry died, because I’d stopped her from going with him. Her resentment festered into hate. She started poisoning me, slowly, over months. At first, I didn’t realize what was happening. But as time went on, my body began to fail. The pain was unbearable. My organs shut down one by one, until I was nothing but a broken, withered shell of a man. By the time I lay dying in a hospital bed, I couldn’t even lift a finger. My body was skeletal, covered in bedsores that reeked of rot. And Mia? She stood over me, her voice dripping with venom as she leaned close to my ear. “If you hadn’t stopped me that day, he wouldn’t have died.” Her words were the last thing I heard before I died. But now… Now, I had another chance. God, fate, or whatever power controlled the universe had given me the opportunity to go back, to relive the moment everything went wrong. This time, I wouldn’t stop her.

“Jack, what the hell is wrong with you? First, you block me from leaving, and now you’re just standing there like an idiot?” Mia rolled her eyes in exasperation, her tone dripping with annoyance as she stared at me. “Move! I’m running late, and Henry’s already waiting for me!” “Oh, uh, right.” I quickly stepped aside, clearing the way for her to leave. “Mia, it’s raining today. Be careful out there, okay?” I gave her a final reminder before she walked out the door, but she just brushed it off with a scoff. “So what? I’ve dealt with worse. The riskier it gets, the better the views. Danger equals clicks, and Henry’s a real man. He always manages to make it out alive. With him there, we’ll be fine. What, you think everyone’s as useless as you?” She shot me another disdainful look before slinging her hiking pack over her shoulder, grabbing her trekking poles, and heading out. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving the house eerily quiet. I stared at the closed door for a moment, and then let a cold smirk curl across my lips. Mia, this is the path you chose. Let’s see how your arrogance and stupidity serve you now. As in my last life, the rain started not long after she left. Heavy, relentless rain. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the storm rage outside. The rain came down in sheets, pounding against the glass, driven by fierce winds. The weather only got worse. The National Weather Service issued a flash flood warning, schools canceled classes, and underground parking garages in several neighborhoods were completely flooded. The wind was so strong that even thick, mature trees were snapping and falling over. A breaking news alert flashed across my phone screen: “Emergency Bulletin: Due to heavy rain, a landslide has occurred on Boulder Mountain. Roads leading up the mountain are now blocked by debris. Residents are advised to stay away from the area for their own safety.” Reading the news, I couldn’t help but let out a quiet, cruel laugh. Boulder Mountain. That was the very mountain Mia and Henry had gone to film their video. The mountain was infamous for its treacherous terrain. Landslides were so common that even locals avoided it, let alone tourists. But Mia and Henry, in their endless pursuit of views and adrenaline, had decided to climb it during a storm. Just like in my last life, Boulder Mountain had collapsed again. By now, they were either buried under the falling rocks or trapped somewhere in the rubble. Either way, there was no happy ending for them. “Ring! Ring!” My phone suddenly buzzed, cutting through the silence. It was Mia. Her name flashed across the screen, the word “Honey” glaring at me in bold letters. I stared at the phone as it vibrated in my hand, but I didn’t answer. I didn’t hang up either. Forty-five seconds later, the call ended on its own. I remained exactly where I was, silent and still.

The phone rang again, buzzing loudly in the quiet room. After letting it ring for a few seconds, I finally picked up. The moment I answered, a barrage of angry yelling erupted on the other end. “Jack, are you dead or something?! Why didn’t you pick up earlier? Don’t you know I’m in serious danger right now?!” She wasn’t dead yet. That was my first thought, though I kept it to myself. Instead, I played dumb, feigning ignorance as best as I could. “Oh, sorry, Mia, I fell asleep. What’s going on? Are you okay?” Her voice trembled as she continued, but the connection was already breaking up. “Help me… call someone to—” The signal suddenly cut out. “Mia? What’s happening? Are you okay? Mia?!” “Help… BOOM—” The call ended abruptly, leaving nothing but the flat, monotonous beep of a disconnected line. I didn’t need her to explain. I knew exactly what had happened. Boulder Mountain had claimed its victims once again. I stood there, staring at the phone in my hand. The thought of what had happened to me in my last life—the poison, the humiliation, the slow, agonizing death—sent a wave of cold satisfaction through me. If Mia and Henry were buried under the landslide, or trapped beneath the rubble, it would be nothing less than what they deserved. But letting them die so easily? That wasn’t enough. No, I wanted more. After a moment of thought, I dialed 911. If I didn’t make an effort to pretend to save her, someone might blame me for not trying. And I wasn’t about to take responsibility for her death—or Henry’s. When the dispatcher answered, I put on my best panicked voice. “Hello? Yes, please, I need help! My wife just called me—she said she’s in danger! Please, you have to save her!” “Sir, calm down. Can you tell me where your wife is and what kind of danger she’s in?” “I-I don’t know! She’s an influencer, always out filming hiking videos. Today, she said she was going with a friend to climb Boulder Mountain, but that’s all I know! I swear!” “Boulder Mountain?” the dispatcher repeated, her voice rising in alarm. “There are still people up there? That area is completely unsafe right now!” “I don’t know! Maybe? Please, you have to do something! What if she’s trapped? What if she’s hurt? Please, you have to save her!” “Sir, we’ll dispatch a rescue team immediately. Please stay by your phone in case we need more information.” “Thank you! Thank you so much!” After hanging up, I smirked to myself. Boulder Mountain was a death trap. The storm had made it impossible to navigate, with mudslides and falling rocks blocking every path. Even the rescue teams wouldn’t dare go too close in these conditions. Sure enough, after several failed attempts, the authorities called off the rescue until the rain stopped. Later that evening, the police called to update me. “Sir, we understand you’re worried, but the rain is too heavy, and it’s simply not safe for our team to proceed right now. We’ll resume as soon as the conditions improve.” “I understand. You’ve already done your best. Thank you for trying…” I said, my voice trembling as though I were holding back tears. “Don’t worry, sir. Once the rain stops, we’ll do everything we can to bring her back.” “I appreciate it. Really, thank you.” The storm lasted all night and most of the next day before finally subsiding. The rescue operation resumed immediately, but Boulder Mountain was still dangerous. Falling rocks and unstable terrain slowed their progress significantly. Another day and night passed before they managed to locate Mia and Henry. But by then, the damage was already done. The rescue crew pulled Mia and Henry from a pile of rubble. Both were still alive—but barely. Mia’s legs were crushed beyond repair, leaving her permanently paralyzed. Her face was so badly injured that it was beyond recognition. She would never walk again, and her once-beautiful face was now a patchwork of scars. Henry, on the other hand, had escaped with only minor injuries. He was unconscious from exhaustion but otherwise unharmed. When I arrived at the rescue site, I made sure to put on the performance of a lifetime. I fell to my knees in the mud, crying hysterically as the cameras rolled. “Mia! Where are you? Please, God, don’t take her from me! I can’t live without her!” Firefighters rushed to pull me off the ground, patting my back and trying to comfort me. “Sir, don’t worry. We’ll get her out safely. Just stay strong a little longer.” Nearby reporters caught every moment on film. One journalist even gave a heartfelt report to the camera, saying: “In the face of tragedy, we’re witnessing the purest form of love. This man’s devotion to his wife is nothing short of inspiring. Let’s hope their love can overcome even the harshest of trials.” When the story aired, the footage of me kneeling in the mud and begging for Mia’s safety went viral. Social media exploded with comments praising me as a devoted and loving husband. “This is the kind of love we all dream of. God, please don’t take her away from him!” “I’m crying! He’s risking everything for her. What a hero!” “I wish I had a husband like him. Mine would probably celebrate if I got buried in a landslide.” “Please let her survive! If not for her sake, and then for his. It’s heartbreaking to see him like this.” The internet ate it up. By the time Mia was brought to the hospital, I’d become a national sensation. When she woke up, the first thing she saw was her reflection in the hospital window—a shattered, unrecognizable face wrapped in layers of bandages. All for a man who probably never cared about her in the first place.

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Back when I first started my esports career, Mia Taylor told me to propose to her if I ever won the world championship. It sounded like a dream. But then, one day, I overheard her talking to her friend. “Propose? To him? Please. Do you really think I’d marry a guy like that? I’m just messing with him. Imagine how hilarious it’ll be when I shut him down in front of the entire gaming world.” Her friend tried to calm her down, but Mia just rolled her eyes. “Come on. A guy who spends all day playing video games? He’s not even in the same league as me. Like, get real. A loser like him trying to date me? What a joke.” She smirked and added, “He’s broke, too. Meanwhile, I’ve got Luke—my kind of guy.” Luke Mitchell. My backup player. And right in front of me, she sent him a voice message. “Hey, Luke, guess what? I just bought this super cute new lingerie. Wanna see?” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My chest felt like it had been hollowed out. Fast forward to the championship. The crowd was roaring, golden confetti was raining down, and I got down on one knee. But just as Mia reached out, ready to slap the ring out of my hand— I turned, smiled, and slid the ring onto the finger of the woman standing next to her.

My mind was spinning as I replayed the conversation I’d just overheard. My chest felt tight, my hands trembling. Before I could pull myself together, Mia walked up, her voice sharp and full of irritation. “God, why are you being so sensitive? Luke just broke your keyboard. Are you seriously mad about that?” That’s when I noticed Luke standing behind her, pale as a ghost. He was holding a red mechanical keyboard—the one with my gamer tag, Mitchell, engraved on it. His voice cracked as he stammered out an apology. “I… I’m sorry, Isaac. I accidentally dropped it earlier. If you want, I can buy you a new one…” But before he could finish, Mia cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Buy him a new one? For what? It’s just a keyboard. He doesn’t care.” Her tone was so dismissive, like I wasn’t even allowed to be upset about it. I stood there, staring at the two of them, forcing myself to swallow the disgust rising in my throat. “Do you guys even hear yourselves? You break someone’s stuff and act like it’s no big deal? Have some respect.” Luke turned to Mia, looking like a kicked puppy. “Mia…” That was all it took for her to snap. She spun around, glaring at me like I’d just insulted her entire existence. “What the hell is wrong with you? Luke said it was an accident! Why are you blowing this out of proportion?” “I know you’ve never liked Luke, but do you seriously have to act this petty about everything?” “And for the record, I stand for what’s right, not for you. Don’t think for a second I’ll take your side on this.” I let out a bitter laugh. For a pro gamer, your equipment isn’t just gear—it’s a part of you. It’s your rhythm, your muscle memory. Tomorrow was the last match of the group stage, and the world championship was just a week away. Luke breaking my keyboard wasn’t an accident—it was a calculated move. “‘Stand for what’s right’? What part of this is right?” I shot back. My voice was tight with anger. “And when have you ever stood by me?” My words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. For once, I let the anger show. And she hated it. “Oh, come on! It’s just a stupid keyboard! Why are you acting like it’s the end of the world?” Before I could react, she grabbed the keyboard out of Luke’s hands and slammed it onto the floor. The sound of plastic keys scattering across the floor echoed in the room. My gamer tag, “Mitchell,” was obliterated and reduced to shattered fragments.

For a moment, even Mia looked stunned as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. But then she scoffed, doubling down. “You know what? Serves you right. And while you’re at it, maybe don’t bother playing tomorrow.” With that, she grabbed Luke’s arm and walked off, leaving me alone with the broken pieces of my keyboard. That wasn’t just a keyboard. It was the last gift my mom had given me. I clenched my fists, forcing back the lump in my throat as I carried the pieces to the technician’s room. “It’s completely busted, Isaac,” the tech said after one look. “You’re gonna have to set up a new one.” I could feel the stares of my other teammates as I walked back into the training room. Their smirks and whispered comments followed me like shadows. “Guess his plan to suck up to Mia didn’t work out. Looks like Luke’s moving up the ladder.” “Serves him right, acting all high and mighty. ‘Isaac’? What a joke.” I ignored them, but their words stung more than I cared to admit. When I got back to the training room, I saw my desk had been moved to the far corner—the “standby” seat. Luke was already sitting in my spot, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Don’t worry, Isaac,” he said, his tone dripping with fake sympathy. “I’ll give it my all in tomorrow’s match.” I narrowed my eyes at him, noticing the faint smear of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he and Mia had been up to. “Face it, Isaac,” he added with a smirk. “You’re past your prime. It’s time to let the younger generation take over.” I stared at him, my expression cold enough to wipe the grin off his face. No one expected what happened next. They came back from the match with a humiliating 0-3 loss. Luke’s performance? A complete disaster. Mia, our team analyst, didn’t criticize him at all. Instead, she patted him on the back like a doting mom. “It’s okay, Luke. Wins and losses are part of the game,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “And besides, we’ve already secured our spot in the finals. Just think of this match as practice.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore—I laughed out loud. “Practice? Are you calling it a qualifying match practice? Wow. That’s rich.” “What’s wrong, Luke?” I added, smirking. “Weren’t you just saying yesterday that I’m too old for this?” In esports, there’s one rule that never changes: bad gameplay is the ultimate sin. Luke’s face turned bright red, but before he could say anything, Mia turned her fury on me. “God, could you stop acting like you’re so much better than everyone else? I’m so sick of the way you treat rookies! Haven’t you ever lost a match before?” Her words took me back to when I first joined the team. I wasn’t consistent back then, and after one particularly bad match, Mia pulled me aside. “Every single point matters in competitive gaming,” she’d told me. I remembered the late nights, grinding ranked games with her by my side. She’d walk me through every champion, every strategy, until I got it right. I remembered the way she’d held my hand before a big match and promised, “As long as I’m here, I’ll make sure you become the best jungler in the world.” And I had. After winning the spring championship last year, I confessed to her. We got together, and it felt like everything had fallen into place. But now, here she was, telling me a qualifying match didn’t matter. In that moment, I realized something: She wasn’t the same person anymore. She’d already rotted from the inside out.

