My older brother fell in love with a delinquent girl and planned to elope with her in the dead of night. Afraid he was ruining his life, I told our parents. He was successfully stopped, and the delinquent girl went to Los Angeles all alone. Five years later, that girl became a massive Hollywood A-lister. She invited my brother to her movie premiere and, in front of all our old classmates, publicly “thanked” him for not keeping her company back then. Humiliated and deeply regretful, my brother blamed me for everything. My parents beat me too, thinking it was my fault the family lost out on a superstar daughter-in-law who could have made them rich. Unable to defend myself, I was beaten to death by my own family in a fit of rage. When I opened my eyes again, my brother was whispering to me, “I have to leave with Chloe tonight. Do not tell Mom and Dad.” This time, I smiled and gave him my blessing: “Have a safe trip. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” 1 My brother was going to elope. Tonight. In the dim hallway of our house, he was crouching under the stairs like a thief, whispering into his phone. “2:00 AM. I’ll be there.” “I promise. If I don’t show up, I’m a dog.” In my previous life, I had come out of my room to get some water, overheard him, and asked where he was going. Afraid I would tell our parents, he confessed the truth. His high school girlfriend had been “discovered” by a talent scout at the mall over the weekend. The scout gave her a business card and invited her to Los Angeles to sign with a management agency. Worried about her going alone, my brother planned to sneak out in the middle of the night to accompany her to the audition. I was shocked. I knew his girlfriend. Her name was Chloe Miller, and she was a notorious rebel. Word was her parents were going through a messy divorce, and she acted out by trashing her own life—smoking, drinking, skipping class, and sneaking out to go clubbing. During his junior year, the school hadn’t given up on her yet. They assigned my brother—a straight-A student—to tutor her. Who knew that a semester later, not only did Chloe not reform, but she dragged my brother into a secret relationship. When she broke her leg jumping a fence, my brother carried her to the hospital. When she smoked in the alley, my brother would frown and snatch the cigarette away. It wasn’t until they were caught skipping class that the school finally discovered their romance. They called both sets of parents and forced them to break up. At the time, I was an eighth-grader studying for my high school entrance exams. My brother was a junior, ranked first in his entire grade. My dad came home cursing, pulled off his belt, and beat my brother mercilessly, demanding he cut ties with her or be beaten to death. My mom and I desperately shielded him, taking a few hits ourselves, until my brother finally gave in and promised never to see her again. He cried his eyes out that night. The seventeen-year-old boy looked utterly devastated. I secretly asked him, “Lucas, do you really like her that much?” He bit his lip and nodded pitifully. I tried to comfort him. “Then you guys can date after you graduate! It’s just one more year until college. One year goes by so fast.” Hearing that, the light returned to his eyes, and he nodded. After that, Lucas never mentioned Chloe again. When I started my freshman year of high school, I never saw Chloe around him either. I truly thought they had broken up. I never expected that a year later, during winter break of his senior year, he would try to elope under the moonlight to help her become a star. To me, the news was like a blow to the head. In my past life, I was frantic. I couldn’t let it happen. He was too young, only eighteen. I was terrified of him going to LA alone. In this day and age, what real talent scout just hands out cards at a mall? If she wanted to be an artist, she should apply to a performing arts college. What’s more, my dad had just spent over two thousand dollars enrolling him in an intensive SAT winter boot camp. He was supposed to leave for the closed-campus camp the very next morning. If he ran away now, Dad would literally kill him. Lucas looked at me pleadingly, pressing his hands together in a begging motion. “Just this once, Emma. I promise I’ll be back in five days. I’ll bring you back souvenirs from California. Just please, do not tell Mom and Dad.” I shook my head profusely, absolutely refusing. In that life, I didn’t listen. I yelled and screamed, waking up our parents. That night, Lucas tried desperately to escape but was overpowered by my dad. Forced to stay, he texted Chloe that he couldn’t make it and told her not to go either. Chloe went anyway, replying with a single word—”Liar”—and vanished for five years. No one could have predicted that five years later, Chloe would actually become a massive superstar. Not only was she insanely famous, but she was also in a highly publicized PR romance with the heir of a wealthy media empire. At a class reunion, Chloe—now an A-list celebrity—thanked the school administration, thanked her classmates, and then personally raised a glass to Lucas. She mocked him for not standing by her, saying that if he had gone, the Chloe of today wouldn’t exist. Lucas was humiliated beyond belief. Even though he had graduated from a top-tier university and had a promising, high-paying career. He couldn’t let go of his first love’s mockery. He went home and complained bitterly to our parents, exaggerating everything. When I came home, completely oblivious, a brutal beating from my entire family was waiting for me. I was beaten to the brink of death. I tried frantically to explain, but Lucas smashed a glass bottle over my head, ending my life right there. When I woke up, I was back to five years ago, on the day of the elopement. Holding a trash bag, standing in the hallway. My mom yelled from inside the house, telling me to hurry up. I snapped out of my daze, suppressed the bitter ache in my chest, and walked toward the stairs. When I came back, Lucas was guarding the door. He stared at me warily. “Did you hear me on the phone just now?” 2 I looked at his face, my heart aching terribly. This was my own flesh-and-blood brother. How could he bear to beat me to death? I only ever wanted the best for him. What did I do wrong?! Seeing me stay silent, Lucas frowned and pressed: “Did you hear something? I’m warning you, do not say a word to Mom and Dad.” Suddenly, it clicked. I realized he had been reborn too. Five years ago, he would never have spoken to me in that tone. Only the Lucas who deeply regretted his choices after Chloe became famous would treat me like this. I tested him with a cold smirk. “Where you go is none of my business. What, are you going to beat your sister to death like a murderer if I talk?” Lucas gasped. The look on his face instantly shifted to pure panic. His reaction confirmed my suspicion. The bitterness in my heart solidified, and any remaining hope I had for him vanished. I refused to believe a murderer could just get away with it in a lawful society. He must have been arrested eventually. And if he was arrested and still showed no remorse in this new life, why should I waste my breath? “Move.” I turned sideways, my face cold, trying to push past him. “Wait!” He grabbed my wrist, his face dark. “I accidentally killed you because I was out of my mind. But since we’re both back, you better keep your nose out of my business. Tonight, I am leaving with Chloe.” His tone was incredibly stubborn, as if terrified I would stop him again. My blood ran cold. “If you want to go, go. Let go of me!” He didn’t let go. Hearing my words, his grip only tightened. “I’m not joking around with you! In our past life, because of you, Chloe and I missed our chance. God took pity on me and gave me a second chance. I have to go with her tonight. Do not tell Mom and Dad, or I’ll make you pay!” I couldn’t take it anymore. Unable to suppress my rage, I gripped my house keys and slammed them as hard as I could into his chest. He cried out in pain and instinctively let go. I immediately screamed at the top of my lungs: “Mom! Mom! Lucas hit me!” Lucas jumped, terrified, and rushed over to cover my mouth. At this point in time, my mom still loved me. She hadn’t yet developed the resentment she would harbor five years later. I screamed so pitifully that both my parents rushed out in a panic. Seeing Lucas frantically covering my mouth, they immediately started smacking and scolding him. I went into my room crying, locking the door without explaining anything. Lucas spent the whole evening in a state of paranoia. It wasn’t until I took a shower and went back to my room that he finally let out a sigh of relief and sent me a text. “Let’s wipe the slate clean. Once I make it big, I’ll make it up to you.” I sneered. That was a human life. If we hadn’t been reborn, how would you possibly make it up to me? “Have a safe trip. Don’t let the door hit you.” I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, gritted my teeth, sent the message, and blocked his number. Let it be. If he wanted to be brave and chase love, that was his business. From now on, I am Emma Davis. If I ever meddle in his affairs again, I’m a dog! 3 The next few days were quiet. My brother ran away in the middle of the night. He went straight to Los Angeles. He was smart and completely prepared. In his past life, he had found a shady clinic to write a fake emergency room note for our mom. He had a classmate going to the same winter camp submit it for him, making the teachers think he missed camp to care for his hospitalized mother. At home, however, he left a letter for our parents saying he left in the middle of the night to catch a discounted bus to save them money. He told them not to worry, that he was already at the camp, and would text them once he was settled. With this manipulation, he managed to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. My parents were so moved, thinking their son was incredibly mature. The teachers didn’t call, never imagining a top student would lie like that. I just sneered in the background. Seeing my mom wipe away tears of affection was almost comical. She had no idea the teachers thought she was fighting for her life in an ER. I didn’t expect my brother to be so thorough. He really racked his brain for love. In my past life, I stopped him, and he hated me for five years. The first three years weren’t too bad. Even though Chloe had blocked him, she was a nobody, and my brother didn’t know her situation. He was just cold and sarcastic towards me. But in the fourth year, Chloe suddenly blew up. After that, my brother’s mental state completely collapsed. He always believed I was the one who tore them apart. If I hadn’t been so nosy, he would be the boyfriend of a massive superstar. How could the girl who used to sit on his lap be so out of reach now? So he hated me. He found every way possible to torture and retaliate against me at home. He would spit in my toothbrush cup. He would deliberately pee on my face towel. At first, my parents intervened, thinking a grassroots celebrity was nothing special. But as Chloe got more famous, making millions a movie, my parents started feeling the sting too. They realized they had lost a cash-cow daughter-in-law. I had tried to find Chloe, hoping to reconcile her and my brother. But Chloe refused to see me and ignored my DMs. I had to endure my brother’s resentment, tolerating it as long as he didn’t cross the line. Now, everything was back on track. He got what he wanted, following Chloe to Los Angeles. Whatever the consequences, it had nothing to do with me anymore. I really wanted to see if he could make it to the end with Chloe. You have to remember, in our past life, Chloe didn’t become famous until three years later. As a high school senior, could he really survive in LA to support her for three years? Time flew by. In a blink, it was six days later. For six straight days, aside from the initial “I’m safe” text, my brother hadn’t sent a single message. My mom complained to me, wondering why he was so busy. Even at a closed-campus camp, they should give the students some free time. It had been so long, and he hadn’t even called. I comforted her with a few words, rolling my eyes internally. He finally reunited with his white swan after five years. They were probably exploring the birds and the bees in some motel room. At their age, fueled by passion, who remembers to call their mom? But then I thought about it and realized that couldn’t be it. My brother had said before he left that he would return to the camp in five days max. If he stayed away too long and his cover was blown, my dad wouldn’t let him off easily. But now it was day seven, and he still hadn’t returned. I felt a bit uneasy. On one hand, I hoped he was fine. On the other hand, he was my biological brother; if something really happened, covering for him wouldn’t do me any favors. During my hesitation, on the eighth day, news finally came. It was the LAPD calling. “Hello, is this the family of Lucas Davis?” “This is the Los Angeles Police Department.” “We busted a human trafficking and scam ring. Your son, Lucas, was held captive inside…” My mom had the phone on speaker while watching TV. Hearing that call, we were both stunned. Wait, my brother went to LA with Chloe to chase a dream, and ended up in a human trafficking ring??? 4 Facts proved that chasing dreams while young is risky. The police said my brother was lured into the trafficking ring on his second day in LA. He was abused for six days before they successfully escaped, thanks to Chloe calling the cops. When we saw my brother in the hospital, I could hardly believe my eyes. He was in a hospital gown, covered in bruises. He sat on the bed like a wilted vegetable, staring blankly out the window, his face a mask of complete numbness. The doctors told us he had endured horrific torture. He had been sexually assaulted and contracted syphilis. My mom couldn’t believe it and broke down crying on the spot. Hearing her familiar voice, my brother turned his head slowly. He stared at my mom for a few seconds before letting out a loud, agonizing wail. He struggled to crawl over, collapsing into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. My dad had come in full of rage, wanting to demand why he was here. But seeing my brother like that, all his anger vanished. The three of them hugged and cried like survivors of a disaster movie. I stood to the side, feeling incredibly awkward. I couldn’t force a tear out if I tried, feeling completely out of place. From the police, we learned the details of my brother’s ordeal. It turned out the “talent scout” who gave Chloe the card was a con artist. The syndicate they ran was pure evil. Anyone lured in would be subjected to severe abuse. After breaking them down, the captives were either forced to join the scammers to trick others, or, if they were disobedient, their organs would be harvested and sold on the black market. My brother was in disbelief. In his past life, he firmly believed Chloe flourished under that scout’s guidance three years later. He never imagined the guy was a fraud. Chloe was cautious at first and didn’t want to trust him easily. But my brother, terrified the scout would leave, kept urging her to listen. The two of them had dinner with the scout, and the next day they were drugged and taken to a compound on the outskirts of the city. If Chloe hadn’t been incredibly resilient—jumping from a second-story window and miraculously surviving to call the police—they might still be in there suffering today. “Mom, you have no idea what monsters they are.” “They didn’t just beat me, they… they violated me.” “I don’t want to live anymore. I want to die. What am I going to do with my life?!” My brother was hysterical, clinging to my mom, tears streaming down his face. I lowered my eyes, pretending to be sad, honestly not knowing how to react. In our past life, I stopped him, and he blamed me for tearing him and Chloe apart. This time he went, only to drag Chloe into a trafficking ring with him. Is this what they call instant karma? The universe’s justice is swift and merciless. Chloe was supposed to be a mega-star in five years. If I were her, having been dragged into this nightmare, I’d crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to strangle him! At the same time, I was incredibly confused. Since that talent scout was a fraud, how did Chloe become a superstar three years later? Did the scammers suddenly grow a conscience, let her go, and invest millions to make her famous? Or did she go to LA alone in her past life, remain highly vigilant, and avoid getting kidnapped altogether? This question didn’t trouble me for long. Two days later, a teenage boy in a wheelchair rolled into my brother’s hospital room. 5 I recognized this boy. His name was Sebastian Vance. He had another identity: the grandson of the Chairman of Vance Media Group, and the heavily rumored boyfriend of Chloe when she became famous in my past life. I never expected to meet him here, but I recognized him instantly. I was even more surprised when my brother, who had been crying for two days, forced a smile and greeted him upon seeing him. “Sebastian, you’re here. How are you holding up? I heard your family came to get you?” His tone was so familiar, I almost thought they were close friends. Sebastian smiled faintly and replied, “I’m alright. My injuries aren’t too bad. But what about you? Are you holding up?” My brother, ever fragile, teared up immediately. Choking back sobs, he said, “I’m surviving.” My dad was out of the room. He had heard his precious son came to LA to accompany Chloe to an audition. He had spent the last two days looking for her, going room to room asking where Chloe’s room was, vowing to settle the score with her. My mom poured Sebastian a cup of water and asked who he was. Sebastian smiled as he took it. “I’m a friend of Lucas’s. Actually, we met while we were locked up. If Chloe hadn’t jumped out the window to call the cops, we wouldn’t even know how long we’d be trapped there.” Hearing this, it all clicked into place for me. No wonder Chloe still became a star in the past life despite being scammed. She ended up trapped in a trafficking ring with the young heir of a media empire! Talk about a blessing in disguise! Chloe’s debut in my past life was highly secretive. No one knew she had been in a trafficking ring. She disappeared for three years, and her very first role was the lead in the hottest fantasy drama of the year. The following two years were smooth sailing. Many people shipped her with various actors, but the most aggressive PR shipping was with Sebastian. Sebastian visited her sets constantly, and the agency she signed with upon her debut was owned by Vance Media. The entertainment industry is full of smoke and mirrors, with many rumors based on hearsay. Now, seeing Sebastian, I could basically confirm it. Thinking about the past, Chloe must have ended up in that trafficking ring, but she dared to jump from the window. Or rather, after she escaped with someone’s help, she became friends with Sebastian because of that shared trauma. One was a naive girl lured to LA by a fake scout while chasing a dream. The other was the grandson of a media mogul, who just happened to have the resources to help the naive girl achieve that dream. This fairy-tale plot playing out in reality was truly unbeatable. It meant that in the past life, Chloe’s opportunity to become a star was entirely thanks to Sebastian. This guy was her secret benefactor. Meeting him in such bizarre circumstances was incredibly ironic. But… My gaze fell on Sebastian’s legs. In my past life, he was photographed by paparazzi wearing a tailored white suit, tall and fit. His legs were perfectly fine back then. Why was he in a wheelchair now? Did he get injured in the trafficking ring in this life? That was heartbreaking. I sincerely wished my brother was the only one who got hurt.

