Dominic Blackwell shared a picture of me showering in the Boys’ Group Chat. “Pregnancy is such a hassle—look, no touch,” he quipped. The comments that followed were vile, riddled with filth. But Dominic didn’t seem to care. He joined right in, letting them scrutinize and joke about my body. One of them teased, “Well, isn’t there a certain starlet to keep you entertained?” That made him furious. Because Celeste Monroe was his untouchable “white moonlight,” a pedestal-bound goddess no one could disrespect. Later, I lost the baby. Calmly, I filed for divorce. The Blackwell family had sponsored my education, but in these five years of marriage, I’d repaid that debt in full. But Dominic regretted it. Content “Audrey usually dresses so conservatively. Who would’ve thought she’s got such a killer figure under all that?” “Dom, you’re so generous—sharing this bombshell with us!” “I’m making this my screensaver for sure.” The photo they were discussing was one Dominic had just posted. It showed the bathroom, with my silhouette clearly visible through the frosted glass as I showered. Dominic didn’t react to their remarks. He even chimed in, laughing along. “You guys have no idea. Audrey’s skin is so smooth and pale. Shame she’s pregnant now—I can only look, not touch.” It was my second month of pregnancy. My belly hadn’t started showing yet. The doctor had warned us the baby was fragile, and we needed to be extra cautious. After showering, I felt a bit of discomfort in my stomach, so I grabbed Dominic’s phone to call the doctor. That’s when I saw the chat. Amid the lewd remarks, someone teased: “What’s the big deal? You’ve still got Celeste Monroe joining you for lunch at the office every day.” “Exactly, that starlet’s body is flawless.” Faced with this wave of agreement, Dominic suddenly changed his tone. Fury replaced his earlier casual attitude as he fiercely defended Celeste. “Watch your mouths. If I hear anyone disrespecting Celeste like that again, we’re done being friends!”

Dominic’s words hit me like a punch to the chest, sharp and bitter. He’d shared a private photo of his wife for their amusement but drew the line when it came to Celeste Monroe. He knew exactly what disrespect looked like. Yet he let his friends say such things about me without a second thought. My hands shook as anger and humiliation burned through me. I wanted to storm into the bathroom and confront him. But the stabbing pain in my stomach spread to my chest, and tears started streaming down my face. From the moment I met Dominic, Celeste Monroe had always been a shadow between us. She was his childhood sweetheart. Everyone loved to tell me stories about how happy they’d been together. The first time I saw her was at my wedding to Dominic. During our vows, she showed up, her eyes red and glassy. The usually composed Dominic faltered, staring at her like the ground had shifted beneath him. He barely held himself back from running to her. The officiant had to remind him three times to say, “I do.” When he finally did, it was impatient and curt. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s move on.” After the wedding, he disappeared for an entire day without offering a single explanation. It was Dominic’s grandfather, Mr. Blackwell, who comforted me. He told me not to worry, that as long as the two of us focused on building a life together, everything would be fine. I said nothing, and the matter was swept under the rug. Not just because I loved Dominic. But because the elderly man who stood before me had funded ten years of my education, pulling me from a childhood of abandonment in Willow Creek Village to graduate from an Ivy League school. From then on, Dominic seemed to settle down. It was as though Celeste Monroe had never existed. For five years, Dominic and I became the perfect couple in the public eye—a paragon of harmony and love. Until last year, when Mr. Blackwell retired and Dominic took over Blackwell Enterprises. That’s when I heard her name again.

The sound of water stopped. Dominic Blackwell walked out of the bathroom, a towel carelessly slung around his waist. Seeing me in tears, he looked genuinely concerned. “What’s wrong? Is your stomach bothering you?” His worry felt so real, so sincere, that it was hard to connect him with the man from the messages I’d just read. Wordlessly, I handed him his phone. The screen was still lit, displaying the Boys’ Group Chat. Dominic instantly understood. Wrapping an arm around me affectionately, he began to explain. “It’s just some banter between friends—nothing serious.” “If it bothers you, I’ll have them delete the picture right now.” He sent a message to the chat and showed me the screen to prove it. Then he added, “Celeste’s a public figure, you know. I didn’t want it to get out and cause trouble.” Dominic always did this—picking up on my emotions quickly and offering an apology. It used to give me the illusion that he cared. I pushed his arm away and bolted to the bathroom. The double-faced act made me feel physically ill. Dominic followed, about to say something, but a notification from his phone interrupted him. By the time I came out, he had already changed clothes and was ready to leave. “Audrey, there’s an issue at the office I need to handle,” he said as he adjusted his coat. Before heading out, he gently touched my head. “Don’t dwell on what happened earlier. I’ve sent you the doctor’s number—call if you feel unwell.” He left in a rush without looking back. No sooner had Dominic stepped out than I received a message from Celeste Monroe. We’d connected on social media after the wedding but never exchanged more than pleasantries. Yet for the past two months, she’d religiously posted pictures of her lunches in her Instagram Stories. Now, it all made sense—she was dining with my husband. Her message included a screenshot of her chat with Dominic. She’d taken a moody photo from her sofa, the dim light highlighting her legs. “Dom, there’s a blackout at my place. I’m feeling a little scared—can you come over?” It was a cliché move, but Dominic had fallen for it. At midnight, while I was struggling with pregnancy nausea, he left me alone to comfort another woman.

After Dominic left, I sat in our bedroom for a long time. My tears had dried, leaving a tight, stiff feeling across my face. Once I calmed down, I called Julian Blake, our family lawyer, to draft a divorce agreement. Then, I started researching volunteer teaching programs online. I had grown up in the Appalachian Highlands, and it was always my dream to return home to teach after graduating. But in college, Dominic had said he fell for me at first sight. We dated for four years before getting married under Mr. Blackwell’s blessing. Now, I wanted to finish what I’d once left undone. I rested a hand on my stomach, a pang of guilt rising within me. Since I’d decided to leave Dominic, keeping the baby wasn’t an option. The idea of being a single mother felt absurd in real life. Better to make the tough decision now while it was still early.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The photo on the wall seemed to glare back at me. It wasn’t a wedding picture hanging in our bedroom but an image from a media interview. I was beaming, while Dominic gazed down at me with what seemed to be love in his eyes. The press called Dominic a “wife-worshiper,” someone who wouldn’t let anyone so much as look at me the wrong way. That interview happened right after I became Mrs. Blackwell. The media’s questions were sharp, zeroing in on my past. A reporter shoved a microphone in my face: “Is it true that Mrs. Blackwell was abandoned in the Appalachian Highlands by her parents?” It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked this. Though I was labeled a “latchkey child,” the truth was my parents never came back for me. The villagers whispered behind my back, saying my family didn’t want me. But hearing it in public, framed as entertainment, still left me tongue-tied. As I stammered, Dominic stepped in, wrapping his arm around me protectively. “My wife is and always has been a treasure in my eyes. There’s no such thing as abandonment,” he said firmly. “And I’m doing everything I can to find her parents.” He looked at me with so much warmth before turning to the reporter, his expression steely. “I’ll be having a conversation with your company about professional boundaries.” After the interview, I tearfully thanked him for saving me. Awkwardly patting my back, he said, “That wasn’t just for show—I meant every word.” Looking into my eyes, he added, “How could anyone ever abandon someone as beautiful and capable as you? You’re the best thing in my life.” At that moment, my tears wouldn’t stop. Deep down, we both knew the truth. I was abandoned. My parents had left because I was born a girl. When news of my engagement to Dominic spread, they’d come looking for me. But Mr. Blackwell quietly handled it, ensuring it never reached the public. The media was flooded with stories about our “perfect love.” Dominic’s devotion fooled everyone. Even me.

In the middle of the night, Dominic texted me: “Work’s insane. I won’t be home tonight. Let’s grab dinner tomorrow to make it up to you.” I was packing my suitcase when I casually replied, “Okay.” Dinner would be the perfect time to discuss our divorce. I thought back to the first time I met Dominic Blackwell. I had brought homegrown apples to Blackwell Manor to thank Mr. Blackwell, but the security guard at the gate wouldn’t let me in. It was Dominic who happened to pass by and brought me inside. He sat on the couch, bit into one of the apples, and said, “This is so sweet. Did you grow it yourself?” I nodded shyly. “That’s impressive,” he remarked casually. Back then, the polite, distant boy left a deep impression on me. The second time we met was at the Lakeside Mart where I worked part-time. Dominic suddenly announced his feelings for me in front of everyone, saying he wanted to date me. I didn’t take him seriously. Between school and work, I barely had time to breathe, let alone entertain a relationship. But Dominic started working at the store alongside me, silently helping out for an entire semester. At the end of it, he used his earnings to buy me a necklace. It wasn’t expensive, but it was thoughtful. No one could say no to such sincerity, and neither could I. It wasn’t until much later, after we’d been together for a while, that I learned the truth. The store was owned by Celeste Monroe’s cousin. Celeste had just gone abroad at the time. Dominic’s elaborate courtship was simply a ploy to get her attention, hoping her cousin would spread the news and lure her back. What he hadn’t counted on was that Celeste stayed away for four years. By the time we graduated, Mr. Blackwell had arranged our marriage. We’d argued about this after we got married, but Dominic always brushed it off: “That’s all in the past. Let’s not bring it up again.” But it wasn’t in the past. The moment Celeste showed up at our wedding, it all came rushing back. Thinking about it now, I reached for the necklace around my neck, taking it off and placing it in the drawer. I’d worn it ever since Dominic gave it to me. Now, I didn’t want it anymore. My luggage wasn’t much—just a small suitcase tucked in the corner. Once I finalized the divorce with Dominic, I could leave anytime.

The next morning, Dominic was all over the entertainment news. “Rising Starlet Caught in Midnight Rendezvous with Mystery Man!” The photo was blurry, but I could recognize Dominic’s car from the night before. When he got home, he had already changed clothes. I slipped the divorce agreement from my lawyer into my bag, planning to bring it up after dinner. Dominic opened the car door for me with an apologetic smile. “Work’s been crazy. Let me take you somewhere nice to make it up to you for yesterday.” I didn’t respond. My mind was entirely on the divorce. Dominic, mistaking my silence for lingering anger over the photo incident, tried to lighten the mood by touching my hand. I avoided his touch. The thought of him treating Celeste the same way made my stomach turn. After a few failed attempts, he gave up and drove in silence. I stared out the window, rain streaking across the glass like a blur, feeling a wave of regret for wasting five years of my life. It wasn’t until Dominic pulled over to the side of the road that I snapped out of my thoughts. “Audrey, wait here for the driver to pick you up. Something came up with Celeste—I need to go get her,” he said urgently, unbuckling my seatbelt before I could react. I had caught snippets of his phone conversation earlier, but now it was clear—Celeste had called him. I glanced at him coldly, refusing to move. “I have something important to discuss with you today.” Dominic leaned over to open my door, indifferent to the rain pouring outside or the fact that I was pregnant. “Celeste is being hounded by the press. Whatever you want to talk about can wait until I’m back.” I knew the media frenzy was because of the photos from the night before. But I couldn’t wait any longer. The longer this pregnancy went on, the harder it would be to leave. Calmly, I said, “Dominic, I want a divorce.” “Audrey, can you stop being so unreasonable? Don’t make a scene!” He pushed me lightly, trying to get me out of the car. But as I was reaching into my bag for the divorce papers, his shove threw me off balance. I fell out of the car, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in my head, and I felt something wet pooling beneath me. “Audrey—” Through the haze, I saw Dominic’s panicked figure rushing toward me.