After losing the match, Luke was buried under a mountain of public backlash. Fans tore him to shreds online—insults flying at him from every corner. I thought he’d lay low, maybe try to redeem himself. But then Mia posted on Facebook. “Sure, Luke didn’t play his best. We get that. But someone smashed his keyboard yesterday, messing up his focus. I can’t stay silent anymore. I hope people can give the rookie some time and encouragement.” She even uploaded a video clip. The footage was edited to make me look like the villain, twisting our argument into something malicious. It showed me deliberately targeting Luke and, to top it off, smashing his keyboard. The camera zoomed in on the broken pieces of the keyboard. The engraving on the back—Mitchell—was clear as day. Fans immediately jumped on the hate train. “Isaac, you jealous loser! Going after a rookie? How low can you sink?” “I can’t believe I ever supported Isaac. What a pathetic excuse for a pro!” “And Mia? Absolute queen for exposing him. And wasn’t she dating Isaac once? Damn, the tea is hot.” I was so angry I nearly laughed—it felt like the only way to stop myself from exploding. Then, just as I was about to leave, Luke walked out of Mia’s office. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me like he was the king of the world. “See that?” he said, smirking. “She’ll always take my side. What do you have to fight me with?” “Even if I lose, the fans will forgive me. But you? You’re done.” He tilted his head, the gold chain around his neck catching the light. Hanging from it was a gold ring. My chest tightened. That ring… It was the one I bought last year after winning the championship. I’d spent weeks tracking it down—an exclusive, custom-made luxury piece from overseas. Mia had said it was too special to wear every day, that she wanted to save it for “the right moment.” Turns out, that “moment” was giving it to Luke. Luke had joined the team six months ago as a last-minute substitute. At first, no one took him seriously—not even Mia, who suggested cutting him after his first month. But I was the one who stood up for him, coaching him on every hero and helping him improve match after match. I still remember the day he lost a crucial game. I was furious, demanding he be sent to the second team for more training. That was the first time Mia sided with him over me. “Come on, Isaac,” she said. “Who hasn’t lost a match before? Why are you being so harsh?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Mia, this is the playoffs! We can’t afford to mess around!” But she just frowned, her tone full of disappointment. “I know you’re Isaac, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat people like they’re beneath you.” “Isaac… when did you become like this?” And just like that, she walked off with Luke, leaving me standing there speechless. Later that night, I felt guilty. Maybe I had been too harsh. So I went to find Luke, planning to apologize and clear the air. But when I opened the door, I froze. Mia was sitting next to him, carefully sewing a tear in his shirt. Luke caught her hand mid-stitch, his voice soft. “Aren’t you spending the night with Isaac?” he asked, a teasing smile on his face. Mia blushed—a sight I hadn’t seen in months. “I’m here, aren’t I? Where else would I go?” Luke reached up and cupped her face. “Thank you, Mia. It means so much to me that you’d stand up for me.” I stumbled away from the door, heart pounding, terrified of what I might see if I stayed any longer. When Mia came out later, her flushed cheeks said more than words ever could. 4 I stared at Luke now, standing in front of me, smug as ever. Aside from being younger, what did he even have going for him? “If I’m the one who’s washed up,” I said coldly, “then you should just quit altogether.” “If you put half the effort into actually playing that you put into acting like a victim, you’d be at the top of the rankings by now.” “Or maybe,” I added with a smirk, “you just really enjoy being the guy who hides behind Mia every time something goes wrong. Cry a little, let her fight your battles for you. That’s your whole strategy, isn’t it?” My words hit him like a punch to the gut. His face twisted in anger. Then, out of nowhere, he dropped to the ground, clutching his hand and screaming like I’d just broken it in two. “Ahhh! My hand! Isaac, why did you step on my hand?!” His shrieking was so loud it immediately drew a crowd. Mia came running over, her face full of panic. She shoved me hard, her voice shaking with rage. “Isaac! Are you insane?!” “Do you even understand how important a player’s hands are?!” She knelt down beside Luke, cradling his hand like it was made of glass. “Are you okay, Luke? Does it hurt? Let me see.” Luke whimpered, glancing at me with fake fear in his eyes. “It’s my fault,” he said, voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have tried to take Isaac’s spot. I’m sorry, Isaac! Please don’t hurt me anymore.” “My hands… they’re everything to me. How am I supposed to compete now?” He reached out, tugging weakly at my sleeve like a helpless child. I couldn’t take it anymore. I actually laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. “If you’re going to frame me, at least put some effort into it,” I said, kicking him to the ground. “You’re pathetic.” Mia screamed, trying to pull me back as I grabbed his collar. My grip tightened with every second, and her voice rose in panic. “Isaac, stop! Have you lost your mind?!” “You can’t hurt him! What’s wrong with you?!” Finally, she slapped me hard enough to sting. “You’re a monster!” she spat, tears brimming in her eyes. Then, before I could react, she stomped on my hand, grinding her heel into my fingers with all her weight. “You’ll pay for this,” she hissed. “I’ll make sure of it.” Pain shot through my hand as I shoved her off me, my fingers swollen and bleeding. My hands—my lifeline—were more important than anything. Clutching my injured hand, I stumbled out and made my way to the ER, barely able to stay on my feet. 5. “Doctor, I have a championship match coming up. Can my hand recover in a week?” I gripped the doctor’s sleeve tightly, my voice trembling with desperation. “Take it easy,” he said, gently prying my hand off. “The good news is there’s no bone fracture. But the soft tissue damage? A week might be pushing it.” My stomach sank. “Then do something—give me a shot, painkillers, whatever it takes!” I couldn’t afford to give up. Not now. “I’ll do my best,” he said, his tone calm but serious. Later that night, I sat alone in the ER, hooked up to an IV. The sound of the saline drip hitting the tube echoed in the silence, each drop louder than the last. In the stillness of the hospital, it felt oppressive, almost suffocating. That slap and that stomp—Mia’s betrayal—did more than just injure my hand. It broke something deeper. It severed the last threads of the bond we’d shared over the past two years. I clenched my injured hand into a fist, and then released it, testing the strength in my muscles. “You know that’s only going to make it worse, right?” A familiar voice broke my trance. I looked up, startled, to see Evelyn standing there in a white coat, her arms crossed, a mix of concern and amusement in her expression. “It’s been a while,” she said with a small smile. “I saw your name on the chart and thought, ‘No way, it can’t be him.’ But here you are.” Evelyn and I had grown up together. She was the closest thing I had to a childhood friend. Back in middle school, when I decided to try my hand at professional gaming, she’d promised to stand by me no matter what. But after I joined the club, she disappeared. She stopped answering my calls and my messages. For a while, I thought she’d forgotten about me. Only later did I learn her parents had sent her overseas. Now, here she was, back in the city, interning at the hospital. Her eyes dropped to my bandaged hand. “Aren’t you a pro gamer? What happened to your hand?” I hesitated, and then gave her the short version of the story. Luke, Mia, the injury—everything. When I finished, she stared at me for a long moment before shaking her head. “Isaac Mitchell, since when did you become so stupid?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe this is what happens when you’re too nice to people?” She snorted. “Nice? You? Did you hit your head, too? Or has gaming scrambled your brain? Don’t act like I don’t know you.” She smirked. “You used to be the most vengeful person I knew.” That hit a nerve. She wasn’t wrong. Back then, no one dared mess with me. Everyone called me the “crazy Mitchell kid.” I laughed, this time for real, and Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?” she asked. “Evelyn,” I said, still grinning, “do you want to come watch the World Championship?” Does Mia want to play games? Fine. Let’s see who’s still standing in the end.

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My cousin secretly gave birth to a daughter and then switched her baby with mine. I knew all along, yet I raised her daughter in luxury, treating her as if she were the most precious jewel in the world. Years later, that daughter became the Crown Princess, soaring to unimaginable heights of power and prestige. On the day of the royal wedding, my cousin arrived at the palace gates, dragging along my real daughter—who had long been sold into a life of misery as a courtesan in a seedy brothel. With a smug, triumphant sneer, my cousin declared, “I am the true mother of the Crown Princess, while you’re nothing but the lowly birth mother of this girl. Don’t even think of claiming what isn’t yours!” I had been waiting for this moment for years. Without a flicker of surprise or anger, I smiled graciously and nodded. “Then let’s switch them back,” I said calmly. “Dear cousin, I’ve tailored two dresses myself. Hurry and bring Kara out to try them on.” It was the first day of spring, and my cousin Nora showed up at my home uninvited. She waltzed in as if she owned the place, making herself comfortable in my sitting room without so much as an invitation. She wasted no time calling for my daughter, Kara, as though she had every right to summon her. But I knew why she acted so boldly. She wasn’t just here for a casual visit—she was here for her daughter. Kara, the cherished young lady of my household, was not my biological daughter. Sixteen years ago, Nora, who had been staying at my home, secretly gave birth to an illegitimate child after an affair with a man she refused to name. To cover her shame, she switched her baby with mine. The wet nurse who witnessed the swap immediately came to me with the truth. But instead of exposing Nora’s treachery, I gave the nurse a generous sum of silver and sent her off to live out her days in peace. I kept the secret to myself, biding my time. Now, here Nora was, playing the role of a doting cousin, dragging along a lame servant girl named Skylar. Nora claimed Skylar had been raised by her since childhood, but one look at the girl’s face told me the truth. Skylar’s features mirrored my own—she was the child Nora had stolen from me. Within moments, Kara came fluttering into the room like a butterfly, dressed in the new gown Nora had brought for her. “Mother, look, look! Isn’t it beautiful? I love this dress so much!” Kara exclaimed, twirling in delight as she ran to my side, her voice full of laughter. But Nora wasn’t satisfied. She reached out and grabbed Kara’s arm, gently pulling her toward her. “Oh my, Kara, you truly are stunning,” Nora said, her voice dripping with faux affection. “This dress suits you so much better than anything your mother has ever given you,” she added, shooting me a smug glance. Then, with a sly smile, she leaned closer to Kara and asked, “Kara, wouldn’t you like to call me your mother instead?” Kara, still a child at heart, giggled innocently and replied, “No way! My mother isn’t you!” Her playful response was like a dagger to Nora’s pride. The room’s lighthearted atmosphere abruptly shattered with a sharp, resounding “SMACK.” Nora had raised her hand and slapped Skylar across the face without warning. The poor girl staggered from the blow, her cheek swelling almost instantly. Tears welled in her eyes, but she bit them back, dropped to her knees, and begged for mercy. Nora smiled coldly and turned to us as if nothing had happened. “This wretched girl doesn’t know her place. I caught her staring at Kara’s dress, and I had to teach her a lesson before she starts getting ideas.” Skylar’s tears fell silently, dripping onto the floor. All she had done was glance at Kara’s gown, a fleeting look of admiration that had earned her a brutal slap. The injustice of her life was plain to see. Among all the maids and servants in my household, Skylar was treated as the lowest of the low. Nora gave her nothing but scraps to eat, scraps so foul even beggars would turn their noses up at them. Her clothes and shoes were tattered hand-me-downs, and whenever Nora was in a bad mood, Skylar bore the brunt of her anger, enduring beatings that left her bruised and battered. Now, with her true nature revealed, Nora’s cruel temper frightened Kara. My daughter clung to my side, her earlier excitement replaced with unease. Seeing Kara lean into me only fueled Nora’s jealousy. Her resentment flared, and her malice erupted in full force. She pulled a silver hairpin from her head, its sharp end glinting in the light, and without hesitation, drove it into Skylar’s crippled leg. “You worthless brat!” Nora hissed through gritted teeth. “You dare humiliate me in front of my cousin? You’ve been nothing but a disgrace since the day you were born!”

Blood gushed out in rivulets, but Nora didn’t care. Instead, she drove the hairpin deeper into Skylar’s thigh, twisting it cruelly. “That’s what you get for disobeying me, you worthless little wretch!” she spat, her voice full of venom. Skylar lay motionless on the floor, silent tears streaming down her face. She seemed completely numb to the pain, as if she’d long since grown used to Nora’s abuse. Her leg, already crippled, had likely lost all feeling—making it an easy target for Nora’s sadistic outbursts. The other servants stood around watching, their faces blank, as though this was just another performance for their entertainment. Kara and I were no strangers to Nora’s violent tantrums, but my husband, Brandon, walked into the room mid-scene and froze, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “What’s going on here? Cousin, why are you punishing a servant in front of my wife?” At the sight of Brandon, Nora’s demeanor changed instantly. The wild, vicious expression vanished, replaced by a damsel-in-distress act. She stood up slowly, tucking the bloodied hairpin into her sleeve with practiced ease. “Brother-in-law,” she said, her voice suddenly soft and trembling, “this little maid dared to have impure thoughts about my dear cousin. I had no choice but to discipline her in front of my elder sister.” Her eyes darted between Brandon and me, as if trying to shift the blame onto me, implying I had demanded the punishment. Brandon frowned, clearly uneasy. He glanced at me, his disapproval evident, then turned back to Nora. “Skylar is just a young girl, about the same age as Kara,” he said. “There’s no need to be so harsh. Please, let her go.” Kara, ever the innocent and straightforward child, couldn’t stand to hear Nora twist the truth. She pointed a finger at Nora and shouted, “It wasn’t my mother! It was her! She slapped Skylar for no reason!” The more Kara defended me, the darker Nora’s expression became. Her eyes burned with jealousy and resentment as she glared at me. I smiled back at her, almost daring her to lose her composure. Then, with deliberate calm, I waved the matter aside. “It’s just a servant,” I said lightly, “no need to let something so trivial disturb the harmony of our family.” Brandon clearly wasn’t satisfied with my response, but he respected my position as the lady of the household too much to argue. Instead, he ordered the maids to take Skylar away and tend to her injuries. But Nora wasn’t about to let Skylar out of her grasp so easily. With a sweet, fake smile, she said, “Oh, there’s no need to trouble anyone. Skylar is my servant, and I’ll take responsibility for her care.” Before anyone could object, Nora yanked Skylar up by her arm, forcing the injured girl to stand on her damaged leg, and dragged her toward the door. Kara, ever soft-hearted, couldn’t bear to see Skylar in such a pitiful state. She tugged on my sleeve and looked up at me with pleading eyes. “Mother, can I send Skylar some medicine? She’s hurt so badly!” Sixteen years of raising Kara had taught me to read her thoughts as easily as an open book. With a faint smile, I nodded. “Go ahead,” I said. “And take the golden ointment from my cabinet. It’ll help her wounds heal faster.” Kara’s face lit up, and she dashed off eagerly, the kindhearted girl that I’d raised. Brandon, meanwhile, wasn’t quite done chastising me, but before he could get another word out, Kara returned, her expression crestfallen. “What happened?” I asked. Kara’s hands were empty, and there was no sign of the golden ointment. She lowered her head, her voice quiet and filled with frustration. “Mother,” she muttered, “Aunt Nora wouldn’t let me give Skylar the medicine… She said it might get my new dress dirty.” “And the ointment?” Kara hesitated, her face twisting with anger. “She threw it away,” she said finally. “She said Skylar is just a worthless servant and doesn’t deserve something so nice.”

Nora’s hostility toward me was always subtle but unmistakable, woven into the smallest details of her behavior. And yet, she played her part so convincingly that my husband, Brandon, never seemed to notice. In fact, Brandon often spoke highly of her in my presence. “A woman’s reputation is her most fragile possession,” he’d say. After today’s incident, with blood spilled and tempers flaring, he worried that rumors might spread from my household, tarnishing Nora’s name. “She’s an unmarried woman, after all,” he added. “If people start talking, she might feel compelled to throw herself into the river just to prove her innocence.” By the end of his little speech, Brandon even suggested that I bring her a small gift to smooth things over. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. But I went anyway. I was curious to see what new tricks Nora had up her sleeve—and what fresh misery she’d devised for Skylar. Nora’s quarters were always eerily quiet, save for the faint sounds of Skylar’s muffled sobs and the occasional sharp crack of a whip. But today, the courtyard was silent. Too silent. When I entered, Nora was alone, sitting in front of her mirror, leisurely fixing her hair. A gleaming silver hairpin—a new addition—sparkled atop her head. I glanced around, but the timid, battered maid who usually hovered in the shadows was nowhere to be seen. “Skylar? Where is she?” I asked casually. Nora didn’t even bother to turn around. “Oh, her?” she said with a smirk, running the comb through her hair. “After what she did yesterday—humiliating both you and Kara in front of everyone—I sold her off to a brothel.” She paused, then plucked the silver hairpin from her hair and held it up for me to admire. “This? Bought it with the money I got for her.” Her words were laced with malice, her eyes gleaming as she glanced at me, waiting for my reaction. “And tonight,” she added with a cruel laugh, “they’ll be auctioning off her virginity. I wonder what kind of man will claim her…” Her voice trailed off, her smile venomous. She was watching me closely, no doubt hoping to see some flicker of anger or pain. After all, she knew the truth—Skylar was my daughter. But I smiled back at her, calm as ever. “Well,” I said lightly, “she’s just a lowly servant. Whoever ends up with her will be doing her a favor.” My indifference clearly threw her off. Nora’s smirk faltered, disappointment flickering across her face. But then something dawned on her, and her expression shifted to one of panic. Kara hadn’t come with me. Her voice wavered as she asked, “Where’s Kara?” She stood abruptly, her composure cracking. “What have you done with Kara? Where is she?”

Most days, Nora stuck to Kara like glue, hovering over her like an overzealous nanny. She was terrified Kara might get into trouble, behave improperly, or—God forbid—fall for some no-good man. After all, Kara was the high-born daughter of the family, and Nora had switched daughters years ago with the sole intention of ensuring her child would rise to greatness. So when Kara was nowhere to be found, Nora’s panic was palpable, as if I might have spirited her precious daughter away to harm her in secret. I couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Kara was selected by the Queen Mother to marry the Crown Prince. Right now, she’s at the palace, being taught court etiquette by the royal governess.” “What? Kara is going to be the Crown Princess?!” Nora nearly leapt out of her chair, her hairbrush clattering to the vanity. I struggled to suppress my laughter as I watched her comical reaction. Seeing that I didn’t respond further, she quickly composed herself. Her anger melted into barely contained excitement as her eyes gleamed with ambition. “My dear cousin,” she said sweetly, “Kara is really going to be the Crown Princess? Can I go see how she’s doing with her lessons?” I raised a brow, feigning indifference, though I was a bit surprised. For someone whose daughter was about to ascend to unimaginable power, Nora was certainly playing it cool—for now. “Would I lie to you?” I said, smiling faintly. “Yes, Kara is going to be the Crown Princess. And if you want to see her, you’re welcome to visit anytime.” Nora didn’t need a second invitation. She abandoned her makeup, grabbed her coat, and rushed out the door to the palace. Once there, she wasted no time ingratiating herself, staring intently at the royal governess as if trying to burn every detail of Kara’s lessons into her memory. The governess, sensing something off, finally turned to Nora and asked, “Is there something you need, ma’am?” With a self-satisfied smile, Nora replied, “Oh, no, I’m just here to thank you. Please take good care of Kara. I raised her myself, you know. She’s like my own flesh and blood, and I know she’ll make a fine Crown Princess.” The governess snorted, giving Nora a scornful look. “I thought for a moment you were her real mother. But now I see you’re just another busybody. And who are you, anyway? Some old maid pushing thirty and still unmarried? What right do you have to speak here?” Nora’s face darkened instantly, her temper flaring. “How dare you insult me, you miserable servant! You’ll regret this!” But the governess was unimpressed. Rolling her eyes, she shot back, “Regret what? You’re just her cousin, pretending to be someone important. I have nothing to fear from you.” When it was time to bring Kara home, Nora clung to her hand like a long-lost mother, tears glistening in her eyes. “Kara, I heard you’re marrying the Crown Prince next month,” she said dramatically, “and I have something equally important to announce. Let’s make it a double celebration!” Kara, oblivious to the undercurrent of meaning, politely pulled her hand away. “Thank you, Aunt Nora. I’ll look forward to hearing your news,” she said, her tone distant but polite. I stood back, silently amused. Nora was barely holding back her big “reveal.” I almost hoped her grand announcement wouldn’t turn out to be a complete disaster. Almost. The day of the royal wedding finally arrived. It was a grand occasion, celebrated throughout the kingdom. The palace was packed with visitors—nobles, officials, foreign dignitaries, and emissaries from neighboring countries. Amid the splendor and joy of the event, Nora made her entrance. And, as expected, she didn’t come alone. Trailing behind her was a woman so disheveled and broken she barely looked human. She was dressed in tattered clothes, her face hollow and bruised, her steps unsteady. It didn’t take long for the whispers to spread through the crowd. The room fell silent as Nora paraded through, the spectacle impossible to ignore. Her intentions were clear: she wasn’t here to celebrate. She was here to cause a scene. Stopping in front of me, Nora raised her voice for all to hear. “Dear cousin,” she said with mock regret, “I hate to ruin such a joyous occasion, but I simply couldn’t hold this in any longer.” She gestured to the broken woman beside her. “This woman here… is your daughter—a common prostitute from the streets. And the Crown Princess? She’s my daughter, my flesh and blood. We’ve been separated for so many years, but today, it’s time to set things right. You ought to return her to me.”

