My husband, earning a paltry five thousand a month, brazenly moved his pregnant mistress into my multi-million dollar penthouse, which I’d bought outright. Not only did he try to kick me out, but he also allowed his mother to steal and use my special chemical cream, leading to her disfigurement and baldness. His sister even demanded I pack my bags and clear out for the mistress. Watching this self-righteous family of fools, I laughed, chillingly. They seemed to have forgotten that I was not only the owner of this luxury apartment but also the CEO of the company that held his fate in my hands. Since you’re so comfortable spending my money, then you’ll return it all, with interest. You can spend the rest of your lives reflecting on your mistakes in prison! After seeing my mother-in-law, Brenda, sneak into my master bedroom on the security camera countless times, I finally snapped. On the screen, she was sitting at my vanity, her eyes gleaming at a plain white ceramic jar on the table. Her rough fingers scooped out a large glob of white cream, preparing to smear it on her face. I took a deep breath and opened our SnapChat family group, sending a voice message. “Brenda, whatever you do, don’t touch the white jar on my vanity. That’s an industrial-strength depilatory and decolorizing cream our R&D department just formulated. It’s extremely corrosive and will cause severe burns if it touches your skin.” Less than thirty seconds after I sent the message, my sister-in-law, Ashley’s voice message popped up, sharp and shrill. “Sophia, who are you trying to scare? It’s just some skincare cream, right? What’s wrong with my mom using a little of your stuff? Do you really have to make up such a malicious lie to curse her with disfigurement?” Immediately after, my husband, Mark, jumped in with a text message. “Sophia, you’re being a bit much. My five-thousand-a-month salary goes entirely to support this family. You eat and drink off me, and you’re still stingy about your mom using a bit of your skincare? Don’t be so selfish!” I looked at the words on the screen and laughed, purely out of anger. Five thousand a month to support the family? This multi-million dollar penthouse in the city center was my pre-marital property, bought entirely with my own money. Mark’s measly salary wasn’t even enough to cover the monthly property management fees and utility bills. The car he drove, the designer clothes he wore – wasn’t all of it paid for with my secondary credit card? My generosity, mistaken for weakness, had only attracted a pack of greedy leeches. Fine. Since good advice was wasted on the undeserving, I wasn’t going to bother with more words. I slowly typed a line: “I’ve warned you. Consequences are on you.” Ashley instantly replied: “Pfft, cut the act! My mom just said the cream has a faint fragrance and feels cool on her face – it’s definitely high-end stuff! You can just stay at work and be jealous. When my brother gets home, he’s going to teach you a lesson, you selfish, wicked woman!” I locked my phone, took a sip of my iced Americano, and my gaze turned cold. Teach me a lesson? We’d see who was teaching whom a lesson today.

At six in the evening, I pushed open the front door. Before I could even take off my shoes, I heard a bloodcurdling scream from the living room. “Oh, my face! It hurts so much! Help me!” I slipped on my slippers and slowly walked into the living room. The scene before me was ten times more spectacular than I’d imagined. Brenda was rolling on the floor, clutching her face with both hands, letting out heart-wrenching wails. Her already sparse hair was falling out in clumps, scattered across the wool rug like weeds. More horrifying was her face; the areas where she’d applied the white cream were now swollen and almost distorted. Her entire face looked terrifying, glowing with an eerie redness, and yellowish tissue fluid was even starting to seep out. “Brenda! What happened, Brenda!” Mark and Ashley rushed out of the kitchen, gasping in shock at the sight of Brenda on the floor. “Mark! Brenda’s hair is all gone! Her face is ruined!” Ashley shrieked, her voice trembling. Mark suddenly turned, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at me like a furious beast. “Sophia! You witch! What poison did you use on my mom!” He stomped towards me, raising his palm to slap my face. I stood my ground, not even blinking, staring at him coldly. “Try to touch me.” My voice was quiet, but it carried immense pressure. “If that slap lands, I guarantee you’ll receive a court summons tomorrow, along with a divorce agreement that leaves you with nothing.” Mark’s hand froze mid-air, the muscles in his face twitching. He was clearly intimidated by my presence. “You dare threaten my brother?!” Ashley shrieked, hopping next to him. “It’s obvious you’re twisted, deliberately leaving poison on the table to harm my mom! I’m calling the police!” I sneered, walked over to the sofa, and sat down, crossing my legs. “Call the police? Go ahead. I’d love for the police to see who ignored a warning and secretly stole and used someone else’s property.” I took out my phone, pulled up the SnapChat family group chat history, and waved it in front of them. “It’s all here, in black and white, voice messages included. I clearly told you it was industrial depilatory cream, but you insisted on thinking it was high-end skincare and smeared it on your faces. So now your face is ruined, and your hair is gone – and that’s my fault?” Brenda was rolling her eyes in pain on the floor, almost passing out. “Stop talking! Call an ambulance!” Mark panicked, yelling at Ashley. The ambulance wailed as it arrived. The paramedics frowned at Brenda’s horrific state. “The burns are too severe. She needs to be taken to the emergency room for debridement immediately!” As Brenda was being carried away on a stretcher, Mark pointed at my nose, gritting his teeth as he delivered his ultimatum. “Sophia, you just wait! If anything happens to my mom, I’m not done with you! When I get back from the hospital, you’re getting out of this house!” The front door slammed shut. I looked at the empty living room, my cold smirk deepening. Make me leave this house? Mark, you must still be dreaming.

At ten o’clock that night, the front door opened again. I was sitting on the sofa, replying to company emails on my tablet. Mark walked in first, his face not showing the slightest bit of anxiety or sadness from the hospital, but rather a smugness, like a villain getting his way. Following him, besides Ashley, was a young woman in a tight-fitting dress with a slightly bulging belly. “Crystal, slow down, watch the step.” Mark carefully supported the woman, his voice dripping with tenderness. The woman called Crystal leaned coquettishly into Mark’s embrace, her critical gaze sweeping across the living room. “Oh, Mark, is this your multi-million dollar penthouse? The location is great, but the decor is too cold and hard, not cozy at all. Let’s find someone to throw out all this black, white, and gray furniture tomorrow and replace it with the French cream style I like, okay?” “Yes, yes, whatever you want. You’re carrying our family’s grandchild, so you’re the boss,” Mark said, fawning, acting like a servant to royalty. Ashley quickly joined in, eagerly carrying Crystal’s bag. “Don’t be mad, Crystal. This awful decor was chosen by that useless old hag who couldn’t give Mark a child. Once she’s gone tonight, this place is all yours!” “Hag?” I raised an eyebrow, put down my tablet, and watched the drama unfold with interest. Mark settled Crystal on the other end of the sofa, then turned to me, his face morphing into a fierce scowl. “Sophia, you still have the nerve to sit here?” He pulled a hospital diagnosis report from his pocket and slapped it onto the coffee table. “My mom has severe chemical burns on her scalp; all her hair follicles are dead. She’ll never grow hair again! Her face is ruined! I’m settling this with you today!” I glanced at the diagnosis report without even lifting an eyelid. “So? How do you want to settle it?” “So I don’t need to be polite anymore!” Mark straightened his back, righteously pointing at Crystal. “Crystal is three months pregnant with my son! You’ve been married to me for three years and couldn’t pop out a single kid, and now you’ve done this to my mom!” “This apartment will be considered compensation for my mom’s medical expenses and for Crystal’s pregnancy! Now, get out, immediately, clean out, and make space!” I looked at his shameless face, feeling only one thing: the diversity of the human species was truly astonishing. A five-thousand-a-month loser, living off me to support his whole family, finds a mistress, gets her pregnant, and then shamelessly brings her back to *my* entirely-paid-for house, even distributing *my* property as if it were his own. “Mark, why isn’t she leaving yet?” Crystal covered her nose, looking at me with disgust. “The sofa she sat on feels dirty. What if she infects my son with bad luck?” “Exactly! Get out! Don’t be an eyesore!” Ashley chimed in, hands on her hips. “Do you really think our family cares about you? My brother is a senior manager at your company now, with a bright future ahead! He can more than support all of us!” I calmly glanced at the security camera next to the TV cabinet, which was blinking red. “Alright.” I stood up and straightened the creases in my clothes. “Since you’re all so ‘loving,’ I won’t interrupt your family bliss.” Mark paused, clearly not expecting me to agree so quickly, without even an argument. “Smart move.” He suppressed the wild joy and greed in his eyes, feigning generosity. “Pack your few old clothes and leave. Don’t even think about taking anything valuable from this house!” I ignored him, walked straight into the walk-in closet, grabbed a small suitcase, and casually packed a few changes of clothes and important documents. At the entrance, I stopped and turned back to look at the two on the sofa, still being all lovey-dovey. “Mark, I hope you remember what you said tonight. You and your family had better enjoy this apartment.” With that, I opened the door and walked out without looking back. As the door closed, I clearly heard Crystal’s seductive laughter. “Mark, you’re amazing! You got rid of that old hag with just a few words! Now this big house is ours!” “Of course! In this house, I call the shots!” Mark boasted proudly. I stepped into the elevator, pulled out my phone, and a cold smirk played on my lips. The show had only just begun.

I pressed the 18th floor on the elevator. The 18th floor of this building was also my property, which I’d converted into a private studio and lounge. Mark and his family had no idea. I poured myself a glass of red wine and walked to my computer, pulling up the security camera feed from upstairs. On the monitor, the group who had taken over my apartment was already eagerly starting their new lives. Crystal was directing Ashley to throw my belongings out the door. “That vase’s color is too dark, it looks like an urn, throw it out!” “What’s with that messy painting? It’s bad luck, take it down and use it as trash lining!” Ashley, like a diligent minion, unhesitatingly swept the antique vase I’d bought at Sotheby’s for over one hundred fifty thousand dollars into the trash. “Crystal, how’s this?” Ashley asked, smiling obsequiously. “It’ll do, I guess,” Crystal said arrogantly, patting her belly. “Mark, tomorrow I want to throw a baby shower and invite all my best girlfriends to see our new home.” “No problem! Whatever my wife wants, she gets! I’ll transfer you money tomorrow, spend as much as you like!” Mark puffed out his chest, grandly. I watched his pathetic attempt to play the big shot on the screen, a cold sneer on my face, as I opened my mobile banking app. First step: I stopped all automatic payments linked to this apartment, including utilities and the hefty property management fees. Second step: I immediately reported the credit card linked to my account, which Mark held with a one million dollar limit, as lost and froze it. Initially, I had ignored the board’s opposition and secretly arranged a figurehead managerial position for him at a branch company. Even that credit card was given to him to save face and maintain his ridiculous ego when he was out. I never imagined he’d mistake my charity for his own capability. Using my money to support another woman, and trying to seize my apartment? Pure fantasy. After doing all this, I sent a message to Mr. Clark, my company’s CFO. “First thing tomorrow, initiate a comprehensive financial audit of Mark’s department at the branch company. Investigate all accounts he handled; not a single cent should be missed.” Mr. Clark replied instantly: “Received, Ms. Sophia.” I swirled the red wine in my glass, watching the scumbag and mistress embracing and sleeping on the monitor, my eyes chillingly cold. Enjoy your last hurrah.

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My mother-in-law, Eleanor, was trapped in a fire, trying to save my treasured heirloom necklace. She suffered severe burns over 70% of her body, hanging by a thread. She desperately needed $500,000 for skin grafts and anti-infection surgeries. I frantically tried to withdraw our recently matured savings, only to find the account completely empty. I called my husband, Ethan, but his ‘one true love,’ Genevieve, answered the phone. “Ethan, this $5,000,000 pink diamond necklace looks so perfect with my custom gown. I’ll definitely steal the show on the red carpet tonight.” A chill ran through me, but Ethan’s voice, hushed and impatient, growled from the other end of the line, “I lent the money to Genevieve to make a statement first. A little burn cream is all my mom needs, don’t bother me!” He didn’t know that $500,000 was his own mother’s life, slowly clawing back from the BICU. Later, he pounded his head against the floor outside the sterile unit, begging me to save her. I only handed him a pair of handcuffs.

Dr. Miller emerged from the burn intensive care unit, his scrubs still on, his brows deeply furrowed. “Olivia, Eleanor’s family?” I shot up from the floor, my legs numb from kneeling for so long. I stumbled forward. “I’m here.” I clutched the wall, my voice hoarse, like sandpaper. He handed me a long payment slip and a critical condition notice simultaneously. His voice was low, yet every word hit like a ton of bricks: “The patient has 70% deep second-to-third degree burns across her body, accompanied by severe inhalation injuries. Her condition is very unstable tonight, and infection indicators are off the charts. Basic resuscitation will continue, but subsequent imported anti-infection medication and continuous hemodialysis require family consent and the fees must be paid as soon as possible. A deposit of $500,000 is needed first.” I stared at the string of despairing numbers on the payment slip, my vision blurring, my ears ringing. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, had been burned that afternoon. An old house in an older part of the city had suffered a sudden electrical short and caught fire. The flames spread quickly. Neighbors had all run out, and Eleanor had initially escaped too. But then she remembered a necklace my mother had left me before she died, still in a bedroom drawer in the old house. She knew it was my most cherished keepsake, and she rushed back into the flames without a second thought. By the time the firefighters pulled her out, she was unrecognizable. Her skin was peeling and burnt, emitting a suffocating smell of scorched flesh. Before she was pushed into the BICU, she couldn’t even open her eyes, yet she clutched a smoke-blackened jade bracelet, trying with all her strength to press it into my hand. Her dry, cracked lips moved for a long time, only managing a faint whisper: “Olivia… it’s not broken… don’t cry…” In that moment, my heart felt like it was being ripped apart. But the one who should have been here, her own son, Ethan, was nowhere to be seen. I trembled as I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. The first call went unanswered. The second was immediately hung up. It wasn’t until the fifteenth call that the phone finally connected. Before I could speak, a woman’s seductively sweet laughter floated from the other end. “Ethan, help me put on this necklace. This pink diamond truly suits my complexion. I’ll definitely be the center of attention on the film festival red carpet tonight.” I froze, feeling like I’d been plunged into an ice bath. Ethan’s voice quickly dropped. “Olivia?” I clutched the payment slip so hard my nails almost dug into my flesh, biting back my anger. “Where are you?” He was silent for two seconds, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m handling an urgent matter outside.” “Your mother is in the BICU with 70% severe burns. The doctors need $500,000 for her life-saving treatment, and you’re telling me you have an urgent matter?” I practically roared. The other end of the line went silent for a moment, then Genevieve’s cloyingly sweet and artificial voice broke through. “Olivia, don’t worry. Aren’t the doctors at the hospital treating Eleanor? Ethan is with me on important business; tonight is incredibly important to me.” I laughed, a bitter, shaking sound born of pure fury. “What important business? More important than your own mother’s life?!” Ethan’s voice immediately turned cold, a clear warning in his tone: “Olivia, don’t be so harsh. Genevieve is walking the international film festival red carpet tonight. Her team invested so many resources. If she doesn’t have a show-stopping piece of jewelry to make a statement tonight, her rivals will tear her apart. Who’s going to cover those losses?” I almost thought I was hallucinating. “What about the $500,000 in our account that just matured?” I demanded, my voice sharp. “The bank manager just said the money was fully transferred by you at 1 PM this afternoon. Where did it go?!” Ethan paused, then spoke with infuriating self-righteousness. “I already used that money to pay the rental and deposit for Genevieve’s pink diamond necklace. You figure something out for Mom for a couple of days. Just put some burn cream on it, she’ll be fine. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” I stood in the empty, cold corridor, the constant beeping of monitoring equipment filling my ears. The cold seeped into my very bones. “Ethan.” I asked him, enunciating each word. “Do you know where your mother is right now? Do you know what deep third-degree burns mean?”

His voice grew even more agitated: “Of course I know! But she’s lying in the hospital, isn’t she? Doctors always exaggerate to scare families into paying more. Genevieve’s situation is different. The red carpet is about to start, hundreds of media cameras are on her, there can’t be a single mistake!” Genevieve’s soft voice cooed from beside him: “Ethan, don’t argue with Olivia. If Eleanor were awake, she’d surely want you to seize this opportunity first, right? After all, when my commercial value rises, I’ll be in a better position to ‘take care’ of Eleanor, won’t I?” Seize this opportunity. I looked down at the glaring red words “CRITICAL CONDITION” on the payment slip and suddenly felt utterly absurd. My mother-in-law had been so frugal her entire life, almost to the point of being harsh. She’d price-compare at several grocery stores just to save a few bucks. Her air conditioner broke last summer, but she wouldn’t replace it, saving every penny so Ethan could buy a new house. Last year, when I suffered a severe hemorrhage from an ectopic pregnancy, Ethan sat in the hospital corridor for just ten minutes before excusing himself for a company meeting and leaving. It was Eleanor who stayed by my side for half a month, never leaving, barely sleeping. She’d grumble about my poor health, but she’d wake up countless times in the middle of the night, checking my forehead for a fever. If I so much as shifted in bed, she reacted faster than the nurses. She wasn’t highly educated, and sometimes her words were rough. But when my life was on the line, she protected me with her own. Now she lay charred black in a sterile unit, close to death. Yet her biological son was using her life-saving money to rent a diamond necklace for another woman to walk the red carpet. Dr. Miller, seeing my pale, swaying face, walked over and sternly reminded me: “Family, it’s best not to delay any longer. The patient’s blood volume is critically low; if we don’t start CRRT immediately, her kidney function will fail.” I snapped back to reality, abruptly hanging up the phone. “Doctor, I’ll find a way, right away!” I transferred all the money from my bank accounts and maxed out three credit cards, barely scraping together $80,000. The cashier looked at the system and reminded me coldly: “You’re still short $420,000.” I turned, clutching the thin receipt, and saw the massive digital screen in the hospital lobby, broadcasting the international film festival red carpet live. [Rising star Genevieve stuns with a multi-million dollar pink diamond, escorted by a mysterious male companion who never leaves her side.] On the screen, Ethan wore a tailored tuxedo, his hair immaculately groomed, a charming, polite smile on his face. There wasn’t a hint of a son worried about his dying mother. Genevieve wore a shimmering mermaid gown, clinging to his arm, the huge pink diamond on her neck refracting blinding light under the spotlights. She flashed a captivating smile at the cameras, like a queen on her throne. I stared intently at the screen, then suddenly tightened my grip on the payment slip and turned to leave. I’d see how much luxury and glamour he was paving for Genevieve with Eleanor’s skin and blood.

The film festival was held at the Starlight Grand Theater in the city center. When I arrived, the red carpet was already nearing its end, the perimeter packed with frenzied fans and media outlets of all kinds. Security was extremely tight; the red carpet stretched from the plaza all the way into the theater’s main hall, flanked by flashing lights and fan signs. On the most prominent massive LED fan truck, Genevieve’s stunning posters scrolled continuously, with the caption: [Exclusively sponsored by Mr. Ethan.] Genevieve was standing in the interview area at the end of the red carpet, her voice sickeningly sweet. “This necklace holds profound meaning for me. I want to thank all my fans for their support, and especially this most important person beside me. Without his unwavering support, I might not be standing here today.” As she spoke, her eyes, brimming with affection, gazed at Ethan. Ethan thoughtfully adjusted the hem of her gown. The live comments on the big screen scrolled wildly. [Ahhh, Gen is so beautiful! That pink diamond is absolutely breathtaking!] [Who’s the handsome guy next to her? Giving off rich CEO vibes, totally shippable!] [Their eyes were practically glued together, just get married already!] I stood outside the barricade, watching Ethan shield her from the blinding camera flashes. That motion was so practiced, it was as if they were the loving couple. Clutching the payment slip and the critical condition notice, I took a deep breath, then pushed past the security guard and walked, step by determined step, toward the interview area. The security guard gasped in alarm: “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t come in here!” I ignored him, rushing forward like a madwoman. Genevieve saw me first, her perfect smile freezing for an instant, but quickly returning to her innocent, vulnerable facade. “Olivia? Why are you here looking like that?” Ethan turned, saw my disheveled state, with my mother-in-law’s blood still on my clothes, and his brows furrowed tightly. He lowered his voice, furious: “What are you doing, making a scene here? Aren’t you ashamed? Did you take care of things at the hospital?” I raised my hand and slapped the critical condition notice hard against his chest. “Your mother is charred and lying in the ICU, with a $420,000 deficit waiting to be filled, and you’re asking me if I took care of things?!” Nearby journalists, always alert, quickly caught the words “intensive care unit” and pointed their cameras at us. Ethan’s face instantly changed. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so strong it almost crushed my bones. “Shut up! Don’t cause trouble here, come outside with me!” I struggled with all my might to shake off his hand, pointing at the pink diamond necklace on Genevieve’s neck, my voice sharp with anguish. “I’m causing trouble? Ethan, that $500,000 in our matured savings was waiting to save your mother’s life. Why didn’t the hospital receive a single penny?!” Genevieve’s eyes immediately reddened, and tears streamed down her face. “Olivia, don’t misunderstand Ethan. That money was just temporarily lent to me for the necklace’s deposit. Tonight’s red carpet is too important to me. If I didn’t have this necklace, the brand would blacklist me. I can write you an IOU. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my payment.” “Pay back?” I looked at her performative display, laughing bitterly in my fury. “My mother-in-law is hanging on by a thread, kept alive by a ventilator and a dialysis machine. Are you gambling her life for your career?!” Genevieve bit her lip, swaying as if about to collapse, as if she were the one suffering some immense injustice: “I couldn’t help it! This is my only chance to make it big. If I mess up today, all my years of effort will be wasted.” Ethan immediately shielded her behind him, looking at me like an enemy, his voice incredibly cold. “Enough! Olivia! Genevieve is going through enough already, do you have to destroy her at the most important moment of her life?” I looked at this man I had shared a bed with for five years, and felt like my chest had been hollowed out, cold wind whistling through it. “*She’s* going through enough? So your mother should just be burned alive and left to die?!” Genevieve suddenly poked her head out from behind Ethan, her eyes red-rimmed, but her words were like poisoned daggers, stabbing straight into my heart. “Olivia, I know you’re always jealous of how well Ethan treats me. But Eleanor is Ethan’s biological mother, and even Ethan can weigh the pros and cons and agree to postpone treatment. You’re not her biological daughter, so why are you pretending to care more than her own son? Are you trying to use this as an excuse to get a share of the family assets?”