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I had a secret, messy romance with my stepmother’s son. The breakup was a disaster. Later, he got drunk, cornered me in the bathroom, and growled: “I guess I’m just a masochist. I want us to torture each other until we’re both old and gray. What are you going to do about it?” 1 As Christmas approached, I delayed as long as I could. Finally, under my father’s threats and bribes, I bought a plane ticket home. When I landed, Caleb was there to pick me up. This was our first time seeing each other since the breakup. In six months, he had changed. The boy who used to only wear light hoodies now wore a sharp, tailored black suit. Lean waist, long legs, a chiseled jawline, and a vacant expression. He looked cold, elite, and completely untouchable. “Hey, big brother…” I called out, my voice tight. He gave me a frigid glance. “Call me by my name. I don’t want to be your brother.” We broke up, so we can’t even be family anymore? I didn’t say a word, following him silently to the car. Sitting at the dinner table later, waiting for the food to be served, Caleb suddenly reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. He looked at the row of sparkling studs in my ear and let out a soft, dry laugh. “Seven piercings. You really aren’t afraid of pain, are you?” I bit my lip, my eyes stinging. To hide my face, I took a frantic gulp of my soda, only to choke on it. I ended up coughing until tears ran down my face. Karma is a bitch. Caleb watched me the whole time, his eyes as deep and dark as a well. He let my embarrassment hang in the air, exposed. Maybe I was being too sensitive, but I thought I saw a flash of contempt in his eyes. That holiday dinner felt like sitting on a bed of nails. I felt like a fish bone was stuck in my throat. Something was wrong. It wasn’t until that night, when Caleb knocked on my bedroom door with his dark mood on full display, that I realized what the problem was—Caleb hated me. He was radiating pure, unadulterated aggression. “Maya Miller, your life is a mess, isn’t it?” he said. “You’re imagining things. I’m incredibly happy. My boyfriend treats me like a queen,” I shot back. “Another boyfriend?” Caleb’s eyes darkened. He paused. “Who is he? Bring him around so I can check him out. Your taste in men has always been garbage. You can’t tell the difference between a good guy and a used car salesman.” “Bringing him home counts as ‘meeting the parents.’ Are you that eager to see me get married and move out of this house?” I countered. Our gazes locked in a silent war for a long time. Finally, Caleb took a step back. “Then we’ll meet in public. When are you setting it up?” “He’s very busy. I’ll talk to him and let you know.” My tone was arrogant. In front of Caleb, I was used to playing the role of the spoiled, fearless brat. But Caleb wasn’t going to coddle me anymore. He let out a cold snort and whispered, “Fine. Let’s see how much better this guy is than your ex.” 2 When I was very young, I accepted a hard truth. If a child loses her mother, she essentially loses her home. So, when I was twelve and Caleb and his mother moved in, I wasn’t repulsed. I was actually relieved. The day I dreaded had finally come, and I didn’t have to live in fear of the “unknown” anymore. If it wasn’t them, it would have been someone else. My father was always going to become someone else’s husband and someone else’s father. I didn’t know if understanding this so early made me mature or just cynical. I just knew it. I also knew that Caleb was gorgeous. Getting on his good side meant I had a handsome “brother” to show off, making all my boy-crazy friends follow me like loyal subjects. Caleb was three years older than me—quiet, introverted, and a man of few words. After becoming my brother, he didn’t have a single day of peace. During my teenage years, my rebellion hit like a hurricane. I was constantly looking for trouble. One day I was “defending” a friend from a rival; the next, I was playing backup for a fight. Caleb was terrified I’d get hurt, so he followed me everywhere. If I couldn’t win a fight, he’d jump in. If I was winning, he’d sit on the sidelines, doing his honors-level homework and reviewing his SATs. Once, after a particularly nasty brawl, we both came home bruised and battered. My dad, half-drunk and seeing me looking like a mess, immediately assumed Caleb had hit me. He didn’t see that Caleb was also covered in bruises, mostly on his torso. That day, my dad hit Caleb hard. “Protecting” me. Caleb wasn’t even angry. He actually comforted me afterward: “Your dad is still your dad. You’ll always be his favorite.” The truth was, when my dad misunderstood, I had intentionally stayed silent. I didn’t explain. I wanted to test my father to see what he would do. I didn’t expect Caleb to see right through my petty, mean-spirited plan. I was shocked and ashamed. I rolled my eyes at him and hissed, “Your dad is dead, so you came here to steal mine. Now you know you lost, right? In this house, you’ll always be an outsider.” Caleb turned around and didn’t say another word. It took a while for it to sink in just how toxic I was being. From that day on, my feelings for Caleb shifted into something subtle and strange. In the past, no matter how nice he was to me, I was indifferent. Because my dad was so good to his mother, I felt his kindness was just a way of paying a debt. It didn’t deserve my gratitude. But I had forgotten—if my dad was so good to his mother, it meant I was the one being pushed out of their perfect family unit. When I was twenty, in college, I had a brief, impulsive relationship. Within ten days, the guy cheated on me three times. Truly impressive. In the middle of the night, I called Caleb in a fit of rage and grief. I ended up falling asleep while cursing the guy out. When I woke up, my roommate told me my brother was waiting downstairs. I ran out of the dorm and saw that lean, tall silhouette standing in the blinding morning sun. I went to grab his arm, but he used his height advantage to press his palm against my forehead, keeping me at a distance. Caleb: “Who gave you permission to date?” Me: “Everyone in my dorm is dating. I wanted to try it too.” He took a deep, heavy breath. “If you wanted to try it, you could have told me.” Told you? For what? Before the words could leave my mouth, he pulled me into a crushing embrace. It was like the clouds suddenly parted. I could hear my own heartbeat racing out of rhythm, my face burning. Back then, I was too slow to realize Caleb loved me. I only realized that I was harborous “traitorous” thoughts about him. It was just one hug, but in my head, I had already rehearsed our entire wedding and a lifetime together. Young, hormonal girls can’t control their “evil” impulses. That’s how I justified it to myself later. It took three months of “Good morning,” “Good luck with your exam,” and “Goodnight” texts before he finally broke the tension and made it official. “We can’t let the family know,” I told him solemnly that day. “But every single one of your colleagues and friends needs to know I’m your girlfriend.” During the two years we were together, he was perfect. He listened to me, gave me everything I wanted. The grand gestures, the constant sharing, the attention to every little detail—he checked every box. But I was terrified. I felt like a disaster was coming, that this couldn’t last. Until the day I saw a beautiful, wealthy colleague of his confess her love to him. That was when I surrendered. That evening, I walked barefoot along the riverbank and made a decision: Forget it, Maya. Don’t ruin his chance at a normal life. You’re petty, you’re not that pretty, and you have a temper. You’re not good for him. Plus, you’re technically his sister. This path only gets harder. I don’t even understand my own psychology. Instead of a mature breakup, I decided to destroy everything. I said the most vicious, disgusting things I could think of to hurt him. “Maya, please don’t do this. I’ll quit. I’ll find a new job. I won’t ever have to see her again.” Caleb’s submissive, broken tone made me feel so ashamed I couldn’t breathe. I was a horrible person. I knew it, but my face remained a mask of cold indifference. After the breakup, I got a row of ear piercings. It hurt. They got infected. It hurt more. But I felt a sick sense of relief. Pain was a way to heal. Sometimes, I would intentionally seek out physical pain just so I wouldn’t feel so alone, so my longing wouldn’t swallow me whole. Caleb would never know that. “Seven piercings. You really aren’t afraid of pain, are you?” Caleb… do you really think I’m not afraid? 3 My first night back was a nightmare. I dreamt of chaotic, painful fragments. I felt like my mind was wide awake, but my body was paralyzed, unable to wake up. I slept for over ten hours, yet I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. My stepmother, Elena, asked if I was feeling sick. I nodded. “I feel a bit nauseous.” The second the words left my mouth, Caleb shot me a lethal glare from across the room. “Nauseous?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. He marched over to me, looking like he wanted to skin me alive. “What other symptoms?” My stomach did a somersault. I couldn’t answer; I just dashed for the bathroom. When I came out, Caleb was gone. Elena handed me a glass of warm water, her eyes searching mine. “Maya… did you and Caleb have a falling out?” “Maybe… I don’t know,” I replied. Fifteen minutes later, Caleb came bursting through the front door, breathless. Ignoring his mother, he grabbed my arm, dragged me into his room, and slammed the door. My heart was hammering against my ribs. “Are you crazy?!” I hissed. Caleb shoved something into my hands. “Go. Now.” I looked down. It was a pregnancy test. I didn’t know whether to be angry or laugh. He thought I was pregnant? Did he even care if I was? Prompted by a sliver of hope, I decided to test him. “There’s nothing to check. If I’m pregnant, I’ll just keep it.” “Maya Miller, when did you become such a disaster?” Caleb stared at me, his eyes overflowing with disappointment. I’ve known him for years. I’ve seen him in every mood. But I had never seen him look so helpless, so utterly defeated. That “exclusivity” gave me a twisted sense of satisfaction, even as it made me feel small. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed from the hallway. A second later, the door flew open. “You’re pregnant?!” My dad, his face bright red, charged into the room. Elena was right behind him, looking terrified. I instinctively tried to hide the pregnancy test, but to my dad, it looked like a confession of guilt. He roared, his hand flying up to slap me. But before it could land, Caleb caught his wrist. “You are not allowed to touch her.” The words “not allowed” made both my father and Elena gasp. “Caleb! How can you talk to your father like that?” Elena looked at her son in shock. Caleb let go of my dad’s hand. He stood in front of me, a silent, immovable shield. Elena tried to play the peacemaker. “Let’s all calm down. We’re a family; we can talk this out. Robert, Maya, you two need a proper heart-to-heart.” A family? Looking at them, they looked like a perfect family of three. I was just the intruder, the one who ruined their harmony. “I wish Maya was even half as sensible as Caleb,” my dad’s voice from a conversation I overheard last night echoed in my head. “I’ve spent my life serving her mother, and now I’m stuck serving her. It’s a curse.” I smiled, dropped the pregnancy test on the floor, and stepped out from behind Caleb. “I’m not pregnant. I won’t embarrass you. Believe whatever you want.” I walked out without looking back, done with their judgment. “Maya! What kind of attitude is that?” my dad screamed after me. “If you ever do get pregnant out of wedlock, don’t you dare come back to this house!” It seemed that in front of his new wife, my dad was extra focused on his “manhood,” refusing to let his authority be questioned. When I was little, I didn’t understand that. I took a lot of hits for it. But now, I didn’t care. When you realize someone isn’t worth your heart, everything they do becomes white noise. 4 The second I stepped outside, the bone-chilling wind hit me from all directions. I stood in the snow, still shaking from the humiliation, when I saw Caleb chasing after me. He was wearing a black parka, the bottom half of his face buried in a thick fur collar, leaving only his cold, sharp eyes visible. In his arms, he held a plush “Patrick Star” hand warmer—something that completely clashed with his vibe. He walked up and shoved the hand warmer into my arms. “Go home. It’s cold.” I shook my head. “Caleb… take me somewhere. I don’t want to be alone.” We drove for hours until we reached a quiet cemetery. The sun was setting, the sky a heavy gray. Caleb and I sat in front of a headstone. It was peaceful here. Just rows and rows of silent stone. “I told your mom everything,” I said, a faint smile on my lips. “Including us.” Caleb’s nose was red from the cold, making him look unusually vulnerable. He turned to me, his lashes fluttering. “So… why did you really break up with me?” Why? Pride and love were a toxic mix. Reality and dreams were pulling in opposite directions. I was trapped in the middle, and I eventually just broke. But I couldn’t tell him the truth—I love you, but I’m terrified of hurting you. I love you, and that makes me dangerous. “I couldn’t see a future for us. I didn’t want to waste any more time. I wanted an easy life,” I said flatly. He didn’t reply. He just stared at my mother’s headstone. “Did you know? My mom cut off her entire family to marry my dad. Her ‘epic’ love story lasted less than three years before it turned into mutual loathing. And then, your mom came along and effortlessly got all the tenderness my mom spent her life begging for.” I looked into the distance and sighed. I had never told anyone that. When I was a kid, I hated my mom for being selfish, for leaving me alone and choosing death. But as I grew up and saw the world for what it was, I started to understand her pain. Just a little bit. On the drive back, I rested my head against the window, watching the world blur by. At a red light, a hand suddenly gripped mine. “Let’s get married.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. It felt like a needle had pierced my heart. I yanked my hand away, shrinking into the passenger seat, my body tense. “Are you insane?” Then, a thought struck me. I added, “I have a boyfriend.” Caleb pulled his hand back, his expression turning to stone as he stared at the road ahead. The car was silent. I looked away from him, my heart racing. If someone chose me with such reckless, unwavering conviction, I think I would crumble. But that kind of luck doesn’t happen to girls like me. Or maybe, I just didn’t believe I was a stable enough person to handle it. I knew I wasn’t. That night, I was on the balcony smoking. The city lights were a blur. Through the glass, I could see them inside, a “happy family” chatting. Elena walked onto the balcony. Her usual gentle expression was replaced by something heavy. “Maya, can we talk?” I felt a cold pit in my stomach. She knew. 5 “I’ve arranged a date for Caleb. She’s a PhD student who just got back from Europe. Like Caleb, she’s been a high-achiever since she was a kid. She’s poised, well-bred… and most importantly, she comes from a very stable, happy family. She’s a very healthy, whole person.” She was a brilliant woman. With just a few words, she had effectively shredded my soul. I struggled in school. I wasn’t particularly pretty. I wasn’t poised or well-bred. And “a healthy, whole person”? That hit like a freight train. I stood in the shadows, hoping she couldn’t see the shame and devastation on my face. Elena continued, “Caleb refuses to see her. Maya, can you help me think of something?” “What do you want me to do?” I asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Just talk to him. Tell him a girl like that is a rare find. It would be a shame to miss out.” She patted my hand affectionately. A rare find… I repeated her words in my head and almost laughed. “I have a girlfriend.” Caleb’s voice cut through the air. I turned and saw him standing there, his eyes like ice. He walked over, tossed the Patrick Star hand warmer into my lap, and stared at his mother. “Once I’ve convinced her to stay, I’m going to marry her.” The air felt like it was freezing. After a long pause, Elena looked at me with a forced smile. “Maya, do you know who his girlfriend is?” “No idea.” I made the choice without a second’s hesitation. Elena let out a long sigh of relief, her first genuine smile of the night appearing. “I’ll go cut some fruit. You two chat.” When we were alone, neither of us spoke. We just stared into the dark. Then, my phone rang. “Maya, babe, did you miss me?” The night was so quiet that Caleb heard every word. I saw his shoulders go rigid. “Yeah,” I replied. Caleb turned and walked away instantly, like something was chasing him. Watching his back, the tears I’d been holding back all night finally fell. If he had turned around, he would have seen my pathetic lie—that I was falling apart, and I was only using this “boyfriend” as a shield for my pride. I’m usually not that patient, but tonight I stayed on the phone with the caller for a long time. I needed a distraction. Any distraction. “Maya, I hate the holidays,” the person on the other end said. “Funny,” I replied. “Me too.” After I went back inside, Elena cornered me with a plate of fruit. “So Maya, when do we get to meet your boyfriend?” “In no rush,” I mumbled. I made an excuse and left the house, heading to a local dive bar. Surrounded by smoke and noise, I drank and ate, trying to fill the hole in my chest. It didn’t work. On my way to the restroom, I tripped. Just as my face was about to meet the floor, a hand caught me and pulled me into a chest that smelled like fresh rain. In the dim light, I saw Caleb’s worried face. I broke. The alcohol let the dam burst, and I sobbed. I was a giant balloon that had finally popped. He held me tight, letting me vent everything. Afterward, I splashed cold water on my face at the sink. I looked in the mirror and saw a numb, hollow face. How did I end up like this? a voice in my head asked. “Let’s go home,” Caleb whispered beside me. I ignored him, still staring at the mirror. “Let’s go to our home,” he said firmly. That night, maybe because of the alcohol, I slept like a baby. In my dream, I was SpongeBob. I asked, “Patrick, why are you named Patrick?” And Patrick looked at me and said, “Because I was sent by God to be the star that protects you.” It was a childish dream, but it was a real memory from my childhood. I woke up the next morning at 10 AM. I rubbed my pounding head and looked around at the unfamiliar room. Where was I? Did Caleb sell me? 6 In the open-concept kitchen, Caleb was focused on cooking. The morning sun hit his profile perfectly. Everything looked like a movie scene. I didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly. After a while, Caleb turned around. He looked at me and said seriously, “You have sleep in your eye.” And just like that, the magic was gone. I glared at him. “Stay out of my business.” Caleb nodded solemnly and went back to the stove. “Whatever. I love you no matter how you look.” Wait… Was he flirting? During our two years together, he was a man of action, rarely using “magic attacks” like this. Back then, if I tried to act cute, he’d push me away and tell me to speak normally. I sat at the table waiting for food. Caleb set a bowl down and said casually, “You slept in my arms last night. If your boyfriend finds out, he won’t be mad, will he?” I froze. In his arms? “What did you do to me?” Caleb stopped and looked at me with a look of pure, unblemished hurt, accusing me of being heartless. I swallowed hard. “Did I… do something to you?” He suddenly reached out and gently ruffled my hair. For a second, I felt like we were back in our relationship. “Caleb, where are we?” I asked, trying to break the spell. He spooned some porridge for me. “Our future home.” What? His pupils contracted slightly. “I started planning this before you even brought up the breakup.” I couldn’t look at him. I just focused on the porridge. It was hot. It burned my throat. It felt like it was burning my whole soul. “Maya,” he said, crouching down to be eye-level with me. “Do you even love me?” His voice sounded like it was on the verge of cracking. I tried to stand up and run, but he caught me. “You’re just fighting with yourself. I’ll make it okay. You can come back.” “Caleb, don’t do this to yourself,” I rasped. If he hated me, I could handle it. But I couldn’t handle this—him being heartbroken and still trying to wipe my tears. “Love is just getting trapped over and over,” Caleb said. “Don’t give up on me.” “Caleb, I didn’t give up on you. I gave up on myself.” I didn’t think I deserved beautiful things. My whole life was a series of losses. Losing my mom, losing my dad, losing my dignity, losing my trust… I had even lost myself. “Then I’ll be the person who never gives up on you.” For a long time, my brain went white. My body was shaking. By the time I found my voice, he was already kissing me. It was aggressive. Fierce. A kiss that felt like it would never end. Before my brain could catch up, my body had already given him the answer.