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My husband and I had been child-free by choice for 15 years when, out of nowhere, I received an anonymous multimedia message. The photo? It showed my husband escorting a young woman into a hospital—straight into the OB-GYN clinic. The text message that came with it read: “You’re old and washed up. What do you have to compete with me?” Fury surged through me, but it didn’t take long for my mind to clear. I let out a cold, dismissive laugh. An “old woman” may not have youth, but she’s got something better—more tricks up her sleeve and a heart that’s a hell of a lot more ruthless. On our 15th wedding anniversary, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Elliott, suggested we visit a church to “pray for peace and blessings.” Seeing the eager anticipation in her eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. I postponed an important work meeting and got into the car heading to Grace Chapel with her. As I was leaving, my husband Lucas gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry, honey. I’m really close to finishing my painting. I’ve got to ride this wave of inspiration to make sure it’s ready for your gallery opening in three months. Love you!” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading in my chest. Ever since our second year of marriage, I had been adamant about remaining child-free. Lucas had respected my decision, and now, 15 years later, our relationship was still strong and full of love. Mrs. Elliott, despite being a traditional woman from a small town, had never scolded me for not having children. Instead, she would send me care packages every month—homemade jams, herbal supplements, and little reminders to take care of myself. Grace Chapel was known far and wide as a “miracle church” for those praying to conceive. Praying for peace? Please. This woman was clearly trying to pull one over on me. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if Lucas and Mrs. Elliott had caught wind of my secret and were using this trip as an excuse to get me to “bask in the blessings.” Inside the chapel, Mrs. Elliott knelt fervently on a prayer cushion in front of the altar, her lips moving rapidly as she whispered one heartfelt prayer after another. Her face was glowing with excitement, as if just kneeling there would miraculously make me pregnant. Seeing how happy she looked, I couldn’t help but smile. Resting my hand briefly on my flat stomach, I knelt beside her, clasped my hands together, and prayed silently: “Please, Lord, grant us a loving marriage and a happy family.” Just then, my phone buzzed in my purse. The sound was out of place in the sacred stillness of the chapel. I bowed my head apologetically toward the altar before stepping outside to check the message. What I saw made my blood run cold.

A text from an unknown number popped up, accompanied by a photo. The image? A man carrying a bag and carefully helping a young woman. The background clearly showed the entrance to the OB-GYN department of a hospital. Even without seeing his face, I recognized the profile and posture in an instant. This was Lucas—the man I had shared my life with for 15 years. Was he cheating? Or just helping? I desperately clung to the possibility of the latter, but the next text shattered any hope I had left. “You’re old and dried up. What could you possibly offer compared to me?” This message came with another photo—this time of a rounded baby bump, clearly five or six months along. I prided myself on being calm and composed in any situation, but this blatant provocation sent my anger straight to a boiling point. After taking a deep breath, I forced myself to think clearly. And then, it hit me. I laughed. How foolish of me to jump to conclusions. There was no way that child could be Lucas’s. I was certain of it. What was there to panic about? Composing myself, I headed back into the chapel to find Mrs. Elliott. She was grinning ear to ear, happily chatting with the pastor as she clutched a prayer slip in her hand. Not wanting to interrupt, I approached quietly, just in time to overhear her whispering: “Pastor, can the prayer tell us if the baby is a boy or a girl?” Her voice was soft but full of excitement. “I’ve been praying for this child for 15 years. I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” My heart skipped a beat. Did she know about my secret? For a moment, I considered stepping forward and telling her everything. But remembering my plan, I held back, retreating to hide behind a nearby statue. The pastor smiled warmly and reassured her, “Every child is a blessing, whether it’s a boy or a girl.” Mrs. Elliott clapped her hands together in delight. “I knew it! That young lady just has such a lucky aura about her. I’m sure her baby will be blessed as well!” Young lady? The image from the text suddenly flashed in my mind—the young woman with the rounded belly. My calm facade cracked slightly. When Mrs. Elliott finally left the chapel, looking as pleased as can be, I stayed behind to kneel before the altar. I bowed my head and prayed, “Thank you, Lord, for granting me clarity.” On the car ride home, I decided to test the waters. “Mom, what kind of prayer did you ask for today?” I asked with a casual smile. Mrs. Elliott beamed at me. “Oh, I know how much your career means to you, so I prayed for your success! Look, it’s a top-tier fortune!” She held up the slip of paper, which indeed contained a career blessing. If I hadn’t overheard her earlier, I might have been fooled by her act. But they truly believed that child was some divine gift, a token of gratitude from the heavens? They clearly didn’t know what kind of storm was coming for them.

When I got home, I headed straight for Lucas’s studio. Pushing the door open, I saw the painting he’d supposedly been “working on” was exactly the same as it had been the last time I checked. Not a single color mixed, not a single new stroke added. A bitter ache welled up in my chest—he couldn’t even be bothered to keep up the pretense anymore. How pathetic of me, falling for his sweet words and thinking he’d been working so hard in here every day. It was late when Lucas finally came home. He found me sitting in the study, busy with work. With his usual smug charm, he walked in holding a glass of milk. “Babe, you’ve been working so hard! Still at it this late?” He gave me an exaggeratedly sheepish smile. “I ran out of paint today, so I had to go out and pick some up. And guess what? I bumped into this legendary mentor who’s in town for a project. We got talking, and I completely lost track of time. Drink up and get some rest—you’re working too hard, and it makes me worry.” Any other day, I might’ve melted at his thoughtfulness. Sweet, considerate Lucas—always knowing how to smooth over my stress with just the right words. But tonight, all I could think about was the image of him helping that young woman—the way he held her arm so carefully. My heart felt like stone. As he leaned closer, I caught two distinct scents: the sterile tang of a hospital and the unmistakable aroma of durian—my favorite fruit. The combination was so nauseating I almost gagged. “You’ve had a long day too,” I managed, forcing a smile. “Go on to bed. I’ll take a quick shower and join you soon.” “Sure thing,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll just check in on Mom first.” With that, he headed toward Mrs. Elliott’s room. In the bathroom, I spotted the clothes Lucas had just changed out of and, almost without thinking, picked them up. My hand slipped into his pants pocket, where I felt the edge of a thin piece of paper. Pulling it out, I read: Private Women’s Clinic – OB/GYN Department Payment Receipt Patient: Natalie, 22 years old, 23 weeks and 4 days pregnant. Oh, how young she was. No wonder she felt bold enough to send me that provocative text. No wonder she’d left this receipt for Lucas to “accidentally” bring home. Young girls love recklessly, their emotions loud and unapologetic. She desperately wanted to prove she was more important than me, the “old, washed-up wife.” But what she didn’t know was that while I might not have her youth and energy, I make up for it with something stronger: sharper instincts and a much colder heart. She was bound to be disappointed.

I touched my flat stomach, weighing my options: should I play along and fight the girl head-on, or simply discard the man entirely? Just then, my phone buzzed again. Another picture. This time, it showed a table with three large durians. A hand—wearing the same wedding ring I had—was peeling a durian and placing the fruit onto a plate in front of the young woman. Neither of them showed their faces, but the intimacy of the moment, their shared warmth, practically radiated from the photo. Durian. My favorite fruit. But I hadn’t touched it in 15 years because Lucas couldn’t stand the smell. I gave it up for his sake. And now, here he was, not only tolerating it but personally peeling it for another woman. Fifteen years of compromise and sacrifice flashed before my eyes. All the times I had bent for love, while he had learned to adapt and care for someone else’s preferences with ease. The irony was almost laughable. Before I could fully process my emotions, Lucas came rushing back into the room, hurriedly changing his clothes. “Sorry, babe, I’ve got to head out.” “Something happened?” I asked coolly. “Yeah, that mentor I mentioned earlier—he got into a car accident. He’s all alone here, no family around, and he called me for help. I need to go check on him.” As he spoke, he even showed me his phone, the contact name clearly labeled as one of his male friends. But I caught a glimpse of the number. It was the same one that had sent me those anonymous texts. How sloppy. This pitifully bad lie was one of many he’d fed me over the years, but today, for the first time, I truly saw him. I waved him off nonchalantly. “Go on, then. Don’t keep him waiting.” As Lucas left, I couldn’t help but smirk. The girl was working overtime to prove how much Lucas cared for her, how much he loved her. She wanted nothing more than to flaunt her victory in my face. Well, if she wanted a fight, she’d get one. I’m Naomi. I’ve never begged for scraps of love. And now that I’ve seen Lucas for the fraud he is, it’s time to hit back. Hard. I pulled up a number on my phone and dialed. “Hey, remember that apartment you mentioned? Is it still available? I need a favor.”

For two days straight, I buried myself in crunching numbers, preparing an entire set of financial reports for Lucas’s gallery. At the same time, I had someone dig deep into Natalie’s background—every last detail. Lucas, on the other hand, hadn’t set foot at home during those two days. He called to say his “mentor” was in critical condition, and he had to stay at the hospital to take care of him. I didn’t argue. If it’s true love, then by all means, go ahead and stay. Two days later, Lucas finally came home. The first thing he did? He went straight to Mrs. Elliott’s room. I pulled out my phone and opened the hidden camera app, ready to listen in on their conversation. The video quality was excellent, and the sound was crystal clear. All thanks to my assistant. The moment we left the church that day, I’d called her. “Drop everything and buy a set of discreet hidden cameras. I want them installed in Lucas’s studio, Mrs. Elliott’s room, the living room, and the kitchen. The rest? Use your judgment.” My assistant, though surprised, had worked for me for five years. She knew better than to ask too many questions and executed the task flawlessly. By the time we got back home, everything was set up. I even spent a few minutes looking around and couldn’t spot a single one. Since then, I’d been checking the footage periodically. Mrs. Elliott had been busy, alright—rushing around nonstop, buying all sorts of supplies for her precious “grandchild.” Now, on the screen, I saw Mrs. Elliott’s face practically glowing with joy. “Well?” she asked eagerly. “How’s my darling grandbaby? Behaving, isn’t he?” Lucas beamed, looking every bit the doting father. “Of course! Almost six months along now. He’s growing perfectly. The doctor even complimented us the other day!” “Good, good, good!” Mrs. Elliott clapped her hands, her excitement bubbling over. “You left so quickly last time, I didn’t get a chance to tell you—did you know the pastor said my sweet grandson is destined to be lucky? A true blessing! But listen, you need to hurry up and get divorced. Don’t let my grandson be born into a mess!” “And you’ve got to stop staying out so much,” she added, lowering her voice. “That dead woman’s going to get suspicious.” Lucas sighed, exasperated. “I know, Mom! But she’s helping me organize a gallery showing in three months—all my work, with some of the biggest names in the industry attending. This is a huge opportunity for me, so I have to keep her happy until it’s over.” “My poor, hardworking son,” Mrs. Elliott cooed sympathetically. “But you’d better buy Natalie a house before the baby’s born. Don’t let her feel neglected. She’s just a kid, giving you a baby without even a proper title.” “I know, Mom,” Lucas grumbled. “But I can’t find the right excuse to ask Naomi for money.” “That dead woman’s got her claws locked tight around the cash,” Mrs. Elliott muttered. “Do you think she’ll leave you with nothing when you divorce?” Dead woman. It was the first time I’d heard how they talked about me behind closed doors. I knew, logically, these two were nothing but deceitful scum. But the pain in my chest came anyway, sharp and unrelenting. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of treating them like my closest family, only to find out they saw me as nothing more than an obstacle. “If she refuses to share, then don’t blame me for being ruthless,” Lucas snarled. “All these years, I’ve had to grovel, swallowing my pride and bending over backward for her. I’ve hated her for so long.” “She wanted to be child-free, so I went along with it—fifteen years without a kid. But if she won’t give me what I deserve, I’ll take it myself. And I won’t feel bad about it.” His face twisted with bitterness, his voice filled with venom. “Son! Don’t do anything illegal—” Mrs. Elliott started nervously. “Relax, Mom,” Lucas interrupted. “I still plan to enjoy my son’s blessings in the future.” At the mention of her “grandson,” Mrs. Elliott’s worry melted away, replaced by a proud, satisfied smile. “You clever boy,” she said with a laugh. My hands trembled as I gripped my phone, every muscle in my body tense. My nails dug into my palm, leaving half-moon marks as I exited the surveillance feed. I took a deep breath and dialed a number. “Hey,” I said, voice steady. “Is that apartment ready?”

After wrapping up a call with my best friend, Lucas walked into the bedroom. The moment he stepped in, he pulled me into his arms with a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry, babe. That mentor of mine is just too important to me. I really had no choice but to stay with him at the hospital these past two days. But hey, let’s make up for it tonight—our 15th anniversary! Let your husband pamper you properly, okay?” As he spoke, he tried to scoop me up and carry me toward the bathroom. On any other day, this would’ve been part of our playful routine as a couple. But tonight? It made my skin crawl. I pushed him off, slipping out of his grasp, and sighed heavily. “Sorry, honey,” I said, feigning disappointment. “I was planning a surprise for you, but something came up at work, and it’s ruined now.” He looked puzzled. I explained further, lying smoothly: “I was going to buy you a house as a gift for our 15th anniversary. But with the company suddenly running into trouble, I had to pour all my money into fixing things.” For a moment, his face faltered—disappointment flickered in his expression before he quickly caught himself. With the skill of a seasoned actor, he switched back to his role as the devoted husband. “Hey, don’t worry about it, babe! I’ve been freeloading off you for 15 years—I don’t care about houses or cars. As long as you’re okay and the company’s doing well, that’s all that matters to me.” He paused, then added with mock concern, “If things are so bad at work, maybe I should ask Mom to chip in? She could loan you some of her retirement savings to help tide things over.” I immediately waved him off. “Absolutely not! That’s her retirement money—there’s no way I’d even think about touching it!” I sighed again, pretending to lament the missed opportunity. “Don’t worry about the company. I’ll figure it out. It’s just such a shame about that house. It was perfect—great location, newly renovated, and the design was exactly my style. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it.” “Really? That good?” Lucas asked, his interest clearly piqued. “Absolutely,” I said, nodding enthusiastically. “Here, let me show you.” I sent him the listing that my best friend had just forwarded to me—a three-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with luxurious finishes. It had everything Lucas adored: large, statement-making artwork, tasteful decor, and a sleek, modern aesthetic. As he scrolled through the photos, I added with a wistful tone, “It’s such a steal, too. Just over $100,000! Apparently, the owner’s in financial trouble and can’t keep up with the mortgage. They’re selling it at a loss just to get rid of it quickly. Honestly, if it weren’t for my friend’s insider connections, I’d have never even known about it.” “Only $100,000?” Lucas’s eyes lit up, the bait sinking deeper. “Yup! My best friend would never lie to me. If you don’t believe me, you can call her yourself.” I forwarded my friend’s number to Lucas, watching as he stared at the contact on his screen, clearly deep in thought. Inwardly, I smiled. Hook, line, and sinker. Once you let go of emotions and see things for what they really are, your mind becomes sharper—clearer. But letting him fall for this trap wasn’t enough. Not yet. I adjusted my expression, hesitating for a moment before speaking again, my voice carefully measured. “Honey, there’s… something else I need to tell you. I’m not sure if it’s good news or bad news.”

“I’m pregnant.” As I rested my hand on my flat stomach, there was no joy in my heart. After 15 years, I finally conceived a child of my own. And yet, on the very day I planned to surprise my husband and family with the news, I discovered he already had another woman carrying his baby. The irony was suffocating. What were all those years of effort, pain, and sacrifice even worth now? “Really? That’s amazing!” Lucas stared at the test results in his hands, his face lit up with genuine excitement. There was no mistaking the joy in his eyes. I knew he loved the idea of having kids. He’d always wanted a child, enough to go behind my back and have another woman carry one for him. Then, as if realizing he might have overplayed his enthusiasm, he glanced at me nervously and began to backpedal: “I… I’m sorry, babe. I know you don’t want kids, and I shouldn’t have pushed this on you. That’s why you wanted to stay child-free, right? This is all on me—I should’ve been more careful. Look, it’s up to you. If you want the baby, we’ll keep it. If you don’t, then… we won’t.” Ah, there it was—the perfect “good husband” act. No wonder my friends and family had been singing his praises for the last 15 years. “Really?” I said coolly. “Then let’s not keep it.” His face froze for a moment, but I kept going. “Honestly, with everything going on at work, I don’t think I can handle a pregnancy right now. Things are spiraling out of control—if this continues, the company might go under, and I’ll be drowning in debt. I’m completely burned out as it is. Let’s just go to the clinic in a few days and take care of it.” “Wait, what? What’s going on with the company?” Of course. A selfish man like Lucas would always care more about his own interests than anything else. The moment I mentioned trouble at the company, the baby was no longer his priority. Feigning exhaustion, I explained the “dire situation” at work in painstaking detail, painting the picture of a business on the brink of collapse. While I was at it, I made sure to answer a few staged phone calls from “employees,” all of whom conveniently had bad news to share about the company’s operations. Each time I hung up, I let my frustration boil over in front of him, slamming the company’s accounting books onto the floor with a loud thud. Then, as if desperate, I started making calls to “borrow money,” loudly lamenting my financial troubles for Lucas to hear. Lucas, now visibly stressed, bent down to pick up the scattered papers from the accounting books. His face had darkened, and he looked deeply concerned. That night, for the first time in years, he stayed up late.