The surrounding journalists instantly fell silent; only the frantic clicking of camera shutters remained. I stared intently at her, shaking with rage, and then let out a bitter laugh. “You know that’s his biological mother!” Ethan avoided my furious, almost feral gaze, tugged at his tie, clearly agitated, trying to argue his way out of it. “Didn’t the doctors say? Burns just look scary, it’s not like she’s going to immediately…” He swallowed his words before he could finish, as if he himself felt guilty. I finished the sentence for him, my voice cold as ice: “…immediately die?” Genevieve’s face went pale. She quickly pulled Ethan’s arm, saying softly: “Ethan, don’t say anything more. Olivia is emotional right now, I understand how she feels. Let’s just lend her the money first.” Her pretense of understanding and generosity made my stomach churn with nausea. I pulled out my phone, dialed the bank manager directly, and put it on speaker, turning the volume to maximum. The phone rang twice before it was answered. “Ms. Olivia?” I forced my voice steady, asking coldly: “Mr. Davies, I’d like to confirm, where was the $500,000 deposit transferred this afternoon at 1 PM?” Mr. Davies hesitated. “That… it was transferred to a private account, as per Mr. Ethan’s instruction.” “I’m asking you, was it transferred to the hospital’s corporate account?” More and more celebrities and journalists gathered to watch, and the live comments on the big screen were already flipping wildly. [What’s going on? Wife publicly exposes cheating husband and his mistress?] [Using his own mother’s life savings to rent a necklace for his mistress? What kind of monster does something like that?!] [Isn’t that guy Genevieve’s sugar daddy? Turns out he’s just a leech, stealing his own mother’s life savings?] Mr. Davies was silent for two seconds, then finally delivered the fatal blow: “No, it wasn’t the hospital. The recipient was ‘Starlight Jewel Rentals.’” I stared at Ethan’s instantly ashen face and pressed him: “Ethan, what do you have to say for yourself now?” Ethan flushed with anger, cutting me off sharply: “It’s my money once it’s in my account, I can spend it however I want! I’m her only son, her money will be mine eventually!” “So you can use it to fund someone else’s vanity?!” “I said it was a loan! A temporary transfer!” Ethan was still stubbornly refusing to admit it. I stopped arguing with him and turned directly to face all the media cameras. I held up the critical condition notice, the ICU payment request, and the bank transaction records I had printed on the way, all high above my head. “To all my friends in the media, look closely! Ethan, to rent this pink diamond necklace for Genevieve, stole his mother’s life-saving $500,000! His mother is now suffering 70% burns, waiting to die in the ICU!” The moment my words fell, the scene exploded as if a heavy bomb had been dropped. “Holy crap! Trading his own mother’s life for his mistress’s red carpet walk? That’s utterly despicable!” “Can she really still wear that? Doesn’t she worry about karmic retribution?” Genevieve frantically covered the necklace on her neck, screaming at the security personnel: “Security! Get this crazy woman out of here! Turn off the live stream! Turn it off now!” I took a big step forward, firmly blocking the center of the camera’s view. “Don’t turn it off!” My eyes were red as I pointed at the vibrant red carpet beneath Genevieve’s feet. “This red carpet you’re standing on, it’s ripped from my mother-in-law’s charred flesh! That diamond you’re looking at, it’s stained red with her blood!” Ethan’s face completely twisted. He lunged like a rampaging beast, reaching out to snatch my phone and the evidence. “Bitch! I’ll kill you!” I was prepared. I sharply sidestepped him, coldly watching him miss and stumble and fall heavily to the ground. “What’s the rush? There’s still my mother-in-law’s accidental death insurance, isn’t there? Didn’t Genevieve just say, ‘Let’s just get through tonight’s red carpet first’?” Genevieve’s face instantly went ashen, and she recoiled in terror. Ethan abruptly turned, staring at her in disbelief. “You… you told her about the insurance?” Genevieve opened her mouth, tears instantly streaming: “I didn’t mean it like that, Ethan, let me explain…” Watching the repulsive scene of them blaming each other, my last shred of hope was completely shattered. I finally understood that they weren’t just after the $500,000 in savings. They were also after the $2,000,000 accidental death insurance payout if Eleanor didn’t make it! Just then, my phone vibrated wildly. It was the hospital’s dedicated number. My heart plummeted. My fingers trembled as I pressed the answer button. Dr. Miller’s voice was more anxious than ever, tinged with a deep sense of helplessness. “Olivia, the patient is in severe septic shock, her blood pressure is almost undetectable. Also, someone just contacted the hospital claiming to be her legal guardian, requesting to forgo all life-sustaining resuscitation and opt for palliative care. Do you know about this?!” All the blood in my body felt like it was drained instantly, my fingers so stiff I could barely hold the phone. “What?” Dr. Miller paused, his voice incredibly grave. “The applicant used your identity information. If we proceed, we’ll have to remove the ventilator immediately.”

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To save my brother, I willingly became Ethan Thorne’s mistress for three years. I thought if I was good enough, I could eventually melt his cold heart. That was until I overheard him at a star-studded charity gala, laughing with his friends: “Lily? Just a plaything I could buy off. Serena’s pregnant. We’re getting engaged next month.” In that moment, my heart turned to ash. In front of everyone, I slammed the priceless pink diamond he had just bought onto his face, then turned and walked into the rainy night. Later, I became a rising star in the business world, with countless admirers. But the arrogant billionaire heir, Ethan Thorne, was the one who knelt at my door on a stormy night, his eyes bloodshot: “Lily, please, just look at me again…” The deep autumn in Manhattan was bone-chilling. But inside the Ritz Hotel’s top-floor charity gala, it was a scene of dazzling elegance, warm as spring. I sat in a corner of the lounge, staring at the balance on my phone. Leo’s medical bills were almost depleted again. Ethan brought me tonight, saying he wanted to bid on something for me, a gift for our three-year anniversary. A part of me actually felt a flicker of hope. Three years. He had never brought me to a public event before. This was the first time. Footsteps and hushed laughter drifted from outside the door. “Ethan, you’re really splashing out this time, huh? Thirty million for a pink diamond, didn’t even bat an eye.” It was Ethan’s childhood friend, Mr. Davis. “Serena likes it. What’s thirty million?” Ethan’s voice was lazy, nonchalant. My heart plummeted. Serena? Serena Cross? The heiress from the Cross family who just returned from abroad? “But what about the one in your lounge? She’s been with you for three years, she deserves some credit, or at least some consideration for her effort, right?” Mr. Davis lowered his voice, a hint of mockery in his tone. Ethan chuckled. That laugh, thin as the door separating us, pierced through my heart like a knife. “Lily?” His voice was dismissive, as if he were discussing an unimportant item. “Just a plaything I could easily dismiss with money. Her brother needs saving; she wouldn’t dare make a scene.” “Right. Serena’s pregnant, and you’re getting engaged next month. It’s time to clean house, get rid of anyone who shouldn’t be around.” I sat on the sofa, utterly frozen. It was like falling into an ice pit. Pregnant? Engaged? Just three days ago, he held me close, whispering in my ear that after Leo’s surgery, we’d go to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. It was all a lie. The deep affection I believed was real was just a handout after he weighed the pros and cons. The door opened. Ethan, dressed in a designer suit, walked in, holding the velvet box containing the pink diamond. Seeing my pale face, he frowned slightly. “What’s wrong? Not feeling well?” He walked over, reaching out to caress my head, a familiar gesture. I turned my head away, dodging his hand. His hand froze in mid-air, and his eyes darkened. “What’s with the attitude?” His voice held a trace of impatience. I stood up, looking him directly in the eyes. “Are you getting engaged?” My voice was eerily calm. Ethan paused. Then, he tossed the box onto the coffee table and tugged at his tie. “You heard?” He showed no sign of being caught off guard, instead, there was an air of casual frankness. “Serena’s pregnant. The Cross family can help me secure the Southside development project.” He looked at me, like he was reassuring an ignorant subordinate. “Just be good. This pink diamond is yours, and the money I give you will double every month. You won’t lack anything, except that title.” I looked at the pink diamond, sparkling with a dazzling, almost blinding light. Suddenly, I felt utterly disgusted. “Ethan Thorne.” I called his full name. “Do you really think my dignity, Lily’s dignity, can be bought with money?” He scoffed. “What else? Have you paid for Leo’s dialysis tomorrow? Without me, you two would have starved on the streets long ago.” He was certain I couldn’t leave him. Because I was poor, because I had a sick brother who was a burden. I took a deep breath. I picked up the velvet box from the table. Ethan’s lips curved into a mocking smile, thinking I had finally conceded. The next second. I raised my hand and slammed the box squarely onto his face. “CRACK!” The box hit his forehead, bounced to the floor, and the pink diamond rolled deep into the carpet. Ethan’s forehead immediately turned red. His eyes widened in disbelief. “Lily! Are you crazy?!” “Yes, I am crazy.” I stared at him coldly. “Consider these three years wasted on a dog. We’re over.” With that, I turned without hesitation, pushed open the door, and walked into the cold hallway.

“Stop!” Ethan roared from behind me. I didn’t stop. The elevator at the end of the hallway opened just then. I quickly stepped inside and pressed the close door button. The elevator doors slowly shut, cutting off Ethan’s enraged face. Stepping out of the hotel, the cold wind, mixed with a fine drizzle, hit me. I pulled my thin trench coat tighter and walked into the rain. My phone vibrated wildly in my pocket. All calls from Ethan. I turned it off directly, pulled out the SIM card, and tossed it into a roadside trash can. I returned to the luxury apartment in the city center. Ethan’s scent was everywhere. The walk-in closet was filled with designer dresses he bought me, and the vanity table held complete sets of expensive skincare products. I found an old suitcase. I only packed a few of my old clothes, a few textbooks, and a five-year-old beat-up laptop. I didn’t touch any of the glittering jewelry or branded bags. I neatly placed the black card, car keys, and access card Ethan had given me on the shoe cabinet by the entrance. I took one last look at this “gilded cage” I had lived in for three years. With a resounding “BANG,” I closed the door. Dragging my suitcase, I took the last night bus. It brought me to a dilapidated neighborhood. This was a forgotten corner of the bustling city. Narrow alleys, puddles of murky water, and the air thick with the sour smell of cheap fast food mixed with sewage. I knocked on the door of a run-down boarding house with a red light on. “How much for the cheapest single room?” The woman behind the counter eyed me up and down. “Top floor, no AC, shared bathroom, six hundred a month, a month’s rent as deposit, plus three months upfront.” “Okay.” I paid the money and got the key. The room was only about a hundred square feet. A wooden bed, a shaky wardrobe. The paint was peeling, and there was a yellowish water stain on the ceiling. I sat on the hard bed, listening to the sounds of snoring and a baby crying from next door. It was noisy. But I felt a freedom I had never experienced before. The next morning. I went to the hospital. Leo lay in his hospital bed, his face as white as paper. Seeing me, he forced a weak smile. “Lily, you didn’t come to see me yesterday.” “Yesterday… I had to work overtime.” I walked over and tucked his blanket in. “Lily, where’s Mr. Thorne? He hasn’t been here in a while.” Leo asked innocently. My heart ached. “Leo,” I looked into his eyes and said seriously, “from now on, don’t mention him again. We have nothing to do with him anymore.” Leo froze. He was sick, but he wasn’t stupid. He looked at my swollen eyes and seemed to understand something. “Lily, is it because of me… Am I holding you back?” His eyes reddened. “Don’t be silly.” I held his cold hand. “You’re the only family I have in this world. As long as you’re okay, I’m not afraid of anything.” As I walked out of the ward, the nurse on duty at the station called out to me. “Lily, the money in your brother’s account will only last for three more days. The follow-up targeted therapy costs fifty thousand per injection. You need to find a way to get funds quickly.” “I understand, thank you.” I walked out of the hospital, standing on the busy street. The sunlight was blinding. I touched the necklace around my neck. It was the only memento my mom left me. I gritted my teeth, then turned and walked into a pawn shop on the corner. “Ten thousand.” The owner, after examining it with a magnifying glass for a long time, named a price. “But it’s an antique necklace!” I exclaimed. “Times are tough, young lady. This necklace, this is the price. Take it or leave it.” The owner said, like he knew he had me over a barrel. I closed my eyes. Leo’s pale face flashed in my mind. “Fine, I’ll pawn it.” With the ten thousand dollars, I immediately deposited it into the hospital account. This ten thousand would only last half a month. I had to find a job as soon as possible.

I thought that with my degree from a top university, finding a job wouldn’t be difficult. But I underestimated Ethan Thorne’s influence. In one week, I sent out hundreds of resumes. Either they went nowhere, or after passing an interview, I’d get a call the next day saying I wasn’t suitable. Until I went to a decent internet company. The HR manager handed my resume back directly. “Ms. Lily, if you’ve crossed the wrong person, New York isn’t the place for you anymore. Go back home.” I clutched the resume, my nails digging into my palms. Ethan Thorne. He wanted to push me to the brink, force me to come back and beg him. I stood under the scorching sun, looking at the distant Thorne Industries building. Towering into the clouds, absolutely domineering. “Ethan Thorne, you wish.” I gritted my teeth, saying each word slowly. If I couldn’t get into a big company, I’d go to a small one. A place that didn’t require background or academic qualifications, only results. Finally, I joined a newly established real estate agency. A base salary of fifteen hundred, commission entirely dependent on my sales. An office without AC, a beat-up electric scooter, and every day, I’d be out on the streets, handing out flyers under nearly 100-degree Fahrenheit heat. “Excuse me, interested in buying a house? New development in the South District, great school zone!” I stopped a middle-aged woman passing by and handed her a thick stack of flyers. The woman waved her hand dismissively, like shooing a fly. “Go away, go away, it’s too hot!” The flyers scattered across the ground. I knelt down, picking them up one by one. Sweat stung my eyes. My white shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to my back. But I had no time to complain. After half a month, I was tanned and had lost ten pounds. But I also closed three small deals, earning over ten thousand dollars in commission. On payday, I bought a roasted chicken and took it to the hospital to share with Leo. Leo ate heartily, his mouth covered in grease, laughing happily. Looking at him, I felt it was all worth it. Just when I thought my life was finally getting back on track. Trouble came knocking. That afternoon, my manager suddenly called me into his office. “Lily, we have a big client tonight, specifically asking to see the villa at South Hill Estates. You’re coming with me.” Mr. Peterson rubbed his hands, his face excited. “South Hill Estates? That’s a hundred-million-dollar mansion!” “Exactly! If we close it, the commission alone will be over a million! You’re in luck, kid!” I felt a faint unease. How could such a big deal fall to me, a newcomer? But a million-dollar commission was too tempting. With that money, Leo’s surgery and subsequent recovery costs would all be covered. I pushed down my doubts and followed Mr. Peterson to South Hill Estates. The moment I pushed open the door to the luxurious private room. All the blood in my veins froze. On the leather sofa. Ethan Thorne had his legs crossed, a glass of red wine in his hand, looking at me with a half-smile. Serena Cross leaned against him, dressed in a Chanel maternity outfit, her face full of coy charm. There were a few other trust fund kids from their circle in the private room, all staring at me with expressions of eager anticipation. “Mr. Thorne, I’ve brought her.” Mr. Peterson bowed and fawned over him. I turned to leave. “Stop.” Ethan’s voice was cold. Two bodyguards immediately blocked the door. I turned back, looking at him coldly. “Mr. Thorne, if you’re buying, let’s see the house. If not, I need to get off work.” Serena let out a snicker. “Ethan, is this the stubborn woman you were talking about? Look at the state she’s in now.” She eyed my cheap professional outfit and my tanned, rough skin, her eyes full of disdain. “Heard you’re selling houses? Fine.” Serena pulled a stack of cash from her bag and tossed it onto the table. “Drink these three bottles of liquor on the table, and I’ll sign for this hundred-million-dollar villa with you.” On the table were three bottles of expensive, high-proof tequila. Mr. Peterson was frantically signaling me from the side. “Lily, drink it! This is Mr. Thorne and Ms. Cross doing you a favor!” I looked at the three bottles of tequila. I’m allergic to alcohol. Drinking this much could be fatal. Ethan looked at me, his eyes holding an air of condescending charity. “Lily, if you drink it, not only will this deal be credited to you, but I’ll cover all of Leo’s future treatment abroad.” He was certain I would concede. Just like every time he had used Leo to manipulate me over the past three years. I walked to the table. Serena’s smile grew wider. “A pauper is a pauper, willing to throw away her life for money.” I picked up a bottle of tequila. I unscrewed the cap. Then. With a flick of my wrist. “SPLASH!” The entire bottle of liquor was precisely doused all over Serena’s Chanel dress, worth hundreds of thousands.

“AHH—!” Serena shrieked, jumping up, the pungent smell of alcohol instantly filling the room. “You bitch! Are you crazy?!” She pointed at me, trembling with rage. Dead silence filled the private room. Everyone gasped. Mr. Peterson was so terrified his legs went weak, and he collapsed onto the floor. Ethan’s face instantly darkened to an extreme. He abruptly stood up and grabbed my wrist. His grip was so strong, it felt like he wanted to crush my bones. “Lily, are you asking to die?!” His voice was gritted through his teeth, filled with towering fury. I met his furious glare, a cold smile playing on my lips. “Mr. Thorne, didn’t Ms. Cross enjoy her drink? I just helped her with a little washing. No need to thank me.” I forcefully pulled my hand free. “Your dirty money? I find it disgusting.” “BANG!” I turned, kicked away the bodyguard blocking the door, and strode out of the private room. Behind me, I heard Serena’s crying and Ethan’s sound of smashing a glass. I walked along the tree-lined road outside South Hill Estates. The night wind blew, and I realized my back was completely soaked. In that moment, I was genuinely afraid. Ethan could crush me as easily as an ant. But I was even more afraid of bending my spine again. Returning to my rental room, I was utterly exhausted. As soon as I lay down, Mr. Peterson’s call came in. “Lily! Don’t bother coming in tomorrow! You crossed Mr. Thorne, and if you want to self-destruct, don’t drag the company down with you!” The call was abruptly cut off. I looked at the black screen of my phone and let out a bitter laugh. Another job gone. The next day, I started sending out resumes again. But this time, the situation was worse than before. The entire real estate industry had blacklisted me. I walked under the scorching sun, looking at the mere three thousand dollars left in my bank account, feeling a despair I’d never felt before. Was I truly no match for him? Just as I squatted on the curb, burying my face in my arms. A pair of gleaming black leather shoes stopped in front of me. “Ms. Lily, our CEO would like to see you.” A man in a sharp suit handed me a business card. “Sterling Group, CEO’s Executive Assistant.” I froze. Sterling Group? That was the only business giant that could contend with Thorne Industries. I followed the assistant to the CEO’s office on the top floor of the Sterling Group building. A tall, slender figure stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. Hearing footsteps, he turned around. His features were sharp, his gaze deep, exuding an aura of authority that needed no anger. Sterling Group CEO, Julian Vance. “Lily?” He eyed me, then gestured to the sofa opposite him. “Sit.” I sat down, a bit reserved. “Mr. Vance, you wanted to see me…” Julian pushed a file across the table to me. “I’ve seen the proposal you did in college for urban renewal. It was brilliant.” I paused. That was my work from junior year, which won a national gold award, but after I started being with Ethan, I never touched such things again. “Ethan Thorne is blacklisting you.” Julian said directly. “No one in New York would dare hire you but me.” He looked at me, his eyes sharp. “I’m giving you an opportunity. Sterling Group is bidding for the Southside land, and I need someone familiar with grassroots operations and with enough ambition.” “A base salary of ten thousand, five percent project commission. Fail, and you’re out.” Five percent! That Southside land was worth billions, so five percent was tens of millions! My breath hitched. “Why me?” I couldn’t help but ask. Julian smiled faintly. “Because yesterday at South Hill Estates, you poured a bottle of liquor on Serena Cross.” “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I like people with grit.” I took a deep breath, stood up, and nodded firmly, my voice steady. “Mr. Vance, I won’t let you down.” From that day on, I officially joined the Sterling Group. I worked like a maniac. Daytime, I was on-site, doing background checks; nights, I pulled all-nighters revising proposals. The Southside land was a complex situation, involving many resistant homeowners and long-standing disputes. I visited each family, doing individual outreach. Once, I was even bitten on the calf by a dog released by a grumpy homeowner. After getting my rabies shot, I hobbled back to knock on doors. Julian saw my relentless effort. He began to personally mentor me, teaching me the cunning and deception of the business world, teaching me how to read people. Under Julian’s guidance, my growth rate was astonishing. In just three months, I secured eighty percent of the demolition agreements for the Southside project. A week before the bidding conference. Ethan Thorne made his move.