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My dad, Captain Logan Turner, is the leader of a search-and-rescue team. During a field training exercise at Glacier Ridge, Montana, his team discovered skeletal remains buried in the snow. After calling the police, he immediately phoned my adoptive sister, Heather Blake, instructing her to cancel her upcoming hiking trip. One of the team members reminded him, “Shouldn’t you call Melanie, too?” But he snapped, “Why bother with that wretched monster? Better if she’s dead out there!” What he didn’t know was that I had already died. Those broken bones in front of him—they were my remains. And yet, he failed to recognize his own daughter. Content 0 “The bones show multiple impact marks from sharp objects, and they’re incomplete,” said one of the experienced officers at the scene. “This doesn’t look like an accident—it seems like murder.” My skeletal remains were uncovered from the snow. The officer made his judgment immediately. My dad nodded gravely, promising to recover the rest of the remains. Before taking action, he pulled out his phone and called Heather. “Heather, there’s been a murder up on the mountain. Cancel that hiking trip you signed up for. Stay home for the next few days and be careful.” “Yes, Dad, I will,” Heather replied sweetly. But Dad still couldn’t rest easy and gave her a few more warnings until she playfully complained, “Dad, you’ve said it a million times—I got it!” Only then did he hang up. One of his team members, Paul Harrison, spoke up. “Hey, Captain, didn’t I hear your younger daughter mention she was planning a hiking trip, too? Maybe give her a call?” My dad’s face instantly darkened with irritation. “Why bring up that worthless brat?” “That heartless monster who stood by as her own mother died? I’d be glad if she dropped dead out there.” Even though I was already dead, a cold gust seemed to pierce through me. I shivered. So, this is how much my dad hates me. But why didn’t he recognize me? Didn’t he realize that these pitiful bones in front of him belonged to the daughter he despised so much? 0

The search lasted a full day and night. The team combed every inch of the mountain. My dad worked tirelessly for 48 hours without rest. Yet, despite all their efforts, they had found very little of me. When the police questioned him, his face was heavier than before. “We’ve searched the entire mountain and found only a single leg bone.” “I suspect the victim’s body was dismembered and scattered here deliberately.” The officer was stunned. “So, the perpetrator likely disposed of the remaining body parts elsewhere?” “Not just body parts—there’s still a lot of tissue missing. All we have so far is one leg bone,” my dad explained grimly. “This was a vicious, premeditated killing. The murderer is far more brutal than we imagined.” The officer paused before replying, “I’ll call for more reinforcements and expand the search area.” At that moment, one of the team members found a necklace hanging on a tree branch and handed it over. When I saw it, a spark of hope ignited within me. It was the necklace Dad had given me years ago for my birthday. Surely, he would remember! He had to! Dad examined it briefly before handing it to the officer. “This might have belonged to the victim,” he said. “Take photos and upload them online. Let’s see if we can find the next of kin to identify the body.” Paul glanced at the necklace and hesitated. Then he said, “Logan, doesn’t this look familiar? I think I’ve seen it on your younger daughter before…” Dad’s brow furrowed in irritation. “Identical necklaces are everywhere. Paul, you’re acting strange today. Did Melanie put you up to this nonsense?” “She’s always been manipulative. Don’t fall for her tricks.” Paul tried to say more, but Dad was called away. Watching his retreating back, I felt my hope sink. Dad wasn’t always like this. He used to love me. But ten years ago, his high school sweetheart passed away after years of domestic abuse, leaving behind a daughter—Heather. Dad took Heather in, despite my mom’s protests, and treated her like his own. My mom couldn’t accept it and demanded a divorce. After a heated argument, she climbed Blackwater Bridge with me in her arms, threatening to jump. The wind on the bridge was strong. I was terrified and begged her to put me down. In the end, she leapt into the icy Silver Creek River, leaving me alive but forever marked by that night. When the recovery team found her body, Dad slapped me twice without hesitation, calling me a murderer. From then on, he only had one daughter: Heather Blake. I was even forced to change my last name. I became Melanie, the unwanted. Dad hated me, and now that I was dead, he should finally be happy, right? 0

The search continued. Meanwhile, a teacher from Crestwood High School called Dad. “Melanie has been missing since last night. Her roommates said she was gone even before noon yesterday.” “Mr. Turner, can you contact her? If not, we may need to file a missing person report.” The teacher’s tone was urgent, but Dad only sounded annoyed. “Mrs. Quinn, Melanie is always lying.” “She’s skipped class before. Don’t worry. She’ll come back when she’s had enough fun.” “But…” Mrs. Quinn tried to argue, but Dad had already hung up. Heather was calling. “Dad, I don’t feel so well. When will you be done?” she asked softly. The frustration on Dad’s face melted away instantly. “It might take a little longer, honey. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Should I take some time off and come home to you?” His voice was gentle, his concern palpable. Listening to him, I felt a bitter pang. Since my mom’s death, Dad had never spoken to me with that kind of warmth. He always said I was a murderer—that I had destroyed our family. But Dad, I’m your real daughter. Couldn’t you care for me, even just a little? That night, he took time off and rushed home. Heather, lying in bed with round-the-clock care and a personal doctor on standby, was his sole focus. His eyes were filled with worry. “Heather, how are you feeling?” “Dad!” she exclaimed with joy, throwing her arms around him. As I watched their affectionate exchange, even as a spirit, I felt my nose sting with emotion. But no tears would come. I could only stand there, invisible, while Dad fussed over her. Eventually, Heather lifted her head from his embrace, her bright eyes shifting cunningly. She tested the waters. “Dad, didn’t you say the search would take several more days?” “Have they already found all the body parts?” Dad froze, startled. “How did you know the body was dismembered?” My dimmed hope flickered to life again. The necklace hadn’t done it, but this was an obvious clue. Surely, Dad would piece it together! But Heather shrugged it off with a casual, “I saw it on the news.” “Whoever she was, it’s so tragic. I can’t imagine how her family must feel.” Dad nodded, completely missing the flicker of satisfaction in Heather’s eyes. “Yes, it’s awful. But we haven’t identified her yet. Her family might not even know she’s gone.” That small spark of hope within me was extinguished once more. Dad, it’s me. Can’t you recognize me, even now? 0

Dad stayed home with Heather Blake all day. It wasn’t until late that night that his phone buzzed with a call from the team. Someone at Timberline Outpost had made a major discovery, and he was needed immediately. Dad quickly threw on his gear to leave, but Heather, clutching the doll he’d given her as a welcome-home gift, suddenly appeared. Her wide eyes filled with tears as she whispered, “Dad, it’s thundering outside. I’m scared…” For a moment, hesitation flashed in Dad’s eyes. Just as Heather’s plea seemed to anchor him, his phone vibrated again. Tom Larson had sent dozens of photos from the scene. One glance, and Dad’s pupils dilated in shock. He turned back to Heather and said gently, “Sweetheart, be good. Stay with your aunt, and Daddy will be back soon.” He dashed down the stairs and out the door, heading straight for the outpost. When he arrived, he pushed past the line of police tape. But Tom Larson stopped him at the entrance. “Logan, I don’t think you should go in there…” Dad brushed him aside, snapping, “I’ve been in search-and-rescue for years. I’ve seen everything.” “Move.” Yet the moment he stepped inside and caught sight of the well at the center of the scene, he staggered back and retched violently. The air was thick with decay. Pieces of flesh, dismembered and unrecognizable, had been fished out of the well. The soaked remains lay in bags on the ground. Nearby, sealed evidence bags held the tools of the crime: a hammer, an axe, a saw—and even a grindstone. The officer at the scene began explaining grimly, “These tools weren’t just used for dismemberment.” “They were used on the victim while she was still alive.” “We’ve found traces of blood and skin tissue on the stones—marks left by her struggle against the pain.” “This was torture.” “And based on preliminary findings, the victim was a tall woman. Her left leg shows an old fracture, likely from a dog attack. She might have had trouble walking.” With each word, Dad’s face grew darker. His lips pressed into a firm line. Was he grieving for me? Then, suddenly, Tom Larson spoke up, his voice hesitant. “Logan, I can’t shake the feeling… wasn’t your youngest daughter’s left leg also injured? And her build… it’s a match, isn’t it?” “Tom!” Dad roared, his expression hardening into anger. The fleeting softness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a deep fury. “What lies has that little monster been feeding you? You’ve been bringing her up a lot lately!” “I’ve already said, even if she’s dead out there, it has nothing to do with me.” “And anyway, a coward like her? She’d never die. She’s too selfish.” Tom opened his mouth to say more, but Dad had already stormed off. Nearby, another officer received a call. “Logan,” the officer called, stopping him. “Your younger daughter’s teacher just reported her missing.” Dad grabbed his phone and hurled it to the ground, his voice echoing through the space. “Enough! Enough already!” “The victim is in pieces, and you’re playing this ridiculous game with that brat!” “If she wants to go missing, let her! Finding the killer matters more.” The officer started to speak again, but Dad’s phone suddenly rang. Heather’s voice came through, trembling. “Daddy, the thunder’s so loud… I’m so scared.” The gentleness returned to Dad’s face instantly. “Sweetheart, Daddy will be home soon.” But before he could leave, the officer stopped him. “Logan! Come back!” Turning, Dad saw Mrs. Rachel Quinn, my teacher, standing in the rain, soaked to the bone. She had come personally and brought surveillance footage. The video showed a figure in a red winter parka—the exact one found on the victim.

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As I prepared a surprise for our five-year anniversary, I received a notification about Allison “Allie” Harper, my wife, booking a hotel room with her “little brother,” Mason Carter. When I called, I heard Mason laughing, “See, sis? I told you Zach would take the bait!” “Mason, do you think this is something to joke about?” Before I could finish, Allie cut me off with sharp words. “Why are you making a big deal out of nothing? He’s just a kid! Stop overreacting. I’m not coming home tonight.” After hanging up, I saw Mason post a photo of Allie’s wedding ring on Instagram Stories with the caption: “Brothers, check this out! The rich sis got me this ring, said it’s worth 15k. Anyone know if it’s real?” …… Content I waited for Allie until midnight. As the last minute of our five-year anniversary slipped away, she still hadn’t come home. That night, I told myself it would be her last chance—and mine. The table was set with a spread of dishes, now cold and unappetizing. My bad stomach warned me against eating, knowing cold food might cause another bout of internal bleeding. I dumped the food into the trash. The mess of colors reminded me of the hollow space where my heart used to be. I gathered some essentials and left the house to Allie. She came back as I packed the last of my documents. Drunk and disheveled, she collapsed onto the floor, laughing at me with smeared lipstick and fresh red marks on her neck. I felt my stomach churn in revulsion. She staggered forward and grabbed the trash can, vomiting loudly. The sound clawed at my already fragile gut. Her empty ring finger caught my attention, the faint indent from the missing wedding band a painful reminder. She wiped her mouth and stumbled toward me, her eyes full of feigned innocence. “I don’t feel well, Zach. Help me shower.” She began pulling at her clothes, revealing fresh bite marks just above her collarbone, each one stabbing at my soul. The disgust inside me boiled over. I’ve always struggled with loneliness. Sleeping alone meant enduring nightmares. Allie knew this, which is why she used to come home every night—until Mason showed up. His arrival brought endless arguments, and Allie started staying out as punishment. Night after night, the fear of the dark faded. For the first time in years, I slept soundly, alone in the guest room. The next morning, Allie woke me up, scowling. “Why are you still in bed? Did you make breakfast yet?” Groggy, I stared at her, silent. She crossed her arms. “Zach, you know I have work this morning. What if I skip breakfast and end up with stomach issues?” Her entitlement made me laugh bitterly. Even after pulling all-nighters at the firm, I used to wake up early to cook for her. But why was I the only one expected to do everything? I sat up, meeting her gaze with a calmness I didn’t feel. “Allie, let’s get a divorce.”

She froze for a second, then scowled, her face full of disdain. “What kind of nonsense is this? Did you wake up in a bad mood?” My eyes drifted to her bare ring finger. “You’ve stopped wearing your wedding band. It’s time we put an end to this sham of a marriage.” “What the hell are you talking about? I’m too busy for your drama!” she snapped, her voice growing louder as if to mask her guilt. “I lost the ring playing truth or dare last night. It’s just a stupid ring, Zach. It’s not like it was important!” She slammed the bedroom door behind her, leaving me to stare at her retreating figure. “Not important?” I let out a bitter laugh. When we got married, I wasn’t rich, but she had her heart set on that $15,000 ring. To buy it, I pulled two consecutive all-nighters, won a tough legal case, and celebrated with the client—drinking until I landed in the hospital with a bleeding stomach. But I’d saved enough for the ring. She cried when I gave it to her, telling me how lucky she was to have me. Now $15,000 meant nothing—not the money, not the memories, and certainly not our love. My stomach churned. I leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to my gut. The room spun as bile rose in my throat. “Allie,” I gasped, “could you call a cab?” She paused, finally noticing my condition. For a fleeting moment, she looked like a concerned wife. “What’s wrong? I’ll grab my keys and drive you to the hospital.” I collapsed onto the floor as she went to the bedroom. Minutes ticked by. When she returned, she didn’t have the keys. “Mason’s in trouble at school. He’s just a kid—he doesn’t know how to handle this stuff. I need to go. You should rest up, okay?” With that, she left. Pain spread through my body. I clenched my fists, trying to stay conscious, but my strength waned. When Allie’s heels clicked down the hallway and the door slammed shut, I vomited blood and blacked out. The housekeeper arrived at 10 a.m., called 911, and saved me. When I woke up in St. Luke’s General Hospital, my phone buzzed with a notification. Mason had posted on Instagram again: “Daisy wasn’t eating this morning. Thankfully, my sis came to get me, and we took her to Paws & Claws Animal Clinic.” My chest tightened, an ache I couldn’t name. I exhaled deeply, forcing the pain away. “It’s over,” I told myself. Dr. Ryan Blake entered the room, frowning. “Zach, how many times have I told you? No amount of work is worth killing yourself over. Do you even need the money? Why do you keep pushing yourself like this?” His frustration made me smile faintly. Ryan was a longtime friend, and his anger came from a place of care. “Got it,” I said, patting his shoulder. “From now on, I’ll take better care of myself. Trust me.” He grumbled but didn’t argue further, heading to the next room. Two days later, I was discharged. When I got home, Allie was waiting in the living room. “I heard you were coming back today, so I made a special dinner for us,” she said, uncorking a bottle of wine with a practiced smile. “All better now, right? No need to run to the hospital anymore. Let’s celebrate properly this time. Happy belated anniversary.” The table was set with rich, greasy, and spicy dishes—everything my fragile stomach couldn’t handle. “I can’t drink,” I said flatly, walking toward the guest room. The sound of the wine bottle smashing against the floor stopped me in my tracks. “Zach Preston!” she yelled, her voice trembling with rage. “Don’t you dare walk away from me! I’ve tried so hard to make things right, and you just turn your back on me?!” Her tone softened as she continued, “Why are you so angry? He’s just my little brother. Mason’s family. Why can’t you understand that?” Her voice cracked as she whispered, “And his sister—Clara…” Tears welled in her eyes at the mention of Clara Carter, her late best friend.

