The night of high school graduation, Wyatt Reed finally talked me into bed. After that first taste, he became obsessed, entangling himself in my life for seven long years. Our friends all teased him for being a total simp: “Just marry her already, Wyatt. The guy would literally die for you.” Until one day, by pure accident, I stumbled upon his burner social media account. Hidden among thousands of posts was a record of a twisted, sickening devotion. A girl in a white sundress—delicate, ethereal, and radiant. She was his “One That Got Away.” His untouchable muse. That was the moment I realized that in our seven years together, He had given me his body, but his heart had always belonged to someone else. 01 The day I found Wyatt’s burner account was just a regular Tuesday night. Wyatt had just returned from a business trip. The moment he stepped through the door, he didn’t even drop his bags before pinning me to the bed. His needs were always high, and after a week apart, he was feral—impatient and rough. By the time it was over, I was too exhausted to even keep my eyes open. Ding. A sharp, short notification chimed. I watched Wyatt pick up his phone, his brow furrowing instantly. As he reached for his coat to head back out, I grabbed his wrist. “It’s so late. Where are you going?” Wyatt turned back, his voice dripping with that familiar, gentle sweetness. “Just a quick emergency at the office, babe. Go back to sleep. Don’t wait up.” Maybe it was woman’s intuition. Half an hour after the front door clicked shut, I was wide awake. I forced myself out of bed and called the night security desk at his firm. “Is the team working late? I wanted to order some late-night pizza for everyone.” “No need, ma’am. Mr. Reed let everyone off early today. The building is empty.” “Everyone? There’s no one left in the office?” “No one, Ms. Hayes. Did you need me to leave a message for someone?” “No. Thank you.” I hung up and sat on the edge of the bed in a daze. Our apartment was close to his office. A ten-minute drive, tops. It had been thirty minutes. Wyatt wasn’t at work. Where the hell was he? 02 The next morning, Wyatt came home. He seemed to be in an incredible mood, whistling as he unlocked the door. He brought a box of my favorite artisan donuts from a boutique shop across town. It was a local legend—high-end, always a long line, no delivery. “If my girl wants them, I’d climb the highest mountain to get them for her. I’d even bake them myself if I had to.” I let out a small laugh. I rubbed my temples, telling myself I was being paranoid. If I suggested Wyatt didn’t love me, our friends would be the first to call me crazy. “Nora, stop it. Wyatt is literally obsessed with you. He can’t breathe without you.” “You guys have been together seven years. Every time you fight, he’s the one crawling back on his knees, begging for a chance to make it right.” “Stop being dramatic. Just say yes to the proposal and get married already.” Our friends weren’t wrong. In this relationship, Wyatt was always the pursuer. But they were wrong about one thing: Wyatt had never actually proposed. Wyatt used to say: “Babe, I don’t want to give you anything less than perfect. I’ll ask when the business is stable.” I was young then, too. I didn’t want to be tied down by a marriage license. We were in sync—and so we spent seven years in this blurred, entangled mess. During breakfast, Wyatt stared at his phone, a faint, unconscious smile playing on his lips. “What are you looking at? You look happy.” The smile vanished instantly. “Nothing. Just a cat video.” “Let me see.” Wyatt pocketed the phone and suddenly scooped me up into his arms. “Nothing worth seeing,” he rasped into my ear. “You’re much prettier. Are you full? Because it’s my turn to eat.” Right before he pressed me back into the mattress, My eyes caught a glimpse of his screen. A bright red icon. It was a niche social app mostly used by women for aesthetic blogging. Why would that be on his phone? 03 Once a seed of doubt is planted, it grows like a weed. I waited until Wyatt went to take a shower and bypassed his passcode—it was my birthday. I only had time to find the username: “FadedStar.” The next morning, I sat in my home office. I filtered by location and profile picture, scrolling through thousands of “Star” accounts. An hour later, I found him. When I clicked on the profile, it felt like opening Pandora’s box. Thousands of posts. A diary of a sick, twisted obsession that made my blood run cold. [June 9, 2017. I slept with someone else today. I don’t regret it. You were the one who betrayed me first.] That was the year Wyatt stumbled into my dorm room smelling of whiskey. He talked me out of my clothes and stayed with me all night. [September 1, 2018. I missed the cut for the Ivy League. You think I chose this school for you? You’re wrong.] That was orientation day. Wyatt had knelt on the grass with a bouquet, telling me he wanted to be responsible for what happened that summer. He wasn’t there for me. He was there because he failed his top choice. [August 7, 2021. You actually got married? I will never forgive you. I hope you rot in hell.] That night, Wyatt drank himself into a stupor. He was violent. He used toys I hated. I cried for hours. The next day, I had a fever and ended up in the ER. [December 25, 2023. You’re divorced. Will you finally look at me now?] That day, Wyatt—a man who hated the holidays—put on a Santa hat and posted a happy photo on our public Instagram. I couldn’t look anymore. My hands were shaking as I scrolled to the very end. The latest post was from a few nights ago—the night Wyatt never came home. [The thing you can’t have in your youth will haunt you for a lifetime.] The photo was of a girl in a white sundress. Beautiful. Delicate. I finally recognized her. Clara Vance. Wyatt’s childhood neighbor. I sat frozen for a long time. A cold chill washed over me, and I began to shiver uncontrollably as the truth hit me. In these seven years of entanglement, his love had never belonged to me for a single second. The childhood crush. The years of pining. Their love was a tragic, cinematic masterpiece. So… what was I? 04 I took screenshots. I recorded the screen. I saved everything. That evening, Wyatt came home with a bag of new lingerie and “toys.” He always had new tricks, and I was always the one struggling to keep up. “I can’t. I’m on my period.” Wyatt paused, then pressed his weight against me anyway. “Then use your hands? Or your legs? I’ll be gentle, babe.” “No. I’m not in the mood.” After I rejected him a few more times, his face darkened. He didn’t blow up, but he was clearly annoyed. He got me a heating pad and made me a cup of tea. “Rest then, babe. I have to head to the office to handle something.” A friend once told me: “Don’t be ungrateful, Nora. A man only wants you that much if he loves you. He’s almost thirty and still acts like a horny teenager around you.” “Mine stays on the couch like a dead dog. The passion is long gone.” I used to believe that too. Wyatt never hid his obsession with my body. But I forgot that for men, love and lust can be two entirely different roads. I asked myself: If I were Wyatt, would I be this reckless and rough with the person I truly loved? As he wrote on his burner account: [You are the bright, untouchable moon. I dare not even touch you. To just have your light shine on me is enough of an honor.] And me? Our first time was in a cheap motel with scratchy sheets and zero regard for my pain. The difference between love and lust was a chasm I had finally seen. 05 I followed him. I watched him enter a small, boutique bakery downtown. Clara Vance stepped out, wearing a white dress. She looked surprised, her hands reaching out to grab Wyatt’s arm. But Wyatt was acting strangely cold. He pushed her away. “The shop is yours now. Don’t contact me again.” Clara didn’t listen. she clung to him. “I don’t believe you. You can’t stay away from me.” They went back and forth until Clara started to cry. Wyatt finally snapped, pinning her against the brick wall. “Don’t make me regret this.” Under the dim glow of the streetlamp, they kissed. I stood in the shadows, my phone out, snapping photos. In my memory, Wyatt hated kissing. I stared at their silhouettes. So, it wasn’t that he hated kissing. He just hated kissing me. He wasn’t avoiding a proposal; he was waiting for someone else’s divorce. Just as Wyatt was about to pull her dress down, he stopped. “Go inside. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Clara leaned in, persistent. “What? Going home to that girl to blow off some steam?” “I won’t touch her tonight.” “I don’t believe you. Am I prettier, or is she?” Wyatt went silent for a moment. “You, obviously. She can’t even be compared to you.” Clara smiled, satisfied. “Do you have any cupcakes left?” Wyatt asked. “Yeah. Why?” “I’ll take one.” At that exact moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Wyatt: [Hey babe, does your stomach still hurt?] [I’m picking up a treat for you. What flavor do you want?] 06 Wyatt was almost funny. Coming back from a tryst, bringing me a cake baked by the woman he just cheated with. I replied: [I don’t want a cupcake. I want those green matcha donuts from the Old Street bakery.] I could almost see his face falling. Old Street was a forty-minute drive in the opposite direction. But it was a “green” kind of day. It felt appropriate. Wyatt: [Sure, babe. On my way. I’ll Uber some food to the apartment for you to snack on first. Love you.] I locked my phone with a blank expression. I wondered how much longer he could keep up the act. 07 When Wyatt returned, he had the donuts. He also brought his best friend, Carter Brooks. Carter was wasted and crashed in our guest room. In the middle of the night, when I got up for water, I heard them talking. Wyatt’s voice was cold. “Next time you get this trashed, you’re on your own.” Carter was a notorious player. He always had a girl on his arm. “You don’t get it, man. Women are like clothes. You can’t walk around naked.” “The girls you pick up are walking petri dishes,” Wyatt snapped. “Find one girl and settle down. It’s cleaner.” Carter chuckled, still sounding drunk. “Like Nora? “She is a catch, I’ll give you that. Obedient, hot body… you’re a lucky bastard. “But Clara is back now. When are you dumping Nora?” Wyatt was quiet. “We’ll see. Clara hasn’t said yes yet.” “Well, when you’re done with her, pass Nora to me. I’ve been eyeing her for a long time.” Wyatt suddenly got angry and shoved Carter. Carter didn’t care. “What are you acting all protective for? You’re the one who told me how wild she is in bed. Why are you getting possessive now?” I stood outside the door, my body turning to ice. I never imagined that the Wyatt who was so “tender” to me Would talk about our private life so disgustingly to his friends. Wyatt’s voice came through the door again, flat and cold. “Go for it if you want. “She’s an orphan. Desperate for affection. She’s an easy mark. “A bouquet of flowers is enough to get her into bed. Good luck.” 08 I went to that bakery alone. It was cozy and chic—exactly Clara’s style. When she saw me, she froze for a second, but then put on a professional smile. I took one bite of the cake and put the fork down. “How long have you been back?” Clara smiled sweetly. “Not long. Just got in.” I knew who she was. During our second year together, I found his “shrine.” Wyatt had a box filled with flight logs to San Francisco. He went once a month. He told me his family forced him to check on her. So, when I was sick, Wyatt was in San Fran. On my birthday, Wyatt was in San Fran. We fought about her so many times. But every time we broke up, he would fight so hard to get me back. Until senior year of college, when Clara got married abroad. Then, he finally settled down. And now, she was divorced. And Wyatt was right back where he started. He saw me and frowned, trying to explain. “Nora, I grew up poor. Her dad paid for my tuition. Clara is back and struggling. I bought her this shop to pay back the debt.” No wonder the devotion was so deep. It was “gratitude.” I just nodded. I couldn’t compete with a debt of life. 09 “Have you found a place to stay? The winters here are brutal.” “Staying alone is so inconvenient. You should just move in with us.” I acted concerned, asking Clara if she was tired or needed help. Clara’s expression became increasingly uneasy, her eyes darting to Wyatt. Wyatt finally snapped and interrupted me. “That’s enough. She’s fine here.” As I left, I bought a cake and politely said goodbye. Wyatt’s face was thunderous, his rage barely contained. The moment we got into the car, he pinned me against the seat. “What the hell were you doing in there? “You can’t even buy a cake without making it a thing? “Did Carter tell you about this place?” “Why? Am I not allowed to be here? Or are you hiding something?” Wyatt punched the headrest, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes, forcing his voice into a low growl. “Nora, can you just talk like a normal person for once?” I was so over it. “Who told me doesn’t matter.” I threw the printed photos onto the dashboard. “Let’s settle the bill, Wyatt. “Is this what you meant by ‘working late’? Do you need to make out with her to file a report?” Wyatt didn’t move. A sharp edge of a photo caught his forehead, leaving a thin trail of blood. I looked him up and down with pure disgust. I threw his own words back at him. “You really are an easy mark, aren’t you? “She snaps her fingers, and you come running like a dog. “Wyatt, you are so pathetic.”

After a flash marriage to my cold, abstinent childhood-friend-turned-professor… He spent every single day at the lab and never came home. During the end-of-semester faculty evaluations, I took the opportunity for some petty revenge using a burner account: [Don’t let his sharp nose and good looks fool you, he’s actually terrible in bed.] [Honestly, he’s worse than the guy selling fried chicken downstairs.] As a result, my cover was blown. That very night, he pinned me against the bathroom wall by my waist: “I’m terrible in bed, am I?” “Hubby, I was wrong…” 1 It was nearing the end of the semester, and the university had just rolled out its new faculty evaluation portal. Anyone could leave a review, and it was completely anonymous. [Ahhhh, Professor Ethan Carter! I! WOULD! DIE! FOR! HIM!] [His fingers are so long, his nose is so sharp, he just looks like he’s so good in bed! So~ good~] [I’m handing you the mic, commenter above, please elaborate…] Less than an hour after the platform went live, Ethan’s reviews had already broken a thousand comments. His popularity shot straight to number one. I huddled under the covers, scrolling through my phone, the screen casting a sickly green glow over my face. I heard a faint noise from the front door. Ethan must be home. It was so late again! Was academia really that much more interesting than his own wife? Feeling petty, I typed out two quick reviews: [Don’t let his sharp nose and good looks fool you, he’s actually terrible in bed.] [Honestly, he’s worse than the guy selling fried chicken downstairs.] Suddenly, the bedroom door gave a soft click. Panicking, I locked my phone, shoved it under my pillow, and squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. I could feel him standing silently by my bed for a moment. Then, just as quietly, he closed the door and left. I let out a long breath. How weird. Did he always check on me like this when I was asleep? 2 My name is Vivian Hayes, and I’m an associate professor at Columbia University. A month ago, I got a flash marriage. The groom was my childhood friend, Ethan Carter. We’ve known each other for over twenty years. Growing up, he was my absolute nightmare. A boy genius who skipped multiple grades, won every physics olympiad, and got early admission to MIT. By the time I was in high school, this guy was already fast-tracking a combined Master’s and Ph.D. program. He was the first triple-MIT graduate I had ever met in real life! Our marriage was essentially sealed over a single dinner between our two families. My family was thrilled to latch onto such a golden boy. Everyone acted like I had won the lottery. The craziest part was that Ethan actually agreed to it. He just had one condition. While our parents were hashing out the wedding details, Ethan had lifted those deep, unfathomable eyes and looked at me calmly. I was already sneaking glances at him, and when our eyes met, my heart leaped into my throat. I instinctively sat up straighter. “I agree to this,” he said. “But we delay the wedding ceremony.” “And for now… we keep it a secret.” When I heard him say he agreed, my heart did a tiny, joyful flip—before immediately plummeting to the floor. If he was so disgusted by the idea of being seen with me, why agree in the first place? I looked at him in confusion, only to find him staring right back. I quickly looked away. What if he thought I was unhappy about it and backed out of the marriage? I felt like a thief, stealing the title of his wife first. I’d figure out the rest later. Who could blame me? I actually really liked him. 3 Everyone on the Columbia faculty knew that Ethan and I had a terrible relationship. Or rather, a highly antagonistic one. His specialty was theoretical physics. Mine was experimental physics. He was a full, tenured Professor. I was just an Associate Professor. He had a venomous tongue and always managed to belittle my field of research to absolute dust. He acted like theoretical physicists were the only ones on the bleeding edge, and I was just a grunt with my head down, validating his genius. “You’ll always just be following behind me.” That was his assessment of me on an academic level. But it felt like his definition of me as a person, too. Every time we argued, it only took a few days for me to forget why I was even mad, and I’d shamelessly wander back over to him. Only to lose another debate and storm off in a fit of helpless rage. The department head was so worried about us starting a brawl that he put our offices on opposite ends of the hallway, separated by a stairwell. Unless there was a faculty meeting, we practically never saw each other. I just didn’t expect that even after getting married, we’d still barely see each other. Our apartment was right near campus, all paid for and arranged by our families. On the master bed, the ridiculously festive, bright-red marital sheets were almost as red as my ears. I stared down at the matching slippers on the floor, too nervous to look at him. Suddenly, Ethan’s calm voice drifted over: “I’ll take the master bedroom. You can pick whichever of the guest rooms you want.” My heart sank like a stone. I mumbled under my breath, “We’re married and you’re still treating me like a disease. What do you think I’m going to do to you…” “What was that?” Ethan hadn’t heard me clearly. “Nothing,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Good thing this place has so many bedrooms, or we might actually have to share space.” Ethan went silent for a half-second. Then, his voice tight, he asked, “Vivian, when our parents were discussing the marriage, you never said a word.” “So, what is your stance?” “Did you actually agree to this, or were you against it?” My heart hammered against my ribs. I shot a panicked look at him, terrified he could hear it beating. After a long pause, I said, “Did I even have a say in the matter?” I felt too guilty to look him in the eye. Ethan sounded like he was gritting his teeth. “Fine.” With that, he pushed open the door to the master bedroom and slammed it shut with a loud BANG. I was locked out. Was he… mad? 4 I took the guest room right next to the master suite. In the month since we got our marriage license, the only time I actually saw Ethan was the day we moved in. We saw each other less now than we did before the wedding. In the mornings, he left for campus before I woke up. At night, he stayed locked in his lab researching quantum mechanics until god knows when. By the time he got home, I was already fast asleep. He was never home, and I refused to text him first. It felt like a petty cold war. No seeing each other, no talking. Honestly, the emotional value Ethan provided me was lower than the delivery guy from the highest-rated fried chicken spot on DoorDash. At least that guy’s chicken was actually delicious. 5 At 7:00 AM, my biological clock woke me up. Ethan was already gone. On my walk to campus, I couldn’t shake the feeling that people were staring at me. It gave me the creeps. I whipped my head around to look. A few undergrads who looked vaguely familiar immediately ducked their heads, hunched their shoulders, and scurried away, whispering to each other. I think they were physics majors. When I got to the lab building, even the other professors were giving me weird, sly grins in the hallway. Professor Davis from the lab next door trotted over, clutching her Yeti mug, a massive grin on her face. “Professor Hayes, you are absolutely legendary!” “Of course I am,” I said, sticking my nose in the air. I had just published a paper in a core journal, and the impact factor was looking stellar. Professor Davis chuckled. “You should have seen Professor Carter’s face when he walked in this morning. It was pure thunder.” “Wait, he’s actually jealous?” I was shocked. Ethan was the last person on earth who needed another journal publication. If you lined up all his published papers, they’d circle the globe. He was actually jealous of me? Professor Davis pushed her glasses up her nose. “Well, no man can handle that kind of insult! Especially coming from you!” I frowned, racking my brain. What exactly did I write in my paper that managed to trigger Ethan Carter so badly? She patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, if Professor Carter tries to kill you, I’ll call campus security.” “Uh? It’s not that serious, is it?” Even at the peak of our worst arguments, he’d never laid a finger on me. She nodded vigorously. “Of course it is! You told the whole school he doesn’t last as long as the fried chicken guy! How is he supposed to live that down?!” “Wait, what?” It suddenly hit me. I made a terrible mistake. I whipped out my phone and opened the portal— Black text glared back at me on a white screen. Right next to my snarky comment, where the anonymous username was supposed to be, it boldly displayed: [Vivian Hayes]. 6 I couldn’t believe it! I made the ultimate rookie mistake! I forgot to check the “Anonymous” box when I was roasting Ethan?! I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. I frantically texted my graduate TA, begging him to cover my undergrad lecture that afternoon. I packed my bag and sprinted for the stairs on my side of the building, desperate to escape. The stairwell was dim, the motion-sensor lights completely failing me. I was plunged into darkness. I was looking down at my phone and missed a step, pitching forward. Someone happened to be coming up the stairs right at the landing, and I slammed face-first into their chest. The pecs were rock hard, and the cologne smelled incredible. Just from one touch, I could tell whoever caught me definitely had the physical stats to back it up! Wait, the smell was familiar. We had a guy this hot in the physics department? “Thank you, thank you so much!” I babbled, trying to stand up straight. Instead of letting me go, the guy gripped my arms and pinned me back against the concrete wall. As his face leaned into the dim light, I finally saw who it was. My brain flatlined. Alarm bells blared in my head. It was Ethan. His eyes were dark with suppressed fury. He lowered his voice and asked, “Vivian, have I been a little too lenient with you lately?” I forced a dumb, innocent smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “What exactly is going on between you and the guy selling fried chicken?” he asked through gritted teeth. Seriously, is that the part you’re hung up on? “Ethan? Are you up there?” A gentle, melodic woman’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs. My heart skipped a painful beat. I looked past him. A tall, slender, strikingly beautiful woman was hopping up the steps on one crutch. It was Chloe Sterling. The exact second she appeared and saw us, Ethan shoved me away. He did it in a panic, like he was trying to avoid suspicion. Like I was something filthy. He pushed me away. My back hit the wall lightly, but my entire body ached. What was he so afraid of her seeing? 7 Squinting in the low light, Chloe looked between the two of us. Leaning on her crutch, her gaze lingered on my face for a few seconds before she let out a soft laugh. “Ethan, Vivian was just joking with you. Don’t be so mad at her. You know she scares easily.” Ethan’s eyes never left Chloe’s face. Chloe was a dance instructor at the university’s arts program, and a rising star in the American ballet scene. She definitely knew about my comment on the evaluation portal. This was an issue between me and my husband, yet here she was, acting like she was his closest confidante, mediating on my behalf. Was she even close to me? I stared hard at Ethan, waiting to see what he would do. “Yeah, I can’t be bothered. It’s too childish,” Ethan said quietly. He just went right along with her. And with his words, my heart sank inch by inch into the floor. Ethan shot me a cool, dismissive glance, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “It’s extremely childish.” My throat felt like sandpaper. I changed the subject. “Chloe, what happened to your leg?” “I tweaked my ankle during rehearsals. It hurts a bit.” She furrowed her perfectly shaped brows, looking like a fragile doll that needed protecting. Ethan frowned in concern. “I told you to wait for me downstairs. Why did you walk up?” “I haven’t visited your lab in so long, Ethan! I wanted to rest up there,” Chloe said with a bright, charming smile. I rolled my eyes so hard internally I saw my own brain. If she managed to hop up three flights of stairs on one foot, the sprain would probably heal itself in five minutes. “Alright, let’s go up. Want some coffee?” Ethan sighed, sounding fond and helpless. He never gave me another glance. He just supported Chloe by the arm and walked her up the stairs toward his office. Looking at them from behind, leaning on each other, they looked like a picture-perfect couple. Chloe had the mature, elegant allure of a sophisticated woman. She was understanding and sweet. I was just childish. I wasn’t mature enough to stand beside him. 8 Chloe, Ethan, and I had all known each other since we were kids. Her father was a board member of the Carter family’s corporation, though he didn’t hold many shares. But Ethan’s grandfather adored Chloe. For a long time, he treated her like his future granddaughter-in-law, and her parents explicitly raised her with the goal of marrying Ethan. Naturally, the two of them were always close. While my parents were turning me into the ultimate overachieving stress-case—forcing me to study relentlessly, enter competitions, and take endless exams until I couldn’t breathe—Chloe was learning piano, ballet, and fine art. She grew up radiating high-class elegance, artistic talent practically oozing from her pores. And she was genuinely gifted. She choreographed solo routines that won national awards and had a massive following on Instagram. She had always positioned herself as Ethan’s soulmate. She probably didn’t even know that I had hijacked her golden boy. I used to be so jealous of her. Ethan was always so gentle and patient when taking care of Chloe. But the second he saw me, he’d scowl, nitpick everything I did, and look thoroughly annoyed by my existence. Marrying me must feel like a life sentence to him. 9 Right before my final lecture of the day, Ethan sent me a text: [When you get home tonight, I’m going to show you exactly how ‘terrible’ I am.] My hand shook so badly I almost dropped my phone. What do I do? How was I supposed to go home after that?! If I went home, I was a dead woman! I spent the last few minutes of class completely spaced out, having no idea what I was even saying. Driven by pure fear, the second work ended, I agreed to join a small happy hour organized by a few professors I was friendly with in the physics department. My original plan was to use the socializing as an excuse to go home late. Maybe I’d have a little liquid courage, and then I could bravely face Ethan. I never in a million years expected to see Ethan at this tiny, casual get-together. I was invited by Professor Davis. Ethan was invited by Professor Miller. Clearly, the two of them hadn’t communicated. When we all sat down and stared at each other in the private room of the sushi restaurant, the air was so thick with awkwardness you could cut it with a knife. The other professors looked like they wanted to evacuate the building. I grabbed Professor Davis by the sleeve and hissed through my teeth, “You didn’t tell me he was coming!” “It’s all Miller’s fault!” she whispered back, looking like she wanted to cry. When we settled down, I took the seat farthest away from Ethan. One of our colleagues nervously chuckled and asked, “Professor Carter, you never come to these faculty dinners. What brings you out tonight?” Ethan smiled, a sharp, dangerous curve of his lips. “Just wanted to join the fun.” “After all, I’d just be going home to an empty house anyway.” His eyes locked onto me, heavy with implication. I kept my head down and pretended I was suddenly very interested in my chopsticks. Everyone silently agreed not to bring up the feud between me and Ethan, but after a few rounds of drinks, things always go off the rails. After we finished the sushi, everyone decided to hit a karaoke bar for round two. I raised my hand and said I wanted to go home. Surprisingly, Ethan spoke up at the exact same time: “I’m a bit tired too.” I panicked. If his next sentence was “I’ll take her home,” I was doomed. At least here there were witnesses! If we went home alone, I stood zero chance in a fight against him! I quickly backpedaled: “Never mind, I’ll hang out with you guys a little longer.” My colleagues howled off-key into the microphones while Ethan and I sat on opposite ends of the long leather sofa. Everyone tacitly formed a buffer zone between us. After singing for over an hour, the crowd got bored and decided to play Truth or Dare. A bunch of middle-aged academics huddled around an empty beer bottle, cheering like frat boys. The bottle spun and landed perfectly, pointing right at Ethan. Before anyone could even ask, he simply said, “Truth.” Professor Miller thought for a moment and asked, “Professor Carter, do you have a girlfriend?” The rest of the faculty exchanged knowing smirks. Everyone knew Ethan was famously aloof, a total lone wolf who never showed interest in women—except for Chloe Sterling from the arts department. The entire campus basically assumed Ethan and Chloe were one confession away from being an official couple. Ethan looked up. In the dim, flashing neon lights of the karaoke room, his eyes were bright. He thought of something, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a genuine, star-striking smile. He opened his mouth and said, “No. But there is a girl I really, really like.” The room erupted into cheers and whistling. They were practically chanting Chloe’s name. Next to me, Professor Davis whispered, “Oh my god, my ship is sailing.” I sat there, my lips stretched into a hideous, painful smile. So that’s why he smiled so beautifully. He was thinking about Chloe. Then what did that make me?

