I found myself inside a story, tasked with saving my mother from domestic abuse, only to face her relentless disdain because I resembled my father. When I shielded her from my father’s blows, she pushed me away. “You’re disgusting with your fake concern,” she’d hiss. I worked tirelessly to ensure she could live comfortably, yet she lounged through book clubs without care. “If it weren’t for having you, I wouldn’t have ended up like this. Your hard work is what you owe me.” One day, the system informed me I could go home. I stopped sacrificing for her and nagging her to take care of herself. That’s when she began to panic. Content “They’re saying Felicity Archer is repeating her senior year for the third time! What’s the point? That girl’s a lost cause!” “And her mom? I can’t figure her out either. She’s got such a brilliant, hardworking younger daughter but insists on pampering the older one. How many years has she wasted babysitting her through school?” News of my sister Felicity repeating her senior year spread like wildfire through Oakwood Subdivision, where gossip was practically the local pastime. Everyone knew Felicity was good at drinking, fighting, and making trouble—anything but schoolwork. But my mom was stubborn. No matter how many years it took, Felicity had to get into an Ivy League school. Why? Because I, Savannah Harper, already had. Felicity was my mom’s daughter from her first marriage. Her father, George Archer, had passed away from an illness, and my mom remarried my dad, Thomas Harper. Then I came along. The difference between Felicity and me couldn’t be more obvious. Felicity was the diamond, and I was the grass beneath her feet. But my dad didn’t treat her well. He was an abusive, alcoholic wreck. No matter how much I tried to protect Felicity, standing between her and the violence, she still hated me. In her eyes, my blood—his blood—made me just like him. I couldn’t measure up to even a fraction of her in my mom’s eyes. When I got home from my job at Uncle Jerry’s Smokehouse, the smell of BBQ clung to me like a second skin. When I walked through the door, my mom sprayed air freshener at me, scrunching her nose. “Why do you always have to make things worse? Out of all the places to work, you pick the smokiest one. Can’t you learn from Felicity and take care of your appearance?” I raised my arms without a word, letting her do her thing. She seemed to have forgotten everything I’d done since she divorced my dad—her depression, Felicity’s constant brawls. I’d lost countless part-time jobs running around trying to fix their lives. Only Uncle Jerry was kind enough to keep me on. Not only was I paying for our living expenses, but I was also covering for Felicity’s constant messes. This time, I was scrambling because rent was due soon. I scrubbed my skin raw in the shower, hoping to wash away the smoky smell. When we first moved here, neighbors praised my mom for raising two kids so well. They called her strong and independent. But behind her back, they whispered about me, the skinny one. “She should give that one away, sell her even. Wouldn’t drag the family down.” But the one earning money? That was me. The one keeping the family afloat? Also me. The one who took the hits when my dad returned, fists flying? Still me. When I first arrived in this world, my mom was kind. She’d sing me lullabies and sneak me food. But as I grew older and my features took after my father’s, her gaze twisted into something unrecognizable. Her hatred for him? It found its outlet in me. Just last night, the system informed me my dad had drunk himself to death. The threat was finally gone. I was free to leave. As water streamed down my face, I closed my eyes. Soon, this nightmare would be over. A knock interrupted my thoughts. “I heard someone saw Felicity at The Silver Oak Bar tonight. Just… cover for me, will you? I need to go get her.” “And about your birthday… well, you understand, right? That kind of place isn’t safe…” I dried my face, catching my calm reflection in the mirror. “Take care of yourself,” I replied evenly. The silhouette outside the door froze.

“You’ve grown up, Savannah.” Yeah, I used to argue with her. Plead with her to stop sacrificing herself for Felicity. But now? I felt nothing. I slowly dressed, stepped out, and walked past my mom into the kitchen. It’s time to make some pancakes for myself. It was funny. My birthday was the same as my real-life one. We could celebrate. My mom followed me, hesitated, then spoke. “Careful not to burn yourself.” I nodded indifferently. I was here because of a car accident. The Taskkeeper Program told me if I completed my mission, I could wake up again. I couldn’t bear losing my real family, so I agreed. When I arrived, Savannah Harper was seven years old. Even then, she knew how to cook and clean like it was muscle memory—skills that passed on to me. I went from the pampered Gabrielle Hackett to Savannah, who could chop vegetables blindfolded and endure beatings without crying. But that simple “be careful”… That was the first time I’d heard those words from her in over a decade. My mom left in a hurry, forgetting her purse. When she came back and saw me eating, she froze. Ignoring her, I continued. She finally spoke through gritted teeth. “I spoke to your teacher. For Felicity, a tutoring program might help. About your paycheck…” I looked up. I’d lost count of how many times this had happened. At first, she’d made excuses, promising to save the money for me. But it always turned into new dresses for Felicity. Later, she stopped pretending, demanding I hand it over outright. And so I did—rent, groceries, even trash bags. I came home from a late shift, splashed cold water on my face more nights than I could count, and headed straight to school. Half the time, I’d fall asleep in class, earning detention notices my mom ignored. The day she told my teacher, “I don’t care about that kid. Do whatever you want with her,” I copied lines until 4 a.m. That shift cost me my third job. Returning home, the fridge was empty as always. Not even leftovers. Every dollar I handed over ended up on Felicity—her new shoes, her shiny hair clips. At first, I protested. Now, I was numb. “Because you have his blood!” she’d scream. “Everything you do, you owe me!” I stood, staring into her tired, lined face. Before she could speak, I pulled out a small bundle from my pocket—all the money I had left. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t take it back to the real world anyway. I washed my dishes and left her stunned in the kitchen, unsure what to do.

After washing the dishes, I turned to find my mom still staring at me. Confused, I asked, “If you don’t leave now, Felicity will sneak off again.” She blinked as if snapping out of a daze, her brow furrowing. “Savannah Harper, are you doing this to spite me?” There was a time when I might have been. I used to argue with her, pleading for her to wake up. I’d tell her Felicity was an adult who needed to take responsibility for herself. “It’s not a parent’s job to shield their child from every mistake,” I’d say. “You’re only pushing her further away. Some lessons, she’ll have to learn the hard way.” But she’d fly into a rage, grabbing whatever was nearby to hit me with. “Savannah, you’re just jealous of your sister!” she’d scream. “You’re so twisted with envy I don’t even know how you turned out like this!” Over time, the whispers from neighbors and relatives grew louder. “She’s just a jealous, bitter child,” they’d say. During holidays, they’d quietly tell my mom, “Stop being so nice. You should send her away. It’s better for everyone.” But I was the family’s breadwinner. She’d never send me away, no matter how much she wanted to. And now, when I finally kept quiet, I was still in the wrong. I shook my head, denying her accusation. Her frustration boiled over. She slammed her hand on the table. “If you hadn’t gotten sick during Felicity’s SATs, she wouldn’t have been so worried she missed the test!” “You owe her so much. What’s wrong with making it up to her?” I couldn’t help but laugh. This argument had become a broken record, played too many times for me to muster anger. Felicity missing her SATs was my fault. Felicity dating troublemakers? My fault for being a bad influence. Felicity sneaking off to bars? My fault for being too annoying at home. Everything was my fault. The truth? She overslept the morning of her SATs. I had been delirious with a fever so high I couldn’t move, begging her to bring me a glass of water. The test had already started when she finally came to check on me. And her dating history? Her so-called boyfriend was a notorious delinquent at school. I overheard her bragging to friends about how being with him made every girl step aside for her. As for the bars, I was too busy juggling work and school to be in her way. But no matter how often I explained, my mom refused to listen, drowning me with blame. Honestly, I could understand. After two failed marriages, she needed someone to focus her anger on. But I was tired. I’m too tired to defend myself anymore. I met her gaze evenly. “Felicity missed the SATs because she overslept. She barely even attended class. Do you think she’d have done well even if she showed up?” Years ago, Felicity’s teachers constantly called my mom in for meetings. Afterward, she sat on the couch, staring into space. I’d try to comfort her, holding her hand. She’d sigh, “Savannah, just try to make things easier for me, okay?” So, I worked even harder—studying as fiercely as I worked to earn money. I soaked up knowledge like a sponge, determined to grow beyond my circumstances. When I handed her my college acceptance letter, I expected pride. Instead, she looked at me with resentment I didn’t understand. “Felicity doesn’t have a future like this. Why should you?” She only stopped short of tearing it up because I was sobbing and begging her not to. Even then, she made it clear she wouldn’t support me going. All I had wanted was a simple “well done.” Her scales had tipped so far in Felicity’s favor that not even a grain of recognition was left for me. She blinked, startled by my directness. Before she could speak again, I walked into my room, grabbed a stack of tutoring program pamphlets, and handed them to her. “These look good. You should check them out.” Then I ushered her toward the door. She clung to the frame, her fingers turning white. “I’ll make you a roast chicken for dinner when I return, okay? For your birthday.”

I’d heard promises like that more times than I could count. “Score in the top ten, and I’ll get you that doll.” “When Felicity’s tired of her dresses, you can have them.” “After we return from the store, I’ll bring you some candy.” At first, I believed her. Then, I learned the truth. Empty words to soothe a child. But it didn’t matter. I was going home soon. With thoughts of my real family, my eyes stung with tears as I fell asleep. The following day, I went to take out the trash. Voices drifted from the street. “My son didn’t come home again last night,” one neighbor said. “I called him, and he said that troublemaker from the Harper house got into another fight at the bar. A bunch of them caused a stir at the police station!” “Had him working overtime cleaning up the mess,” she continued. “If I were Savannah’s mom, I’d have kicked her out ages ago. But Marilyn spoils her rotten.” “Marilyn even apologized for her last night! She was on her knees, begging the other party for forgiveness. And that girl just ran off again!” “Can you imagine? What a shame.” Ms. Clara nudged Ms. Nora’s arm when she noticed me. “You shouldn’t be saying this in front of her.” But Ms. Nora waved her off. “What does it matter? Everyone knows the Harper kids. One’s a troublemaker, and the other’s a quiet little doormat.” They weren’t entirely wrong. I wasn’t always this quiet. When I laughed, Mom called me annoying and threw things at me to shut me up. When I cried, she said I was bringing bad vibes into the house. Over time, I learned to be silent—a wooden doll that didn’t cry or laugh. Standing by the trash cans, I scuffed circles into the dirt with my toe, thinking. Then, without a word, I turned and walked away. Behind me, someone muttered, “There goes that little fool, off to bail her mom out again.” “She’s a good kid, though. Maybe life would be easier for her on her own.” But I wasn’t going to the police station. I went home. I gathered my uniform from Uncle Jerry’s Smokehouse off the line, neatly folded and clean with the scent of sunlight. I packed it carefully into a bag with a handwritten thank-you note and some candies—the best gift I could manage. Walking to the smokehouse, I found Mr. Jerry soaking in the sun by the door. With my first genuine smile in years, I handed him the bag. “Mr. Jerry, thank you for everything.” He ruffled my hair. “You’re a good kid, Savannah. I’m sure the road ahead will be smooth for you.” I nodded firmly. Behind me, I heard someone call softly, “Savannah?”

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I have a superpower. When I kill someone, I can gain their memories from the past three years. Before the SAT Exams, I killed my overachiever boyfriend and got into college without a hitch. Content When did I first discover this about myself? I was nine years old when my parents got divorced. The court awarded custody to my mom. I loved my mom, but honestly, I loved my dad more. I often sneaked away to visit him just to spend time together. But one day, when I saw him, I caught him kissing a woman—Mallory Chase. My parents had shielded me from adult matters, so it was the first time I’d ever seen a man and a woman kiss. Her lips were bright red, like blood—so red they looked like they could devour someone. I was furious. Even at that young age, I understood. Dad had done something wrong, and that’s why they divorced. Dad was the bad guy. Brimming with anger, I stormed off to his car and tossed a handful of marbles onto the seat. They’d poke at Dad’s back, maybe make Mallory fall on her face. But instead, the marbles jammed the brakes. The car malfunctioned. Mallory ended up in a coma. Dad died instantly. The police checked the surveillance footage and saw me throwing marbles into the car. But I was just a nine-year-old kid. They are too young to know better and to be held legally responsible. And when I screamed and cried, inconsolable over losing my dad, everyone pitied me. No one blamed me. They just thought I was a poor child caught in tragedy. But as I cried, memories poured into my mind, memories that didn’t belong to me. I saw Mallory’s face through someone else’s eyes. That’s when I learned just how early Dad had started doing bad things. I saw arguments between him and Mom; he stole money from our home. I saw him wrapped around Mallory, their disgusting intimacy like two animals snarled together. I threw up. Mom and the police thought my body was overwhelmed by grief. Only I knew the truth: it wasn’t grief. It was hatred. Even at that young age, I saw them for what they were—two beasts twisted together.