Mason Carter’s sister, Clara Carter, had been Allison “Allie” Harper’s closest friend. Four years ago, Clara was tragically killed in what Mason described as a crime of passion. Allie never got the full story, but Mason himself told her about it. That’s when Allie first learned Clara even had a younger brother. Watching Mason cry over his sister’s death, Allie made a promise: “From now on, I’ll be your big sister.” The first time I met Mason, he was already 19 years old, casually linking arms with Allie like they were dating. I knew right away this wasn’t an ordinary kid. Allie spoiled him relentlessly—handing over money, taking him on trips, indulging his every whim. Their relationship progressed unnervingly fast. The first real alarm came when I discovered Mason hoarding Allie’s underwear. I confronted her immediately. Her response? “He just misses Clara. That piece was barely worn—it’s not a big deal.” “He’s an insecure kid. Can’t I comfort him a little?” That argument marked our first major fight. Allie dismissed my concerns as jealousy and irrationality. It became a pattern. Every time I questioned their overly familiar behavior, Allie threw Clara’s name in my face: “Do you want me to forget about Clara? You want me to be an ungrateful monster?” It was laughable, really. She used a dead woman’s name to justify what was obviously crossing every boundary of a platonic relationship. Still, I convinced myself things would get better once Mason graduated and moved out of the city. That hope carried me through argument after argument. But now Mason was nearing graduation, and I wasn’t sure I could wait any longer.

Allie eventually calmed down, wiping her tears and handing me a wine glass. “Zach, I already apologized. Just drink this and let it go, okay?” “When Mason graduates, I’ll stop helping him so much. Will that finally make you happy?” “Can’t you wait one more month?” “No.” My voice was low, drained of energy. The physical pain in my gut left little room for emotions toward Allie. Her demeanor shifted. She stood up abruptly, her expression twisting with anger. “Zach Preston, do you think you’re in any position to turn me down? You’re nothing. Nothing!” “I’m trying to make peace, and you’re acting like this? You’ll drink that wine whether you like it or not!” Before I could resist, she forced my mouth open and poured the wine down my throat. My stomach twisted violently, and cold sweat broke out on my forehead. “All Mason has is me! He’s alone in this city—what’s so wrong with me being there for him?” “Am I not allowed to have friends anymore? We’re just siblings. There’s nothing inappropriate going on!” “You see filth everywhere because you’re filthy yourself!” Her words blurred as the pain in my gut intensified. A violent coughing fit wracked my body, and then the blood came up, staining the pristine white floor. “Stop pretending!” Allie barked, her tone irritated. “You’re always pulling this crap. Coughing up blood—what a joke!” Her indifference sliced through me like a knife. Even as I lay there bleeding, she refused to believe I was genuinely ill. She nudged me with her foot. When I didn’t respond, a flicker of panic crossed her face. “Hey… are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?” I wanted to tell her we needed a divorce, but I couldn’t muster the strength to speak. Using the wall for support, I dragged myself to the guest room and collapsed onto the bed. I had hoped for some peace, but Allie followed me with uncharacteristic persistence. She brought a glass of warm water and gently wiped the blood from my lips. I turned away in disdain, but she didn’t stop. Her tenderness reminded me of the woman I’d first met years ago. It was my first day in a new city. Standing at the university gates, I was nervous and unsure of myself. Then, a cheerful voice broke through my thoughts: “Hi there! Are you a new student too?” That was how Allie and I met. She pursued me with an intensity that overwhelmed my shy, reserved nature. Before long, I found myself falling for her. Later, I discovered that her pursuit of me had been part of a dare with her friends. But by then, it was too late—I was already in love. Terrified of losing her, I pretended not to know the truth. Even if her feelings weren’t strong, I clung to what little love she gave me, desperate to hold onto it. After graduation, she chose me—a man with nothing but a fledgling law firm. I reached out, my fingers lightly brushing her hair. Allie smiled, her eyes sparkling with a familiarity that once brought me comfort. “Are you still mad at me, honey?” she asked, her tone soft and playful. She was calling me “honey” like we were in some kind of dream. “Zach,” she said, her voice coaxing, “Mason’s graduating soon. Can’t you give him a job at your firm?”

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After getting my cartilage pierced, I went to wash my hair at Haven Hair Studio. I specifically told the stylist to avoid my ear. But not only did she smudge half the foundation off my forehead, she deliberately aimed the sprayer directly at my ear. The pain brought me to tears. When I stopped her, she sneered, “If you can’t even handle this pain, how do you have the guts to go after someone else’s man?” I was dumbfounded. Then she accused me of being “a fake, acting all innocent like a two-faced dove.” I’d had enough. I grabbed the blow dryer from her hand and shoved it into my brother Ashton’s arms. “You’re the boss—your turn!” Content 1 After getting my ear pierced, I remembered there was a family dinner tomorrow. Too lazy to wash my hair at home, I decided to head over to my brother Ashton’s salon, Haven Hair Studio. He wasn’t there, but he thoughtfully arranged for a stylist who, he said, had a gentle touch. The stylist walked over with an irritated scowl and muttered under her breath, “So now I’m washing some side chick’s hair? What a filthy man.” I raised an eyebrow at her and simply reminded her, “Please don’t get any water on my ear.” The skin around the fresh piercing was still sensitive, and getting it wet could lead to an infection. “Got it. But let me make one thing clear—I hate being interrupted while I work. So zip it!” she snapped, her tone brimming with hostility. Her sudden outburst left me stunned. Was she mad at me? “What’s with your attitude?” Before she could respond, a sharp pain shot through my ear. She had deliberately sprayed water directly onto the freshly pierced cartilage. “Ahh!” I clutched my ear, tears streaming down as the pain throbbed relentlessly. “I told you not to get my ear wet. You even said you heard me—so what’s your deal?” “Oh, my bad,” she replied with mock indifference. “Didn’t mean to. But seriously, you’re so fragile. It’s just water; you won’t die from it. Stop being so dramatic.” I was speechless. “I’m paying for a service. You’re treating me like this, and I’m not allowed to complain?” “Oh, please. You’re probably spending someone else’s money anyway. Girls like you who chase other people’s men? You deserve it. If you’re going to be a homewrecker, at least toughen up. What would you do if the wife came looking for a fight? Let her kill you?” She sneered at me, clearly imagining me as some desperate mistress. “What nonsense are you spouting? Who’s a mistress?” Her words lit a fire in me. Anyone would be furious if they were wrongly accused like that. “Oh, so you’re not a mistress? Then you must want to be one. No respectable woman gets her cartilage pierced. Stop pretending. What, you think I can’t see through your act, you two-faced little dove?” Her ridiculous logic made me laugh. “If you don’t want to wash my hair, get someone else to do it.” I didn’t want to waste another word on her. Her worldview was obviously warped. But she yanked my hair back and started lathering shampoo aggressively. I tried to sit up, but her grip was too strong. The sound of blow dryers filled the salon, drowning out my attempts to call for help. Helpless, I clutched my ear protectively and grimaced through the entire ordeal. When I finally sat in front of the mirror, I noticed something horrifying—half my foundation near my hairline was completely gone. Can someone explain where the makeup on my forehead went? 2 I glanced at the nametag on her chest. “Tiffany Carraway.” “Miss Carraway,” I said, pointing at my forehead. “Care to explain why half my foundation vanished while you were washing my hair?” She blinked, her expression unapologetic. “Oh, you were caking. I did you a favor and washed it off. No need to thank me—it was nothing.” Then, as if to top off her masterpiece, she yanked a towel around my hair, pulling out several strands in the process. I winced in pain, watching as she picked up the blow dryer. “You don’t need to dry my hair—” She pretended not to hear me. The dryer roared to life, and she aimed it at my scalp, holding it so close that the heat scorched my skin. I quickly grabbed the blow dryer from her hand and turned it on her face. “Oh, you like blowing? Here, let me help you!” Just then, Ashton walked in. “What’s going on here?” Tiffany quickly launched into her sob story, looking pitiful. “This customer seems unhappy with my service. Maybe I’m just not skilled enough.” Ashton nodded, ever the straightforward one. “Riley’s picky. You’re still new; it’s normal that she’s not satisfied. Go take a break.” Tiffany looked like she’d been slapped. She clearly expected some sympathy, but Ashton’s bluntness left her on the verge of tears. I tossed the blow dryer into Ashton’s arms and smiled sweetly. “Big bro, her skills are awful. Why don’t you take over?” Tiffany’s eyes widened in disbelief. Ashton, personally drying my hair? And I’d even called him “big bro” so affectionately—something she’d never done. From the mirror, I caught her hateful glare. It was immensely satisfying. When it was time to pay, I pulled out my phone to scan the code, but Ashton stopped me. “Why are you paying? This is my salon—just head home.” I smirked at Tiffany. “But your stylist seems to disagree?” Tiffany forced a smile. “I just didn’t want the books to get messy…” Ashton frowned. “Put it on my tab, then.” Her face turned even paler. Humming a tune, I left in high spirits, only to be stopped by Tiffany just outside the door. “You little tramp! Stay away from Ashton!” Ashton—my brother. I turned to her with an amused smile. Her overly delicate makeup and colorful highlights clashed with her faux-innocent vibe. She looked exactly like a TikTok E-girl trying too hard. “And what authority do you have to warn me? You’re out of your depth.” “He’s my man! You’ll never have him. He’d never choose someone like you!” “Really?” I rolled my eyes. “Keep dreaming.” As I turned to leave, she stepped in front of me and slapped me hard across the face. Caught off guard, I stumbled, scraping my palm on the concrete. “Ah!” I stared at the blood trickling from my hand. My ear throbbed from the impact of her slap. Furious, I stood up and returned the slap, hard. I’d wanted to do this ever since she sprayed water on my ear. “You’re insane!” I snapped and walked off without looking back. Behind me, she yelled, “Try going after Ashton again, and you’ll regret it!” 3 The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed early and went to Bayside Medical Center. My ear was inflamed from all the torture it had endured and hurt so badly I couldn’t sleep. After picking up my prescription, I ran into Harper Winslow, an old high school friend who was there for a prenatal checkup. With the family dinner set for later that afternoon and nothing urgent to do, I decided to keep her company. The clinic was bustling with people. Early pregnancy could be risky in such a crowded place. While waiting outside for Harper, I suddenly heard a shrill voice: “It’s you!” I looked up. Of course, it was Tiffany Carraway, the crazy stylist from yesterday. I rolled my eyes and turned away, not in the mood to engage. But Tiffany, true to form, wouldn’t let it go. “What are you doing at Gynecologist? Oh my God, are you pregnant? Whose kid is it? You’re out here having a baby and still chasing Ashton? Have you no shame?” How could someone jump to such insane conclusions? “You’re nuts! Whatever I’m doing has nothing to do with you!” I shot back, annoyed. Her eyes darted around before she turned and began shouting for attention. “Everyone, look over here! This woman was flirting with my boyfriend yesterday, then hit me when I called her out. And now she’s here, probably carrying some random loser’s baby. Maybe she’s even selling herself!” As she ranted, she jabbed her finger at my shoulder and gave me a hard shove, making me stumble back. People began gathering, eager to witness the commotion. “She looks so pretty, but she’s doing this? The world is going downhill,” someone muttered. “Pregnant and still causing drama? Some women just love attention,” another sneered. I was shaking with anger. This wasn’t just slander; it was public humiliation. “What the hell are you even talking about?” Harper’s voice cut through the noise as she walked out of the exam room. “You’re committing defamation. Do you realize that?” “Oh, so now you’ve got backup?” Tiffany sneered. “You know your behavior disgusts everyone, so you brought a friend to defend you? Where’s the baby daddy? Or are you two part of some organization? Gross! Stay away from me; I don’t want to catch anything from you!” “Tiffany, enough! Don’t think I won’t call the police!” I pulled out my phone and dialed 91