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The night my wife was on a business trip, her male assistant sent me a photo. In the picture, they were naked, wrapped in each other’s arms, sleeping soundly. He even provocatively added a line: “Mr. Carter, your wife is mine now.” I didn’t reply. I opened the company SnapChat group, two hundred and thirty-six people online. I posted their intimate photo. “Congratulations to our assistant, Leon Miller. Effective immediately, he will also serve as CEO’s husband. Salary and benefits negotiable.” Then I turned off my phone and went to sleep. The next day, when I turned it back on, I had 136 missed calls. My wife was crying and cursing in her voicemails. But the only thing I wanted to say was: You picked him. You deal with him. My phone vibrated. I swiped to unlock it. Someone had sent me a picture. Kelly, my wife, and a man. They were naked, tangled together on white hotel sheets. Her cheeks were flushed in sleep, a faint smile on her lips. The man leaned in, kissed her forehead, and held up his phone for a selfie. Only half of his face was visible, his eyes full of triumph. I recognized him: Leon Miller, Kelly’s assistant. Below the photo, a line of text followed. “Mr. Carter, your wife’s quite good in bed. She’s mine now.” I stared at that line for a long time. My finger hovered over the screen. No reply. No anger. My heart felt like it was gripped by an icy hand, then that hand released, leaving only a hollow numbness. I exited the chat and opened another app, finding a group chat. “Carter Tech Group (236).” Two hundred and thirty-six people. Everyone from top management to junior staff, except the cleaning crew, was in it. I posted the intimate photo Leon had sent me in that group. Then, in the input box, I typed out each word, one by one. “Congratulations to Mr. Leon Miller, our company’s CEO assistant. Due to outstanding performance, he will also be taking on the role of CEO’s husband, effective immediately. Salary and benefits are negotiable. Please be informed.” Send. I scrolled to the group member list and found Kelly’s profile picture. It was a photo of us on the beach, her smiling brightly. I tapped on her picture, selected, and removed her from the group. Then I found Leon Miller. Removed from group. After doing all that, the world went quiet. I switched my phone to airplane mode. And tossed it onto the nightstand. The room was dark, curtains tightly drawn. This was our master bedroom. In our three years of marriage, Kelly had spent less than three months sleeping here, total. She said she was busy. The company was in its growth phase; she had to travel, attend events, hold meetings. She’d say, “Mason, you understand me.” I used to. I handed her the company I had founded, along with the “CEO” title. I told her, “Go chase your dreams. I’ll hold down the fort.” Now, her dream was caught, and the home was gone. Good riddance. I lay down and closed my eyes. For the first time in three years, I fell asleep so quickly.

Turning my phone back on was like detonating a bomb. The screen was plastered with layers of red notification badges. Texts, 99+. Missed calls, 136. Half from Kelly. Half from an unknown number, likely Leon Miller. A few more from Kelly’s parents. I opened my voicemail. The latest one, from Kelly, a minute ago. “Mason! You lunatic! You’ve ruined me! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” Her voice was sharp, hoarse, and tearful, like a rusty saw grating wood. “You sent the photo? In the company group chat?! Are you out of your mind?! What about the company’s stock price?! How am I supposed to face anyone?!” “You’re just a useless freeloader who hides at home! What else can you do besides these low-down tricks?!” “I’m telling you, you retract that message right now! You tell everyone it’s a Photoshopped picture! That you were drunk and joking! Do you hear me?!” “If you don’t do as I say, I’ll make sure you don’t get a single penny! You just wait!” The voicemail ended. I deleted it expressionlessly. Next. Still her. “Honey… Honey, I’m sorry… I’m really, truly sorry… Please, just give me another chance, okay…?” Her voice had done a complete 180, becoming soft, pitiful, punctuated by sobs. “He seduced me… He drugged me… I wasn’t willing… You’re the only one I love, Mason…” “Have you forgotten about us? Our love, our past…?” “Please, come home, okay? Let’s talk face to face, resolve this, don’t let outsiders laugh at us…” “Where are you now? Turn your phone on! Say something back to me…” I continued deleting. She was a good actress, always had been. In front of the board, the media, her parents. The perfect boss, the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. Unfortunately, I was the only, and the most sober, audience. I opened the company SnapChat group. Overnight, the group name had changed from “Carter Tech Group” to “CEO’s Husband Job Opening.” The group was in an uproar. Thousands of messages had already scrolled by. Some were shocked, some were gossiping, some were cursing me, and some subtly supported me. The company’s Vice President, Jayden Wells, a protégé I had personally promoted, posted a message in the group: “Mr. Carter, we all believe in you.” Dozens of “+1″s followed. I smiled faintly. My phone started vibrating wildly again. Caller ID: Kelly’s Mother. I answered. “Mason! You animal! Do you want to live or not?! What did you do to Kelly?!” On the other end of the line was Kelly’s mother’s familiar, booming roar. I held the phone away from my ear a bit. “I didn’t do anything,” I said calmly. “You didn’t do anything? You sent those pictures everywhere! How is your wife supposed to live with herself?! How are we supposed to face anyone?!” “I didn’t take that photo.” “I don’t care who took it! Can’t you, as a man, just be a little more accommodating to your wife? It’s so hard for Kelly, a young woman, to fight her way up out there! Do you know how much pressure she’s under?! So what if she made a mistake? Did you have to go to such extremes?!” Her logic was as twisted as ever. “So, if she makes a mistake, I’m supposed to take the fall?” I asked. “Otherwise, what? You’re her husband! If you don’t cover for her, who will?! I’m telling you, Mason, right now! Immediately! Go apologize to everyone! Say the photo was fake, that you were jealous of Kelly’s success and mentally unstable!” I fell silent. On the other end, Kelly’s mother thought I was intimidated and softened her tone. “Mason, listen to my advice. Married couples always work things out in the end. Kelly truly cares about you. Just give in a little, and this whole thing will blow over. We’re still family.” I cut her off. “You’re right. I’m her husband, and I should cover for her.” Kelly’s mother immediately brightened: “That’s right! You should have thought that way from the start!” I paused, then spoke each word distinctly. “So, I’ve prepared a big gift for her. Soon, you and she will both receive it.” With that, I hung up. And blocked her number.

The doorbell rang. As expected. I peered through the peephole. Kelly’s mother’s face, distorted with fury, was pressed against the lens. Behind her stood a timid Kelly’s father. “Mason! Open up! I know you’re in there! You coward, do you have the guts to do it but not to own up to it?!” She pounded forcefully on the reinforced door, creating loud thuds. I didn’t open the door. I leaned against the wall behind it and lit a cigarette. This was something I had quit three years ago. Kelly disliked the smell of smoke; she said it was for losers. Now, I picked it up again. The smoke billowed, making me cough a bit, but also clearing my head. The yelling from outside continued. From “bastard” and “ungrateful wretch” to “freeloader who lives off us.” She seemed to have forgotten that this marital home was purchased by me in full before we married, with only my name on the title. She also forgot that the red Porsche her daughter drove was my thirtieth birthday gift to her. She even more conveniently forgot that when “Carter Tech Group” was on the brink of bankruptcy, it was I who took out all my savings and mortgaged my parents’ house to give it a fighting chance. People’s memories are always so selective. After about half an hour of shouting, Kelly’s mother’s voice grew hoarse, and her strength gave out. Silence fell outside the door. I guessed she was brewing her next attack. Sure enough, my phone rang. It was Kelly’s father. I put out my cigarette and answered. “Mason…” Kelly’s father’s voice sounded tired and conflicted. “Can you… just open the door and let your mother in to talk? She’s outside, and the neighbors are watching…” “You know what she’ll say,” I replied. A silence fell on the other end. “Mason, I know Kelly was wrong. She… she was spoiled by us,” Kelly’s father sighed. “But, can you… for my sake, for the sake of your three years of marriage, not make things so big?” “For old times’ sake?” I laughed. “Three years ago, I handed the company to her, came home myself, cut off all my business, all my connections. Wasn’t that for old times’ sake?” “I took care of all the housework, letting her focus on her career outside, coming home to a hot meal and clean clothes. Wasn’t that for old times’ sake?” “Three hundred out of three hundred sixty-five days a year, she was traveling, networking, ‘expanding the empire.’ I never doubted, never complained. Wasn’t that for old times’ sake?” My voice was calm, but Kelly’s father’s breathing grew heavier on the phone. “I gave her everything I had. My career, my energy, my trust. What did she give me in return?” “A photo, and a message saying, ‘Your wife is mine now.’” “You tell me, who’s not considering ‘old times’ sake’ now?” Kelly’s father was completely speechless. After a long pause, he finally spoke in a near-pleading tone: “So… what exactly do you want?” “What do I want?” I walked to the peephole, watching Kelly’s mother lean against the wall, panting, her face full of resentment. “It’s simple.” I said into the phone, as if speaking to the people outside the door. “First, a divorce.” “Second, Kelly leaves with nothing.” “Third, ‘Carter Tech Group,’ I’m taking it back.” A gasp came from the phone, I couldn’t tell if it was Kelly’s father or mother. “You’re dreaming! Mason, you’re crazy!” Kelly’s mother’s roar erupted again, making my ears ache even through the door. I ignored her. “My message has been delivered. You can go home.” “As for the gift I prepared for Kelly…” I pulled open the curtains, the sunlight blinding. Downstairs, a black sedan had just pulled up. Two men in black suits stepped out, carrying briefcases. My lawyers. “The gift has arrived.” I hung up the phone and opened the door. Outside, Kelly’s mother was about to lunge forward, but seeing the two serious-faced lawyers behind me, her movements froze. I stepped aside, making a path. “Leo Rodriguez, Owen Davis, please come in.” I gave Kelly’s mother a smile, the most genuine smile I’d had in three years. “Care to come in and listen?”

Kelly’s mother’s face went from flushed to ashen, then from ashen to livid. Her lips trembled, and she pointed at me, unable to utter a single word for a long time. Kelly’s father steadied her, looking at me with a pleading expression. I ignored him. “Leo, please.” Leo Rodriguez nodded, opened his briefcase, and pulled out two documents. One was the divorce agreement. The other was a thick stack of papers. “Mr. Carter,” Leo Rodriguez’s voice was calm and professional, precise as a surgeon’s scalpel, “let’s discuss the simpler matter first.” He pushed the divorce agreement to the center of the table. “The core terms of this divorce agreement are that Ms. Kelly Carter voluntarily relinquishes all marital assets and leaves with nothing. Mr. Carter, considering past sentiment, is willing to waive any financial claims against Ms. Carter for marital misconduct.” “Bullshit!” Kelly’s mother finally found her voice, slamming her palm on the table. “This is blackmail! Why?! The company is Kelly’s! The house and car are half hers! Mason is dreaming if he thinks she’ll leave with nothing!” I remained silent, just making a “please continue” gesture. Leo Rodriguez adjusted his glasses and spread out the thick stack of materials. On top were several detailed expense reports. “Ms. Carter’s mother, please don’t get agitated. We propose this arrangement based on the utmost protection for Ms. Carter.” He pointed to one of the receipts. “Last May, Ms. Carter authorized a company expenditure of three hundred seventy thousand using the pretext of ‘overseas business inspection.’ This money was used to purchase a Patek Philippe men’s watch. According to our investigation, that watch is currently on Mr. Leon Miller’s wrist.” Kelly’s mother’s breathing hitched. Leo Rodriguez turned to another page. “Last October, Ms. Carter advanced fifty thousand in company reserves under the pretext of ‘expanding partner resources.’ This money was used to rent an apartment in the west for a year. The actual occupant of that apartment, however, is still Mr. Leon Miller.” “This January, for the ‘Annual Excellent Employee Award,’ Mr. Leon Miller’s bonus was two hundred thousand, far exceeding directors of the same level. The payout of this bonus was not approved by the board; it was unilaterally signed and approved by Ms. Carter.” With each item Leo Rodriguez listed, Kelly’s mother’s face grew paler. He tossed a stack of photos onto the receipts. In the photos, Leon Miller was driving a brand new BMW, entering high-end clubs, his luxury watch glinting on his wrist. “And these are just the tip of the iceberg,” Owen Davis added from beside him, his voice even colder. “Ms. Kelly Carter and Mr. Leon Miller are suspected of using their positions to embezzle company assets, amounting to a significant sum. According to criminal law Article 271, this constitutes embezzlement. For substantial amounts, the penalty is five years or more in prison.” “Five years… in prison?” Kelly’s father mumbled, his body swaying slightly. “So,” Leo Rodriguez concluded, “we now have two choices.” “Choice one, Ms. Carter signs this divorce agreement. We handle this as an internal family matter, and Mr. Carter will not sue or press charges. She only loses money.” He paused, his eyes sharpening. “Choice two, we reject this agreement. In that case, we will file a lawsuit with the court tomorrow and simultaneously report to the police. Then, Ms. Carter will face not only divorce and asset division but also a criminal investigation.” “At that point, news of ‘Carter Tech Group’ CEO cheating on her subordinate and conspiring to embezzle company assets, I imagine, would be quite spectacular.” The entire living room was dead silent. Only Kelly’s mother’s heavy breathing could be heard. She looked at the mountain of evidence on the table, then at my calm, unruffled face. The arrogance and fury in her eyes were finally replaced by fear. I picked up my now-cold coffee and took a sip. I looked at her. “Now, do you still think I’m dreaming?”

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When I was eighteen, Leo and I had our first time in a shabby motel room. Back then, he was driven by a wild, untamed passion, leaving me so swept away that I lost all sense of direction in the rush of first love. But when I was twenty-five, he sent me into the abortion clinic himself, all because of a Truth or Dare game with his female friend, Eve. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I was playing Truth or Dare with Eve last night, and I lost the baby as a forfeit.” “A baby can be conceived again, but a bet between guys can’t be reneged on. Just bear with it for a bit, okay?” His words made me tremble with horror: “You’d actually kill our baby for another woman? What kind of spell has she cast on you?” Leo’s face darkened, angered by my outburst. “You have the nerve to bring up Eve? Do you have any shame? Who in this world is more despicable than you?” “You’re like a slut, climbing into my bed willingly. You frequented that cheap motel more often than anyone else. What right do you, a woman of insatiable desire, have to criticize her!” That sentence shattered the last bit of my dignity. I gave up all resistance and walked into the operating room. Twenty-five-year-old Leo, I don’t love you anymore…

“Rachel.” Just as I was about to enter the operating room, Leo suddenly called out to me. He hung his head, his voice a little hoarse: “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I just couldn’t stand you targeting Eve. My words just slipped out.” As he draped a coat over me, Leo earnestly promised: “I’m a big businessman. If I lose my word, who will dare to work with me in the future? I don’t want to lose this baby either, but I can’t help it.” “I promise you, we’ll have another baby very soon.” Another baby? This was already my third child with Leo. To get pregnant with it, I’d had countless fertility shots; the dense needle marks on my waist hadn’t faded yet. The doctor had warned me many times that this baby might be the last one I could ever conceive. How could there be another? I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it was blocked by a razor blade. It hurt too much to utter a single word. Leo’s phone rang. On the other end, Eve impatiently urged: “Getting an abortion is taking forever. You’re not trying to back out, are you?” “Rachel’s not a newbie, why’s she being so dramatic? Hurry up and finish the dare, all of us guys are waiting for you to drink!” Eager to keep his appointment, Leo’s last shred of patience with me vanished. He perfunctorily kissed the back of my hand: “I have a business dinner, so I can’t stay for your surgery.” “Anyway, it’s not your first time, you know the drill. You got this, I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own.” Leo practically flew out the door, quickly slipping away. I clutched my stomach, swaying as I walked into the abortion room. The doctor pushed up her glasses, her gaze a mix of pity and contempt. “Your uterine wall is paper-thin. If you have another abortion, you really won’t be able to get pregnant again.” “If you don’t respect yourself, why should anyone else respect you?” My face flushed, too ashamed to meet the doctor’s eyes. Digging my nails into my palms, I forced myself to calmly tell the doctor: “Go ahead, I’ll take full responsibility for all consequences.” After signing the waiver, I stripped naked and was pushed into the operating room, utterly stripped of my dignity. A thick, long needle pierced my body without warning. The pain made me break out in a cold sweat, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper. Faintly, I heard the nurse’s dissatisfied grumbling: “This is her third time. Why act so fragile? Where was all this delicacy when she was having fun?” My consciousness began to fade. Along with the nurse’s voice, I seemed to see three adorable babies, holding hands, vanishing completely from my life… When I woke up, the surgery was over. No surprises, no miracles. This time, I had completely lost my ability to conceive. I numbly stuffed the surgical report into my bag, not a trace of sadness on my face. This heart, which had beaten countless times for Leo, and ached countless times, was finally dead. “Leo, we—” Back home, I pushed open the door. Before I could even suggest divorce, I was choked by a strong smell of smoke. I coughed violently, tears streaming down my face. Inside, a group of people were playing Truth or Dare. Leo had promised me he’d never bring his drinking parties home.