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Twenty days into our cold war, Silas posted a photo on his Instagram story—his fingers tightly intertwined with the prom queen’s. I didn’t say a word. I simply logged into my student portal and changed my college commitment to a university a thousand miles away in Seattle. At a party, his friends started teasing him. “Hazel, if you don’t apologize soon, Silas is really going to get together with someone else.” I lowered my head and softly murmured, “I’m sorry.” Silas scoffed, the corners of his lips curling in disdain. “Whatever. Go back and pack my bags. We’re flying out to Los Angeles for college orientation tomorrow.” I gave a vague nod of agreement. Silas didn’t know that I had already bought a one-way bus ticket to Seattle for tonight. 01 I was the daughter of the Montgomery family’s live-in housekeeper. When I was seven, I moved into a tiny annex room on the first floor of their massive estate. My sole responsibility was taking care of Silas’s daily needs. For ten entire years, serving him became a duty carved into my bones. I was docile and obedient. Silas’s mother often praised me. But Silas absolutely loathed me. The first time we met, he was standing on the grand staircase, dressed in a crisp white polo and tailored shorts, looking as flawless as a porcelain doll in a display window. I was wearing a faded, oversized, torn sundress, staring blankly at my new surroundings. The disgust in his eyes was impossible to hide. Mrs. Montgomery introduced me to him. She told him I was Maria’s daughter, Hazel. My father had run off, and we had nowhere else to go, so we came to seek refuge. He didn’t say a single word. He just turned around and walked upstairs. Mrs. Montgomery told my mom that from now on, I would be in charge of keeping Silas company. My mom pulled me aside and warned me. The Montgomery family was incredibly powerful. It wasn’t easy for us to secure a place here. I had to speak less, do more, and under no circumstances was I to make Silas angry. I knew Silas didn’t like me. To ensure we could stay, I tried my hardest to be invisible. Every day, I quietly organized his clothes and cleaned his room. For the first three months I was there, Silas didn’t speak a single word to me. That winter, he got terribly sick. Mrs. Montgomery was in a bad mood at the time and was vacationing in Europe. The family doctor came and prescribed medicine, but by midnight, Silas was still coughing uncontrollably. I remembered a hot honey, lemon, and ginger tea my grandmother used to make for me. When I brewed a mug and brought it up to his room, Silas looked at it with pure revulsion. “Hazel, are you trying to poison me? What kind of disgusting hillbilly remedy is this?” I shrank back timidly. “It’s not poison. It really helps soothe your throat and stops the coughing.” Silas looked annoyed. “If I drink this and I don’t get better, are you going to get the hell out of my house?” I froze, standing off to the side, too scared to even breathe. Silas let out a cold scoff, took the mug, and drank it. When he woke up the next morning, his cough was significantly better. 02 Before middle school started, my mom found a public boarding school for me. It was in a somewhat remote district, meaning I would only have to come back to the estate on weekends. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Leaving my mom at the Montgomery house wasn’t ideal, but at least I wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around Silas every single day. While I was packing my bags and waiting for the bus, my mom ran over, panting heavily. She told me Mrs. Montgomery wanted me to attend Silas’s elite private prep school instead. She wanted me to be there to take care of Silas during school hours. I softly murmured, “Do I have to go?” My mom gripped my shoulders tightly. “Hazel, are you crazy? Silas’s school is the best in the state. People would kill to get in there.” I lowered my eyes and didn’t say another word. 03 From then on, I became Silas’s shadow. I followed him from middle school straight through to high school. I fetched his lunch, carried his gym bag, and did his homework. Everyone knew I was the tail he couldn’t shake off. By junior high, he had a massive clique of rich friends. I was just the tail trailing far behind them. I had to constantly monitor his mood and anticipate his needs. His friends always joked that I was his most loyal, pathetic admirer. If Silas told me to go North, I wouldn’t dare take a single step South. The only thing that never changed was Silas’s disdain for me. During freshman year, Silas went out to a party and got a stain on his favorite limited-edition jacket. He dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night and ordered me to hand-wash it in the laundry room. I was only wearing a thin spaghetti-strap nightgown. My face burned beet red in embarrassment. Silas looked away unnaturally and mocked me, “With a body that flat, who even wants to look at you?” The ignorant insecurities of a teenage girl quietly took root in me. By sophomore year, the academic pressure was crushing. I spent day and night grinding through practice SATs. But Silas had a sudden whim. He wanted to eat home-cooked meals made by me. He ordered me to prep it every night and bring it to school for him to eat at lunch. By the time I finished my practice tests and cooked his meal, it was past midnight. And I still had to wake up early to wait for him to go to school. At lunch, I warmed up the food and placed it in front of him. His friend threw an arm around him and laughed. “Damn, Silas. Your little housewife even packs your lunch.” Silas’s expression instantly turned to ice. Looking at the food with disgust, he tossed it onto his desk-mate’s lap. I didn’t say a word. I quietly waited for the other guy to finish eating, washed the container, and went back to studying. That year, my body finally began to develop. I started dreading running the mile in P.E. class. But I couldn’t get out of it. I wasn’t Silas. During P.E., he was almost always on the other side of the campus playing basketball, and the teachers never reprimanded him. When I ran, there were always guys whistling at me. I involuntarily slowed my pace, wrapping my arms around myself. Oliver Hayes, a guy from the next class over, was walking by. Without a word, he took off his varsity jacket and handed it to me. It caused a massive uproar. I had seen him at the school assembly. I heard his family’s corporation was incredibly famous. He was gentle, polite, and top of our class in both looks and academics. “Put it on,” he said. “You still have two laps to go.” I hesitated, but eventually took it. Later, some malicious rumor spread around the school. People said I had no shame, that I was trying to seduce Oliver by wearing his jacket. Sitting in the back row of our classroom, Silas suddenly kicked his desk over. Crash! The whole class instantly shut up. That night, Silas didn’t wait for me after school. He told me that since I was so capable, I should just have Oliver drive me home. I sighed, took out some loose change, and went to the bus stop. To my surprise, Oliver was there too. He was quietly listening to an audiobook. When he saw me, he waved. I sat next to him, and he took off his headphones. I knew the jacket incident had caused him trouble too, so I softly apologized. Oliver just smiled like it was nothing. “Hazel, just ignore the rumors. Focus on your studies. “College applications are only two years away. Have you thought about where you want to go?” Oliver had a very warm, comforting kind of handsome face. It was the complete opposite of Silas’s sharp, aggressive features. For a moment, I was stunned. Where did I want to go to college? I had never even thought about it. My only focus had been on pushing my grades higher and higher. I couldn’t afford tutoring. My mom had swallowed her pride and begged to borrow Silas’s notes for me. I had to admit, Silas was smarter than me. He only needed to look at a problem once to understand it. I had to repeatedly practice and dissect the steps just to keep up. Having his notes was a massive help. My mom told me that when the time came, I should just apply to whatever college Silas chose. His family had money and connections. Whatever path they chose for him wouldn’t be wrong. I didn’t know what college Silas wanted to attend. Oliver smiled gently. “Think about it. Think about where you truly want to go.” When I got home, my mom told me Silas wasn’t coming back for dinner. She asked me where he went. I shook my head and said I didn’t know. When Silas finally came home, it was past midnight. He looked exhausted, and his knuckles were bruised and stained with blood. He walked in, shot me a cold glance, and went straight upstairs. I softly asked if he needed me to bandage his hands. He didn’t answer. I opened my laptop and started researching different universities across the country. This was the first time. The first time I clearly realized that I could leave Silas. I could have a place I truly wanted to go. Later, feeling anxious, I asked my mom if she had ever thought about leaving the Montgomery estate. After all, we couldn’t live in the servant’s quarters forever. My mom looked lost. She said that ever since the divorce, she had lived her entire life working for this family. Even though Silas had a terrible temper sometimes, Mrs. Montgomery was relatively easy to deal with. In all my years living here, I had never once seen Silas’s father in the mansion. I only pieced things together from fragmented gossip. His father’s company was a massive empire. He was always “busy.” His parents had a terrible relationship. It was a business marriage. After Silas was born, his father practically lived with his mistress. Mrs. Montgomery raised Silas. Aside from managing the household, she traveled constantly, leaving my mom to watch over things. My mom said she planned to keep working here until I graduated college, then she’d take her savings and start a small business somewhere. I quietly asked if she would consider us leaving as soon as I graduated high school. My mom silently stroked my hair and didn’t answer. 04 Ever since the varsity jacket incident, Silas found a new way to torment me every single night. If he wasn’t demanding ice water, he was making me reorganize his desk. Or changing his bedsheets, or ironing his new clothes. I was just thankful that I had stopped sleeping in the same room as my mom, so she didn’t have to see it and worry. If Silas didn’t sleep, I couldn’t sleep. I had to constantly hover in front of him, doing chores. A few times, exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I just fell asleep right there. I’d wake up curled on the sofa in his room. By the time I woke up, Silas had already left for school. I’d take the public bus by myself. It took longer, but my heart felt lighter. I wished I could completely offend Silas so he’d never want to see my face again. But I knew that wasn’t realistic right now. I could only use my practice exams as an excuse to stop spending time trying to please him. A week later, Silas had a huge basketball game. Normally, I would have bought him Gatorade and had a fresh towel ready. This time, I didn’t go. I sat in the empty classroom, memorizing vocabulary. My mom called. She said Silas was in a terrible mood. Mrs. Montgomery told her to make sure I took care of him. She had ordered some iced coffees to the court and told me to bring them to him. I carried the tray of coffees to the edge of the bleachers. A group of his classmates were snickering. “I told you so. She couldn’t hold back. Silas ignores her for two days and she panics.” “A simp should know her place as a simp. She tried to act tough, but she still came crawling back.” I didn’t say a word. On the court, Silas hit a fadeaway jumper, drawing a massive cheer from the crowd. He shot me a deep, piercing look, signaling me to pass out the drinks. I handed them to the other players first. I took the last cup and walked up to him. He leaned back on his hands, looking at me with cruel, malicious eyes. I stood in the glaring sun, holding out the cup, enduring the mockery of everyone around us. I murmured, “Silas, your coffee.” Silas didn’t even look at me. His voice was lazy. “Feed it to me. I tweaked my wrist. It hurts.” I unwrapped the straw, placed it in the cup, and held it up to him. Silas leaned down and took two sips. His friends whistled and hollered. He just smiled carelessly. I honestly didn’t understand what he was trying to prove. Until I turned my head and saw Oliver sitting in the opposite bleachers. Was he… competing with Oliver? They both came from elite backgrounds. They were both incredibly good-looking and at the top of the class. It was inevitable they’d be compared. I just never expected that Silas, who never paid attention to anyone, had started caring about Oliver. I didn’t overthink it. Following Silas’s orders, I held the straw up to his lips again. At least if Silas was in a good mood, he wouldn’t make my life miserable, and I might actually get a good night’s sleep. 05 Two months before graduation, it was Silas’s eighteenth birthday. He rented out a VIP room at a club and invited his friends. It was loud, chaotic, and everyone was having a great time. Halfway through the night, Silas took a phone call. He completely lost it, smashing a row of expensive bottles against the wall. The room went dead silent; no one dared to breathe. His friends realized something was seriously wrong. They tried to comfort him, but he screamed at them, so they all awkwardly shuffled out of the room. I sat there, anxious, silently trying to blend in with the crowd and slip out the door, terrified of being his punching bag. Just as I reached the doorway. “Hazel, get your ass over here,” Silas snapped coldly. I jumped, terrified, and walked over to him. He sneered. “What are you so scared of? Do I eat people?” I quickly shook my head. “Where’s my gift? You showed up to my birthday empty-handed?” “I… I bought one. But when I saw how expensive everyone else’s gifts were, I didn’t want to take it out.” I pulled a fountain pen out of my pocket. I had bought it from a convenience store on the way here. It cost 60 dollars. Compared to the Rolexes and designer sneakers his friends gave him, it was nothing. Silas let out a cold laugh. “You’re unbelievable. Two years ago, you got me socks. “Last year, sneakers. This year, I was fully expecting you to buy me underwear. And you get me this?” My face burned with shame. I had actually planned my gifts. Two years ago, socks. Last year, gloves. But because he mocked the socks so brutally, I saved up all year to buy him those sneakers. This year, I was saving every penny for my college tuition. I couldn’t afford to spend money on him. So I just bought the pen. The cashier had even tied a little pink ribbon on the box. I apologized quietly. “I’m sorry. I know it’s disappointing.” “The things you do that disappoint me aren’t limited to just one or two,” Silas mocked, surprisingly calm. Then he curled his finger. “Come here.” I slowly shuffled one step forward. Silas reached out, wrapped a strong arm around my waist, and pulled his head against my stomach. His body ran incredibly hot. I tried to push away, but he tightened his grip. I lost my balance and fell onto his lap. Silas was much stronger than me. He buried his face in the crook of my neck. Wherever his lips brushed against my skin, it felt like burning embers. I was so shocked I stuttered, “S-Silas…” He seemed to freeze in a daze for a second, then bit down hard on my neck. A sharp, stinging pain shot through my entire body. I was trapped in his grip, completely unable to struggle, and eventually just endured the pain and gave up. After what felt like an eternity, he pulled back, his expression returning to normal. He spoke slowly. “Hazel, if you tell anyone about this, you’re dead.” I was anxious and angry, rubbing the bite mark on my neck. Silas’s expression betrayed absolutely nothing. Before we went back to the estate, he told me he was applying to Los Angeles University (LAU). The bite mark meant I had to wear a scarf to school every day. My mom almost noticed. She had recently found out from Mrs. Montgomery that Silas was applying to LAU, and she told me to follow him there. She even started asking Silas about the different majors at LAU. Silas patiently broke them down for her. He was a completely different person around adults than he was with me. He probably just saw that I was easy to bully. Mrs. Montgomery also said it was best if we applied to the same school so we could look out for each other. They had a mansion in LA, not far from the campus. She mentioned that Silas had remotely overseen the renovations for it two years ago. When the time came, I could move in there too. I just nodded obediently every time. As for where I actually went, I knew Silas couldn’t care less. There was no need to reveal my true plans. Time slowly ticked by amidst the grueling stress of practice exams. Thankfully, Silas’s mood was relatively stable this year. He didn’t go out of his way to make my life a living hell over nothing. I had more time to study. The crushing anxiety only finally dissipated after we took our final exams. 06 After finals, my mom and I celebrated my eighteenth birthday in my little annex room. A tiny, simple cake, and my mother’s warm wishes. And the quiet joy of knowing I would soon be leaving. A long-lost sense of relief. That night, as usual, I brought a plate of fruit up to Silas’s room. His lights were off, and soft music was playing. The moment I walked in, the door locked behind me. Silas was leaning lazily against the doorframe. He was tall and lean. When he leaned close, radiating the intense, vibrant energy of a teenage boy, I subconsciously stepped back. He grabbed my wrist from behind, pulled me toward the center of the room, and chuckled, calling me a coward. Only then did I see it in the dim light. On his table was a slice of cake, and an incredibly expensive designer dress. “For you.” I felt completely out of my element. “Thank you. But I can’t wear this.” “Then keep it. LAU has a huge freshman gala. You can wear it then.” I didn’t say anything. My test scores were actually 16 points lower than Silas’s. But Mrs. Montgomery said my score was more than enough to get into LAU with their connections. My mom was over the moon. I asked Mrs. Montgomery if I could get a summer job during the break. She didn’t stop me. Silas was in a surprisingly good mood and didn’t object either. I stopped following Silas around. During my shift at a cafe, I ran into Oliver. He had forgotten his wallet and phone in his car. I bought him an iced coffee. He sat with me and broke down the different majors and career prospects at Seattle University. We were sitting at a table outside the cafe. And Silas, who was out with his friends, walked right into us. The mockery in his eyes was crystal clear. He coldly ordered me to come over. My face burned with humiliation. I thanked Oliver and followed Silas to his G-Wagon. In the car, Silas asked me, “You’re that desperate to follow Oliver around?” I tried to explain. “No. He forgot his wallet, and it was hot, so I bought him a coffee.” Silas’s face instantly darkened. “Hazel, do you think I’m a complete idiot? “Someone with Oliver’s brain forgets his phone and wallet when he leaves the house?” I murmured, “Whether he brought his wallet or not doesn’t matter. I bought him the coffee with my own hard-earned money.” Silas’s eyes instantly filled with pure venom. “You’ve known me for ten years, and you buy me a 60-dollar pen. “You’ve known Oliver for what, a few months? And you buy him a 20-dollar coffee?” I was completely speechless. My mind was racing—how did he know the pen cost 60 dollars?! So embarrassing. I tried to change the subject. “Anyway, buying a friend a coffee isn’t a crime, right?” Silas shifted in his seat, his brow furrowing as he let out a very soft, derisive scoff. “You’re calling Oliver a friend?” I didn’t answer. Honestly, we barely counted as acquaintances. To him, we were just alumni. But I didn’t understand why Silas had to be so incredibly angry about it. Knowing I couldn’t win the argument, I lowered my eyes and stayed silent. I leaned my head against the window, closed my eyes, and prayed the drive would end quickly. Silas laughed, a cold, harsh sound. “Fine. Great. Hazel, get the hell out of my car right now.” The sun had already set. My heart was pounding. But I was more afraid of making him angrier, so I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt and scrambled out. Thankfully, the walk back to the estate was only about thirty minutes. That night, Silas posted a photo on his Instagram story—his hand tightly holding a girl’s hand. His best friend immediately commented: [Ooh, the prom queen?] I remembered that the prom queen had always been obsessed with Silas. We had graduated. It wasn’t surprising they were finally together. From that night on, Silas completely ignored my existence. Whether I asked him what he wanted for dinner. Or told him where I organized his clean laundry. Or asked if he wanted fruit. He treated me like thin air. It was actually incredibly peaceful. The day before we had to lock in our college commitments, Silas walked right past my door without calling my name. He had my mom relay a message, telling me which specific major to select. My mom eagerly agreed and yelled down the hall, asking if I heard. I guiltily replied that I did. My door was open. Of course I could hear him. Childish… I silently logged into the portal and changed my final commitment to Seattle University.