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Chapter One My husband casually sprinkled a handful of green onions into my soup, and that’s when I decided to ask for a divorce. His chopsticks froze mid-air, his expression baffled. “What? Why?” I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat, lowering my gaze as I scrolled through his secretary’s Instagram. “Offhandedly, she mentions a craving, and you personally fly to D.C. to consult with a pastry chef about the perfect flavor for her dessert.” I locked my phone screen and began picking the green onions out of the soup, my movements deliberate and irritated. “We dated for two years, married for three, and you still don’t remember—I don’t eat green onions.” Years later, when my daughter was already two, he was still asking around, trying to find out where I’d gone. He frowned, slamming his chopsticks onto the table with a sharp crack. “Stop being so dramatic. You’ve never made a fuss about green onions before.” Some things, if you repeat them too many times, just lose their meaning. Over time, you stop fighting and start compromising. But that day, I realized I was done. I was done with retreating. Done with compromising. Done with a life that felt smaller and smaller with every concession. I didn’t argue. I just grabbed my bag and stood up to leave. His face darkened, and he grabbed my wrist in frustration, his grip firm enough to knock over the soup bowl sitting precariously on the edge of the table. The scalding liquid splashed directly onto the back of my hand, the burn so sudden and intense I didn’t even have time to cry out. But instead of concern, he crossed his arms and glared at me like I was the one who had ruined dinner. “Why do you always have to make a scene?” he snapped. Before I could respond, a sharp-eyed waitress rushed over, gently pulling me away. She guided me to the back, where she ran cool water over my red and swollen skin. Then, carefully, she applied burn ointment to the affected area. The icy coolness of the ointment seeped into my skin and, strangely, deep into my chest. She hesitated, as if debating whether to say something. Finally, she couldn’t hold back and asked in a low voice, “That guy just now… was he your husband or boyfriend?” My gaze turned cold, and I shook my head lightly. “Neither.” “Good,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Because no decent man would just stand there watching while his woman gets hurt, let alone blame her for it afterward.” Her words broke through a fog I hadn’t realized I’d been living in. For years, I had buried myself in the dust, bending over backward to please a man who never truly saw me. In doing so, I had lost sight of myself. Later, Gavin stood by the door, his fingers flying over his phone, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. But as soon as he noticed me approaching, his expression shifted. The smile vanished, replaced by that all-too-familiar look of annoyance. It was the same look he always gave me, the one that said he was waiting for me to apologize first. I ignored him completely, walking past him as I opened an app on my phone and scheduled an appointment with a burn specialist at the nearest hospital. He caught up to me, his pace hurried. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his eyes flicked to my phone screen and saw the appointment confirmation. His expression wavered, guilt flashing briefly in his eyes. “I… I’ll drive you,” he offered, his tone awkward. Before I could object, he pressed his hand on my shoulder and ushered me into the car. He leaned over to fasten my seatbelt, and the cloying scent of his cologne—or was it perfume?—wafted over me. The smell made my stomach churn violently. I pushed him away, gagging, my face flushed red as I fought the urge to vomit. He frowned, his voice tinged with concern. “Did you eat something bad? Don’t worry, we’ll get to the hospital soon.” As the car started, a piercing ringtone shattered the silence. Gavin glanced at the screen, hesitated for a moment, and then declined the call. But whoever was on the other end was persistent, calling again and again, the ringtone shrill and insistent in the cramped space of the car. I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to ease the headache building behind my eyes. “Answer it.” He shot me a quick, conflicted look before slipping on his Bluetooth headset and answering in a low voice. The conversation was short, but his tone was careful, almost nervous. When he hung up, he pulled the car over to the curb and turned to me with an apologetic expression. “The hospital is just up ahead. Can you go in by yourself? I… I can’t keep driving forward from here.” I glanced at him, unimpressed. “Sure.” He blinked, surprised by my curt response. “You’re not going to ask where I’m going?” I unbuckled my seatbelt, my movements slow and deliberate. “Why would I care? Where you go has nothing to do with me.” Chapter Two The doctor sternly reminded me to come back every three days to change the bandages. “The burn covers a large area,” he warned. “If the wound isn’t properly cared for, it could get infected. And if that happens, we’ll have to remove the dead tissue and start the healing process all over again. Trust me, you don’t want that.” He also advised me to avoid spicy or irritating foods while I healed. Pulling out my phone, I opened the notes app to jot down his instructions. As I finished typing, a notification popped up—a new post from Hannah. “The mosquitoes in the garden are driving me crazy. Thank goodness someone brought me some herbal cream just in time,” she captioned. The photo showed her lounging on a couch, her long, pale legs draped across Gavin’s lap. He was leaning over, his expression gentle and focused as he applied the cream to her skin. My chest tightened, and without warning, warm tears spilled onto the back of my hand. The doctor’s previously firm tone softened slightly. “Make sure to protect the wound,” he said quietly. “If it gets worse, cleaning out the infected tissue will hurt like hell. You’ll regret it later.” I forced a small, polite smile, picked up my medication, and walked out of the hospital. The streets were eerily quiet in the early hours of the morning. The cold white glow of the streetlights felt harsh against the shadows. The burning on the back of my hand was growing worse with every step. Meanwhile, the man responsible for it was somewhere else, wrapped up in warmth and affection that wasn’t mine. Anger and humiliation boiled over, and before I could stop myself, I dialed Gavin’s number. He declined the call immediately. I tried again. Declined again. After several rounds of silent back-and-forth, he finally answered, his voice low and laced with irritation. “What now? What are you freaking out about this time?” I tilted my head back to look at the full moon hanging in the cold night sky. My voice was calm, detached. “Come pick me up. I’m at the hospital.” “Are you serious?” A woman’s soft laugh rang faintly in the background, followed by the sharp, mocking sound of a call being cut off. The cold autumn wind bit through my thin coat, and I clutched it tighter around myself as my vision blurred. For a moment, I was no longer standing in the middle of an empty street. I was eighteen again, sitting on a swing next to my best friend. She had been crying, her voice trembling with frustration as she vented about her boyfriend’s lack of boundaries with other girls—and how he never took her concerns seriously, no matter how desperately she tried to get through to him. I had leaned back on the swing, letting the golden sunlight of a summer afternoon filter through the leaves above us. My voice had been soft but firm as I said, “If someone ever takes my love for granted, I’ll walk away without a second thought. No regrets.” A cold gust of wind snapped me back to reality. I sighed, my breath visible in the frigid air. Sorry, eighteen-year-old Stella. Thirty-year-old me has let you down. My phone was open to a text message draft. The divorce papers were already attached, ready to be sent. But my thumb hovered over the send button, unable to press it. Suddenly, a tall, familiar figure stepped into the glow of the streetlight, blocking its harsh brightness. I looked up instinctively. Gavin stood there, his face partially obscured by the shadows, but I could still make out the features I had once found so comforting. For a fleeting moment, he reminded me of the boy who had once treated me like his whole world. But then my gaze shifted to his rumpled shirt, the mismatched buttons, and the faint lipstick smudge on his collar. Whatever fragile hope I had left shattered into dust. My hands clenched into fists, my body cold and stiff. “Let’s go home. What are you just standing there for?” Gavin grabbed my wrist, his tone impatient as he tried to pull me along. When I caught sight of the faint red marks on his neck, the anger I had been trying to suppress erupted all at once. I yanked my hand from his grip, my breathing ragged as I stared at him. I wanted to scream, to demand answers, to ask him how he could betray me so blatantly and still act like I was the one causing trouble. But all the words I wanted to say got caught in my throat. “What now?” he snapped, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I came all the way here to pick you up, and now you’re acting up again?” His audacity was almost laughable. How could he cheat so openly and still have the nerve to question me? The words “I want a divorce” pounded in my head, over and over, louder and louder. I was just about to say it when the passenger door of his car suddenly swung open. Chapter Three A pair of long, pale legs stepped out of the car. Hannah, sitting in the passenger seat, leaned her head out with a bright smile. “Stella, come on, get in! It’s freezing out here.” Something inside me seemed to shatter with a deafening crash. My fingers tingled as numbness spread through them. Slowly, I turned my head to look at Gavin. His expression flickered with a trace of panic, but he quickly regained his composure. “I was just giving her a ride home. It’s on the way.” Hannah chimed in cheerfully, picking up the thread of his excuse. “Oh, Gavin’s the best! Ever since he found out how hard it is to get a ride from my place in the suburbs, he’s been picking me up and dropping me off for months now.” She glanced shyly at Gavin, as if suddenly realizing how intimate her words sounded. The “suburbs” she mentioned were on the far east side of town—12 kilometers from our house. If traffic was heavy during rush hour, the trip could take nearly 50 minutes out of the way. So, this was his idea of “on the way.” This was what he’d been doing during all those early mornings and late nights. This was the real reason he had refused me so many times when I’d asked him for a ride. Like that one time when I was doubled over in pain from menstrual cramps, struggling to deliver samples to a demanding client who’d called me a dozen times. He’d grabbed his keys and stormed out, tossing over his shoulder, “This family doesn’t rely on your paycheck anyway.” Or the night it poured rain, and I stood shivering at the subway entrance, feverish and soaked, staring helplessly at the flooded streets. He wasn’t there for me that night either. No, he was probably driving Hannah home, laughing and chatting with her about whatever trivial nonsense they found amusing. “Oops!” Hannah’s sudden squeal yanked me out of my thoughts. “What’s this? It poked my hand.” She reached into the side of her seat and pulled out a small, pink nameplate shaped like a paperclip. “‘Princess Piggy’s Seat,’” she read aloud, snorting with laughter. She held it up like it was some ridiculous trinket. “Who’s ‘Princess Piggy’? How childish.” My chest tightened. That nameplate—my nameplate—was something Gavin and I had bought together at a night market back in college. I could still remember the way the colorful lights of the market reflected in his eyes, making them sparkle like stars. He had pinned it to the seat with such care, smiling as he said, “From now on, this will always be Stella’s special seat.” It used to sit proudly in the most visible spot on the passenger seat. But at some point, he must have decided it was an eyesore and moved it to a hidden corner, out of sight. Yet here it was now, uncovered and exposed. “It’s all faded,” Hannah said dismissively, tossing it lightly from one hand to the other. “Gavin, I’ll buy you a new one next time.” As she said this, her gaze landed on me. Her eyes sparkled with thinly-veiled triumph, her words dripping with mockery. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed the nameplate out of the car. It spun in the air before landing in the muddy gutter on the side of the road, filthy and discarded. Gavin took a step forward instinctively, as if to retrieve it. But then he hesitated, freezing in place. He turned back toward me, his brows furrowed, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something. But no words came. “Stella, your bracelet is so pretty,” Hannah said suddenly, her eyes fixating on my wrist. The small crystal charms jingled softly as I shifted my arm. “The little bells on it are adorable.” Without a word, I let out a cold laugh, unhooking the bracelet from my wrist. I tossed it toward her with a casual flick of my hand. The bells clinked against each other as it landed in her lap. “If you like it, you can have it,” I said, my tone detached. “I’m tired of wearing it anyway.” The bracelet wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was something Gavin had bought for me when he was just 17, working a grueling summer job. Back then, he had accidentally fractured his hand while working, and his boss had offered him compensation. Instead of going to the hospital right away, he’d gone straight to the mall, rushing to buy me this bracelet—the one I’d admired in the store window so many times. “Stella, close your eyes,” he’d said breathlessly, his face flushed and damp with sweat. He must have sprinted all the way to find me. When I opened my eyes, the bracelet was already on my wrist. “Stella,” he’d said, his voice trembling with emotion, “I swear I’ll treat you like a princess for the rest of my life.” Chapter Four Promises only hold weight when love is still alive. Gavin’s expression darkened instantly, fury flashing in his eyes. He stepped forward and grabbed my wrist tightly. “Stella, what the hell do you mean by this? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten—” My gaze was ice-cold as I pried his pale, clenched fingers off my wrist one by one. Each movement felt like driving a knife deeper into my chest. “I did,” I said slowly, each word deliberate. “I forgot.” Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked away. Even as I got farther and farther, I could feel his burning stare on my back. When I hailed a cab, he ran toward me, his expression frantic and desperate. “It’s not safe for you to take a cab this late. Let me drive you home,” he said, his voice unsteady. I didn’t respond. The only sound he got in return was the slam of the car door as I shut it in his face. Through the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of him standing frozen on the sidewalk, watching as the cab pulled away. I whispered to myself, “I don’t need you anymore.” Scrolling through my contacts, I hesitated for a moment before dialing Aria. Aria had moved to New Zealand after her messy breakup, eventually starting her own immigration consultancy. When I first began to notice Gavin acting differently, I’d called her late at night, my voice breaking as I tried to keep my tears in check. “Why?” I had asked her, over and over again. She had stayed silent for a long time before finally asking, “Do you remember what you said on the swings all those years ago?” Now, gripping my phone, I took a deep breath and said, “I’ve made up my mind. I’m coming to see you tomorrow.” I could hear the excitement in her voice, barely concealed. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for this. When I bought this little house, I made sure to save you a room.” After we hung up, I felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off my chest. I rolled the window down, letting in the crisp night air. The faint scent of gardenias drifted in, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of freedom. Stella, you’re free again. Gavin arrived home almost at the same time I did. It seemed like, for once, he hadn’t taken the long way around. He grabbed my wrist again, his eyes slightly red, his voice hoarse. “Stella, my stomach hurts.” This was his usual tactic—playing weak. It was almost laughable. Giving me the chance to take care of him was his way of offering me a way to mend things. Normally, I’d have rushed to find the first-aid kit or headed straight to the kitchen to make him something warm to eat. But this time, I didn’t even spare him a glance. “Hmm,” I muttered indifferently before heading to the guest room. A few minutes later, I heard him knocking on the door. He waited for what felt like forever, but when no response came, the sound eventually stopped. The next morning, he intercepted me before I could leave. His tone was oddly gentle, almost coaxing. “Come with me today. It’s my mom’s birthday. Let’s go together, okay?” His family had never liked me. To them, I was nothing more than an orphan with no background—a woman completely unworthy of the heir to a billion-dollar company. Before and after the wedding, I was excluded from every family gathering. At first, I envied the warmth of their family dinners and begged Gavin to help smooth things over. But he had only glanced at his watch, his expression indifferent, and said, “You’ve been on your own your whole life. Why bother trying to fit in with a family now? It’s unnecessary.” Remembering those words, I let out a bitter laugh and brushed his hand off me. “I’m busy.” His face darkened instantly, his jaw clenching. He slammed his fist into the wall beside him. “Stella, enough already,” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve put up with since last night? Fine, you’re busy. Just make sure you keep that same energy. Don’t come crawling back to me like a pathetic dog later.” He shot me a furious glare, shoved past me, and stormed out the door. Moments later, I heard the roar of his car as he sped away. Unbothered, I called for a ride to the airport. As I sat in the terminal waiting for my flight, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. The notifications were coming from the Rhodes family group chat. Someone had posted pictures of Gavin at the birthday party. Hannah was wearing a stunning designer gown and had her arm linked tightly through his. She smiled demurely at the camera, her cheeks flushed, leaning close to whisper something in his ear. The Rhodes family members, who had never accepted me, were practically falling over themselves in the chat. “Now this is the kind of woman the Rhodes family needs—classy and elegant.” “Gavin’s date tonight is stunning. I wish she were my sister-in-law already!” I smirked, amused by the audacity. Calmly, I uploaded a PDF of the finalized divorce agreement to the group chat. Then, I added a message: “Consider this my wedding gift. And here’s $20 for the party.” I left the group chat before they could even react. Then, I turned off my phone. The flight to New Zealand was direct. When I landed and turned my phone back on, it vibrated so violently in my hand that I almost dropped it. Hundreds of missed calls from Gavin. Text after text filled my screen: “Stella, you’ve got it all wrong.” “Stella, please don’t ignore me. Let me explain.” “Stella, where are you? I’m coming to get you. Just wait for me.”

