My father’s condition had just stabilized, and I was still at my parents’ house, exhausted from the weeks of bedside care, when my phone buzzed with a notification. It was a traffic violation alert. I tapped it open, and my heart skipped a beat. The violation—speeding and running a red light—had occurred in a small town nearly six hundred miles away. My husband’s hometown. My brain stalled; my car was supposed to be parked in our secure garage downtown, untouched while I was away. I called Mark immediately. I didn’t lead with small talk. I asked him if he had taken my car. On the other end of the line, his voice was breezy, dismissive. “Oh, that? It’s not a big deal, Lauren.” Then came the casual explanation that made my blood run cold. “Justin needed something decent to drive to impress some people back home. I told him he could take yours for the week.” He even managed a sharp, mocking laugh. “What? Is that old SUV of yours lined with gold now? He’s family. God, you’re so sensitive about your things.” I mumbled something about being busy and hung up, but my mind was a storm. My fingers were already flying across the screen, booking the earliest train ticket back home. I decided right then: I wasn’t going to tell him I was coming. I needed to see exactly what “family” was doing to my life. 1 It was 11:00 PM when I dragged my suitcase through the front door, the fingerprint lock chirping a greeting that felt like a mockery. The moment the door swung open, I was hit by a wall of stale air—a sickening cocktail of cheap cigars, old beer, instant noodles, and body odor. I actually gagged, covering my mouth with my hand. I slapped the light switch in the living room. The sight was devastating. My cream-colored rug was littered with takeout containers and empty cans. Pieces of clothing that didn’t belong to me or Mark—dirty socks, a stained t-shirt—were strewn across the sofa like trash. I put on my slippers, my skin crawling. The master bedroom door was cracked open. From inside came the rhythmic, heavy sound of snoring and the grating noise of someone grinding their teeth. I pushed the door open, the light from the hallway spilling across the bed. It wasn’t Mark. It was his younger brother, Justin. He was sprawled out in his boxers, shamelessly hogging my side of the bed. His greasy hair was pressed into my silk pillowcase, leaving a yellowish, oily stain on the fabric I had just replaced before leaving. In that heartbeat, the heat of pure rage surged to my head. BANG! I slammed the bedroom door with every ounce of strength I had. The sound echoed through the apartment like a gunshot. Seconds later, the door to the home office swung open. Mark stepped out, his face twisted in a scowl of pure annoyance. “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s the middle of the night!” he hissed, not even looking at who it was yet. “People are trying to sleep!” He stopped dead when he realized it was me. The irritation flickered into a brief moment of shock before hardening back into anger. “Lauren? Why are you back early?” He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t say a word. What, were you trying to catch me in something? Checking up on me?” Almost simultaneously, the guest room door creaked open. My mother-in-law, Evelyn, poked her head out. When she saw me, she forced a thin, sugary smile. “Oh, Lauren! You’re back!” “Why didn’t you call, dear? We could have picked you up from the station.” I ignored her, my eyes locked onto Mark. My voice was trembling, brittle. “Explain to me why Justin is sleeping in our bed. Right now.” Mark looked away, waving a dismissive hand. “Justin went out with some friends last night. He had a few too many.” “My mom is in the guest room, and I’ve been crashing in the office to finish some work, so I let him have the master. What’s the big deal? It’s just a bed, Lauren. Do you really have to go nuclear over a mattress?” Evelyn jumped in immediately, her voice taking on that condescending lilt. “Exactly, Lauren. We’re all family here. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is ours. Justin is your brother. He rarely gets to come to the city. Let him enjoy a little comfort for once.” She sighed, looking at me like I was a difficult child. “You’ve always been so… particular. So precious about your things.” I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat. “Family”? This was their version of it? Seeing my silence, Mark’s tone turned sharp. “Alright, enough. Stop standing there like a statue. It’s a bed. My brother is a guest. Can’t you be a little more gracious as his sister-in-law?” His lip curled. “Is this a city person thing? You think my brother is ‘dirty’ because he slept in your bed? Let me tell you something, Lauren—my family is cleaner than anyone with a heart as small as yours.” I took a deep breath, forcing the fire in my chest down into a cold, hard knot. “Where is my car?” I asked, my voice dangerously level. “I got a ticket. Speeding. Fifty percent over the limit. Running a red light. In your hometown.” “The fine is one thing, but he could have killed someone. That is my car. The car I bought with my own money before we even met. How dare you let him take it without asking me?” At the mention of the car, the master bedroom door opened fully. Justin emerged, yawning and rubbing his head, radiating the sour stench of a hangover. “Hey, Lauren. You’re back.” He gave me a lopsided, greasy grin. “Don’t worry about the ticket. Mark said he’d take care of it. Besides, that car is a dream. Way better than the junk my friends drive—really made me look like a boss back home.” My eyes dropped to his arm. There was a fresh, jagged scratch scabbing over on his forearm. My stomach dropped. “Where is the car parked, Justin? Did you hit something?” 2 “Hit something? Watch your mouth!” Justin’s face flushed a deep, guilty red, his voice jumping an octave in defensive reflex. Mark stepped in front of his brother instantly, glaring at me. “Lauren, listen to yourself. Justin is standing right here, isn’t he? If the car was totaled, would he be fine?” He softened his tone slightly, though it still felt like he was talking to someone he found exhausting. “Look, he clipped a wall while backing up. It happens. I already checked with a shop; it’s a few hundred bucks for some paint and buffing. You don’t need to act like the world is ending or curse my brother’s safety over a dent.” Evelyn chimed in, her voice full of theatrical pity. “Honestly, Lauren! People are more important than things! My son was kind enough to use your car to help the family image, and you’re here hoping for an accident?” She stepped toward Justin, stroking his shoulder as if he were the victim. “A car is just a piece of metal. You could scrap the whole thing and it wouldn’t be worth a single hair on my son’s head!” A chill ran down my spine as I looked at them. To them, I wasn’t a person. I was a resource. My property was their communal pot. “A clip?” I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fine. I’m going down to the garage. I want to see exactly what a ‘clip’ looks like.” Mark’s patience snapped. He grabbed my wrist, his grip uncomfortably tight. “Are you done? I told you, we’re fixing it! It’s the middle of the night. You’re going down there now just to make a scene? To make the neighbors laugh at us?” “Lauren, I married you to have a partner, not someone who spends her life looking for reasons to be miserable.” The pain in my wrist flared. I wrenched my arm away from him without a word, turned on my heel, and walked straight out the door. Mark and Justin traded a panicked look—a flash of “she’s actually going to see it”—and scrambled to follow me. The elevator ride was a suffocating silence, broken only by Evelyn’s muffled grumbling. “You’re so stubborn, Lauren. Mark works so hard, and you just want to pick fights over trifles. Justin is about to get engaged; he needed that car to show his fiancée’s family he’s doing well. It was for the family honor.” I didn’t hear her. The moment the elevator doors slid open, I sprinted toward my parking spot. Even from a distance, I saw my white SUV. But it wasn’t my car anymore. It was a wreck. The front right side was completely caved in. The bumper was hanging off, partially resting on the concrete. The headlight was shattered, wires exposed like raw nerves. A deep, jagged scratch screamed along the entire length of the passenger side, and the rear door was buckled and warped. This wasn’t a “clip.” This was a high-speed collision. I stood there, shaking so hard I thought my bones might break. I slowly turned my head to Justin. He looked at his shoes, his bravado finally dissolving into cowardice. Mark stepped up beside me, trying to pull my arm, his voice suddenly desperate and soft. “Honey, look… I didn’t know. Justin didn’t tell me it was this bad.” “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it. I’ll make it look brand new, I promise.” I didn’t answer him. I pulled out my phone and started taking pictures. The flash strobed in the dim garage—click, click, click—capturing the ruin they had made of my life. 3 Mark was spiraling now. “Lauren, what are you doing with the photos? I told you I’d handle it!” He reached for my phone, but I pivoted away, my movements cold and sharp. “Handle it? How?” I looked at him like he was a stranger I’d met on the street. I didn’t wait for his answer. I hit the speed dial. Mark’s face went ghostly pale. “Who are you calling?” “Who do you think?” My voice was like ice. “The police and the insurance company. This is a major accident. I need an official report, or the insurance won’t cover a dime. Unless you were planning on paying thirty thousand dollars out of pocket?” “Don’t!” Mark and Evelyn screamed the word at the same time. Mark lunged, pinning my hand down to stop me from finishing the call, his fingers trembling against mine. “You can’t call the police! Absolutely not!” Evelyn threw herself at me, her voice breaking into a sob. “Lauren, please! You’ll ruin him! You’ll ruin Justin!” I stared at Mark, watching the way his eyes darted around, the way the sweat was starting to bead on his forehead. “Why can’t I call? What are you so afraid of?” “It’s an accident. Why are you terrified of the police?” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Unless… he wasn’t supposed to be driving at all.” I turned to Justin, who looked like he was about to vomit. “Justin. Do you even have a valid driver’s license?” The silence that followed was my answer. Justin’s knees seemed to buckle; he looked at his brother like a drowning man. The last of Mark’s facade crumbled. The “protective brother” act vanished, replaced by a raw, ugly fury. He spun around and slapped Justin across the face so hard the sound echoed through the garage. “You idiot! You absolute moron!” Mark roared. “What did I tell you? Drive careful! Keep a low profile! Don’t cause trouble!” “Now you’ve ruined everything!” While they were distracted by their own chaos, I walked to the car and opened the glove box to find my registration. But my hand brushed against something that didn’t belong there. It was a thick packet of A4 paper, held together by a heavy binder clip. I pulled it out, and the bold, black header at the top of the page felt like a physical blow to my chest. PRIVATE VEHICLE EQUITY LOAN AGREEMENT. With shaking hands, I flipped through the pages. Collateral: White SUV, License Plate XXX-XXXX. Loan Amount: $40,000. At the bottom, on the line for Borrower/Grantor, was a signature I knew intimately, yet it looked fundamentally wrong. It was my name. Lauren Matthew. But the handwriting was a forced imitation. A forgery. “What is this?” I asked. The color left Mark’s face entirely. 4 “Lauren… honey… let me explain!” Mark scrambled toward me, trying to snatch the contract, his eyes wide with panic. I stepped back, clutching the papers to my chest so hard the edges cut into my palms. I didn’t feel it. “Explain?” I looked at him, and for the first time, I felt the sheer weight of the man I had shared a bed with. “Explain that you forged my name to take out a forty-thousand-dollar loan against a car you don’t even own?” “Mark, what else is there? What else have you done behind my back?” Justin, seeing the walls closing in, realized there was no more lying. He dropped to his knees, literally grabbing my jeans, wailing like a child. “Lauren! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! Don’t blame Mark!” “I wanted to open a franchise—a coffee shop—but I didn’t have the capital. Mark just wanted to help me get on my feet! We were going to pay it back before you ever found out! We just didn’t expect… we didn’t expect the crash…” Evelyn pivoted instantly, her tears flowing with practiced ease as she hovered over Justin. “Lauren! We were desperate! Justin’s girlfriend’s family… they wanted a huge deposit for the wedding, or they wouldn’t let it happen. We didn’t have the money!” “Mark did it for the family! For his brother’s happiness! Just forgive him this once! We’ll pay it back, I swear on my life!” I watched them—this pathetic, coordinated performance—and felt nothing but profound disgust. I kicked Justin’s hand away and pointed at Mark. “Where is the money? The forty thousand. Where is it?” Mark’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. He looked like a landed fish. In that silence, I knew. The money was gone. Probably blown on “investments” or debt or the lifestyle Justin wanted to pretend he had. I was done. I turned and walked back to the elevator. I couldn’t spend another second in that smoke-filled, toxic apartment. I ran into my home office—the only room that still felt like mine. I needed to think. I sat at my desk and instinctively pulled the drawer where I kept my passport and birth certificate. The drawer was empty. It wasn’t just the passport. My property deed copies, my tax records—everything was gone. A wave of cold dread washed over me, starting at my toes and ending at my scalp. They had my IDs. They were forging my signature. What else had they touched? I stood up and ran to the walk-in closet. My vanity was a mess. The velvet boxes where I kept my jewelry had been tossed aside, lids open, insides hollow. My heart hammered against my ribs. I turned to the corner, to the small floor safe where I kept the real valuables. The door was slightly ajar. I pulled it open. The pearl necklace my mother had left me. The vintage gold watch from my grandmother. Every piece of history I had left of my family was gone. This wasn’t just theft. This was a ransacking. They had picked my life clean like vultures. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. I had to get to the bank. I had to get to the county records office. I had to stop the bleeding. “Where are you going?” Mark was blocking the front door, his arms spread wide. “Lauren, sit down. Let’s talk like adults. Don’t be impulsive!” “It’s not what you think!” “Get out of my way,” I said, my voice low and vibrating with a power I didn’t know I possessed. I shoved him with such force that he stumbled back, and I ran out into the night.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453324”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I pushed open Ethan’s office door, Serena was leaning against his shoulder, watching a surgical video. They were so close, you couldn’t even slip a piece of paper between them. They were practically kissing. I stood in the doorway, still holding the dinner I’d brought him. “Ethan, can you explain this?” He turned his head to look at me, no panic, barely even shifting his posture. “Grace, can you stop always thinking the worst?” He turned back to the screen, dismissively adding,”You wouldn’t understand academic stuff.” I’d heard that line too many times. He’d said it when I gave up my PhD. He’d said it when he put Serena’s name on my research paper. I placed the meal box on the corner of the table and left. My phone vibrated. A notification popped up from an unknown app— [Ethan’s Current Status: Noticed Grace Smith left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.] Grace POV The third time I pushed open Ethan’s office door, Serena was leaning against his shoulder, watching a surgical video. They were so close, you couldn’t even slip a piece of paper between them. On the screen was a replay of a hip replacement surgery. Serena pointed at a specific frame and said something. Ethan tilted his head slightly, almost touching her forehead as he looked. I stood in the doorway, still holding the dinner I’d brought him. The steam from the meal box was slowly fading away. “Ethan.” He turned his head only when he heard my voice. No panic, no evasion, he didn’t even adjust his posture much. Serena did shift slightly to the side, but it was a minimal movement, almost like she was doing it just for show. I stared at the flimsy distance between them and asked,”Can you explain this?” Ethan frowned. “Grace, can you stop always jumping to conclusions?” He turned back to the screen, dismissing me with,”You wouldn’t understand academic stuff.” I’d heard that line too many times. He’d discuss research topics late into the night with Serena. When I asked about it, he’d say I wouldn’t understand. He’d take Serena on business trips for academic conferences. When I asked, he’d say I wouldn’t understand. He’d put Serena’s name as the second author on a paper, a paper whose data *I* had compiled. When I asked, he’d still say, I wouldn’t understand. It was as if those three words were a wall, forever keeping me out of the world he truly cared about. I placed the meal box on the corner of the table and left. Silence followed me. As I reached the end of the hallway, I glanced down at my phone. A new notification. It was from an app I’d never downloaded. The icon was a gray circle with a thin electrocardiogram waveform inside. The name was just one word: Observer. The notification content was a small line of text. [Ethan’s Current Status: Noticed Grace left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.] I stared at the words for a long time. He was silent for 4 minutes and 12 seconds. And then what? I looked back down the hallway. His office door was still closed, the light shining through the frosted glass showing two figures, one tall, one short. The video was probably playing again. I pulled my gaze away, tucked my phone into my pocket, and headed for the elevator. … I first met Ethan during my senior year internship. He was two years ahead of me, already a resident doctor in Orthopedics, famous throughout the medical school for two things: his excellent surgical skills and a terrible temper that made no one want to assist him. He always had a stern face during rounds, and spoke incredibly little. When teaching, he’d say things once, and if you couldn’t keep up, that was your problem. Everyone was scared of him. Only I thought he wasn’t truly cold, just unsure how to interact with people. Because I noticed a detail: every time he finished a night shift, he would secretly drink the nearly expired yogurt from the department’s public fridge, then buy new ones to replace them. He seemed to not want others to drink expired things, but he would also never proactively say, “This is about to expire, don’t drink it.” All his kindness was like that, quiet and unacknowledged, like hiding something in your pocket; as long as it fit, no one else needed to see it. I thought such a person was actually very soft. So I started to actively approach him. Ethan initially completely ignored my pursuit. I persisted for a year and a half. In that year and a half, I brought him countless meals, copied three volumes of his surgical notes, and helped him organize study materials during exam week, though he never used them. Until one day, he finished a seven-hour emergency surgery. It was almost dawn when he came out of the operating room. I was sitting on a bench in the hallway, clutching a cup of cold coffee. He saw me, stopped for a moment. Then he walked over, took the coffee from my hand, and took a sip. It was cold. He frowned, but didn’t say anything, and continued drinking. After he finished, he handed me the empty cup and said,”Don’t wait for me anymore.” But the next day, on my internship evaluation form, he gave me the highest score in the department. The remarks read: “Solid fundamentals, diligent attitude, recommended for hospital residency.”

Grace POV It was from that evaluation form that I became certain: what Ethan said and what he thought were never the same thing. Later, we got together, and then, we got married. The year we got married, my mentor helped me secure a fully-funded PhD scholarship in sports medicine, a field I dreamed of pursuing. When I told Ethan, he was looking at literature, not even raising his head. “Someone in the family needs a stable career.” That sentence nailed my PhD dreams in place. I wanted to say I could manage both, but he added,”Look at all the female PhDs in the department right now; they’re all a total mess.” He wasn’t talking about others; he was making decisions for me. I didn’t argue further. Because back then, I still believed that even if his words weren’t pleasant, they were always for my good. Later, to circumvent the hospital policy against spouses working in the same clinical department, I transferred from Orthopedics to the administrative office. He said,”Anyway, going into administration isn’t a loss for you. Nine-to-five, much easier than clinical work.” The day I moved my personal belongings from Orthopedics, the head nurse held my hand and said,”Grace, are you sure about this? Your surgical skills are among the top three young doctors in our department.” I smiled and said I was sure. I didn’t tell her that when I got home, I cried in front of the mirror for a long time. I truly loved the feeling of standing at the operating table. The precision of millimeter-level operations, the urgency of racing against death, the post-surgery patients holding my hand and saying thank you. All those things vanished after I transferred. Replaced by reports, meeting minutes, and research grant applications. And Ethan’s dismissive comment every time he mentioned my work:”Anyone could do what you’re doing now.” Anyone could do it. He probably never knew how heavy those four words were. Because I gave up something only I could do, to do something anyone could do. And all of it, because of him. … It was late when I got home. The rented apartment was small, one bedroom, one living room, a place I’d temporarily found after moving out of our house a few days ago. He probably still didn’t know I wasn’t living at home anymore. Or maybe he knew, but thought I’d come back in a few days. After all, every argument before, I was always the one to back down. I sat on the edge of the bed and opened my phone. The Observer app lay quietly on the last page of my screen. I tried long-pressing the icon, wanting to delete it. A prompt popped up: [This app cannot be uninstalled.] I tried tapping into it again. The interface was simple, gray and white, with only one line at the top: [Observing: Ethan, Status: Online] Below it was a timeline, recording today’s notifications. [18:23 Ethan’s Current Status: Noticed Grace left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.] [18:31 Ethan resumed playing surgical video, Serena still present.] [19:45 Ethan opened the meal box brought by Grace, eating duration 6 minutes, checked phone call history 1 time, lingered on Grace for 3 seconds before locking screen.] [21:17 Ethan’s Current Location: Hospital parking lot, vehicle not started, sitting still for 9 minutes.] [21:26 Vehicle started, navigation destination: 10 West 74th Street, New York.] That was the house we used to share. I looked at the notification, unsure how to feel. Maybe I should be grateful he at least remembered to come home. I turned off my phone, pulled up the covers, and closed my eyes. I used to think he just wasn’t good at expressing himself, but that he cared about me deep down. Like how he drank that cold coffee I brought him, like how he recommended me for residency on my evaluation. But tonight, as I lay on my pillow thinking about these things, I suddenly realized something: that was seven years ago. Seven years ago, he was willing to drink a cold coffee because he had nothing, and I was the only one who was good to him. Now he had the title of Head of Department, a high salary, and an academic partner like Serena. And I had gone from being his most promising student to someone sitting in an administrative office filling out forms. It wasn’t that he didn’t love me anymore. It was just that I didn’t seem important to him anymore. My phone screen suddenly lit up. I picked it up. The app pushed another notification— [22:04, Ethan found house empty, called Grace, no answer, calling a third time.] I stared at the constantly refreshing”no answer” on the screen, silent for a long time. Then I turned over and tucked my phone under my pillow. My phone vibrated continuously under the pillow. I didn’t answer. It wasn’t out of spite. I honestly didn’t know what to say to him anymore.

