In a household where everyone was a genius, I—the one who always ranked dead last in school—served as the living teaching material my parents used to “educate” my brother Lance and my sister Raven. To test my spatial awareness, Lance once locked me inside an abandoned factory shaped like a maze for an entire day and night. When I collapsed from dehydration, Mom’s eyes turned red—as she gently dabbed the sweat off Lance’s forehead. “Next time, you need to control the duration, sweetheart. Shelly’s body is fragile. She can’t handle this much stress.” To study my emotional thresholds, Raven cut my diploma into tiny shreds. I hid in my room, shaking. Dad knocked softly on the door. “Raven is teaching you how to break free from the chains of standardized education. You need to appreciate her good intentions.” Later, for their research project—”Placebo-Based Physiological Intervention in Low-Cognition Individuals”—they replaced my asthma inhaler with saline solution. I stared at the empty bottle. I didn’t call for help. I just lay there quietly, feeling the air being stolen from my lungs, breath by breath. I finally understood. My biggest mistake was being born into this brilliant family.

“The vital signs monitor on subject Shelly shows her heart rate has been flatlined for three hours now.” Raven sat on the leather couch, her head tilted down as she scrolled across her tablet. “Her pseudo-death avoidance mechanism has likely reached its peak.” Her voice was young and crisp, yet carried a chilling, mechanical detachment. I floated near the ceiling, watching her silently. My body was lying on the floor of the bedroom, just one door away. My skin had already turned that purplish color of oxygen deprivation. “Don’t bother with her.” Lance pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “According to biological instinct, when hunger surpasses pride, she’ll come out on her own to find food.” He picked up a silver knife and precisely cut the Black Forest cake in front of him into a perfect wedge. “Low-cognition individuals have very poor endurance. We already proved that in the dehydration trial.” Mom, Maggie, took the cake with a face full of pride, smiling so wide that fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes. “Here, Lance, eat more.” “Congratulations on winning first place in the national physics competition again!” “Thanks, Mom.” Lance accepted the plate with elegant manners. Dad, Carter, raised his wine glass, the red wine swirling in the crystal stem. “Our family genes are simply superior. Raven won the Psychology Innovation Award last month too. Double celebration!” The four of them clinked glasses, the crisp sound of glass echoing through the living room. Bright lights. A warm, joyful family scene. I looked down at my own translucent hand. Just three hours earlier, I had been writhing in agony on the floor as my asthma attack hit. I’d desperately pumped that inhaler—only to spray nothing but useless saline. I bit through the mouthpiece. Blood and salt water trickled down my throat. I clawed at the wooden floor until streaks of blood marked the wood. But outside my door, they were busy discussing topics for their next journal publication. “How come Shelly hasn’t left her room all day?” Mom swallowed a bite of cream, as if suddenly remembering there was a fifth person in this house. Dad waved his hand with a chuckle. “That kid ranked last in her exams again. Probably too ashamed to show her face.” He took another sip of wine. “Let her sit there and reflect on it.” I let out a bitter laugh. I came last in those exams because the day before, Lance had locked me in an abandoned factory for twenty-four hours. The dehydration shock had left me too weak to even hold a pen. “Honestly, aside from being slow, Shelly has always been a sweet kid.” Mom sighed and placed the biggest piece of strawberry cake onto a clean plate. “I’ll go check on her. Don’t want her to actually starve.” She stood up and started walking toward my room. Floating in midair, I felt a ridiculous flicker of hope. Open the door, Mom. Open it, and you’ll see just how ugly your obedient daughter looks in death. “Mom, wait.” Raven suddenly spoke up, grabbing Mom’s wrist. “What is it, Raven?” “The intervention experiment is at a critical stage.” Raven pointed to the data curve on her tablet. “If you go in now, you’ll ruin the final data on the placebo effect.” She tilted her head up, her expression dead serious. “This is a joint paper Lance and I are submitting to SCI journals. Disrupting the experiment process would count as academic misconduct, you know.” Mom froze at the words “academic misconduct” and instinctively pulled her hand back. Lance slowly dabbed the corner of his mouth. “Scientific progress always requires sacrifice.” Dad nodded in approval and patted Mom on the shoulder. “Lance is right. It’s called putting resources to good use.” “Set the cake down. Don’t spoil her.” Mom hesitated, glanced at the strawberry cake in her hand, then finally placed the plate on the table. I stared at that strawberry cake, watching the cream slowly melt. Just like every illusion I’d ever held about this family. “As if she hasn’t faked being sick enough times before?” Dad scoffed. “Last time, when Raven cut up her college diploma, she sat in her room shaking, playing the victim.”

Dad’s tone was full of disgusted disappointment. “I told her—Raven was teaching her to break free from the cage of test-based education.” “And what did she do? She didn’t appreciate it at all. She even dared give us attitude.” Raven giggled. “Dad, that’s called learned helplessness. Low-IQ people respond to stimuli beyond their comprehension by regressing.” “I was just helping her broaden her emotional threshold.” Mom stroked Raven’s head affectionately. “Our Raven really is a genius. So young, and she already knows so much.” She turned to look at my bedroom door, her expression turning cold. “If only Shelly were half as smart as you two—I’d laugh myself awake from my dreams.” I drifted over to my bedroom door and peered through the wood. My body lay quietly beside the bed. My eyes were fixed in the direction of the door crack, my hand still tightly gripping the tampered asthma inhaler. “Lance, the subject’s heart rate is showing a flat line. Could the monitor bracelet be broken?” Raven poked at the tablet screen. Lance walked over and glanced at the data. “Impossible. I modified that medical-grade sensor myself.” His voice was firm. “She must have taken it off and thrown it aside. A childish attempt to get our attention.” Dad shook his head. “That kid puts all her cleverness into pointless things.” “Ignore her. When she gets hungry enough, she’ll crawl out and apologize.” Mom yawned and stood up to clear the leftovers from the table. “Alright, everyone get some rest. Lance has an awards ceremony to attend tomorrow.” Late that night, after the dinner ended, Dad sat in the study flipping through an old photo album. He stared blankly at a picture of me at age five. In the photo, I was wearing a beautiful princess dress, laughing brightly at the beach. Back then, I hadn’t developed asthma yet. I hadn’t been diagnosed as “low cognition” either. Mom walked in with a cup of warm milk and placed it on the desk. “What made you dig out these old photos all of a sudden?” Dad sighed and traced his finger across the picture. “She was so adorable back then—chasing the waves, calling ‘Daddy’ over and over.” He frowned. “Do you think we’ve been too hard on her?” Mom’s eyes wavered for a moment before hardening again with rational coldness. “Carter, you’re too soft.” She pulled up a chair and sat down. “We’re doing this for her own good. Having geniuses like Lance and Raven around will make her stronger, so society won’t chew her up later.” Mom took a sip of milk, her tone matter-of-fact. “Society is brutal these days. If we don’t push her, others will eat her alive.” I floated in the study, listening to this self-righteous theory. So that’s why you let me get locked in an abandoned factory? That’s why you let Raven shred the diploma I stayed up countless nights earning? Dad seemed convinced and nodded. “You’re right. No pain, no gain.” He closed the album and shoved it into the bottom drawer. “Once she’s done reflecting this time, I’ll make it up to her properly.” Just then, soft footsteps echoed in the hallway. Lance walked past my door holding an infrared thermometer. He stopped and pointed it at my bedroom door. [Beep.] The device let out a soft sound. Lance looked at the readout and muttered to himself. “Room temperature dropping. Body surface temperature converging with ambient.” He let out a cold laugh. “Even deliberately lowering her metabolism. She really knows how to play dead.” I pointed at Lance’s face and screamed. “I’m not playing dead! I’m actually dead!” But only the empty echo of the hallway answered me. Lance turned and returned to his room, shutting the door behind him. Mom sat in the study for a while longer, still feeling uneasy. “I’ll go to the kitchen and squeeze her some orange juice.” “Her asthma flares up easily when she’s angry.” Dad reminded her, “Go light on the sugar. She gains weight easily.” Mom carried the juice over to my door. She raised her hand and knocked. “Shelly, Mom made you some orange juice.” No movement inside. My body was already showing early signs of livor mortis. The blood had stopped flowing, the limbs stiff as iron. “Catch your breath before you drink it. Stop being stubborn.” Mom’s voice drifted through the door. I looked at that glass of juice. The irony was suffocating. When I was begging for help during my attack, you were all cutting cake. Mom waited at the door for a minute. When I didn’t respond, her patience ran out. “Why are you so stubborn, child?” “We’re family. What’s wrong with making a little sacrifice?” She slammed the bowl onto the floor outside the door. “Drink it or don’t! You and your damn attitude!” Mom stormed off back to the master bedroom. The hallway fell into dead silence again. Inside, a few flies had already crawled in through the cracks in the window. They circled around my nose, buzzing softly. The next morning, an indescribable odor began drifting through the house. It was the mix of incontinence and faint decay. Neighbor Professor Leon happened to drop by to borrow a couple of books. The moment he walked in, he pinched his nose. “Carter, what’s that smell? Is your plumbing backed up?” Raven was sitting on the couch eating a sandwich. “Professor Leon, Lance is running an anaerobic fermentation experiment with organic material. Some of the gas escaped.” She smiled innocently. “He’s collecting data for an environmental project.” Professor Leon’s face lit up with understanding, and he gave a thumbs-up. “Carter, those two geniuses of yours are national treasures. So young, fresh out of college, and already working on such advanced research.” Dad smiled awkwardly, but his eyes glowed with vanity. “Oh please, they’re just fooling around.” Professor Leon looked around. “By the way, where’s your eldest, Shelly? I don’t see her.” “She’s usually on the balcony memorizing vocabulary by this time.” Dad’s smile stiffened. “Shelly isn’t feeling well. She’s resting in her room.” After Professor Leon left, Lance came out of his room wearing a white lab coat. He held a powerful flashlight, his expression grave. “The placebo effect testing has exceeded the allowable time. Preparing to perform pupil-light-stimulation arousal.” He spoke as he walked toward my room. “Prolonged low-energy state in the subject may cause irreversible brain damage. Forced arousal is necessary.” Mom was mopping the floor. Hearing this, she finally felt something was wrong. She grabbed Lance. “Lance, stop it.” “Shelly has asthma. What if you trigger an attack? I’ll go get her.” Dad set down his newspaper too. “Yeah, that’s enough. If we keep her locked up any longer, she’ll throw another tantrum.” Dad stood up and put on his coat. “I’ll go buy her the newest imported anti-allergy medication, and that big bear plushie she’s always wanted.” “We’ll just have to coddle her. After all, she IS the dumb one in our family.” I floated in the air, watching Dad hurry out the door. My tears dissolved into wisps of nothingness. That giant teddy bear was a gift I’d wanted for my birthday years ago. I begged them for it over and over. I had no use for it now. Raven ignored her parents’ decision. She quietly walked to my door, lay flat on the floor, and peeked through the crack. “Lance, come look at this.”

Raven lowered her voice, a hint of excitement in her tone. Lance walked over and crouched down beside her. Beneath the door, a strand of lifeless hair could be seen splayed across the floor. “The subject’s hair has lost its luster.” Raven typed rapidly on her tablet. “Initial assessment: endocrine imbalance caused by long-term psychological suppression.” Lance pushed his glasses up. “Not just that. This is keratin loss from malnutrition.” He stood up and dusted off his hands. “Make sure to record this. It’s valuable physiological data—very useful for studying physical regression in low-cognition individuals.” I watched them, feeling waves of nausea. This was Lance and Raven—two monsters with IQs of 160. Half an hour later, the front door opened. Dad walked in holding an enormous shopping bag. “Shelly, Daddy bought you the bear you love most! Come out and see, okay?” Dad placed the massive plush bear on the couch and patted its head. “This bear wasn’t cheap. Cost me half a month’s bonus.” Mom walked over, looked at the bear, and sighed. “Well, you bought it now. As long as it gets her to calm down.” Dad cleared his throat and walked to my door. “Shelly, Daddy’s home.” “I got you the bear you love most, and the most expensive imported medicine.” “Come out and look, okay?” Still dead silence behind the door. The smell of waste mixed with decay had become impossible to ignore. The living room air purifier started blaring frantic alarms, its red light flashing painfully bright. Mom covered her nose, brows furrowed. “Why is the smell getting worse? What is she doing in there?” She tried the emotional approach through the door. “Shelly, Mom knows we’ve upset you.” Mom’s voice cracked. “Remember the first time you called me ‘Mama’? You were just this small.” She gestured. “Mama loves you, you know. Don’t hold a grudge against Lance and Raven, okay?” I floated above them, watching this belated performance of devotion. Love me? Loving me meant watching me get locked in an abandoned factory? Loving me meant switching my life-saving medication with saline? Beside them, Raven was completely unmoved by her parents’ emotions. Her fingers tapped rapidly on the tablet. “Three minutes into family emotional intervention. Subject shows no vocal cord vibration. Emotional threshold abnormal.” She reported without lifting her head. “Recommend increasing stimulus intensity.” As the purifier’s alarm grew louder and louder, Dad’s patience finally snapped. The kind-father smile vanished from his face, replaced by pure fury. “What experiment? That’s your sister! Both of you, knock it off!” Dad whipped around, snatched the tablet from Raven’s hands, and slammed it on the floor. The screen shattered instantly. Raven flinched and stepped back. “Dad, what are you doing?! All my data was on there!” “This is what you’re worried about right now?!” Dad finally sensed something was deeply wrong. He rushed to the entryway, yanked open a drawer, and frantically rummaged through it. “The spare key—where’s the key?!” He flung the contents of the drawer all over the floor. Mom’s heart leapt to her throat, her face going pale. “Carter, don’t scare me. Shelly didn’t actually—” Dad finally found a rusty spare key at the very bottom. His hand trembled violently as he gripped it. He walked to the door, took a deep breath, and inserted the key into the lock. [Click.] The sound of the lock disengaging rang unnaturally clear in the silent hallway. My soul quietly closed its eyes. The door was thrown open.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “410237”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband Preston brought his mistress Stella home. He bent down and slipped my pink fuzzy slippers onto Stella’s feet, then said to me: “Nora, go grab the latex pillow from the master bedroom for Stella. She has trouble sleeping in unfamiliar beds.” Anyone watching would’ve thought they were the married couple, and I was just the maid. Right in front of me, they walked into the guest bedroom. Not long after, their muffled moans drifted out. I let out a cold laugh. Five minutes later, I dialed a number. “Mr. Sutton, that divorce agreement I asked you to draft—you can bring it over tonight.” There was a pause on the other end. “Ms. Hayes, you’ve finally made up your mind?” I looked at the bouquet of anniversary roses I’d bought for myself on the table, and plucked off a wilted petal. “Do me one more favor,” I said softly. “That San Francisco project Preston’s company has been chasing for two years—tell him the winning bid is in my hands.” Preston probably forgot that the reason he’d cruised through the business world for the past five years was never his own ability. It was me.

Nora’s POV The night Preston brought Stella home, New York got its first snowfall of the winter. I’d just set the cream of mushroom soup—the one I’d spent hours making—on the table when I heard the keypad lock click open. The door opened, and a gust of icy wind and snow rushed in. Preston stood in the doorway, snow dusting the shoulders of his coat. He was protectively holding a woman in his arms, cradling her carefully. It was Stella. “Nora, the heater in Stella’s apartment broke. She’s staying here tonight,” Preston said as he bent down to help her change shoes. He grabbed the pink soft-soled slippers I usually wore. I watched her slip them on—they were clearly too big for her. She shrank back awkwardly. “Preston, maybe I should just go to a hotel. I’m really imposing on Ms. Hayes.” “Hotels aren’t safe. You’ve had a scare, and I don’t feel right leaving you alone.” Preston’s voice was so gentle it practically dripped honey. He looked up, and the moment his gaze landed on me, the warmth vanished, replaced by a flat, distant calm. “Change the sheets in the guest room. Stella has trouble sleeping in new places—bring her the latex pillow from the master bedroom.” I stood by the dining table, my fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of my apron. Today was our fifth wedding anniversary. His favorite dishes were laid out on the table, the red wine had been decanted, and even the candles were lit. Preston finally seemed to notice the setup in the dining room. He froze for a second, his brow furrowing slightly. A flicker of regret crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by a sense of entitlement. “Sorry, something came up at the office, and picking up Stella took longer than expected.” He shrugged off his coat and handed it to me, his tone tinged with exhaustion. “We’ll make up the anniversary another day. Tonight, let’s just leave it.” Over the past year, I’d heard countless lines like that. Birthdays postponed. Weekend movies rescheduled. Promised trips put off. And every broken promise had the same reason behind it. —Stella. Stella was his first love, and also the widow of his best friend. Two years ago, that man died in a car accident, and on his deathbed he grabbed Preston’s hand, begging him to take care of Stella. Preston agreed. From that point on, Stella became an unbridgeable chasm in our marriage. “Okay,” I heard my own voice echo through the empty living room, surprisingly calm. I turned and walked into the master bedroom, taking out the latex pillow Preston had specifically had someone bring back from Paris. When I handed it to Stella, she looked at me timidly. “Ms. Hayes, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know today was your anniversary…” “It’s fine.” I cut her off. Preston walked over and naturally took the pillow, casually wrapping an arm around Stella’s shoulder. “Go take a hot shower and get some rest.” He turned to me. “Find her a clean set of pajamas.” I opened the closet and pulled out a brand-new silk pajama set. When Stella took them, her fingertips brushed against the back of my hand. Her hand was cold, but mine was even colder. The shower turned on in the bathroom. Preston walked over to the dining table, glanced at the food, and grabbed a piece of foie gras with his fingers, popping it in his mouth. “It’s cold,” he said, wiping his hands with a napkin. “Toss it. I’ll have the housekeeper make something fresh tomorrow.” He turned and walked toward the study—his back straight, but radiating a cold detachment that kept the world at arm’s length. I stood there, staring at the carefully prepared dinner, and suddenly felt my stomach churn. I scraped the food into the trash, piece by piece. The red wine ran down the drain, like some kind of irreversible loss. After cleaning the kitchen, I went back to the master bedroom. Preston wasn’t back yet. I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Preston wasn’t always like this. In the early years of our marriage, he spoiled me rotten. I didn’t like peanuts, and every time we ate out, he’d remind the server. My hands and feet were always cold in winter, and he’d always tuck my feet against his chest to warm them. But somewhere along the way, all his attention shifted to Stella. Stella was afraid of the dark. Stella couldn’t sleep. Stella was emotionally fragile. He gave all his patience and tenderness to that woman who “needed care,” forgetting that his wife was also a living, breathing person—one who could hurt, who could be sad. Soft footsteps came from outside the door. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Preston pushed the door open and stood by the bed for a moment. I could feel his gaze on my face, searching. After a moment, he turned and left the room. I opened my eyes and heard the guest bedroom door open next door, followed by Stella’s low sobs and Preston’s gentle soothing. “Don’t be scared, I’m here.” That one sentence was like a dull blade, slowly slicing through my heart. I rolled over and buried my face in the blanket. No tears came. I was just tired. A bone-deep exhaustion.