“Oh, your belly’s flat! Leo, you’re a real man, you honored the bet and actually got rid of your own child!” Eve excitedly touched my stomach, dramatically giving Leo a thumbs-up. Leo glanced at Eve triumphantly: “A bet’s a bet. When have I ever cheated you?” To ease the awkward atmosphere, one of Leo’s friends pulled me down to sit, trying to smooth things over: “Rachel, you’re such a good sport!” “Rachel, it’s rare for us to get together with you. Why don’t you join us today?” Leo frowned, instinctively moving to decline the invitation for me, but I cut him off coldly: “Sure, I’ll play.” I really wanted to see what kind of thrilling game would make Leo abandon his own flesh and blood. My luck was terrible; Eve and I played rock-paper-scissors multiple times, and I lost every round. Leo, fearing Eve would propose an overly extreme dare, volunteered to drink three penalty shots in my place. He gulped down shot after shot, stiffening his neck as he swallowed: “Rachel just had a miscarriage, I’ll drink for her.” Amidst chants of ‘Leo really cares for Rachel,’ Eve’s face grew increasingly sour. Finally, after I lost another round of rock-paper-scissors, Eve impatiently cursed: “What’s the damn point if you keep drinking for her? Women are just so slow. How many times have I said no women at our guys’ gatherings!” Leo, tipsy, tried to appease Eve with a smile, but I spoke first: “I choose truth.” Eve’s eyes lit up, her complaints vanishing instantly, replaced by a glint of excitement. She sneered, raising an eyebrow at me, both contemptuous and playfully venomous: “Alright, then I’ll start asking.” “Rachel’s had three abortions, so she must have been examined by plenty of male doctors. Why don’t you tell us guys which male doctor had the ‘best bedside manner’ and made you ‘most comfortable’? Hahahaha!” I clutched the wine glass tightly, my heart seizing up. Those two previous children were a lifelong pain, a secret between Leo and me. How did Eve know? “Tsk, no wonder Leo doesn’t want to sleep with you. You’ve been ‘inspected down there’ by a bunch of men. What normal man wouldn’t find that dirty? Even I, a woman, find it disgusting.” Eve’s grating laughter was like a sharp knife, stabbing my heart over and over. I could no longer suppress my anger and grief. I picked up the wine glass and splashed it on Eve’s face. It wasn’t enough to vent my fury, so I added a slap: “It definitely feels best when I’m slapping you.” Eve, mortified and furious, covered her face, her eyes wide as she glared at me. The sudden outburst stunned everyone in the room. Realizing what had happened, Leo furiously grabbed the back of my neck. *Smack! Smack! Smack!* He slapped me repeatedly, left and right. “Rachel, are you f**king crazy? It’s just a game, what right do you have to lay a hand on Eve!” “If you can’t take a joke, then don’t play! Besides, Eve was just telling the truth…”

Leo’s eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of alcohol. He went over to Eve, carefully blowing on her swollen half-face, his eyes filled with undisguised tenderness. As if to spite me, Leo hooked an arm around Eve’s shoulders and said, loud enough for everyone to hear: “Eve, you wanted to know which doctor Rachel enjoyed the most, right?” “I’ll tell you. The answer is the one today.” “Because – Rachel has only had one proper abortion. The first two children she aborted herself!” The room erupted in a collective gasp. Eve gasped, covering her mouth, her grin so wide it almost reached her ears: “You’re not kidding me, are you? Rachel is crazy, she actually aborted herself!” “You’re so rich, why would she abort herself? Is she a psychopath, or just seeking thrills? She really knows how to play!” Eyes fell on me, some with shock, some with contempt. “She’s had three abortions, her uterus must be completely ruined. Do you think Rachel can still have kids?” “If she can’t, there’s always our Eve! Leo can have kids with Eve. Eve’s probably still a virgin. What can that slut compare to?” Eve bounced over to the man who spoke, playfully punching him twice: “Oh, stop it! Leo and I are just buddies, okay? No kids!” “But you’re right about one thing, I am pure…” Eve rarely showed such shyness. Leo ruffled her hair, smiling dotingly, and everyone else burst into laughter. Looking at their disgusting, laughing faces, I nearly threw up. Tears touched my swollen skin, sending waves of sharp, stinging pain through me. I shook my head frantically, trying to dislodge those painful memories. But memories, like a tidal wave, engulfed me. When I was eighteen, I got into college. The orphanage couldn’t pay my tuition, so I had to work at a auto repair shop. But the meager wages couldn’t cover my tuition and living expenses, and I started thinking about dropping out. Leo, who was also an apprentice at the repair shop, cornered me against a wall, his eyes red as he promised: “Keep studying, I’ll support you.” From then on, Leo repaired cars during the day, hauled bricks at night, and did manual labor late into the night. In the prime of his youth, he almost burned himself out for me. Every time we met, besides giving me money, he only told me to study hard, never once complaining. When he heard I was being bullied by classmates, Leo rushed into the school with a knife and stabbed himself three times in front of everyone, blood splattering everywhere. He said: “Anyone who dares to bully Rachel again, this is what happens. I’d even stab myself, what else wouldn’t I dare to do?” From then on, even the flies in the school avoided me. I grew up in an orphanage, starved for love since childhood. Meeting a man like that, it was truly hard not to fall in love. To cling to that bit of warmth, I was willing to give everything. In that thirty-dollar rundown motel, I confessed my feelings to Leo, clinging to him and trying again and again. Later, that became our regular spot. He was like a wild wolf, always fiercely breaking through the cheap condoms. Because of that, I got pregnant twice. Without money for a proper hospital, I had to find a way to abort myself. I blindly swallowed expired abortion pills, then deliberately tumbled down the stairs. Once wasn’t enough, so twice, then three times. This method was incredibly cruel to both me and the baby. Leo hated himself for it. To avoid harming me again, he even underwent a vasectomy at a black market clinic, almost losing his ability to conceive altogether. He said he owed me for life. He would work twice as hard, pushing himself to the limit. He would make me happier than anyone else, ensuring I’d never live through such hardship again. Life did get better, but Leo’s heart changed. The lifelong pain I dared not touch had now become his talking point. As long as it made Eve smile, he didn’t mind stabbing me again and again in my most vulnerable spot. I furiously grabbed a wine bottle and smashed it over Leo’s head: “Game over.” “Get out, all of you, get out!” Leo’s friends tactfully dispersed, and Eve was reluctantly pulled away.

Leo was knocked unconscious by my blow and didn’t wake up until noon the next day. He clutched his head in pain, dimly recalling what happened yesterday. Leo took my hand and hit his own face with it: “Honey, drunks don’t know what they’re doing.” “Slap me back, I promise I won’t fight back. As for the abortion thing… I’ll go clarify it for you right away. With me around, let’s see whose dead mouth dares to spread rumors.” Looking at Leo’s shameless demeanor, I calmly said: “Let’s get a divorce.” Leo smiled helplessly, his pinky finger lightly hooking my strands of hair. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum, wanting to be intimate with me and coax me into forgiving him, just like before. His phone rang. Leo glanced at the caller ID, quickly pulled his hand away, and answered. “Eve, what’s wrong?” “What else? I lost a dare. I tell you, I’m pretty unlucky this time, the punishment is to get a room with one of the guys, and we have to go all the way!” “They’re all laughing, saying I wouldn’t dare, but you know me, I always honor a bet! I choose you to get the room with.” Leo’s breathing hitched. He looked up, observing my expression, then quickly refused: “Don’t be reckless, you idiot. Just forfeit.” “You don’t want to? Humph, then I’ll find someone else~” Leo panicked, immediately agreeing without thinking: “Eve, I dare you! Send me the hotel location, I’ll be right there.” Leo anxiously slipped on his shoes, not even bothering to look at me: “Eve is naive and overly competitive. If I don’t go, she’ll definitely be taken advantage of by some other guy.” “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll go talk some sense into her, I’ll definitely convince her not to do it!” I followed Leo’s car, tailing him all the way to the hotel. Posing as his wife, I got a room key, then burst in, phone in hand. *Click! Click!* I captured both of them, faces flushed and stark naked. When she saw me taking pictures, Eve shrieked: “Rachel, delete those photos right now! Leo and I were just doing a Truth or Dare punishment. Can’t you be less petty?!” Leo, his face red, pulled the blanket to cover his lower body, stammering an explanation to me: “Eve is too stubborn, she insisted on completing the dare. I couldn’t help it…” “But don’t worry, I only see her as a buddy. This is a one-time thing, absolutely no next time.” “Listen, Rachel, delete the photos. Eve is still a girl, how will she ever get married if these get out?” I couldn’t help but laugh. Caught red-handed in bed, and he’s still calling them ‘good buddies.’ I calmly tucked my phone into my pocket. Seeing I was unmoved, Leo’s face gradually darkened. He pulled out his phone and started playing a blurry video. It was the video of me falling down the stairs to abort myself when I was eighteen. Leo had secretly kept this video on his phone, captioned ‘Lifelong Regret.’ Whenever he got too tired from working hard, he’d watch it once to motivate himself. Watching it always gave him the drive to keep going. Now, that former regret had become a bargaining chip to threaten me. “Rachel, if you dare to spread those photos, I’ll post this video online! Everyone will see your ugly state of secretly getting an abortion, how you killed your own flesh and blood!” Through my tears, I smiled calmly: “Don’t worry, I won’t spread it.” “I’m not here to fight the other woman, nor am I here to break up you two loving ‘besties’.” “I just want to keep some evidence. In court, it might help with our asset division.” With that, I turned and walked away without a trace of hesitation. In the empty, themed suite, Eve pouted, rolling her eyes as she asked: “Hey, is she really serious this time?” Leo instinctively shook his head: “No way! She’s an orphan, no family, no home. Where could she go without me?” “I’ll contact the hospital right away to arrange the next IVF. Rachel loves children so much, she’ll calm down immediately.” Leo called the hospital, but the nurse on the other end responded with confusion: “Don’t you know? After the last abortion surgery, Rachel completely lost her ability to conceive.”

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I paid $2,500 for a live-in housekeeper to look after my cat and house while I was away for eighteen days. The night I returned, I stood at my front door, dragging two suitcases. I typed the password three times. The screen flashed red: *Incorrect password.* I thought my brain was fried from a dozen hours on the plane. I glanced down at my phone memo. No, it was right. 0529. That was the temporary password I’d set for Maggie, the housekeeper, before I left. I typed it again. Still incorrect. Suddenly, a man’s voice came from inside: “Who is it? Annoying! Stop pressing the button, my kid’s sleeping.” I froze. This was clearly my home. Standing at my own front door, I was being told off by a stranger inside. I rang the doorbell. After about ten seconds, the door opened a crack. A man in his thirties peered out, his hair messy, wearing the grey slippers I kept by the door. He looked me up and down. “Who are you looking for?” I stared at the slippers on his feet. “I think that’s my question.” The man frowned. “Who are *you*?” “I’m the owner of this apartment.” His expression stiffened. He turned and yelled into the house, “Mom! The landlord’s back!” Landlord? My blood boiled. The door swung fully open. I saw a little boy sitting in the living room, watching cartoons on my tablet. Takeout boxes were scattered on the table, and some children’s clothes were tossed on the sofa. The balcony door was half-open, and a mix of smoke and cooking smells wafted out. On my white carpet, there was a dark brown food stain. In the kitchen, a woman with permed hair emerged, holding a pot. She paused when she saw me. The enamel pot in her hand was one I’d paid over $450 for. Before I could speak, the master bedroom door opened. Maggie walked out. She was wearing my silk robe. I’d washed that robe and stored it deep inside my closet before leaving. “Ms. Vance, what are you doing back today?” Her tone was so natural, as if she were asking why I was home early from work. I looked at her. “It’s my own home, can’t I come back?” Maggie’s face looked a little awkward, but she quickly smiled. “That’s not what I meant. Didn’t you say you’d be back on the second?” “I changed my flight, came back two days early.” I pointed at the people in the living room. “Who are they?” Before Maggie could speak, the man said, “I’m her son.” The woman from the kitchen chimed in, “I’m her daughter-in-law.” The little boy on the sofa held up the tablet. “Grandma, I want yogurt!” I let out a laugh. “So I paid $2,500 for a housekeeper, went on vacation, and came back to find your whole family living in my house?” Maggie’s face darkened. “Ms. Vance, that’s a bit much. An old woman like me, living in a big house like this, gets scared. So I had my family come keep me company. What’s wrong with that?” “Keep you company?” I stepped further inside. Carter blocked the doorway. “Hey, hold on, don’t come in. The kid just fell asleep.” I stared at him. “Move.” He didn’t budge. Maggie quickly intervened, “Carter, don’t argue with Eleanor. Ms. Vance, everyone’s had a long day. Let’s talk tomorrow.” “I’ll talk now.” I put my suitcases by the door, pulled out my phone, and opened a photo of the contract. “My contract with the domestic services agency is for eighteen days of live-in service, costing $2,500. The contract clearly states that the service provider is you, Maggie, alone. You’re to stay in the housekeeper’s room, no outsiders are allowed to stay overnight, the master bedroom is off-limits, and you are not to touch the owner’s personal belongings.” I looked up at the robe she was wearing. “Now, explain yourself.” Maggie’s face fell. She tugged the robe’s tie tighter. “My clothes were still wet from washing. What’s wrong with borrowing one of yours? It’s not like I ruined it.” Mia, her daughter-in-law, put the pot on the stove. “Ms. Vance, right? Your house is just sitting empty anyway. What’s the harm in us staying for a few days? Is it going to collapse?” I looked at her. “You’re using my kitchen, sleeping in my room, wearing my clothes, and now you’re asking me, ‘a few days’?” Mia rolled her eyes. “Wealthy people are always so particular.” Carter leaned against the shoe rack, his tone sharp. “My mom’s been here, working her butt off taking care of your house and cat. And you come back and give us a hard time? What’s the deal?” That’s when I remembered my cat. “Where’s my cat?” Maggie’s eyes darted away. “On the balcony.” I pushed past Carter and walked to the balcony. He reached out to stop me. “What are you doing?” “Seeing my cat.” In the corner of the balcony, my cat was curled up in its bed, its fur matted. The water bowl was empty. The litter box was overflowing. I crouched down and called to it. It looked up at me, its voice hoarse, barely a meow. I couldn’t hold back my fury any longer! “Maggie.” I turned to her. “Those photos you sent me every day, where did they come from?” She stammered. “I took them.” “The water bowl’s empty, the litter box is like this, and you tell me you’ve been taking care of it every day?” Maggie frowned. “Cats are sensitive animals; I’m not a vet!” I stood up. “All of you, get out of my house. Now.” Carter scoffed. “Where are we supposed to go at this hour? Besides, my mom’s contract isn’t even over yet.” I looked at him. “The contract is for her to work, not for me to hand my house over to your family.” Maggie suddenly sat on the sofa, slapping her thigh. “Oh, these young women today, they turn on you in an instant! Before she left, it was all sweet talk, ‘just leave the house to me, take whatever you need.’ Now she’s back and kicking us out.” She pulled out her phone. “I have a voice message!” I watched her coldly. She played the voice message. It was from the day I left. “Maggie, I really appreciate you taking care of things around the house for this period. Cat food is in the cabinet, you can eat the groceries in the fridge, and let me know if you need anything.” Maggie held up the phone. “Listen, she herself said to leave the house to me.” I looked at her face. In that instant, I knew. This person wasn’t confused. She knew exactly what she was doing.

I called Mr. Anderson at the agency. When he answered, I only said one thing: “The housekeeper you sent brought her whole family to live in my house.” Mr. Anderson was silent for two seconds. “Ms. Vance, please don’t get agitated. I’ll be right there.” I also called property management. Twenty minutes later, Mr. Brown from property management arrived with two security guards. Ten minutes after that, Mr. Anderson arrived. As soon as he walked in, he saw the group of people in the living room and clearly paused. But he quickly put on a smile. “Ms. Vance, there must be some misunderstanding here.” I pointed at the slippers on Carter’s feet. “A misunderstanding so deep he’s wearing my slippers?” Then I pointed to the master bedroom. “A misunderstanding so deep they’re sleeping in my bed?” Then I pointed to the balcony. “A misunderstanding so deep my cat’s in this condition?” Mr. Anderson’s face stiffened a bit. Maggie immediately stood up. “Mr. Anderson, you have to speak fairly for me. I was scared living here alone, so I asked my family to come see me. What’s the problem?” Mr. Anderson nodded. “Maggie is quite elderly, and working alone in an unfamiliar environment can be stressful.” I looked at him. “Your contract says psychological stress allows bringing the whole family?” Mr. Anderson cleared his throat. “A contract is a contract, but we need a little compassion in real-world situations, don’t we?” “Compassion?” I flipped to the sixth clause of the contract and shoved the screen in front of his eyes. “The service provider is prohibited from bringing any unauthorized persons into the owner’s residence. Upon a single violation, the owner reserves the right to immediately terminate the contract and demand compensation for damages from the service provider.” Mr. Anderson glanced at it, then smiled. “Ms. Vance, don’t be so rigid about this. The most important thing now is to resolve the issue.” I asked, “How do we resolve it?” He said, “It’s really too late tonight. Let Maggie’s family stay one night, and I’ll arrange for them to move out tomorrow.” I laughed, exasperated. “Now I’m back in my own home, and I have to give up a night for them?” Carter chimed in from the side, “If you want to stay, just stay. There are plenty of rooms.” I looked at him. “Where will you sleep?” “The master bedroom.” “Then where will *I* sleep?” Carter shrugged. “The guest room works too.” I looked at Mr. Anderson. “Did you hear that?” Mr. Anderson quickly said, “Carter, say less.” Maggie also said, “Ms. Vance, what difference does it make where you sleep alone? Our family has a child; we can’t sleep on the floor.” I asked her, “Did you ask me when you were living in my master bedroom?” She was stubborn. “I kept it spotless for you.” I walked to the master bedroom doorway. Their bedding was on the bed, and Maggie’s reading glasses were next to the pillow. There was a half-empty coffee mug on the nightstand, with a dried coffee ring. My closet door was open. A row of my clothes was rummaged through. My pajamas, robe, and scarves had all been moved. On the vanity, my face cream was all dug out, and two of my lipsticks were missing. I turned to Mia. Her eyes flickered. “Why are you looking at me?” “Who used my cosmetics?” Mia crossed her arms. “You have so many things; you suspect people just because one or two are missing? Do you have proof?” Just then, the little boy ran over, holding my tablet. “Mommy, this is out of battery!” I reached out and took the tablet back. There was a new crack on the edge of the screen. I took a deep breath. A voice in my head kept reminding me: *Don’t get physical, don’t get yourself into trouble.* I turned to Mr. Brown from property management. “Property management is now witnessing my demand for these unauthorized persons to leave immediately.” Mr. Brown looked at Maggie, then at me, his expression troubled. “Ms. Vance, in principle, this is your property, and outsiders certainly shouldn’t be staying. But you invited the housekeeper in yourself, and as for how her family entered, it’s difficult for us at property management to enforce removal.” “If you can’t enforce it, I’ll call the police.” At that, Carter immediately raised his voice. “Call the police then! My mom’s working for you, who are you trying to scare?” Maggie began to cry. “I’ve been slaving away for her here, and in less than twenty days, the first thing she does when she comes back is call the police to kick me out. Mr. Anderson, look at this, who would dare take this job after this?” I said, “I hired you for eighteen days; today is the sixteenth. You charge over a hundred dollars a day. Did you take care of the cat? Did you clean? You let your whole family move in, and now you’re turning it around on me?” Mr. Anderson quickly intervened. “Ms. Vance, don’t be so absolute. The lady didn’t mean any harm, she’s just having a bit of a tough time right now.” “What kind of tough time?” Carter sneered. “Our house is being renovated, so we have nowhere to stay temporarily. Your place is empty, and my mom works here. What’s wrong with staying for a few days?” I looked at him. “So you intended to move in from the start.” Carter realized he’d let something slip and shut his mouth. Mia, however, wasn’t afraid. “We didn’t stay for free; my mom’s working for you.” I picked up my phone and dialed 911. Mr. Anderson’s face finally changed. “Ms. Vance, don’t involve the police; there’s no need.” I looked at him. “Now there is.”