Grace POV The next morning when I woke up, I opened my phone. Ethan had called 11 times. There were two SnapChat messages. The first: [Where are you? Why is no one home?] The second: [Grace, did you run off to Maya’s again? Stop throwing a tantrum and come home. The food in the fridge will go bad.] He always seemed to think all my reactions were just tantrums. Arguing was a tantrum, questioning was a tantrum, even moving out was a tantrum. In his eyes, I was like a child who periodically cried, and a little coaxing would quiet me down, or if not, I’d stop eventually on my own. I didn’t reply, got up, washed my face, and left for work. When I arrived at the hospital, I ran into Chloe from the Medical Education Department in the administrative building’s elevator. She looked me up and down, then whispered,”Grace, did you know? Yesterday Ethan took Serena out for dinner at the cafeteria.” “Just the two of them, ordered four dishes, and a drink.” As she spoke, the mix of cautious gossip and sympathy in her tone made my stomach churn. I forced a smile:”Chloe, who he dines with is none of my business.” Chloe visibly paused, probably not expecting that reply. The elevator arrived, and I walked out first. It wasn’t until I sat down at my desk that I realized my hands were shaking. I suddenly remembered something else. Late last year, I spent a whole month organizing clinical data for Ethan. Every day after work, I wouldn’t go home; I’d stay in the office checking data, drawing charts, and adjusting formats. During that time, I lost six pounds, and my right eye twitched frequently from staring at the screen for so long. The day the paper was published, Ethan treated the department to a meal. Someone at the table asked him,”Ethan, the data for this paper is impressive. Who helped you with it?” He held his water glass and said,”Serena was involved throughout. Hard work for her.” Serena sat beside him, smiling and waving her hand,”It was nothing, just teamwork.” I sat at the very end of the table, my fork suspended mid-air. No one looked at me. Including Ethan. Later, on the way home, I asked him,”I clearly did that data, why did you say it was Serena?” He seemed unconcerned, casually remarking,”You weren’t an author anyway. No one knows your name, what good would it do to mention you?” What good would it do? Because I was just Grace from the administrative office, not an orthopedic doctor anymore. My name appearing in the paper’s acknowledgments section would be too much, let alone in any important context. What I did was invisible. Just like I was invisible in his world. … That morning, I was distracted. I flipped through the research grant application three times, but not a single word registered in my mind. At 10:30, my phone lit up. An app notification. [10:27 Ethan arrived on the first floor of the administrative building, lingered in the lobby for 1 minute 42 seconds, then took the elevator up, target floor 3.] The third floor was my office. I instinctively sat up straight. Then I felt ridiculous for reacting that way. We were getting divorced; if he came, he came. Two minutes later, Ethan indeed appeared at the office door. He seemed to have come directly from the department; his hair was a bit messy, like he had just finished surgery. He glanced at the others in the office, walked up to me, and whispered,”Come outside with me.” I looked up at him. Before, when he used that tone, I would immediately stand up and follow him. Now I said,”Say whatever you need to say right here.”

Grace POV Ethan’s expression froze. He glanced around; my colleagues, though looking down, clearly had their ears perked up. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lowering his voice even further:”Last night you weren’t home, I looked everywhere for you.” “If you’re mad, let’s talk at home, don’t make a scene like this.” “I moved out,” I interrupted him. His words caught in his throat. I looked into his eyes, and for the first time, I felt something beyond coldness in them. It was confusion. He seemed completely unable to grasp it, as if thinking, *how could I actually move out?* I didn’t give him time to process. “Go back, don’t block people where I work. It doesn’t look good.” Ethan didn’t leave. He stared at me for a long time, long enough for my colleague next to me to uncomfortably shift her chair. Finally, he said something. “Grace, do you think moving out will solve anything?” He seemed convinced I wouldn’t last long living elsewhere, as if he believed I would soon come back on my own, that I was nothing without him. Just as he thought that cold coffee would always be waiting for him in the hallway. I looked at him and suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion. “It’s not about moving out.” His brows furrowed. I didn’t want to explain anymore. I took out his car keys, which he’d left at home last week, from my drawer and pushed them across the table. “Your keys.” Ethan glanced down at the keys, then at me, his lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing. He took the keys, turned, and left. The back of his lab coat disappeared down the hallway. My phone lit up. [10:51 Ethan left the administrative building. Walking speed below normal. Lingered in the first-floor lobby again for 2 minutes 08 seconds, then returned to the inpatient department.] I finished reading the notification and flipped my phone face down on the desk. So what? He walked slowly, but he didn’t look back. … At noon, I went to the cafeteria alone. Normally, at this time, I’d be eating takeout in the office, because Ethan didn’t like me eating in the cafeteria; he thought it looked bad for colleagues to see us eating at different tables. But he himself always ate with department staff, and there was never a place for me. So his solution was for me to eat in the office. It sounded absurd, thinking about it now. I stood in front of the serving window, realizing I hadn’t had a proper meal in the cafeteria for almost two years. Anna, the cafeteria lady, still remembered me:”Grace, you haven’t been here in a while! The roasted ribs are great today, I’ll give you an extra piece.” I carried my overflowing tray to a window seat. The sunlight fell perfectly on the back of my hand, warming it, almost unreal. Halfway through my meal, I heard someone chatting nearby. “Did you see the notice from Orthopedics? Serena’s federal research grant project passed the preliminary review.” “Really? She’s only in her second year of postdoc, isn’t she? Her capabilities are too strong.” “She’s capable, but everyone says Ethan helped her a lot.” “Helped her? He directly shared his data resources with her. Who gets that kind of treatment…” My fork paused in mid-air. His data resources. How much of that data had I stayed up late organizing? Suddenly, I lost my appetite. I put down my fork and took my tray to the return counter. Walking out of the cafeteria, the sun was still shining, but I no longer felt warm.

Grace POV At 2 PM, Professor Miller called me. Professor Miller was my graduate school advisor and a highly respected expert in sports medicine. After graduation, we occasionally kept in touch, but ever since I transferred to administration, we talked less and less. His call surprised me. “Grace, this year there’s a fully-funded clinical medicine scholarship for studying abroad, at ETH Zurich in Switzerland, in sports medicine. I checked the requirements, and it needs academic paper publications and clinical background.” He paused. “You perfectly meet the criteria.” My hand tightened around my phone. Professor Miller continued,”I know you’ve changed roles these past few years, but those two papers you published are solid, and I know your clinical foundation best.” “This opportunity doesn’t come every year. I can write you a letter of recommendation.” My heart suddenly sped up. My throat felt dry. It took me a while to squeeze out,”Professor Miller, this program… how long is it for?” “Three years. If you pass the assessment, you can directly transition into a PhD degree upon return.” I was silent for a long time. Professor Miller probably sensed my hesitation, sighing,”Grace, you were one of the most brilliant students I ever taught. You shouldn’t waste away in an administrative office.” “You’re only twenty-eight, there’s still time.” That sentence hit harder than anything Ethan had ever said. Clutching my phone, my voice trembled slightly:”Professor Miller, I want to go.” He chuckled on the other end:”Good. I’ll submit your recommendation materials today. Send me your resume and paper list tonight.” After hanging up, I sat at my desk for a long time. Then my phone lit up again. It was an Observer app notification. [14:38 Ethan’s Current Location: Operating room, mid-surgery status, all vitals normal. He still doesn’t know.] Those last five words felt like a self-added note from the app. He still didn’t know his wife had just received a call, a call that could uproot her from here. He was on the operating table, mending other people’s bones and tendons. And I was preparing to cut him out of my life. … After work that evening, I met up with Maya. Maya was my college roommate, now a lawyer specializing in medical malpractice. We met at a coffee shop across from the hospital. She arrived before me. As I sat down, she looked me up and down:”Did you and Ethan argue?” I shook my head. “I’m considering divorcing him.” Maya’s hand, holding her cup, froze. She put down her cup and looked at me seriously:”Tell me everything.” I briefly recounted the events of these past few years. Without any embellishment. Giving up my PhD, transferring to administration, organizing his data without credit. Waiting for him late at night in the hallway when he didn’t come home, taking a taxi to the ER alone for appendicitis. And Serena. Maya listened without interrupting. Only after I finished did she speak, her voice much lower than before. “Grace, every single thing you just mentioned, taken individually, might not seem like a big deal.” “But do you know, domestic abuse isn’t just about physical violence. What you’re describing, in legal terms, is called emotional neglect.” She looked into my eyes. “You’re not throwing a tantrum; you’ve been drained.” My nose suddenly stung. I held back the tears. I’d cried enough these past few years, always alone in my room, wiping my face clean afterwards and pretending everything was fine. Maya then asked,”How do you plan to handle it? Will he agree to a divorce?” “I haven’t told him yet.” “Does he have any leverage over you? What about finances?” I thought for a moment:”The house is his, the car is his. We don’t have joint savings; we keep our finances separate. When we got married, he gave a wedding gift, but my mom returned it intact.” Maya nodded:”That makes things cleaner. If he doesn’t agree, we still have options.” She patted my hand:”Do what you want to do. Leave the legal stuff to me.” Looking at her, I suddenly remembered college, the four of us crammed onto the balcony eating snacks. Maya had said she wanted to be a lawyer and specially fight for those who’d been wronged. Back then, I’d said,”Then I’ll come to you if I ever get wronged.” She’d replied,”No way. With your personality, who would dare bully you?” Turns out I was right. It wasn’t someone else bullying me; I had slowly, bit by bit, worn down my own spirit.

Grace POV It was dark when I left the coffee shop. I stood by the roadside, hesitated for a few seconds, then dialed another number. “Mom.” “Grace? Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?” My mom’s voice carried that particular motherly alarm. I smiled:”Nothing, just letting you know I might be making a decision soon.” “What decision?” “I have an opportunity to study abroad, a full scholarship, for three years.” There was silence on the other end for a while. My mom asked,”What about Ethan?” I didn’t answer directly, just said,”Mom, this is my own decision.” More silence. Then my mom said something, her voice much softer than usual. “Grace, when your dad was hospitalized a while ago, Ethan didn’t even call once.” “You think I don’t know, but I know everything.” I stood under the streetlamp, my eyes suddenly welling up. Three months ago, my dad had been hospitalized for a week due to a herniated disc. I took time off to care for him. Ethan knew about it. He only said, “Your dad’s not serious, conservative treatment is enough,” and then there was no follow-up. He never called to ask once. My mom had never mentioned it. Turns out, she had remembered all along. “Mom…” My voice was hoarse. “Alright, don’t cry,” she said.”Go if you want to. Your dad and I didn’t put you through a master’s degree just for you to fill out forms for someone else.” After hanging up, I stood by the roadside for a long time, until my tears dried before I moved. My phone screen lit up. An app notification. [21:15 Ethan’s Current Location: 10 West 74th Street, confirmed house empty again, called Grace, no answer.] [21:16 Called Grace’s mother, call duration 12 seconds, recipient hung up.] He called my mom. And my mom only spoke to him for 12 seconds. I didn’t know what my mom said in those 12 seconds, but I guessed it was probably just one sentence: “Ask yourself.” I smiled. Thanks, Mom. I opened my phone, organized the resume and paper list Professor Miller needed, and sent them. After sending, I sent a message to Maya. [Please prepare the divorce papers for me.] Maya replied instantly: [Already done.] I took a deep breath. Grace, from tomorrow, you make decisions only for yourself. For the next two days, I worked during the day and reviewed professional materials at night. Although I had been out of clinical practice for three years, I had always maintained the habit of reading literature. I read at least two new papers in my field every week; my notes filled three folders. Ethan didn’t know about this. He thought I was binging shows on my tablet every night. Once, he walked past the living room, glanced at my screen, and said,”Stop watching useless stuff.” He didn’t even see what I was watching. But it didn’t matter anymore. These two days, Ethan hadn’t come to block me at the administrative office, but the number of missed calls on my phone grew daily. I didn’t answer a single one. The app, however, faithfully recorded his every move. [Ethan called Grace from the hospital parking lot, no answer, then sat in the car for 4 minutes.] [Ethan scanned the entire cafeteria, did not find target, left early, eating only 40% of his usual amount.] [Ethan drove to the vicinity of 10 West 74th Street, circled twice, then drove away.] [Ethan is in a state of insomnia, phone screen repeatedly lights up, lingering on Grace’s social media profile, browsing duration 47 minutes.] He was looking at my social media for forty-seven minutes past one in the morning. But my last post was two months ago. What was he even looking at? I closed the app and continued reading the literature review in my hand. I didn’t want to know the answer anymore. What good would knowing do? His insomnia couldn’t cure my three years of disappointment.

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“Audrey, marry that paralyzed guy from the Hayes family instead of Skylar. Then we’ll get the special medicine for your mom right away.” I agreed to my father’s demand. On my way back to my room, at the turn of the stairs, through the partially open door, I saw my former fiancé pinning another woman against the wall. His voice was hoarse and full of tenderness. “Skylar, you’re the only one I love.” A few minutes later, he walked out of the room, glancing at me as if I were a servant. “The sheets are dirty. Go clean them up.” I stood my ground, my fingernails digging into my palms. He raised an eyebrow. “What, you won’t?” I stared into his eyes and then, suddenly, I smiled. “Liam, I’m marrying someone else in two weeks. You should probably ask Skylar to wash those sheets herself.” Audrey POV “As long as you’re willing to marry that shut-in, practically dead man from the Hayes family instead of Skylar, your mom will get the special medicine right away. Are you willing?” I nodded seriously. “I am.” Once I was married, I would never have to be entangled with Liam again. In two weeks, I’d be marrying another man. I walked out of my father’s study and turned to go upstairs, only to hear Skylar’s soft voice mingling with a man’s heavy breathing. Through the door, left ajar, I saw everything inside. “Liam, I suffered so much growing up, never had a good life. And now, I can’t even keep you.” “Ever since I came back to this house, Audrey has bullied me. Now she’s even stealing you away with an engagement.” Skylar sounded on the verge of tears. Liam gently comforted her. “I would never marry a woman I don’t love. You’re the only one I love.” Suffered outside? A rough life? My womanizing father had spent a fortune on that mother-daughter duo over the years. I stood outside the door, lost in thought, until Liam appeared before me, bringing me back to reality. “So you love eavesdropping? Perfect. The sheets are dirty, go clean them up.” Liam’s casual tone made it sound like the most normal request. My hands involuntarily clenched. “Do you really need to humiliate me like this? We grew up together for so many years, did it truly mean nothing?” Liam raised an eyebrow, seemingly mocking me. “Sure it did. If you promise to never bully Skylar again, I’ll marry you.” No sooner had he spoken than Skylar appeared beside him, linking her arm through his. “Audrey, I know you’re used to taking my things, but you and Liam aren’t married yet. I won’t give him up to you.” Skylar’s feigned distress was obvious, and Liam looked at her with doting pity. A dull ache throbbed somewhere deep inside me, as past memories flooded back. Liam and I grew up together, the perfect couple everyone in our circle acknowledged. Liam had planned nine hundred and ninety-nine surprises, each one public and city-wide news. I should have had a happy family and a successful career. But everything changed when Skylar’s mother showed up at the Bennett estate with Skylar, causing a scene. My mother couldn’t accept that her husband had an adult illegitimate daughter. She fell gravely ill and needed long-term treatment. With his wife near death, my father simply moved Skylar and her mother in. Even my own fiancé was completely smitten with Skylar. Now, disregarding our engagement and years of shared history, he was determined to be with Skylar. The once privileged Bennett daughter now had to rely on others. And then, to make things worse, the Bennett family company faced a financial crisis. The infamous Hayes family in New York specifically requested a Bennett daughter. Marry into their family, and they would help the Bennett company overcome its crisis. But the billionaire Mr. Hayes was rumored to be a sickly shut-in, practically a dead man walking. Seeing that Skylar was now the favored daughter, my father naturally couldn’t bear to sacrifice her. My marriage would solve all their problems. My only condition was that my father keep his word and save my mother. I just never expected to be humiliated by these two betrayers, right before I left. Seeing my silence, Liam smiled faintly, looking at Skylar with feigned affection, then turned his gaze to me. “If you’re really lonely, you can come join us.” Skylar laughed, trembling slightly. “You and Audrey were together for so long, and she never let you touch her. How could someone so uptight possibly join us?” Skylar’s contemptuous gaze was undisguised, making me incredibly uncomfortable. I bit down hard on my lower lip, my voice trembling as I finally managed to speak. “No thanks. You two just have fun…” Liam gave me a cold glance, then picked up Skylar, and they walked toward the bedroom. I watched their retreating backs. In two weeks, all this love and hate would finally be over.

Audrey POV I stood outside the door, listening to the increasingly uninhibited sounds from inside. This time, it seemed they knew someone was listening; Liam grew more enthusiastic, and Skylar’s voice grew louder. It was only now that I truly understood the kind of person I had once loved. Since he showed no regard for our past feelings, abandoning me so decisively, then I had no reason to cling to anything either. From now on, this debauched man would have absolutely nothing to do with me. All I wanted was to escape this place. Instead of listening to their lovemaking, I’d rather go see Mom at the hospital. That afternoon, I took a taxi to the hospital. Ever since Skylar and her mother moved in, I’d not only had to guard against them poisoning my father’s ear but also search everywhere for new treatments for Mom. It had been a while since I last visited. But just thinking that in two weeks, Mom would finally get the special medicine, I couldn’t help but feel happy. I held Mom’s hand and talked for a while before reluctantly preparing to leave. “Mom, I won’t give up on you.” “Miss Bennett, your mom might need to switch rooms,” the hospital nurse appeared at the door. “We have a VIP arriving today, and the hospital’s most luxurious private room is the one your mother is currently in.” I froze for a moment, then immediately reacted. “Is it about the medical fees? I’ll pay immediately. Please don’t move my mom. She can’t handle any more stress right now.” As I spoke, I pulled my bank card from my bag. The nurse’s expression grew increasingly troubled. “Miss Bennett, a powerful and influential figure is arriving today. We really can’t afford to offend them. Please don’t make this difficult for me; you should pack up your things soon.” No sooner had the nurse finished speaking than a flurry of hurried footsteps drew my attention. The man who had been intimately entangled at home just moments ago was now standing right before me. My heart sank, and the bank card slipped from my hand to the floor. Liam looked serious, standing beside Skylar, clearly there to back her up. Skylar linked her arm through Liam’s. “Liam, I heard Audrey’s mom is using the best private room in this hospital. My mom is coming for skin therapy soon, and since you love me so much, you’ll definitely want to give me the best, right?” She finished, giving Liam a sweet smile. Liam looked a bit hesitant, as he was aware of my mother’s condition. He finally spoke after a long pause. “Of course I love you, it’s just…” Before Liam could finish, Skylar pouted and whined. “Whether I can marry you depends on my mom’s approval. Are you really so reluctant to be nice to her?” At that, Liam’s hesitation vanished completely, and his cold voice rang out. “Clear out the best private room.” As Liam spoke, a group of nurses from the hospital rushed into the room, preparing to clear it out. The moment a nurse touched the breathing machine, I reacted as if I’d been shocked, rushing forward to fiercely protect it. No one knew better than me that the breathing machine was Mom’s life. Skylar saw my distress and couldn’t help but laugh. “Audrey, you were raised in the Bennett family. How can you be so rude? If others see you like this, they’ll think you lack manners.” I couldn’t be bothered to argue about such things. All I wanted was to protect Mom. Liam saw that I had no intention of moving and began to coax me. “Audrey, Skylar’s mom will be here soon. You have to clear out the room. Don’t delay her therapy.” I knelt by the hospital bed, sobbing and gasping for air. “Skylar, you already have so much. Why do you have to take away my mom’s last hope of living?” Skylar lowered her head, her voice full of grievance. “Liam, it’s okay if I don’t get the room. After all, I’m used to having things taken from me since I was little.” With just a few words, Skylar had Liam wrapped around her finger. He gave a look, and the bodyguards beside him immediately understood, rushing straight in. Ignoring my screams, they forcibly pulled me away from the hospital bed. I struggled, but I couldn’t break free from the two men’s grasp. I could only watch helplessly as the nurses took the opportunity to wheel Mom out.