Nora’s POV The next morning, I was woken up by noise from the kitchen. I pushed the door open to find Preston standing at the counter frying eggs. Sunlight streamed through the window onto him, the scene warm enough to leave me dazed. I walked over, about to speak, when he said without turning around, “Stella has a sensitive stomach. She can only have liquids—I soaked some oats in milk for her. Yours is in the microwave, heat it up yourself.” I stopped, watching him expertly plate the eggs alongside a few sliced cherry tomatoes. That was how Stella liked them. “I’m not eating. I need to get to the office.” I turned to go change. Preston walked out with the plate, his brow slightly furrowed. “Skipping breakfast is bad for your stomach. Since when do you take your frustration out on your health?” Frustration? I stopped and turned to look at him. His eyes held a trace of impatience, as if I was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not frustrated. I’m just not hungry.” My tone was flat as I grabbed my bag and headed out. Stella was just coming out of the guest room, wearing my silk pajamas, her long hair loose, eyes still puffy. “Good morning, Ms. Hayes,” she greeted carefully. “Good morning.” I nodded and walked past her toward the door. Preston’s voice came from behind me: “Drive safe. I’ve got a dinner tonight, so stop by the grocery store on your way home and pick up some fruit Stella likes.” I paused while putting on my shoes. “What does she like?” I asked. “Cherries and grapes.” Preston answered without hesitation. I curled my lips and pushed open the door. Cherries and grapes. He remembered perfectly. But he forgot that I was allergic to cherries. Three years ago, he brought home a box of cherries. I ate a few and broke out in hives all over—ended up in the ER in the middle of the night. That day, he held my hand, full of guilt, swearing that fruit would never enter our home again. Now, for Stella, he’d forgotten that promise completely. At the office, I threw myself into the new project. I was an architectural designer—the work was intense, but it was exactly that intensity that let me temporarily forget the mess at home. At lunch break, my assistant Lily came over and handed me a coffee. “Nora, you have huge bags under your eyes. Didn’t sleep well last night?” I took the coffee and sipped. “A bit of insomnia.” “Doesn’t Preston love you so much—didn’t he make you a glass of warm milk?” Lily teased. To my coworkers, Preston was the model husband. He’d occasionally come pick me up after work, always with some elegant afternoon tea. I smiled and said nothing. That surface-level affection was like a bunch of fragile bubbles—pop them and there was nothing but emptiness inside. That afternoon, I got a call from Preston. “My dinner tonight is canceled. I made a reservation at that French restaurant you love. I’ll pick you up after work.” He sounded like he was in a good mood. I paused. That French restaurant was hard to book—you usually had to reserve two weeks out. “What made you think of going there?” I asked. “I didn’t spend the anniversary with you yesterday, so I’m making up for it tonight,” he said. “Stella said she’ll be fine alone at home and that we should have some quality time together.” So it was Stella’s idea. The small bit of warmth that had just sparked in my chest instantly cooled.

Nora’s POV “Okay,” I agreed. After work, Preston was waiting outside the building right on time. He’d changed into a casual suit, looking handsome and sharp. In the car, he handed me a velvet box. “Open it.” I opened the box—a diamond necklace. Classic style, but not my taste. I preferred minimalist jewelry. This necklace was too ornate, too flashy. “Do you like it?” He watched me, eyes hopeful. “It’s nice.” I closed the box and casually tossed it in my bag. Preston seemed to pick up on my coolness. He reached out and held my hand. “Still mad about yesterday?” “No.” I pulled my hand back and looked out the window. Silence filled the car. At the restaurant, we were led to a window seat. The view was beautiful, the atmosphere romantic. Preston ordered all my favorites and opened a bottle of red wine. “Nora, I know things have been hard on you lately.” He raised his glass, his eyes sincere. “Stella’s not doing well. I have to take care of her a bit more. Once she’s stable, I’ll help her find a place and have her move out.” I looked at him, a wave of sadness washing over me. He always did this—carrot and stick. He thought a few sweet words, a necklace, a dinner could erase the wounds in my heart. “Preston.” I raised my glass and lightly tapped his. “Do you really think the problem between us is just because of Stella?” He froze, clearly not expecting that question. “What do you mean?” I looked at those eyes that once held nothing but me, now full of nothing but fatigue and confusion. “Nothing.” I tipped my head back and drained my glass. “Let’s eat.” Some things weren’t worth saying out loud. He didn’t understand. Or rather, he pretended not to. Just then, Preston’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his face changed. “Stella? What’s wrong? Don’t cry, tell me slowly.” He shot to his feet, not even noticing his chair tipping over. “I’m coming right back!” He hung up and turned to me, his eyes full of urgency. “Stella fell at home. I have to go check on her.” “I’ll come with you.” I stood up. “No, you stay and eat. I’ll be back once I handle it.” He grabbed his coat and rushed out. I watched his figure disappear out the restaurant door. The steak on the table was still sizzling, giving off an enticing aroma. I sat down, picked up my knife and fork, and slowly cut a piece, placing it in my mouth. It tasted awful. I called the waiter over and paid the bill. Walking out of the restaurant, the cold wind cut into my face like a knife. I didn’t go home. I took a cab to the Hudson River. The wind off the river was strong, whipping my hair around. I pulled out my phone and stared at Preston’s number on the screen. My finger hovered for a long time before I finally hit the lock button. No point calling. His heart and mind were completely consumed by another woman. And I was just an irrelevant backdrop. I sat by the river until midnight, until my hands and feet went numb from the cold, before taking a cab home. I pushed open the door to find a single dim floor lamp on in the living room. Preston was sitting on the couch, a half-burned cigarette between his fingers. Through the haze of smoke, I couldn’t read his expression. He looked up at the sound, his brows knitting tightly. “Where were you? Why are you just now getting home?” “Just walking around.” I changed my shoes and walked straight toward the bedroom without even taking off my coat. He stood up and grabbed my wrist. His grip was tight, painful. “Nora Hayes, you don’t even want to talk to me anymore?” His voice was tight with restrained anger. I stopped and turned to face him. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked worn down. “What do you want me to say?” I asked calmly. “Ask how badly Stella fell? Ask why you left me alone at the restaurant? Or ask when you plan to make her move out?” Preston froze, clearly not expecting me to be so direct. He let go of my hand and rubbed his temples in frustration. “Stella slipped in the shower and sprained her ankle. She has no one here, I can’t just ignore her.” “So?” I looked at him. “Because she has no one, your wife deserves to be abandoned at a restaurant?” “Can you be reasonable?” Preston’s voice rose. “You’re an adult, what’s so hard about eating dinner alone and taking a cab home? She was hurt, it was urgent. Can you stop being so petty?” That sentence was like a needle, precisely piercing the softest part of my heart.

Nora’s POV Suddenly I found it kind of funny. “Yeah, I’m petty.” I nodded, my lips curling into a mocking smile. “Not only am I petty, I’m cold-hearted. If you think I’m so awful, why did you marry me?” Preston’s face darkened instantly. “Nora, stop being unreasonable. I said once her injury heals, she’ll move out.” “Whatever.” I turned and walked into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. Leaning against the door, I slowly slid down to the floor. No tears, just a deep sense of helplessness. The next day was Saturday. I got up early, washed up, and got ready to head to the office to work. Walking past the guest room, I noticed the door was half open. Preston was crouched by the bed, holding an ice pack, carefully applying it to Stella’s ankle. “Does it hurt? I’ll be gentle.” His voice was so tender it could drip honey. Stella was propped up against the headboard, her eyes red, like a startled fawn. “Preston, I’m sorry. I keep causing you trouble.” “Silly, what kind of talk is that?” Preston reached out and ruffled her hair. “With me here, you have nothing to worry about.” I stood outside the door, quietly watching this scene. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, every breath bringing pain. Once upon a time, that tenderness belonged to me. I pulled my eyes away, turned, and went downstairs. The office on a weekend was quiet. I sat at my computer staring at design blueprints on the screen, but all I could see were images of Preston and Stella together. My mouse drifted aimlessly over the drawings, lines becoming chaotic and disordered. My phone buzzed. A message from Preston on Snapchat. [What do you want for lunch? I’ll have the housekeeper make something and send it over.] I stared at the message, finding it darkly ironic. I didn’t reply. I tossed the phone aside and forced myself to focus on work. At three in the afternoon, Lily pushed open the door. “Nora, someone’s downstairs looking for you.” I paused. “Who?” “I don’t recognize her. She’s a woman, pretty, with a cast on her foot.” Stella. What was she doing here? I frowned and got up to head downstairs. In the lobby’s lounge area, Stella was sitting on a couch, a pair of crutches next to her. When she saw me, she struggled to stand up. “Don’t move.” I walked over and sat across from her. “What did you want?” Stella looked at me with a hint of timidity. “Ms. Hayes, I came to apologize.” She bit her lip, her voice soft. “Last night was my fault. I shouldn’t have called Preston and ruined your anniversary.” I looked at her, with her pitiful expression, and felt a wave of irritation. “Does Preston know you came to find me?” Stella shook her head. “He went to the office. I snuck out.” “If you knew it would ruin things, why did you call?” I stared into her eyes, my tone calm but sharp. Stella paled. “I… I was just so scared, and his number was the only one on my phone…” “Stella.” I cut her off. “You don’t need to put on an act for me. You know what you want, and I know it too.” She jerked her head up, panic flashing in her eyes. “Ms. Hayes, you’re misunderstanding. There’s really nothing between me and Preston. He’s just taking care of me because my husband died…” “Your husband died two years ago.” I looked at her coldly. “And in these two years, you’ve come to him for everything. He stayed at the hospital when you were sick. He helped you move. Hell, when your cat died, he dropped work to go cry with you.” I paused and took a deep breath. “Are you actually depending on him, or are you using your husband’s death to manipulate him?” Stella’s tears spilled instantly. “I’m not… I really am not…” She cried pitifully, as if she’d been deeply wronged. Just then, hurried footsteps came from the lobby entrance. Preston rushed in, his face stony. He shielded Stella behind him, glaring at me. “Nora, what are you doing! Her foot is still injured, why did you drag her here!” I looked at him, terrified that I might hurt Stella, and suddenly found it absurdly funny. “Why don’t you ask her—did I call her here, or did she come on her own?” Preston turned to look at Stella. She clutched his sleeve, sobbing uncontrollably. “Preston, don’t blame Ms. Hayes. I came on my own. I wanted to explain to her, I don’t want to come between you two…” “What is there to explain to her!” Preston tenderly wiped her tears. “Your foot isn’t healed, why are you running around.” He turned back to me, his eyes full of disappointment and disgust. “Nora, I thought you were just being stubborn. I didn’t realize you were so narrow-minded. Stella is already pitiful enough, why do you have to target her at every turn?” I looked at this man I’d loved for seven years, and suddenly he felt like a stranger. So much a stranger that I didn’t even want to defend myself. “Think whatever you want.” I stood up and straightened my hem. “Take your Stella and get out of my office. Don’t get in my way here.” With that, I turned and walked toward the elevator. Behind me came Preston’s angry shout: “Nora, you’re impossible to talk to!” The elevator doors slowly closed, cutting off his voice. I leaned against the elevator wall, tilted my head back, and forced the sting in my eyes to stay there. I was already too disappointed to be sad anymore.

Nora’s POV After that day, Preston and I fell into a cold war. He left early and came home late every day. The few times we crossed paths at home, we had nothing to say to each other. Stella’s ankle gradually healed, but she didn’t move out. Preston hired a housekeeper to take care of her. In that house, I felt more and more like an outsider who didn’t belong. Half a month later, there was an important charity gala in New York. As a business elite, Preston was naturally on the guest list. By convention, as his wife, I was expected to attend with him. Before we left, I was in the closet picking out a dress. Preston pushed open the door and handed me a jewelry box. “Wear this tonight.” I opened it—the diamond necklace he’d given me. “No need. I already have jewelry picked out.” I declined flatly. Preston’s face darkened. “There will be a lot of media tonight. If you wear this, people will know we’re happy together.” Hearing that from his mouth was the height of irony. I looked at him, said nothing, and silently put the necklace around my neck. The cold diamonds pressed against my skin, completely without warmth. The gala was a glittering scene of evening gowns and champagne toasts. Preston held my arm, gracefully moving through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with other business tycoons. To outsiders, we were a perfectly matched couple. Only I knew that the arm he had linked with mine was stiff, devoid of feeling. Halfway through the gala came the charity auction. Preston won an ancient painting, drawing rounds of applause. The next item was an emerald necklace. The host introduced it as “Tears of the Deep Sea,” symbolizing eternal protection. I looked at the necklace on the big screen, my expression shifting slightly. It was a piece I’d seen in a magazine once and casually mentioned I loved. Preston clearly remembered too. He raised his paddle and started bidding. The price climbed quickly, and in the end Preston won the necklace at three times the starting price. People around us cast envious glances. “Mr. Hartley really dotes on his wife—he didn’t even blink at that price.” “Ms. Hayes is so lucky.” Listening to the compliments, I felt nothing inside. After the auction ended, Preston went backstage to handle the paperwork. I stood in a corner of the hall waiting for him. A moment later, he came over holding a delicate velvet box. I reached out to take it. He pulled it away from my hand. “I want to give this necklace to Stella.” He looked at me, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. My hand froze in midair. The air around me seemed to solidify. “What did you say?” I doubted my own ears. “Stella’s been down lately. I want to give her a gift to cheer her up.” Preston avoided my eyes. “You already have that diamond necklace. Give this one to her. You don’t like flashy jewelry anyway.” I looked at him, finding it utterly absurd. In front of hundreds of witnesses, he bid on a necklace I loved, then told me it was for another woman. “Preston, what do you take me for?” I lowered my voice, fighting to control its tremor. “Can you stop making a scene?” He frowned, impatience in his tone. “It’s just a necklace. Do you have to be this petty? I’ll buy you a better one tomorrow.” Just a necklace.

Nora’s POV He didn’t get it—what I cared about was never the necklace. It was his heart, which had completely tilted toward Stella. I pulled my hand back, clenching it into a tight fist, my nails digging into my palm. I used the pain to hold onto my last shred of dignity. “Fine. Give it to her.” I looked at him and said coldly, “Preston, you’d better remember what you did today.” With that, I turned and walked out. “Where are you going?” he called after me. “Home.” I didn’t wait for him. I walked straight out of the ballroom. The night wind outside was cold, cutting through my thin gown. I wrapped my shawl tighter and walked briskly to the curb to hail a cab. When I got home, the living room was pitch black. I didn’t turn on the lights. I felt my way to the couch and sat down. In the darkness, all my senses sharpened. I heard the clock ticking on the wall, the cars passing outside, and the sound of my own heart breaking. I don’t know how long it was before the door lock clicked. Preston was home. He turned on the light, saw me sitting on the couch, and paused. “Why didn’t you turn on the lights?” He walked over, faintly smelling of alcohol. I said nothing, just looked at him quietly. He was holding the box with the necklace. “Stella’s asleep. I’ll give her the necklace tomorrow.” He set the box on the table and sat down beside me, reaching out to put his arm around my shoulder. I leaned away. His hand froze in midair, his face darkening. “Nora, how long are you going to keep this up? I’m exhausted from all these social events. Can’t you understand the position I’m in?” Understand. I looked at him and suddenly laughed. “Preston, in these seven years, how many times have I not understood?” In the early days of his startup, when his cash flow dried up, I sold the house my parents left me to help him through. When he was hospitalized with stomach bleeding, I took care of him devotedly for a whole month. When he was too busy to spend time with me, I never complained once. I gave him all my youth and passion, and what I got in return was disappointment and humiliation, over and over. “You’re tired. I’m tired too.” I stood up and looked down at him. “Preston, let’s split up.” I said it softly, but it landed like a sledgehammer in the quiet living room. Preston’s head jerked up, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief. “What did you say?” “I said, let’s get a divorce.” I looked into his eyes, my tone calmer than ever. No hysterics, no tears. Just a sense of release. Preston stared at me, his chest heaving violently. After a long moment, he let out a cold laugh. “Divorce? Nora, do you think marriage is a game? You get married when you want, divorce when you want?” He stood up and stepped closer, his eyes carrying a condescending arrogance. “Don’t think threatening me with divorce will make me cave. I’m telling you, it won’t happen.” He thought I was playing hard to get. He thought I couldn’t leave him. I looked at that familiar face and suddenly felt utterly exhausted. I turned and walked toward the bedroom. “I’ll have my lawyer draft the agreement and send it to you.” The door closed behind me. I leaned against it and let out a long breath. It was over. This seven-year war of attrition was finally about to end.