Seeing this, Tiffany lunged for my phone. “You’ve already thrown your dignity out the window by being a homewrecker. What’s the point of pretending now?” “Stop!” During the scuffle, Tiffany pushed Harper, who was holding her stomach. Harper fell to the ground with a cry of pain. “My stomach… it hurts…” Harper’s face turned pale as blood pooled beneath her. “Harper! Someone, get a doctor!” I shouted, rushing to help her. The crowd backed away, not wanting to get involved. Thankfully, we were already at the hospital, and a nurse quickly wheeled Harper into the emergency room. I turned to Tiffany, furious. “I already called the cops. If anything happens to Harper’s baby, you’re done.” Tiffany collected herself and scoffed, “That’s her problem! Not like she’s some saint. The kid would’ve been a bastard anyway.” When the police arrived, Ethan Garrison, Harper’s husband, came with them. The first thing he asked was, “How’s the baby?” When the doctor explained the situation, Ethan turned to Harper with a scowl. “Useless woman!” he snapped. Meanwhile, Tiffany stood before the police with her usual arrogance. “She fell on her own. Don’t even try to pin this on me.” Ethan stormed toward her, but when he saw her face, he froze, staring dumbly. 4 I watched Ethan’s reaction, frowning. The officers, seeing Harper’s husband had arrived, suggested resolving the matter privately. Noticing Ethan’s fixation on her, Tiffany’s expression shifted from disdain to faux innocence. With teary eyes and a trembling voice, she looked up at him like a fragile dove caught in the wind. “I didn’t mean to push your wife. Please forgive me,” she pleaded. Ethan’s expression softened immediately. “Okay… okay…” “What?! Harper could lose her baby, and you’re forgiving her?” I demanded. Ethan waved me off impatiently. “If the baby’s gone, that’s Harper’s fault. I’m her husband, so I get to decide. You don’t have any right to interfere.” “You—!” I started, but Tiffany cut me off. She grasped Ethan’s hand and murmured, “Thank you.” Ethan’s face flushed as he squeezed her hand, his thumb grazing her skin. “No problem,” he said, leering. I was speechless. Harper married this guy? It made sense, though. What kind of husband lets his pregnant wife come to the clinic alone? The police, clearly uncomfortable, prepared to leave. “Her public defamation of me—surely you can press charges for that?” I asked. One officer hesitated. “Do you have any recordings or videos? Without evidence, it’s hard to proceed.” I sighed, wishing I’d slapped Tiffany harder earlier. Tiffany, smirking triumphantly, threw Ethan a flirtatious glance before strutting off. Ethan remained, staring after her, completely unaware that Harper had already been wheeled out of the operating room. Realizing Ethan had no intention of helping Harper recover, I arranged for a reliable caregiver to assist her during her recovery. Later, I recounted everything to Harper, urging her to consider whether Ethan was worth staying with. The Harper I remembered from high school was bold, strong, and decisive—the kind of woman other girls aspired to be. Ethan wasn’t her match, and she definitely wasn’t the type to settle for someone like him. I trusted she’d figure it out. That evening, during the family dinner, I shared all of Tiffany’s antics with Ashton. Ashton listened, stunned by the sheer drama and venom Tiffany brought into his salon. “I mean, seriously. Her attitude’s awful…” As I finished recounting the story, I reached for my glass of water, but before I could drink it— SPLASH! Cold water drenched me, and I looked up to see Tiffany standing there, trembling with rage. “You b*tch! I told you to stay away from Ashton! How dare you get close to him again?” Everyone at the table froze in shock. “Who is this woman? Ashton, get her out of here!” a family member finally said. Ashton, just as stunned, stood and grabbed Tiffany’s arm to drag her out. But Tiffany wasn’t done. “I’m Ashton’s girlfriend! You must be his family, right? Is this some setup to marry him off? Let me tell you, Ashton already has me! And this woman you brought here? She’s nothing but a tramp. I saw her at Gynecologist earlier, probably pregnant with someone else’s kid, hoping Ashton will play stepdad!”

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I caught my husband swapping my eggs with his ideal woman’s before our IVF procedure. I didn’t say a word, but switched the eggs back. And while I was at it, I replaced my husband’s sperm with my ex-boyfriend’s. Twenty-five years later, the other woman showed up at our door, crying hysterically to my daughter: “Sweetie, I’m your real mother!” My daughter Xixi and I had just returned home from an overseas medical cooperation project when we were greeted by an unexpected scene. Our house was filled with distant relatives we rarely saw. It looked like a Johnson family reunion. The most eye-catching figure was Brianna White, sobbing dramatically in the center of the sofa. Gregory Johnson, my perpetually absent “good husband,” was comforting her with tender words and gestures. I raised an eyebrow, set my suitcase aside, and turned to Gregory. “What’s the special occasion? Why such a crowd?” Xixi followed behind me, arms crossed and a look of disgust on her face as she stared at Brianna. She had already guessed this woman’s identity. My mother-in-law sat in the main seat, her expression troubled and hesitant. Before Gregory could speak, Brianna lunged towards Xixi, crying, “My darling daughter, I’m your real mother!” Xixi nimbly dodged her, her face contorted with revulsion as if Brianna were something filthy. She stepped back and said coldly, “My mom’s name is Kaia Hansen.” That’s my girl, always my little sweetheart. I took Xixi’s hand, giving her a reassuring look, then raised my other hand and slapped Brianna across the face. The sharp sound echoed through the living room. “Don’t go claiming false relationships,” I said, my voice icy and my gaze sharp as a knife. Gregory jumped up, tenderly helping Brianna to her feet. He pointed at me and shouted, “Kaia, have you lost your mind? How dare you hit Brianna!” He raised his hand, about to strike me. Quick as lightning, Xixi stepped forward and slapped Gregory. “You dare hit my mom?” Xixi’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable authority. Gregory froze, both angry and shocked. He raised his hand again, this time to hit Xixi. But Brianna grabbed him, fake-crying, “Gregory, don’t! She’s our daughter!” Her act of a caring mother made me want to vomit. Gregory lowered his hand, glaring fiercely at Xixi. “If it weren’t for your real mother’s sake, I’d teach you a lesson right now!” Xixi let out a cold laugh. “Huh, I’d like to see you try.” Her piercing gaze was just like mine when I was young. I felt a surge of pride – this was indeed the daughter I had carefully raised!

An elder cleared his throat, attempting to calm the chaotic scene. “Everyone, quiet down!” His deep voice carried an undeniable authority. As the room gradually fell silent, all eyes turned to the elder. He looked at Gregory. “Gregory, why did you call everyone here? What’s going on?” Gregory took a deep breath, as if gathering courage. He put his arm around Brianna’s shoulders, looking deeply in love. “Actually, I have an important announcement to make today.” He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room before finally landing on Xixi and me. I watched him silently, wondering what kind of show he was going to put on. “Xixi… she’s not Kaia’s biological daughter,” Gregory said, his voice low but the impact as explosive as a bomb in the living room. Xixi whipped her head around to look at me, her eyes full of shock. I gestured for her to stay calm. The relatives around us began to whisper, like a group of sharks that had caught the scent of blood, stirring excitedly. “Back when we did the IVF…” Gregory paused, as if it was difficult to continue, “The doctor said Kaia’s eggs weren’t good enough… To spare her feelings about being a mother, I switched them with Brianna’s…” This idiot was actually trying to pin the blame on me for his sneaky behavior! Gregory’s malicious gaze fell on me, seemingly waiting for me to lose control in anger. But I remained calm and composed, forcing him to continue his performance. “I called everyone here today to witness…” he looked at Brianna with apparent deep affection, “Xixi recognizing her birth mother.” The relatives immediately erupted into discussion. “If Xixi isn’t Kaia’s daughter, of course she should recognize her birth mother!” “That’s right, Kaia has occupied the position of Johnson family’s daughter-in-law for so many years, it’s time for her to step down!” “Kaia has been controlling Johnson Group’s assets all these years. Now that the truth is out, it’s time for her to leave the company!” Listening to these comments, I couldn’t help but laugh coldly to myself. These relatives with ulterior motives had long been suppressed and removed from the company’s management by me. They could only profit from year-end dividends and were very dissatisfied with me. Now they were eager to watch the drama unfold, hoping to see Gregory and me fall out so they could return to the company and get a piece of the pie. Xixi, seeing the undisguised greed in the relatives’ eyes, gripped my hand tighter. I spoke up: “Xixi is my child. She will only ever be my child.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm and resolute. Brianna put on a helpless expression and choked out, “Sister, how long are you going to deceive yourself?”

I wasn’t deceiving myself. Xixi really was my child. Did Gregory and Brianna really think they could fool me? Back then, Gregory had weak sperm, so we decided to try IVF. Before the embryo was formed, I accidentally caught Gregory secretly messing with my egg storage cabinet along with a nurse. I overheard him happily calling Brianna, saying he had successfully switched in her eggs. At the time, I didn’t make a scene. I silently turned around and gave the doctor a hundred thousand dollars to switch back to my spare eggs that I had harvested earlier. I also “kindly” asked the doctor to replace Gregory’s sperm with my ex-boyfriend’s. On the day of the embryo formation, Gregory and I witnessed the birth of a “miracle” together. He was abnormally happy, probably thinking it was his and Brianna’s child. Watching his stupid expression, I was laughing inside. All these years, I watched him dote on Xixi like a fool, thinking she was his child with Brianna. I can’t tell you how satisfying it was. He tried to trick me, but ended up being the fool for over twenty years. Gregory interrupted my reminiscing, mocking me, “Still in denial? Xixi may have come from your body, but the egg wasn’t yours! Her birth mother is Brianna.” I replied calmly, but with a hint of challenge: “Are you daydreaming?” “If you don’t believe it, we can do a DNA test!” Gregory said firmly. “I also want a divorce! You forced me to marry you, treating me like a lapdog. I’ve been with you for twenty-five years, I’ve done more than enough for you!” When he mentioned divorce, a hint of joy flashed across his face. Looks like he’s been wanting this for a long time. Huh? He dares to say he’s done enough for me? Married to him for twenty-five years, I might as well have been a widow for twenty-five years. When I was raising our child alone, he was off gallivanting with Brianna. When I was fighting in the business world to uphold the Johnson family name, he was living it up in entertainment venues. But he’s wrong about one thing – I didn’t marry him because I loved him like a fool. Marrying him was just to get the status of Johnson family’s daughter-in-law and control Johnson Group. Now, Johnson Group is completely under my control. So, Gregory is of no use to me anymore! “Divorce is fine,” I shrugged indifferently, “But there’s no need for a DNA test. I’m certain Xixi is my child.” Xixi looked at me, her eyes determined. “Mom, I believe you.” Gregory and Brianna immediately became anxious. “Xixi, don’t you trust your father?” Xixi ignored him, just sticking close to me. Just then, a young man who looked like a college student burst in. He walked straight to Xixi, excitedly calling out, “Sister!” Everyone in the room was stunned. As if one extra mother wasn’t enough, now a brother had appeared out of nowhere?

Looking at the boy whose features resembled Brianna’s, I had a vague guess. This must be Gregory and Brianna’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 interesting than I imagined. My mother-in-law sat at the head of the room, looking at the boy with a stern expression. “Gregory, what’s going on?” The atmosphere in the living room froze once again. The boy looked like he was about to cry, his eyes red-rimmed. “Sister, my name is George. I… I’ve always known about you.” He spoke with a slight stutter, his voice low but trembling. He glanced at me furtively, then quickly lowered his head, as if afraid I would scold him. “My… my mom, she often told me about you, said you were very talented and beautiful…” Brianna began to sob on cue, covering her mouth with a handkerchief, her shoulders shaking. “Xixi, my precious daughter, mommy has missed you so much all these years…” She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears, as if she had suffered a great injustice. “George… he’s always wanted to meet you too. We often secretly went to see you…” George nodded eagerly, hastily adding, “It’s true! Sister, I even enrolled in your school, just to… to be closer to you…” He pulled out a stack of photos from his pocket and carefully handed them to Xixi. “These are pictures of you. I… I took them secretly…” Xixi took the stack of photos and flipped through them briefly. There were photos of her in her graduation gown, smiling brightly; exhausted after dance practice; engaged in a debate with classmates, looking vibrant and energetic… Xixi felt goosebumps rising all over her body. For years, there had been a creepy stalker hiding near her, watching and secretly photographing her! Gregory wasn’t idle either. He walked up to his mother, pointing at George, his tone grave. “Mom, this is the Johnson family’s grandson! All the elders are here to witness, please… please accept him!” Gregory was quite clever. He knew that after his father’s passing, his mother was actually the one who had the final say in the Johnson family. He invited all the relatives to pressure his mother into accepting this child. He was certain that if his mother accepted George, I would have nothing to say about it. After all, in these twenty-five years, he had observed my obedience and filial piety towards his mother. George was quick-witted. He immediately turned to my mother-in-law, respectfully calling 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 she cared for me. Not wanting to put her in a difficult position, I spoke up to break the awkward silence, “Gregory, your real purpose in having this illegitimate child recognized is to inherit the Johnson family business, isn’t it? Why drag Xixi into this?”