Audrey POV My mother and I were wheeled into a regular hospital ward, not a private room. The moment I stepped in, the strong, pungent smell of smoke made me recoil. The hospital beds inside were simply separated by curtains, and six people were crowded into one room. I turned to leave, but the nurse behind me spoke. “Hospital beds are tight lately. Even this one was hard to get.” I hesitated, then turned back. Mom’s face was a little purple from being off the breathing machine for a few minutes. I meticulously cared for her, making sure the bed was spotless. Just as I was about to go out for some hot water, I found Skylar waiting by the hot water dispenser. “Someone who’s practically dying doesn’t deserve a deluxe private room, does she? I came, and she still had to make way for me.” My fingertips dug into my palms, a searing pain shooting through me. I forced myself to calm down. It was better to avoid trouble now; taking care of Mom was most important. My kettle filled with water, I prepared to leave, but Skylar wasn’t going to let me off that easily. “Everything you have now should have been mine! Why did you get to live such a good life for so many years?” She spoke faster and faster, almost frenzied by the end. “As long as you’re dead, the entire Bennett Corporation will be mine, and Liam will be mine alone.” With that, Skylar snatched the kettle from my hand and threw it at me. In an instant, the kettle shattered, and most of the freshly boiled hot water splashed onto me. Skylar wasn’t spared either. The splashing hot water made Skylar scream. Liam, who was searching for Skylar, happened to pass by. He heard Skylar’s screams and saw her exposed skin turn red from the burns. Ignoring everything else, he scooped up Skylar and ran towards the emergency room. He didn’t even spare me a glance. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Was I really expecting him to abandon Skylar and tend to me?” I used all my strength to walk to the nearby sink. I turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run over my burned skin. Only when the burning sensation slowly subsided did I rush to the examination room. “With water that hot, it’s a good thing you rinsed it with cold water immediately. The scars shouldn’t be too noticeable.” The doctor applied burn cream to the wound, and the pain in my arm became increasingly obvious. I gritted my teeth, enduring it. I couldn’t collapse; Mom still needed me to take care of her. Tiny beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the floor. The pain of the application felt incredibly long. The door to the examination room was kicked open by Liam, his face a mask of barely suppressed fury. “What did you do to Skylar? You venomous woman, you’re clearly jealous of her! Do you know her leg is going to scar!” I looked up, my face pale, my lips trembling, barely able to meet Liam’s gaze. “You believe everything Skylar says? What about me? If I wanted to harm her, why would I hurt myself so badly?” Speaking that sentence almost used up all my strength. Liam was about to speak when Skylar’s pained scream from outside the door, where she was having her dressing changed, interrupted him. “You better pray Skylar is okay.” Throwing out that threat, Liam turned and left. I watched his retreating back, closing my eyes, remembering our time together. I used to squat by the roadside, feeding stray cats, and Liam would say I was the most beautiful girl in the world. After I bought flowers from a flower girl, Liam would hug me and say I was so kind. When I went to the orphanage to do charity work, Liam would look at me with a smile. … And now he could say such things to me. It was so obvious when love was gone. After enduring the dressing, I dragged myself towards the ward. Passing by a room, I heard Skylar’s voice. “Liam, it hurts so much, but as long as you’re by my side, I don’t feel the pain.” Liam kept his lips tight, his expression grim. He seemed to be staring intently at Skylar’s wound. Skylar kept talking, and then Liam suddenly leaned down and kissed the burned spot on her leg. His eyes seemed to hold an undisguised tenderness. Liam, so this is how you love someone. When I was with him, I never saw him care for someone so deeply. A wrenching pain shot through my chest.

Audrey POV I returned to the hot water dispenser room and cleaned up the broken shards on the floor. Just as I turned around, I saw Liam standing behind me. “Skylar said she won’t pursue this, but I have to make you pay a price, so you don’t make a habit of bullying her.” Liam’s face was grim, as if he wanted to devour me. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I straightened my back and met his gaze. “You came to find me, and Skylar doesn’t know, does she? If she knew, she definitely wouldn’t let you come. Because she knows better than anyone whose fault it was this afternoon.” Liam frowned. “What do you mean? Skylar wouldn’t falsely accuse you.” I didn’t answer him, just grabbed his sleeve and walked towards the security room. “See the surveillance footage for yourself, everything will be clear.” The security guard nearby pulled up the afternoon’s footage, high-definition, panoramic, and with audio. In a few minutes, everything was crystal clear. Liam’s expression still seemed unchanged. I spoke up proactively. “If I were to call the police, would this count as intentional assault? Spending ten days or half a month in jail shouldn’t be an issue.” Only when Skylar was mentioned did Liam’s expression finally show a ripple. “What do you want to keep you from doing that?” My heart skipped a beat. So Liam actually had to plead with me. But this was indeed my goal. I took a deep breath. “You injured me this badly; you owe me medical expenses, right? Five million, no negotiating.” Liam glanced at me, then pulled a bank card from his wallet and tossed it on the floor, speaking coldly. “The PIN is Skylar’s birthday. I can’t believe you’ve become so money-grubbing now. I don’t know what makes you any different from those gold diggers. Do you even deserve to be a Bennett girl alongside Skylar?” Liam gave me the money but still didn’t forget to humiliate me. Even though this was compensation for me. “Pick it up. Don’t you love money?” Liam’s voice carried a hint of contempt. I picked it up almost without hesitation, faking a casual smile. “Thanks, Liam.” Liam snorted coldly. “Audrey, you’re truly despicable, losing all your dignity for a bit of cash.” With that, he turned and left, leaving me alone. I looked at myself in the mirror, pulling a self-deprecating smile. In the past, when I was the favored Bennett girl, I wouldn’t have even looked at this amount of money. But ever since Mom entered the hospital, Dad wouldn’t even pay her medical bills, let alone give me pocket money. What was my dignity compared to Mom’s well-being? I just wanted her to be okay, to have the best medical care. I pulled myself together, returned to the ward, and contacted another reputable hospital to transfer Mom. Now that I had the money, I no longer feared being kicked out. After transferring her to the new hospital and arranging everything, seeing Mom’s face look much more peaceful on the bed, I finally left with peace of mind. By the time I returned home, I was so exhausted I just wanted to lie down and sleep. Half-asleep, I heard urgent footsteps downstairs, and I couldn’t help but step out to see what was happening. All the servants in the house were at the entrance, ready to welcome someone. “Hurry up, Skylar will be back soon. She injured her leg and can’t move easily, so be sharp.” No sooner had the words fallen than the roar of an engine stopped at the door. The servants stood in two rows, and Liam carried Skylar, walking through the middle under everyone’s gaze, straight upstairs. Skylar buried her face in Liam’s chest, her face flushed with shyness. As they passed me, I met Skylar’s challenging gaze. I vaguely heard Skylar’s feigned angry complaint. “What are you doing? So many people are here. Put me down quickly.” Liam freed one hand and held her firmly, his voice hoarse. “Don’t move.” Skylar, who had been slightly struggling moments before, now lay comfortably and securely in Liam’s arms.

Audrey POV I’d seen this kind of sweet scene plenty of times at home. I went back to my room, hoping to pick up where I left off sleeping. But the room’s soundproofing was terrible, and I could hear everything next door clearly. Skylar’s whining voice was as if she were right next to my ear. “Liam, I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Will you kiss me?” “I just had a skin treatment a few days ago. Will you hold me?” Skylar tried every trick to keep Liam there, but the man remained silent. I decided to leave my room and go to the study, which was the farthest away, to rest. As soon as I stepped out, a quick glance showed Liam kissing Skylar’s lips, his eyes seemingly sincere and passionate. “Skylar, whatever you want, I’ll unconditionally stand by you and protect you from any harm, always.” Liam’s gaze was more serious than I had ever seen. As solemn as if he were reciting wedding vows. I left without looking back. I should have stopped expecting anything else long ago. The next day, I was in my room sorting through my belongings. I was getting married and leaving this house in a little over ten days. When Mom was well, this was home. Now, I just wanted to escape this place. I inventoried what I had left. Part of the wedding fund Mom had prepared for me had already been spent on her medical treatment. From my dwindling wedding fund, I found a diamond necklace. Mom had worn it on her wedding day. She gave it to me when she found out Liam and I were dating. Mom still remembered. “Audrey, wear it on your wedding day for a lifetime of happiness.” Before I could pull my distant thoughts back, the necklace in my hand was snatched away. “You actually hid things from me? Don’t you know the company is facing a financial crisis, and we can barely afford to eat? How dare you buy jewelry?” I instinctively tried to snatch it back, but the necklace was too delicate, and I was worried Skylar’s agitated state would break it. I calmed down. “Give it back to me.” Skylar became even more emboldened, “What’s yours is the Bennett family’s, and I have a share in the Bennett family’s things.” She held it in her hand, looking it over and over. I silently prayed Skylar wouldn’t take a liking to it. After a few glances, Skylar found it uninteresting. “What an old-fashioned thing, why do you treasure it so much? Clearly, you’ve never seen anything good. Liam just brought me back a ruby from the auction house a few days ago. Why would I care about a broken necklace?” I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Just as I was about to take it back, watching intently, Skylar’s hand suddenly slipped, and the necklace fell directly to the floor. The diamond necklace, which had been perfectly fine moments ago, shattered into pieces, diamonds scattered everywhere. I froze for a moment, then immediately knelt, trying to pick up the diamonds with my hands. Some sharp fragments cut my hand, but I didn’t even feel it. I kept murmuring. “Mom left this for me.” Skylar stood by, making sarcastic remarks. “It’s just a necklace? Is it that big a deal? You’re so petty!” Hearing that, I felt like I was going crazy. “This is different! You have everything now, why do you still have to take my things?” My voice was trembling uncontrollably. “I’ve already agreed to marry that Hayes family man in your place, why won’t you leave me alone! Once I’m gone, Liam will be all yours, why couldn’t you just wait a little longer!” My anguished shouts were met only with Skylar covering her ears, annoyed by the noise. The commotion in the room drew Liam in. He entered, immediately checking Skylar from head to toe, then asked with concern. “She didn’t hurt you, did she? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” Skylar shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes out of nowhere. Liam looked heartbroken. The moment he turned towards me, it was as if he was a different person. “If you have grievances, take them out on me! Why do you always take it out on Skylar? You only dare to bully her when I’m not around.” My throat felt like it was on fire, and I didn’t want to see these two who betrayed me acting so affectionate in front of me again. I pointed towards the door. “Both of you, get out!” Liam scanned me from head to toe with a look of disgust, then pulled Skylar and walked out the door.

Audrey POV Only I was left in the room, crying silently. I sat weakly on the floor, clutching the broken necklace tightly in my hand. This was the only thing Mom had left for me, and now Skylar had carelessly broken it. Without even an apology. I wiped away my tears. Mom didn’t know when she would wake up, and I absolutely couldn’t leave the wedding fund she had painstakingly saved for me to this family. This was Mom’s life savings; it absolutely couldn’t go to anyone else! It was like something clicked in my mind. I stood up from the floor and rushed straight to my father’s study. I gently knocked on the door, and a deep voice from inside said, “Come in.” I composed myself, took a deep breath, and placed my hand on the cold doorknob. From the anxious expression on my father’s face, I knew our family company was in a very dangerous situation. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be arranging a strategic marriage for his daughter to save the company. I didn’t speak, and the room fell silent. Only the sound of my father flipping through papers and sighing could be heard. It wasn’t until my father happened to look up that he noticed I had appeared in the study. I spoke first, breaking the heavy atmosphere. My voice was a little strained. “Dad, I’m getting married soon. My mom left me a trust fund. That’s twenty percent of the company’s shares.” Hearing about the shares, my father’s hand visibly paused. He closed the documents in his hand and stared intently at me. “Audrey, you know the company hasn’t been doing well lately.” “You don’t need these shares. When I manage the company well, I’ll give you more later.” I still didn’t back down, instead, I seized his weak point. “Dad, since you admit this is the trust fund my mom left me, when I want it is my business.” “You wouldn’t want everyone in the city to know on my wedding day that our family can’t even produce assets, would you?” “It would only make you lose face then, wouldn’t it?” I was like a snake now, tightly wrapped around what was rightfully mine. My father’s words sounded good now, but if I actually got married, the shares might not end up in my hands. I insisted on getting them now, and a few sentences put my father in an awkward position. While my father was hesitating, I added fuel to the fire. “Dad, only if we create profit for the Hayes family in New York will they be willing to help us.” I knew that the entire company was now focused on my marriage, hoping to quickly connect with the billionaire Mr. Hayes and alleviate the financial crisis. My father pondered for a few seconds, then took out his phone and called his assistant. “Bring me the share transfer agreement.” Before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, the study door opened. Liam walked in, holding Skylar’s hand, looking every bit like an affectionate couple. Liam glanced at me with obvious disdain. He stood to the side and spoke casually. “So you’re that cunning after all? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fight for anything?” “Now you’re secretly asking Dad for something behind Skylar’s back?” I looked at my father, but he always preferred to avoid conflict, completely ignoring my gaze. I knew he was always unreliable in critical moments. “Yes, I am fighting for it. I’ve done a lot for the company over the years. I’m just taking what’s rightfully mine.” “Why would I be a fool and not take money when it’s offered?” I couldn’t be bothered to argue with them. Just as I was about to turn and leave the study, my wrist was pulled back by an unknown force. Liam’s face had turned grim, his eyes seemingly bloodshot. “Skylar doesn’t even have that, what makes you think you deserve it?” I met his gaze, unafraid, only feeling the righteousness of what I deserved. “Why? Because my mother married into this family all those years ago, and the Bennett family’s company value increased hundreds of times over!” For a moment, the two of us stood there, locked in a silent standoff. Liam was so stunned by my words that he couldn’t utter a single sentence. My father, seated at the desk, had a sullen expression. Suddenly, a soft whimpering sound broke the silence. It was Skylar. “Dad, I know you’ve always favored Audrey. After all, she’s the one who grew up with you.” “I’m just an illegitimate daughter who was out there, living in the shadows. It’s only natural for you to treat her well.” The more Skylar spoke, the heavier her sobs became. The guilt on my father’s face deepened. Then, as if her pent-up grievances had reached their peak, she covered her mouth and ran out. My father, without thinking, chased after her. Only Liam and I remained in the study.

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The day I was told I was dying, Ethan was planning to propose to Audrey. “Summer, your heart failure is end-stage. At most… you have only one month left,” the doctor said. I calmly tucked the diagnosis report into my pocket and returned to Ethan’s apartment. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Audrey’s gasps drifted out from inside. “Ethan, be gentle. It hurts.” Then came a man’s low, husky chuckle, filled with satisfaction. “What, afraid Summer will hear? You’re the woman I love most. What is there to be afraid of? I only see Summer as a maid.” As the “maid,” I stood outside the door, enduring the pain in my heart, still clutching the bouquet of roses he’d had someone deliver that morning, asking me to pass them to Audrey. 999 roses. The card read: “Audrey, marry me.” I lowered my head, looked at the flowers, then at the diagnosis in my pocket, reminding me of my expiration date. A month later, the day he married her. That would also be the day I had chosen for my own passing.

Summer POV New York City’s main library, top-floor VIP reading room. I stood before the shelves, carefully wiping down precious, out-of-print books and re-shelving them. I was a librarian. The pay was minimal, the work tedious, but I’d been here for three whole years. Because this reading room, on this very floor, was once built specifically for me by Ethan. “This floor has the best lighting. Let’s clear out all the old books.” Audrey spoke softly, her eyes slightly reddened as she looked at the man beside her. “Ethan, I want to turn this into a memorial gallery for Zach, to display his favorite models and paintings from when he was alive, okay?” Ethan stood with one hand in his pocket, his gaze darkening slightly when Audrey mentioned Zach. He subconsciously glanced at me, dressed in my thin work uniform not far away, a barely perceptible frown on his brow. Then, he looked down at Audrey, his tone flat. “Alright, whatever you wish.” My wiping motion paused. I turned around. At the entrance to the reading room, Audrey, in a designer red dress, was pointing at the surrounding bookshelves and issuing commands. Beside her stood Ethan, tall and striking in a tailored black suit. His tone with Audrey was the familiar indulgence I once knew so well. My heart sharply clenched, a searing pain spreading through my chest. I instinctively tightened my grip on the cleaning cloth. Once upon a time, Ethan had indulged me in the same way. Back then, we were still in college. I’d casually mentioned I liked reading, and Ethan had leased an entire floor in the best part of New York, scouring the world for out-of-print books to build this library, just for me. He would drive all night, back and forth, just to buy me a limited-edition coffee from Boston. He would carefully carry me into his arms and wrap me in his coat when I fell asleep reading. He once placed all his bank cards, property deeds, and this very library key into my hand, smiling. “Summer, I’ve given my life to you. You can only ever be my Mrs. Blackwood.” But now, he was destroying this place, once filled with our memories, to give it to another woman. “Ethan.” I walked up to him, my voice a little hoarse. “Many of these books are out of print; moving them might damage them. Could you…?” “No.” Ethan cut me off coldly, his eyes devoid of warmth, even holding undisguised disgust. “Audrey is holding an exhibition. Nothing from this place is allowed to remain.” I looked at his icy eyes, my throat feeling like it was stuffed with wet cotton, aching with the blockage. Three years ago, a yacht explosion completely destroyed everything between us. Ethan’s most beloved younger brother, Zach, died in that accident, and I was the sole survivor. Ethan was convinced that, to save myself before the explosion, I had locked the cabin door, trapping Zach in the fire. From that day on, the Ethan who had doted on me ceased to exist. What lived on was a devil who hated me to the bone. He didn’t send me to prison. Instead, he kept me by his side in the most cruel way. He not only withdrew investment from my father’s company, leading to its bankruptcy, but also forced me to stay at this library, working as a bottom-tier administrator, earning a meager salary, watching him parade around with different women every day. And Audrey was the girl Zach loved most when he was alive. Ethan poured all his guilt over his brother’s death into compensating Audrey. “Summer, what are you still standing here for?” Audrey walked up, looking down at me, a malicious smile playing on her lips. “Didn’t you hear Ethan? Hurry up and clear out all your trash. My team is coming in tomorrow to set up the exhibition.” I took a deep breath, suppressing the increasingly fierce dull ache in my chest, and said softly. “Okay, I’ll finish moving everything today.” I didn’t argue. This dead-eyed submission seemed to inexplicably ignite a nameless rage within Ethan. He walked over, his gaze falling on my reddened hands from moving books, his throat bobbing. But when he spoke, his voice was laced with ice. “What? Feeling wronged? Summer, you owe Zach your life. Is clearing a room too much to ask?” I looked up, my eyes as vacant as empty wells. “I know. Ethan, I’ll move them.” I didn’t, as I had three years ago, cling to his sleeve with red-rimmed eyes, trying to explain. Ethan looked at my expressionless face, and a fresh wave of annoyance rose in him. He sharply averted his gaze, as if looking at me any longer would sting him with that dead silence. “Summer, who are you putting on this lifeless act for?” Ethan gritted his teeth, his voice low, only audible to the two of us. “Do you think playing the victim will make me soften? You owe Zach a life; you’ll never be able to repay it!” My chin was squeezed painfully, but I didn’t even flinch. I just calmly looked at Ethan, my eyes as vacant as empty wells. “I know,” I said softly. “I’ll move them. Ethan, please let go.” Ethan looked at my unmoving face, and his frustration grew. He abruptly threw my hand away, as if discarding something dirty and worthless. “If there’s still a single book here by sundown, I’ll have them all burned.” With that, he didn’t even glance at me again. He turned, took Audrey’s hand, and strode out of the reading room. The footsteps gradually faded until they disappeared completely. I finally couldn’t hold myself up, my legs buckling. I collapsed onto the cold floor. I clutched my chest, gasping for air, cold sweat instantly soaking my shirt. My heart beat extremely slowly, each throb accompanied by a tearing pain, as if a rusty knife was twisting inside my ventricle. My trembling hand fumbled for a white pill bottle in my pocket, shook out two pills, and swallowed them dry, without water. A bitter taste spread in my mouth, but it was nowhere near a fraction of the bitterness in my heart. I leaned against the bookshelf, looking at this reading room that held all my youth and love, tears silently streaming down my face. Ethan, you don’t need to chase me away. I will soon disappear completely from your world.