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“Captain Pierce, there’s thunder outside, I’m so scared… can you come check on me?” It was 11 PM when Sophie called, her voice choked with sobs. Adrian Pierce grabbed his car keys and headed for the door. I stood behind him, my voice soft: “Adrian, if you walk out that door tonight, we’re done. For good.” He gripped the door handle, not even bothering to turn around. He just scoffed coldly. “Hannah, don’t threaten me with a breakup. You can’t live without me—the whole airline knows it.” The door slammed shut. He didn’t look back. Not once. I crouched down and slipped off the plain band he’d put on my finger himself. The moment it slid past my knuckle, I realized something—taking it off didn’t hurt as much as I’d imagined. I pulled out my phone and dialed another number. “Ethan, you mentioned last time that Doctors Without Borders still needs a logistics coordinator?” A gentle voice came through the line. “You’re welcome anytime. But didn’t you say you needed more time to think it over?” I smiled and tossed the ring into the trash. “No need to think anymore. My husband died in his mistress’s bed. I can leave tomorrow.”

Hannah’s POV Thirty thousand feet up, on a flight from New York to Los Angeles. The plane suddenly hit severe turbulence. The violent weightless sensation sent the entire cabin into a brief panic. Overhead bins clunked dully, uncollected paper cups tumbled through the air, splattering brown coffee everywhere. I was in the rear cabin checking seatbelts when the unexpected jolt threw me completely off balance. I crashed hard onto the aisle floor. My knee slammed against the sharp metal edge of the service cart, and excruciating pain shot through my entire body. I gritted my teeth, cold sweat sliding down my temples. Before, whenever there was even the slightest turbulence, the cockpit’s intercom would ring back to the rear cabin immediately. Adrian’s deep, steady voice would come through the static: “Hannah, are you hurt? Find a seat and buckle up. Don’t be scared.” He would even break protocol to request altitude changes from the tower, just to spare me a bit of turbulence. Everyone in the airline knew that Lead Flight Attendant Hannah Bennett was the treasure Captain Pierce had protected for seven years. But now, the intercom was dead silent. I gripped the service cart and forced myself to stand, pushing through the searing pain in my knee. I summoned my professional smile to reassure the panicked passengers. “Everyone, please stay calm and fasten your seatbelts. It’s just normal turbulence…” Just then, the cabin PA crackled to life. It wasn’t Adrian’s reassuring voice that came through, but a young, sweet—even slightly excited—female voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your First Officer Sophie. The plane is experiencing some turbulence, but please don’t worry. Captain Pierce is teaching me how to handle it right now, and we’ll land safely.” I froze. My nails dug deep into my palms, and every breath sent pain shooting through my chest. So while the turbulence had been at its worst, he’d been in the cockpit patiently teaching Sophie how to fly through it. He was giving the favoritism and privilege that had once been mine alone—without reservation—to a new female pilot who’d been with the airline less than three months. Two hours later, the plane touched down smoothly at Los Angeles International Airport. In the crew corridor, Adrian walked at the front, his captain’s uniform crisp, his posture impeccable. Sophie trailed right beside him like a happy little bird, chattering away about the close call. I dragged my heavy flight case at the very back. My right knee was swollen, and every step felt like walking on knife blades. Limping, I fell far behind. Adrian stopped and turned to look at me, his brow furrowed tight, impatience clear in his voice. “Hannah, hurry up. The whole crew’s bus is waiting for you.” I stopped, looking at him from several feet away. That face I’d loved for seven years was now filled with coldness. “I hurt my leg,” I said quietly. No self-pity. Just stating a fact. Adrian’s expression didn’t flicker. His voice was ice cold. “As lead flight attendant, you don’t know to secure yourself first during turbulence? Where’s your professionalism? Don’t use excuses like that to drag your feet.” Sophie tugged at Adrian’s sleeve from the side, cutting in with that sweet, syrupy voice. “Captain Pierce, don’t be harsh on her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to. Back in the cockpit, if you hadn’t held my hand to guide me through the controls, I would’ve been terrified.” Held her hand. I lowered my eyes, hiding the sting in them. I took a deep breath, gripped my case, and quickened my pace. I walked right past them, heading straight for the crew bus. As I passed, I didn’t spare Adrian a single glance.

Hannah’s POV On the crew bus. The window seat in the first row had always been mine. I get a little carsick, so Adrian had made it a rule that no one else could sit there. Every time before I boarded, there would be a cup of warm water Adrian had prepared waiting in the cupholder. I dragged my injured leg onto the bus and instinctively headed for the first row. Only to find Sophie already sitting there, holding a steaming cup of warm water in her hands. When she saw me, Sophie blinked her big innocent eyes and bit her lower lip. “Hannah, I’m so sorry. I get a bit carsick, and Captain Pierce told me to sit here. You don’t mind, do you?” I stared at that cup of warm water. My stomach churned. I turned to look at Adrian, who’d come up behind me. Adrian avoided my eyes, tossing his flight bag onto the seat next to Sophie. He spoke flatly. “She’s new, and she’s not feeling well. Go sit in the back. Don’t make a fuss with her.” Don’t make a fuss with her. My lips twitched. I didn’t say a word. I turned and walked to the very back row of the bus. The bus started, rocking and swaying. I sat in the corner of the last row, watching as Adrian tilted his head toward Sophie in the first row, patiently explaining something. Sophie laughed happily. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the cold window. At the crew hotel, Adrian got the room keys at the front desk. He handed one to Sophie, his voice gentle. “Get some good rest. I’ll take you somewhere nice for dinner tonight.” Then he tossed the other key onto the counter without even looking at me. “Yours.” I picked up the key and rode the elevator up alone. Back in my room, I peeled off my uniform and rolled up my pant leg. My right knee was already mottled purple, swollen like a macaron. I didn’t get ice, didn’t apply any ointment. I just sat quietly on the edge of the bed, staring at the bruise. Did it hurt? You get used to it after a while. The pain stops registering. I pulled out my phone and opened the airline’s internal system. Pinned to the homepage was a recruitment notice: 【Notice Regarding the Selection of Outstanding Cabin Crew for Long-Term Deployment to Damascus】. Damascus. A volatile city in the Middle East. Constant warfare, brutal conditions, where even basic personal safety couldn’t be one hundred percent guaranteed. Once you went, you couldn’t transfer back for at least three years—essentially severing yourself from your current comfortable life. The posting had been up for two weeks. Out of thousands of flight attendants in the entire airline, not a single person had signed up. I stared at the screen for a long time. Before, Adrian would fuss for hours over me flying a single red-eye. He’d find every way to switch me to his daytime routes. He used to say, “Hannah, as long as I’m here, you’ll never have to suffer through anything like that.” But now, the man who promised to protect me forever was holding his umbrella over someone else. I didn’t hesitate. My finger tapped lightly, filling out the application, and I hit submit. A dialog box popped up: 【Once submitted, this application cannot be withdrawn. Please confirm to continue?】 I pressed 【Confirm】. Watching the screen display “Submission successful. Pending review,” I let out a long breath. It was like I’d finally carved out a piece of rotting flesh from inside myself.

Hannah’s POV That evening, the crew dinner. It was at a famous seafood place in LA. When I walked into the private room, all the food was already on the table. A whole spread—tuna, lobster, oysters. I stopped in the doorway. I’m allergic to seafood. Severely. Even a tiny bit makes me break out in hives and struggle to breathe. Before, Adrian would never bring the crew out for seafood. If there really was no other option, he’d order me a steak separately, then sweep all the shrimp and crab away from my place, declaring possessively, “You can only watch me eat.” Today, there was no steak. Because Sophie had pouted on the bus that we absolutely had to have great seafood while in LA. I found a seat at the edge of the table and sat down. Sophie put on disposable gloves, peeled a plump shrimp, and naturally placed it in Adrian’s bowl. “Captain Pierce, try this. It’s amazing!” Adrian didn’t refuse. He picked up the shrimp, popped it in his mouth, and nodded. “Good.” A sharp pain twisted in my stomach. I picked up the beer in front of me, took a sip, and didn’t touch the food. Adrian noticed my empty plate from the corner of his eye. His brow furrowed, displeasure in his tone. “Why aren’t you eating? Everyone’s enjoying themselves. Are you trying to ruin the mood right now?” The room went silent in an instant. Everyone looked at me. I set down my glass and looked Adrian directly in the eye, my voice calm and steady. “I’m allergic to seafood. Did you forget?” Adrian’s hand froze mid-shrimp-peel. A flash of frustration crossed his eyes, but it was quickly buried under irritation. He grabbed a napkin, wiped his hands, and said coldly, “So you’re allergic. Just ask the waiter to add a dish. Why make everyone uncomfortable?” Sophie shot up, her eyes red, looking like she’d suffered the greatest injustice in the world. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I didn’t know you were allergic. Captain Pierce never mentioned it… It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked for seafood.” Her tears made me look like the wicked one bullying the new girl. A few of the first officers nearby quickly comforted Sophie. “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s not your fault.” I’d had enough. I stood up and grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair. “You all enjoy. My stomach’s bothering me. I’m heading back first.” Without acknowledging the storm cloud darkening Adrian’s face, I pushed open the door and walked out. It had started pouring outside at some point. LA rain always comes fast and hard. I didn’t have an umbrella. I stood under the restaurant’s awning, staring blankly at the curtain of rain. Before, when it rained, Adrian would take off his jacket and wrap it around me, holding me tight against him. He’d hold the umbrella, with most of his body getting soaked, just to keep me from getting a single drop on me. Now, I stood here alone, the cold wind cutting through my thin shirt. Footsteps came from behind me. Adrian stepped out under a black umbrella, with Sophie pressed tight against his side, both her hands wrapped around his arm. When he saw me, Adrian paused. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. But Sophie shivered at that exact moment and burrowed closer into him. “Captain Pierce, I’m so cold. Let’s hurry.” Adrian’s gaze lingered on my thin frame for a second, then finally turned away. He shielded Sophie and walked straight to a taxi waiting at the curb. The door slammed shut. The car drove off quickly. The wheels rolled through a puddle, splashing dirty water that soaked my pant legs. I stood there, watching the car disappear into the rainy night, and suddenly laughed. As I laughed, tears mixed with rain came pouring down.

Hannah’s POV I went back to the New York apartment we shared. I pushed open the door. The place was pitch black. I didn’t turn on the lights. By the moonlight from the window, I dragged a 20-inch suitcase out of the storage closet. My Damascus deployment application had passed the initial review. Next week was the in-depth physical examination. I started packing. There wasn’t much to pack, really. This apartment was filled with things Adrian had bought me. The closet was hung with dresses he’d picked, the vanity was covered with skincare he’d bought. I only took a few old clothes I’d bought myself, a few books I read often, and stuffed them in the case. At 11 PM, the lock turned. Adrian was home. He reeked of alcohol, with a faint trace of perfume clinging to him. That cloying peach scent Sophie loved. Click. The living room lights came on. Adrian loosened his tie. When he saw the suitcase in the middle of the living room, his brow knotted instantly. “You have a trip? The schedule didn’t show you had any flights.” I put the last book in the case and zipped it up. “Just packing some old clothes to throw out.” Adrian walked over and reflexively reached out to hug me. I stepped back, avoiding his touch. Adrian’s hand froze in midair. His expression darkened instantly. “Hannah, how long are you going to keep this up? You’ve been acting like this since we got back from LA. Sophie is just a student the company assigned to me. So I took care of her a little more—what’s the big deal? Do you have to be this petty?” I stood up straight and looked at his eyes, slightly red from the alcohol. “Just a student?” My voice was soft but clear. “Does a student need you to pick her up after work at midnight? Does a student need you to give her my first officer position? Does a student need you to forget my seafood allergy just to satisfy her cravings?” Adrian raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “You never used to be this petty. You’re a great lead flight attendant—can’t you be reasonable? Stop being so immature, like a little girl.” His words struck me as the height of irony. He used to say, “Hannah, you never have to be ‘reasonable’ in front of me. I’ll handle everything for you.” Now, he was complaining I wasn’t reasonable enough. Just then, Adrian’s phone, sitting on the table, rang. Sophie’s name flashed on the screen. Adrian glanced at me, then picked up. In the quiet living room, Sophie’s tearful voice came through crystal clear. “Captain Pierce, there’s thunder outside, I’m so scared… can you come check on me? I’m too scared to sleep alone.” Adrian didn’t hesitate at all. He turned to grab his car keys by the door. “Don’t be scared. I’m coming over right now.” I watched his back and suddenly spoke. “Adrian, if you walk out that door tonight, we’re done. For good.” Adrian’s hand froze on the door handle. He turned around, his eyes filled with certainty and mockery. “Hannah, don’t threaten me with a breakup. You can’t live without me—the whole airline knows it. When I come back tomorrow, I hope you’ll have calmed down.” The door slammed shut. I stood in the empty living room. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I walked to the TV stand and picked up the picture frame. Inside was the photo of us from three years ago under the Eiffel Tower. Adrian was kissing my forehead, smiling with such tenderness. I opened the frame, pulled the photo out, ripped it into pieces, and threw it in the trash.

Hannah’s POV The last flight I worked with Adrian was New York to Chicago. Sophie was in the cockpit as an observer. Mid-flight, she came out to use the restroom. As she passed through first class, the plane hit a small patch of turbulence. Sophie’s foot slipped. The coffee cup in her hand went flying, landing squarely on a VIP passenger’s laptop. “Are you blind?!” The passenger exploded with rage, jumping to his feet. “I’ve got tens of millions in contract data on that computer! Can you afford to replace it? Get me your lead flight attendant! I’m filing a complaint!” Sophie went pale with terror, tears spilling instantly. She covered her face and ducked behind the work area, not even managing a single apology. I heard the commotion and rushed over immediately. I glanced at Sophie trembling behind the curtain but didn’t say anything. I grabbed a towel, walked over to the passenger, and bowed at a perfect ninety degrees. “Sir, I’m so sorry. This was our staff’s mistake. Our airline will cover the full cost of cleaning and repairing your laptop. If you have any data loss, we’ll also assist you through the compensation process.” The passenger was furious. He pointed at me and cursed for a full half hour. All kinds of vile words rained down on me, but I maintained my bow the entire time without a single word of defense. It wasn’t until the plane landed and the passenger signed the compensation agreement that things finally settled down. The crew conference room. Adrian sat at the head of the table, his face dark as stone. He slammed the complaint form down on the table, his cold gaze sweeping toward me. “What happened with the first class complaint today? Hannah, as lead flight attendant, you can’t even calm a passenger down? You let a customer scream in the cabin for thirty minutes—where’s your crisis management?” I stood there, my back ramrod straight, saying nothing. Sophie sat next to Adrian, her eyes red, speaking timidly. “Captain Pierce, it’s not Hannah’s fault. I’m the one who carelessly spilled the coffee…” “Quiet.” Adrian cut her off, his eyes still locked on me. “You’re a pilot. The cabin is her responsibility. Hannah, are you taking your issues with me out on a new crew member during a flight? Watching her mess up and doing nothing, just to prove how competent you are?” The conference room went deathly silent. Everyone looked at Adrian in disbelief. They all knew Sophie had caused the mess, that I’d taken the blame for her and endured thirty minutes of abuse. Yet Adrian, without any regard for right and wrong, was pushing all the responsibility onto me. I looked at this man. Seven years of love, in this moment, had become a complete joke. I raised my hand, slowly removed the gold badge on my chest that marked me as lead flight attendant, and gently placed it on the table. “It was my fault,” I said, my voice as flat as still water. “I didn’t look after the new crew member. I didn’t handle the emergency properly. I accept whatever punishment the airline gives.” Adrian was stunned for a moment, but then continued his rigid commands. “Three days grounded. Write me a thorough written reflection.” I nodded. “Fine.” I turned and walked out of the conference room, without a single lingering glance.

Hannah’s POV During my three days grounded, I went to the airline medical center. The initial review for the Damascus deployment had passed. Today was the day for the in-depth physical. The flight doctor was maybe in his fifties. He looked at my paperwork and sighed. “Ms. Bennett, you need to really think this through. Damascus—an airport there was bombed just last month. If you go, you’ll be living on the edge of death. You’re so young. Why would you choose to go there?” I smiled, my eyes clear. “It suits me better.” He shook his head and pulled a thick document from his drawer, handing it to me. “This is the liability waiver. Once you sign, if anything happens to you in Damascus, the airline only covers the death benefit. They take no other responsibility. Think it over.” I took the pen and signed my name on the last page without any hesitation. The pen scratched across the paper with a soft rasp, like it was severing every tie to the past. Coming out of the office, I walked toward the exit with my exam reports. Just as I rounded the corner, I ran face-first into Adrian and Sophie. Sophie’s index finger was wrapped in gauze. She was leaning against Adrian, pouting. “Captain Pierce, it hurts so much. Will it leave a scar?” Adrian looked down at her hand with rare patience. “It’s just a little nick from cutting fruit. The doctor said it would’ve healed on its own if you’d come even a little later. Don’t worry.” When Adrian looked up, he saw me standing not far away. He froze, his gaze quickly scanning my pale face, finally landing on the stack of papers in my hand. “Are you sick?” Adrian’s brow furrowed, and he instinctively took a step forward. I tucked the exam papers behind me, my tone indifferent. “No. Just a routine check-up.” When Sophie saw me, she straightened up immediately. She deliberately raised her bandaged finger and said sweetly, “Hannah, are you here to see the doctor too? Captain Pierce says I can’t get my hand wet, so he’s going to be cooking at home for me these next few days. You don’t mind, do you?” Cooking for her. That kitchen that had once been mine alone. That kitchen where Adrian had hugged me from behind to teach me how to cook—it was about to welcome a new mistress. I looked at Sophie’s provocative face and said calmly, “That’s nice. I’ve got things to do. I’m going.” I walked past them, heading straight forward. Adrian grabbed my wrist. “Hannah, what exactly are you angry about?” Adrian lowered his voice. “Three days grounded hasn’t been enough to wake you up? You won’t be satisfied until our relationship is completely broken?” I lowered my head and pried his fingers off one by one. “I’m very awake.” I looked up and stared into his eyes. The corners of my mouth even curved up in the faintest smile. “Captain Pierce, I wish you both happiness.” With that, I turned and left. The day before I left New York. I did the final cleanup in the apartment. I called a local courier and shipped off the few old clothes and books that were mine. Everything else, anything I couldn’t take—I threw into trash bags. All those expensive dresses, bags, and jewelry Adrian had bought me—I didn’t take a single thing. I hung them neatly in the closet. I walked to the vanity, pulled open the drawer, and took out a velvet box. I opened it. Inside lay a plain band. It was the ring Adrian had bought when he proposed to me in Paris years ago. He’d said once he got promoted, we’d get married. I’d worn this ring for years. The band already had fine scratches on it. I took the ring off and placed it on the living room table. Next to it, I set down the apartment key I’d used for years. When everything was done, the whole apartment felt empty, as clean and soulless as a model home. No more of my slippers, no more of my water glass, none of the traces of my life left behind. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Adrian: 【There’s a banquet tonight, with people from the airline. Come. Stop sulking. We’ll talk things through together, and the grounding business will be over.】 I looked at the words on the screen and found it a little funny. He thought I was throwing a tantrum. He thought all he had to do was wave his hand and I’d come crawling back gratefully like before. I tapped lightly and replied: 【Okay.】

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It was the third year of my marriage to Ethan Vance when he became the most devoted rising star in our city’s medical field. Everyone knew he’d sacrificed a chance to study abroad for his wife, who suffered from severe depression. He’d even built a state-of-the-art sterile medical suite in our home for her care. Until that day, when I found a death certificate dated three days from now, hidden in a secret compartment in his study. Cause of death: Severe depressive episode, overdose of sleeping pills. Next to it, was the top-secret autopsy report from my mother’s lab explosion accident years ago. The signatory was Arthur Vance, Ethan’s father. He pushed the door open, carrying the cup of warm milk he prepared for me every single day, without fail. His smile was chillingly gentle. “Summer, it’s time for your medicine. Drink it, then get some good rest.” I took the milk, returning his smile with one of my own. “Okay, Ethan.” He had no idea the medicine in that milk had long been replaced with a hallucinogenic neurotoxin, meant for him. Since he wanted me to die a perfectly natural death, I’d make sure he went mad for all the world to see.