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“So you never even liked me? Chloe just paid you to string me along?” The arrogant young heir standing in front of me looked as black as a thundercloud. I lowered my head, drowning in guilt and regret. “I’m sorry…” “Get the hell out!” His eyes were completely red. I felt a twinge of pity, but I was more afraid of getting hit. The guy was notorious for his terrible temper. So, I grabbed my bag and bolted. Faintly, I heard the sound of glass shattering behind me, followed by a roar: “I tell you to get out and you actually leave?! You liar!” It must be my imagination. Definitely my imagination! 1 My roommate wore a Vacheron Constantin watch, carried a Hermès Himalayan Birkin, and wore Graff necklaces. We should have been mortal enemies based on social class alone, but when she came back from the Fourth of July weekend, she actually gave me a Chanel bag. What she said was even more unbelievable: “I think you’re pretty. I want to be friends.” “Friends? From this day forward, I am your humble servant!” This rich girl was perfect in every way, except she was always trying to bribe me. We were having a perfectly nice dinner when she scrolled through Twitter, her face turning red with anger. She looked at me pleadingly. “Emma, do me a favor. Please.” “What is it? Tell me,” I asked, suddenly feeling a sense of impending doom. The rich girl had an older brother who went to the university next door. His name was Carter Hayes. The name was pretty famous around here. Playboy, heartbreaker, incredibly handsome, filthy rich, terrible temper. The classic spoiled heir. And she had the absolute audacity to ask me to seduce her brother, Carter. “Why would I do that? Chloe, are you crazy?” “You are exactly his type! He’ll definitely fall for it. Please, Emma…” Chloe’s eyes actually seemed to well up with tears. But I still didn’t get it. She angrily tapped on a Twitter post to show me. It was bad enough that Carter had bullied her since they were kids. But now, the girl she hated most in the world had gotten into Carter’s university and had her sights set on him. Her brother was a massive playboy, and that girl was a manipulative snake. If they actually got together, Chloe’s life would be an absolute nightmare. She needed me to nip this horrific possibility in the bud. What kind of childish logic was this? “Ten thousand.” “Twenty thousand.” “Fifty thousand.” A person shouldn’t have such a rigid bottom line that they refuse cold, hard cash. “Okay, okay, okay. Your humble servant is at your command.” 2 Actually, I had never taken Chloe’s money before, but I felt I needed to cultivate the excellent quality of bowing to the almighty dollar. So, every time she accidentally said “thousand” instead of “dollars,” my resolve crumbled. But now, standing in a super short dress next to Chloe in a club her brother frequented, I was seriously regretting my life choices. “There’s my brother!” Chloe excitedly grabbed my wrist, pointing to the tallest guy in a group walking through the door. The lighting in the club was dim and suggestive. But Carter still stood out like a beacon. No wonder he was a playboy. He was undeniably gorgeous, and he had the swagger to match. Wasting no time, Chloe dragged me right up to Carter. “Carter, transfer some money to me. I blew through my allowance this month.” “Do I owe you something?” Carter didn’t even look up. He cupped his hand to block the draft and lit a cigarette. The brief flare of the lighter illuminated his striking features, making me almost forget to breathe. He was insanely hot. That single sentence ignited the rich girl’s fury. She let go of me, ready to “debate” her brother. Carter casually pushed his sister aside with one hand. As he looked up, his gaze landed right on me. His dark eyes instantly filled with interest. “How much do you need?” Everyone in the vicinity was stunned by that question. “A million, probably.” Chloe suppressed her anger, haughtily holding her hand out to her brother, while secretly shooting me a meaningful look. See? I told you he’d fall for you. I’m innocent. I literally haven’t done anything. Carter looked down and transferred the money. Once Chloe received it, she grabbed me, ready to leave. “Why are you running? You took the money. Aren’t you going to sit and hang out with your big brother for a bit?” The word “brother” coming out of Carter’s mouth sounded completely wrong. But Chloe, acting like she owed him now, reluctantly stopped and dragged me to sit in a corner booth. As the vibe picked up, Chloe got totally into it, completely forgetting why she came here in the first place, and started playing dice and drinking with some random hot guy. Fortunately, Carter was very proactive. Before I knew it, he was sitting right next to me. His eyes slowly swept over my bare legs. He slid a glass of fruity cocktail toward me. “Want a drink?” My mom always told me never to take drinks from strangers. I clutched the edge of my dress and shook my head. Carter let out a soft chuckle. “Afraid I spiked it?” After saying that, he took a sip from the glass himself, then lowered his eyes and started playing on his phone. All the way until the end of the night. It seemed like I was just a classic case of an overconfident girl imagining things. He wasn’t interested in me at all. I helped a very drunk Chloe out the door. “Give me your number. Text me when she gets to the dorm. If she throws up, let me know.” Carter pulled up his QR code for me to scan. I scanned it, silently cursing him in my head. If you actually cared about your sister, you’d drive her back yourself! But on the outside, I gave him a perfectly innocent, sweet smile. “Okay, I will.” 3 After getting Chloe back to the dorm, I texted Carter: “We’re at the dorm. Chloe is already in bed asleep.” “K.” He was so cold I didn’t even know how to respond. I had no choice but to regretfully go wash up. When I got back, I found out he had actually “liked” every single post on my Instagram. Was this… a silent, aggressive flirtation? Truly a master playboy. He knew exactly what he was doing. Not knowing his type, I didn’t dare make a reckless move. But I was sure of one thing: a spoiled heir like him would never tolerate someone disrespecting him. Like earlier at the club, when I refused his drink, he was definitely annoyed. So, I sensibly went over to his Instagram to “like” all his posts in return, only to find out his profile was private to me. “Did you block me on Instagram?” “?” That single question mark left me speechless. “I saw you liked all my posts, so I wanted to return the favor, but I can’t see anything.” “I didn’t block you. I just don’t post.” Well, that killed the conversation. I saw it was getting late, so I didn’t try to force a connection. I tossed my phone aside and went to sleep. I didn’t expect to wake up the next morning and find several messages from Carter. “Playing Mafia tomorrow night. We need one more. You in?” “Don’t want to play?” “Found someone else. Never mind.” “You went to sleep? This early?” I really wanted to laugh. Maybe his success as a playboy was purely based on his looks. He actually had zero game. No! It’s an act! Realizing he was playing the “innocent boy” card, I suddenly felt a surge of competitive spirit. Life is short, you have to find ways to entertain yourself. “I fell asleep yesterday, but I really want to play Mafia… Could you ask me first next time?” Carter didn’t reply all morning. True to the rumors, he had a massive ego. It wasn’t until I was having lunch that he finally messaged back. “Just woke up. 6 PM tonight. I’ll send you the location later.” I fell asleep early, so he “just woke up.” This guy was petty and vengeful. Thinking about it, I couldn’t help but smile and replied with an “Okay.” Chloe leaned over. “Why are you smiling so happily… My brother? Let me tell you, do NOT fall for his tricks. He’s a total player, a complete jerk! Really! You should only be after his money, his face, and his body. Oh, and pissing off that manipulative snake while you’re at it.” For the Mafia game tonight, Chloe was convinced the “snake” would definitely be there. So she insisted on coming with me to play wingman and piss the girl off. Sure enough, when we arrived, a girl in a white dress was standing next to Carter, looking like a stiff breeze could blow her over. Soft, harmless. Carter was looking down, listening to her talk. He even reached out to steady her when she “almost tripped.” The scene looked quite picturesque. Truly a playboy. Wasn’t he afraid I, the new “fish” on his line, would see this and bolt? Carter’s gaze happened to sweep over us. He naturally withdrew his hand, and even put a little distance between himself and the “snake.” He was pretty good at acting. The “snake” naturally noticed Carter’s sudden distance and followed his gaze. Even though the rich girl beside me was looking at her like she wanted to eat her alive, she actually smiled at us gently. “Long time no see.” The four of us walked toward the board game cafe. It was a bit of a maze inside, taking a while to navigate. During the walk, Chloe constantly and relentlessly threw passive-aggressive shade at the “snake.” But the “snake” acted as if she couldn’t understand Chloe’s insults, remaining perfectly gentle the entire time. Chloe was getting absolutely destroyed. Even though I was pinching her arm, I couldn’t stop her anger from escalating. Finally, Carter stopped walking and frowned at Chloe. “Is this how Mom and Dad taught you to speak to people?” “You and I are exactly the same, Carter, so don’t even start! You think you’re so polite and cultured? You’re only defending Maya because you think she’s pretty!” Honestly, I had never seen a brother and sister with such a terrible relationship. Carter clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes to suppress his anger. But that “Get the hell out” was practically bubbling on his lips. If he said it and Chloe ran away, I would definitely have to chase after her. Wouldn’t that mean the “snake” won today? No wonder Chloe couldn’t beat her. I quickly grabbed the hand Carter was pointing at his sister with. “Don’t be mad. Chloe didn’t mean it.” It was bizarre. The young master was like an over-inflated balloon that suddenly lost all its air. He looked down at our joined hands, then glanced at me, let out a soft “Hmph,” turned around, and kept walking. Maya shot me a look and quickly followed him. Only Chloe stood frozen like a little kid, part angry, part completely shocked. I pulled her outside and gave her a full analysis of the situation. The rich girl, who wasn’t actually stupid, instantly understood. She hugged me, praising my intelligence, and swore she would never target Maya directly and hand her free points again. She would absolutely not drag me down! Okay, let’s hope so. 4 Since everyone hadn’t arrived yet, we started playing Truth or Dare. Carter asked me, “Just based on first impressions, who here would you want to date?” The moment he asked that question, the atmosphere ignited. Everyone started cheering and hooting. “I guess I’d want to date whoever asked the question,” I replied, looking into his narrow, dark eyes with a smile. “What if someone else had asked?” “That’s a question for the next round.” The cute guy sitting next to Carter slapped his shoulder. “Look how anxious our Mr. Hayes is! Hahaha, when it’s my turn, I’ll definitely ask her for you!” I don’t know if my luck was just too good, but from then on until everyone arrived, I was never picked for Truth or Dare again. During the Mafia game, I drew a Mafia card and aggressively fake-claimed the Detective role. I successfully gained everyone’s trust and led the Mafia team to an easy victory. Carter, sitting next to me, propped his head on his hand and smiled at me. “Are all pretty girls this good at lying?” His eyes were so dark and bright. That hint of teasing made my heart race. Feeling my ears getting hot, I instinctively rubbed them. Before I could say anything, Maya, sitting across from us, complained to Carter in a whiny, spoiled tone. “Carter, I told you I was the Detective, but you still believed her. Next time I draw Detective, don’t be so foolish!” Carter lazily looked up and chuckled. “What if she actually draws it next time?” “Holy shit! Carter, you’re brutal!” Carter didn’t keep his voice down, and the people who heard him started hollering and cheering. In that atmosphere, even my face felt like it was burning. Only Chloe was thrilled. She pulled on my arm, her eyes shining with admiration, then smugly lifted her chin at Maya across the table. This suddenly brought me back to reality. I was almost completely won over by him… Help! Was the rich girl really throwing me into the fire? Her brother was so good at flirting, how was I supposed to resist? I could already see myself becoming the discarded victim of a playboy, completely heartbroken. Ugh, my life was a tragedy. After the game, everyone decided to get some late-night food. Carter still sat next to me. He even did something that completely threw me off guard. He ordered a plate of eel and asked if I wanted to try it. I looked at the long, slimy-looking things and politely shook my head. They looked too ugly; I couldn’t imagine swallowing one. “It’s really tender, tastes great.” Carter smiled and dropped the eel into the hot pot. “Then let me try a piece?” He didn’t say anything, just nodded. When the eel was cooked, the young master actually fished a piece out himself and put it in my bowl. Looking completely natural, he said, “Try it. If you don’t like it, give it to me.” I stared in shock at the young master, who was now looking down and eating his own food. The shock in my heart couldn’t be calmed for a long time. I wasn’t the only one shocked. Carter hadn’t lowered his voice, so basically everyone at the table heard. They looked at Carter as if they had seen a ghost, but no one dared to cheer or hoot like before. They were as quiet as mice. While waiting for our Ubers outside the restaurant, Carter stood next to me, playing on his phone. “Was the food good?” “Yeah.” “It was my treat.” Was I supposed to send him a Venmo request to split it? “How much was it? I’ll Venmo you.” That seemed to offend the young master. The moment the words left my mouth, I realized my mistake, but it was too late. The young master narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down. “?” His eyes were full of danger. “Uh… what do you want then?” Carter stood up straight, turned his head away, and didn’t look at me, only revealing his bright red ear tips. “I want to be rewarded with one ‘Truth’.” I let out a confused “Huh?”, and he naturally and eagerly blurted out his question. He spoke quite fast, seeming a little embarrassed. “So earlier… if someone else had asked the question, would you still have wanted to date them?” I felt like I could hear my own heartbeat drumming against my eardrums. Thank God the Uber arrived. Chloe ran over and pulled me into the car. The young master’s expression was incredibly strained. He even took a step with his long legs, as if trying to chase after us, but forced himself to stop. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, lowered his eyes, and lit it, looking wild and untamed. So handsome it made my brain fuzzy. I rolled down the window. “No!” The car pulled away. In the play of light and shadow, Carter stood rooted to the spot, watching us. Even though all that remained was a tall silhouette and the glowing cherry of a cigarette, it was impossible to look away. The classic trope of the prodigal son turning his life around—no matter how cliché it is, when it actually happens in real life, who could possibly resist? A notification popped up on my phone. It was Carter: “Then think about me more.” 5 As soon as I walked out of class, I saw Carter’s text. He asked if I wanted to grab lunch. “I just got out of class. Where are you?” “Look up.” I saw the message, looked up in confusion, and saw Carter’s long legs dangling lazily as he sat on the second-floor windowsill, smiling down at me. He looked as charismatic as humanly possible. Actually, ever since that late-night food run, Carter and I had been in this incredibly ambiguous phase. But for a whole two weeks, we hadn’t seen each other once. Carter tugged at the collar of his black t-shirt and strolled leisurely toward me. In the five seconds it took him to walk over, some girl was already blushing and trying to hit on him. He leaned down to listen to her, looking natural and relaxed, even letting out a soft chuckle. I couldn’t ignore the sudden, inexplicable sourness in my chest. But then, the two people on the stairs suddenly looked toward me. Carter pointed a long finger right at me, and the girl blushed and ran off. I felt like this was the moment I should ask what he and that girl were talking about. But I suddenly remembered Chloe telling me to never fall for her brother’s tricks. So I just walked up to Carter with a smile: “What brings you to our campus?” He probably didn’t expect me not to care about what just happened. He paused, looked down at me with a deep, dark gaze, but didn’t say anything about it. “Came to your school for a guest lecture.” I took him to the dining hall, swiped my meal card for his lunch, and walked him to the campus gates. We chatted about random things the whole way, acting as perfectly normal as two awkward old classmates. “Are you free this weekend?” Carter asked, looking at the students passing by the gates, his gaze not stopping on me. Going out to play again? I’m a good student. “I have to present at a group seminar this weekend. It’s pretty important, so I probably won’t have time. Why?” “Nothing.” Carter nodded and walked away, looking quite cold. I felt inexplicably distracted during my afternoon classes. I didn’t even notice when the professor called on me. It was Chloe who shook me and whispered the answer. “Are you spacing out because of my brother?” Chloe’s expression was a mix of anger and betrayal, as if I had backstabbed her. My heart clenched, and I felt a sudden, inexplicable guilt. “How is that possible?” “Good. You better not fall for that jerk. He’s such an asshole! It’s his birthday this weekend. He’s throwing a huge party at his house, invited a ton of people, including Maya. I just asked him if he invited you, and he actually said, ‘Why would I invite her?’ I’m so pissed! What a player! No, we have to mess with him!” Chloe fired off a barrage of words. I first let out a sigh of relief, realizing she was just mad at her brother on my behalf. But then, my heart sank again. Pushing down the confusing feelings, I patted her slender hand. “Okay, what’s there to be mad about? I never liked your brother anyway, and I’m not one of the fish on his hook. Didn’t I promise I’d help you ruin things between him and Maya? Plus, your brother kinda mentioned it to me at noon.” He didn’t use his birthday as the reason, though. Maybe he didn’t care if I went or not. Chloe laughed, missing the nuance completely, and kept saying “True, true.” “But tonight I’m taking you shopping. I’m going to buy you a dress and bring you to his party this weekend. You’re going to slay! I want Maya to realize that a plain weed can never compete with a peony!” That night, Chloe and I went to the mall. She picked out a little black dress for me, and I picked up a bottle of cologne as a birthday gift for Carter while we were at it. On the weekend, Chloe actually drove her Ferrari to campus. It was insanely flashy. She called it “A beautiful car for a beautiful girl,” and insisted that from the moment I stepped out of the car at her house, I had to “kill it.” I happily slid into the passenger seat of the Ferrari. It was my first time in a sports car in my life. Aside from being envious, I was just thrilled. The car drove into a famous luxury community in Beverly Hills and parked in the courtyard of a massive two-story mansion. I always knew Chloe’s family had money, but I didn’t realize they had this much money. Her mansion wasn’t just some two or three-thousand-square-foot house. It was a sprawling, modern American estate. The first floor alone must have been eight thousand square feet, all glass. Never mind the landscaping outside—the infinity pool alone was enough to make your heart stop. There were lots of bikini-clad girls and shirtless guys playing in the pool. A crowd of hot girls and guys was gathered around the BBQ grill. Through the glass, I could see the living room couches were also packed with people playing games. It was the epitome of glitz and glamour. When Chloe and I stepped out of her Ferrari, a bunch of guys started whistling, and several girls cheered. Confetti popped in front of us, showering us in ribbons. The oncoming sunlight was warm. As I looked up, I saw Carter walking out of the glass house. The birthday boy was dressed incredibly casually today. He was shirtless. His skin was so pale it almost reflected the light. His seemingly lean frame was actually quite built. He had tight, solid forearms, slight definition in his biceps, and a lean six-pack that was sharp and aesthetically pleasing. The long lines of his waist disappeared into a pair of grey sweatpants. It was a body that made you thirsty just looking at it. I instinctively covered my mouth, terrified I was actually going to drool. Many girls were screaming over the birthday boy’s physique. One bold girl even yelled out, “Hey birthday boy, can I get a feel?” Carter picked up a champagne flute from a nearby table, filled it to the brim, and downed it in one go. The clear liquid slid down his prominent Adam’s apple to his sharp collarbone, and a rogue drop snuck down his abs, disappearing from sight. “Come on then.” Carter set the glass down and smiled. It was impossible to tell if he actually wanted her to or not. He had no shame. I felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of resentment. What am I thinking?! What does he have to do with me?! “Carter! Put some clothes on!” Chloe slammed the car door and screamed at her brother, who was being a total flirt. She marched toward him, furious. The birthday boy, who had been fielding flirty comments from all sides, finally found the time to glance at his sister. And in that single glance, his eyes locked with mine. His expression went completely blank for a moment, his thick eyelashes fluttering. Then he turned and walked away, looking a bit hurried, almost like he was running away. By the time Chloe reached the door, she was pulled away by people offering her drinks, losing her chance to “discipline” her shirtless brother. I didn’t understand why Carter ran away when he saw me, but I knew my mood was decidedly gloomy. I slowly walked over to Chloe, sat down, propped my chin on my hand, and zoned out. While I was zoning out, a lean, muscular waist appeared in my line of sight. Looking up, I saw Carter’s backlit face. “Didn’t you have a group seminar?” Carter handed me a plate of wet strawberries. “Just washed these for you.” I seemed to recall telling him previously that I really liked strawberries. I took the strawberries, slightly dazed, and realized the guy in front of me had changed his outfit. Although it was just a white t-shirt, grey pants, and sneakers—a very simple look—it somehow felt very put-together. Oh, he changed the grey pants. It wasn’t the incredibly draped sweatpants that showed off his “impressive” assets, but a very well-tailored pair of casual pants. His hair wasn’t messy like he just woke up, either. It was clearly styled. The Hayes family was so rich, of course they had maids. Whether he actually went to wash strawberries for me or just went to change his clothes, I didn’t want to call him out. I just knew my mood had suddenly brightened, sunny and cheerful. Carter wasn’t blind. He naturally felt my appraising gaze. He instinctively touched his straight nose, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. “Just woke up earlier. Hadn’t changed yet.” I handed the gift bag to Carter, not planning to give him a hard time anymore. “What did you get me?” Carter naturally began opening the gift box. At the same time, Maya appeared by Carter’s side out of nowhere. “Cologne? I don’t think Carter even wears cologne. Plus, when I was touring his house earlier, I saw all his colognes were custom-made from France. How could he possibly use this?” Maya talked about the hundred-dollar cologne as if it were some cheap knockoff. And she said it so calmly, like she was just discussing the weather, making it hard to get angry at her. Carter stopped what he was doing. He turned his head and shot Maya a look. He didn’t say anything, nor did he throw a fit, but he made the air feel inexplicably cold. He unwrapped the cologne. Using his height advantage, he sprayed it right over my head. I was confused, but then he suddenly bent down and gave me a polite yet ambiguous hug. We were both enveloped in the same scent. “Smells good. I like it.” Carter’s lips were right by my ear. I could feel his hot breath. But he wasn’t whispering. He spoke loud enough for everyone around us to hear. “I thought this scent suited you, so I bought it. Glad you like it.” I responded awkwardly. Carter pulled back and gave me a profoundly ambiguous look. “Really.” Did he have some sort of doubt about that? The guy didn’t say anything else. He straightened up and walked toward the BBQ grill. He nudged aside the guy who was grilling and was immediately surrounded by a flock of “butterflies,” taking over the grilling duties himself. I watched his lean back helplessly, realizing a problem. I was definitely falling for him. When he got close, my uncontrollable heartbeat couldn’t lie to me. Yet, I was also acutely aware that he would always dive headfirst into a crowd like this without a second thought. He could never give me the sense of security I needed. Forget it. My phone pinged with a text. It was actually Carter: “Do you think I’m a player?” What did he mean? I couldn’t figure it out immediately, so I replied with a question mark. “The cologne. It smells like something that attracts bees and butterflies.” “Is the young master misunderstanding himself? Don’t you attract bees and butterflies?” The young master replied with an ellipsis. I couldn’t tell if he was unhappy or not, so I looked up at his back, hoping to read his mood. Who knew this guy would suddenly turn around with a handful of skewers. Seeing me looking at him, he smiled openly, clearly in a great mood. He took a long stride, walked over, and handed me the skewers. “So are you a bee or a butterfly?” I looked down and took a bite of meat. His grilling skills were actually great. “Huh?” Carter suddenly reached out. Startled, I instinctively leaned back. He pinched my cheek and rubbed his thumb lightly against the side of my face. “You got it on your face.” It was enough to make anyone blush. Why was he so flirty? I suppressed the embarrassment of my racing heart, picked up a cup from the table, and took a big gulp. It was sweet, didn’t taste like alcohol, and was really good. “I’m not a bee or a butterfly. Can I be a little calico cat?” I probably choked the young master up with that one. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at my cup. I looked at the color of the bottles on the table, found the delicious drink, poured myself another cup, and was just about to drink it when the young master grabbed my wrist. His voice was actually very clear, but right now, it sounded like it was laced with alcohol—husky and seductive. “That’s mine.” “What do you mean, yours? Don’t be so stingy. It’s just a drink.” I said, taking another gulp. The young master pulled his hand back and laughed. “I’m not stingy. Drink as much as you want. But that’s champagne. It’s a lot stronger than beer. You can’t hold your liquor. Don’t go making a fool of yourself in front of me later.” There were a lot of people here. If I got drunk and acted stupid, it would be really embarrassing to let everyone see. I sluggishly put the cup back. Carter’s smile deepened. He satisfyingly picked up my cup, poured himself a glass, and took a slow sip. Was he crazy? That was the cup I just drank from. You can’t be this flirty, this is too much. “That’s mine.” I pointed at his cup, suppressing an inexplicable tremble. Carter raised an eyebrow and scolded me. “A bandit? I just let you borrow it, forgot? You said I was stingy, so I let you borrow it.” I didn’t need a mirror to know my face was bright red. So the glass originally belonged to him. No wonder he tried to stop me. “You’re blushing.” Carter’s voice was very close to me. I looked up and realized he was bending down looking at me. He pressed the cold wine glass against my cheek to cool it down. The ambiguity fermented like yeast, churning so much that I couldn’t find peace. Even my breathing was erratic.