Summer POV New York First Hospital, Cardiology Clinic. I sat in the chair, my face pale, almost translucent. The doctor looked at the test reports in his hand, his brows furrowed, his voice heavy. “Summer, your heart failure is end-stage. Have you been experiencing frequent chest pain, shortness of breath, or even fainting spells recently?” I nodded calmly. “Yes.” “You’re not taking your health seriously enough!” The doctor sounded pained and exasperated. “Given your condition, if you don’t immediately get admitted for conservative treatment and get on the waiting list for a heart transplant, you have at most… at most one month left.” One month. My heart skipped a beat, but quickly returned to that dead-eyed calm. So, my life had only thirty days left. “What if I refuse treatment?” I asked softly. The doctor was stunned, his face full of disbelief. “You’re only twenty-five! Giving up treatment is just waiting to die! While heart donors are hard to come by, there’s still hope if you’re hospitalized and maintained with medication!” “I don’t have the money for hospitalization, and I don’t have the time to wait.” I stood up and bowed slightly to the doctor. “Thank you, Doctor. Please prescribe me some strong painkillers.” I refused the doctor’s earnest pleas, took a new bottle of painkillers, and walked out of the hospital. The sun outside was blinding, but I felt cold all over. I wasn’t afraid to die. I should have died three years ago in that explosion. I just felt a pang of regret that, in this last month, I wouldn’t get to see Ethan let go of his hatred. It was afternoon when I returned to the library. The top-floor reading room was a mess. Several workers were roughly dismantling bookshelves, hundreds of precious books were carelessly tossed on the floor, like abandoned piles of trash. Audrey stood by, directing the workers. “Hurry up! Throw these junk books directly into the trash truck downstairs, don’t dirty my space!” My pupils constricted. I rushed forward. “Stop! You can’t throw them away!” I threw myself into the piles of books, desperately shielding them with my body. Many of these were rare, out-of-print editions that Ethan had personally found for me, traveling to a dozen European countries. “Oh, Summer’s back?” Audrey crossed her arms, a cold smile on her face as she walked over. “These garbage books are taking up my space. Am I supposed to keep them for Christmas?” “I told you I’d move them myself!” My eyes were red as I clutched the books in my arms. “You’re too slow. I can’t wait.” Audrey looked at me contemptuously. As she spoke, several workers roughly swept books into cardboard boxes. An foreign poetry collection happened to fall to the ground, its pages fanning out, and a hand-drawn ginkgo leaf bookmark fluttered out. Ethan had stayed up two nights in college to draw that for me. The worker’s cart wheel was about to roll over it. “Don’t touch it!” I lunged forward, protecting the bookmark. My elbow hit the concrete floor hard, scraping a patch of skin raw. Standing at the door, Ethan’s pupils constricted, and he instinctively took half a step forward, his fingers at his side clenching. But the next second, he stopped himself. He watched me fiercely clutch the dirty bookmark to my chest, his heart stinging as if something had stung him. “A piece of scrap paper worth such an act?” Ethan looked down at me, his voice cold. “Throw it away. We don’t need any of your trash here.” “No!” I cried out, reaching to snatch it. Just then, a long, strong hand suddenly reached out, grabbed my wrist, and roughly threw me aside. I fell heavily to the ground, my elbow hitting a splintered piece of wood, instantly drawing blood. I looked up and saw Ethan’s face, cold as frost. “Ethan…” My voice trembled. I pointed at the trampled poetry collection on the floor. “You gave that to me… You said there was only one copy in the world…” “Did I? I forgot.” Ethan looked down at me, his eyes full of mockery and coldness. He raised his foot and, in front of me, stepped on the poetry collection again, pressing down hard. The exquisite cover instantly tore, pages scattering across the floor. “Summer, are you still living in the past?” Ethan’s voice was like an ice-cold knife. “Do you think protecting these old books proves anything? I gave you those things, and now they disgust me. Just like you, you utterly disgust me.” I stared blankly at the shattered poetry collection on the ground, large tears splashing onto the floor. Before, when I got tired from reading, Ethan would hold me on his lap, open this poetry collection, and read to me, line by line, in his deep, pleasant voice. He’d said, “Summer, my world was once barren. You brought me spring.” But now, he had personally crushed that spring. “Clear out all this junk.” Ethan coldly ordered the workers, then turned to me. “If you dare to interfere again, or upset Audrey, I promise you, your father’s days in the nursing home will be ten times worse than they are now.” He was using my father’s life to threaten me. I closed my eyes, swallowing the metallic sweetness that rose in my throat. “Okay.” I released my grip, slowly got up from the floor, not looking at the books on the ground, nor at Ethan. I turned, dragging my heavy steps, and walked out of the reading room, one step at a time.

Summer POV The cleanup of the top-floor reading room continued for three whole days. I no longer resisted, working like a machine that had lost its sense of pain, silently packing and boxing the books that held the memories of my youth. The heavy cardboard boxes bit into my thin fingers, leaving bright red marks, but I seemed completely unaware. My heart’s burden was nearing its limit. These past few days, my painkiller frequency had gone from twice a day to four times a day. In the afternoon, Audrey brought several designers to the site to confirm the dimensions for the gallery. She wore a refined skirt suit, her fingertips tracing outlines in the air, occasionally turning to flash a sweet smile at Ethan beside her. “Ethan, Zach used to love ocean blue. Should we paint this wall blue?” Ethan had one hand in his trouser pocket. I could feel his gaze involuntarily pass over Audrey’s shoulder and fall on my back. I was too thin. The oversized gray work uniform hung loosely on me, as if a gust of wind could snap my spine. What would he think? I, who used to playfully ask him to open a bottle cap, now lifted dozens of pounds of cardboard boxes without a single groan. Just then, while sifting through an old cardboard box, Audrey accidentally grazed her finger on a sharp edge. Audrey let out a small cry, a tiny bead of blood oozing from her fair fingertip. Ethan’s thoughts seemed to snap back instantly. He strode over, his brow immediately furrowing. He grabbed Audrey’s hand. “How could you be so careless? Go sit over there; don’t touch these dirty things.” His voice was full of concern. He immediately told his assistant to get a first-aid kit. Meanwhile, in a corner not far away, I, who had been moving heavy objects for two hours straight, finally reached my physical limit. A fierce, wrenching pain exploded without warning from my heart, like a barbed knife violently twisting in my chest. My vision suddenly went black, and I collapsed weakly onto the dusty floor. I clutched my chest, breathing in short, shallow gasps, cold sweat instantly drenching my shirt. My face was ashen, like a thin sheet of paper, showing a deathly pallor. The dull thud of something heavy falling made Ethan turn his head. Seeing me curled up on the ground, Ethan’s pupils suddenly constricted, his fingers at his side unconsciously clenching. “Summer, Audrey just scratched her hand, and you’re here faking a faint?” Ethan sneered, his voice laced with ice shards, trying to use the most vicious words to mask a flicker of panic in his heart that even he found absurd. “Haven’t you worn out your pity play in these three years?” I was in so much pain that every breath felt like swallowing shattered glass; I had no strength to retort. I bit down hard on my pale lips, my trembling hand reaching into my pocket, trying to find that life-saving pill bottle. Ethan looked at my miserable state and coldly tossed out a sentence. “Fake death, and I’ll dock this month’s salary.” With that, he pulled Audrey and walked out of the reading room without looking back. The heavy glass door closed behind them, cutting off all footsteps. In the vast space, only I remained. I finally pulled out the pill bottle from my pocket, shook out two pills, and swallowed them dry. A bitter taste spread in my mouth. I leaned against the cold wall, looking at the closed door, tears mixing with cold sweat, silently splashing onto my dusty hand. I wasn’t faking. Ethan, I was truly dying.

Summer POV Two days later, Boston, The Meridian Club. Today was Zach’s death anniversary. Every year on this day, Ethan would book this place, gathering all his friends from our old social circle to commemorate his deceased brother. And I, as the supposed culprit who caused Zach’s death, was forced to come along every year by Ethan, like a live target for people to vent their resentment on, standing in the darkest corner of the private room. Pushing open the heavy door of the private room, the noise inside quieted for a moment at my appearance, then erupted into even more unrestrained mockery. “Well, if it isn’t Summer? What happened to you, you look like a ghost?” A wealthy scion who once pursued me spoke with a snide tone. “What Summer? Her family went bankrupt ages ago. Now she’s just a dog at Ethan’s heels.” Another person chimed in. “Killed Zach and still has the nerve to live in this world. She’s got some thick skin.” Those who used to treat me courteously now attacked me with the most malicious words, all to curry favor with Ethan, who sat at the head of the table. I wore a faded old coat, my face ashen, ignoring their taunts. My gaze cut through the crowd, landing on Ethan. Ethan lounged on the sofa, twirling a silver lighter in his hand. Audrey nestled beside him, their bodies close. Seeing me enter, Ethan didn’t even look up. The lighter made a crisp click. A flame flickered, then he pressed it out without a change in expression. He didn’t stop the taunts. I knew he was waiting. Waiting for me to walk up to him with red-rimmed eyes, as I did three years ago, clutching his sleeve, pleading tearfully for him to take me away. But I had no strength left. I just stood there quietly, my eyes as vacant as if watching a drama unrelated to myself. “Summer, Zach is so cold underground. It’s only right that you drink this toast to apologize to him, isn’t it?” The wealthy scion grew bolder when Ethan didn’t stop him. He poured a full glass of strong whiskey and slammed it onto the edge of the table. A chorus of jeers immediately filled the room. I looked at the amber liquid, my stomach revolted. In my current physical state, even walking a few steps could trigger heart failure, let alone drinking such potent whiskey. Drinking it would be no different than accelerating my death. However, if I didn’t drink, this humiliation wouldn’t end. I was too tired; I was almost out of strength just to stand. Under the gaze of everyone watching for a show, I slowly walked forward. I didn’t look at Ethan, nor at the drink. I just calmly asked the wealthy scion, “If I drink this, I can leave, right?” At these words, I saw Ethan’s hand, which had been toying with the lighter, suddenly freeze, his brows tightly furrowing. “Of course! As long as you finish it, we’ll let you off today!” I didn’t hesitate. I reached out a pale, slender hand, picked up the full glass of whiskey, tilted my head back, and drained it in one gulp. The fiery liquid flowed down my throat into my stomach, instantly burning like a raging inferno within my organs. Immediately after, a fierce, tearing spasm gripped my heart. I clutched my chest, my frail body swaying uncontrollably. Large beads of cold sweat rolled down my forehead, and my already pale face was now utterly bloodless, showing a deathly pallor. “One glass isn’t enough? How much Zach suffered in that fire, what’s a little drink compared to that!” Seeing my state, the man didn’t stop. Instead, he picked up the bottle, preparing to pour more into the glass. Bang! A loud crash exploded in the private room. Ethan violently grabbed the glass ashtray from the table and slammed it hard at the wealthy scion’s feet. Glass shards flew everywhere, and the room instantly fell into a deathly silence. Everyone was startled into silence by his sudden rage. Ethan’s face was terrifyingly dark, his eyes swirling with chilling malice. He strode over, grabbed my icy wrist, his grip so powerful it almost crushed my bones. “Who told you to drink?!” Ethan gritted his teeth, his voice a hoarse roar forced from his chest. “Do you think drinking a glass of wine can atone for your sins? What right do you have?” He cursed me harshly, but the hand clutching me trembled slightly. The moment I felt my legs weaken from the pain, almost falling, he instinctively reached out an arm, holding my back firmly. I leaned against his rigid arm, breathing with difficulty. I looked up at Ethan’s face, slightly distorted by anger, and actually managed a faint smile. “Ethan… I drank the whiskey… can I go now?” My lifeless compliance seemed to fill Ethan with dread. “Get out! Get the hell out!” Ethan suddenly released my hand, as if to hide his loss of composure. I leaned on the wall, walking out of the private room with slow, staggering steps. I heard Audrey walk up, trying to link arms with him, but Ethan impatiently avoided her touch. He turned around, looked at the bewildered faces in the room, and spoke coldly, his voice loud enough for me to hear even in the hallway. “The eighteenth of next month, Audrey and I are getting engaged. I hope everyone will come and witness it.” In the hallway, my frail figure paused for only a fraction of a second. Then, I said in an extremely soft, calm voice, “I wish you both eternal happiness.” No crying, no breakdown. Only the calm of still water.

Ethan POV Late night, a luxury apartment in New York. This apartment was one of my properties. Three years ago, Summer was forcibly brought here and assigned the darkest, narrowest guest room. For these three years, she lived like a ghostly shadow, barely surviving. When I pushed open the door, reeking of alcohol, only a dim floor lamp was on in the living room. I’d drunk too much at the anniversary gathering. My stomach felt like it was on fire, the pain making me break out in a cold sweat. For the past three years, no matter how cold I was outside, when my stomach pain flared up, I would instinctively return here. Because I knew that whenever I came back, no matter how late, Summer would silently go into the kitchen and cook me a steaming bowl of spaghetti, topped with a fried egg with golden-brown edges. That was the only warmth from the past I could extract in this toxic relationship. Faint sounds came from the kitchen. Before long, Summer came out carrying a steaming bowl of spaghetti and placed it on the dining table. She didn’t say anything. She set the bowl down and was about to turn back to the guest room. “Stop.” I sat in the dining chair, rubbing my throbbing stomach, my voice hoarse. Summer paused, her back to me. I picked up a fork and took a bite of the pasta. The warm sauce flowed down my esophagus into my stomach, instantly soothing the spasms. My tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly, and the volatile emotions in my heart miraculously calmed down. I looked up, my gaze casually sweeping across the living room, but then I suddenly froze. In the corner of the living room, the trash can was overflowing. On top, there was a sketchbook I had given her in college, along with several of the library design blueprints I had personally drawn, now torn into shreds. My hand, holding the fork, stiffened. The warmth in my stomach was instantly replaced by a huge wave of panic. “What are you doing?” I suddenly stood up. The abrupt movement knocked over the bowl of spaghetti on the table. Hot broth splashed onto Summer’s hand, instantly reddening a patch of skin. But she didn’t even flinch. She just turned around, pulled out a few tissues, and calmly wiped up the mess on the table. “Cleaning up trash.” Summer’s voice was flat, without any fluctuation. “Ethan is getting engaged next month. I’m clearing out my things here, so Audrey won’t be annoyed when she moves in later.” Her calm tone struck me as incredibly grating; I even felt an unprecedented fear. “Who allowed you to clean?!” I strode over, grabbing her shoulder with surprising force. I stared fixedly into her vacant eyes, my voice a hollow, hoarse whisper. “Summer, what kind of reverse psychology are you playing now? What, you think if you act like you’re leaving, I’ll soften?” Summer was forced to look up at me. Once, these eyes were filled with love for me; later, they showed pain and despair. But now, there was nothing in them. Only a dead silence, a lifeless pallor. “You’re not allowed to go anywhere until I tell you to!” I gritted my teeth and roared, as if to embolden myself. “You haven’t paid your debt for Zach’s life yet. You’re destined to rot here forever!” That smile was exceptionally pale, yet it held a startling sense of relief. That smile was incredibly pale, yet it held a startling sense of relief. “Okay,” she said softly. “Rot here.”

Summer POV In the following days, Ethan didn’t return to the apartment. In the empty room, the only sound was the growing weakness of my own heartbeat. I used the last of my remaining strength to visit New York First Hospital. In the Chief of Cardiology’s office, the smell of disinfectant was pungent and cold. I calmly took the pen and, with steady strokes, signed my name on the “Do Not Resuscitate Order” and “Organ Donation Agreement.” My fingertips were faintly bluish-white from the pressure, but my handwriting was remarkably steady. “Summer, are you really not going to reconsider?” The chief took off his glasses, looking at my thin figure, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. “While hope is slim, if you’re willing to be hospitalized and maintained with medication, there’s still a chance to wait for a donor. You’re so young.” “No, thank you.” I put down the pen, a relieved smile on my pale face, as if I were handing over not my life and death, but a long-sealed old item. “My corneas are still healthy. If someone needs them, I hope they can help. I need to leave something behind, to prove I was here.” Walking out of the hospital, the bitter cold wind of early winter mercilessly cut through my thin coat, like a knife cutting into my skin. But I felt it was just right. At least it kept me soberly aware that I was still alive. I didn’t return to that apartment, filled with suffocating memories. Instead, I turned and went to the city library. The top-floor reading room had been completely transformed into Zach’s memorial gallery. I stood at the entrance, not far away, looking at the newly arranged space. His keepsakes, photos, meticulously placed in his favorite spots, as if he had never left. I watched silently for a long time, but I didn’t step inside. I turned and went to the management office on the first floor, placing a clearly itemized handover list, the library access card, and the keys to that apartment neatly on the table. They made a soft thud as they hit the wooden table, like the last echoes of me in this city, now cleanly severed. After doing all this, I took out my phone, opened the memo app, and, using the last of my strength, wrote a short letter. No accusations, no pleas, just a calm statement. Three years of heartache, crushed into these few dry lines of text. “Ethan, When you read this letter, I will no longer be in New York. Three years ago, during the yacht explosion, I didn’t lock the cabin door. I fought with all my might to save Zach, but I failed. I know you don’t believe me, but this is my last explanation. For these three years, I’ve accepted all the punishments you’ve given me. Now, my heart has completely failed. The doctor says I won’t live past this month. I am paying for Zach’s life with my own. We are completely even now. I wish you and Audrey a happy engagement.” I set this letter for timed delivery, scheduled for my twenty-sixth birthday, also the day of his and Audrey’s engagement. That was his happiest day, and the countdown to the end of my life. It would be my last birthday gift to myself. Then, I removed my phone’s SIM card. I snapped it, and threw it, along with all the ties and potential calls from these three years, into a roadside trash can. At dusk, I boarded a bus alone, heading for a remote coastal town in Maine. It was where my mother had grown up, where a dilapidated but quiet old house stood. There was an empty coast there, salty sea breeze, no Ethan, and no endless torment. I wanted to quietly live out the last leg of my life there. The bus slowly pulled out of New York, the cabin dim and bumpy. I leaned against the cold window, watching the city that had trapped me for three years gradually recede in the sunset, the skyline merging into the twilight, eventually becoming a blurred halo of light. I slowly closed my eyes, my broken heart beating faintly and peacefully in my chest. Goodbye, Ethan. If there’s a next life, I hope we never meet again.

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I was born with a condition: my tears fall uncontrollably. The moment I felt wronged, the tears would always come before any explanation. Everyone accused me of faking it, calling me the manipulative daughter of a murderer. Until Ethan Stone, the city’s most formidable and ruthless lawyer, became my empath. When I was scorned and humiliated, he’d suddenly vomit blood at a high-stakes corporate merger negotiation. When my enemies trampled me, he’d convulse with pain, his eyes burning crimson. Later, everyone in the city knew Ethan Stone had an absolute red line, something you never, ever touched: “She can cry,” he’d declare, “but anyone who dares make her cry, I’ll make them wish they were dead.” But the heiress whose father framed mine, sending him to prison, didn’t believe it. She not only trampled me at a gala but also faked my mom’s mental incapacity diagnosis and forced me to live-stream a confession to the entire internet. Ethan, miles away, watched me forced to my knees on the live stream and violently coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood. That night, dozens of black Maybachs swarmed the city, shutting it down. Ethan, stepping on the real culprit’s face, looked like a demon unleashed. “Which hand touched her? Chop it off.”