Ethan didn’t argue with me the day I found the death certificate. The rain outside the villa was heavy, streaking down the floor-to-ceiling windows. He sat across from me at the dining table, meticulously cutting my steak. The blade scraped softly against the white porcelain, a subtle, teeth-grinding sound. His movements were elegant, his expression focused, his tone as gentle as if nothing had happened, as if our seven-day cold war didn’t exist at all. “Summer, you’ve been too stressed lately, always paranoid and jumpy. Eat this meat, it’ll do you good.” I looked at the bloody steak, my stomach churned, but I didn’t touch it. “Ethan, I’m not stressed, I’m going to stop my medication. Those pills make me so drowsy all day, I can barely tell the difference in reagent colors anymore.” He looked up at me, and that familiar, suffocating pity immediately surfaced in his deep eyes. It was a condescending gaze, like he was looking at a terminally ill, irrational madwoman. “Stopping medication isn’t a small matter, Summer. Your doctor said your nerves are extremely fragile right now. We’ll talk about it when your mood is a bit more stable.” I’d heard that sentence too many times. Every time I tried to break free from this web he’d woven, he would use that gentle tone to press me back into the cage he called “severe depression.” I didn’t want to argue with him anymore because I knew the only outcome would be me being forcibly injected with a sedative. I gave him a cold glance, then got up and went back to the bedroom. The cold war lasted for seven days. During those days, he said the approval for a new targeted drug at his company required him to work through the night, so he barely came home. In this empty villa, it was just me and a few maids who came to clean on schedule, never saying more than a word to me. I didn’t ask where he went, nor did I answer his calls. That morning, I sat in the living room, organizing the pharmacology manuscripts my mother had left behind. Those manuscripts were my only solace, the only real thing I could grasp onto in this cold house. The doorbell suddenly rang, urgent and sharp. I opened the door to find two people in white coats, with police officers behind them. “Hello, are you Ms. Summer Reed?” I nodded, a faint unease rising in my heart. One of the officers glanced inside, his gaze lingering for a moment on the scattered manuscripts on the table. His tone softened, carrying a professional, yet sympathetic air. “Your husband reported that after you stopped your medication, you’ve shown severe self-destructive tendencies, accompanied by persecutory delusions, and even hoarded dangerous chemicals at home. We’re here to verify the situation.” I froze, blood rushing to my head. Self-destructive tendencies? Hoarding dangerous chemicals? I’d been home these past seven days, doing nothing but reading and organizing manuscripts. All I did was not answer Ethan’s calls or reply to his messages. Just as I was about to explain, the elevator door suddenly opened. Ethan rushed out, his usually immaculately styled hair now a little disheveled, his white shirt collar slightly open. His eyes were red, and his chest heaved, as if he’d run all the way up. He pushed past the officers and pulled me into a suffocating embrace, his grip so tight I could barely breathe. His voice was hoarse, thick with lingering fear. “Summer, you scared me to death! How could you lock the door from the inside? Do you know how worried I was that you’d do something foolish?” My body stiffened, a chill starting in my stomach and spreading through my entire body. The officers and doctors visibly relaxed, even showing a hint of respect for Ethan. Ethan released me and turned to explain to them, his voice calm, controlled, yet radiating endless exhaustion. “I apologize for the trouble, officers. Her mental state hasn’t been good recently. Last night, she even sent messages saying someone was poisoning her food, and this morning, surveillance showed her searching for weed killer. I was so worried she’d have an accident, I had no choice but to call for your help.” I snapped my head up, staring intently at his flawless face. “When did I ever send messages like that? What weed killer? Ethan, you’re lying!” He looked at me, his gaze almost helplessly gentle, and even reached out to smooth a stray wisp of hair behind my ear. “Summer, don’t try to act tough in front of the doctors. I know you’re in pain. Let’s get you better, okay?” That’s when I understood. He wasn’t explaining. He was making a diagnosis for me. The more I denied it, the more I seemed to be losing control. The angrier I got, the more I appeared mentally unstable. Before the doctors left, they tactfully reminded me to take my medication on time and handed me a business card, saying that if I resisted home treatment, I could consider forced hospitalization for inpatient intervention. After the door closed, silence returned to the villa. I shoved Ethan away, my voice trembling. “What exactly do you want?” He stood still, looking down at me, the worried curve of his lips slowly smoothing out. His voice was a low sigh. “I’m just afraid of losing you, Summer.” Three years ago, I would have softened. But now, I just felt cold. Bone-chilling cold. That night, I opened my phone, and a new message from my father-in-law, Arthur Vance, was in the family Snapchat group. “Summer’s condition has relapsed recently. She almost had an accident today, thankfully Ethan found out in time. Please don’t upset her, contact Ethan first if you need anything. The poor child has suffered so much.” A row of agreeing comments followed. “Ethan, you work so hard, stuck with a daughter-in-law like this.” “Summer is just unlucky, it’s a blessing she married Ethan, anyone else would have abandoned her long ago.” “No hurdle is too big for a married couple, she needs to be sent to the hospital for treatment immediately.” I stared at the screen, my fingertips tightening until my knuckles turned white. Immediately after, my phone buzzed with several cold system notifications: “Your medical account has been accessed from another location.” “Your health insurance card attempted to bind to a new device.” “Your cloud medical records enabled family sharing.” “Your smart pill box record sync failed, showing multiple unauthorized openings.” I sat in the living room, suddenly feeling the silence was terrifying, every tick of the clock felt like a countdown. Those actions weren’t just to steal my money or simply monitor me. They were creating a flawless electronic trail. To prove that I had experienced an episode, sought help, been confused, lost control. Ethan wasn’t acting on impulse. He had already started creating a trajectory of “severe depressive episode, mental breakdown” for me. He was weaving a death trap everyone would believe.

The next day, I suppressed the fear in my heart and went to the research institute. I’m a pharmacology researcher, and I’ve been leading a targeted drug experiment for neurological conditions. I’d poured my heart and soul into this project, tracking data for six months, and preliminary results were imminent. As soon as I entered the lab, my colleagues, who had been in lively discussion, suddenly quieted as if choked. They quickly lowered their heads, pretending to be busy, but I could feel sticky, probing, even slightly fearful gazes crawling over my back. Soon after, the director called me into his office. He poured me a glass of warm water, choosing his words carefully, his tone firm and non-negotiable. “Summer, please set aside this targeted project for now. Liam will take over the subsequent data analysis. You’ll be on paid leave for three months.” I looked at him, my fingers tightly gripping the water glass. “Why? My data is fine, and the experiment is at a critical stage.” The director sighed, avoiding my gaze. “Mr. Vance called me this morning and said you’ve been experiencing extreme sleep deprivation, severe mood swings, and even serious hallucinations at home, with self-harming tendencies. Summer, we’re doing this for your own good. Research is stressful, don’t push yourself too hard. If something happens in the lab, no one can afford to take responsibility for it.” It was always “for my own good.” I suppressed my anger, trying to keep my voice steady. “This is my project, and my work state is perfectly fine. I can undergo a psychological evaluation.” The director shook his head. “Summer, don’t get agitated. Mr. Vance has already sent over your diagnosis report; it was issued by Dr. Willow Hayes. Please listen, go home and rest.” Those three words, “don’t get agitated,” pierced my chest like a needle, shattering all my defenses into “symptoms of an impending episode.” At noon, Ethan came to the institute. He carried a sophisticated insulated bag and stood at the entrance of the office area, looking gentle and impeccable. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes were full of tenderness, like a considerate, devoted husband. “Summer has a delicate stomach, so I brought her some medicinal soup and came to pick her up.” My colleagues looked at him with envy, and some female colleagues even teared up. “Mr. Vance is too sweet! Such a big boss, personally delivering food.” “Summer, your husband really loves you. You need to get better soon.” I sat at my desk, suddenly feeling utterly absurd. He personally took me off my project, stripped me of my right to work, severed my normal connections with the outside world, and then showed up with soup. Everyone saw his devotion, but they didn’t see the noose around my neck. Ethan placed the insulated container on my desk, his voice soft, but loud enough for everyone around to hear. “Don’t try to act tough. Dr. Hayes said you should reduce mental stimulation these days. I’ve already gotten leave approved with the director. Let’s go home.” I looked up at him, my eyes cold. “What Dr. Hayes? I’ve never seen any Dr. Hayes.” He paused, still smiling, and reached out to touch my head. “Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to see Dr. Willow Hayes. Did you forget? We just made the appointment last week.” My heart sank. He had already prepared the next step. Fabricated memories, forced diagnoses. That afternoon, while he was in the living room on the phone, I slipped into the bathroom and called Serena Thorne. She was my university classmate and now a top forensic toxicology expert. She specialized in obscure neurotoxins and was extremely rational and fiercely protective of her own. After hearing my description, there was a minute of silence on the other end of the line. “Summer, don’t go head-to-head with him,” Serena’s voice was as cold as ice. “He’s setting a trap. Gather evidence first. Draw a blood sample, and find a way to get it to me. I suspect the medicine and milk you drink every day are laced with a hallucinogen.” After returning home, I started checking my electronic devices. My cloud photo album had several new pictures. The timestamp was 2:17 AM. In the photos, a woman wearing my white silk nightgown stood on the edge of the apartment rooftop. The strong wind billowed her skirt, her back desolate and despairing, looking exactly like me. But that night, I had been fed his so-called “calming medicine” and was sound asleep in my bedroom, not even turning over once. I downloaded the original images, imported them into professional image analysis software to check the hidden EXIF data. The device used to take the photos was not my phone. It was an older model, its serial number showing it was Ethan’s three-year-old discarded backup phone. I stared at the serial number, a chill ran down my spine, cold sweat soaked my clothes. Ethan walked in, carrying a glass of water. I handed him my phone, staring intently into his eyes. “Who is this?” He glanced at it, his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes showing a perfectly timed hint of heartache. “Summer, are you misremembering again? Didn’t you wear this nightgown last night? You sleepwalked onto the rooftop last night, and I barely managed to pull you back. Don’t you remember?” “I didn’t take these photos, and I didn’t go to the rooftop! Ethan, what exactly do you want?!” He looked at me, his eyes filled with deep pity, and even stepped forward as if to hug me. “You’ve been sleeping so poorly recently; your sleepwalking symptoms are getting worse. Memory gaps are normal. Don’t be afraid, I’m here.” I suddenly laughed, tears almost streaming down my face. So, he had planned it all along. If I refuted him, it was memory gaps, sleepwalking. If I was angry, it was emotional breakdown, mania. If I was suspicious, it was persecutory delusions. Ethan took an appointment slip from his briefcase and gently placed it on the table. My name was written on it. Deep psychological intervention and psychiatric evaluation appointment. Institution: Willow Hayes Mental Health Recovery Center. “Summer, tomorrow I’ll go with you to see Dr. Hayes.” His voice was low and soft, as if coaxing a disobedient child. “You need professional help.” I had thought about leaving immediately, escaping far away. But my identification, the core experimental data my mother left behind, the formula database, and those unencrypted experimental records were all in the basement of this house. They were something my mother died for. More importantly, I knew he had already started paving the path for my “suicide due to mental illness.” If I left now, no matter where I died, I would walk right into his script, becoming the perfect footnote to his “devoted husband” persona.

