Late at night, a note suddenly appeared at the door of Jefferson Hall. “Don’t make a sound. Your roommates are all pretending to be asleep!” Shortly after, I heard my roommate from the top bunk speak. “Ethan, you can’t sleep either?” My heart leapt into my throat. Wasn’t he supposed to be out all night? Content 0 “Ethan, why aren’t you answering me?” The bed frame above me creaked loudly. The note was clenched tightly in my hand. Instinct told me not to respond. I exaggerated my breathing, trying to mimic the rhythm of someone fast asleep. The creaking suddenly stopped. To be safe, I waited what felt like over ten minutes before curling under my blanket to check my phone. The screen’s brightness was dimmed to the lowest setting. No new notifications. Why was Connor, my roommate from the top bunk, suddenly back? Did I misremember? I opened the Dorm WhatsApp Chat. “Hanging out at Cyber Haven tonight. Won’t be back. Cover for me during the RA inspection.” I didn’t misremember. Then who was just on the top bunk? Suddenly, a new message popped up. “Haha, knew you weren’t asleep.” It was from Miles, another one of my roommates. So was it Miles who climbed onto the top bunk? My back broke out in a cold sweat as I recalled the words on the note. Then, I felt a chilling breeze across the top of my exposed head. Someone was breathing on me! In an instant, my entire body froze. The note in my hand trembled, my feet felt as cold as steel, and my heartbeat pounded so violently it felt like it might burst from my chest. I could vividly imagine someone gripping the bed’s frame above me, leaning their face close to mine, staring at me with unblinking eyes. I struggled to control my breathing. This night was too surreal. Gripping my phone tightly, I tried to keep my trembling under control. The phone suddenly vibrated. Who the hell was calling at a time like this? Now wasn’t the time for a call. Without looking at the number, I immediately declined it. The creaking from the top bunk returned. Then, silence. Whoever it was had laid back down. For now, it seemed I was safe. There was no way I could sleep. I reopened my phone. The call had been from an unknown number. My name is Ethan Gray. Most people just call me Ethan. My top bunk roommate was always Connor Pierce. Connor was a classic gamer. He rarely talked to us, preferring to immerse himself in online games. Since power at the dorm cut out at night, he often spent the night gaming at Cyber Haven. Miles, on the other hand, was the polar opposite—outgoing, playful, always joking around. I strained to listen. The room was quiet except for the even rhythm of someone’s breathing. Everyone seemed asleep. But who left the note? And what was Miles trying to do? Lost in thought, unease eventually gave way to sleep. 0

“Holy crap!” Derek’s voice startled me awake. “Miles… he’s… dead!” I shot up in bed. A large pool of blood spread across the floor. Blood dripped thickly from the rusty rod of the bedframe. The sight was horrifying. What the hell happened? Miles was fine last night! Derek stood frozen, his face pale as a sheet, his mouth trembling but unable to form words. He was completely paralyzed with fear. I scrambled out of bed and grabbed my phone to call the police. Summoning my courage, I glanced at Miles’s body on the bed. His position was contorted unnaturally. His head and neck were stretched awkwardly over the edge of the bed. His right hand clutched his throat, poking through the gap in the bedframe’s railing. The quilt was tightly wrapped around his right leg. It was clear he’d died in agony. The thick metallic stench of blood filled the air, nearly overwhelming me. Derek and I couldn’t hold back the nausea. We bolted from the room, barely making it to the hallway. My head spun, my ears rang. From last night to now, everything had spiraled into a nightmare. What the hell was going on? 0

The police arrived at the scene. Shortly after, Connor returned from outside. A death in the dorm drew school officials and a crowd of curious onlookers. The area was cordoned off with police tape. “Preliminary assessment suggests this was likely a homicide.” Miles’s death was beyond strange. I waited on the sidelines, feeling as though my head had been filled with lead. All I could think about was that massive pool of blood. The remaining three of us—Derek, Connor, and me—were taken to Hudson County Precinct for questioning. “Last night, it was just me, Derek, and Miles in the dorm. Connor went to Cyber Haven and should have been out all night.” “I woke up and found Miles dead. Yes, Derek woke up first and started screaming, which woke me up.” I recounted the strange events of the previous night and mentioned the note I had found, intending to hand it over to the police. “It’s gone!” I must have lost it in the chaos. The officer taking my statement stared at me intently, his gaze unnerving. Goosebumps prickled across my skin. “You can leave for now,” he finally said. The thought of the note and Miles’s behavior left my legs weak as I walked out. I couldn’t bring myself to return to Jefferson Hall alone, so I sat in the precinct’s lobby, waiting for Derek and Connor. Miles’s body had been sent for an autopsy, but the results weren’t in yet. As of now, the only suspects were Derek and me. And, of course, Connor. But last night, the dorm door had been locked. Even if Connor had a key, it would have been impossible for him to enter without making a sound. I’m a light sleeper, and my bed is right next to the door—I’d have noticed it opening. That left Derek as the most likely suspect. Before long, Derek came out of the interrogation room. “I think Connor killed Miles,” he said suddenly, staring at me. “They were gaming together yesterday afternoon, and they got into a huge fight. Connor’s face turned bright red—I’ve never seen him that angry before.” “But Connor was out all night at Cyber Haven,” I countered. “How could he have come back, killed Miles, and left without waking us up?” “Who knows… Maybe it’s possible,” Derek muttered. After some time, the police brought Connor out. “We reviewed the surveillance footage. He wasn’t at Cyber Haven last night, nor does he have any other alibi.” It really was Connor! He killed Miles! Connor remained silent, offering no explanation. Unfortunately, the dorm building is old, and with the school constructing new ones, there aren’t any security cameras inside. Until the autopsy results come in, Connor would remain under police supervision. Still, something about it didn’t sit right with me. How could he have silently unlocked the door and killed Miles without waking anyone? If it really was him, then the note must have been his, slipped under the door to confuse us. But that would mean the note’s claim—that everyone in the dorm was pretending to sleep—was false. Maybe I was so shaken last night that I slept more deeply than I thought. That explanation seemed to make everything fit. But then… Why did Miles behave so strangely last night? Am I overthinking things? 0

After Miles’s death, the school promised to reassign dorms for the three of us. But for tonight, Derek and I still had to stay in Jefferson Hall. The room had been thoroughly cleaned and disinfected after the police finished their investigation. Still, every time I closed my eyes, Miles’s horrific death flashed before me. The dorm felt oppressively quiet. We were on a high floor, and the winter wind outside sounded eerily like someone crying. It was impossible to sleep. I scrolled through my phone to distract myself. Besides a class announcement in the Class WhatsApp Group Chat, the only other message was the one Miles had sent me last night: “Haha, knew you weren’t asleep.” What did Miles mean by that? Was he joking with me? Or… was that message not sent by him? And the person who blew on me last night—was it Connor? A chill ran down my spine as a terrifying thought crossed my mind. Was Connor testing me last night? If I had made a sound, would there have been more than one death? Just then, I heard a faint rustling sound near the door. Taking a deep breath, I peeked over the edge of my bed. There it was again—a note on the floor. “Don’t make a sound. Your roommate is pretending to be asleep!” It wasn’t the same note as last night, but the words were identical. My back broke out in goosebumps. Clutching the note and my phone, I turned on my side and curled up under the blanket. Connor was under police watch. So… The killer must be someone else. My thoughts turned to Derek. Tonight, it was just the two of us in the dorm. My heart pounded in my chest. Through the gap between the blanket and the bed, I glanced at Derek’s bunk. It looked like he was in bed, but it was too dark to tell for sure. Could the person who killed Miles be someone outside our dorm? I stayed frozen in my position, not daring to move. If there was even the slightest noise, I was ready to send an emergency text. Minutes passed. Nothing happened. I exhaled a shallow breath. My body was stiff from fear. There was no way I’d sleep tonight. I stayed like that, tense and alert, until dawn. After a distracted morning of classes, I brought the new note to the precinct. I didn’t tell Derek. I couldn’t fully trust him either. Until the killer was caught, I wasn’t safe. What if they were some kind of lunatic? “In the autopsy, we found only one fatal wound—a cut on the victim’s wrist,” the officer explained calmly. “We also found a blade inside his clothing, likely the tool used to make the cut.” “Additionally, Miles’s social media history shows recent posts with concerning, negative language.” “Based on the evidence, we’ve concluded that Miles committed suicide by cutting his wrist.” Suicide? How could that be? What about the notes? The officer didn’t have an immediate answer but said they’d continue investigating. For now, Connor was cleared of suspicion. Leaving the precinct, I felt numb. The past two days had been too much to process. Miles had committed suicide. He was always the one filling the dorm with laughter. He was so outgoing, with so many friends who adored him. How could this happen? I blamed myself for being so blind to his struggles. Maybe it really was him who sent that message. Was he asking for help? He must have been asking for help! If I’d responded, if I’d comforted him, would things have turned out differently? The thought made me want to cry. I hated myself for being so cowardly. Why hadn’t I just gotten up to check on him? But then again… If the note was just a prank, Then whoever left it was the one who distracted me, stopping me from helping Miles in time. 0

“Ethan… Are you unable to walk?” Suddenly, I heard the exact same voice from the night Miles died, coming from behind me. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed. I couldn’t feel any pain—there didn’t seem to be any injuries—but my head was spinning. “Ethan, how are you feeling? Do you feel better?” Connor and Derek were sitting at the bedside. My left hand was hooked up to an IV drip, and I weakly nodded in response. “You collapsed right in front of me. Scared the hell out of me.” So, Connor must’ve brought me to Willowbrook Medical Center. I vaguely remembered hearing someone call my name before everything went black. I couldn’t recall anything after that. The stress from the past few days, coupled with a lack of rest, had clearly taken a toll on my body. “Good thing I ran into you as soon as I was released from the precinct,” Connor added. So, that voice I’d heard earlier—it was his. I must have misheard it as my consciousness started fading. For a moment, I thought it was someone—or something—else. Just then, my phone rang. “We need you to return to Hudson County Precinct for another statement,” said the officer on the line. Connor and Derek received the same call shortly after. “Where were you that night?” I asked Connor, unable to hide my curiosity. “I didn’t go to Cyber Haven,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly, a cryptic smile playing on his lips. “But where I was… That’s not something I can tell the cops.” The room fell silent. Only the sound of the IV drip filled the air. “Ethan, did you hear someone call your name that night?” Derek suddenly broke his silence. So… he wasn’t asleep that night?

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My daughter-in-law, Camille Harper, and my dog gave birth on the same day. I made some catfish chowder to help my dog produce milk for her pups. To my surprise, Camille drank the chowder without saying a word. I told her, “That catfish chowder was made for the puppies. It’s to help the dog produce milk. How could you fight the dog for food?” She was furious and asked, “Are you saying your grandson is less important than a dog?” I replied firmly, “Yes!” …………. Content Camille’s eyes welled up with tears, and she stormed off to complain to my son, Miles Clifton. “Did you hear what your mom just said? Does she even talk like a normal person?” Miles gave me a bewildered look. “Mom, what’s gotten into you? What nonsense are you saying? Aiden is your grandson!” He threw me a pleading look, silently asking me to apologize to Camille. Camille slammed her bowl onto the table. “That’s it. I’m done with this! Unbelievable! You’re not fit to be a mother, a mother-in-law, or a grandmother!” Normally mild-mannered, Camille snapped for the first time. Seeing that Camille was ready to pack up and leave, Miles quickly embraced her, speaking in soft, apologetic tones. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I’ll fix this. Mom’s going through menopause. Please don’t take her words to heart.” Camille sobbed and vented her frustration. “I’ve never met someone as heartless as your mom! I gave birth, and she didn’t even come to the hospital. She said her dog was giving birth and she needed to stay home to take care of it! Who does that? Who values a dog more than their own grandchild?” “I’ve been struggling with breastfeeding, and when I saw the catfish chowder on the table, I thought, ‘Finally, she’s acting like a proper grandmother.’ But no! That chowder was for the dog! Is Miles even her biological son? Even if she doesn’t like me, Aiden is still her grandson. How can she be so cold?” Miles, clearly disappointed, turned to me. “Mom, this is too much.” I responded calmly, “The dog is very important to me.” Camille was so upset that she avoided speaking to me for days. But eventually, with Miles mediating, she let it go and stopped bringing it up. Miles soon returned to work after his paternity leave ended. Before leaving, he asked me to take care of Camille and Aiden. “Mom, I’m counting on you to help Camille and Aiden while I’m at work,” he said. I wasn’t thrilled. “If you don’t trust me, you can hire a nanny.” Miles coaxed me with a promise. “Mom, I’ll get you a pearl necklace with my first paycheck, okay?” He probably thought the promise of jewelry would motivate me to take better care of Camille during her recovery. It didn’t. Instead, I went back to the market, bought fresh catfish, and made chowder for the dog. For lunch, I made myself plain porridge and pickled veggies. At my age, eating light is easier on the stomach. Camille, still recovering from her C-section, came out of her room looking for food. “Mom, what did you make?” Her tone was forced and reluctant, clearly an attempt to keep the peace for Miles’ sake. “There’s plain porridge in the pot and half a bag of pickled veggies left. That should be enough for you,” I replied. She looked at me in disbelief. “Do you hate me that much? Your grandson is your flesh and blood!” Her voice broke as tears filled her eyes. The strain pulled at her stitches, and she leaned against the wall in pain. I met her gaze, unbothered. “Before you married into this family, this is how I lived. It’s been my routine for years. If you don’t like it, I suggest you order takeout.” Camille looked utterly defeated. “If you don’t like me, why did you even agree to let me and Miles get married?” Camille and Miles had been high school sweethearts, dating for nine years before tying the knot and having Aiden.