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At my baby’s one-month celebration, my husband—my partner of three years—did something I never imagined he was capable of. Right in front of me, he handed our baby to his ex. His first love. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he encouraged the baby to call her “Mom.” I froze, my mind reeling from the shock. But when the realization hit me, I rushed forward to stop him, only to be shoved aside like I was nothing. “Why are you being so selfish?” he snapped, glaring at me like I was the one in the wrong. “Sarah can’t have children. She just wants to know what it’s like to be a mom for once. What’s the big deal? The baby’s too young to even understand—it’s just a couple of words!” I stared at him, speechless, as Sarah—Sarah—looked down at me, holding my baby like she had every right to. Her expression was soft, almost pitying, but her words cut deeper than any knife. “I’m so sorry, Amanda,” she said, her voice dripping with practiced regret. “Not being able to have children is the one thing I’ve always wanted to experience. It’s my only regret in life.” She smiled faintly, stroking my baby’s tiny cheek as if she belonged to her. “Joshua went through so much to make this happen for me,” she added, her eyes glancing at my husband—her Joshua, I realized bitterly. “I couldn’t bear to refuse him after everything he’s done.” She paused, letting out a theatrical sigh as if she were the victim. “Don’t worry, though,” she continued, her tone so sweet it made me sick. “When the baby’s older, I’ll give him back to you. And then I’ll leave. I promise.” Her words echoed in my ears, but instead of anger, something else took over. A strange, calm clarity. I got to my feet, brushed myself off, and looked at both of them with a steady gaze. My voice was calm—too calm—but firm. “Alright,” I said. “I’ll grant both of your wishes.” Three years of marriage. Three years of lies. It was time to walk away. …

The moment I said those words, the room went silent. At first, the people around me looked shocked. But then their expressions shifted—disdain replaced surprise. To them, I was just the pathetic woman hopelessly in love with Joshua. From high school to college, from graduation to marriage, I had chased him for years—years where I lost every ounce of self-respect. Everyone knew it. They called me desperate behind my back, a woman who had long since thrown away her dignity for a man who never cared. Even Joshua was stunned. He stared at me, clearly not expecting what I’d just said. The words of blame he had been about to hurl at me froze on his tongue. “What?” He blinked as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. He never thought I’d agree so easily. No, not me—the woman who always fought him tooth and nail every time Sarah’s name came up. We had argued countless times before, like when he abandoned me in the pouring rain to rush off and comfort Sarah. Or when I was pregnant, and he barely came home, while Sarah’s social media was filled with pictures of the two of them together—day after day. But now? I didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. When he handed Coco to Sarah. When he encouraged Coco to call her “Mom.” That was the moment I finally woke up. The marriage I had fought so hard for—the marriage I thought I wanted so desperately—was over. I looked at Joshua, my voice calm and steady, with none of the tears or pleading he must have expected. “Well, Joshua,” I said. “I wish you and your perfect little family all the happiness in the world.” “But Coco? I’m taking her with me.” Coco, sensing the tension in the air, waved her tiny hands and whimpered. But when she couldn’t find my familiar scent, her cries grew louder and more desperate. Her cries tore through me, sharp and painful. She had been the sweetest baby in the world since the day she was born—rarely crying, always calm, never making a fuss. Even during late-night feedings, she wasn’t difficult. I had always thought she was a gift from above. But now, I realized that from the moment she was conceived, Coco had been nothing more than a piece in Joshua’s game. He never cared about her. Not really. To him, Coco wasn’t his daughter—she was just a tool. A pawn to make Sarah happy. I clenched my fists, swallowing the lump in my throat as I stared at him. “Coco’s hungry,” I said, my voice trembling with barely restrained anger. “She’s coming with me.” Coco squirmed in Sarah’s arms, her tiny body wriggling and pushing away from the unfamiliar woman holding her. It was obvious she wanted nothing to do with Sarah. Sarah’s face twisted with irritation as she tried to comfort her, but Coco only cried harder. After a few failed attempts, Sarah’s eyes began to water in frustration. “Well,” she said with a bitter laugh, “it looks like Coco doesn’t like me very much.” Then, as if she were discarding a broken toy, she handed Coco to one of the bodyguards standing nearby. The sight of it made my blood boil, and I rushed forward, pulling Coco into my arms. Her cries softened instantly, her tiny fingers clutching my shirt as I whispered to her, gently soothing her sobs. Behind me, Joshua reached out to pat Sarah’s hand, his voice soft and comforting. “It’s okay,” he said. “She’s still young. She doesn’t recognize people yet.” And then, with a smile that made my stomach turn, he added, “Give it some time. I’ll make sure she spends more time with you. She’ll learn to listen to you.” His voice dropped into something almost tender. “Soon enough, she’ll be your daughter too.” The words hit me like a slap to the face. I held Coco tighter, ignoring Sarah’s smug expression as I turned to face Joshua. “Joshua,” I said coldly, every word precise and deliberate. “We’re getting a divorce.” “And Coco? She’s coming with me.” For a moment, Sarah’s expression faltered, her smug smile replaced by genuine surprise. Joshua looked at me like I had just spoken in a language he didn’t understand. Then his face darkened, his brows furrowing as he spoke, his voice laced with irritation. “Amanda,” he snapped, “don’t use divorce as some childish tantrum. Grow up.” I didn’t respond. I didn’t argue. I simply turned on my heel, holding Coco close as I walked toward the door. Behind me, Joshua’s voice rang out, sharp and angry. “Amanda! Don’t take this too far!” And then Sarah’s sickly sweet voice chimed in, trying to calm him down. “It’s okay, Joshua. Coco’s probably just hungry, and Amanda’s upset. She didn’t mean those things—she’s just stressed.” I didn’t look back. The moment I stepped outside the hotel, the tears I had been holding back finally spilled over. Guilt clawed at my chest, nearly overwhelming me. I had failed Coco. My blind, pathetic devotion to Joshua had allowed him to hurt me again and again without consequence. He was so certain I’d never leave him, so confident I’d always stay, that he didn’t even try to hide his betrayal anymore. And now, because of me, my daughter had almost been taken from me. Coco’s tiny face was bright red from crying, her sobs shaking her little body. My tears fell harder as I gently squeezed her hand, trying to calm her. “It’s okay, Coco,” I whispered. My voice shook, but I forced myself to sound steady. “Mommy’s here. Mommy won’t let anything happen to you.” As long as I’m here, you’ll be safe. You don’t need a father like Joshua. Not anymore.

It was nearly dawn when Joshua finally came home. The bedroom door creaked open, and the sharp scent of alcohol hit me like a punch in the face. I turned my head instinctively, a wave of nausea rising in my stomach. Joshua’s cheeks were flushed the telltale red of someone who’d had too much to drink. He saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, tossed his jacket carelessly onto the chair, and collapsed next to me without a word. I stood, ready to leave, but before I could take a step, his hand grabbed my wrist. He looked up at me, his eyes hazy and unfocused, but there was something in his gaze—an attempt at charm, maybe even guilt. “Are you mad?” he slurred, the words slow and deliberate like a child trying to soothe a parent. “Come on, it’s not what you think. There’s nothing going on between me and Sarah. You know about her accident—she can’t have kids. Coco’s just… the one thing she’ll never have.” His tone softened like he truly believed he was being reasonable. “I was just trying to make her happy. That’s all. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to have someone else around to help with Coco?” As he spoke, he leaned closer, his breath warm and reeking of alcohol. “I know what I said earlier was harsh, but you’re overreacting. I’m just helping her. You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is.” His grip tightened slightly, and his voice hardened. “And Amanda, stop throwing around the word ‘divorce’ every time you’re upset. What would people think if they heard about this? You’re embarrassing yourself.” I stared at him, his words dripping with condescension, and something inside me snapped. How dare he blame me? How dare he talk about embarrassment when he let Coco call another woman “Mom”? When he publicly said that Coco would be Sarah’s child, did he think of me then? Did he care how humiliated I felt? I yanked my wrist free from his grasp, the disgust on my face unmistakable. “I’ll be sleeping in the guest room tonight,” I said coldly. I headed for the door, but before I could open it, his hand shot out again, gripping my arm even harder this time. His tone shifted, sharp and impatient now. “I’ve already explained everything to you. What more do you want?” “Amanda, don’t be so selfish,” he said, his voice rising with frustration. “Sarah can’t have kids! All I asked was for Coco to call her ‘Mom.’ What’s the big deal?” I turned to face him, finally meeting his gaze. This was the man I had spent years loving, the man I thought I’d spend my life with. But now, as I looked at him, all I could feel was disgust. “You know exactly how you feel about Sarah,” I said, my voice cold and steady. “I’m not stupid, Joshua.” “But let me make one thing clear: I will never let you drag Coco into this.” “And as I’ve already said, we’re done. I want a divorce.” I didn’t wait for his response. I opened the door and walked out, ignoring the sound of something crashing behind me as his anger boiled over. The guest room was next to Coco’s nursery. Before going to bed, I quietly pushed open her door. She was fast asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling with every breath. The sight of her calmed me, if only for a moment. I leaned down and kissed her forehead gently. “Goodnight, my love,” I whispered. Then I closed the door and went to the guest room. The next morning, Joshua was gone. I didn’t need to ask where he was. Since I’d gotten pregnant, he’d been homeless and less. And where did he spend his time? I already knew. I got up and went straight to Coco’s nursery. But when I opened the door, the crib was empty. My heart stopped. Panic surged through me as I searched the room, checking every corner, every inch of the space, as if she could somehow be hiding. But she was gone. The fear was suffocating, my hands trembling as I reached for my phone. I was ready to call the police when a notification popped up on the screen. #J Group CEO Attends Charity Gala with Wife and Daughter!# My stomach twisted as I opened the link. The video began to play, and there they were—Joshua and Sarah, standing arm in arm, smiling for the cameras. And in Sarah’s arms… Coco. My Coco. Her little nose was red, her eyes puffy, as if she’d been crying. The sight of her like that shattered something inside me. I knew Joshua wouldn’t answer my calls. He never did when it mattered. So I didn’t bother trying. Instead, I grabbed my coat and my car keys. I didn’t care about the speed limit. I didn’t care about anything except getting to that gala. Coco was mine. And no one—not Joshua, not Sarah—was going to take her away from me. … The ceremony had just ended. Sarah clung to Joshua’s arm, walking gracefully toward the sleek black luxury car parked outside. Coco was cradled in her arms, fast asleep, oblivious to the world around her. I pulled up, stepped out of my car, and stormed toward them without hesitation. Sarah noticed me first. Her expression flickered for just a moment before she plastered on a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Amanda! What a surprise,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “What brings you here?” I ignored her completely and turned to Joshua instead. “She’s barely a year old, Joshua!” I snapped, my voice sharp and cutting. “How could you bring her to a place like this? What if something happened to her?” Joshua shrugged, unfazed by my anger. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said dismissively. “Sarah wanted to see Coco, and we had the ceremony to attend. It made sense to bring her along.” He gestured toward the baby in Sarah’s arms as if to prove a point. “Look—she’s fine, isn’t she?” Sarah chimed in with a soft laugh. “Exactly, Amanda. You’re overthinking this. She’s perfectly okay. You really need to stop worrying so much.” I didn’t bother responding to her. My focus was on Coco. I stepped forward and took her from Sarah’s arms. My movements were abrupt, almost frantic, but even then, Coco didn’t stir. That was when the first wave of panic hit me. I touched her face, and my heart sank. Her skin was burning hot to the touch. “Coco?” I whispered, shaking her gently. “Coco, wake up!” She didn’t move. My legs felt like they were about to give out as I turned to Joshua, my voice trembling with anger and fear. “Joshua!” I shouted, my voice echoing louder than I intended. “She’s your daughter! How could you not notice she has a fever? She’s burning up!” Joshua blinked at me, clearly caught off guard. For a moment, he just stood there, his expression blank. “I—I didn’t realize…” he stammered. “She seemed fine earlier…” I couldn’t take it anymore. Hugging Coco tightly to my chest, I turned and ran back to my car. There was no time to argue, no time to waste. I needed to get her to the hospital. I drove as fast as I dared, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I kept glancing at Coco in the rearview mirror, her tiny body still and lifeless. When we arrived, the doctors rushed her in immediately. I could barely breathe as I waited outside, pacing back and forth, my heart pounding in my chest. Finally, a doctor came out to speak with me. “You brought her in just in time,” he said, his tone serious but calm. “If you’d waited any longer, it could have been much worse.” The relief was overwhelming, but it was quickly swallowed by guilt. I stepped into the room where Coco was now resting. She looked so small, hooked up to the IV. Her fever had started to go down, and her breathing was steady again, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had failed her. Tears blurred my vision as I sat by her bedside. I wiped them away quickly, pulling out my phone and dialing my parents. The call connected almost immediately. “Mom,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m divorcing Joshua.” There was a pause on the other end, and then my mother’s voice came through, filled with concern. “What happened? Is Coco okay?” I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice as I explained everything—how Joshua had taken Coco to the ceremony, how he hadn’t even noticed she was sick, how close we had come to losing her. In the background, I could hear my father’s angry voice. “That man has no heart!” he fumed. “Coco is his own daughter! How could he be so careless?” My mother’s voice was calmer but no less determined. “Amanda, listen to me,” she said firmly. “Just come home. Bring Coco with you. We’ll handle the rest.” My mom wasn’t just offering comfort—she was a force to be reckoned with. Her connections in the business world ran deep, and she knew some of the best lawyers in the city. I knew she would make sure I had everything I needed to end this marriage. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. After hanging up, I reached out and gently touched Coco’s forehead. Her fever had finally broken. I let out a long breath, the tension in my chest easing just a little. I stayed by her side the entire night, refusing to leave her for even a moment.

After a full day and night on an IV drip, Coco finally woke up. My mom came to the hospital to help me take care of her, giving me a chance to go home and pack. I didn’t take much—just the necessities. I didn’t need anything else from that house. But as I stepped out the door with my suitcase in hand, a car pulled up, screeching to a stop in front of me. Joshua. He got out quickly, and of course, Sarah was right behind him. Her eyes immediately landed on the suitcase I was holding. She blinked in surprise, and then tilted her head with a smile that was anything but innocent. “Amanda,” she said, her tone light and curious, “are you going somewhere?” Joshua’s gaze followed hers, and the moment he saw the suitcase, his face darkened. His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Amanda,” he said sharply, “what’s the meaning of this?” I looked at him, calm but cold. “What do you think it means?” I said evenly. “We’re getting divorced. There’s no reason for me to stay here anymore.” Joshua’s expression shifted, his anger visibly rising. He stepped forward and grabbed my arm, his grip hard enough to make me stop in my tracks. “Who said you could leave?” he growled. Before I could respond, Sarah stepped in, her voice soft and sweet, playing her part perfectly. “Joshua, don’t be so harsh,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “Amanda’s just upset. If you talk to her calmly, I’m sure she’ll come around. She’s probably just overreacting because of what happened with Coco…” She paused, casting me a quick, apologetic glance. “I mean, yesterday was partly my fault, after all…” Her words hit me like gasoline on a fire. Joshua’s grip loosened as he turned to her, clearly annoyed. But then he turned back to me, his voice dripping with frustration. “Overreacting,” he repeated, almost scoffing. “It was just a fever, Amanda. Kids get sick all the time. Why do you have to blow everything out of proportion?” He crossed his arms, his tone sharper now. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re always so tense, always making everything into a crisis. What’s the point? Do you even realize how exhausting you’ve become?” His words cut deep, but this time, I didn’t hold back. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed in the driveway, sharp and unforgiving. Joshua froze, his eyes wide with disbelief, one hand slowly reaching up to touch his cheek. Sarah gasped and rushed to his side. “Joshua! Are you okay?” she cried, her voice filled with concern as she leaned in to inspect him. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Do you think I’m the problem here?” I said, my voice trembling with anger. I pulled out my phone, opened Sarah’s social media, and shoved it in Joshua’s face. “Look at this,” I said, my tone icy. “Do you even remember what you’ve done?” “Were you there for Coco when she was born?” “When she was sick, where were you? Who were you with?” I took a step closer, my voice growing louder with each question. “Do I need to remind you of every single time you failed her? Failed us?” Joshua didn’t say a word, but Sarah’s eyes welled up with tears. She sniffled, looking at me like she was the victim. “Amanda,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I know you’re upset… I—I’m leaving for the U.S. soon. I won’t bother you anymore, I swear. Please, just… don’t take this out on Joshua. He really cares about you.” Her performance was flawless, but it only made me feel sick. I smiled coldly, not bothering to hide my disgust. Then, without hesitation, I slapped her, too. This time, the sound was even louder. Sarah stumbled back, clutching her cheek in shock as tears spilled down her face. Joshua immediately snapped out of his daze and rushed to her, shielding her like she was some fragile treasure. “What the hell is wrong with you, Amanda?” he shouted, his voice filled with anger. I smirked, unfazed by his reaction. “Get out of my sight,” I said coldly, my tone laced with disdain. “Both of you. You’re disgusting.” I turned on my heel, dragging my suitcase toward my car. Just before getting in, I looked over my shoulder one last time. “The divorce papers will be sent to you tomorrow,” I said. “Make sure you sign them.” Joshua’s voice roared behind me as I started the engine. “Amanda! Don’t you dare walk away from me! You’ll regret this!” But I didn’t bother looking back. Later that night, I arrived at my parents’ house. My mom had already brought Coco home from the hospital. She was asleep in the guest room, her tiny face peaceful and calm. For the first time in days, I felt like I could finally breathe. My mom came over and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said firmly. “The lawyer I hired is one of the best. We’ll make sure you get full custody of Coco. No one is taking her away from you.” Her words were like a lifeline, grounding me in the middle of the chaos. “It hasn’t been easy for you,” she added softly. “But you’ve done everything you could. You’ve been so strong, Amanda.” I nodded, but the weight of everything finally broke me. For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself cry. I buried my face in my mom’s shoulder, and all the anger, pain, and exhaustion poured out of me in waves. … Three days had passed since I sent the divorce papers to Joshua. He still hadn’t signed them. When it became clear he was just stalling, I told my lawyer to proceed with filing for divorce in court. That finally got a reaction. Joshua called me later that day, his voice dripping with irritation. “Amanda, what are you trying to do?” he snapped. “First the divorce papers, now you’re dragging a lawyer into this? You really want to take this to court?” He paused, and then softened his tone slightly, though it was more condescending than apologetic. “Look, I know… last time was my fault. I should’ve noticed something was wrong with Coco. I admit that. Okay? But do we really have to keep dragging this out? I’m apologizing here. Can’t you just… let it go?” I didn’t say anything, so he kept going. “And Sarah… she’s been a close friend of mine for years. She just got back to the country, and then—” he hesitated for a moment, and then sighed heavily. “And then she found out she can’t have kids. Do you know how hard that is for her? She’s going through a lot right now. She doesn’t deserve this from you.” His tone shifted again, more impatient now. “Look, there’s an event tomorrow night. Come with me.” It wasn’t a request. It sounded more like a reluctant compromise as if he were doing me a favor. In the past, I might’ve been eager for an invitation like this. Joshua rarely took me to events like these. He always said I “wasn’t cut out for that kind of thing,” that my place was at home, managing the household. But now? I couldn’t care less. I kept my voice calm, almost disinterested. “Will Sarah be there?” “Her studio is hosting the event,” he replied as if that explained everything. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go.” The next evening, I drove myself to the venue. When I arrived, Joshua was waiting for me outside. Without a word, he led me into the banquet hall, where the crowd immediately began to take notice of us. Joshua was quickly drawn into conversations about business, but I could feel the curious stares following me everywhere. The whispers were impossible to ignore. It wasn’t hard to understand why. To them, Sarah was the woman who belonged at Joshua’s side. She was the one splashed all over the tabloids, the one everyone assumed was the woman in his life. And me? I was a stranger in their world, someone they’d never seen before. Joshua had never brought me to events like this. In fact, most people in his circle didn’t even know he was married. Even Coco’s full-month celebration had been a small, private affair with just close family and friends. So tonight, standing beside him, I was a shock to everyone in the room. Finally, someone couldn’t resist asking. One of the guests turned to Joshua, offering a polite smile. “And this lovely lady is…?” Joshua started to respond, but I cut him off before he could say a word. “His wife,” I said with a calm, confident smile. The man’s expression froze for a moment, and then shifted as he glanced at Joshua with a mixture of surprise and something else—disgust, maybe, or pity. Joshua’s face tightened, his jaw clenching as he leaned closer to me. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed under his breath. I smiled at him, unfazed. “What’s wrong?” I said lightly. “I’m just telling the truth.” Soon, the event officially began. The lights dimmed, and all eyes turned to the stage as Sarah stepped out. She was dressed in a stunning custom gown, the kind that screamed exclusivity and wealth. Under the spotlight, she looked poised, elegant, and completely in control. She was the picture of grace as she walked to the center of the stage, ready to deliver her speech. But before she could say a word, I raised my voice, cutting through the silence like a knife. “Sarah,” I called out loud enough for everyone to hear. The room went still, all eyes turning toward me. “Before you start,” I said, my voice steady and clear, “don’t you think there’s something you need to explain to me first?”