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For our fifth anniversary, I bought Luna a Porsche 91 The next day, she posted a tearful video on TikTok, accusing me of using my foul, capitalistic wealth to trample all over her desire for pure love. Her entire girl squad frantically reposted it, tearing into me as a shallow upstart who only knew how to throw money around, completely devoid of romance. Watching her cry so tragically in the video, I just found it utterly absurd. If she hated money so much, then I’d retract all her privileges. I’d prepare a “no-expenses-spared,” “true-heart-only” romance for her. Later, facing mountains of waste paper and crippling debt, she knelt, clutching my leg. “Ethan, I don’t want romance anymore! Please, just give me back the money…” 1 It was three in the morning, and my phone screen was flickering with countless notifications. Not work emails or reports, but a frantic stream of @-mentions from TikTok. I rubbed my throbbing temples and swiped to unlock. The first thing I saw was a video with over a hundred thousand likes. Posted by: Luna’s Fairytale Town. My girlfriend of five years, Luna. The video’s thumbnail was her tear-streaked face, eyes red-rimmed, with a broken, desperate look in her eyes. It was overlaid with a stark, attention-grabbing caption: [My fifth anniversary, and I received the most devastating gift.] I tapped on the video. On screen, Luna sat in the driver’s seat of a brand-new Porsche 911, clutching a car key. It was the car I’d picked up with her just yesterday, costing close to $250,000. But she wasn’t smiling. She faced the camera, tears streaming down her face like pearls. “Guys, today marks five years with my boyfriend.” “I thought, for such an important five-year anniversary, he’d prepare a surprise full of memories. Even if it was just an origami crane he folded himself, or a letter he wrote for me, or even just taking me back to that little cafe where we had our first coffee.” “But no. Nothing.” She held up the key, emblazoned with the Porsche emblem, her eyes filled with disgust and hurt. “He took me to the dealership, swiped his card, picked up the car, and then said to me: ‘Like it? Drive it home yourself.’” “In that moment, my heart completely died.” “A $250,000 car, sounds impressive, right? But to me, it’s just a pile of cold steel! It has no warmth, no soul, and absolutely no love!” “I asked him, ‘Don’t you have anything else to say to me? Don’t you have a thoughtful gift?’” “He actually snapped impatiently: ‘Are you serious? This car isn’t good enough? Other people would kill for this, don’t be so dramatic.’” Luna in the video took a deep breath, her tears splashing onto the steering wheel. “I just broke down. In his eyes, what am I? Am I just a plaything he can buy off with money?” “I, Luna, have never wanted money! What I want is thoughtfulness, sincerity, that kind of deep, unwavering choice, that cherished romance!” “Am I wrong? I just want a pure love, why is it so hard? This money-grubbing relationship, it’s truly driving me insane…” The video cut off there. I watched the screen in silence. My heart didn’t ache as it usually did for her tears. Instead, an unspeakable wave of nausea washed over me. In the video, she conveniently forgot to mention that this car was her “dream car,” one she’d seen someone else driving on the street two weeks ago and had been dropping hints about incessantly ever since. She also conveniently forgot to mention how many strings I’d pulled, and how much extra I’d paid, to get the car delivered by our anniversary. And she definitely didn’t mention that my “don’t be dramatic” comment was because she’d thrown a huge tantrum at the dealership, humiliating me, simply because the sales staff hadn’t prepared pink delivery flowers for her. In her video, I was nothing but a nouveau riche trampling on a pure maiden’s true heart. And she? A hypocritical saint, untainted by the world, seeking only true love. I clicked on the comment section. The public outcry was in full swing, my name being slandered everywhere. [OMG, Luna, don’t cry! This chauvinistic jerk who only knows how to throw money around doesn’t deserve you!] [$250,000 to buy five years of youth? What does this guy think love is? A transaction? So disgusting!] [This is the face of capitalism! Thinking money can buy everything, no respect for women at all!] [Support Luna breaking up! My boyfriend might only make a few grand a month, but he’ll bring me soup when I’m sick at midnight, or make me a ring out of a soda can. That’s priceless romance! Money is nothing!] [Girl, run! This type of guy secretly looks down on you, thinks you’re just after his money. You deserve a good man who understands you, cherishes you, and is willing to put effort into you!] [I found him! His name is Ethan Hayes, he’s the owner of a tech company. Ha, figures! The richer they are, the colder their hearts!] [@EthanHayes, come apologize! You owe Luna her youth!] I scrolled down expressionlessly. Among the top-liked comments, I saw a few familiar IDs. Brittany, Tiffany. Luna’s two “besties.” Brittany commented: [As Luna’s best friend, I truly can’t stand it. Ethan, it’s bad enough you emotionally abuse Luna normally, but to humiliate her like this on your fifth anniversary? Do you have any idea how many times she pricked her fingers knitting you that scarf?] Tiffany commented: [Exactly! Luna is a girl with a rich inner world; she needs a soulmate! Your dirty money will only tarnish her world! Just let her go already!] And what I found most ridiculous was the third top comment. ID: PeacefulYears. That was Luna’s mother, Sharon. She replied to a netizen’s comment: “Sigh, my Luna has always been too protected by me since she was little, so pure-hearted, never fighting for anything, just full of romantic fantasies. I told her long ago that Ethan is too materialistic, too pragmatic, he can’t give her the emotional fulfillment she craves. But my girl is just so headstrong, always has to learn the hard way…” “Pure-hearted.” “Never fighting for anything.” How ironic. I stared at that comment, so furious I almost laughed. I remembered three years ago, Sharon, citing “lack of security,” forced me to buy a luxury apartment in the city center, putting only Luna’s name on the deed. I remembered two years ago, when Sharon’s brother got married, she hinted that as the “future son-in-law,” I should contribute a huge cash gift of $90,000. I remembered last month, Sharon went on a European trip and maxed out my supplementary credit card, which had a $100,000 limit. Now, she was on the internet, calling me materialistic, pragmatic, and saying I couldn’t provide her daughter with emotional fulfillment. I tossed my phone onto the couch, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and lit a cigarette. Outside, the city’s most bustling nightscape glittered. Through the haze of smoke, I suddenly felt that these five years of our relationship were nothing but a ridiculous circus. I’d poured everything into elevating her and her family to a pedestal. Yet, they stood there, looking down at me with pity, calling me tainted by money, unworthy of their elegance. Well, if that’s how it is. If money’s so dirty. Then, as you wish. 2 The next morning, the apartment doorbell rang incessantly. I opened the door to find Luna standing outside. She was wearing a pure white flowy linen dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders, eyes swollen red, looking as if a gust of wind could knock her over. Behind her, standing like guardians, were Brittany and Tiffany. As soon as I opened the door, Brittany launched the first attack, rushing up like a protective mother hen. “Ethan! Are you even a man? Luna cried all night, and you didn’t even call? Didn’t reply to a single SnapChat? Are you trying to kill her?!” Tiffany’s face was cold as she chimed in: “Ethan, don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you have a few bucks. Love isn’t a transaction! Your attitude at the dealership yesterday severely wounded Luna’s self-respect!” Luna didn’t speak, just bit her lower lip, looking at me with tear-filled eyes, a mix of three parts grievance and seven parts resentment. If this were before, seeing her like this, I would have softened immediately. I would have rushed to hug her, apologized profusely, and then taken her shopping for bags, for jewelry, until she smiled again. But today, I simply watched their performance in silence. “So?” I flicked my cigarette ash, my voice calm, without a ripple of emotion. My composure stunned all three of them. Brittany’s eyes widened, as if she’d seen some incredible monster: “So? You’re asking me ‘so’? Ethan, do you have no heart?! Luna is getting so much sympathy online; as her boyfriend, shouldn’t you be reflecting on your own problems?” “Reflecting on what?” I looked at Luna. “Reflecting that I shouldn’t have bought you a Porsche?” Luna’s body trembled slightly, and her tears instantly gushed forth. “Ethan! Don’t you understand by now?!” she screamed, her voice hoarse. “I don’t want a Porsche! I don’t want those expensive luxury goods! All I want is your true heart! All I want is romance you prepare with your own effort! Why don’t you ever understand me?!” “That’s right, Ethan,” Tiffany passive-aggressively chimed in. “Look at those boyfriends in the TikTok videos; they’ll stay up all night making handmade gifts, they’ll fill an entire room with balloons for their girlfriends’ surprises. What about you? Besides bank transfers, besides swiping cards, what else can you do? Your half-hearted attitude is a complete desecration of love!” I looked at Tiffany. I distinctly remember last month, for Tiffany’s birthday, Luna used my card to pick out an $8,000 Hermes bag for her. Back then, Tiffany posted nine pictures on Twitter, gushing about her “amazing bestie” and “best guy ever.” Now, she stood here, righteously accusing me of desecrating love. “I understand,” I nodded, stubbing out my cigarette. “You understand what?” Brittany eyed me suspiciously. “Don’t think you can just brush us off. I’m telling you, Luna is truly heartbroken this time. If you don’t take some concrete action to make amends, this isn’t over!” “Concrete action?” I chuckled softly. “Like what?” Brittany immediately answered, as if she’d prepared her lines: “Next month is Luna’s birthday. This is your last chance to redeem yourself! If you dare to trick her again with those tacky designer bags or sports cars, we’ll make Luna break up with you for good!” “Exactly!” Tiffany added. “This birthday has to be pure! It has to be romantic! It has to be untainted by even a hint of vulgar money! You need to use your own hands, your own heart, to prove your love to Luna! Understand?” Luna stood behind them, saying nothing, but her eyes were full of expectation and tacit approval. She was expecting me to act like a trained dog, racking my brain to create some so-called “romance” to please her. I looked at their three righteously indignant faces and suddenly felt an unprecedented sense of ease. “Alright,” I smiled faintly, my tone gentle. “I promise you.” Luna’s eyes lit up, a flicker of triumphant joy in their depths. “Ethan…” She stepped forward, gently tugging my sleeve, her voice softening. “I didn’t mean to talk about you online; I just desperately wanted you to understand me. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” “I’m not mad,” I looked into her eyes, enunciating each word. “You want pure, no-money, true-heart romance, right?” “Mhm!” Luna nodded vigorously, like an innocent girl. “For your birthday next month, I’ll prepare a romance you’ll never forget,” I gently stroked her hair. “Absolutely untainted by any hint of vulgar money. I promise.” Luna’s tears turned to a smile, and she threw herself into my arms. Brittany and Tiffany exchanged glances, also revealing satisfied smiles. They thought they had successfully “trained” a rich, clueless guy. They thought that at the birthday party next month, they would see me act like a clown, using all sorts of pathetic tactics to curry favor with them. But they had no idea. The game had only just begun. 3 After seeing them off, I returned to my study and opened my laptop. Since it had to be “pure,” since it had to be “unconventional,” I needed to commit to the act fully. First, I called Mr. Davis, the car dealership manager. “Mr. Davis, I’m not satisfied with the 911 I picked up yesterday.” Mr. Davis was startled on the other end of the line: “Mr. Hayes, is there something wrong with the car? Please tell us, we’ll send someone to deal with it immediately!” “It’s not the car,” my tone was flat. “My girlfriend thinks it’s too vulgar, unworthy of her elegant soul. Please send someone over to take the car back.” Mr. Davis paused, not reacting for a long moment: “Huh? But… Mr. Hayes, the car has already been registered. If you return it now, it can only be valued as a used car…” “It doesn’t matter,” I cut him off. “Whatever the depreciation, it’s on me. Get the car out of my apartment complex’s garage today.” After hanging up, I opened my banking app. I found the supplementary credit card Luna always carried, the one with the $100,000 limit. Tap. Freeze. Next, I called my CFO, Mr. Miller. “Mr. Miller, please liquidate the accounts for the ‘Starlight Cafe’ under my name.” The ‘Starlight Cafe’ was a venture I’d fully funded for Luna two years ago when she impulsively said she wanted to open a coffee shop. From selecting the location to the interior design, from equipment to coffee bean suppliers, everything used top-tier resources. To satisfy her vanity as an “independent female entrepreneur,” I not only made her the legal representative of the cafe but also gave her the title of “manager.” In reality, the cafe was bleeding money every month because she was only focused on taking photos for social media and inviting her besties for free afternoon tea. All the losses were secretly covered by my main company. Mr. Miller hesitated slightly on the phone: “Mr. Hayes, that store has a monthly funding gap of about $40,000. If we liquidate now…” “Cut off all financial support from the main company to it,” I commanded coldly. “From today, the cafe’s rent, utilities, employee salaries, and supplier invoices will all be the sole responsibility of the legal representative, Luna. Also, notify the legal department to compile the deficit funds my main company advanced for her over the past two years into a loan agreement and prepare for legal action.” “Understood,” Mr. Miller was a smart man; he didn’t ask any further questions. After all that, I leaned back in my chair and let out a long sigh. For five years, I had been like a bottomless pit, filling the vanity of Luna and her family. I thought that if I gave enough, she would eventually understand my intentions. But I was wrong. Some people, you give them everything, and they’ll still find something to whine about. Since that’s the case, I’ll take back the gold mountain and give her a pile of crap. In the afternoon, Luna sent me a SnapChat. “Honey, why isn’t my card working? Brittany and I are shopping, and I found a dress I love, but the card declined.” I looked at the screen, a cold smile playing on my lips. I replied: “Honey, to prepare a special birthday surprise for you next month, I’ve decided to cut off all material dependencies starting today. I want you to see that, even without money, I can still give you the most satisfying love. As for that dress, I’ll sew you a better one myself.” After I sent the message, there was silence on her end for a full ten minutes. Ten minutes later, Luna replied with a single word: “Okay.” Even though it was through a screen, I could picture her grinding her teeth, her face twisted in a forced display of emotion. Her self-proclaimed “money-is-dirt” persona? She’d have to see it through, even if it killed her.

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My former fiancé, who once adored me more than life itself, tied me to a dartboard in an underground gambling den, using me as a living target for his “perfect” girl. Ten knives, grazing my skin, pinned themselves into the wooden board. He watched me bleed from above, a cold sneer on his face. “Audrey, you owe this to Serena. Your greedy father stole her father’s life-saving heart, so you should pay with your life.” I bit my lip, enduring the excruciating pain, all for the money to keep my brother in the ICU. But later, when the truth came out, when he learned my father was the benefactor who voluntarily donated his heart, and had even died tragically in prison for it… He knelt before my brother’s grave, slapped his own face until it was raw, and cried like a madman who’d lost everything. Yet, I couldn’t even spare him a glance. I walked away, hand in hand with another man, towards a tomorrow that didn’t include him. The air in the underground gambling den was thick with the sickening smell of blood and cheap cigars. I was tightly bound to a huge round wooden board. My limbs spread wide, like a rag doll waiting for sacrifice. “Mr. Hayes, are you really going this far?” A rich heir beside me rubbed his hands, his eyes glinting with excitement and cruelty. Ethan Hayes sat on the leather sofa in the center of the room. His long legs were crossed, and he toyed with a gleaming throwing knife. Serena Vance nestled delicately in his arms, her nails painted crimson. “Ethan, maybe that’s enough. Miss Davis looks so pathetic. What if she gets a cut on her face?” Ethan scoffed, his gaze sharp as a knife, cutting across my face. “A murderer’s daughter like her? Pathetic? She doesn’t deserve it.” He stood up and walked five yards away from me. “Audrey, ten knives. For each one that doesn’t hit a vital spot, I’ll give you ten thousand.” “One hundred thousand after all ten. That should be enough for your sick brother’s surgery.” My cracked lips moved. “Deal.” No hesitation, no begging. A flicker of savagery crossed Ethan Hayes’s eyes. Three years ago, I was the pampered Audrey Davis, held in his palm. Now, I was a pathetic stray, willing to throw my life away for money. He flicked his wrist. *Whoosh—* The first knife flew past my cheek, slicing off a strand of hair, and embedded itself firmly in the board next to my ear. The cold edge sent shivers down my spine. I didn’t blink. “Ten thousand,” I calmly reported. Ethan Hayes clenched his jaw, his jawline taut. The second knife grazed my neck. The third, brushed my side. Each knife cut through the air, carrying his hatred, a desire to rip me to shreds. The surrounding crowd erupted in cheers. I stared intently into Ethan Hayes’s eyes. Those eyes, once filled with deep affection, now held only disgust and perverse pleasure. As the eighth knife flew, Serena suddenly let out a gasp, pretending to lose her balance and bumping Ethan Hayes’s arm. The throwing knife veered off course. *Thunk.* The blade plunged directly into my left shoulder. Blood gushed out instantly, staining my faded shirt. The searing pain tore at my nerves. I let out a muffled groan, cold sweat instantly soaking my back. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry, Miss Davis, I didn’t mean to!” Serena covered her mouth, but her eyes were full of triumphant malice. Ethan Hayes froze for a moment, looking at the blood on my shoulder. The hand holding the last two knives trembled slightly. But he quickly masked it, staring coldly at me. “Does it hurt?” “When your dad bribed the doctor and stole Serena’s father’s heart, Serena hurt a thousand times more than you do now.” “A daughter paying for her father’s sins. Just bear it.” I looked at him, forcing a pale smile. “Mr. Hayes, does this one count? If so, that’s eighty thousand.” Ethan Hayes’s eyes fixated on the smile at my lips, the corners of his eyes reddening. He violently slammed the remaining two knives to the ground. “Audrey, do you enjoy debasing yourself like this?!” I was still bound to the board, blood dripping down my arm. “Mr. Hayes, if I don’t debase myself, my brother will die.” “Just pay the money.”

The air in the private room instantly solidified. Ethan Hayes stared at me intently, his chest heaving. He strode over, grabbing my chin with a grip so strong it felt like my bones would shatter. “Are you that desperate for money? So desperate you’d throw away all your dignity?” I was forced to look up at his furious face. “Can dignity save my brother’s life?” “If it could, Mr. Hayes, name your price. I’d sell it by the pound.” Ethan Hayes’s pupils constricted sharply. He flung his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Let her down,” he commanded the bodyguards, his voice hoarse. The moment the ropes were untied, I collapsed to the ground, drained of all strength. The wound on my left shoulder was still bleeding, dripping from my fingertips onto the expensive carpet. Ethan Hayes pulled a check from his pocket, quickly wrote a hundred thousand, then walked over to me. He didn’t hand it to me. Instead, he loosened his grip, and the check fluttered into an ashtray filled with shattered glass. “Get it yourself,” he said, looking down at me. I said nothing. Kneeling on the ground, I reached out my right hand, probing into the ashtray full of glass shards. Sharp glass pierced my fingertips, mixing blood with cigarette ash. I found the check. Clutching it tightly in my hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes, for sparing my life.” I swayed as I stood up, clutching my left shoulder, and walked step by step towards the exit. “Stop right there,” Serena suddenly interjected. She clicked across the room in her high heels, her eyes scornful. “Audrey, you soiled Ethan’s carpet. You think you can just walk away?” “Kneel, and lick the blood clean off the carpet.” I stopped, turning to look at Ethan Hayes. He stood in the shadows, saying nothing to stop her. He was silently condoning it. I looked at the blood-stained check in my hand. A hundred thousand. My brother was in the ICU, waiting for this money to save his life. I closed my eyes, bent my knees, and knelt heavily on the ground. Just as I was about to bend lower. The door to the private room was kicked open with a bang. Daniel Miller, dressed in a black trench coat, stormed in, radiating a chilling aura. His eyes immediately landed on me, kneeling on the ground, and the shocking bloodstain on my shoulder. “Audrey!” Daniel rushed over, pulling me up from the floor and wrapping his trench coat around me. He turned, his gaze fierce, and glared at Ethan Hayes. “Ethan Hayes, are you even human?!” Ethan Hayes saw Daniel grabbing my hand, and his eyes instantly turned to ice. “Mr. Miller, this is a private matter between Audrey and me. It’s none of your business.” “Private matter?” Daniel scoffed. “Injuring someone like this? That’s assault! Audrey, let’s go, we’re calling the police.” I grabbed Daniel’s arm, shaking my head. “Daniel, just take me to the hospital.” “My brother is waiting for me.” I couldn’t call the police. If I did, Ethan Hayes would have a hundred ways to ensure I never got that money. Daniel looked at my pale face, a flicker of heartbreak in his eyes. He swept me into his arms, then turned and walked out. “Audrey, if you dare to leave with him today, you won’t get a single penny of this money!” Ethan Hayes roared behind us. Leaning weakly in Daniel’s arms, I spoke. “Mr. Hayes, I already have the check. We owe each other nothing.”

Outside, the rain was pouring down. Daniel put me into the car, stomped on the accelerator, and sped towards the city hospital. The car’s heater was on, but I was still shivering uncontrollably. The wound on my left shoulder was numb. I clutched the check tightly, as if holding onto Leo’s last hope. “Audrey, are you insane? He told you to be a live target, and you just went along with it?” Daniel roared while driving, his voice laced with suppressed trembling. I looked out at the blurred night scenery. “Daniel, I had no choice.” “The hospital gave a final ultimatum. If the money isn’t paid tonight, they’ll pull the plug on Leo’s ventilator.” “My dad already died in jail. I can’t lose Leo too.” Daniel slammed his hand on the steering wheel, his eyes red. “I told you I’d find a way to get the money! Why won’t you just take my money?!” “Because I can’t pay you back,” I said softly. Three years ago, when the Davis family went bankrupt and my father was imprisoned, everyone shunned me. Only Daniel, the poor student I once sponsored, now an elite lawyer, stood by me, battling against Ethan Hayes’s oppression, trying to help me. I already owed him too much. The car screeched to a halt at the hospital entrance. I pushed open the door and stumbled into the lobby. “Nurse! I’m here to pay! A hundred thousand, arrange my brother’s surgery immediately!” I rushed to the payment window, slapping the blood-stained check onto the glass. The nurse on duty glanced at the check, then at my blood-soaked appearance, startled. She quickly took the check to verify it. A few minutes later, the nurse returned with the check, her face somewhat troubled. “Miss Davis, this check… it’s been frozen.” *Boom.* My mind went blank. “What did you say? Impossible! This is a Hayes Group check!” “The bank just informed us that the issuer revoked the payment order,” the nurse said, looking at me sympathetically. Ethan Hayes. It was him. He still wouldn’t let me go. All the strength in my body seemed to drain away in an instant, and I slid down the cold wall to the floor. “Audrey!” Daniel rushed over to support me. I grabbed Daniel’s collar, tears finally streaming down my face. “Daniel, he stopped the check… he stopped the check…” “What about Leo? What will happen to Leo?!” Just then, my phone rang. It was a voice message from Serena. My hands trembled as I opened it. “Audrey, Ethan said if you want the money, crawl back to the Hayes family mansion.” “As soon as you crawl to the door like a dog, that hundred thousand will be instantly transferred.” In the voice message, Ethan Hayes’s cold scoff could also be heard. I gripped my phone tightly, my knuckles white. “Audrey, don’t go! I’ll contact people to borrow money right away!” Daniel snatched my phone. I pushed him away, helping myself up by leaning on the wall. “There’s no time. Daniel, please watch over Leo for me.” I turned and ran back out into the rainy night.