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There was a moment at a friend’s party the other day that I can’t get out of my head. Our friends’ one-year-old suddenly burst into tears, a loud, heartbroken wail that sent all of us into a mild panic. While the rest of us fumbled around, my husband, Vincent, was an island of calm. He took the baby from his friend, his movements practiced and sure. He held the child close, patting his back gently while humming a lullaby I’d never heard before. To everyone’s astonishment, the crying subsided, and the baby quieted down. Our friends were floored, praising him for being a natural with kids. Vincent just smiled and waved it off. He even gently corrected our friend’s posture for holding the baby, adding a casual tip that infants this age are prone to gas and need to be burped thoroughly after feeding. On the drive home, I sat in the passenger seat, watching the city lights blur past. “When did you become a baby expert?” I finally asked, a teasing note in my voice. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be the die-hard child-free advocate, and even I don’t know all that.” His eyes stayed on the road, but his fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “You hear things,” he said lightly. “All the new dads at the office talk about this stuff nonstop. It’s hard not to pick it up.” He reached over and squeezed my cheek, a warm smile playing on his lips. “What, are you afraid they’re going to brainwash me? Make me go back on our DINK pact?” Then his expression turned serious, his eyes meeting mine for a brief, intense moment. “Don’t worry. We promised each other it would be just us, a world for two. And that’s all it will ever be.” 1 The day after the party, I was gathering Vincent’s suit jacket to send to the dry cleaners when something hard and small tumbled out of the pocket, clattering against the hardwood floor. It was a baby rattle. A bright red drum with a smiling doll painted on its face. It was brand new, the edges still sharp and un-scuffed. I picked it up, the smooth plastic cool against my palm. Vincent walked out of the bathroom, his hair still dripping. His eyes landed on the rattle in my hand, and for a split second, he froze. “Oh, that,” he said, his voice casual as he walked over and plucked it from my fingers. “It’s Mark’s kid’s. The little guy must have shoved it in my pocket when I was holding him yesterday. Guess I’ll have to get it back to him. What a pain.” His explanation was flawless. I just nodded. “Well, don’t forget to return it.” “I won’t.” He tossed the rattle onto the console table by the door, the one where we keep our keys and loose change. It was a spot you couldn’t miss on your way out. He’d thought of everything. But a strange, prickling discomfort settled in my chest, like the sting of a tiny, unseen needle. A few days later, I was reviewing our monthly credit card statement when a single charge jumped out at me. “The Baby Château Boutique. Total: $1,250.” The date was from last Wednesday. I remembered that day clearly. Vincent had told me he was visiting an important client. I brought it up that night. He was on the couch, watching the financial news, and didn’t even look up. “Oh, that was a massage chair for my mom. She’s been complaining about her back lately.” “You bought a massage chair at a baby store?” I asked. His eyes finally left the screen. He turned to me and smiled. “Don’t be silly. Those kinds of high-end places sell all sorts of things, wellness gadgets, stuff for seniors. It was just close to the client’s office, so I popped in.” He stood up and came around the couch, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “If you don’t believe me, we can ask Mom how she likes it when we see her tomorrow.” His warm breath tickled my ear. My entire body went rigid. In three years of marriage, he had never once used that placating, almost condescending tone with me. That night, I lay in bed, wide awake. Vincent was sound asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even. His phone, resting on the nightstand, suddenly lit up. It was on silent, the glow faint in the dark room. A message preview materialized on the screen. [Mrs. Gable (Building Super): The baby’s fever is back, 102. You need to come now.] It was followed by a crying emoji. My heart didn’t just sink. It plummeted into an icy abyss. The manager of our apartment building was a man in his fifties named Mr. Peterson. There was no Mrs. Gable. My hand moved on its own. I took Vincent’s thumb and pressed it to the sensor. His skin was warm. Mine was as cold as iron. The phone unlocked. I opened the chat with “Mrs. Gable.” There was no saved contact, only a profile picture: a selfie of a woman with long, dark hair and soft, gentle eyes. He hadn’t deleted the entire chat history. I scrolled up, and my world tilted. It was an endless stream of a baby. A newborn. A one-month-old. A baby smiling. A baby crawling. And under every single photo, a reply from Vincent. “Thank you for everything.” “Was he a good boy today?” “I’ll be there tomorrow.” Further up, there was a video. A woman’s voice, soft and sweet, cooing as she held an infant. “Come on, sweetie. Say ‘dada.’” The baby just gurgled, blowing spit bubbles. The background of the video was an unfamiliar apartment, but the floral pattern on the curtains… I recognized it. It was from a swatch Vincent had sent me on a business trip last year, telling me he loved the design. I’d laughed at him then, teasing him for having such frilly taste. It wasn’t for him. It was for her. 2 I backed out of the chat and clicked on her profile. Her name was Isabelle. Her social media presence painted the picture of a strong, optimistic single mother. [It’s hard, but seeing your smile makes it all worth it.] The caption was next to a photo of a sleeping infant. [Don’t you worry, baby. Mama will give you double the love.] That one was a picture of her holding the child at an indoor playground. But beneath the declarations of independence were a thousand tiny betrayals. A photo of her eating a meal at home, and next to her plate sat a coffee mug—a custom one I had given Vincent, engraved with his initials. A selfie of her holding the baby, and in the background, a man’s dress shirt was slung casually over the arm of the sofa. The cufflinks at the wrist were a mother-of-pearl set I knew he adored. Her latest post was from just three hours ago. [In the next life, I’ll choose you.] And right below it, a single comment. A “like” from Vincent. In that moment, I felt nothing. Not rage, not heartbreak. Just a vast, echoing void. Every beautiful dream I had for our future, every promise we’d made about our world for two, shattered into dust. I turned off the phone and placed it exactly where it had been. My hands were perfectly steady. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I opened my laptop. I searched for the best divorce attorney in the city and sent an inquiry email. Then, I started to compile a list of my personal assets. Savings, investments, property. My phone screen lit up with a text from an old college friend, Alex. [Hey, how have you been?] My mind was a chaotic storm. I didn’t reply. I am child-free by choice. My life plan has never, ever included children. When Vincent proposed, I made that crystal clear. He had taken my hands, his gaze unwavering and sincere. He told me he loved me, not my potential to be an incubator. He said it didn’t matter if we had kids or not. Having me was enough. I believed him. What an absolute joke. The next morning, the sun streamed into our bedroom. Vincent was already in the kitchen, just like any other day. The smell of toast and fried eggs drifted under the door. He came in carrying a breakfast tray, a perfect, husbandly smile on his face. “Morning, beautiful. I made you your favorite.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. I could smell his familiar cologne, but underneath it, faint and cloying, was the unmistakable scent of baby formula. My stomach churned. I fought it down. “It smells amazing.” I sat up and smiled back at him. My reflection in the vanity mirror looked pale, but my smile was sweet. “Hurry and eat. Don’t you remember? We have a date to see that new movie today,” he said, handing me the tray. “I know. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.” I took a small bite of toast. It tasted like ash. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me, his eyes overflowing with a tenderness that made me want to vomit. “Slow down, you’ll choke.” Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and the smile on his face tightened for a fraction of a second. He took the phone and walked out onto the balcony, lowering his voice. “Hello?” “Didn’t I tell you I had plans today?” “…Fine, fine, I get it. Stop crying. I’m on my way.” He ended the call and walked back in, his face a mask of apology. “Aurora, I’m so sorry. Something urgent just came up at the office. I have to go in.” “The movie… can we reschedule? Please?” I looked at him. The panic in his eyes was so real, so convincing. “Of course,” I said, putting my fork down with a thoughtful smile. “Work comes first.” “You’re the best.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek one more time. 3 He changed his clothes in a hurry, grabbed his keys, and rushed out the door. The moment it clicked shut, the smile vanished from my face. I walked to the window and watched his car speed out of our complex. I knew he wasn’t going to the office. He was going to his other home. The one with his child, and the other woman who needed his comfort. A hot sting filled my eyes, but I forced the tears back. He wasn’t worth it. From the second he chose to lie to me, this man was no longer worth a single one of my tears. I didn’t cancel the movie tickets. I sat alone in the cavernous, empty theater and watched the romantic comedy we were supposed to see together. On screen, after a series of hilarious misunderstandings, the hero and heroine finally embraced in a perfect, happy ending. The theater was filled with the laughter and sniffles of other couples. I just sat there, my face blank, sipping my soda until the ice numbed my teeth. After the movie, I didn’t go home. I took a cab to the apartment complex I’d seen tagged in Isabelle’s social media posts. It was a new, upscale building with tight security. I couldn’t get in. As I hovered near the entrance, a familiar car pulled up to the gate. Vincent’s car. He parked and got out, pulling a mountain of things from the trunk. A stroller, cans of formula, and several expensive-looking gift bags. He was so preoccupied he didn’t even see me standing just a few yards away. A moment later, a woman ran out from the building and linked her arm through his. It was Isabelle. She looked exhausted, her eyes red and swollen as if she’d been crying for hours. Vincent soothed her, handing her the bags before taking a swaddled bundle from her arms. He looked down at the infant, and his face transformed with a look of such profound, genuine love and tenderness—a look I had never, ever seen on him before. He held the child, and together, he and Isabelle walked into the building I could never enter. They looked like any other loving, ordinary couple. I stood frozen, watching until their figures disappeared through the lobby doors. So, it wasn’t that he didn’t want children. He just didn’t want my children. Or maybe, he wanted it all: a docile woman to give him an heir, and a “perfect wife” to provide him with emotional support and a high-status lifestyle. He wanted everything. I took out my phone. I took a picture of his car. I took a picture of the building. Then, I made a call. It was to a senior I knew from college. He was now the editor-in-chief at a major media outlet. “Hey, Mark. I have a story for you. And I need a favor.” As I hung up, a car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down to reveal my mother-in-law’s face. Her expression was a mixture of shock and guilt. “Aurora, what are you doing here?” I looked at her and a slow, cruel smile spread across my face. “Oh, hi, Mom. I’m just here to see Vincent.” “He told me his… little brother lives here now, you know?” I gestured towards the gleaming apartment tower, my smile widening. “I just wanted to come by and see what he looks like.” The color drained from her face. She knew. She knew that I knew everything. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. I didn’t give her a second glance. I turned and walked away, the sharp click of my heels on the pavement echoing in the quiet street. Every step felt like I was grinding my heel into the hollow, deceitful heart of their entire family.