Two police officers arrived, one in his forties and a younger one. I showed them the contract, payment records, and SnapChat messages. I also explained the situation in the house. The older officer, Officer Miller, listened, then looked at Maggie. “Are you the domestic services worker?” Maggie wiped her tears. “Yes, I’m here to work. Before she left, she told me to leave the house to me, so I thought I’d let my son come stay for a couple of days. I really didn’t mean anything else.” Officer Miller asked, “How many days has your family been staying?” Maggie didn’t speak. Carter said, “Not many days.” I interjected, “The smart lock records show they arrived the evening of the second day. Today is the sixteenth day.” Carter glared at me. “You even check that?” I said, “It’s my own home’s lock record, why wouldn’t I check?” Officer Miller looked at Carter. “The owner doesn’t agree, so you need to leave.” Carter said, “It’s too late now.” Officer Miller checked his watch. “It’s 9:40 PM, that’s not late.” Mia, holding her child, began to cry. “The child has kindergarten tomorrow; where are you going to make us go?” I bit my tongue, but couldn’t help saying, “Is the kindergarten operating *from* my master bedroom?” Mia’s face flushed red. “How can you be so mean-spirited?” Maggie suddenly clutched her chest. “I’m dizzy.” Mr. Anderson quickly supported her. “Ma’am, ma’am, are you okay?” Maggie slumped onto the sofa, her voice weak. “I have high blood pressure; I can’t handle stress.” Watching her act, I felt a chill in my heart. This wasn’t her first performance. She was too practiced. Officer Miller frowned. “If you’re not feeling well, call 911.” Maggie immediately waved her hand. “No, no, I’ll be fine after resting a bit.” Mr. Anderson said to me, “Ms. Vance, given the lady’s condition, moving out tonight is definitely unrealistic. Tomorrow morning, by 10 AM, I’ll personally come supervise their departure.” I asked Officer Miller, “Can that be written down?” Officer Miller nodded. “We can write up an incident report. The family must vacate by 10 AM tomorrow, the housekeeping service will be terminated, and any outstanding fees or damages can be handled through your contract or through legal action.” Carter muttered under his breath, “Such a hassle.” Officer Miller looked at him. “Care to repeat that?” Carter fell silent. After the incident report was written, Maggie reluctantly gave me a new password. I stood at the door and typed it in. The door opened. I asked, “Why did you change the password?” Maggie’s eyes darted away. “The kid was messing with it and locked us out, so my daughter-in-law helped set a new one.” I looked at Mia. She was looking down at her phone, pretending not to hear. I went inside and put the cat into its carrier first. Maggie grew anxious. “If you take the cat, how am I supposed to provide service?” I turned back to her. “You still remember ‘service’?” Her face went pale. I then went to the study to get my documents and laptop. There were new scratches on the study door handle. I pulled open the drawer; my passport was still there, and so was my property deed. The lock on the black storage cabinet hadn’t been touched. Inside were several lenses from the studio, two wristwatches, and a handbag. These were equipment and samples from photography projects Jason and I worked on. They had invoices and serial numbers, and I usually kept them insured in my study. I had specifically locked the cabinet before leaving the country. I touched the lock, feeling a little relieved. But the two SnapChat cameras in the living room were both unplugged. I asked Maggie, “Who unplugged the cameras?” She said, “The red light kept flashing; it was creepy.” “The contract states there’s surveillance in the living room and study, which are common areas.” She retorted, righteous, “An old woman like me, being watched by you here, who could stand it?” I didn’t bother to argue further. But I knew there was another camera, disguised as a smoke detector, on top of the study cabinet. It had been installed after a pipe leak the year before, connected to an independent power source, and its angle only covered the study doorway and the storage cabinet. It was also mentioned in the contract appendix. They probably hadn’t noticed. I carried the cat carrier and dragged my suitcases out. Maggie called out from behind me, “Ms. Vance, we’ll definitely be gone by ten tomorrow. Don’t worry.” I didn’t look back. I checked into a hotel near the apartment complex entrance. At the vet clinic, the doctor took one look at my cat and said it was dehydrated and had mild gastroenteritis. “Its drinking and bathroom habits haven’t been normal lately, have they?” I nodded. The doctor asked, “Who was taking care of it?” I said, “Someone I paid.” The doctor sighed. “We need to start an IV.” I sat in the hospital corridor, watching my cat curled up in its cage. I paid $2,500 for peace of mind. What I got instead was a house full of strangers.

The next day, at 9:50 AM, I arrived at my front door. Mr. Brown from property management was also there. Mr. Anderson wasn’t. I called him. He answered after a long pause. “Ms. Vance, I have an urgent meeting right now. You talk to Maggie first; I’ll be there soon.” I didn’t waste words; I hung up. At exactly 10 AM, I typed the new password Maggie had given me last night. Incorrect. I typed it again. Still incorrect. Mr. Brown frowned. “Changed again?” I called Maggie. No answer. I called Carter. He answered. His voice was lazy. “What do you want?” “Open the door.” “My mom’s not feeling well; we can’t move today.” “The police incident report last night stated you must vacate by 10 AM.” “Then go find the police.” I said, “Open the door.” Carter scoffed. “Ms. Vance, don’t be so aggressive. We can move, but you need to pay my mom’s fees.” “I’ve already paid the agency in full.” “That’s between you and the company. My mom’s been taking care of your house these past few days, and our family helped out too. Care fees, moving fees, lost wages — it adds up to fifteen hundred.” I almost laughed out loud. “You lived in my house, and now you want moving fees from me?” Carter said, “You bought such a big house, what’s a little more money?” I glanced at Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown looked down at the ground, pretending not to hear. I said into the phone, “I’m giving you ten minutes. If you don’t open the door, I’ll call the police again.” Carter’s voice turned cold. “Calling the police won’t help. A service dispute? The police aren’t going to physically remove us!” He hung up after that. I stood at the door, my palms clammy. Mr. Anderson then sent me a SnapChat message: “Ms. Vance, Maggie really isn’t feeling well; please be understanding. They won’t occupy the house; they’ll move as soon as she feels better.” I replied: “If you don’t move by 12 PM today, I’m pursuing legal action.” He replied after a long pause: “You’ll only make things worse.” I stared at that sentence for a few seconds. My mind suddenly felt very calm. Worse? The locks have been changed, the password’s been reset. How much worse can it get? At noon, they hadn’t moved. At 3 PM, I went up again with property management. I could hear the TV and a child laughing inside. I rang the doorbell. No one answered. I knocked on the door. Carter yelled from inside, “Stop knocking! The kid’s taking his nap!” I said, “Open the door.” The door opened a crack, with the security chain still on. Carter showed half his face. “I told you, we can’t move today.” I asked, “Did you touch any of my things?” He scoffed. “Who cares about your junk?” I said, “If anything is missing from the study cabinet, I will report it to the police.” His face changed slightly, then quickly returned to normal. “Who are you trying to scare?” The door slammed shut. I didn’t leave. I took the fire escape down one floor, then circled back to the emergency stairs. The fire door on the twenty-third floor didn’t muffle sound well. They probably thought I had left, as the door wasn’t tightly shut. Fragments of their conversation drifted out. Mia was saying, “I’ve listed those bags online. Someone’s asking if they can see them in person.” Carter said, “Don’t list the bags yet; they’re too conspicuous. Those two watches in the study cabinet are valuable, easy to turn into cash.” Maggie lowered her voice. “She looked at that cabinet yesterday; don’t mess with it.” Carter was impatient. “She’s just a woman, what can she do? A couple of threats and she’ll back down.” Mr. Anderson’s voice was also there. “Don’t make it too obvious. If she complains, I can stall her. Just say the housekeeping service isn’t finished and there’s a dispute over the fees.” Maggie said, “She even said she’d call the police. So what? I’m sixty. If I just lie down on the ground, who would dare touch me?” Mia laughed. “Mom, you were really good yesterday.” Everyone laughed. Carter added, “Let’s stay until the end of the month. She has money for a hotel; she’s the one who’ll be desperate.” Mr. Anderson reminded them, “If you really sell the stuff, find someone you know. Don’t leave any records.” Mia said, “Don’t worry, I’ll use a burner account.” I stood behind the fire door, listening, my fingertips numb. So they never intended to leave from the start. “Not feeling well,” “the child has nowhere to go”—all just excuses. I recorded their conversation on my phone until their laughter faded. My chest felt like a burning iron block. I endured it all night, gave them chances, called property management, involved the police, reasoned with the contract. They thought I was easy to bully. They said I was just a woman. They said I was the one who was desperate. I turned and went downstairs, walking to the flower beds in the complex, and called Jason. “Jason, I need a favor.” “Name it.” “Send me all the purchase and sales contracts, invoices, serial numbers, and insurance policies for the studio’s equipment and samples. Also, get your lawyer friend to review the evidence with me tonight.” Jason paused. “Is something wrong?” I looked up at the light on the twenty-third floor and said softly, “Someone moved into my home. I’m going to make them regret it bitterly.” Jason cursed. I said, “Don’t rush.” “Since they think I’m weak, I’ll let them show their true colors.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409063”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I made ninety-nine calls. My brother, Caleb Reed, lay in the emergency room. He had a rare blood type, and only my husband, Nathaniel Thorne’s, private medical facility’s blood bank had a matching supply. Every call went unanswered. Finally, his phone went straight to voicemail. At 3 AM, Caleb stopped breathing. I knelt in the hallway, my hands still stained with his blood, when my phone screen lit up—Nate Thorne’s assistant had sent me a photo. In the picture, Nate was embracing his assistant, kissing her hair, with a fervor in his eyes I’d never seen in our three years of marriage. Her name was Sophia Smith. She was his first love, the student he’d funded for ten years, “the only woman he ever wanted to marry” in his diary. And I? I was just a stand-in who resembled her, a free, top-tier private physician, used to prolong Sophia’s life. The next day, he rushed back, apologizing while holding me: “Evelyn, my phone fell in the water, I didn’t see your calls.” I didn’t make a scene. I just smiled and handed him two documents. He signed them without even looking. He didn’t know they were divorce papers.

Evelyn Reed POV I had just finished a surgery. I peeled off my gloves, wearily rubbing my temples. As the youngest Associate Director of Urology at a top New York hospital, I was long accustomed to high-intensity work. The moment I pushed open my office door, a jacket with a familiar perfume scent was draped over my shoulders. Nate Thorne stood behind me, holding a lunchbox, his eyes so tender they could drown you: “Evelyn, did the surgery go well? Did you skip lunch again?” For three years, Nate had doted on me, making me the envy of every socialite in New York. He would cancel transnational meetings to be with me when I worked night shifts. If I casually mentioned “wanting to see the ocean,” he’d charter a private jet that very night to take me to Los Angeles. He respected my profession, even donating an entire urology research center in my name. Aside from the fact that during intimacy he always preferred to hold me tightly from behind, insistently demanding I repeat his name and never close my eyes, he was almost a perfect husband. I once believed I was the luckiest woman in the world. Until three days ago, when my younger brother, Caleb, suffered acute renal failure complicated by cardiac arrest. That day, New York was hit by a rare torrential downpour. I knelt outside the emergency room, my hands covered in Caleb’s blood, trembling as I dialed Nate’s number. Caleb had a rare blood type, and only Nate’s private medical facility’s blood bank had a matching supply. I made ninety-nine calls. Every single one was cut off. Finally, his phone went straight to voicemail. Caleb stopped breathing at 3 AM. I didn’t even have the strength to cry, sitting stiffly outside the door like a shell drained of its soul. My phone screen lit up. It was a photo from Nate’s personal assistant. Perhaps an accident, perhaps intentional. In the picture, the streets of San Francisco were bathed in bright sunshine. Nate had shed his suit, wearing a casual white shirt, tightly embracing a woman in a white dress. Her face was buried in his chest, and Nate, head bowed, was kissing her hair. The fervor in his eyes, the relief of having something lost finally found, was something I’d never witnessed in our three years together. The woman’s name was Sophia Smith. She was Nate’s first love, and the student he had funded for ten years. The cold draft in the hallway chilled my thin dress to the bone. I repeatedly zoomed in on the photo, meticulously examining every detail, suddenly feeling a wave of nausea. I leaned against the wall, dry-heaving. So that was it. He wasn’t busy. He was simply with the woman he truly loved. Nate returned to New York the day after Caleb’s funeral. He pushed open the front door and saw me sitting on the sofa, noticeably thinner, with sunken eyes. I saw a flicker of panic in Nate’s eyes. He hurried over, pulling me into his embrace, his voice thick with self-reproach: “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. There was an emergency at the San Francisco branch; I flew over immediately. My phone fell in the water and broke. I couldn’t be with you for Caleb’s funeral, and it’s all my fault.” He kissed my forehead, his tone humble: “You can hit me, yell at me, whatever you want, any compensation, I’ll give it to you.” I didn’t struggle, letting him hold me. My face rested against his expensive shirt, and I caught a faint scent of rose perfume that wasn’t mine. It was Sophia’s favorite scent. It felt like a piece had been brutally gouged from my heart, a pain so profound it left me numb. I calmly pushed him away, took two documents from my bag, flipped to the last page, and handed him a pen. “Nate, I just need you to sign these two documents.” Nate exhaled in relief. Without even glancing at them, he signed his name on both papers. “Evelyn, what’s mine is yours. Forget signing; I’d give you my life.” He smiled, touching my stomach. “You’ve been throwing up a lot lately. Are you having stomach issues? I’ll take you to the hospital for a check-up tomorrow.” I looked at the signed documents, my eyes devoid of all emotion. “No need,” I stood up, my voice as light as a whisper, “I’ll go by myself.”

Evelyn Reed POV The next morning, I went to the hospital alone. Not to my urology department, but to obstetrics and gynecology. On the ultrasound report, a tiny gestational sac was securely implanted. Four weeks. This was Nate’s and my child. For three years of marriage, Nate had been meticulous about birth control. He said he couldn’t bear for me to suffer through childbirth, wanting a few more years of just the two of us. This unexpected pregnancy was because of his birthday a month ago; he’d gotten drunk and uncontrollably made love to me all night. I sat on a bench in the hospital corridor, holding the report, my hand gently resting on my flat abdomen. If Caleb were still alive, if I hadn’t seen that photo, I would probably be excitedly throwing myself into Nate’s arms right now, telling him the good news. But now, I only felt a bitter irony. My phone vibrated. It was Nate calling. “Evelyn, are your tests done? I’ll come pick you up.” His voice was still gentle. Before I could speak, a delicate female voice suddenly came from the other end: “Nate, I can’t find my medicine…” Nate’s breathing hitched, and he immediately covered the mouthpiece, but I still caught his hushed cooing: “Don’t worry, it’s in the second drawer on the left. I’ll be right there.” When he spoke to me again, his tone held a hint of urgency: “Evelyn, there’s an emergency company meeting. Can you go home by yourself? Be careful.” “Okay.” I hung up abruptly. I didn’t go home. Instead, I went to Nate’s private apartment downtown. It was Nate’s forbidden territory, cleaned only by trusted hourly workers. I had never interfered with his privacy before, but today, I used a spare key Nate had casually left in his car to open that door. The apartment was spotless, arranged warmly and full of a lived-in feel. I pushed open the bedroom door, and my whole body froze. The walls were covered with photos of Nate and Sophia. From high school to college, from innocent to mature. In every photo, Nate’s smile was so unrestrained, a vivacity I had never seen in him. The dresser was laden with Sophia’s favorite rose perfumes; the closet held custom-made dresses in Sophia’s size. My hands trembling, I pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside lay a thick diary and a stack of medical records. The name on the medical records was Sophia Smith. Diagnosis: Congenital renal insufficiency. My breath caught in my throat. As a urologist, I was all too familiar with this condition. I opened the diary, Nate’s handwriting stinging my eyes. “Sophia got married and moved to San Francisco with that man. She said she didn’t want to burden me. How could I ever resent her?” “I met a woman named Evelyn Reed. She wore a white coat, and in some ways, she resembled Sophia. More importantly, she was the best urologist in New York.” “I married Evelyn Reed. I funded a research center for her, established a dedicated fund. As long as her team could achieve this medical breakthrough, Sophia would be saved.” “Every day, I hold Evelyn Reed, closing my eyes and imagining the person in my arms is Sophia. Only then can I endure the nights without Sophia.” The last page of the diary was dated three days ago. “Sophia got divorced, and her illness flared up. I flew to San Francisco to pick her up. I just need her to be alive.” *Smack!* The diary fell to the floor. I covered my mouth, gasping for air, tears scalding as they hit my hand. So that was it. No wonder he always held me from behind. No wonder he poured money into my research. No wonder he never let me into his private circle. I wasn’t a wife; I was just a free, top-tier private physician who resembled his first love. I wasn’t even a stand-in; I was just a tool he meticulously cultivated to save Sophia! I laughed, my body shaking, tears streaming down my face. I stood up, stumbling down the stairs, preparing to leave. Suddenly, my foot slipped, and I tumbled headfirst down the stairs, hitting each step with brutal force. The moment my body slammed against the steps, a tearing pain erupted in my abdomen. With my years of medical experience, I instantly realized my baby might be in danger. Panic flooded my heart. I clenched my teeth against the dull pain throughout my body, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911. My consciousness began to fade amidst waves of agonizing pain.

Evelyn Reed POV After being rushed to the hospital, I was immediately pushed into the emergency room. Doctors quickly began resuscitation and hemorrhage control. Cold examination instruments probed my body, each touch pulling at the searing pain. I bit my lip, feeling the dull ache of life draining from within me. As a doctor, I’d seen countless deaths, but when the knife cut into my own flesh, that tearing sensation almost ripped me apart. After a long and grueling rescue, the devastating news finally came: the baby couldn’t be saved. Half an hour later, supported by a colleague, I walked out of the emergency treatment room, my face pale. I refused my colleague’s help and went home alone. The empty mansion was cold as an icebox. I swallowed two painkillers, forced myself to drag a suitcase from the storage room. I packed up all the jewelry and custom-made dresses Nate had bought me, contacted a luxury consignment shop, and sold them off that very night. Looking at the suddenly empty walk-in closet, I felt like I could breathe easier. At ten o’clock that night, Nate returned. He brought in the cold air with him, holding a cake from my favorite restaurant. “Evelyn, I’m home. The meeting ran late today; you must be starving, right?” He changed his shoes, intending to embrace me. I turned away, my gaze falling on the faint smudge of lipstick on his shirt collar. “I’m not hungry.” My voice was flat, without a hint of emotion. Nate paused, seemingly noticing my coolness. He put down the cake, walked over, and forcibly took my hand, his brows furrowed: “Why are your hands so cold? And you look so pale. Are you sick?” “No,” I pulled my hand away, “Just a little tired.” Nate sighed, his eyes full of helpless affection: “Are you still mad at me for not making it back for Caleb’s funeral? Evelyn, don’t be difficult. The dead can’t be brought back. You still have me. It’s the weekend tomorrow, I’ll take you out to clear your head, okay?” He was always like this, using the gentlest tone to say the cruelest things. Caleb was dead, and in his mouth, it was just “the dead can’t be brought back.” I looked at his handsome face, suddenly feeling utterly estranged. “Nate,” I called his name, “Tomorrow night, the department has a get-together. I won’t be home.” A flicker of guilt crossed Nate’s eyes, but he quickly concealed it: “Okay, don’t drink too much, and come home early.” He especially wanted me not to be home, so he could go be with Sophia. The next evening, I didn’t go to the department dinner. I put on elegant makeup to conceal my post-miscarriage pallor and went to a Michelin-starred restaurant. This was the address Nate’s assistant had inadvertently revealed over the phone. I pushed open the slightly ajar private room door and, through the gap, coldly watched the scene inside. Nate had taken off his suit jacket and was patiently peeling a shrimp. He dipped the peeled shrimp into a sauce and naturally fed it to the woman beside him. Sophia, in a white knit sweater, looked pale, exuding a sickly fragility. She took the shrimp from Nate’s hand, her eyes slightly red: “Nate, am I just a burden? I’m divorced, and now I’m sick. I can only come back to you…” “Don’t talk nonsense.” Nate’s voice was dripping with tenderness, laced with undisguised heartache. “Your return makes me happier than anyone. I’ll find a way to treat your illness. New York has the best urology specialists; I’ll make sure she cures you.” “But you’re married,” Sophia bit her lip, tears threatening to fall, “Won’t Evelyn be angry if she knows about me?” Nate scoffed, his tone chillingly indifferent: “She doesn’t need to know. She’s just a doctor. She took my money, so she should do her job well. Once your illness is cured, I’ll give her a sum of money and send her away.” Outside the door, I clutched the doorknob, my nails almost digging into my flesh. Though I had long guessed the truth, hearing him say those words shattered my heart like a sledgehammer, making every breath taste of blood. “Give her money and send her away?” I silently repeated the phrase to myself. Nate, you think you control everything, but you don’t know, I stopped wanting you a long time ago. I didn’t storm in to confront him. I took out my phone and snapped a photo of their intimate backs in the private room. Then, I turned and walked into the night. Soon. Just twenty more days, and I would leave him. Then, I would give him a big surprise.