Unexpectedly, my sadness quickly faded. What lingered was disgust. At the same time, I realized there was something different about me. As a little girl, I didn’t dare to say it. As I grew older, I didn’t want to say it. It wasn’t until I got older that I understood this ability. When I was in middle school, my neighbor, Lydia Prescott, and I were in the same class. We were very close friends. We went to and from school together and were inseparable—even when going to the restroom. Our teachers joked that we were “conjoined twins.” Lydia wasn’t the nicest person, but was beautiful—far prettier than I was. Sometimes, I overheard people say we were like “the princess and her sidekick.” It didn’t bother me much, but Lydia always looked smug when she heard it. I think that’s one of the reasons she stayed close to me. People don’t like being outshined by those closest to them. Lydia liked being the star. In some ways, it showed she thought of me as her confidant. I was so good to Lydia that she became a little dependent on me. Her grades were always better than mine—except in English. So, her English homework was often my responsibility. I wrote it neatly for her. As the English class representative during small tests, I helped the teacher grade papers in the office. E’d secretly change a few of Lydia’s answers and bump up her score. each time That was until the teacher found out. But Ms. Vivian Hale, our English teacher, didn’t scold me for altering the grades. Instead, she took it out on Lydia. Ms. Hale had always disliked Lydia—too pretty, too into makeup, and her English skills were lacking. Lydia was everything Ms. Hale frowned upon. “All you do is focus on nonsense instead of your studies!” “Girls like you will never amount to anything.” Lydia’s eyes turned red instantly. She slammed her desk and ran out of the classroom. Ms. Hale scoffed at first, but she grew nervous when Lydia didn’t return. After a while, she stopped teaching and told me to find Lydia. I knew where Lydia was. She was in the storage room next to the third-floor break room. Whenever Lydia was upset, she hid there. I opened the door quietly, slipped inside, and sat beside her. She didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at her. I understood her. She didn’t want me to see her vulnerable. After a while, Lydia finally spoke. “I hate Ms. Hale.” “I hate Ms. Hale too,” I said, joining her indignation. She couldn’t help but laugh a little at my childishness. “Let’s go back,” she said. “Okay.” Our bond grew even more potent. But I had to admit, there’s a natural difference in aptitude for learning. I worked hard, but I just wasn’t good at school. Lydia and I spent the same time studying, but her grades steadily improved, even in English. Sometimes, she’d offer to tutor me, but it was useless. I just didn’t get it. My mom often compared me to Lydia. I didn’t want to disappoint her. She was all I had. As my grades stayed stagnant, I started to panic. A dark thought crept into my mind. What if I killed Lydia? If I killed Lydia, I’d have her last three years of middle school memories. Some ideas are impossible to shake once they’ve entered your head. I had a plan. The school had recently installed new air conditioning. The cooling system was robust. Some older students joked it was ironic the school added A/C right after they graduated. Lydia, being short, always sat in the front rows while I was stuck in the back. As summer approached and the A/C turned on, I often complained about the heat and wandered to Lydia’s desk during breaks. While chatting, I’d casually adjust the thermostat to its lowest setting—cold air blasting at 60°F. When the bell rang, I’d walk away. Sometimes, Lydia remembered to reset it. Sometimes she didn’t. She often sat through an entire class in freezing air. A few days ago, Lydia and I went shopping. I mentioned my mom asked me to stock up on cold medicine and asked if she wanted some. “Cold medicine? In the middle of summer?” she asked. “My mom said the A/C at school and home is too much of a temperature swing. She told me to keep some medicine handy.” Lydia hesitated, then nodded. “That makes sense.” She bought the same medicine I did. When I saw her sniffling and complaining about a headache, I knew my chance had come. After school, as usual, we walked home together. “Let’s stop by Greenfield Riverside Park,” I suggested. We often relaxed there. It wasn’t unusual. I led Lydia toward a spot near a convenience store’s surveillance cameras. “Open your bag,” I said. Inside her bag were two bottles of liquor—highproof. She pulled them out, surprised. “Ta-da! A surprise for you!” “We’re almost high schoolers. Don’t you want to try it?” I turned slightly, hiding my mouth with my hair. I knew Lydia. She was a rebel at heart, yearning to break the rules her strict parents imposed on her. Lydia grabbed one bottle and handed the other to me. I acted hesitant, almost scared. “Maybe we shouldn’t. What if your parents find out?” That only fueled her determination. “Don’t worry! Just one sip!” I pretended to waver until she practically shoved the bottle into my hand. We talked for a while. We discussed our latest tests, dreams for the future, how much we hated Ms. Hale and even the warm tones of the sunset. She apologized. She admitted she sometimes saw me as a sidekick. She said I was her best friend. Forever. I said, “Yes, forever.” As the evening wore on, I patted Lydia’s shoulder and said it was time to head home. I barely drank, only pretending to sip. Lydia, however, was tipsy, her movements unsteady. I’d already checked. Her mom was working late, and her dad was on the night shift. Lydia would be alone. “Goodbye, Lydia,” I said, smiling. “See you tomorrow.” “Oh, and don’t forget to take your cold medicine tonight. You’ve got a bit of a cold.” Lydia smiled back, her eyes glinting with the soft light of dusk. I calmly went home, ate dinner with my mom, finished my homework, and fell peacefully asleep. The following day, a sharp pain pierced my head. New memories flooded my mind. I knew I had succeeded.

Lydia Prescott was dead. Her mom found her collapsed in the living room when she got home that night. By the time they got her to the hospital, it was too late. The police investigated and concluded she had died from alcohol poisoning due to mixing antibiotics with liquor. In those days, before the internet became widespread, middle schoolers like us didn’t know much about these kinds of things. Except for me, who had three years of memories from my dad. Yes. The cold medicine Lydia and I bought together that day included antibiotics. It went so smoothly—almost too smoothly. I had thought of so many ways this could have gone wrong. Lydia might not have taken the medicine. She could’ve taken it but skipped the antibiotics. She could’ve felt sick and called for help in time. Her mom might have come home early and stopped her. But none of that happened. Could this smooth success mean that fate was on my side? As Lydia’s best friend and the last person to see her alive, I was called to the police station to give a statement. Since I was a minor, my mom accompanied me. I sat there looking scared while my mom comforted me. “It’s okay, sweetheart. The officer just wants to ask a few questions,” she said. “Yeah, don’t be scared,” the officer added kindly. “We just need to clear a few things up.” They didn’t think for a second that a little girl like me could have done anything. “According to the victim’s mother, she wasn’t in the habit of drinking, but you two were seen drinking that day. Why?” I glanced at my mom nervously. She patted my hand reassuringly, silently encouraging me to speak. “Lydia said she wanted to try it, just for fun. She suddenly pulled two bottles of liquor out of her bag,” I said, my voice trembling. “I didn’t want to drink, and I tried to talk her out of it, but…” My voice cracked, and tears streamed down my face. The officer nodded. The surveillance footage supported my story: Lydia had forced the bottle into my hands. After a few more harmless questions, they let me go. The case was ruled an unfortunate result of teenage rebellion and ignorance. At school, Lydia’s death became a cautionary tale. Meanwhile, I was busy organizing my thoughts. It felt like I’d struck gold. Lydia’s mind had been full of knowledge. My grades skyrocketed, much to my mom’s delight. And mine, too. When the SAT Exams came, I performed flawlessly and got into the best high school in the city, Ashwood High School. My mom even bought a house near the school district—a prominent place with a spacious bedroom and my study. During the summer, she enrolled me in a prep course for high school. When the new semester started, I wasn’t behind like some classmates. But I knew this wasn’t a permanent solution. I wasn’t naturally gifted in academics. Even with Lydia’s solid knowledge base, I’d fall behind again. Last time, luck had played too significant a role. This time, I needed a better plan for my high school years.

I set my sights on Caleb Summers. He was the top student in our grade and also my classmate. Caleb lived up to his name—bright and dazzling. With his clean-cut good looks and academic brilliance, he had a swarm of admirers. And then there was me: plain, ordinary. We seemed destined to remain in separate worlds. But I observed him and did some online digging. That’s how I found the obscure chat app Caleb used most frequently. The app was anonymous, with no notification system. I pored over every detail of Caleb’s activity. He was a lively, optimistic boy with a good family background. He had low blood sugar and always carried sweets. He loved classic literature and mystery novels. I changed my profile picture on the app to a delicate jasmine flower—Caleb’s favorite. But I didn’t add him directly. I couldn’t risk spooking him. Instead, I built my profile slowly. I shared posts regularly, shaping myself into someone with interests that aligned perfectly with his. Over time, my account gained a few followers. It no longer looked fake. One day, I sent out a cryptic message: “When Rachel killed Alex, what do you think she was thinking?” It referenced a plotline from The Madonna of the Sleepers, a classic novel Caleb had been reading in class. He hadn’t posted about it anywhere. At first, there was no response. But the next day, Caleb replied: “Protection and fear, I guess.” “How do you know I’m reading this?” “Fear? Do you think Rachel was afraid of Alex?” I ignored his second question. “I think Rachel was afraid of her memories,” I replied. Seeing I wasn’t revealing my identity, Caleb didn’t push further. We continued chatting about books, cautiously at first. Eventually, the exchanges grew longer, evolving from literature to films. One day, Caleb asked: “You’re interesting. How old are you? What city do you live in?” I didn’t reply. For days, I ignored all his messages. He flooded me with apologies, worried he’d offended me. About a week later, I finally wrote back: “If you want to know who I am, meet me tonight on the rooftop of Hawthorne Hall.”

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My dad had an affair with a washed-up model. My mom was devastated, cried her heart out, and demanded a divorce. In court, the judge asked me, a ten-year-old, to decide who I wanted to live with. Under my mom’s hopeful gaze, I chose my cheating dad. I rightly explained that it was my mom’s fault for not being able to have a baby brother. I was a girl, detail-oriented and responsible, and I needed to help my dad care for my unborn brother. Mom covered her face and wept bitterly. It was hilarious—she was faking it. Because we both knew the good days for me and my mom were just beginning. Content 0 In court, the judge asked who I wanted to stay with. Everyone assumed I’d choose my mom—for the stable home, loving care, and everything else that made sense. Instead, I picked my dad, who was nervously shielding his mistress, Vanessa Thorn, and her pregnant belly. Dad was stunned but quickly shrugged it off. After all, I was just a girl—his daughter, not a son. To him, girls were destined to marry out of the family eventually. When the judge asked for my reasoning, I put on my most innocent expression and said: “Dad’s had it so rough. He just wants to be with Aunt Vanessa. What did he do wrong?” “Dad’s busy making money, and Aunt Vanessa’s having a baby. I need to help Dad take care of my baby brother.” “Mom’s always busy teaching other kids. She couldn’t even have a baby brother and wouldn’t let Dad have one with someone else. That’s mean!” Beside me, Mom covered her face, her shoulders shaking as she “cried uncontrollably.” Only I knew the truth: she was laughing so hard it hurt. Mom cried on cue. No, she was acting. We had planned it this way—I’d put on the show, and she’d bring the tears. 0

Then, out of nowhere, everything went dark. When I opened my eyes, I realized I had somehow gone back in time to the year of my parents’ divorce. At this moment, Mom still hadn’t discovered Dad’s affair with Vanessa. She hadn’t confronted him yet or demanded a messy divorce. Though it was the middle of the night, I wasn’t sleepy at all. Time was of the essence. By tomorrow, Mom would find evidence of Dad’s cheating on his phone and blow up. She’d lose control, and the whole nightmare would begin again. I bolted upright, dashed out of bed, and banged on the door to the main bedroom. This was my only chance to rewrite the past and prevent the tragedy from repeating itself. Mom groggily opened the door, squinting in confusion. “Fiona, what’s going on? Why aren’t you asleep?” Like a slippery eel, I slipped past her, locked the door, and dragged her to sit on the bed. “Mom,” I said, “you need to listen.” Then, I spilled everything I remembered about the future without holding back. Why? Apart from myself, the woman who loved me most was the woman who gave me life. I left out the part about my death, though. Instead, I rambled on about how to outsmart Dad and Vanessa. Mom’s eyes were already red and brimming with tears when I looked up. She must have sensed the words I didn’t say. She wrapped her arms tightly around me, pulling me into her warm embrace. Snuggling into her, I finally felt safe. “Mom,” I whispered, “Dad’s been secretly installing cameras around the house. He thinks you might cheat on him, even though he’s the one cheating.” “There are hidden cameras in the living room. Thankfully, he hasn’t gone insane enough to put them in the bedroom.” I wouldn’t dare share any of this with Mom here at home if he had. “Start gathering evidence quietly,” I told her. “Then file for divorce. When the time comes, I’ll choose Dad in court.” Mom’s eyes grew misty, and looked like she wanted to say something. I reached out and pressed my hand against her cheek. “Mom, trust me. I’ll make sure we have a good life. I promise.” 0

After the court hearing, I moved in with Dad at the Riverside Mansion in Savannah. I played the part of a dutiful little girl who cared deeply for Dad’s happiness. I didn’t question why a supposedly broke man could suddenly afford a luxury mansion. Instead, I cheerfully declared, “Wow! This house is amazing! Aunt Vanessa will be so much more comfortable having the baby here!” I immediately ran to Dad, making a big show of my commitment to taking care of the unborn baby. Maybe Dad still had a tiny shred of fatherly love for me because he transferred $5,000 to my bank account without hesitation, telling me to use it as I wished. Then he hurried off, claiming he had work to do. Of course, I knew better. I wasn’t an actual child anymore. I knew exactly where he was going—and so did Vanessa. As soon as Dad left, Vanessa’s sweet façade crumbled. “You shameless little brat!” she snapped. “You’re old enough to know better. Stop mooching off your father!” There was something in her eyes—something dark and desperate I couldn’t quite read. She dug her sharp nails into my forehead, snatched my phone, and transferred the $5,000 into her account. Then, in her shrill, affected tone, she declared herself my “stepmother” and warned me not to breathe a word of this to “dear Daddy.” “If you do,” she hissed, “you’ll regret it.” I blinked up at her, feigning submission. “I won’t tell him,” I whispered timidly. Inside, I was laughing. Oh, Vanessa, you think I’ll stay quiet just because you told me to? 03 The following day, I got up early and set the breakfast table. The food was already waiting when Dad finally came downstairs after his morning routine. He stopped short at the sight of three bowls of bland oatmeal and two plates of pickles set on the costly cherrywood table. His lips twitched, trying—and failing—not to grimace. I could almost hear his thoughts: How am I supposed to stomach this pathetic excuse for breakfast? But I stared at him with my big, hopeful eyes, like a kid desperate for approval. After a moment of hesitation, he picked up a spoon and took a symbolic bite. He spat it out dramatically one mouthful later, his face contorting in absolute horror. Internally, I was dying of laughter. This was no ordinary oatmeal. Oh no, this was cursed oatmeal, something I’d “enhanced” to ensure maximum misery. It took Dad a while to recover, and when he did, he glared at me. “Where on earth did you get this garbage?” he snapped. “You’re old enough to know better. Can’t even buy a decent breakfast!” Then his eyes landed on my school uniform—too short and visibly worn out. His scowl deepened. “I gave you money yesterday. Can’t you at least buy yourself clothes that fit? Walking around like that makes me look bad!” His rant woke Vanessa, who waddled lazily out of the bedroom, her pregnant belly leading the way. Leaning against the railing, she smirked, clearly enjoying the show. I bit my lip and let my expression crumble into pure heartbreak. Internally, I was screaming with joy. Perfect. Everyone’s here. Showtime! Tears streamed down my face like tiny pearls, and my voice trembled as I turned to Dad. “Daddy, please don’t blame Aunt Vanessa for taking my money.” I gasped and covered my mouth. “Oh no, I wasn’t supposed to say that! Aunt Vanessa, I’m so sorry! Please don’t kick me out!” Then the waterworks started. I sobbed and stammered apologies to both of them, making myself look like a pitiful little victim. It was Oscar-worthy. Seriously, where’s my trophy? Maybe my performance was too good, or maybe Dad was fed up with Vanessa’s overbearing attitude. Either way, he rounded on her furiously. “You’re not even my wife yet! If you can’t give me a son, you can pack your bags and leave!” To appease me, he handed me his secondary credit card. I took it with wide, cautious eyes, pretending to be nervous. “Thank you, Daddy,” I murmured, earning a dismissive, “Don’t act so cheap” from him. Sure, I got scolded, but who cared? My grin was practically impossible to suppress. I figured Vanessa might back off after that public dressing down. I was wrong. Vanessa’s energy levels were infinite. After all, she’d clawed her way to the top of the mistress hierarchy to secure her pregnancy. The next day, she crushed peanuts and mixed them into my breakfast, knowing I had a mild allergy. Coincidentally, that was also the day of my entrance exams for school placement. I guess she really couldn’t stand the idea of me succeeding. Smiling coldly, I “accidentally” spilled most of the oatmeal onto her massive belly. It was fall, so the porridge wasn’t scalding hot, but the sudden sensation still startled her. She yelped, and her bladder betrayed her—pregnancy hormones and all. Watching Dad walk off in disgust while Vanessa’s trembling fingers clenched her dress was a chef’s kiss. A week later, she paid some of my classmates to bully me. What she didn’t know? I was the class president—unanimously elected; thank you very much. I took the hush money she’d given them, used it to treat the entire class to a barbecue feast, and turned the would-be bullies into my loyal allies. Two weeks later, she staged a dramatic fall, trying to frame me for hurting her unborn baby. I raised an eyebrow, pointed at the three newly installed security cameras overhead, and asked, “Are you okay?” Her eyes widened, and she scrambled to her feet, pretending nothing had happened. After that fiasco, I walked away without a scratch, while Dad became even more reluctant to come home. Vanessa officially became the “main wife” at home, but Dad’s flings were still in full swing elsewhere. Meanwhile, I happily went to school every day, playing the role of the sweet, innocent daughter whenever Dad was around. I even convinced him to drive me to school a few times personally. Thanks to that, the entire school knew I had a rich CEO dad, and no one dared mess with me anymore. 0