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The girl was dying from a snakebite. As the village’s only doctor, I let the last vial of antivenom fall and shatter. I watched calmly as her life faded. Her family knelt outside, begging. My kind apprentice pleaded with me. My gentle husband screamed I was a monster who should have been bitten. I held up a shard of the broken vial. “I’m sorry. The last vial was dropped. Get her to the city hospital. Now.” In my past life, I’d treated her carefully. I had the right antivenom, cleaned the wound for hours, and saved her. But she died moments after. Then the door burst open. A mob of reporters and villagers stormed in. They called me a quack, accused me of taking bribes and selling expired drugs. They found cash and old medicine in my clinic. My own husband denounced me on camera. My apprentice testified she’d seen me sell expired drugs. I was branded a murderer. The villagers released venomous snakes on me until I died. Yet in twenty years as a doctor, I had been honest. I never took bribes, never sold expired medicine, and often waived fees for the poor. I couldn’t understand it. The antivenom should have worked. Then I opened my eyes. I was back on the day the girl was brought to my clinic. 1 “Doctor, please, you have to save that poor girl! Her face is turning purple.” The sweet, delicate voice in my ear made me freeze. I’d know that voice even in death. It could only be my darling apprentice, Amelia. Her eyes were filled with tears, her expression a perfect blend of compassion and concern. A true angel in white. She took my hand, ready to pull me to my feet. But I remained seated, my gaze fixed on the safe in the corner of the room. I’m meticulous. Obsessive, even. Every time I use the safe, I reset the combination dial to zero. But now, untouched by me, the dial was pointing to a different set of numbers. A cold fury washed over me as I remembered the cascade of cash that had poured from that very safe in my previous life. Besides me, only one other person knew the combination. My husband, David. Was it possible? Had he planned my death all along? I had spent my life doing good, treating countless poor and sick villagers. I thought I was earning good karma, ensuring a peaceful future for myself. I never imagined I would be betrayed and destroyed by the two people I loved most. But I was still confused. The girl was clearly bitten by a pit viper. That was the only deadly snake in the area. So why didn’t the antivenom work? Before I could think further, the clinic door burst open. An old woman stumbled in, carrying a young girl with a deathly pale, bluish face. She collapsed to her knees, sobbing. “Dr. Evans! What are you waiting for? Please, save my granddaughter! She was bitten by a snake!” “Ma’am, please try to calm down,” Amelia said, her voice gentle. “Do you remember what the snake looked like?” “It was… it was green,” the old woman stammered. “Oh! It must have been a pit viper!” Amelia exclaimed, turning to me and grabbing my arm. “Doctor, I remember we have one vial of pit viper antivenom left, right? We have to use it now!” I ignored her and calmly assessed the girl’s condition. 2 Last time, I was in too much of a hurry. I didn’t ask enough questions before administering the antivenom. But now, looking closely, I could see how frail she was. When I lifted her sleeve, I saw not only the snakebite but also a constellation of dark bruises, as if she had been beaten. Pit viper venom isn’t the most potent. The fatality rate is relatively low. It seemed there was more to her condition than just the bite. “Ma’am, did you manage to bring the snake with you? Or take a picture of it?” I asked. “What? I didn’t have time for that! I was in a panic! Doctor, just give her that shot, please!” A flicker of panic crossed the grandmother’s eyes. She glanced nervously in Amelia’s direction. Were they in on it together? “I can’t do that, ma’am. Not all green snakes are pit vipers. This is a small clinic with limited resources. I can’t definitively identify the snake. If I use the wrong antivenom, it won’t work, and it will waste precious time. You need to get her to a proper hospital in the city.” As I spoke, Amelia’s expression soured. In the past, I would have been frantic, desperate to help the patient, and would have likely followed her suggestion. But not this time. I was not getting dragged into this mess again. “Doctor, you can’t be serious! The girl is in critical condition. What if something happens on the way to the city? Don’t you have a conscience?” Amelia’s voice was sharp, her gentle facade cracking. “It’s precisely because I have a conscience that I won’t treat her blindly,” I retorted, my voice cold. “If I make a mistake and her condition worsens, will you take responsibility for that?” My icy glare made her flinch, and for a second, a look of pure venom flashed in her eyes. Just then, a figure stormed into the clinic. Without a word, he slapped me hard across the face. “Rebecca! You call yourself a doctor, and you’re just going to let her die? What was the point of all your years of study? I am so disappointed in you!” “You’re a monster. Why wasn’t it you who got bitten by the snake?” My husband, David, had arrived. The slap made my head spin. For a moment, the world tilted on its axis. When my vision cleared, I saw the rage in David’s eyes. He wasn’t looking at his wife of over a decade. He was looking at me like I was his mortal enemy. He had been planning this for a long time. He was just waiting for me to fall into his trap so he could get rid of me and inherit my clinic. But I wasn’t playing by his rules this time. He was getting desperate, trying to guilt-trip me. It wasn’t going to work. “If you’re so concerned, then drive her to the city. It’s an hour away, at most. David, you’re such a hero. Why don’t you use that new car of yours and put the pedal to the metal? Don’t worry, in an emergency like this, you won’t get a ticket for speeding or running a red light.” The suggestion caught him off guard. He stammered, “What does this have to do with me? You’re the doctor! You’re supposed to save people! Just give the girl the antivenom. If you delay any longer, I, as your husband, will be the first one to hold you accountable!” His threat was meant to intimidate me, but it only made my heart grow colder. The new car he was so proud of? I had bought it for him. For years, I had given him everything. And this is how he repaid me? By plotting my murder? “I’ve already told you, I don’t know what kind of snake it was. As a doctor, my first duty is to do no harm. That includes not administering a treatment without a proper diagnosis. While you’ve been standing here yelling at me, you could have been halfway to the city by now.” I refused to budge. David and Amelia were growing more and more frantic, their insults and accusations bouncing off my wall of calm indifference. Then, I saw Amelia give a subtle hand signal to the grandmother. The old woman immediately understood. She fell to her knees again, pulling out a wad of crumpled, dirty bills from her pocket. “Dr. Evans! Please, save my granddaughter! I have money! I’ll give you all of this! If it’s not enough, I’ll borrow more! I’ll sell everything I own, I’ll sell my own blood, my kidney, whatever it takes to pay you!” 3 I frowned. A dark sense of foreboding washed over me. Sure enough, David pointed an accusing finger at me. “So that’s it, Rebecca! I thought you were actually being professional. Turns out, you were just holding out for more money!” Amelia started sobbing beside him, looking at me with wide, wounded eyes. “Doctor, I chose you as my mentor because you seemed so honest, so principled. I never thought… I never thought you were this kind of person! You’ve disappointed me so much!” She cried dramatically, her pretty face crumpled in despair. It was a convincing performance. I saw a flicker of concern and tenderness in David’s eyes as he looked at her. So, there was more going on between them than I knew. I wasn’t even dead yet, and they had already dropped the act. “Why are you so worried about my apprentice’s feelings?” I asked, a playful, dangerous smile on my lips. “What exactly is the relationship between you two?” David’s face flushed, then paled. He seemed to snap, shoving me so hard I stumbled backward into a medicine cabinet. “What the hell are you talking about? Don’t you dare slander me!” The cabinet door wasn’t properly latched. The impact sent glass bottles crashing to the floor, shattering with a deafening noise. Shards of glass flew through the air, and I felt a sharp sting as a few pieces sliced my cheek. Blood welled up, and the sight of it seemed to startle David. But he didn’t move to help me. He didn’t offer a bandage. Instead, he marched over to my safe. “Rebecca, I’ve been covering for you for years, hoping you would change your ways. But this is too much. As your husband, it’s my duty to expose you to the village!” “This safe is full of the bribes she’s taken from all of you! These poor people! They have so little, and she’s been bleeding them dry! If you don’t pay her, she won’t treat you!” He started turning the dial, rattling off the combination as he continued his tirade. But when he finished, the safe door wouldn’t budge. He pulled and pulled, but it remained sealed. Just then, the clinic door flew open again. A group of reporters burst in, their cameras already rolling. “Dr. Evans, is it true that for the past twenty years, you’ve been demanding bribes from the villagers before you’ll treat them?” “Dr. Evans, we’ve heard that medicine that costs twenty dollars elsewhere, you sell for a hundred. Do you have no shame?” The questions came rapid-fire, the camera flashes blinding. But they weren’t getting the shot they wanted. David was still struggling with the safe. “You changed the combination!” he accused, his eyes wide with disbelief. What he didn’t know was that in addition to the combination lock, there was a second, key-operated lock at the bottom of the safe. I had quietly locked it while everyone was distracted. “So what if I did?” I shrugged. “A wife is allowed to have a few secrets, isn’t she?” “Damn it, open this thing! It’s full of cash! She’s taken in almost ten thousand dollars this month alone!” David roared. “No. Those are my personal belongings. I have a right to my privacy. If you want to accuse me of something, you can call the police.” I sat down calmly and watched him fume, a small, satisfying smile playing on my lips. “You just wait!” David snarled. He suddenly broke into a wicked grin, then ran into my storeroom and emerged with an armful of medicine boxes, which he dumped in front of the reporters. “Look! She’s been selling expired medicine! All of it! How much more evidence do you need?” 4 The reporters swarmed the pile of boxes, their cameras clicking furiously. “The evidence is right here. Let’s see you talk your way out of this one,” David sneered, ready to enjoy the show. But I wasn’t worried. “You say I’ve been selling expired medicine,” I said, my voice calm. “But where did you find these boxes?” “In your storeroom, of course!” David snapped, clearly not expecting the question. “Exactly. In my storeroom. Which means I haven’t sold them. It’s perfectly normal for a clinic to have some expired stock. I just haven’t had time to dispose of it properly.” The reporters seemed to find my explanation plausible. They looked at each other and nodded. “Stop pretending! I have a witness!” Amelia, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. She brought in a young man from the crowd outside. “Go on, Sam! Tell them!” she encouraged. Sam looked dazed, his eyes darting around nervously. Amelia nudged him with her elbow, and he finally mumbled, “I… I bought a box of expired medicine from her. This one right here.” He placed a box on the counter, and the reporters immediately descended on it. “It’s true. This expired three years ago. And it has your handwritten dosage instructions and signature on it, Dr. Evans. What’s your explanation for this?” a reporter asked. I walked over and examined the box, then looked straight at Sam. He squirmed under my gaze, unable to meet my eyes. “Sam, who was this medicine for?” I asked. “Uh… for my dad? Why?” “If I remember correctly, your father passed away four years ago. So if you bought this medicine four years ago, it makes sense that it would be expired now, doesn’t it?” Sam’s eyes widened in panic. He turned to Amelia. “She figured it out! What do we do now?” Amelia quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, her eyes darting around in a panic. “Okay, let’s not get sidetracked,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “The girl is what’s important right now! Her condition is getting worse! You’re a doctor! You can’t just let her die!” Seeing her plan unraveling, she tried to steer the conversation back to the dying girl. “I’m not going to repeat myself. If you’re so concerned about this girl, then you save her. You’re a doctor too, aren’t you?” My challenge made her shrink back. “Me? No, I can’t. My skills are nowhere near as good as yours.” Just then, the village chief arrived. Amelia rushed to him, pouring out a dramatic, twisted version of the events. The chief looked at me, his expression troubled. “Dr. Evans, please, just treat the child. Time is running out. You’re the best doctor for miles around. If you can’t help her, who can?” The girl’s grandmother started wailing again, and the reporters joined in, urging me to do something. With all eyes on me, I had no choice but to relent. “Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll get the antivenom.” I walked back into the treatment room and looked at the overturned medicine cabinet. An idea struck me. I slapped my thigh and put on a look of utter panic. “Oh no! No, no, no!” “What are you screaming about now? Just treat the girl!” David yelled. I ignored him and sifted through the broken glass on the floor until I found a shard from a vial with the word “antivenom” still faintly visible. “I’m sorry,” I announced to the room. “The last vial of antivenom was accidentally dropped. You should get her to the city hospital. Now.”

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1 Outside the glass walls of the office, Stella and Brooke were laughing, their faces lit up in bright, carefree smiles as they joked with the new intern. They were supposed to be at the hospital picking me up right now. When they finally looked up and saw me standing there, the warmth vanished from their faces. Their expressions instantly turned freezing cold. “It’s just a little cut. You really had to drag us all the way out there to pick you up?” I looked down at the gauze wrapped around my abdomen. Fresh blood was already seeping through the white fabric. A bitter smile touched my lips. Stella and Brooke were my childhood best friends. We grew up on the same street, went to the same college, and started our careers together. Two decades of history. Yet, all of that meant absolutely nothing compared to Toby, a guy they had known for barely two months. There was a time when they would panic if I got a paper cut. Now, they hovered around Toby, not even bothering to give me a second glance. Watching them laugh even harder at something Toby said, the last shred of hope in my chest finally died. I turned my back on them and walked away. Pulling out my phone, I dialed a number. “Harper,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I’m taking the offer. Once my resignation paperwork clears, I’ll be ready to move to the London office next month.” I ended the call. Through the office blinds, I could still see Stella and Brooke leaning against Toby’s desk, completely engrossed in whatever he was saying. I pressed a hand against my stomach. It had been less than three days since I was discharged from the hospital. The stab wound was far from healed, sending sharp, throbbing waves of pain through my body with every breath. Just yesterday, Stella and Brooke had insisted on booking a table at an upscale organic restaurant, promising to pick me up from the ward to celebrate my discharge. I had waited in my hospital room for three hours. The doorway remained empty. Their phones went straight to voicemail. Terrified that they might have gotten into an accident, I forced my battered body out of bed and rushed to the company. I never expected to walk in on this. Through the glass, I watched Toby step out of the breakroom carrying coffee and pastries. “Strawberry shortcake for Stella, and the mango tart for Brooke.” The girls took the plates, their smiles sickly sweet. “Toby, you’re an angel. You always remember our favorites.” Toby ducked his head, playing the shy card perfectly. “It’s no big deal. When you care about people, remembering the little things is easy.” A hollow laugh escaped my throat. I had bought those pastries from the cafe downstairs during my lunch break. Now, he was handing them out, playing the perfect gentleman. Since I was on the phone with a client earlier, I couldn’t step out to give them the food. So I was forced to watch my two oldest friends eat the cake I bought, leaning into Toby’s workspace, looking radiant and utterly captivated by him. Toby opened his desk drawer and pulled out three glossy tickets. “I managed to get passes for the Harbor Fireworks Festival tonight. Do you guys want to go?” Those tickets had been sold out for months. I had no idea how he got his hands on them. No one could resist a massive fireworks show by the water, and the girls immediately snatched them up. “These are impossible to find! How did you pull this off? Let us pay you back,” Brooke insisted. Toby shook his head, his eyes turning wide and innocent. “You guys should take Lucas. Honestly, I’ve never been to an event like this… I’d probably just embarrass you. There are three tickets, so it’s perfect for the three of you.” He let his shoulders slump, looking like a kicked puppy. Instantly, a wave of pity washed over Stella and Brooke. As if suddenly remembering, Toby added, “Oh, wait. Lucas is still recovering, right? You have to be super careful with him in that crowd. It would be terrible if someone bumped into his stitches.” Right on cue, Stella turned to Brooke. “He’s right. Lucas shouldn’t be in a crowded place like that. Let’s just tell him to stay home and rest. Sleep is the best thing for him right now anyway.” At that exact moment, the client on the other end of my phone line spoke up. “By the way, Lucas, did you get the Fedex package I sent? The three passes for the Harbor Fireworks?” I froze. “Three passes?” “Yeah,” the client chuckled. “I pulled some major strings to get them, but my wife and I have a family emergency and can’t make it. Figured you young people would love it, so I mailed them straight to your office.” I stared through the glass at the three tickets in Toby’s hand. My voice went dead flat. “Yeah. I got them. Thanks, Mr. Carter.” I hung up, pushed the glass door open, and stepped into the bullpen. “Toby. Those three tickets. Mr. Carter mailed them to me, didn’t he?” The air in the room evaporated. Toby’s face drained of color. He looked up at me, his eyes wide, terrified, and painfully pathetic. “I saw the package on the reception desk. Since I’m your assistant, I thought I should open it for you.” I took a step closer. “Then why didn’t you hand them to me? Those were a personal gift from a client. And since when do interns have the authority to tear open their boss’s private mail?” Toby looked down, nervously rubbing his hands together. “It was delivered to the office. I assumed it was business.” I scoffed, my voice dripping with disgust. “Even if it was business, do you get to hijack company property and distribute it however you please?” He couldn’t speak. Tears welled up in his eyes, making him look incredibly bullied. He let out a shaky little breath. “Lucas, I was just scared you’d force yourself to go into that huge crowd. What if someone pushed you and your wound tore open? I figured… I figured I would just play the bad guy. If I took the tickets, you wouldn’t be able to go. You’d have to go home and heal. I was only thinking about your health.” Stella immediately stepped in, placing a protective hand on his back. She shot me a furious glare. “Why are you jumping down his throat? He just graduated, he doesn’t know all the corporate rules yet. Making a mistake is completely normal. Why do you have to be so damn petty over some stupid tickets?” 