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My parents called to let me know I needed to come over to my childhood best friend’s house. He was having an official setup—meeting his prospective fiancée. That same best friend was currently fast asleep right next to me. Thinking it was some kind of twisted joke, I whispered, “Hey, Noah. They say they’ve found the girl you’re going to marry.” He just gave a lazy grunt, pulling me tighter into his chest. “That’s nice, babe. In a bit, help me pick out a suit and do my hair, yeah?” When he felt me go rigid in his arms, Noah opened one eye and scoffed. “Wait, what’s with that look? Come on, Chloe. You know what this is. We’re just friends with benefits. You didn’t actually think I’d ever marry you, did you?” 01 I couldn’t process it. My brain just jammed. All I could do was scramble in awkward, frantic motions. I didn’t dare look at Noah. I pushed him away, grabbed my clothes off the floor, and pulled them on, not caring that they were inside out. “Chloe Miller, look at me.” Noah was propped up on his elbow, watching me with an unreadable expression. “You didn’t honestly think we were dating, did you?” The phrase “friends with benefits” was screaming through my head. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t get my bra hooked. Noah threw back the duvet, revealing his absurdly fit, tatted torso, and knelt on the edge of the bed. He reached out, his fingers familiar and sure as he hooked the clasp for me. I kept my head down. “Who is she?” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. I bet his parents dragged some poor girl from their country club list just to set this up. I looked in the mirror at the faint red marks on my skin, my legs still aching. Noah, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, walked up behind me and buried his face in the crook of my neck. He flashed that devastating smile of his, his bedroom eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s Maya. Maya Lin.” He repeated the name, savoring it. “You know, the Maya Lin. From high school. The one who went off to Juilliard for dance. “I swear, just thinking about seeing her again has me nervous.” My hand froze halfway to my lips with my lipstick. Of course I remembered. Noah had been obsessed with her. He just never got the chance to ask her out before she moved away. I thought that was all in the past… Noah stared at me, pressing his lips together. “Look, Chloe, don’t go getting any ideas. “We’ve known each other since we were in diapers. We’re practically family. And yeah, you’re… you’re beautiful, obviously. But I think of you like a sister. “You’re my go-to. My wingman, my plus-one, my… bedroom buddy…” It felt like a physical blow. I went cold all over. Looking at Noah’s smile, I forced my lips to twitch upward in a pathetic imitation of one. He kept going. “Besides, I know too much about you. I know exactly what you’re going to wear before you pick it out. I know your coffee order, your cycle, your weird habits. “There’s no mystery. No excitement. “Honestly, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, see you sleeping there, and it scares me. “Scares me that maybe our parents were right, that we’d just end up together by default. That this is it for me. That my life is already mapped out.” He actually shuddered as he said it. Like the mere thought of being stuck with me for life was his worst nightmare. I balled my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms, fighting back the tears. “I have to go.” Before he could say another word, I grabbed my coat and fled like a coward, dynamic and utterly humiliated. 02 I honestly believed Noah and I were in a relationship. I mean, we did everything couples do. We ate together, went on real dates, hung out with our friend groups. During games of Truth or Dare, we’d openly kiss, telling each other “I love you” without hesitation. Noah would pick me up from work every time it rained. He’d hold my hand under the table at family dinners. I didn’t know. I didn’t realize that the last six months of what I thought was our relationship was just him playing house. “Honey?” My mom knocked on the car window, peering in anxiously. I snapped back to reality. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror—tear-stained face, eyes red. I frantically wiped my cheeks before unlocking the door and stepping out. “Mom!” Terrified she’d see how broken I was, I threw my arms around her, faking a smile. “I missed you.” She was holding groceries, but she hugged me back, letting out a sigh of relief. “Sweetie, why were you just sitting out here in the heat? You scared me. Haven’t you seen those news stories about people overheating in cars?” I just nodded, letting her lecture me. Then, her tone shifted. “Speaking of things that matter… Noah’s prospective fiancée is going to be here soon. Your Uncle Robert and Aunt Sarah are making a really big deal out of this one. Apparently, Noah planned this whole thing. He actually asked them to pull some strings to set this ‘arranged meeting’ up. He wanted it to feel official. “Noah mentioned he was worried the girl might feel awkward, since it’s such a stuffy environment. He thought having you there—another young woman, someone he trusts—might break the ice.” Mom looked at me, her expression full of pity. She hesitated. “You know Sarah and I have been best friends for thirty years. If you go in there today…” “It’s fine, Mom,” I said, interrupting her. I forced my cracked lips into a wider, fakery smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just about keeping the vibe up, saying the right things. I get it.” Mom just looked at me, her heart breaking. How could she not know? The framed picture of Noah and me was right on my nightstand. I had sealed away every single thoughtful gift he’d ever given me like they were sacred relics. And that was saying nothing of the journals filled with my utterly undisguised love for him. How could she not see it? We walked silently into the house. As I opened the door, a thought suddenly crystallized in my mind. “Mom, Dad’s retiring next month, right? Let’s actually do it. Let’s move down to Florida, like you guys always planned.” I looked at my stunned mother, putting on my best spoiled-daughter act. “You guys have been talking about retiring to the Keys forever. I don’t have some huge dream career here. I can be a dance instructor anywhere. I just want to be with you guys.” 03 Sitting in Noah’s living room with my parents felt wrong. Everything was different. Usually, we were loud, joking around. Last time we were here, we’d used “playing video games” as an excuse to hide in his room and make out. This time… “Oh, Mary, you have no idea,” Aunt Sarah was saying to my mom, beaming. “That boy of mine went to so much trouble to get Maya here. “I told him, ‘Why don’t you just call her up?’ But no, he insisted on the whole formality. Said he wanted to approach her with ‘serious intentions.’ He had Robert pull every favor he had in the art world just to make sure her schedule would align for this ‘meeting’ today.” I looked around the house. It was perfectly staged. Vases filled with red roses were everywhere. A fancy cheese board and upscale hors d’oeuvres were set out on the coffee table. Even Noah’s golden retriever was wearing a red bowtie. And there was Noah, checking his reflection in the entryway mirror for the tenth time, obsessing over whether he looked perfect. It was almost funny. Less than twenty-four hours ago, we were tangled up in his sheets, and he was kissing the tiny mole on my waist like it was the most precious thing on earth. And right now, he was wearing the boxer briefs I bought him. “It’s just a shame, really…” Aunt Sarah sighed, taking my mother’s hand. “Remember when they were little? We used to joke that they’d marry each other. We practically bet on it!” She shot me a quick look. “I really do love Chloe. She’s gorgeous, and she has the sweetest personality. So vibrant and fun…” I kept my eyes down, not daring to speak. I knew that if I let my guard down for even a second, the tears would start flowing and they wouldn’t stop. “Mom!” Noah snapped, frowning deeply. He looked thoroughly annoyed. “I already told you, that was just you and Mrs. Miller joking around. Why are you bringing this up now? Just because you’re best friends doesn’t mean I have to marry her daughter. What is this, the 1800s? “Get with the times.” He didn’t care at all about embarrassing his mom. Then he turned to me, his voice harsh, as if Aunt Sarah’s nostalgia was somehow my fault. “Chloe, where’s that bracelet my mom gave you?” When I didn’t answer right away, Noah actually stepped forward, grabbed my wrist, and yanked my sleeve up. “The one she said was a ‘family heirloom’ for the default wife. I don’t want Maya seeing it and getting the wrong idea…” The room went dead silent. My dad, who had been sipping his coffee, froze. My mom, who had been helping Aunt Sarah rearrange some flowers, stopped dead. In an instant, the atmosphere became utterly toxic. Mom looked at me, then slammed the vase and the scissors down onto the table with a loud CLATTER. She started to stand up, but Aunt Sarah immediately grabbed her arm. Aunt Sarah stood up quickly, placing herself protectively in front of me, and gave Noah a hard shove. “Noah James Carter! What is wrong with you?! “Setting aside the fact that you and this Maya Lin are absolute strangers… that bracelet? You were seventeen years old, Noah. You were on your knees, begging and crying, imploring Chloe to wear it!” It was like Noah finally snapped out of it. He remembered. He remembered that year another guy asked me to prom. He got so upset he drank half a bottle of his dad’s whiskey, stole the bracelet from his mom’s jewelry box, and broke into my house in the middle of the night. He was crying, screaming, literally on his knees, begging me to wear the Carter family heirloom. He pulled at his tie, taking a deep, shaky breath. Then he forced a smile and looked at me. “I… I’m just stressed. My mistake. I… once I give a gift, I don’t take it back. Keep it.” “No,” I said, standing up and cutting him off. My voice was calm. “It’s fine. I’ll give it back. I’m just going to run home and get it now.” “I’ll be quick. I won’t ruin your afternoon.” Before anyone could react, I grabbed my bag and walked out. 04 When I got back with the bracelet, I was just about to knock when a loud cheer exploded from inside. “Welcome…!” Noah’s smile vanished the second he saw it was me. “What are you doing here?” He apparently didn’t expect me to actually come back. Or that I’d seriously return the bracelet. Because when I pressed it into his hand, Noah just stared at it, looking completely blindsided. Finally, he pocketed it, leaned in close to my ear, and whispered: “Chloe, we’re good friends, right? We have that… understanding. Please, just don’t create any drama today. “Maya’s a sensitive girl. Don’t say anything weird that might upset her.” I didn’t even want to answer him. Maya Lin is a girl, but what am I? A robot? I looked at this man I had loved for my entire youth, and a bone-deep chill almost consumed me. Ten minutes later, the door opened, and a mutual acquaintance of the families walked in, leading Maya Lin. The adults started chatting immediately. They got along famously. That was why my parents were even there. To provide that comfortable, established family vibe. Under the guise of casual conversation, the mutual friend was subtly laying out both families’ financial status and assets. It was a business merger disguised as a date. Meanwhile, Noah was hovering over Maya, hanging on her every word. He was practically vibrating with excitement. He was almost thirty years old, but he was acting like a nervous high schooler. I was invisible. No one cared that I was there, and honestly, I was glad. I was just waiting for a chance to slip away. Then, unexpectedly, Maya turned and looked at me with a sweet smile. “This is Chloe Miller, right? I’ve heard so much about you. You were the dancer in high school, a total queen.” Being put on the spot made me nervous. I waved my hands. “Oh, no way. That was ages ago. People were just being nice.” I thought that would be the end of it. But Maya kept pushing. “Not at all. I heard at the spring formal you did this incredible lyrical solo, and the next day your locker was literally buried in flowers.” Before I could say anything, Maya giggled and playfully tugged on Noah’s arm. “You guys were childhood best friends, right? I can’t believe you never dated. “I remember people saying you two were inseparable, like you were attached at the hip. Everyone just assumed you’d end up married.” Every single eye in the room turned to me. I can’t even describe the feeling. Maya looked innocent and harmless, but I could feel this underlying current of hostility coming from her. “Her?” Noah looked at Maya, then handed her the apple he’d just finished peeling. “In your eyes she’s a dancer, maybe a ‘queen.’ “But to me? She’s just a tomboy. We grew up wearing each other’s hand-me-downs. She’s my brother.” Like he was remembering something funny, Noah actually laughed out loud. “You have no idea. When we were kids, if Chloe cried, snot and tears would be flying everywhere. “If I didn’t wipe her nose for her, it probably would have flowed right into her mouth. “Oh, and when Chloe was fifteen, she fainted during P.E. from running and started talking gibberish, flailing around like a crazy person…” “I have to go,” I said, interrupting him. I was shaking with anger but fought the urge to scream. I stood up and forced a polite smile at the adults. “Nice seeing you all.” Maya looked at Noah with a look of extreme embarrassment. “Oh dear. Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to upset her.” Noah glared at me, furious that I was “ruining the mood.” Before he could snap at me, I beat him to it. “I have a date with my boyfriend tonight. If I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late.” 05 “Since when do you have a boyfriend?” I was only halfway out the door when Noah grabbed my arm, yanking me back. “How come I don’t know about this?” In front of everyone—including Maya—my face went bright red. I yanked my arm back with everything I had. “What I do with my dating life is none of your business, Noah.” I was shaking with rage. “My parents haven’t even asked, and you think you have a say?!” “Noah!” Uncle Robert’s voice was low and stern. “Sit down! You’re making a scene.” I seized the opportunity and quickly nodded to the adults. “Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Carter.” Behind me, I heard Maya’s sweet, “innocent” voice again. “Chloe is so beautiful, and she’s always on stage. I bet she has tons of guys chasing her… “It’s totally normal for her to be dating. I mean, I noticed what looked like a love bite under her scarf earlier.” Realizing she’d said something inappropriate, she paused, then added with a self-deprecating giggle, “I guess artist personalities are just different. We painters are more quiet and introverted. Dancers are… more expressive, more open… “But I respect every girl’s right to choose.” I didn’t listen to whatever conversation they had about me after that. My style has always been bold, sexy. She was just using that to elevate herself by tearing me down. Typical “cool girl” move. And I didn’t even want to think about the terrible things Noah was probably saying to agree with her. They didn’t know, though. Even if the part about the boyfriend was a lie… The part about me leaving, about moving to Florida, that was 100% real. I started researching condos down there, figuring out how to transfer my dance instructor certification. I threw myself into the logistics, keeping myself so busy I didn’t have time to think about Noah James Carter. We grew up together. He always played the role of the sweet, protective older brother. He’d be the first to jump in if anyone bullied me. When I was ten, I was being stubborn and made Noah stay with me at the playground until nine o’clock. Both of our parents were frantic. They’d actually called the police by the time they found us, playing house in the sandbox. He took all the blame. He told them it was his idea, his fault. That night, Uncle Robert was so angry he beat him with a belt. I was crying, saying it was my fault, but Noah just set his jaw and insisted it was all him. Later, as I grew up and got beautiful, and he grew into his looks, we became the neighborhood’s “it couple.” I genuinely believed I was living out the perfect rom-com story. [When are you free?] A message from Noah popped up. I wiped away a tear. I hadn’t even started typing a reply when another message came through. [Come get your stuff out of my house. I’m inviting Maya over in a few days.] I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be calm. Less than twenty-four hours ago, we were curled up in his bed, watching a romantic movie. Things got intense, and we were intimate until the middle of the night. And now… I let out a bitter laugh. I unpinned Noah from the top of my chat list and sent a simple, detached: [Okay.] 06 I locked myself in my room that whole day. My parents got back not long after I did. “Florida is over a thousand miles away, honey. Once we move, it’s going to be really hard to come back,” Mom said, her voice soft and worried. My dad hid behind his newspaper, but I could tell he was watching me. I pulled on my coat. “The weather is perfect down there. And wasn’t that always the dream? To retire to the Keys?” I forced a laugh and hugged my mom. “The only issue is finding a good dance studio, but I’m thinking about just opening my own… “And as for performance opportunities… you guys know I never really cared about being famous.” “But…” Mom frowned, starting to say something. “Chloe, sweetie…” I looked at the clock. “Okay, I’m serious about this. I’m fine. I’m making a rational decision. Please stop worrying about me. “You guys are the ones who need to start thinking about the money situation.” I kissed her cheek lightly. “I have to run. Bye!” I wanted to believe that time and distance would heal the pain. I had become much calmer. My love, which had been so devout and passionate, I had never spoken it out loud. At least I hadn’t lost my dignity. I really thought that Noah and I would have a clean break. Just two people going their separate ways. I never expected I wouldn’t be able to get into my own apartment. I stood at the door, entering the code over and over again— [Error] [Error] … Fury ignited in my chest. I went to knock, then my logic kicked back in. I pulled out my phone and called Noah. The busy signal rang in my ear—call rejected. On the fifth try, he sent a text: [On a date. Do not disturb.] I let out a long breath, fighting the urge to scream profanities into the phone. I texted back: [Password.] The next second, a giant red exclamation point appeared next to my message. Noah had actually blocked me! I rubbed my temples. I considered just walking away, but the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. So I called a locksmith. 07 I was fueled by pure, cold rage. Instead of dealing with the lock, I decided to go to Noah’s parents’ house. I told Aunt Sarah I needed the deed to the apartment for some homeowner’s association paperwork. She didn’t even question me. She just handed it over. “I don’t know what Noah would do without you, Chloe.” She realized what she said and gave a strained, awkward laugh. I took the deed and went back to the locksmith. An hour of drilling and paperwork later, I finally walked into the place I had called “home” for almost a year. I still remembered the day I moved in. Noah was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, grinning at me. “Chloe Miller, welcome home.” I looked around. The carefully cultivated little plants, my skirts hanging on the drying rack on the balcony, my makeup covering the bathroom counter, even the fancy dinnerware we’d bought for special occasions. I went straight to work. I packed up my designer clothes, my expensive bags, and my high-end skincare. As for everything else—the furniture and decor Noah and I had bought together—I rolled up my sleeves and smashed it all. By the time the place was utterly destroyed, I was exhausted. I was just about to leave when Noah walked in, holding a few grocery bags. He froze in the doorway. He actually stepped back outside and checked the apartment number. A full five minutes passed before he came back inside, his face red with fury. “Chloe, what the actual hell is wrong with you?” 08 I shrugged. “You changed the password. I called, you rejected. I texted, you didn’t reply.” Noah picked his way through the wreckage of his living room on his tiptoes. He shoved the groceries into the fridge. He rubbed his temples, trying to explain. “I was on a date with Maya. If she heard us fighting on the phone again, what would she think of me?” My heart still did a stupid, painful little flutter. In the past, every time I’d tried to get him to go on a real date, he’d always make up some excuse or act dismissive. “Maya and I are doing really well. She’s sweet and introverted, and I need to treat this seriously. Take things slow. “She’s not like you. That’s why I don’t answer calls from other women when I’m with her…” He let out a sigh, then looked at me, a smile starting to play on his lips. “Chloe, you haven’t eaten, have you? I’m going to make dinner. Just stay, eat something, and then you can go.” Like he was terrified I’d say no, he added quickly, “Think of it as our ‘breakup’ dinner. For old times’ sake.” I looked at him as he bustled around the kitchen. I sniffed, fighting back the tears. My eyes burned. An hour later, I had confirmed that there was absolutely nothing left in that apartment that I wanted to take with me. Noah had set a beautiful spread on the table. Everything smelled incredible. I actually thought that maybe, in the future, we could still pretend to be polite acquaintances. After all, we had twenty years of history. I reached out with my fork, but a sharp “Don’t touch!” from Noah made me freeze. He ran over frantically, holding a tiny, appetizer-sized plate, and handed it to me. “Just take a tiny bite of everything. I need to get the rest over to Maya while it’s still hot.” Noah was holding this little plate that was smaller than his palm. “Hurry up and taste which one is the best, so I can pack her a bigger portion. “If there’s something you don’t like, I won’t bring it to her. I’ll leave it for you to finish…” CRASH! I slammed my fork onto the floor. His hand was still frozen in mid-air with that pathetic little plate. I stood up abruptly, my chair screeching against the hardwood floor. My voice was thick with tears. “Noah James Carter, listen to me. I never thought of you as my ‘bedroom buddy.’ I actually, truly loved you… “Every sweet thing I ever said to you…” My eyes were red, staring straight into his. “I meant every single word.” I ignored his stunned expression and turned to leave. “But now I finally understand how stupid I was.”