Evelyn Reed POV My body was severely weakened after the miscarriage. After performing two surgeries back-to-back at the hospital, I almost fainted at the washbasin. The head nurse lovingly held me: “Dr. Reed, you’ve looked so pale lately. Mr. Thorne cares about you so much, why doesn’t he get you some tonics to help you recover?” I forced a smile, saying nothing. Nate had been “very busy” lately. Busy finding a kidney donor for Sophia, busy accompanying her to dialysis, busy holding and comforting her when she cried in pain. He hadn’t been home for three consecutive days. Each time I called, his assistant answered, always with the same excuse: “Mr. Thorne is in a transnational video conference.” I changed out of my white coat and walked out of the hospital entrance. A black Maybach was parked by the roadside. Nate leaned against the car door, a cigarette between his fingers, looking somewhat fatigued. Seeing me, he immediately stubbed out the cigarette and quickly walked over, pulling me into his embrace. “Evelyn, you’re off work. Things have been too hectic at the company these past few days; I’ve neglected you.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead, the gesture as practiced as a ritual. I caught the strong scent of disinfectant on him. It wasn’t the smell of our hospital; it was the scent of Sophia’s private hospital. “It’s fine,” I said flatly, pushing him away. “Let’s go home.” The atmosphere in the car was heavy. Nate tried to strike up a conversation several times, but I deflected him each time. As we passed a newly opened restaurant, Nate suddenly slammed on the brakes. “This restaurant’s desserts are famous; I remember you used to love them. Shall we go down for a bite?” Nate looked at me, a hint of pleading in his eyes. I looked at the restaurant, feeling a wave of nausea. Sophia had posted its location on Ins. “I’m not hungry.” “Just a little bit. You’ve lost too much weight lately.” Nate unbuckled my seatbelt directly, half-forcing me out of the car. The restaurant’s lighting was dim, and the atmosphere intimate. Nate ordered a table full of dishes, all light and bland. He solicitously pushed the food towards me, as if returning to his role as the perfect husband. Just then, a waiter approached, carrying a fresh pot of hot soup. Perhaps the floor was slippery; the waiter tripped, and the entire pot of scalding soup splashed directly towards Nate and me. “Watch out!” In a split second, Nate sprang to his feet. I thought he would protect himself as he always had. But Nate’s body instinctively lunged to the left—where Sophia, who had just returned from the restroom, was standing. Nate shielded Sophia tightly in his arms, his back to me. “Splash!” Most of the scalding soup landed on my lower leg. “Ah!” I gasped in pain, collapsing back into my chair. Through the thin fabric of my pants, my skin instantly turned bright red, blistering in large patches. The piercing pain made me break out in a cold sweat. Meanwhile, Nate was anxiously cradling Sophia’s face, examining her up and down: “Sophia, did you get burned? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” Sophia had only a few drops of soup on her skirt, but she was visibly shaken, her face pale, clinging to Nate’s sleeve, trembling: “Nate, I’m scared…” “Don’t be scared, I’m here.” Nate cooed softly, his eyes filled with urgency. The waiter repeatedly apologized, bringing ice and towels. I gritted my teeth, rolling up my pant leg myself. The shocking redness and blisters alarmed the people around us. Only then did Nate suddenly snap back to reality. He turned, saw my lower leg, and his pupils constricted. “Evelyn!” He released Sophia, intending to check my injuries. “Don’t touch me!” I violently swatted his hand away, my eyes as cold as ice. Nate’s hand froze in mid-air, his face grim. He looked at the trembling Sophia, then at me, drenched in cold sweat, and gritted his teeth: “Evelyn, just put some ice on it for now. I need to take Sophia to the hospital first; she’s not well and can’t handle shocks. I’ll be right back to pick you up!” With that, he unhesitatingly scooped Sophia into his arms and strode out of the restaurant. I sat there, watching their retreating backs, and suddenly let out a low laugh. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. The pain in my leg was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. I was a doctor; I knew perfectly well that Sophia hadn’t been hurt at all. I had suffered second-degree burns. But in Nate’s eyes, a single strand of Sophia’s hair was more important than my life. I didn’t wait for Nate to return. I took a cab to the hospital myself, saw to my own treatment, cleaned the wound myself, and endured the excruciating pain of having the blisters clipped. I didn’t take any anesthetic. I wanted to remember this pain. Remember the pain Nate had given me.

Evelyn Reed POV I was admitted to the hospital’s burn unit. The burn on my leg was extensive, and coupled with my weakened state after the miscarriage, I developed a high fever. In a daze, I felt someone wiping my forehead with a warm towel. The touch was light, carrying a cautious, almost pleading, gentleness. I opened my eyes and saw Nate’s bloodshot eyes. “Evelyn, you’re awake?” Nate’s voice was hoarse, his hand shaking slightly as he held mine. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know your burn was so severe. After I took Sophia to the hospital yesterday, I came back for you, but you were already gone…” I looked at him coldly, as if at a stranger. “Is Sophia okay?” I suddenly asked, my voice hoarse. Nate paused, seemingly unprepared for my question, and his eyes darted away: “She’s fine, just a little shaken.” “Is that so?” I forced a smile, a trace of mockery in my voice. “Being shaken requires you to stay with her all night? Nate, you truly disgust me.” Nate’s face instantly turned ashen. He abruptly stood up, trying to explain: “Evelyn, listen to me. Sophia has a severe kidney condition; she can’t handle any stress. It was just an instinctive reaction at the time…” “Instinctive reaction?” I cut him off, my gaze as sharp as a knife. “Your instinct was to abandon your wife, scalded by hot soup, to embrace a woman who was completely unharmed. Nate, don’t use her illness as an excuse; you simply don’t love me.” “No, that’s not it!” Nate desperately refuted, taking a step forward to embrace me. “I love you, Evelyn, I truly do. Sophia is just like my sister; my care for her is purely out of responsibility…” “Enough!” I violently swatted his hand away, pointing towards the door. “Get out. I don’t want to see you.” Nate stood frozen, his face ashen. “Okay, I’ll go out. You get some rest; I’ll come back later to see you.” Nate conceded, turning and walking out of the ward. The moment the door closed, I shut my eyes, a single cold tear tracing a path down my cheek. For the next few days, Nate stayed by my side in the hospital like a madman. He canceled all his work, personally feeding me, wiping me down, and changing my dressings. He humbled himself to dust, trying to atone for his mistakes in this way. But I remained silent, treating him as if he were invisible. On the fifth day, the ward door opened, and Sophia walked in. She wore a patient gown, her face pale, carrying a fruit basket, looking utterly pathetic. “Dr. Reed, I’m so sorry.” Sophia walked to the bedside, her eyes red. “It’s all because of me that you got such serious injuries. Nate has been taking care of you these past few days; he feels terrible. Please don’t be mad at him, okay?” I leaned against the headboard, coldly watching her performance. “Sophia, your acting is quite good,” I said, my voice flat. “It’s a shame you’re not an actress.” Sophia’s face stiffened, then she bit her lower lip, tears falling: “Dr. Reed, I know you hate me. But Nate and I really have nothing going on; we’re just like siblings who grew up together. Please don’t let me ruin your marriage.” “Siblings?” I scoffed. “Do siblings plaster each other’s photos all over their bedroom? Do siblings fill their diaries with declarations of love for each other?” Sophia’s face instantly turned deathly pale. She looked at me in disbelief, clearly not expecting me to know so much. “You snooped in Nate’s diary?” “That’s my husband’s home. Why shouldn’t I look?” I looked at her, my eyes disdainful. “Sophia, you’re truly pathetic. You think Nate loves you? If he truly loved you, why didn’t he marry you back then? He married me, using my professional expertise to save your life. In his eyes, you’re nothing more than a beggar in need of charity.” This remark struck Sophia’s sore spot with precision. She lunged forward, grabbing my wrist, her voice sharp: “You’re lying! Nate loves me! You’re just a stand-in!” My leg injury hadn’t healed. Her sudden tug made me gasp in pain. I forcefully shook Sophia’s hand off: “Get away from me!” Sophia, seizing the opportunity, stumbled backward and fell heavily to the floor, letting out a cry of pain. “Sophia!” The ward door was violently flung open, and Nate rushed in. Seeing Sophia on the floor, he scooped her into his arms. “Nate, I’m in so much pain…” Sophia clutched her stomach, cold sweat beading on her forehead. Nate’s head snapped up, his gaze fixed on me, filled with anger and disgust: “Evelyn Reed, are you insane? She’s a patient! If anything happens to her kidney, I swear I won’t let you off!” I looked at his murderous expression, and my heart died completely. “Fine,” I said to him coldly. “Nate, I’ll be waiting.”

Evelyn Reed POV Sophia was rushed to the emergency room. The look Nate gave me before he left was as if he were looking at an enemy. Silence returned to the ward. I sat quietly on the hospital bed, watching the yellowed leaves outside the window being carried away by the autumn wind, feeling an unusual sense of peace. No anger, no grievance, only a kind of liberation. Two hours later, Nate’s assistant pushed open the ward door. He looked at me with a complicated expression and handed me a document. “Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne said… Miss Smith’s condition has worsened, and she urgently needs a kidney donor. Your blood type and various indicators are a high match with Miss Smith’s. Mr. Thorne hopes you can… donate a kidney to Miss Smith.” The assistant’s voice grew softer and softer, almost inaudible by the end. I looked at the “Organ Donation Consent Form” and suddenly laughed out loud. My laughter echoed in the empty ward, tinged with boundless desolation and mockery. “He wants me to donate a kidney?” I pointed to myself, tears streaming down my face from laughter. “Does he know I just had a miscarriage? Does he know my leg burns haven’t healed? He wants me to save his mistress?” The assistant lowered his head, not daring to meet my eyes: “Mr. Thorne said that if you agree, he is willing to transfer thirty percent of the company’s shares to you and guarantees that he will never have any inappropriate contact with Miss Smith again.” “No more contact?” I scoffed as if I’d heard the biggest joke. “He means he wants to trade my life for Sophia’s!” I grabbed the consent form and, in front of the assistant, tore it into shreds. “Go back and tell Nate that if he wants my kidney, it will be over my dead body.” The assistant sighed and silently backed out. That same night, Nate came. He looked utterly exhausted, with a five o’clock shadow on his jaw. He walked to the bedside, looking down at me, his tone carrying an unquestionable command. “Evelyn Reed, Sophia can’t wait. You can live with one less kidney, but she’ll die without it.” I looked into his eyes, as if at a monster. “Nate, do you think that because I loved you, I deserve to be trampled on?” My voice was soft, but full of disappointment in him. “When my brother died, you were with her. When I was pregnant and you drove me to a miscarriage, you were with her. When I was scalded by hot soup, you were still with her. Now, you even want to take my kidney to save her?” Nate’s eyes flickered with a hint of panic, but it was quickly masked by cold ruthlessness: “Miscarriage? When were you pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?” “What’s the use of telling you?” I sneered. “Evelyn Reed!” Nate roared, suddenly grabbing my shoulders. “Don’t be unreasonable! Sophia’s illness can’t be delayed! You’re a doctor, are you just going to let her die?” “I am a doctor, but I am not your tool!” I forcefully broke free from his grip, pointing to the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again in my life!” Nate stared at me, his eyes terrifyingly sinister. “Evelyn Reed, don’t be stubborn. In New York, I have ways to get you onto that operating table to donate a kidney.” He flung those words at me, then turned and strode away. I sat on the bed, trembling, my hands gripping the bedsheets tightly. I knew Nate’s words were real. He had money and power; if he truly went mad, I wouldn’t be able to resist. I had to leave. Immediately. I pulled out the IV needle from the back of my hand, gritting my teeth against the searing pain in my leg, and changed into my clothes. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number hidden at the very bottom of my contacts. “Ethan Miller, it’s me. Arrange for me to go to San Francisco. As soon as possible.” The other end was silent for two seconds, then a deep male voice replied: “Okay. See you at the hospital’s back entrance in half an hour.” After hanging up, I looked at the ward that had held me captive for seven days, turning to leave without a single trace of nostalgia. Nate Thorne, it’s completely over between us. I will never look back at you again.

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The spotlight at the concert’s song request segment danced between me and my boyfriend, Ethan, then settled right on me. I clutched the diamond ring in my pocket. It was the signal I’d pre-arranged with the organizers. During the request segment, I was going to propose to Ethan. I held the mic, looking at Ethan beside me. Just as I was about to speak, he snatched the mic right out of my hand. Then, he turned and handed it to Ashley, his assistant, who was sitting beside him. “This is Ashley’s first concert, Keira. Why don’t you let her have the song request?” Before I could agree, Ashley had already picked a love song. Ethan started applauding. I forced a bitter smile. Ethan didn’t know this was the last chance I was giving us. I’d planned it all out: if the proposal failed, I’d leave this city. The singer on stage paused for a few seconds, awkwardly cleared their throat, and started warming up the crowd again. My best friend, Louise, was already fuming. “What’s wrong with Ethan? Last time you guys went to see the New Year’s fireworks, he brought Ashley. Your birthday party? Ashley was there. And now the concert?” Louise stopped mid-sentence. “Keira, I didn’t mean it like that… don’t take it the wrong way.” I gave a weak laugh. She wasn’t wrong. Ethan really did bring that assistant, Ashley, everywhere, always claiming it was “to handle work stuff whenever needed.” Louise lowered her voice: “Everyone’s already at the restaurant, the balloons are all set up. And then Ethan pulls a stunt like this, it’s driving me crazy!” She paused, “So, are we still waiting for him?” I forced a smile. “Louise, no need to wait.” My fingertips touched the diamond ring box in my pocket, pressing painfully against my skin. One carat. I’d spent ages choosing the style. Back then, while Ethan was napping, I’d wrapped a string around his ring finger three times, then took it to the jeweler to get the size right. For today, I’d contacted the concert organizers two months in advance and recorded a three-minute video. Eight years of memories, all our friends recording heartfelt messages. The very last frame was me, looking into the camera, saying those words. I’d recorded it seventeen times, just to get one where my smile wasn’t shaky. Ashley’s chosen song ended, and applause erupted, mixed with enthusiastic whistles. It seemed everyone assumed she and Ethan were a couple. Ethan turned to glance at me, as if just noticing I wasn’t clapping. “What’s wrong?” I said it was nothing. When the concert ended, the crowd surged out. He walked beside me, naturally reaching out to cup my shoulder, shielding me from the crush of people. “Still sulking? Is it really that big a deal, just a song request?” He looked down at his phone, texting, his tone casual. “I’ll book a private venue for you sometime. You can pick as many songs as you want.” “Sometime,” “next time,” “later.” His three go-to excuses. “Ethan.” I stopped. He didn’t, walking a couple more steps before turning back. “We agreed. Eight years, you’d give me a commitment. It’s been eight years now.” He stuffed his phone back into his pocket, glanced at me, and smiled. That familiar “here we go again” smirk. “What’s the rush? I’m juggling a bunch of projects right now. Once the new year settles, I’ll properly plan our wedding.” New year, another postponement. He’d said the same thing three years ago. That was the first time I’d brought him home to meet my parents. The plane tickets were already booked. The day before we were supposed to leave, his secretary said there was an urgent bid they had to rush. He canceled the tickets. Back then, he’d said, “What’s the rush? Meeting your parents is bound to happen sooner or later.” I flew alone, carrying two thoughtful presents. My mom asked where he was, and I just smiled, saying he had an urgent business trip. The car pulled into the driveway and stopped. He turned, his thumb gently brushing my earlobe. The touch was light. “I’ll buy you that bracelet you liked tomorrow, as an apology. How about it?” I tilted my head, avoiding his hand. He froze. “Ethan, stop trying to smooth things over. I don’t need it anymore.” Ethan raised an eyebrow, hitting the steering wheel. “Alright, you’re upset again. Go get some sleep, you’ll feel better tomorrow.” He then glanced at his phone, muttering to himself, “Ashley says she left something at the concert, I’ll go back and help her find it.” I calmly nodded. “Okay.” I got out of the car. Closed the door. He stared at me from the driver’s seat for two seconds, seemingly sensing something was off. But then his taillights flashed, and he drove out of the neighborhood.

I went upstairs alone. Walking into the living room, his jacket was draped over the back of the sofa, the faint scent of cedarwood still clinging to the collar. The sliding door to the balcony was half open. A line of words was carved into the railing. He’d used his keys to carve it the day we moved in, crooked and messy, even scraping a small strip of paint off the railing. “Keira, one day I’m going to marry you.” Back then, he’d just secured his first round of funding, full of youthful vigor, and had spun me around in the empty living room. “Once I build my career, I’ll give you the most magnificent wedding.” I believed him. And waited eight years. The first year, he said the company was just starting, wait a little longer. The third year, he said they were in an expansion phase, he couldn’t get away. The fifth year, he said it would be soon, definitely next year. The eighth year. I stood on the balcony, my fingertips tracing the carved words. The peeled paint had already developed a thin layer of rust. The ring box in my pocket was hurting me so much. I took it out and opened it. The one-carat diamond shimmered in the faint light filtering in from the living room. I couldn’t wait for him to propose, I thought. So, I would. I’d spent three months preparing, mustering all my courage. Contacting the organizers, recording the video, ordering the ring, troubling Louise and our friends to decorate the celebration restaurant. And all I got to do was touch the mic. The lock clicked. I quickly put the ring back. Ethan walked in, tossing his car keys onto the shoe cabinet. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me staring at the carving on the balcony. “What’s so interesting? Come on, let’s go to bed.” I didn’t move, just asked him, “Did you find Ashley’s thing?” “Yeah.” He walked past me, starting to unfasten his watch. “Ethan,” I called him. “Let’s break up.” His movements stopped for a beat, then he let out a scoffing laugh. “You’re going to get like this over a song request at a concert?” “It was her first time seeing a live show, what’s wrong with letting her have it?” “Am I not allowed to have any other women around me besides you?” His tone was helpless. “Alright, I already said I’d book a private venue for you next time. Go to sleep, I have to meet investors tomorrow.” With that, he continued towards the master bedroom. I watched his retreating figure and spoke calmly: “There’s a party at the Walsh family home next week. Something will be announced publicly.” “After that announcement, we’re done.” Ethan stopped, turned around, and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Keira, let me be clear.” His tone switched from nonchalant to cold. “I won’t fall for your family trying to pressure me into marriage.” “Are you that desperate to get married?” “What do you mean ‘we’re done’? Are you threatening me? Or playing hard to get?” I didn’t reply. He didn’t know this party had nothing to do with him. The Walsh family was announcing that I was giving up my heir apparent status to join an eight-year national-level confidential project. From then on, I would live under an assumed name, never appearing in public. The party was the Walsh family’s official statement to the world. To let everyone know that Keira, as a person, was no longer to be watched or her whereabouts questioned. But he, of course, assumed I would always revolve around him. His temper flared, his voice dropping, which made it more intimidating than a shout. “What crazy ideas have your friends put in your head now? Does it have to be this year? Right now? Do you have any idea how busy I am?”

Busy, he certainly was. Too busy having 40-minute “work FaceTimes” with Ashley late at night. Too busy remembering Ashley’s coffee order, but he’d forgotten I was allergic to shrimp. Too busy having a balloon wall set up for Ashley’s birthday, and posting “Happy Birthday to our team’s youngest!” on Ins. His time, his thoughts, his attentiveness – they all had a destination. It just wasn’t me. “I’m in the final stretch of a project right now, I have three sets of investors to meet by the end of the year, and I can’t afford any missteps.” He rubbed his temples. “Why are you pulling all this now? What exactly do you want?” “Just calm down and think about what you’re doing.” He threw out his words and turned to leave. “Ethan.” He stopped. “Yes, I am playing hard to get.” I looked at his back. “So, will you marry me?” Ethan didn’t turn around. He was silent for a few seconds. “Get some good rest.” He walked into his study and closed the door. A layer of bitterness spread in my heart. Even though I knew the answer, I still asked the question. Perhaps, after eight years of my youth, I still couldn’t completely let go. But this was the last time. Late at night, I sat on the edge of the master bedroom bed and pulled open the nightstand drawer. A stack of papers lay quietly inside, their edges yellowed and curled. Two years ago, I’d printed them out, screenshot by screenshot, from online wedding inspiration boards: venues, floral arrangements, invitation fonts, vow templates. That day, I’d excitedly brought them to show him. He was on the phone, mouthed “I’ll look later,” and waved his hand at me. Two years had passed, and that “later” never came. My phone vibrated. Louise’s voice was still indignant: “They’ve taken down all the restaurant decorations. Keira, the concert thing, the more I think about it, the angrier I get. You prepared for three months, and he just… ” “Louise, it’s fine. I’m leaving anyway.” The other end was silent for a long time. “Are you sure? Eight years of feelings, and another eight years if you go. When you come back… everything will be different.” “Yes.” “You’re not even going to explain it to him?” “Louise, there’s nothing left for me to say to him.” Louise didn’t speak again. After a while, her voice grew thick with emotion. “I’ll keep the restaurant banner then, just in case… ” “Louise.” “Hmm.” “Throw it away.” Day four of the silent treatment. Ethan left early and came home late every day, heading straight for his study. Occasionally, we’d bump into each other in the living room; he’d look at his phone, I’d watch TV, neither of us saying a word. Under the same roof, we were like two estranged roommates. Louise, seeing I was in low spirits, dragged me out for dinner. “Don’t wallow. I booked a private room, you can cry or curse all you want.” We arrived and sat down. Before the food even came, laughter drifted from the next private room. It sounded very familiar. Louise’s face changed. “Maybe we should switch… ” I shook my head. Ashley’s soft voice came through. “Ethan, I still feel terrible about the concert. The mic was for Keira, and I was so thoughtless.” “Maybe I should apologize to Keira myself?” “What does it have to do with you?” Ethan’s voice was flat. “I gave it to you, you just took it.” He’d defended her in front of an entire table of people. Yet, when I used to visit his company, he would always deliberately keep his distance, saying there was “too much gossip.” One friend curiously pressed, “But Ethan, I heard Keira had something planned that night?” A brief silence. “I knew she was going to propose. Someone tipped me off over a month ago.” Ethan’s voice was still nonchalant. Louise looked up at me sharply. I clenched my fists.