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As I lay weakened, I mustered just enough strength to whisper to my stepmother, “Grandpa left me a hundred million dollars. The money… the money is hidden… it’s…” Before I could finish the sentence, I drew my last breath. My stepmother burst into tears, clutching my lifeless hand. She turned to the doctor, desperation in her eyes. “You heard him, didn’t you? Bring him back! Save him, and I’ll give you half!” The doctor straightened up, his expression suddenly fierce. He spread his arms wide, as if summoning the heavens themselves, and bellowed, “Let the darkness be shattered by thunder!” A deafening crack split the sky, and a bolt of lightning struck my body with terrifying force, reducing it to a smoldering, blackened husk. Now a ghost, I stood off to the side, watching the scene unfold with a calm, amused smile. I tilted my head, gave them a little nod, and said softly, “Thanks for that.” I’d known about my stepmother’s plan to harm me for a while. She wanted to make it look like an accident—how cliché. Don’t ask me how I found out. Let’s just say… I have a little something extra. You see, I have this ability. My soul can leave my body whenever I want. As long as my body’s intact, I can return to it within two hours, no problem. So, when I learned my stepmother was plotting my end, I wasn’t scared. In fact, I was thrilled. I was so sick of pretending to get along with her. It was exhausting. So why not let her think she succeeded? I’d fake my end, slip away, and take my dad’s inheritance with me. Then I’d move abroad, leaving her with nothing but her scheming self. And just like that, my dad wouldn’t have to worry about us tearing each other apart anymore. Perfect plan, right? Except… what the hell is this doctor doing? Did he just burn my body? I watched in stunned silence as my once-gorgeous, perfectly-curvy physique went up in smoke. My stepmother was just as shocked. Her jaw dropped, and for once, she forgot to put on her fake tears. “Wait… is she charred?” The doctor scratched his head awkwardly. “Uh, yeah… sorry about that. I just learned this technique. Guess I got a little overexcited when I heard about the fifty-million-dollar reward.” I was speechless.

I stared at my burned, unrecognizable body and wanted to cry. My beautiful, flawless body—gone, just like that. Regret hit me like a freight train. But what could I do? What’s done is done. The only option now was to find a new body. Preferably someone about to gone. If I could time it right, I could slip in and take over their body just as their soul left. Even someone who’d been gone for a little while could work, as long as they weren’t… you know… rotting. Where do you find people like that? The hospital, obviously. I headed to the operating room and watched as the doctors performed surgery. Blood was everywhere—raw, messy, chaotic. When I heard one of them say, “The patient’s losing too much blood. They won’t make it,” I couldn’t help but grin. But just as I was about to celebrate, I felt someone glaring at me. I turned and saw a woman, her face streaked with tears, staring at me like I’d just kicked her puppy. “I can’t believe you’d be this happy about my end,” she said, her voice trembling. I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Well… I wouldn’t put it that way.” Her eyes widened. “Wait. You… you can see me?” “Of course I can. We’re both gone, aren’t we? Well, you’re actually gone. I’m just borrowing a body so I can come back to life.” She blinked. “Wait, are you some kind of… supernatural being?” I nodded. “Yep. So, how about this—you let me use your body. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it.” She hesitated, clearly torn. But before she could answer, the doctors’ urgent voices made the decision for her. “The pregnant woman’s heart has stopped! The baby’s still inside!” “Get the baby out now! Prepare for an emergency C-section!” The woman’s expression changed instantly. She looked at me, practically begging. “Fine! Take it! Just save my baby!” So, I slipped into her body. The moment I did, the nurse gasped. “The mother’s heart is beating again!” But then the pain hit me. It was unbearable. My whole body felt like it was being ripped apart. I couldn’t take it—I scrambled out of her body, gasping. “The mother’s heart has stopped again!” The woman turned to me, frantic. She rolled up her sleeves and shoved me back in. “The mother’s heart is beating again!” the nurse shouted. And there I was, writhing in agony, screaming, “IT HURTS! IT HURTS! OH MY GOD, IT HURTS!”

“Childbirth is the most painful thing ever. I swear, I’m never having kids in this lifetime.” I turned to Amanda and asked, “Wait… didn’t they give you any painkillers?” “Nope, no anesthesia.” “What?” “I don’t know why. The doctor just… didn’t give me any.” Her words immediately reminded me of a novel I’d read once. In the story, the heroine needed surgery, but the evil mistress of the domineering CEO bribed the doctor to skip the anesthesia. The poor protagonist ended up in so much pain that she literally gone on the operating table. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I squinted at her. “Your name… it’s not Amanda, is it?” Her big, innocent eyes blinked up at me. “How did you know?” “…Just a lucky guess.” I still remember bawling my eyes out while reading that novel. The heroine eventually came back to life and ended up with the CEO, but not before I sent the author a dozen angry messages. Amanda clutched my sleeve, her voice trembling. “Please, I’m begging you. Help me. I don’t want my baby to grow up without a mother.” I didn’t want that either… but what could I do? I wasn’t exactly in a position to promise miracles.

The moment Amanda’s soul left her body, they showed up. Thick fog rolled into the hospital room, and two figures stepped through the door. Both wore tall, old-fashioned hats. One was tall and wiry, the other short and round. Their hats had ominous phrases written on them: “Fortune Upon Sight” and “Peace Under Heaven.” I smiled and waved from my spot on the hospital bed. “Oh, Mr. White! Long time no see.” White Ghost froze mid-step, his polite smile faltering. “Melissa… you’re gone. Again?” “Well, you know how it is,” I said with a shrug. “Anyway, I just borrowed Amanda’s body for a bit. Feel free to take her now.” Black Ghost scowled. “Melissa, this isn’t how it works. Amanda’s time hasn’t come yet—her fate isn’t finished!” White Ghost sighed, his tone resigned. “You can use her body if you must, but Amanda has some unresolved attachments. You’ll have to deal with those first.” Unresolved attachments? Oh, please. It wasn’t hard to guess. A cheating husband, a homewrecker, and a baby too young to fend for itself. Classic tragic heroine stuff. I nodded knowingly. “Got it, got it. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure her scumbag husband and that mistress don’t get to live happily ever after.” White Ghost barked, “No! That’s not what I meant! You’ve already tampered with her fate, so now you’ll have to follow her destiny to its end.” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, absolutely not.” “There’s no room for negotiation,” Black Ghost snapped. I casually inspected my nails—still flawless from before I gone. “Think about it. If I take over Amanda’s life, that means I’d have to… ugh… date her scumbag husband. Marry him. Sleep with him. You do realize what your boss would say if he found out, right?” I gave them both a pointed look. They froze, their mouths snapping shut. They were stubborn, sure, but so was I. Amanda tugged at my sleeve, her voice breaking. “Please… save my baby. I’m begging you.” “Oh, you hear that?” I said, gesturing to her. “She wants me to save her baby. You wouldn’t want me to ignore a mother’s last wish, would you?” White Ghost’s already pale face somehow turned even paler. “Melissa!” I waved cheerfully as they stormed off, their dark figures disappearing into the mist. “Don’t worry!” I called after them. “I’ll make sure her baby’s taken care of. I’ll deal with the mistress too. And as for that scumbag husband—he won’t even recognize himself when I’m done with him. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. Bye-bye now!”

The pain was excruciating, but I forced myself to crawl back into Amanda’s body. The nurse barely blinked. She was so numb to the chaos that she just muttered, “The patient’s heartbeat has returned. Again.” Meanwhile, the doctor pulled the baby out of me and announced, “It’s a boy! The mother is hemorrhaging. Vital signs are dropping fast. Prep for emergency procedures!” I snapped my eyes open, grabbed his wrist, and rasped, “No need for all that. Just stitch me up, and we’ll call it a day.” The doctor froze, staring at me like I was some kind of zombie. “Bring me the baby,” I said. But the nurse holding the baby? She acted like she hadn’t heard me and started walking toward the door. Oh, hell no. Did she really think I didn’t know what was about to happen? That baby was about to be swapped out with the male lead’s mistress’s child. Do they think I’m stupid? I leaned up and shouted, “Hey! You with the baby! I’m giving you three seconds to bring him back, or I’ll drag myself out of this bed and end you.” The nurse hesitated for a moment. Then, as if she’d made her peace with the devil, she bolted for the door. “Oh, so you don’t believe me?” I growled. Adrenaline kicked in, and I shoved the doctor aside, swung my legs off the bed, and staggered toward her. Blood was pouring from my stomach, my insides threatening to spill out, but I didn’t care. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her backward. Smack! One slap. Smack! Another slap. I leaned in close, my lips curling into a twisted smile. “Do you believe me now? Or do I need to strangle you with my intestines to convince you?” The entire room froze. Everyone stared at me like I was some kind of demon. Then the chaos erupted. “Quick! Quick! The patient’s gone berserk!” It took five or six people to grab me and wrestle me back onto the bed. I pointed at the nurse, my voice cold. “I’ve got your face memorized. If anything happens to my baby, you won’t last a day in this hospital.” The doctor, hands trembling, started stitching me up. I glared at him. “Can you stop shaking? What are you so scared of? Just stitch it properly. If I end up with some hideous scar that looks like a squiggly caterpillar, I swear, you’ll regret it.” His hands shook even more. “Honestly, with nerves like that, how did you even have the guts to take a bribe to skip my anesthesia?” The needle slipped out of his hand and landed in my open wound. I smiled. “What’s wrong? Did I strike a nerve?”

After they wheeled me out of the operating room, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Even before I saw him, I knew who it was. And then he appeared. The male lead. Of course, he looked exactly like a walking cliché: the sharp jawline, piercing hawk-like eyes, high nose bridge, and lips so thin they practically screamed, “I’m better than you.” For years, I’d wondered what these so-called “brooding, evil CEOs” looked like in real life. Now I knew. And to my horror, it was George. My half-brother. The realization hit me like a truck. George. My tyrannical, self-absorbed, melodramatic half-brother. He strode over to my bed with that arrogant swagger of his, leaned down slightly, and said, “Amanda, this child belongs to the Lewis family. I’ll give you five million dollars. Take it, and I don’t ever want to see you again.” I stared at him, speechless. This was the same George who, back when I was still Melissa, couldn’t go five minutes without being absolutely insufferable. If I asked him to do something simple, like pass me a cup, he’d respond with, “Woman, how dare you order me around?” And if I tried reasoning with him? Forget it. The only way to shut him up was to beat some sense into him. Every time I’d smack him, he’d mutter, “Don’t underestimate a poor young man!” It was a disease. A serious one. And hitting him seemed to be the only treatment. But every time I knocked some sense into him, our dear stepmother would go ballistic. “You’ll regret this one day!” she’d scream. “George will make you pay back everything you’ve done to him, tenfold!” Meanwhile, George would stand behind her, muttering things like, “A hundredfold.” …Yeah. He’s always been like this. And now I’m supposed to believe this guy is the male lead of some tragic love story? The thought alone made me want to throw up. George wasn’t done being dramatic. “Amanda, I’m giving you one month. Get out of my sight.” Ignoring him, I grabbed the nearest doctor. “Where’s my baby?” The doctor, drenched in sweat, stammered, “W-where’s her baby?” The nurse holding the baby froze, her face blank with confusion. “Her baby? Uh… where’s her baby?” My patience snapped. My voice was ice. “You have ten minutes. Bring me my child.” The doctor practically tripped over himself as he ran out of the room, shouting, “Bring her baby! Now!” George glared at me, his face dark with anger. “Amanda, don’t push your luck!” I casually stuck a finger in my ear and yawned. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Can we do this in my room? You’re so loud, you’re probably scaring the other patients.”

I waved George over, motioning for him to come closer. “Hey, come here for a second.” He frowned, already looking irritated. “Woman, are you ordering me around?” Before he could finish, I sat up and grabbed him by the ear, yanking him down to my level. “Yeah, I am. And what about it? George, can you, for once in your life, act like a decent person? Your mother didn’t raise you through blood, sweat, and tears just so you could grow up to bully women, did she?” He winced and hissed in pain, bending awkwardly to avoid my grip. “What the hell are you talking about?! Do you even know what you’re doing? Don’t forget, your parents are still under my control! Your Taylor family depends on me!” I pinched his cheeks, forcing his face into a ridiculous pout. “Oh, so now you’re threatening me? Want me to shove your head in a toilet right now and see if that changes your tone?” His eyes widened, and for a second, pure terror flashed across his face. That threat? It struck a nerve. And why wouldn’t it? It wasn’t just a threat—it was a memory. Yeah, I’ve done it before. And clearly, he hadn’t forgotten. His voice cracked, and he stammered, “Y-you’re not Amanda… Amanda wouldn’t talk to me like this!” I smirked. “Oh? If I’m not Amanda, and then who am I? Look at me, George. Do you even know what I’ve been through today? Let me spell it out for you: I was on the operating table, bleeding out, and the doctor didn’t even give me anesthesia.” His confusion deepened. “Why not?” “Why not?” I sneered. “Because of your mistress, that little angel of yours who couldn’t possibly do anything wrong. George, I’m letting this one go, but if anything like this happens again, I’ll drag my body straight to your doorstep and make sure you regret it.” George staggered out of the room, his face pale and his cheek sporting a bright red handprint—five fingers, perfectly clear. The moment he stepped outside, a woman in a pristine white dress stopped him in his tracks. Emily. Amanda’s saintly little cousin. George’s so-called ture love. The pure, delicate flower who somehow managed to stay above it all, untouched by the dirt she caused. She was the root of everything. The conflicts between the male and female leads, Amanda losing her baby, Amanda’s tragic outcome during surgery—it all traced back to her. I still remember reading the novel and nearly throwing my phone across the room every time she appeared. I wanted nothing more than to jump into the story and strangle her myself. Well, looks like I finally got my chance. When the nurse handed me the baby, I didn’t even need to look twice—I knew right away this wasn’t my child. Don’t ask how I knew. I just did. Call it intuition. Call it a sixth sense. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. I sighed and leaned back. “Let’s just cut to the chase. Get a paternity test.”