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I failed the bomb disposal mission, and my wife, also a bomb disposal expert, snatched the only blast shield from my hands and gave it to her first love. I grabbed my wife’s hand and begged pitifully. She shook me off with a jerk. “You’re so selfish! You have a system that can revive you, what do you need the blast shield for?” “Jack’s body is already weak and can’t withstand any impact. Two blast shields are the safest option!” But she didn’t know that the system had only given me two chances to revive. One chance I used up, unable to resist her pleas to save her first love. The other I used last year on a mission to save her when she was on the brink of death. Today, I was truly going to die. After the bomb exploded, the entire room became an inferno, with towering flames instantly engulfing my body. The last image before my eyes was of my wife, Rachel, using the blast shield that originally belonged to me to protect her first love, Jack. When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a spirit form, following Rachel. At that moment, she was tenderly blowing on Jack’s hand, which had been slightly singed by the flames, her face full of concern. “Jack, your hand is all red. Let’s go to the hospital quickly to get it bandaged.” Hearing this, my heart felt as if it had been soaked in vinegar, unbearably sour. Anyone who saw this scene would comment on the deep affection between the two. But this woman was my wife of three years. She had never shown such a concerned expression for me. The redness on Jack’s palm was barely visible unless you looked closely, yet Rachel was so worried. When I was engulfed in flames, she didn’t even spare me a glance. Jack looked scared. “Rachel, it’s just a small injury, nothing serious. It’s a good thing you were there, or I would have been seriously hurt for sure.” Rachel still looked tense: “Who says it’s a small injury? What if there’s some internal damage? I won’t be at ease until a doctor checks it out.” With that, she immediately took Jack’s hand and walked towards the exit, her usually calm face full of anxiety. Before getting into the car, Emily, a colleague from the same team, stopped her with a frown: “Luke is still at the scene and hasn’t come out. The bomb just exploded, could something have happened to him?” Hearing my name, Rachel’s expression instantly turned to disgust, her face full of impatience. “What could happen? That selfish bastard values his life too much, he’s probably hiding somewhere.” “Get out of the way quickly, Jack needs to go to the hospital, we can’t delay.” From leaving the explosion site until now, Rachel hadn’t mentioned me once, hadn’t shown any concern for my safety. Even when someone else worried that something might have happened to me, she had to belittle me. I must be quite a failure as a husband in her heart. Rachel pushed Emily aside and got into the car with Jack, heading straight to the hospital, ignoring Emily’s calls behind them. At the hospital, after the examination, Jack hadn’t suffered any injuries, just a small red mark on his hand where the flame had singed it. Rachel, however, acted as if it was a major crisis, insisting that the doctor must bandage it well. Jack looked at her with emotion: “Rachel, you’re still so good to me.” Then he hesitated before speaking again: “Without a blast shield, will Luke be alright? After all, he came to save me. I’ll feel guilty if something happens to him.” Rachel waved her hand, her words showing no concern at all. “Luke has a system, he won’t die. Your body is already not good, you can’t take any injury.” “He even tried to keep the blast shield earlier, saying he would die this time. He’s so selfish. He clearly has a system that can save him, yet he tried to trick me. I think he just can’t stand seeing me being good to you. When he comes back, I’m going to have a big fight with him for sure.” By the end, Rachel was full of anger, as if I had committed some terrible crime. But I just wanted to live. I hadn’t lied to her either. The system had only given me two chances to revive, and I had already used them up.

I was a task executor who had crossed over to this world, and my mission was to make Rachel marry me. The year I met Rachel, she was, like me, a newly recruited bomb disposal officer in the police force. At that time, her first love Jack had broken up with her abruptly to go abroad, leaving Rachel in a daze every day. It was I who stayed by her side constantly, helping her out of the gloom. Three years later, we naturally became husband and wife, and my mission was successfully completed. The system gave me a reward: I could stay in this world and had two chances to revive. At that time, I had also truly fallen in love with Rachel. I believed that the most important thing between husband and wife was honesty, so I told her about the system without reservation. I even jokingly said, “No matter what, I won’t die. I can stay with you until we’re old.” But I never thought that this sentence would become my death warrant. Shortly after we got married, Jack returned from abroad. Jack only shed a few tears in front of Rachel, explaining that going abroad was entirely his parents’ wish, which he couldn’t disobey. Rachel believed him without hesitation. She seemed to forget the pain Jack had caused her back then and started following him around, caring for his every need. She even begged me to use the system to save Jack when he was in a life-threatening car accident. When I saw Rachel crying her eyes out, I couldn’t say I wasn’t heartbroken. How could I not be sad and angry when my wife was shedding tears for another man? But I loved Rachel deeply, and I couldn’t refuse her request. So, the first chance to revive was used up. Last year, after Rachel had finished defusing a bomb and was about to return to the team, she was shot by a criminal who had fought back, right in the heart. When Rachel was sent to the hospital, the doctor took one look and issued a death notice. I couldn’t accept Rachel leaving me, so I resolutely gave her my last chance. Before reviving Rachel, the system had repeatedly asked me if I was sure, as this was the last chance. Wouldn’t I regret it? I answered firmly: “I won’t regret it.” The system agreed, and after that, it never appeared again. At that time, I thought Rachel’s feelings for Jack were just an obsession, and that with time, she would naturally come to her senses and return to our family. And I firmly believed that I could grow old with Rachel. But now, the cruel reality had given me a harsh wake-up call. It turned out that Rachel had always only loved Jack. And I was just deluding myself.

Jack looked at Rachel, seeming to want to say something but holding back. Rachel tapped his forehead, her tone intimate: “Jack, what is it that you can’t tell me?” Jack clenched his fist, as if making up his mind to speak. “Rachel, Luke has always been the ace bomb disposal expert in your team, and with you assisting this time, how could the bomb explode? Could it be that…” Jack didn’t continue, but left room for endless imagination. A raging fire of anger surged in my heart, my hands clenched into fists, wishing I could rush forward and give him a couple of punches. I was already dead, yet he still wouldn’t let me go, trying to poison Rachel against me. As a police officer, I knew my responsibilities and never brought personal emotions into work. Although I already knew Rachel didn’t love me, I thought that after working together for six years, she should understand my character. The next second, Rachel’s words shattered my illusions. “I was wondering why the bomb suddenly exploded when we were defusing it so well. It must be that lunatic Luke deliberately trying to harm you. I’m going to report him to the police force. He doesn’t deserve to be a police officer!” Rachel’s face was red with anger. I had no doubt that if I appeared in front of her now, she would definitely slap me and then curse me viciously. At this moment, my heart was filled with bitterness. Had I overestimated my image in Rachel’s heart, or was Jack so important to her that she would believe whatever he said? Probably both. Six years of being together couldn’t buy even a little trust from her. Now, I was probably just a despicable villain in her heart. But I still remembered what she had said at our wedding, “You’re not just my husband, but also my comrade-in-arms whom I’ll trust for a lifetime.” Now, it only took a light remark from Jack for her to forget her past promises. I suddenly wanted to know, when she learns of my death, will she regret the words she said today? Rachel paced back and forth in the room, unable to vent her anger. She took out her phone and sent me messages. “Luke, how dare you tamper with the bomb, I’ll make you pay for this!” “Don’t think I don’t know you can’t die, reply to me right now.” Rachel stared at her phone intently, but after one minute, two minutes passed, there was still no reply. In the past, I would always reply to her messages within ten seconds. Rachel’s chest heaved up and down with anger. “Fine, pretend to be dead then. Don’t think I can’t do anything about you.” She called a colleague who had stayed at the scene, not even waiting for the other end to speak before she shouted angrily: “Tell Luke I know all about his dirty tricks, he’d better be prepared to face disciplinary action!” An anxious voice came from the other end of the phone: “Luke hasn’t come out yet, the fire hasn’t been put out and we can’t get in. He might really be in trouble.” Rachel sneered, her tone icy cold. “He won’t die. I think he’s just hiding because he’s afraid of being held accountable. You tell him this trick won’t work. He almost killed Jack, I will definitely get to the bottom of this!” With that, she angrily hung up the phone, still cursing under her breath. A flash of smugness passed through Jack’s eyes, but he pretended to be magnanimous. “Rachel, it’s normal for men to be jealous. Luke was probably just momentarily confused. Let it go.” But Rachel glared at him with a stern face. “How can we let it go! Your body hasn’t been good since the car accident, and this time if it weren’t for the blast shield, your life could have been in danger. We can’t let him off easily!” Jack hugged Rachel emotionally, the two looking like a couple who had survived a disaster together.

After leaving the hospital, Rachel took Jack directly home, using the excuse that he was injured and couldn’t manage daily life conveniently. As soon as they entered, Jack took out slippers in a familiar manner, and even accurately found the location of the remote control to turn on the TV. This series of familiar actions all demonstrated that Rachel had brought him to our home many times before. Rachel went to the kitchen and started cooking, muttering about what Jack liked to eat. Jack looked at her tenderly. “Rachel, it’s been so long since I’ve tasted your cooking.” In our three years of marriage, Rachel had never cooked. She said she didn’t know how. I didn’t mind and took over all the cooking and other household chores. Now it seems, she just didn’t cook for me. During dinner, Rachel’s phone suddenly rang, with a suppressed crying voice coming through. “You need to come quickly, Luke… he’s dead.” Rachel rolled her eyes, not believing a word. “Emily, I know you’re close to Luke, but there’s no need to use such a clumsy excuse to trick me. He can’t die.” Emily didn’t expect her to respond like this. She paused, then cried even louder. “I’m really not lying, Luke…” Before Emily could finish, Rachel hung up the phone. “Luke is really going too far, trying to use such a lie to make us forgive him. Ha, absolutely not!” “Even if something happened to him, he has the system to save him. How could he possibly die?” Jack chimed in: “He’s probably just jealous. Men understand men, Rachel, don’t be too angry.” Hearing this, Rachel slammed down her chopsticks, looking even more angry. “If he doesn’t apologize to you properly when he comes back, I’ll divorce him!” My heart felt like it was stuffed with a wad of cotton, unable to breathe. When I begged her not to take away the blast shield, I had already told her that I only had two chances to revive. But she didn’t believe me at all, thinking I was just being jealous. Even now when someone told her about my death, she thought it was my lie, and even wanted to use divorce to threaten me. But this trick would never work again. After dinner, Jack directly lay down on the bed that belonged to Rachel and me. The temperature in the room was rising, and the two of them were getting closer and closer. I desperately wanted to escape from here, but a force confined me to the room, unable to leave. Just as they were about to kiss, Rachel suddenly sat up. She tugged at the corner of her mouth: “Jack, your hand is injured, you should focus on recovering.” With that, she fled to the next bedroom. I couldn’t quite understand. Wasn’t this what Rachel wanted? Early the next morning, Rachel prepared a table full of breakfast and left a note with detailed instructions and reminders before she felt at ease to leave for work. At the police station, Rachel found everyone staring at her with sympathetic gazes. She didn’t understand and casually asked a colleague why they were staring at her like that. The colleague was about to speak when the chief suddenly called Rachel over. Rachel felt a bit puzzled: “Chief, what’s going on?” The chief patted her shoulder and led her to the door of the morgue. “Rachel, my condolences.” Rachel felt a bit panicked but suppressed the unease in her heart. “Chief, what are you talking about? Everyone in my family is fine, what condolences?” The chief sighed: “After the bomb exploded yesterday, Luke didn’t manage to escape successfully. He died at the scene. His body is inside.” Rachel smiled stiffly: “Chief, don’t joke with me. That explosion was Luke’s own doing, he couldn’t possibly die. He must be hiding because he’s afraid of being held accountable.” The chief’s expression became serious when he heard Rachel slandering me. “Rachel! Luke is your husband and a police officer. How can you question his professional ethics!” “The body in the morgue is indeed his. We’ve already verified the DNA. If you don’t believe it, go see for yourself.” Rachel swallowed hard, hesitantly walking forward, still not backing down. “I’ll look then. It must be a fake body up there. Luke must have used some trick to escape.” Rachel’s hand hovered over the white cloth, her trembling hands revealing her unsettled heart. She slowly lifted the white cloth…

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A flash flood struck suddenly. My wife, Saylor, spent a fortune to have her first love rescued, leaving me alone in the car to await death hopelessly. After I managed to escape death, Saylor tearfully told me she felt indebted to me, but then turned around and held a wedding ceremony with her first love. On the day they were happily conducting their wedding ceremony, I invited Charlie’s wife, who had been dead for three years, to the scene. … As the nurse was changing my bandages, a news report on the TV caught my attention. The headline read: “Woman spends entire fortune searching for husband for days, couple now happily reunited.” Below, netizens were praising the depth of their marital love. They even hailed her as “America’s Best Wife.” The young nurse beside me looked envious: “Her husband is so lucky to have such a good wife.” “I heard she spent over a million dollars just to hire a private rescue team. They’re even staying in the VIP ward of our hospital now.” Listening to the nurse’s words, I curled my lips in self-mockery. She was indeed a good wife, good enough to spare no expense to rescue Charlie when the flash flood hit. Leaving me alone trapped in the car, waiting to die. Just then, my phone rang. It was a call from Saylor. After I answered, her anxious voice came through, “Ezra, didn’t I tell you to wait for me where you were? Where are you now?” I remained silent. She explained nervously: “The situation was urgent at the time, and there was limited space on the rescue boat. I could only get Charlie out first. I went back to look for you later.” I was too tired to listen anymore and interrupted her directly: “If that’s the case, you should stay with Charlie. Let’s get a divorce.” With that, I hung up the phone. But the next second, my phone rang again. I knew it was Saylor. I didn’t answer and put the phone on silent. She kept sending me messages: “I didn’t mean to leave you behind, please don’t be angry, okay?” “Where are you? I’ll come find you right now.” After some thought, I still sent her my hospital room number. Saylor replied instantly, “Wait for me for half an hour, I’m coming to see you right away.” But I waited until dark and still didn’t see her. Instead, I saw Charlie’s new Instagram post: “So blessed to have someone by my side 24/7.” The photo showed Saylor bending over to make his bed. I immediately deleted Charlie and blocked Saylor along with him. After turning off my phone, I covered myself with the blanket and fell into a deep sleep. The next day, the caregiver I hired was pushing me to get a check-up. Unexpectedly, we ran into Saylor pushing a wheelchair in the hallway. She was crouching down, gently covering Charlie’s legs with a blanket. When their eyes met, they looked so affectionate, like the perfect loving couple in others’ eyes. Even the caregiver behind me couldn’t help but sigh: “Isn’t that the national wife from the news? They really do look so in love.” Saylor heard the praise and looked up with a smile. But when her eyes met mine, her expression froze in place. “Ezra, why are you here?”