After that, Vanessa Thorn seemed to have finally quieted down. She stayed home every day, dutifully resting and preparing for the baby. Meanwhile, I used every spare moment to hang out with Mom. We went shopping, grabbed lunch, and just wandered around town—on Dad’s dime. Naturally, Dad noticed the constant drain on his bank account and wasn’t thrilled about it. So, every time I went back to his house, I made a detour to the Whitestone Antique Market outside the city. I’d pick up the cheapest trinket I could find, have the seller wrap it up like a treasure, and take it home. Then I’d dramatically inflate the price and rave about how rare and valuable it was. Boom—instant profit. But I knew this tactic wouldn’t last forever, so I started plotting a new hustle. Before I could fully put my plans into motion, Vanessa went into labor. It was chaos getting her to St. Mary’s Medical Center, but eventually, she gave birth to a bouncing 7-pound baby boy. Dad was over the moon. He’d been waiting for this moment forever—since I was born. Now, he finally had his long-awaited son. Fresh out of recovery, Vanessa wasted no time asking Dad to take her to the Denver County Courthouse to make their marriage official. I sighed. Men like him weren’t just disloyal to one woman—they were disloyal to all women equally. To be fair, Vanessa had striking features. If she’d gone into Hollywood, she wouldn’t have been overlooked. But everyone has their priorities, and hers was to play the “trophy wife” instead of chasing her dreams. Having outmaneuvered all the other mistresses, Vanessa used her “mother of his son” card to climb the ranks and become Dad’s official wife. Once the papers were signed, her attitude changed. She started lording her new status over me, acting like a queen in her kingdom. She even dared to complain that I was disturbing her precious baby boy. I seized the opportunity and went to Dad, crying that I wasn’t welcome at home. Vanessa had just secured her golden position, so Dad granted her every wish. That meant I got the “short end of the stick”—a five-bedroom townhouse in an elite school district and a generous monthly allowance. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind more if this were what “suffering” looked like. 0

With that kind of money, the possibilities were endless. I started by visiting a nearby known university. I found a few fresh-faced college students there and paid them to post flyers advertising tutoring services. After interviewing the applicants, I hired nine tutors to work for me. Next, I scouted for clients at middle school entrance prep classes and nearby high schools. To reel parents in, I performed impressive “party tricks”: reciting the digits of pi, reciting poetry, and solving advanced math problems on the spot. And just like that, my tutoring business took off. Even before I officially moved into my school district townhouse, I’d secured all the necessary permits to run my tutoring center legally. No shady business here—I was a model citizen. The money started pouring in. I claimed I was paying my tutors high wages, but most of it went straight into my pocket. Then, I gave some of the earnings to Mom, who quietly used the funds to buy up small shares in Dad’s company, Skyward Entertainment Group. Dad might have been the largest shareholder, but he was too busy chasing skirts to notice the details of his business. When Mom’s shares added up to make her the second-largest shareholder, I was already in high school, and Vanessa’s son was three years old. Kids grow fast, and he was no exception. I only visited the Riverside Mansion during holidays; I stayed away the rest of the time, claiming I was focused on studying and planning to skip grades. Dad didn’t believe me initially, thinking I was just being stubborn. He tried to compensate me by sending me more money, which I accepted with a “heartbroken” expression. Little did he know the saying “a crooked bamboo can sprout fine shoots” applied to me. I got so caught up in my studies that I accidentally excelled during exams. My teacher, impressed, dragged me to the principal, who fast-tracked me ahead by two grade levels. It was a win, but I couldn’t pretend to be a child prodigy anymore. Dad was stunned and stopped pressuring me to return home. Instead, he gave me even more freedom, which, in hindsight, I should’ve taken advantage of earlier. One day, I looked at Vanessa’s son. His features were undeniably delicate, but none of them resembled Dad’s. If anything, he looked suspiciously like a particular actor who rose to fame in my past life. I scratched my head—time to dig deeper. That night, I reached out to Master Alaric Whitlock online. His live streams, in which he spilled celebrity gossip and told fortunes, had become my guilty pleasure. Sending him Dad’s ID photo privately, I asked him to analyze Dad’s “lineage fortune.” The old man squinted at the picture and said, “Too much Photoshop. Send me a candid shot.” I froze. How did he know I was a girl? My profile used a random guy’s photo from school! This guy had some fundamental skills. I rushed downstairs, snapped many candid shots of Dad watching TV—front, profile, close-up, everything—and uploaded them. Dad looked utterly confused, but I mumbled a weak excuse and fled. When the photos popped up on Alaric’s livestream, he sighed. “Troublesome kid, wasting my storage space.” Soon after, he confirmed my suspicions: Dad’s “child fortune” only allowed for one offspring. Me. Oh, Vanessa was about to face some serious consequences. Just as I was preparing to unleash my evidence, the hospital called. Mom had been in an accident. I raced to St. Mary’s Medical Center, only to see her through a pane of glass, her body covered in tubes. A wave of pain consumed me, sharp and relentless, as fragmented memories flooded back. I saw my past self standing beside Mom in a hospital bed, the flatline on the monitor, and the gut-wrenching scream that tore through me. Then, the scene shifted—dark skies, bloody hands, and endless despair. I jolted awake, my vision blackened by rage. Everything came back to me.

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I’ve always known since I was little, that a person could mean less than a dog. To my mom, I was worth far less than her precious dog. Her dog could stay by her side, soaking in her endless care. But me? When I was barely a month old, she sent me to the countryside to fend for myself. A fever, one she ignored, left my left leg permanently damaged. I didn’t cry, didn’t complain. Quietly, I erased all ties between her and me. But later, when she heard I’d found a new mom, she completely lost her mind. Content My name is Gabrielle Hackett. Gabe, for short. My name might as well mean “extra” because, to my career-driven mom and love-struck dad, their perfect little world never needed a kid like me. The year I was born, Mom’s career was soaring. She was set to perform at Lincoln Center, achieving her lifelong dream of being the prima ballerina she’d always aspired to be. When she first found out she was pregnant, she wanted to terminate. But her body couldn’t handle it. The doctors warned her that terminating the pregnancy could cause irreversible damage. That was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. Dad, hopelessly devoted to her, was terrified of losing her. “Once the baby’s born, we can hire a nanny. The baby won’t stop you from dancing,” he promised her. With Dad’s persuasion and the doctor’s reassurance, I—who was never supposed to exist—was brought into the world. However, during delivery, complications arose because of my oversized head. The doctors fought to save her life, but she was left paralyzed from the waist down, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her days. Because of me, Mom’s career was destroyed. I became the villain in her story from the moment I was born. She never smiled at me, only met me with endless disdain and bitter words. To console her, once her health stabilized, Dad whisked her away for a vacation to help her recover. And me? They left me in the hospital’s incubator, completely forgotten. Thankfully, a kindhearted nurse called Dad to remind him to pick me up. But in the end, it wasn’t my parents who came for me—it was the nanny they’d hired. Throughout my infancy, my parents never once held me. Mom had plenty of milk to breastfeed me, but she wouldn’t. She’d pump it and pour it all down the drain instead. The nanny tried to persuade her. “Breastfeeding is good for the baby.” Mom sneered. “That thing isn’t good enough to drink my milk.” Maybe her cold, cutting voice upset me, but I cried endlessly in my bassinet. The nanny rushed to comfort me, but Mom was visibly annoyed. “Crying, crying, always crying! It’d be better if she just died already!” That was her go-to line. If not for my eyes—eyes that resembled hers so closely—even the nanny might have doubted I was her child. There are probably few kids in this world who, from birth, are showered with nothing but rejection. Mom made it an art. She’d instead I suffer than let herself endure the slightest inconvenience. But she didn’t know back then that life had a way of balancing the scales. The pain you spare yourself by neglecting your children will one day return to you tenfold.

My constant crying grated on Mom’s nerves so much that when I was only a month old, she packed me off to my grandmother, Dolores Whitaker, in the countryside. But Grandma didn’t love me either. Dad had married Mom against Grandma’s wishes. She despised Mom, blaming her for driving a wedge between them. Her hatred for Mom extended to me, Mom’s child. Living with Grandma meant sharing space with my cousin, Finnigan Wilder, who was two years older than me. Compared to Finn, my life was less than that of an abandoned puppy. Whenever Grandma took us out, she’d plop me on the ground while carrying Finn, gossiping with neighbors while I crawled aimlessly nearby. Once, while her attention was elsewhere, I crawled straight into the middle of a road and was nearly hit by an oncoming car. A kind stranger quickly scooped me up and returned me to Grandma. Her response? A hard slap on my back. “Wild little brat with no mother! If you’re so set on running off, just let the cars finish you!” I couldn’t even talk yet, but the pain made me cry out instinctively. Grandma didn’t soothe me. Instead, she angrily dragged me back home and locked me in a room until I cried myself unconscious. As I grew older and learned to walk, I knew obeying was the only way to avoid punishment. But obedience came at a cost: suffocating humiliation. While Finn got to eat meat, I was lucky to get the broth. When Finn got new clothes every few months, I was left with his torn and patched-up hand-me-downs. Even when it came to pocket money, Grandma had no trouble giving Finn coins for candy, but when I asked, I’d only get a scolding. “Go ask your mom! She makes all that money and doesn’t return a penny to help us. What good is she?” I didn’t know how to ask Mom for help. The only solution my childish mind could think of was sitting at Greenwood Orchard Trail every day, waiting for her to return. Most of what I knew about myself came from the whispered gossip of neighbors. Like how I must have been too disobedient for Mom to want me. Or how I wasn’t sent to preschool because “it wasn’t necessary.” I listened quietly, but my hope stayed stubborn. I kept waiting for Mom to return. The seasons changed, and the years passed. When I was six, during a summer as humid as any other in Clover Hill, my waiting finally paid off. But what I experienced that day was a pain I’ll never forget.

Early in the morning, after hearing that my parents were finally returning, I put on my cleanest dress and hurried to Greenwood Orchard Trail to wait for them. The neighborhood ladies who passed by had grown used to seeing me there. Occasionally, they’d tease me with their sharp tongues. “Gabe, waiting for your mom again? It’s been years. She doesn’t want you anymore, you know!” Most days, I’d bow my head like a scolded puppy, clutch my sleeves, and silently cry. But today, I stood tall, defiant hope swelling inside me. “She does want me! She’s coming back today!” A loud honk echoed in the distance, confirming my words like divine proof. I caught a glimpse of her in the passenger seat and ran as fast as I could toward the car. The vehicle stopped, and my mother, Evelyn Hackett, stepped out. It had been so long since I’d seen her that her voice sounded strangely soft. “Baby, slow down…” I thought she was calling me, and my heart soared. I ran even faster. But as I reached her, I froze. She wasn’t calling me. Gently, she reached back into the car and cradled a small, white dog in her arms. “Baby, the ground’s dirty. Let Mommy carry you, okay?” Her “baby” wasn’t me. It was the little dog swaddled in her arms. Its tiny body was covered in silky fur, and its head was adorned with two dainty pink bows clipped to its ears. The children in Clover Hill had never seen such an elegant dog before. I didn’t know the breed, but Grandma had always said, “A dog is just a dog, no matter how fancy. It’ll never be a person.” I stared at the dog, tears welling up uncontrollably. I didn’t even know why I was crying. Maybe I envied the pretty bows on its head. Mom had never given me anything so lovely. No, she’d never given me anything at all. I remembered her first video call to Grandma after she’d left me in the countryside. I’d purposely wandered into the camera’s view, hoping to see her face and get her attention. Instead, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Why does she look worse every time I see her? She can’t possibly be my kid.” Her disdain pierced the screen like a dagger, straight to my chest. Maybe if I looked cleaner, I thought she’d like me better. So, at six years old, I learned to scrub clothes and wash shoes. In the freezing winters, my hands turned red and raw from the icy water, my knuckles cracking painfully so I could be present for her next video call. What did I get for my efforts? Grandma scoffed at me, saying I was only pretending to be hardworking so I wouldn’t get scolded. Mom glanced at my frostbitten cheeks on the call, her look of contempt even more profound than before. “She looks worse every time. What’s wrong with her?” She had no idea how much I longed for her to return day after day, season after season. And now that she was here, calling a dog “baby” while ignoring me completely, the pain hit harder than ever. At six years old, what did I know about jealousy or heartache? I just couldn’t stop crying. My sobs annoyed her immediately. “I told you we shouldn’t have come back. This is exactly why! All she does is cry—so annoying. She’s nothing like my Baby, so obedient and quiet!” As if understanding her words, the dog yapped in my direction, mocking me. Mom didn’t scold it. She scolded me instead. “Stop crying! Look, you’ve scared Baby!” I stared at her, struggling to hold back tears. My voice cracked as I whimpered, “Mommy…” She didn’t even glance at me. She turned her back, holding the dog tighter, and walked away. My father, Nathaniel Hackett, followed close behind her, carrying bags of treats and toys for the dog like her shadow. He, too, ignored me entirely. I was left in the middle of the path, dazed and forgotten. That’s when my cousin, Finn Wilder, snickered behind me. “Your mom’s something, huh? Treating a dog like her daughter. What’s so special about it?” Eight-year-old Finn was full of curiosity. When Mom wasn’t paying attention, he lured the dog away with a bone. Holding it in his hands, he teased it relentlessly. The dog snarled, baring its teeth at him. Startled, Finn flung it aside. The poor creature flailed in the air, landing awkwardly on its feet, only to stumble off the second-floor balcony. It hit the ground with a sickening thud. “Baby!” Mom’s scream tore through the yard. Finn bolted, leaving me standing there, too stunned to react. When Mom looked up, cradling her lifeless dog, her eyes met mine. “Gabe!” At that moment, I knew I was in deep trouble.