2 Brooke quickly chimed in. “Exactly. He was worried about your stomach. He hid them because he knew you’d be stubborn and try to go. He’s so pure hearted, Lucas. Everything he does is for your own good. Why do you always have to be so aggressive?” Toby kept his head bowed. A single tear dropped onto the desk. “It’s fine. You guys go. These belong to Lucas. I shouldn’t have overstepped. I’ll just go home.” Stella grabbed his wrist, holding him in place. “You are not leaving. The three of us are going tonight. Lucas, you go home and sleep. You’re in no condition to go anywhere anyway.” Toby bit his lower lip, giving me a trembling look. “Lucas…” Checking her watch, Brooke grabbed her purse. “Let’s grab dinner first or we’re going to miss the opening show.” Just like that, they grabbed their things. The three of them walked out of the office together, laughing and chatting, leaving me completely alone in the dead quiet room. I pressed my hand against my ribs and forced myself to stand. The wound felt like it was on fire. A bitter, broken laugh spilled from my lips. Ever since Toby joined the firm, the dynamic of our lifelong trio had completely fractured. The center of their universe shifted from me to him. To them, he was this hard working, struggling kid from a poor background who was trying so hard to make it. Whenever something went wrong, whether at work or in life, they immediately stood by his side to point their fingers at me. The dinner they promised to celebrate my discharge from the hospital? Neither of them even remembered. Just like they seemed to have completely forgotten exactly how I got this stab wound in the first place. Stella, Brooke, and I went through middle school, high school, and college together. After graduation, we all got hired at this company. We worked in different departments, and we all thrived. We were completely inseparable. We even bought apartments in the exact same building, on the exact same floor, just so we could look out for each other. We commuted together, came home together, cooked dinner together. Since I was a bit rough around the edges, they took care of the details. They made me hangover cures after late business dinners and forced cold medicine down my throat when I got sick. Everyone in the office knew we were the golden trio. We had a bond that nothing in the world could break. Until that night outside the bar. Toby had tagged along. He pointed to a dark, unlit alleyway and whined about wanting to “explore” to take a shortcut. Stella and Brooke giggled and followed him. I saw how sketchy it looked and tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen, so I had no choice but to follow. Sure enough, halfway down the alley, a group of guys stepped out of the shadows. Knives caught the dim streetlight. They demanded our wallets. Then, noticing the girls, they started getting handsy. Toby, the guy they constantly defended, actually hid behind the two women, trembling like a leaf. “What do we do?” he whimpered. I knew things were going to turn bloody fast. “Toby and I will hold them off,” I whispered fiercely. “You girls run.” I shoved the girls backward. “Run!” I lunged forward to block the attackers. But Toby didn’t stay. He didn’t even hesitate. Leaving me to die, he turned and sprinted away right alongside the girls. By the time they finally flagged down the cops and came back, I was already bleeding out on the concrete, a switchblade buried deep in my gut. When I woke up in the hospital, Toby was sitting by my bed, putting on a masterful performance of self blame. “What do I do, Stella? I was just so terrified. My brain went blank and I just ran with you guys. The alley was so dark, I thought you two might get hurt in the chaos, so I just had to protect you…” “I’m so useless. This is all my fault Lucas got hurt.” Stella was rubbing his arm. “It’s okay. Being scared is a normal human reaction. Lucas is years older than you, it’s his job to protect us. You have nothing to feel guilty about.” Brooke sighed heavily. “Seriously. Lucas used to take self defense classes. How could he not even dodge a simple pocket knife?” “You must be starving,” Stella said to Toby. “Let’s go grab a bite. Don’t starve yourself over this. The doctor said he just needs rest, he’ll be fine.” I had been about to open my eyes, but hearing their voices, I kept them tightly shut. Apparently, taking a knife for them was my own fault. I listened to their footsteps fade out of the ward. I slowly opened my eyes, staring at the sterile white ceiling. Back in the day, if I caught a mild fever, Brooke would simmer chicken soup for hours, and Stella would sit by my bed to make sure I took my pills. Now, I had nearly died for them, and they didn’t even wait for me to wake up. They were too busy worrying about Toby’s appetite. I spent two agonizing weeks in that hospital bed before I was stable enough to leave. Standing in the empty office now, ignoring the sharp, tearing pain in my stomach, I started packing up my desk. I had made the right decision. It was time to disappear. When I finally made it back to my apartment, I looked around the place I had called home for years. It was time to start throwing things away. My phone buzzed. A notification popped up. Toby had updated his Instagram. The caption read: “Meeting the most amazing people in this beautiful city is the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.” The photo showed Toby, Stella, and Brooke. Their faces were pressed close together, beaming at the camera, with a massive, brilliantly colored firework exploding in the night sky behind them. I couldn’t even remember when the leading man in our trio’s photos had shifted from me to him. I genuinely couldn’t remember the last time I took a picture with them. I locked my screen, took a quick shower, and got ready for bed. Then came the knocking. It was the three of them. Stella was holding a greasy takeout bag. “Lucas, we brought you some food.” “Also,” she continued without missing a beat, “Toby lives way out in the suburbs, and it’s too late for him to commute. Let him crash at your place tonight.” I looked at her, deadpan. She knew perfectly well that I was a massive neat freak. I practically never let anyone sleep in my apartment. I glanced at the wall clock. “It’s not too late to catch an Uber.” Toby gave the girls his signature kicked puppy look. “Stella, Brooke, please don’t make things awkward for Lucas. If he hates me being here, I’ll just leave. I don’t mind paying for an expensive surge ride. Just watching the fireworks with you guys tonight was more than enough for me.” Brooke pushed past me, forcing her way through my front door. “You’re a grown man. What is the big deal about letting him crash for one night? He’s not sleeping in your bed, he’ll take the guest room. Get over it.” She reached back and pulled Toby inside. “Come on in. We said you can stay, so you’re staying.” They treated my home like their own. They walked right past me, dug through my closets for spare sheets, and set up the guest room for him. 3 Toby stood awkwardly in the hallway, wringing his hands as he looked between the girls. “Guys, if Lucas really hates it, I should just go.” I was so exhausted. My body ached, and my soul was tired. I didn’t have the energy to scream. “One night. Never again. Just leave it.” Stella and Brooke finally looked satisfied. “Eat your food before you sleep,” Stella ordered, dropping the bag on the counter. I opened the plastic containers. Inside was heavily spiced, oil soaked Sichuan food, completely coated in red chili peppers. They had forgotten. Anyone who just had abdominal surgery absolutely cannot eat spicy food. A hard lump formed in my throat. Years ago, they would meticulously check every ingredient if I had a mild stomach ache. Now, they didn’t even possess the basic awareness to realize this food could send me back to the ER. I snapped the lids back on. “I’m not eating.” Toby looked at me. “Lucas, are you mad that we didn’t take you with us tonight? I’m so sorry. Do you want me to Venmo you the money for the ticket?” He pulled out his phone, making a big show of opening the app. Stella slammed her hand on the counter. “Lucas, are you done throwing your little tantrum? We told you, you shouldn’t be in crowds with your stitches. We did this for your own good. Why are you acting like a spoiled child? Do you want me to apologize to you? Stop taking your anger out on Toby, his life is hard enough as it is.” “Who are you giving attitude to?” she continued, her voice rising. “We brought you food out of the kindness of our hearts, and you act like a jerk.” I calmly pushed the takeout bags away. “My stitches haven’t healed. The doctor explicitly forbade spicy food.” Stella froze. A flash of genuine embarrassment crossed her face. They had completely forgotten. She quickly grabbed the bags and threw them directly into the trash can. “I forgot. Just starve then.” It was getting late. They finally left to go to their own apartments down the hall. I pointed to the guest room. “The bathroom is attached. Disposable toothbrushes are in the cabinet. Goodnight.” After Toby showered, I was sitting on the couch, reviewing some highly confidential design blueprints on my laptop. He walked out, holding a glass of water. “Still awake, Lucas?” He leaned over my shoulder, trying to peek at my screen. “Are you working on the new designs?” I immediately closed the laptop and shifted away from him. “This is highly confidential client work. You know the corporate rules. Interns aren’t cleared for this.” He stood there, instantly looking like a victim. “Lucas, I would never steal from the company. Are you doing this because you hate me? Because I’m close to the girls?” “I’m supposed to be your intern. Isn’t it your job to teach me? Why are you guarding everything from me? Is it because Stella said my rough drafts were good, and you feel threatened?” “I never meant to steal their affection from you.” A vein throbbed in my temple. I stood up, grabbing my laptop. “You’re delusional.” As I turned to walk to my bedroom, he grabbed my arm. “Lucas, wait, don’t be mad.” His grip yanked me back. The sudden movement pulled violently on my fresh abdominal stitches. A blinding flash of pain shot through me. At the exact same moment, he threw his glass of water directly onto my stomach. I shoved him away by pure reflex. “What the hell are you doing?!” The glass shattered against the hardwood floor. He stumbled backward, then quickly grabbed a wad of paper towels. “Oh my god, Lucas, I’m so sorry, I tripped. Let me dry it off.” He lunged forward and pressed his hand forcefully directly onto my healing wound. He began scrubbing violently. Agony ripped through my body. Fresh, hot blood immediately soaked through the bandages. I grabbed his wrist, my vision spotting black from the pain. “What are you doing?! Can’t you see I’m bleeding?” A loud banging came from the front door. “Toby? What’s going on?” It was Stella and Brooke. They must have heard the glass shattering. They punched in my door code and rushed in. They walked in right as Toby was kneeling on the floor, holding the bloody paper towels, looking absolutely terrified. Stella rushed forward and yanked him to his feet. “Why are you on your knees?! Lucas, are you seriously physically abusing him now?!” Toby shook his head frantically. “No, it’s my fault. Lucas, don’t be mad, it was an accident.” Brooke, who had always had a fiery temper, marched up to me and shoved me hard in the chest. “What is wrong with you?! You’re a grown man, and you act like this? You let him stay one night and you decide to torture him? Are you even a man?” The shove sent me stumbling back. A horrific tearing sound echoed inside my own head. A rush of sickening heat poured down my stomach. I collapsed onto the couch, curling into a ball, clutching my gut. I couldn’t even draw enough breath to speak. Toby kept talking, his voice shaking. “I accidentally spilled water on him. He didn’t mean to shove me down. Please don’t yell at him. I tried to wipe the water off, and I think I bumped his stitches. That’s why he got angry.” Stella shielded Toby with her body, screaming at me. “He barely grazed your stomach and you threw him to the floor?! If I push you, are you gonna beat me up too?” She marched over and shoved me back down against the armrest of the couch. Blood was pooling through my shirt now, dripping onto the leather sofa. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, but I managed to pull my phone from my pocket and dial 911. “I need an ambulance,” I gasped, tasting copper in my mouth. “Oakwood Complex, Building 2, Apartment 21A. My surgical wound burst open. I can’t stop the bleeding… I’m getting dizzy.” Only then did they realize something was horribly wrong. Brooke’s face dropped. “Lucas, what’s happening?” I slapped their hands away as they tried to reach for me. I clutched my phone, practically crawling toward the front door to unlock it for the paramedics. Stella tried to grab my arm, her voice trembling now. “I… I didn’t mean to yell that loud. And I didn’t mean to push you that hard. It’s your fault for…” Sirens wailed in the distance. Knowing help was coming, the last shred of adrenaline holding me together completely evaporated. The world went violently dark, and I hit the floor.

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My son is three years old, but he looks nothing like my husband. My father-in-law, suspicious from day one, secretly took my son for a DNA test. The results came back showing that the two of them shared no biological connection. Furious, he started screaming at me, threatening to strangle us both. My husband slapped me hard across the face. “You shameless bitch! You actually made me raise some other man’s bastard for three years!” Staring at their ugly, contorted faces, I threw down a different DNA report—one between my father-in-law and my husband. It stated they were not biologically related. They both froze, their jaws slack. I just smiled. “It looks like we’re not quite sure who the real bastard is in this family, are we?” 1 I was buried in work, drowning in overtime at the office, when my father-in-law’s call came through. His voice was a raw, guttural roar on the other end. “Elina, you shameless woman! You get your ass home right now! This instant! If you don’t, I swear I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done!” He hung up before I could say a word, leaving me stunned at my desk. I had just wrapped up my project anyway, so I grabbed my bag and rushed home. The moment I walked in, I saw him sitting stiffly on the sofa. Two pieces of paper lay on the coffee table in front of him, covered in dense text. I didn’t pay them much mind. I slipped off my shoes and looked at him. “Dad, what’s so urgent?” He let out a cold, bitter laugh, his eyes burning with contempt. “You don’t know what you’ve done? You really need me to spell it out for you?” My patience wore thin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you have something to say, just say it.” The next second, he snatched the papers from the table and slammed them against my face. “Here! See for yourself! The worst day of our lives was when we let a woman like you into this family!” I looked down at the paper that had fluttered to the floor. A single line was printed in bold: No biological relationship detected. And at the top of the report were the names: George, my father-in-law, and Aiden, my son. My head snapped up, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. He had actually taken Aiden for a paternity test behind my back. I was furious. “Dad,” I shot back, my voice trembling with anger, “ever since Aiden was born, you’ve been muttering about how he looks nothing like Mark. I always ignored it, I never made a big deal of it. Mark has never said a word, so how could you secretly take him for a test? He’s only three years old!” But he was beyond reason. “So what if I did?” he roared. “If I hadn’t, we’d still be in the dark about your dirty little secrets! Now tell me! Whose bastard is he? You made our family raise him for three years! What a disgrace! Mark is too trusting, but not me. If it weren’t for me, who knows how long you would have kept up this charade!” I struggled to keep my composure. “Dad, I am certain that Aiden is Mark’s son, which makes him your grandson. I have never done anything to betray Mark. There has to be a mistake with this report.” My denial only fueled his rage. He hurled his glass to the floor, where it shattered. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Still lying! I took Aiden to the hospital myself! I watched them draw his blood! What, you think I own the damn hospital? You think they’d fake a report for me? If you don’t believe it, I’ll take him for another one right now!” I said nothing, my mind racing, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. How could Aiden not be related to his own grandfather? Just then, my mother-in-law, Helen, walked in with a bag of groceries. Seeing the tense atmosphere, she hesitated. “What’s going on? I was only gone for a few minutes. Why does it feel like a war zone in here? What are you two fighting about?” George spat, “The perfect daughter-in-law you picked out has been playing us for fools! We’ve been raising someone else’s kid for three years! I don’t know where your head was at when you chose her.” 2 Helen froze, her eyes falling on the report scattered on the floor. I saw a flicker of sheer panic flash across her face. Before I could process it, her hand flew up and she slapped me hard. “Aiden isn’t our grandson? How could you do something like this? Mark has been nothing but good to you! How could you be so cruel?” George piled on. “Call your parents! I want to know how they raised a daughter like you! Aren’t you afraid of karma for pulling a stunt like this?” I held my ground, my voice tight with suppressed emotion. “I’ll say it one last time. Aiden is Mark’s son. If you don’t believe me, then wait for Mark to get home. He can do a paternity test with Aiden himself!” George just glared at me. Helen immediately jumped in, her voice shrill. “You’ve been caught in your lies and you’re still acting so self-righteous? Even when Mark gets back, he won’t forgive you! Another test? The truth is right here in black and white! If Aiden was Mark’s son, how could he not be related to his own grandfather? What, are you going to bribe someone at the hospital to keep lying to us?” I was about to argue when Aiden padded out of his room. “Grandpa, Grandma, Mommy, why are you yelling? Is dinner ready?” Seeing him, George seemed to lose what little control he had left. “Who’s your grandpa? Don’t you dare call me that! You’re just some bastard! Get out!” Aiden had never seen anything like this. He burst into tears and ran into my arms, completely bewildered as to why the grandparents who usually doted on him had turned into monsters. His crying only agitated George further. He yanked Aiden away from me and threw him onto the sofa, his hands closing around Aiden’s small throat. “You dare to cry? We’ve been too soft on you! Get out! Go find your real father! Get out of our house!” Helen just stood there, stunned, her face a blank mask. Aiden’s face was turning a terrifying shade of red. I lunged forward, prying George’s fingers from my son’s neck and pulling Aiden behind me. Tears streamed down my face. “Whatever this is, we can wait until Mark gets home! He can decide for himself whether Aiden is his son.” George finally backed off, shooting me one last venomous look before storming into his room. I carried Aiden back to our bedroom and, with trembling hands, texted my husband, telling him everything that had just happened. To my surprise, he didn’t ask any questions. His only reply was four cold words. On my way. Staring at that message, a knot of dread tightened in my stomach. It was nearly midnight when Mark finally walked through the door. Hearing the noise, I gently tucked Aiden in and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind me. The moment I saw him, all the fear and injustice of the day came pouring out. “Do you have any idea what your father did to Aiden today? Before we even know what’s going on, he nearly strangled him! He wants to throw us out! Aren’t you going to do something? If I hadn’t been there—” “Will you just shut up? I just walked in. Can you give me a second to breathe?” The cold indifference in his eyes made my heart freeze. The DNA report was still on the coffee table, but he didn’t even glance at it. It was as if he had already accepted the result as fact. His parents emerged from their room, drawn by our voices. “Mark, you’re finally home,” Helen began, her voice dripping with drama. “This family is falling apart! You need to ask her whose child she’s been hiding all this time!” George stood beside her, his face a thundercloud, his glare fixed on me. After a long, heavy silence, Mark finally spoke. “Where’s the child?” 3 He said “the child,” not “Aiden.” In that instant, I knew. Even he didn’t believe our son was his. I took a deep breath. “Mark, we’ve been married for four years. We’ve known each other for six. Don’t you know what kind of person I am? Even if you don’t trust me, how can you not trust your own son?” He paused. “Four years? What does that prove? Besides, everyone has said it since the day he was born—he looks nothing like me. What am I supposed to think?” I was speechless. There was no reasoning with these people. “Fine,” I said, my voice hardening. “Since none of you believe he’s your son, let’s go to the hospital and do another test. Right now. I’ll go wake Aiden.” I turned to go to the bedroom, but Mark grabbed my arm. He shoved me aside, his voice laced with fury. “Haven’t you had enough? You want to drag this out at the hospital? Isn’t this humiliating enough already? Do you want to announce to the whole world that I’ve been raising another man’s kid?” I laughed, a humorless sound. “What’s so humiliating? My conscience is clear! You’re the ones with doubts, so let’s get another test!” In the dead of night, my voice was sharp and unwavering. Just as Mark was about to respond, Helen cut in. “What’s the point of going to the hospital? The answer is right here! Are you saying your father is lying? Or have you already paid someone off at the hospital, just waiting for us to fall into your trap? Haven’t you deceived us for long enough?” Her words were so nonsensical, so completely illogical, I stared at her in disbelief. She was normally so gentle and reasonable. This wasn’t like her at all. What was going on? I clenched my fists. I knew that no matter what I said now, they wouldn’t believe me. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. Finally, Mark picked up the report and gave it a cursory glance. He threw it at me. “It’s right here in black and white. Aiden and Dad have no biological connection. If he were my son, how could that be possible? What else do you have to say? Or do you think the hospital faked it?” I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know what’s going on with that report, but something is wrong. If you trust me, just do one more test with Aiden. The results will clear everything up.” Mark sneered. “You don’t really think I’d believe you over my own father, do you?” His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew he wouldn’t believe me, but hearing him say it out loud was a new level of cold. I was done arguing. “So what do you want to do now?” I asked flatly. “Kick us out?” At that, George shot to his feet, his face purple with rage. “So you finally admit it! The act is over, is it? I told Mark he never should have married you! Wasted three years raising another man’s child! How are you going to compensate us for that?” Helen chimed in, “That’s right! I worked my fingers to the bone for you two, treated you like my own flesh and blood, and this is how you repay us? Do you have a conscience?” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “When did I admit anything?” I yelled back. “Stop twisting my words! You’re just looking for an excuse to blame me! No matter what I say, you won’t believe it, will you?” Smack! A sharp sting exploded on my cheek. My husband’s hand was still in the air.