I was born with a condition: my tears fall uncontrollably. The moment I was wrongly accused, the tears would always come before any explanation. When I was little, my desk-mate’s eraser went missing, and she pointed the finger at me. Before the teacher could even start asking questions, I was already sobbing, gasping for breath, shaking uncontrollably. Everyone pointed fingers, saying, “See? She’s crying. She must be guilty.” Later, my dad, David Hayes, was sentenced to life in prison for murder. Relatives swarmed our rundown rental house, pointing fingers and yelling at my mom, saying she married a murderer and birthed a mini-murderer. I rushed out, my eyes red, wanting to explain, wanting to scream that my dad was innocent. But tears gushed out first, my throat felt like it was clogged with a waterlogged sponge, unable to make a sound. They watched my tear-streaked face and became even more convinced. “See? This girl is just like her murderer dad, always faking distress to gain sympathy.” For ten years, what I hated most were these eyes of mine that couldn’t stop crying. Until Ethan Stone, the city’s top-tier lawyer, became my empath. When I was wrongly accused, the injustice, fear, and helplessness I felt would be amplified a hundredfold in him. When I was called “the murderer’s daughter,” he would suddenly choke, losing his voice in court. When I was forced to bow my head and confess, he couldn’t even get out a full defense statement, drenched in cold sweat from the pain. Later, the entire legal and elite circles of New York knew that the untouchable, cold-blooded Ethan Stone had an absolute red line. “She can cry.” “But never, ever because you forced her to.” But at first, I didn’t know any of this. All I knew was that tonight was my last chance to retrieve my dad’s only memento. That night, the rain poured down heavily, as if trying to drown the entire city. A glittering charity gala was being held on the top floor of The Ritz Hotel. I stood cowering in a corner, wearing a cheap dress I’d borrowed, my gaze fixed on the auction stage. On stage, Serena Thorne, wearing a haute couture gown, smiled sweetly as she displayed an old, intricately crafted watch. “This watch belonged to a heinous murderer. Today, it’s being auctioned, and all proceeds will be donated to the victim’s family, as a way to atone for that murderer’s sins.” A chorus of applause rose from the audience. My heart felt like a piece had been brutally carved out. That was my dad’s watch. Ten years ago, my dad, David Hayes, was sentenced for murder. Everyone said he killed a passing wealthy businessman for money. But I knew he didn’t. That night, he was just passing through a dark, old alley, and out of kindness, he saved a man covered in blood. The real killer escaped, but my dad, stained with blood, became the scapegoat. That crafted watch was on his wrist the day he was arrested, and it was the only memento he left me. I bit my lip until it bled, then raised my crumpled bidding paddle. “Ten thousand dollars!” This was every penny I’d saved from three years of odd jobs. All eyes in the room instantly focused on me, filled with contempt, mockery, and disdain. Serena Thorne looked down at me, her red lips curved into a cruel smirk. “Well, well, isn’t that Summer Hayes, the murderer’s daughter? What, are you using the dirty money your dad stole from murder to buy the watch back?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug deep into my palms, breaking the skin. “That’s my own money! My dad didn’t kill anyone!” I wanted to shout back, to throw the truth in their faces. But tears, betrayingly, streamed down my face again. Tears blurred my vision, and my frail body trembled violently under everyone’s gaze. Serena Thorne let out a scoff, then walked up to me on her ten-centimeter heels. “One hundred thousand,” she casually stated. I looked at her in despair. “Five hundred thousand.” She continued to raise the price, her eyes looking at me like I was an ant. “Summer Hayes, didn’t you want to appeal the case? Didn’t you hire Ethan Stone as your lawyer?” Serena leaned close to my ear, her voice barely a whisper, yet every word cut deep. “You don’t actually think Ethan Stone would cross the Thorne family for low-life trash like you, do you?” She suddenly raised her hand and smashed the watch to the ground. A sharp crack. The watch face shattered, gears scattering. “Oops, butterfingers!” Serena covered her mouth, feigning surprise. My mind went blank. I lunged to the floor, disregarding the broken glass shards, frantically trying to pick up the pieces. Glass dug into my fingertips, blood mixed with tears staining the carpet. Suddenly, Serena shrieked. “My ring! My pink diamond ring is gone!” Her bodyguard immediately stepped forward and yanked me up from the floor. “She was the only one near Miss Thorne! She must have stolen it! Search her!” I struggled wildly, sobbing hysterically. “I didn’t! I didn’t steal anything!” “Let me go! Let me go!” Extreme injustice, humiliation, and fear flooded over me like a tidal wave. Meanwhile, miles away, at an international convention center. A multi-billion dollar cross-border merger negotiation was underway. Ethan Stone, wearing a perfectly tailored black haute couture suit, sat at the head of the table, his eyes sharp and ruthless, a man of decisive action. But the moment the bodyguard pinned me down and humiliated me with a search. His long fingers, clutching a signing pen, froze. An indescribable agony, mixed with an overwhelming tide of injustice and despair, surged through his entire being like a tsunami. His heart felt squeezed by an invisible giant hand, and his breath hitched. “Mr. Stone?” The foreign delegate across from him noticed something was off. Ethan’s face was deathly pale, veins pulsed at his temples, and cold sweat streamed down. He abruptly stood up, wanting to speak, but a strong metallic taste of blood welled up in his throat. The next second, to everyone’s horror. “PFFFT—” A mouthful of blood erupted from his lips, staining the multi-billion dollar contract in front of him. His assistant, Noah Clarke, was terrified. “Mr. Stone! Call an ambulance!” Ethan gripped the table, his knuckles white from the effort. He forced down the lingering metallic taste in his throat, his eyes blazing with a terrifying fury. “Find… Summer Hayes!” His voice was impossibly hoarse, as if each word was scraped over sandpaper. “Now!”

The farce at the gala continued. The bodyguard roughly tore open my cheap handbag, emptying its contents onto the floor. A few crumpled bills, a packet of tissues, and the blood-stained watch parts. No ring. Serena Thorne’s face darkened, and she shot a meaningful glance at her bodyguard. The bodyguard understood instantly and suddenly pointed at my dress pocket. “Here it is!” He reached in and pulled out a dazzling pink diamond ring, appearing triumphantly in his hand. The entire room gasped. “Oh my god, it really was her who stole it!” “A murderer’s daughter, of course, she’s a thief too!” “Call the cops! Get her arrested, let her reunite with her murderer dad in jail!” Vicious curses swirled around me like a tide. I couldn’t defend myself, shaking my head in despair. “It wasn’t me… You’re framing me…” I was crying so hard I felt faint, my stomach clenching in painful spasms. Serena Thorne looked down at me, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. “People like you were born to rot in the mud, Summer Hayes. Want to appeal your case? In your next life.” She raised her foot, and her ten-centimeter stiletto heel came down hard on the back of my hand, grinding into it. “Ah—” I cried out in pain, the agony, sharp as a thousand needles, made cold sweat prickle all over me. Just then, a thunderous “BANG!” The heavy ballroom doors burst open, kicked in from the outside. Dozens of bodyguards in black suits streamed in, instantly taking control of the room. The crowd parted, forced to create a path. Ethan Stone strode in purposefully. His suit was still a bit disheveled, and a trace of uncleaned blood stained the corner of his mouth. His face was ashen, like a sheet of paper, but his dark eyes held a chilling, murderous intent. He walked straight to me, looking at my hand trampled underfoot and the blood splattered on the floor. In that moment, I clearly saw his body tremble, and a flicker of extreme pain crossed his eyes. “Get out of the way.” His voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable authority. Serena Thorne froze, clearly not expecting Ethan Stone to appear here. “M-Mr. Stone, why are you here? This woman stole my ring, I was just teaching her a lesson…” “I said, get out of the way.” Ethan suddenly lifted his gaze, his eyes cold as an ice-tempered blade. Serena Thorne was startled by his look and stumbled back, instinctively releasing her foot. Ethan dropped to one knee, ignoring the expensive carpet, and carefully, gently, lifted my blood-soaked hand. His hand was cold, his fingertips still trembled slightly. “Summer Hayes.” He looked at me, his voice impossibly hoarse. “Did I not tell you to call me if anything happened?” I looked at him, my feelings of injustice reaching their peak. “Mr. Stone… I didn’t steal anything… That was my dad’s watch…” I was sobbing, gasping for breath, and large tears splattered onto the back of his hand. Ethan Stone’s brow furrowed tightly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed violently. He suddenly reached out and pulled me into his arms. “Stop crying.” He gritted his teeth, his voice filled with suppressed agony, whispering in my ear. “If you cry any more, you’ll literally kill me with this pain.” I froze, forgetting to cry. Ethan took a deep breath, slipped off his suit jacket, and draped it over my shoulders. Then he slowly stood up, shielding me behind him. He turned to look at Serena Thorne, his gaze now returned to absolute coldness. “Framing, malicious intent, assault.” “Each of those charges is enough to land you in prison for years.” Serena Thorne forced herself to stay calm. “Mr. Stone, what is the meaning of this? She clearly stole my ring, everyone saw it!” “Did they?” Ethan Stone scoffed, then turned to Noah Clarke. Noah Clarke immediately stepped forward, opened his tablet, and connected it to the ballroom’s large screen. A surveillance video played clearly. It showed Serena Thorne, while I wasn’t looking, secretly slipping the pink diamond ring into my dress pocket. The entire hall fell into a deathly silence. Serena Thorne’s face instantly went ashen, and her lips trembled violently. “B-but… wasn’t the surveillance system broken?” Ethan Stone looked down at her, like he was looking at a dead person. “Miss Thorne, you probably don’t know that this hotel is part of the Stone Group.” “You’ve got a lot of nerve, messing with my people on my territory.” He leaned in slightly, his voice a low whisper, yet every person in the room heard him clearly. “That foot that stepped on her today? Tomorrow, I’ll make sure the entire Thorne family is wiped off the map of this city.” After that night, the Thorne family indeed paid a price. Serena Thorne was taken in for questioning by the police for assault, and Thorne Group’s stock plummeted overnight, hitting its daily limit. But I knew this was just the beginning. The Thorne family was deeply entrenched in New York; they wouldn’t be toppled so easily. Sure enough, the next day, a tidal wave of negative trending topics swamped the entire internet. #Murderer’sDaughterSeducesAceLawyerToClearFather’sName# #SummerHayes GalaTheft# #EthanStone FallenFromGrace# Maliciously edited videos went viral online. They only showed me kneeling and weeping, and Ethan Stone creating a scene for me.

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After my sister drowned that summer, my mom lost her mind. She set a rule: on odd-numbered days, I was Maya. On even-numbered days, I was Lily. When I was playing Lily, I had to wear a pair of red Mary Jane shoes, two sizes too small, and dance ballet in the living room, even if my toes bled. When I was playing myself, I could only eat stale, hard bread, because Maya was a sinner who didn’t deserve meat. I endured it for three years, until she smashed the art supplies I’d secretly saved up for, declaring that Lily wasn’t grown up yet, so no one was allowed to draw. That’s when I finally snapped. I smashed Lily’s favorite music box. It was almost eleven at night when my mom forced me to put on those red shoes. Today was the second, an even-numbered day. I was Lily. Lily loved to dance, and Lily had a pair of red Mary Jane shoes. But Lily was only eight when she died. I was seventeen this year. Those tiny shoes, probably a child’s size eight or ten, didn’t fit my feet at all. “Put them on.” My mom sat on the couch, holding a clothes hanger, her eyes fixed on me. I gritted my teeth, curling my toes, and painfully crammed my feet inside. The heel of the shoe dug into my ankle, breaking the skin. “Not on right. Do it again.” The clothes hanger whipped my calf, leaving a red mark. I didn’t flinch. I pulled my foot out, took a deep breath, and shoved it back in with force. This time, my toe bones made a soft clicking sound, and the shoes finally slipped on. It hurt. An excruciating pain. “Dance.” My mom pressed the play button on the boombox. The music of “Swan Lake” filled the cramped living room. I rose onto my tiptoes and began to twirl around the room. The floor was hard, and the soles of the red shoes were even harder. With every turn, my toes felt like they were being pricked by needles. Blood trickled down my heels, soaking into my white socks, turning dark red. My mom watched me, a satisfied smile on her face. “Lily dances so beautifully,” she murmured to herself. “Lily will be a great dancer someday.” I bit my lip, twirling silently. Three years. Every even-numbered day for three years, I had to dance in this living room. Sometimes for half an hour, sometimes for two hours. I couldn’t stop until my mom got tired of watching and fell asleep. Today, she was full of energy. She watched me dance for a full hour. Just as I was about to collapse, she suddenly stood up. She walked towards my desk. My heart sank. In the desk drawer were the art supplies I’d secretly saved up for. On odd-numbered days, I was Maya. Maya loved to draw. But my mom wouldn’t let me. She’d say Lily wasn’t grown up yet, Lily hadn’t learned to draw, so why should Maya get to? She pulled open the drawer. “Mom!” I stopped dancing, ignoring the pain in my feet, and lunged towards her. Too late. She had already taken out the paints. “What is this?” She turned, looking at me coldly. “Mom, that’s my—” “I asked you, what is this?!” Her voice suddenly rose, sharp and grating. “Paints.” “Who told you to buy them?” “I saved my own money…” “Lily doesn’t draw!” she shrieked hysterically, slamming the box of paints onto the floor. The plastic box shattered. Colorful paints splattered out, staining the floor. Still not appeased, she picked up my sketchbook, and with a ripping sound, tore it in half. It was a half-filled sketchbook. Inside were drawings of the sky, of flying birds, of a world without Lily and without a crazy mom. Now, it was all destroyed. She threw the torn pieces of paper in my face. “I told you, Lily isn’t grown up yet, no one is allowed to draw!” The edge of a paper piece grazed my cheek, a small sting. I looked at the mess on the floor, at the vivid colors and shredded paper. The last thread in my heart suddenly snapped. I didn’t cry. I turned and walked towards the TV stand. On the TV stand sat a pink music box. My mom had bought it for Lily on her eighth birthday. Lily loved that music box the most. My mom polished it every day, not allowing even a speck of dust. I walked over and picked up the music box. My mom froze. “What are you doing?” Her voice trembled slightly. “Lily doesn’t draw,” I said, looking at her, enunciating each word. “And Lily won’t listen to music boxes anymore.” I raised the music box and slammed it onto the floor. Bang! Its plastic shell shattered into pieces. The little ballerina doll inside popped out, its mainspring broken, emitting a grating metallic screech. The living room fell into a deathly silence. Only the boombox continued to play “Swan Lake.” My mom stared blankly at the fragments on the floor. Her face was as white as paper. I thought she would hit me. I thought she would beat me half to death with the clothes hanger. I was ready for it. But she didn’t. She slowly crouched down, picking up the little doll with a broken leg. Her hands trembled violently. “Mom.” I gasped, shouting out the words I’d held in for three years: “Lily is dead! She died three years ago! Drowned in the pool! If you hadn’t been so busy playing cards and hadn’t watched her, how would she have fallen in?!” She flinched. The broken doll in her hand dropped to the floor. She looked up at me. Her eyes filled with fear, despair, and disbelief. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. I looked at her coldly. “I was the one who found her by the pool. I was the one who pulled her out. Her body was bloated and ice-cold.” “It wasn’t my fault.” “It was never my fault.” “You killed her.” I took off the red shoes and threw them at her feet. “I don’t want to be Lily anymore.” I turned and walked back to my room, locking the door behind me. That night, there was no sound from the living room. No crying, no shouting, nothing. The next morning, I pushed open my bedroom door. The living room was spotlessly clean. The paint stains were gone, the shredded paper was gone, and the music box fragments were gone. The red shoes were neatly placed on the shoe rack. My mom wasn’t in the living room. I walked to the TV stand. On the wall, where Lily’s photo used to hang, there was a white piece of paper. On it, a cold, diagonal tally mark was drawn with a black marker. Beside it was a line of text. The handwriting was neat, the ink pressed deeply into the paper. “Maya, from today on, you are Lily every day.”

The words on the wall felt like a curse. I stared at the line for a moment, then tore the white paper off, crumpled it, and threw it into the trash. I put on my school uniform, grabbed my backpack, and left. I hadn’t eaten breakfast. The pot was empty; my mom wasn’t home. I didn’t know where she went, and I didn’t want to know. At school, the first class was literature. I sat in the back row. The desk next to me was empty. No one wanted to sit with me. Because I was “sick.” Lily had asthma. My mom’s rule was that when I played Lily, I had to take medication regularly. To avoid her finding out, I put vitamin tablets into the asthma medicine bottle and brought them to school to take. I also had to pretend to cough, pretend to struggle for breath. Over time, everyone in class knew that Maya had a crazy sister, and that Maya herself wasn’t normal. “Schizo.” That was the nickname they called me behind my back. During recess, I stayed in the classroom. Because Lily couldn’t engage in strenuous activity. A few girls walked in from outside, laughing and chatting. When they saw me, their laughter paused, then they deliberately lowered their voices, but still loud enough for me to hear. “Look, the schizo is playing dead again.” “I heard her mom’s crazy too, always picking up trash on the streets.” “So gross, she was just taking pills. Who knows what she’s actually taking.” I kept my head down, staring at the words in my textbook, pretending not to hear. Suddenly, a hand slapped my desk. I looked up. It was Chloe. Chloe was a top student, good grades, pretty, and popular. She looked at the girls, frowning. “What are you guys talking about? The bell rang, don’t you need to get back to your seats?” The girls pouted and dispersed. Chloe pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I’m fine,” my voice was cold. “You didn’t take your medicine today.” She stared at my half-open backpack. My heart tightened. “Forgot it.” “Don’t you have asthma? You forgot your medicine?” She looked into my eyes, as if trying to see through me. “It’s not serious,” I turned my head to look out the window. Chloe didn’t press further. She pulled an old-fashioned caramel candy from her pocket and placed it on my desk. “Here.” I looked at the candy. Lily liked caramel candy. Maya didn’t; Maya found it too sweet, sickly sweet. “I don’t eat candy.” I pushed the candy back. Chloe paused. “Didn’t you used to love them?” I didn’t say anything. Before was before, now was now. Last night I smashed the music box, I took off the red shoes. I didn’t want to pretend anymore. Chloe sighed and put the candy back. “Maya,” she suddenly called my name. I turned my head. “I actually know,” she lowered her voice. “You don’t really have asthma, do you?” My hands clenched. “I saw you switch the medicine bottles,” she said. “You poured out the white pills and put in yellow vitamins.” I stared at her, my heart pounding fast. “What do you want?” I asked. “I don’t want anything,” she looked at me. “I just think you’re living too hard.” “It’s none of your business.” I stood up and walked out of the classroom.