I tugged at the corner of my mouth, unable to hold back my sarcasm. “Why am I here? Don’t you know?” She frowned, looking at me with displeasure, “I had something come up yesterday and couldn’t come see you. Do you have to be so sarcastic?” “I’ve been worried sick about your safety. I see you’re fine and even have the energy to fight with me.” Listening to her complaints, I felt sick to my stomach. Not wanting to argue further, I urged the caregiver to push me away. Unexpectedly, several medical staff rushed out of the elevator behind us, pushing a rescue cart. “Make way!” the lead doctor shouted in our direction. Seeing the rescue cart about to crash into us, Saylor instinctively pushed Charlie’s wheelchair away. With a bang, I was hit hard and fell to the ground awkwardly. A sharp pain from my wound tearing open made me inhale sharply, furrowing my brow. Seeing this, Saylor ran over to help me up, her tone tinged with impatience. “If you’re injured, don’t run around. Just stay in your room and rest properly.” “I’ll take Charlie for his check-up first, then come see you later.” I forcefully pushed her hand away, saying coldly: “No need.” “Ezra, that’s enough. You got hurt running around on your own, why are you taking it out on others?” Saylor complained unhappily, simply standing up. She left me sitting on the ground and walked away without looking back, pushing Charlie. In the end, it was the caregiver who carefully helped me up and took me back to my room. I thought Saylor saying she’d see me later was just giving herself an out. I didn’t expect her to actually come. She was carrying several takeout boxes with cold food inside, her tone full of concern. “You’ve always been picky about food. I figured the hospital meals wouldn’t suit your taste.” “I specially ordered this dinner from a five-star restaurant. Come try it quick.” I glanced at the takeout bag where the delivery slip hadn’t been removed. The address column showed Charlie’s room number. The note even said flirtatiously: [Wishing the invincible handsome Charlie a speedy recovery!] So, she was trying to please me with the leftovers Charlie didn’t eat? Fighting the nausea in my stomach, I brought up divorce again. Saylor paused briefly, then sneered: “Ezra, when will you be done with this? You’re not young anymore, always talking about divorce. Don’t forget, you were the one who begged me to marry you.” With that, she stormed out. Hearing the door slam shut, I remained unmoved. Back then, I truly loved Saylor. To pursue her, I gave up a high-paying job and moved to her city. To make her happy, I learned to cook well. After she agreed to marry me, I silently vowed to treat her well for life. But what about her? To take care of her deceased best friend’s husband, she abandoned me again and again, trampling on my true feelings. This time, I won’t forgive her, nor will I look back. I contacted a lawyer to draft divorce papers. Then I opened our joint bank account, intending to transfer out my father’s death benefits. But I found that all the money in the account had been withdrawn. My heart sank as I recalled the news saying Saylor had spent millions to rescue Charlie. So, she used this money?

With trembling hands, I called Saylor. But the line was always busy. I guess she had blocked me. So I didn’t bother with my injuries and went straight to Charlie’s hospital room. Through the glass window, I saw Saylor sitting by Charlie’s bedside. She was tenderly peeling an apple, then feeding the cut pieces to Charlie. This gentle, soft-spoken image reminded me of when I was hospitalized before. Saylor said she had never taken care of anyone and wouldn’t even help wipe my face with a towel, instead scolding me for not being considerate of her. Lost in thought, Charlie noticed me standing at the door. “Are you here to see Saylor?” “I’m so sorry, Saylor is only here because she feels bad for me being all alone. You’re not angry, are you?” I ignored the provocation in Charlie’s eyes and walked in with a cold face, asking Saylor directly: “You withdrew the $3 million from our account. Why didn’t you tell me?” Saylor paused, turning her head in displeasure, speaking as if it was perfectly reasonable. “It was a matter of life and death. There was no time to discuss it.” “That money was just sitting there anyway. Might as well use it for something meaningful!” I laughed bitterly, my eyes gradually reddening. Six months ago, Saylor was caught in a mall fire. Because the fire was too intense, firefighters couldn’t enter. It was my dad who disregarded his own safety and carried the unconscious Saylor out of the fire. He himself died from his severe injuries. On his deathbed, he was still concerned about Saylor’s condition. This money was the government’s special compensation to honor him as a retired firefighter who died saving others. At the time, Saylor cried in my arms, saying she would definitely use this money to buy a high-end cemetery plot for my dad to rest in peace. Now, how could she have the nerve to say such things? Seeing her casually wetting a towel, preparing to wipe Charlie’s face, I felt like I had been blind. Just as I was about to leave, she called out to me again. “The day after tomorrow is your dad’s death anniversary. I won’t be going. I’m planning to hold a wedding ceremony with Charlie that day.” I turned back to look at her in surprise, my voice filled with disbelief. “What did you say?” Nominally, we weren’t divorced yet, but she was going to openly hold a wedding? And on my dad’s death anniversary no less! Saylor didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with it. She glanced at me impatiently and continued: “Charlie has always wanted to have his own wedding ceremony. But as you know, when he and Rachel got their marriage license, Rachel passed away before they could hold the ceremony.” “So now, I want to help him fulfill this wish in Rachel’s place.” I stared at Saylor for a long while before nodding: “Do whatever you want!” Seeing me agree so readily, Saylor’s eyes lit up with joy. She came over to hold my arm. “Ezra, I knew you’d understand me best.” “Don’t worry, this is just a fake wedding ceremony, going through the motions. You’ll always be the one I love most!” I stepped back to avoid her outstretched hand, leaving the hospital room without looking back. The next day, I completed the discharge procedures, preparing to go to the cemetery to pay respects to my parents. But just as I got into a taxi, I received a phone call. “Is this Ezra? This is Rachel, Saylor’s best friend. Do you remember me?” I held the phone in a daze, my mind going blank. Rachel, who was declared dead three years ago? She’s still alive?

She didn’t notice my shock and continued urgently: “I can’t reach Charlie or Saylor’s phones. Luckily I was able to contact you…” That’s when I learned that Rachel had fallen off a cliff back then but was rescued by kind strangers and sent to a local hospital. She had been in a coma for three whole years, nearly going into cardiac arrest several times. Now, after great difficulty finding her way back, she discovered Charlie had moved and his phone number was disconnected. I really didn’t know how to explain the situation to her, so I could only verbally agree to help her contact Charlie. After hanging up, I still couldn’t believe it. It took me a while to open WeChat, intending to message Saylor and tell her about Rachel’s return. But I received an alert from the pet monitoring app. I opened the live feed from the camera in my house. I saw my ragdoll cat hanging by a rope in the middle of the living room, its limbs twitching and struggling. Charlie stood in the center of the living room, clutching his arm with a pitiful expression. He seemed to notice the camera lens turning slightly and deliberately said: “Saylor, I think it’s dead. What should we do? Won’t Ezra be mad at you when he gets back?” Saylor was carefully bandaging his arm in front of him, not even looking up. “As long as you’re okay. This ungrateful beast might as well die early.” My hand holding the phone trembled. I quickly told the driver to turn back home, hoping I could still save it in time. But I was still a step too late. Little Love’s cold body lay on the floor. Its once neatly groomed white fur was now disheveled, splattered with blood. Even its hind legs were bent backwards unnaturally. I reached out with trembling hands, not daring to imagine what kind of torture Little Love had endured on my way back. Just then, Saylor’s indifferent voice came from behind. “I know you loved Little Love, but it bit someone. Even if it hadn’t died, I would have sent it away.” I turned around with red eyes to see her walking out of the next room wearing a pure white wedding dress. Seeing I didn’t speak, she came over to comfort me. “If you really want to keep a cat, I’ll go with you to buy another one another day.” I just shook my head, “No need.” With that, I carried Little Love’s body outside and buried it in the garden. Just as I finished, I received a text from Saylor. “Wedding ceremony tomorrow, remember to be on time.” After a long while, I emotionlessly replied “Okay.” When I arrived at the Starlight Hotel, the wedding was already underway. Seeing me appear, Saylor’s friends started teasing. “Ezra is here too! As the witness, you have to say a few words!” I knew they wanted to see me make a fool of myself. I didn’t refuse. Looking up at the sweet-faced couple on stage, I calmly walked up. Under everyone’s gaze, I curled my lips slightly. “As Saylor’s husband, when I learned she wanted to fulfill Charlie’s wish of holding a wedding ceremony, I was very touched.” “So today, I’ve also specially prepared a surprise for them.” As I finished speaking, Charlie looked at me smugly. While the smile on Saylor’s face grew even brighter. I took a deep breath and said loudly: “Next, let’s welcome Charlie’s wife, Rachel, to the stage!”

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My boyfriend has a buddy who he treats like a sister, and they’re practically inseparable. On the day we were supposed to get engaged for the ninth time, he ditched me at the venue. Why? Because it was their 20th “friendship anniversary.” “It’s just a delayed engagement. No need to rush. Are you really worried that no one will marry you?” Her latest Instagram Story popped up, and it felt like a thorn in my eye. “Twenty years of friendship. How could someone like you ever compare?” They hugged, looking way too cozy for “just friends.” I didn’t cry or create a scene. Instead, I calmly liked the post. Then, without a word, I vanished from his life. Six months later, he called, trying to win me back: “I got you that wedding dress you wanted. Come back, and let’s get married!” But it wasn’t my voice that answered—it was a man’s. “My wife’s pregnant. What do you want with her?” Content The day our engagement fell apart, I tossed the ring into a trash can. A cab driver waved me over and asked, “Where to?” “Just drive,” I replied. “Anywhere but back.” When Carter Delaney’s calls started coming in, I turned my phone off. It stayed off for three days. The night breeze by Santa Monica Pier felt calming, lifting the hem of my red dress. It reminded me of the first time Carter told me he loved me. He had been so young and awkward, his feelings written all over his face, impossible to hide. I had fallen hard for 20-year-old Carter. I even left my hometown of Austin, Texas, and moved to the unfamiliar Midwest for him. I quit a job I loved to become his secretary, a role I held for nine years. Fate sure has a twisted sense of humor. We got engaged nine times. And each time, she got in the way. Her name is Brielle Stokes. We fought about her more times than I can count. “I’ve told you, Brielle and I are just friends. Why are you so insecure?” “We’ve shared everything since we were kids—even baths. Do you really think it’s anything more?” “Skylar Quinn, you’re acting like a jealous maniac! Brielle’s already forgiven you for stalking us. What else do you want?” Carter’s expression darkened during those arguments. After each fight, I’d pick up my feelings, wipe my tears, and apologize. I was terrified of losing him, so I always gave in first. But this time, I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness—just a calm desire to stay by the ocean, doing nothing and feeling at peace. Carter found me without much trouble. I forgot that the hotel I booked was one of his. He burst into my room without warning. “Skylar Quinn, running away is such a childish move.” “It was Brielle and I’s 20th anniversary as friends. We were just celebrating! Can’t I have friends besides you?” Friends. Right. Friends who kiss? I kept that thought to myself. I knew he’d dismiss it as “just a game.” Not like it would be the first time. “Brielle and I have nothing going on. Stop sulking, okay?” His furrowed brows softened as he looked at me, almost concerned. “I’ll make it up to you with a bigger wedding. Brielle can even be your maid of honor. Will that make you happy?” His voice had a soothing tone. I remained silent, making his brows knit together again. “Skylar, if you don’t—” “Fine,” I interrupted. The old me would’ve argued until I caved and apologized. But now? I just smiled faintly. My unexpected compliance caught him off guard, but he quickly masked it with a relieved smile. He reached for my hand. “Let’s go home.” I pulled my hand away coldly and walked ahead of him. Carter paused, stunned for a moment. No fight? He didn’t know how to deal with that. When I reached his car, Brielle was already waiting. “There you are, Skylar! Carter’s been freaking out trying to find you!” She pouted, playfully scolding him. “I told you we should’ve brought her to the anniversary, but nooo. Look what happened—she’s jealous again!” “Skylar, I’m really sorry for him. Don’t be mad, okay? If you are, I’ll hit him for you!” She pretended to punch Carter’s chest but ended up in his arms. “Still the charmer, huh?” Carter smirked at her. “Ugh, stop holding me like that!” Brielle blushed and squirmed, glancing at me. “Skylar’s watching. Are you trying to scare her off again?” 2 I ignored them and quietly took the backseat without looking up. I’d fought so many times over the front passenger seat. If Brielle was around, it was always hers. “She gets carsick unless she’s next to me,” Carter explained. I seethed, baffled. He thought I was being petty. This time, I said nothing, and Carter looked a bit surprised. As the car started, Brielle turned to me. “Skylar, you’ve lost so much weight in just two days. Let me take you to dinner to apologize for Carter?” “Next time, I promise you’ll be invited to our hangouts!” “No need,” I replied sharply. “Just take me home.” Carter ignored me and drove to a restaurant instead. “You look like you haven’t eaten properly. Stop being stubborn.” The car stopped in a busy area filled with restaurants. Brielle tugged at his arm and said, “Carter, I want a Matcha Latte!” “You’re about to start your period. No iced drinks.” They acted like a couple. He knew her body better than he ever knew mine. At the restaurant, the server brought us lemon water. Brielle grabbed Carter’s glass, sipping it. “Yours is so sour!” she giggled, scrunching her nose. Carter smiled fondly, pinching her cheek. “You’ve got to stop stealing my stuff.” Then Brielle turned to me. “Skylar, you’re not mad, right? We’ve always shared everything since we were kids.” Carter froze, realizing how inappropriate that sounded. “Doesn’t bother me,” I replied. “You’ve shared everything since you were kids, right? Makes sense.” Carter exhaled in relief, even smiling faintly as if impressed by my “maturity.” For the first time, I didn’t care if they flirted. When Carter peeled a shrimp for me, Brielle snatched it before it reached my plate. “How sweet! You remembered I love shrimp!” she teased, placing it on her plate. Carter shook his head, amused. “Slow down. No one’s taking it from you.” Then Brielle slid the shrimp to my plate. “Here, Skylar. Have some. If it’s not enough, I’ll make Carter peel more for me.” “I don’t like shrimp,” I replied coolly, leaving it untouched. Carter’s brows furrowed. He must’ve been confused—shrimp was my favorite. But I don’t eat food that’s been taken from someone else’s plate. Brielle was allergic to seafood. She took it just to get Carter’s attention. Her face broke out in hives on the way back. Carter dropped me off on the roadside, insisting, “Brielle needs to go to the hospital. Call a cab.” “But—” He didn’t listen, focused solely on her as he drove away. The street was dimly lit. A couple of tall guys emerged from the shadows. “She’s got a nice body. Let’s grab her.” 3 I froze in panic, my heart racing as fear washed over me. My legs felt weak, and when I tried to run, I stumbled and fell. The two men closed in, stinking of sweat and booze. “All my money is in my bag. There’s about two thousand in cash and a few grand on my cards,” I stammered, blurting out my finances, hoping they’d just take the money and leave. Their eyes lit up as they rifled through my bag, confirming my words. “Don’t worry. I won’t call the cops. I didn’t see anything,” I begged, voice trembling. “I’ll leave—right now…”