“You knew, and you still gave the mic to Ashley?” The friend was clearly surprised. “What else was I supposed to do? The more she tries to corner me into making a statement like that, the more I refuse to let her get her way.” “Usually, when she throws a fit, I’ll humor her. But with something like marriage, I need her to learn that throwing a fit won’t always get her what she wants.” The friend sighed. “But seriously, Keira’s been with you for eight years, it’s understandable she’d be eager for a title.” Ethan was silent for a few seconds. “Of course I’ll marry her, but not because she’s forcing me.” “When I marry her is up to me.” Another friend lowered their voice. “Honestly, Ethan, Keira just loves to make a scene. She always has to go for a big spectacle, making things difficult for you.” “Exactly. Ashley is so much more sensible and hassle-free, she never gives you any trouble.” Ashley spoke up, her voice a little coy. “Oh, don’t say that about Keira… maybe she just loves Ethan too much.” “After all these years, she’s not getting any younger.” That last sentence, “after all these years,” carried just the right amount of pity in her tone. Ethan said nothing, and a shared laugh of understanding rippled through the room. Louise’s hand reached over and tightly gripped mine. Her fingertips were trembling. I patted her hand, picked up my bag, and stood up. “Louise, let’s go.” I pushed open our private room door and walked past theirs. The sound of clinking glasses and Ashley’s sweet laughter drifted out. It was drizzling outside. The streetlights flickered on, one after another, illuminating a long, wet road. I walked forward, not looking back. The invitation to the Walsh family banquet arrived in Ethan’s hands. The wording was formal: “The Walsh family cordially invites you to an important family announcement.” He flipped the invitation over, flicking it. “Important family announcement.” Ha. The Walsh family had some connections in the circle, hosting a respectable banquet to publicly announce their daughter’s engagement, forcing him to compromise in front of everyone. Keira wouldn’t do something like this, but her best friends and Keira’s parents might. Ethan carelessly set the invitation aside and opened his phone. Five days. Keira hadn’t sent him a single message. In past arguments, she’d usually find an excuse to contact him by the third day, asking if he’d eaten or if his jacket had been dry-cleaned. This time, nothing. An inexplicable irritation welled up in his chest, but he forcefully suppressed it. He wasn’t worried. She could throw her fit. She was always the one to back down in the end, wasn’t she? His friends discussed in their SnapChat group: “Ethan, are you, the groom-to-be, going to the Walsh family engagement party? Lots of people have received invitations, it’s quite the affair.” He scoffed, typing, “Yeah, I’ll go. Just a little late. Let her feel what it’s like to be waiting anxiously.” He imagined Keira waiting for him at the banquet, repeatedly looking at the door, trying to maintain her composure under the gaze of friends and family. He even felt a hidden sense of satisfaction. She needed to learn a lesson. After all this fuss, he’d still be the one to sort things out. On the day of the banquet, he didn’t rush out. First, he got a haircut and changed into a dark gray casual suit. Not formal attire, he wanted everyone to see that he was “just dropping by,” not part of their plan. Messages from his friends started coming in rapidly. “Ethan, the Walsh family’s setup is huge! Two rows of cars parked outside, flower arrangements everywhere.” “Keira is all made up today, absolutely beautiful.” Another added, “Keira’s looking… Ethan, if you don’t show up soon, I’m afraid someone might steal your wife!” The group chat exploded with laughter. He looked at the messages, a corner of his mouth twitching unconsciously. In his suit pocket was the invitation. He’d picked it up after reading it, not even realizing he’d carried it with him. A friend urged again, “Ethan, are you coming or not? Things are starting here, Keira’s parents are on stage!” He slowly started his car and replied with a voice message: “What’s the rush? What’s the point of starting if I’m not there?” His car had just pulled out of the parking lot. Another friend called, his voice clearly puzzled: “Ethan… the Walsh family party doesn’t seem to be an engagement. It’s a farewell party.”

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At the Prom, my girlfriend Leah asked me in front of everyone, “Can I have the first dance with Leo Miller?” I agreed without hesitation. Leah immediately took Leo’s hand. The music started, and the two danced gracefully. I turned and walked away. Not long after leaving the school grounds, Leah called: “Leo is shy and too nervous to dance with other girls, that’s why I danced with him.” “If you get jealous again, we’re breaking up!” I just smiled. She didn’t know that just one day earlier, I had applied to a different university than her. I was already planning to break up with her anyway. Leah wore a long white dress, its skirt embroidered with delicate silver threads. Under the lights, she looked like a fairy stepping out of a fairytale. When she walked in, arm in arm with me, all eyes were on us, filled with envy. A few guys even gave me a thumbs-up, muttering things like, “Ethan, you lucky bastard.” But I couldn’t feel happy at all. From the moment we stepped into the hall, Leah’s attention wasn’t on me. She kept her head down, staring at her phone, tapping it open and closing it repeatedly. I offered her a glass of juice, which she took but didn’t drink. She casually placed it on a nearby table, her eyes still glued to the screen. I knew she was waiting for someone. Leo Miller, the guy who transferred to our class a year ago. He came from a tough background; his mother was constantly ill, and his father worked odd jobs to make ends meet. Leah, for some reason, had voluntarily signed up for the school’s mentorship program and became Leo’s contact person. At first, it was just helping him apply for scholarships and sending him study materials. Later, it turned into eating meals together, studying together, and walking around the track together. Some friends had warned me, saying Leah was being too nice to Leo. I remember saying it was fine, that she was just kind-hearted. But the line between kindness and genuine feelings can be incredibly thin sometimes. Ten minutes before the dance began, Leo finally arrived. He wore a dark blue suit, nothing fancy, but it was clean and neat. His hair was carefully styled, making him look quite different from his usual self. The moment Leah saw him, a smile instantly bloomed on her face. I knew that smile all too well. It wasn’t polite, it wasn’t courteous—it was the kind where her eyes truly lit up. “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said, walking toward him, a hint of a playful whine in her voice. “Sorry, I got held up on the way,” Leo chuckled, pulling a small box from his pocket and handing it to her. “For you.” Leah opened it; inside was a bracelet. A simple knot woven from a light pink string, with a few white beads threaded through the middle. The material and craftsmanship looked like something you’d find at a flea market for ten bucks. But she loved it. “It’s so pretty!” She lowered her head and began to unfasten the Givenchy bracelet from her own wrist. That bracelet was a gift from me: a platinum chain with a small, dark green enamel pendant. I had arranged for someone to bring it back from Paris for her sixteenth birthday and personally clasped it around her wrist. That day, she said something I remember to this day. “Ethan, I’ll wear this forever, and never take it off.” Now she was taking it off, so naturally, so casually. She raised her hand, admiring the cheap, handmade beaded bracelet in the light, a gentle curve on her lips.

Leah beamed like a girl who’d just received her favorite candy. I looked at the bracelet she’d removed, and a dull thud echoed in my chest. No pain, just a heavy ache. I turned my face away, not wanting to see it anymore. “Ethan,” Leah said, her voice light, as if discussing something inconsequential, “I want to dance the first dance with Leo. Is that okay?” Before I could reply, Leo spoke up. “Leah, are you sure about this?” he said, his brow slightly furrowed, his tone perfectly pitched with hesitation. “Ethan’s your boyfriend. The first dance should be yours.” As he spoke, his eyes briefly flickered to me, then back to Leah. There was a thin layer of smugness hidden in that gaze, like an undercurrent beneath the surface of still water. He thought he was hiding it well, but everyone could see it. Leah didn’t look at Leo; she just watched me, waiting for my reaction. She probably expected me to frown, to ask “Are you serious?” She probably expected me to throw a tantrum, like the last time she went to the movies alone with Leo. “He just learned ballroom dancing, and he’s nervous about dancing with other girls,” Leah added, as if offering me an out. “You know his situation; we can’t just leave him standing there watching, can we?” I didn’t argue, I didn’t make a scene. I just looked at her for three seconds. In those three seconds, a lot of things flashed through my mind. I remembered the first time I saw her, when we were three years old. I remembered her shining eyes on her birthday, when I helped her put on the bracelet. I remembered the countless times she’d talked about her plans for Harvard University. We applied to the same school, the same major. She’d talked about riding bikes around campus together, grabbing snacks. She always smiled beautifully when she said those things, and I always believed they were real. Three seconds passed. I took a step back, silently giving up my place. Leah paused, surprised by my easy agreement. Her eyes held a hint of shock, even a touch of confusion, as if I’d thrown her off her script. But that surprise lasted less than two seconds before her attention returned to Leo. She took his hand and walked onto the dance floor. The music began—a slow waltz. The two danced gracefully. Leah’s white dress flowed like water in the lights, her steps light and airy. Leo’s movements were a bit stiff, occasionally missing a beat, clearly a beginner. But Leah didn’t care. She looked up at him, her eyes full of smiles. Everyone around them was watching. Some whispered, some took out their phones to snap pictures, and some searched for me. I could feel their gazes sweeping over me, filled with confusion and sympathy. I didn’t look back. I turned and walked towards the hall exit. The night air was chilly as it swept in. As I walked out of the school gates, I instinctively touched the watch Leah had given me on my wrist. The strap was old, the leather starting to crack. I looked down at it, smiled, but didn’t take it off. Not because I cherished it, but because it didn’t matter anymore. My phone screen lit up with a message from Leah. I tapped it open, but didn’t rush to read the content. First, I checked the time. A dance song usually lasts about three minutes. Adding in a minute for her and Leo to chat after their dance, it was exactly the right time for her to be free to contact me. “I told you Leo’s shy, and he just learned ballroom dancing, he’s nervous to dance with other girls.”

“Can you please get over your irrational jealousy?” “Otherwise, when we get to Harvard, I won’t dare tell anyone you’re my boyfriend!” Each message ended with an exclamation mark, each one delivered in that familiar, condescending, scolding tone. As if I had done something wrong again, overreacted again, and should apologize. I read them twice, then smiled. She didn’t know that just one day earlier, I had changed my Harvard application, switching to Stanford University instead. It was the most decisive choice I’d ever made in my life. Back home, I started clearing out everything related to her. A stack of ticket stubs, a jar filled with folded paper stars, and over a dozen birthday cards. Her messy handwriting, from elementary school to high school, always addressed to ‘Ethan.’ I piled all these things into a large cardboard box. Then, the wall. The photo of us at fifteen, standing outside the school in our school gear, her smile so sweet, me half a head taller than her. By my bed, a clumsy little ceramic cat she’d made herself. She’d said it looked like my face. I held that little cat in my hand for two seconds, then tossed it in too. The box was nearly full, but I didn’t seal it immediately. For every item inside, I could tell a story. One movie ticket stub was from the 3D re-release of *Titanic*; she cried so much during it. She leaned on my shoulder, wiping away tears, saying we couldn’t end up like Jack and Rose. One amusement park ticket was from a summer trip. She insisted on riding the roller coaster, then halfway through, she squeezed my arm so hard it left five bruises, making me wince. And a scarf she knitted in middle school. The stitches were uneven, with loose threads everywhere, but she insisted it was the prettiest scarf in the whole class. The box was overflowing, full of her traces. Fifteen years of traces, from three to seventeen, my entire youth. My phone suddenly vibrated; not a call, but a social media notification. I tapped it open and saw that Leo Miller had just posted on Instagram, with two pictures. The first was a hotel room: dim, yellowish lighting, white sheets. The second was a close-up of a pair of crystal high heels. The shoes lay tilted on the carpet, one upside down, sole facing up. I recognized those shoes instantly. Last year, for Leah’s birthday, I’d saved three months of allowance and borrowed money from my dad to buy them. The Swarovski crystal logo was visible on the sole. They were size 6, a perfect fit. She’d walked around the room in them several times when she first tried them on, saying they were the most beautiful high heels she’d ever worn. Leo’s caption read: “She said she drank too much and insisted I take her back to the hotel. Exhausting.” Below, a flurry of comments. “Dude, you’re so lucky!” “A goddess just throwing herself at you! Those shoes aren’t simple, and neither is the girl wearing them!” I stared at the shoes for a few seconds. I walked back to the cardboard box and wrapped sealing tape around it three times. I picked up the box, went downstairs, and threw it into the garbage bin outside our mansion. It landed with a muffled thud, then silence. In the following days, Leah didn’t send a single text or call. I was glad for the peace. A week later, our class rep, Chloe, sent a message in the group chat, suggesting a class dinner. She specifically DM’d me, insisting I had to come. She was Leah’s best friend, inseparable since freshman year. I could pretty much guess what she was trying to do. I told her I was busy, didn’t have time.

“Oh, come on, you’ve already applied to universities. What could you possibly be busy with? You have to come, or don’t call me your friend anymore.” At five in the afternoon, I arrived at the restaurant’s private room. I was about to knock, but my hand paused. Not because I was nervous, but because I heard my own name. “…That night, when you danced the first dance with Leo, weren’t you worried Ethan would get jealous?” Leah’s voice carried a laugh, and a careless indifference: “Worried about what? I fully expected it.” “He needs to be taught a lesson for that awful temper of his.” “He’s so bossy and controlling, he doesn’t give me any freedom.” “What’s the big deal if I dance with someone else? It’s not like I’ll lose a limb.” Someone else asked, “But what if Ethan actually got angry? He’s got so much going for him, and plenty of girls are after him, right?” Leah chuckled again. “Ethan and I have been childhood sweethearts for over fifteen years. I know exactly what kind of person he is better than anyone.” “Don’t worry, he’s just throwing a little tantrum. He’ll be fine in a few days.” “Just like last time, when I insisted on going to the movies with Leo.” She paused, then added, her tone even lighter: “Even if the sky fell, he would never break up with me.” “Of that, I am one hundred percent certain.” I stood outside the door, feeling no heartache, no anger, just exhaustion. It was the kind of exhaustion you feel after walking a very, very long road, finally reaching the finish line. She was right. I had argued, I had made scenes, but I had never brought up breaking up. Every time she crossed a line, every time she pushed my boundaries like they were elastic, every time she’d ask with a sly smile, “You won’t get mad, right?” I always gave in, not because I had no temper, but because I loved her. But now I knew that in her eyes, my patience wasn’t tolerance—it was proof that my boundaries could be endlessly retreated. She took my goodness towards her as proof that I couldn’t live without her. Just as I was about to turn and leave, someone patted my shoulder from behind. “Ethan, why aren’t you going in?” Leo Miller smiled at me. Before I could answer, he already pushed the door open. Everyone in the private room looked towards the entrance. Leah was sitting directly opposite the door, with an empty seat next to her. She saw me, paused for a moment, then quickly composed herself, even offering a small smile. Chloe was the first to react, standing up and waving me over: “Ethan’s here? Come in, come in, we were just waiting for you guys.” Leo half-pushed, half-coaxed me into the room. Chloe grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the empty seat next to Leah. I didn’t sit, saying I’d just stand for a bit. Chloe wouldn’t have it, telling me to listen to her and firmly pressing me down into the chair. Leah looked up at me and softly said, “You’re here?” Her tone was natural, as if nothing had happened. On her wrist, the Givenchy bracelet was back. The platinum chain shimmered slightly under the lights, the dark green enamel pendant resting against her slender wrist bone. But right next to the bracelet, there was a faint indentation, left by that cheap beaded string. Two marks pressed together, one new, one old. I said nothing, lowering my head to eat. I mechanically chewed my food, swallowed. The table was lively. Chloe bustled around pouring drinks, someone cut the cake, and others cheered, urging the birthday girl to make a wish. Leah was chatting with Leo, her laughter echoing intermittently. I didn’t look at them, didn’t speak.

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When the rogue attacked, my Fated Mate, Alpha Jackson, shielded Phoebe without even a glance my way. My son, Thomas, clung to Phoebe’s leg, screaming “bad woman” at me. In the chaos, a chilling numbness spread through me. The pregnancy test report clutched in my hand had long since fallen into a puddle. Just ten minutes ago, I thought it was just another accident. Until Alpha Jackson chose to protect Phoebe. Until my son, Thomas, shoved me, leaving me exposed to danger. It turned out Jackson’s love for me was a lie from the start. I was nothing more than a full-time nanny Jackson hired while Phoebe was away. And I had seven days left until I completely vanished from this world. Scarlett POV After the chaos subsided, the pack’s lead medic was already on site. They swarmed around Phoebe, who was hiding behind Jackson, checking on her and offering treatment. Jackson followed close behind, his brows furrowed in a tight knot. The hand wearing his wedding ring was now clasped tightly around Phoebe’s wrist. Thomas stood beside them, crying so hard his voice was hoarse, repeatedly sobbing, “Phoebe, please don’t die.” Phoebe, the Beta’s daughter who grew up with Jackson. She had only recently returned from the Werewolf Academy. Her mere presence was enough to command his full attention. I stood alone, unnoticed by anyone. The wind dried the blood on my clothes, making the fabric stiff and chafing my skin raw. My abdomen throbbed faintly where Thomas had kicked me hard. Before I could even move, Jackson suddenly turned back. His gaze, cutting through the throng of people, landed on me. It was cold, filled with impatience. “Scarlett, don’t just stand there.” He called my name, his tone like scolding an incompetent subordinate. “Phoebe’s shaken. Go back home, make her a soothing hot tea, and bring it to the hospital.” I wanted to say I was hurt too. I wanted to say my stomach ached. I wanted to say that the ruined paper showed I was six weeks pregnant. But a metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I swallowed it down. “Okay.” I heard my own voice, eerily calm. Jackson seemed satisfied with my obedience. He turned and followed the medics away. The crowd gradually dispersed. I returned alone to the Alpha’s residence in Frostveil Pack. As I walked in, Gamma Lena was pouring a pot of freshly brewed calming tea into a thermos. Seeing me enter, disheveled and covered in mud, she froze, her eyes darting away. “Luna Scarlett… Alpha Jackson called, he asked me to bring Ms. Phoebe a hot drink. He didn’t mention you were also…” She didn’t finish, but I understood. In the werewolf world, pack members must obey the Alpha’s orders. I ignored her awkwardness and went straight upstairs. Passing Thomas’s room, toys were still scattered everywhere. His favorite limited-edition wolf plushie lay alone on the rug, an arm torn off. I had queued all night six months ago to get that limited edition for him. This morning, before we left, Thomas had thrown a huge tantrum because I accidentally knocked over that toy. He pointed a finger at me and yelled, “I knew you weren’t my real mom! If it were Phoebe, she’d never ruin my stuff!” Back then, I just dismissed it as childish talk. Now, it seemed, children’s instincts were often the most accurate. He had known all along who the outsider in this house was. I went back to the master bedroom and locked the door. The bathroom mirror reflected a pale face. A scar marred my forehead, a wound from the chaos. It had healed, leaving only a small mark. I lifted a hand to touch it, feeling nothing. Stripping off my blood-stained clothes, I balled them up and tossed them directly into the trash. Along with the crumpled report, its words now illegible. The wounds on my body had already healed, but the hot water brought a fine sting as it hit my skin. I looked down at my flat lower abdomen. A tiny life had once grown there. Just hours ago, I had been overjoyed, wanting to tell Jackson the good news. Now, there was nothing. That kick had been hard. Compounded by the cold and the shock. Blood streamed down my thighs, forming winding rivulets on the white tiles, before spiraling into the black hole of the drain. I didn’t cry. I just felt tired. After my shower, my phone screen lit up. It was a message from Jackson. Just one short line: Is the soup here yet? Phoebe’s hungry. He didn’t ask if I was hurt. He didn’t ask how bad that kick had been. I stared at the screen for a long time until my eyes ached. Then, I replied: On its way. After sending that message, I pulled open the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Inside lay a one-way ticket to Europe and a bottle of mate-bond breaking potion I’d bought from Elara the Witch. I had thought I wouldn’t need them anymore. With a child on the way, I’d wanted to give this relationship another chance. But now, I was glad I hadn’t destroyed them. I took out the ticket, my thumb tracing the date. It departed in seven days. That was Jackson’s birthday, and the deadline I’d set for myself. I picked up a pen and drew a heavy circle around the date on the calendar. The countdown began.