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The “true heiress” suddenly showed up at our door, hugging my mom’s leg and sobbing that she was my parents’ biological daughter. My mom was stunned. My older brother was stunned. I was stunned. My brother waved his hand dismissively, declaring he’d take us all to get a DNA test. My mom, her legs weak, immediately called my dad: “Arthur, come home quick! Our daughter might have been switched at birth!” My dad was unusually calm: “I know.” “How could you possibly know?!” “Didn’t you complain that she was crying too loud and told me to change her? So I swapped her for one that didn’t cry.” “I TOLD YOU TO CHANGE HER DIAPER!” My mom’s devastated shriek nearly brought down the roof. 01 Halfway through typing up my copywriting draft, my mom walked into my room with a heavy, mournful expression. “Harper, I can’t hide this from you anymore.” “The truth is, you aren’t your father’s and my biological child. All these years, we’ve treated you as our own, and the thought of sending you away truly breaks my heart.” “But there’s nothing we can do. Your biological parents have come looking for you. They’re downstairs right now.” I sat quietly, watching her cry, and didn’t say a word. “And there’s the daughter I haven’t seen since the day she was born. You don’t understand, she looks exactly like me.” She buried her face in her hands, weeping uncontrollably. “Now that she’s back, I have no choice but to send you back to your real family. I just hope you won’t hate me.” I closed my laptop and said flatly, “Hand over the phone.” She looked confused but handed her smartphone over. I opened her reading app and deleted her recent history: The True Heiress vs. The Fake Daughter After the True Heiress Found Me, I Went Back to the Countryside to Farm The True and Fake Heiresses Tear Each Other Apart “Weren’t you still in the middle of reading The Billionaire CEO Falls for His Cleaning Lady? Why did you start reading new tropes?” My mom looked a bit guilty, her volume dropping and her words speeding up. “The author updates too slowly. I dropped it.” “Well, since you’re busy, I’ll just be going!” “Close the door on your way out, thanks!” My mom slipped out of the room in a flash, muttering under her breath, “So stiff and boring. You can’t even play along for a minute. You’re exactly like your unromantic father.” Seriously, whose mother treats internet soap-opera novels like the Bible and randomly tries to act out scenes from them? I sighed, opened my laptop again, and tried to get back into my writing flow. But the door flew open again. This time, it was my panicked four-year-old little brother, Leo. “Sister, it’s bad! Your cover is blown! My—my—my real biological sister is back!” Leo was only four, completely corrupted by being raised by our mom. In this entire house, he was the only one who actively participated in her weird, dramatic roleplay scenarios. Coupled with his toddler-level vocabulary, they were an unstoppable force of exhaustion. I kept my face completely straight. “You’re a step too late. I already exposed Mom’s act. Did she not warn you?” I pinched his soft, chubby cheek and smiled wickedly. “You’re done for. You aren’t Mom’s favorite little boy anymore. She’s not going to play with you.” He dodged me, trembling. “No, Harper, I’m serious! There’s an actual girl downstairs. She said you aren’t Mom and Dad’s real daughter. She said she is.” “Mom heard that and literally collapsed onto the floor! You have to come down and see!” When I went downstairs, the girl was curled up in my mom’s arms, sobbing. “Mom, I finally found you! You have no idea what kind of life I’ve been living all these years.” “Beatings and scoldings were a daily routine. Before my old bruises could even heal, they’d give me new ones.” “They’re incredibly sexist, too. Once they had a son, my very existence became a sin to them.” My mom looked a bit dazed. She glanced awkwardly at the girl, clearly unable to get into character, and then looked up at me. “Congratulations, Mom! Your dream finally came true!” I said. “She really does look exactly like you. We don’t even need a DNA test.” “No, wait, Harper, come help me up. My legs feel like jelly,” my mom called out, reaching for me. But the girl was incredibly sharp. She beat me to it, firmly gripping my mom’s arm. “I’ve got you, Mom.” “Call your dad and tell him to get home right now,” my mom ordered. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” the girl immediately volunteered. But a second later, she looked up at me with a lonely, shattered expression. “Sister… am I even worthy of having Dad’s phone number?” “Terrible acting, yet she loves the drama. Yep, Mom definitely gave birth to this one,” my little brother muttered from behind me. 02 “The suspense is gone. Sis, you’re cooked.” Leo’s tiny hands gripped the hem of my shirt tightly. “Sister, can I give myself custody to you? Take me with you when you leave.” My dad rushed back after one phone call. My older brother, Declan, emergency-canceled his business trip and raced home too. Compared to my mom’s frantic panic, my dad was remarkably chill. “Nobody needs to say anything. I already know about this.” “How could you possibly know?!” everyone yelled in unison. My dad looked at my mom with a mysterious glint in his eye. “You know perfectly well. It was your decision back then. How could you have forgotten?” My mom was even more bewildered. “My decision?” “Yeah. Back in the hospital, you complained our daughter was crying too loud, ruining your sleep, and you told me to change her. So, I picked out one that didn’t cry.” Declan swallowed hard. “Mom, you actually said that?” My mom stared blankly for a few seconds before screaming in absolute horror, “I TOLD YOU TO CHANGE HER DIAPER!” Well, whether this woman—who introduced herself as Chloe Jenkins—was actually my parents’ biological child was still technically unconfirmed, but the odds were at least 80 percent. After all, her face was a carbon copy of my mom’s in her twenties. It was pretty obvious I wasn’t the biological one. Once she realized her position was secure, Chloe began her performance. She dropped to her knees solemnly, crying beautiful, delicate tears. “Mom, Dad, I’m begging you, please don’t blame my sister. Even though she stole my life and enjoyed my privileges for all these years, it ultimately wasn’t her fault. Please don’t kick her out, okay?” “I don’t even have to call you Mom and Dad. I don’t even have to live in the main house. Just let me stay here as a maid! As long as I can serve you and see you every day, I’ll be completely satisfied!” My dad, a man who takes everything completely literally, nodded. “Is that so? Alright, we have a storage room we can clear out for you. It’s a bit small, but it’s easy to keep clean. Right, I’ll go print out our family’s schedule and the maid’s daily requirements for you.” Chloe’s face instantly drained of color. She looked at my mom pleadingly. My mom pinched my dad hard. “Shut up! I’ll deal with you later.” I started packing my things to leave, but my mom tearfully blocked the door. “It’s not like we don’t have enough rooms in this house. Don’t leave. You don’t even know where your biological parents are, where would you go?” “She’s right, sister, you can’t go back!” Chloe exaggeratedly grabbed my arm. “The suffering I endured… I could never let you go through it again. My adoptive parents, they aren’t even human. Just pretend you aren’t their child. Whatever you do, don’t contact them.” But whenever no one else was looking, Chloe would stare at me with pure venom. “Why are you so oblivious? Don’t you know this isn’t your house?” “You’ve been leeching off my family for over twenty years. Isn’t that enough? What gives you the right to stand here so confidently?” “If I’m leaving, I’ll leave after the official DNA test results come back,” I replied simply. I initially didn’t want to engage with her, but she haunted me like a ghost. She constantly tried to provoke me, hoping I’d leave out of shame. I was getting really annoyed. She was full of petty little tricks. Whenever I got a package delivered, she’d put on her passive-aggressive “innocent victim” act. “Wow, Sister, your taste is so good. This coat must be so expensive. Unlike me… I don’t even know how to spend money. I haven’t bought new clothes in years.” My mom felt terrible and bought her several expensive outfits. Chloe didn’t even try them on; she immediately returned them for cash. Then, she looked at my parents with tear-filled eyes and said, “Mom, Dad, it’s so hard for you to make money. I don’t need anything. Just being by your side is happiness enough for me.” 03 To showcase her extreme frugality, she saved the leftover chicken bones from dinner, insisting on using them to make soup for us the next morning. She purposely stood at the top of the stairs to provoke me, and the moment my mom stepped out of her room, Chloe grabbed my hand, yanked herself backward, and faked a fall down the stairs. Then she wailed at the top of her lungs, “Sister, why did you push me?!” “I know you hate that I came back and stole Mom and Dad’s attention! But I’m innocent! I just missed my parents! I just wanted to be with them! Is that a crime?!” I didn’t even have the energy to roll my eyes. I turned to go back to my room. “Harper, stop right there!” my mom yelled sharply. “Turn around and apologize to Chloe! Ask for her forgiveness!” “I’ve fed you, housed you, and raised you all this time. Even after finding out you aren’t my flesh and blood, I didn’t kick you out. Do you have absolutely zero gratitude?!” “I didn’t let you stay here so you could bully Chloe!” “This is crossing the line. You will give her a sincere apology right now, or I swear, I don’t care how much your father objects, I will throw you out!” My mom’s aggressive defense made Chloe gleeful. She tilted her chin up at me, her eyes practically glowing with triumph. I sighed, utterly exhausted. “Mom. Chloe is new here, so she doesn’t know. But surely you haven’t forgotten that we have security cameras covering every inch of this house?” “Want to go check the footage together?” My mom groaned and slapped her forehead. “Ugh, I forgot!” She quickly turned back to a pale, panicked Chloe to console her. “It’s fine, it’s fine! We’ll try a different trope next time. Let’s switch up your character arc, too. Make her a little dumber. I’m not really feeling this current vibe.” “When you first arrived, you had that fragile, broken, innocent-flower aesthetic going. That was great. I prefer that genre anyway.” My mom was speaking in a casual, collaborative tone, but it absolutely terrified Chloe. “Mom, what are you talking about? Do you think I’m acting? Do you think I framed my sister?!” “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” “If you didn’t, then why didn’t you stop her if you knew there were cameras?! Why did you let me look like a clown?! In your eyes, am I just some monkey in a circus?!” Chloe’s hysterical, self-righteous screaming completely bewildered my mom. “Wait, so was I supposed to mean it like that? Or not?” my mom asked tentatively, watching Chloe’s face carefully. Chloe suffered a total mental breakdown and ran back to her room, wailing. “Wow, high maintenance,” my mom muttered. “She’s no fun at all. Clumsy, stupid, and a terrible actress. I’ll just have your dad forge a fake DNA test and send her away.” Me: ? Her and my dad really were a match made in heaven. Speak of the devil, my dad walked in. “Meeting, meeting! Emergency family meeting.” “Are the DNA results back?” Declan hurried down the stairs. “It’s over. We already had enough weirdos in this family. Add one more, and I’m going to be driven insane,” Leo sighed like a grumpy old man. When Chloe came back downstairs, her eyes were completely red and swollen. “Since the results are out, what are you going to do? From what I know, Harper has quite a bit of real estate and savings under her name—gifts for her birthdays and coming-of-age from you all. I don’t mind if she continues to live here, but she needs to return the things that belong to me.” “And her engagement to the Vance family heir should be voided. Have you talked to the Vance family about this yet? Are they willing to cancel, or just swap the bride?” “Hold on a second,” my dad interrupted her magical barrage of demands. “Take a look at these results first.” She took the envelope suspiciously, pulled out the report, and her face drained of color. “H-how is this possible?” 04 “How is it possible that I’m not your daughter?!” “I explicitly overheard my adoptive parents saying they purposely swapped the babies! They wanted their own child to live a life of luxury. They hated rich people, which is why they abused me!” Her shrieks were sharp and hoarse, carrying the genuine despair of a shattered dream. It was actually quite believable. My mom quietly shuffled over to me and whispered, “When did you call your dad to rig this? Why didn’t I know?” I looked at her like she was an idiot. “How could I have done it? I’ve been with you this whole time. Besides, he couldn’t forge a medical document in just a few minutes.” My mom nodded slowly. “True.” “Is this the legendary telepathy of marriage?” “Someone must have swapped the hair samples!” Chloe glared at me, her eyes burning with pure hatred. “It was you, wasn’t it?! You couldn’t bear to give up this life of wealth and luxury, and you didn’t want to give my fiancé back! So you swapped our hair! You shameless thief! You’re just as disgusting as your biological parents! You don’t want to work for anything, you just want to steal the fruits of others’ labor! You cheap, disgusting snake!” She raised her hand and swung hard at my face. But someone stepped in and blocked her arm. Whoever it was either had incredible strength or Chloe was just too fragile, because she stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor. The person who stopped her was none other than my nominal fiancé, Preston Vance. My dad glared at him with intense displeasure. “What are you doing here?” Preston smiled politely. “Arthur, didn’t you invite me over?” He played the part of the refined, humble gentleman perfectly, but my dad had always hated him. Rumor had it that my mom dated Preston’s dad, Richard Vance, back in their youth. They broke up over a misunderstanding, and Richard was so devastated that he relentlessly insisted our families arrange a marriage for our kids. My dad hated the idea, but out of deference to my mom, he reluctantly agreed. When my older brother Declan was born, my dad was so thrilled he set off fireworks for three days straight. But the following year, I was born. Ever since then, my dad had been secretly pulling petty tricks, trying to make my mom annoyed with Richard Vance so she’d break the engagement. He never succeeded. As time went on, Preston grew up, and my dad’s hatred transferred directly onto the son. So, I highly doubted my dad would willingly invite Preston over for something like this. Preston, being a master manipulator, immediately explained: “A few days ago, Arthur invited me over to discuss the engagement. He said there was a mix-up at birth in your family and wanted to ask if we should discuss dissolving the engagement, or simply swapping the bride.” “I happened to be out of town on business, and I just got back today, so I rushed right over.” “Hmph! The DNA results come out today, and you miraculously show up today. Who do you think you’re fooling?!” my dad grumbled. Clearly, Preston had seen right through my dad’s carefully laid trap and outmaneuvered him. I couldn’t help but marvel at Preston—he was an even sneakier fox than his father. Chloe immediately threw herself at him. “Preston! I’m your true fiancée! I’m the real flesh and blood of the Sterling family!” “Are you here to fight for justice for me?!” Preston maintained his gentle, warm smile. “You can eat the wrong food, but you shouldn’t say the wrong words.” With a swift, smooth motion, he turned the tables, grabbed her by the arm, and firmly deposited her back onto the floor where she’d been sitting. Then he obediently walked over and stood right next to me. “Harper, it’s too chaotic here. Want to come stay at my place for a few days to get some peace and quiet?” My dad was the first to jump up. “I can hear the gears turning in your head from across the room! Why should she go to your house?! The DNA results are out! Why are you stirring the pot? If you’re going to take someone, take the fake one! What gives you the right to hit on my daughter?!” “I don’t believe it! I demand a retest!” Chloe shrieked from the floor, furious that she was being ignored. 05 Declan also looked confused. “But Dad, Chloe really does look exactly like Mom. Could there have been a mistake? Why don’t we just do it again to be sure?” My mom spoke up, totally deadpan. “That’s not necessary. I have a very common face. It makes sense that she looks like me.” My dad feigned hesitation, glancing shiftily at Preston. “I guess doing it one more time wouldn’t hurt.” Great. After all that drama, we were right back where we started. My dad cleared his throat and looked at Preston seriously. “Right now, our daughter’s identity is in question. Are you planning to stay engaged to the Sterling family’s true heiress, whoever she is, or are you staying engaged to Harper? Take a stance.” Watching my dad rub his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement to use Preston’s answer to drive a wedge between him and my mom, made me want to facepalm. Time and place, Dad! All he cared about was macho posturing! Predictably, Preston drooped his head like a wilted flower. “Harper, look. Your dad doesn’t care about you at all. The second there’s a tiny possibility you aren’t his biological daughter, he tosses you aside without a second thought. He didn’t even consider how Eleanor would feel about it.” “I guess I’m just not as ruthless as him. Call me useless, but I can’t even think straight right now. I’m just terrified that Eleanor won’t be able to handle the stress and that it’ll ruin her health.” “Harper, Eleanor, please don’t misunderstand Arthur. I’m sure he didn’t mean it maliciously.” My mom was instantly moved. “You’re a good boy, Preston. I always knew you had a good heart.” She furiously slapped away my dad’s hand when he tried to grab her arm. “Get away from me!” “You’ll never change, you petty, jealous old man!” “How many times do I have to tell you? I have absolutely nothing going on with Richard Vance! We are just friends! But you refuse to believe it, and you constantly try to sabotage Harper’s engagement! What kind of father are you?!” “Eleanor, please don’t yell at Arthur. It’s my fault for being a disappointment and not earning his approval,” Preston said softly. His pitiful act only made my mom’s heart ache for him more. My dad ground his teeth in pure rage but didn’t dare talk back to her. Seeing my mom’s anger escalating, I quickly grabbed her. “Mom! The most important thing right now is to go redo the DNA test!” Afraid Preston would cause more trouble, I shot him a dirty look. “And you, knock it off. Unless you’re planning on feeding us your passive-aggressive tea for dinner, stop talking.” Just as we were all getting ready to head to the hospital together, my dad suddenly said, “There’s no need to go. I am absolutely certain Harper is our child.” He shot Preston a dirty look. “Little bastard. You didn’t fall for the trap.” Preston, whether to placate him or purposefully poke the bear, lowered his voice and apologized gently: “I’m so sorry, Arthur. It’s entirely my fault that your attempt to frame me failed. Please accept my sincere apologies.” My dad choked on his own breath, coughing violently and glaring daggers at Preston. “What is actually going on here?!” My mom, impatient as always, couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you joking around or not? Did you actually swap the babies back then?” “It makes sense. No normal person would mistake ‘change her diaper’ for ‘swap her with another human child’.” Chloe cried even harder. “It’s not true! I am your child! Mom, Dad, how can you refuse to acknowledge me?” “I was wondering why you disappeared for a few days! Turns out you were busy directing your own little scam to extort some rich folks! You little brat, I’ll beat you to death!” “You think you deserve to be a rich man’s daughter?! Know your place!” “And you dared to spread rumors that we stole a baby?! Do you have any idea that human trafficking is a felony?! I’m going to kill you!” 06 Out of nowhere, a rough, disheveled couple burst into the house. The man marched right up and grabbed Chloe, trying to drag her outside. But the woman was staring at me with a very strange look in her eyes. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and the way she stared at me gave me full-body goosebumps. Preston stepped smoothly in front of me, blocking her line of sight. My mom kept hitting my dad’s shoulder. “Stop stalling! What is actually going on?!” “Eleanor, allow me to guess…” Preston started. “Shut up!” my dad barked, cutting Preston off furiously. “You little punk! You steal my wife’s attention, you steal my daughter, and now you want to steal my big dramatic reveal?! Do you have a death wish?!” Sensing Preston’s threat to his spotlight, my dad finally spat out the truth. It turned out that while we were waiting for the test results over the past few days, he had been doing his own investigating. He tracked down the hospital records from that year, and combined with the DNA results, he finally pieced together the truth. Chloe’s parents really did intend to swap the babies. On that point, Chloe hadn’t lied. But what they didn’t know was… The night Chloe stayed with my mom, she cried constantly, waking my mom up dozens of times. Eventually, my exhausted, half-asleep mom snapped and yelled: “Arthur Sterling, go change her! Cry, cry, cry, she’s so loud!” My dad, who worshipped the ground my mom walked on, was already getting annoyed looking at the screaming infant. So he picked up Chloe and took her to the nursery to drop her off. That night, there were only five newborns on that floor. My dad simply picked the quietest, most pleasing-looking baby and brought her back. And that baby was me. So, my dad unknowingly swapped back his own biological daughter! Mrs. Jenkins collapsed onto the floor. “No… that’s impossible! The world couldn’t possibly be that coincidental.” Mr. Jenkins was frozen too. He stared blankly at his own hands, then at Chloe, who was covered in bruises, muttering to himself: “All these years… the kid I was beating was my own child?” “No, that’s not true! You’re lying!” “You just think I’m ruined because of how I was raised, so you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?!” Chloe screamed. “I knew it! How could a rich family’s front door be so easy to walk through? You don’t even have an alarm on!” Mrs. Jenkins snapped out of her daze, her expression hardening. “Right. You’re right, honey. It has to be a lie.” “Arthur, how can you be so absolutely sure Harper is your biological daughter? Just based on one DNA test?” Preston asked, also genuinely puzzled. “Hmph!” My dad looked around the room smugly. “One DNA test might make a mistake, but all of them wouldn’t be wrong at the same time!” My dad reached into his coat and tossed a massive stack of DNA reports onto the table. I picked them up and looked. There was a test for me and Mom, me and Declan, me and Leo, Chloe and my Mom, Chloe and my Dad, Chloe and Leo, Chloe and Declan… Every single result explicitly proved that I was the Sterling family’s biological child. Chloe’s face went ghost white, and she suddenly fainted, collapsing onto the floor. After the chaos died down, my dad called the police. It turned out that during his investigation, he accidentally discovered the Jenkins parents were prime suspects in an active human trafficking ring. After they thought they had successfully swapped their baby for a rich one, they had a twisted epiphany: why not use this as a business model to get rich? The two “geniuses” got so excited by the prospect that they actually started doing it. As for why Chloe looked so much like my mom? It was because before she came to claim her “true” identity, she purposely got plastic surgery to mimic my mom’s face. According to Chloe herself, she only altered about forty percent of her features. She had originally worried that blood ties alone wouldn’t be enough to overcome two decades of emotional attachment, so she wanted a familiar face to stack the deck in her favor. She just never expected to run into someone like my dad, who completely ignored logic and ruined her entire plan by pure accident. 07 After Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins were escorted to the police station for questioning, Chloe didn’t stay idle. She started showing up around me constantly—or, more accurately, she started showing up around Preston. “Preston, I am so, so sorry. I never imagined my parents were people like that. I didn’t want to hurt Harper, and I honestly had no idea what the truth was. Can you please forgive me?” Preston completely ignored her and leaned in close to me, trying to earn points. “Do you think she has some kind of mental illness? Why is she apologizing to me?” “Is it really that hard to understand? Without that excuse, how else is she supposed to get close to you?” I smirked. Preston, who knew me too well, saw my smile and immediately waved his hands defensively. “Hey, don’t smile at me like that! This has absolutely nothing to do with me. Don’t you dare take your anger out on me.” “This private club is members-only, and the buy-in is at least a million dollars. You didn’t bring her in, so how exactly did she get past security?” I took a sip of my tea and stared him down. He looked even more aggrieved. “Obviously, someone behind the scenes is backing her up and giving her full access to my itinerary.” “I have no idea why Arthur hates me so much that he’d actually aid a woman who tried to ruin your life.” Here we go again with the passive-aggressive victim act. “Are you saying she used my dad’s membership card to get in?” “I wouldn’t dare say that,” he muttered, sounding incredibly bitter. Losing my patience, I kicked him lightly under the table. To my surprise, his face flushed slightly, and his voice went soft. “Why don’t you go ask Arthur yourself?” I thought about it and realized it was actually pretty strange. Even though my dad had been aggressively taking his marital frustrations out on Preston lately, he was still feeling incredibly guilty that his petty rivalry had been fully exposed to my mom during the DNA fiasco. But before I could even find my dad to confront him, I was kidnapped. When I woke up, the ground beneath me was swaying. I seemed to be on a boat. My hands and feet were tied tightly behind my back with thick rope. I could barely move. “Drive the boat out to the middle of the ocean. We’ll throw her overboard there. Nobody will ever find her.” The voice was distinctly familiar. I wiggled closer to the door, trying to hear better. The door pushed open. As expected, it was a familiar face: Mr. Jenkins. “So Chloe’s actual target these past few days was me. And here I thought she was after Preston.” “Even if you kill me, Chloe can’t possibly replace me and become the Sterling heiress. I really don’t understand. Did you guys go through all this trouble just to commit a felony?” “Trying to trick me into talking, huh?” My heart sank. I didn’t expect him to be so sharp. He instantly saw through my tactic. Then again, you don’t run a human trafficking ring for years without getting caught unless you have some brains. I was racking my brain, trying to figure out a way to save myself, when he suddenly started gloating. “You think I’m stupid? You think I’m going to tell you that Chloe and I split up? That she went to seduce your father while I came to kill you and make you disappear? When you go missing, your parents will definitely fight. Then Chloe just has to bat her eyelashes, drag your dad down with her, and force him to drop the charges.” “When that happens, everything your family owns will belong to us. Won’t the goal of swapping the babies finally be complete?” “Bob, why are you talking so much to her? We’re in the middle of the ocean. Just do it!” Mrs. Jenkins walked in, her face twisted into a vicious sneer. “If things hadn’t gone wrong, you should have been the one suffering all those years of abuse, not my precious Chloe! Whenever I think about that, I want to slice you into a thousand pieces! Today is your lucky day. I’ll make it quick!” She shoved a sharp knife into Mr. Jenkins’ hands. “Wait!” Fear pushed my brain into overdrive.