Mom’s wailing brought the whole household outside. She clutched her dog, her face red with grief, while Dad dragged me off the balcony and threw me to the ground. “It wasn’t me! It slipped and fell on its own!” I cried, trying to explain. But Mom’s glare cut through me like a knife. “Don’t you dare lie to me! From the moment we arrived, I could see you didn’t like Baby. But I didn’t think you’d be this cruel. She was only a year old! How could you kill something so innocent and sweet?” Her anger made her forget entirely that I was her child. I panicked, terrified she’d disown me, and fell to my knees. “Mommy, it wasn’t me! I didn’t push it…” She turned her back, hugging the dog closer, refusing to listen. “I hate kids who lie. If I’d known you’d turn out like this, I never would’ve had you.” Her words stabbed me more profoundly than any punishment ever could. Desperate, I blurted out an apology I didn’t mean. “Mom, I’m sorry! I just wanted to play with Baby. I didn’t mean for this to happen…” I thought admitting guilt would make her less angry, but it only gave her more ammunition. Turning to Dad, she raised her voice in accusation. “See? I told you she’s the one who killed Baby! And you still thought coming back to see her was a good idea. How could someone as perfect as us produce such a horrible child?” Convinced by her words, Dad began ushering her toward the car, leaving me behind. Frightened, I threw myself at her legs, clinging tightly. “Mommy, please don’t leave me! I swear I’ll be good!” I sobbed uncontrollably, but her expression didn’t soften. She walked away with Dad without glancing at me, leaving me in the dirt. I stumbled after them but collapsed after just a few steps, the world fading into darkness.

The fever that burned through me lingered for two weeks before it finally subsided. Grandma Dolores paraded around the neighborhood, bragging about her “effective homemade remedies.” What she didn’t mention were the awful side effects. It wasn’t until I started school that I noticed something was wrong. My left leg would sometimes go numb without warning. At first, the episodes were infrequent, so I didn’t think much of it or tell anyone. Why would I? I knew no one would care. It wasn’t until I graduated elementary school that the problem worsened. I started tripping over myself, my limp becoming noticeable. That’s when I realized just how serious it was. But by then, it was too late for treatment. Mom’s resentment only grew. Six years had passed since Baby’s death, and she had finally moved on. But she would never accept a daughter with a limp. I was nothing but a blemish to someone as obsessed with perfection as Evelyn Hackett. By then, I was used to it. I had grown so independent I hardly noticed her absence. I walked to school and back, lived on my schedule, and never relied on anyone. It wasn’t all bad. The only thread connecting me to my parents was the monthly allowance they sent. But when I entered middle school, even that tiny tie began to fray. Teenagers can be cruel, and I became the perfect target. A small, frail girl with a limp and no parents to stand up for her? I was easy prey. The bullies stuffed all kinds of disgusting things into my desk. Sometimes it was worms. Other times, it was frogs. But the creatures always shared one thing: their legs were broken. I knew they were mocking me, but I didn’t have the strength to fight back. Like the helpless frogs they left behind, the more I struggled, the more viciously they attacked. The worst incident happened when I found a dead centipede in my backpack. Its body was dry and shriveled, its legs entirely gone. It was horrifying. That day, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I ran to the teacher, sobbing as I told her what had been happening. The school took the bullying seriously. The teacher called the bullies’ parents—and my mom. Her response? It’s as cold as ever. “Why are they only picking on you? Maybe you should take a good look at yourself. Figure out what you’re doing wrong. If you keep causing trouble, just quit school. I don’t want you embarrassing me any further.” I shouldn’t have been surprised, but her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Her indifference emboldened my bullies even more. After a scolding from the school, they started taking my allowance every month as soon as it arrived. They didn’t care how I’d survive after. With no other choice, I started working in the school cafeteria, trading labor for meals. But even that wasn’t enough for them. Once they had spent all the money they had stolen from me, they pressured me to find other ways to earn more. “See that bar over there? Girls your age can make hundreds in a night dancing onstage.” “I heard your mom’s a dancer. Bet you’re just as good, huh?” I shook my head, stepping back instinctively. I wasn’t stupid. I knew I could never go to a place like that. But they didn’t care what I thought. When I tried to run, one grabbed my hair and yanked me back. Another kicked my leg, sending a jolt of pain through my limp. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to march right in there and do what we tell you, or you’re dead meat!” Gritting my teeth, I snapped back, “Kill me, then! I’m not going!” “Look at you, acting tough,” one of them sneered. “No, Dad,o who will save you now?” Their laughter echoed in my ears as they dragged me toward the bar. I stopped struggling. My vision dimmed, and I felt the last bit of hope leave me. I hated my weakness, but I understood even more clearly that their audacity came from knowing I had no parents to rely on. They were cruel, awful kids, yet their parents enabled them without limits, excusing their every action. And me? I worked hard, stayed obedient, and did everything right. I was the “good girl” every neighbor praised. But still, I was the girl with a mother who gave birth to me—but never raised me.

A low, steady voice broke through the air like a lifeline as we neared the bar. “Gabe, you’re late getting home. Don’t you know your brother worries about you?” We all turned. Standing by the side of the road was a tall, skinny teenager in a faded denim jacket. His clean-cut appearance and quiet strength were undeniable. “Your brother?” one of the bullies asked suspiciously. I hesitated, but seeing my chance, I nodded rapidly. “Yes, that’s my brother! You’d better let me go, or he’ll make you regret it!” I had someone to lean on for the first time and didn’t hesitate to use it. But my bluff was short-lived. One of them squinted at him and laughed. “You’re full of crap! That’s Lachlan Merritt! His dad drank himself to death, and his mom was bedridden. No way he’s your brother!” Lachlan Merritt. The name tickled something in my memory, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. My lie was exposed, and the bullies yanked me forward again. Lachlan wasted no time. He charged forward like lightning, taking down two before anyone could react. The others scrambled to retaliate, but he held his ground, even against all six. By the time the bullies limped away, he was bleeding but unbowed. “Are you okay?” I whispered, holding out a tissue. He frowned, waving me off. “It’s nothing. Don’t make a fuss.” I grabbed his chin firmly, forcing him to face me. “You need to take care of small wounds. Leave them alone, and they’ll get worse!” I knew that better than anyone. If my fever had been appropriately treated, I wouldn’t have a limp today. He softened under my scolding. “How long has this been going on?” he asked. I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Just a month or so.” He looked down, guilt shadowing his face. “This is my fault.” “What?” I frowned, confused. “How could it be your fault?” That’s when I learned the truth. Lachlan was a friend of my cousin, Finn. Before Finn left for culinary school, he’d asked Lachlan to look out for me. Out of guilt for what had happened with Baby and my resulting fever, Finn had carried the weight of responsibility ever since. While Finn’s guilt had grown into overcompensation, Mom’s disdain for me had only deepened.

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My wife and I decided to try IVF after years of struggling to conceive. Just before the embryo was created, I caught her swapping my sperm with her ex-boyfriend’s. I didn’t say a word. I switched the sperm back and replaced her eggs with my ex-girlfriend’s. Twenty-five years later, my wife’s ex-boyfriend showed up at our door, desperately trying to claim my son: “My dear boy, I’m your real father!” My son Noah and I had just returned home from an overseas medical cooperation project when we were greeted by an unexpected sight. Our living room was packed with distant relatives we rarely ever saw. The atmosphere was tense, as if a family council was in session. At the center of it all, sitting on the couch with red-rimmed eyes, was Brandon White. My chronically absent “devoted wife,” Yvonne Rivers, was comforting him in a sickeningly sweet voice. I raised an eyebrow, set my suitcase aside, and turned to Yvonne. “What’s the special occasion? Why such a crowd?” Noah stood behind me, arms crossed, eyeing Brandon with disdain. He had already guessed this man’s identity. My mother-in-law sat in the main seat, her expression troubled and hesitant. Before Yvonne could speak, Brandon lunged towards Noah, crying out, “My dear son, I’m your real father!” Noah deftly sidestepped him, his face contorted with disgust as if Brandon were something foul. He took a step back, his voice ice-cold: “My father’s name is Zane Gray.” That’s my boy, always having my back. I took Noah’s hand, giving him a reassuring look, then swung my fist, connecting solidly with Brandon’s face. The dull thud echoed through the living room. “Don’t go around claiming false relationships,” I said, my voice frigid and my eyes sharp as knives. Yvonne jumped up, rushing to Brandon’s side with concern. She pointed at me, screaming, “Zane, have you lost your mind? How dare you hit Brandon!” She raised her hand, about to slap me. Quick as lightning, Noah stepped forward and slapped Yvonne instead. “You dare to hit my dad?” Noah’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable authority. Yvonne froze, shocked and furious. She raised her hand again, this time to hit Noah. But Brandon grabbed her, putting on a show of fatherly concern. “Yvonne, don’t! He’s our son!” His act of the doting father made me want to vomit. Yvonne lowered her hand, glaring viciously at Noah. “If it weren’t for your real father’s sake, I’d teach you a lesson right now!” Noah let out a cold laugh. “Hah, I’d like to see you try.” His piercing gaze was eerily reminiscent of my younger self. I couldn’t help but feel proud. This was indeed the son I had carefully raised!

An elder cleared his throat, attempting to calm the chaotic scene. “Quiet, everyone!” His deep voice carried an undeniable authority. As the room gradually fell silent, all eyes turned to the elder. He looked at Yvonne. “Yvonne, why did you call everyone here? What’s going on?” Yvonne took a deep breath, as if gathering courage. She put her arm around Brandon’s shoulders, a picture of deep affection. “Actually, I have an important announcement to make today,” she paused, her gaze sweeping across the room before finally settling on Noah and me. I watched her silently, wondering what kind of show she was about to put on. “Noah… he’s not Zane’s biological son,” Yvonne said, her voice low but clear, like a bomb exploding in the living room. Noah turned to me sharply, his eyes filled with shock. I gestured for him to stay calm. The relatives around us began to whisper, like sharks excited by the scent of blood. “When we did IVF…” Yvonne hesitated, as if struggling to continue, “The doctor said Zane’s sperm quality was poor… To spare his feelings about becoming a father, I used Brandon’s instead…” This idiot was actually trying to shift the blame onto me! Yvonne’s malicious gaze fell on me, seemingly waiting for me to lose control in anger. But I remained calm and composed, forcing her to continue her performance. “I called everyone here today to witness…” she looked at Brandon with apparent deep affection, “Noah recognizing his biological father.” The relatives immediately erupted into chaos. “If Noah isn’t Zane’s son, of course he should recognize his real father!” “That’s right, Zane has been occupying the position of the Rivers family’s son-in-law for so long, it’s time for him to step down!” “Zane has been controlling the Rivers Group’s assets all these years. Now that the truth is out, it’s time for him to leave the company!” Listening to these comments, I couldn’t help but laugh coldly to myself. These greedy relatives had long been suppressed and pushed out of the company’s management by me. They could only profit from year-end dividends and were naturally dissatisfied with me. Now they were eager to watch the drama unfold, hoping to see Yvonne and me fall out so they could return to the company and get a piece of the pie. Noah, seeing the undisguised greed in the relatives’ eyes, gripped my hand tighter. I spoke up: “Noah will always be my child.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm and resolute. Brandon put on a helpless expression and choked out, “Brother Zane, how long are you going to deceive yourself?”

I wasn’t deceiving myself. Noah is indeed my child. Did Yvonne and Brandon really think they could fool me? Years ago, when Yvonne couldn’t get pregnant, we decided to try IVF. Before the embryo was created, I accidentally caught Yvonne and a nurse tampering with my sperm storage. I overheard her excitedly calling Brandon, saying she had successfully switched his sperm in. I didn’t make a scene then. Instead, I silently gave the doctor a million dollars to switch back to my spare sperm that I had provided earlier. I also “kindly” asked the doctor to replace Yvonne’s eggs with my ex-girlfriend’s. On the day of the embryo creation, Yvonne and I witnessed the birth of a “miracle” together. She was abnormally happy, probably thinking it was her and Brandon’s child. Watching her foolish expression, I was laughing inside. All these years, I’ve watched her dote on Noah like a clown, thinking he was her child with Brandon. It’s been incredibly satisfying. She tried to set me up, but ended up being deceived for over twenty years. Yvonne interrupted my reminiscing, mocking me, “Stop being stubborn, Zane. Noah may have been with you all these years, but the sperm wasn’t yours! His biological father is Brandon.” I replied calmly, with a hint of challenge: “Are you daydreaming?” “If you don’t believe it, let’s do a paternity test!” Yvonne said firmly, “And I want a divorce! You forced me to marry you, and I’ve been with you for twenty-five years. I’ve done more than enough for you!” When she mentioned divorce, a hint of joy flashed across her face. Looks like she’s been wanting this for a long time. Hah? She dares to say she’s done more than enough for me? I’ve been married into her family for twenty-five years, and I’ve slept in an empty bed for twenty-five years. When I was raising our child alone, she was off having romantic trysts with Brandon. When I was fighting in the business world to uphold the Rivers family name, she was indulging in entertainment and luxury. But she’s wrong about one thing – I didn’t become her lapdog because I loved her. Marrying her was just to gain the status of the Rivers family’s son-in-law and control the Rivers Group. Now, the Rivers Group is completely under my control. So, Yvonne has no more use value! “Divorce is fine,” I shrugged nonchalantly, “But there’s no need for a paternity test. I’m certain Noah is my child.” Noah looked at me, his eyes determined: “Dad, I believe you.” Yvonne and Brandon immediately became anxious. “Noah, don’t you trust your mother?” Yvonne pleaded. Noah ignored her, sticking close to me instead. Just then, a young man who looked like a college student burst in. He walked straight up to Noah, excitedly calling out, “Brother!” Everyone in the room was stunned. As if one extra father wasn’t enough, now a brother had appeared out of nowhere?