The Hayes family mansion was located halfway up the mountain. I didn’t take a taxi, because I didn’t even have money for a cab. I dragged my injured body, walking for two hours in the heavy rain. By the time I reached the mansion gates, I could barely stand. The iron gates were closed tight. The mansion inside was brightly lit. I took a deep breath, bent my knees, and knelt on the cold asphalt. Rainwater mixed with mud flowed into my eyes, stinging terribly. From the gate to the main villa, it was over a hundred yards. My knees were bleeding profusely. Finally, I crawled to the living room’s floor-to-ceiling window. Through the glass, I saw Ethan Hayes sitting on the sofa, holding a glass of red wine. Serena leaned in his arms, pointing at me outside the window, laughing hysterically. Ethan Hayes’s gaze pierced through the rain, landing on me. His eyes held an incredibly complex mix of satisfaction, anger, and a hint of panic he himself hadn’t noticed. I stopped, looking up, staring at him through the glass. Blood from my forehead blurred my vision. I opened my mouth, silently saying, “Give me the money.” Ethan Hayes abruptly stood up, his red wine glass smashing to the floor, shattered into countless pieces. He strode to the floor-to-ceiling window and flung open the glass door. Wild wind and heavy rain swept into the living room. “Audrey, you’re truly debased to your core!” Ethan Hayes looked down at me, his voice colder than the icy rain. I lay in the mud, looking up at him. “Mr. Hayes is right to scold me. The money?” Ethan Hayes looked at my lifeless eyes, his chest heaving violently. He suddenly grabbed my collar, pulling me up from the ground. “You care that much about that bastard?!” “He’s not a bastard, he’s my brother,” I calmly corrected him. “Good, very good.” Ethan Hayes laughed in rage. He pulled out a document and flung it at my face. “Sign this, and the hundred thousand will be instantly deposited into the hospital account.” I used the living room light to make out the words on the document. A “Confession of Guilt.” It stated that my father, Richard Davis, had used his position to maliciously tamper with the organ donation list, leading to Serena’s father’s delayed treatment and death. My father admitted to all his crimes and stated he deserved to die. My breathing instantly hitched. “Ethan Hayes, are you insane?!” I looked at him, trembling. “My dad never did such a thing! Back then, the Vance family…” “Shut up!” Ethan Hayes sharply cut me off. “The evidence is conclusive, and you still want to argue?” “Sign it, admit your dad was a murderer, and I’ll save your brother.” I looked at that document as if it were a venomous snake. If I signed it, my father would forever bear the stigma of a murderer, never resting in peace. If I didn’t, Leo would die tonight. “Ethan, don’t force her,” Serena walked over, feigning concern as she held Ethan Hayes’s arm. “Miss Davis is so proud, how could she possibly admit her father is a murderer for money?” “It seems her brother’s life isn’t that important to her after all.” Serena’s words were like a sharp knife, plunging into my heart. I closed my eyes, tears finally mixing with the rain. “I’ll sign.” I reached out a trembling hand. A flicker of disbelief crossed Ethan Hayes’s eyes. He handed me a pen. My right hand, cut by glass when I picked up the check earlier, couldn’t hold the pen properly. So I bit my left index finger, and at the bottom of the document, I pressed my bloody fingerprint heavily. “Audrey…” Ethan Hayes looked at the bloody fingerprint, his voice trembling slightly. “The money, transfer it,” I stared fixedly at him. Ethan Hayes took out his phone and dialed his assistant. “Transfer the money to the city hospital, Leo Davis’s account.” After hanging up, he looked at me. “Get out.” I didn’t linger for a second, turning and rushing back into the rainy night.

I practically stumbled and crawled back to the hospital. Soaked to the bone, my face covered in blood, like a demon that had just crawled out of hell. “Leo! Leo’s money has been paid!” I rushed to the ICU door, only to find the room wide open. It was empty. Only a few nurses were tidying up the bed. “Nurse! Where’s my brother? Where’s Leo?” I rushed in like a madwoman, grabbing a nurse’s arm. The nurse looked at me, her eyes full of pity. “Miss Davis… you’re too late.” “Patient Leo Davis, ten minutes ago, due to cardiopulmonary failure… was pronounced deceased.” *Buzz.* My mind went blank. The whole world instantly fell silent. I couldn’t hear what the nurse was saying, couldn’t hear the bustling sounds in the hallway. I stared blankly at the empty bed. The white sheets had been replaced with new ones, without a single wrinkle. “Impossible…” “You’re lying to me! I paid the money! A hundred thousand! Ethan Hayes transferred it!” I screamed hysterically, tears streaming uncontrollably. “Miss Davis, the money did arrive five minutes ago.” “But… but Miss Vance sent someone half an hour ago and forcibly took the special medicine originally prepared for Leo, claiming Mr. Vance urgently needed it.” “Leo couldn’t hold on until the next batch of medicine arrived…” The nurse’s voice grew fainter and fainter. But I heard every word clearly. Serena Vance. Serena took the medicine. Ethan Hayes made me sign the confession, delaying my time. And Serena seized the opportunity to pull Leo’s last life-saving straw. They conspired together to kill my only family. I suddenly burst out laughing. Laughing until my heart ached, laughing until my whole body trembled. I sold my dignity, I sold my father’s reputation, I sold half my life. All I got in return was a cold corpse. “Audrey!” Daniel rushed from the end of the hallway, catching me as I swayed. “Where’s Leo?” I gripped Daniel’s clothes tightly, as if clutching a last piece of driftwood. Daniel’s eyes were red, his voice choked. “In… the morgue.” I pushed Daniel away, walking step by step towards the morgue. The corridor on the second basement floor was chillingly cold. I pushed open the heavy door. Leo’s small body lay on the cold metal slab, covered by a white sheet. I walked over and pulled back the sheet. He lay with his eyes closed, his face pale, as if he were just sleeping. “Leo, I’m here.” I reached out and touched his face. So cold. Cold as ice. I took off my soaked coat, wanting to cover him with it. “Don’t be afraid, Leo. I’m taking you home.” I murmured, tears streaming down onto his face. “Audrey…” Daniel stood behind me, unable to bear watching any longer. Just then, the morgue door opened again. Two police officers in uniform walked in. They looked at me, their expressions serious. “Are you Ms. Audrey Davis?” I turned my head mechanically. “We’re from the City Police Department’s Criminal Investigation Unit.” The older officer stepped forward, handing me a manila envelope. “Regarding the case three years ago, where your father, Mr. Richard Davis, was suspected of tampering with the organ donation list, we have new evidence.” “After investigation, Mr. Richard Davis did not tamper with the list that year.” “On the contrary, he voluntarily gave up his own treatment opportunity after a successful match with the former CEO of Hayes Group, Mr. Hayes, and donated his heart to him.” “The Vance family, in order to get a huge reward from the Hayes family, bribed the attending physician and falsified medical records, changing the donor to Serena Vance’s father, who was brain-dead from a car accident.” “Mr. Richard Davis, in the detention center, was beaten to death by inmates bribed by the Vance family because he refused to sign the false confession they fabricated.” The police officer’s voice echoed in the empty morgue. Every word, like thunder. “Ms. Davis, your father was not a murderer.” “He was a hero who saved a life.” I stared blankly at the manila envelope. I didn’t take it. The truth had come. My father’s innocence had been revealed. But my father was dead. My brother was dead too. What good was this belated truth? Could it bring back their lives? *Thump.* A faint sound came from the morgue door. I didn’t turn around. But I knew who it was. Ethan Hayes stood in the shadows outside the door. In his hand was the “Confession of Guilt” that I had just signed with my bloody fingerprint. Now, that document had fallen to the ground. He stared fixedly at the archive bag in the police officer’s hand, his face ashen, like a dead man. His lips trembled violently, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible. “What did you… just say?”

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After the SATs, I was drugged at a party. My childhood crush, Ethan, showed up just in time. Just as I was about to give myself to him, lines of my own handwriting appeared before my eyes. “I regret it so much. Why did I ever sleep with Ethan?” Regret? How could I? The next second, the diary scrolled further. “Ethan ruined me, all to stop Liam from confessing his feelings to me, just so Ethan and Chloe could be together.” “How ridiculous. For him, I gave up Harvard, stayed in our hometown to marry him and have a family, only to find out when I was almost dying that he’d always loved Chloe.” “After thirty years of marriage, I only saw him truly smile for the first time on the day Chloe and Liam got divorced.” “And then, because Chloe’s son needed an exorbitant amount for his wedding, with just a ‘sorry,’ he cut off all my medical and prescription funds.” “But what good is ‘sorry’ when I’m already dying?” I froze, my eyes suddenly burning. Because the last line of the diary read, “Audrey, if you ever go back thirty years, please, please push Ethan away.”

I tried to collect myself. When I opened my eyes again, the words were even clearer. “It’s chemotherapy day. My hair is almost all gone. The doctor asked Ethan to come sign the papers, but he didn’t show up.” “When I finally called him, his tone was full of blame. He complained that I’d interrupted him and Chloe’s son on their way to meet potential in-laws, and that I’d almost ruined Chloe’s son’s engagement.” “After he hung up, the three million in my account for treatment was transferred out, every last penny.” “Ethan rarely sent me a message. He said it was to apologize for me, to use the money for Chloe’s son’s wedding expenses.” “I was so numb, I couldn’t even feel angry anymore.” Seeing those words, my throat tightened, and I trembled uncontrollably. I couldn’t be mistaken. This was my handwriting, my usual diary format. This was written by me, thirty years in the future. Only then did I realize that my future self, the me who married Ethan, lived such a wretched life. And that Ethan, who had chased me for so long, had done it all for Chloe. “Audrey?” Ethan’s heavy breathing cut through my thoughts. “What’s wrong?” I snapped my eyes open and saw his face inches from mine. My heart instantly pounded like it would burst. He was handsome. I’d had a crush on him for over ten years, and I never imagined I’d be this close to him one day. Seeing me frozen, he gently put his hand on my waist. “Audrey, I know you intentionally seduced me, but it’s okay, I don’t mind.” “As long as you stay here with me, I’ll take responsibility for you.” Hearing his words, I instinctively looked up at the floating text. “Audrey, do you want to start over?” “If you start over, will your life be brilliant?” Tears streamed down my face. Then, using all my strength, I shoved Ethan away. “No!” Ethan stumbled to the side, his face aghast. “What?” I stared at him, my mind filled with those diary entries. “Thirty years.” “I wasted thirty years of my life, just for him to say ‘sorry’.” “Why me?” My stomach churned. I instinctively pushed past him and rushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Yeah, why me? “Audrey!” Ethan snapped out of it and rushed after me. “What are you doing! Open the door!” “You’re the one who invited me up here! Are you playing games with me now?!”

I ignored him, turning on the shower and letting the cold water pour over me. My mind cleared up instantly. Outside the door, Ethan’s voice grew agitated. “Audrey, if you don’t open this door, I’ll kick it down!” “Do you think playing hard to get will make me want you more?!” “You—” Before he could finish, I wiped the water from my face and opened the door. When I opened it, Ethan still had his phone in his hand, clearly texting someone. I glanced at it — it was Chloe’s chat. Everything suddenly clicked. He panicked for a second, quickly dimming the screen. “Don’t misunderstand, I was just worried you’d do something crazy, so I was asking Chloe to help.” “Audrey, do you want this or not?” I didn’t look at him, walking straight for the door. “Move.” He paused, then grabbed my wrist. “What do you mean?!” “Audrey, why are you acting so innocent?” “You called me to ‘save’ you, and you’re dressed like this. Weren’t you trying to seduce me?!” “You’ve been my persistent shadow for years, always around. Now I’m being ‘generous’ and actually giving you a chance, and you’re throwing a fit?” He was right. I’d been his simp for so many years, and I was truly tired. I looked at him, taking a deep breath. “Ethan, from today on, I don’t like you anymore.” “What?” He stopped dead, his face filled with disbelief. Before he could react, I grabbed my things and walked out of the room without looking back. Then I pulled out my phone, opened my college application page, and deleted the local state university. Immediately after, I dialed Harvard University’s admissions office. “Hello, Professor, this is Audrey. I accept the early admission offer to Harvard.” Thinking back to how I’d rejected it for Ethan, I felt incredibly stupid. Just then, someone called out to me. “Audrey!” I looked up. It was Liam. Chloe was with him, a smug look on her face. Chloe saw me at once and immediately clutched Liam’s arm. “Liam, I didn’t lie to you, did I…!” “I told you I saw her check into a hotel myself!” “It’s only been what, a few days since the SATs?! She couldn’t wait! Now that you’ve seen it, you should give up on her!” But Liam just pulled his arm away and quickly walked up to me. “Audrey, are you okay?” I looked at him, my thoughts a little fuzzy. There wasn’t much about him in the diary. I only knew he was the heir to the Cooper Corporation. I only knew that Ethan had touched me to cut off Liam’s feelings for me, all to secure his own relationship with Chloe. Before I could think further, Chloe was already pointing at me, yelling, “Audrey, I know you like Ethan!” “But you can’t be that desperate! You finished your SATs and immediately ran off to have sex with him?” “You know Liam, he—” I took a deep breath, then turned and looked at her carefully. The me in another timeline, who endured so many years of agonizing, absurd life—wasn’t it all because of her? I smiled, then raised my hand and slapped her hard. “Chloe, I didn’t do anything tonight!” “If you dare to slander me again, I’ll tear your mouth apart!” Almost simultaneously, a figure crashed into me. “Audrey! Are you crazy?!” It was Ethan, who had rushed out after me. He stood in front of Chloe, then turned and yelled at me, “Audrey! What did Chloe say that was wrong?!” “You’re the one who’s shameless! You were willing to drug yourself just to get me to sleep with you!”

“Apologize to Chloe, right now!” The air instantly solidified. “What did you say?!” Liam was the first to react, shoving Ethan away. “Audrey said she didn’t do anything, so she didn’t!” “What do you want her to apologize for?” Seeing Liam protect me like that, Chloe bit her lower lip and started to cry. “Liam… you don’t believe me, do you?” “Look at her, she’s soaking wet. It’s obvious she just…!” “Liam! I would never lie to you…” Ethan’s tone instantly softened when he saw Chloe’s distress. He turned back and reached for me. “Audrey, stop making a scene. I’ll take responsibility for what happened tonight.” “As long as you stay and go to university here, we’ll get married right after graduation.” “I promise.” He spoke with such emotion. The old me would probably have felt her heart race wildly and nodded without hesitation. But now, all I saw were the words floating in the air. “I stayed in our hometown for him, had two difficult pregnancies, both times losing the baby. He comforted me, saying it didn’t matter, as long as I was okay.” “I believed him, until I was almost dying, and he confessed everything to me.” “I learned then that he deliberately caused me to lose the babies because he didn’t want any woman other than Chloe to have his children.” “He said he would feel guilty if any other woman bore his child.” “He said giving me the title of ‘Mrs. Ethan’ was the biggest compromise he could make.” “He said so much, but he forgot he’d promised to be good to me for a lifetime.” Between the lines of the diary, I saw the tears of my thirty-years-older self. The weight of them made me almost unable to stand. Liam quickly steadied me. “Audrey, it’s okay. I believe you.” Ethan instantly frowned, yanking me into his arms. “Are you crazy?!” “Audrey is mine now. What does our business have to do with you?” Then he pointed at Chloe. “Liam, Chloe likes you so much, can’t you just look at her?” I couldn’t help but sneer. It all came back to him being afraid I’d ruin things for Chloe. I took a deep breath and violently pulled away from his touch. “Ethan, we have nothing to do with each other.” “If you touch me again, I’m calling the police!” Ethan froze, as if confirming he hadn’t misheard. “Audrey, what did you say?!” “What’s wrong with you today! Didn’t you say you’d only marry me?!” “How could you—” “Didn’t you hear her?” Liam stepped forward, blocking Ethan. “Now, get lost.” Then he turned, took off his jacket, and draped it over my shoulders. “Come on, I’ll take you home.” I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “I can go home myself. I’ll give you back the jacket in a couple of days.” With that, I turned and walked away. Whether in the future or now, I didn’t want to be involved with them anymore. When I got home, Mom saw how I looked and immediately rushed over. “Audrey, what happened to you? You’re soaking wet!” Looking at her, I remembered the line from the diary, “For Ethan, I hadn’t contacted my parents in thirty years.” My nose suddenly stung. I forced a smile. “It’s nothing, just got splashed by a sprinkler truck on the road.” “Mom, I’m going to take a shower.” Mom handed me a towel, her eyes full of concern. “Go quickly, don’t catch a cold.” After my shower, my phone buzzed. It was a voice message from Liam. “Audrey, I applied to Harvard. First choice.”