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When I found out I was the stereotypical evil side character in some cheesy showbiz romance story, I didn’t waste a second. I dumped the overly devoted second male lead and got the hell out of there. Where did I go? Down south—to start a pig farm. And guess what? I crushed it. The farm grew, business boomed, and eventually, a popular reality show decided to feature me. But here’s the kicker: why on earth are the male lead, the female lead, and my ex-boyfriend all part of the cast?! Now, they’re standing around in my barn, having a very serious discussion about postpartum care for sows. Meanwhile, the internet is blowing up. People are saying stuff like, ”OMG, Ryan can’t stop staring at Nancy! There’s definitely something going on between them!” What the hell?! Why are you people so good at spotting drama where there is none?! When I signed the contract, they told me the job was simple: raise pigs, live a quiet life, and do the bare minimum. Easy, right? But barely a few months in, the farm became ridiculously successful. So successful, in fact, that it caught the attention of a reality TV show. My boss, ever the opportunist, decided to cash in on the hype. Before I knew it, I was shoved into the cast as a “resident NPC” and pig farming consultant. And that’s how, at the crack of dawn, I found myself staring down a camera crew that had barged into my house uninvited. I peeled off my face mask, tied my hair into a messy bun, and waved at the cameras with the weary resignation of someone who had already given up on life. [Wait, this is the pig farming consultant???] [OMG, she’s stunning! I’m obsessed! Queen, hug me!] [No way this is real life. Did they plant her here? How does a pig farm have someone this gorgeous?] I glanced at the livestream comments and smirked. Look, as the designated villainess of this story, I have zero interest in showbiz drama. That’s right—I know exactly where I am. This isn’t just a pig farm. I’ve landed smack dab in the middle of a cliché-filled romance novel. The plot? A classic setup. The male lead, a big-shot actor, falls head-over-heels for the female lead, a sweet, effortlessly charming rising star. Together, they take the entertainment world by storm. The female lead is exactly what you’d expect: a natural-born sweetheart adored by every man who crosses her path. The male lead? Obsessed. The second male lead? Devoted. The third, fourth, and fifth male leads? All hopelessly in love with her, too. And then there’s me. The villainess. I’m gorgeous, sure, but my role is to be jealous, petty, and endlessly humiliated by the female lead’s natural charm. Oh, and my boyfriend? Ryan. He’s the loyal second male lead, the one who pines after the female lead the hardest. In the original story, Ryan and I had been inseparable since middle school. Desk mates, classmates, and later, a couple. He was my protector. I was his girl. Everyone thought we were the perfect match. But then, during our senior year of college, Ryan met Sandra. Sandra was… well, Sandra. Beautiful, sweet, and impossibly kind. The perfect heroine. Suddenly, everything was about Sandra. Sandra was amazing. Sandra was adorable. Sandra could do no wrong. On my birthday, Ryan left me stranded on the side of the road to answer Sandra’s call. That’s when I snapped. In the original novel, I spiraled. I created a fake account to spread rumors about Sandra, accusing her of being a homewrecker. When I got caught, Ryan and I had a massive fight. After that, our relationship fell apart, and my resentment for Sandra only grew. Sandra went on to become a rising star in the entertainment industry. I, on the other hand, became the bitter ex-girlfriend who tried to sabotage her at every turn—stealing her roles, spreading rumors about plastic surgery, and even tampering with her stunt harness. Eventually, Ryan dumped me. He and Kenneth joined forces to protect Sandra, leaving me to self-destruct. Consumed by jealousy, I lost my mind. In a final act of desperation, I attacked Sandra with acid at a press event. Ryan pushed me down a flight of stairs, and I was gone. Not peacefully. Not gracefully. I have gone with my eyes wide open, full of regret and rage.

The day I “woke up” and remembered all this? I laughed. What kind of garbage plot was this? If Ryan ever dared to fall for someone else, I wouldn’t waste my time scheming. I’d slap him, kick him to the curb, and move on. And honestly? The idea of Ryan liking someone else was ridiculous. This is the same Ryan who barely knows five people outside of me. The guy who probably couldn’t even name our homeroom teacher. If he wasn’t drawing, he was glued to my side—buying me lunch, saving me a seat in class, doing my laundry, walking me home. When would he even have time to meet Sandra? At first, I thought this was all just some bizarre nightmare. But then, the senior year started, and I saw her. Sandra. She was exactly as the story described: radiant, dazzling, and full of life. Even in a crowd, she was the center of attention. Something inside me twisted. A bad feeling crept up my spine, but I pushed it down and told myself it was nothing. Still, I couldn’t help it. I got annoyed and told Ryan to stay away from her. He laughed, kissed my cheek, and promised he would. But then they started running into each other more and more. And before I knew it, Ryan’s eyes lingered on her longer than they should have. He didn’t even realize it himself, but suddenly, every other sentence out of his mouth was about Sandra. “Why are you so desperate to be friends with her?” I finally snapped. Ryan’s smile faded. “I’ll explain later,” he said quietly. But the knot of dread in my chest wouldn’t go away. I started dreaming about falling down those stairs. On my birthday, Sandra called Ryan. He left me by the side of the road and walked away. I stared after him, my heart breaking. That’s when I knew I couldn’t change my fate. So I ran. I broke up with Ryan over text, packed my bags, and disappeared. I moved to a place where no one could find me. I poured myself into my work, using everything I knew to become a research specialist at a nationally renowned pig farm. I dedicated my life to raising the best, most beautiful pigs in the country. And just when I thought I’d finally escaped, fate caught up with me again. The reality show moved in, and so did my past. Fine. Let the wheels of destiny turn. If I pretend well enough, maybe this nonsense will pass me by. I gave the crew a tour of the farm and returned to the set where the cast was waiting. And then I saw him. Ryan. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, his face cold and distant. Next to him was Sandra, radiant in a white dress, her long black hair flowing like a heroine fresh out of a romance novel. Leaning lazily against the wall was Kenneth, the male lead, smirking as Sandra chatted away. Sandra saw me and lit up. “Oh, a new face! Come here, come here!” She was as lively and sweet as ever, and her excitement drew everyone’s attention to me. Ryan’s eyes locked onto mine, sharp and icy. The chat exploded. [OMG, look at these visuals! Everyone here is gorgeous!] [Sandra is so adorable! She’s the perfect heroine!] [Kenneth looks so soft when he looks at Sandra. I’m obsessed with this ship!] [Wait, isn’t Ryan a famous painter? And Sandra personally invited him to the show? I’m here for this couple!] My heart ached, but I forced a smile. Sandra ran over and grabbed my hand. Ryan smiled, too—but there wasn’t a shred of warmth in his eyes. A shiver ran down my spine. Oh, he’s pissed.

The first segment of the livestream kicked off with the host introducing me as “Nancy, a world-renowned pig farming expert.” I waved my hand with a smile, trying to play it down. “Not world-renowned, and definitely not an expert.” When I went to find a seat, I realized the only spot left was, of course, between Ryan and Sandra. Nope. Not happening. Instead, I calmly grabbed a stool from the side, set it down, and sat on it like a well-behaved student. The host then revealed the episode’s main task: teams of two would adopt and care for a piglet. To make the pairings fair, we’d play a game of “I Have, You Haven’t.” It started off easy enough, with everyone throwing out pretty generic experiences. Then, it was Ryan’s turn. He leaned back, expression cold, and said, “I’ve been dumped before.” The room fell silent, followed by the faint sound of people whispering, “Really? That’s it?” Two guests raised their hands, admitting they’d been dumped before, too. Meanwhile, the livestream chat was going wild: [Wait, WHAT?! Who would dump Ryan? He’s perfect!] [Drop their name. We’ll handle it.] I rested my chin on my hand, smirking to myself. It was me. But Ryan’s eyes didn’t leave me. He kept staring, and it was starting to make me uncomfortable. Sure, technically, I dumped him, but let’s not kid ourselves—if I hadn’t run first, he would’ve done it eventually. I snorted softly and waited for my turn. When it came, I casually said, “I’ve dealt with a cheating ex before. But don’t worry, I woke up in time and dumped him.” The room erupted into applause. People clapped, some even praising me for being smart enough to cut my losses. Ryan blinked, momentarily stunned. Then his expression darkened. I tilted my head, giving him a smug little smile. Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking about you, you jerk. Before I could enjoy the moment, someone handed me a piece of candy. It was Anthony, the pretty boy idol with a face that looked like it had been handcrafted by angels. He smiled warmly and said, “Nancy, you’re so stunning. I can’t believe someone would be stupid enough to cheat on you.” The “stupid cheater” in question? Ryan. And Ryan? Oh, his mood instantly soured. The air around him practically dropped ten degrees as he glared at Anthony with the intensity of a thousand suns. Anthony, clearly feeling the tension, hesitated before glancing nervously at Ryan. “Uh, don’t you agree, Ryan? I mean, how could anyone let Nancy go? That’s just… dumb.” Then, turning back to me, Anthony added with a wink, “If it were me, I’d never do that. I’m the loyal type.” The livestream chat lost its mind: [OMG, I ship it! They look so good together!] [Anthony’s never been this bold before. Is this a confession?!] [Lock it in! Anthony and Nancy forever!] Ryan’s face? Blacker than a thundercloud.

In the end, I got paired with Sandra, while Ryan ended up with Kenneth, the male lead. Watching the two of them—a brooding Ryan and a laid-back Kenneth—forced to work together was pure entertainment. It was like watching a soap opera in real-time. Ryan, however, seemed less amused. His eyes kept darting between me and Kenneth. Finally, he stood up and positioned himself directly in my line of sight as if to shield me from Kenneth’s presence. I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw the back of my skull. What was his deal? When I turned my head, I noticed Anthony chatting and laughing with another female guest. Ryan noticed, too. His jaw clenched, and before I could blink, he marched over and planted himself between me and Anthony. The livestream chat was eating it up: [Ryan’s acting way too obvious! What’s going on?] [What’s going on? Nancy is clearly his ex. Duh.] [This isn’t a love story. This is love denied.] [I’m living for this drama!] I felt my lips twitch, holding back a laugh. Okay, this was getting ridiculous. I decided to retreat to my room before things spiraled even further. The afternoon task was simple: tour the farm and pick a piglet to adopt. I left the decision-making to Sandra, telling her she could pick whichever piglet she liked. Meanwhile, I stayed behind to reorganize my room. It may have been overkill, but by the time Sandra returned, my room looked like something out of a Pinterest board—pink curtains, matching bedding, everything perfectly arranged. Sandra gasped the moment she walked in. “Wow, Nancy! You’re incredible! How did you do all this so fast?” Sandra was the textbook sweet romance heroine: gorgeous, pure-hearted, completely useless when it came to practical tasks, and always sticking her nose in other people’s business. Before I could stop her, she grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s go help Ryan!” Help Ryan? Why would I want to help him? Sandra dragged me to Ryan’s room, and the moment we stepped inside, I froze. It was a disaster. Clothes were everywhere, the bed was unmade, and random junk was scattered across the floor. This didn’t make sense. Ryan might’ve been a spoiled rich kid, but he was always neat and put together. Ryan spotted me and instantly stiffened. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice tight. Sandra, oblivious as ever, beamed at him. “Nancy and I came to help! Didn’t you say you didn’t know how to organize this stuff?” What was she doing? This was her moment to bond with the male lead—or at least Ryan. Why drag me into it? I immediately turned to leave, but Ryan grabbed my wrist. “What now?” I snapped. “If you’re so helpless, hurry up and finish so you can go help Sandra.” His grip loosened, and he muttered, “I’m not helping Sandra.” Sandra, standing by the door, rolled her eyes playfully. “As if I’d need his help! He’s useless!” She then skipped off, probably to find Kenneth. The livestream chat exploded: [The ship is sinking…] [Was it ever floating? LOL.] [Look at Ryan’s stubborn, lovesick expression. I’m shipping it harder than ever!] I froze, suddenly realizing something. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.

In the original storyline, Ryan was supposed to treat Sandra like a princess. Sandra, who could barely manage basic life skills, relied on Ryan for everything. And Ryan? He didn’t just tolerate it—he embraced it. For her, he was willing to step out of his comfort zone. The guy hated being in the spotlight, but he still joined a reality show just to keep her company. On the show, he was endlessly patient, helping her with even the smallest things. The audience loved it. They shipped them as if their lives depended on it. Fans practically went to war over this “perfect couple.” Even Kenneth, the male lead, got jealous, which led to a little drama with Sandra—exactly the kind of tension that pushed the romance plot forward. But now? Something was off. Ryan didn’t even help her change her bedding. Worse, he flat-out told her he didn’t know how to do it. I stared, completely dumbfounded. My brain refused to connect the dots. Ryan, meanwhile, shoved his suitcase into the closet, and then grabbed my hand and started dragging me toward my room. When we got there, his eyes swept over the neatly arranged space. His brows furrowed. “Who set all this up for you?” “I did,” I said, louder than I meant to. I was about to add, I’m not helpless, you know, but the words caught in my throat. For a second, I froze. Back when we were together, I used to pretend I couldn’t do anything—playing the damsel, acting all pitiful—so he’d take care of everything. And it worked. He never complained. But now, Ryan’s expression shifted. His tone was sharp. “You know how to do this? You’ve been lying to me this whole time?” Oh, crap.

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As the true heiress, after being found, I joined a dating reality show with my adopted sister. Facing the mean girl’s taunts, the celebrity’s aggression, and the production team’s schemes, I raised an eyebrow: “You got breast implants, you visited a proctologist, and you bought a house for your mistress.” They were shocked, covering their chests, buttocks, and the scratches left by their wives, trying to figure out who among them had leaked the information. I smiled mysteriously. Who told them I had the strange ability to see other people’s bills? I was hauling bricks at a construction site when my biological parents found me. Years ago, Mrs. Skyler gave birth to me in a small hospital, but due to a nurse’s negligence, I was switched with another baby. Now, they had finally tracked me down. As expected of a wealthy family, their mansion was straight out of a novel – complete with fountains and manicured lawns. I had barely sat down in the living room when a stern-faced woman rushed down the stairs. “That’s an imported sofa from Europe! Our young miss loves it! Who let this beggar in? You’re dirtying the fabric! Get up immediately!” She roughly yanked my arm, nearly causing me to stumble. Before I could regain my balance, another woman with a distinctly different aura hurried in. Her eyes welled up at the sight of me. She rushed over and embraced me. “My child, you’ve suffered so much all these years!” I rubbed my nose awkwardly. “It wasn’t that bad…” Just then, a stern-looking middle-aged man and a delicate young woman burst through the door. All three of them stared at me with a mix of awkwardness and uncertainty. My mother pulled the delicate girl closer, stammering, “Why don’t we let Ava stay with you? So you won’t be lonely.” Their decision to keep the adopted daughter didn’t surprise me. One was the girl they had raised since infancy, the other a biological daughter they barely knew. I had no reservations and spoke frankly, “Dad, Mom, Sister.” Their faces immediately lit up with joy. Ava, in particular, stood behind me beaming, like a loyal sidekick. “But who is this?” I asked, glancing at the stern-faced woman. She instantly changed her haughty demeanor, her smile now sickeningly sweet. “Miss Skyler, I’m Mrs. Johnson, the Skyler family’s housekeeper…” “Housekeeper?” I linked arms with my mother. “Mom, I doubt Mrs. Johnson could afford jewelry worth millions, right?” The housekeeper’s expression faltered. “Mom, I recently saw Mrs. Johnson at a secondhand store, selling a diamond necklace.” My mother paused, eyeing the housekeeper suspiciously. Mrs. Johnson’s face paled, and she broke into a cold sweat. “Miss Skyler, you can’t make such baseless accusations! I’ve never been to any secondhand store you’re talking about.” Her visit to the secondhand store might be a fabrication, but her theft of the Skyler family’s belongings was undoubtedly true. Because after my reincarnation into this story, I gained a strange ability – I could sense the details of everyone’s financial transactions. This Mrs. Johnson had been stealing and selling my mother’s possessions quite frequently! “Alright. To prove I’m not slandering Mrs. Johnson, Mom, why don’t you have someone check your jewelry collection?” I described the necklace in detail. Mrs. Johnson panicked. “Why should there be an investigation? I didn’t steal anything!” A guilty conscience needs no accuser! My mother immediately sent someone to check, and Mrs. Johnson collapsed to the floor. My new sister quietly sidled up to me, tugging at my sleeve. “Sister, you’re… you’re so impressive!” Ava gazed at me with admiration. I was taken aback. Was she won over so easily? Looking at her soft and innocent demeanor, it was no wonder she was the cannon fodder character in the novel who couldn’t stand up to the villainess protagonist. Yes, as the reincarnated true heiress in this story, neither I nor Ava, who had the potential to be the protagonist, were the actual main characters. The real protagonist was Mia Duncan, who climbed the entertainment industry ladder by stepping on Ava. Mia debuted by marketing herself as the “little Ava Skyler,” riding on the coattails of Ava’s popularity while secretly sabotaging her. They both signed up for a dating reality show. During filming, Ava was framed for assaulting a pregnant woman, causing her reputation to plummet and her career to nosedive. Meanwhile, Mia was praised as “beautiful and kind-hearted,” gaining even more popularity by contrasting herself with Ava. From Mia’s perspective, the story was quite satisfying. But I had reincarnated as Ava’s convenient sister. As a reincarnator, I knew the truth – that pregnant woman was hired by Mia with the sole purpose of destroying Ava’s career. Even if Ava was just my adopted sister, she was still part of the Skyler family. How could I let an outsider bully her? Besides, Ava was beautiful and sweet, always trying to please me in subtle ways. Looking at her face that perfectly matched my aesthetic preferences… Well, I simply couldn’t bear to see her reputation ruined. So, when my father asked if I wanted to take over Skyler Corporation, I noticed Ava holding the “Fall in Love, Stars!” show contract and expressed my desire to join the show with her. Ava’s eyes lit up. “Dad! Please!” The innocent girl unleashed her puppy eyes on our father. “If I go on the show with my sister, won’t you feel more at ease?” I had a private conversation with my father, revealing the name of my private equity fund. My father immediately agreed to not only hand over the company to me but also arrange for me and Ava to join the show. The show began live streaming from a villa, with all participants present. I sneaked a glance at my phone, seeing a wave of attacks against Ava in the comments: “Unbelievable, how could the production team invite someone as fake and pretentious as Ava Skyler on the same show as our Mia?” “She’s just riding on Mia’s popularity again. Can’t this old hag stand on her own?” “Exactly! She’s rude and unprofessional, and she still has the nerve to join a dating show? Get off our screens!” Mia, true to her protagonist status, caused another wave of excitement when she appeared. “Ahhh! My wife is so beautiful!” “Oh my god, Mia really has an angel’s face and a devil’s body!” “I’m melting!” The show’s opening and self-introduction segment maintained a facade of peace. When it came to the mutual questioning session, Mia started targeting Ava with seemingly harmless concern, “Ava, have you been watching any TV shows lately? I heard you’ve been resting at home, so you must have a lot of free time.” Well, that was a backhanded way of saying Ava could only stay at home because she couldn’t find work. Ava’s expression changed, and she was about to speak when I stopped her: “Actually, Ava hasn’t had time to watch anything. She’s been busy accompanying our mother on beauty spa trips and attending auctions. No time for trashy dramas.” Mia was stunned for a moment but quickly regained her composure and continued questioning Ava: “So, Ava, did you buy anything nice at the auction that you’d like to share with us?” Her eyes gleamed mischievously: “Just be careful not to accidentally buy fakes. Things are like people – fake is fake, real is real. Only fools mistake fakes for the real deal!” This was clearly an insinuation. Mia obviously knew something, like the truth about Ava’s and my background. But my parents hadn’t publicly announced that Ava wasn’t their biological daughter. How did Mia know? I looked Mia up and down. She didn’t seem nervous at all, even flashing me a meaningful smile. Ava panicked a bit, grabbing my hand and whispering in my ear, “Sister, what should we do? Does she know?” I patted Ava’s hand, signaling her to stay calm. Ava immediately straightened up, looking at me with complete trust. I put on a sincere smile and turned to Mia, “Well, Miss Duncan, your McGrath is quite real.” “Sometimes fake can be real too, it all depends on what people say, right?” Like Ava, and like… Mia’s chest. The comments froze for a moment. “What’s this woman saying? I feel like she’s hinting at something I don’t understand?” “What’s McGrath? Why does Mia look uncomfortable?” “Ahem, if I’m not mistaken, that’s a… breast implant brand, you know what I mean.” “Wait, didn’t she endorse some breast enhancement oil? So it’s all smoke and mirrors?” Mia choked on her water, coughing violently. Jake Thompson, a popular male contestant, rushed forward to pat her back concernedly, “Mia, are you okay?” He almost couldn’t resist covering his own chest as he looked at me. Ryan Evans, the award-winning actor, snapped out of his daze, knowingly glancing at Mia’s… chest. Liam Moore, the lead singer, put away his bored expression and cast an understanding look at Mia’s chest. Mia coughed while covering her chest. Her eyes showed a hint of shock and suspicion as she struggled to defend herself: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Skyler. It seems you have some hostility towards me.” She lowered her eyelashes, on the verge of tears. “If I’ve done something to offend you, I apologize here. But please don’t make unfounded accusations against me, okay?” Look at that, she’s trying to manipulate public opinion and incite her fans to cyberbully me! I chuckled softly, “Miss Duncan, weren’t you the one who brought up real and fake first? Why don’t you explain to your fans whether your McGrath is real or fake?”