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Quinn Harper, my stepdaughter, is indifferent by nature and believes in “taking life as it comes.” When she got into a Community College after the SAT, I worked part-time jobs on top of my nursing shifts to pay her tuition. She mocked me for being too concerned about pride and meddling in her business. After coasting through college, she struggled to find a job. I swallowed my pride and asked an old classmate to help her secure a position. She accused me of being too ambitious, saying I took someone else’s opportunity. When she made mistakes at work and offended the wealthy elites, I apologized to her superiors on her behalf. She scolded me for being embarrassing, saying I didn’t know how to “take life as it comes.” In the end, her seemingly effortless nature caught the eye of Hunter Caldwell, a wealthy heir. She married into his family, skyrocketing to the top. Meanwhile, I was inexplicably suspended from work. When I asked for her help, she said it was my punishment for being greedy and advised me to learn to let go. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day her college admission results came out. Content

“Don’t worry, Quinn. My job’s not too busy—I can pick up another side gig and cover your college tuition.” The words spilled out before I realized what I was saying. Memories came flooding back, and I suddenly understood—I’d been reborn. As expected, the next moment, Quinn’s indifferent voice reached my ears. “Why do you always care so much about pride? What’s wrong with just taking life as it comes?” That was how it had gone in my past life. Quinn wasn’t my biological daughter, but I’d raised her since she was little and treated her as my own. I thought her constant criticisms were just her being overly sensitive. So, I kept bending over backward for her. To give her a good start in life, I worked day and night as a nurse and picked up a side job paying $10 an hour after my shifts. I managed to scrape together enough to get her through that Community College. But instead of being grateful, she blamed me for her failures, saying I cared more about my reputation than her happiness, wasting four years of her youth. When she graduated, her lack of skills left her unemployable at any decent workplace. I had to swallow my pride and beg an old college friend to find her a job. Once she started working, she accused me of being manipulative and taking opportunities from others. When she made mistakes, I even apologized to her boss on her behalf. She said I was humiliating and obsessed with success, refusing to “take life as it comes.” Because of her, my reputation among colleagues and family was destroyed. Yet her laid-back, “go-with-the-flow” attitude managed to captivate Hunter Caldwell, who saw her as refreshingly different. She climbed her way into his wealthy world while I was inexplicably suspended and ostracized. When I asked for her help, she didn’t even look at me. All she said was, “I told you to take life as it comes. If you’re like this now, it’s because you couldn’t let go of your selfish ambitions. I can’t help you.” Remembering all this, I met Quinn’s indifferent gaze and asked, “Are you sure you want to live like this? Taking life as it comes?” Quinn’s eyes flickered briefly with unease before she quickly regained her composure. “Of course,” she replied matter-of-factly. Her confidence stemmed from always having everything handed to her. So I nodded, pretending to agree. “Alright then. You’re an adult now. I’m not obligated to take care of you anymore. Do whatever you want.” For the first time, Quinn’s aloof demeanor almost cracked. Feigning nonchalance, she muttered, “But if I don’t go to college, how will I get a job and take care of you in the future?” I let out a soft laugh.

So, she knew going to college was in her best interest after all. But what did that have to do with me? I ignored her muttering and went straight to my bedroom for a nap. Cooking or cleaning? Let it all “take life as it comes.” The next morning, as I was getting ready for work, Quinn Harper blocked my path. She held up her phone, showing me her Instagram Stories. Post after post from her classmates: “Finally graduated high school! Thanks, Mom!” “New phone from Dad—ready for college!” Her smug reminder brought back memories—I’d lived through this moment before. Right on cue, Quinn spoke. “I don’t need anything fancy. Just something that works.” “Something that works,” huh? In my past life, feeling guilty, I took a day off work to buy her a tablet. At the store, she picked up the most expensive Apple model and said with a casual tone, “Taking life as it comes means going with the first thing I see. This one will do.” Not wanting to embarrass her, I gritted my teeth and bought it. Later, when a colleague visited and saw the tablet, they remarked, “Wow, you really spoil your daughter.” Before I could respond, Quinn scoffed, “She just wanted to show off. I would’ve been fine with anything.” This time, I wasn’t playing along. I picked up her phone and examined it. “Looks like this works fine. Why get a new one?” I smiled. Quinn looked ready to argue but held back. I added, “Don’t worry so much about appearances. Taking life as it comes should be enough for you, right?” Her composure cracked, and she stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her. She didn’t come home that night. The next morning, she returned dressed head-to-toe in designer labels, carrying shopping bags with a brand-new laptop and phone. She made a show of setting them prominently on the table, then loudly started unboxing them. When I didn’t react, she finally broke the silence. “Pretty lucky, huh? I bought a lottery ticket and won $20,000.” “Taking life as it comes really pays off. Being stingy never gets you anywhere.” I mentally calculated. Her college tuition was $20,000 a year, and her living expenses would cost at least the same. That $20,000 wouldn’t even cover a semester if she kept up this lifestyle. But I kept my thoughts to myself and casually said, “$20,000 should cover your college expenses.” Quinn’s expression turned dismissive as she stood up, her gaze icy. “Don’t you get it? When you live life as it comes, the universe helps you. People like you, burdened with distractions, only hurt themselves. Just look at us.” I didn’t bother responding. Reasoning with someone like her was pointless. When the holidays ended, Quinn left for college, and I turned my focus back to my career. I majored in nursing in college. After graduating, I went straight into the field, working as a nurse. Among the colleagues who joined the hospital the same year as me, most either switched careers or moved on to other hospitals. Even the least successful of them had climbed to become charge nurses in secondary wards. Meanwhile, I was still stuck in the same place, treading water.

But every time I reached a promotion milestone, Quinn caused problems. When she was in elementary school, she claimed the cafeteria food made her sick. So, I meticulously prepared meals and delivered them daily. In middle school, she said she was overwhelmed by pressure. I adjusted every aspect of her life—her meals, her schedule, her room decor—so she’d always be in a good mood. By high school, during the time Marcus passed away, she declared she didn’t want to go to school anymore. She took a break from school, and I picked up my old textbooks to tutor her myself. I sacrificed nearly everything for her, including my career. And in my past life, all I got in return was, “You’re too distracted. It’s your fault things turned out this way.” Quinn, however, believed everything she gained was a reward for her “go-with-the-flow” approach. But this time, it wasn’t too late. With work being hectic, I used whatever free time I had over the next year to earn my nursing certification. Then I submitted my application to the Nursing Department to become a charge nurse. With my years of experience, my promotion was practically guaranteed. By my second year in this role, Quinn graduated college. Just like in the past, she majored in nursing. But unlike before, I didn’t immediately rush to find her a job. A week later, one evening, she finally broke her silence. Holding a glass of milk from the fridge, she knocked on my door. When I opened it, she stood there looking almost unchanged from four years ago—her face as emotionless as ever, though her eyes now held a hint of uncertainty. “I haven’t found a job yet,” she said. “Since you’re in nursing, what kind of position do you think I should look for?” Before I could reply, she added quickly, “I’m just worried about not being able to take care of you when you’re older. That’s all.” Her attempt at justification was laughable. In my past life, when Quinn returned after graduation, I was still a low-level nurse without the qualifications to speak up. To help her, I’d swallowed my pride and begged Violet Sawyer, a former college roommate who now worked as the director of the maternity ward. We’d never gotten along, but I humbled myself for Quinn. Violet eventually pulled some strings, and Quinn landed a job at Starlight Medical Center, a dream for most nursing graduates. But once she started working, she didn’t hold back from openly mocking me. She told coworkers I was manipulative, forcing her into a position she never wanted. She insisted she hated nursing, claiming I’d stolen someone else’s opportunity to satisfy my ambitions. She said she just wanted to “take life as it comes,” but I kept pushing her into things she didn’t want. Her words spread like wildfire, and colleagues started filing complaints against me. By the time I lost my job, it was too late to understand why. A kind coworker later revealed the truth—Quinn had been behind it all. Remembering this, I stared at the Quinn standing before me. The warmth in my voice disappeared. “If you don’t have the skills, don’t blame the lack of opportunities. Instead of complaining, maybe start by asking yourself if you’re qualified.” Quinn’s face darkened. “But you’ve been promoted already. Why can’t you just use your position to help me out?” I almost laughed out loud.

In my previous life, when I stepped in to help Quinn Harper, she accused me of being manipulative, stealing someone else’s opportunity, and not letting her “take life as it comes.” This time, I chose not to help her. But now, she had the audacity to ask me to “naturally” help her out. The hypocrisy was laughable. I shoved her out of the way and, with thinly veiled irritation, said, “If I help you, what happens to everyone else? Can’t you stop being so selfish? Isn’t taking life as it comes good enough for you?” Quinn’s face turned pale, her composure visibly shaken. I closed the door in her face, cutting her off completely. The days passed uneventfully after that. Apart from Quinn’s occasional attempts to linger around me, life felt peaceful again. Until one otherwise ordinary morning when I saw her at Maplewood General Hospital. History, it seemed, had a habit of repeating itself. Somehow, she had managed to reconnect with my old college roommate, Violet Sawyer. There she was, following closely behind Violet, basking in the attention of the nurses in Violet’s department. Quinn looked as calm and detached as ever, while Violet, all smiles, introduced her to the team. Something about the scene felt deeply unsettling. Violet and I had been college roommates, but we were never close. Violet struggled in her courses and often asked me for help. I obliged by marking key points in her textbooks. But behind my back, she mocked me for showing off my knowledge. She even made fun of the notes I’d prepared for her, claiming I was overbearing. Unluckily for her, I overheard one of her snide remarks. In my frustration, I threw her book back at her. From that moment, our polite acquaintance turned into mutual hostility. Years later, working in the same hospital, I avoided her as much as possible. But Violet always found ways to make my life harder—fiddling with my schedules or pinning mistakes made by trainees on me. To call her an enemy wouldn’t be an exaggeration. So why had she gone out of her way to help Quinn, knowing full well that she was my stepdaughter? The kindness seemed far too calculated. Lost in thought, I didn’t notice Quinn walking toward me until she was right in front of me. Her eyes scanned me up and down before she said with an air of nonchalance, “Even without your help, I’ll rise to the top. Surpassing you is only a matter of time.” I didn’t dignify her comment with a response. I was certain Violet had ulterior motives for helping her. And in a role like this, without real competence, Quinn would eventually face the consequences of her own shortcomings. But Quinn wasn’t ready to let me walk away. She sidestepped to block my path and said coolly, “The head nurse who got me in wants to meet you. Tomorrow at noon. Be there.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and left. As I watched her retreating figure, I marveled at the sheer thickness of her skin. Despite my doubts, I decided to go to the meeting. As the saying goes, “Know your enemy and know yourself.” At 10 a.m. the next day, Quinn brought me to a café on the corner of Ashwood Heights. Violet arrived at 11:30, a full hour and a half late. For the entire time, Quinn sat there exuding a false sense of righteousness, as if she were a saint offering me a golden opportunity. When Violet finally showed up, she didn’t even glance at Quinn. Dropping her bag on the table, she said curtly, “You can leave now.” Quinn’s carefully maintained demeanor faltered for a moment, though she quickly forced herself to appear composed. She offered a polite goodbye to Violet before walking out.