Scarlett POV The next morning, I was woken by noise downstairs. Jackson was back. He’d brought Phoebe and Thomas with him. I stood at the top of the stairs, watching the cozy scene in the living room. Phoebe wore Jackson’s shirt, its oversized hem covering her thighs, making her look small and delicate. She sat on the sofa, a mug of warm milk in her hands. Thomas nestled in her lap, mouth open, waiting for her to feed him. Jackson sat next to them, cutting fruit. His knife skills weren’t great; the peel broke several times. But he was patient. Before, if I wanted fruit, he’d just frown and say, “Cut it yourself. I’m not your servant.” “Scarlett’s awake?” Phoebe noticed me first. She started to stand, but Jackson pressed his hand to her shoulder. “Sit still. The doctor said you’re weak, don’t move around.” Jackson’s voice was deep. When he turned to me, it immediately turned cold. “Since you’re awake, come down and make breakfast. Lena’s off today, and Phoebe wants your seafood chowder.” My fingers tightened on the railing, knuckles white. Seafood chowder. Everyone in the Pack knew Phoebe was allergic to seafood. Was he testing me, or trying to humiliate me? Or perhaps, between me and Phoebe, he simply forgot who had the allergy. “She’s allergic to seafood,” I said blandly. Jackson’s hand, cutting fruit, paused. The knife blade nicked his thumb. A bead of blood welled up. Phoebe gasped, quickly taking his hand and putting it to her lips. Jackson didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked at her with tender eyes. “Phoebe, you’re so thoughtful.” Then, he looked up at me, his eyes filled with blame. “So you got it wrong. No need for excuses. You weren’t this forgetful before.” Before? How did I live before? Every meal, I had to cater to everyone’s tastes. Jackson didn’t eat garlic; Thomas wouldn’t touch carrots or bell peppers. If even a hint of something they disliked appeared in a dish, the entire spread would be dumped directly into the trash. I remembered everyone’s preferences, yet no one remembered I didn’t eat cilantro. “Maybe I got it wrong.” I didn’t argue, turning to enter the kitchen. If he wanted his darling to drink seafood soup, I’d make it. Cleaning the lobster, chopping onions, simmering the broth. I performed each step methodically. The kitchen’s glass door wasn’t fully closed. Fragments of conversation drifted in from the living room. “Jackson, is Scarlett angry?” It was Phoebe’s voice, laced with a hint of grievance. “Maybe I should move out. I’m not as clingy as Thomas, it’s fine.” “This is my home, and it’s your home. Stay as long as you like.” Jackson’s voice was firm. “As for her, don’t worry about it. Taking care of pack members is the Luna’s responsibility. Just ignore her.” “But…” “No buts. Thomas can’t be without you. Look at him this morning, has he asked for Scarlett even once?” Thomas’s childish voice followed immediately: “I don’t want that bad woman! I want Phoebe to be my mom!” Whoosh— I turned the faucet to full blast. The water rushed over the cold ceramic bowl, washing away those grating voices. I looked down at the sink. A blank face stared back from the reflection. Before, hearing these words would have made me sad. I would have cried all night, buried under my blankets. I would have wondered if I wasn’t good enough, not gentle or considerate enough. But now, my heart was surprisingly calm. It was like watching a clumsy performance. Only laughable. Half an hour later, I carried the steaming soup pot out of the kitchen. Jackson was leaning over, feeding Phoebe freshly cut apple slices. Seeing me, he didn’t even lift his gaze. “Just put it down. Let it cool before serving.” I placed the soup on the dining table, said nothing, and turned to go upstairs. “Stop.” Jackson called out. He put down the apple, pulled a napkin to wipe his hands, and said carelessly, “Clear out your fragrance lab. Phoebe wants to use it for yoga.” My steps froze. That fragrance lab was my only private space in this house. It held my unfinished perfumes. That was my red line. “There’s a gym downstairs,” I said. “The gym doesn’t get enough light.” Jackson frowned. “Just clear it out. Why so much fuss? Your blending stuff isn’t worth anything, it’s just taking up space.” “Blending stuff.” That was my passion. It was the only thing that proved I was once a werewolf warrior with exceptional herbal talent, not just a nanny. But in the eyes of this powerful Alpha, it was just space-wasting trash. “Got it.” I heard myself say. No argument, no hysteria. Jackson seemed somewhat surprised by my obedience, but he didn’t dwell on it. He just waved me away. I went back to my room and pulled out a large black trash bag. Entering the fragrance lab. The bottle of perfume I’d spent three months blending, named “Deep Sea,” stood silently on the workbench. I picked it up. I slammed the bottle to the floor. Glass shattered, a jarring sound. My carefully blended essential oils flowed across the floor, and the scent of herbs instantly permeated the air. I scooped the shards into the trash bag, along with the essential oils, measuring cups, and droppers. Everything was cleaned up. It took less than ten minutes. The once-full room became instantly empty. Only a faint, lingering mixed scent remained in the air. There was no trace of Scarlett left here. Just like in this house.

Scarlett POV I was woken by urgent knocking. I opened the door, and Thomas stood there, holding his wolf plushie with the broken arm, a fierce look on his face. “Bad woman, who told you to touch my toy?!” He threw the plushie hard at my leg. The sharp plastic edge hit my kneecap, a piercing pain. I looked down at my son at my feet. Five years old, and he was the spitting image of Jackson. His eyes, his nose, even that entitled, bossy demeanor were identical. I remembered when he was first born, a soft, cuddly bundle. Jackson disliked his noise, never wanting to hold him. It was me, pacing the room all night, humming lullabies to get him to sleep. His first “Mama,” his first steps, his first time eating with a spoon. Every single moment, I was there with him. But from the day Phoebe returned, everything changed. Phoebe only needed to give him a piece of candy to earn a sweet “thank you.” Yet a whole meal I painstakingly prepared would only earn me a “this tastes awful!” “I didn’t touch your toy.” I bent down, picked up the plushie, and offered it to him. “You broke it yourself yesterday.” “You’re lying!” Thomas slapped my hand away. “Phoebe said you were jealous her gift to me was better than yours, so you ruined it when I wasn’t looking! You’re a wicked witch!” Wicked witch. How could a five-year-old know such a term to describe someone? No need to guess who taught him. I looked at his flushed little face and suddenly felt exhausted. I didn’t even have the energy to explain. “Think what you want.” I walked past him, heading downstairs for water. Thomas clearly hadn’t expected this reaction from me. Before, if he threw a tantrum, I’d frantically comfort him, agreeing to all his unreasonable demands. The anger of being ignored made him instantly lose control. He rushed forward and bit my calf hard. His sharp baby teeth pierced through the fabric, digging into my flesh. I gasped in pain, instinctively pushing him away. It wasn’t a strong push. But Thomas stumbled backward, sat heavily on the floor, and started to wail. “Wah—Daddy! The bad woman hit me!” The laughter downstairs ceased abruptly. Hurried footsteps approached. Jackson stormed up the stairs, saw his son crying on the floor, and me standing nearby, observing coldly. His face immediately darkened. “Scarlett, what are you doing?” He strode over, pushed me aside, and pulled Thomas into his arms. The force was strong. I staggered a few steps, my lower back hitting the stair railing, making me gasp in pain. “She pushed me! She tried to push me down the stairs!” Thomas huddled in Jackson’s embrace, pointing at me and complaining, crying crocodile tears. “I didn’t.” I straightened up, holding the railing, and looked at the father and son. “Didn’t?” Jackson scoffed, his gaze on me filled with disgust. “Thomas is only five. Does he lie? Scarlett, I never realized you were so vicious, you can’t even stand a child?” Vicious. Can’t stand. So that’s what he thought of me. Phoebe also rushed up then, her face anxious, peering at Thomas. “Did you get hurt? Let me see.” She wiped Thomas’s tears, then turned to me, her eyes full of reproach. “Scarlett, children can be difficult. You should just talk to him, why would you hit him? What if he really got hurt…” “Enough.” Jackson cut her off, standing up with Thomas in his arms. He looked down at me, as if I were a criminal. “Apologize to Thomas.” I froze. “I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?” “Do I need to repeat myself?” Jackson’s voice was laced with suppressed fury. “Apologize.” I looked into his cold eyes. Five years of shared life, and in his eyes, it meant nothing compared to Phoebe’s manipulation, or Thomas’s lie. I suddenly smiled. A soft, bitter smile. “Fine.” I nodded, looking at Thomas’s little face, contorted with triumph. “I’m sorry.” As those words left my lips, I felt something inside me break completely. It was the last thread connecting me to this family. Thomas snorted, turning his head away from me. Jackson’s expression softened slightly, but still looked grim. “Don’t show your face to Thomas these next few days. You just upset him.” With that, he walked downstairs with his son and Phoebe. A family of three. Such a harmonious sight. I stood there, watching them disappear around the stairwell. The wound on my knee had healed, but the bloodstains remained, and the bite mark on my calf was already bruised. The only things that could harm a werewolf, besides silver, were other werewolves. I should treat myself with herbs quickly. But then I decided not to. Let it be a reminder of what had happened. I returned to my room and pulled a suitcase from under the bed. Opened the closet. Most of the clothes were black, white, and gray — Jackson’s preferred colors. He said bright colors made me look frivolous, and only muted tones suited the Luna’s status. I didn’t take any of them. Only a few outfits I’d bought before we were together, and the photo album hidden deep in the closet. I opened the album. The first photo was of Jackson and me. In the picture, his face was stern, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he was very unwilling. I, on the other hand, smiled like an idiot, my eyes full of light. That was me five years ago. Back then, I believed that if I tried hard enough, loved him enough, this stone would eventually warm up. Now I knew. A stone would never warm up. Especially when that stone’s heart was already occupied by someone else. I took out scissors. Snip— Along the center of the photo. The woman with the happy smile and the ice-cold man were completely separated. I threw Jackson’s half of the photo into the trash can. Only keeping the half with myself, eyes full of light. Though that light, now, was extinguished. But I would rekindle it. Somewhere without Jackson.

Scarlett POV It was late when I finished packing. The suitcase was light, barely half-full. I’d lived here for five years, yet I could take so little with me. I pushed the suitcase to the deepest part of the walk-in closet, covering it with old coats. As I straightened up, the door opened. Jackson walked in. He’d just showered, smelling of shower gel mixed with a faint hint of tobacco. It was the brand of cigarettes Phoebe had given him. He didn’t even look at me, walking straight to the bed and sitting down. As he dried his hair, he said, “There’s a Full Moon Gala tomorrow night. You’ll come with me.” If this were before, I would have been too excited to sleep. Because it meant he acknowledged my status. But now, I only felt sarcasm. “Phoebe’s back, isn’t she?” I walked to the vanity table, picked up my face cream, and applied it. “She’s probably more suitable for such an occasion than I am.” Jackson’s hair-drying paused. He looked at me through the mirror, his brows furrowed again. “Scarlett, are you done with this?” He threw the towel onto the bed impatiently. “Phoebe hasn’t fully recovered. She can’t handle the noise of such an event. You’re my mate, the pack’s Luna. This is your responsibility.” Responsibility. So that’s why I existed. A shield, a tool, a nanny. Anything but a lover. “I’m not going.” I capped the face cream and turned to face him. “I don’t feel well.” Jackson seemed surprised by my refusal. This was probably the first time I’d said “no” to him since becoming his Luna. He stood up, strode over to me, and gripped my jaw. His grip was tight, making me wince in pain. “Scarlett, don’t think I don’t know what games you’re playing.” His eyes were sharp as knives, as if trying to see through me. “Though I don’t know why you smell so weak… but as Luna, don’t be so dramatic. Intentionally not cleaning up your bloodstains and trying to gain sympathy in front of me, what, feeling threatened now that Phoebe’s back?” Threatened? I couldn’t help but let out a short, bitter laugh. Seven days ago, maybe I would have. But now, facing a dying relationship, where was the threat? “Jackson.” I looked him straight in the eyes, my voice so calm it surprised even myself. “I really don’t feel well. And I’m exhausted.” Jackson stared at me for a few seconds. As if trying to find traces of a lie on my face. But he failed. There was no emotion in my eyes—no jealousy, no anger, just a stagnant pool of calm. This serenity felt alien to him, even a hint of inexplicable irritation. He released my jaw and scoffed coldly. “Suit yourself.” With that, he turned to leave. At the doorway, he paused again. “Since you’re not going, don’t regret it. Tomorrow, I’ll take Phoebe. Don’t come crying to me if people start gossiping.” It was a threat. He knew I cared about my standing, about the respectability of this relationship. Unfortunately, he miscalculated this time. “I won’t.” I looked at his back and said softly, “As long as you’re happy.” Jackson’s body stiffened. But he didn’t look back, merely slamming the door shut. Bang! The wall clock trembled. I looked at the closed door and let out a long breath. I hadn’t lied. I really didn’t feel well. The dragging pain in my abdomen hadn’t disappeared; instead, it grew more intense. I found the medicine cabinet, pulled out some painkillers, and swallowed them. The bitter taste of herbs spread across my tongue. I lay in bed and turned off the light. In the darkness, my phone screen suddenly lit up. It was a notification of funds received. Fifty thousand dollars. Immediately followed by a message from Phoebe: Scarlett, thank you for clearing out the fragrance lab for me. This money is compensation for your perfume materials. Jackson asked me to send it, said he didn’t want you to work for nothing. I stared at the long string of numbers. In Jackson’s eyes, my dreams, my dignity, were worth this much. Or rather, it was a hush money of sorts, enabling Phoebe to comfortably usurp my things. I didn’t reply, nor did I refund it. I kept it. Why shouldn’t I? It was what I deserved. Consider it five years of nanny wages, and emotional damages. There would be many expenses in the human world after leaving the pack. I placed my phone face down on the nightstand and closed my eyes. Six more days. Just six more days to endure. Then I’d be completely free. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, a commotion erupted downstairs. It sounded like something shattered, accompanied by Phoebe’s shriek. I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head. Even if the house collapsed, it had nothing to do with me. That night, I had a dream. I dreamt I was a bird. Trapped in a golden cage, I plucked out all my feathers to please my owner. Finally, the owner opened the cage. Not to release me. But to put in a more beautiful peacock. The featherless bird was carelessly tossed into the trash. Gasping its last breath. When I woke up, my pillow was soaked. Not with tears. With cold sweat.

Scarlett POV I don’t remember how I walked out of the mansion. Only that the sunlight outside was blinding, yet held no warmth against my skin. I went to the Pack’s medical center. It was more like a small clinic. Since werewolves rarely needed extensive treatment, it was quiet and empty. I registered, underwent some necessary exams, and finally found the doctor. “Scarlett?” The doctor, an older woman, pushed up her glasses, her gaze falling on my report. Her brows immediately drew together. “Your condition is very dangerous. You have an incomplete miscarriage, with retained tissue, and you’ve got a wolf venom infection. You need surgery immediately.” Surgery. I knew what that meant. Cold instruments probing my body, scraping away that unformed blood clot, along with all my hopes for the past. “I won’t have surgery.” I heard my own calm voice. “Just give me some strong painkillers.” The doctor looked up sharply, staring at me as if I were insane. “Are you trying to die? This kind of infection is very hard to heal on its own, and it will harm your wolf…” She paused, pointing to the alarmingly low number on the lab report. “Are your wounds healing slower recently? And has your wolf been responding less?” I instinctively pulled down my sleeve, covering the bruise on my wrist. It was from Jackson’s grip yesterday, still not healed. Normally, it would disappear quickly. “I know what I’m doing.” I stood up, didn’t wait for the doctor to say more, and walked out of the examination room. Only I knew that this body was broken. It couldn’t be fixed. Even if I fixed this, there would be something else waiting for me. Rather than let my wolf and I endure this torment, I’d rather finish these last few days with dignity. While picking up my medication, the wall-mounted TV in the lobby was broadcasting news from the werewolf world. “Frostveil Pack’s Alpha Jackson attends Full Moon Gala with a mystery lady, spending millions on a pink diamond necklace…” On screen, Jackson stood tall in a perfectly tailored formal suit. Phoebe clung to his arm, the shimmering pink diamond necklace adorning her neck, smiling blissfully. The reporter’s microphone was practically shoved into their faces. “Mr. Jackson, is this lady your mate?” Jackson didn’t deny it, only looking down at Phoebe, his eyes so tender they could drip honey. “She is the most important person to me.” Many in the lobby were watching, some envious, some gasping. No one remembered that I was the true Luna. I stood behind the crowd, clutching a bag of painkillers, a bitter taste of bile in my mouth. The most important person. Then what was I? Five years of shared life, I stood by him from Alpha heir to true Alpha. To garner support, I fought alongside him until I collapsed from exhaustion; to care for his ailing mother, I stayed by her bedside for three months, missing my own mother’s final moments. In the end, I was just an invisible person, not even worthy of a name. I lowered my head, popping a pill into my mouth. I swallowed it dry, without water. The rough tablet scraped my throat, leaving a burning pain. But this pain felt good. At least it reminded me that I was still alive.

Scarlett POV By the time I returned to the mansion, night had fallen completely. The living room was brightly lit. Thomas was sprawled on the rug, drawing, while Phoebe sat beside him, sharpening pencils. Jackson was reviewing documents. If not for the few large cardboard boxes piled in the corner, this would indeed be a picture of a warm family scene. Those were my things. My books, my tea set, even the few coats I often wore. All haphazardly stuffed into cardboard boxes, like a pile of garbage waiting for disposal. “What’s all this?” I changed my shoes and walked over to the boxes. Gamma Lena, who was sealing a box with tape, startled when she saw me, making the tape rip with a sharp, grating sound. “Luna Scarlett… Ms. Phoebe said the house was too cluttered, easy to collect dust, and not good for Thomas, so…” “I asked Gamma Lena to tidy up.” Phoebe put down her pencil, stood up, and looked at me with an innocent expression. “Scarlett, don’t overthink it. I saw you hardly ever use these things, they were just taking up space. Besides, the doctor said Thomas has a bit of allergic rhinitis, and the house needs to be kept clean.” Allergic rhinitis. Though children at that age often got sick, I didn’t recall him having that condition. I looked at the unsealed box. Inside was a bedtime storybook, its corners worn from use. That was the storybook I read to Thomas every night when he was three. Now it was an allergen. “Just throw them out.” Jackson didn’t even look up, turning a page of his document. “They’re useless anyway.” I looked at the man’s profile. Cold, entitled. As if he wasn’t throwing away my belongings, but me. “Okay.” I bent down and picked up the box. It was heavy. Lena started to help, but I dodged her. “I’ll do it myself.” I carried the box and walked out. As I passed Thomas, he suddenly looked up, holding out his drawing, and called out to Jackson, showing off, “Daddy, look! My family portrait!” Jackson put down his document, took the drawing, and a smile touched his lips. “That’s good.” I instinctively glanced over. There were three people in the drawing. A tall daddy, a pretty mommy, and Thomas in the middle, holding hands. The “mommy” wore a pink dress and a sparkling necklace. That was Phoebe’s outfit today. I wasn’t in the drawing. I felt the box in my arms suddenly weigh a thousand pounds, suffocating me. “Thomas is so talented.” Phoebe patted Thomas’s head, giving me a defiant look. “How about I take you to art classes later?” “Yes! I love Phoebe the most!” Thomas hugged her neck and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. I averted my gaze and quickened my pace. I walked out the front door, all the way to the open yard outside. I dropped the box heavily to the ground. Thud! A cloud of dust rose. Looking at the storybook, a corner peeking out. It suddenly felt ridiculous. Scarlett, look. The memories you cherished like treasure are, in others’ eyes, nothing but trash to be discarded at any moment. I pulled a lighter from my pocket. Click! A blue flame danced in the night wind. I lit a corner of the box. The fire spread quickly, the dry paper curling and blackening, turning to ash. The firelight reflected in my eyes, feeling hot. At some point, Jackson stood behind me. “What are you doing?” His voice was deep, tinged with surprise. He probably hadn’t expected me to burn my own things. After all, before, even a sticky note, if he’d given it to me, I would have carefully saved it. “As you said.” I watched the dancing flames, not turning around. “Cleaning up trash.” Jackson was silent for a few seconds. “Scarlett, you’ve been acting strangely lately.” He walked over to me, scrutinizing me. “If this is to get my attention, you’re overacting.” Overacting? I turned, looking at the man I had loved for seven years. In the firelight, his profile was still breathtakingly handsome. But my heart, like this pile of ashes, was utterly cold. “Jackson.” I called his name. “If I died one day, would you be sad?” Jackson froze. Then, he frowned, an obvious look of disgust appearing on his face. “Don’t say such morbid things.” He flicked his cigarette ash, his tone cold. “Someone like you, you’re tough as nails. How could you die so easily?” I smiled. Yes. Someone like me, like a wild weed. Stepped into the mud, burned by fire, as long as there’s a root left, I can cling to life. But Jackson. This time, I’m pulling up the roots too. “That’s good.” I said softly. “That’s good.” I won’t love you anymore, Jackson. You destroyed me with your own hands.

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