It was gym class in the afternoon. The shuttle run test. I stood by the track, watching others warm up. The coach blew his whistle. “Maya, are you running today?” Everyone’s eyes were on me. Usually, I’d bring a doctor’s note to be excused. But today, I didn’t have one. My mom hadn’t prepared it for me last night. “Yes,” I said. A ripple of whispers went through the crowd. “Doesn’t she have asthma?” “Must be faking it, she looks fine usually.” “She’s a schizo, probably a different personality today.” I ignored them and walked to the starting line. Chloe stood beside me, giving me a glance. “Can you do it?” “Yes.” The whistle blew, and I sprinted off. I ran fast. The wind whistled past my ears. I wanted to run out all the pent-up frustration in my heart. I wanted to prove that I was a healthy person, that I wasn’t Lily, that I didn’t have asthma. The first lap, I was in the lead. The second lap, my breathing became ragged. Not faking it, I was genuinely tired. It had been too long since I had done any strenuous exercise. My lungs felt like they were burning, and there was a metallic taste of blood in my throat. The sound of footsteps behind me grew closer. Chloe overtook me. Other girls also passed me one by one. I gritted my teeth, my eyes fixed on the track ahead. Can’t stop. If I stopped, I was Lily. If I kept running, I was Maya. The last lap. My legs felt heavy as lead. My vision started to blur. I heard someone calling my name. “Maya! You got this!” It was Chloe. I pushed with all my might and crossed the finish line. Then, my legs gave out, and I fell to my knees on the synthetic track. I gasped for air, sweat blurring my eyes. Someone offered me a bottle of water. I looked up. It was Chloe. “Drink some water.” I took the water, twisted open the cap, and guzzled a large mouthful. “You ran pretty fast,” she smiled. I managed a weak smile back. Just then, a harsh voice cut through the air. “Well, well, the asthma patient can run now? Didn’t die, huh?” It was Jake. The class troublemaker. He walked over with a few other guys, looking down at me. “Maya, your acting’s terrible. Yesterday you were coughing your guts out, and today you can run? Is your illness intermittent or something?” The people around them snickered. I tightened my grip on the water bottle. “Mind your own business,” I said coldly. “Got a temper, do we?” Jake stepped closer. “I heard your mom’s a psycho. Did you inherit it?” My head buzzed. I shot up, and the mineral water bottle in my hand smacked him square in the face. Water splashed all over him. Jake froze. The whole field fell silent. “You fucking hit me?” Jake yelled, regaining his senses, and shoved me hard. I was already out of strength, and his push sent me tumbling to the ground. My palms scraped, oozing blood. “Jake! What are you doing!” Chloe stepped in front of me. “Chloe, stay out of this!” Jake pointed at me. “This crazy bitch hit me first!” “You started by insulting her!” Chloe stood her ground. The coach ran over. “What’s going on! Are you rebelling!” Jake and I were both called to the principal’s office. The principal was a bald, middle-aged man. He slammed his fist on the desk, spittle flying from his mouth. “Fighting! You dare to fight! Maya, it’s bad enough you fake illnesses, now you’re hitting other students?” I kept my head down, looking at the blood on my palms, and said nothing. “Jake, you too! Why are you picking a fight with a girl?” Jake rolled his eyes. “Call your parents!” The dean of students issued a final ultimatum. “Bring your parents in tomorrow!” My heart sank. Call my parents. My mom. If my mom came, the whole school would know what kind of person she was. Everyone would see her madness. I looked up at the dean. “Dean, my mom is sick. She can’t come.” “Sick? What kind of sickness?” “Mental illness.” The office suddenly fell silent. The dean froze. Jake froze too. I looked at their shocked expressions and suddenly found it somewhat amusing. “She’s crazy,” I said calmly. “She can’t come. If you want to expel me, go ahead.” With that, I turned and walked out of the office. Behind me, I heard the principal’s enraged roar. I ignored it.

I walked out of the school building, the sunlight so bright it made my eyes water. I didn’t want to go back to class, and I didn’t want to go home. I wandered aimlessly through the streets. As I passed a stationery store, I stopped. In the display window was a set of watercolors. Exactly like the set my mom smashed last night. I stood outside the window and watched for a long time. It wasn’t until dark that I turned and walked towards home. The stairwell of our apartment complex always smelled of mildew. The light had been broken for a long time; no one fixed it. I climbed the three flights of stairs in the dark. Just as I reached the third-floor landing, I heard an argument from upstairs. “Are you crazy?! Knocking on doors in the middle of the night!” It was a man’s voice. Unfamiliar. My heart tightened, and I sped up, running to the fourth floor. The door on the left on the fourth floor was open. A man in a tank top, with tattooed arms, stood in the doorway, holding a baseball bat, his face furious. My mom stood opposite him. She was holding a stack of old newspapers. Her hair was a mess, her eyes vacant. “Where’s Mr. Henderson?” my mom murmured, “I’m bringing Mr. Henderson his newspapers. Lily said Mr. Henderson likes to hear her read the newspapers.” “What Mr. Henderson! My name is Stone! I just moved in a month ago! If you knock on my door again, I’ll break your legs!” The man waved the baseball bat in his hand. I rushed forward and pulled my mom behind me. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I apologized repeatedly. “My mom isn’t well, she got the wrong apartment. Please don’t take it personally.” The man sized me up, then snorted. “Keep your crazy people locked up! Don’t let them out to scare people!” With that, he slammed the door shut. Silence returned to the stairwell. I turned and looked at my mom. She was still holding the stack of newspapers, staring blankly at the closed door. “Mom,” I tugged on her sleeve, “Let’s go home.” “Where’s Mr. Henderson?” She turned to me. “Where did Mr. Henderson go?” “Mr. Henderson’s son moved him out a year ago. This apartment was sold.” “Impossible.” She shook her head. “Lily said yesterday she was going to read newspapers to Mr. Henderson. Lily doesn’t lie.” My temper flared. “Lily is dead!” I yelled at her. “She died three years ago! She can’t read newspapers! Can you just snap out of it?!” I snatched the newspapers from her hand and threw them hard on the ground. The newspapers scattered everywhere. They were dated three years ago. My mom froze. She looked at the newspapers on the floor, then slowly crouched down. She began to pick them up, one by one. The stairwell was dark; I couldn’t see her expression. But I could hear her suppressed sobs. “Lily isn’t dead,” she said as she picked them up. “Lily is right here. She’s just being naughty and hiding.” I looked at her hunched back, and tears suddenly streamed down my face. I hated her. I hated her for forcing me to pretend to be Lily, for smashing my paints, for making me a laughingstock at school. But I also pitied her. She was trapped in that summer three years ago, unable to move on. I crouched down and helped her pick up the newspapers. “Mom, let’s go home,” my voice softened. She didn’t speak, just clutched the newspapers tightly.

Back home, the living room still had that cold, desolate look. My mom placed the newspapers on the coffee table, then walked into the kitchen. A moment later, she came out with a bowl of noodles. a bowl of plain, watery oatmeal, utterly bland, without a hint of flavor or richness. “Eat,” she placed the noodles in front of me. I looked at the bowl of noodles, my stomach churning. Odd days meant vegetarian, even days meant meat. Today was the third, an odd day. I was Maya. Maya was a sinner, unworthy of meat. I picked up my fork, speared a noodle, and put it in my mouth. No taste. Like chewing on cardboard. I forced myself to swallow, suppressing the nausea, and finished the bowl of noodles. My mom sat opposite me, watching me the whole time. “You didn’t take your medicine today,” she suddenly said. My hand, holding the fork, paused. “I forgot.” “Lily can’t forget her medicine.” “Today I’m Maya.” I looked up, meeting her eyes. She froze for a moment. “Maya,” she repeated the name, her gaze slowly turning cold. “Why doesn’t Maya just die?” My heart clenched.

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Seven years together, and on the day we were supposed to put down the deposit for our future home, Ethan didn’t show. He sent a message: “Chloe had a small car accident. She’s really shaken up, so I need to stay with her at the hospital.” “Let’s sign for the apartment next week. I’m going to marry you anyway, what’s a few extra days?” “Don’t overthink it. She’s all alone in a new city; I just see her as a sister.” I stared at the bank card in my hand, calmly typed one word: “Okay.” Then, I turned around and bought the apartment outright, putting only my name on the title. At the same time, Chloe posted on Instagram: “When I was most scared, my superhero appeared out of nowhere. The hospital smells like disinfectant, but his embrace feels so safe.” The post included a photo of Ethan’s back, covering her with his jacket in the emergency room hallway. I instinctively liked the post, then commented: “Hold him tight. He’s all yours now.” “Ashley, are you crazy? You liked her post? You even commented, wishing them a happy life together?” Sarah snatched my phone, her voice trembling with anger. “Don’t you get it? Chloe made that post just to piss you off! It was only visible to you! She’s declaring war!” I took my phone back from Sarah and turned off the screen. “I know.” Sarah froze. She stared at me with wide eyes, as if she didn’t recognize me, then slumped onto the couch in defeat. “Then why are you letting her walk all over you? And Ethan’s such an idiot, doesn’t he know what day it is today? It’s deposit day! This is the apartment you two have been looking at for a whole year!” “Sarah, do me a favor.” “Tell me! Are we going to the hospital to tear apart that toxic couple? I’ll go start the car right now!” “No.” I shook my head, pulling the purchase agreement from my bag. “Come with me to the bank. I need to make a large transfer.” Sarah’s eyes lit up: “You’re paying the deposit yourself? And not putting his name on it?” “Not the deposit,” I said, looking at the blank space on the contract where both our names were supposed to go. “It’s the full amount. I’m buying it alone.” Sarah’s expression shifted from shock to pity, then to a strange, indescribable bitterness. She didn’t ask any more questions, just squeezed my arm tightly. At ten that night, Ethan’s message finally popped up. “Ash, Chloe’s stable now, just minor scrapes. I’ll treat you to a big dinner tomorrow to make it up to you.” “I’ll definitely take time off next week to go with you for the apartment. I’ve already talked to the agent.” “Go to bed early, don’t overthink it.” There it was again. Those three words. *Don’t overthink it.* For seven years, every time he stood me up for Chloe, every time he put me through something for Chloe, it always ended with those flimsy three words. As if all my anger and hurt were because I was petty, and not because he had no boundaries. I replied: “Okay.” He immediately sent back a head-patting emoji. I tossed my phone onto the couch and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. His electric toothbrush was still on the counter, next to his men’s face wash, which he’d just opened yesterday. I grabbed a trash bag and swept in his toothbrush, face wash, razor, and the towel he kept at my place. Sarah leaned against the bathroom doorframe, watching me. “Ash, are you serious this time?” I didn’t turn around. I pulled a few of his shirts from the balcony clothesline and folded them into a cardboard box. “A month ago, I submitted a transfer request to head office to move to the branch. Back then, I just wanted a change of scenery. But today, I’m truly done with him.” “Because of that post?” “Because this morning, before he left, he poured me a cup of warm water with honey.” Sarah didn’t understand. “What’s wrong with that?” “Last week, Chloe said her stomach had been bothering her, and she needed to drink honey water every morning. Ethan remembered that. But he forgot that honey gives me severe stomach cramps.” I pressed a hand to my subtly aching stomach, forcing a smile. In my sophomore year of college, I’d accidentally eaten honey and had such bad stomach cramps I was writhing in the dorm. He’d carried me on his back, running two blocks to the infirmary. Later, he remembered honey water was good for Chloe’s stomach, but forgot that honey would make me miserable. Sarah fell silent. The tape on the cardboard box made a harsh tearing sound. I sealed the box and brushed the dust from my hands. I didn’t cry. I just felt that seven years, that measure of time, had suddenly become incredibly ridiculous.

The next morning, the real estate agent called. “Ms. Lynn, your full payment has been received, and the contract process is complete. This apartment now officially belongs entirely to you.” “Great, thank you.” “And Mr. Green…?” “You don’t need to worry about him. The money came from me, the contract was signed by me. He has nothing to do with it.” After hanging up, Sarah handed me an iced Americano. “Does Ethan know you have that much money?” “No. He thinks I’ve spent all my salary on daily expenses these past few years.” “So that money…” “I started taking on freelance design work right after college, pulling countless all-nighters to save it up. I planned to use it as startup capital for his business after we got married.” Sarah slammed her coffee cup onto the table. “Ashley, how much have you actually spent on him over these seven years?” I opened my budgeting app on my phone and showed it to her. The BMW he drove? His parents paid the down payment, and he thought the monthly car loan was only three hundred bucks. It was actually six hundred. The other three hundred? I’d secretly transferred it to his account every month. He loved gaming. That three-thousand-dollar Alienware computer? He thought he’d won it in a mall raffle. Actually, I’d spent half a month’s salary on it and even roped the store manager into a whole charade. Last month, his mom was hospitalized, and they were short two thousand for the surgery. He was frantic. I gave him the money without a second thought. Later, his mom held Chloe’s hand and said, “Chloe is such a thoughtful girl, always coming to visit me at the hospital.” I stood outside the hospital room, carrying a pot of freshly made chicken soup, listening to their happy laughter inside. I turned around and dumped the soup in the trash. And on my birthday, Ethan gave me a cheap phone case he’d picked up from a discount store, saying we were practically an old married couple already, and practicality was what mattered most. Sarah’s eyes grew redder the more she looked. Taken individually, these might just be small disappointments. But seven years of layered grievances had long since suffocated me. At noon, Ethan sent a message. “Ash, what do you want for lunch? I’ll pick you up.” “I neglected you yesterday, so I’ll spend the whole day with you today.” I replied: “No thanks, I’m out with Sarah.” He immediately replied: “What about tonight? I booked our favorite Thai restaurant.” My *favorite* Thai restaurant? The last time I went was three years ago. But in those three years, he’d taken Chloe no less than five times. I’d even seen check-in photos of that restaurant on Chloe’s social media, with the man I bought the shirt for sitting across from her. “Busy tonight too. I have plans.” Two minutes later, his call came through. “Ash, are you still mad?” His voice had a hint of helpless amusement, like he was coaxing an unreasonable child. “No. I really have plans.” “What could be more important than having dinner with me?” he asked back, laughing, his voice full of certainty. He was so sure I couldn’t live without him, so sure I’d always be waiting for him. I looked at the text message that had just arrived from the property company on my phone screen and calmly said, “I’m finalizing the apartment title.”

Dead silence on the other end of the line. After a full five seconds, he let out a dry laugh. “What kind of joke are you playing?” “No joke. I bought the apartment. All cash. My name only.” “Ashley!” His voice instantly rose, filled with unrestrained fury. “Are you done with this drama?” I didn’t speak. “Just because I didn’t show up yesterday? Didn’t I explain it to you? Chloe was shaken up by a car accident, what’s wrong with me going to keep her company as a friend? Do you have to be so petty?” “Yeah, I know. So I bought it myself. No need to trouble you.” “You… you just wait, I’m coming to find you right now!” He hung up. Sarah looked at me, raising an eyebrow. “Someone’s getting desperate?” I tossed my phone back into my bag, surprised that my heartbeat was perfectly steady. At three in the afternoon, Ethan stormed into the coffee shop where Sarah and I were. He was breathless, sweat on his forehead, his eyes full of disbelief as he looked at me. “Ashley, say what you just said again?” “I said, I bought the apartment, all cash, in my name.” He slammed his hand on the table, making everyone around us look over. “Where did you get so much money? Are you out of your mind? That’s our future home, how can you decide that on your own?” “My money, I can do whatever I want with it.” I took a sip of my coffee. “As for our future home, now it’s just my apartment.” Ethan took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He pulled out a chair and sat down, reaching for my hand, but I pulled it away. He awkwardly retracted his hand, his tone softening. “Ash, I know you’re upset about yesterday. But we’re supposed to live in this apartment together, how am I going to explain this to my parents?” He wasn’t feeling bad about my hurt; he was worried about explaining it to his parents. “No need to explain.” I looked at him. “Ethan, I’ve been thinking about something recently.” “What is it?” “Work-related.” He visibly relaxed, his tense shoulders slumping, even a hint of a smile appearing on his face. “You scared me to death. I thought you were going to call off the engagement.” His tone when he said that was so casual, it was almost cruel. As if the idea of “Ashley leaving Ethan” was preposterous. “Oh, right.” He pulled a delicate little velvet box from his pocket and pushed it across the table to me. “I bought this necklace for you when I passed the mall, as an apology. Chloe said it would really suit your style.” I looked at the box but didn’t touch it. “Chloe helped you pick it out?” “Yeah, she has good taste. She also said she felt bad about taking up your time yesterday and insisted I get you a gift.” I opened the box. Inside was a silver four-leaf clover necklace. It looked familiar. I opened Chloe’s Instagram page. Three days ago, she’d posted: “Love this necklace so much, but it’s too expensive. Guess I’ll come back for you when I get paid next month.” The picture was of that exact necklace. I pushed the box back to him. “I don’t like it. You should give it to her.” Ethan’s face changed. “Ashley, don’t be ungrateful. I’m trying to make things right, and you’re going to be sarcastic about it?” “I’m not being sarcastic. I just think, since she likes it, it’s more fitting for you to give it to her.” I stood up and picked up my bag. “I have to go. I’m busy.” “Ashley!” He called after me. “If you walk out that door today, don’t expect me to come after you again!” I didn’t look back. I pushed open the coffee shop door and stepped out into the blinding sunlight.

Wednesday afternoon, I was reviewing the final transfer checklist at the office. Chloe posted a private Instagram story, visible only to me. In the photo, she was wearing that four-leaf clover necklace, smiling sweetly. The caption: “Some people just remember every little thing you say. Thanks for the gift.” I took a screenshot with a blank face and saved it to a photo album titled “Letting Go.” That album already held dozens of screenshots. Late-night takeout orders he’d placed for Chloe; The jacket he’d lent Chloe; Their backs, secretly holding hands during a company team-building event, hidden from everyone else. Sarah said I was torturing myself. But I wasn’t. This was my reality check. Whenever I thought back on the past seven years, and felt even the slightest waver in my resolve, I’d open that album and look through it. Afterward, my heart would turn completely cold. Before I left work, Ethan sent a message. “I have a dinner meeting tonight, you don’t have to wait up for me.” I replied: “Okay.” Before, if he said he had a dinner meeting, I’d always stay up for him, prepare a hangover remedy, and help him out of his alcohol-soaked clothes. Now, I just wanted to go to bed early. At eleven that night, my phone vibrated. It was a call from Ethan. “Ash…” He was slurring his words, clearly drunk. “What’s wrong?” “I… I’m at the Siren Lounge. Can you come pick me up? My head really hurts…” The background was noisy, but I clearly heard a woman’s voice. “Ethan, slow down, I’ve got you.” It was Chloe. I calmly said, “Since Chloe’s there, let her take you home.” “No! I want *you* to pick me up! You’re my fiancée!” He yelled into the phone like a spoiled child. “I’m tired, I’m already asleep.” I hung up immediately and turned off my phone. The next morning when I turned it on, the screen showed over a dozen missed calls and messages from Ethan. “Ashley, you’ve changed. You never used to ignore me.” “I threw up the whole way home last night. Chloe took care of me all night.” “What exactly is this tantrum you’re throwing?” I looked at the messages and found them utterly ridiculous. *I’ve changed?* Yes, I finally stopped being an on-call, no-boundaries babysitter. I didn’t reply to him. Instead, I clicked on the email from HR. “Regarding the Appointment of Ashley Lynn as New York Branch Director” Effective date: The tenth of next month. I clicked confirm. Less than twenty days until I left this city, left this man. That weekend, Ethan suddenly said he wanted to take me to a newly opened resort nearby for a hot spring. “Things have been so tense between us lately. Let’s go relax, think of it as an early honeymoon.” He loaded luggage into the trunk, looking at me pleadingly. I watched his busy back and calmly said, “Okay.” The car drove out of the city and onto the highway. Ethan’s phone suddenly rang. He glanced at the screen, a flicker of panic in his eyes, and hung up. But the phone rang again quickly, as if it wouldn’t stop until he answered. I leaned back against the passenger seat, eyes closed, and said, “Answer it. Maybe it’s urgent.”