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During a ranked match, I flamed an enemy Support player named “Jade.” That very same day, a mega-popular actress with millions of followers publicly called me out on X (formerly Twitter), directing her fans to cyberbully me. [Who does this trash think she is, flaming our precious Jade?] [If you don’t want to get doxxed, you better hurry up and apologize.] Looking at my 99+ DMs filled with death threats and insults, I let out a cold laugh. I immediately called my family’s executive secretary and had him permanently ban Jade’s gaming and social media accounts. After all, who doesn’t have a few burner accounts? 01 I was playing my promotion series in League of Legends. As soon as the match started, the enemy Support (a Yuumi player) named “Jade” typed in all-chat: [Anyone want to kiss up to me a little?] No one on my team replied. She typed again: [OK, ignored. Babe, wipe them out.] For the rest of that game, our team got absolutely massacred by their Jungler. He went 20-0. When the game ended, I instinctively checked the Jungler’s profile. He had a top-tier Challenger badge—clearly a professional booster. Outskilled. I sighed, used a rank protection card, and queued up for my next match. Who knew I would match against the exact same Jungler and Jade duo again? Jade seemed to recognize me too. As soon as we loaded in, she specifically called out my champion: [You were the mid-laner last game, right? How about you beg me this time, and maybe I’ll tell my Jungler to spare you?] I replied with a string of ellipses: […] I assumed she was just an edgy, attention-seeking teenager and didn’t want to engage. But she took my silence as a provocation. For the entire match, her Support character rode on the Jungler’s shoulders, specifically hunting me down. No matter where I went, the second I showed on the map, my screen went gray. To make matters worse, she intentionally stood over my corpse to spam taunts in the chat. [Hey little mid-laner, say something nice and we’ll let you go.] [Still not begging?] [Don’t push the nexus yet, let’s fountain dive her a few more times.] I tolerated it for a long time. Looking at my 0-16 KDA, I finally typed: [Can you just push and end? I’m in a hurry to queue up again.] Jade instantly replied: [Aww, she’s mad.] [I won’t push. I just want to kill you, what are you gonna do about it?] […] 02 Eventually, my teammates couldn’t take it anymore and voted to surrender. I was incredibly annoyed and wanted to log off immediately. Suddenly, a game invite popped up on my screen. Before I could even read it, I accidentally clicked accept. The moment I entered the lobby, the host started the game. It was a 5v5 custom match. I blindly picked a champion. Once the loading screen appeared, I was horrified to see “Jade” and her booster Jungler on the enemy team. Me: “…” This is never going to end, is it?! Sure enough, as soon as the game started, they stuck together like glue and tortured me in every corner of the jungle. Every time I died, Jade would type insults in the chat. Finally, I snapped. I went AFK in the fountain and started typing furiously in all-chat: [Bark all you want. You’re getting carried by a booster, do you actually think you have skills?] [You had to drag your booster into a custom lobby just to fight me? 1v1 me if you actually have the guts.] [We’re both girls, what’s with this toxic pick-me attitude? You need people to worship you? Are you even a legal adult, little girl?] After hitting send, I immediately voted to surrender, closed the client, and uninstalled the game. I thought that was the end of it. But the next day, my college roommate forwarded me a video on iMessage: [Elena, is this game ID yours? I remember you using this name?] A heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach. I frowned and clicked the video. It was a screen recording of a TikTok gaming livestream. A pretty, innocent-looking girl with flawless “no-makeup” makeup was sitting in front of her PC, holding her phone with a pitiful, teary expression: “I was just joking around with her. Why did she get so mad? Even if I went a little overboard, she didn’t have to curse me out with such awful words, right?” As she spoke, she pointed her stream camera at her monitor. There, glaringly obvious, was my game ID. “She probably already blocked me. Can you guys go ask her to apologize to me? I really wasn’t doing it on purpose, it was just for the stream’s entertainment.” The video went viral instantly. The views skyrocketed into the tens of millions. Countless netizens were aggressively commenting: [Is this girl that sensitive? A simple internet joke triggered her that badly?] [Women who spew trash like that are garbage. Why should our Jade apologize?] [She actually dared to curse at our Jade Montgomery? She kicked the wrong steel plate today!] [Guys, her friend requests are turned off, I can’t flame her in-game.] [Don’t worry babies, I already found her Instagram and X accounts. Let’s get her!] 03 I closed the video with a deadpan expression. My roommate sent another text: [Elena, did you really flame Jade Montgomery?] I frowned: [Who is Jade Montgomery? Some streamer?] Roommate: [Oh my god, you don’t know her?! She’s the actress who plays the beloved supporting lead in that hit teen drama “Whispers in the Woods”! The show broke viewership records yesterday, so she promised her fans a gaming livestream and invited the male lead to play with her. She targeted you just to create some funny content for her stream. I can’t believe the person who flamed her was you… I gotta say, you’ve got guts.] I fell silent for a moment: [So the internet thinks it’s my fault? Did they even bother to look into the context?] [Context doesn’t matter! Jade has nearly twenty million followers across all platforms. Plus, her entire brand is the “pure, innocent sweetheart.” Who would ever believe she intentionally provoked you?] My roommate’s texts were full of helpless pity: [Sigh. You’re just going to have to take the hit and lay low.] Her advice was clear: play dead, ignore the hate, and wait for it to blow over. But when I got back to my dorm that afternoon and opened my laptop to write a paper, my notification tab looked like a war zone. [Bully bitch, go die!] [Who do you think you are, talking to our Jade like that?] [Did you think the whole world was going to baby you, you toxic freak?] [Post a public apology to Jade right now, or don’t blame us when we doxx your entire life!] Endless waves of vile, hateful messages flooded my screen like toxic waste. I read a few of them, my frown deepening. These fans weren’t just leaving hate comments; they were threatening to doxx my real identity. This was severely impacting my real life. I opened X (Twitter), drafted a post, and hit send: [I will not apologize. Since Jade Montgomery is a public figure, she should be even more mindful of her actions. She provoked me in-game first. After I quit, she dragged me into a custom room just to humiliate me. Me flaming her was entirely justified. If we’re assigning blame, hers is far greater than mine. Furthermore, she weaponized her platform to direct her fans to cyberbully and personally attack me, causing severe distress to my life. I expect her to clarify the truth and act like a responsible adult.] 04 I thought posting that tweet would at least make some of the more rational fans reconsider. I didn’t expect an apology, but I hoped they would at least back off. Instead, the comments under my post were a unified wall of vitriol: [Everyone knows Jade was just doing it for the stream! It’s obviously your fault you can’t take a joke and have a trash mouth. You almost made our Jade cry!] [Exactly. Jade might be soft-spoken, but that doesn’t mean her fans are easy targets.] [Why should we take the high road with a bully like you? We’re fighting fire with fire!] [Stop making excuses and get on your knees and apologize!] Shortly after, Jade Montgomery—whom I had tagged in my post—made a new tweet, acting incredibly wronged: [I’m so sorry for causing you trouble! I had no idea my fans would cyberbully you. But I really don’t want to fight about this anymore. Let’s just pretend this whole thing never happened.] My eyelid twitched violently. Pretend it never happened? So I just got publicly crucified for nothing? I immediately replied to her post: [You don’t get to decide it never happened. I am the one being doxxed and cyberbullied! My life has been severely disrupted. Are you seriously not going to tell your fans to stop?] Jade replied to me publicly: [But I didn’t tell them to do anything! They’re just worried about me getting hurt. You can’t blame them for caring.] Seeing Jade validate and defend their actions, her fans went into an absolute frenzy. In a single afternoon, my social media accounts were paralyzed by hate spam. Worse, someone actually managed to dig up which university I attended. They swarmed our university’s Reddit page and Discord servers, publicly cursing me out, wishing death upon me, and demanding that I apologize to Jade. 05 Apologizing was out of the question. And Jade had already blocked me anyway. Since logic wasn’t working, I decided to just log off for a few days and ignore the noise. However, I underestimated the madness of stan culture. During evening study hall, I had just sat down at my desk when two girls marched up to me, glaring menacingly: “Elena Vance, are you really going to be this stubborn and not apologize to Jade?” “You making a fool of yourself online is one thing, but you’re dragging our university’s reputation through the mud.” “Before the whole campus finds out it’s you, you better go post an apology on X right now. Otherwise, don’t blame us for exposing you to the school.” I slowly organized my textbooks, then looked up at them. “Did you not read my explanation on Twitter?” “So what? Jade livestreamed the whole thing! We know what kind of person she is. Who’s going to believe your side of the story?” “Since you don’t believe me, then get out of my face.” I scoffed coldly. “Careful, or I’ll flame you too.” The two girls: “…” They clearly hadn’t expected me to bite back so hard. They walked away with dark expressions, immediately pulling out their phones. I figured they were probably going to the campus forum to complain about how ungrateful I was. Other students in the room who had been thinking about confronting me saw how vicious I was and quietly backed off. Just as I thought I could finally get some peace and quiet— A basketball smashed violently onto my desk. My custom crystal water bottle shattered instantly. Scalding hot water splashed all over my notebooks and onto my arm, burning me so badly I gasped in pain. I looked up, furious. Joey Sterling, the captain of the varsity basketball team, was striding toward me with a face like thunder. “Elena, post an apology to Jade right now.” 06 Joey Sterling was kind of a big deal on campus. During my freshman year, I helped my roommate drop off a water bottle for him during practice. Since I was famously known as the “Ice Queen” on campus and had never given a guy water before, a rumor started that I had a massive crush on Joey. But when Joey heard the rumor, he publicly frowned and said: “Elena Vance? I barely notice her. I’m not interested in her.” After I found out, I never helped my roommate deliver water again. But the rumor that I was a pathetic, rejected “simp” for Joey spread like wildfire. I suppressed the throbbing pain on my arm and glared at him. “Are you insane?!” Joey scoffed, looking at me with pure disgust. “Anyone at this school who has my Snapchat knows I’m a massive Jade Montgomery fan. You probably got jealous, purposely stream-sniped her to get her attention, and then cursed her out.” I was absolutely mind-blown by his delusional leap in logic. “Joey, do you have brain damage? Getting matched with her twice was bad luck enough, you think I was stream-sniping her? Besides, I don’t even have your Snapchat! How would I know which celebrity you obsess over? And why the hell would I care?!” Joey crossed his arms, looking like he saw right through my “lies.” “You just admitted you matched with her twice. If you weren’t stream-sniping, how could it be such a coincidence? And you don’t have my Snapchat because I refused to add you. That doesn’t mean you aren’t stalking my other socials.” He took two steps closer, towering over me aggressively. “If Jade hadn’t been wronged, you would never have gotten an excuse to talk to me in your entire life. I’m not wasting my breath on you. Apologize to her. Now.” I let out a cold laugh. “Since you have such a strong sense of justice, how are we settling the fact that you smashed my bottle and burned my arm?” Joey furrowed his brows in contempt. “I can pay for your bottle, and I can pay your medical bills. As long as you apologize, money isn’t an issue.” “Is that so? Then pay for the bottle first. Four thousand, five hundred dollars.” Joey glanced at the shattered glass on the floor and laughed out loud. “You? Leaving aside whether that cheap piece of glass is actually worth four thousand, even if it is, do you look like someone who can afford a $4,500 bottle? You’re dead broke and trying to scam me.” 07 I rolled my eyes, reached down, and picked up a shard of glass that had the brand’s logo and an authenticity QR code etched into it. “Whether it’s authentic or not, you can scan this and find out. Once you scan it, remember to contact a luxury personal shopper to buy me a new one. If you don’t know where to find one, I can forward you a contact.” Seeing how brutally confident I was, Joey’s smug expression cracked for a split second. After a moment, he decided to pivot. “Elena, you’re just trying to get my attention, aren’t you? This is pathetic. If you refuse to apologize to Jade, don’t blame me when I expose your real identity on the campus forum.” I kept my face deadpan. “Then go expose me. I’m not the one in the wrong here. When your ‘goddess’ is forced to personally step up and clear my name, I’ll be holding you legally responsible.” Joey glared at me, furious, and turned to leave. “Wait.” “What?” He sneered, thinking I had changed my mind. I shoved the shard of glass with the QR code into his hoodie pocket. “You think you can act tough and just walk away? Don’t forget to pay for my bottle. I’m going to the campus clinic to get my arm bandaged. I’ll send you the medical bill tomorrow.” Joey looked at me in disbelief, like he was looking at an absolute psychopath. He clearly hadn’t expected me to actually demand the money. But honestly, I also hadn’t expected Joey to be that stupid. He actually went to the campus Reddit and made a massive post, confirming that I was the “Bully Girl” who cursed out Jade. Instantly, the forum was swarmed by Jade’s rabid fans. They dug up my student ID photo, photoshopped it into hideous memes and funeral portraits, and spammed them everywhere. The entire forum was flooded with threads demanding: “Elena Vance Must Apologize to Jade.” The rumors and outrage grew so severe that the university administration was forced to call me in, demanding I resolve the issue immediately.