“I hope we can be classmates again, really.” I was stunned. So Liam had also applied to Harvard. No wonder Ethan had tried every possible way to make me stay in our hometown with him. He must have been worried about me developing something with Liam at Harvard, worried that Chloe would be upset. I put my phone down without replying. The next morning, I returned to school for the graduation ceremony. As soon as I stepped through the gates, I saw everyone pointing and whispering. “Is that her? The one everyone’s talking about in the SnapChat group?” My heart sank. I opened my phone and saw a stranger had somehow joined the school group chat. The person had posted a video, and the thumbnail was me. I instantly recognized it—it was taken in the hotel room last night. In the video, I was lying on the hotel bed, clothes disheveled, reaching out to the man above me. “It hurts…” I quickly closed the video and looked around. Seeing my reaction, everyone started to sneer. “Isn’t that Audrey, the class president? She always seemed so innocent, but who knew she was so slutty in private!” “Seriously, her body is amazing. She really kept it hidden well!” “Who was she with, anyway?” “Who else? Ethan, obviously! Everyone knows she’s Ethan’s simp. Who else would she be like that for?” “So wild in bed, and now she’s embarrassed? Hilarious!” I was shaking with anger and immediately called the police. Just then, Chloe’s sickly sweet, mocking voice came from behind me. “Ethan, tell us, how’s Audrey’s body?” Before I could turn around, I heard Ethan give a cold laugh. “It’s decent.” “But honestly, if she hadn’t thrown herself at me like that, I wouldn’t have even touched her.” More laughter erupted. “Now that Audrey’s reputation is ruined like this, who else would she have besides you, haha!” “Finally, Liam, that lovesick fool, will see her true colors and be willing to be with Chloe!” “Gosh, I have to say, Ethan really is good to Chloe. He even agreed to sleep with Audrey for her!” I found it all absurd. Ethan had gone to such lengths for Chloe. Then Ethan’s voice suddenly grew serious. “Enough, a joke is a joke.” “I’m going to marry Audrey eventually, so when you see her later, remember to be nice to her.” “Only if I keep her close can I ensure Liam’s complete devotion to Chloe.” I was so enraged I laughed. I turned and looked at him. “Ethan, you’re disgusting.” He paused, then grabbed my wrist, his face full of panic. “You heard all that?” Seeing me remain silent, he frowned. “You don’t even like Liam, so can’t you just make Chloe happy?” “And stop pretending.” “I already saw your college application. You didn’t choose Harvard, which means you agreed to stay here with me, right?” “If you keep acting up like this, I might not even bother with you anymore.” Chloe, hearing this, looked at me with disdain. “Aren’t you Ethan’s simp? You finally got ‘promoted’ and you’re not happy?” “Ethan just talked to you like that, are you deaf?” “And wasn’t that video of you? If anyone’s disgusting, it’s you!” No sooner had she spoken than a dull thud echoed from the side. I turned to see Liam, who had just punched Ethan in the face. “You sent the video, didn’t you?!” Chloe hadn’t expected him to appear and quickly rushed to him. “Liam! You’ve misunderstood!”

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Douglas had just stepped into the bathroom when his iPad lit up on the bedside table. A SnapChat notification popped up. Aurora: What mushy message did she send you today? Forward it, I’m waiting for a laugh. I reached out and tapped SnapChat. The pinned chat wasn’t mine, it was Aurora’s. At the top of the chat window was a screenshot of the message I’d sent Douglas that afternoon. Me: A kid at the kindergarten told me I have a pretty smile today, and my first thought was to tell you. Below it was Douglas’s added comment when he forwarded it to Aurora. Douglas: She’s like this every day, has to report every little mundane thing. Aurora: Does she have no friends or something? Douglas: Pretty much. All kindergarten teachers are the same, simple-minded. I sat on the edge of the bed, my finger sliding further down the screen. There was a selfie I’d sent Douglas, wearing a pink apron, flour smudged on my face, taken while I was making him a birthday cake. I had asked him at the time: Douglas, don’t I look like the perfect wife? Douglas had sent the photo to Aurora. Douglas: It’s an absolute aesthetic disaster. Aurora: Then how do you manage to kiss her? Douglas: Doesn’t matter, it’s all the same with the lights off. My fingertips started to tingle. The sound of water in the bathroom stopped. I immediately turned off the iPad and placed it back on the bedside table. The door opened, and Douglas came out, drying his hair, a towel wrapped around his waist. He walked over, hugged me from behind, and rested his chin on my shoulder. “Alice, is it your ovulation period today?” His hand wrapped around my waist, wandering, and he kissed my earlobe. I instinctively recoiled. Douglas paused. “What’s wrong?” I leaned down to pick up his pajamas from the bed, then walked around him to the dressing table. “I’m tired, we had an event at the kindergarten today.” Douglas stared at me for two seconds, then didn’t ask again. He went straight to bed, turned off the lamp on his side, and started playing on his phone, his back to me. I also got into bed and lay on the other side, listening to his breathing gradually deepen. At 1 AM, I got up. I gently pulled the iPad from under his pillow, then carefully got out of bed and went to the living room. I sat on the sofa, opened that chat window, and scrolled from the very beginning. The timeline started a year and a half ago, when Douglas and I weren’t married yet. He had just switched to his current company, was under a lot of pressure, and worked overtime every day. I brought him meals daily, waited for him downstairs, and stayed up with him as he worked on projects. He had screenshotted my message, “Don’t work too hard, I made you some soup,” and sent it to Aurora. Douglas: She’s so boring, never says anything else. Aurora: Still pretty suitable for marriage, at least she’s low-maintenance. Douglas: Yeah, stable. So he married me for stability, not love. I kept scrolling. The first time I tried on my wedding dress, I asked him if it looked good. He replied: “Beautiful, Alice, you’re the prettiest.” Then he immediately forwarded it to Aurora. Douglas: The studio’s photo editing is brutal. Aurora: Even with the edits, Alice looks pretty ordinary. How did you settle for her? Douglas: I was at a low point back then, and she stuck by me. So I just settled. I stared at the word “settled,” my stomach cramping. I clicked on the photo attachment. Inside were private bedroom photos I’d sent him, not meant for anyone else to see. I had sent them to Douglas, out of complete trust. But he forwarded them to Aurora. Aurora: That’s quite a figure, you must be enjoying yourself. Douglas: Come on, it’s nowhere near yours. I screenshotted every single chat record, one by one, and sent them to my email. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t stop. At 4 AM, I returned to the bedroom and put the iPad back in its original place. Douglas rolled over and mumbled something. “Alice, why aren’t you sleeping yet?” I didn’t answer, just stood by the bed, looking at him coldly. He didn’t wake up. I lay back down, my eyes open until morning. The next morning, Douglas sat at the dining table eating breakfast as usual. I fried eggs and toasted bread. When I placed the plate in front of him, he looked up at me. “What’s wrong with you today? You seem like you’re in a bad mood.”

My hand paused as I poured milk. Before, every morning, I would smile and say to him, “Good morning, hope you have a happy day!” He would never say anything else, just a simple “Mhm.” But that would make my whole day happy. I pushed the milk mug toward him. “Nothing.” Douglas took a bite of toast. “It’s early in the morning, what’s got into you? Why are you sulking?” I sat opposite him and took a sip of milk. “I’m not sulking. I’m in a perfectly good mood.” He put down his mug. “Alice, you’ve been off since last night. Tell me, how did I offend you?” I looked up. “You’re the one who’s off, paying attention to my ‘little moods’ now?” Douglas frowned. “Don’t be so snarky. Just tell me what’s wrong.” I placed my phone on the table. It showed the first screenshot I’d taken last night. The message I sent him: “A kid complimented my smile today, and I wanted to tell you.” Below it, his reply to Aurora: “She’s like this every day, has to report every little mundane thing.” Douglas’s expression froze for a moment, then suddenly darkened. “You dared to go through my phone without permission?” I said, “How do you explain this?” “I’m asking you, how dare you snoop through my chat records on your own initiative?” I let out a cold laugh. “I was looking at your iPad. You didn’t set a password, so I was looking at it fair and square.” Douglas threw the toast back onto his plate. “Alice, do you know what privacy is? What invasion is? What boundaries are?” I couldn’t even bother to react anymore. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? My chat records, my photos, being forwarded by you to another woman for her to comment on—what do you call that kind of behavior?” Douglas stood up, his chair scraping back a few inches. “Don’t try to change the subject. It’s your own fault for being nosy. If you hadn’t secretly looked, you wouldn’t have known, and then none of this would be happening, would it?” Douglas reached for my phone. I took a step back and put my phone back in my bag. “Don’t touch it.” Douglas’s hand stopped mid-air. “Alice, you look really awful right now.” I looked at him. “However awful I look, it’s not as awful as what you did.” He tugged at his tie. “I just casually vented a bit. Do you have to make such a big deal out of it?” “Are my private photos ‘venting’ too?” Douglas was silent for a second. Then he said, “If you bring this up to argue, you’ll only be embarrassing yourself.” I didn’t say anything else. Because I realized, he wasn’t unaware that he was hurting me. He just thought I wasn’t even worthy of being angry. After that, we gave each other the silent treatment for three days. I never shared any more of my daily life with him. That evening, Douglas came home from work, carrying a paper bag. I was sitting on the sofa, preparing my lessons. He tossed the paper bag in front of me. “I bought this for you.” I opened it. Inside was a scarf, a discount item from the mall, with the tag still on. One hundred ninety-nine dollars. I had once admired a cashmere scarf, over eight hundred dollars, and he said it wasn’t necessary. “Why wear something so expensive to work at a kindergarten? The kids will just get it dirty.” But in his chat records with Aurora, I saw he’d bought her a perfume that cost over three thousand dollars. Aurora had asked: “Won’t Alice get angry if she finds out?” Douglas replied: “She wouldn’t understand these things.” I put the scarf back in the paper bag. “Return it.” Douglas’s action of unbuttoning his cuffs paused. “Alice, don’t be so dramatic. I buy you something and you give me attitude? Adults should know when to stop.” I closed my lesson planner. “So, what do you consider ‘stopping’?” He sat opposite me, his expression showing a hint of impatience. “You’re too clingy usually. What’s wrong with me complaining to a friend?” I looked at him. “Then how would you feel if I sent videos of you picking your nose, crying after failing a promotion, and kneeling in the bathroom throwing up and having diarrhea when drunk, to my male colleagues for their enjoyment?” Douglas’s face completely darkened. “You wouldn’t dare.” I said, “So, you know it’s not okay.” He picked up the glass of water on the table and took a sip. “Alice, whether you get over this or not, it is what it is. What you’re saying now is pointless. Are we just not going to live our lives anymore?” I was extremely calm. “Yes, we’re not.”

Douglas, however, scoffed coldly and turned to walk back into the bedroom. Before he forcefully slammed the door shut, a sentence leaked out from inside: “She’s completely crazy, utterly unreasonable.” The next afternoon, just after I’d finished giving the children their snacks, my phone vibrated in my apron pocket. It was a friend request notification: “Alice, it’s Aurora. I wanted to talk.” I hesitated for a few seconds, then accepted. She quickly sent her first message. Aurora: Alice, don’t misunderstand Douglas and me. We’re just chat buddies. I didn’t reply. She sent another. Aurora: I don’t know why he would send me your chats. Maybe he just sees me as a friend. Aurora: Men, you know, most of them just like to talk big. Aurora: Douglas told me he really likes your innocence, even if you’re a bit dull and unromantic. Aurora: Honestly, I’m quite envious of you. Your qualities are pretty average, but you still managed to marry such an excellent man. I stood by the classroom’s back door. The children were napping, and the air conditioner vent hummed softly. I typed. Me: Are you messaging me just to say all this? Aurora replied instantly. Aurora: No, not really. I just wanted to explain everything clearly. Please don’t argue with him because of me. His project is very crucial right now, and his emotions can’t be affected. Me: And what standing do you have to manage my husband’s emotions? Me: Also, if my qualities are average and I married an excellent man, why can’t you? Is it because you’re even worse than me? There was a half-minute pause from the other side. The chat window continuously showed “typing…” After a long time of typing, there was no message. I put my phone back in my pocket and continued covering the children with their blankets. At 6 PM, I went home. The door opened, and Douglas was sitting on the living room sofa, looking down at his phone. His first words when he looked up were: “Did you insult Aurora?” I placed my bag on the entryway cabinet. “She added me first.” Douglas stood up. “She was just kindly trying to explain things to you, worried about our relationship changing. And you took it out on her? How can you be so ungrateful?” I changed my shoes and closed the shoe cabinet door. “She came to show off to me.” Douglas walked up to me. “Alice, can you stop treating every woman like an enemy? Aurora isn’t the type of person you’re describing.” I looked up at him. “How do you know she isn’t? Have you slept with her? Are you that familiar with her?” He suddenly choked, then his face filled with anger. “Go look in a mirror at that face of yours. You’re truly spiteful and venomous.” My lips curved into a slight smile. “That’s right. After all, I have no friends, I’m unworldly, an aesthetic disaster, and simple-minded. Most importantly, I’m the woman you ‘settled for’ during your low point.” Douglas’s face changed. “How much did you actually go through?” “Enough to make me sick for the rest of my life.” He took a step forward. “Did you screenshot everything? Delete the screenshots.” I stepped back, my back hitting the door panel. My phone was in my bag, and my bag was on the entryway cabinet, within his reach. I picked up my bag first, hugging it to my chest. “What are you afraid of?” Douglas lowered his voice. “I don’t want things to get blown out of proportion.” “You weren’t afraid of things getting blown out of proportion when you forwarded them?” “I told you, it was just casual talk between friends.” To this point, he still used the same excuse. I didn’t want to say anything more to him. Opening my bag, I pulled out the divorce papers I’d printed at lunch. I handed them to him. “Sign them.” Douglas looked down. “Divorce papers?” “Yes.”

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My sister, Cruz, wasn’t my biological sister. I knew that since I was a kid. Mom told me that my real biological sister, Bruna, was living as the fake heiress of a billionaire family. As long as our family kept this secret, we would live comfortably for the rest of our lives. In my previous life, I secretly told Cruz the truth. After Cruz returned to her elite family, Mom and Dad favored her, and my brother ignored me. Heartbroken and enraged, she set me on fire and burned me to death. Amidst the flames, covered in burns, I cried and asked her why. Cruz’s face was twisted with resentment. “If you hadn’t told me the truth, I would still be Mom and Dad’s beloved daughter, the one they doted on. I wouldn’t have had to run so far and endure their torment!” I remember, the day Cruz left, Mom and Dad gave me the worst punishment of my life. They were furious I’d made them lose their precious daughter. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment Cruz asked me what secret our family was hiding. This time, I just shook my head and said nothing.

Every time I came home from school, Mom would always pull me aside privately. Today was no exception. But just as she started to lecture me, Cruz suddenly emerged from behind the door. Mom’s face instantly went pale, then she put on a fawning smile and hurried into the kitchen. “Cruz, you must be hungry. I’ll make dinner right away. Tonight, we’ll have your favorite.” It was always like this. When I was little, I couldn’t understand why Mom and Dad were so good to Cruz. Anything delicious, new clothes, or fun toys, it was all for Cruz. So, I always went against Cruz, never wanting her to get her way. Mom would punish me, she’d scold me, but the next time, I’d still find a way to mess with her. There was nothing else Mom could do, so she finally told me the truth. She said Cruz was supposed to have a glamorous life in an elite family. Our family was the one who swapped her with my biological sister, Bruna. Now, our entire family owed her. Wasn’t it only right to treat her well? Cruz grabbed my arm, her grip tightening and digging into my flesh. “Navas, what secret were Mom and you whispering about just now? Are you two hiding something from me?” “Don’t even think about lying to me. If you don’t tell me, I’ll tell Mom and Dad that you’ve been messing with me again. They’ll punish you until you wish you were never born!” At that moment, Cruz’s furious expression overlapped with the distorted face from my previous life. It was as if I was back in the flames. I felt the automatic pang of pain in my body, reminding myself again and again. This time, I wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes. Mom also saw Cruz questioning me. Afraid I’d spill the beans, she waved us over. “Cruz, come eat dinner.” At the dinner table, all the good food was placed to Cruz’s right. As I reached for something with my fork, Dad smacked my hand away, just like always. “Eat, eat, eat! All you know is eating! This is for Cruz to nourish her body. What if you finish it all?!” Mom saw this and picked the smallest piece from the platter. “Navas, you can have this.” Such scenes were my daily routine for over a decade. But ever since I told Cruz the truth in my previous life, I couldn’t even get a potato pie. Perhaps my talking was annoying Cruz. She frowned deeply and swept the plate next to her off the table without a second thought. The sharp clatter made Mom and Dad fall silent immediately. “All you do is chatter, chatter, chatter all day! It’s so annoying!” “I’m asking you, is our family hiding a secret from me?”

Cruz didn’t get an answer from me and finally couldn’t hold back, asking it directly. Mom and Dad’s faces went pale simultaneously. Dad, though, was calmer than Mom and quickly regained his composure. He smiled and said, “Silly girl, if our family had a secret, it’d be hidden from Navas, not from you.” Mom also caught on and quickly agreed. “Cruz, did someone upset you? Was it Navas, or do you not have enough money?” Seeing their concerned expressions, much of Cruz’s doubt subsided. She confirmed again, “You two really aren’t hiding anything from me?” Dad chuckled, “Cruz must be out of money. She’s just trying to butter us up for more allowance!” “Juliet, from today on, double Cruz’s monthly allowance!” I lowered my head, stuffing rice into my mouth to suppress the bitterness swelling in my heart. Cruz’s allowance was already double mine. But they never once asked if I had enough money. But it didn’t matter. This life, I would get into that top-tier university again. Without the truth coming from me, there would be no fire. In the future, I would work hard to earn my own money and never envy anyone again. Hearing Dad’s words, Cruz finally cheered up. She figured it out. These were the parents who had loved her most since childhood. How could they possibly hide anything from her? After Cruz went out to play with her friends, Dad’s smile instantly vanished, replaced by a dark, menacing frown. Mom, remembering Cruz lurking behind the door earlier, was afraid Dad would blame her. Now all the blame landed on me. “Navas, if you dare to tell her any nonsense again because you’re jealous of Cruz, we won’t let you get away with it!” The moment Dad raised his hand to strike, I dodged immediately. I clarified, “Mom, be fair.” “You’re the one who keeps repeating that secret to me every time Cruz and I come home for break.” “I told you several times that Cruz kept asking me. I told you to be more careful, but you wouldn’t listen.” This time, I wasn’t going to be a pushover. Mom stiffened, glared at by Dad. I ignored them, quickly grabbed some food from the table. I turned and went back to my room. No one else cared, so I had to care for myself. Studying required brainpower. I needed to eat well. Only by getting into my dream university could I truly escape them.