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Waking up from the car crash, I could only say “Yes” and “No,” and I had to tell the truth. My wife pulled a chair to my bedside and took out a small notebook filled with questions. “Mason, do you have a secret stash of money?” “…Yes.” “Is it over fifty thousand?” I closed my eyes. “Yes.” She turned to the next page, staring intently at me. “Mason, tell me, are you cheating on me?” My name is Mason Carlos, thirty-two years old, an ordinary employee at a mid-sized company. Three days ago, I was hit by a car while crossing the street. My head hit the edge of a flower bed, and I passed out on the spot. When I woke up, my wife, Eve, was leaning over the bed, her eyes red-rimmed, her nose a little red, clutching a tissue. I opened my mouth, wanting to say, “Honey, I’m fine.” But only two words came out of my throat: “No.” Eve paused. “No to what?” I tried again. “Yes.” Eve looked at me, tears still in her eyes, her expression shifting from worry to confusion. The doctor was called in quickly. They took three CT scans and two MRIs. Finally, the attending physician pushed up his glasses and explained to us with a very academic expression. “The patient’s brain sustained an impact, resulting in a rare focal lesion in the language center. Currently, he can only produce two syllables—’Yes’ and ‘No.’ The recovery time is uncertain; it could be three months, or it could be…” He paused. “Permanent.” Eve’s face turned white then. But I was more concerned about something else—I realized I couldn’t lie. I discovered this after the doctor left. Eve sat back down by the bed, peeling an orange for me, and casually asked, “Are you in a lot of pain?” I wasn’t actually in that much pain anymore. But I instinctively wanted to say “Yes” to gain sympathy. However, my mouth opened, and my throat felt like it was being choked, unable to make any sound. I tried again: “…No.” Eve’s hand stopped peeling the orange. “Not hurting?” “Yes.” 【Wait, my mouth is out of my control?】 She glanced at me with an unreadable expression, then put an orange segment into my mouth. “Then why did you make me cry for three days?” “Yes.” 【No! I wanted to say no!】 I squeezed my mouth shut, but the “Yes” had already popped out. Eve looked at me again, that gaze very subtle. She put down the orange, sat up straight, like a different person. “Mason, I have a question for you.” “Yes.” 【Why did I say yes again?】 “Do you have a secret stash of money?” The question felt like a needle pricking my back. I wanted to shake my head, close my mouth, pretend to be unconscious—but my mouth was no longer my own. “Yes.” Eve’s pupils visibly dilated. She slowly pulled out a small notebook from her bag, opened the first page, which was densely filled with questions. 【When the hell did she prepare this?!】 “Is your secret stash over ten thousand?” “Yes.” “Over fifty thousand?” “Yes.” “Over a hundred thousand?” My mouth started to twitch. “…Yes.” “Over… five hundred thousand?” The ward was so quiet you could hear the liquid dripping from the IV bag in the next bed. My lips moved, my throat felt like a traitor lived inside it. “…Yes.” The pen in Eve’s hand dropped to the floor. As she bent down to pick it up, I distinctly heard her take a deep breath, then slowly exhale, like she was doing yoga meditation. “Mason.” “Yes.” “Do you think it’s better to be alive than dead?” For the first time, I felt that telling the truth could also be a form of torture. “…Yes.” “Then you’d better pray that half a million is still there.” She closed the notebook, a smile on her face that sent shivers down my spine. “Otherwise, I’ll help you re-experience a car crash.” I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, with a strong premonition—my disaster had just begun. Sure enough. Eve turned to the second page. “Have you secretly looked through my phone?” “Yes.” “Do you think the steak I cook isn’t tasty?” “…Yes.” “Was the name you called out in your sleep your ex-girlfriend’s?” My breath hitched for half a second. “No.” Eve raised an eyebrow. “Whose was it then?” I opened my mouth—but this question couldn’t be answered with “Yes” or “No.” I could only produce a muffled airflow sound. She rephrased the question. “Was it a game character’s name?” “…Yes.” Eve rolled her eyes, clearly not believing it. But she couldn’t refute it—because it really was the name of my game character. I subtly exhaled in relief. 【This damn ability sucks, but at least it can’t answer open-ended questions. So, as long as she doesn’t ask precise yes-or-no questions, I still have a glimmer of hope—】 “Is your secret stash hidden in that false-bottom drawer in the study?” “Yes.” 【Damn it.】 “Is the bank card password your birthday?” “No.” “My birthday?” “No.” “Your mother’s birthday?” “No.” She paused. “Is it… six zeros?” “No.” “Six eights?” “No.” She took a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over my face inch by inch, like a scanner reading data. “Is it… the date you first asked me out?” My throat rolled. “…Yes.” Eve froze for three seconds. Then she lowered her head, her hair covering half her face, her voice a little muffled. “You really… your way of hiding money is so old-fashioned.” She turned the page and continued asking. But I noticed the tips of her ears were red. 【Okay, at least I gained a few points back this round.】 Just as I was sighing in relief, she looked up, her gaze sharp again. “Mason, have you ever secretly deleted SnapChat messages with other women?” “No.” “Really no?” “Yes.” “Then have you deleted SnapChat messages with other men?” My mouth twitched. “Yes.” Eve’s expression froze. “…What?” I wanted to explain that I’d deleted messages with Wyatt that were just us sending each other memes, because they took up too much memory—but only “Yes” came out of my mouth. She stared into my eyes for a full ten seconds. Then slowly pulled out her phone. “I’m calling your mother.” 【There’s no way to refute this question; I’m completely done for.】

My mother didn’t come. A more terrifying person did—Eve’s mother, Mrs. Kelly. The next morning, the moment the ward door was pushed open, a wave of jasmine perfume rushed in, followed by a pair of sharp eyes. Mrs. Kelly was fifty-eight, her hair impeccably styled, walking with a confident stride. As soon as she entered, she first checked my IV drip, then felt my forehead, and then turned to Eve. “You look fine, you’re not dying.” “Mom, let me explain—” Eve pulled her to the window, whispering for five minutes. I lay in bed, watching my mother-in-law’s expression change from confusion to shock, from shock to… excitement. She quickly walked to my bedside, pulled up a chair, and sat down, hands clasped on her knees, like a seasoned detective in an interrogation room. “Mason.” “Yes.” “Can you really only tell the truth?” “Yes.” “Then tell me, do you secretly look down on me?” This question was fatal. I looked at Eve for help, but Eve lowered her head and played on her phone, pretending not to see. “No.” Mrs. Kelly nodded in satisfaction. “Then do you think my cooking is good?” My throat felt like it was being squeezed, my vocal cords struggling. My lips trembled twice, then a faint but clear syllable squeezed out through my teeth. “…No.” The temperature in the ward dropped ten degrees. Eve’s phone almost fell to the floor. Mrs. Kelly’s smile held for three seconds, then slowly vanished inch by inch. “Not tasty?” “Yes.” “I cooked for three hours.” “Yes.” “You mean, the food I cooked for three hours isn’t tasty?” “…Yes.” 【I want to sew my mouth shut.】 She then asked the next question. “Mason, have you ever done anything behind my daughter’s back that would betray her?” “No.” “Really no?” “Yes.” Eve interjected, “Mom, I already asked him, that line checks out.” Mrs. Kelly gave me a suspicious glance, seemingly unsatisfied with the result. Then she cleared her throat and pulled out her own small notebook. Yes. She had a small notebook too. Even thicker. “Mason, I’m going to ask you a few questions about Eve.” Eve’s smile froze. “Mom?” “I need to keep an eye on my daughter’s affairs.” Mrs. Kelly turned to the first page. “Mason, did Eve tell you her monthly salary is over ten thousand?” “Yes.” “Was she bragging?” Eve stood up. “Mom!” My throat uncontrollably produced a sound: “Yes.” The ward erupted. Eve’s face turned beet red. “Mason! Shut up!” “No—Yes—” 【I want to shut up too!】 Mrs. Kelly pushed up her reading glasses and continued turning pages. “Did Eve secretly give the living expenses you gave her to her good-for-nothing brother?” “Yes.” Eve completely froze. Mrs. Kelly’s face also turned dark. “I knew it!” Mrs. Kelly slammed her hand on her thigh. “That spendthrift! Mason, you just wait, I’ll go home and sort him out!” Eve’s voice changed. “Mom, can you please stop asking?” “Why shouldn’t I ask? It’s rare to have someone who tells the truth.” “Well, you can’t stand the questions either.” Eve suddenly fought back, turning to me. “Mason, does my mom have a secret boyfriend?” Mrs. Kelly’s pen dropped to the floor. The air in the ward completely froze. I looked at my mother-in-law’s already twitching face, then at my wife’s face, full of curiosity. The gazes of the two women met on me, like two knives sawing at my face. The traitor in my throat was ready. “…Yes.” Mrs. Kelly’s expression deflated like a balloon left out for three days. Eve clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh my god! Mom!” “You—you—” Mrs. Kelly pointed at me, her finger trembling, then sharply turned to Eve. “Why would you ask that?!” “You were just asking me, weren’t you!” Eve stood her ground. “Mason, is it Jack, the man from the community dance class?” “No.” “John, the yoga instructor?” “No.” “Jimmy, who plays chess at the community center?” “…Yes.” Mrs. Kelly grabbed her bag, ready to leave. “I’m not staying! This hospital is toxic!” Eve grabbed her arm. “Mom, don’t go, Jimmy is a really nice guy—” “You shut up!” The two women wrestled in the ward for ten minutes, finally reaching an agreement—they would keep each other’s secrets, and neither would use me as a lie detector again. Of course, the shelf life of this agreement was about as long as a hot cup of coffee. Because as they left, I clearly heard Eve whisper in the hallway, “Mom, does Jimmy have a pension?” I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, seriously contemplating a philosophical question for the first time. When a man can only tell the truth, is he most useful, or most dangerous? Before I could figure it out, my phone rang. A message from Wyatt: “Dude, I’m coming to see you this afternoon, and could you do me a favor?” I typed my reply: “What favor?” “Help me tell my wife I’m working late.” I stared at the message, falling into a long silence. 【Dude, did you forget that I can only tell the truth now?】

Wyatt and I grew up together. In his words, we had a brotherhood forged through fire. In my words—he’d screw over his best friend without batting an eye. At two in the afternoon, he pushed open the ward door, a bag of fruit in hand, grinning from ear to ear. “Bro! Heard you got hit? Does it hurt?” “No.” Wyatt paused. “No to what? Not hit?” “No.” “Then what is it?” I opened my mouth, found I couldn’t explain, and just gestured—pointing at my throat, then shaking my head. He pondered for five seconds. “You mean… you can’t say anything else?” “Yes.” “Only ‘Yes’ and ‘No’?” “Yes.” Wyatt put down the fruit, pulled up a chair to my bedside, his expression shifting from shock to contemplation, from contemplation to… excitement. “Then you can only tell the truth?” “Yes.” “Oh my god!” He slapped his thigh and stood up, pacing the ward twice. “Bro, you’ve unlocked a cheat code! Do you know what you can do with this?” I knew. I very much knew. Then his phone rang. Caller ID: The Boss (his wife). Wyatt’s face instantly changed. He lowered his voice, looking at me. “Bro, if my wife asks where I am, just say—” He stopped. Then slowly remembered my new ‘setting.’ “…Never mind, I’ll take it outside.” He slipped into the hallway, closing the door. But the soundproofing wasn’t great. I heard muffled bits and pieces: “Working late… Yes, yes, the boss made me… No, no, not out drinking…” Three minutes later, he pushed the door open, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Handled it.” “No.” Wyatt looked at me. “No to what?” Before he could finish, his phone rang again. This time it wasn’t a call, but a voice message. His wife Mary’s voice boomed from the phone: “Wyatt, you better explain yourself! Your colleague posted on Ins, your company isn’t working overtime this afternoon! Where are you really?!” Wyatt’s face turned green. He stiffly looked back at me, his gaze as if asking, “How did you know?” How could I know? I just said “No.” But my uncooperative mouth had just delivered the most accurate, damning judgment at the most precise moment. Wyatt took a deep breath, pressed the voice reply button. “Honey, I’m at the hospital seeing Mason—” The phone was snatched away. Mary called him on FaceTime. Wyatt dared not refuse. The moment the video connected, Mary’s face filled the entire screen. “Is Mason there? Let me see him.” Wyatt shoved the phone in front of me, desperately winking. Mary stared at me. “Mason, did Wyatt just get there?” I glanced at Wyatt’s face, which screamed, “Bro, save me.” Then my mouth opened. “No.” Wyatt’s soul visibly floated out of his body. Mary’s voice dropped three degrees. “Did he go somewhere else first?” “Yes.” “Did he go play cards?” “No.” Wyatt secretly breathed a sigh of relief. “Did he go to an internet cafe?” “Yes.” Wyatt slumped back in his chair. Mary was silent for three seconds, then let out a laugh. That kind of laugh dropped the ward temperature to below zero. “Wyatt, you just wait.” The video call ended. Wyatt covered his face with his hands, a muffled sentence squeezing through his fingers. “Mason, our twenty years of friendship…” “Yes.” “You just sold me out like that?” “Yes.” “Were you doing it on purpose?” “No.” His hands slid from his face. He looked at me, his gaze like a puppy abandoned by its owner. “You can’t control it either?” “Yes.” He sighed, slumping back into the chair. “Alright, fine. Anyway, my credit score with my wife is already in the negatives.” He stood up to pack his things, and as he reached the door, he looked back at me. “Bro, one last question.” “Yes.” “Do you think it’s embarrassing that I’m so afraid of my wife?” I wanted to say “No” to comfort him. But my mouth wouldn’t allow it. “…Yes.” Wyatt nodded, his expression calm. “Yeah, I thought so too.” Then he gently closed the door. The moment the door closed, I heard a low howl from the hallway, like a wounded beast. I pulled out my phone and sent him a message: “Bro, buy some flowers on your way back, don’t go home empty-handed.” He replied with one word: “Screw you.” Ten seconds later, another message came: “What kind of flowers?” I smiled, then realized a problem. I was being discharged tomorrow. Out of the hospital, I would return to normal social relationships—my company, colleagues, boss. And my mouth would still only tell the truth. I opened the WhatsApp work group and saw Owen’s latest message: “Mason’s in the hospital after an accident; his clients will temporarily be handled by me.” Below it, the boss’s reply: “Thanks for your hard work.” And below that, Owen’s reply: “My pleasure, it’s all for the company.” I stared at those lines of text, my fingers unconsciously clutching the bedsheet. 【Owen, you’ve been eyeing those three clients of mine for a long time.】 I put down my phone and closed my eyes. 【Tomorrow, back at the office, you’re going to have a rough time.】

On the day of my discharge, Eve stayed glued to me, repeatedly whispering the same thing in my ear. “At the company, talk less, say nothing if you can, just shake your head if people ask you anything.” “Yes.” “Just shake your head, don’t open your mouth.” “Yes.” “You opened your mouth again.” “…Yes.” She took a deep breath, pulled a face mask from her bag, put it on me, then added another layer on top. “Double mask, no matter how fast your mouth is, nothing will get out.” When I walked into the company wearing a double mask, the receptionist looked at me like I was a hazmat soldier. Owen was the first to come over to “care” about me. He walked to my cubicle, patted my shoulder, a perfectly calibrated smile on his face. “Mason, how’s your body? Feeling any better?” I nodded, not opening my mouth. “Heard you had a head injury? Want to take a few more days off? I’ll keep an eye on your clients for now, no rush.” His tone was sincere, his expression genuine. But I noticed a nearly imperceptible curve at the corner of his mouth when he said “your clients.” I still nodded, pointing to my throat, indicating that I couldn’t speak. Owen showed an understanding expression. “I get it, I get it, take good care of yourself.” He turned and left. I opened my computer and found that my client system access had been downgraded. For my three key clients, the past week’s contact logs were all under Owen’s name. He was already poaching my clients. I wasn’t angry. Because I knew one thing—Owen wasn’t just poaching clients. During last year’s annual audit, I’d accidentally seen an expense report where the amount didn’t match the actual cost. The signature on the expense report was Owen’s. At the time, I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my business. But now, it seemed I could make it my business. At eleven in the morning, the department held a meeting. Mr. Williamson, the boss, sat at the other end of the long table, speaking for half an hour about quarterly goals, using a PowerPoint presentation. I wore my mask the entire time, sitting quietly in the corner. Everything went smoothly—until Mr. Williamson suddenly called my name. “Mason, are you familiar with the situation of your clients? Owen said the contract with Anderson Group was almost finalized last week, is that right?” Everyone’s eyes turned to me. Owen sat opposite me, his smile unchanged, but the tip of his pen pressed a small dent into the table. I instinctively wanted to say “Yes”—because saying “Yes” was the easiest. But my mouth disagreed. Because that contract was far from finalized. Before I was hospitalized last week, Mr. Anderson of Anderson Group explicitly told me that Owen’s proposal was full of flaws, and they were hesitant about whether to switch suppliers. I opened my mouth. “No.” The conference room fell silent. Owen’s smile froze for a moment, but he reacted quickly. “Mason, you just got discharged, you might not be up to date on the latest developments—” Mr. Williamson raised a hand, interrupting him. “Mason, do you mean the contract isn’t finalized?” “Yes.” Owen’s brow furrowed. Mr. Williamson looked at Owen, then at me. “Owen, didn’t your report last week say we’d secured the letter of intent?” Owen forced a smile. “Mr. Williamson, the situation is a bit complex; Mason might not be aware of the latest progress—” “Did you falsify the report?” This question wasn’t from Mr. Williamson. It was from my colleague, Lena. She sat next to me and had always been at odds with Owen. Everyone’s gaze once again focused on my face. My mouth moved again. “Yes.” The conference room erupted. Owen slammed the table and stood up. “Mason! Are you out of your mind?!” Mr. Williamson’s face darkened. “Owen, sit down.” “Mr. Williamson, he just suffered a head injury; his words aren’t reliable—” Mr. Williamson raised his hand. “I will check the original email records. Sit down.” Owen slowly sat back down, the muscles in his face taut like an iron plate. He glanced at me. That look held a murderous intent. After the meeting, he stopped me in the hallway. “Mason, what the hell do you mean?” I pointed to my throat. “Don’t play mute with me, you were speaking perfectly fine in there.” He lowered his voice, stepping closer. “You think you can touch me? My uncle is Cameron—the company’s VP. You’re just a junior employee, you think you can mess with me?” His spit splattered on my mask. I stared into his eyes, silent for two seconds. Then I reached out, pulled out my phone, and showed him a message. It was a photo I’d taken with my phone during my hospital stay—that expense report from last year with the abnormal amount. I’d only taken it casually at the time, never expecting it to be useful today. Owen stared at the phone screen, his face draining of color with each passing second. I curved my lips into a smile at him—he couldn’t see it anyway, the mask was covering it. Then I typed a message and sent it to him: “Give me back my clients. As for the rest, depends on your performance.” He pushed my phone away and walked off. His steps were three times faster than when he came. I leaned against the hallway wall, pulling down my mask to catch my breath. 【Mason, you really are something. Can’t speak, but you play your cards pretty well.】 Back at my cubicle, Lena leaned over and whispered, “Was everything you said just now true?” “Yes.” “Owen really falsified the report?” “Yes.” “Did he do anything else?” I saw the gossipy glint in her eyes and my mouth twitched. “Yes.” Lena’s eyes lit up. She pulled her chair next to mine. “You tell me, I’ll ask.” I pulled out my phone and typed: “Not here. Treat me to dinner after work, and I’ll tell you everything.” “Deal.” 【Owen, your good times are over.】

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “408534”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Two months pregnant, Daniel Brown demanded I give blood to his childhood sweetheart, Chloe. Already anemic, I refused, my eyes burning. But his friends just called me selfish. “Chloe is on the operating table. You’re the only match. What’s the big deal about donating a little blood?” With that, they practically dragged me inside. A flicker of hesitation crossed Daniel’s eyes, but he hardened his gaze. “It’s just a blood donation. Our baby will be fine.” I stopped struggling, a single tear sliding down my cheek. After the transfusion, a sudden, excruciating pain ripped through my abdomen. The baby we’d hoped for for three years was gone. I stayed in the hospital alone for three days after the miscarriage. Meanwhile, Daniel remained glued to Chloe’s side, never leaving her. My womb felt empty, but it was my heart that truly ached. As I was discharged, I coincidentally ran into Chloe and Daniel, surrounded by their usual group of friends. I carried my backpack, utterly alone, while Daniel helped Chloe walk, supporting her every step. When his gaze landed on me, Daniel paused. “Why are you still at the hospital?”

“I’m fine.” I hid the miscarriage, my face pale, and walked towards the exit. “Let’s go together.” Daniel grabbed my arm, his tone leaving no room for argument. By the car, Chloe quickly slipped into the passenger seat. She looked innocent. “Zara, I just had stomach ulcer surgery. I get car sick easily.” “Could you let me have this spot?” I didn’t feel like arguing, so I just opened the back door. But all his friends piled into the back, three grown men squeezing in next to me. They stared at me, their voices unfriendly. “Zara, Chloe is still very weak. We’re all coming to your place to look after her.” I looked at Daniel in the driver’s seat. His face was tight, but he didn’t say a word to object. I smiled soundlessly. The cicadas on the trees chirped clearly. How could I still have expectations for a man like this? Daniel’s friends had never liked me. In their eyes, Chloe and Daniel were soulmates. I was just the wicked outsider trying to break them up. When they visited our home, everyone treated me like a servant, and Daniel never once stood up for me. Even when I was carrying his child, I still had to give blood to Chloe. In the end, I didn’t even get a thank you. All they’d say was: “It’s your honor.” This wasn’t the first time I’d been wronged, but it was the first time I chose to accept it calmly. “Okay, I’ll go home by myself.” I closed the car door and turned, walking away first. It was rush hour, and I couldn’t even hail a cab. In the scorching heat of mid-summer, having just suffered a miscarriage, I walked for an hour under the blazing sun to get home. The moment I pushed open the door, a barrage of accusations greeted me. “Zara, why are you so slow? We’ve been home for ages.” “We haven’t eaten all night. Let’s try Zara’s cooking again.” I looked at Daniel and Chloe. It was a hot summer day, but the AC wasn’t on inside the house. They were worried that frail Chloe might catch a chill. So Daniel sat beside her, fanning her. Even though his own forehead was beaded with sweat, he ignored it, completely absorbed in fawning over Chloe. Seeing me silent, Carter called out to Daniel. “Daniel, everyone’s hungry! Tell Zara to make us something to eat.”