I looked at the young man who bore a striking resemblance to Brandon, and a suspicion began to form in my mind. This must be Yvonne and Brandon’s love child. They had kept it well hidden for over twenty years, never letting me find out. It seems this drama is even more intriguing than I had imagined. My mother-in-law, sitting at the head of the room, looked at the young man with a stern expression. “Yvonne, what’s going on here?” The atmosphere in the living room froze once again. The young man’s eyes were red, as if he was about to cry. “Brother, my name is George. I… I’ve always known about you,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling slightly. He glanced at me furtively, then quickly lowered his head, as if afraid I might scold him. “My… my dad often talked about you, saying how excellent and handsome you are…” Brandon began to sob on cue, his shoulders shaking. “Noah, my precious son, daddy has missed you so much all these years…” He looked up, his eyes brimming with tears, as if he had suffered a great injustice. “George… he’s always wanted to meet you too. We often secretly went to see you…” George nodded eagerly, rushing to add: “It’s true! Brother, I even went to your school, just to… to be closer to you…” He pulled out a stack of photos from his pocket and carefully handed them to Noah. “These are your photos. I… I took them secretly…” Noah took the stack of photos and flipped through them briefly. There were pictures of him in his graduation gown, smiling brightly; exhausted after basketball practice; engaged in a debate with classmates, looking animated… Noah felt his skin crawl. All these years, there had been a stalker-like figure hiding nearby, watching him and taking secret photos! Yvonne wasn’t idle either. She walked up to my mother-in-law, pointing at George, her voice heavy. “Mom, this is the Rivers family’s grandson! All the extended family members are here to witness. Please… please accept him!” Yvonne was quite clever. She knew that after my father-in-law’s passing, my mother-in-law was the one who truly held sway in the Rivers family. She had invited all the extended family members to pressure my mother-in-law into accepting this child. She was certain that if my mother-in-law agreed to let George be recognized as part of the family, I would have no say in the matter. After all, she had observed my obedience and filial piety towards my mother-in-law over the past 25 years. George, being quite sharp, immediately turned to my mother-in-law and respectfully called out, “Grandma!” My mother-in-law looked at George, then at me, her eyes complex. She didn’t immediately respond to George’s call. I knew my mother-in-law cared for me. Not wanting to put her in a difficult position, I spoke up to break the awkward silence. “Yvonne, isn’t your real goal to have this illegitimate child recognized and inherit the Rivers family business? Why drag Noah into this?”

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On our fifth wedding anniversary night, I arrived in my best suit, eagerly anticipating that my CEO wife, Madelyn Grant, would finally reveal our secret marriage at the gala. But instead, scandalous news about her first love, Carter Hayes, suddenly made headlines. Ignoring my feelings, she announced to the crowd: “Carter and I are indeed in a relationship. Please show your support for his new project.” As the crowd erupted in applause and cheers, Carter pulled Madelyn into a kiss. I didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene. I clapped along with the rest, offering my hollow congratulations. It wasn’t until later, when she realized how much I’d changed, that Madelyn begged me, in tears, to forgive her again. Content “Evan Cooper, what are you doing? Why are you being so unreasonable?” Madelyn Grant caught up with me, roughly grabbing my collar and dragging me into the shadows. “You know Carter’s career is on the rise. How could I just stand by and let a few haters insult and attack him?” I looked at her, meeting her irritated gaze. My eyes drifted beyond her, landing on Carter Hayes, casually mingling with his glass of champagne. He was radiant, basking in the crowd’s admiration. With every glance, I felt my heart bleeding. This gala was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. After two years of dating and five years of marriage, Madelyn promised to announce our marriage tonight. But in the end, I couldn’t compare it to her first love. For years, the recognition I had longed for was given to Carter with nothing more than a pitiful act. When she noticed my focus lingering on Carter, Madelyn’s expression darkened. She tightened her grip on my collar and warned, “Evan Cooper, don’t think I don’t know what you’re planning. You better not cause trouble for Carter at this party!” Her grip was suffocating, and the pain in my chest was unbearable. I pushed her away, coughing violently. Perhaps out of guilt, she gently patted my back and sighed softly. “Evan, stop making a fuss. The situation with Carter came up suddenly. Pretending to be a couple was a last-minute decision—I didn’t have time to discuss it with you.” This gala was meant to announce our secret marriage. Madelyn had invited company executives and a few entertainment journalists. She said she didn’t reveal the theme in advance to maintain an air of mystery. Yet now, not only were all the company employees here, but she’d also invited hard-to-reach reporters, directors, and investors. And she called this a “last-minute decision”? Once my breathing steadied, I scoffed, “Ms. Grant, you overestimate me. I know exactly where I stand. Who am I to question your decisions?” My reaction left Madelyn stunned. She stared at me for a long time, her expression complicated. As employees passed by, glancing curiously in our direction, she raised her clutch to shield her face, afraid someone might see us arguing. Watching her ridiculous antics, I suddenly burst out laughing. “Ms. Grant, you don’t need to do this. If I’m not welcome, I’ll leave.” With that, I stepped around her and headed for the door. “Enough!” Madelyn wasn’t ready to let it go. She followed closely, holding her clutch awkwardly to her face. “Evan Cooper, I explained everything to you! What more do you want?” Tired of her excuses, I stopped abruptly. Just as I was about to speak, Carter Hayes appeared. Casually, he wrapped an arm around Madelyn’s waist, pulling her close. He shot me a smug glance and said, “Madelyn, Director Warren mentioned he has a lead role in mind for me. Can you come and discuss the details?” Madelyn hesitated, casting me a fleeting glance. Then she said, “Evan, you go home first. I’ll join you after I finish discussing the project with Carter.” I watched the two of them, their closeness like a knife twisting in my gut. My fists clenched, but in the end, I could only mutter, “Fine.” Madelyn praised me for being understanding before turning away, a smile lighting up her face as she left with Carter. Not long after, Carter grabbed the back of Madelyn’s head and kissed her passionately. Flashes erupted as reporters swarmed them for photos. The two reluctantly pulled apart. “Carter is just so clingy with me,” Madelyn said shyly, her voice full of affection. “I hope everyone understands.” With his arm firmly around Madelyn’s waist, Carter shot me a triumphant look, basking in the spotlight. Unable to contain my emotions, I fled the suffocating scene.

When I got home, the first thing I saw was the wedding photo hanging by the entryway. The smiles we shared in that picture now felt like knives to my chest. When I first moved in with Madelyn, I redecorated the entire house out of love for her. I removed everything and replaced it with enlarged wedding photos, hanging them in nearly every room. When she saw it, she called me childish, scolding me for wasting time and money. She demanded I put the house back the way it was. I’d stubbornly refused, throwing small tantrums until she reluctantly gave in. Looking back now, I was pathetic. Barefoot, I kicked aside the matching slippers by the door and began taking down every photo from the walls. I carried them all downstairs and tossed them into the trash. Sweaty and exhausted, I stood in the now-barren house. The emptiness echoed the void in my chest. I thought back to college when I’d fallen in love with Madelyn at first sight. After a month of persistence, she finally agreed to be my girlfriend. We were inseparable, blissfully happy. I’d promised to love her forever. But after graduation, she became someone I no longer recognized. Madelyn grew ambitious, classifying friends and colleagues by status. She craved luxury and fine dining. To meet her demands, I worked tirelessly, pulling in clients and hustling for success. While I struggled, Madelyn maintained her flawless image, enjoying the fruits of my labor. When the company finally stabilized, I stepped into the background. To the world, Madelyn Grant was the face of Grant Enterprises, while I became invisible. I accepted this role willingly. Until Carter Hayes emerged as Hollywood’s rising star, everything changed the moment Madelyn saw him on screen. She’d once looked down on the entertainment industry. But one drunken night, Carter brought her home. That’s when I learned she’d spent the evening hosting a lavish party for the cast and crew to secure Carter a supporting role. I remember Carter’s smug expression as he handed her over, the suspicious marks on her neck, and how she clung to his arm even as I tried to take her inside. As I cared for her that night, she murmured Carter’s name in her sleep. Through careful questioning, I discovered Carter had been her first love. Their connection ran deep, dating back to childhood. Once Madelyn felt she was finally “worthy” of him, she pursued him with abandon. I’d known for a while that she loved Carter. I just hadn’t been willing to admit it. I thought our years together would make her turn back to me. But it was all wishful thinking. Finally, I understood. Better late than never.

After showering, I sat blankly against the headboard in the main bedroom. Rain poured down outside, a heavy, relentless storm. At first, I instinctively thought about going to pick her up. I even changed clothes, but then it hit me—I was being ridiculous again. I grabbed my phone, intending to call her, but her number appeared first. “Carter, just go to bed. Don’t wait for me tonight,” Madelyn slurred before hanging up. Her tone and the sudden disconnection confirmed it. I knew exactly where she was. To punish myself, I called Carter Hayes on video. He picked up instantly. The screen was almost entirely dark, but the unmistakable sounds of labored breathing filtered through. Carter chuckled softly, his voice laced with smugness. “Evan, I’m busy right now. Let’s talk later, okay?” The call ended before I could say anything, and my hand froze, unable to redial. Moments later, a breaking news alert popped up on my phone. I opened it and saw headlines about Carter Hayes: “Carter Hayes and Madelyn Grant’s Love Story Takes Center Stage!” Photos of their kiss from the gala splashed across the screen, accompanied by paragraphs of glowing praise. Comments flooded in, full of blessings for their “eternal happiness” and hopes for a “beautiful family.” I laughed bitterly, staring at the images for an eternity. At that moment, I could no longer lie to myself—Madelyn and Carter, indeed, were a perfect match. She is the head of Grant Enterprises. He is a rising star in Hollywood. They are a stunning couple. And me? Just a nobody. Carter’s social media was filled with new posts—everyone cozy, intimate photos of Madelyn accompanied by flirtatious captions. I felt like a clown, obsessively watching my wife flaunt her relationship with another man. As dawn broke, a message from Madelyn appeared on my phone: “Carter, I’m craving Eleanor’s Classic Chicken, Rice Soup, and Sammy’s Buttermilk Biscuits. Bring them to the office for me.” This was her way of making peace. Whenever we fought, and I couldn’t calm her down, she would do this—send me an order she knew I’d fulfill. In the past, these small gestures would have thrilled me. I’d have stayed awake all night, excited to win her back. But now? I hesitated for a long time before finally deciding to see her.

I arrived at the office before work hours. The building was quiet, except for the light coming from Madelyn’s office. I knocked and entered. She was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, drying her hair in a semi-sheer lace slip. She hadn’t noticed me yet, speaking on the phone. “Dr. Young, the baby’s only a month along. Let’s schedule the abortion while it’s still early.” “Madelyn, this is your first child after five years of marriage. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Evan first? I’m worried—” “No need,” she snapped, cutting him off. “It’s my body, and I’ll decide!” She paused, then continued coldly, “I’ve been drinking. Who knows if the baby will turn out deformed? Besides, Carter’s career is taking off. I can’t let anything hold me back.” The food container slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor. Startled, Madelyn turned around. When she saw me, her expression froze. “Evan… When did you get here? What did you hear?” She rushed toward me, gripping my sleeve desperately. “Evan, let me explain. I just found out about the pregnancy myself…” I didn’t respond. My gaze was fixed on the marks on her exposed skin—passionate, undeniable evidence of last night. Following my eyes, she looked down and gasped, quickly folding her arms to cover herself. I lifted my head and chuckled, my voice dripping with contempt. “Madelyn Grant, I heard everything. Are you still going to lie to me? You’re disgusting.” Madelyn, unaccustomed to such direct insults, teared up immediately. She hesitated, wanting to reach for my hand but ashamed to drop her arms. She paced. “Evan, Evan, please, listen. It’s not what you think…” At that moment, the door to the private lounge opened, and Carter Hayes emerged wearing a bathrobe. “Madelyn, what’s going on?” Tears streamed down Madelyn’s face as she turned to him. “Carter, please explain to Evan! He’s misunderstood our relationship.” Carter’s expression tightened briefly before he smiled lazily. “Evan, sorry about this. I got drunk last night, and Madelyn was kind enough to let me crash here. Nothing inappropriate happened. If it bothers you, I’ll leave.” But his demeanor didn’t match his words. The scratches on his chest were impossible to miss, and he adjusted his robe with a deliberate smirk. “Sorry, my clothes were ruined last night. The new ones haven’t arrived yet.” I stayed silent, watching their performance with a numb heart. Madelyn, thinking I believed Carter’s excuse, grabbed my wrist anxiously. “See, Evan? Carter explained it. We’re innocent.” I shook her off, smiling faintly. “Madelyn Grant, you’re a natural actress. Not being in Hollywood is a loss for the industry.” “What do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice trembling. I stared at her tear-streaked face, my voice steady. “It means we’re done. Let’s get a divorce.” Saying those words felt like a weight lifted off my chest. Ignoring her sobs, I walked away from Grant Enterprises, leaving her behind. When I picked up breakfast to bring to Madelyn this morning, a small part of me still clung to the hope that we could reconcile. But now, I’ve finally decided to let her go.