The two of them had a solid relationship to this day. When I didn’t respond, Camille became more agitated. “I know you’ve always looked down on me because I’m an orphan. You think I’m not good enough for Miles.” “But Miles and I love each other deeply. Even if you don’t like me, I’ve always respected you as his mother.” I yawned, ignoring her words, and headed to my bedroom. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. If Aiden cries, handle it. Don’t wake me.” Behind me, Camille yelled, “You’re not just torturing me—you’re hurting your own son!” She then called Miles to complain, standing purposefully outside my door so I could hear every word. That evening, Miles sat me down for a long talk. After a while, he finally asked, “What did Camille do to make you dislike her so much? For my sake, could you please treat her a little better?” I couldn’t stop the tears that welled up. “My son has grown up. I guess it’s time for me to step back gracefully.” Seeing me cry, Miles decided not to press further. The next day, Miles spent $5,000 hiring a nanny to take care of Camille. Camille was thrilled. She smirked at me, saying, “What goes around comes around. Everyone grows old. I don’t believe there will never come a day when you need me. As long as Miles treats me well, I don’t care what you think. I’m spending my life with him, not you.” I cradled my dog while Camille held Aiden. Seeing me gently stroke the dog’s fur, she lost her composure again. “You’re one of a kind! You cuddle your dog all day and ignore your own grandson.” With the nanny around, Camille began treating me like I didn’t exist. But the nanny didn’t stay overnight, and Aiden cried frequently during the night. After several sleepless nights, I’d had enough. That night, I knocked on their door. Miles looked at me hopefully. “Mom, thank God. Please take Aiden for the night. I have to work tomorrow, and Camille hasn’t slept in days. Can you help us out?” Camille gave me a look as if the sun had risen in the west. “I can’t,” I said. “The baby’s crying keeps me up. I haven’t slept well in days. Maybe you should consider renting a place of your own.” Miles stared at me in disbelief. “Mom, what are you saying?” “I’m saying,” I repeated, “that I’d like you to move out. That way, we can all get some rest.” Camille, livid, turned to Miles. “See? This is your mom! Sometimes I wonder if you were adopted. Who acts like this in the 21st century? A nightmare of a mother-in-law, and it’s all coming from her own mouth!” Miles, upset, gave a cold laugh. “Fine. I’m starting to think I’m not even your real son.” The next day, Miles took the day off to have a heart-to-heart with me. Sitting across from me, he spoke gently. “Mom, you used to love me so much. Why have you changed since Aiden was born? I always thought you were the kindest person. I just don’t understand.” Holding his hand, I replied, “Eighty percent of men face conflicts between their mother and their wife. I can’t make sense of it all, but living apart can prevent more problems. Isn’t that a good solution?” Miles looked conflicted. “But I only make $12,000 a month. Between the $5,000 nanny and $7,000 for our expenses, we can barely make it. There’s no room for rent.” “Then find a cheaper place,” I said. Miles didn’t expect me to be so resolute, especially at a time like this. It seemed even more heartless that I was pushing them out of the house.

Miles was so angry with me that he didn’t speak to me for days. One day, as I was doing laundry, I accidentally found a DNA test report in the pocket of his suit jacket. It was a paternity test between Miles and me. The results confirmed we were biological mother and son. Yet, Miles’s attitude towards me changed noticeably after that. He stopped calling me “Mom” as often and hardly spoke to me anymore. A week later, Miles announced that they’d found a new place to live and were moving out. I offered, “Let me help you move.” Miles coldly declined. “No need. We don’t have much to take.” Camille shot me a scornful glare. “What a fake gesture.” They moved out without telling me their new address. I only heard from them again when I was invited to Aiden’s one-month birthday party. When I arrived, Camille greeted me with a sarcastic tone. “Well, look who decided to show up—Aiden’s grandma! Surprised you could tear yourself away from your precious dog.” Relatives tried to soothe her. “Now, now, Camille, don’t hold a grudge against your mother-in-law. She’s had a tough life, losing her husband and raising Miles on her own. She’s probably just going through a rough patch. Try to understand her.” Camille cast a disdainful glance at me and seemed ready to say more, but Miles’s aunt, Beatrice, quickly changed the subject. “It’s Aiden’s big day! Grandma must’ve brought a big gift for her grandson, right?” I handed Camille a small box containing a silver bracelet. “This is for Aiden.” Camille didn’t take it. “No need. Aiden doesn’t lack anything.” Miles looked at the bracelet, visibly unimpressed. “I shouldn’t have invited you.” Relatives pulled me aside to give advice. “Gladys, don’t be so stubborn. Miles is your only son, and with your husband gone, he’s all you’ve got for support in old age.” “Even if you don’t like Camille, Aiden is still your grandson. You can’t afford to let things stay this tense.” Camille overheard and snidely remarked, “Some people are just too cold-hearted to be reasoned with!” What should’ve been a joyous occasion turned somber because of my presence. Over time, my relationship with Miles deteriorated further. Months turned into years, and we barely spoke. Ten years passed. In that time, Miles never visited me. I sent messages, but he never replied. Then one day, Liam came down with a high fever, and I took him to the hospital. There, I ran into Camille and Aiden, who were also there for a doctor’s visit. Camille stared at me and Liam, her face a mix of disbelief and contempt. Liam bore a striking resemblance to me. She smirked, her voice dripping with mockery. “Well, now it all makes sense. No wonder you treated Miles and Aiden so poorly—you’ve been busy raising a secret child! Sixty-five years old and you have a ten-year-old? That’s a new record, even for you, Gladys!” Aiden tugged at her sleeve, confused. “Mom, who’s that?” Camille raised her voice deliberately. “That, sweetheart, is your so-called grandma—the one who’s ignored us for ten years!” Right there in the hospital, she called Miles. “You’d better come down here. You need to meet your little brother—the secret love child Mom’s been hiding from us!” I hurried to shield Liam, who started crying in fear. He was about the same age as Aiden, but the two couldn’t have been more different in that moment. I left in a rush, but the next day, Miles informed me he was calling a family meeting. He wanted to officially sever ties with me and adamantly refused to acknowledge Liam. I decided it was time to reveal some truths that had long been buried.

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Heather and I gave birth on the same day, both to baby boys. That night, while we were under observation in the hospital, I saw Heather sneakily switch my baby with hers. I said nothing. Years later, Heather’s son, under my care, became an Ivy League PhD graduate. Meanwhile, my biological son dropped out of middle school to work in a steel factory, overworked himself to illness, and developed cirrhosis. When Martha begged me to pay for his treatment, Heather scoffed, saying, “Why waste money on that mutt? Better to save it for Ezra’s future wedding!” After my son’s death, Heather decided to reveal the baby swap at Ezra’s wedding, planning to reclaim him as her son. I simply smiled, knowingly. Content “You filthy mutt! Who said you could sit at the table to eat?!” Heather slapped Calvin so hard he fell to the ground. Martha rushed to help him up but was shoved aside by Heather. “Trash like you should have been smothered in the hospital!” she snapped. Heather’s tirades always lasted for hours. Whenever Martha or I tried to intervene, she’d deflect, blaming “poor discipline” during his childhood as the reason for his supposed failures. In reality, she was venting her resentment toward me. Heather gave Calvin his name—a throwaway, as insignificant as lint. “Mom, I’m home!” Ezra’s cheerful voice broke the tension. He ran to my arms, proudly holding up a perfect test paper for me to see. Before I could take it, Heather snatched it away. “Ezra, you’re amazing! Auntie has to reward you for this!” She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her purse and stuffed it into Ezra’s pocket. “Buy yourself something nice! If it’s not enough, just come to me for more!” Ezra, though thrilled by the gesture, hesitated. He glanced at me for permission, his upbringing keeping him cautious. Meanwhile, Calvin, his face swollen from Heather’s earlier assault, silently watched as she handed Ezra the money. “What are you staring at?! It’s not for you!” Heather sneered, pushing Calvin. “With grades like yours, you’re not even worth a fraction of Ezra’s talent!” Calvin lowered his head, too scared to respond. But Heather wasn’t finished. She grabbed Calvin by his shirt collar, dragging him to the door. “Don’t you dare covet things that aren’t yours,” she spat. “You’re nothing more than a guard dog—a lowly mutt!” “Mom,” Calvin suddenly mustered the courage to ask, “Can I go do my homework? I’ll work hard to catch up to Ezra, I promise…” He looked at her pleadingly, desperate for any acknowledgment. Heather’s response was a harsh kick, sending him sprawling to the floor. “No matter how hard you try, you’ll never measure up to Ezra. You’re destined to be beneath him for the rest of your life!” I watched as Heather’s cruel words crushed Calvin’s fragile hope, snuffing out the light in his eyes. Martha couldn’t take it anymore and shielded Calvin. “How can you treat your own child like this?!” she scolded Heather. “You don’t get it, Mom,” Heather retorted. “This is tough-love parenting!” Unable to hold back, I countered, “Even tough love has limits. Constant belittling will only destroy a child’s spirit.” “Stay out of it, Clara,” Heather snapped, bristling like a porcupine. “You focus on Ezra. Calvin is none of your business.” In truth, I only ever spoke up—I never truly saved Calvin from the hell he endured. 2 Martha fretted over Calvin’s treatment but didn’t say much. After all, Heather’s pregnancy had been the result of her teenage recklessness. Back in high school, Heather spent all her energy chasing boys, particularly Trey Walters, a local delinquent with bleached hair. When Martha found out, she warned Heather to stay away from him. Instead, Heather ran off, dropping out of school and moving into Trey’s house. Trey quickly lost interest after their fling. He threw her out, dumping her belongings onto the street. With nowhere else to go, Heather returned home, visibly pregnant. Martha believed Heather’s resentment toward Calvin stemmed from him being Trey’s child—the result of that humiliation. What she didn’t know was that Heather, on a cold, foggy night, had swapped the babies. She abused my son without guilt because he wasn’t hers. “Let’s just eat,” I said, calling Calvin over to join us. Heather coughed and said smugly, “I didn’t know you had so much free time, Clara—worrying about someone else’s kid.” “Calvin’s not hungry. He’s like a little bird—barely eats and never starves,” she quipped. But Calvin’s growling stomach betrayed her. His gaunt frame screamed malnourishment. I was about to insist when Heather hurled a slipper at the door. “Get out! Have you finished the laundry yet? Why are you standing around?!” “Sorry, Mom. I’ll get to it now,” Calvin whispered, carefully picking up the slipper and placing it by her feet before quietly leaving the kitchen. “You can use the washing machine for all those thick winter clothes,” I remarked. “Machines don’t clean as well as hands,” Heather replied. “Calvin’s too dumb to study. If he’s not diligent, he’s truly worthless.” She turned to Ezra, piling food onto his plate. “Ezra, my smart boy, you’ll go to Harvard or Yale one day. Leave the servant work to others.” Heather’s favoritism was blatant. She might as well have tattooed “Ezra is my real son” across her forehead. But I stayed silent, choosing to watch from the sidelines. Later, Heather pulled Calvin out of school, claiming she’d arranged a job for him in Detroit for $800 a month. Martha protested. “He’s just a boy! He can’t handle that kind of labor!” Even Richard couldn’t hold back. “That steel factory is brutal! You’re sending Calvin to ruin himself!” “He’s not cut out for school, so why not earn money while he’s young?” Heather argued. “It’s his choice.” “Right, Calvin?” she added, glaring at him. Calvin nodded obediently. Richard placed a hand on Calvin’s shoulder, asking gently, “Why do you want to go?” “Mom said we owe you and Aunt Clara for taking us in. I should help Ezra with his education…” Hearing this, Richard and Martha were heartbroken. Richard snapped at Heather, “We’re not so poor we need a child’s help!” Heather burst into tears, throwing a fit. “I’m doing this for the family—for Ezra’s future!” When Richard wouldn’t relent, Heather pinched Calvin hard, prompting him to grab a pair of scissors from the table and press them against his neck. “If Uncle Richard won’t let me go, I’ll end it right here!” 3 I stood by, cold and detached, as Calvin pressed the sharp edge of the scissors to his neck. Blood seeped through a tiny cut, but I still didn’t move to stop him. Richard and Martha were frozen in fear, their voices trembling as they tried to calm him down. They promised to let him go to work, begging him to put the scissors down. Only then did Calvin lower the blade. His tearful gaze darted toward Heather. Heather’s tears vanished instantly. She beamed at Calvin and said, “Good boy. Work hard, make lots of money for Ezra!” “You’re useless for anything else. But if you can support your brother, at least your life will have some value.” Calvin nodded numbly, a sign he had completely surrendered. Years passed. Under my care, Ezra flourished—earning a PhD from the Ivy League. He was brilliant, well-mannered, and had found himself a bright, accomplished girlfriend. Meanwhile, Calvin toiled away in Detroit. Word reached us that his health was failing. The factory docked his pay frequently because he wasn’t as strong as before. After saving every penny, he could only manage to send home $200 or $300 a month. Whenever his money arrived, Heather would berate him over the phone: “Useless piece of trash! Raising you was a waste of time!” “This little bit of money? It wouldn’t even cover Ezra’s pocket change!” Every time I overheard Heather’s tirades, I tuned her out. Ezra was preparing to bring his girlfriend home, and I wanted everything to be perfect. Heather was ecstatic at the news. She rushed out to curl her hair and buy a few new outfits. She smeared makeup onto her lined face, muttering complaints about her dull skin. Then, she came to me for cosmetics. “Why the sudden makeover?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “Really, Clara? You’re managing my makeup routine now?” she snapped. I handed her the cosmetics, casually adding, “You know, Calvin and Ezra are the same age. Isn’t it time Calvin found someone too?” Heather’s cheerful mood soured instantly. Her face darkened as she replied, “Calvin ‘dated’ someone at the factory last year, but she was probably just a tramp. What decent girl would be interested in Calvin?” “But for someone like him, even that’s not bad,” she added, brushing foundation on her face before changing the subject. “Speaking of which, I heard Ezra’s girlfriend is a PhD too—pretty and wealthy. She’s barely good enough for our Ezra!” Heather gushed about Ezra’s girlfriend, beaming as though it were her own engagement. By evening, Ezra and his girlfriend arrived. She was just as Ezra had described—polite, poised, and eloquent. Her words flowed gracefully, each one perfectly chosen. I served her food and asked, “How’s the meal?” She smiled warmly. “Mrs. Dawson, everything’s delicious. You’re an amazing cook.” “This whole spread was made by me!” Heather interjected, unable to contain herself. She began listing the ingredients she’d chosen and her meticulous preparation process. Richard sighed, “Let the girl eat, Heather.” Reluctantly, Heather quieted down, though her constant interruptions had already made the dinner awkward. Ezra, oblivious to the tension, suddenly noticed an empty chair and asked, “Isn’t Calvin coming home this year?” 4 The mention of Calvin cast a heavy silence over the table. “He’s staying in Detroit for the holidays,” Heather replied curtly. Ezra frowned. “I’m getting married this year. I was hoping Calvin could be my best man.” “Exactly,” Martha chimed in. “That boy hasn’t been back in years. I miss him. At least let him visit for the wedding.” Heather, clearly uncomfortable discussing Calvin in front of Ezra’s fiancée, forced a smile and made the call. The phone rang twice before it was picked up. “Hey, your grandma and cousin want you home for the wedding.” Heather’s tone was clipped, but with everyone watching, she softened it slightly. “We all miss you. You should come back.” The silence on the other end was long. Finally, a woman’s voice responded. “Hi, is this Aunt Heather? Calvin’s in the hospital. He’s been under observation.” “In the hospital? For what?” Heather demanded, standing abruptly. “What’s so serious that he needs a hospital stay? Must be a waste of money.” The woman’s tone grew sharp. “What do you mean? He’s gravely ill and running a constant fever. You don’t care, fine, but how can you complain about the cost? Money doesn’t outweigh someone’s life!” But to Heather, Calvin’s life truly was less valuable than money. Martha and Richard, hearing Calvin was sick, rushed to the phone. Heather ended the call abruptly, brushing them off. “He’s fine. Just being dramatic,” she said, smoothing her hair. “He’s probably faking it to get out of work.” Ezra, worried, asked if they should visit Calvin in Detroit. Heather shot him down. “There’s nothing to see. Right now, the priority is planning your wedding.” I watched Heather’s indifference to Calvin’s illness and couldn’t help recalling how, years ago, she had demanded hospital observation for Ezra over a minor cold. She had questioned the doctor’s competence, accused him of negligence, and fussed until Ezra fully recovered. She had even made him chicken soup every day, so much that Ezra grew nauseated at the sight of chicken. When Ezra caught chickenpox, Heather became his shadow, never leaving his side. She checked his fever constantly, ensured he didn’t scratch the sores, and even scolded me for walking too loudly, claiming it disrupted Ezra’s rest. Richard and Martha had often wondered aloud why Heather adored Ezra so fiercely. Even for an aunt, her devotion was extreme. Three months later, it was Ezra’s wedding day. Heather clutched Ezra’s hand, her tears streaming. “I’ve waited so long to see you start your own family.” “Watching you marry the woman you love—this makes my whole life worthwhile.” I watched as Heather’s emotions overwhelmed her. Her tears intensified, and I realized she was about to confess the truth. Standing on the stage, she grabbed the microphone, tears streaming down her face. “Ezra, my wonderful boy…” “I’m actually your mother!” 5 Ezra didn’t seem to take Heather’s words seriously. He smiled and said, “Aunt Heather, you’ve always cared for me like a mother.” “No,” Heather blurted, “I am your mother! You’re not Clara’s son—you’re mine!” She pulled out a document—paternity results. The report stated, with 99.99% certainty, that she and Ezra were biologically related. The room erupted into gasps. All eyes turned toward me. “Clara Dawson, you’re not Ezra’s real mother! I’m taking my son back today!” Heather declared, her voice trembling with emotion. I didn’t flinch. My face betrayed no shock or distress. It was as if she had casually asked me what I had for breakfast. I smiled faintly and nodded. “Fine. Take him back.” “What nonsense!” Richard snapped, his eyes reddening. “Ezra is our son! Clara, what’s going on here?” Even the guests, friends, and family stared at me, bewildered. After all, I had devoted years to raising Ezra, pouring my heart into him. “Clara, explain yourself!” Richard demanded, his voice shaking. I simply repeated Heather’s statement. “Ezra isn’t our child. I saw her swap the babies that night.” The guests broke into murmurs. Some glared at me in horror, while others openly accused me. “She knew her son was switched and still let this happen? How could she ignore her real child, working himself to death in Detroit?” “She let Heather abuse Calvin for years, knowing he wasn’t hers!” another guest hissed. I laid the truth bare, my tone calm, as though recounting an unremarkable story. Richard staggered backward, his expression twisting into disbelief. He raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face.