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I was ten years old that summer. The summer my little sister, Nikki, vanished. It happened on the road while she was bringing lunch to our parents. There were no traffic cameras back then, and nobody saw a thing. Because I was supposed to be the one delivering that lunch, my mother never spoke another word to me again. Fifteen years later, I became a cop. Over and over, I walked that same stretch of road she took. Slowly, the past began to reconstruct itself in my mind. Piecing together a truth that would break my heart. 01 August 10, 2009. That was the day my sister disappeared. Back then, we were living in a run-down house on the edge of town, right where the suburbs faded into overgrown fields. My dad worked a grueling shift at the chemical plant nearby. My mom ran a small convenience store off the main highway; it was doing really well. During the summer, the store was packed in the afternoons with people buying sodas and ice cream. Dad would head straight there to help out the moment he clocked off. They were often too busy to even think about eating. So, for that entire summer break, cooking for the family fell to ten-year-old me. Our kitchen didn’t have A/C, just an old, rattling box fan. Once the water started boiling, the humidity became unbearable. The fan just blew hot air around. Cooking meant being drenched in sweat. The day it happened was particularly brutal. By the time I finished cooking, I felt heatstroke setting in. I was home alone with Nikki. My grandma lived in the house next door, but she was a bitter, harsh woman. She wouldn’t help; she’d just criticize. I didn’t dare ask her for anything. I splashed some cold water on my face, fighting down the dizziness. I dished up some cold noodles for Nikki and told her to eat first. Then, I packed Mom and Dad’s lunch into containers and put them in a picnic basket. Nikki took a few bites of her noodles, then looked at me. “Sarah, you go lie down in front of the fan,” she said. “I’ll deliver lunch today. I know the way. I’ll finish my noodles when I get back.” It was only a ten-minute walk from our house to the store. It was a straight shot down one road—not exactly deserted. I had walked it with her hundreds of times. But I was still hesitant. “Are you sure you can handle it?” I asked, half-lying on the sofa with a wet washcloth pressed to my forehead. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s right down the street. I’ll be back before you know it.” She grabbed the basket and headed out before I could argue. She had always been sickly and thin. When she lifted the basket, I could see the sharp outline of her shoulder blades through her t-shirt. Her little silhouette looked so fragile. Before stepping out the door, she waved at me. “I’m going to be right back! And Sarah, no stealing my noodles while I’m gone!” “Don’t worry, I won’t touch them!” I waved her off impatiently, urging her to get going. But she never came back. 02 “Do you think… if I had told her that I would steal her noodles… if I’d given her something to worry about… do you think she would have come back?” January 9, 2024. I officially joined the City Police Department as a probationary officer. Nine months later, I was talking to my mentor, Senior Officer Miller, about the cold case that had haunted me for fifteen years. “When did you realize she was gone?” Miller asked. I rubbed my eyes. “Around 2:00 PM, I think. After she left, I forced myself to eat a few bites of noodles, and then I passed out. I woke up when my dad slapped me across the face.” Even after all this time, the memory was excruciatingly clear. I opened my eyes to see my father’s face, contorted with rage. “Why didn’t you deliver the food? Were you trying to starve us to death?” he screamed. I burst into tears. “Nikki left to deliver it ages ago!” As soon as the words left my mouth, I saw the half-eaten bowl of noodles on the table. It hit me like a physical blow—she hadn’t come back. A chill raced down my spine. The terror instantly choked back my tears. 03 “We searched everywhere. Back then, surveillance didn’t cover that small road; cameras were only on the main highway. My family ran around like headless chickens, driven mad by despair.” “They dragged the retention ponds along the road three times. Nothing. We hired people to go down into the old wells in the area. Nothing.” “After we filed the missing persons report, the cops checked the highway cameras. They didn’t see anyone suspicious. They interviewed the neighbors, the people in the surrounding subdivisions. Nobody had seen my sister.” Nikki had just… vanished. My mom hit me, collapsing onto the floor, screaming in agony. “How could you be so lazy? Why didn’t you go? Why did you make her go?” My grandmother, a devout woman, declared that the Lord would not forgive a child whose laziness and selfishness caused her sister to be lost. In a fit of rage, my dad kicked me repeatedly, knocking me to the ground. The neighbors, not knowing the truth, didn’t step in to stop him. They just pointed fingers at me. I became like a wooden puppet. I didn’t shed a single tear. I just walked to that road where Nikki disappeared and stood there, obstinately, for three days. I didn’t blink, staring at the intersection, waiting for her little silhouette to appear. But no miracle happened. After that day, nobody in my family really spoke to me. Especially my mom. For the next fifteen years, she never said another word to me. Once I got into middle school, I went to boarding school. I’d come home on weekends just to grab money and clean clothes, and then I’d leave immediately. I didn’t dare stay a moment longer than necessary. During those years, I walked that road over and over again. I examined every blade of grass, every tree, trying to find a single clue. I imagined countless scenarios. It was torture. 04 “How long did you usually nap back then?” Miller asked, flipping through the case file I’d requested. He seemed genuinely interested in the case. Years ago, it had been classified as a missing persons case and shelved for over a decade. “It depended. Sometimes long, sometimes short. But that day, I don’t know why, I was exceptionally tired. I slept for over two hours, right up until my dad woke me up.” “You said you had heatstroke. What did that feel like? Do you remember?” I tried hard to recall how I felt that afternoon. “Totally drained. Drowsy. Dizzy. My head felt incredibly heavy…” Miller listened, then fell silent for a moment, contemplating. “Have you ever considered that it might not have been heatstroke?” My scalp went numb. I stared at him, my eyes wide. “Symptoms of heatstroke include dizziness, ringing in the ears, headache, weakness, nausea, vomiting, cold sweat…” “Your symptoms don’t really sound like heatstroke. They sound more like you ingested…” My heart hammered in my chest. Before he could finish, I blurted out, “Ingested what?” “Sleeping pills. Or something with a strong sedative effect,” Miller said, looking at me meaningfully. Why had I never thought of that? The symptoms of sedatives and heatstroke did have a lot in common. However, heatstroke has two very distinct features—nausea/vomiting and cold sweats. I remembered clearly. That day, I had neither. Every hair on my body stood on end. 05 Back then, everyone, including the police, took it for granted that I was just lazy and made Nikki go because I was scared of the heat. Everything I said was dismissed as an excuse to avoid responsibility. They poured all their energy into the search. Because of that, they missed this crucial clue. “Miller, what made you think it wasn’t heatstroke?” There was finally a breakthrough in the case. I was shaking with adrenaline. “It’s simple. Based on your story, you and your sister were very close. She was young, and you were worried about her going alone.” “Normally, you would have stayed awake until she came back. But you fell asleep, and for a long time. If your father hadn’t woken you, you probably would have slept longer.” “Clearly, that isn’t normal.” Miller spoke as he reviewed the file. My eyes welled up, and I nodded. In all these years, Miller was the first person to notice that the bond between my sister and me was extraordinary. After Nikki disappeared, my dad pointed a finger at me and screamed, “What kind of big sister are you? Your sister is gone and you’re asleep? Why didn’t you just sleep yourself to death?!” Back then, I didn’t understand why I had fallen asleep. I hated myself for it. Nobody knew how much I loved my sister. Nobody knew that our bond was far deeper than that of average sisters. It wasn’t just because we were together 24 hours a day before I started school. It was because, whether it was freezing winter or scorching summer, we huddled together, facing life’s hardships as one. Back then, our parents were so focused on the business that they left Nikki and me with our grandmother. But she spent all her time running around to church group meetings, often leaving us home alone all day, completely ignored. So, by the time I was six, I was cooking for Nikki. If I burnt the rice, we ate burnt rice together. If it tasted good, we enjoyed it together. When other kids cried, they called for their mothers. When my sister cried, she called for her big sister. 06 “You were sweating heavily that day, so you must have drunk a lot of water. The problem was likely in the water.” Miller pointed to the water bottle in front of me. “But who would drugg a ten-year-old? And what would be the motive?” I couldn’t help asking. As I spoke, two possibilities flashed through my mind, each one more devastating than the last. “Did your family have any enemies?” I shook my head. “My parents believed in the philosophy of ‘harmony brings wealth’ in business. They rarely got into conflicts. The only local troublemaker they had issues with had an airtight alibi for that day.” As we were talking, a commotion broke out outside. A couple had come into the station to report a missing child. “Officers, please, our daughter is eight years old. She’s autistic. Her father was taking her to her therapy session, and she got lost on the way.” “You have to help us!” The woman was frantic, practically ready to fall to her knees. The man looked dejected and spoke with self-blame, but his expression had a strange, hard-to-hide sense of relief. Seeing this, I had a pretty good idea of what was going on. I’d only been on the force for a year, but I’d already seen several cases like this. Most of them were special needs children. The families couldn’t afford the therapy bills, or the parents had been broken by years of relentless struggle and saw no hope. So, they abandoned the child, then came to the station to report them missing just to save face and avoid being criticized by the community. Despite my suspicions, I still questioned the man in detail about what happened. “We were walking through the waterfront park, and she saw someone feeding the seagulls. No matter how much I pulled, she wouldn’t budge. I finally relented and went to buy a bag of birdseed. But in the split second my back was turned, she was gone.” The child went missing around 5:00 PM, right when the tide was coming in. They had searched everywhere themselves before coming to report it. By now, the child had been missing for over two hours. If she had fallen into the water, she’d be gone in minutes. If she’d been taken by human traffickers, two hours was enough time to reach the bus or train station. It was too late. Even so, the police department couldn’t just ignore it. Miller had me immediately blast out a missing persons alert on social media, using the location of her disappearance as the central radius. He also dispatched a squad to check major transportation hubs and contacted two professional search and rescue teams to conduct an overnight search along the coast. We were attacking it from three angles, doing everything that could be done. The rest was up to fate. 07 After the couple left, expressing their profound gratitude, Miller looked out at the dark night sky. “The odds of that child being alive are low,” he said. “It’s only a matter of time before the body is found.” “Your sister had severe asthma, didn’t she? Is it possible…” I shook my head violently, in denial. “No way. My family never, ever considered my sister a burden. After Nikki was lost, I became the family’s biggest criminal. My mom hasn’t spoken a single word to me in fifteen years.” He looked at me, tapping the case file. “What about your grandmother? How did she treat you two?” I was stunned. “You suspect my grandmother?” It was true. If it wasn’t an enemy, the only people who could have put sleeping pills in my water, other than my parents, were my grandmother. “I’m not saying I suspect her definitively. I’m just considering possibilities and analyzing the case.” “To be honest, she wasn’t great. But that day, she had multiple witnesses proving she was at a neighbor’s house for a prayer group. She also has an airtight alibi.” Miller fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Are you sure nobody saw your sister?” “That road was a bit out of the way; there was almost nobody around on a summer afternoon. There were only three businesses along that stretch. Two of them were BBQ joints that only opened at night. The third one was a small place that sold tea eggs. The owner was disabled and lived in the shop, but it was closed during the afternoon too. So, nobody saw her.” Miller kept shaking his head. “Well, that is strange. This case is truly baffling.” Even Miller was stumped. The hope that had just ignited within me began to fade. I stared at the photo of the missing child on my computer screen. Same age as my sister, same big, innocent eyes. A heavy weight settled in my chest. Miller saw that I was discouraged and offered some words of comfort. “Sarah, don’t give up. As long as a body hasn’t been found, there’s still hope your sister is alive. Try hard to recall the details. Our job requires both boldness and attention to detail. Any act, once committed, leaves traces. Go home when you have time; see if being there sparks any memories.” I nodded. 08 It was late at night by the time I clocked off. My new rental apartment wasn’t far from my parents’ house. As I walked, I found myself heading toward that road where Nikki disappeared. This road, which had once held only two or three shops, had been completely transformed into a bustling street food alley. Even at midnight, vendors were still open for business. Miller was right. Every action leaves a trace. There had to be some detail I had overlooked. What was it? “Tea eggs! Tea eggs! Five-spice tea eggs!” The vendor, his eyes closed, strained his ears. He called out to me, “Is that the oldest Hayes daughter? Just off work? Come have a tea egg, fresh out of the pot!” His name was Mr. Carter, and he was blind. All us kids used to privately call him “Blind Carter.” He had been running this tea egg stand on this road for over twenty years. When we were little, Nikki and I used to secretly take money to buy his tea eggs. My mom didn’t allow it; she said he was blind and his food was unsanitary and would make us sick. Kids don’t care about that stuff, though. We just cared that they were delicious. People always say blind people have incredible hearing, and it’s true. Even though there weren’t many people on the street at midnight, there were still five or six people around me. “It’s me, Mr. Carter. I’ll take two tea eggs, please.” When I was little, I bought two because one was for Nikki and one was for me. Now I bought two because it was a habit. “Coming right up! I remember you girls always loved my tea eggs!” He scooped out the eggs, smiling politely. His wrinkled face looked like a walnut. As he spoke the second sentence, he seemed to realize something. His hand froze, and the smile on his face became strained and unnatural. “Still haven’t found her, have you? I set up my stand late that day. I was inside the whole time, so I was no help. I’m so sorry, Sarah.” As he spoke, he rubbed his nose. That was a classic sign of guilt. “I don’t blame you. Because you didn’t hear anything that day, right?” I said, emphasizing the word “hear.” His hand, holding the eggs, trembled. He quickly stepped in front of me, stopping me from scanning the QR code to pay. “No money needed! I’ve heard the news, Sarah. You’re wearing the uniform now! You’ve made the neighborhood proud! These two tea eggs are on the house!” Blind Carter was famously stingy. In all these years, he even made his own brother and sister-in-law pay for eggs. And today, he was giving them to me for free? “Thank you, Mr. Carter!” I carefully took the eggs, but I scanned the code anyway. His tea eggs were two dollars each. I transferred ten dollars. At the sound of the confirmation—”Received: Ten Dollars”—Mr. Carter got agitated. He waved his hands frantically. “You stubborn girl! What did you do that for? Why give so much?” I leaned in close to him. “I’m reinvestigating my sister’s disappearance. Mr. Carter, if you can provide any crucial leads, there will be a significant reward from the department.” His ears twitched. He stood stunned for a long moment, then sighed and said, “Your sister truly was a tragedy. I don’t want the reward. I’ll only tell you what I heard. I can’t guarantee it’s true. If it helps, just come back and buy more tea eggs.” Blind Carter’s hearing was famous for a reason. He could tell exactly who was passing by his shop just from their footsteps. That afternoon, before the news of my sister’s disappearance spread, an unexpected person passed by his shop. “Sarah, look closely. Recall the details of the past. Don’t rule out anyone close to you.” That was Blind Carter’s final piece of advice. 09 September 25, 2024. The missing autistic child was found. Her body was bloated and disfigured by the seawater, her internal organs completely eaten away by fish and sea birds. It was a gruesome sight. Her parents were sobbing uncontrollably, putting on a big show of grief. But the wailing was just… theatrical. It felt wrong. In the six months I’d been at the station, I’d already seen too much of the complexity of human grief and joy. The truth is, genuine sorrow, the kind that rips your heart out, is often silent. Sometimes you can’t even shed a single tear. Unfortunately, we had zero evidence to prove that the father—or even both parents—had deliberately put the child in danger. My mood was absolute garbage. Maybe it was because the victim in this case was the same age Nikki was when she disappeared. Maybe it was because she, like my sister, had an incurable illness. Everything about it made me think of Nikki. I remembered her smile, her running into my arms, sweetly calling me “Big Sister.” I remembered her helplessness and pain during her asthma attacks. I dreamt desperately of knowing if she was still alive. Was she okay? Where did she go? The uncertainty was torturing me. I felt like I was going insane.

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In the fifth year of my marriage to Liam Sterling, the girl he had been keeping in a luxury penthouse was exposed. The scandal was everywhere—TMZ, Page Six, every social media feed. To protect her from being labeled a “homewrecker,” Liam came to me with divorce papers. He said, “Mr. Miller saved my career years ago. On his deathbed, he asked me to look after Clara. Now that this scandal is out, I can’t just leave her to drown.” For years, Clara had always been Liam’s first choice. In my past life, I collapsed when I heard those words. I screamed, I fought, and I refused to let go. I spiraled into a deep clinical depression. Liam, influenced by Clara’s whispered comment that “Elena doesn’t look like she’s actually sick,” decided I was faking it to trap him. He framed me for an affair and sued for divorce. Back then, I finally realized I could never compete with a “debt of gratitude.” I ended my life in despair. But now, I’ve opened my eyes again. This time, I signed the papers without a second thought. 01 “Elena, once this storm blows over, we’ll get married again, okay?” I was sitting on a stone bench in our Hamptons estate, staring into space, when Liam appeared with Clara. Just three hours ago, the paparazzi had leaked photos of Clara leaving Liam’s hotel suite. The internet was digging into her past, calling her a mistress and the reason for the downfall of the “perfect Sterling marriage.” Liam’s “devoted husband” image was shattered, and Sterling Group’s stock was plummeting. In my previous life, when Liam brought these papers, I was so filled with rage that I tore up every rose he had planted for me in this garden. I demanded to know what Clara really meant to him. She was just his mentor’s daughter. There were a thousand ways to solve the PR crisis. But he chose to sacrifice me. He did it simply because he didn’t want Clara’s depression to worsen. He didn’t know that while the scandal was fermenting, I had already been diagnosed with severe clinical depression myself. “Elena.” Liam called my name again, pulling me back from my thoughts. I looked down at the divorce settlement on the stone table. He knelt at my feet, his dark, deep eyes looking up at me, his warm palms covering my cold hands. His voice was coaxing. “Elena, just do this for me, please? We’ll tell the public our marriage has been over for a year. We’ll say we were just waiting for the right time to announce the divorce.” I remained silent. Behind him, Clara stood in a white silk dress, Liam’s coat draped over her shoulders. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed. “Elena, please help me,” Clara whispered. “My mother took her own life because of cyberbullying and depression. I don’t want to end up like her. Elena… I’ll get on my knees if I have to. Just please…” As she started to bend her knees, Liam stood up instantly, catching her and pulling her protectively into his arms. His face darkened as he snapped, “What are you doing?” Clara choked back a sob, looking fragile. “I… I just wanted Elena to feel better.” Liam’s expression shifted to impatience as he looked back at me. The tenderness was gone. “Elena, I’m not here to negotiate. I’ve already made my decision. If you won’t sign, don’t blame me for—” I looked him in the eye, and he stopped mid-sentence. But I knew what he was going to say. He was going to say: “Elena, you know what I’m capable of. I have a thousand ways to make you sign. If we go to court, you’ll never beat the Sterling Group’s lawyers.” That’s what he said in the last life. Later, he staged a scene where I woke up in a hotel with male models, making the “affair” undeniable. Overnight, I became the “unfaithful wife,” while he and Clara became the innocent victims. “I’ll sign,” I said after a long silence. “But you have to promise me one thing.” 02 Liam nodded immediately. He handed me a pen. I took it and signed my name on the lines without a single tremor in my hand. “Don’t you want to read the terms?” Liam frowned. I let out a soft, hollow laugh. “No need.” He was basically leaving with nothing, giving me almost all the marital assets. He was willing to lose everything just for Clara, just for that “debt of gratitude.” “Set a time with the lawyers tomorrow to finalize the filing,” I said. “Okay,” Liam replied. His hand hesitated as he took the papers back. He looked at me with a hint of confusion, but in the end, he said nothing. As they turned to leave, Clara looked back over her shoulder. Her lips curved into a silent, mocking smirk: You lost. I had lost. I lost an entire lifetime. That’s why I didn’t care about winning this time. A few minutes later, my phone lit up. It was a text from Liam. [I know this is hard for you, Elena. I’m sorry.] [Once this is over, I’ll give you the wedding of your dreams. We’ll start over.] [I couldn’t just watch Clara spiral. You’re strong, you can understand me, right?] I looked at the screen and laughed until tears pricked my eyes. It was the same in the last life. To force the divorce, Liam had consulted his friends and gotten drunk. But he forgot that his friends were my friends too. Marcus had spent half his time telling Liam not to throw away his marriage for Clara, and the other half trying to convince me to “understand” Liam because he was a man of “honor and loyalty.” If Clara’s father hadn’t invested in Liam’s startup years ago, Liam wouldn’t be the man he is today. Back then, I had cried and screamed, “Liam could have cleared her name a thousand ways! Why does it have to be a divorce?” Marcus had gone quiet. He eventually told me what Liam had said: “I have to let someone down. It has to be Elena. She loves me; she’s the only one who will understand.” Because I loved him, I was the one to be sacrificed. What kind of twisted logic was that? Fortunately, I had a second chance. 03 Liam always moved fast when it came to Clara. The papers were signed in the morning, and by evening, he had organized a press conference. He sent his assistant to “invite” me to attend. I hadn’t even opened my mouth before the assistant, assuming I would refuse, relayed Liam’s message. “Ms. Miller, you should be there. If not for Mr. Sterling’s sake, then for your own reputation.” I stared at him for a second and then scoffed. Liam was threatening me. He was trying to use the same tactics from the last life—throwing dirt on me and letting me drown in public scrutiny until I had no choice but to bow my head. I never understood if Liam saw me as a wife or an enemy. But if he wanted to clarify our relationship, I was more than happy to oblige. The press conference was held in the ballroom of Manhattan’s most luxurious hotel. The room was packed with high-profile journalists. When Clara appeared, dressed in an elegant silk gown and leaning on Liam’s arm, the reporters swarmed them. Liam instinctively shielded Clara, waving off the microphones with a practiced smile. “I will answer every question in due time. For now, please, give us some space.” His voice was steady. When he looked up, his eyes met mine. I was surrounded by reporters in the middle of the room. For a split second, a ghost of an old hope flickered in me—the hope that he might step forward to help me. But in the next second— He shifted his gaze away. With a smile, he led Clara onto the stage as if he hadn’t seen me at all. I curled my lip in a silent sneer. A young intern reporter near me timidly held out a mic. “Ms. Miller, is it true? Are you and Mr. Sterling really getting a divorce?” “Yes,” I replied, a bright smile on my face. The intern pushed up her glasses. “But you and Mr. Sterling met in college. Seven years of dating, five years of marriage… and just last month, he bought an island in your name.” I kept smiling, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “That was a debt he owed me.” Liam had missed my birthday to take care of a “sick” Clara. The island was his way of making up for it. In my last life, I had been so proud of that island. I only found out later that the idea came from Marcus, the island was picked by Liam’s assistant, and Liam didn’t even know where it was on a map. “Do you… still love him?” the reporter asked. The room went quiet. Even Liam, on the stage, turned to look at me. His brow furrowed slightly. I looked at him calmly and spoke clearly into the microphone. “Not anymore.” 04 I didn’t stay for the end. Once Liam announced that our marriage had “ended in spirit” a year ago, I walked out. Overnight, I became the “discarded wife,” while Clara became the only innocent victim in this drama. The interview was pinned at the top of every social media platform for days. Liam’s statement was played on loop: “Elena and I decided to split a year ago. We wanted to keep it private, but now that an innocent person is being dragged into this, we had to speak up. Clara is not a ‘mistress.’ She is my mentor’s daughter, his only legacy. Looking after her is my duty. I hope everyone can be rational about this.” Fans were led to believe that I was the problem—that I was too “narrow-minded” to accept their “pure, sibling-like” bond. They called me petty. They said I didn’t deserve Liam’s “loyalty and honor” after five years of marriage. The topic trended for a week. I was the villain. When we walked out of the lawyer’s office after the final filing, Liam stopped me. “Don’t take what they say online to heart, Elena. People have short memories. They’ll forget soon.” I stopped and let out a short, sharp laugh. We were both being dragged on social media, yet the way he handled it for Clara versus me was night and day. “Elena, it’s almost Christmas,” Liam said. “Early next year, let’s go get our licenses again. We’ll remarry.” He moved toward me, but I stepped back. I looked past him toward the paparazzi being held back by security. Liam realized he was being too public and stopped. “Liam, I’m moving to Boston.” “You haven’t been back there in a long time. It’ll be good for you. After New Year’s, I’ll fly up and bring you—” “I’m not coming back,” I interrupted calmly. The faint smile on his face froze. Confusion clouded his eyes. I continued, “When I agreed to sign the papers, you promised me one thing. It’s time to keep it.” Liam stared at me, waiting. In the few seconds after my rebirth, I had processed all my love and hate for this man. When I first saw the divorce papers, part of me wanted to go insane, to rip them up and scream. But logic won. I smiled at him one last time. “Liam, I want you to stay out of my life. Forever.” 05 As I walked away into the crowd, Liam stood frozen. For a moment, he felt a strange, cold panic, as if he were losing the most valuable thing he owned. It reminded him of how I had signed the papers—quietly, without a fight. It was as if I had already foreseen the end. Just a few weeks ago, I had thrown a fit because he forgot my birthday. I had even slapped him. He had expected me to go nuclear when he suggested a “fake” divorce. He was ready for the screaming. But I hadn’t screamed. I had just picked up the pen, my expression as still as a dead lake. He had wanted to stop me for a split second, but he didn’t. He told himself it was fine. Elena loved him. It was just a temporary divorce. He would make it up to her. But Clara was different. He couldn’t let her get hurt because of him. If her father hadn’t seen Liam’s potential and risked his own board seat to invest in Liam’s first project, Liam wouldn’t be a New York titan today. He wouldn’t have been “good enough” for someone like Clara. Mr. Miller’s dying wish was for Liam to protect her. He didn’t want to be a man without honor. Marcus had once asked him, “If Elena and Clara both fell off a cliff, who would you save?” Liam had laughed then. He thought the question was beneath him. He said he’d save Clara, but he’d jump off the cliff to die with Elena. Marcus had laughed with him, but then asked, “What if Elena doesn’t want to die?” “Liam, don’t take Elena’s love for granted. If she can’t feel your love, she’ll give up.” Liam hadn’t taken the warning seriously then. He didn’t realize it was a prophecy. 06 That night, Liam went back to the villa. Since our wedding, I had lived in this house tucked away in the hills. I was a successful artist. At eighteen, I had been hailed as a prodigy for my ethereal landscapes. Everyone thought I would be the next big thing in the art world, and for a while, I was. But after marriage, my style changed. It lost its soul. My mentors tried to help me, but the effect was minimal. Eventually, I stopped painting altogether. I grew to hate the brush. Liam walked into my studio. He froze when he saw the canvas on the easel. It was a landscape. A few strokes, but it was breathtakingly alive. The housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, saw the light and walked in. “Mr. Sterling?” Liam turned. “When did she paint this?” “The day you brought Ms. Vance home,” she replied. Liam nodded. He tried to smile, but his face felt stiff. He went to my bedroom. He kept telling himself this was just a “fake” divorce. As soon as the PR fire was out, he would propose again. He’d give me a wedding that would be the talk of the century. But his chest felt hollow. He dismissed my final words as just “anger.” This was our home. Why wouldn’t I come back? A knock at the door broke his thoughts. It was Clara. She was wearing a thin silk robe, her cheeks flushed. She stood in the doorway, watching him. “What are you doing here?” Liam asked. Clara bit her lip. “I was scared staying at the hotel alone. So I came here.” She lowered her eyes. “Am I… disturbing you?” Liam’s brow furrowed, but he sighed. “It’s fine. It’s late.” “I’ll have Mrs. Gable get a guest room ready.” As he turned to call the housekeeper, Clara stepped into the room. She looked at Liam with eyes full of longing. “Liam… I don’t want the guest room.” “Can I…?” she whispered. Liam’s frown deepened. He opened his mouth to say no, but seeing her red-rimmed eyes, his heart softened again. 07 When my plane landed in Boston, Silas was there to pick me up. Ten years ago, when he was eighteen, Silas had saved a girl from an assault, only to be falsely accused of the crime himself. He served three years in prison. With a criminal record, no company would hire him. I met him at an art gallery. He never spoke to anyone; he always kept his head down. One night, on my way home, I was cornered by some thugs. Silas happened to be passing by. I thought he would just keep walking. But he didn’t. He didn’t hesitate for a second. Afterward, I asked him, “What if I accused you too?” He gave a bitter smile. “Then I’d just accept it.” I used my family’s influence to clear his name. On the day the truth came out, he stood in the distance, watching me through the crowd with red eyes. He bowed deeply in thanks. Prison hadn’t broken his kindness. My father, grateful for Silas saving me, offered him a job. He started at the bottom, and now, he was my father’s most trusted right hand. “Miss Vance, long time no see.” Silas, dressed in a sharp overcoat, took my suitcase. I nodded, feeling a sudden lump in my throat. Five years ago, when I married Liam and moved to New York, Silas had been sent to London for corporate training. I hadn’t seen him since before I “died” in my last life. “Are you staying this time?” he asked. “I’m staying,” I said. Silas smiled. “Mr. Vance is very happy you’re home.” I felt a pang of guilt. My hands tightened in my pockets. In the last life, when the divorce scandal broke, my father had flown to New York immediately. He had begged me: “Liam Sterling doesn’t know your worth.” “He’d rather work with that old man Miller than accept your help. He says he doesn’t want to ‘rely’ on you, but isn’t relying on the Millers the same thing?” “Elena, just leave him. He isn’t the one.” He wanted to bring me home to Boston. But I refused. I cried and screamed that I loved Liam and wouldn’t leave. “Why should I be sacrificed for his ‘debt’? Even if he kills me, I’m not leaving.” My father was so angry and heartbroken that he had a massive heart attack. He was in the ICU for weeks. My mother’s hair turned white overnight. When my father finally woke up, he didn’t say a word to me. I knew I had failed him. My mother had warned me before she left: “Your father never interfered with your choices, Elena. But Liam Sterling is not a good man.” I hadn’t listened. I had hit the “dead end” at full speed. It took losing my life to finally understand. “Are they okay?” I asked Silas. He nodded. “The company is thriving. Your parents are healthy.” I smiled, looking at his calm eyes. “Thank you, Silas.” Thank you for looking after them when I was gone. Silas shook his head. He said it was his duty. If my father and I hadn’t pulled him out of the gutter, he would have been dead years ago.