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Gabriel Thompson was known in our social circle as “Mr. Yes-Dear.” Everything his wife said was right, everything she did was right. If anything wasn’t right, it was his fault. Everyone envied how I had married so well, until our anniversary party, when I smashed a bottle over his secretary’s head. “Mr. Yes-Dear” turned on me in front of everyone. “Either apologize or get a divorce. Choose one!” I smiled contentedly. “Well then, I wish you two all the best together!” As everyone stared at me in confusion, Scarlett Quinn, the secretary, fell to her knees in front of me. “Mrs. Thompson, please don’t misunderstand! I really haven’t seduced Mr. Thompson!” Her tear-filled eyes held a mixture of pleading and undisguised provocation. Just like before, when she had deliberately let me see her intimate encounters with Gabriel Thompson. The guests quickly reacted, laughing as they tried to mediate. “Mrs. Thompson, everyone knows how much Mr. Thompson loves you. Why fixate on this little secretary? Am I right, everyone?” A chorus of agreement followed, with smirks on their faces at my apparent overreaction. Yes, in their eyes, I was the CEO’s wife who got everything she wanted. With just a crook of my finger, my husband would fly across the country daily, just to hand-deliver grapes he’d picked himself to satisfy my cravings. He would also buy out an entire city’s fireworks and set them off in an instant when I was upset, his thunderous apologies drowning out all other sounds. They envied me to death, but behind my back they said I was just a pretty face with no substance, wondering how I deserved such an elite man. I don’t blame them for being foolish. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Gabriel Thompson for being such a good actor, playing the role of devoted husband for eight years. Little did they know that behind Mr. “Yes-Dear’s” public persona, his heart belonged solely to his right-hand woman, Scarlett Quinn. He had said before that he could give up anyone, except her. Today, I finally confirmed this point with my own hands. I turned my head slowly, looking at the angry man, and spoke softly. “Mr. Thompson, is that what you think too?” The man’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze cold and distant as if looking at a stranger. He didn’t answer my question directly, but instead picked up the secretary and carried her away. The guests who had been mocking me moments ago suddenly froze in disbelief, watching as the man fussed over the woman in his arms. “Don’t be afraid, Scarlett. As long as I’m here, no one will bully you!” That caring tone stabbed into my ears, more like a warning telling me not to cause trouble. But after eight years of playing the role of dutiful wife, I was tired of this fake life. I went up on stage and tore off the cover on the banner, pointing at the words “Divorce Anniversary” and raising my glass to the crowd. “Welcome everyone to my divorce party. Cheers!” In that moment, I felt no despair at being abandoned by my husband, but rather a long-awaited sense of relief. Because I had been waiting for this day for eight whole years. Finally, finally, I was free. How wonderful. Just as I was celebrating my escape from this cage, someone cried out. “Mr. Thompson jumped into the sea!” The next day, news of the Thompson Group CEO jumping into the sea for love flooded the entire media landscape of Kingston City. Uninformed netizens unanimously praised the CEO’s deep love, while condemning me, his “trophy wife,” for being cold and heartless. Meanwhile, the guests who had witnessed Gabriel Thompson’s infidelity and departure with his secretary at the yacht party yesterday now flooded me with messages of comfort. “See? Mr. Thompson still cares about you, otherwise he wouldn’t have jumped into the sea, right? He knows he was wrong, so why don’t you forgive him this once?” If it weren’t for the emotional video Scarlett Quinn sent me, perhaps I too would have thought Gabriel Thompson’s words were just a momentary slip. In the video, the shivering man tightly embraced the woman, constantly stroking her hair, his eyes full of tenderness. “It’s okay, everything will be fine. I won’t let you become a mistress that everyone despises!” Yes, he, a man afraid of water, would rather jump into the sea to create news than let her face people’s strange looks. He really loved her to death. This was his hot and cold love. After a night of drinking, I stumbled as I opened the door and fell to the ground, the pain making it hard to breathe. A cold voice broke the silence in the darkness. “Sophia Sullivan, I’ve already given you the position of Mrs. Thompson. What more do you want?” Yes, when he knelt before me and proposed so passionately, he publicly promised that the position of Mrs. Thompson would belong to me alone. At the time, I was blinded by love, completely ignoring that his affectionate gaze was directed at the tearful secretary beside me. He was using actions to tell her that I would only get an empty title. Scarlett Quinn was his true love, etched into his bones. I had argued and fought, asking him over and over if he had any feelings for me in his heart. He always looked at me coldly, without a hint of warmth. “As long as you don’t touch her, you’ll always be the one I love most.” What a cruel answer, piercing me to the core, making me realize he had never loved me. Before I could respond, a strong grip seized my wrist, pulling me over to his side. His slender fingers skillfully picked up the iodine and wiped my scratched cheek. I tried to turn away, but he held me firmly in place. “Mrs. Thompson, your face belongs to the Thompson Group too. It wouldn’t be good if it got marred.” Yes, there was a pre-arranged dinner tomorrow where the other party had specifically requested my presence. How could the CEO’s wife appear with a blemished face? I opened my mouth and bit down, breaking through his tough skin, channeling all my grievances and resentment as I swallowed the blood that both fascinated and disgusted me. The man’s hand bones trembled slightly, but he made no move to stop me. Only when my jaw ached and swelled did I let go on my own. He then gripped my chin, forcing me to look up. “Sophia, this is the last time. This is the last time I’ll tolerate you. Don’t push it!” He covered his hand as he turned to go upstairs. At the last moment, he paused and looked back at me. “Remember to cover up your wound with makeup tomorrow. I don’t want any more negative news about the Thompson CEO’s marital problems!” My fingertips dug into my flesh. I couldn’t hold back anymore and called out to him. “Mr. Thompson, have you forgotten what you said yesterday? Didn’t you say we were getting divorced?” Weren’t you going to let me go? The man didn’t respond, just kept walking forward step by step. I took a step forward, waving the blood-stained photos in my hand, and laughed. “Your precious darling is in my hands. Aren’t you afraid I’ll do something to her?” Almost instantly, the man reflexively appeared in front of me, grabbing my neck, his eyes bloodthirsty and turbulent. “Sophia Sullivan, tell me, what exactly did you do to Scarlett?!” I looked at the man who had lost control of his emotions with a light laugh, the corners of my mouth curving upwards, but I didn’t say a word. The force on my neck gradually deepened and intensified. In my ears was the man’s uncontrolled roar. “Sophia Sullivan, if anything happens to Scarlett, I’ll make sure you pay with your life!” Pay with my life? That’s fine. At least I won’t have to struggle in this hypocritical world anymore. Since he won’t let me leave, perhaps death is my best escape. I closed my eyes, waiting for death to come. But my phone rang at the most inopportune moment. The man answered it with one hand, and the woman’s habitual mockery filled my ears. “Sophia Sullivan, how do you like the big gift I sent you? Gabriel held me and took me again and again last night, while you spent another night alone in an empty room, right? How about I help you talk to Gabriel tonight, let him keep you company for one night, what do you say?” The force on my neck suddenly withdrew, and I fell heavily to the ground. The wound that had just been injured was hurt again, blood flowing everywhere. A burst of heat suddenly entered the cold air, scalding to the touch. “Sophia Sullivan, wake up! Without my permission, you’re not allowed to die!” How laughable that he doesn’t know I’d rather die than live a life worse than death. Gabriel Thompson, this time, he won’t be able to keep me. I woke up groggily in the hospital to see Gabriel Thompson slumped at my bedside, his tightly furrowed brow indicating his anxiety. Actually, when I was drifting in and out of consciousness earlier, I heard him calling out to me. “Sophia Sullivan, didn’t you say you loved me? Then you have to live, live on and love me well!” I used to think that way too, to just keep loving him. But time is a butcher’s knife, wearing away all my patience and love, also letting me see my true heart clearly. It’s not worth wasting my youth on a man who doesn’t love me. A gust of wind blew into my collar, and the man suddenly woke up. Seeing me awake, he was strangely excited. “You… you’re awake?!” Seeing that I didn’t speak, the man picked up a glass of water nearby to cover his awkwardness. “I’ve already talked to Scarlett about yesterday’s incident. Don’t worry, she… she won’t come bother you again in the future.” “You know, you really… getting angry is one thing, but why scare me with some random photo from the internet? You made me think… sigh, never mind, it’s all in the past. From now on, can we go back to how we were before, no more fighting, okay?” He brought the warm water to my lips, but was startled by the ghastly scars revealed on my arms as I pushed up my sleeves. “Who… who hurt you, Sophia? Tell me, who did this?!” It was rare to see panic and shock in the man’s eyes. Is he pitying me? But where was he when I needed him most as I hurt myself during depressive episodes? What was he doing when I was covering my scars with thick foundation? Right, he was laughing and chatting with his secretary, debating whether to have Chinese or Western for dinner, agonizing over whether to go to Northern Europe or South America. Every meeting and business trip became an excuse for their workplace romance. No one cared that I, the real CEO’s wife, was struggling painfully in the abyss. I slowly broke free from his restraint and said to his face, word by word: “I did it to myself. If you don’t let me go, next time it might be aimed here.” I slid my finger across my neck, and the man’s dark pupils trembled slightly along with it. He suddenly gripped my hand and forcefully pulled it down. “Sophia, I’m sorry. I can give you anything you want except divorce…” “Then can you break up with Scarlett Quinn?” “Crash—” The water glass nearby fell to the ground, shattering to pieces. I looked up at him and laughed freely. “See, you can’t do this either, can you?” The man’s face sank in an instant. His hands gripped my shoulders, digging into my flesh. “Sophia Sullivan, why do you have to force me? After being the CEO’s wife for so many years, have you learned nothing but threats and coercion?” “I’ve also learned to give up. Give up on loving you, Gabriel Thompson. I don’t love you anymore. Let go!” The fingers on my shoulders suddenly froze. The man’s face couldn’t stop trembling, his gaze toward me unclear and ambiguous. His dry lips twitched for a moment, about to question further, when his assistant rushed in urgently. “It’s bad, something’s happened to Secretary Quinn!” The man hurriedly left, but I grabbed his wrist. “Maybe I can help you this time.” But what responded to me was the man’s contemptuous mockery. “Sophia Sullivan, apart from being a pretty ornament, I really can’t see what other use you have…” The man left with a cold gust of wind. I didn’t try to stop him, but instead took out my phone and made a call. “Mr. Shen, I’ll be over shortly.” I’d like to see how his supposedly omnipotent secretary will get out of this predicament. Outside the top VIP room of “Nightshade,” the door was ajar. Seeing the mess on the floor and the blood-covered man, I could guess what had just happened. No doubt it was the classic scenario of a protective boss taking a knife for his subordinate, playing out the hero saving the damsel in distress. Only this time, he’d run into the notoriously difficult Samuel Shen. “Gabriel Thompson, let me tell you, your secretary’s delay of documents causing me to lose a multi-million dollar project is a small matter. Making my Shen Group bear the name of being untrustworthy is a big deal. I’m telling you, this isn’t over!” Sitting in the position of power, Samuel Shen looked down his nose, unwilling to budge no matter what Gabriel Thompson did. Seeing that begging was futile, the woman suddenly climbed onto a nearby window, shouting that she would jump. Gabriel Thompson was anxious, but as he leapt forward, he was restrained. Samuel Shen snorted coldly, and his two bodyguards approached step by step, frightening the woman into screaming repeatedly for them not to come closer. “What are you yelling for? Didn’t you say you wanted to die to make amends? I’m just helping you along. Go ahead and jump. If you die, maybe you’ll be reborn as a better person in your next life!” “Samuel, don’t touch her! I can give you anything you want!” “If I say I want the entire Thompson Group, will you give it to me?” This time the man didn’t respond. Not because he was unwilling, but because Thompson Group didn’t belong to Gabriel Thompson alone. He simply couldn’t make that decision. Samuel Shen urged again, and the bodyguard grabbed the woman’s arm. The woman’s legs gave way and she slid to the ground, desperately hugging the man’s leg and begging, only to be kicked away. “What trash, a real man wouldn’t cling to someone’s leg. Disgusting!” I coughed lightly and pushed open the door. Samuel Shen’s eyes lit up when he saw me, and he got up to make room. “Sophia Sullivan, does this mean you’ve agreed to my request?” I tilted my head to look at Gabriel Thompson, answering indirectly. “That depends on whether Mr. Thompson can agree to my request.” The man looked at the ashen-faced man on the ground, then turned to look at me, seemingly making a huge decision as he gritted his teeth and nodded. “As long as you can get Samuel Shen to calm down, anything you want.” I took out the divorce agreement I had prepared in advance from my bag and handed it over. Emotions roiled in the man’s eyes. “Sophia Sullivan, you really are calculating. Fine, I’ll give you what you want.” He broke free from the bodyguards’ restraint, took the pen without hesitation, and signed. He left carrying the secretary in front of everyone, but not forgetting to remind me. “Sophia Sullivan, don’t disappoint me, or you know the consequences.” Of course, of course I know the consequences. But having walked through hell, I won’t make the same mistake twice. I closed the door with my own hands, silently mouthing to the man through the crack. “Gabriel Thompson, I’m not just a pretty face. I never was.”

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