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The day we won the National E-Sports Championship, my girlfriend of eight years said she wanted to personally present me with flowers on stage. Standing on the podium, I eagerly pulled out the ring I had hidden, ready to give her a grand proposal. But then, with a bright smile, she handed the bouquet to her “best friend,” Griffin Ashby, right in front of everyone. Under the spotlight, they became the center of everyone’s attention. On the scene and all over Twitter, people showered them with blessings. Griffin’s fans even tagged me in posts: “We told you to stop clinging to our couple. Feeling humiliated now?” I calmly posted a reply: “Respect. Best wishes to you both.” Content Under the dazzling spotlights, I stood on the podium alongside my teammates. Vanessa Larkson, my girlfriend, walked slowly toward me with a bouquet of roses in her hands. She had once said that when I finally won the national championship, she would reveal our relationship during the award ceremony. Tonight, she seemed to have come just for me, holding roses that symbolized love. It was the first time she had ever given me flowers, and her expression was so affectionate. Blushing, I suppressed my excitement, watching her approach with my full attention. In my mind, I planned it all out. The moment she handed me the flowers, I would drop to one knee, take out the ring, and propose to her live in front of the nation. Even though we had argued yesterday over some trivial matters. But hey, what couple doesn’t bicker sometimes? My hand nervously rubbed the ring box in my pocket. “Congratulations on your championship!” Vanessa extended the flowers toward me. Just as I was about to take them with a delighted smile, the bouquet bypassed my hands and landed firmly in the arms of my teammate, Griffin Ashby. Griffin, Vanessa’s “best friend,” had known her longer than I had. The smile on my face froze instantly. Looking at my girlfriend, who gazed at Griffin with affection, I stood dumbfounded before laughing bitterly at myself. It was Griffin. Again. I should’ve seen it coming. To Vanessa, her “best friend” was always more important than her boyfriend. Even our argument yesterday was about Griffin. But I never thought she’d openly hand over a bouquet of roses—symbols of love—to him in front of everyone. Griffin, with his good looks, had a much larger fanbase in the gaming circuit than the rest of us. Did Vanessa not realize what her actions meant, giving him flowers in front of all these people? I quietly slipped the ring back into my pocket as the crowd’s screams reached a fever pitch. The roar was so loud it felt like it could lift the roof off the arena. Amid the camera flashes, everything around me seemed to dim. Before the award ceremony even ended, their sweet moment was already trending on Twitter. Their chemistry as a “shipped pair” sparked countless fans to root for them. Griffin’s fans flooded the video comments, tagging Vanessa and calling her “sister-in-law.” The scene was lively and full of joy. But none of that had anything to do with me. I forced a bitter smile, stepped off the stage, and returned to the locker room alone. Looking at the flood of blessings on Twitter, I suddenly felt exhausted. Maybe this was the perfect moment to end things. So I sent Vanessa a text: “Let’s break up. I won’t get in your way anymore.” The text had barely been sent when Vanessa called. I wasn’t planning to answer. I hung up and grabbed a ride back to my apartment to pack my things. The apartment was one we had shared. Since we’d broken up, there was no way I could keep living under the same roof as her. She could have the place. While I packed, Vanessa bombarded me with messages: “What do you mean, break up?” “Are you throwing a tantrum again? Man up!” “Alright, everyone’s saying we should celebrate. Come on, Griffin and the others are waiting for you!” Every word revolved around Griffin. She handed roses to another man and turned around to call me petty. I looked at my phone and laughed coldly. Then I turned it off, zipped up my suitcase, and left. With no time to find another place, I returned to the dorms at Apex Gaming Base, where the club had prepared rooms for the players. The base was quiet since everyone else was out celebrating. I instinctively powered on my computer and logged into the game for practice. Only in the game could I find some peace.

It was late at night when Vanessa called again. I was still practicing. I glanced at the phone on the desk, hit the mute button, and ignored it. Then came a barrage of texts: “Why aren’t you home yet?” “Where have you been?” “The flowers I picked for you are wilting. Where are you? Didn’t you say you liked flowers from me?” Do I need flowers given out of guilt? I turned off the screen, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. She was always like this—giving a slap followed by a sweet treat. I used to love her so much that I didn’t see a problem with it. I even convinced myself it meant she cared about me. But now, I’ve woken up. I see through her. It was time to leave. No one is irreplaceable. Neither her nor me. … That night, I stayed up training and then slept through the next afternoon. When I finally made it to the computer room, Vanessa was sitting in my chair, lost in thought. I wasn’t surprised she’d found me. Where else could I go besides the dorm? Hearing my footsteps, she turned and saw me. “Where were you last night? I called and messaged you! I thought something happened to you!” Clearing my throat, I replied flatly, “I slept early.” She looked stunned and frowned in confusion. “What’s with you today? You’re acting all weird.” True. The old me would’ve been thrilled to see her showing up here, eager to unload all my recent frustrations onto her. Now, there was only silence. Naturally, she found it strange. She also seemed to forget I had already broken up with her yesterday—or how she had humiliated me in public. Before I could say anything, she spoke again. “Today’s Griffin’s three-year anniversary with the team. He’s hosting a dinner. Let’s go together.” I wanted to make up an excuse to decline. But as teammates, my absence might create unnecessary trouble. Besides, I needed to tell everyone we had broken up. I nodded indifferently, got dressed, and followed her to the hotel. When we arrived, I realized the event wasn’t just for Griffin’s friends. It was practically a fan meetup. Before I even entered, the commotion from the Bellwood Grand Hall was deafening. I glanced toward Vanessa, but she had disappeared into the crowd. “Looking for Vanessa? I’ll take you to her,” came Scarlett Monroe’s voice, appearing out of nowhere. She led me upstairs to a private suite, where I could see the stage below. Vanessa appeared, pushing a giant cake while holding a string of pink and white balloons. It was Griffin’s surprise gift. The fans screamed wildly, chanting for them to “get married now” and calling Vanessa “sister-in-law.” Scarlett raised her eyebrows at me and gestured toward the stage. “Don’t you think they look perfect together?” I swallowed hard, bitterness rising in my throat. They did. They really did.