Only then did Daniel look up, ignoring my pale face, and gave orders as if it were his right. “Zara, be a good girl and prepare us a simple meal.” “And make a special stew for Chloe. It’ll help her recover.” The dull ache in my heart twisted into a sharp, agonizing stab, making it hard to breathe. I walked into the kitchen with my head down, cutting off their joyful chatter. It felt as if I were the outsider, completely out of place among them. In the past, I would have argued hysterically with them, as if that could salvage my dignity. But little did I know, doing so only fueled their arrogance. Compared to my tantrums, Chloe always seemed so sweet and reasonable. But now, I didn’t want to fight anymore. This group of people, this kind of partner, simply wasn’t worth it. When I brought out the prepared dishes, I was drenched in sweat. Chloe willingly took the food from my hands, but the moment I let go, she suddenly pulled away. The food spilled everywhere, and the ceramic plate shattered into pieces. “Watch out!” Daniel, quick as a flash, shielded Chloe. My exposed calf, however, was scalded a bright red. “Zara, I know you don’t like me, but you shouldn’t intentionally drop plates!” Not a single drop of soup had splashed on her, yet Chloe burst into tears, throwing herself into Daniel’s arms as if she’d suffered a great injustice. “Yeah, Zara, what are you doing?” “Zara, you’ve been targeting Chloe for ages. We’re all just good friends, why are you like this?” “She was the one who let go first.” I coldly watched the chorus of voices scolding me, and spoke softly. They were about to say more, but Daniel cut them off sharply. “Zara, apologize!” “You’ve gone too far this time. Chloe just got out of the hospital, and you scared her.” In the scorching summer heat, I shivered all over. I felt a chill to my bones. The burning pain in my calf was less than a fraction of the agony in my heart. I looked at the man who had once been my greatest source of security and strength, now torturing me slowly like an executioner. Something inside me snapped. “Fine, I apologize.” I smiled bitterly, tears uncontrollably welling in my eyes. Daniel froze for a moment, trying to reach for me, but I dodged him. “The food’s ready, I’ve apologized. Can I go back to my room and bandage my injury now?” I showed him my skin, already blistering from the scald, hoping he would let me go. With that, I ignored the mess on the floor and turned back to my room. Outside the door, it was noisy. I heard Chloe’s whiny voice. “I’m sorry, Zara is only angry because of me.” “I’m just a jinx. I won’t cause you any more trouble.” I heard the door open, Chloe ran out, and the whole group rushed after her, worried. The door slammed shut loudly. Just as I thought Daniel had gone out too, he pushed the door open and entered. Daniel hugged me from behind, his hand gently stroking my lower abdomen. “Zara, why can’t you just cut her some slack? Chloe is still like a child, she needs you to be more patient with her.” “Besides, we have a baby on the way now. Once things at work settle down, we’ll finally have our wedding. Don’t be mad, okay?” His voice was unexpectedly gentle, with a hint of pleading. “So you still remember I was pregnant?” I pushed his hand away, unable to stop the sarcastic bite in my voice.

Daniel’s smile froze. His phone rang in his pocket. He answered, and Carter’s voice was unusually clear in the quiet room. “Daniel, hurry over! Chloe fainted on the way, and someone needs to pay the hospital fees.” Daniel didn’t hesitate, immediately pulling out the bank card we’d saved money on together from the nightstand. “Are you crazy, Daniel?” I stopped him, furious. “For Chloe, you’re going to take our baby’s savings, aren’t you?” Daniel tried to push past my obstruction. “That’s enough, Zara.” “It’s a matter of life and death, and you’re only thinking about your petty concerns. How selfish can you be!” I frantically hit his shoulders, and his momentum pulled me out of the room. “I’m selfish? She’s your childhood sweetheart, not mine! How dare you use my money for her?” Daniel, provoked by something I said, pushed me roughly to the ground like an enraged animal. No one had cleaned up the scattered debris. I collapsed onto it, exhausted. A sharp pain shot through my body. I lifted my arm; my back and arms were covered in cuts. Daniel had already left, without even a backward glance. Seeing my hands covered in blood, I used my last ounce of strength to dial 911 before losing consciousness. In a blur of fading awareness, I dreamt of that young boy, who went with me to pray at church. His hands clasped, his expression devout: “I’ll love and protect Zara forever.” “If I ever break this promise, may I die a horrible death.” When I woke up again, it was late at night. The dark hospital room was empty except for me. Nurse Olivia came in to offer me a glass of water, carefully helping me sit up. She looked at me, wrapped in bandages, and said with a sympathetic tone: “Ms. Zara, you just had a miscarriage, and now you’re in this state again? Please make sure to get plenty of rest.” I closed my eyes, bitterness and pain washing over me. I thanked her softly, my heart filled with endless sorrow. I opened my phone and saw that Carter had posted an update on Ins. [Looks like Daniel still cares about Chloe the most.] The accompanying picture showed Daniel sitting on a hospital bed, with Chloe’s head resting on his lap, smiling contentedly and happily. Cheating scum. No wonder they say they’re truly meant for each other. My heart ached until it was numb. I forced down the sorrow. They weren’t worth my tears or my sadness. I logged into my mobile banking and checked the balance. Thankfully, my $15,000 was still there. I calmly transferred the money to my personal account. My marriage with Daniel, like our child, had reached its end. I called Karen Hayes, the General Manager: “Karen, is there still a chance for me to transfer to headquarters?” A week ago, I had been offered a transfer to headquarters for my outstanding work, but I’d refused due to my pregnancy, not wanting to be separated from Daniel. But now, I didn’t need to consider any of that. “Zara, aren’t you pregnant?” “Just rest and take care of your pregnancy for now. There will be other opportunities, and I’ll keep you in mind for future openings.” Listening to Karen’s gentle voice, I took a deep breath to calm myself. “Karen, I lost the baby. I want to return to work as soon as possible.” Karen was silent for a few seconds on the other end of the line. “I’ll add your name back to the list. A miscarriage is a serious matter, though. Take another week to rest before reporting to headquarters.” I affirmed, my voice choked. “Thank you, Karen.”

During that week in the hospital, Daniel never once contacted me. Perhaps he hadn’t even realized I was still pregnant. I wasn’t surprised. It had always been like this; I used to make excuses for him over and over, but not anymore. After a week of rest in the hospital, my body had mostly recovered, and I checked out. During that time, I scrolled through many of Chloe’s Ins posts, each one related to Daniel. In the photos, Chloe looked like a princess adored by all, surrounded by their group. Next to her were nutritious meals and countless small gifts, while I had nothing by my side during my hospitalization. The pearl necklace Daniel had once promised to buy me was now glaringly hanging around Chloe’s neck. Strangely, seeing all this again, I could scroll past it without a flicker of emotion. Back home, it was just as I had left it that day. It seemed Daniel had been at the hospital taking care of Chloe the whole time. He hadn’t returned home, nor did he know I had been hospitalized. I quickly packed my bags, gathered all my belongings, threw away the photo on the nightstand, burned the love letters he’d once written to me, and placed my wedding ring on the table. After all that, I looked at the empty house, just as it had been when we first moved in. I lowered my gaze to the divorce papers in front of me, picked up a pen, and signed my name. Before I could even call Daniel back to sign the divorce papers, he returned himself. When he entered, I was on the phone, handing over my work responsibilities to a colleague. My colleague asked about my flight date, and I replied: “It’s tomorrow afternoon.” Seeing Daniel come in, I hung up. He frowned and asked: “What’s happening tomorrow afternoon? A prenatal check-up?” I put my phone away and calmly replied: “Work-related. No check-up.” Only then did I notice he was carrying a takeout bag. Meeting my eyes, he offered the bag. “I’m sorry, Zara. Chloe has been in the hospital these past few days, and I couldn’t leave her.” “I bought you some food. To help you recover.” I didn’t take the bag, and the faint smell of fish made me feel a wave of nausea. We’d been married for so many years, yet he didn’t even know I couldn’t eat fish. How ironic. But now, I didn’t even have the energy to argue. “Oh, right, these are Chloe’s clothes. They’re silk, so you can’t machine wash them. You can hand-wash them tonight.” Hearing his words, and looking at the man in front of me, I suddenly began to wonder. Had he changed, or had I simply married this kind of person all along? I bit my lip and said in a low voice: “Just leave them there.” “I need to go back to grab some change of clothes.” He said, then quickly went into the bedroom to pack. I picked up the divorce papers and walked over to him. “Daniel, our mortgage is paid off. We just need to sign this.” He didn’t suspect a thing, took the pen, and quickly signed his name. I watched him grab his clothes and leave the house. I booked a flight for two hours later. Taking off my ring, I placed the divorce papers and the miscarriage surgery report on the table. These were the last things I would leave for Daniel. As for him and me, this was the end. Daniel’s eyes were bloodshot, probably from several nights of staying at the hospital. Chloe frowned at his disheveled look and feigned concern. “Daniel, you should go back and rest for a few days. Let Carter take over.” Daniel looked at the empty chat window with Zara and swallowed the words of refusal.

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Five years after I married the unhinged billionaire heir, news suddenly broke of my reserved guardian, Kate Brown’s death. The transatlantic call from his assistant came at five in the morning, London time: “Ms. Fiona, Mr. Kate Brown has passed away. The Brown family is in chaos, and only you can return to take charge…” It had been so long since I’d heard that name. I froze for a moment. As the adopted daughter of a powerful family, I’d only done two rebellious things in my adolescence. One was coaxing Kate into a reckless night with me when he was drunk. The second was boarding a plane for an arranged marriage abroad, escaping before he sobered up. From then on, the eighteen years Kate and I had spent relying on each other since the orphanage were cut all ties. I never imagined I would return home five years later, only to attend the funeral of the man I once so obsessively loved. At the funeral, a little boy in a black suit broke free from the people around him and threw himself into my arms. When I picked him up, he wiped his tear-streaked face, sobbing uncontrollably: “Mommy, you’re finally home!” “They’re all mean. They only want Daddy’s inheritance and keep bullying me!” Looking at the boy’s face, which was an eight-point resemblance to Kate’s, I remembered my first meeting with his father.

For as long as I could remember, I had no parents. I raised myself through petty thievery and pickpocketing around tourist attractions. Until I was seven, when I snatched a Rolex watch from a wealthy heir’s wrist, Only to be caught red-handed by the owner himself. The man, dressed in an exorbitantly expensive custom suit, didn’t hit or scold me, nor did he call the police. Instead, he crouched down, magically placed a piece of candy in my palm, and smiled warmly. “Fiona, I’m sorry, I’m late.” “My name is Kate. I was an old acquaintance of your parents.” “From now on, I will be your guardian, your uncle, and take care of you for the rest of your life.” He kept his word. He attended my parent-teacher conferences, protected me from drunk troublemakers, Taught me how to use forks and knives, taught me to play the piano, Transforming that prickly little beggar into a proper lady, little by little. But I was too greedy, not content with just being his niece, wishing to forever monopolize all of Kate’s kindness. I planned to confess that one reckless night we shared, on his birthday. I even decided that if he didn’t agree, I’d throw a tantrum, just like when I was little and wanted candy, Crying and making a scene until he finally said yes. But before I could even open my mouth, I heard him publicly announce his strategic engagement to Audrey Benjamin at a family dinner. Everyone in the family nervously stared at me, afraid I’d overturn the dining table on the spot. But this time, I merely presented a velvet box. The box opened to reveal a pair of natural pink diamonds, perfectly cut and dazzling under the lights. My adoptive mother, Sarah, paused, about to say something: “Fiona, these diamonds are worth two hundred million. Weren’t you planning to make them into a wedding ring…?” I smiled gracefully, my tone sincere. “They were always meant for Kate. They’ll make a perfect engagement gift.” At my words, Kate suddenly felt an inexplicable awkwardness. His tone was half warning, half coaxing. “Fiona, when you were younger, I indulged you when you made a fuss.” “But from now on, if you cause any more trouble, I won’t go easy on you.” I secretly clenched my fists, raising a smile. “You’re right. I’ll make sure not to disappoint your expectations.” Kate frowned, feeling like something was off, but then his phone rang. It was Audrey Benjamin, urging him to go watch the fireworks with her. He grabbed his coat, ready to leave, but hesitated, turning back to look at me. “Fiona, do you want to come along…?” I paused, then shook my head, my voice light as I urged him on: “You should go, Kate. Have fun.” Kate stared at me for two seconds, then finally said nothing.

The door closed, and the smile on my face finally dropped. Sarah looked at me, a flicker of pity in her eyes. “Fiona, if you’re hurting, just cry it out.” But instead, I suddenly knelt before her. Sarah gasped, quickly helping me up: “What are you doing, child?” My expression was solemn. “The Brown family raised me for twenty years. I remember your kindness and dare not ask for more.” “I heard the family has always wanted to partner with the Williamson family in London but couldn’t find a way in. I’m willing to marry their youngest son.” Sarah’s face went pale. She gripped my wrist tightly. “Fiona, you want to marry Jason?!” “Do you know what kind of person he is?” “Rumor has it he’s a dark, cruel maniac. Aren’t you just throwing yourself into a fire pit?” I didn’t pull my hand away, gently soothing Sarah. “Mom, those are just rumors. Besides, don’t people also think I’m crazy?” “Crazy enough to disregard all morals, selfish and domineering, always trying to chase away every woman near Kate.” “The Williamson family has always been low-key. A marriage alliance is the only way to get close to them.” “You and Dad have spoiled me so much; I want to contribute to the family too.” I analyzed the pros and cons of the marriage alliance, my gaze growing steadier with each word. Sarah’s eyes reddened. She looked at me for a long time, then reached out and stroked my hair. “Alright, since your mind is made up. The Williamson family will send someone to pick you up. You’ll be married in London in half a month.” Hearing the timeline, I sighed inwardly at the coincidence. My wedding, of all things, would be on the same day as Kate’s engagement party. At this, Sarah suddenly remembered something and began to fuss: “But I haven’t had time to prepare your dowry. I need to have Robert transfer some company shares to you first…” I quickly interrupted her, “Mom, I don’t need anything.” “Also, please help me keep the marriage alliance a secret from Kate for now.” “I don’t want him to feel like I’m forcing his hand or trying to stop his engagement with Audrey.” Sarah couldn’t argue with me. She sighed and pulled me into her embrace.

By the time I returned to my bedroom, it was almost dawn. After booking an expedited visa application, I collapsed onto the bed, feeling groggy. But I hadn’t slept long before I vaguely sensed someone sitting by my bed. It was Kate. He was staring down at the floor, his expression heavy with something I couldn’t quite make out. I’d never seen him like this before. In all my memories, Kate always maintained his composed demeanor. Unflappable, with a steady voice. Even when a catastrophe struck the family, he stood there like an unbending pillar. But now, there was a deeply hidden trace of panic on his face. Just as I was about to speak, he spoke first. “Fiona, I’m asking you.” His voice was very low, but his words were sharply articulated. “Audrey had dirt leaked about her online. Was this your doing?” I said nothing. He stood up, looking down at me, his eyes full of a certainty that already held a conclusion. “You’ve always disliked her. You’ve given her a hard time ever since she entered the Brown family.” “Now that our wedding is set, you can’t sit still.” “Playing dirty tricks behind people’s backs is the most despicable thing.” He paused, lowering his voice a notch, as if giving me one last chance. “Tell me honestly, how involved were you in this?” I leaned against the headboard, looking at him. Wind outside ruffled the curtains, then let them fall. I waited for him to finish before I spoke. “No.” “Fiona.” “I said no, it was not me.” My voice was very calm, so calm that he frowned. Kate probably didn’t expect this reaction from me. Usually, I would either cry or make a fuss, but I would never speak to him in such a calm tone. He looked at me again, then pushed his phone screen in front of me. “The comments are over ten thousand. The time the posts went out perfectly matches when you returned to your room after dinner.” “You were alone in your room; no one saw you, no one knew what you were doing.” I glanced down at the screen, then pushed his hand away. “A matched time doesn’t mean it was me.” “Then who was it?” His voice turned cold. “Who would be targeting Audrey and post at exactly that time?” I didn’t answer. Because no matter how I answered that question, he already had his own answer. Silence stretched for a few seconds. I sat up from the bed and folded the blankets neatly. “Kate.” “Call me Kate.” He immediately interrupted, his voice harsh. I paused, then spoke again. “Kate, are you done?” His eyes subtly changed, his frown deepening. “Fiona, what is with your attitude?” “I don’t have an attitude.” I stood up, pushing his hand away. “I just find it a bit odd,” “You come into my bedroom in the middle of the night just to ask me this?” Kate was silent for a moment. That silence stung more than any words. I looked in the mirror and saw him standing behind me, His expression shifting through several emotions like a revolving lantern, finally settling into a complex look I couldn’t decipher. He quickly averted his gaze. “Audrey is very upset. You should go on a trip to another city for now, and come back after the wedding.” But before he finished, the door was abruptly pushed open.

Audrey rushed in, trembling, her voice shaking. “Fiona, you just don’t want me to be with Kate, do you?” “Fine, I won’t get engaged! Will you just leave me alone?” Kate quickly pulled her into his arms, murmuring comforting words. Then, he looked at me, his eyes full of pleading. “Fiona, go post a clarification, admit that you slandered Audrey.” “Once the fuss dies down, no one will remember it.” I thought of my own terrible experience with cyberbullying in the past, and my face instantly turned pale: “I won’t admit to something I didn’t do.” Then, before Kate could react, I dragged out the large suitcase I had packed last night. I reopened it. On top was the first photo of Kate and me after I joined the Brown family. My voice was soft, but every word was clear: “If I prove that I no longer like you, would that prove it wasn’t me?” As soon as the words left my lips, I picked up that photo and tore it into pieces. Kate’s face changed. I didn’t look at him. I picked up the next item—a custom-made dress, his eighteenth birthday gift to me. The scissors fell, and the sound of silk tearing was particularly grating. One item after another. Photos, gifts, souvenirs. Each one was etched with my former obsessive, fervent love. I had once treasured them, but now I destroyed them all without batting an eye. A surge of inexplicable irritation welled up in Kate’s heart. He stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. “Fiona, that’s enough.” I looked up at him, my eyes calm and devoid of emotion. In the stalemate, Audrey’s eyes darkened. She forced a smile: “Fiona, why are you doing this? It makes it seem like I’m being pushy.” She tugged at Kate’s sleeve again, her voice as soft as water: “It’s alright, Kate, don’t pressure her. “Even if it really was her, what is there for me not to forgive?” I couldn’t stand her fake sympathy and manipulative tone. My voice stiff, I asked them to leave. “Kate, is there anything else? If not, I’d like to rest a bit more.” Kate looked at me, wanting to say something, but Audrey pulled his sleeve. “Kate, let’s go. Let Fiona get some rest.” He finally nodded, turning to walk out. Just as I was about to close the door, a man holding a fruit knife suddenly charged straight at us. “Audrey, you caused my sister to drop out of school and commit suicide! Today, I’ll make you pay!” Kate reacted instantly, wrapping an arm around Audrey’s waist, shielding her as they dodged aside. But I, standing behind him, couldn’t react quickly enough. His protective turn even pulled me, sending me straight into the path of the knife. “Thwack!” The blade plunged into my chest then was pulled out. Large gushes of blood sprayed forth. My legs gave out. I slid down, leaning against the doorframe. Through my blood-blurred vision, I saw Kate’s lips move, as if calling my name.

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