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After graduating from a high society etiquette school, my younger sister swore she was going to marry into a billionaire family. To orchestrate a “chance encounter,” she drove my brand new car, intending to intentionally rear end the vehicle of Liam Thorne, the notoriously elusive heir of the southern business district. I slammed on the brakes just in time. I told her the Thorne family were not idiots, and that even if we sold everything we owned, we couldn’t afford to pay for the damage to that car. Later, Liam hosted a lavish wedding that made national headlines. My sister went completely insane with jealousy. She screamed that if I hadn’t stopped her that day, she would have been the bride. Consumed by resentment, she ran me over with a car and killed me. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting in the passenger seat. My sister, Chloe, curled her lips into a confident smirk, her eyes locked onto the supercar driving just ahead of us. “As soon as he sees me, Liam is going to fall head over heels.” “Once that happens, I’ll never have to drive a piece of trash car like this again.” This time, I didn’t stop her. She slammed her foot on the gas. Our car violently crashed into the back of the fifty million dollar hypercar. 1. Under the massive impact, the hypercar skidded forward quite a distance before finally grinding to a halt. The deafening crash drew a crowd of pedestrians who stopped to watch the spectacle. The hypercar was severely damaged. The rear wing had snapped off completely, and the carbon fiber body was deeply caved in. Chloe didn’t care about any of that. She recovered from the shock of the impact instantly and immediately flipped down the sun visor to adjust her makeup in the mirror. She deliberately messed up her bangs, rubbed her eyes until they watered, and made sure her lipstick looked perfectly smudged. If I hadn’t watched the whole thing happen, I would have thought she was just a terrified, innocent little bunny. Pulling her gaze away from the mirror, Chloe shot a glance at me. Seeing me sitting perfectly still, completely unfazed, a flash of genuine surprise crossed her face. She had purposefully stuffed two thick throw pillows between her chest and the steering wheel to cushion her impact. Then, she had accelerated suddenly, hoping to catch me off guard. If I hadn’t been prepared and gripped the grab handle tightly, my face would have smashed right into the dashboard, leaving me with a bloody nose and a swollen face. She had been exactly like this since we were kids—constantly setting traps to make me look awkward and ugly, just to highlight her own delicate beauty. “Liam rarely makes public appearances. Just follow my lead and don’t ruin this for me.” Chloe dabbed some heavy concealer on her finger and forcefully smeared it over my lips without asking. “Once I become Mrs. Thorne, I’ll hire you as a maid at the estate. The pay will be way better than whatever you’re making now.” With that, Chloe pulled down the neckline of her tight knit top and pushed the car door open. In our past life, Chloe was convinced that I had derailed her path to the elite. She blamed me for the miserable, pathetic life she ended up living. In this life, I wanted to see if her little tricks could actually change her destiny. Chloe’s exit from the car immediately caused a stir. Several guys on the sidewalk pulled out their phones to take pictures of her. She had always been incredibly proud of her figure, and the skin tight pencil skirt she wore naturally drew a lot of stares. Liam didn’t step out. Instead, a driver in a sharp, tailored suit got out and walked a full circle around the damaged hypercar. He walked up to the tinted rear window, bent down, and spoke to Liam. Chloe completely ignored the driver who was trying to talk to her and walked straight up to the rear passenger window, tapping on the glass. She wiped tears from her eyes as she spoke. The wind blew her long black hair around her face, making her look incredibly fragile and broken. A moment later, Liam pushed the car door open. He briefly glanced toward our wrecked car. Then, his gaze landed entirely on Chloe. The legendary heir was notoriously secretive and low profile. Dozens of A list actresses had tried to throw themselves at him, but none could even find an opportunity. Chloe lowered her head, nervously twisting her perfectly manicured hands together. Then, acting as if she had just made a massive, agonizing decision, she pulled out her phone to call the traffic police. I saw Liam wave his hand, gesturing for her to put the phone away. He stepped out and walked toward my car. Chloe had smeared dead white concealer all over my lips. Combined with the fact that I had been working overtime for a straight week, I must have looked completely drained of blood, like a walking corpse. Through the windshield, I got my first close up look at Liam. It was August, yet he was wearing a silk scarf tightly wrapped around his neck. A jagged, angry scar snaked up from beneath the scarf, trailing all the way up to his left cheekbone. Despite obvious, expensive reconstructive surgery, the skin was still uneven and deeply pitted, showing just how horrific the original wound must have been. Chloe hurried over, her voice dripping with frantic worry. “My sister suddenly got terrible stomach cramps! I was rushing to get her to the ER, and I accidentally mixed up the gas and the brake, so…” “But no matter what, this is completely my fault. I promise I will compensate you for all the damage.” This performance seemed to actually affect Liam. The freezing cold expression on his face softened slightly, and he told her calmly that there was no need to panic. “Take your sister to the hospital first.” “My driver, Arthur, will handle the insurance and the paperwork later.” Just as Liam turned to leave, Chloe anxiously stepped in front of him, offering him a sleek business card. “This is my contact info. I won’t run away from my responsibility.” Liam looked down at the white card in her hand. It listed Chloe as a “Partner at a Luxury Pet Hospital” and a “Guest Lecturer at the South River Tourism Academy.” He looked Chloe up and down, a slow, intense gaze, before finally pulling out his own phone. “Let’s not make it complicated. Just add my number.” 2 Liam left in a Maybach that arrived to pick him up, while a tow truck hauled away the ruined hypercar. The hood of my car was completely crushed, and one of the headlights was shattered. “I literally just bought this car yesterday. What are you going to do about this?” I asked. Chloe ignored me the entire ride home. The second we walked through the door, she hooked her arm through our dad’s, whining that I was bullying her. Our dad, Richard, patted Chloe’s hand affectionately, then turned to me and told me to deal with it myself. “You’re making a huge deal out of nothing with your sister. You don’t act like an older sister at all.” This morning, Chloe had insisted on driving. She didn’t even have a driver’s license. She had failed her road test five times. Richard was so worried about her safety that he forced me to ride shotgun. My stepmother, Brenda, walked out of the kitchen carrying a fruit platter. There were only three forks on it. The three of them sat around eating mangoes and watermelon, laughing together as if I didn’t even exist in the room. “Liam stared right at me. He didn’t even blink. I thought this untouchable billionaire heir was going to be so hard to handle, but it turns out he’s just like every other man.” Chloe pulled out her phone, proudly showing off Liam’s contact info. “Once Chloe marries Liam, we’ll officially be family with the billionaires.” Brenda clapped her hands in excitement, and Richard immediately joined in on the delusional daydream. Then, Chloe suddenly changed her tone. She picked up a piece of fruit on a fork and fed it to Richard. “Dad… I still owe thirty grand for my etiquette classes.” Richard’s brow furrowed. He didn’t agree immediately. Our entire family survived off the income from a few small storefronts on the old side of town. But in recent years, city developers had bypassed the old district, and business had been terrible. That ridiculous “high society etiquette school” charged fifty grand a person, promising to teach women how to cross social classes and marry the ultra rich. Chloe had graduated from a community college three years ago. Since then, she had spent all her time getting cosmetic procedures, traveling to take fake lifestyle photos to build her “socialite” persona, and had never worked a single day. The initial twenty grand deposit had already completely drained Richard’s savings. “Richard, Chloe took those classes so that you can live a life of luxury in your old age!” Brenda pushed a gaudy gold bracelet up her wrist and spoke without a shred of shame. “If you can’t even front this little bit of money, don’t expect to ride her coattails when she makes it big.” “Besides, someone else in this house has a job. Family is supposed to help each other out.” She was glaring right at me, demanding I pay the bill. In my past life, fueling Chloe’s billionaire dreams had buried the family in massive debt. Debt collectors had shown up at my office, screaming and causing a scene, which eventually got me fired. On top of that, they clearly had absolutely no idea what kind of car Liam was driving. They were utterly convinced he was just going to let Chloe off the hook because she was pretty. I was not going to follow them down the drain, pinning my survival on a delusional gold digging fantasy. So, before they could even ask, I announced I was moving out. “I’ve already found an apartment. I’ll be transferring my legal residency out of this house too.” Brenda clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes. She sneered, saying I was just jealous that Chloe was going to be a billionaire’s wife. “The most important thing for a woman is a beautiful face so she can marry a rich man.” “It doesn’t matter how jealous you are, Maya. You’ll never be her.” “With your pathetic little salary, you think you can afford to move out? That is hilarious.” My phone buzzed. A coworker texted me about an emergency meeting. I went to my room, packed up some documents, and got ready to head back to the office. Chloe didn’t hold back, laughing loudly. She said I was worrying over nothing, that I only made three grand a month, and that I could work myself to death and still not be worth one of her manicured fingers. Richard looked at me with absolute condescension. “Maya, you need to start sucking up to your sister right now.” “If Chloe is in a good mood, she might just buy you a condo, and you won’t have to go rent some dump.” Chloe put on a magnanimous, fake smile, waiting for me to bow down and beg. I tightened my grip on my files, my eyes sweeping over the three of them. “Liam’s money is not Chloe’s money. But the money I earn will always be mine.” “Being beautiful is definitely an advantage. But if you have absolutely nothing else in your brain except beauty, it’s a disaster waiting to happen.” “You guys really might want to look up exactly what kind of car Liam was driving today.” 3 The emergency meeting at my firm was regarding the “Clear Creek Resort Town,” a massive joint venture project. Liam’s family company was handling the development and construction, while my agency, Apex Media, was handling the marketing and public relations. I had been recruited by Apex straight out of college five years ago. As one of the top global advertising agencies, the workload at Apex was brutal, but the pay was top tier. However, I had told my family that I was just a bottom tier assistant making three grand a month. Brenda and Chloe naturally looked down on me, so they believed it without a second thought. After reviewing the current timeline, our creative director spoke very seriously. “The client side project lead has been switched to Liam. This is the first major project he’s taking full control over as the official heir.” He then explained that Liam was highly dissatisfied with our current marketing proposals. We had to draft two brand new backup campaigns and present them to Liam directly in two weeks. “The heir is incredibly detail oriented and strict. He also slashed the marketing budget considerably. Everyone needs to step up and bring their A game.” After the meeting, some coworkers gathered in the breakroom, gossiping about the billionaire family. “I heard Liam was severely disfigured when he was a kid, which is why he hates public appearances.” “Disfigured? Who would dare do that to him?” “No idea. My mom used to be a journalist, and she caught a photo of him being rushed to the hospital years ago. Her editor forced her to delete everything.” “Those ultra rich families are brutal. There’s so much dark stuff. His older sister’s death was super sketchy too. What kind of little girl wanders down to the ocean in the middle of the night by herself?” “The old man had three wives and four sons. Liam is the youngest, yet he managed to crush his brothers and secure the heir position. The guy is absolutely ruthless.” “We just need to do our jobs perfectly. You heard the director—he’s impossible to please.” I drank my coffee, recalling the face I had seen through the car window today. Despite the heavy scarring, he still had striking, sharp features. But the aura around him was suffocatingly dark and deep, like a whirlpool that pulled you in and crushed you. He was absolutely not the kind of shallow, brainless man Chloe thought she could easily manipulate with a pretty face. Out of habit, I opened Instagram and saw that Chloe had just posted a new carousel of photos. She was wearing a full Chanel tweed suit, sipping red wine on the balcony of a luxury hotel, surrounded by massive bouquets of imported flowers. In the background of the shot, there were two foreign men dressed like European aristocrats. The caption read: “The Italian vineyard sent over another case of the ’82 vintage. The aroma hits the palate perfectly, filling the senses with pure romance. Girls, you really need to stock up on high end investments like this.” What the photo didn’t show was the ten other girls, completely covered in full glam makeup, standing just out of frame, waiting for their turn to take the exact same picture. The etiquette school provided communal props for their students—rented supercars, designer bags, fake jewelry, and hourly rentals of oceanfront penthouses. The entire goal was to fabricate an image of a girl from an old money family with refined, impeccable taste. Rich men who didn’t know any better were easily lured in by the aesthetic. Furthermore, to avoid looking like total gold diggers, the school taught them to fake having successful careers. Chloe’s titles of “Hospital Partner” and “Guest Lecturer” were completely fabricated by the agency. My real estate broker sent me two new apartment listings to look at. My savings over the last five years were more than enough for me to buy a nice two bedroom condo near the office in cash. I needed to sever all ties with my family immediately before their mess dragged me down. Three days later, the dashcam footage of Chloe crashing into the hypercar went viral on TikTok. The comments were calling her a “once in a lifetime natural beauty.” People were comparing her to current A list celebrities, saying that if she entered Hollywood, half the actresses in the industry would be out of a job. Right on cue, “leaked” screenshots of her Instagram photos started circulating, with comments hyping up her insane “old money wealth” and perfect taste. With all this noise, it would be impossible for Liam not to notice her. Plus, going viral as a wealthy socialite was the perfect stepping stone to marrying into the elite. I had to admit, the etiquette school really knew how to run a PR campaign. After signing the closing papers for my new condo, I went back to the house to pack the rest of my things. Brenda opened the door, gave me a look of pure disgust, and asked which slum I managed to rent a room in. Richard didn’t even look at me. He was frantically hovering around Chloe, acting like he had just won a billion dollar lottery. “It’s Liam! Liam texted her first!” “Miss Kitty said that as long as you make the man reach out first, you’ve basically won!” Chloe closed her eyes, holding the phone to her chest, waiting a full ten seconds to play hard to get before finally opening the message. The three of them stared at the screen. Nobody spoke for a long time. I dropped my boxes, walked over, and glanced at her screen. Liam’s message read: The vehicle must be shipped back to the headquarters in Sweden for repairs. Total cost: 8.57 million. Below the text was a highly detailed, itemized repair invoice entirely in English. 4 “How is that even possible? How can fixing a car cost that much money?!” Chloe zoomed in on the invoice, frantically counting the zeroes on the screen. Brenda couldn’t believe it either. She actually started wondering if the guy texting Chloe wasn’t Liam at all, but some scammer trying to extort them. Liam’s hypercar was a Koenigsegg, imported from Sweden. The carbon fiber body was entirely hand built, and it was the only one of its kind in the entire country. Because it was so rare, normal people didn’t even recognize the logo. Apex Media had done a brand partnership with Koenigsegg a few years ago, so I knew exactly what the sticker price was: fifty million. For a hypercar of that caliber, an eight million dollar repair bill was completely standard. Plus, airfreighting it back to Sweden wasn’t cheap either. While they were still screaming about whether the bill was fake, Liam sent another message. Payment is expected immediately. That completely killed any chance of negotiation. Panic finally set in. All the color drained from Chloe’s face. “He… he was supposed to ask me out to dinner. Why is he demanding repair money?” “Where am I supposed to find eight million dollars?!” She looked at Richard, her eyes wide with terror. Richard finally remembered I was in the room. He quickly tried to calm her down, saying my car had insurance and the company would cover the damages. “Standard liability insurance only covers up to three million in property damage. That’s not even close to enough,” I said, grabbing the handle of my suitcase and rolling it toward my bedroom. “But I haven’t even had time to buy comprehensive commercial insurance yet. The car only has the legal minimum coverage. That maxes out at two hundred thousand.” I took two steps, then tapped my forehead like I had just remembered something. “Oh, right. Chloe doesn’t have a driver’s license. If you’re driving without a license, the insurance company will void the claim entirely. They won’t pay a single cent.” My bedroom was tiny. Aside from some handmade dolls my late mother had sewn for me, there was nothing worth taking. As I tried to walk out the door, Brenda slammed her hand against the doorframe, blocking my path, glaring at me with venomous hatred. “You’re not going anywhere. That is your car. Even if he calls the cops, you’re the one who has to pay the bill.” I knew she was going to say that. I unzipped my purse and pulled out the vehicle registration title. Printed crystal clear in black ink was Chloe’s name. I actually had Richard to thank for this. The day I went to the DMV to register the car, he shockingly offered to come with me. When I went to the restroom, he swapped my ID paperwork with Chloe’s, registering the car I bought with my own money entirely under her name. Growing up, whenever something new came into the house, Chloe had to be the first one to use it. Richard simply couldn’t stand the idea of me owning a brand new car while his precious Chloe didn’t have one. Brenda completely lost her mind. She turned around and started punching and kicking Richard hysterically. “You useless piece of trash! You ruined her! You ruined Chloe’s life!” “He’s the heir to the biggest empire in the city! We can’t run from this! He’ll destroy us!” Richard curled into a ball, not daring to fight back, stammering that he didn’t know this would happen. Chloe grabbed her hair and screamed, “Shut up!” “I need to call Miss Kitty. She’ll know what to do.” Miss Kitty was the headmistress of the etiquette school. I had seen her once, leading a flock of different looking girls into a hyper exclusive private club. Rumor had it Miss Kitty was heavily connected. Through her “guidance,” several of her students had successfully married famous actors or old wealthy businessmen. Chloe held the phone to her ear like it was her last lifeline, desperately waiting for an answer. After a long pause, a sharp, aggressive woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Chloe, honey, it’s not that I don’t want to help you, but you still haven’t paid your tuition balance.” “You wire me that thirty grand right now, and I will tell you exactly how to play this. I guarantee I can have the billionaire eating out of the palm of your hand.” Chloe frantically agreed, nodding at the wall. While she was holding the phone, treating Miss Kitty like a god, I shoved past Brenda and walked out the front door without looking back. They were beyond saving. Two weeks later, I saw Liam again in the VIP conference room at my agency. Under the bright, calculated boardroom lighting, his facial scars were barely noticeable. What I absolutely did not expect was for Chloe to walk in right behind him. She was wearing a tailored tweed blazer and nude stilettos, perfectly dressed in the “elegant corporate professional” aesthetic. This must have been Miss Kitty’s master plan. I just wondered how Chloe managed to scrape together the thirty grand to pay for it.