Vanessa had never put this much effort into anything for me. Even on my birthday, when I asked for a cake, she’d only complain impatiently, saying, “We’re adults—why bother with pointless formalities?” Yet here she was, going out of her way to prepare such a grand surprise for Griffin in front of everyone. Turns out, people only put in effort for the ones they truly care about. Scarlett Monroe observed my reaction, clearly satisfied by how much it stung. She smirked, a sly, knowing smile that twisted like a thorn in my heart. After the event, Vanessa and Griffin returned to the private suite together. Scarlett immediately hooked her arm around Vanessa’s and teased, “Vanessa, pulling off such a big surprise for Griffin—aren’t you afraid your boyfriend will get jealous?” Vanessa froze, then glanced at me. A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes. “Next time, for your birthday or our anniversary, I’ll plan something just as big for you,” she said hesitantly. I shook my head lightly. “Don’t bother.” If it’s the same thing you’ve already done for someone else, how could it even count as a surprise? I wasn’t about to accept someone else’s leftovers. Vanessa pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to say more. Before she could, Griffin chimed in. “Logan, you’re not seriously upset, are you? Vanessa was just going along with the publicity plan. Don’t be so petty.” “As her boyfriend, you should be more understanding. Don’t make her guess what’s on your mind all the time. That’s exhausting for her.” Classic Griffin, always stepping up to defend Vanessa. I let out a soft laugh. “With you looking out for her, why would she ever need anyone else?” The words carried a sharp edge, freezing the room in an instant. Griffin sighed dramatically, offering a resigned smile. “Alright, fine. If it makes you feel better, I’ll apologize. Don’t be mad at Vanessa.” The air hung heavy with awkwardness until someone broke in to lighten the mood. “Come on, we’re all teammates—no need for these formalities. Let’s drink!” Scarlett, grinning mischievously, stepped into the center. “Today’s not the only story. Vanessa gave Griffin flowers yesterday too!” She giggled and glanced at me, looking for confirmation. Vanessa seemed to think Scarlett had pinpointed the issue. She turned to me. “You’re upset over something that trivial?” Casually, she added, “I bought you flowers yesterday too, but you left early, so I couldn’t give them to you. I still have them, though.” She walked to a corner of the suite, pulling out a small, wilted bouquet of lisianthus from a box filled with beer bottles. The second she produced it, someone stifled a laugh. It was painfully clear why—the lisianthus bouquet looked embarrassingly cheap next to the extravagant roses she’d given Griffin. Griffin had even brought the roses along, making the comparison all the more glaring. I could feel the mocking stares around me, silently ridiculing the idea that I could ever compare to Griffin. Griffin raised his eyebrows smugly, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face. Feigning disapproval, he glanced at the lisianthus and said, “Vanessa, you should’ve given Logan roses. Why this?” The tone barely stopped short of outright saying she was tossing me scraps. Vanessa replied indifferently, “It was late after the dinner last night. There weren’t any roses left. This will do. Anyway, he doesn’t know flowers—he shouldn’t care.” The best for Griffin, and whatever’s left for me. The difference between love and indifference couldn’t be clearer. Why did she assume I wouldn’t care? She held the flowers out to me, but I didn’t reach for them. Vanessa’s brows furrowed again. “Don’t you like flowers anymore? I picked these especially for you.” “No thanks,” I said flatly. “Give them to someone else.” “You’re being ridiculous again,” she shot back. “I’m not. I mean it. I have things to do, so I’ll leave you all to it.” I opened the suite door and walked out without looking back. I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before the whispers started behind me. “Logan’s being so dramatic.” “Griffin and Vanessa’s video is blowing up online. It’s brought in tons of sponsors for the studio—why is he so hung up on this?” “Exactly.” Vanessa, finally losing her patience, tossed the flowers aside. “Forget him. Let him sulk.” Every harsh word cut into me like a blade. I paused mid-step, a wave of sadness washing over me. To her, I was utterly insignificant.

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In my past life, my sister, Ivy Bright, urged me to skip class, play online games all night, and sleep through lessons. Whenever I tried to study, she mocked me for pretending to be “so serious.” But at night, she was burning the midnight oil, studying in secret during holidays and meeting with star scholars like Mia Goldstein at the library. When the SATs came around, she got into Ivy Tech University, graduated to work at Stellar Innovations Inc., and married a programmer making hundreds of thousands a year. I, on the other hand, scored just 200 points, earning the disdain of my parents, who sent me to Midland Assembly Plant to screw bolts. Later, I married a guy like Trey Walters, who abused me even while I was pregnant, leading to my tragic death during childbirth. At my funeral, Ivy wore her mask of sorrow and said, “Hazel was so smart but refused to apply herself. Everything she faced was her own doing. Unlike me, who always worked hard and changed my fate through education.” Then, I opened my eyes. I was back at the Cyber Zone Lounge, locked in an intense gaming session with my team.

I shook my drowsy head, grabbed my grimy backpack, and sprinted home. At home, Ivy was furiously scribbling notes under her desk lamp. Seeing me, she quickly stashed her study sheets. “Hazel, why are you back? Now your team is one short. How will they win without you?” It was always Ivy who dragged me to the lounge. Then, she’d yawn, fake being tired, and sneak off to study at home. I grabbed my untouched SAT prep books and taped my target school, “Harvard-MIT Alliance,” on the wall. Ivy’s face darkened with rage. “You? Harvard-MIT? Who do you think you are?” Not only would I aim for Harvard-MIT, but I’d show her that natural talent could never be surpassed by hard work. The smoky, sweat-filled air of the Cyber Zone Lounge lingered in my memory as my teammates shouted obscenities after a loss. It hit me—I’d been reborn. I was back at seventeen, just one month before the first major SAT mock exam. I didn’t care about the commotion I left behind. Grabbing my filthy bag, I bolted. “Hazel, you promised to carry us to gold rank!” they yelled after me, but I didn’t turn back. My future mattered more than their fleeting victories. When I got home, it was 1 a.m. Ivy’s light was still on, her silhouette reflected in the window. Her pen raced across the paper. I barged into her room. Ivy jumped, hastily shoving her study guide under her arm. Smirking, I recorded her with my phone. “You said you were too tired to study. So why are you still up?” I yawned. Feigning nonchalance, she replied, “Oh, I woke up to use the bathroom and realized my backpack wasn’t packed. I’m just fixing it before going to bed.” Ivy turned off her lamp. I returned to my room, flicked on a desk light I hadn’t used in ages, and opened my blank prep books. In my past life, I barely scraped into high school by cramming during my final weeks of middle school. Ivy, meanwhile, convinced me that being friends with the “cool kids” mattered more than grades. The school’s “pay-to-play” Honors Track was filled with rich kids who slacked off but bought their way in. I believed Ivy and started skipping classes to hang out with them at Cyber Zone Lounge. We measured status by gaming prowess, and I became the best of them. But I hadn’t realized they were all wealthy. By senior year, they transferred to private international programs or left for prestigious overseas schools, ready to inherit family businesses. My parents, though, were just regular workers. Without good grades, I had no future except assembly lines. At Midland Assembly Plant, Trey Walters—a worker with bleached blond hair—took an interest in me. I mentioned it to Ivy, who cheered me on. “True love is priceless,” she said. “If Trey loves you, that’s all that matters. Love conquers all.” I believed her. Trey and I moved in together, had a baby without a wedding, and barely signed the marriage certificate. Once married, Trey started beating me. Drunk, he’d mock me. “You and Ivy came from the same parents. Why is she so brilliant while you’re as dumb as a pig?” I cried bitterly, wondering where I had gone wrong. I used to be the smartest one—the girl who could solve problems at a glance, memorize pages instantly. My middle school teachers couldn’t believe I had failed my SATs.

My tragic fate culminated in a difficult labor. Trey refused a C-section, resulting in both my baby and me dying. On my deathbed, I called Ivy endlessly, but she claimed she was too busy. The moment I passed, she showed up. At my funeral, people shook their heads, saying, “How did such a bright girl end up like this?” Ivy put on a show of grief. “Hazel was so smart but wasted her potential. Her downfall was her own fault. Unlike me, I worked hard and changed my fate through perseverance.” Once everyone left, Ivy gloated over her victory. Turns out, Ivy had always been jealous of me. As a child, I was the center of our parents’ attention. Her envy consumed her. She manipulated my trust and orchestrated my downfall. This time, I wouldn’t fall for her tricks. I wrote “I will get into Harvard-MIT” in bold letters and taped it above my desk. Opening my freshman-year textbooks, I started from the first page. By 3 a.m., I’d finished two books, every concept burned into my memory. I caught two hours of sleep before heading to school at dawn. By the time my classmates arrived, I’d already memorized both volumes of freshman English vocabulary. “Hazel Bright’s actually studying? That’s a first!” “Only six months until the SATs. Even if she tries, the best she can hope for is community college.” “With her grades? A state school’s out of reach. She’ll end up in some overpriced private college at best.” I ignored the chatter. My scores would do the talking. Ivy showed up late as usual, barely beating the bell. “Hazel, why didn’t you wake me up this morning?” she complained. “I’ll be at school by 5 a.m. from now on. Set your own alarm if you want to join me.” Ivy looked puzzled. “Why would you get here so early? You don’t even study.” From behind me, Ethan Carrington chimed in. “Your sister’s been up since dawn memorizing vocab. She’s already gone through two books. Something’s seriously up with her.” Ivy froze, then exploded, “Hazel, we’re just here to get a degree. After we graduate, we’ll both head to Midland Assembly Plant. I’ve heard top workers make good money there—over $3,000 a month!” I pulled out my phone and played the video I’d recorded. “If the assembly plant’s so great, why are you sneaking in late-night study sessions?” Ivy’s face went pale. Ethan grabbed my phone and barked, “Ivy Bright! No wonder you always ditch our games midway. You’ve been secretly studying all this time!” “All that effort, and you still only scored 400 points? Guess your brain’s not built for this.” Ivy flushed with rage. She opened her notebook and tried memorizing vocab, but after ten repetitions, she still couldn’t get it. After school, I still went with the rich kids to the Cyber Zone Lounge. I wasn’t about to cut ties with them. Someday, they’d be valuable connections. In my past life, Ivy snatched up all the relationships I’d worked so hard to cultivate. This time, that wasn’t happening.

After leading my team to five straight wins, I rushed home. When I walked in, my parents immediately went on the offensive. “Well, look who decided to come home early! Didn’t you say you’d rather die at Cyber Zone Lounge than come back here?” “Why don’t you just stay there forever? Let’s see what kind of SAT scores you’ll pull off.” In my last life, my parents had tried everything to get me to study, but I blindly believed Ivy’s lies and rebelled. Eventually, they gave up on me, only making sure I wasn’t starving but otherwise washing their hands of me. After my death, though, they mourned for a long time. My mom was hospitalized from the grief. I dropped to my knees with a thud. “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry. I was so stupid before. I’ll study hard and get into a good college—I swear!” My mom turned to look at me, stunned. Then she quickly wiped her tears, pretending she wasn’t crying. My dad helped me up immediately. “It’s alright. You finally understand. I always knew you weren’t a bad kid at heart. There’s not much time left, but give it your all. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll figure something out—even if it means another year of preparation.” I nodded firmly. “Don’t worry. I’ll get in on the first try. I’m aiming for Harvard-MIT Alliance!” Ivy stepped out of her room holding her notebook. “Hazel, why are you back? Weren’t you gaming with Ethan and the others at Cyber Zone?” She walked up to me, fake innocence dripping from her expression, before dramatically pinching her nose. “Eww, Hazel, you reek of cigarettes! The smell is unbearable!” My mom leaned in, sniffed, and instantly slapped me across the face. “I knew it! You can’t change your ways, can you? Lying about studying, coming home stinking of smoke. With grades like yours, scoring 200 on the SAT, and skipping class to play games, if you can get into Harvard-MIT, then pigs might fly!” Disappointed, my dad sighed and followed my mom back to their room. Alone with me, Ivy dropped her mask. “Hazel, stop wasting your time. Six months isn’t enough for you to surpass me. I’ve been holding back; I’m not just a 400-point scorer.” I laughed coldly and walked to my room. Words wouldn’t convince anyone—I’d let my results speak for themselves. Weekly tests rolled around, and while I showed improvement, my scores were still far from passing. Ivy, on the other hand, dropped her façade and performed at her real level—second in the class and tenth in the grade. The homeroom teacher praised me, saying I had a shot at getting into a state college. I glanced at Ivy’s test papers. She hadn’t solved the hardest questions. Her brain just wasn’t built for it. Ivy shoved her paper in front of me, pointing at her scores. “Hazel, look! I got a perfect score in English and 129 in math. What about you?” She pretended to examine my scores. “Wow, a 59 in math? So close! If the test was out of 100, you’d be just one point away from passing. Too bad it’s out of 150, and passing is 90.” “Oh, and you’re so much better in reading and writing—60 in English! Your verbal scores definitely beat your math!” Ethan tried to console me. “Hazel, maybe studying isn’t your thing. You’ve stopped pulling all-nighters with us at Cyber Zone. Without you, we’re losing ranks like crazy!” Ivy jumped in with fake scolding. “Ethan, don’t say that about my sister. She’s aiming for Harvard-MIT!” The whole class erupted in laughter. “Seriously? Hazel Bright, the future Harvard-MIT scholar?” “With a total score under 400, she thinks she can get into Harvard-MIT? That’s hilarious!” “She must think she owns Harvard-MIT and can just waltz in whenever she wants.” Ignoring them, I pulled out a SAT prep workbook and got back to solving problems. Suddenly, my homeroom teacher, Mr. Gregory Nash, barged into the classroom, waving a stack of scratch paper. “Hazel, is this yours?” I nodded, confused. To my surprise, Mr. Nash hugged me. “You’re a genius, Hazel! An absolute genius!” “The principal always says I can’t teach beyond General Track students. But here I am, proving him wrong—teaching a future Harvard-MIT student!” Ivy froze in shock. “Mr. Nash, my sister’s scores improved, sure, but she only got 397. How could she possibly get into Harvard-MIT?” Mr. Nash patted my shoulder proudly. “She’ll make it. Hazel is the smartest student I’ve ever taught.” Ethan muttered, “Is Mr. Nash losing it?” Mock exam results came out, and the school rankings were posted in the hallway. Ivy ranked 20th in the grade. I placed 988th. Ivy immediately seized the chance to mock me. “Wow, Hazel! You’ve improved so much—up to 988th! Harvard-MIT is just around the corner!” Laughter echoed through the halls. The grade director, who had been watching, muttered, “Hazel Bright should be ranked first in the grade.” Ivy’s face twisted in anger. “Hazel’s scores are pathetic. Why does everyone believe in her? There’s no way she can go from 200 to 700 in six months!” Leaning close, I whispered, “Want to know why everyone believes I can make it to Harvard-MIT?” I spread out my test papers and answer sheets in front of her. Ivy’s eyes widened as she scanned them. “This can’t be real!” “It’s impossible! You must have cheated! I’m reporting you!” My answer sheet was a masterpiece. I’d ignored all the simple, basic questions but solved every difficult one, using elegant shortcuts. Ivy had only answered half of the questions I had—and she’d gotten some wrong. Grabbing my papers, she stormed into the principal’s office, bursting in without knocking. “Principal Price, I’m here to report Hazel Bright from 11-B for cheating on the mock exam!” Inside, the principal sat with several teachers, analyzing my test papers. Seeing us, Dr. Price gestured for me to join them. “Perfect timing, Hazel. We were just discussing your results. Can you explain why you left all the easy questions blank but solved the hardest ones so well?” “I didn’t want to discourage my peers. If I went all out from the start, my scores would be too intimidating. I’ll save my best performance for the final mock and the SATs.” I glanced at Ivy, whose face darkened. Mr. Nash laughed. “Exactly as I thought! Hazel’s strategy is brilliant.” Dr. Price made an immediate decision. “Both Hazel and Ivy are being transferred to the Honor Track.” I refused the transfer—it didn’t matter where I studied. Ivy, however, declined for one reason: she needed to stay close to sabotage me. After school, Ivy gathered Ethan and some others to corner me. “Hazel, let’s do an all-nighter at Cyber Zone tonight. I’ve got a big promotion match.” I agreed, leading them to five more wins before heading home. Just as I was leaving, a man, at least seven or eight years older than me, leaned over from behind and wrapped his arms around me. “Your moves are sloppy. Let me teach you.” The stink of body odor and cheap cologne made me gag as I slipped away. “Who the hell are you?” Ivy stepped forward. “Hazel, this is Rocco Delgado, the most powerful man around here. With him protecting you, no one would dare mess with you.” Rocco lit a cigarette, blowing smoke rings as if he were the star of some cheesy movie. “Hazel Bright, I like you. You’re my girlfriend now. Let’s go.” Ivy shoved my bag at me, grinning. “You’re so lucky, Hazel. I’ll cover for you with Mom and Dad.” Rocco reached for me, but I darted away. “Don’t touch me.” Rocco grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. “Quit playing hard to get. Your sister says you throw yourself at men all the time.” Ethan stepped between us, pulling me behind him. “I don’t care who you think you are, Rocco. Back off. Lay a finger on Hazel, and I’ll end you.” Rocco, furious at being challenged, lunged at Ethan, who held his ground.