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I was driving past a local high school when I saw a young girl tugging on the faded sleeve of a teenage boy, timidly calling him “Julian.” The boy had a clean, handsome face, standing tall and straight like a birch tree. I said, “Bring him over.” “Miss?” I lifted my chin, my tone indifferent: “No reason, I just feel like sponsoring someone too.” (01) Our butler, Mr. Henderson, was always highly efficient. The “Julian” that Chloe mentioned soon appeared before me. When he was brought in, I was flipping through his file. Julian Vance. Exceptional looks. Even his ID photo captured a clear, ethereal handsome face. Just based on his features, he could easily outshine the posters of the latest teen heartthrobs plastered all over the streets. However, his current condition wasn’t great. He looked mentally exhausted, with a faint hint of haggardness. I wasn’t surprised; I guessed he had run into some trouble. Julian was an orphan from a poor background. His only family was his grandmother, who had just been diagnosed with late-stage liver cancer and was lying in a hospital bed. He had been an outstanding student since childhood, working part-time to subsidize his family’s income, and was admitted to Columbia University as the valedictorian of his high school. Everyone who knew him praised him endlessly; his resume was flawless. Chloe Davis was his neighbor and childhood friend. But a teenage girl’s feelings are hard to hide. I could see her admiration. No wonder Arthur was so furious. (02) Arthur was usually a very calm and indifferent person. I had never seen him experience intense emotional fluctuations, but lately, he was frequently distracted, and his eyes were dark and brooding. Yesterday, before I even walked into his office, I heard him on the phone. It was the condescending advice of an elder, half-admonition, half-warning. He said, “Chloe, you have your SATs coming up. You need to focus on your studies. Be careful about how you interact with your classmates; you never truly know someone’s heart.” His usually cold and composed tone couldn’t hide the burning jealousy. My hand, which had been about to knock on the door, paused. I had originally had the housekeeper make soup to bring over, but suddenly, I lost all interest in having dinner with him. Lately, his attitude towards me had been visibly perfunctory. Even his verbal greetings felt like a chore. He didn’t care who I was with or what I was doing. But he was like that with everyone. Until the news that he was sponsoring a poor student reached my ears. Arthur wasn’t the type to love doing charity. But for her, he planted an entire field of flowers, took her out to sea to watch the sunrise, accompanied her on walks through every corner of the city, and spent a fortune to get her an exchange student spot. He even got jealous like a hot-headed teenager. People laughed at him for keeping a mistress in a golden cage. At first, my reaction was displeasure, and then I wanted to cut off the relationship. After all, he was someone I had held onto for so many years. “Miss,” Mr. Henderson frowned, hesitating, “About Mr. Arthur sponsoring that girl…” Mr. Henderson was a butler specifically chosen for me by my family. He was loyal but not rigid, and sometimes his methods weren’t exactly above board. His eyes were dark; he probably meant to “handle” Chloe, this “stumbling block,” for me. “Let’s go,” I interrupted him. Let it be. Making a fuss would be meaningless; it would just make me look like a bitter woman. I couldn’t be bothered to bring this matter out into the open. If he deliberately hid it from me, what would it matter if I found out the truth? Throw evidence at him and force him to admit it? And then watch him choose? He might choose me; after all, that’s what he used to do. The Sterling family was an untouchable giant, but their only daughter, Evelyn Sterling, was an eccentric cripple. I was a piece of fat meat that everyone coveted. Or, to put it another way, I was like a rotting corpse. Even if it stank to high heaven, there would still be a flock of vultures circling me, eager to peck me away. I was a highly sought-after marriage prospect that they all scrambled for. Even if Arthur was completely unwilling, he would maintain this marriage in name only. Just like in the past, when the capricious me suddenly threw a tantrum at him, he would only endure it and look at me calmly. Then, when my anger subsided, he would send me a gift as an apology. The gifts were probably picked out by his assistant. Sometimes it was a designer bag, sometimes jewelry; it didn’t show much thought. But I didn’t need him to say anything, and my anger would easily dissipate. After all, everyone said I liked him, loved him dearly. I never denied it, because I thought so too. But now, just thinking about that possibility gave me a slight feeling of nausea. It felt disgusting. But I never felt this way before. The glass reflected my face, pale and bloodless. I stared at myself absentmindedly. Seeing that I had no intention of speaking, Mr. Henderson stayed silent and pushed my wheelchair, taking me away. (03) My health was poor, and I had trouble with my legs. It wasn’t that I couldn’t walk at all, but rather that I was too weak to stand for long periods. But when he saw me sitting in the wheelchair, Julian didn’t show the pity and shock that others usually did. He didn’t even glance at my legs much, respectfully lowering his eyes, his features gentle and restrained. Mr. Henderson informed him of the details of my sponsorship. The terms were exceptionally generous and lenient. If he met my requirements, he could even receive a large sum of money sufficient to settle his family. Julian’s fingers, hanging by his sides, curled slightly. The gifts of fate always come with a price tag. He couldn’t possibly fail to guess that there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Mr. Henderson, ever thorough, saw his hesitation and explained that this time he was just coincidentally chosen as an investment target for a certain charity project. I didn’t say anything, although I felt it was unnecessary. I was certain Julian wouldn’t refuse. He must have been crushed under the pressure. Arthur wouldn’t actively target Julian, but Arthur only needed to show a hint of displeasure, and there would be people who thought themselves clever doing things to “please” Arthur. For example, easily destroying Julian’s part-time job, taking away his grandmother’s hospital bed, and then spreading some rumors so he couldn’t even stand at school. Someone with nowhere to turn, what room did he have to refuse? Who else could he ask for help, and who could he ask what exactly he had done wrong? But he didn’t say “okay” from beginning to end. Until Mr. Henderson left and closed the door. “Miss Sterling,” Julian’s eyes were clear, and he asked frankly, “What do I need to do for you?” I felt a little uncomfortable and rested my head on the table. After a long while, I murmured an acknowledgment. Julian noticed my discomfort. Seeing that I didn’t speak, he hesitated for a moment, then poured me a glass of warm water. His long fingers pushed the porcelain cup towards me; it had a jade-like texture. Then, I saw him speak. I couldn’t hear the words, only saw his beautifully shaped thin lips moving, seeming to ask if I needed him to call Mr. Henderson. The sunlight fell on my eyelashes. I squinted, observing his distant and handsome features. Suddenly, I felt very satisfied. He was quite good-looking, no worse than Chloe. What did I want him to do for me? I hadn’t decided. I was just curious. (04) The Sterling family had many eyes and ears. The matter Arthur tried so hard to conceal reached my ears within half a day. It was just that in the past, I didn’t care and pretended not to know. In my eyes and heart, there was only Arthur. I relied on him; as long as he stayed with me and was willing to coax me, that was enough. But this time was different. I suddenly developed a very strong curiosity about things other than Arthur. Arthur had told his friends that he felt like he was raising a flower with his own hands. Watching her grow, bloom, stand tall and graceful, blooming wildly in the mountains, shining because of his sunlight, and becoming shy because of his rain—a flower that bloomed only for him. He was addicted to this feeling. He described it so well; I wanted to try it too. “I want to plant a tree,” I suddenly said, very seriously and slowly. “I want to experience giving him sunlight, dew, and watching him grow.” Julian froze. He didn’t understand what I meant and looked a bit bewildered. I let out a small yawn and switched to a more straightforward way of speaking: “I want to keep you.” He was basically at a dead end now. If only I helped him, then he could be considered a tree growing for me, right? Julian remained silent. Then, his ears turned red. He looked a little distressed, a little awkward, and a little speechless. I knew this sentence might sound a bit frivolous, but I didn’t care much. I figured he must feel humiliated. But for some reason, he looked at me, his features still gentle, showing a hint of helplessness, which diluted that distancing aloofness. He even crouched down, smoothed the blanket that had slipped on my knees, and brushed off the dust that had fallen on it. This reaction was completely different from the female leads in TV dramas who would argue righteously, “You’re insulting me.” “Miss Sterling…” he hesitated, asking uncertainly, “Will you tell your family about this?” (05) To be honest, it took me a long time to understand what he meant. Because I had poor absorption when I was young, I didn’t get enough nutrients and developed slower. Even with all the supplements later, I still looked younger than my peers. So he thought I was a minor and needed to inform my parents before making a decision. What made him think I was a minor? I felt stifled. He clearly should know my identity and the world of difference between him and me. Yet he wasn’t afraid of me, nor did he revere me. He even dared to question my decision, thinking I was playing house. When Chloe looked at Arthur, it was with respect and admiration. She looked at him as if looking at her god and faith. Arthur was very proud of this. But Julian looked at me like he was looking at a younger sister throwing a tantrum; he was underestimating me. I got angry, so I abruptly stuck out my leg and kicked him. Not hard, but my shoe flew off. In the past, when I liked to throw random tantrums, Arthur would usually turn and walk away, and everyone else was used to staying three feet away. But Julian didn’t hide. He didn’t even move, and a light gray shoe print instantly appeared on his pristine white shirt. I was stunned for a few seconds, a little unaccustomed to it. “I’m keeping you; no need to tell anyone else,” I slowly retracted my leg after a moment and said sluggishly. “So you have to listen to me and be on call.” He was silent for a few seconds. Unexpectedly, he didn’t raise any conditions but half-crouched down and gently put the shoe back on for me. “Okay,” Julian looked up at me. “I understand.” I felt like he sighed, but maybe he didn’t. After he left, I called Mr. Henderson. “I had a few outfits made at The Tailor’s,” I nonchalantly touched the blanket on my knees. “Send them over for me.” The Tailor’s was a bespoke tailoring shop that was a status symbol in New York. Ordinary families had to wait in line, but the Sterlings didn’t. Mr. Henderson instinctively asked, “Are they for Mr. Arthur…” What Mr. Arthur? I hadn’t snapped back to reality, my mind filled only with that glaring stain on Julian’s clothes. Didn’t he know how to dodge? A birch tree with a black smudge wouldn’t look good. Mr. Henderson knew me too well. He glanced at my expression and naturally changed the name: “Send them to Mr. Vance.” A college boy who just started school, being called ‘Mr.’ I frowned. “Don’t call him Mr. Vance, call him…” Mr. Henderson respectfully lowered his head, waiting for my final word. I was stuck for a long time: “Just call him… Little Tree!” (06) I gradually began to understand the joy Arthur spoke of. When Julian met me for the first time, although his clothes were washed clean, you could tell they were slightly old, and so were his shoes; he had probably worn them for years. I sent him new clothes, and he wore them. I disliked that he ate steamed buns and pickles every day, so I had someone deliver meals to him daily. As expected, I saw his complexion improve significantly, and he finally didn’t look so frail. I saw how exhausted he was taking care of his grandmother every day, so I simply moved her to a private room and hired a dedicated caregiver. Julian didn’t refuse, but he would seriously thank me every time. He remembered every expense clearly: “I will pay you back, Miss Sterling.” “I don’t want money.” My tone was casual. Remembering something, I became bossy, “Since I’m sponsoring you, I only sponsor the best. You must get first place in your department this semester.” It was a question, but it was also a command. Julian was slightly taken aback, then nodded. “Okay.” He then carefully chose his words and asked what I liked. Probably planning a return gift. I thought it was unnecessary. I originally wanted to ask him what he could afford to give, but seeing him standing clean and refreshing in the sunlight, I felt great. This was a handsome and elegant young man. Clothes make the man; now he was even more suave and charming, reminding people of a jade-like gentleman. Is this what planting a tree is like? No wonder Arthur liked it. It was truly delightful. “I like plants,” I rested my chin on my hand. “Not flowers, they’re too easy to kill.” Julian: “…” He agreed, and really gave me a pot of succulents he cultivated himself. This was completely different from Arthur. The gifts I gave Arthur disappeared without a trace after he received them. Arthur wouldn’t thank me either; his attitude was always that it was expected. Actually, I didn’t care before, but now I know that originally, getting a response was this kind of feeling. Like dropping a coin into the water and hearing the splash. It sounded quite nice. So the object of my gift-giving changed from Arthur to Julian. For this reason, I specially bought a small greenhouse and filled it with lush potted plants. They were all gifts from Julian, and it quickly turned into an ocean of green. (07) It wasn’t until Arthur came to see me that I remembered I hadn’t seen him in a long time. I also hadn’t sent him any messages to care about him in a long time. But I withheld the news that I was sponsoring Julian; after all, Arthur had also hidden the news of sponsoring Chloe. I thought this was very fair. The only difference was that he couldn’t hide it, but I could. Arthur only knew that an unknown person was protecting Julian. Not only could the people around him no longer touch Julian, but they also avoided him like the plague. He inquired anxiously about the news while carefully avoiding me, becoming so irritable that pimples even popped up on his forehead. I froze the first second I saw him. Then I gently looked away, thinking with a bit of disgust: How did he get so ugly? Not as good-looking as Little Tree. “Evelyn,” his tone was indifferent, “I’ve been busy socializing lately and haven’t had time to see you. Dinner tonight?” Little Tree said he would cook for me tonight. I didn’t want to eat with Arthur. Just as I was about to refuse, Arthur naturally changed the subject: “The Tailor’s didn’t contact me this month. I have an important gathering, and I don’t have the right clothes.” The Tailor’s used to custom-make three suits for Arthur every month, under my orders. But the clothes for this month had long been worn by Little Tree; there was none for him. Mr. Henderson, who personally delivered them for me, didn’t even bat an eyelid. I looked at him strangely. “Then you should go to The Tailor’s.” Why come to me? I wasn’t a tailor. But without me, The Tailor’s wouldn’t even pay attention to Arthur. He wasn’t qualified. Arthur was silent for a few seconds, a hint of impatience appearing between his brows: “Stop making a fuss.” I looked at him with interest. “The Tailor’s has been busy lately. You can go wait in line.” He finally seemed to realize that my reaction wasn’t quite right. Arthur looked at me, hesitated for a few seconds, and his voice softened a bit: “Evelyn, are you upset because I haven’t come to see you recently?” I scrutinized him, increasingly feeling that men who are getting older really need to pay attention to maintenance. Arthur’s phone vibrated. He was probably distracted, even forgetting to avoid me, and looked directly down at the message on his phone. It was probably a message from Chloe. I didn’t want to peek, but I accidentally caught a glimpse; it was a photo. — “My friend is shooting promotional photos for Columbia today, and I came to help carry water and stuff >w<" The boy in the photo looked very familiar; it was Julian. Julian had also told me about the promotional photos. Seeing him wearing the clothes I gave him made me feel even better. Arthur only took one look and didn't even notice the message Chloe sent before freezing in place. He zoomed in on the photo, the irritation in his eyes going completely blank. Then, his fingers trembled, his knuckles turning white as he stared dead at the pattern on Julian's cuff—it was the signature mark of The Tailor's. Having worn it for so many years, he couldn't possibly mistake it. (08) It felt like minutes had passed, or maybe just a few seconds. When I started getting impatient, Arthur finally turned to look at me. He wasn't completely stupid, after all. My recent coldness, the backer that suddenly appeared behind Julian, the tight-lipped attitude of everyone around him, and even those subtle, strange looks—Arthur hadn't failed to notice them. But when he actually saw something that belonged to him appear on Julian, the blood rushed to his head, and he almost lost his reason. "Evelyn Sterling." Arthur's eyes were bloodshot, and he practically gritted his teeth. "What is your relationship with him?" Mr. Henderson moved, and I knew what he was planning, so I stopped him: "Mr. Henderson, no need." Then I directly splashed the hot tea in my hand onto Arthur's face. He couldn't dodge in time and looked extremely disheveled. Mr. Henderson handed me a tissue. I wiped my hands, my tone curious: "Who gave you permission to speak to me like that?" Arthur clearly hadn't expected me to react this way and stood frozen in place. "Listen, Arthur." I toyed with a leaf of the small potted plant in my lap. "I haven't even settled the score with you regarding that girl; you have no right to question me." His lips trembled, as if waking up from his own world, the furious expression turning pale. "You know?" He seemed anxious to explain. "Evelyn, about me and Chloe... Chloe Davis, it's not what you think. I didn't tell you just because I was afraid you'd be upset." I said "Oh": "Are you done?" "Chloe is just a little girl. I hope you can be a little more understanding." He took a deep breath, as if calming down, his face dark, and the forced gentleness seemed a bit awkward. "You are my fiancée; you don't need to compare yourself with others." But I didn't speak immediately. Originally, my mood was good, and I might have even been able to peacefully say a few words to him. Thinking about it now, my good mood had nothing to do with him. He just came to ruin my mood. I asked impatiently, "Arthur, who do you think you are?" Arthur was stunned. He had never been humiliated by me like this, and he couldn't recover for a moment. I became even more curious. "Are you confused about your status? Asking me to be more understanding and to compare myself with others, your entire family doesn't deserve to say such things to me." So annoying. I was inherently someone with a bad temper, and such mean words came easily to me. It's just that I wouldn't say them to him before. It was as if I should cherish something that belonged to me. But now I kind of wanted to throw him away. "Let's go, Mr. Henderson." I stopped looking at Arthur. "To the greenhouse." Mr. Henderson pushed my wheelchair, ready to take me away. "I know, are you jealous? Are you deliberately taking revenge on me, which is why you went to that kid?" Arthur, covered in tea stains, chased after me. "Evelyn, let me tell you, he's up to no good. He's usually fake to Chloe, a country bumpkin from a poor village..." "Mr. Arthur," Mr. Henderson coldly interrupted him. "Watch your words. You have no right to comment on Miss Sterling's affairs." Arthur unconsciously stopped his steps. He was afraid of Mr. Henderson and didn't speak again, only staring at me intently, as if hoping I would call him back. Mr. Henderson had been with the Sterling family for too long; his status was different from an ordinary subordinate. The elders of the Arthur family would nod and bow when they saw Mr. Henderson, and Arthur was always very humble and polite to him. Even though Mr. Henderson was my butler, he dared to offend me but didn't dare to offend Mr. Henderson. After stepping out of the elevator, I said, "Teach the Arthur family a lesson." "Yes." The Arthur family wasn't stupid; they would definitely know it was Arthur who made a mistake. They would give me a satisfactory answer. This was better than letting Mr. Henderson just beat him up, lest he leave my gallery bruised and battered, leading others to think our Sterling family was unreasonable. Mr. Henderson looked at me with some relief. "Miss has grown up." Even my dad, who was far away abroad, called to praise me when he heard about it. "That kid dared to speak rudely to you; he deserves a lesson." He first scolded Arthur, then asked me, "But why are you suddenly willing to be so ruthless this time?" After all, having Mr. Henderson beat him up was a minor issue; it would pass once the injuries healed. But causing trouble for the Arthur family meant losing all face. I snorted lightly. "He called Little Tree a country bumpkin, even though I've raised him so well." My dad was totally confused. "What?" Mr. Henderson didn't report everything to him. Besides, sponsoring a poor student wasn't a big deal; he still didn't know what I had been doing lately. However, my dad and I often had heart-to-heart talks. "I'll tell you when you get back." I didn't explain much. "I just think he's blind." (09) I bought an apartment outside Julian's school. I recorded his fingerprint, but he usually only came when I called him. Occasionally, if there were no seats in the library and he needed a place to study, he would ask for my permission in advance. I found it strange: "Recording your fingerprint means you can come whenever you want. Why do you have to get my permission every time?" Julian said it was my house, and if I was in it, it would be very impolite of him to come over without saying a word. I didn't like people who lectured. But he was the Little Tree I kept; his voice was nice, and his tone was gentle. I just let him be. I regularly hired people to clean this apartment, and since no one stayed overnight, it was usually spotless. However, there were many traces of use in the kitchen. Because ever since the first time I said Julian's cooking was delicious, Julian often came to cook for me. The stove was ignited, and the sound of chopping vegetables could be heard. Before the meal, Julian handed me a fruit platter. The honeydew melon was freshly cut, exuding a sweet and fragrant scent; the grapes had been peeled by him, revealing the crystal-clear flesh, and even the white veins of the mandarin orange segments had been torn off cleanly. The good mood that had been disturbed by Arthur returned, and I forked a piece of melon: "Come here." "What's wrong?" He wiped the water drops off his hands. "Are you hungry? I'll try to be faster." I handed the honeydew melon to his mouth. Julian instinctively took a bite, then froze. A hint of a smile rippled outward from the depths of his eyes. He said, "Thank you, Miss." He didn't feel there was anything wrong with this. I certainly wouldn't think there was anything wrong. I accepted his thanks as a matter of course and