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1 The evening sun was dipping below the skyline as I walked into the kitchen to start on dinner. When I opened the trash can under the sink, a thick, cloyingly sweet scent hit my face. It was the heavy smell of overripe fruit. There, buried under a pile of vegetable scraps and eggshells, was a fresh mango pit. The flesh had been gnawed completely clean. My hands froze. Oliver was allergic to mangoes. Deathly allergic. If even a drop of the juice touched his skin, within ten minutes the area would swell, turn angrily red, and break out in a dense cluster of hives. For the five years we had been married, this was an ironclad rule in our house. Mangoes simply did not cross the threshold. Even mango-flavored candies were strictly banned. There was absolutely no way he ate this. Who did? Who had been in my kitchen while I was at work, casually eating a mango like they owned the place? I stared at the gnawed pit. That sickeningly sweet smell hanging in the air suddenly felt suffocating. The sound of a key turning in the front door broke the silence. It was Oliver. “Honey, I’m home.” His voice carried a hint of exhaustion. I heard him kick off his loafers and step into the living room. I arranged my features into a neutral expression and turned around, watching him drop his briefcase on the console table and shrug off his suit jacket. “You’re home early,” I said. “Yeah, finally wrapped up the quarterly presentation. I can actually breathe for a second.” He loosened his silk tie, his eyes scanning the kitchen. “Smells interesting. What are you making?” “I haven’t decided yet.” I kept my eyes locked on him. My voice was deadpan. “By the way, did we have company today?” His hands stopped moving on his tie. Just for a fraction of a second. He looked up, a perfectly crafted mask of confusion on his face. “Huh? No. Why do you ask?” “Nothing really.” I let my gaze slowly travel over his face. “There’s a fresh mango pit in the trash. I just thought it was weird.” Oliver swallowed hard. I watched his Adam’s apple bob before he forced a tired, dismissive chuckle. “Oh, right! That. Jesus, I completely forgot. The building management sent a maintenance guy up this afternoon to check the smoke detectors in the hallway.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The poor guy was sweating bullets. We still had that fruit basket the HOA sent over, and since there was a mango in it and I obviously can’t eat it, I just tossed it to him.” He rattled off the explanation incredibly fast, even throwing in a little theatrical annoyance at the messy blue-collar worker tossing garbage in our bin. “Is that so?” I nodded slowly. “Makes sense.” I turned back to the kitchen counter. The ghostly scent of mango still clung to the inside of my nose. The HOA did send a fruit basket, true. But that was last week. There had been exactly one mango in it. I remembered it perfectly, because the second I unpacked it, I walked right across the hall and gave it to the neighbor’s kid. There was no second mango. Later that night, while I was taking Oliver’s suit jacket to the dry-cleaning pile, I fished a crumpled receipt out of the inner pocket. I smoothed out the wrinkled paper. The ink was faded, but the details were crystal clear. The name on the order was Molly. The items were an iced Americano and a mango crepe cake. Oliver practically lived on Americanos. So that meant the mango crepe… A cold, razor-sharp realization settled in my chest. My husband was screwing around. And he was doing it with a girl who had a sweet tooth for mangoes. 2 First thing the next morning, as soon as Oliver left for the corporate office, I drove straight to the address printed on the receipt. It happened to be a subsidiary branch of our own parent corporation. The receptionist at the front desk looked up, flashing a glossy, rehearsed smile. “Good morning. Who are you here to see?” “Molly,” I said smoothly. “We have a private matter to discuss.” It didn’t take long before a girl came hurrying out to the lobby. She had soft, bouncy curls and flawless, dewy makeup. The moment she spotted me, her face lit up with an overly eager, brilliant smile. “Hi there! I’m Molly. Were you looking for me?” She was young. Vibrant. Cloaked in an aura of bubbly sweetness. But beneath that sugar-coated exterior was a sharp, territorial edge that only another woman could instantly detect. “Hello, Molly.” I gave her a curt nod. “I have a few questions I was hoping to ask you privately.” We sat down in the corner of the lobby. Molly looked across the table at me, her big eyes swimming with a perfectly calibrated mix of innocence and confusion. “It’s about the fire safety inspections,” I started, keeping my tone entirely conversational. “I heard you’re handling the property management side for our residential complex?” Molly blinked. For a split second, her mask slipped, but she quickly plastered the smile back on. “Oh? Fire safety? I think you might have the wrong person. I work in corporate operations. I don’t know the first thing about building maintenance.” Her voice was light, airy, and dripping with bewildered innocence. “Really?” I nodded slowly. “My mistake then.” “It’s just that yesterday afternoon, a maintenance guy came into my kitchen to check the alarms. He ate a mango and left the pit right in my trash can…” Molly’s fingers tightened around her paper coffee cup. Her eyes darted away from mine. “Oh wow… you know how it is with independent contractors these days, so unprofessional…” “But…” She let out a breathy little laugh. “What does any of that have to do with me?” Before she even finished the sentence, my eyes had already dropped to the table next to her hand. Sitting right there was a small paper bag embossed with the gold foil logo of Sugar & Lace. It was the exact same bakery from the crumpled receipt in Oliver’s pocket. “Are you a fan of Sugar & Lace too?” I dragged my eyes back up to her face, letting a mocking chill bleed into my voice. “I hear their mango crepe cake is to die for.” Every ounce of color instantly drained from Molly’s face. Her hand jerked violently. Scalding hot coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, burning her fingers. She slammed the cup down in a panicked frenzy, frantically grabbing napkins to wipe up the mess, looking utterly pathetic and cornered. In that single, fractured moment, all the missing puzzle pieces snapped violently into place. I stood up and walked away without giving her a second glance. I don’t even remember the drive home. When I unlocked the front door, the apartment was pitch black. Oliver wasn’t back yet. I closed the door and just stood in the dark entryway for a long time. Divorce. The word echoed in my skull, growing louder and more solid by the second. There was nothing left to salvage. My personal laptop had been in the shop for days, so if I wanted to draft a separation agreement tonight, I had to use Oliver’s home office desktop. I pressed the power button. The screen glowed to life, asking for a password. I tried his birthday. Incorrect. I tried our wedding anniversary. Incorrect. Finally, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, I typed out the letters of Molly’s name. The desktop unlocked. It was almost too poetic to be real. Right there on the center of the desktop was a newly created folder. It was simply titled: Notice. Some dark, twisting intuition at the bottom of my stomach told me to click it. Inside was a single PDF file. The header made my blood run cold. Notice of Immediate Termination Regarding Regional Operations Director Victoria. The corporate jargon was brutally formal. It accused me of gross negligence, claiming I had leaked highly classified financial data to a rival firm during the Apex Corporation merger, causing massive financial damages. Based on company bylaws, I was to be fired immediately and stripped of all stock options. The signature at the bottom belonged to the Head of Corporate HR. My husband. Oliver. A toxic cocktail of absolute terror and blinding rage flooded my veins, turning my hands to ice. The most disturbing part? The date on the termination notice was set for next week. I was the lead director on the Apex project. Just last week, Oliver had specifically pushed me to take full control of the final data models. He had kissed my forehead and told me how crucial this account was for my year-end promotion to Vice President. I gripped the edge of the desk, forcing air into my burning lungs. I needed to think. This wasn’t just a dirty little affair. Oliver had dug a grave for me, and he was standing at the edge waiting for me to jump in. Next week was the final wrap-up meeting with the clients. The second that meeting ended, the trap would snap shut. My mind flashed back to the lobby this morning. To Molly. Printed right beneath her smiling face on her company badge were the words: Operations Department. It all made perfect, sickening sense now. I reached out and slowly closed the document window. If they had already dug the grave, it would be rude of me not to play along. I guess we were about to find out who was going in the dirt first. Me, or my husband and his little mango-loving sidepiece. 3 Five days later, the Apex project wrap-up meeting commenced exactly as planned. I stood at the head of the massive mahogany conference table, delivering the final financial breakdown. The executives from Apex Corporation were nodding along, looking incredibly pleased. “Victoria, this report is absolutely stellar. The data is bulletproof, and your market analysis is sharper than anything we’ve seen in Q3,” said Mr. Davis, the CEO of Apex. “If this is the caliber of leadership we can expect, we are very much looking forward to the next phase of the merger.” A murmur of agreement rippled through the executives. Everyone in the room knew about my marriage to Oliver. A few of the board members chuckled good-naturedly. “Director Oliver, your wife is an absolute powerhouse. You two are quite the corporate power couple.” Oliver was sitting directly across from me. He wore a perfectly tailored suit and a humble, affectionate smile. He didn’t say a word, just raised his coffee mug to me in a silent toast. As I stepped down from the projector, I swept my eyes across the room. There, sitting quietly in the very back row taking notes, was Molly. I had no idea how she managed to sneak into an executive-level meeting, but she was keeping her head down. The meeting was wrapping up. The atmosphere was light and celebratory. My direct superior, Vice President Harrison, was just leaning into his microphone to adjourn the session. Suddenly, Molly raised her hand. “VP Harrison, Mr. Davis, I am so sorry to interrupt,” she said. Her voice was clear, ringing with polite hesitation. “But regarding the core pricing strategy data that Director Victoria just presented… I have a major concern.” The entire boardroom fell dead silent. “What kind of concern?” VP Harrison asked, his brow furrowing. Molly turned her big, Bambi eyes toward me. But this time, there was a vicious glint in them. “Those specific data sets… I’ve seen them before. They look incredibly familiar.” The bottom fell out of my stomach. “Seen them?” Mr. Davis of Apex stood up, his face hardening. “Young lady, are you absolutely certain? That is highly classified, proprietary data shared only between our two firms. Only three people in this entire building have the security clearance to even view it.” “I am absolutely certain.” Molly’s voice grew stronger, carrying a note of self-righteousness. “I’ve definitely seen it. But it wasn’t on our secure servers. I just… I can’t quite remember where.” Every single pair of eyes in the room snapped toward me. The air in the room turned to lead. VP Harrison’s face flushed an ugly shade of red. He slammed his hand on the table and glared at me, his voice vibrating with suppressed fury. “Victoria! What the hell is the meaning of this? Explain yourself!” Oliver slowly lowered his coffee mug. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes locked onto mine, completely devoid of emotion. The silence was deafening. They were all waiting for the guillotine to drop on my neck. I looked at Molly’s fake, distressed face. Then I looked at Oliver’s dead, shark-like eyes. A slow, genuine smile spread across my face. “VP Harrison, Mr. Davis,” I said, my voice projecting loud and steady across the room. “Molly is actually telling the truth. It is entirely possible she has seen this data elsewhere.” Chaos erupted. “Victoria! Are you confessing to this?! Do you have any idea the magnitude of what you’ve done?!” VP Harrison was practically spitting, slamming his fist on the mahogany wood. “This is corporate espionage! It’s a federal crime!” Mr. Davis shoved his chair back violently. “We demand a full audit immediately! Call the authorities!” “Unbelievable!” The waves of outrage crashed over me. Oliver leaned back in his leather chair, his eyes dropping to the table, looking like a man tragically betrayed by his wife. Molly quickly lowered her head, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed into her victory. Just as the screaming reached a fever pitch, I casually raised the presentation clicker and pressed the button. The projector screen behind me flashed. The financial graphs vanished, replaced by a brand new slide. I let out a soft, icy laugh. “I said it was possible Molly had seen the data. I never said I was the one who leaked it.”

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1 Martha offered me the steaming bowl of collagen elixir, claiming she was too old for it. Her eager eyes filled me with dread. In my previous life, that broth had drained me, mysteriously transferring all my skincare benefits to her. I refused and made her drink it instead. After, I tested a theory: applying my serum caused an age spot to bloom exactly where Martha had a blemish. My blood ran cold—the nightmare was repeating. I remembered aging decades in weeks before. Panicked, I swept all my expensive skincare into the trash. Martha walked in, feigned heartbreak, and begged to salvage the bottles. She fished the jars out of the trash, cradling them against her chest like newborn babies. Watching her, a twisted idea sparked in my mind. I immediately grabbed a bottle of rich night cream and smeared a generous layer directly onto her cheek, desperate to see if my newly formed age spot would vanish. It didn’t. In fact, my blemish only grew darker. Martha, completely oblivious to my horror, happily patted her cheeks. She bragged about how luxury products really did work miracles, claiming her skin felt tighter and brighter already. But through the reflection in the mirror, I caught a fleeting, venomous glint in her eyes. The bathroom door clicked open. My husband, David, stepped out with a towel slung low on his waist. He shot Martha a frigid glare before turning his annoyance entirely on me. “What exactly are you doing? I thought I told you to keep the help out of our bedroom when I’m around.” Staring at his irritated scowl, the memory of how she got here hit me hard. David was the one who brought Martha into our home in my previous life. He claimed she was an elite estate manager who had served the Montgomery family for years. Supposedly, the Montgomerys were relocating to Europe, so they highly recommended her to him. At first, I had been thrilled. Martha was efficient, her cooking was phenomenal, and she ran the massive estate like a well oiled machine. But three days in, the bizarre horror began. Every time I did my skincare routine, my face broke out in unexplained dark patches. Fine lines webbed out from the corners of my eyes. Meanwhile, Martha’s sun damaged, leathery skin grew increasingly flawless. Her deep set wrinkles literally ironed themselves out. I was an avid runner. Yet a week into her employment, my body turned sluggish and bloated. Thick rolls of fat stubbornly clung to my waistline. Martha, on the other hand, shed weight like a snake shedding skin. She walked around the house radiating youthful energy, her figure growing slim and tight. I had been so terrified I rushed to an exclusive med spa for laser treatments. When the esthetician pulled the protective goggles off my face, she actually screamed. Huge, ugly patches of pigmentation had erupted across my cheeks, and my skin was sagging off my bone structure. I tried getting body sculpting massages, only to wake up with deep stretch marks and a jagged scar on my lower stomach that looked exactly like a C-section mark. Meanwhile, Martha was parading around the kitchen with a flawless complexion and the faint, sexy outline of abs showing through her shirt. That night, David took one look at my ruined body and literally kicked me out of our bed. When I hysterically tried to explain how weird Martha’s transformation was, he just sneered at me. “Everyone knows women hit a wall and age overnight,” he had scoffed. “So you’re aging like milk before you even hit thirty. And you’re blaming the damn housekeeper for it?” Yet the very next morning, his eyes were glued to Martha’s newly snatched waist, tracking her every move. In a fit of rage, I fired her. That was the nail in my coffin. My periods stopped instantly. The doctors diagnosed me with early onset menopause, severe diabetes, and hypertension. David didn’t just mock my repulsive appearance, he started bringing random women back to our house. The stress and betrayal triggered a massive stroke. I collapsed on the floor, begging him to call an ambulance. He didn’t even look down. He just wrapped his arm around his latest fling and stepped over my paralyzed body to go into our bedroom. I died in the ambulance the next morning. It was too late. But now I was back. And this time, I was going to unearth whatever sick witchcraft she was using and burn it to the ground. 2 I slipped away from David and locked myself in my private study. I pulled up a popular social media app, and just as I suspected, Martha was live streaming. In my past life, she had built an audience by vlogging her “humble” life working for a billionaire family. Her hook was a “Thirty Day Reverse Aging Challenge.” She claimed she was going to copy her wealthy boss’s routine to transform from forty back to twenty. The comment section had been a bloodbath of mockery. [Lady, you need a whole new genetic code, not a skincare routine.] [If you can look twenty in a month, I can go back to kindergarten.] When I first saw the stream in my past life, I brushed it off. I figured she was just trying to hustle for some extra ad revenue. But then her face actually started morphing. She shed decades in real time. Her follower count exploded into the hundreds of thousands. People were obsessed, begging for her secret. Internet sleuths eventually figured out she worked for me and David. By that point, I looked like a rotting corpse. But I was the CEO of Woods Cosmetics. I had pre scheduled corporate galas and shareholder meetings I couldn’t abandon. The internet put my red carpet photos side by side with Martha’s livestreams. [Holy hell. Is she copying the billionaire’s routine, or is she literally sucking the youth out of her?] [Wait, the Woods heiress used to be gorgeous. Her face single handedly pumped their stock prices. What the hell happened to her?] Since my family’s empire was built on beauty and wellness, seeing the CEO look like a swamp witch caused our stock to plummet overnight. Right now, sitting in my study, I watched her hold up the expensive creams she had just fished out of my trash. She bragged to the camera that her generous boss had gifted them to her. Then she officially launched her thirty day challenge. A chilling realization locked the breath in my throat. From the day she moved in to the day I died in my past life, it had been exactly thirty days. I created a burner account and typed into the chaotic chat. [Thirty days is impossible. Do you have some kind of dark magic going on? Tell me your secret. Name your price.] On screen, Martha offered a coy, sinister little smile as she patted the stolen lotion into her cheeks. “No dark magic here, honey. I just copy exactly what my boss does. Sincerity brings miracles.” In that exact second, my cheeks began to itch. I pulled out my compact mirror. More age spots. The delicate, carefully maintained skin around my eyes suddenly felt dry and crinkled. I whipped my head back to the screen. Martha’s skin was practically glowing with renewed hydration. [Am I tripping, or did her skin just clear up?] [Bro, her dark spots are fading. The crow’s feet are literally gone.] [It’s definitely a beauty filter.] Martha aggressively leaned her face right into the camera lens. “No filters here, sweeties. Bare faced and proud.” Staring at her, a profound wave of nausea washed over me. It was an exchange. A literal transaction of flesh and time. She was swapping her decay for my youth. Then a wild, desperate thought struck me. What if I stopped taking care of myself? What if I actively destroyed my own body? Could she steal from an empty vault? For the next few days, I scrubbed my face with harsh, chemical heavy acids until my skin was raw and inflamed. I completely abandoned my treadmill and gorged on deep fried junk food and heavy sugar. My waistline expanded aggressively. I watched Martha like a hawk. But to my absolute despair, the results were identical to my past life. She kept getting hotter. Younger. My ruined skin and rapidly accumulating fat didn’t transfer to her at all. The curse only took the good and left me with the bad. David returned from a business trip and physically recoiled when I greeted him in the hallway. His face contorted in pure disgust. “Victoria, what the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “The Pierce Holdings anniversary gala is in a few days. If you look like this, don’t even bother showing up. I won’t have you embarrassing my family.” Martha hovered in the background, the corners of her lips twitching upward before she slapped on a mask of fake concern. “Ma’am, maybe you should book a dermatologist appointment?” “And all that junk food you’ve been eating is making Mr. Pierce so upset,” she added in a sickly sweet tone. “If a woman loses her face and her figure, how is she supposed to keep her man happy?” I let out a low, humorless chuckle. I turned on my heel, walked back into my study, and dialed my executive assistant. “Cancel all my public appearances for the month. And I need you to run a deep background check on someone.” 3 I ghosted the entire corporate world. I locked myself inside the mansion and did absolutely nothing. But avoiding skincare didn’t stop the curse. The dark pigmentation stained my cheeks permanently. My hair started falling out in clumps. Deep, jagged wrinkles carved into my forehead. The worst part was the physical toll. My muscles felt like lead, and my vision grew so blurry I had to be rushed to a private clinic. The specialist looked at my blood work in absolute shock. He diagnosed me with accelerated premature aging, early stage diabetes, and severe presbyopia. “Ms. Woods, your condition is medically unprecedented. We need to admit you for a full panel of invasive tests.” I declined. I knew no amount of medical science could cure a supernatural parasite. My sudden disappearance from high society triggered wild rumors. Whispers circulated that the Woods heiress had contracted a flesh eating disease. Meanwhile, Martha was thriving. Her daily visible de aging had pushed her follower count past the hundred thousand mark. I watched her latest stream. She was wearing a tight yoga set, her bare face flawless and radiant. Her body was a perfectly sculpted hourglass. She looked like a twenty five year old fitness influencer. [This is genuinely terrifying. Martha, what kind of deal did you make with the devil?] [At this rate, she’s going to look like a teenager before the month is over.] [We can’t call her Auntie Martha anymore. This is a whole college girl.] Martha giggled, twisting her waist to show off her curves, eating up the validation. At the exact same moment, I looked down in horror as thick, angry purple stretch marks ripped across my stomach and thighs, crawling over my skin like earthworms. Another fistful of dry, brittle hair cascaded onto my shoulders. On the screen, virtual gifts rained down on Martha’s stream. “Thank you, guys! So sweet of you.” “How did I do it?” She feigned innocence. “Maybe living in a billionaire’s mansion just fixed my aura. Good feng shui, you know?” Looking at the dead hair clumped in my trembling hands, something inside me finally snapped. I lost my mind. I sprinted out of my room, kicked Martha’s door open, and lunged at her, digging my nails into her arm as I screamed. “Tell me! What kind of sick voodoo are you using to dump your rotting carcass onto me!” Martha shrieked at the top of her lungs, a sound perfectly calculated to bring David running. He burst into the room, took one look at my deranged, balding appearance, and violently shoved me away from her. “Are you psycho? Look at yourself in the mirror, you look like a goddamn monster!” “David, look at me and then look at her!” I shrieked from the floor. “She’s been here less than two weeks. Do you seriously not see anything wrong with this?” David’s eyes swept over Martha. She was trembling gracefully, her flawless skin glowing under the lights. Her sports bra exposed a tight, toned stomach, and the yoga pants clung perfectly to her long, straight legs. I didn’t miss the flash of raw, hungry lust that sparked in his eyes. A cold laugh bubbled up in my chest. A dog really couldn’t stop eating trash. Martha dramatically dropped to her knees, sobbing beautifully. “Sir, I do the chores, I buy the groceries, I cook the meals. I haven’t done a single thing wrong. I have no idea why the Mrs. looks like that.” “It’s not my fault she let herself go!” She looked at me with big, tear filled eyes. “Ma’am, I know you’re under a lot of stress, but you can’t just project your insecurities onto me.” “It’s fine, though. People like me are just punching bags for the rich anyway.” David glared down at me with pure revulsion. “You are acting lower than the dirt on a servant’s shoe. You don’t deserve to be the lady of the Pierce family.” The blood drained from my face. David and I were a corporate arranged marriage, but we had grown up in the same circles. We were childhood friends. On our wedding day, he had stood in front of hundreds of people and sworn an oath. He promised that no matter what happened, he would always be my shield. Staring up at the exact same look of disgust he had given me in my past life, my voice dropped to an icy whisper. “David. Think very carefully about your next move. Are you really going to burn our alliance to the ground for a maid?” That made him hesitate. Our families had billions tied up in joint ventures. He knew the financial suicide of crossing me. Sensing the shift, Martha suddenly stood up. “If the lady of the house hates me this much, I’ll quit. I’ll pack my bags right now and you’ll never see me again. Will that make you happy?” She ran out of the room crying. But instead of relief, a sudden, blinding panic seized my chest.

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