The fight landed us all at Midtown Police Precinct. Ethan sported a few bruises, but Rocco looked worse—his nose broken as he whined to the officers. When my parents arrived, they were livid. “You’re not only ruining yourself, Hazel, but dragging Ivy down with you. How many times do I have to tell you to stop being a bad influence?” My mom tried to slap me again, but an officer stopped her. “Mrs. Bright, please calm down. Things aren’t what they seem.” Before the officer could explain, Ivy burst into tears. “Mom, I’ve been trying so hard to help Hazel. She’s improved her scores recently, so I thought if I kept her away from gaming, she could do even better. I saw her at Cyber Zone again tonight and tried to bring her home, but then she got involved with this guy, and things escalated.” “Maybe you should send her to Internet Addiction Rehab. Once she’s better, she can take the SAT again and aim for Harvard-MIT!” My mom sighed heavily. “Maybe that’s the only way. Hazel used to be so bright, but gaming has ruined her. I’ll call the rehab center tomorrow.” Ethan, head bandaged, rushed to defend me. “Mrs. Bright, Ivy’s lying! She’s the one who dragged Hazel to Cyber Zone tonight. She even set Hazel up with Rocco, trying to force her into being his girlfriend. Hazel refused, and that’s why I stepped in!” Ivy’s face turned pale as she stammered, “Ethan, I know you like Hazel, but you don’t have to make up stories for her. Why would I ever associate with someone like Rocco?” “If Hazel’s such a saint, why does Rocco say she’s been hanging around him for ages?” My mom, without waiting to hear more, slapped me. “I’m so disappointed in you, Hazel. If you won’t focus on school, at least stop hanging out with these kinds of people. You’re going to Internet Addiction Rehab tomorrow. And you’ll cut ties with Rocco.” Behind my mom, Ivy smirked triumphantly.

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After Mom remarried, my younger brother Miles Brooks found out from Dad’s belongings that Grandpa came from a prominent political-military family. Dreaming of becoming a member of high society, he chose to follow Grandpa. But instead of the glamorous life he envisioned, Grandpa made him work the fields, herd sheep, practice painting, and study hard, never letting him appear in public. Meanwhile, I stayed at Brooks Manor with our stepdad, Steven Hollister, becoming his trusted right-hand man and stepping into the world of the elite. Miles only realized his mistake after finishing his SATs, when he learned that I was leaving for Paris with Evelyn Hathaway, the “princess” of the social elite, and that we were planning to marry upon returning. In a fit of rage, he killed me. And then, we both woke up, back at the moment of choice—Grandpa or Mom. This time, Miles hid behind Mom, declaring, “I’m not going with Grandpa. My dad is right here.” I clung to Grandpa’s coat tightly. I had enough of being someone’s lapdog, ordered around like a servant. Content 0

When Dad passed away, he left behind two sons: my younger brother, Miles, and me, Levi Brooks. Mom quickly remarried, devoting all her energy to our stepdad Steven and the unborn child she was carrying. It was then that Grandpa—whom we’d never met—showed up. He wanted to take both of us under his care. Mom, furious, said, “When I married your son, you didn’t pay a penny for our wedding. I’ve never even seen you before! And now you want to take both of my boys away?” “These are my grandchildren too,” Grandpa replied calmly. “Even though you’ve remarried, I can’t just let them go. If you insist I only take one, let’s ask the boys what they want.” Before she could say another word, Miles grabbed Steven’s hand and said sweetly, “Dad, you look tired. Let me make you some tea.” He stood behind Steven, full of admiration, then chirped, “Dad,” his voice bright and tender. He promised to only recognize Steven as his father from then on. Mom was stunned. Miles had been adamantly against Mom’s remarriage, leaving her stressed as she tried to juggle her grieving son, a demanding new husband, and her pregnancy. And now? Miles had suddenly decided to embrace Steven wholeheartedly, even promising to change his last name to Hollister the next day. Mom, who had always favored Miles, was delighted that he chose to stay. Miles clung to Steven and loudly instructed me, “Levi, you’d better take good care of Grandpa!” As I packed my things and left with Grandpa, Miles mocked me openly. “This time, it’s your turn to suffer. Go on and enjoy digging dirt in the fields!” 0

I knew why he was so smug. In our past life, Miles found a medal of valor and Dad’s farewell letter among Dad’s belongings. The letter revealed that Grandpa came from a prominent political-military family. Hoping for a better life—and tired of feeling like an outsider in Steven’s household—Miles eagerly chose to go with Grandpa. But when he got to Grandpa’s home, he was stunned. Grandpa lived in a small house on the edge of Ashworth Hamlet, surrounded by deep woods and far from the conveniences of city life. His income came from farming and gathering herbs in the mountains. If the harvest wasn’t good or the buyers didn’t come, there was no money. Miles quickly learned that Grandpa was strict. He had to wake up at dawn, eat breakfast, and either walk or take the bus to a public school. After school, there was no time to rest. Grandpa made him finish all his schoolwork before overseeing his physical training. Weekends weren’t for relaxation either; Miles had to help collect herbs in the mountains. There were no luxuries, no entertainment. Miles called his life a nightmare. He longed for the comforts I enjoyed: a grand estate with staff to cater to every need, designer clothes, and private schools where he could network with the children of CEOs and politicians. While Miles wore homespun clothes Grandpa had tailored for him, I was out shopping with Steven’s black card, wearing the latest fashion, and receiving boxes of luxury watches delivered to the door. While he drank bitter herbal teas Grandpa brewed for his acne, I underwent orthodontics and worked with a personal trainer to sculpt my body under Steven’s supervision. He claimed he was a forgotten son of the Brooks family, while I shone brightly in the public eye. At just 16, I had already gained recognition among the elite, with influential families eager to form alliances with ours. Following Steven’s guidance, I presented myself as the perfect young gentleman at every major event. I was his pride, the face of the family, and to the outside world, the Brooks’ golden boy. Miles, on the other hand, fell for Evelyn Hathaway, the darling of high society, and begged Mom to introduce him. She refused. Enraged, he protested, “I’m a Brooks too. Why can’t I?” Steven scoffed and said coldly, “Look at yourself. Following your grandfather around, breaking your back in the dirt. You don’t know finance, can’t speak fluent English, don’t even know how to swing a golf club. What qualifications do you have?” Grandpa dragged him back to the Hamlet, telling him to focus on his SATs and forbidding him from returning until his results were out. Miles once tried to use Dad’s medal to confront Grandpa, only for Grandpa to chuckle and say he’d picked it up at a flea market. “Put your energy into something productive,” he told him. While Miles toiled away in Ashworth Hamlet, I performed a piano solo at my coming-of-age celebration. Under Steven’s tutelage, I played with precision and grace, my fingers dancing effortlessly across the keys. When I rose to bow, the dazzling crystal chandelier above lit up the room and the hearts of everyone watching. Rumors spread: “The Brooks have Levi, and Evelyn Hathaway is the jewel of high society.” Miles came back with his SAT results, eager to share his success, only to find out about my engagement to Evelyn and our plans to study abroad together. At that moment, Steven and Mr. Hathaway were discussing our future plans. Miles approached Mr. Hathaway, who greeted him kindly. But as Miles walked away, he overheard Mr. Hathaway sigh, “So your ex-wife brought two sons. One turned out well, but the other… well, let’s just say Levi is polished, composed, and impeccable. That other one? He reeks of poverty.” Miles snapped. He stormed into my room, hands around my neck, screaming, “Die! Die!” I fought back, hitting him over the head with a heavy object. And just like that, we both died on our 18th birthday. When I opened my eyes, I was back at the fork in the road: Grandpa or Mom. This time, Miles clung to Mom and declared smugly, “It’s your turn to rot in the countryside. Go ahead, Levi. Enjoy your life as a rural nobody.” 0

Life with Grandpa wasn’t rich or comfortable, not by any stretch. Mom had never been close with Dad by the end of their marriage. She didn’t think she owed Grandpa anything, let alone support for my care. Even the child support she received? Not a penny of it went to us. The only time she ever came around was during the summer or winter holidays to pick up Miles for a visit. Even then, it felt like she just wanted to check a box, putting on a show for appearances. Frankly, Mom hadn’t treated Dad well when he was alive either. She often complained about him not earning enough, and judging by the timing of her pregnancy, it was clear she’d been with Steven before Dad passed. Grandpa gave me my own room, modestly furnished. Apart from the essentials, there was only a wooden desk neatly arranged with painting tools—brush, paint, and canvas. One afternoon, Grandpa took me to see the fields. It was the middle of summer, hot and sticky. The ground was dry and cracked under the sun. “Remember,” Grandma Martha said as she watered the crops, “this is the path you chose. You can’t back out now.” Grandpa clearly thought I wouldn’t last here after being spoiled at Brooks Manor. In our previous lives, Miles hadn’t lasted long. He called Mom begging to come home, but she refused. After all, in her mind, Grandpa’s home was supposed to be far more prestigious than Steven’s—enough to elevate Miles to the top of society. At the very least, it could maintain her affluent image. I picked up a watering can and joined Grandpa. “I don’t regret it,” I said. “I like it here. It feels alive.” Grandpa paused, caught off guard. After a moment, he murmured, “You’re nothing like your father.” “What was Dad like when he was young?” I asked, curious about the man behind my faint memories of quiet sorrow. Grandpa’s face darkened. He didn’t answer and instead said, “If you’re staying with me, you’ll follow my rules. I’m strict and have little patience. Now go get some rest.” That night, I fell asleep listening to the sound of frogs and cicadas outside my window. 0