When I exited the building, the office was coming to life. Employees gave me a wide berth, sensing the storm in my demeanor. Only Ryan Dorsey, Madelyn’s assistant, dared to approach. He trailed me to the parking lot. When I stopped and turned to face him, he hesitated before speaking. “Mr. Cooper, there’s something I need to tell you. I thought about it all night, and you should know.” I exhaled deeply, forcing myself to stay calm. “What is it, Ryan?” He glanced at me nervously, then quickly looked down. “You gave me this job. Without you, I’d be nowhere. Even if I lose it for saying this, I don’t care.” “What’s going on?” I asked, frowning, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Ryan finally met my eyes. “Last night, I was working late. I accidentally saw Madelyn…” He faltered, then handed me his phone. “You’d better see for yourself.” The photos were explicit—Madelyn, barely clothed, straddling Carter Hayes. The accompanying video could have been better. The sounds alone turned my stomach. I chuckled darkly, returning the phone after forwarding the evidence to myself. “Delete everything, Ryan. Make sure she doesn’t find out. And thank you for telling me.” Ryan nodded, relieved, and left for the office. Back home, I packed my things—two suitcases were enough for everything I owned. As I was leaving, my phone rang. “Evan, I booked a table at your favorite steakhouse. Let’s have dinner tonight,” Madelyn said, her tone unnervingly casual. My anger flared. “Madelyn, are you deaf? If you want this divorce finalized, I’ll have dinner with you. Otherwise, forget it.” She paused, then started sobbing softly. “You used to do anything I asked. Now, you won’t even have one meal with me?” I laughed coldly. “Madelyn, do you think you deserve it?” Desperation tinged her voice. “Evan, please don’t be angry. Isn’t all this about recognition? Once Carter finishes his project, I’ll announce our breakup and our marriage. Isn’t that enough?” “No, it’s not. I want nothing more to do with you. You disgust me.”

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I thought Ashton Bennett loved me intensely during our five years of marriage. Until the night Macy Hart, my half-sister, returned to the country. Ashton left me at home and went to the airport to pick her up. He didn’t come back that night. Early the following day, Macy posted a picture on her Instagram burner account: “When you’re with the right person, every day feels like Valentine’s Day.” The accompanying photo? Macy and Ashton are kissing and surrounded by his circle of friends, celebrating. Content After work, I grabbed dinner at a restaurant downtown and strolled through Riverfront Park. I delayed going home until it was completely dark. When I got back, the lights were on. Ashton was home—a rare sight these days. He took my coat and bag and hung them on the rack. “Why are you home so late?” he asked. “Did you eat yet? I can make you some noodles.” I used to be the one saying those lines and doing those things. Who was he performing for now? My voice was cold. “I have a meeting tomorrow. Don’t bother.” I caught a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt? Discomfort? It only made me feel more disgusted. Was this his attempt to make amends after sneaking off with Macy to a hotel last night? I headed straight for the guest room. Ashton grabbed my wrist. “Lila, about last night…” I turned around. The dim light from the hallway highlighted his pale face, beads of cold sweat glistening on his forehead. His usually sharp jawline was rough with stubble. For years, I adored that face. Now, it only repulsed me. Love and its absence—how starkly different they feel. I didn’t let him finish. I walked into the guest room, shutting the door in his face. Last night, I painstakingly prepared a special dinner and even reminded him to come home early. He had no idea I planned to tell him I was pregnant. But instead, he took a phone call, claimed he had to work late, and left for the night. I waited for him in silence, sitting on the couch until dawn. The dishes I’d cooked remained untouched, cold. The ice cream cake I ordered weeks ago sat in its box, melting into a sticky puddle on the floor. As I decided to clean up, my phone pinged with a notification. It was a post from a burner Instagram account I didn’t recognize, one of Ashton’s followers. The account posted a live picture just minutes ago: “When you’re with the right person, every day feels like Valentine’s Day.” The photo was of Ashton kissing Macy. His friends, all cheering, surrounded them. Those friends—five years of marriage, and I had never met them. Whenever I tried to join his social circle, he would brush me off, calling them mere drinking buddies. That night, I scrolled through every post-Macy had ever shared. It was all there—photos, captions, proof. They had been meeting behind my back for years. In her posts, Ashton was caring, attentive, and generous—willing to give her the world. This side of him was a stranger to me.

The guest room door creaked open. Before I could react, Ashton wrapped his arms around me, his body hot against mine. My skin prickled with revulsion as nausea climbed up my throat. His hand slid down my back, fingers restless and invasive. I shoved him off with all my strength, grabbed a pillow, and stormed out of the room. He stood frozen for a moment, his expression unreadable in the shadows. We grew up together in the same close-knit community. Our parents were lifelong friends, and our bond was unshakable. The summer after sophomore year in college, he confessed his feelings. We started dating soon after. But that same year, my father came home with the news: a mix-up at the hospital years ago. The daughter he brought home wasn’t his biological child—Macy was. Macy entered our lives, delicate and teary-eyed, clinging to my father like a lifeline. “Dad, why is she still here? Don’t you love me?” she sobbed. “Sorry, sis,” she whimpered, voice trembling with practiced innocence. “I know I’m intruding. I’ll go if you want me to leave—no matter how hard it gets out there. I’m used to suffering.” My father, overcome with guilt, told me to leave instead. I laughed bitterly, packed the savings my mother left behind, and walked out. A year later, Macy showed up at my university, courtesy of my father’s connections. She played nice on the surface but undermined me at every turn. She sabotaged my friendships and got my graduate scholarship offer rescinded using my father’s influence. She even got me evicted from my dorm. Her petty schemes didn’t faze me—I refused to waste energy on someone so cheap. I believed I had something she could never take: Ashton. Macy relentlessly pursued him, even publicly confessing her feelings. She cozied up to his friends, tried to learn his routines, and orchestrated run-ins on campus. On Instagram, she chronicled her infatuation, obsessively documenting every interaction. Ashton dismissed her as clingy and pathetic, openly humiliating her more than once. For three years, Macy stuck to him like glue.

I once thought she genuinely loved Ashton. That was until she smugly declared, “Sis, I’m going to take everything you have—starting with Ashton.” I brushed her off. I had no doubt Ashton loved me. Our bond was built on years of trust and affection. When I was kicked out of my dorm, he rented me a penthouse apartment near campus for a year. He remembered all my preferences, waited in line overnight for a Coachella ticket so I could get a front-row spot, and handled all the logistics for our ski trips. All I had to do was enjoy the scenery. I trusted him completely. Macy’s games could never shake that. After graduation, Macy disappeared without a word. I thought her obsession with Ashton was finally over. Then came the photo on Instagram. Her second year of chasing him was when things began to change. He started looking at her differently. Sitting in the living room that night, the air felt thick, suffocating. Ashton buried his face in his hands, silent. “What’s wrong with you?” He didn’t answer, so I pressed. “Explain last night.” “I told you, I was working late! Why are you so jealous all the time? This is why our relationship is strained—you don’t take any responsibility for your behavior!” I laughed, hollow and bitter. Once, I thought Ashton was the most honest, loyal, moral man in the world. I never checked his phone or questioned where he went. He always volunteered the details. I realized those updates were just excuses for sneaking around with Macy. He played on my trust, and I fell for it repeatedly. His voice grew harsher. “Do you want me to call everyone from work right now so you can interrogate them? Would that make you happy?” I felt drained. What was the point? Even if I uncovered the truth, the betrayal was already a wound too deep to heal.

Years of trust shattered overnight. It hurt, but I knew clinging to illusions would only worsen it. Facing the truth and letting go was the only real choice. Frustrated by my silent treatment, Ashton slammed the door and left the house, his face dark with anger. I didn’t care. I focused on work. A few years ago, my father was diagnosed with leukemia. His health rapidly declined, and so did the company’s finances. “The company’s cash flow has dried up,” he confessed. “It’s on the verge of collapse.” At that moment, I realized how trivial grudges and betrayals seemed in the face of life and death. Despite his faults, my father had raised me for eighteen years. I took over the failing company, juggling work demands and his hospital care. It was exhausting. On the other hand, Macy left the country and never came back to check on him—or anyone else. One morning, I dressed quickly to avoid running into Ashton, but luck wasn’t on my side. Stepping out of the bedroom, I saw him standing in the kitchen, smiling as if nothing had happened the night before. He gestured toward the table. “Come have breakfast.” His eyes lingered on my arm, and he silently handed me a custom-made long-sleeve shirt. He had ordered so many of these over the past five years, all to hide the scar on my left arm. It was from a fire during a trip overseas. A restaurant caught fire, and Ashton fainted from smoke inhalation. I had already escaped, but I went back to save him. A burst light fixture exploded, leaving my arm with a severe burn.

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While setting up the wedding bed, I found an unfamiliar stain on the sheets. Someone else had been staying in my townhouse! I couldn’t think straight and immediately video-called my fiancé. Unusually, he picked up right away. “The new bed is soft. I tested it for you.” The person on the video wasn’t Liam Prescott but his assistant, Sienna Vaughn. She smiled at me, sultry and smug. Alright then, I’m done with this man. Content “Where’s Liam? Get him on the phone.” TSienna Vaughn answered the video call. I froze for a moment but quickly regained my composure. Sienna glanced around, pretending to examine the room I was in. Then she smirked. “Oh, Miss Reese, you’re at the townhouse?” She leaned closer to the camera, her voice dripping with mockery. “The bed’s so soft. I tested it for you.” I felt the ground drop out from under me, my mind buzzing loudly. I glared at the woman on the screen, unable to speak for a moment. Sienna’s gaze shifted to the stained sheets, her tone oozing triumphantly. “The groom’s not bad either. I tested him, too.” I finally noticed her surroundings—a room at The Franklin Hotel. Suppressing my burning anger, I steadied my voice. “Where is Liam?” Sienna made a show of glancing off-camera, feigning hesitation. “Oh, Mr. Prescott? He’s working late and very busy.” Then I heard his voice—his all-too-familiar voice. “Sienna, come help me scrub my back.” I froze, my mouth opening and closing with no sound. “You just want me in there with you. You’re such a tease!” Sienna giggled as she tossed me a victorious look and hung up the call. All my strength drained from me, and I sank to the floor, overwhelmed by a mix of fury and heartbreak. I don’t know how long I sat there before I laughed bitterly, tossing the stained sheet into the dumpster. Tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding day. I was busy decorating the townhouse while Liam shared a bubble bath with his assistant. Sienna had aimed to ruin my wedding—and she succeeded. I texted Liam: “We’re done. The wedding is off.” A soiled bed I can replace. A filthy man? Never. I stared at the wedding-themed figurines of a couple kissing, dressed in bright red gowns and tuxedos, and threw them in the dumpster. Then, I smashed the framed wedding photo on the wall. One by one, I destroyed the decorations I’d lovingly prepared for the townhouse. Finally, I sent a mass message to all the guests canceling the wedding, powered down my phone, and returned to my parents’ home. That night, I drowned the memories of the past years in cheap whiskey and passed out in a haze. The following day, loud, frantic knocking woke me up. Standing at the door were Liam and his groomsmen, dressed to the nines in tailored suits, looking all smug and polished. Liam clutched a bouquet of roses, now crushed and falling apart. His expression was furious as he took in my unkempt, half-asleep state. “Delilah! Are you out of your mind?” His twisted, contorted face was so grotesque it almost made me laugh. That laugh pushed him over the edge. He threw the mangled bouquet to the ground, yelling, “Do you even realize what day it is? It’s our wedding day!”

Rubbing my temples, still groggy from my hangover, I snapped. “I told you I’m not marrying you. We’re done! Didn’t you understand the text?!” Liam’s bloodshot eyes flared with suppressed rage. Finally, he shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. “Change your clothes and come with me. I’ll forget this ever happened, and I’ll forgive you. Just this once.” Forgive me? Did this man think I was desperate for him? That I couldn’t live without him? I glanced past him at the groomsmen, whose faces ranged from uncomfortable to entertained. “Liam Prescott! You’re the one who messed up. Are you here to talk about your relationship with Sienna Vaughn?” “Leave! We’re over. Understand?!” Liam froze for a second before his expression crumbled. The arrogance evaporated, replaced with a nervous, almost pleading tone. “You’ve got it wrong. This is my fault. I didn’t explain it to you properly.” “Do whatever you want to punish me later—yell, scream, whatever. But today’s our wedding. It’s the most important day of our lives. The guests are waiting for us. Let’s just go, please?” His fake sincerity was laughable. The way he suddenly switched tones—one second arrogant, the next groveling—was almost impressive. One of his friends, clearly feeling sorry for him, stepped forward. “Sis, today’s not the time for this. Get through the wedding, and then you can settle everything however you want.” Oh, Liam was trying to force my hand now? Fine. Let’s see who ends up regretting it. I nodded. “Alright. Wait here.” I washed up, wore a simple dress, and left the house. I waved him off when Liam asked about my hair, makeup, and gown. His frustration was visible, but he couldn’t stop me. Only William’s family and guests were present at the hotel. My friends and relatives had already received the cancellation message. The guests’ expressions turned from confusion to amusement when they saw me in casual attire. A few older women couldn’t resist commenting: “A wedding isn’t a time for tantrums, sweetie. Only Liam would tolerate this—anyone else would’ve called it off ages ago!” “That’s right. With so many guests here, why didn’t she call it off sooner if she didn’t want to marry him?” “Alright, alright, she’s here now. Let’s not make a scene.” Mrs. Prescott pulled me to the main table, her demeanor warm and welcoming. “We were so worried when we couldn’t reach you, Delilah. Did Liam upset you? Tell us, and we’ll sort him out.” Mr. Prescott chimed in, his voice kind and steady. “Yes, we’re all on your side here.” Liam’s parents were genuinely wonderful people. Marrying into their family would’ve been a dream—if only their son hadn’t been a cheating coward. I stayed silent, unsure of how to break it to them. Mrs. Prescott mistook my hesitation for a lingering grudge. She patted my hand gently. “Delilah, listen to me. Get dressed and made up first. I’ll make sure Liam apologizes properly later.” “Yes, let’s not ruin such a joyous day,” Mr. Prescott nodded. I sighed heavily, ready to explain the truth, when the heels clacking interrupted me. Sienna Vaughn strutted in, wearing a striking red gown that hugged her figure. Her makeup was flawless, a stark contrast to my bare face. “Am I late?” she asked sweetly, eyes locking onto mine with a pointed, provocative gleam. “Congratulations, Miss Reese. Happy wedding day.”