Cruz returned after dark. Just as I was about to wash up, I ran into Cruz right by the door. I instantly covered my eyes, not looking at her. “Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything. I can’t say anything.” “I really can’t say anything.” My ambiguous words made Cruz’s doubts, which she’d suppressed, resurface. She reached out and grabbed me. I recoiled as if she had the plague, practically fleeing, leaving her behind. At nine in the evening, the aroma wafted in from the kitchen window. I glanced beside me, and sure enough, Cruz wasn’t there. Mom and Dad must have been cooking a special meal just for her since she hadn’t eaten dinner. My parents were simple folks. The only truly devious thing they’d ever done was swap Bruna and Cruz. Their immense guilt and regret made them shower all their affection on Cruz. When I was little and didn’t understand, I thought, if we were both their daughters, why was Cruz the special one? So, in the years after I learned the truth, I did indeed have the idea of letting Cruz find her biological parents. On one hand, I wanted Cruz to return to the life she was supposed to have. On the other hand, I wondered, if Cruz left, would I then be Mom and Dad’s only beloved daughter? In my previous life, the day Cruz actually went to find her biological parents, the thick stick fell mercilessly on me. Only then did I realize how ridiculous that thought was. In a daze, my bedroom door was pushed open. A stronger aroma gradually approached, and before long, it reached my nose. “Navas, do you want some? It smells so good!” Any hesitation for even half a second would be disrespectful to the delicious aroma before me. Cruz watched me devour the food, a soft smile on her face. I knew her purpose. She couldn’t get any answers from Mom and Dad, so she had to find a way to get it from me. Actually, I didn’t plan to hide it from her. In this life, the burning pain still lingered. I hated Cruz. So, I still intended to send her to her biological parents to suffer their torment. But this time, the truth, buried for over a decade, wouldn’t come from my mouth.

Cruz was genuinely generous this time, leaving most of the good food for me. In the past, even the food she disliked wasn’t for me to smell. After I finished everything, Cruz gently wiped my mouth with a tissue, expecting praise. “Navas, I’m the one who’s good to you, right!” “You should know, those scraps you just ate? I promised them to Mary’s dog.” “If I hadn’t stopped them, Mom and Dad would’ve surely beaten you up.” I gasped. My status in this house was lower than the neighbor’s dog. No, I had to make something of myself, fast. But I still put on a wronged expression, my eyes tearing up. “Cruz, all these years, thank goodness you protected me.” Cruz’s smile deepened. She leaned in, whispering in my ear: “Navas, just tell me what secret our family is hiding, and I’ll protect you from now on.” I lowered my head, fiddling with my fingers, my face a mix of hesitation and fear. “No, I can’t. Mom and Dad will kill me.” I met Cruz’s gaze, very, very seriously saying, “It’s the kind you can’t protect me from.” Seeing the fear unconsciously showing in my eyes, Cruz’s interest grew even stronger. She patted my back, comforting me. “Don’t be afraid, Navas. You know how much Mom and Dad love me, right?” “With me here, how could I not protect you?” “Even if they blame someone, just put it on me. Say I forced you, that you had no choice but to listen.” Seeing me waver, Cruz upped the ante. She pulled several bills from her school uniform pocket and counted out two. Then, seeing me staring at them unblinkingly, she gritted her teeth. She crumpled them all up and shoved them into my hand. “This is all the allowance Mom and Dad just gave me. It’s all yours. Now, can you tell me?” I fumbled with the bills—there were ten of them. It was more than half a year of my allowance. They really had secretly doubled Cruz’s money. When I kept stammering, unwilling to talk, Cruz got angry. “If you still don’t tell me, I’ll tell Mom and Dad you stole my money.” “And if Mom and Dad get mad and decide to stop sending you to school, you’ll just have to get married!” I grabbed Cruz’s hand as she pulled away, looking anxious. “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you, okay?”

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It was the fifth year after my parents’ divorce when I ran into my dad at school. He had just finished a parent-teacher conference for Ethan, my stepbrother, who was the top student in his grade, and he was beaming. The moment he saw me, his face fell. “Is this what you usually wear to school? Is this how your mom raises you?” He handed me a business card, his tone condescending. “Take this. Tell your mom that if she just apologizes and admits her mistakes, I’ll immediately enroll you in an advanced placement program. It’s better than rotting away in a regular class.” I didn’t take it, just stepped back. “No need, Mr. Maxwell.” His brow furrowed, his eyes filled with disgust. “Just like your mother, a lost cause. Don’t ever tell anyone you’re my daughter again.” I clutched the paper in my hand, watching him leave with a calm expression. He didn’t know, That wasn’t my report card. It was my withdrawal application, after Mom died and there was no one left to pay my tuition. I refolded the paper and went to the Registrar’s Office. Ms. Davies took it, first flipping to the report card tucked inside, pausing for two seconds. “Chloe, are you really sure about this?” “With your grades, dropping out now would be such a waste. You’ve always been in the top few in your regular class, and your last practice test scores were good enough to get you into a top university.” I gripped my backpack strap, simply shaking my head gently. Another teacher, who had just returned from outside, was in the office and casually mentioned, “Mr. Maxwell came for a parent-teacher conference today, and afterwards, he donated an additional scholarship fund to the school, specifically for the top ten students in each grade and those in academic competitions. The principal was just praising him.” Another teacher laughed and chimed in, “He’s truly dedicated to that boy. I heard he’s even planned out his future college abroad.” “And the kid is bright, consistently ranking first in his grade. Of course, the school welcomes parents like that.” I stood by the desk, silent. There were a few other students at the door, here to submit paperwork, and they couldn’t help but glance my way. Someone looked at the withdrawal application in my hand, then at my faded school uniform, and murmured softly, “They’re both kids, but their fates are truly different.” “Someone like Mr. Maxwell, with such a good reputation publicly, donating money to the school and even personally attending parent-teacher conferences, he surely wouldn’t neglect his own daughter privately, would he?” I looked up and met their gaze. “Whether he neglects me isn’t about what he says, but what he’s done these past five years.” That person froze. The office fell silent for a moment. Ms. Davies looked at me, as if wanting to ask something, but in the end, she didn’t. She just placed the withdrawal application beneath a corner of her desk. I turned and walked out. The school hallway was long. Light streamed in through the windows, making the floor tiles alternately bright and dark. I walked past the Wall of Fame and saw the photo in the very center. Richard Maxwell stood to one side, while Ethan stood in the middle, holding a trophy. Both of them were smiling. It was a perfect photo. Polished, shining, like a real father and son. Who would ever connect them to me? After school, I went to my part-time job at the convenience store as usual. After the evening rush, I stood behind the counter again, busy until almost ten at night. Mr. Henderson, the store manager, poured me a cup of hot water and placed it by my hand. “Is the school hassling you for tuition again?” I gave a quiet affirmative. Mr. Henderson sighed. “When your mom was still around, she was most afraid of your education being disrupted. Every time she got her paycheck, the first thing she’d ask wasn’t if she had enough for herself, but when your tuition bill was due. She always told me, ‘We can scrimp and save on other things, but your education can’t be cut short.’” The scanner in my hand paused. My gaze landed on the shelves, unmoving for a long time. After Mom left, the first thing that was cut off wasn’t my living expenses. It was that feeling of someone caring about my schooling. No matter how late I came home, she would always ask if my homework was done, how my exams went. When she was at her sickest, with needles in the back of her hand, she was still mumbling about my midterms and college applications. Now, no one asks. There’s no one even to remind me to bring my exam ID. After work, I went to the local florist and bought a small bouquet of white flowers. Then I bought a discounted cake from a bakery that was about to close, and took the last bus to the cemetery. The wind wasn’t strong tonight; the mountain road was quiet. I placed the flowers and cake before the grave, squatting down to look at Mom’s photo. “The school asked for tuition again today.” “I submitted the withdrawal application.” I paused, then recounted what had happened that afternoon. “I saw Richard Maxwell at school today.” “He had just finished Ethan’s parent-teacher conference, beaming.” “The first thing he said when he saw me was still asking if I usually dress like this for school. Then he handed me a business card, saying if you just apologized and admitted your mistakes, he’d immediately enroll me in an advanced placement program.” As I spoke, I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. The smile was so faint I could barely feel it myself. “He still doesn’t know you’re dead.” I unwrapped the cake, cut a small piece with a tiny fork, and placed it on the small plate beside the grave. “Mom, I originally wanted to hold on a bit longer.” “But I really can’t anymore.” “Please don’t blame me.” I stared at the gravestone, my throat tightening. “I know you were most afraid of me not going to school.” “But I’ve truly tried my best.” The wind swept down from the mountain, rustling the blades of grass before the grave with a faint, brittle sound. I sat by the grave for a long time, until my phone screen lit up. It was a message from Ms. Davies. 【Please come to school tomorrow to pack up your personal belongings.】

The moment I stepped through the school gate the next day, I sensed something was off. Some people saw me and immediately lowered their heads to whisper to those beside them. Others held up their phones, pointing them at me, and quickly lowered them when I looked up. As I walked toward my classroom, passing the staircase, two girls who had been talking suddenly lowered their voices when they saw me, their eyes still drifting to my face. I reached my seat, placed my backpack down, and then saw several lines written in chalk on my desk. Ungrateful wretch. Can’t stand to see others do well. Jealous of her stepbrother. Every word was written heavily, as if afraid someone might miss it. I stood there for a few seconds, then took out a tissue from my backpack, moistened it slightly, and slowly wiped the words away. My deskmate subtly shifted away, as if afraid of getting tangled in trouble. Just then, Ms. Davies stood at the doorway and called my name. “Chloe, to the office.” I zipped up my backpack and followed her out. When the office door opened, my gaze immediately fell on Richard Maxwell. He stood by the window, his face looking even worse than yesterday. Vivian sat in a chair, her eyes red-rimmed, clutching a tissue. Ethan stood beside her, head bowed, looking all hurt and innocent. Ms. Davies handed me her phone. “See for yourself.” Last night, an anonymous post had suddenly appeared on the school forum. The post’s title was direct, and its content even more so. It claimed that Ethan wasn’t Richard Maxwell’s biological son, yet he was using Richard’s money to pave his way, monopolizing all resources. It also hinted that Richard had abandoned his first wife and biological daughter, only to raise someone else’s kid. The post was quickly deleted, but screenshots had already spread everywhere. Richard stared at me, opening with a question: “Was it you who posted it?” I pushed the phone back. “No.” Vivian immediately wiped away a tear, her voice trembling. “Chloe, I know you’re upset. But Ethan hasn’t done anything wrong.” I stayed silent. There were two other teachers in the office, and hearing this, they couldn’t help but side with her. “Yes, if there’s an issue, handle it privately. Don’t air it out on the forum for the whole school to know.” Listening to these words, I found it utterly ridiculous. I hadn’t done anything, yet everyone already assumed I was the most suspicious one. Because in their eyes, Richard was rich and influential, while I was just a student in a regular class who was about to drop out. So, regardless of the truth, blaming me was always the safe bet. I looked up, addressing Richard directly. “What good would it do me to post that?” “I’m already here today to withdraw from school. Do you really think I have time to watch you three play happy family?” Everyone in the office froze for a moment. Ms. Davies frowned, “The withdrawal process isn’t finalized yet, is it?” I didn’t answer, just gripped my backpack straps tighter. Richard, however, seemed to grasp something significant, staring at me, his tone suddenly dropping. “So you did this on purpose?” “Intentionally staging this withdrawal to make me soft-hearted?” “Your mom used to love playing the victim card. Now you’ve learned it too.” I looked up at him sharply. That sentence was like a needle, stabbing directly into my heart. The emotions I’d suppressed for a day and a night completely broke at that moment. “If my mom was truly as good an actress as you claim, she wouldn’t have been so thoroughly deceived by you back then.” The office went silent. Ms. Davies’s face changed, and she opened her mouth to intervene, but Richard cut her off with a raised hand. His face slowly darkened, his gaze fixed intently on mine. He turned to the teachers in the office and said, “Could you please step out for a moment? This is a family matter.” Ms. Davies hesitated for a moment, then led the others out. The moment the door closed, only the four of us remained in the room. No, Ethan was there too. He stood beside Vivian, his head bowed even lower, his hands clenched tightly. Richard took a step closer to me, his voice heavily suppressed. “Chloe, how much longer are you going to keep this up?” I scoffed. “What am I ‘keeping up’? Did I post it, or did I beg you to acknowledge me yesterday?” “I came quietly today to withdraw from school. You’re the ones who cornered me in this office first thing in the morning, determined to pin this on me.” Richard frowned, “If you weren’t instigating things behind the scenes, Ethan wouldn’t have suddenly found out about all that.” I looked up at him, questioning him word by word. “So in your eyes, the truth itself isn’t important? What matters is who said it?” Richard paused. Seeing the situation was turning bad, Vivian immediately stood up, her eyes red as she looked at me. “Chloe, I never intended to steal anyone’s place, nor did I want you to drop out. If you’re really short on money, I can privately help you out financially. But I beg you, please stop targeting Ethan. He knows nothing and has never hurt anyone.” I stared at her. Her ‘my child is innocent’ act was exactly the same as five years ago. Back then, she was just like this, standing behind the crowd, clutching her stomach, claiming she couldn’t handle the stress. Richard immediately turned to comfort her, not even sparing a glance for my mom and me. I forced a smile. “You’re best at using ‘the child is innocent’ as a shield, aren’t you?” “It was true five years ago, and it’s true now.”

What Richard hated most was anyone bringing up five years ago. I looked at him and suddenly remembered the many years ago when I used to watch from the window, waiting for him to come home. I was little then, and Mom always defended him. She said Dad’s company was going through a tough time, and things would get better after this rough patch. Then one day, Richard came home, looking terrible. He sat at the dining table in silence for a long time before telling Mom that the company’s finances had collapsed, he was in debt, and he was afraid of dragging us down, so he wanted a divorce first. Mom’s face turned pale that day. But she didn’t blame him. She only asked one question: “Is it really that hard?” Richard nodded. After that, Mom took out all the money she’d saved during their marriage—bank cards, savings passbooks—she gave him everything, keeping nothing for herself. She also took on many odd jobs, sewing clothes for others during the day and helping out in the kitchen of a small restaurant at night, wanting to help him get through that difficult period together. Back then, what I looked forward to most every day was coming home from school and waiting by the window. Waiting for him to open the door, waiting for him to pick us up. Mom always said, “Just wait a little longer, Dad will come when he’s not so busy.” I believed it for a long time. Until later, Richard came again and said that the house also had to be collateral for his debts, and we needed to move out. Mom still believed him. She took me to live in the cheapest rental apartment in the run-down part of town, continued to work desperately, and continued to wait for him. But it wasn’t long before news of Richard’s remarriage was everywhere—on TV, phones, and big screens in shopping malls. The wedding venue was grand, the lights were bright, and there were many people. Vivian stood beside him in a wedding dress, and Ethan stood between them, like a child recognized by everyone. The host said it was the picture of a perfect family of three. Mom held her phone, her hand trembling. She watched for a long time before finally coming to her senses. She took me in a taxi to the wedding venue. But we couldn’t even get inside. Security guards blocked us, and everyone around was staring. Mom explained repeatedly that she just wanted to see Richard and get some answers. But no one would let us through. Later, Richard saw us across the crowd. I thought he would come over. But the next second, Vivian clutched her stomach and leaned into his arms, claiming she couldn’t handle the stress. Richard immediately told the security guards to drag us out. “Don’t let them cause a scene here.” Those were the last words he said. When Mom and I were pushed out of the hotel entrance, it was raining outside. Mom was drenched but refused to leave, staring at the lights inside. Later, I chased after Richard, refusing to let go, grabbing his jacket corner and asking him why. He got annoyed and just shook me off. I tumbled down the steps, my ear hitting the railing. The pain was so intense I couldn’t hear anything. Mom held me and rushed to several hospitals. The doctors made it clear: if treated early, there was still hope. But we didn’t have the luxury of “early.” Thinking of this, I looked up at Richard. “Aren’t you supposed to be the best at protecting her and her son? Now you can’t even stand to hear the truth?” Richard’s face was terrible, and a flicker of unease finally crossed his eyes. But when he spoke, he still chose to blame Mom. “What happened back then, your mom just couldn’t let go. She refused to accept reality and insisted on blowing things up. If she hadn’t kept pestering us, we all could have lived in peace.” I stared at him, feeling a surge of anger flare in my chest. “Live in peace?” “Do you know why my ear was damaged?” Richard froze. This was the second time today he truly noticed the hearing aid behind my ear. Yesterday, when we met, he was too busy complaining about my shabby clothes to even notice anything new on my ear. I raised my hand and tucked my hair behind my ear, letting him see more clearly. “The day you had us thrown out, I fell down the steps, and that’s how my ear was damaged.” “Of course, you don’t remember. That day, you were busy getting married, busy comforting Vivian. You didn’t have time to care if I’d fallen and gotten hurt.” Richard’s lips moved, as if he wanted to argue. I didn’t give him a chance, continuing. “All these years, my mom and I did try to find you. We called, we messaged, we begged, and we waited. But every time, the call was hung up, or Vivian would pick up and tell us you were busy, to be ‘sensible’ about it.” “Later, my mom’s health worsened, and she was diagnosed with a condition requiring long-term treatment.” “You didn’t even bother to properly look at her medical records, assuming it was just another one of my mom’s acts.” “Finally, you threw a bank card at me, saying there was money in it, and told me to disappear.” As I spoke, my hand was numb from clenching. That day, I really believed it. I thought, no matter how cruel a person was, they wouldn’t joke about a human life. I ran back to the hospital with that card, not even noticing one of my shoes had fallen off, my mind filled with the thought that Mom was saved. But at the billing office, the staff swiped the card three times, then looked up at me. “There’s no money in it.” At that moment, standing in the hospital lobby, my whole body went numb. I didn’t know whom to blame. The bank, myself, or the father who never once looked back? I looked at Richard, my voice growing colder. “You call that ‘living in peace’?” “Was there ever a single moment when you genuinely wanted my mom and me to survive?” The room was eerily silent. Richard looked at me, the expression on his face finally changing. But after a long silence, his first words were still, “I would never give you an empty card.” I almost laughed. Even now, his first instinct was to defend himself. “So you think my mom and I conspired to deceive you?” “There must be another reason for this,” he said. “Yes, another reason,” I stared at him. “But whatever that reason is, the only one who died was my mom.” Richard’s face changed instantly. “What did you say?” I looked at him and said, “My mom died.”

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