The books on my desk towered over me like mountains. Just looking at them made me want to run. Even after two lifetimes, I’d never really learned the basics. Studying and practicing painting didn’t have the instant gratification of socializing or making connections. Public school was no private tutor. I had to rely on my own grit to catch up. I struggled through it all—homework, reading, painting—but Grandpa never let me off the hook. He sat beside me, refusing to sleep until I finished. If I nodded off, he would clear his throat, jolting me awake. “Sorry! I’ll fix it right away,” I’d blurt out, startled. My body reacted faster than my brain, conditioned by years of reprimands. Grandpa looked puzzled. “What’s wrong? I’m not going to hit you. Did someone use to hit you?” I nodded. “Yeah. I got hit a lot.” Grandpa sighed deeply. “Maybe you should call it a night.” I shook my head. “No! If I take a break every time it gets hard, I’ll never catch up. My painting skills will never improve. I don’t believe I can’t do this.” Grandpa studied me in silence before finally saying, “I’ll go deal with those noisy cicadas outside. They’re bothering you.” Even though I was bad at school, Grandpa stuck with me, helping me correct every mistake. The clothes I wore weren’t designer, but he asked the local seamstress to tailor them. The fabric was soft and comfortable, even if it wasn’t flashy. Grandpa didn’t say much, but I could tell he cared. He wished Mom would visit me. After two lifetimes, I no longer expected anything from her. When she did visit, it was only to take photos for her social media, pretending to be a doting mother. Her eyes were always filled with disdain, like she didn’t want to be there. One evening, music floated in from outside. My hands instinctively moved as if to play along. Grandpa stepped in front of me protectively. We went outside to find Miles standing there, playing the violin like a proud, elegant crane. When he finished, his eyes were filled with pride and scorn. Steven and Mom appeared next. Her belly was round, her face glowing as she alternated between gazing lovingly at her unborn child and Miles. But when her eyes fell on me, they were distant, cold. “Uncle,” she said, pretending to notice us. “I didn’t see you there.” Steven, oblivious to everything but himself, said, “Miles, you should’ve played it like this. Let me show you. Levi, Uncle, you can listen too.” Miles tugged at Steven’s sleeve. “Dad, let’s go home. Mom said you’re her first music teacher. Help me perfect my technique.” I almost laughed out loud. First music teacher? More like a man blinded by lust and greed. Apparently, their performances at home weren’t enough—they had to stage a show here too. After sandwiching Mom between them, Miles turned to me. “Levi, can we talk for a minute?” I knew what he was up to. “You saw that medal, didn’t you?” Miles sneered. “It’s fake. Grandpa’s just a country bumpkin.” “Oh, by the way,” he added, smugly displaying a luxury watch, “did you get an invitation from the Marks family?” “No? Oh, I forgot—you’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. You’ve been erased from the Lexington social scene. Beg me, and I might let you tag along. But you’d embarrass yourself there.” He waited, hoping to see me angry, regretful, or ashamed. Instead, I asked, “How long has it been since you’ve had food that tastes like something?” That wiped the smug grin off his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, hick.” He hurried into the car, almost running away. Back at the house, Grandpa awkwardly brought out a cake. “It’s your birthday. Have some cake,” he said. “I don’t know how you used to celebrate at Brooks Manor.” It had been so long since I’d had a birthday. The sweetness of the frosting melted in my mouth, filling me with warmth. Music might require talent, but looks determined fame. Steven firmly believed that with the right face, you could go anywhere. I developed crippling anxiety over my appearance during puberty. Even water retention could earn me a punishment. When hunger kept me up at night, I’d sneak to the fridge. If Steven caught me, he’d make me throw up. Eventually, my stomach learned to reject anything over a certain limit. Steven would dress me in custom suits for performances, and I’d stuff myself with protein powder to fill them out, wrecking my body in the process. When I complained to Mom, she’d only say, “Steven does this for your own good.” I wasn’t a son to them—I was a polished, obedient product. When my little brother Dylan was born, Steven didn’t bother hiding his true colors. “Everything we do is for Dylan. Can’t you be better for his sake? There’s no place for you in this family if you aren’t.” Mom agreed wholeheartedly. “Dylan is our hope. You need to marry someone powerful to help him succeed.” Steven’s wandering eye never stopped, even after Dylan’s birth. Mom wanted to use me to reel him back in.

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Married for five years, my wife, Madison Shore, went on a six-month trip and returned with her “true love,” Jeremy Langston. Madison is now over three months pregnant. Jeremy claimed he was worried I wouldn’t take proper care of her and shamelessly asked to move into my house. I refused, and Madison lashed out at me, calling me ungrateful. She glared at me with contempt, forgetting that I’m the one who gave her a life of luxury and indulgence. Did they really think they could walk all over me and rule my house? This time, I’ll make them experience what it means to fall from grace. I called my secretary with a smirk, “Draft a divorce settlement immediately. I’m kicking that pretty boy and the gold digger out with nothing.” Content 1， Last night, Madison called to say she was coming home after her six-month “vacation.” I was so excited that I couldn’t sleep. Early this morning, I had Auntie Linda prepare a table full of her favorite dishes. When the door swung open, Madison walked in, arm in arm with another man, flaunting their closeness as they approached me. I froze in shock, staring at the inappropriate intimacy between them. My eyes landed on Madison’s slightly rounded belly. “Andrew, you’ve gotten more handsome while I was away,” she said with a playful smile. I stared at her, my face dark with fury. Sensing my anger, Madison quickly let go of Jeremy’s hand and approached me, pouting. “Andrew, don’t be like that. You know you’re… incapable in that area, right?” “Jeremy is highly educated, comes from a good family, and we’ve known each other forever. A child from him would be healthier, wouldn’t it?” “And you wouldn’t want me to suffer through IVF, would you?” Her words lodged like a thorn in my chest. She made her betrayal sound so reasonable, even virtuous. I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to strike her. Jeremy stepped forward protectively, pulling Madison behind him, his face full of false humility. “Mr. Whitmore, Madison has told me everything. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” “We’ve been close since childhood. If the three of us live together, I don’t mind.” My anger surged. Madison, however, gazed at Jeremy with tenderness. “Jeremy, you’re always so considerate,” she said sweetly. Five years of marriage, and she had never looked at me like that. She leaned into Jeremy’s embrace like a delicate bird, pointing to the upstairs bedroom. “We’ll be staying up there,” she announced. I watched as they ascended the stairs, my fists clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white. Soon after, a driver carried in three large suitcases. Following closely were Madison’s parents, Ronald and Patricia Shore. Without even glancing at me, they marched upstairs. If upstairs was where the action was, I decided to join them. I found Madison stroking her belly, speaking softly to her parents. “I wasn’t trying to keep this from you, but you know the rule about not announcing a pregnancy before three months. Jeremy was just worried about my safety.” The sight made my heart ache. For five years, every time her parents and I disagreed, Madison sided with them, scolding me to “respect their age” and “be more understanding.” I thought she was just a sensitive person. But seeing how fiercely she defended Jeremy, I realized what a fool I had been. Jeremy took Patricia’s hand confidently. “Mrs. Shore, you’ve always known how much I love Madison. My intentions are genuine, and I hope you and Mr. Shore can understand.” Patricia’s frown softened as she turned to scrutinize me. I could see her weighing her options—me, or Jeremy. In our five years of marriage, I had bought the Shores a villa to replace their old house. I sent them a monthly allowance to cover all their expenses. But seeing Patricia hesitate, my heart sank. Madison, my wife, had not only conceived another man’s child but also paraded him into my home to humiliate me. Did she really think I loved her so much I’d tolerate anything—even this? Sensing the tension, Madison suddenly burst into tears. “The baby is innocent! No matter what you say about me, I’m keeping it!” Her tears were pitiful, tugging at everyone’s hearts. Jeremy immediately dropped to his knees before Patricia. “Mrs. Shore, that’s your grandchild Madison is carrying.” “She only did this because she couldn’t conceive for five years and was worried the Whitmores would blame her. Please understand…” The Shores had pressured Madison to have a child ever since we got married. When nothing happened, we found out the problem was with me. Although I couldn’t conceive naturally, IVF was still an option. I had already accepted my shortcomings and done everything to make up for it. But what Madison did was beyond forgiveness. Ronald finally spoke. “Since she’s already pregnant, let her have the baby. No matter whose child it is, Madison will be its mother.” Then he turned to me. “That settles it.” I laughed coldly. “Settles it?” “What makes you think you get to decide?” Madison frowned at me. “We’ve said what needed to be said. What’s your problem now?” I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. I’d spent tens of thousands of dollars for her to enjoy herself on vacation, and she came back with a baby—and a man. What right did she have to act so entitled? Jeremy feigned discomfort, playing the martyr. “I know this is because of me. I can leave if you want, but please take good care of Madison.” Patricia immediately protested. “You can’t leave! Madison is happy with you around. Besides, the baby needs its father to grow up healthy.” Madison shot me a glare. “If Jeremy has to go, I’m leaving too.” Patricia chimed in, wrapping her arm around Madison protectively. “No one is going anywhere! This is my daughter’s home now, and I call the shots here.” Jeremy gave Patricia a smug grin, confident in his position. Watching their cozy little scene, I couldn’t bear it anymore. I walked away. 2， I spent the entire afternoon in my study, Madison’s laughter echoing intermittently from the living room below. After lunch, Auntie Linda came to see me. “Jeremy Langston tried to take over your study, but Mrs. Shore stopped him,” she said matter-of-factly. “She told him, ‘Andrew is the CEO of Whitmore Industries. The family depends on him for everything, so don’t go overboard.’ That’s the only reason he backed down.” Auntie Linda, who had cared for me since childhood, knew my temper well. She glanced at me, hesitating before continuing. “Mrs. Shore also said all of Madison’s pregnancy expenses would still come from you. After all, you can’t have kids yourself, so this is a good chance for you to ‘experience the joy of fatherhood.’” I clenched my fists, my expression darkening. “Is there more?” Auntie Linda nodded, lowering her voice. “They’re saying that since you don’t have an heir, this child could be adopted under your name. That way, the Whitmore family fortune will pass to him.” I let out a sharp laugh, cold as ice. The Shores were utterly shameless. If that’s the game they wanted to play, I would humor them—for now. By the time evening rolled around, the sound of a car starting outside jolted me back to five years ago, when my obsession with Madison began. Back then, I had been determined to marry Madison, no matter how hard my parents tried to dissuade me. At the time, my parents had already arranged a potential union with the Holden family, which they fully supported. After all, the Whitmore and Holden families were the pinnacle of Hampton Ridge’s elite—who wouldn’t want that match? But I had no romantic interest in Sierra Holden. To me, she was like a little sister. From the moment I first met Madison, my entire heart belonged to her, and I lost all interest in Sierra. I constantly told my parents, “Madison isn’t like other girls. Give her a chance, and you’ll see for yourselves how special she is.” But they insisted I had given Sierra false hope, which explained why she kept finding excuses to visit our house. At the time, I didn’t care what Sierra felt. All I wanted was to marry Madison as soon as possible. The day I met Madison, it was pouring rain. She stood under a tree, drenched in her white dress, her hair plastered to her face from the rain. Her wide eyes looked so innocent and vulnerable, like a startled doe. Ignoring the mockery of my college roommates, I grabbed an umbrella and ran to her, offering to walk her back to her dorm in the downpour. She thanked me, but I boldly asked for her number, claiming it was only fair. That evening, I added her on social media. When I introduced myself, she sent back a voice message that sounded like bells ringing in springtime: “Oh, Andrew Whitmore—I’ve heard so much about you.” From then on, I made every excuse to bump into her outside her dorm. I even dragged myself to early morning classes just to sit near her—something I’d never done before. It only took one look to seal my fate. I was head over heels, willingly becoming Madison’s loyal knight. 3， After our wedding, Madison said she didn’t want to be a stay-at-home wife. She wanted to work at my company, even if it was as a low-level employee. How could I let her settle for a mere desk job? I made her my personal secretary. Madison was quick to learn, grasping every concept effortlessly. With my guidance, she soon made small strides in investment management. She said she wanted to achieve something bigger and stand beside me as an equal. I believed I should support her dreams, though my parents and friends urged caution. Before the wedding, my parents had warned me repeatedly that Madison wasn’t the right match. But I didn’t care. All I wanted was her love. After we got married, her parents’ lives improved drastically. They quit their low-paying jobs and relied entirely on the generous monthly allowances I sent. They enjoyed an early retirement, living comfortably and bragging about their daughter’s status as Whitmore Industries’ Vice President—claiming she’d soon take over as CEO. Even distant relatives who hadn’t spoken to the Shores in generations came knocking, asking Madison for favors. She was too polite to refuse, so I stepped in to solve every problem for her. From family weddings to funerals, I supported all their needs. I didn’t mind these demands—after all, with the resources of the Whitmore family, they were insignificant. But Madison never knew the truth. Just days before our wedding, Sierra Holden came to see me. She offered to transfer 10% of her family’s holdings to me, saying that if I ever regretted my decision, she’d always be there waiting. I laughed at her, saying, “You’re overthinking this. I’ve always had impeccable taste, and I’m not wrong about Madison either.” I couldn’t have been more wrong. Everyone else saw Madison for what she truly was, but I was blinded. After the wedding, I did everything to make her happy. I quit smoking and drinking, gave up late-night business meetings, and went straight home after work. I even hired chefs from all over the world to prepare meals for her, hoping to win her favor. My best friend, Tyler Morgan, often teased me, saying I’d become a “24-karat husband” under Madison’s thumb. Her parents sang my praises to anyone who would listen, telling everyone how lucky Madison was to have me. But no matter what I did, Madison always found fault in me. I thought it was because I wasn’t good enough. Now I realize she only saw me as a stepping stone for her own ambitions. She never loved me. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be enough. 4， Despite my objections, they allowed Jeremy Langston to move into my house. That evening, Jeremy knocked on my study door, asking me to join them for dinner. When I ignored him, he turned on his fake sincerity. “Mr. Whitmore, are you still upset with me? Everything I’ve done has been for Madison’s sake. If you can’t stand me, I’ll stay out of your way.” I opened the door, annoyed, and saw Jeremy with his usual pitiful expression, acting like a victim. Madison came upstairs, clutching the railing as if climbing Everest, and scolded me for “harassing” Jeremy. “It’s not his fault,” she said, giving him a tender look. “Go downstairs and eat. Don’t let him ruin your appetite.” Jeremy hesitated but eventually pulled a cheap-looking watch from his pocket. “This is something I modified myself,” he said. “I know it’s not up to your standards, Mr. Whitmore, but consider it a gift. Let’s get along for Madison’s sake.” I sneered. “If you can’t even give a proper gift, don’t embarrass yourself.” Madison’s face twisted with fury, and she slapped me hard. “Andrew Whitmore! Jeremy is trying so hard to make peace, and you humiliate him like this?!” “I’m pregnant, and I can’t afford to get upset. If you keep pushing Jeremy, you’re trying to kill me and the baby!” Her self-righteousness obliterated any lingering affection I had for her. I looked at the pair of them with cold disdain and struck Jeremy twice, hard enough to draw blood. Madison screamed, “How dare you hit him!” “If it weren’t for your pregnancy, I’d have slapped you instead,” I growled. “Do you think I, Andrew Whitmore, will tolerate this humiliation?” Hearing the commotion, Patricia rushed upstairs to mediate. “Andrew, Madison is pregnant and emotional. Don’t take it to heart.” When I remained silent, Patricia tugged on Madison’s sleeve, urging her to apologize. “Apologize to Andrew. You went too far.” Madison pouted, refusing to back down. Apologizing wasn’t in her nature. “Madison!” Patricia snapped, giving her a light slap. Finally, Madison muttered through gritted teeth, “Fine. I shouldn’t have hit you, but you shouldn’t have hit Jeremy either.” Her “apology” only deepened my disappointment. That night, I stayed locked in my study, ignoring the world. Auntie Linda brought me dinner out of pity. 5， The next day, I stayed in bed until noon, finally waking up to the sounds of them preparing lunch downstairs. Without sparing them a glance, I grabbed my keys and left the house. At work, my secretary informed me that rumors had spread. Somehow, everyone now knew Madison had gone off for six months and returned pregnant. The whispers in the office were relentless, full of ridicule and gossip. Shortly after leaving the office, Madison texted me, demanding I bring her some health supplements. “Oh, and don’t forget to grab that new designer bag that came out yesterday,” she added. “It’ll make me feel better.” Reading her message, I could almost see her haughty expression, as though she was still the queen of the castle. Once, I would have done anything to keep her happy. Now? She’s no one to me. I quickly replied, “Ask the baby’s father to buy it for you. It’ll be more fitting.” Not long after I sent the message, Auntie Linda called me. “Jeremy just helped himself to the supplements your mother sent over this morning. He said it’s for the baby’s health.” I clenched the phone. “And what else?” Auntie Linda let out an annoyed huff. “Madison’s parents didn’t say a word to stop him. They even seemed proud, telling him, ‘If Madison can eat it, it’s fair game.’” My chest tightened. My health had never been great, and my mother would occasionally send me carefully chosen supplements to help me stay strong. But now, her love and care were being exploited by these leeches. Even Patricia, who always prided herself on manners, condoned it. If they were this shameless, there was no need for me to keep up appearances. I returned to the office, called an emergency board meeting, and reorganized key responsibilities. Then, I made the final announcement: “Effective immediately, Madison Shore is removed from her position as Vice President. She is no longer authorized to enter company premises.”