I smiled back, though it didn’t reach my eyes. Sienna Vaughn looked stunning in that red dress, almost like the bride. She waltzed over to the main table and casually sat in the seat meant for Liam Prescott. As she leaned down, a glint around her neck caught my eye. My chest tightened, and I stared. It was a diamond ring. Not just any ring—my ring. The one I had designed myself. It’s the only one like it in the world. Now, it hung around Sienna, the mistress’s neck. I couldn’t imagine what ring Liam would’ve handed me if my wedding had gone ahead. A cheap stand-in? Or had he planned to pluck this one right off her neck? Either way, the thought turned my stomach. Despite my efforts to stay composed, my nails dug into my palms as I fought the anger boiling inside. At that moment, Liam entered the room with the officiant. “Where’s the bride? Not wearing her gown? A red dress would work too—very pretty,” the officiant remarked approvingly, clearly mistaking Sienna for the bride. Sienna glanced at me, feigning surprise, and quickly waved her hands. “Oh, no, no! I’m not the bride! Miss Reese, don’t be upset.” Liam stormed over, his expression thunderous. “Why aren’t you dressed yet? Do you even care about our wedding?” He reached out to grab my arm, but Mrs. Prescott intervened, pulling him back. “Liam, speak to her properly! Don’t be so harsh.” Sienna jumped in, her voice syrupy sweet. “Miss Reese is just a little emotional. Liam, you should calm her down. We can’t let this ruin the wedding.” But Liam’s frustration only deepened. He turned to me and barked in front of the whole room, “Delilah, enough of this! Get changed now! Stop embarrassing yourself!” Sienna placed a soothing hand on his arm, murmuring, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you apologize to the guests. Everything will be fine.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Why don’t you just finish the wedding with him while you’re at it?” I was done pretending, and the time for quiet dignity had passed. Raising my voice so everyone could hear, I announced, “Sorry to make this such a spectacle, everyone. Please enjoy the food and drinks. But as of today, Liam Prescott and I are officially over. Consider yourselves witnesses.” Liam’s eyes burned with fury. “When are you going to stop this nonsense?” Sienna’s face contorted in mock alarm, her high heels clicking as she stomped in frustration. “Miss Reese, you’ve misunderstood! I was just trying to help manage the guests!” Her act was as transparent as a windowpane, and I crossed my arms, watching her smugly. “You weren’t just managing guests, were you? Didn’t you also manage the wedding bed?” Her smug grin faltered for a split second before she quickly recovered, tears welling in her eyes. “Miss Reese, I think you’re mistaken—” Slap! The little snake was a master of putting on an act, but I had no interest in arguing with her.

“Delilah, have you lost your mind?” Liam panicked, pulling Sienna into his arms as if to shield her. Sienna hadn’t expected me to slap her and froze, her large, teary eyes trembling like she’d just suffered the greatest injustice. Slowly, she leaned into Liam’s chest, her tears soaking his shirt. Liam glared at me as if he wanted to tear me apart. “Delilah, you’re nothing but a crazy shrew! What about you even compares to—” “Shut up, Liam!” Mr. Prescott yanked him back, cutting him off mid-sentence. Beside him, Mrs. Prescott stepped forward to pull Sienna away from Liam’s arms. “Miss Vaughn, this is a family matter. I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to leave.” Sienna hesitated, glanced at Liam, and then turned to me with a slight, triumphant smirk before strolling out of the room in her heels. Liam wasn’t finished. “Are you happy now? You’ve turned our wedding into a circus! No man in his right mind would ever marry someone like you!” “Liam Prescott, shut your mouth!” Mrs. Prescott tried to intervene, grabbing his arm, but he shoved her away. “Mom, stay out of this! If this wedding is ruined, I’ll ensure she regrets it for the rest of her life!” Well, wasn’t that convenient? Because I was planning to teach him a lesson. I slammed my hand on the table, standing up. “You’re right. There won’t be a wedding. But the lesson? That’s coming from me.” Ignoring everyone’s shocked expressions, I strode toward the officiant standing awkwardly near the screen at the front of the room. “Miss Reese, uh… what do you need?” he stammered, inching aside as I walked past him to the computer. I plugged in my phone and transferred a video to the big screen. It played immediately. Sienna’s face filled the screen, smiling wickedly. Her voice echoed through the silent hall. “The groom’s not bad either. I tested him, too.” “Where’s Liam?” “Mr. Prescott? Oh, he’s working late. So busy.” “Sienna, come help me scrub my back.” “You just want me in there with you. You’re such a tease!” The video ended, leaving the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Slap! “Bastard!” Mr. Prescott’s hand came down hard on Liam’s face. He slumped back, his shoulders caving under the weight of disappointment. My chest ached as I watched. I had truly respected his parents, and ending things with Liam meant cutting ties with them, too. I faced the stunned crowd, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest. “Liam Prescott, who betrayed this wedding, wasn’t me. It was you—the man who defiled our wedding bed with his mistress.” “And that… mess you left behind? Do I need to spell out what it was? You’re disgusting.” I couldn’t hold back anymore. My voice cracked as the floodgates opened.

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Due to rising costs, I raised the price of cafeteria meals by 25 cents, which led to complaints. “School cafeterias are for little kids—they don’t even eat much. Why raise prices?” “How do we know the food he’s serving is fresh?” “This guy is just a greedy crook, trying to make money off us!” For the past three years, I’ve only used top-quality ingredients for school meals. I barely broke even, never making a single penny in profit. Now, I’m being labeled as greedy over 25 cents. I’m done. I won’t manage the cafeteria anymore. Months later, those same parents showed up at my restaurant. “Walter Monroe, we’re begging you to come back!” Content I was called into a meeting. Some parents had reported me to the District School Board, accusing me of price-gouging and serving stale food. They demanded the school terminate my cafeteria contract. When Ms. Helen Whitaker, the school director, told me this, she admitted she thought the accusations were baseless. “Ever since you took over the cafeteria, you’ve been using fresh ingredients, getting up before dawn to pick them out yourself. You’ve always prioritized the kids’ health with balanced meals. And now they’re calling you a greedy crook?” “The parents are adamant,” Helen said with a sigh. “They said if we keep you as the cafeteria contractor, they’ll cause a scene daily.” Her words left me fuming. Helen glanced at me with an all-too-knowing look. “Walter, we’ve got hundreds of students here. Adding 25 cents to every dish must be raking in quite a bit. Don’t be too greedy.” This was absurd. My temper flared. “Helen—” She waved me off impatiently. “Go home. We’ll discuss this at the next board meeting.” I stewed over her dismissive attitude all night. The next day, I stood firm. The prices stayed raised by 25 cents. Helen stormed into the cafeteria that morning. “Walter Monroe! Didn’t we just discuss this? Why haven’t you reversed the price increase? The parents are in an uproar!” She thrust her phone in my face, showing me messages from the PTA Chat Group. Calvin Bradshaw Sr. was leading the charge: “Why are the meal prices still raised? Is the administration ignoring our feedback?” Marissa Collins chimed in: “The cafeteria at Riverbend Charter Academy charges less! Walter Monroe is just a greedy crook!” Tamara Caldwell was more aggressive: “If the school doesn’t handle this, we’ll escalate to the District School Board. Let’s see how they explain letting this slide!” I scrolled through their messages, speechless. I hadn’t raised prices once in three years. At best, I barely broke even after covering costs. My family had been urging me to quit this contract for years. But I stuck with it because these were kids. As long as I wasn’t losing money, I thought I would ensure they had healthy meals. Was worth it And yet, here I was—labeled greedy over a measly 25 cents. The parents could easily spend hundreds on a meal at a fancy restaurant. How could they lose their minds over a quarter? I told Helen to add me to the PTA Chat Group. If they wanted answers, I’d give them. Walter Monroe: “Dear parents, Due to rising costs, I had to raise prices by 25 cents to continue serving fresh and healthy meals. If you think I’m lying, please visit Hillside Farmer’s Market and check prices yourself.” The backlash was swift. Calvin Bradshaw Sr.: “Please. Everyone at the market knows you—they’d never tell us the truth. You’re all in on it together.” His comment unleashed a flurry of agreement. Marissa Collins: “Exactly! He’s colluding with the vendors to scam us!” Benjamin Harper: “I doubt the food is even that fresh. It can’t cost much to make those meals.” Tamara Caldwell: “Three years with no price changes, and now this? Something’s fishy. We only agreed to let him run the cafeteria because the food seemed decent then.” I kept trying to explain. Walter Monroe: “Parents, the price increase is solely due to rising costs. Even with the change, a vegetable dish costs $1, and a meat dish $2.50. That’s still incredibly cheap.” “I haven’t earned a cent in profit over three years. I only raised prices because I couldn’t sustain it anymore.” But Calvin shot back: “Spare us the sob story. If you didn’t make money, why keep the cafeteria? Who knows how much ‘black-hearted’ money you’ve already pocketed.”

I wanted to punch something. It was impossible to reason with people like Calvin. Running the cafeteria was all about conscience, not profit. For three years, I hadn’t earned a dime. I got up before sunrise every morning, trudged to Hillside Farmer’s Market, and haggled with vendors over pennies to get the freshest ingredients. My days were an endless cycle of chopping, cooking, sanitizing dishes, serving meals, and scrubbing everything clean—leaving me so exhausted I could barely stand. Sure, I could cut corners. I could use bulk suppliers or cheap frozen meat to lower costs. But how could I serve kids subpar food? Did they think I was going through all this trouble just to earn 25 cents per plate? Meanwhile, the PTA Chat Group kept piling on. “I Cafeteriaontracts rake in at least $15,000 a year.” “No wonder he’s so desperate to stay on. No way he’s losing money.” “He probably feeds the kids garbage just to make a buck!” “Kick him out already!” Their ridiculous accusations almost made me laugh. Their creativity in twisting facts was impressive. I had the skills and integrity to run a successful restaurant. Managing the school cafeteria was a passion project, not a cash grab. And yet, here I was—painted as a villain. Some parents defended me. “It’s normal for meal prices to go up. Everything’s getting more expensive.” “Walter’s just trying to make a living like anyone else. Twenty-five cents isn’t much.” But others drowned them out with more venom. “If it’s so cheap, why don’t you cover the cost for all our kids?” “Other schools haven’t raised prices—why should he?” “What makes his cafeteria so special?” No matter what I said, it was brushed aside. They didn’t realize most cafeterias reused leftover food as long as it wasn’t spoiled. For three years, I’d only served fresh meals. Not once had I compromised on quality. Students who wanted seconds always got them for free, as long as they didn’t waste food. I’d done everything possible to ensure these kids ate well and stayed healthy. But to these parents, I was just a greedy crook. Fine. I’d had enough. “Fresh food? Balanced nutrition? If you think I’m greedy over 25 cents, don’t expect me to care about any of that anymore!” I snapped in the chat. The group exploded. “You can’t do that! These are kids—nutrition is critical!” “How can they study if they’re not eating well?” “We want our kids to thrive! That’s your responsibility!” Helen tapped my shoulder, signaling me to calm down. I swallowed my rage and typed a final message. Walter Monroe: “I guarantee the 25-cent increase is only to cover rising costs. I’m not profiting at all. Please trust me—I’ll ensure your kids are well-fed and healthy.” Calvin’s response cut deep. “If you’re not profiting, why are you so desperate to stay? Are you planning to take it out on the kids?” That was it. I was done. “I won’t manage this cafeteria anymore.”

Ms. Helen Whitaker tried to smooth things over in the PTA Chat Group. “Parents, I can assure you that this incident was Walter Monroe’s mistake. I will personally oversee his work moving forward. Let’s give him a chance to make things right.” She even posted a public reprimand and attached a written apology I had to draft. That seemed to settle things—for a while. But just a few days later, chaos erupted again. A group of furious parents stormed into the cafeteria. Calvin Bradshaw Sr., as usual, led the charge. “I knew it! You’re not just greedy—you’re trying to take revenge on us by poisoning our kids!” “Let’s trash this place!” he bellowed. “Make him pay for what he’s done!” Without hesitation, they began smashing chairs, tables, and kitchen equipment, leaving the cafeteria in complete disarray. I ran to intervene, but Calvin shoved me to the ground. He grabbed my shirt collar and waved a paper in my face, his anger boiling. “My kid came home yesterday throwing up and having diarrhea after eating here. The hospital confirmed it—food poisoning!” Tamara Caldwell shrieked, “My daughter Lila had a stomachache too. Same diagnosis—food poisoning. We’re not letting this monster off the hook!” Before I could respond, Calvin swung at me, landing a solid punch. Other parents joined in the attack. My pregnant wife, Lydia, tried to pull them off me, only to be shoved aside. Seeing her stumble, I lost it. I pushed them back and shielded her. “I’m calling the police. None of you are getting away with this.” That stopped them in their tracks. Benjamin Harper sneered, “Fine! Call them! Let’s see who the cops believe—you or us. Your poison food hasn’t been accounted for yet.” I wasn’t worried. I handpicked yesterday’s ingredients, ensuring everything was fresh. Moreover, I always kept meal samples for safety inspections. “Accusing me of poisoning your kids? Do you have proof? There are hundreds of students eating here every day—why is it just your kids who got sick? You’re just making this up to scam me for money!” I shot back. “In three years of running this cafeteria, no one has reported food poisoning. Every health inspection has been spotless.” Calvin thrust the paper in my face. “My kid didn’t eat anything else after leaving school. It had to be your food.” He turned to the other parents. “Isn’t that right? The kids ate here and went straight home—nothing else. Who’s with me?” The crowd rallied behind him, voices rising in agreement. Marissa Collins added, “Think about it! Our kids eat here every day. Can you trust this guy anymore?” Their accusations ignited a mob mentality. I stared Marissa down. “Can you swear your kid ate nothing on the way home? Any snacks, a drink from somewhere? Are you all 100% certain the cafeteria is to blame?” I didn’t wait for a reply. “I’ve already called the police and the health department. We’re getting to the bottom of this—and I’m holding everyone accountable.”