I turned my gaze toward Violet, confused but unamused. “If you have something to say, get to the point. We’re not exactly on friendly terms.” Violet smirked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her dark brown eyes gleamed with smugness. “Don’t think I don’t know why you worked so hard to become charge nurse—it was all to get your precious little stepdaughter into this hospital.” Feigning surprise, she covered her mouth with her hand and added with mock sympathy, “Too bad. Your darling Quinn is working under me now. Here’s the deal—if you beg me, admit you’ll never be as good as I am, I’ll give her an easy schedule.” She paused, leaning forward slightly, her grin widening. “But if you don’t, I’ll make sure Quinn gets a taste of the hell you’ve been through these past few years.” Her words left me momentarily speechless. Before, everyone knew how much I doted on Quinn. I shielded her from the world, refusing suitors after Marcus passed, fearful that a new relationship might make her feel unloved. But that life had taught me a bitter lesson. Quinn Harper was nothing more than an ungrateful parasite. The kind of person who bites the hand that feeds her. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

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The day Silas Peyton and I had planned to move to the same city, I couldn’t make it. He might never understand how, after just a quick trip back home to pack, I vanished without a trace. A few days later, I called him. The moment he picked up, his voice was sharp and accusing: “Evie Langston, were you planning a cliff-edge breakup?” I glanced around at the cold, unyielding concrete walls and forced myself to say what I didn’t mean. “Yeah, I’m heading to Europe soon to live a better life.” “Let’s not contact each other again.” Content Five years later, I was making ends meet by running a stall at the Blue Ridge Night Bazaar in Asheville. By night, I painted nails for tourists and sold handmade trinkets on the side. That evening, a drizzle started. The woman running the neighboring stall began packing up and called out to me, “Evie, it’s raining. Why aren’t you heading home?” I gave her a bitter smile and shook my head. I hadn’t made a single sale all day. Going home empty-handed didn’t sit right. She tried to console me. “Girl, this isn’t how you earn a living. You’ve barely eaten today—you can’t keep treating yourself like this.” Before she could finish, two people stopped in front of my stall—a couple who looked like they’d stepped straight out of a magazine. “Hey, how much for a manicure?” The girl’s voice was sugary sweet as she idly flipped through the nail designs. I instinctively lowered my head, wiped off the chair for her, and introduced myself eagerly, “Basic designs are $50, more intricate ones are $100. And if you like, I can give you a free plush toy—handmade by me.” She barely glanced at me, pointing at a trendy seasonal design. “This one. Forget the plush toy—I don’t trust unlicensed crafts.” The man beside her raised the umbrella higher over her head, his voice teasing and indulgent. “Only you would think of getting your nails done in the rain.” My hand, reaching for tools, froze. That voice—I hadn’t heard it in years, but I’d never forget it. Silas Peyton. I stole a glance at him and saw how he’d changed. He was leaner, sharper, and even more handsome. My heart twisted like fallen leaves caught in a fierce wind. I pressed down on the girl’s hand and forced myself to focus, mechanically tracing the design she wanted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Silas pull out a chair and sit down, still holding the umbrella over her. My mind drifted back to our college days. Whenever it rained, he’d wait for me outside the dorms, tilting the umbrella to shield me more than himself. But that devotion no longer belonged to me. Now, he stood beside another woman, shielding her from the elements and giving her his undivided attention. “Wait—wipe it off,” the girl suddenly said, pulling her hand back to inspect her nails. “Miss, is… something wrong?” I asked nervously. She frowned, shaking her head. “Your hands—they’re rough. It feels like they’re full of thorns.” “How are you supposed to do manicures with hands like that? Don’t you know anything about marketing?” For the first time, I noticed my cracked, calloused fingers, worn from years of stitching and mending. My face burned, and my chest tightened with shame. Silas chuckled lightly, tousling her hair, and pulled out his wallet. “Could you clean it off for her? Keep the money.” Then, his gaze finally fell on me. That one look made him freeze, his hand gripping the cash mid-motion. I watched as his expression hardened, his facial muscles twitching. Those once gentle, mesmerizing eyes were now filled with bitterness. The girl, oblivious, began wiping her fingers with disinfectant wipes. She turned to him and asked, “What’s wrong? Do you know her?” He suddenly laughed, pulling out a few more bills and tossing them at me. “No. Just felt sorry for her.” “Think of it as charity for a beggar. Let’s go.” Those words felt like claws digging into my chest. He’d recognized me—at my lowest.

What Silas Peyton didn’t know was that this wasn’t my lowest point. The year we graduated, we had agreed to move to the same city. Before leaving, I returned to my mother’s house to pack. What greeted me there was a nightmare. My stepfather had my mom pinned to the ground, one hand holding her head down, the other raining punches. When he saw me, he didn’t stop. If anything, he hit harder. “You worthless leech! Just like your daughter—useless and filthy. You live off my money, but when it’s time to serve me, you refuse? I’ll beat you to death!” My mother’s wails and his curses blended into a cacophony that shattered my sanity. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I charged at him and pushed him away. But I was no match for him. Within seconds, he’d recovered and slapped me across the face. My mom scrambled up and clung to his legs. “Please, stop! Don’t hurt her. She’ll make money—she’ll help you.” The mention of money made him even angrier. He shoved her aside and wrapped his hands around my neck. At that moment, I thought I was going to die. In desperation, my hand found a fruit knife on the table. Without thinking, I plunged it into his chest. At barely twenty, I had taken a life. The day I awaited sentencing, I called Silas. His first words were angry: “How could you do this to me?” I wiped the tears streaming down my face and, for the first time, forced myself to sound cold and disdainful. “Silas Peyton, listen. In a few days, I’ll be in Europe living my best life.” “Only a fool would stick with someone like you.” My lies were enough to crush him, who had nothing back then. His voice trembled as he warned me not to regret it before hanging up. I was sentenced to five years for manslaughter. My mom hanged herself a week later. From that moment, I lost not just my freedom but also my mother. Regret consumed me, but it was too late. Silas Peyton was perfect, the kind of man no one could ever replace. And I—my carefully built inner fortress had crumbled into ruins. I was no longer worthy of him. Never would be. When I was released, no company would hire me. I managed to find a job delivering food, but once my record was discovered, even my kind boss turned cold. “You stupid girl! Don’t you know they’ll investigate and come down on me? Get out—now!” Who would’ve thought a graduate from a prestigious college would end up unqualified even to deliver takeout? Eventually, I survived by selling crafts I’d learned in prison, working from dawn until dusk just to make ends meet. The money Silas threw at me today was almost what I earned in a month. But I didn’t want it. That money hitting me felt more painful than a slap across the face. Later that night, I got a call from my college roommate, Madison Vance. She was the only person I’d stayed in touch with after my release. “Evie, I’m getting married next month. Silas will be there—my dad’s working with him, and I can’t avoid it.” “But you have to come. We promised back in college, remember?” I glanced at the money I hadn’t returned, steadying my voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.” “I have something I need to give back to him anyway.” It’s time to return it. And let go.

Madison Vance’s wedding was held at her father’s hotel, the Vance Regency Hotel in Manhattan. It was my first time back in this city in over five years. Even though I’d been out of prison and reintegrating into society for half a year, crowds still made me feel uneasy. “Evie, don’t be so tense,” Madison said, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat. I forced a dry smile and gestured for her to go ahead and tend to her guests. Once everyone had taken their seats, I realized I’d been placed at a table with my old college classmates. None of them recognized me. Silas Peyton arrived with the same beautiful woman I’d seen at the Blue Ridge Night Bazaar. Their entrance caused an immediate stir. “Well, well, looks like Mr. Peyton might be tying the knot soon,” someone teased. Silas didn’t deny it, confidently holding the woman’s hand as they walked. Glancing briefly in my direction, he nodded with a smile. “That’s right. When Serena and I get married, I hope everyone here will join us to celebrate.” So, her name was Serena Cross. I kept my head down, wishing I could disappear into the floor. My only strategy was to make myself as invisible as possible. But Serena noticed me. “Hey! Aren’t you the girl who did my nails that day?” Her voice carried, and every pair of eyes at the table turned to me. Finally, someone exclaimed, “You’re… Evelyn Langston, right?” I nodded slightly, still avoiding eye contact. The recognition set off a wave of murmurs. “It is her! But what happened to you? You used to be so gorgeous. Now you look… malnourished.” I forced a weak smile, not knowing how to respond. One of Silas’s friends, who had always been close to him, smirked and added, “Wow, the campus beauty queen fell pretty far. Guess karma caught up with you. No one’s heard a word from you for years—we thought maybe you didn’t survive the pandemic.” The comments stung, but I could bear it. After all, compared to the abuse I endured in prison, this was nothing. Besides, this was Madison’s wedding. I wouldn’t let anything ruin it. I focused on my plate, quietly eating while ignoring the conversation around me. Silas chuckled, serving Serena another bite of food. “Ms. Langston, is American cuisine too plain for someone who’s been living abroad?” I chewed my last bite mechanically, set my fork down gently, and stood. “Enjoy your meals, everyone. I have to go.” I spoke with my eyes fixed on the empty space above their heads. At a table full of people, I couldn’t find a single pair of eyes willing to meet mine. I left in a hurry, without saying goodbye to Madison or returning the money I owed Silas. But before I could step out of the hotel, Silas intercepted me. Somehow, he’d taken a different route and was already waiting at the door. Without warning, he grabbed my arm and dragged me to a secluded corner. His expression was dark, like a brewing storm. “Evelyn Langston, what’s the deal? Weren’t you supposed to be living it up in Europe? What are you doing back here?” I stood there, tongue-tied, his words like barbs caught in my throat. “This is your karma for dumping me, isn’t it?” he spat, his voice rising. “Are you jealous? Look at me now—I’m wealthy, successful, and my girlfriend is beautiful and sweet.” “The best part? She loves me. She’d never abandon me like you did. You’re the one who got left behind!” Years of pent-up anger exploded like a dam bursting, his words hitting me like tidal waves, leaving me gasping for air. Just then, Madison appeared, out of breath and stepping protectively between us. “Silas, what’s wrong with you? Do you even know what Evie—” “Madison!” I interrupted sharply, cutting her off. I shoved the money I’d been holding into Silas’s hand, then grabbed Madison and walked away. He didn’t need to know. Some truths are better left buried.

That night, Madison called me. “Evie, stop hiding in that little market. Come work at my dad’s hotel.” I hesitated, feeling a mix of apprehension and disbelief. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause any trouble.” Madison dismissed my concerns. “It’s fine! Just a temporary job as a guest room attendant. You won’t have to deal with people much, and you’ll make way more than you do selling plush toys.” For once, I decided to take a chance. On my third day, there was a birthday party being held in the main hall. It had nothing to do with me—until my manager called me down to help serve drinks. When I entered the hall, I froze. The party was for Silas Peyton. I’d completely forgotten. The place was packed with college friends and influential people he’d befriended in Manhattan. I scanned the room, desperate to spot Madison. I wanted nothing more than to stay out of sight. “What are you staring at? You’re here to work, not gawk!” barked the floor supervisor. She shoved a tray of drinks into my hands and pointed to the main table. “Hurry up! They’ve been waiting.” Before I could protest, she pushed me forward. Like a zombie, I carried the tray toward the crowd. As I approached the main table, Serena suddenly turned, bumping into my arm. The tray slipped, crashing to the floor. Glasses shattered, and wine splattered everywhere—right onto Serena’s expensive heels and dress. “Seriously? Are you blind?” she snapped. “I’m sorry.” My apology was automatic as I fumbled to clean up the mess. Serena wasn’t satisfied. “Sorry? Do you have any idea how much these shoes cost? Get down and clean them properly!” I hesitated, glancing at Silas. His brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing. That was answer enough. He wasn’t going to step in. “Hello? Are you deaf? Is this how your staff handles mistakes?” Serena pressed. Fine. I pulled out a handkerchief, knelt down, and began wiping her shoes. I could feel the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on me. Before I was done, Serena let out a cold laugh. “Ladies and gentlemen, doesn’t this face look familiar? Anyone know where our dear Evelyn Langston has been all these years?” My mind went blank. She planned this. Her voice dripped with mockery. “Evelyn, should I tell everyone where you disappeared to, or would you like the honor?” I finally understood—she’d dug into my past. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, she was determined to expose me. The crowd buzzed with whispers, like a swarm of flies. I looked up, meeting Serena’s triumphant gaze. At that moment, I felt like a cornered animal, surrounded by predators waiting for me to crumble. If I was going to fall, I’d do it on my own terms. Straightening up, I turned to the crowd. My voice was steady. “No need. I’ll tell them myself.” “Years ago, I killed someone. I spent those missing years in prison.” The truth wasn’t for them. It was for me. All I wanted was to live without hiding. “What did you say?” Silas shot to his feet, staring at me in disbelief. His eyes burned with intensity, like a fire that couldn’t be extinguished.

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