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On his birthday, Alex Thornton, the frat boy sponsored by my wife, Vanessa Caldwell, posted on Twitter: “Happy 22nd birthday to me! Nobody else remembered, but my superstar sister sure did!” The post was tagged at a couples-themed restaurant. The picture attached was a selfie of him with my wife—faces practically touching. The top comment read, “Wow, spending your birthday with Vanessa Caldwell? And at that restaurant? Are you two together?” Alex replied directly to that comment: “Hehe, almost there.” I used my verified account to like the comment, and within minutes, Vanessa called me, furious. “Why are you liking that comment with your official account? It’s just a birthday dinner with Alex! Don’t be so petty. Just say it was an accident—fans are asking questions!” I could faintly hear Alex’s voice in the background, “If it makes him happy to see me getting hate online, that’s fine. After all, he’s just a former Academy Award Winner.” I hung up. What she didn’t remember was that it was also my birthday. I had spent three years building Vanessa’s career, three more years stepping back from the spotlight to do it, and two years in a secret marriage to protect her public image. Eight years of loving her. But now, I was done. It was time for me to make a comeback. …… Content

When Vanessa came home that night, I was playing with the kitten I’d just bought. Vanessa hated cats and dogs. Years ago, she’d secretly gotten rid of the cat I’d raised for five years. Since then, I hadn’t dared to bring another pet home. “Ethan, what the hell is this? You know I hate cats!” Vanessa shrieked. I glanced at her, unfazed, and continued petting the kitten. “Oh, stop sulking already! Alex just graduated and needs my help. Why are you jealous of him? I’ll make it up to you later, okay?” she said, pinching her nose like she was doing me a favor. When I ignored her, she got mad. She grabbed the kitten roughly and threw it aside, then shoved me. “Apologize to Alex! You’re a grown man throwing tantrums over a frat boy!” The kitten let out a sharp cry, scrambled back to me, and hissed at her. I hadn’t expected Vanessa to shove me that hard. My stomach hit the edge of the table, and a sharp pain flared up—my chronic gastric condition was back. I hadn’t eaten dinner, hoping Vanessa would come home to celebrate my birthday. Seeing Alex’s tweet had ruined my appetite entirely. Now, the stress had triggered the pain, leaving me speechless. My gastric issues had started during those years of pushing Vanessa’s career. Long nights drinking with producers and directors, always taking a backseat to let her shine—it had worn me down. Vanessa’s expression wavered when she saw my face pale. “Where’s your medication? I’ll get it,” she said, rummaging through the living room. “I thought it was here… but—” She froze, her face shifting guiltily. She remembered. The day before, she’d taken my medication to Alex. “Alex crashed his car, Ethan! Where’s the first aid kit?” she had yelled as she burst through the door. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the box where I kept my gastric meds. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll take this for now!” she had said, rushing out. Normally, I would’ve been angry, demanding why my medication was going to Alex. But today, I was just tired—tired in every way. “I’ll run out and buy more. Hold on,” Vanessa said, voice uneasy. She tried to help me to the couch, but the kitten hissed, and she backed off. “I don’t know why you bought this stupid thing,” she muttered. Keys in hand, she headed for the door but stopped when her phone rang. “Vanessa! Those debt collectors are at my place again,” Alex sobbed on the other end. “They said if I don’t pay up tonight, they’ll break my hand! Please, help me!” “What?!” Vanessa’s delicate face showed panic she’d never had for me. “They dare mess with my people? I’ll be right there!” “But it’s so late… won’t Ethan get mad?” Alex whimpered. “Like I care what he thinks!” Vanessa snapped. She glanced at me before stepping out. “I’ll buy your meds later. Alex is in danger.” I wanted to tell her I wanted a divorce. Instead, I watched her leave, clutching a business card I had meant to use as a surprise. It was from an internationally renowned director, someone Vanessa had admired for years. I tore it into pieces.

It was past midnight, and Vanessa still wasn’t home. The kitten curled up beside me, licking my hand as if sensing my pain. I knew she wouldn’t come back, but part of me couldn’t help hoping. Eventually, the pain forced me to order medicine through a delivery app. While waiting, a notification popped up—another post from Alex on Twitter. This time, it was a photo of Vanessa standing protectively in front of him, shielding him from a group of men. “Those debt collectors finally left after Vanessa threw money and threats at them,” he wrote. “I got a little hurt, but Vanessa’s taking me to the hospital now.” The comments were buzzing. “Is that Vanessa Caldwell again? She and that frat boy are such a cute pair!” Alex replied, “Thanks for the support! Keep shipping us—we’ve got plenty of sweet moments for you!” My heart twisted. Vanessa had insisted on keeping our marriage a secret, claiming it would hurt her career. Yet here she was, flaunting an ambiguous relationship with Alex in public. Did this not hurt her career? Alex had only suffered a small injury, and Vanessa was frantic. But just a month ago, at the Golden Laurel Award ceremony, Vanessa had stepped over me—literally. I’d gotten her that award through relentless networking and favors. As she accepted her trophy, I was cornered by men whose toes Vanessa’s rise had stepped on. “A washed-up actor trying to snag resources from our boss?” the leader sneered before his group beat me down. Through the haze of pain, I saw Vanessa holding Alex’s hand, walking by without even stopping. That night, bruised and battered, I confronted her at home. “Why didn’t you help me? Why didn’t you call the police?” “I didn’t think it was that serious,” she stammered, avoiding my eyes. “You were scared they’d hurt Alex, weren’t you?” Vanessa didn’t deny it. “Come with me to file a report. You saw it happen—you and Alex can testify.” “Oh, come on, Ethan. It was just a scuffle! You’re fine, aren’t you?” she snapped. That night, I realized how much I had lost—not just my health but my dignity. The next day, I called my old agent. “I’m ready to come back. Got any roles for me?”

When I woke up, Vanessa Caldwell was already home. She sat on the couch, scrolling through her phone. As soon as she saw me, she barked, “Your medicine’s on the table. Looks like you survived the night without it. Why were you acting so dramatic?” I gave her a faint smile. “I already bought some.” Vanessa visibly relaxed, then said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “Well, since you’re fine, take me to Pinewood Studios. My new film starts today. By the way, what happened with that international director you were supposed to connect me with? I knew you’d mess it up. You’re more useless every day.” I always drove Vanessa to her set openings. Even though I had left the industry, I was still respected as a former Academy Award Winner. People knew about our relationship and would give her extra attention because of me. But as I thought about the director’s card I tore up last night, a quiet satisfaction settled in my chest. On the way to Pinewood, Vanessa started whining about wanting iced water. I reached into the backseat to get it for her, only to spot a pair of men’s boxers lying there. Vanessa sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes darting nervously to mine. If this had been the past, I would’ve demanded to know whose they were, pressed her to keep Alex Thornton away. But now, I just smiled faintly and said nothing. “Alex got caught in the rain once,” she began hastily. “I went to pick him up, and he changed in the car. I didn’t realize he left… that… behind.” “Vanessa,” I interrupted, keeping my voice calm. “Did you know that Alex’s birthday is the same day as mine?” Her face froze. Her gaze wavered, guilt flickering across her features. “I… I forgot. I’ll make it up to you later, okay?” I didn’t respond, just handed her the water and resumed driving. She didn’t realize there wouldn’t be a “later” for us. At the studio, staff glanced at us with unease, their curiosity palpable. Then the pain hit me again—sharp and relentless. I took a deep breath, willing myself to endure it. A co-star of Vanessa’s, someone she was friendly with, couldn’t hold back any longer. She walked over and asked, “Vanessa, what’s going on with you and that frat boy? And what about Ethan?” Vanessa shot me a quick, nervous look before saying, “One for home, one for fun. Why wouldn’t I go for someone younger and more energetic?” The actress looked stunned, then glanced at me with a mix of disbelief and pity before walking away. Once she left, Vanessa grabbed my hand, her tone urgent. “You know how it is. Alex just graduated, and he wants to break into the industry. With me and you supporting him, it’s good for all of us.” I nodded absently, noncommittal. Sitting through Vanessa’s scenes was tedious. Her acting had once been terrible, and I had painstakingly coached her until she could make it through a take without mistakes. Even her public image, once abysmal, had been molded by me. She was like a rose I had nurtured—beautiful, yes, but now her thorns were tearing me apart. During the most pivotal scene of the day, Vanessa’s phone rang. She dropped everything to answer it, halting the entire production. “Vanessa!” Alex’s pitiful voice rang out over the quiet set. “I went to audition for that role you recommended me for, but the team doesn’t take me seriously. They don’t think I’m good enough. Can you come and back me up?” “How dare they! I’ll be right there!” Vanessa snapped, grabbing her purse to leave. “Mrs. Caldwell, we’re not done here…” the director began, trying to stop her. Vanessa ignored him entirely. I stepped in, grabbing her wrist. “If you walk out of this set now, your reputation will be ruined,” I warned. Her face darkened. “Are you threatening me? Did you not hear Alex needs me?” “Alex, Alex, Alex,” I murmured bitterly. “If you leave this set, we’re getting divorced,” I said, my voice cold and final. Vanessa looked at me in shock, then scoffed. “Using divorce as a threat, Ethan? Nice try. We’ll talk about this later.” She yanked her arm free, shoving me hard as she stormed off. My stomach, already on fire, couldn’t take the force. I fell to the ground, the pain unbearable. “Ethan, are you okay?” The crew rushed to help me. Vanessa, do you see this? Strangers care more for me than you ever have. Why am I still holding on? I took my medication, forcing the pain down, and turned to the director. “This film just started production, right? Not much has been shot?” The director nodded hesitantly. “Replace Vanessa’s scenes. I’ll take her role and fund the project myself,” I said firmly.