Shortly after, the police and the health inspectors arrived. We all headed to the Health Inspection Agency for testing and questioning. The results came back quickly: the cafeteria’s food was perfectly safe. Calvin Bradshaw Sr. sheepishly approached me, wringing his hands. “Walter, I was just worried about my kid. You know how it is—I overreacted. Don’t take it personally.” Marissa Collins chimed in with a saccharine smile. “Walter, you’re about to become a dad yourself. Sure, you understand our panic. We didn’t mean to take it so far.” Oh, so now they wanted to play nice? Not a chance. “I filed the police report, and you smashed up my cafeteria. I expect full compensation for the damages and a formal apology.” They froze, stunned that I wasn’t backing down. Calvin tried to rally the group. “Our kids got sick from his food! Isn’t that right, everyone?” Benjamin Harper loudly agreed, shooting knowing glances around. The parents quickly fell in line, insisting the cafeteria caused their kids’ illnesses. Their coordinated lies were laughable, but the police didn’t buy them. After some investigation, the real story emerged. The doctor treating their children explained, “This isn’t food poisoning. The children drank contaminated water—likely from the nearby creek.” The parents’ bravado faltered. Calvin weakly protested, “But they drank the school’s water…” I didn’t let him finish. “The cafeteria uses the school’s water supply. You should take it up with the school if you think it’s contaminated. Don’t pin this on me.” The police pressed further and learned the truth: the kids had a water-drinking water-drinking creek. after school “Now that we’ve established the cause, let’s address the damages to the cafeteria,” the officer said firmly. My wife, Lydia, handed over an itemized list of everything they’d broken. The parents grudgingly paid for the repairs. Despite the compensation, my heart sank as I surveyed the wreckage. Cleaning up the mess would take hours, and the students would be left without meals for the day. Thankfully, it was a weekend. Then Helen showed up. “Walter, how could you demand money from the parents? You need to return it immediately.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Helen, I haven’t made a single cent running this cafeteria. If you want me to return the money, you must cover my losses yourself.” She glared at me. “Walter, if you want to keep running this cafeteria, you’ll have to suck it up. Even if they’d beaten you to a pulp, you’d have to take it.” That was the last straw. “There are six months left on my contract. I’ll pay the penalty for breaking it early, but I’m done.”

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When I was preparing our honeymoon suite, I found suspicious stains on the bed sheets while preparing our honeymoon suite. Someone else had been in our new marital bed! My mind went blank. I immediately video called my fiancé. Surprisingly, he picked up right away. “The new bed is very comfortable. I’ve tested it for you,” said a sultry female voice. It was Phoenix’s assistant, Lydia, who answered the call. The woman smiled seductively and arrogantly. Well, I guess I don’t want this man anymore. “Where’s Phoenix? Tell him to answer the phone,” I said, stunned for a few seconds before quickly regaining my composure. Lydia pretended to carefully examine my surroundings through the video. Then she smiled coyly, “Miss Cora, you’re in the honeymoon suite, aren’t you?” “The new bed is very comfortable. I’ve tested it for you,” she repeated. I felt like the ground had dropped out from under me, my mind going blank. I stared intently at the woman in the video, momentarily speechless. Lydia’s gaze swept over the bed sheets, her tone smug: “The groom is quite good too. I’ve tested him out for you as well.” By now, I could clearly see her surroundings – it was a hotel room. I forcefully suppressed my anger, trying to stay calm. I asked again, “Where is Phoenix?” Lydia deliberately glanced in a certain direction, then feigned reluctance: “Mr. Brown is working overtime, of course. He’s very busy.” Just then, I heard that familiar voice. “Lydia, come help me wash my back.” At that moment, I felt like I’d been paralyzed. My mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. “You just want to trick me into showering with you, you naughty boy,” Lydia said. As she spoke, she gave me a triumphant look, then abruptly ended the video call. I collapsed to the floor, all strength leaving my body. A tidal wave of anger and sorrow engulfed me. After I don’t know how long, I let out a bitter laugh and tossed the bed sheets into the trash. Tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding day with Phoenix. While I was busy preparing our honeymoon suite, he was busy taking a romantic bath with his female assistant. I knew Lydia wanted to ruin my wedding. She had succeeded. I sent Phoenix a message: “Phoenix, let’s break up. The wedding is off.” I wanted nothing to do with a tainted honeymoon suite or a tainted man. I looked at the decorative figurines on the table – a kissing bride and groom in traditional red wedding attire. I threw them in the trash too. I smashed our framed wedding photos hanging on the wall. I destroyed all the decorations I had carefully put up around the suite. I sent messages to friends and family canceling the wedding, then turned off my phone and went home. Once things quieted down, I forced myself not to think about all the years I’d spent with that dog of a man. I drank myself into a stupor, seeking oblivion in alcohol. The next morning, I was awakened by furious pounding on my door. Phoenix and his groomsmen were outside, all dressed up in suits and looking presentable. The roses Phoenix was holding were crushed and scattered. Seeing that I had clearly just woken up, he became enraged. “Cora! Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted. The ugly, contorted look on his face was almost comical. I couldn’t help but laugh. This laugh seemed to infuriate Phoenix even more. He violently threw the mangled bouquet to the ground, roaring, “Do you know today is our wedding day?!”

I rubbed my eyes, extremely irritated at having my hangover disturbed. My tone was equally harsh: “Didn’t I tell you the wedding’s off?! We’re breaking up, don’t you understand?!” Phoenix’s eyes were bloodshot, as if he was desperately trying to contain his anger. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut and said through gritted teeth, “Get dressed and come with me right now. I’ll pretend nothing happened. I can forgive you this one time.” I don’t know how he got the impression I was some lovesick girl who couldn’t leave him. I had just taken our relationship seriously, and he assumed I couldn’t live without him! I glanced over the groomsmen behind him, who all looked like they were enjoying the show to some degree. “Phoenix! You’re the one who did something wrong. Do you want to discuss your relationship with Lydia right here?” I said coldly. “Get lost now! We’re over, understand?!” I shouted. Phoenix was stunned for a moment before his expression changed drastically. He no longer had his previous arrogant air. His eyes darted around as he avoided my gaze, but he didn’t leave. His tone softened. “You misunderstood. It’s my fault. I should have explained things to you earlier,” he said. “You can hit me or yell at me later if you want. Today is our wedding day, the most important day of our lives. All our family and friends are waiting for us. Please don’t make a scene. Just come with me, okay?” he pleaded. He shook his head and smiled bitterly, his expression earnest, as if I was the one being unreasonable. This man could change his tune so quickly. He was quite the smooth operator. I could see the groomsmen giving me disapproving looks. One of Phoenix’s close friends even tried to persuade me. “Come on, sis. Today’s not the day to throw a tantrum. You can do whatever you want after the wedding,” he said. Very well. If Phoenix wanted to force my hand, I’d play along. But whatever happened next would be on him. I nodded. “Fine. Wait here.” I quickly washed up and threw on a dress before heading out. Phoenix asked where I was going to do my makeup and change into my wedding dress, but I refused. His face darkened, but he couldn’t do anything about it. At the hotel, only Phoenix’s family and friends were there. Although my relatives and friends didn’t know exactly what had happened, they knew I had canceled the wedding. Seeing me arrive dressed so casually, the guests’ expressions became quite meaningful. Several aunties immediately started criticizing me. “How can you throw a tantrum over such an important event like your wedding? You’re so willful. Only Phoenix would put up with this. Anyone else would have left you by now.” “Exactly! All these guests are waiting here. If you didn’t want to get married, why did you wait until now?!” “Alright, alright. Cora’s here now, isn’t she?” Mrs. Brown interjected, taking my arm and leading me to sit at the main table. Her face showed no signs of displeasure. She even asked me, “You silly girl, we were so worried when we couldn’t reach you. Did Phoenix upset you? Tell us, and we’ll teach him a lesson.” Mr. Brown also chimed in gently, “That’s right, we’re on your side.” Phoenix’s parents had always been very good to me. Marrying into their family wouldn’t have involved any mother-in-law issues at all. Mrs. Brown was an especially considerate and tolerant woman, and Mr. Brown was a kind and generous man. But Phoenix had cheated. I could never forgive that, no matter what. I remained silent for a moment. Mrs. Brown probably thought I was still upset. She spoke earnestly, “Cora, listen to me. Go get your makeup done and change into your dress. I promise I’ll make Phoenix apologize to you later.” “Yes, don’t ruin this joyous day,” Mr. Brown agreed. I let out a long sigh. At that moment, I wanted to explain everything properly to Phoenix’s parents and resolve this peacefully. But someone’s arrival interrupted me. Lydia floated in wearing a flowing red chiffon dress, looking delicate and pretty. She smiled slightly, her gaze challenging as she looked at me. Her elaborate makeup contrasted sharply with my bare face. The rhythmic clicking of her high heels attracted everyone’s attention. “I hope I’m not late. Congratulations on your wedding, Miss Cora,” she said sweetly.

I smiled back. How lovely she looked in that red dress, just like the star of the wedding. Lydia casually walked over to the main table and sat down in the seat next to me that should have been Phoenix’s. As she bent to sit down, a flash of light at her neck caught my eye. I couldn’t help but look closer. I thought my heart had already turned to ice, but apparently it could freeze a few more degrees. It was a diamond ring, identical to my wedding ring. I had personally designed that style – there was only one in the whole world. Now it hung around the neck of this homewrecker. If my wedding had gone ahead as planned, I don’t know what kind of ring Phoenix would have given me. But whether he found a random replacement or took it off his assistant’s neck, it was utterly disgusting. I guess I still couldn’t help feeling angry. I dug my nails into my palms, trying not to lose my composure. Just then, Phoenix walked in with the officiant. “Isn’t the bride wearing a wedding dress? A red dress is fine too, very pretty,” the officiant said approvingly. He clearly thought Lydia, in her red dress and full makeup, was the pouting bride. Lydia glanced at me, then acted embarrassed. “Oh no, I’m not the bride today. Please don’t be upset, Miss Cora,” she said, waving her hands. Phoenix strode over, looking furious. He demanded, “Why haven’t you gone to do your makeup and change? Do you not care about our wedding at all?!” He reached out to grab me. Mrs. Brown quickly intervened, scolding Phoenix, “Phoenix, watch your tone! There’s no need to be so harsh.” Lydia chimed in, “That’s right, Miss Cora is just being a little willful. Mr. Brown, you should coax her. Don’t let it ruin the wedding.” Phoenix got even angrier, clearly frustrated in front of all the guests. He pointed at me and said, “Cora, your tantrums have limits. Go change right now!” Lydia stood up and patted Phoenix’s arm soothingly. “Don’t be angry. I’ll help you greet the guests and apologize while Miss Cora gets ready.” “Why don’t you just finish the whole wedding for him while you’re at it,” I said coldly. I was done pretending everything was fine. Clearly there was no way to resolve this calmly today. I made a snap decision and announced loudly, “I’m sorry everyone had to see this farce. Please enjoy the food and drinks, but Phoenix and I are officially breaking up as of today. You’re all witnesses.” “How long are you going to keep this up?!” Phoenix glared at me furiously. Lydia looked very anxious and even stamped her foot. Her high heel made a crisp sound against the floor. “Miss Cora, please don’t misunderstand. I just meant I’d help greet the guests. I didn’t mean anything else,” she said. She was quite the experienced manipulator. I crossed my arms and coldly watched her performance. “You’re not just greeting guests for me. Didn’t you consummate the marriage for me too?” I said. Lydia seemed very pleased with my reaction. A flash of smug triumph crossed her eyes before she quickly put on an expression of utter wronged innocence. “Miss Cora, you really misunderstand me,” she said. Slap! The little vixen was quite the actress, but I had no interest in playing along with her act.

“Cora, have you gone crazy?!” Phoenix panicked. He quickly pulled Lydia into his arms, holding her protectively. Lydia also seemed shocked that I would actually hit her. Her big eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over. She buried her face in Phoenix’s chest and rubbed it back and forth pitifully, finally managing to smear some tears onto his clothes. I don’t know if it was the heat of his mistress’s tears that set him off, but Phoenix looked at me like he wanted to eat me alive. “Cora, you’re nothing but a shrew! Look at yourself – how could you possibly compare to…” “Enough, Phoenix!” Mr. Brown cut him off mid-sentence, grabbing Phoenix’s arm. Mrs. Brown also reacted quickly, pulling Lydia out of Phoenix’s embrace. “Miss Ye, this is a family matter. It’s not appropriate for you to be involved. Please leave,” Mrs. Brown said firmly. Lydia glanced at Phoenix, then raised her chin defiantly at me. In the end, she left without another word, her high heels clicking loudly. But Phoenix wasn’t done. “Are you happy now, ruining our wedding day like this?! No man but me would marry a psycho like you!” he shouted. “Phoenix, be quiet!” Mrs. Brown hurried to intervene, moving to restrain Phoenix. But he shook her off roughly. “Mom, stay out of this. We’re not getting married today. I need to teach this woman a lesson,” he snarled. What a coincidence – I wanted to teach him a lesson too! I slammed my hand on the table and shouted back, “You’re right, we’re not getting married. But I’m the one who’s going to teach YOU a lesson!” I ignored everyone’s reactions and walked over to the officiant standing by the big screen. The poor man was so uncomfortable he didn’t know what to say. He instinctively stepped aside, blinking rapidly as he asked, “Miss… Miss Cora, what do you need?” I ignored him and went straight to the computer connected to the big screen. I logged into SnapChat, uploaded a video, and hit play. Suddenly Lydia’s smug face filled the entire screen. Her taunting voice echoed through the hall. “The groom is quite good too. I’ve tested him out for you as well.” “Where is Phoenix?” “Mr. Brown is working overtime, of course. He’s very busy.” “Lydia, come help me wash my back.” “You just want to trick me into showering with you, you naughty boy.” Even after Lydia’s triumphant face disappeared from the screen, the room remained deathly silent for several long seconds. Slap! “You worthless scum!” Mr. Brown put all his strength into that slap. Afterwards, he seemed to deflate, his shoulders sagging. My heart ached a bit too. I realized I wouldn’t be able to maintain my relationship with Phoenix’s parents after all. “Phoenix, the one who betrayed this marriage wasn’t me. It was you – the bastard who fooled around with his mistress in our marital bed!” I said coldly. “Do I need to spell out what those stains on the bed were? You sure know how to have fun!” I spat.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “295183”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #重生Reborn #校园School #励志Inspiring