forked a grape for him. When he went to the kitchen, I began to concentrate on enjoying my pre-dinner fruit. Sweet. Tonight's dinner was very sumptuous. Although it didn't use exceptionally expensive ingredients like the family chef did, I wasn't picky. "Miss, can you give me one of your bank accounts?" Julian suddenly asked at the dinner table. Before I could ask him why, he confessed on his own accord: "I got paid for shooting the promotional photos, and I want to transfer it to you." I looked at him. "Do you think I'm poorer than you?" "That's not what I mean." Julian served me chicken soup, carefully skimming the fat floating on the surface, his voice gentle. "I eat your food, live in your house, use your things now, and I have nowhere to spend money, so I should give all the money I earn to you, and you can help me spend it." He was very good with words. The irritability that had just surfaced in my heart was instantly smoothed over. I thought for a moment: "Then just leave it with me." I would find my dad's most trusted investment manager to help him manage this money and give it back to him when it multiplied several times. Julian smiled at me, like a clear breeze and bright moon: "Thank you, Miss." I didn't lack money and was always generous. Getting along with Julian always put me in a good mood. In the past, if Arthur put me in a good mood, I would unstintingly give him some resources he needed—all of which he subtly asked for. But Julian never asked me for anything; he only accepted what I gave him. I thought to myself, he doesn't even know how to proactively ask for money. I still have to help him figure out how he can be this poor. I said, "Will you have scholarship money this year?" "Yes," Julian said. "When it's credited, I'll put it all with you, Miss. Is that okay?" His dark eyes were as clean as a clear spring. I swallowed the beef in my mouth and said slowly, "Okay." Adding his scholarship money, I would add some more to make his principal a lucky number, and then hand it over to the financial manager. After dinner, I gave Julian a card. I had given him a debit card with $100,000 before, but he never used it, and he probably didn't know how much money was in it. This time I gave him a black card from the Sterling Group. "Many properties under my family's name can use this card. For example, the shopping center opposite your school, everything inside is free when you swipe this card," I said. "If there's anyone who doesn't recognize it, call me." He was stunned for a few seconds. "Miss." I don't know since when, he stopped calling me Miss Sterling and started calling me Miss. Julian sighed: "You treat me so well, it's easy to make people..." He seemed to be deliberating on what word to use. After a long time, he came up with "spoiled." I thought to myself, there are too many people around me who throw their weight around. How could a person with such a gentle personality as Julian become arrogant? He half-crouched down to help me put on the slippers I had kicked under the table: "I might even push my luck." I looked at him strangely. "You were supposed to be spoiled and push your luck." I wanted the little tree I planted to receive the brightest sunlight and the most nourishing rain in the world. — "Because you are my person." (10) When I received the apology call from the Arthur family, I was slowly walking around the Columbia campus. Although I couldn't stand for long periods, to prevent my leg muscles from atrophying, I would walk for a while every day. This time, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision to stroll around Columbia. Julian finished his last exam today, and I planned to pick him up, though I hadn't told him yet. This was called creating a surprise. It's not that I hadn't done things on a whim before, but it always seemed like Arthur wasn't very surprised. Julian was different from Arthur. I couldn't help but guess what kind of expression he would show when he saw me. The more I thought about it, the more the corners of my mouth couldn't help but turn up. Columbia, as one of the top universities in New York and even the whole country, had an extremely beautiful campus with clean and spacious roads. The passing students were also very polite. Even if occasionally someone curiously looked at Mr. Henderson pushing the wheelchair and me standing next to it, they only glanced and quickly looked away. The head of the Arthur family was apologizing to me with trepidation. Speaking of Arthur, he scolded him thoroughly, saying the family had recently punished him, listing them one by one, and finally asked if I was satisfied with this handling. I didn't listen carefully because I was looking at the soil where Little Tree grew. Since he asked, I dropped a sentence, "Average," and hung up the phone. "Miss, do you want to sit and rest for a while?" Mr. Henderson asked. "It's fine here, Mr. Henderson." I shook my head. "Julian should study for a few more years, don't you think?" Mr. Henderson didn't call Julian Little Tree like I did. He called him Mr. Vance now, explaining that since Julian was my person, his status was now equivalent to half a young master of the Sterling family. "Mr. Vance is limited by his major, so further study is the best choice," Mr. Henderson said. "The path Miss chooses for him is naturally the best." "If he wants to start a business, the family seems to have people who can guide him. If he graduates, our overseas industries have expanded well..." I thought about it, always feeling that every option suited him very well. "I'll ask him when the time comes and let him choose himself." Mr. Henderson seemed a bit surprised, but this emotion was fleeting. "Let's go pick him up from his exam." I sat in the wheelchair. This was my first time picking someone up from an exam, and it was the top student in the department. A very novel feeling. Before arriving outside the exam room, I suddenly saw a familiar figure with a backpack walking out of the teaching building, looking in a hurry. "Miss, it's Mr. Vance," Mr. Henderson said. "Should I call out to him?" "He handed in his paper early." I thought about it, a bit of mischief arising. "No, let's follow him." I planned to get close and startle him later. Mr. Henderson didn't say a word and pushed me to follow. Julian's goal was very clear, but the place he was walking to made me increasingly confused. Mr. Henderson: "That's the experimental field of Columbia's College of Agriculture." Agriculture, this was completely unrelated to Julian's materials major. I was puzzled when I heard someone call his name. "Julian." A dusty guy emerged from the field. "You come here more often than I do. My advisor asked me a few days ago if you wanted to join his lab." His voice was loud, but I couldn't hear what Julian said. I only saw that boy laugh loudly: "If it weren't for your sweet talk, I wouldn't have bothered teaching you... Alright, the cherry tomatoes you planted have no problems. By the way, does your family run an agricultural supply store? You're always planting these random things." Julian seemed to think of something and revealed a faint smile. The sunlight was warm, gently enveloping his handsome profile. I stood frozen in place. Actually, I knew Julian was very busy. I said I wanted him to give me plants just casually. Maybe the first pot of succulents was cultivated by him, but the second pot, the third pot... I would never investigate where he brought them from, or whether he bought them. But I didn't care. I treated people well just based on my mood because what I gave was something not worth mentioning to me, so whether I got a return or not didn't matter. Then, seeking advice from the College of Agriculture, going down to the muddy ground every day to watch the seeds sprout with his own eyes, and sending me a whole ocean of green, downplaying it from beginning to end without saying a word. To Julian, was this giving also something not worth mentioning? My heart felt like it was suddenly pricked. It didn't hurt; it was just a sore and itchy feeling, oozing out wet emotions bit by bit. I lowered my eyes: "Let's go, Mr. Henderson, don't let him see us."

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My assistant was supposed to post my retirement statement, but in her panic, she accidentally uploaded my “End-of-Year Private Summary.” In the forty-five seconds before she could delete it, my anti-fans had already taken screenshots. They sliced up my summary, mocking me line by line, tearing into me like starving wolves. But as they cursed at me, the people behind the screens suddenly started to cry. Because the very first sentence of the third paragraph read: “The chemo hurts so much. Grandma, I don’t think I can hold on anymore.” 01 Half a year had passed, and I was trending again thanks to my anti-fans. I honestly didn’t expect it. The speed of internet trolls these days was terrifying. From the moment my assistant, Maddie, realized the mistake to the moment she deleted it, only forty-five seconds had passed. But in that brief window, the haters had captured the entire summary. They even paid gossip accounts to boost the traffic, grandly announcing they would dissect my summary word by word to publicly execute me. I found it all quite meaningless. I didn’t want to waste my time explaining anything to them. But seeing Maddie crying her eyes out in the hospital room, hiccuping as she blamed herself, I changed my mind. I suddenly wanted to explain myself, just this last time. So, I logged into my main account and sent a direct message to my biggest anti-fan, “Sweetie Pie Crunch,” an account with over 260,000 followers. Suppressing all my emotions, I patiently explained what happened. But her hostility towards me was deeply rooted. Even when I told her Maddie had accidentally posted my year-end summary instead of my cancer retirement statement, she just replied with a rolling-eyes emoji. Then came a text dripping with sarcasm: [Making such a scene, you just want to grab the year-end headlines, right? Well, we’re helping you go viral now. Aren’t you thrilled? Elena, pretending to have cancer is so last season! Someone as full of lies as you, I’ll make sure everyone sees your true colors!] 02 Sweetie Pie Crunch blocked me. Then, she posted screenshots of our chat, vowing to cyberbully me until I quit the entertainment industry forever. In less than half an hour, the hashtag #ElenaFakesCancer shot to number one on the trending list. Even my own fans started to doubt me, wondering if I was really faking an illness for clout. Looking at those comments, I took a deep breath. Originally, I just wanted to hide this from my family and pass away quietly. But now, it was a massive spectacle. My manager, Sarah, told me I had to inform Nathaniel and the Sterling family. After all, when I’m gone, a family member needs to sign the cremation papers. But before I could even open my contacts, my husband Nathaniel’s call came through. His tone was as freezing as ever, laced with fury: “Elena, you did this on purpose, didn’t you? You knew Chloe’s new show premieres tonight and she needs that number one trending spot. How could you use such a despicable trick to steal her thunder!” I let out a bitter laugh. Nathaniel was my husband, but he only ever had eyes for Chloe. Soon, Chloe’s sickly-sweet, ever-so-forgiving voice echoed from his end of the line. “Nate, don’t yell at Elena. She hasn’t had any projects or exposure for half a year; it’s human nature to take desperate measures. “It’s fine, I won’t hold it against her. After all, as her older sister, I always feel like I owe her.” Chloe was my biological older sister. When we were little, just to steal my limited-edition Barbie doll, she deliberately abandoned seven-year-old me at an amusement park. I was kidnapped by traffickers and sold to a remote, impoverished village deep in the Appalachian Mountains, where I lived like livestock for twelve years. The very first day I was brought back to the Sterling family, I told everyone the truth about what happened back then. But no one wanted to believe that the elegant, highly-educated Chloe could do such a thing. Instead, because of my hillbilly accent and the deep-seated insecurities bred from growing up in the wild, they treated me like a pathological liar. In the beginning, I tried to please them. I tried to fit in. But no matter what I did or said, they thought I was playing manipulative games to bully Chloe. Just like right now. “Elena, the biggest regret of my life is marrying you to protect Chloe’s reputation!” Nathaniel’s voice returned, delivering an ultimatum dripping with disgust: “I refuse to let this mistake continue, and I won’t let Chloe suffer anymore! Next Wednesday, we are getting a divorce!” 03 Next Wednesday, huh. I glanced at the calendar. What a coincidence. I wasn’t going to live to see next Wednesday. “No need to wait until Wednesday. I’ll have my assistant drop off the divorce papers tomorrow. Sign them, and it’s done.” I finished speaking and hung up. My direct messages were blowing up again. Sweetie Pie Crunch had just leaked the first paragraph of my summary. This summary was Sarah’s idea. I originally wanted to write a suicide note, but she said the word “will” or “note” would break her. She begged me to write it as an “End-of-Year Summary” to give her the illusion that I’d still be around to write one next year. So, I just chronicled a few things that deeply affected me this year. The paragraph the haters posted read: [February 10th, my birthday. Mom and Dad gave the massive three-tier cake to Chloe, and handed me the tiniest mango cupcake. They looked at me with bright eyes, saying they hoped Chloe and Nathaniel could get back together. I looked at Nathaniel, who didn’t seem to think anything was wrong with this, and I couldn’t control myself. I smashed the cupcake on the floor. I told myself, once I find the evidence of what happened back then, I’ll make them all regret it.] The haters’ magnifying glasses zeroed in on the cake. They swarmed the comments under the post: [Elena is so dramatic. Holding a grudge over a piece of cake? Look at Chloe, she never complains about stuff like this!] [They gave you a small piece for your diet! Look at you, an actress who’s swollen like a pig!] [Reading this just makes my heart ache for Chloe! Elena is such a flop. She’s been trying to steal Chloe’s things since they were kids!] Unexpectedly, amidst the chaos, Sweetie Pie Crunch sent me another DM. She asked: [Elena, did you smash the cake because they completely forgot you’re severely allergic to mangoes?] I replied with a simple: [Yes.] As a professional anti-fan who studied my every move, of course she knew my allergies. She texted back: [Then why didn’t you write that clearly in your summary? Why not let the internet know you did it because your closest family forgot your allergy?] Write it clearly? This summary was meant for the people who actually cared about me. Those who truly understand me don’t need explanations. And those who refuse to understand me, like the Sterlings and Nathaniel—even if I explained it a million times, they would just think I was acting. I didn’t bother discussing it with her. She stayed quiet for a few minutes, then sent another message: [Fine, I won’t use the first paragraph to drag you. But the rest of it? You can never wash that clean!] She didn’t know that I never intended to wash anything clean. 04 Two minutes later, she released the second screenshot. She specifically added mocking emojis and enlarged the text. I clicked on the image. My own words stared back at me: [In May, Chloe and I were on the same movie set. Her leading role was bought and paid for by the Sterling family. The director didn’t dare cross her, but I did. At the wrap party, I slapped her across the face. I don’t regret it. If she pulls that stunt again, I still won’t let her off.] That night, Chloe slipped a drug into my drink, trying to send me to a sleazy producer’s hotel room to film a sex tape and destroy my career. Her assistant, Hannah, had a sudden attack of conscience and warned me. Furious, Chloe fired Hannah on the spot and had her bodyguards break one of Hannah’s arms. I slapped Chloe in the hotel lobby to get justice for Hannah. Paparazzi caught the moment, and it made front-page news. The next day, Nathaniel and the Sterling family publicly backed Chloe, leading the entire internet to cyberbully me. Surrounded and harassed by extreme fans, I was pushed, hit my head, and fainted. I was rushed to the hospital. That was the day I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. Actually, I had begged my family to get tested for a bone marrow match, hoping for a miracle. But they just looked at me with disgust. “Do you really think faking a terminal illness will make us forgive you for what you did to Chloe? Let me tell you, unless you actually drop dead, we won’t believe a word you say!” “Chloe even stepped aside so you could marry Nathaniel! What more do you want? Why must you torture her?” They didn’t just curse at me. To avenge Chloe, they pushed me hard. I fell down a flight of stairs. Thanks to them, my internal bleeding worsened an already hopeless condition. From that day on, I moved into the hospital and never asked them for help again. I just endured the chemo, quietly preparing to say goodbye to this world. 05 The second screenshot caused an even bigger uproar. Chloe’s fans dug up photos of my slap from May as “evidence.” Right on cue, Chloe posted an update on her socials: [Elena, I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not caring enough about you, which is why you can’t let the past go. But a new year is coming. Let’s turn the page. I’m your big sister, I won’t hold grudges. Come find me tomorrow night, I’ll bring you on my New Year’s livestream to help you get some traffic.] Her “kindness” made my “violence” look utterly demonic. The public lined up to spit on me online. Some even tagged the police, demanding I be locked up for assault. Nathaniel’s second call came right then. “Elena, what the hell is wrong with you?” he growled. “I deeply regret ever having feelings for you. A vicious, cheap woman like you makes me sick just by breathing.” Oh, so he did have feelings for me once. But two years ago, when he got drunk and slept with me, he claimed I was just a stand-in for Chloe, just a meaningless release. The line went silent for a moment. Then, he sighed with profound regret. “Honestly, I wish they never found you. You ruined the peaceful lives we were meant to have.” My heart shattered, dying completely in my chest. I hadn’t cried through all my rounds of chemo, but I cried now. I wanted to scream: Then who ruined MY peaceful life?! Just then, Maddie burst into the room. “Elena! Look at Twitter! Something huge just dropped!” Nathaniel heard her over the phone and immediately flew into a rage. “What did you do to Chloe this time?! Do you want me to have the lawyers finalize the divorce tonight?!” 06 I wanted to answer, but my nose started bleeding again. I pinched the bridge of my nose, leaning forward, and spoke weakly into the receiver. “Nathaniel, look at the internet yourself. My nose is bleeding. I feel sick. I don’t want to talk anymore.” He let out a cruel sneer. “Elena, you are pathetic! Chloe gets a nosebleed from the dry weather, so you fake one too? Take a look in the mirror! A wild bird from the mountains could never compare to a swan like Chloe!” Pathetic? I remembered the day I moved out of the mansion. Both Chloe and I happened to get nosebleeds at the same time. I had just told them I had cancer, that bleeding could be fatal for me. But Nathaniel didn’t even look at his wife. He scooped up Chloe, panicking like a frightened child over a minor dry-weather bleed. When I confronted him through my pain, he accused me of imitating Chloe to steal attention. He had even smirked and cursed me: “It would be best if you actually did get cancer and died. Then nobody would compete with Chloe.” Well, his wish came true. The wild bird was dying. “Speak!” his voice dragged me back to reality. “Are you bullying Chloe again? Are you forcing me to send the lawyers now?” I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. “No need.” 07 I prepared the divorce papers half a year ago. I wouldn’t waste his lawyer’s time. And I wouldn’t wait until tomorrow. Right now, I’ll have Maddie deliver them. I truly, finally, did not want this man anymore. 08 After Maddie left, I checked the trending pages. I saw what the “huge drop” was. Hannah, Chloe’s former assistant who had disappeared for six months, had created an account and posted hard evidence about what really happened in May. She uploaded screenshots of Chloe bribing the crew, paying for the drugs, and orchestrating the hit on my reputation. The internet froze. [Hannah worked for Chloe for two years. Her proof looks legit.] [But why would Chloe do that to her own biological sister?!] Chloe’s loyal fans desperately tried to defend her, arguing that I was constantly stealing Chloe’s roles and she was just retaliating. But Hannah immediately replied: [Those roles were Elena’s to begin with. Chloe actively blacklisted Elena, threatening producers not to hire her, while buying PR articles claiming Elena used the casting couch. Elena never touched Chloe’s resources.] Hannah was telling the truth. From my first day in Hollywood, Chloe spread rumors about me. Nathaniel believed her and used his wealth to blacklist me. I spent a year as an extra until Sarah, an independent agent, took a chance on me. But every time Sarah secured a good role, Chloe would swoop in and steal it, then buy articles playing the victim. Now, with Hannah blowing the whistle, the internet was a warzone. A Chloe fan furiously typed: [If Elena was really being abused like this, why didn’t she just speak up?!] Right then, Sweetie Pie Crunch posted our DM screenshots with the caption: [I can answer that! Because Elena Vance doesn’t know how to open her damn mouth!] 09 She posted the screenshot where I admitted they forgot my mango allergy. At first, people mocked me for being a doormat. But gradually, as someone pointed out, “Wait, why would her own parents not know about a deadly allergy?” the wind shifted. Bystanders were confused. How could a wealthy heiress be treated like this? A few insiders, previously paid off by Chloe, finally broke their silence. [Elena didn’t grow up in the Sterling mansion. She’s the kidnapped kid who lived in the mountains for twelve years.] [My cousin used to work as their maid. When Elena first came back, the elite socialites made fun of her accent. They tricked her into drinking mouthwash thinking it was a cocktail, and poured red wine on her cheap clothes at galas just to laugh at her.] [The Sterlings thought she was an embarrassment. They heavily favored the princess, Chloe, and constantly put Elena down.] [I don’t get it. If they hated her so much, why bring her back? Why not leave her in peace?] I had asked my parents the exact same question. But every time, they slapped me and told me to remember my place. I had silently vowed to make enough money to get my adoptive Grandma—the woman who saved me in the mountains—out of the psychiatric facility. But just as my career started, cancer kicked my door down. “Elena!” Sarah pushed the door open, her eyes red. She stared at the screen, her voice thick with emotion. “Do you get the feeling… that this Sweetie Pie Crunch is actually trying to help you?” 10 Sarah analyzed it: Though she used an anti-fan persona, the account was actually clearing my name. By leaking the “ugly” truths, she was forcing the public to see my victimhood. “When I held press conferences to explain things, no one believed us. But when a ‘hater’ leaks the truth to mock you, the rumors shatter instantly.” Sarah smiled bitterly. “If Nathaniel and your family understood you half as well as your biggest hater, you might have survived.” “Look, she’s dropping more details. It’s weird, her writing… it feels like someone who lived with you for years.” Sarah frowned. I stared at the avatar. I wanted to ask her who she really was. But my phone buzzed violently. The Sterling family group chat was exploding.

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