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Yo, so get this – I was like three months preggo and totally craving some bomb wonton soup. I got so hyped, I jumped into the kitchen and whipped up this killer broth from scratch. After hours of simmering and stuffing those lil’ dumplings, I was ready to feast. I called my man Noah over, but when I came back, the bowls were gone! That jerk had sent them over to our new neighbor Emma’s place without even asking. Apparently, she’s a single mom struggling to get by, so my knight-in-shining-armor hubby took it upon himself to ‘help out.’ Now, I get being a good neighbor and all, but this chick had Noah running errands for her like a personal handyman. Changing lightbulbs, lugging rice bags – you name it, he was on it. His go-to line became, “Single moms have it rough, babe.” At first, I played it cool, but giving away my homemade pregnancy cravings? That was the last straw. When I called him out, dude just shrugged it off like it was no big deal. The audacity to tell me to ask Emma for “dumpling folding tips” after I slaved away cooking? Oh hell naw. I was so heated, I just packed my bags and crashed at my old place for a bit. Noah didn’t even seem to notice I bounced until way later when his growling stomach finally clued him in. Dude had the nerve to whine about being hungry after pulling that stunt! Things got real when I found a video from the local preschool’s family sports day. There was my man, bonding with Emma and her kid like one big happy fam while I sat at my checkup alone. Turned out his “overtime” excuse was just a flat-out lie. I started questioning if Noah was even cut out for fatherhood. If some rando single mom could make him ditch me and our unborn kid, who’s to say he wouldn’t keep bailing for the next one who batted her lashes? When I finally confronted him about the video, Emma pulled the classic crocodile tears, blabbering about how she’d “never wreck our family.” Her little brat was even shooting me stank eyes like I was the homewrecker! The sheer audacity of it all made me want to hurl. I laid it all out – if Noah was still a man of his word, we needed to go our separate ways so he could play house with his new fam. Dude tried damage control, saying I was overreacting and that he was just “helping out” since the kid didn’t have a dad around. Like, sorry my inability to push a kid out makes me incapable of basic empathy? I didn’t sign up to be a co-parent for every sad sack kiddo in town. Noah couldn’t understand why I was being “so cold and unsympathetic.” Um, hello? I’m the pregnant one getting left in the dust here! We went round and round until he finally admitted he couldn’t stand to see Emma’s son “go through the same hardship” he did without a dad. Look, I feel for the guy’s rough upbringing, but that’s no excuse to lie and ditch your own family. If he wants to go play daddy for Emma’s kid, that’s his choice – but it won’t be with me in the picture. I headed back to my little downtown apartment, totally drained from the emotional rollercoaster. Maybe it was the stress, but that night my stomach felt queasy. I’m pretty health-conscious, so I swung by the clinic for a checkup. The doc said the pregnancy wasn’t looking too stable and advised me to take it easy – no heavy lifting or I could miscarry. I went home and lay awake, mulling over the past, present and future. I had a decent job, savings, wheels – all the basics to live comfortably, even solo. Why put up with this crap? Especially over a loser like Noah Williams. After some soul-searching, I decided to terminate the pregnancy the next morning. The fetus was only a few months along, so it was a straightforward procedure, but still tough – it was my flesh and blood, you know? I just didn’t feel ready to be a single mom. The abortion knocked me around, so I crashed at my place while getting the divorce papers drafted up. With no kids involved, it was a pretty clean split – one car each, and we’d go fifty-fifty on the home we bought as newlyweds. I couriered Noah’s copy, but he flipped out, probably thinking I was bluffing about pulling the plug on our marriage. He demanded to meet up, but I shut that down – just sign the damn papers, bro. Noah didn’t know my unit number, and that complex has strict privacy policies, so staff weren’t letting any randos snoop around. There was no point meeting anyway since divorce was a done deal. A few days later, Noah’s mom calls me frantic – some sketchbag was posted up at our place! Instantly, I knew it was Emma Johnson, that little homewrecker he couldn’t keep his hands off. I felt disgusted hearing it, but not shocked – those two were gonna hook up eventually. Still, the disrespect of moving her in before we were even legally divorced? Low blow. I didn’t respond at first, but Noah’s mom kept pushing, realizing something was up. “Is Noah running around on you? Bringing other women over?” We hadn’t told our families about separating yet. I didn’t want to worry my parents, and Noah was the same – his mom has a wicked temper and health issues, so he didn’t want to drop that bomb on her. But now the poor woman stumbled into this mess. Emma tried playing it cool, all “It’s just a big misunderstanding, Auntie! Noah’s such a sweetheart for helping me out. With sis-in-law gone, he needed an extra hand around the house sometimes.” Noah’s mom was having none of it. “My son’s a grown man! If he can’t look after himself, I failed as a mother!” She kicked Emma out, then I broke down and explained everything – the affair, the decision to divorce, even my abortion. Noah’s mom erupted, slapping him hard across the face. “Neglecting your own wife and child to play daddy to some other kid? Have you lost your damn mind?”

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[If you’re reading this, do whatever it takes to wake yourself up immediately—because it’s watching you.] Content A blaring alarm jolted me awake. Maybe it was because I stayed up too late last night finishing assignments, but waking up today felt particularly hard. Reluctantly, I got up and smacked the alarm clock. April 11th. 6:00 AM. Time for school. The curtains were drawn tightly, leaving the room dim. Mom and Dad had probably already left. I shouted a few times, but the house was empty. It looked like they didn’t have time to make breakfast today. I sighed at the bare dining table. Guess I’d have to eat at school. A gloomy, overcast sky greeted me through the faint light at the edges of the curtains. Unusual for a town like ours—Will it rain? I reached into the side pocket of my backpack and found the crimson umbrella. Thankfully, Mom always prepared for things like this. Breakfast at Meadowfield High was the usual: a carton of milk and a packet of peanut butter cookies. Everyone seemed to love it. The classroom was eerily silent as my classmates ate, completely absorbed in their meals. By the time I finished, the bell for morning study rang. Today’s reading was for English Lit: Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. I don’t know why, but my mind kept wandering. I normally loved Lit class, but today I just couldn’t focus. While my classmates recited in perfect unison, I glanced around, restless. That’s when I noticed someone slip quietly into the back row, taking a seat. It was Daphne Collins. She usually kept to herself, and as far as I knew, she was a model student. Why was she late today? The teacher didn’t seem to notice. When Daphne glanced at me, confusion flickered in her eyes before she quickly looked away. Everyone was reading aloud in perfect synchrony—so much so that it felt unnerving. Maybe it was the pressure of upcoming finals? After morning study, Mr. Eric Stone, our homeroom teacher, called me to his office. The English teacher had called out sick, so English class would be a self-study session. As the class rep for English, I went to pick up the worksheets and brought them back to the room. Avery Carter, the class president, kindly helped me hand them out. Lunch at the cafeteria was stew. It was my favorite, so I grabbed an extra serving. In the first period after lunch—Math class—I noticed Daphne was absent. For PE, I had an excuse ready. I stayed in the nurse’s office due to cramps, though Dr. Rachel Monroe wasn’t there. Then, during evening study, something bizarre happened. Daphne’s parents showed up. They said she wasn’t feeling well and needed to take her home. Midway through the session, Mr. Stone came into the classroom with Daphne’s parents and Mr. Thomas Griggs, the security guard. The room fell silent as everyone kept their heads down, scribbling on their papers. When Daphne saw them, she suddenly began screaming and tried to run, but Mr. Griggs grabbed her. Her parents covered her mouth and dragged her out of the classroom, kicking and struggling. Yes, dragged her out. Something felt off. When I turned to look, the rest of the class was acting as if nothing had happened, heads down, furiously writing. My seatmate, Mia Porter, turned to me, smiling. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her lips curled into a grin, though her eyes remained strangely still. A shiver ran down my spine. I shook my head and returned to my work. From outside the window came a faint, scraping sound—difficult to describe. I pretended not to hear it. Finally, school let out. I practically bolted for the door, but as I passed by the back exit, a crumpled piece of paper lying in the corner caught my eye. Something told me it was Daphne’s. Making sure no one was around, I quickly pocketed it. The rain started on my way home. Just my luck—I’d forgotten the umbrella. Soaked, I made it home. Mom and Dad still weren’t back. The living room was pitch black. The ceiling light was broken and wouldn’t turn on no matter what I tried. I gave up and went to my room. Remembering the note, I pulled it out of my bag. Under the dim light of my desk lamp, I saw words hastily scrawled in red pen: “Wake up now!” I didn’t understand what it meant. The next moment, everything went dark. A blaring alarm jolted me awake. I felt drained, like I hadn’t slept at all. Was it because of last night’s homework? I glanced at the clock on my desk— April 11th. 6:00 AM.

Breakfast was the same today: milk and peanut butter cookies. But I wasn’t hungry, so I only took a couple of bites. Something felt off, like I was forgetting something. I couldn’t focus during morning study, either. The English teacher was still out sick, so we had another self-study session. Avery helped me pass out the worksheets. But when we finished, there was an extra copy left. Shouldn’t there be 46 sheets? Was I mistaken? Did I count wrong? Wait—how many students were in our class? 46 or 45? My head spun with confusion. Lunch was stew again. I wasn’t in the mood, so I barely touched it. In Math class, Mr. Stone’s lesson kept everyone fully attentive. But something kept nagging at me. I glanced at the back row, where an empty seat stood out. Someone used to sit there, right? Daphne wasn’t here. My mind felt like it was trying to remind me of something, but the thought slipped away before I could catch it. Wait… who is Daphne? “Wake up now!” Those words suddenly flashed in my mind. Daphne Collins! She was my classmate, and she’s missing! Our class has 46 students. I didn’t count wrong! Today is April 11th. Yesterday was too! A chilling realization hit me, and my body broke out in a cold sweat. Something is wrong. Very wrong. I turned to Mia and whispered, “Where’s Daphne? Why isn’t she here today?” Her face was expressionless as she replied, “Who’s Daphne?” My heart sank. Daphne was gone. The atmosphere was suffocating. I sat frozen in my seat, barely daring to breathe. When class ended, everyone headed to PE. I feigned cramps again and snuck back to the classroom. Daphne’s desk was shoved into the corner, covered in dust. It looked like no one had touched it in ages. Was this a dream? Or was my memory the dream? What day was it yesterday? Was there ever a Daphne Collins in our class? A tangle of questions clawed at my mind, each one tightening like a noose. My trembling hands reached for her desk. It was empty inside, except for a layer of dust. As I pulled my hand back, it brushed against something taped to the underside of the desk. A black leather journal, worn and frayed. I ran to the girls’ restroom and locked myself in a stall, flipping through its pages. The first few had been torn out, leaving jagged edges behind. The most recent entry read: “Today is April 11th. Again. This is my 87th April 11th. I know it’s watching me, but no matter what I do, I can’t find it…” The entry ended abruptly. A chill crept down my spine. My fingers trembled as I flipped to the back cover and found a piece of paper tucked inside. Scrawled across it, in dense, chaotic handwriting, were a series of rules: 1. If you’re reading this, do whatever it takes to wake yourself up immediately—because it’s watching you.

“My name is Daphne Collins. If you’re reading this guide, please—please—make sure to follow these rules to the letter!” … [2] Do not eat the school’s food. If you’re hungry, go to the snack bar in the cafeteria on the first floor. But whatever you do, don’t buy the milk or peanut butter cookies. [3] Do exactly as the teachers say. Don’t stand out or behave differently. Blend in. Don’t let it notice you. [4] Make sure to get home before it gets dark. Home is safe. If it traps you, the science lab might be a secure fallback. [5] If you’re alone in a classroom, the nurse’s office, the lab, or any space, double-check that the door is locked. If the door suddenly opens, something has come in. [6] When passing the 7th-floor staircase in Founders Hall, don’t look at the mirrors on the wall. [7] The faucet in the sinks will always drip. Do not try to turn it off. If the dripping stops, lock the stall door, close your eyes, and count to 100. No matter what touches you, don’t make a sound—and do not open your eyes. [8] Some students and teachers have been replaced by “those things.” Find a way to identify them as soon as possible. [9] Don’t trust anyone. [10] And most importantly, find whatever extra presence is among us—and kill it. If you don’t, it will kill you. … The writing grew increasingly frantic as it went on. I strained to make out every word, but my anxiety and panic only grew stronger with each line. If this was real, it meant I was trapped in some kind of unknown loop. And at any moment, I could end up like Daphne Collins… My eyes lingered on Rule #10. Did Daphne disappear because “that thing” killed her? That’s when I noticed something—something I had been vaguely aware of but hadn’t fully realized until now. The dripping from the faucet had stopped. My mind went blank, like an explosion had gone off in my head. “Lock the bathroom door.” The rule from the journal flashed vividly in my mind.

“23… 24… 25… 26…” I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath as I counted silently. The air around me seemed to grow colder with every passing second. My heart pounded uncontrollably. Something was here. My legs felt weak, and my entire body froze. A sickening, putrid stench hit me like a freight train, sharp and overwhelming. Then came the sound. Something was dragging itself across the tiled floor. A wet, sticky, squelching noise that made my stomach churn and bile rise in my throat. My mind conjured up the image of decaying flesh. “48…” The sound stopped suddenly, just outside my stall door. Then—THUD. It pressed itself against the door. It was listening. My breathing hitched, and I clamped my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming. “63… 64…” Each second dragged on for an eternity. The silence stretched so long that I started to believe it was gone. Then, a cold droplet hit the top of my head. Followed by another. Drip… drip… The sound was rhythmic. Was it just the faucet again? Or… Or was it the thing—right above me? “…89… 90…” I could feel it.

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